Out of Her League (11 page)

“So you don’t deny you were trying to get
him to take a swing at you?”

“I admit to nothing, Attorney Price.”

She laughed, her head thrown back, and
Lachlan almost tripped over his own feet. For the first time that night his
words abandoned him. He couldn’t stop smiling, though, as they walked the short
distance to her building.

He was surprised when she steered them
around to the back of her complex.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Mike’s not on duty at this hour,” she said,
which wasn’t really an answer.

“So you don’t go through the lobby?”

“Nope. I don’t really know the night or
weekend doormen. They’ve been hard to talk to. So,” she said with a shrug.

Lachlan frowned, unconsciously pulling his
arm and Michaela in closer.

The back door to her building was poorly
lit on a quiet street, and led to a dim hallway by the elevators. Normally he
would leave her at the door—the
front
door—but he didn’t love the idea
of leaving her here. It wasn’t like she didn’t come and go this way all the
time, he was sure, but he said he’d get her safely home, and this didn’t meet
the standard.

“Can I walk you to your apartment?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She shrugged, but was smiling, so he didn’t
think he’d overstepped. “Okay. Though if I’d known I’d have company, I wouldn’t
have dragged you back here.”

“What,” he said, grinning, “you don’t sneak
all your dates in through the back door?” Which—wait, shit—that made it sound
like he thought this was a date.

“
What
dates?” she asked, hitting the
elevator call button harder than was strictly necessary.

He frowned. “No luck with men here in
Beantown, then?” he asked, wondering if was possible for him to sound more like
a giant dork, or possibly his dad.

Michaela laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness.
“No. No dates.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure
what exactly he was apologizing for.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just touchy about it.”

“Dating?”

“Or rather the lack thereof,” she said dryly,
stepping into the elevator.

He had to be missing something, because
seriously. “I can’t imagine it’s hard for you to find a date.”

“Yeah, no. I’m sure I could find plenty of
dates. But try dating anyone when everyone on the planet has seen you having
sex. Or could, with one easy internet search.”

“That doesn’t mean they would. Or will. Or
have.” He made a face at himself.

“I guess,” she conceded, then shook her
head. “But I can never be sure of their motivations. Maybe they like me. Or
maybe they like my face. Or fame. Or notoriety. I get lewd comments all the
time from complete strangers. And even lewder offers. How do I know the guys
who ask me out aren’t just thinking the same things, but have enough control to
keep them inside? One guy I went on a date with ended up admitting he’d only
done it for the bragging rights. I think he thought I’d be
flattered
. And
he wasn’t even the worst. There are a whole lot of guys that seem to think it’s
okay to touch me, and not in the usual date kind of way. Like being the
unwitting participant in a sex tape makes me, what? Public property or
something?” She shuddered. “You can’t believe what people think they know about
me. The liberties they try to take and the things they're convinced I’ll want
to do. It’s made dating, let alone having sex, too…”

“Hard?”

“Scary. Almost impossible, really.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling wholly
inadequate, because what she’d described was a nightmare. An infuriating
nightmare.

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s just hard to
figure out who’s real and who isn’t, you know?”

He didn’t know. Not really. He couldn’t
imagine what it was like to live like that. But he could certainly respect her
hesitation.

“I should warn you,” Michaela said as they stepped
off the elevator on her floor. “Fang is going to want to make sure you know
who’s boss.”

“
Fang?”

Her smile widened. “You’ll see.”

She put her key in the lock and immediately
a barrage of high-pitched barks echoed from inside the apartment, followed by
the door shuddering—very, very gently.

“He sounds ferocious,” Lachlan said in a very
serious voice, pleased that it made Michaela giggle. In truth, Fang sounded
like he would fit in Lachlan’s pocket.

Which, it turned out, was about right. The
moment the door opened, a little ball of fluff and attitude flung itself at
Michaela’s legs, then spun on Lachlan.

“Oh my god, what
is
that?” he asked.

Michaela shushed her dog, who obeyed
immediately and planted his butt on her toes. He looked up at her adoringly,
then turned back to Lachlan and lifted his tiny little lip, revealing an even
tinier little fang.

