Christmas in Whitehorn (6 page)

Yeah right, she thought hazily as the nibbling moved up higher. She parted her legs to make things easier for him and closed her eyes when he reached the inside of her thighs. So much for her not thinking sex was all that special. Obviously, until now, she'd been doing it wrong.

At the exact moment he gave her the most intimate kiss
possible,
he pressed his hand against her breast. The combination of sensations nearly made her scream. He teased her nipple in perfect counterpart to the movements of his tongue between her legs. All those needs returned, as if she hadn't just found her release. Pressure built with a speed that left her breathless.

More.
She needed more. She brought her feet up to the sofa, parting her legs even wider. He licked her most sensitive place, tasting all of her. He removed his hand from her breast, but before she could pro- test, a single finger entered her. He slipped in and out slowly, then faster and faster, all the while kissing and licking and nibbling until she thought she might die from the glory of it all.

She clutched at the sofa cushions. Perspiration broke out on her body. Pressure built then released in an unexpected shudder that left her unable to hold back her cry of delight. It was more than she'd ever experienced, and seemed to go on forever. He touched her gently, drawing every possible shiver of wonder from her starving body.

When she was finally
back
on earth, she sighed with contentment. Then something thick and hard pressed against her. She shifted so that she could wrap her legs around him, drawing him in.

"Yes," she breathed, opening her eyes.

Passion tightened Mark's features. He pushed inside her, filling her until she gasped.

"I want you," he growled.

"Please."

Mark told himself this was a mistake, but it was a little late now. As he pushed into Darcy's tight body, he groaned. She felt too good – hot, slick, ready. If only she hadn't looked at him as if she'd never before seen a man she wanted. If only he hadn't noticed the swell of her breasts earlier that afternoon. If only she hadn't responded like a starving person enjoying her first meal in weeks.

Remember what happened last time, he told himself, as he continued to push inside her. But this was different, he argued silently. No, she was a woman with secrets. He knew better.

Damn. She pulled him close and kissed him. As their tongues circled and danced, he felt himself losing control. She kissed better than anyone he'd ever been with. It's just sex, he told himself as he slipped toward the edge.

"Mark," she breathed,
then
gasped.

He felt the shudder of her release. It was more than he could resist. With a gasp of his own, he went over the cliff and began his journey to paradise.

Chapter Four

D
arcy didn't have the luxury of waiting until the morning after to feel like an idiot. No, she got to feel stupid the second Mark straightened, pulling out of her body. There she was, naked as the day she was born, half sitting,
half
lying on her sofa while a strange man pulled up his trousers and zipped them. He hadn't even taken off his clothes.

Color flooded her face. She wanted to run and hide, but there was no easy way to extricate
herself
from the sofa. Plus there was the whole naked thing.

Frantically she looked around for something with which to cover herself. The sofa didn't offer many ideas. Mark must have noticed her distress, because he picked up his shirt and draped it over her, then rose to his feet. Something very like chagrin darkened his green eyes.

"Darcy, I—" He broke off and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't do this sort of thing enough to know what to say."

"Me, either," she said, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it. She assumed they were discussing the suddenness of the encounter, and not the fact that they'd made love. Somehow Mark didn't strike her as sexually inexperienced. Could the situation be more awkward?

"I don't usually … that is I've never—" She pressed her lips together and wished she could simply fade into the fabric of the sofa.

He crouched in front of her and brushed the hair from her eyes. "I know. This isn't your style. Mine either. I guess we were both caught up in the moment." One corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.
"Must have been all the tofu in the potatoes."

"Must have been."

He dropped his hand to his side. "Are you okay?"

No!

She held in the word. "I'm not upset, well, not that much. It's just, I don't know. Too weird, I guess. I barely know you. We're not even dating." She swallowed and wanted to die. "Not that I'm hinting we
should
date, it's just…"

She looked away, hating what he must think of her. That she was cheap and easy. She wasn't – she'd never been that way. If she tried to explain about her life, he might start to ask questions and what was she supposed to say about Dirk? Talking about her brother was hardly post-lovemaking material.

He stood, then bent over and grabbed her clothes.

Darcy took them gratefully. She pulled on her panties, then rose and quickly pulled on her slacks. There was a really awkward moment when she had to hand him back his shirt, then slip on her bra and sweater all while trying to keep from thinking about him watching her.
Which was crazy.
The mm had just touched about every significant body part she owned. Modesty was coming a little late to help.

When she was dressed, she forced herself to look at him. He stood with his hands shoved into his slacks pockets. Tension filled his body – a body that she had touched, that had entered hers. The memory of what they'd done to each other made her study the carpet again.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"Do you want me to apologize?"

She stared at him and wished she knew what he was thinking. "Are you sorry?"

"No."

"Then don't apologize."

"Fair enough."
He shifted his weight. "I'm guessing it's probably time for me to go."

She winced.
"Of course."
She headed for the door. He followed her,
then
surprised her by bending down and kissing her cheek. "Thank you. That was an amazing experience."

"Um, yes well, for me, too." Despite her embarrassment and lingering horror at her impulsiveness, she couldn't complain about the physical aspects of their lovemaking. Mark had been amazing.

"I'll call you," he said.

"Don't say that." She forced herself to smile at him. "It's kind of a button for me. You don't have to call."

