Skintight (17 page)

An old, familiar pain slapped at her. But it was a weak blow and its sting faded almost immediately, as most of its power to wound had dissipated over the course of the years. “I would have loved to have had children, but Winston and I weren't blessed with any.”

Winston.
Mack barely controlled a grimace. His only consolation these past many months that he'd spent struggling with his unrelenting attraction for Ellen had been the natural contempt of the physical man for his noncallused, pencil-pushing brethren. He might find himself behaving like a twelve-year-old with his first crush, and Ellen might look upon him with such scorn it made him feel like the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. But at least he wasn't an asexual banker with a namby-pamby name.

He'd known that feeling of superiority was a spurious thing at best. It had nevertheless given him immense comfort, and now that comfort was gone. It was hard to feel superior after overhearing tales of Winston's sexual prowess.

Mack had always considered himself pretty damn adept between the sheets himself, but he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Ellen he was a meat-and-potatoes man. All those Kama Sutra positions seemed like overkill to him. Just give him plain old vanilla missionary, woman-superior or doggie style—with some long,
lazy foreplay thrown in to mix things up—and he was a happy man. But not only did Ellen like sex, which blew him away in and of itself, she apparently liked it upside down and fancied up, as well.

Now, however, probably wasn't the best time to ponder that too closely. So he shoved his jealousy aside to return to the conversation at hand. “Not being able to have kids must have been tough. I can't imagine my life without my two girls.”

“It was difficult. For years I would have given anything to get pregnant, but eventually I simply had to resign myself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen.” She lowered her head to smell the bouquet in her arms, then gave him a tentative smile over the blossoms. “I should put these in water. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, please. That would be nice.”

He entered her apartment for the first time and looked around as he followed her to the kitchen area. The condo was tasteful, formal and full of books. “Terrific place,” he said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and swiveling his stool to look from the kitchen to the living room and back. “It looks like you—all sort of refined and elegant.”

She paused in the midst of retrieving a vase from an overhead cupboard to shoot him a wary glance. Then she set the vase gently on the counter she continued to regard him with cool eyes. “Is that another way of saying I have boring librarian tastes?”

“No! I wasn't taking a shot. I told you I'm sorry for that. I just meant it's real pretty in here. The stuff in my place works like clockwork and it's comfortable and
suits me well enough. But it's pretty utilitarian compared to this.”

She poured them both a cup of coffee and set out cookies on a plate decorated with a white paper doily, the same sort of special touch, he noted, that she always added to the plates of goodies she brought to Carly and Treena.

“In that case, thank you,” she said. “And I must say I'm not surprised your things work with precision. It's plain to see from how well-run everything you handle in this complex is, that you're quite handy to have around.”

He watched as she sipped her coffee, pulled a pair of gardening sheers out of a drawer and turned on the faucet. Thrusting the flower stems beneath the running water, she snipped off their ends with economical efficiency, then arranged them one by one in the vase. Her cheeks were flushed to match the soft peach-colored top she wore.

“I like your shirt,” he said. “It's a pretty color.” It was the first time he'd ever seen her in something that wasn't a neutral color. No, wait, come to think of it, she'd worn a colorful top last night, as well. He'd just been too blown away by the discovery of her sexuality to pay it much attention.

Glancing up, she shot him a grin. “Thanks. I went shopping with the girls and bought much more than I ever intended.”

Her smile shot fire straight to his groin, but he swallowed hard and said, “Yeah, I know from experience that young women can make you squander more of your money than you ever thought possible. I don't think I ever had two bucks to rub together until my daughters got married. Before I gave their hands in marriage to their young men I had to take them out of my wallet first.”

She laughed in delight and he felt relieved that he was holding up his end of the conversation. It was hard to tell, because his throat was tight with longing, and his mind refused to settle on the words coming from his mouth. He wanted to kiss her, but he could just imagine how
that
would go over, so he sat frozen, gripping the seat of the stool hard enough to leave imprints in the brass-studded maroon leather.

