“What do you think?” She beams.
You’re gorgeous, he thinks. He’s used to gorgeous women, having bedded more than several hundred in his lifetime. But Sam is radiance incarnate, like a blushing bride unveiled for the first time. To him, at least.
Outwardly, he shrugs. “You look OK.”
She seems disappointed. Maybe she was fishing for compliments.
“You’re late,” she accuses. “Where have you been?”
“None of your f**king business.”
“You promised not to f**k anybody.”
“And I didn’t. So quit nagging, OK, Mom?”
He strides into the room and flings open his travel bag. He takes out a Gucci suit and a black Prada shirt. He begins to shuck his clothes off.
“Can’t you go into the bathroom to change?”
“If you can’t handle me being your boyfriend, then why ask me to tag along this weekend?” He rips his shirt off and starts to unbuckle his belt.
She hasn’t taken her eyes off his body. “We’re not really not boyfriend and girlfriend, so save the striptease routine for your f**k buddies, OK?”
“Now that’s one term that’ll never apply to you.”
As soon as he said it, he regrets it. But no apologies, he tells himself firmly as he pushes down his jeans.
This time, she doesn’t turn away. She stares at his semi-erect cock.
“You know, you haven’t changed one bit.”
“I’d like to think I’ve grown longer and broader.”
“You know what I mean. You were a bully in middle grade and you’re still a bully now.”
“You’re the one who punched me in the face when you met me. How’s that for a middle school reunion?”
“I’ll do it again in a second.”
He grins as he walks closer to her – naked – his c**k bobbing up and down. He towers above her, all six feet two inches of him.
“So hit me again,” he says. “Get your own back at me. Go on, I won’t flinch.”
She takes a step backward and peers at his cock.
“I know you think you’re hot stuff. But frankly, I’ve seen better.”
“Frankly, I don’t think you’ve seen many. Live, that is.”
“Stay back,” she warns.
“Or what? You’ll yell ‘My boyfriend exposed himself to me? In the same bedroom that we’re expected to be f**king in?’”
Her eyes narrow. God, but she’s magnificent when her irises flash like that. He feels his c**k stirring again – a most unwelcome prospect considering the situation they are in, where nothing on him can stay hidden.
“Get dressed,” she says. “We’re going to be late.”
“What? You’re not going to punch me?”
“You really are an arrogant, contemptuous ass**le.”
“Ooooh, big words.”
She brushes past him, and he catches her by the arm.
“What?” she says irritably.
“This is to put you in the mood.” He seizes her body to his and bends his head down for a savage kiss on her mouth.
He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, only that he’s just reacting to how he feels – dangerously in the mood after his botched fellatio. He meant to tease her with the kiss. To get you into the rhythm of what we’ll be doing later in front of your darling overachieving sister. But the kiss seems to take a life of its own.
He finds himself falling into it. Meshing lips against lips.
He expects her to pull back, to slap him on the face as he deserves – but instead, she folds into him, kissing him back with fervor. His penis fills aggressively. He’s taken aback at her passion. She seizes his face and kisses him open-mouthed. His tongue instinctively probes hers even as his hands roam down her body.
He’s aware that he is completely naked and his arousal is very obvious and stark. His c**k presses against her clothed belly. He wonders what she thinks of this, when they have been fighting only seconds before. Her hands start to slide down his neck, and then his shoulders, his arms . . . his back . . . down, down to his bare bu**ocks.
He breaks the kiss before he can get too consumed by it.
I only meant to tease.
Her eyes are misted and glazed with desire as they part. She looks up at him in both wonderment and surprise.
Quick. Say something snarky. Anything to dissipate this mood. But his tongue is tied. For once, he is at loss for words.
Not for long though.
He says, “What? Taking advantage of me? You must be really sexually deprived.”
And immediately regrets it. But snarkiness has so much been a component of his makeup – his built-in defense mechanism – that it has become commonplace now. Push them away before you can get hurt. Relationships suck. Always remember that.
A glimmer of anger comes into her blue eyes.
“Oooh,” she says, shoving him away with heat. “How dare you?”
He’s not sure if she means how dare he say those things to her . . . or how dare he kiss her.
She eyes his erection witheringly. “Get dressed. If you can.”
“With pleasure.”
“And you’re really not all that great at kissing.” Her face flinches slightly, which suggests that she doesn’t really believe in what she says.
“Likewise, sweetheart.” His heart is still thudding from the encounter but he can slowly feel his erection waning.
She waits, her face a black mask as he slowly puts his clothes on. Together, they leave the room without speaking.
9
Sam’s pulse is beating so hard at her bare neck that she is sure everyone in the ballroom can see it. The staccato trup-trup-trup must be unmistakable. Why else is everyone looking at her? Why is everyone averting their heads and stopping their conversations as soon as she and Brian Morton enter through the double doors?
Worse yet, the memory and imprint of his kiss are still fresh upon her lips. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his body against hers. His warmth. His delicious erection pressing against her as he held her close.
Oh, but he is remarkably beautiful. His torso is so lean that she can see . . . and feel, from whatever she could briefly grope . . . every muscle. His flesh is as hard as a rock. His eyes were swimming with desire when he gazed upon her earlier, and when he kissed her – French kissed her passionately – she never wanted it to end. She wanted to drown in him and hold him and do everything to him that a woman can possibly do to a man.
And then he had to go and spoil it. Damn him!