Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(48)

“We couldn’t quite figure out how to get along,” she finishes for me.

“You’re one hell of a complicated woman.”

“And yet you didn’t leave.”

“What do you mean?”

She leans forward and stares down at the mug she has yet to sip from. “I’ve said so many awful things to you, and you to me, and yet you watch my dog when I’m gone. I agree to help you get your life back on track. We look out for each other, even when we’re trying desperately to avoid each other.”

“Don’t forget about the excellent sex.”

She smiles, and it looks almost shy. “Yeah. Excellent sex.”

I reach out and take the mug from her hands, setting it on the ottoman, setting my own beside it. “We going to talk about the fact that I kissed you tonight?”

“I’ve decided to overlook the breach of contract. You’ve got one hell of a home life there, Cannon.”

“I do. But what’s your excuse?”

“For what?”

“For kissing me back.”

She gives me an annoyed look. “We’re not talking about that.”

“Good,” I say simply. “Because talking’s not at all what I had in mind.”

Then I reach out and haul her to me.





22

SABRINA

Saturday Night, September 30

I know.

I know.

We’re not supposed to be doing this anymore.

What’s more, this was my rule. My decision that if we agreed to play pretend relationship, we’d cut our enemies-with-benefits out of the equation.

A rule I decided to break the second he reached for me.

For that matter, I think I decided to break it the moment I asked him to stay for a cup of tea instead of sending him right back out into the rain.

My brain’s screaming, Fool. My heart’s screaming, Mayday.

But my body . . . . it knows what it wants—what it needs—and it has always needed him.

I’ve tried to find the same elusive pleasure with someone else, but nobody makes me feel as cherished as he does. Even through the anger, the frustration—or maybe because of those feelings—Matt Cannon’s hands on me deliver a sort of pleasure that’s somehow both soothing and earth-shattering.

His mouth moves restlessly over mine, one hand on the back of my head, the other pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me close.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs, his lips gliding under my chin, nuzzling my jaw. “I’ve missed you.”

His words send a thrill through me, and though I’m not brave enough to say them back out loud, I’ve missed him, too. I show it as best I can, my head dropping back to give him full access to me, my back arching into him.

“Where’d you get this awful sweater?” he murmurs, pulling the thick turtleneck to better get at my neck.

“Thought you could use a challenge. Builds character,” I say a little breathlessly as his warm hands slip beneath the sweater.

“Right. As though you haven’t been a challenge from the very beginning.”

He gently pushes me back on the couch and moves down my body, shoving the sweater upward and pressing a kiss just below my belly button. He scrapes lightly with his teeth, and I moan.

He presses soft kisses along my rib cage as the sweater inches higher still, and I hear him groan at the realization I ditched the bra when I changed my clothes. He kisses the undersides of my breasts, lingering there until my fingers knot in his hair.

Rough hands shove the sweater higher, his tongue dragging slowly over my nipple before taking it in his mouth. He palms my other breast, kneading firmly in the way he’s learned over the years that I like.

My turn.

I push at his shoulders, trying to wiggle out from beneath to get on top, but he refuses to budge, his lips and tongue relentless.

“Matt,” I moan. He presses a kiss to the valley between my breasts, and I feel him smile in victory.

“I like when you say my name, especially when you’re half-naked.”

“I’m not half-naked yet,” I argue, trying to get the upper hand however I can.

“Excellent point,” he says. He pulls me up, then tugs the sweater over my head and throws it aside. “Much better.”

It’s the opening I need to get my hands on him, but the second they find his chest, his fingers wrap around my shoulders, easing me back to the couch.

He slides down my body, lips and hands not missing a single erogenous zone as I squirm beneath him.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my yoga pants, his eyes holding mine as he tugs both those and my underwear down my legs. My socks come off with the pants, and he tosses the last of my clothes aside.

His eyes are dark as they look over every inch of me, and my breath catches with want and the unexpected vulnerability of being completely naked in front of him while he’s still fully clothed.

I start to sit up, but he places a hand against my stomach as he lowers to his knees beside the couch.

His mouth is warm on the inside of my calf, his fingers insistent, demanding my thighs part as his lips skim up my leg.

The first touch of his tongue nearly undoes me, but he’s not done. Not even close. He takes his time, savoring me with long licks and teasing flicks until my fingers are tangled in his hair, silently begging him for release.