Beyond Breathless. Kathleen O'Reilly
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because he was indulging in a little monetary give and take. The electric shock was zooming straight to her head, among other places. She felt invincible, Xena, modern-day warrior princess, ready to turn Newhouse and his cow of a secretary into toast. With only a snap of her fingers, Jamie would have the poor man down on his knees, begging to sign on with her firm. But first things first.
There was another man she wanted down on his knees.
And she was looking right at him.
“CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?” Andrew said, although he didn’t know what he would ask.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Jamie…” he started.
“Yes,” she said again, leaning in closer, until he could smell her. The last lingering of her perfume, the fibrous aroma of summer wool, and the hint of musky desire.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in.
“Jamie,” he tried again, but then suddenly he didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was touching her, exploring her. Andrew pulled her over and into his lap. He had a tremendous need to kiss that crooked mouth, and so he did.
He usually had more finesse, but his quick wits had slowed to a drugging crawl, and his body moved with a will of its own. Her lips were soft, pliable, open for him, and his tongue shot inside. She climbed closer into his lap, her hips toying with his cock, until he was ready to beg for mercy. His hand flew to the buttons on her blouse, working one, breaking two, and exposing a wonderfully proper, cotton bra.
“We shouldn’t,” she murmured in a voice that only egged him on, and then she sighed against his neck, pressing warm kisses there, her tongue playing in his ear.
“We should,” he answered. His hand moved to the fastening on the back of her bra, and he unclasped it in one try, which was a new record for him, last made in eighth grade at PS 117, when Erica Haberman cornered him in the boy’s bathroom.
He pulled the white cotton fabric to one side, exposing a pert, rosy nipple. He took it in his mouth, pulling, tasting, feasting. She moaned again, her head falling back, exposing the creamy white throat that had started it all.
His erection pulsed and strained against her. He wanted to touch flesh. He had to touch.
His hand reached down between her legs, finding a silky set of panty hose and he broke through easily, pushing one finger inside her.
She bucked on his lap, and he heard another moan. Deeper, longer. His.
Her hands clasped his shirt, first for support, and then her fingers worked to release the buttons, and she pulled it free, running her hands up and down his chest.
“I don’t usually do this,” she said.
He pushed her back against the long, bench seat, and slid the sensible dark skirt down her legs.
“I know,” he murmured against the creamy skin of her stomach. “You have beautiful legs,” he continued, not because he thought she had beautiful legs, but because he had never been so taken over by a woman before. He didn’t act on urges, he was the master of steely self-restraint. However, the close confines with her were killing him. He met her eyes, expecting to see the same odd, reckless urgency, but instead he found something that could have been nerves.
Nerves.
Cold reality intruded. What the hell was he doing? Andrew stopped the skirt-sliding because they were in a Hummer limo. Relative strangers.
For God sakes, they were in the financial industry.
“I’m sorry,” he said, removing his hands from her skirt, but he wasn’t a complete fool. They hovered nearby—just in case.
He waited, perched like a lion guarding his prey, his breath uneven. If he had more scruples, he would have moved back to his seat, but he couldn’t. Her look, half tailored, more than half mussed, entranced him. The jacket loose on her shoulders, the blouse pulled aside, exposing the firm swell of her breasts, one nipple coyly poking out, just to tempt his fingers, his mouth.
In a Hummer, for God’s sake…
JAMIE COULDN’T SPEAK even if she wanted to because her heart was pumping too fast. She wasn’t impulsive, she was strategic, but she’d never considered sex like this before.
Fast, furious. If he wanted her to fling her bra out of the roof, she was just turned on enough to do it. Anything to bring that taut mouth back to her breasts, anything to keep those glorious hands between her thighs.
And there he was, his dark eyes glazed with lust.
For her.
In that moment, she considered the wisdom of having a one-morning stand with a man she’d just met.
But he had gallantly offered her a ride to Connecticut.
“Ride” being the key concept, prompted her more cautious self.
He’s no Casanova, she argued back. He was either an award-winning actor, or he was as appalled by what was happening as she was. Overcome with passion, she thought with a romantic sigh. She’d never overcome Todd with passion before; their matings were planned, scheduled, and scripted. This exuberance of passion from her was new. Maybe this was a rebound response?
She studied his face. Anxious dark eyes were watching her, not forcing her into something she didn’t want to do, not even coaxing her into something she didn’t want to do. Damn.
Dark, crisp hair coated his chest, tempting her fingers. He tempted her. His mind was sharp as a tack, yet he was chivalrous, and okay, built.
On the other hand, he was a man. A man who belonged to that rare three percent of the gender who would never coax. Instead he would let the woman choose her own poison, relieving him of all conscience and responsibility.
God, that meant he was probably in upper management.
The scintilating thought was enough to push her one step closer to the edge.
Slut, screamed her proper side.
Delicious, said the other.
“Do you have a condom?” she asked him, preparing to forsake the whole experience if he wasn’t prepared. If he said, “yes,” it would be fate, because he didn’t look like a man who carried a condom in his wallet.
Anxiety pulled at her nerves while she waited for his response. Behind her back, her fingers were crossed, because deep in her heart, she wanted her sensible half to lose.
“UH,”HE ANSWERED.
“That’s a ‘no,’” she announced with regret in her voice, raising herself on her elbows, the shirt lapels sliding closed.
Sadly he shook his head, but then he remembered something. A mere figment in the back of his mind. The night of Kevin’s wedding reception.
Did he still have it?
He fished out his wallet, and snapped it open, and there he found the gold coin inscribed with “Kevin and Marlene, 6/15/2005.”
He blessed his old college roommate in that moment. “A wedding souvenir.”
“Fate,” she murmured.
“Indubitably,” he said, and ripped the top off his salvation. “You’re sure?” he asked one more time because he wanted her to be.
She gave one definite nod, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
In less than two heartbeats he was inside her.
Damn.
Andrew froze, reliving the thrill of being surrounded by woman. His whole body burned with pleasure, and he took a moment just to feel. She was tight, wet, fitting him like a glove. Her eyes clouded with emotion, soft and welcoming. Then her thighs moved, tightened around him, and all the softness disappeared. This was fire, heat,