Holiday Heat (2 page)

“It’s late.
I’ll walk with you.”

“What if I
don’t
want
you to walk with me?”

He raised his
eyebrows. “Do you mind if I walk in the same general direction as you for the
next few minutes?”

She couldn’t
help but smother a laugh at his dry tone. “I guess I can bear it. Did you just
happen to stop in here?”

“No. I knew you
worked here.” At her expression, he clarified, “I haven’t stalked you or
anything. I just saw you come here after the session last week and made note of
it.”

“Why did you
make note of it?”

“You’re
gorgeous. Why wouldn’t I notice?”

To her
annoyance, she blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed that
way. Looking at the sidewalk beneath her feet, she said, “I’m hardly gorgeous.”
She thought she was pretty enough—tall and slim with dark hair and eyes—but
never in her life had she been the girl the cool guys fell for.

Henry hadn’t
been extraordinary in any way—except his heart.

“Maybe I
disagree.”

She felt
confused, shy, and vaguely pleased. She had no idea what to say. “Okay. So
what’s your point?”

“My point was
just to explain why I noticed where you worked and why I showed up there
tonight.”

“Why
did
you
show up?” They’d reached the door to her building, so she stopped outside.

He gave a
half-shrug. “Other than the fact that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever
met, I have no idea.”

He seemed to
mean what he said, and it made her flush hotly. “I thought you said a real
relationship would be impossible for you.”

“It is,” he
admitted

“It is for me
too. Right now, anyway.”

They looked at
each other for a minute, and Carrie felt another tug of interest, this one
lower than her belly.

He was
unbelievably attractive—masculine and lean and strong and intense and scarred
and deep. So deep she might drown in him.

Her body
tightened at the idea of sinking into his depths in the most visceral way.

“I’m not
inviting you upstairs,” she said, although she was sorely tempted.

“Okay.” His
gaze had heated up, and she knew he was thinking about sex.

It made her
think about sex too.

The only man
she’d ever had sex with was Henry, and their lovemaking had always been sweet,
tender, and safe.

Matt wasn’t
sweet, tender, or safe—in any way.

Even
considering the possibility was rash. And thoughtless. And stupid. And potentially
dangerous.

She’d only met
this man twice. She never would have done such a crazy thing last year.

But she wasn’t
that girl anymore.

She heard
herself saying, “There’s a motel down the block.”

His eyes got
even hotter. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why not?
I think we understand each other. And I want to do something…to
be
someone different.”

He leaned down
toward her until his lips were just a glance away from hers. Her breath
quickened, and her stomach did a couple of flip-flops. “We definitely
understand each other,” he murmured, just before he kissed her. “It will be
like a really good cup of coffee.”

She was dazed
by the intensity of her attraction, so it took a minute before she caught the
reference. Then she remembered what he’d said last week at the session.

You filled your
days with pleasurable distractions—when you couldn’t do anything deeper. Like
an interesting conversation or a song you loved. Like a cup of coffee.

Or great sex.

Matt kissed
like he did everything else—intense, completely focused—and it felt a lot like
a cup of coffee. Strong. Dark. Bracing.

And scorching
hot.

Three
months later

It was so hot Carrie felt like
she might suffocate as she slowly awoke.

She sucked in a
deep breath of stifling air and shifted on the lumpy bed. She was vaguely
conscious of the fact that she was naked, lying face down on a well-worn sheet.
The top sheet was draped loosely over her legs, and her hair stuck damply to
the back of her neck.

Something hot
and heavy pressed down across her back.

Carrie shifted
under its weight, but it didn’t move. Sweating and flushed, she groggily
determined that the weight across her back was making her even hotter. She
moaned uncomfortably and shifted again.

“What’s the
matter?” The male voice was low and slurred slightly from sleep.

“Hot.”

“Me too.”

She squirmed
again, trying to dislodge the thing draped across her bare back. Her damp skin
clung to it resiliently.

“Are you having
convulsions over there?” Matt’s voice was dry now and fully alert. He’d obviously
woken up.

“Move your arm.
It’s too hot for touching.”

To her relief,
he adjusted the arm he’d unconsciously slung across her as they slept. Before
she could roll to a cooler spot on the bed, however, he’d moved over and above
her. She felt his lips on the bare skin at the back of her shoulder.

“It’s too hot,”
she whimpered, as he skimmed his lips delicately along her shoulder blade. Then
she sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his teeth graze the ridges of her
spine. But it was sweltering in the stuffy room, distracting her from what
otherwise would have been enjoyable. “God!” she burst out. “Why is it so hot?”

“Because this
fine establishment you chose still has the heat running, even though it’s over
seventy outside.

Carrie groaned,
both from discomfort and from a ripple of pleasure at the way he was trailing
kisses down her back. “It’s ridiculous,” she grumbled, arching up to raise her
head and try to catch her breath. “We can’t even open a window in this dump.
It’s like
hell
.”

“That’s what
happens when you pay only thirty-seven dollars for a room.”

