Wilde Thing

Chapter 9

Unbridled excitement hummed in the air as their eyes locked and held from across the dimly lit room, direct and blatantly sexual. Focused and intent. Two strangers, instantly attracted to each other, on the brink of becoming intimate. There was no denying what they both desired-a sizzling, carnal encounter, with pleasure and satisfaction being the primary goal.

He was tall and leanly muscled, his hair dark and tousled around his head. His devastatingly blue eyes glittered with potent male heat as he offered up a silent challenge to play the game they'd instigated on the phone less than half an hour ago. From his chiseled jaw to his bedroom eyes to the day's stubble on his cheeks, he epitomized the kind of bad boy she was drawn to. Virile and seductive and a little bit on the dangerous side, his quiet, rock-solid confidence increased his appeal, making Liz excruciatingly aware of his prowess-and his wicked intent.

She welcomed the rush of adrenaline spiking through her veins. He moved closer, his gait slow and predatory as he closed the distance between them, and Liz's heart pumped hard in her chest in thrilling anticipation of the fantasy unfolding into reality.

They were in her small living room, which shared space with her equally small dinette set, but her vivid imagination put them in a more exotic locale, somewhere far away from her own responsible, sensible life.

He came to a stop directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, could inhale how deliciously male he smelled-a heady combination of heat and forbidden passion. His warm breath ruffled the wisps of hair along the side of her face, and pure, undisguised sexual energy crackled between them, a rare and irresistible chemistry that intensified with each moment that passed.

Her body softened, liquified, automatically readying itself for his possession. No words were spoken-none were needed- as she lifted a hand and curled her fingers around the nape of his neck. She pulled his lips to hers and kissed him deeply, avidly. His mouth was equally hot and eager, his tongue bold and greedy, consuming her with rich, unadulterated pleasure.

They pulled back, just long enough for him to quickly strip off his T-shirt and yank hers off, too. Their mouths met again, lips open, teeth nipping and nibbling, tongues touching, tangling. Her hands swept over the broad expanse of his chest, and she plied his nipples with her thumbs, then strummed her fingers downward to his taut belly. With a groan, he smoothed his palms along her shoulders and pushed her bra straps down her arms. They caught in the crooks of her elbows, and he left them there but didn't waste any time in pulling down the sheer, lacy cups so he could fill his hands with her breasts and roll her nipples back and forth between his fingertips.

She felt out of control, and she luxuriated in the untamed sensation along with the freedom to do things with and to this man that she'd never explored with another lover before. Like indulging in this stranger fantasy and luxuriating in mindless, unrestrained sex for the pure, intoxicating pleasure of it.

But ultimately Steve was a man she trusted with her body, and more. A man who made her feel amazingly feminine and

lavishly seductive-as if she were made specifically for him, in every way. And for as long as their affair lasted, she was his, in every way.

Breathing hard and aching for that fast, frenzied joining the fantasy inspired, she blindly reached for his belt buckle and released the leather strap, then unfastened the top button and pulled the zipper down over his burgeoning erection. Grabbing the waistband of his jeans and briefs, she shoved both down to his thighs. His iron-hard shaft sprang free, and she encircled him with her fingers and stroked his length, used her thumb to smear the bead of pre-come that had gathered on the head of his penis.

His entire body jerked in response. He slanted his mouth across hers again with a rough growl, his tongue thrusting deep as he reached beneath the miniskirt she'd worn to work and pulled her panties down to her thighs. From there the scrap of fabric dropped to her ankles, and she kicked it aside and out of the way.

Hot, callused hands skimmed up her thighs, and long, seeking fingers delved into the crease between her legs. She was already wet, already excruciatingly aroused, drunk on passion and the excitement of the forbidden. He found her clit with his thumb and strummed across that knot of nerves in a sleek caress. All it took was that one electrifying touch, and she came in a fast, feverish climax that left her panting and gasping for breath.

