Wild with You (2 page)

Kat slid off the bar stool and headed for the lobby. Pausing on the carpet, she glanced back at Brody. He'd pulled out his wallet and tossed a few bills on the bar. Slowly, he slipped it into his back pocket and looked up at her. The pain she'd witnessed in his brown eyes lingered.

Kat stepped onto the hardwood floor, knowing he'd follow her. Whatever happened in the morning when he learned she'd replaced Dr. Westbury, tonight would be worth the repercussions if she could ease his concern for that lost child.

Seeing Brody Summers in his underwear, that was just a bonus. And where she had to draw the line. There would be no peeking beneath. Not tonight. Unless he was wearing white boxers . . .

She turned to face him. Raising an eyebrow, he stopped by her side. His large mountain-­man muscles made the hallway leading to the pool feel small and cramped. Away from the bar, he seemed steady and sure.

Maybe she'd imagined his need for a late night dip in the pool? But then his questioning gaze locked with hers and she saw the barely leashed frustration that he wasn't out on that mountain.

“What color are you boxers?” she demanded.

His brow furrowed as if he was beginning to question her sanity. “I'm not sure—­”

A buzzing noise followed by a ring interrupted. Brody glanced down at the phone in his hand.

“A text?” she said.

Brody gave a curt nod as he lifted the phone, his fingers moving over the screen. “From one of the guys on the rescue squad.”

“Whatever it says,” she said softly, “it's not your fault. You did your job and sometimes that is all you can do. I need you to trust me on this. Bad news rips into you, but you can't let it tear you apart. OK?”

He nodded as he read the message, and she wondered if he'd heard her. She could feel the tension radiating off him.

“They found him.” Brody leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “The ten-­year-­old kid. He has a broken ankle from the fall. He's scared and dehydrated. But he's alive. He's on his way to the hospital now.”

“That's good.” Kat ran her hands over her skirt. His relief was palpable. And she shared the feeling. She'd witnessed parents free-­falling into grief when a child's well-­being hung on the line. Knowing crisis had been averted—­for the family, for the little boy, and for the rescuers—­she felt as if a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even though she'd never met this family.

“I guess you don't need that swim after all,” she said.

“Kat.” Brody opened his eyes, his gaze connecting with hers.

The pain she'd witnessed at the bar had faded into the background, replaced by a flare of desire so primal and fierce that her body tingled as if he'd run his hands over her.

“How did you celebrate?” he asked, his tone low and rough. Oh goodness, she wanted to hear him whisper dirty things in her ear all night. And she wanted to see him stripped down to his boxers.

“When your best was enough and everything turned out OK,” he continued, his gaze running over her. “What did you do?”

“Sometimes . . .” she murmured, the heat and wanting trampling her common sense like a herd of elephants.

Brody had allowed relief to open the door to lust. She knew she couldn't take her walking, talking fantasy to bed like this. But she couldn't resist a chance to flirt with her crush for a little while, free from the pain that had pulled at him since he'd left the mountain.

“ . . . sometimes,” she continued, “I like to celebrate with a swim.”

 

Chapter 3

B
RODY
PARK
ED
HIS
willpower in the hall and led the blond doctor through the door marked Pool. If his brothers saw him now they would laugh their asses off. He'd driven up to Portland to save two families—­the stranded hikers and his own. Instead, he was taking an emergency room doctor who probably sent the men of New York City racing to the ER with a long list of fake ailments for a swim. But he couldn't walk away.

Beyond her beautiful face, he'd witnessed the relief in her eyes when she'd learned that the kid was safe. One look at her and something inside him had snapped. For the past few months he'd navigated a boatload of stress through choppy waters. And heck, he wanted a break.

His grip on her hand tightened, his mind focused on the here and now. The feel of her soft skin. The sound of her breathing, which quickened as they moved through door. Every sound she made suggested her desire matched his, poised to spiral out of control.

A few paces into the warm and thankfully empty pool room, he turned to face her. Her breath caught as he stared into her eyes. Hesitation? Heck, maybe she'd read his mind and knew he wanted to bypass the pool, taking her straight to his bed.

“Brody, if you're having second thoughts, we can head back into the hall and call it a night. But if you want to stay and, um, celebrate, I promise I won't take advantage of you in your underwear.” She spoke in a low tone that left part of his body hoping he could convince Little Miss Perfect to break her word.

“And if I can't make the same promise?” he challenged. The past twenty-­four hours—­heck, the past few months—­had chipped away at his calm logic and left him emotionally rung out. He felt as if he was standing on the edge of wild.

“That won't be a problem.”