His mouth had
reached the small of her back now. Every spot he kissed was deliciously cool
for a moment—until the moisture from his mouth dried. Then her skin blazed with
heat once again.

“I would have
chosen a different hotel,” he added. “One with adequate temperature controls.”

“Don’t be
snotty.
You’re
the eccentric artist who doesn’t show his face in public
anymore.”

“I can manage
to find a decent hotel room without announcing my presence to the whole city.”

Carrie sniffed,
having no response to his comment. She hadn’t gotten this room to preserve his
privacy, after all.

“You know
what’s hot?” he asked, the timbre of his voice altering as he slid his lips
even farther down her back.

She grunted her
inquiry, torn between oppressive heat and building desire, spurred on by the
husky note in his voice.

“This curve
here,” Matt murmured, grazing his fingertips along the dip just where her back
met her ass. “It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He followed his light
caress with a line of kisses.

Carrie shivered
in response. “You’ve clearly been isolated too long, if that sort of thing
turns you on.

He chuckled
deliciously as he squeezed the soft flesh of her bottom, pushing the sheet off
her all the way.

“Don’t be
getting any ideas,” she added. “It’s too hot for any more sex.” Despite her
words, she was squirming now with something other than discomfort.

“Such a
condition doesn’t exist.” He massaged her shoulders and back with a sensuous
touch that made her moan.

Her cheeks
blazing, she mumbled, “I think I’m going to melt.”

“No objections
here.”

Matt raised her
hips with strong, experienced hands and then explored between her legs. She was
wet and ready for him, and she gasped with pleasure as two fingers penetrated
her.

He stroked her
with his fingers for a minute, until Carrie was shaking with desire and
frustration. “Damn it, Matt,” she rasped. “It’s not enough. I want
you
.”

“No objections
here.” His voice was thicker now than it had been when he’d said those same
words just a moment before. Even though she hadn’t turned her head to look at
him, she knew he was aroused. Just as aroused as she was.

He straddled
her thighs and teased her entrance with the tip of his erection. Carrie’s cheek
was pressed down against the mattress, and her eyes squeezed shut as the
sensations flooded her body with new waves of heat.

“Damn it,
Matt,” she gritted out. Then she said his name again on a taken breath as he
finally entered her.

He pushed into
her slowly, and her body both clung and resisted the intrusion. When he’d
buried himself inside her, he held himself perfectly still, his body braced on
straightened arms and his hands splayed against the mattress on either side of
her.

Carrie could
hear his quickened breathing, feel his hot presence, a simmering energy barely
reined in. As always, it spoke to her, compelled her, ignited an answering fire
inside her.

She lay still,
indulging the erotic tension of the moment, the two of them joined in the most
intimate of ways, poised on the edge between desire and action.

Then she
released her breath in a low moan as he started to move—not in long thrusts but
in a rhythmic rocking, pushing his hips forward against her bottom.

She was limited
by her position on her stomach, but she matched his motion as best she could,
fisting her hands in the sheet and trying to breathe through her rising heat
and pleasure.

The room was
quiet except for their loud, choppy breathing and the shameless squeaking of
the bed.

When an orgasm
coiled tight at her center, Carrie whimpered, her body shuddering
uncontrollably. “Faster, Matt. Harder. I need it harder.”

“Yeah.” His
voice was breathless, and he adjusted his position behind her. “Yeah.”

He intensified
his motion, and the resulting sensations pushed Carrie over the edge. Her body
tightened around him as she rode out the orgasm, and she heard a rough
exclamation from Matt in response.

Before she’d
fully come down, he pulled out, still hard, and turned her over onto her back.
For the first time since she’d awakened, she looked up at him.

His skin was
flushed, and he was perspiring just as much as she was. He kept his hair
cropped close but didn’t shave every day, so he had about the same amount of
hair on his head as on his jaw. His expression was deliciously tense, and his
blue eyes were hot and hungry as they raked over her red face, messy hair, and
naked body.

To hide the
strange flash of possessiveness awakened by the sight of him, Carrie scowled.
“Hey! I barely had time to enjoy coming.”

He arched one
eyebrow. “You only have yourself to blame. If you weren’t quite so hot and
tight, I wouldn’t risk losing it every time you come.” His voice was dry, but
his words left her blazing with pleasure just the same.

“Nothing’s
wrong with losing it. And I don’t like when you yank yourself out. I like
having you inside me when I come.”

An almost
predatory smile appeared on his face. “Then we’ll have to try it again.”

Matt pulled her
thighs apart and then positioned himself at her entrance again, this time
settling securely between her legs. She arched her spine as he pushed into her
once more. Her channel was tighter now from her climax, and the sensations were
intense.

She wrapped her
legs around his middle, trying to get them higher so he’d sink into her more
deeply. In response, he bucked his hips against hers a few time, his face
twisting.

“Good?” she
asked, trying for a teasing smile.

“You have no
idea.”

His thick,
erotic words silenced them as they both focused on their motion—tense,
increasingly urgent, almost primitive.

Carrie clawed
lines down his back and pumped her hips as another orgasm developed inside her.
She gasped as sweat collected at the edges of her hair and between her breasts.

