The Baby Agenda. Janice Johnson Kay
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“Probably not as long as it’s been for me.” This mumble was so low he doubted it had been for his ears. It was a good reminder that his redhead had maybe had too much to drink. She was clutching onto the door frame pretty hard.
“Why me?” he asked.
She raised her chin. “You can just say no.”
“I don’t want to say no.”
“Oh.” Her lashes fluttered. “I’m attracted to you. I suppose…I needed someone to tell me I’m beautiful. You sounded like you really did mean it.” Her shoulders moved in an oddly unhappy jerk. “This is only for tonight…”
“It can only be for tonight.” His voice came out harsh.
Now alarm flashed in her green eyes. “You’re not married?”
“No.” He laid a palm against her cheek and felt the heat of her blush. “No,” he said, softer. “Nothing like that.”
“Okay.” Her breath tickled his wrist. “Then…?”
“Are you on birth control? I don’t have anything with me.”
Now her cheeks blazed. “I do. I was planning…”
He got it. The jackass downstairs was supposed to be standing here, not him. He was a substitute.
This was one time, Will thought with amusement and a leap of desire, that he didn’t mind filling in.
“In that case,” he said huskily, “I’d love to stay.”
He had a fleeting moment of being bothered that she looked surprised—had she really thought he’d say no?—but it was forgotten when he stepped forward until their bodies touched, chest to thighs. He took the hotel key from her hand and urged her backward, until the door swung shut behind them.
The room was dark; he fumbled for a switch and batted at it. The lamp beside the king-size bed came on, casting a golden circle of light. Perfect.
Damn, she was pretty. Will tossed the hotel key onto a dresser top and divested her of the small evening bag, sending it after the key. Then he cupped her face in his broad palms and bent his head.
He didn’t feel gentle, but he made sure his mouth was. Simply a little friction on her lips, a nibble, a stroke of his tongue. He could taste the martini, and something more. Something, he thought, that was distinctly her. He lifted his head and looked down at her face where color still blossomed. This close he could see that her lashes were darkened with mascara. Their natural color was undoubtedly that same bright copper. He’d like to see her without the mascara, with no defenses.
Although she had precious few now. She might have started with lipstick, but it had worn off, and the roses in her cheeks were surely her own. It would take a lot of powder to cover her freckles, and why would she bother trying? He liked those freckles.
“Can I take your hair down?” he whispered.
Her eyes were dazed. “I… Yes. Of course.”
When he delved his fingers in, he found an intriguing texture. As he removed pins, curls sprang free. One leaped around his index finger as if to entrap it. Her hair was thick and strong, strands sleek but not downy soft. Despite the sexual tension that gripped Will, he found himself foolishly smiling, imagining her trying to tame this mass every day.
“It’s awful hair.”
“It’s glorious.” Pins showered to the carpet; he was too busy playing to care. The curls tumbled below her shoulders. He guessed if her hair had been straight it might have fallen to the middle of her back. He could see that calling it copper wasn’t right: a hundred colors seemed to be mixed, from hairs as pale as flax to ones a deep auburn, and every shade in between. It was beautiful in this light. With sun shining on her head, she must glow.
“Man,” he whispered, and buried his face in her hair. The lilac fragrance was coming from it, and he let himself wallow happily for a minute. Then he pulled back enough to nip her earlobe and finally string kisses across her cheek to her nose and mouth.
This time he kissed her deeply, hungrily, sliding his tongue past her teeth to stroke hers. She made a muffled sound and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body molded itself to his as if they were custom shaped. Sensation piled atop sensation: her tongue, slippery and sinuous against his, the plump, firm pillow of her breasts pressed against his chest, the vitality of the curls tangled around the hand he had cupping the back of her head.
He wanted her now, and fought to hold himself in check. That bastard downstairs had made her feel undesirable, and Will needed to fix that. Come morning, he was determined that she had no doubt in her mind how much he’d wanted her and how rich her own response was.
As he slid her zipper down and trailed his mouth over her throat, he murmured disconnected words meant to tell her what he felt. Her skin was unbelievably soft, and the leap of pulse under his lips aroused him like he couldn’t remember being. He nipped at her neck, wanting to leave a mark but careful not to. He couldn’t claim the right, not when he wouldn’t be around tomorrow.
She let out little gasps as he eased her dress down and peeled it off her arms then over her hips. His blood surged at the sight of her deep purple satin bra and a skimpy pair of matching panties.
“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he managed to say, although the words came out sounding raw. Her dress fell to her feet and he scooped her in his arms and moved her a few feet closer to the bed.
She wore no stockings, only strappy high heels and the bra and panties that were… His hands explored. Not a thong, but there wasn’t much there except the generous curve of butt that had him so hard he hurt.
Damn. He kissed her again, both his hands gripping her ass to hold her tight to his hips. They rocked where they stood, as if they couldn’t help themselves, and a groan tore its way from his throat.
He eased back and started yanking at his own clothes, flinging his suit coat to the floor, his tie after it the moment he got the damn knot undone. Moira was wrestling with the buttons of his shirt at the same time, and it fell to the floor, too.
Somehow he got the covers pulled down and laid her across the wide bed, her sprawl so wanton he couldn’t do anything but follow her even though he wanted to finish stripping. He had to cradle his erection between her thighs or he thought he might die right now.
They kissed and rolled, his hands everywhere on her body, hers on his. Not until she rose above him, sitting atop him, did he manage to undo the catch on her bra and free the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. Her chest was freckled, and a scattering of paler freckles danced down over the creamy skin traced with faint blue lines, as though her skin was more transparent than normal. Her nipples were pink, the aureoles larger and just a little deeper in color.
Will heard himself making sounds that weren’t even words as he tugged her near so that he could lave her nipples with his tongue, first one then the other. Kiss them softly, blow on the damp skin until she shivered, then suckle her, pulling the hard nubbin deep into his mouth as his cheeks flexed.
She clutched his shoulders and whimpered. Her hips rose and fell on his as if she couldn’t help herself, but he was afraid he’d come right now, in his pants, if she kept riding him that way. He rolled her onto her back so that he was on top, able to savor her breasts for another few minutes before he rose to his knees and tugged her panties off. There were the curls as bright as the ones on her head, nestled between a smooth, freckled stomach and perfect legs that were freckled, too. He wanted to kiss every single freckle, but he knew he wouldn’t last that long.
Her stomach. He’d start there. He loved the give of it; she had a tiny waist, but not the washboard abs of a woman who worked out every day. She felt intensely feminine, the ripples of reaction under his mouth amazingly erotic.
He finally had the strength of will to retreat enough to remove her shoes and, with clumsy hands, unbuckle his belt and shed his pants and socks. Then he