Sleeping with the Boss (Anderson Brothers, #1)(17)

“Don’t change on my account,” he said, strolling into the room she’d indicated. This space was less formal than the other parts of the apartment he’d seen and was a mash-up of furniture styles and origins. He settled into the sofa facing a large carved French armoire he suspected had been converted into an entertainment center based on the configuration of the furniture. Yep. Remotes inside the inlaid box on the coffee table confirmed it.

A framed certificate to the right of the armoire caught his eye, and he moved to get a closer look. It was a matted U.S. Army Air Corps commission from World War II under the name of Richard Thomas Maddox. It was the only personal item in the room. No photos anywhere. Just who was this girl?

That familiar feeling of being watched crept over him like insects across his flesh. He spun to find her studying him from the doorway.

He swirled the scotch and simply stared. She was perfect like this, wearing warm-up pants and a T-shirt. No bra, thank God. His body snapped back to attention as if he hadn’t had a several-minute reprieve. Hers did, too, if her nipples coming to sharp peaks under the thin material of her shirt were any indication.

Her eyes traveled down his body, pausing at the bulge in his pants, which only made it more prominent.

She cleared her throat and drew her eyes back to his, then moved to put the sofa between them. “Listen, Will, I’m sorry about…” She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “What happened.”

What the hell was going on? “I’m not sorry. Not one little bit.”

“Well, no, I mean, it was great. I just…” She twisted her hands together nervously.

Shit.

“I’ve never done anything like this.”

He didn’t know much about her, but he knew that was total bullshit. The woman was no novice. She knew how to kiss. He lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of his scotch.

“Well, I mean, I’ve done…you know…that. I just don’t usually…”

Something in his chest tightened uncomfortably.

She slumped down onto the sofa, staring straight ahead. He lowered himself beside her and placed the glass of scotch on the table in front of them. “Please don’t. It was amazing.”

“I don’t really know you.”

“Let’s fix that,” he whispered, gently touching his lips to hers.

Claire pulled back, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t just jump men I hardly know.”

He smiled. “Wait a minute! Did I miss something? Did you jump me?” Her eyes darted to his, then away, and he caught the faintest hint of a smile at his joke. Good. He needed to pull her out of this remorse or embarrassment, or whatever was making her uncomfortable. He wanted the passionate girl up against the door back. “Would you mind clarifying this, because that felt like a mutual experience to me. What exactly would jumping me entail?”

Her eyes roamed over his body briefly before she smiled and stared down at her hands folded in her lap.

Now he was getting somewhere. He leaned closer. Close enough for his breath to ruffle the fine hairs at her temple. “Would it involve kissing me again? Because that would be okay by me.”

“Me, too, which is the problem. I’m not ordinarily like this.”

Her muscles tensed when he placed his palm on her knee. “Like what?”

Staring at her lap, she shrugged and remained silent, while a furious blush crawled up her neck and face. Such a genuine reaction—he loved it. As it had with him, their instant physical attraction had thrown her and he totally got that. He needed to put her mind at ease.

Keeping his hand motionless on her knee, he leaned in. “So what is it you’re not usually like?” He nuzzled her ear. “Beautiful? Interesting?”

She squirmed and smiled.

Good. He was breaking through whatever doubts were nagging at her. He brushed his lips over her shoulder as he spoke. “Or hot, perhaps. Because Claire, you are very, very hot.” She shivered as he ran his lips up her neck to her ear. “Oh, I know what it is that’s troubling you. You’re not usually horny.”

She gasped, then made a squeaking sound. Bingo.

He chuckled. “That’s the biggest compliment you could give me.” He moved her still-wet hair aside and kissed her nape, and she shuddered. “If you think being horny is a bad thing, you’re dead wrong.”

She trembled, but not from any residual doubt. She wanted him, too. “If it’s any consolation,” he continued, “I’m not like this either. I don’t usually kiss a woman on the first date.”

She met his eyes. “Well, then you’re way off schedule. We haven’t even had a first date. That’s tomorrow.” She bumped his shoulder teasingly with hers. “Unless you’re seeing Sparkle Jeans instead.”

“Sparkle Jeans?”

“Leggy supermodel from the Italian restaurant today?”

“Ah, her. Like I told you, it wasn’t a date. Old friend. Bad idea. Nothing happened, Claire. Nothing will.”

“How do you know that?”

He took her face in his hands. “Because I don’t want her. I want you.”

Heat flared in her eyes, but she turned away. “Look, I’m not a dating candidate. I’m also not a”—she made a wild gesture to him and the front door and back to herself again—“a whatever that was candidate either.”