Her gasps
changed to urgent whimpers as their rhythm intensified even more. The cheap
mattress was squeaking loudly.

It was so hard
to believe. Carrie Morgan—always a good girl—screwing Matthew Lynch like an
animal in a cheap motel.

The knowledge
that this person was her,
her
, finally pushed her into another climax.

“Oh fuck,” Matt
bit out, his lips going white with tension as he froze above her. Then his hips
jerked clumsily as he came.

He collapsed on
her afterwards, his weight pressing her into the mattress until she finally
squirmed beneath him. “Too hot.”

He rolled off
her with only a mild grumble. They lay side by side then, staring at each other
and occasionally wiping some of the sweat off their skin.

“God, that was
good,” Carrie said, when she had breath enough to form a sentence.

“Definitely.”
His voice sounded cool and composed, but she checked his face. He looked just
as worn out as she was from their exertions. His skin appeared tightly
stretched over his well-chiseled features, and his face was soaking wet.

“Why is it so
hot in December?” she wailed, forcing herself past a faintly tender pull at the
sight of his sated eyes and relaxed body.

“Heat wave.
Some sort of tropical front. It’s moving up the east coast, from—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Matt’s lips
quirked at her grumpy tone, but he didn’t continue his discourse on the
unseasonable December weather.

She shouldn’t
enjoy his company so much. She shouldn’t like him. She certainly shouldn’t
trust him with her body—or anything else.

There was no
future with him. He’d told her the first night they met that a real
relationship was impossible for him, and nothing about that had changed.

Being with him
wasn’t anything like being with Henry. It didn’t feel safe and familiar, even
after three months. She had no delusions about a future with Matt. She never
would have had sex with him at all if there had been any possibility of a
future.

“Next time,
I’ll pick the hotel,” he said, his eyes resting on her with a gaze that was
almost soft.

“No, I told you
before. When you’re involved in a sleazy affair, then you pick a motel that’s
appropriate for the occasion.”

He cocked an
eyebrow, obviously amused. “Is that what we’re doing? Having a sleazy affair?”

“Of course.”

“Neither one of
us is married. I’m not sure ‘affair’ is the correct term.”

“Of course it
is. You don’t have to be married to have an affair. It just needs to be
secret.” No one knew that Carrie was regularly screwing Matthew Lynch, and she
intended to keep it that way.

“I see.” He
looked eminently unconvinced. And still amused. And definitely superior.

“Don’t be an
ass.” When he opened his mouth to respond, she spoke over him. “You know
exactly what ass-like behavior I’m referring to.”

Since that
first night, they’d gotten together at least once a week for sex, although
recently they’d been getting together more often.

Matt was her
hot secret. Her shameless indulgence. Everyone thought she was quiet and
withdrawn—keeping to herself, working in her coffee shop, never taking risks.
No one would dream she’d have a casual affair with a gorgeous, notorious,
wounded artist.

She knew she’d
have to let him go eventually—you didn’t have sex indefinitely with a man you
could never be in a real relationship with.  She assumed eventually she’d be
ready for a real relationship. But not yet.

“What is it?”
Matt asked. His vivid eyes were knowing and astute. Sometimes she wondered how
far inside her soul they could see.

“Nothing.”

“Feeling guilty
about your sleazy affair?” he asked with light irony.

His question
was perceptive—just shy of the truth—and it left her feeling a little uneasy.
To hide her response, she raised her eyebrows. “I thought you said ‘affair’
wasn’t the appropriate word.”

He chuckled and
reached over to skim his fingers along her back again, lingering on the spot
he’d admired before—the deep curve and dip just above her bottom.

She watched him
in silence. He was looking at her body with an expression that was both amused
and strangely hungry. His coloring had evened out, although he was still wet
with perspiration. Her eyes dipped from his face to his chest, and she couldn’t
help but notice the lines of faint scars there. There were a lot of them. And
more on his arms. Plus the two deep ones on the side of his head.

He’d barely
survived that car accident two years ago.

Matt’s body
wasn’t perfect—wasn’t flawless and invulnerable. His muscle development was
lean, masculine, and efficient, but he wasn’t a body-builder. And he was
scarred. Scarred so deeply. Scarred in so many ways.

“Why don’t you
have any tattoos?” she asked, trying to drag herself away from the soft
feelings her reflections had prompted.

“Why would I
have tattoos?”

“I don’t know.
You seem like the kind of guy who would have tattoos. You’ve got that hard
edge, you know.”

He chuckled.
“When an activity is so common that college kids do it when they’re drunk, I
think it’s time to admit that the activity has lost its edge.”

She burst into
giggles when the words processed. Sometime in the last three months, she’d
learned how to laugh again—although she couldn’t really pinpoint when it had
happened.

“You’re not
that much older than college kids, you know. You shouldn’t sound so superior.”

“If you say
so.”

Still smiling,
she reached over to stroke his chest, her hand gliding over the smoothly
rippling muscles and scattering of coarse hair.