Blackhawk Desires. Barbara McCauley
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anyone.”
Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”
When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.
“One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”
“All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d like to file a complaint.”
“Yes, I would.” She pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard under the stovetop. “This frying pan is too small.”
“Dammit, Kiera.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Assuming you’re referring to our little breach of conduct this afternoon, of course I don’t want to file a complaint.” She set the pan on the stove and met his gaze. “Sam, we’re both adults. What happened … just happened, that’s all.”
“That’s all you have to say?” he said tightly. “‘It just happened?’”
“What do you want me to say?” With a shrug, she fumbled in one of the bags, pulled out fresh herbs, butter and an onion.
What did he want her to say? he wondered. Her answer should have relieved, not annoyed him. If he had half a brain, he’d be done with this, with her, and get the hell out now.
Apparently, he wasn’t that smart.
“I kissed you, Kiera,” he said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Of course because I’m your boss.” His annoyance increased when she didn’t answer him but grabbed a knife instead and sliced off a chunk of butter, then dropped it into the pan.
“And what if you weren’t my boss?” she said casually, then reached for the basil.
His pulse jumped at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was playing one of those coy, female games, or if she was seriously asking him a question. He watched her chop the basil, smelled the pungent scent of the spice filling the room. Dammit! Why can’t I read her?
“If I wasn’t your boss,” he said slowly, evenly, “I’d have done a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”
In spite of her resolve to be nonchalant, Kiera couldn’t stop the winged stutter in her heart. She shouldn’t have asked him that, knew her question was playing with fire. But somehow the words had just slipped out, and there was no taking them back now.
And if—for once—she was going to be truthful, she didn’t want to take them back.
Her stomach jumped when he moved around the counter toward her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare. If she did, he’d certainly see everything she was thinking. Everything she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, she thought. It was too soon.
“Are you thinking about quitting?” He moved closer. “Or are you suggesting something else?”
Something else? She glanced up sharply as she realized what he meant, felt her cheeks warm. She supposed her question did sound like some kind of a proposition to have a secret affair or be a kept woman. She lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not suggesting anything else.”
“What if I did?”
She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”
“For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”
His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. A moan rose from deep in her throat, hummed through her entire body. She was powerless to stop it, so she gave herself up to the feeling, let it melt through and consume her.
Wonderful, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.
So wonderfully wonderful.
He dragged her closer, deepened the kiss, maneuvered her between him and the Formica counter. She reveled in the feel of his hard, powerful body pressed tightly against hers. No one had ever kissed her like this before. Had ever made her feel such raw, wild need. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time. The kiss this afternoon had simply been an appetizer, she realized, a precursor to the main course.
She clutched at his back, rose on her toes to get closer.
Shifting his weight, he slid his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. She heard a deep, low growl in his throat, then gasped when he suddenly lifted her up onto the counter and stepped between her legs. The paper bag behind her spilled over, and through the blood pounding in her head, she vaguely heard the oranges she’d bought roll onto the floor and bounce. She didn’t care. With Sam’s kisses spinning her world out of control, how could she?
His mouth left hers and she whimpered, drew in a sharp breath as his lips blazed kisses over her jaw to her ear. She rolled her head back, bit her lip when his teeth nipped her earlobe, then moved to her neck. Fire raced over her skin, pulsated at the juncture of her thighs. His lips and teeth teased and explored, but his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was busy. His hands worked her shirt from her waistband, then quickly slid underneath.
She quivered, lost herself to the mind-numbing sensations of his skin on hers. His palms were rough and when they cupped her breasts, she arched her back. He mumbled something, lowered his head to nuzzle. Gasping, she braced her arms on the counter behind her, and in some dim recess of her mind felt the small, plastic-wrapped box under her fingers.
And remembered what she’d bought.
When she stiffened, he raised his head.
“What?” he asked, his voice husky and deep.
“Nothing.” She closed her hand around the box, tried to push it back into the paper bag, but the bag moved away and fell on the floor.
Oh, hell.
With a frown, he straightened and glanced behind her back.
She watched his eyes narrow, then his mouth press into a hard line when he saw what was in the box.
A pregnancy test.
His gaze shot back to hers. “You’re pregnant?”
If the situation—and the look in Sam’s eyes—hadn’t been so intense, she might have laughed at the absurdity of his question. She certainly didn’t want him to think the test was for her, but she couldn’t very well tell him that Clair had asked her to buy it, either. No matter what Sam thought of her, Kiera wouldn’t break that trust.
When she didn’t reply, he stepped back and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Dammit, Kiera, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
She slid off the counter, picked the bag up from the floor, then dropped the box inside. “I didn’t ask you for help, Sam.”
His eyes dark with anger, he stared at her for what felt like a lifetime.
“Fine.”
He ground the single word out through gritted teeth, then turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, stopped, spun around and leveled his gaze at her.
“Just tell me this,” he said tightly. “And dammit, tell me the truth. Are you married?”
That