He wrenched his mouth from hers and grabbed one of the dinette chairs from behind him. He sat down, quickly dug a condom from the pocket of his pants-still tangled around his knees-and sheathed himself. Then he was tugging her toward him, forcing her legs wide open on either side of his thighs. Grasping her waist, he guided her to sit astride his lap, and his cock slid along her slick flesh and unerringly found the entrance to her body.

He pulled her hips down at the same time he bucked upward, sinking into her tight heat and embedding himself to the hilt. She inhaled sharply at the abrupt invasion, and he groaned, long and low. He rocked her pelvis against his, his body tense and quivering. She grabbed on to his shoulders, easily picked up the rhythm he set, and rode him with utter abandon.

The material of her skirt floated around them, covering where they joined, which added to the eroticism of their tryst. His hand roamed up her spine, and his fingers fluttered along the nape of her neck, then wrapped the strands of her hair in his fist. He pulled her head back with that one hand and used the other to splay against the middle of her back, forcing her body to arch into him and her breasts to rub against his chest.

Their bodies were locked tight, and she continued to ride him as he scattered soft, damp, biting kisses along her throat and over the upper slopes of her straining breasts. He circled his tongue around one rigid nipple, blew a hot stream of breath across the peak, then did the same to the other. He lapped at her slowly, licked the taut tips teasingly, and nibbled until the madness was too much to bear. Grabbing a handful of hair from the back of his head, she pressed his parted lips to one aching, tingling crest in silent demand, and he obeyed, taking as much of her breast as he could inside the wet, velvety warmth of his mouth.

He sucked, and she felt that tugging, pulling sensation all the way down to her sex. She couldn't stop the whimper of need that slipped from her lips, couldn't hold back the convulsions that started deep inside where Steve filled her, full and throbbing. She moved on him, harder, faster, and came undone as a torrent of exquisite sensation flooded her limbs and sent her careening into an intense and fiery orgasm.

He released a harsh groan of surrender then and gripped her hips, rocking her in time to each frantic upward surge of his thick shaft within her. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as his own body shuddered in and around hers in long, deep, powerful spasms.

When it was over, they melted into each other, their arms and legs entwined, both of them too wiped out to move. Chest to chest, the wild beating of their hearts was all Liz could feel, and in that seemingly endless stretch of time, that profound connection between them was all that mattered to her.

Steve rummaged through Liz's kitchen cupboards for a late-night snack while she'd slipped down the hall to take a quick shower and change into something more comfortable. He'd promised her he'd stick around until she returned, and the truth of the matter was that he didn't want to leave. And because there was nothing left for them to discuss business-wise when they both knew the ball was now in Antonio's court, it made the issue of his staying beyond their midnight tryst a personal one.

He frowned at that realization as he snagged a peanut butter granola bar from the cupboard, but couldn't deny the truth. Beyond the incredible, mind-blowing sex they shared and the way they connected on a physical level, he enjoyed being with Liz as a woman who matched him intellectually, a person he enjoyed spending time with, and an intimate lover he couldn't get enough of. The three facets were intrinsically joined, in a way that fulfilled an emptiness within him he hadn't even known existed until she'd come along and filled that vast solitude with her exuberant presence, her fortitude, and even her moments of vulnerability.

His heart thumped hard in his chest, and he immediately dismissed the notion that popped into his head. He was not falling for Liz. Yes, he enjoyed being with her. Yes, he cared for her. Yes, she was fun and sexy and turned him on like no other woman ever had, but there was no way in hell he was going to fall in love with her.

The mere thought made the granola in his mouth turn to dust, and his palms sweat. He liked his life the way it was, thank you very much, and being a bachelor suited him just fine. After one failed marriage and a sixteen-year-old daughter whom he adored, he'd already done the domestic thing and wasn't in the market for a wife, family, or long-term commitment with any woman.

Yet there was no denying that his feelings for Liz were shifting and changing, in a way that transcended wanting only a temporary fling with her.

"If you're hungry, I can make you a sandwich."

