Baddest Bad Boys(56)

“You’ve had one, period.” He filled her glass, handed it back to her, and went to stoke the fire.

“I don’t drink much. Too, uh, susceptible.” Tommi held the glass up to the dancing flames, then took a drink—not a sip, a drink. It never hurt a girl to have a shot of extra courage. “I’ve been watching you, you know,” she said. “Sneaking peeks at you over the top of my riveting reading.” She took another swallow and put the glass on the table beside her chair. Empty.

“I know.” His shadowed eyes concentrated on her face. “I’ve been watching you, too.”

“And waiting patiently?”

“Waiting, yes. Patiently? No.” The look he gave her had more heat than the roaring fire.

“Then you’ll be pleased to know the waiting is over.”

He cocked his head, sipped his wine.

“I’ve decided your idea is a brilliant way to pass the time.” She got to her feet, and set about turning off the two lamps. The wild blaze in the grate was light enough. She walked to where Mac stood by the mantel. “And making love—sorry, having sex—is a great way to relieve stress.” She gave him a sideways gaze. “You okay with being a stress reliever?”

Mac hadn’t known what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Had to be the wine. The fire. The inevitability. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyed her, and, not sure what to make of her, said nothing.

She looked frustrated, then irritated. Maybe because he hadn’t jumped her bones the minute she opened her mouth, like any man with half a brain in his dick would have. “What part of yes didn’t you understand?” she asked.

Oh, he’d caught her yes message all right, but it didn’t sit right. Too easy. “Just like that?” He looked down at her. So damn close.

She lifted her chin, and he spotted a tremble around her mouth, an appealing uncertainty. “Are you disappointed?”

“Only that you needed to snort wine to do it.”

“I did not snort! That would be much too unladylike.”

He clasped her chin to scan her face. Read it. “You sure about this?” His ears had registered her affirmative; now he wanted to see it in her eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

“No.” She pulled her face from his grasp. “When is anyone ever ‘sure’ about sex?” She took the wineglass from his hand, set it by hers on the table. “But I’m sure of one thing. Biology 101. There’s no way you and I are going to spend a week here—alone—and not sleep together.”

Mac reached for her. “Why the hell would we want to?”

This time, when he took her in his arms, took her lips, he wasn’t going to let go. Not tonight, at least. Tonight, Tommi Smith was his, all his, and he planned to savor every soft, silky inch of her. “God, you taste good.” He raised his head to look into her already half-closed eyes. “Your mouth is a damn miracle.” His own eyes heavy, his erection a hot ridge of need behind his zipper, he added, “I can’t wait for the main course.”

She stepped away from him, stripped off her sweater, bared her fantastic breasts and smiled at him. “Your turn.”

He grabbed the pillows from the sofa behind her and tossed them haphazardly on the carpet in front of the fireplace; then he went to work on his zipper, with extreme caution. Now was not the time for a sports injury.

When he was done, Tommi dropped to her knees in front of him.

She stroked him through his briefs, pulled them down, and when his erection was free, iron-hard and long against his belly, she stroked him again, softly as if he were made of glass. Then she nuzzled him, planting air-light kisses along the length of him.

Blood thundered, thick and furious, through his veins. Jesus, she was going to do him! Tommi Smith was going to do him.

He closed his eyes, lifted his chin skyward. His neck muscles strained, wire-tight. He held her blond head in his hands, stopped himself from coiling his fingers in her hair—until she drew her tongue along his length.

The breath he let out matched the gale-force winds blowing outside the lodge, and he dragged her to her feet, before he crumpled at hers. No way was he going to shoot off like a goddamned teenager. The smile he tried failed—couldn’t make it through the pain. “You trying to kill me here?”

“I’ve wanted to touch you since the Springs. You’re beautiful. Big.” Her eyes were dark, her lips glossy, and when she looked down at him—the iron upright between his thighs—she moistened her lips. “And…I wanted a preview of what’s coming.”

“What’s coming is me—too damn soon, if you do something like that again.” Even as he said it, he prayed for it. He tackled the sweatpants she was wearing. Elastic at the waist, they were a heap at her feet in a nanosecond. This time the triangle was red lace, deep scarlet red.

Red for go. He stripped them off.

Tommi was a natural blond.

When she was naked, he grasped her by the waist, ran his hands along the curves of her hips, and gripped her buttocks to pull her hard against him. Skin to skin, his temperature rose a hundred degrees.

She sighed, stood on tiptoe, and rolled her hips into his. “We’re going to be good together. I know it.”

“Better than good.” Heated by their bodies, flush to one another, he kissed her slow and deep. Her breath was minty, her lipstick—what was left of it—held the faint taste of strawberry. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, Smith, but I’ve wanted you since I was thirteen.”