The Cinderella Act. Jennifer Lewis
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giving their kisses an air of fevered desperation.
I’m kissing Sinclair. The thought flashed in her brain like a power surge. But instead of setting off alarms of warning, it sent ripples of excitement dancing to her fingers and toes. How many nights had she lain awake imagining this moment?
His kisses were rougher and harder than she’d imagined, fueled by desire more powerful than she’d dared to dream of. His hands fisted into the delicate fabric of her dress, feeling for her body beneath. He pulled her closer and his thick erection jutted against her. She gasped at the sensation, such a bold sign of his desire—for her.
His name fell from her lips in a rasped whisper. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and reached for the warm skin of his back. His muscles, thick and roping, moved beneath her hands. She’d seen him without a shirt more than once, but never imagined the feel of all that strength under her fingers.
He plucked at the buttons along the back of her dress that they’d only just fastened. Her skin tingled at the prospect of being bared by his hands.
Are you really going to let him undress you? Her entire body answered, yes. Sinclair must have been hiding feelings for her the same way she’d been hiding them for him. Which was odd. She’d had no idea.
She giggled as he slid a hand inside the back of her dress. She’d already removed her bra and his fingers felt risqué and sensual against the bare skin of her back. More so as he lowered the dress and bared her breasts to his appreciative gaze. A lock of dark hair hung uncharacteristically in his eyes as he carefully pushed the dress past her waist. It seemed a shame to take it off after only a few minutes, but apparently it had already worked some kind of magic.
She stepped from the dress while unbuttoning Sinclair’s shirt. She parted it and sighed when she saw his chest. Taut muscle with a slender trail of dark hair disappearing below his belt buckle.
Her nipples had stiffened to tight peaks, which bumped against his chest as she fumbled with the belt. The leather was stiff and Sinclair distracted her by nibbling on her ear. She could feel his fingers dipping below the waistband of her panties—if only she’d worn more sensual ones! She blushed at the thought of him seeing her oh-so-practical cotton granny briefs.
But Sinclair didn’t seem to notice. His breath came hot and hard against her neck, in between ravishing kisses that stole her breath. His erection interfered with her efforts to unfasten his pants. When she finally got the zipper down she could see him straining against his boxers.
Her own breathing was labored and unsteady. Heat licked at her insides and she longed to press her naked body against his. With effort, they both pushed his khakis down past his strong thighs and he stepped out of them. They stood facing each other, a few scant inches between them. His body was perfectly toned, his stomach flat and hard behind his fierce arousal.
Annie swallowed. Were they going to make love right now? All signs pointed in that direction. Sinclair’s eyes were closed, and his hands roamed over her body. Her skin stirred and sizzled under his touch. She felt the curve of his strong cheekbones and kissed him gently on the lips. How could such an ordinary day take such a wonderful and extraordinary turn? Maybe it was something to do with the mysterious cup.
Or was it the curse?
A dark shard of doubt cooled her skin like a sudden draft from a window. This man was her boss. On the other hand, the train had left the station. They stood naked in the fourth guest bedroom, the crumpled remains of their clothes at their feet. It was already too late to turn back and pretend that nothing had happened.
And she wanted nothing more than to take this surprising intimacy even further. She wondered if she should tell him she was already protected by the IUD she wore to ease her painful periods? She didn’t want to spoil the delicious moment, so instead she kissed him again on the mouth.
“Annie,” he groaned. “Oh, Annie.” She almost exploded at the sound of her name on his lips. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her body ached to mesh with his and soon they were on the bed, him entering her with exquisite tenderness, while feathering kisses over her lips and groaning with unconcealed pleasure.
Annie wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t all that far from being one, but she had some idea what sex was all about. Still, she’d never experienced anything like the intense sensations that rocked her body. Sinclair’s fingertips pressed into her flesh as his mouth claimed her, licking and biting her with abandon until she gasped and squealed with pleasure.
She’d never imagined Sinclair having such an uninhibited side. He always seemed so straitlaced and conservative.
Sinclair moved with deft prowess, skilled at taking her to new heights of pleasure, and keeping her there until she was ready to burst into flames, then shifting position for an entirely new approach to ultimate sexual bliss. To see—and feel—him breathless with excitement and driven by obvious hunger for her, almost drove her insane with pleasure.
“Oh, Annie.” Again he murmured her name, licking her lips and burying himself so deep she thought they’d become one.
“Oh, Sin.” She’d imagined calling him that, fantasized about it being her pet name for him like he was some duke from one of her favorite novels. To hear the affectionate abbreviation on her lips, for it to sound so natural in the air, almost made her laugh with pleasure.
Sin. Surely that’s what this was. But it felt so good it couldn’t be entirely wrong. Sinclair claimed her mouth with a powerful kiss and her body burst into a convulsion of pleasure that left her shivering and gripping him.
Goodness. She’d never experienced that before. It must be the famous orgasm magazines loved to rave about. Sinclair released a deep, shuddering groan and fell against her, gasping for breath. Then, without a pause, he rolled them both over until she was on top and held her there, his arms fast around her and his eyelids shut tight.
“Damn,” he said at last. “Damn.”
Two
Sinclair wrapped his arms tightly around his lovely companion. Her strawberry-blond hair fell across his face. Her pretty, pale blue eyes looked at him shyly behind long lashes. He kissed her mouth again, her lips so soft and wet.
The sense of relief was extraordinary. Apparently going through his second divorce could set a man way off balance. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed and at peace. He leaned forward and nuzzled her soft skin, with its pretty freckles. “You’re a miracle,” he whispered in her ear. Her cheek plumped against his as her lips formed a smile. The blissful weight of her body on his pushed him against the soft mattress, trapping him in the aftermath of such sweet pleasure.
He let out a long, deep sigh. Sometimes life could be so complicated, and you just needed to get back to basics. He let his fingers play in the silky red-gold hair waving softly about her cheeks.
“That was unexpected.” Her voice sounded like music.
“Yes.” His brain was too fogged for conversation. “And wonderful.”
“It was. Though I hope my pot roast is okay. I totally lost track of the time.”
Pot roast? Sinclair managed to find his wrist somewhere underneath her soft back and pulled it reluctantly out. “It’s nearly five.”
Sinclair’s muscles were tensing up all over. Five in the afternoon. Pot roast overcooking somewhere. Present-day reality crept, unwelcome, into his mind. This delicious sylph in his arms was not a pre-Raphaelite fantasy maiden come out of the mists to entertain him.
She was his longtime housekeeper, Annie Sullivan.
“What’s the matter?” Her soft voice filled with concern.
His stomach tightened as he lifted his arms from her. Had he really kissed her on the lips and pulled her into bed with him? His mind swam. He must have been in a psychosis of lust. His friends had warned him that going without sex for too long could do crazy things to a man’s brain.