Liz's husky voice yanked him from his thoughts, and he turned his head as she padded barefoot into the small kitchen, a soft smile greeting him. She was wearing a well-worn thermal tank top with matching drawstring pants. Her hair was damp and ruffled around her head, her face scrubbed clean, and her skin pink from her shower. He caught a whiff of her shampoo, and his stomach knotted. He ached to nuzzle her neck, to immerse himself in her sweet, fragrant scent. He wanted to lie down with her on her bed and fall asleep with her cuddled in his arms.

Oh, yeah, he definitely had it bad for her.

"I was just passing time with a snack." He ate the last of the granola bar and washed down the bite with the bottled water he'd filched from the refrigerator. "By the way, I think you have a few messages on your recorder."

Her gaze went to the small machine on the counter next to her phone unit. A digital number flashed, indicating she had two messages waiting for her to pick up.

"Oh, crap." She crossed the kitchen, shaking her head. "I can't believe I didn't check the recorder first thing when I walked in."

"I think you were a little distracted," he teased.

"That's no excuse." Self-condemnation laced her voice, and her eyes glimmered with unmistakable guilt. "What if it's Valerie?"

The vehemence in Liz's tone took Steve by surprise. He understood her desperation to locate her cousin, to be reassured that Valerie was okay. What he didn't understand was Liz's strong sense of responsibility for Valerie's disappearing act, when it was something she couldn't have prevented from happening.

Leaning a hip against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and opted for a practical approach. "If it's Valerie, then let's hope she tells you where she is, or at the very least lets you know that she's doing fine and is unharmed, and that'll be the end to your worries."

And this case, he thought. Would that then mean the end to them as well? Another startling realization, which came with an equally startling rise of emotion that made his chest tighten.

She turned away without replying and pressed the button on her recorder. The first call was a hang-up. The second one was Liz's aunt, leaving a message for Valerie, and Liz immediately stiffened when she heard Sally Clark's voice drifting through the speaker.

"Hi, Valerie, honey. It's Mom. I'm sure Liz gave you the message that I called earlier this week, but you've probably been busy. She told me that you were out of town for a few days with a friend, and I was hoping to get a hold of you just to see how you've been doing." Sally sighed, the sound rife with disappointment that she'd been unsuccessful in reaching her daughter. "Your father and I are heading down to San Diego for a four-day getaway, so I'll try and get in touch with you next week. We love you and miss you."

The line disconnected, the recorder beeped, and Liz hit the rewind button. With her hands braced on the counter, she hung her head, her shoulders slumped, and blew out a long stream of breath.

Judging by Sally Clark's message, Steve was fairly certain that Liz was keeping a pretty significant secret to herself. "You haven't told your aunt and uncle about Valerie, have you?"

"No." She lifted her gaze to his, the depths of her eyes brimming with a wealth of emotion, the most prominent of which was remorse. "I don't want to involve them unless I absolutely have to."

Not willing to let the discussion drop on such an intriguing note, he asked, "Why not?"

Her chin lifted. "Because my aunt and uncle have had enough disappointment to deal with in the past few years."

Retrieving a brass teakettle from the stove, she filled it with tap water from the sink. Her back was to him, her posture ramrod straight, giving him the distinct impression that she'd deliberately assumed that position to keep him from seeing and analyzing her expression. What she didn't realize, however, was that her tone, edged with self-recriminations, spoke volumes.

"Sounds personal," he said gently, trying to keep things light and easy so she didn't feel threatened by the conversation.

"It's very personal." She set the kettle on one of the burners, flicked on the gas flame, and turned to face him again. "My aunt and uncle have no idea that their daughter makes a living as a phone sex operator, and I'd like to spare them that bit of news if I can."

She spun back around and reached for a mug in the overhead cupboard, and her top skimmed upward, revealing a smooth expanse of soft skin he itched to stroke with his fingers, taste with his tongue. Better yet, he'd love to strip off her top and bury his face in those luscious breasts of hers and take her again, here in the kitchen.

He blocked those sensual thoughts from invading his body and mind and kept his focus on the discussion at hand. "Why do you feel the need to protect Valerie and hold yourself responsible for her actions?"