Lachlan was horrified to find it so
adorable.

“This,” Michaela said, “is my little
protector. The best thing you can do is just ignore him for now.”

Lachlan nodded, uncertain that would really
work, given the way Fang was staring at him like he wanted to gnaw on Lachlan’s
Achilles tendon like a Milkbone wrapped in bacon. He stepped into Michaela’s apartment
carefully, worried he would crush the tiny creature circling his feet. Lachlan
was pretty sure that would get him kicked back out again pretty quickly.

Michaela dropped her bag on a side table.
“Can I get you anything?”

He hadn’t come upstairs with any intention
of staying, but now his brain was sort of stuck on what she’d said.

“You know
I’m
real, right?” he asked
her, trying to gauge her expression in spite of his limited skills in that
department.

She smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

And that certainly looked like the truth,
which was maybe how he found the courage to ask his next question.

“So, do you want to have sex?”

Michaela let out a huff of incredulous laughter.
“
What
?”

“Do you want to have sex?” he repeated, articulating
each word as if the issue might possibly be her hearing instead of him asking her
a fucking insane question out of left field.

“Like, again? Ever?”

He frowned and said, “Well, yes, that,” but
she got the sense that wasn’t really what he’d meant.

Michaela bit her lip. He was probably just
curious, right? This was how his gigantic and often-confusing mind operated. He
was always trying to puzzle out how people worked, why they did what they did,
and so often the answers were a mystery to him. She suspected that, at the root
of it, this was why he got so flustered around women.

“I miss it,” she admitted, trying to reconcile
herself to having this conversation with Lachlan Morrison, of all people. “But
not so much that I’m willing to change what I’ve been doing.”

“Which is to not have sex at all,” he stated
baldly.

She tried not to cringe. “Lately? Yes.” At
least not with other people.

“But what if you could have sex?”

“How?” Because if he had some idea, some
plan for vetting the creeps and users from the rest, she was all ears.

“With me.”

Michaela’s mind went completely blank. “Buuhh—I
beg your pardon?”

“We could have sex.”

“What
now?
” she asked, because he
couldn’t possibly mean—there was no way he was saying—he didn’t mean
they
could have sex
, did he?

“Yes, now, if you want. Though maybe just a
little, since I’m still gross from hockey,” he said, utterly sincerely, gesturing
at himself apologetically.

“Maybe just a little…” Michaela repeated
and laughed, all kind of breathless and only slightly hysterical. “Okay,
Lachlan, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

He jerked back. “I would never have asked
you to have sex if either of us were intoxicated.”

And he just sounded so earnest. So
offended.
A giggle escaped her before she could force it back. “Oh my god, you would
never
ask me to have sex with you at all.”

“I just did!” he said, exasperated.

“But you didn’t
mean
it.”

“I didn’t
mean
it?”

“You’re not even attracted to me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m
attracted to you. I just told you so in my office a few hours ago. You’re
stunning and funny and until
this very moment
, you’ve been incredibly
intelligent. How could I
not
be attracted to you?”

“But—” Michaela croaked, because this
couldn’t possibly make sense. “You can
talk
to me.”

“I can talk to you,” he repeated flatly.
“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You talk to me, now. That means you’re
over it.”

“I’m over it? You think that I—” Lachlan
snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not attracted to me,
that’s okay. You can just tell me.”

She grabbed his arm to stop him from
stepping away. “What? No, that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked,
apparently bewildered.

And she had to hand it to him—this was the
strangest proposition she’d ever received, and she’d had some real beauties
come her way.

“There is no problem—” she began.

“Good.”

She only had a moment to think
he’s not
really going to
—before
Lachlan fucking Morrison
was kissing her. Michaela
didn’t move. Didn’t respond at all. She was too stunned, trying to wrap her
head around the fact that Lachlan, a man she regularly made mute just by
teasing him, who used to freeze up and stammer when she smiled, was
making
the first move.

And he was doing a damn fine job of it, too.

His soft, warm lips teased hers gently. Just
a taste. And she wondered at how one kiss, or maybe the brush of his nose along
hers, of the trail of fingers down her arm, could set her heart racing like
this.

