She's Got the Look (15 page)

She groaned again and spun away, stalking toward the French doors. As she passed the desk, she reached out angrily and slammed the palm of her hand flat on its surface. “I'll put anyone else in first place on my list instead of you. The UPS guy…hell, my landlord! You are
off
my list and
off
my radar. You make me crazy. And I don't
want
anyone who makes me crazy.”

He followed, determined not to let her leave. She'd nearly reached the door but before she could escape outside, she got tangled up in the lacy curtains blowing in on the warm night breeze.

“Honey, stop,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't walk out. Instead, she stayed very still.

Stepping close behind her, he lifted his other hand to her bare arm, stroking up and down. Their bodies were so close he could feel her warmth, could smell the sweetness of her hair and her perfume and her skin. And
her.
“You need someone who makes you crazy,” he said, his voice downright hungry. “Someone who makes you wild and insane.”

She said nothing. But the tenseness in her arm and shoulder began to disappear. She leaned back, slightly, almost imperceptibly. Just close enough that her back touched his chest and her hair slid across his cheek. Her sweetly curved ass brushed ever so lightly against his groin.

He hissed. And she whimpered. He pushed closer. And she pushed back. Then all restraints were gone. Simply…gone.

“Nick,” she moaned. It sounded like a plea.

“Shh.” He lowered his hands, twining his fingers with her hand and sliding his other arm around her waist. Pressing his palm flat against her belly, he tugged her closer, tighter, savoring the softness of her body against his. Unable to wait any longer, he bent and sampled the fragrant skin on the side of her neck. Breathing deeply of her scent, he scraped his tongue up to her pulse point, then nibbled on her earlobe.

“If it's any consolation, you drive me crazy, too,” he admitted as she arched back, offering him more.

He continued kissing her, bending farther to taste her throat. Letting his hand slide down her front, he brushed tantalizingly close to where he
so
wanted to touch her, and tugged her even tighter against him.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered, obviously feeling the way his body was reacting to their embrace.

“See?” he growled. “Crazy. Insane.”

“Yes, I see.” Melody reached up and behind her to loop one arm around his neck. Her hips thrust back gently, almost reflexively, as if seeking the touch he hinted at.

And oh, how he wanted to give it to her.

As if sensing they were nearing a much more intimate encounter—and
wanting
it—Melody reached out and pushed the French door shut with a click, then adjusted the drapes to ensure it was covered. That left them secluded, with complete privacy.

Almost desperate to taste her mouth, he took her actions as enough of a sign. Turning her around in his arms, he caught her lips in a carnal, openmouthed kiss. They gasped together, plunging and taking and exploring, all hunger and desperation—not the sweet, languorous desire with which they'd kissed earlier in the garden.

This was sexual. Frenzied.

Their mouths clinging together like they needed to share the air, she thrust his jacket off his shoulders, then grabbed at his tie. Tugging it open, she reached to undo the top buttons of his shirt so she could touch him. The feel of her cool fingers on his chest made him even more frantic, more desperate, and he pushed her toward the desk. When the back of her thighs reached it, she slid up onto it, parting her legs for him to step between them.

Perfect. Because, at this minute, between her legs was exactly where he'd give just about anything to be. His future. His life. His soul.

“Please, please,” she whimpered, arching harder against him as she wrapped one leg around the back of his. Only his pants and whatever she had on under her dress separated them, and he was desperate to be rid of both.

She seemed to feel the same desperation, because she ground against him. Sliding up and down against his bulging erection, she made them both a little crazier, a little hungrier, until they were each groaning in anticipation. She was greedy, using his hard cock to take the kind of touch she most needed, right where she needed it. Her fast, choppy breaths, coming between parted lips, told him she was getting off on just that.

So was he. It was an incredible turn-on. Even through his trousers, he could feel her heat. The need to sink into her, into that tight, sweet wetness, was nearly overwhelming.

But first he wanted to see her come. “Need some help, darlin', or are you doing okay on your own?”

Ignoring him, she panted, arched again, cried out some more and rode him as if he were her favorite vibrating sex toy.

Of all the reasons to be used by a beautiful woman, he had to say this was one of the few good ones.

He definitely, however, wanted to be more involved. Still giving her the pressure she wanted, he began to kiss his way across her cheek and her jaw. “You taste spicy. Like cinnamon. Vanilla. I want to devour you.”