She frowned at him from over her shoulder as she ripped open a tea bag and dropped it into her mug. "I don't-"

"Yes, you do," he countered, cutting off her instantaneous denial. "For some reason, you're accepting part of the blame for Valerie running off with Rob, and I want to know why."

Her lips pursed in agitation, and her demeanor was defensive enough that he fully expected her to tell him to go to hell, that it was none of his business why she felt the way she did. But beyond her tough act, there was a hint of vulnerability in her gaze, a desperation that made his gut clench.

"Tell me, Liz," he cajoled, knowing he needed to hear what she had to say as much as she needed to get it out in the open.

She hesitated a few seconds before deciding to confide in him. "When my aunt and uncle moved to California almost a year ago, they asked if Valerie could move into my apartment with me so I could keep an eye on her. Considering this mess that she's in, I didn't do a very good job of that, now, did I?"

"Your cousin is twenty-four years old," he said reasonably. "She's legally an adult and plenty old enough to not need a keeper."

"What was I supposed to do, tell my aunt and uncle no, that I wouldn't let her live with me?" Her voice rose an octave in frustration and anger. "That I wouldn't keep an eye on her for them?"

"I'm sure Valerie would have found a place of her own if you told your aunt that you wanted your privacy."

The kettle whistled, and she picked up the wooden handle and poured a stream of hot water into her mug. A long sigh unraveled out of her. "Look, I don't expect you to understand my reasons…"

"I want to understand, Liz." And he meant it, in a way that went beyond needing to know details for the case. This discussion was personal, for the both of them. There was no fighting the wave of emotion cresting within him that made him a part of her frustration, her pain, so he didn't bother to try. "I want to know why you feel so responsible for your cousin, and why you seem to be shouldering the blame for her disappearance when it was her doing, not yours."

She braced her hip against the counter and wrapped her fingers around the ceramic mug in her hand. "I just don't want to disappoint my aunt and uncle. Again."

He hated the space separating them but didn't dare close the distance when he was certain his advance would be rejected. "Again?"

She shook her head sharply, sending damp strands of her hair swirling about her shoulders. "It's complicated, and this is a discussion that you and I don't need to have since it's not relevant to the case." Moving past him, she headed into the living room, sat in the recliner chair, and sipped her herbal tea.

God, she was stubborn, which made him all the more determined to breach those barriers she'd erected around herself. Ignoring her dismissive tone and action, he followed her into the adjoining room and took a seat on the sofa catercorner from her. "Maybe this discussion is very important to the case."

Skepticism radiated off her. "How so?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "You already told me that things have been strained between you and Valerie, and learning the reasons why would help me to get a better understanding of your relationship with your cousin."

She took another sip of her tea, her gaze narrowing on him over the rim. "And that would make a difference to the case, why?"

He catered to her reluctance gently, because he was coming to learn that this woman needed to be handled with special care when it came to emotional, familial issues. She was strong and diligent on the outside, and fragile and too susceptible on the inside, where she thought no one could see. But she'd given him plenty of glimpses, whether she realized it or not.

"By learning more about Valerie's personality, I can theorize a motivation for her actions." His explanation sounded logical, but his excuse was a deliberate ploy to get her to open up to him. To trust him with more than just her body.

Surprisingly, she did. "Valerie's actions are motivated by her need to get attention from whomever she can. And if it's her mother and father, all the better."

There was no bitterness in her voice, just an odd acceptance he ached to comprehend fully. "And what motivates Valerie's need for attention?"

"Me."

"You?" This time, he sounded skeptical. And confused.

"Yes, me," she confirmed more quietly, and stared into the depths of her mug. "When my parents died, I was twelve years old, and my Aunt Sally and Uncle Ben were my only living relatives. They took me into their home and raised me as if I were their own. At the time, Valerie was only six years old, and she was an only child. My aunt had an emergency hysterectomy after Val was born, and since she couldn't have any more children, Valerie was the center of my aunt and uncle's universe… until I came along."

Leaning forward, he braced his arms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. "I assume Valerie didn't take well to you becoming a part of the family?"