He eased back and studied her face. “Okay?”

Okay?
She blinked
up at him and thought she probably ought to know the answer to that question. Some
part of her brain sent up a tiny little flag, warning her that this had to be a
bad idea, but damned if she could come up with a single reason why right now.
And, actually, she wasn’t sure she’d care much about those reasons later,
either.

So, yeah, she supposed she was perfectly
okay.

Lachlan’s steady gaze never wavered. He
wasn’t nervous. Or concerned. He was just holding himself perfectly still. And
waiting.

A shiver worked down her spine. His
confidence in this, of all moments, was more alluring than even his ridiculously
handsome face or broad shoulders. Though those held plenty of appeal, too, of
course.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands, skimming
her thumbs across his cheekbones and tugging him toward her. A smile lit his
face, just a flash of teeth and a sparkle in his eyes, then he was kissing her
again. The tease and drag of his lips was hypnotic and she swayed against him,
leaning into him as he slowly, carefully, lit her up inside.

God, how she’d missed this. How she’d ached
for the thrill of a simple kiss without wondering what the other person was
really getting out of it. Without questioning
why
they wanted to kiss
her.

Lachlan’s almost clinical proposition was
so refreshingly and horribly unromantic, so honest, that he had disarmed her.
She had no defense against his earnest compliments, almost resentfully given
because of how she affected him.

His tongue traced her lips and she opened
to him, licking into his mouth, their tongues meeting and tangling with equal
aggression. He tasted of beer and smelled faintly of the sweat still clinging
to his skin after the game, and it was a hundred times more intoxicating than
the rich colognes her previous lovers had favored. He smelled like a man, not
the perfume counter at Macy’s. He smelled
real.

She tilted her head and delved deeper, her
hands running up into his soft hair. She adored how he didn’t give an inch,
while his groan of approval pushed her on to take and touch and taste what she
wanted.

He met and matched her, his hands running
over her body, the fingers of one hand finally anchoring into her hip, pulling
her closer even as she arched to be there anyway. Her breasts ached against the
rough lace of her bra as their chests pressed together, so close now that the
angle of the kiss was awkward until he wrapped her long hair around his fist, tilting
her chin higher with a gentle tug that that made her knees so weak.

Shuddering, she slid her arms over the
thick muscles of his shoulders and around his neck. She had to, just to hold
herself up, because Dr. Snorrison was kissing her senseless.

And damn him, he
knew
it, too, based
on the low, knowing chuckle shaking his chest and buzzing against her lips. Her
knees wobbled again and he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to pull her
weight against his chest.

She murmured against his mouth—a question
or approval, even she didn’t know—as he walked them backward, hips bumping and
feet very nearly tangled. She wondered where the hell he was taking her, and if
she even cared, until her shoulders hit the wall and their bodies plastered
full-length together.

Their kiss died when she gasped and he let out
a long, low groan.

This was everything she’d felt when he’d
hugged her, times a thousand. Everything she’d missed, and needed so badly. The
wash of relief was disorienting, a tension she’d carried for so long drained
from her, finally appeased, even as her pulse sped and heat pooled in her belly
and new longings and long-forgotten aches bloomed to life. She wanted to thank
him. To wrap her legs around his waist and pull him closer still. To shove him
away and make him promise to never offer her things she was no longer allowed
to have.

But she
was
allowed. Here. Now. She
could have this with him.

She laughed, breathless and happy, and felt
the responding curl of his lips against the sensitive skin under her jaw. She
tilted her head back, encouraging him to explore and further ruin any attempt
to catch her breath.

She ached with the hope that she’d
extinguished years ago, that she could be really and truly
touched
like
this. By someone she trusted. This was not just some stranger, some man she
barely knew, but someone she could be herself with.

Gripping his hair, she brought his mouth
back to hers, kissing him once, briefly, before pressing their foreheads
together.

“Thank you,” she whispered, realizing only
after it had left her mouth that he might not understand that she was thanking
him for so much more than just a kiss.

Not that she wasn’t
extremely
grateful
for that, too.

He shifted, pinning her hips to the wall
with his, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who was delighted to be here.
She squirmed, temptation pressed right against her belly in the shape of a
long, hard cock.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, a slow,
wicked smile on his face.