“Oh, my,” she whimpered, scraping her cheek against his face, tilting her head to give him access to her soft neck.

He kissed her there, delicately licking his way down her throat until he could taste that vulnerable hollow. Continuing to inhale deeply, to breathe in her fragrance and her sweetness and her taste, he nibbled his way across her nape, then her shoulder, until he reached the tiny strap of her dress. He carefully nudged it aside, until it fell across her shoulder. One more push and the blue fabric fell away, revealing one perfect, plump breast.

His mouth went dry with want. “Beautiful,” he muttered through a throat that felt too tight to breathe.

Catching her mouth in another deep, wet kiss—where their tongues mated and danced, gave and took—he lifted a hand to her bare breast. She gasped against his lips and arched in response as he cupped her. When he caught her hard, tight nipple between his fingers and rubbed ever so lightly, she began to whimper, to sigh, to beg. “Nick, please…”

Needing to taste her—now—he moved his hand away, replacing it with his mouth. Giving her absolutely no warning, he covered her nipple and sucked quick, hard and deep.

She finally cried out, jerking against him. Grabbing his hair to hold him close, she shuddered, thrust and got what she'd been seeking. As she slid up and down against his erection, shaking with a powerful orgasm that literally rocked her whole body, he thought for a second that he was going to lose it and follow her over that peak. Fortunately, he was no inexperienced kid who couldn't keep himself under control.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she whimpered, still shaking, her breaths choppy and her skin flushed.

She might have reached one milestone, but the race was a long way from over. Having tasted her, he couldn't wait to sample more. To feel more. To touch her as intimately as it was possible to touch a woman. “You taste so good,” he whispered, still licking her, sampling her sweet, tender skin. He sucked and nibbled, knowing by her little coos and whimpers how hard to take it and when to back off. And the pressure began to build again—he sensed it by her cries and the desperate look in her eyes.

Needing more—and knowing she needed it, too—Nick reached for her knee and began stroking upward. Higher. Her legs parted, one lifting to invite further exploration. He slid his hand up that endless, smooth thigh as he continued to roll his tongue over her distended nipple, knowing he could have her coming against his hand within a few more inches.

Nick nearly shook in anticipation of letting his fingers glide to the very top of her leg. Touching her there. And
there.
Exploring all that smooth skin and finally sinking into the hot, wet place where he wanted to completely lose himself, knowing she'd get lost again, too.

Then Melody arched too far back and knocked the phone off the desk. It crashed to the floor, striking the hardwood with a crunch and a tiny ring. The sound was so surprising, so unexpected, that they both froze.

And, at almost the same moment, both realized what had almost happened in their hostess's office.

“Oh, this…you…here?” was all Melody could manage to say as she stared at him, wide-eyed, flushed, with her legs still limp and parted and one gorgeous breast exposed.

“Not here,” he muttered, trying to breathe again. Trying to think. Wondering how far the sound of the phone might have carried down the hall and who might have heard it. “Let's go.”

As if just realizing how revealed she was, Melody yanked at her dress, tugging it over herself. She slid off the desk, shimmying the rest of the blue fabric in place, covering those glorious thighs that he could almost feel wrapped around him.

“Go?”

“You live a lot closer than I do,” he said gruffly. “Let's go. Now. While I think I can keep myself from ripping that dress off you and finishing what we started.”

“We did start something, didn't we?” She sounded dazed.

“Yeah, I'd say we did.” Reaching up, he rebuttoned his shirt and fixed his tie. “I don't want to be a name on a list to you, but damned if I want to wait, either. Not after…this.”

He'd meant the words as a joke. Well, sort of. They'd been entirely true, but he'd meant to bring back that sense of wicked expectation that had gripped them a few moments before, hoping it would give them both the strength to get out of here and go straight to the nearest private place. Like her bedroom.

He should have known better. She deflated at his words, judging by the quiver in her lips and the shakiness of her hands. “How could we have been so stupid,” she whispered.

“Nothing this good can be stupid.” He reached for her, but she ducked away. “Melody, no regrets. You wanted this.”

She nodded, admitting that much. “I did. I wanted it.”

He pressed her. “And you want to finish it.”

“I do.”