"No." She lifted pale green eyes to his, a sad smile curving her lips. "She resented any attention I received, though I didn't ask for much. She saw me as a rival, out to steal or take away half of everything that should have been completely hers." Her index finger idly traced the rim of her cup. "Everything became a competition with Valerie, but especially when it came to my aunt and uncle's attention. And since I no longer had my own mother and father, I craved my aunt and uncle's affection, which in turn infuriated Valerie."

"Sounds to me like she was spoiled rotten," he said roughly.

"She definitely wasn't used to sharing anything; that's for sure." Setting her mug on the coffee table, she curled her legs beneath her on the cushioned chair. "I dealt with the situation the best I could. I aimed to please my aunt and uncle. I was a good kid, I helped out around the house, I got good grades, and I stayed out of trouble. Valerie, on the other hand, turned into a wild child and an even more rebellious teenager."

He scrubbed a hand along his unshaven jaw, knowing good and well that his own daughter never would have gotten so out of hand, that out of control. Her strict but loving mother wouldn't allow it, and as Steffie's father, he wouldn't tolerate such incorrigible behavior, either. Even if he did live in a different state.

But every set of parents raised their children differently, he knew. "I take it Valerie got the attention she wanted?"

"Yes. My aunt and uncle gave her anything and everything she wanted, in an attempt to keep her happy." She ducked her head and swiped her fingers through the drying strands of her blond hair. "They made excuses for Valerie's defiant behavior, and of course, I knew all along that I was to blame for the drastic change in her."

"You were a child yourself," he refuted, hating that she'd held herself accountable, and at such a young age, too, when her biggest worry should have been what outfit to wear to school that day. "Any change in Valerie wasn't your fault."

He could tell that she disagreed but apparently decided it wasn't an issue worth arguing with him. "The only way I could make up for Valerie being so rebellious was by being a good kid. I wanted so badly for my aunt and uncle to be proud of me. I never wanted them to regret that they took me into their home and raised me. I always wanted them to know how grateful I was for the sacrifice they made for me, and how much I appreciated their love and support when I could have ended up in a cold foster home." A shudder shook her.

Yes, she'd been extremely lucky to end up with caring relatives, despite her own sense of misplaced guilt with Valerie. But there was still another point she'd brought up that wasn't clear in his mind. "Liz, you said you didn't want to disappoint your aunt and uncle again. What did you mean by that?"

"Like I said, I did everything I could to make them proud of me. I went to college, got my business degree, and when I made the decision to open up The Daily Grind, they believed in my ability to make the cafe a success and even gave me a loan to help start up the business." She absently twisted the gold band on her ring finger, the one that made her look taken by another man. "Everything was going so well, until I met Travis."

Ahh, he knew the story of her deceased husband, but there was obviously more to that tale than she'd originally told him. He waited patiently for her to continue, knowing he'd sit there for hours, days, weeks, to learn more about her. To know her inside and out. Dangerous stuff, that, but at the moment, he was beyond caring about anything else but her-insecurities, painful secrets, and all.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if remembering; then her lashes lifted once again. Her gaze was distant, as though she were caught somewhere in the past. "I told you that my aunt and uncle were less than thrilled about my marrying Travis. That was the first time I'd really defied them. And after Travis died and I ended up on the verge of bankruptcy because of his debts, that was a very we-told-you-so kind of moment for me, though my aunt and uncle were gracious enough not to say anything to make me feel any worse than I already did."

She glanced back at him and managed a shaky half smile, but the gesture was forced over the emotional anguish flickering in her eyes. "I knew they were disappointed in me, and it hurt to think that I'd lost a bit of their respect for the rash and reckless decision I'd made. They're the only family I have left, and after everything they'd done for me, I'd let them down."

Her voice cracked, and she swallowed before speaking again. "So, here I am, just making a comeback after my disastrous marriage, and finally getting my business back to the point that it's solvent again, and I can't even handle a simple request to keep an eye on Valerie for them."