 Her brain made a valiant effort to go
offline as she stared at him, because Jesus fucking Christ, that was hot, but
she forced the words from her lips, an attempt at an explanation. “No, but, not
just for—”

He kissed her again, stopping her
explanation. “
I know,
” he said against her lips, his voice little more
than a rasp.

She arched against him and tugged his hair,
still clenched in her fingers, until she could capture his mouth again. She
reveled in the slow, heavy throb consuming her body. Every inch of her skin
prickled with heat, her blood humming, rushing to nipples and clit and all the
swelling parts that cried out for more. One of his legs slid between hers and
she ground against it shamelessly, firing off shocks of pleasure that zipped up
her spine with every twist of her hips and left her skirt rumpled around her
hips.

She nudged her bare thigh against the rigid
bulge beneath his soft jeans, and he ended their kiss with a gasp. She practically
purred with satisfaction when sucked in a huge, shaky breath. She wanted to
undo him as thoroughly as she’d been undone.

“God, you feel good,” he murmured against
her lips. He trailed his mouth across her cheek, her jaw, nibbling and sucking
and licking as he went. She tilted her head back so he could do what he wanted,
reach wherever he wanted to go. His hands curled around her hips, yanking her
closer, so that she rode his thigh fully, her feet barely touching the floor.

He nosed along the shell of her ear and
sucked her lobe into his mouth, making her gasp his name.

“That’s it. I want to hear it. I want you
to tell me what you want. How you want it.”

She whimpered, unable to form words as he
sucked the skin at the point where her neck met her shoulder. Had some
self-preservation instinct made her forget how good this felt? She clutched at
his shoulders, his hair, holding him against her while he sought out and
conquered a dozen spots she hadn’t known would drive her crazy. By the time he dipped
his tongue into the dent between her clavicles, she was unable to stop the
high, desperate whines escaping her throat.

“Shhh...” he murmured against her skin, pressing
soothing kisses up her neck, then diving back in for another deep kiss.

God, how was he so good at this? She was
hardly aware of the hand coasting up her side until he cupped her breast in his
hand, his palm firm against her aching nipple. She pushed against that
pressure, wanting more, wanting his mouth there, too. Needing relief.

His other hand rubbed her back, from waist
to shoulder, until it came to rest against the nape of her neck. He sucked her
lower lip into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. “Can I take your dress off?”

It should be too much. Too soon, too fast.
But it wasn’t, and she wanted it. She liked that he’d asked. She
loved
that he sounded wrecked.

“Yes,” she said in a low whisper.

He kissed her again, his thumb stroking
across the sensitive curve of her breast, then pinching her nipple against the
side of his hand.

She jerked, tugging the aching tip free, which
was so great and, yet, terrible because it had
stopped
. “God, please. Do
that again
.
”

His hand ran the length of her back again
and again. “Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do anything you want. You
just have to tell me—how the fuck do I get this dress off?”

Michaela groaned and laughed, her head
falling back against the wall. Just her luck. “It’s a side zipper. It’s…fuck,
it’s really complicated.” And an absolute pain in the ass to get out of. She silently
swore she’d never wear it in Lachlan’s presence again.

Lachlan stared down at her breasts, and,
presumably, the offending dress, like it was a battle he was determined to win.
Even a guy smart enough to get a PhD, though, wasn’t going to conquer the dreaded
side zipper.

It should have been funny, but mostly she
wanted to find the nearest pair of scissors.

Before she could suggest such drastic
action, Lachlan grabbed her hips and spun her away. She yelped and barely
managed to keep her feet under her, slapping her hand on the wall to stabilize
herself. Maybe he was trying to get another look at the damn dress, but she
didn’t get out a word of warning about how futile that would be before his
mouth pressed to the nape of her neck, cutting off all thought.

“I can work with this,” he promised in a
low voice that tickled the fine hairs under his lips.

She had no idea what that meant, and she
didn’t much care as his hands slid over her belly, pulling her back until her
ass was cradled by his hips. His cock pressed against her, making her burn for
more. She arched her back, trying to get closer. To feel more.