He tried hard not to let her see his relief. Finishing with his tie, he tucked his shirt back in, wondering where in the hell his jacket had ended up. Spotting it on the floor, he bent to retrieve it, almost not catching what she said next.

“But I'm not going to finish it, Nick.”

He quickly straightened. “What?”

She swallowed hard. “I can't. If anything, what happened just now proved everything I suspected. It's too much. Sex with you would be
too
good, not the quick, forgettable experience I need to help me get back in the saddle.”

His jaw tightened, but he let her go on.

She laughed bitterly. “Believe me, I know I deserve good sex after three years without it, and part of me says I deserve
you.
But I'm a coward and I'm too screwed up right now to take you.”

“You were doin' fine from where I was looking,” he said, giving her a teasing smile. This had to be cold feet. Had to be. No woman could say no to something she so obviously wanted. So very badly. “I have to say, I kind of liked watching you
take
what you needed.”

Color rose in her face.

“I
cannot
let this happen.”

Before he could say a word—before he could think of a word to say—she spun around and dashed out of the room, taking off down the interior hallway as if she were being chased by a knife-wielding maniac.

Nick stood there, stunned, staring at the door, listening to the click of her heels on the hardwood floors of the house. They got softer as she got farther and farther away. And then they were gone completely.

M
ELODY HAD
erotic dreams for the next couple of nights. Intimate, wicked dreams that woke her from her sleep, leaving her restless and needy. Shaking with desire. Hungry to finish what she and Nick Walker had started at the party.

She needed sex. Needed it badly. Needed it now.

The little gadgets she'd become accustomed to using during the last few passionless years of her marriage wouldn't do a thing for her. Not after the amazing things Nick had made her feel Saturday night in Rosemary's office. Having come so close to getting the real thing—a
lot
of the real thing, judging by the bulge she'd felt behind his zipper—she simply couldn't make do with any substitutes.

It was him or nobody. The real thing, or nothing at all.

She still grew hot and flustered just thinking about what had happened. Melody had always liked sex, but she'd never been a greedy little monster about it. Yet Saturday night, she'd rubbed up against the man like a stripper on a pole. Using him for her own fulfillment, she hadn't much cared whether he was getting off on watching her pleasure herself. Though…he
definitely
appeared to be.

How on earth could she ever face him again?

No faces necessary with certain positions…

“Knock it off, stupid,” she muttered aloud. Thinking about naughty sexual positions with Nick Walker was not going to do anything to get the man out of her head, or relieve the pressure between her legs.

Judging by her bedside clock, it was nearly one in the morning Tuesday, so thinking about him wasn't helping her get to sleep, either.

C.C. and Oscar both heard her mumbling and came slowly walking up from the foot of the bed, where they'd grown accustomed to sleeping since the move to Savannah. She liked having them there, particularly since Bill had been a closet cat-hater who'd shut them out of their room every night. At least, back when they'd shared a room. That had finished
long
before their breakup.

“He does like cats,” she admitted, scratching C.C.'s head and letting Oscar curl up under her neck. “But letting things get that far was still the dumbest thing I've ever done.”

The cats just mewed, probably wondering why she'd woken them up at this time of night. “Make that the
second
dumbest thing I've ever done. Marrying Bill, that was number one. But starting things with Nick…
not
finishing things with Nick…oh, hell, I don't know which is worse!”

Nick didn't seem to be much happier about the way they'd left things. He'd called three times over the past few days. She'd ignored the calls and let her machine pick up. The first time he'd sounded almost…well, she'd say
hurt
if she'd been talking about anyone but a big, hunky cop. He'd wanted to know why she'd walked out, and what she planned to do now.

His second call had been flirtatious. Tempting. When he'd told her answering machine that he could still lick his lips and taste her nipple there, she almost came out of her chair and dove for the phone.

The third call, at around ten o'clock Monday night—a few hours ago—had been challenging. He'd nearly ordered her to admit how she felt. To stop hiding behind things like her divorce and a stupid joke sex list and be true to what she really wanted.

She'd been weakening after call two, but call three had strengthened her resolve. Taking what she wanted would be a very dangerous thing. Hadn't Saturday night proved that? Lord have mercy, she'd barely been able to breathe for ten minutes after she'd left Nick standing in Rosemary's office, all rumpled, disheveled, aroused and sexier than any man had the right to be.