He refrained from grabbing her shoulders and shaking some sense into her. "Valerie is old enough to make her own decisions and suffer the consequences," he said one last time, but knew that was something Liz had to come to learn and accept on her own. Right now she was thinking with old childhood emotions clouding her judgment. Nothing he could say or do would make her realize the truth until she believed it for herself, as the adult she'd become. "Valerie is just damn lucky to have someone who cares so much about her, the way you do."

"I just want to find her and make sure she's safe." Liz worried at her bottom lip, the concern she harbored for her cousin weighing her down. "And hopefully, my aunt and uncle will never have to know about any of this."

Yes, this incident would pass, he agreed, but there would be more of her cousin's antics that Liz would take upon herself to bear. She'd go on feeling responsible and living her life to please her aunt and uncle instead of herself-because she believed that was what she needed to do to gain back their trust and respect. If she'd ever lost it. So far, Liz's description hadn't given him that impression. She was the one being so hard on herself.

Everyone made wrong or misguided decisions, along with mistakes they regretted. He had his own burdens to live with, as well-things he wished he could have done differently, like paying more attention to his marriage before it had started to deteriorate. But he'd learned that he couldn't allow those pitfalls to rule his life, that he had to deal with them and move on. But it appeared that Liz was still living in the past, for fear of failing the people she cared for the most.

At the moment, curled up in the chair all by herself, she seemed lost and all alone, even though he was sitting on the couch merely a few feet away. She was incredibly giving and selfless, to the very heart and soul of who she was. A woman who wanted nothing more than for everything around her to be good and right, yet all she could see in herself were imperfections and flaws.

Aching to bridge the distance between them, and wanting to offer her a semblance of comfort, he held his hand out to her. "Come here," he said softly.

She didn't hesitate to put her fingers into his palm, and the trusting gesture gave him an odd jolt of pleasure that warmed him from the inside out. Gently he pulled her from her chair and draped her across his thighs so that her bottom was nestled in his lap. She fit him perfectly, in ways that went beyond the physical.

"I'm here," she whispered sweetly, and gave him a tremulous smile that went straight to his heart and tugged hard.

Good Lord, what was happening to him? But deep inside, he knew what was happening, and he was beginning to realize he was helpless to fight the strong, undeniable feelings she evoked-no matter how much those emotions scared the hell out of him.

Placing one of her hands on his chest, she relaxed in his arms, snuggled closer, and sighed. "Tell me, did you and your brothers fight for attention with your parents, too?"

He stroked his hand up her back and lightly massaged the taut muscles at the nape of her neck, loving the silken texture of her hair threading through his fingers. Unlike her own unstable upbringing and the loss of her parents, his childhood had been very secure. "My brothers and I knew we were loved equally, and there was plenty of attention to go around, so there was no reason to fight for it."

She rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers absently fluttering over the pulse at the base of his throat. "You're very lucky," she said, her warm, moist breath drifting along his neck.

He heard the wistful note to her voice and brushed his lips across her temple. "Yeah, I am," he replied, and felt so damn stingy for possessing the kind of strong family ties and devotion she so obviously coveted for her own.

"Come with me to my father's party tomorrow afternoon," he said, expressing the thoughts that had been tumbling around in his mind before he could stop them.

Obviously startled, she lifted her head and searched his expression. Her eyes were wide, and she looked just as surprised as he felt, though he didn't regret issuing the invitation now that it was out in the open between them. He wanted to share something special with her, to make her forget for a little while about the anguish and uncertainties she'd been living with for the past week. There was no reason for her to be alone with her turbulent thoughts tomorrow while he was celebrating his father's birthday with his family. Not when he had the power to give her a sense of belonging and unconditional acceptance at a time when she doubted both.

She licked her lips nervously and shook her head. "Steve… I don't think that's such a good idea."

Cupping her cheek in his palm, he smoothed his thumb along her baby-soft skin, inhaled her shower-fresh scent. "Sweetheart, it's just a party."

"A family kind of party," she pointed out, making it clear that she wasn't related in any way.

"And what-I can't bring friend?" he countered wryly, and swiped a playful finger down the slope of her pert nose.

"Is that what I am to you?" she asked quietly, the question loaded with meaning. "A friend?"

