Switch Me On. Jule McBride
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wasn’t proud of it, but she wanted to stay here forever. Exhaling on a shudder, she brushed the dark hairs near the throat of the shirt. Not too silky, not too wiry, but just right. Exactly how a man’s chest hairs ought to feel.
“I’m going to give you a ride.”
Her riding him. That’s what she was thinking about it. Uh-oh. But she couldn’t drive herself home. Eli Jones had been sworn in last year as sheriff, and while he’d never jail Ari for a minor infraction like being tipsy inside Boondocks, driving under the influence was another matter. Glancing at the stranger’s open shirt, she added indecent exposure to her list of crimes. Since Eli’s Unwelcome Incident, he hadn’t so much as sniffed at her—not in a boyfriend way—but he’d happily see her safely home in his cop car if she called him. Especially since she was on such good terms with the Mrs. Eli, who did hair for all the Madden women.
She could call Urgent Care, for that matter. Doc Dickerson would send the ambulance. He always credited his attraction to medicine to Ari, saying he’d found his true calling the day they’d played doctor in the sandbox when they were five, and their mothers were trading casserole recipes.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You can get to know me on the way.”
He made it sound so reasonable.
Paulie yelled, “Pack it in, homeboys.”
Not-a-homeboy started kissing down her neck again. The wet pad of his tongue conjured everything a female was supposed to feel when her sex drive took over, and nothing existed except the hot, handsome man making her climb to an explosive release. He wasn’t saying any dirty words, and he didn’t have to. The slow pressure of his mouth said it all. Obviously, he’d clocked as many practice hours as she when it came to first base.
“Let’s go home.”
He looked so persuasive. “Are you a lawyer or something?”
“I deal with electricity.”
Despite how he’d made her body tingle all over, or maybe because of it, she giggled. “I could have told you that.”
He smiled. “I work with currents, surges, hubs, switches.”
No power failure here. He was hard enough that she could feel his shape and size and heat. He was a big man all over, every inch.
“I get it,” she whispered, her voice raspy. He’d found the switch labeled common sense and flipped it off ages ago.
His voice was as husky as hers. “The lights in here are too bright.”
“Too bright for what?”
“You know. And don’t start analyzing. Those shrinks left an hour ago.”
“Okay, Mr. Electricity,” she said. “But the last thing I need right now is another boyfriend, so you’d better man-up and take me straight home.”
Chapter Two
“My house looks...different.”
Her warm, almond-brown eyes were squinting against the harsh overhead light of Bruno’s kitchen, making her look like Bambi in the headlights. She wasn’t really mad, she was just trying to sound that way.
“That’s because it’s mine.”
She was propped against a French door that led to the back porch, next to a column of stacked boxes. He hadn’t been able to find her jacket, so she was wearing his coat, which had been a gift. Bruno had thought Burberry only made trench coats, but this Burberry was of camel’s hair, the exact color of some of the blonder streaks in her strawberry hair. He decided the hint of dark roots was kind of sexy. Actually, everything about her was. Usually black nails went in the too-trashy column, but something sweet in her personality undercut the aggregate effect, probably because Bruno had seen The Other Her. The boring Alter Ego.
He eyed where his shoulder seams hit her upper arms.
“Sh...” she whispered, then giggled.
It was awfully quiet. He had an iPod and dock somewhere, but he wasn’t wasting time rummaging for noise when they could make their own. The do-me voice was all the noise Bruno needed. Her voice turned questions like “Is this your car?” or “Can I turn on the radio?” into hardcore. Now she waggled a finger at him so he leaned against her, put the finger in his mouth and suckled. She tasted creamy and salty and just plain good.
“I think you missed some road signs, Mr. Electricity.”
While it was true the Road Rover’s GPS had not led Bruno to the exact coordinates she’d offered, he hadn’t missed any important signs. His two PhDs might not be in breathing, but he was still an expert in sighs, pants and whisperings. Leaning to look into her face—she was a short little wisp of a woman—he eyed her solemnly. “In my infinite wisdom, I realized your evening would get a whole lot better if we took this detour.”
“The detour is for my benefit?” she whispered throatily, her head back, neck exposed in invitation, the voice curling fire in his belly. “When did your infinite wisdom decide I need this benefit?”
“When we got in the Road Rover and you said, ‘Isn’t it about time you got off the grid?’” She’d sounded sort of like the woman in the commercial, but a whole lot sexier.
“Your Infinite Wisdom swore you’d take me home.”
He smiled at being called that. “And I will...TMA.”
She giggled nervously as he slid both hands under the shoulders of the coat and removed it, not taking his eyes off hers as he tossed it onto the boxes. She said, “Promise?”
“All kinds of things.”
The sweat-drenched blouse had dried in the car, and now the fabric was limp as he ran a finger downward, unbuttoning. Exhaling raggedly, he let his eyes rove. She was average height, but stacked, spilling out of her underwear. It just didn’t get better than this. He cupped a breast through a lacy light green bra, and a second later, a throaty groan tore from his throat. Too much fabric was between them, his slacks, her tights, and presumably her panties, but his thigh had found her crotch again and he was loving the feel of the dampness and the heat.
“God, you’re wet,” he whispered.
She nuzzled her face against him, using her cold, ski-jump nose to further open his shirt, her hair unbelievably soft on his skin, her cheeks chilly but warming as they swam in chest hair. His senses heightened, and a sudden gentle scrape of knotted metal from her earring felt like a leather whip.
“Feel free to keep talking,” he urged, not finding a hard edge anywhere on her as he explored. D.C. women could be gym-obsessive, their bodies as hard as rocks and possessing all the pliability of store mannequins, but this woman had soft cushions every place. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say, because your voice is so fucking sexy...so say anything...”
“Anything.”
If he hadn’t been so horny he would have laughed. “Now try something.”
“Something.” As he bent to look into her Bambis again, she whispered, “Quit looking at me.”
“Why? Are you nervous?” Oh, yes, he really wanted to keep this woman talking. Her sudden shyness was another surprise, too. She was more comfortable if he just ravished her, and it brought out the worst in him, making him want to prolong the agony of seduction. Leaning, he slowly licked the very tops of her breasts, where the mounds of flesh began to crest. If he hadn’t known about her stupid day job, he’d think she hadn’t seen the light of day in eons. Pushing the blouse off her shoulders, he looked at the bra a long moment.
“You’ve got great taste in underwear.”
The voice was scarcely audible, the best it had sounded yet. “You have to lean a lot.”
He