That had been after some wildly unexpected foreplay. What if they ever actually made love? Well, she had the feeling the memories would interfere with more than a few nights' sleep. They could interfere with her whole life.

No. As desperate as she was for some mind-blowing sex, she couldn't have it. Not with Nick Walker, anyway. Not when having him would mean throwing her tangled emotions, already so raw and vulnerable, into an even wilder frenzy.

All that made perfect sense. It was the right thing to do and she meant every word. In her conscious hours, with her wits about her, when she was dressed in regular clothes, not a silky short nightie that scraped ever so delicately across the tops of her thighs like a lover's fingers, she would have been strong enough to resist.

But it was late. And it was hot. And her skin ached. And her body was so damn empty.

So when the phone rang—not surprising her, despite the late hour—she couldn't find the strength to ignore it. Somehow, her erotic mood made talking to Nick on the phone not merely acceptable…it made it wickedly desirable.

She almost didn't even realize she was reaching out when she closed her eyes and picked up the receiver. “You just don't give up, do you?” she answered, her voice thick and throaty, slow and sleepy.

He didn't say anything, probably surprised she'd picked up the phone, since she'd avoided his calls for two days.

“You're ruining my sleep, you know. I can't stop thinking about…everything.”

Still nothing. Silence. Thick and mysterious. Sultry.

She laughed softly. “Okay, you can talk to my machine, but you can't talk to me? I thought I was going to be the one who'd be embarrassed. You do know how to confuse me, don't you?”

The silence continued. Only now it was interrupted by a rhythmic sound…an airy sound. Breathing. In. Out. Again. Pause.

A frisson of concern crawled up her spine. “Say something.”

The sound continued, growing deeper, steadier. What had just a moment ago somehow sounded erotic suddenly scraped across her nerves, heightening her instincts and making her tense up. “Okay, I'm not kidding. Say something, please.”

Still nothing. And now her uncertainty turned into fear. “This isn't funny. I want to know who this is. Right now.”

The breathing now mingled with a funny sound, which she quickly identified as a little moan.

That was enough for Melody. Her heart racing, she shot up in the bed and slammed the receiver back into its cradle. C.C. and Oscar looked up at her curiously, but she couldn't console them. She wasn't sure she could console herself. Her breathing became ragged and her heart tapped a crazy, staccato beat.

Snapping her bedside light on, she quickly scanned the caller ID on her phone. The last call, from a few minutes ago, had been from an unidentified number. Remembering when each of Nick's calls had come in, she checked the listing and saw they'd all been from the same cellular phone.

So maybe this last time he called from home.

She hoped so. God, she hoped so. Because the thought that Bill was once again going to get his kicks by tormenting her with late-night phone calls or, even worse, unexpected visits was almost more than she could stand.

The thought of waiting for the phone to ring again drove her crazy. So almost without thinking about it, she dialed the cell number—
Nick's
cell number.

“Walker,” he mumbled after the fourth ring, sounding as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep.

Damn. He apparently
wasn't
the heavy breather.

“Hello?” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“Melody?” His voice was suddenly more alert. “Is that you?”

“It's me.” She cleared her throat. “I'm so sorry I woke you. I just had a…a call. I thought it might be you, but you were obviously asleep. Weren't you? It
wasn't
you, was it?” Knowing he probably heard the hopeful note in her voice, she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, it wasn't me. I called earlier, but I've been asleep for…what time is it, anyway?”

She couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice. “It's a little after one. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“Don't worry about it. What did the caller say?”

“Nothing,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Just heavy breathing, like before.”

“Before?” He instantly sounded more alert. “You've had problems with pervert callers before?”

God, this was embarrassing. “My ex was harassing me for a while after I moved here.”

She could almost hear Nick go from sleepy, sexy man into cop mode. “How do you know it was him? Did you investigate? Notify the phone company?”

None of the above. “No. I just figured…”

“How long has it been going on?”

“I got regular calls the first month, but nothing for a couple of weeks now, since I changed my number.”

“What if you figured wrong and it wasn't him?”

Mel was already shaking her head, not even willing to think that way. “I didn't. Look, I'm sorry I woke you. I know it's a work night. Go back to sleep.”