"What if I want to?"

"Then just do it, but don't tell me you're going to. If yon do, I'll obsess about it and when you don't call, I'll try to figure out what I did wrong. Two weeks later I'll finally remember that it's not my problem, it's yours. But I don't need the emotional down time."

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said earnestly. "You're an incredibly attractive, sexy woman."

"As true as that may be, your gender can be stupid.
So don't tell me you're going to call. Okay?"

"Deal."

He stared at her. She gazed into his green eyes, trying to memorize everything about him. Because she didn't have a doubt in her mind that except for incredibly stilted conversations at the diner, she wasn't going to see him again.

"Bye, Darcy. Thanks for the dinner."

She opened the door and he stepped into the night. She gave a quick wave as he hurried toward his own apartment. She got the door closed and was halfway to the kitchen when reality slammed into her with all the subtlety of a runaway dish tray hitting the floor.

She and Mark had just had sex.
Unprotected sex
.

Darcy leaned against the dining room wall. No. That couldn't have happened. She wasn't that stupid, was she? After five years of trying to get it right, she couldn't possibly have blown it.
And for what?
Thirty minutes of hot, wild, incredible sex? If she had a craving, couldn't she just stick to chocolate?

Still calling herself fifteen different kinds of moron, she crossed to the calendar and counted days. Okay, the pregnancy issue didn't seem to be a problem, but there were other considerations. For one thing, where exactly had Mark Kincaid been putting his handsome self? For another, even if her body got through this unscathed, what about her emotional well-being? One-night stands went against everything she believed in. She prided herself on being a thoughtful, intelligent, organized woman who made informed choices. She hadn't gotten through all the hell of the past few years by jumping into bed with every pretty face who asked.

Why had she allowed a juvenile crush on her good-looking neighbor to overwhelm her good sense? And what was she supposed to say to him the next time she saw him?

*

Darcy turned off the alarm two minutes before it was scheduled to go off. She stared at the time.
Four fifty-eight
. She figured she'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep the whole night. Worry and self-recrimination had kept her
awake
most of the time. When she had finally dozed off, she'd found herself dreaming about her close encounter with her sexy neighbor. The sensation of him kissing his way up her thighs had been enough to jerk her into consciousness.

Her eyes burned, her eyelids felt swollen and even her hair hurt. She groaned as she forced herself into a sitting position. It was going to be a long day.

Cold water on her face and a vigorous teeth-brushing didn't make her feel any better. Normally she waited until she was at the Hip Hop to have coffee, but this morning she needed an emergency infusion. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would jump-start her body. She pulled on her ratty terry-cloth robe and stumbled into the kitchen.

After flipping on lights and hunting up the coffee-maker, she dug out a filter and coffee,
then
set about making magic. She'd just turned on the machine when there was a soft tap at her back door.

Darcy froze. She knew she hadn't imagined the sound. She also had a really good idea of who would
come
calling at five in the morning, although she couldn't figure out why. Then she pictured herself – her hair sticking out at odd angles, her skin pale as chalk, her shabby blue robe that would have disappeared instantly into the throw- out pile should she ever try to give it to charity.

Perfect. This was so exactly how she
wan
-
ted
to start her day.

Trying – and failing – to find humor in the situation, she walked to the back door and cautiously peeked outside. Sure enough Detective Mark Kincaid stood there, his handsome self dressed in sweats that should have looked horrible but instead made her mouth water. She opened the door.

"Did you have an appointment?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He smiled. Instantly her heart jumped into her throat and her ability to form whole sentences dove for her toes. It was not a pleasant sensation.

"I've been watching your house, waiting for you to wake up," he said, sliding past her and entering the kitchen. "I figured you'd have to get up early."

She closed the door and pulled her robe more tightly around herself. "Okay. I'm up and you're here. Why?"

Instead of answering, he pulled her against him. She had absolutely no warning and no way to stop his mouth from settling against hers. She told herself to protest, or at the very least, not to melt. Her body didn't listen. Instead of pushing him away, her arms wrapped around him and held on as tightly as his. Instead of yelling out a complaint, her mouth simply softened, then parted to admit him. She went from numb to alive in .8 seconds. He was better than a double latte.

He tasted of mint and coffee, a surprisingly pleasant combination. The fingers of one hand tangled in her messy hair while his other hand rested on her rear. She felt herself both heating and readying, as if they were going to make love this morning. Right here in her kitchen. Was that more or less tacky than the sofa?

"Wait one darn minute!"

She managed to gather a few threads of common sense and shove him away. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on his face, knowing that if she looked down she would see visual proof of what she'd just felt against her stomach.

He swore softly. "Darcy, I'm sorry. That's not why I'm here." He half turned from her. "I really wanted to talk about last night."

"There's nothing to say."

"Sure there is."

He looked at her and she noticed that while he'd shaved, he hadn't showered. He looked rumpled and too sexy for words. At that moment, she would have sold her soul to be with him. Fortunately, no one
ap
-
peared
with a contract and she was able to at least
act
disinterested.

He stared into her eyes. "About two this morning I realized I'd been completely irresponsible."

Oh. That. "I know." She folded her arms over her chest. "We're both old enough to know better. I can't believe I had unprotected sex."