The way she said those words—­she might as well have wrapped her hand around his dick.

But instead of reaching for the part of his body threatening to wage a war against what remained of his common sense, she released his hand. “Wait here.”

Brody watched her move toward a metal closet, taking in the pool room's layout. A line of lounge chairs filled the space to their left. Along the wall to the right stood a table stacked with towels. Next to the pile, a shower and a sign that clearly stated all guests swam at their own risk. Brody glanced at the long narrow pool that ran the length of the room. The stairs leading to the shallow end stood directly in front of him. And in the corner opposite the entrance sat a hot tub, steam rising from the swirling water.

He bit back a low growl as images filled his mind. Kat stripping off her clothes and joining him in the steaming water . . .

“Where are you going?” he asked, returning his attention to the present as she opened the door. She rummaged for a moment and turned around, triumphant.

“To find this.” She held up a sign that read
POOL
CLOSED
.

Her heels clicked against the cement pool deck as she headed to the door. Poking her head out, she scanned the hall and then slipped the sign into place.

“Just in case someone else wants to celebrate,” she said.

“You know all the tricks,” he murmured. “Have you done this before?”

“When I was a teenager, I occasionally snuck into places I wasn't supposed to be. I got caught once and learned my lesson. Most ­people obey a Closed sign.”

She settled onto a lounge chair. Planting her palms on the cushion, she leaned back and crossed the long legs he'd admired earlier while lying at her feet. Her skirt slid up her thighs, stopping short of offering a peekaboo glance underneath.

“You're just going to sit there and watch?”

“I can close my eyes while you undress if you're feeling shy. But I can't promise I won't peek.”

He tried to remember the last time a woman had toyed with him and came up blank. Back home, he might as well have had the word “serious” tattooed on his forehead. Women looked at him and saw long-­term. And yeah, he liked being that guy, the one ­people knew they could count on. When it came to his family, he wouldn't have it any other way. But sometimes—­like when he wanted a chance to explore a beautiful blonde's long legs without worrying about the long-­term picture—­it was just plain lonely.

“I'm not shy,” he said.

“Then lose the clothes, Brody.”

He pulled his Moore Timber T-­shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Stealing a glance at his audience, he saw her green eyes widen. She uncrossed her legs, drawing his attention to the smooth skin of her thighs. His gaze traveled up her body, leaving him wondering what lie beneath her silky shirt.

“I hope you're not shy,” he said, his voice low and wanting, a solid reflection on how he felt. “Because I want to watch.”

“Tempting. But this is your celebration. I think I should stay on the sidelines and play lifeguard.” Her sultry tone left him wondering what she sounded like in bed.

“You're worried I'll need saving?” He released his belt buckle and undid his pants before realizing he needed to remove his boots first. Maybe he would need her to come to his rescue.

“What if you push yourself to the point of exhaustion?”

“I know my limits.” And he'd never come anywhere close to them, not on a rescue, or in the bedroom. Seeing the way she stared at him—­as if the universe would grant her the X-­ray vision to peek beneath his black boxers if she looked long and hard—­he wondered: would her limits line up with his? Just how far was she willing to take this game?

“Sure you don't want to join me?” He looked her straight in the eye, letting her see how damn much he wanted to get her wet.

“My underwear isn't exactly appropriate for swimming.”

Show me. Let me decide.

Knowing he was seconds away from demanding that she strip, Brody turned and headed for the pool. He needed to slip into the lukewarm water before he proposed a different kind of celebration.

“Brody, wait.”

He paused, one hand gripping the railing. “Change your mind about playing lifeguard?” he growled.

“That sign clearly states you need a shower before entering the water.” She nodded to the list posted below the Swim at Your Own Risk warning.

“Do you always follow the rules?” he challenged.

“I've broken my fair share. When I was younger. These days, I try to do as I'm told.”

Brody blinked. He barely knew Kat. Still, obedient was the last word that came to mind when he thought about the woman who'd knocked him over with a suitcase and demanded that he strip by the pool.

But the lust rising up didn't give a damn. The mental image was already lodged in his head. Kat on his bed, her wrists bound, waiting for him to spell out what he wanted . . .

Turning on his heels, he headed for the shower. With one turn of the knob, ice cold water poured out of the showerhead. He moved underneath, biting back a curse as the shower's spray ran over his mostly naked body. But the need to challenge her words refused to wash away.

He'd always held back, giving the women he'd dated what they wanted. But he'd never taken. He'd never issued commands. In bed and out, he put the ­people he cared about first. He shouldered other ­people's problems—­listening, caring, and fixing.