She was his lover. A sexy siren who was tying him up in knots. A fascinating woman he couldn't seem to get enough of. "I'd like to think we're friends, yes. But you're also the woman I'm currently going out with." A woman he was falling hard and fast for.

So simple, yet so complicated.

She moved off his lap and sat on the cushion beside him, their warm and cozy moment over. "I don't want to give your family the wrong impression about us. I mean, we're not really going out going out."

An unexpected wave of frustration swept through him. "No?"

"We're not, well, dating." She waved a slender hand in the air between them, grasping for the right words. "We're just… having an affair."

The corner of his mouth twitched with exasperation. She made their relationship sound so brief and impersonal, and he was unjustifiably annoyed that she wanted to keep things so superficial, when that was what they'd agreed upon in the first place.

"Maybe we need to go on a date so that we're officially going out," he suggested quite seriously.

She laughed, but there was no real amusement in the sound. "I'm not asking for a date, Steve, or anything else from you. I accept our relationship for what it is, and I know where we stand with each other."

So she kept reassuring him, and she seemed fine with the arrangement. He was forced to admit that he was the one feeling restless, and wanting… more.

"I can promise you that my family will accept our relationship for what it is." He reached for her hand. Her fingers were cool against his palm, and he wrapped them in his heat. "Unlike my brother Adrian, who believes inviting a woman to meet Mom and Dad is the curse of his beloved bachelorhood, I have no problems bringing a lady friend to meet my parents."

He didn't bother to tell her that she was the only female he'd wanted to bring home since his divorce. "My family understands that I'm not looking for anything serious, but I know they'll like you."

The lamplight in the living room softened her features and made her eyes appear luminous. He could tell she was wavering, and pressed his advantage.

"And it's not like you won't know anyone at the party." His thumb caressed her knuckles. "You've met my partner, Cameron, and my brother Eric, and you know Jill, so that's nearly half the family right there." Not counting the other fifty or so friends and relatives who would also be there. But there was no sense overwhelming her with that small detail.

"As for you," he went on purposefully, "I think the break will do you good and take your mind off of things for a few hours."

She opened her mouth to reply, and he instinctively knew what was coming, and thwarted her response. "And don't give me the excuse that you have to work at the cafe, when I know you have capable employees who can handle things for an afternoon."

A reluctant but humorous smile made an appearance. "What are you, a mind reader?"

"I'm just trying to head off every foreseeable argument you might come up with, because I'm not taking no for answer." He placed a kiss in her palm and enjoyed her reaction.

A matching spark of desire lit her gaze. "You're very bossy and persistent, you know that?"

"And you're very stubborn, so I think that makes us just about even, wouldn't you say?" He lifted a brow, daring her to still refuse him.

She rolled her eyes and conceded defeat. "All right, fine, I'll go."

"Good girl." Framing her face between his hands, he brought her mouth to his and kissed her, long and slow and deep. With a sigh of acquiescence, she entwined her arms around his neck, and he pushed her down onto the couch and stretched out beside her, so that he was half covering her body and one of his legs was insinuated between hers. With their lips still fused, he slid a hand beneath the hem of her pajama top and strummed his fingers along the underside of one plump breast in a featherlight caress, and felt the mound grow taut.

She sucked in a quick, aroused breath. His cock hardened in a rush.

Lifting his head, he flashed a wicked grin down at her. "I'm glad you changed your mind, or else I was going to have to resort to some very stimulating torture tactics."

She laughed huskily, clearly unthreatened. "Maybe you could torture me anyway?"

He tugged on the drawstring of her pants, loosened the ties, and skimmed his palm over her hip, dipped his hand between her thighs, and discovered that she wasn't wearing any panties. She was also hot and wet, and his fingers slipped inside her with ease, stroking deep. She moaned and arched into him, her eyes glazing over with passion.

"Oh, yeah," he rasped as he drew out the tension he was building within her, watching as she shuddered with need. "It would be my absolute pleasure to torture you."

And he did… a slow, sweet, delicious kind of torment that brought them both sensual enjoyment and immense satisfaction.