“Is your door locked?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling funny—a little tingly—about the protective tone in his voice. It was unfamiliar, that was all. She wasn't the type of woman who'd ever thought she'd want a big, strong man to protect her. But for a fleeting second, it was kind of nice.

“Does your building have an alarm system?”

“Absolutely. Rosemary's brother took care of it because I have a lot of photography equipment downstairs. I'm safe and snug.”

He exhaled, but Nick's breathing comforted her, made her feel he was nearby. Close enough to touch…without the heartrending danger of actually touching the man.

Or the heart-pounding pleasure.

“Why haven't you been taking my calls?” he asked, sounding sleepy and relaxed again.

Turning the lamp back off, she settled down into her bed. “Because you confuse me,” she admitted, being completely honest.

“I'm an open book.”

“Hardly.” The man was part hero, part grump, part cocky flirt and part edgy cop. And every part of him attracted her as she'd never been attracted to anyone before in her life.

“I don't accept confusion as an adequate reason to give up on someone,” he said.

She wondered if he realized how serious he sounded. And how some women might take that seriousness.

Oh, God, a year from now, maybe she'd have the courage to do this. But not now. Not this month. Not this night.

If only she could make him understand. It was unlikely, but she still gave it a shot. “Can you imagine what it would be like to find an absolutely perfect bathing suit buried in the back of a clearance rack when you're shopping for a winter coat?”

“Huh?”

She supposed the clothes analogy was a bad way to start with a man. A woman would instantly have known where she was going. “I mean,” she explained, “that there's such a thing as really,
really
bad timing. Like finding the adorable pink-and-white bikini for half price when what you need is a nicely tailored, slimming, black leather trench coat.”

“So why can't you buy the bathing suit
now
and have it around for next summer when you need it?”

A typical man response.

“Because it might be out of style by next summer. You might have moved to Antarctica and have no need for a bathing suit,” she explained, wanting him to understand. “You might have had a crappy winter and eaten your way through a cold February and a rainy April and there's just no way you're going to fit into a bikini by June. Don't you see? The timing is all wrong.”

His voice was low and scratchy when he finally replied. “You can eat your way through February and April and I'd still fit you as well as I would right now.”

Oh, God. The man fought dirty. Because now all she could imagine was how well they'd fit. How he looked right now, lying in his bed, shirtless, sleepy, aroused. So utterly sexy.

“I can't do this. Not now,” she whispered. “I'm sorry I bothered you.”

“It wasn't a bother,” he said, not accusing her of being a coward, even though that's exactly what she was. “Make sure your doors are locked.”

Still worried. That was nice. “I will.”

Not giving him a chance to say anything else that might weaken her already paper-thin resolve, Melody hung up the phone. And prepared for a long, sleepless night.

 

A
FTER HANGING UP
from Melody's surprising late-night call, Nick got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Fredo, his purebred mutt, watched lazily, hardly lifting his head from the end of Nick's king-size bed. “Dog, I'm gonna start shutting the door if you're going to keep sneaking up onto my bed. What's wrong with that nice big doggie pillow I bought you?”

Fredo didn't even spare a glance for the oversize pillow, which he'd once deigned to pee on, just to make sure no other dog got what he, himself, didn't even want. Still sprawled at the foot of the bed, the mutt watched Nick with soulful eyes.

“Man's best friend,” Nick muttered.
His
best friend might as well have been flipping Nick the finger as he lazily chewed on something clasped between his furry front paws. Something that looked suspiciously like…

“And stop chewing my shoes!” Nick grabbed his sneaker from the dog's paws, wiped a line of drool off on his jeans. He pulled the shoe on, muttering about bad dogs and heavy-breathing ex-husbands the whole time. “I
do
like cats, you know, no matter what
she
thinks,” he said, glaring at the dog as he grabbed his keys, his gun and his cell phone and strode out the bedroom door.

That got a reaction. Fredo gave a mournful little yelp. Glancing over his shoulder, Nick saw the dog hop down and hang his head as he trudged over to his dog pillow.

“You think I'm stupid? I know you're gonna be on the bed before I'm out the front door.”

Looking deeply wounded, the dog threw himself down. But by the time Nick unlocked the front door of his apartment, he heard a telltale squeak from his headboard that said Fredo had again commandeered his favorite spot.