Brody stepped forward, the cold stream rushing down his back. Running his hands over his face, he wiped away the water and opened his eyes. He looked over at Kat. Every muscle in her body appeared tense, as if she were waiting for an invitation to leap up from the chair and join him in the shower.

Her desire matched his. He could see it plain as day in her eyes. Control slipped away, followed by the tight hold his sense of duty had on his life. His world narrowed to one thought—­claim Little Miss Perfect. Tonight, for one night, make her his.

T
HE
SOUND
OF
running water hitting the cement floor echoed against the tiled walls. Beneath the noise, Kat swore she heard Brody let out a low growl. The man was standing in a cold shower, and judging from the way his wet underwear clung to his body, she'd dialed the lust up to an eleven.

I try to do as I'm told.

She'd been teasing him when she'd said those words. These days, she rarely took orders from anyone. The high-­profile neurologist leading her clinical trial? Maybe. A man she wanted to see without his boxer briefs? Never. She'd fought too long and hard for control over her life to let anyone call the shots.

But seeing Brody's reaction, she wondered if she could pretend until sunrise.
If
he invited her back to his room. And
if
she went.

Kat shifted on the lounge chair. As if he'd sensed her movement, Brody opened his eyes and looked right at her. And just like that her mind bypassed the shower and headed straight for the bedroom. He'd told her that he knew his own limits. But what if she pushed past his breaking point? Would he give in to the raw lust radiating from his hard body?

Brody turned off the shower and reached for a towel, quickly securing it around his waist. Still dripping wet, he walked over to the chair. Her breath caught as he closed the space between them.

“I don't want a celebration swim,” he said.

“You don't?” Heat pulsed from his wet body, but his words raised alarm bells. She'd misread his desire. He was done playing games and wanted to go back to his room. Or have another beer, toasting to a successful mission.

“I want you, Kat.”

Those words, on his lips—­they blew her fantasies away. Molten desire rushed over her, every nerve in her body doing a little happy dance while chanting,
Brody Summers wants you!

His hands cupped her jaw as she stood to meet him. He studied her lips as if the only question was
how
to kiss her, not
if
he should. His lips hovering over hers, she closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss.

“Is there anything I should know?”

His low, rough voice sent another rush of need over her. She opened her eyes and saw his kiss-­me-­now fever staring back at her.

“A boyfriend in New York?” he added.

“No boyfriend.” Logically, she knew now was the time to tell him why she'd traveled across the country. But she wanted to spend a few hours knowing Brody Summers desired
her
. She was close to cementing her place among the top neurologists in the country, but that didn't change the fact that once upon a time she'd gone to bed in a house that never felt like home, wishing like crazy that this man would notice her.

“Kiss me, Brody.”

Running his fingers through her hair, he claimed her lips. As if her command had granted him permission to race past soft and gentle, his tongue swept into her mouth exploring, tasting, demanding . . .

She leaned against his solid body. One of his hands abandoned her hair, to wrap around her waist. He held her tight against him, allowing her to fall deeper and deeper into his kiss. She'd never melted into a man's embrace, letting him take and take and take. But with Brody, she turned to butter. Pressed against him, she felt so turned on, so feminine, and so . . . wet.

He broke away. But his hands held her close, the dampness from his shower seeping into her clothes as his gaze met hers. For a fleeting second those deep brown depths offered a window into his thoughts. A fierce wanting stared back at her. A look like that led down a dead-­end street. The only thing waiting at the end?

Toe-­curling orgasms.

“I'll tell you mine,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders to his biceps, giving them a light, playful squeeze. His muscles demanded exploration. And she wanted to touch and taste every inch of him. “If you tell me yours.”

He raised an eyebrow. “My what?”

“Your mental picture for how tonight plays out.”

One hand moved over her jaw, down her throat, teasing every nerve along the way until he reached the first button of her shirt. “You first.”

She rose up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear. Releasing his arm, she reached for the impressive bulge beneath the flimsy hotel towel. “I want to push past your limits, drive you wild. Right here, in the pool, or in your bed. You choose the setting, just don't hold back.”

“My room.” Brody drew her hand away from his erection. He stepped back and began pulling his clothes on as if someone had pulled the fire alarm. “And once I have you there, I'm going to run my mouth over every inch of you. Hell, right now I just plain want you, Kat.”

Tomorrow, when he learned the truth, she might regret her lies by omission. But right now, with those words echoing in her head, she set aside the obstacles. Brody Summers wanted her. For tonight, that was everything.

“Brody, tonight I want to be your fantasy.”