What was it about her, anyway, that messed him up so badly? He'd always been a confident guy who had felt absolutely no need to apologize for his lack of a higher education or his blue-collar background. But she turned him upside down. He wanted to get close to her, but he kept sabotaging himself. Hell, he'd just wasted a year and a half letting concern over her opinion drive him into behaving like an idiot, had allowed her upscale demeanor to make him question his own worth. Every chance he'd had to get to know Ellen, or to let her learn a little something about the real
him,
he'd managed to screw up left, right and sideways.

Now, even with his newborn determination to acquit himself more responsibly, he was hesitant to make a move. Nothing like a little performance anxiety to stop a guy in his tracks.

He felt his ire rise and tried to tamp it down. He had nothing to apologize for in that department. Maryanne had certainly never complained. Of course, Maryanne had been one hell of an earthy woman.

But then, so was Ellen, if what he'd gleaned from last night's overheard conversation was true. He set his cup down a little harder than necessary and met her startled gaze belligerently. “I like my sex straight up.”

She froze. “
Excuse
me?”

Straight
forward
, he should have said. Shit. Straight
up
made it sound like he liked a good strong erection. Which he did, of course, but that was probably way more information than she'd ever thought to learn about him. Oh, Christ. When was he going to learn to keep his big mouth shut? As if she wanted to hear
anything
about his sexual preferences.

Unfortunately it was too late to just drop the subject now, for although her cheeks looked as if they were on fire, she pushed the last flower into the vase, then set the arrangement aside. She reached for her coffee, but the cup rattled in its saucer and she set it down untasted. Clasping her hands tightly on the counter in front of her, she gave him her undivided attention. “What, exactly, does that mean, you like your sex straight up?”

Encouraged that she didn't add,
and why on earth would you think it concerns me?
he leaned forward. “It means I like long, slow kisses and deep, hard loving—and unlike your late husband, I only utilize a handful of positions.”

Her jaw dropped. Her blush deepened and her hazel green eyes turned molten. Then the latter narrowed as the part of his speech concerning her just-had-it-all sainted husband apparently sank in. “How would
you
know what positions Winston liked?”

“I overheard part of your conversation with Treena last night.”

“You eavesdropped on a private conversation?”

“No. I—”

“You
eavesdropped
?” She pushed upright and
rounded the end of the counter. When she stopped in front of him, her back was ramrod-straight and her hands were white-knuckled fists upon the gentle curve of her hips.

He didn't like being accused of something he hadn't done—or at least he hadn't deliberately set out to do, and he stepped off the stool to confront her right back. “Don't you look at me like I was skulking around just waiting to hear all about your sex life! Until then, I didn't even know you had one!”

Seeing her flinch, he grabbed hold of his temper and hung onto it for dear life. Dammit, it was time to behave the way he kept telling himself he would. He blew out a breath and said in a more moderate tone, “I'm sorry. I didn't say that to embarrass you or hurt your feelings. It's just…I came in through the hospital in time to hear Treena say she stinks at sex. Well, that froze me in my tracks, let me tell you. It was way too much like hearing one of my daughters, and trust me on this: sex is the
last
word you want to hear coming out of your kid's mouth.”

“So why didn't you make your presence known?”

He rubbed his fingers over his chin. “I was going to. I debated between that or leaving and letting you handle it. But you started talking, and I was so blown away that I just stood there. Then I did go out the way I'd come in and came back in through the E.R. And I've been trying to forget what you said, but it's like your words were burned in my mind. I can't get them out of my head.”

“So—what? You thought you'd just stop by today to see if I was in the mood for a little loving? Now that you're pretty sure I'm not a dried-up old prune after all?”

“No! Damn. I meant everything I said. I have been rude, and I have been wrong, and I wanted you to know I'm going to do better. I want to start over.”

“Well, I want you to leave.”

His heart sinking, he reached out to touch her face. Her skin was cool and soft.
“Ellen,”
he said, and the pleading tone in his voice didn't even register. His pride wasn't uppermost in his mind at the moment.

She stepped back as if she'd been burned. “Now. Please.”

Reluctantly, he dropped his hand, studying her closed expression. “Fine,” he finally said. “But don't think we're even close to done here.” And with a little shrug, he turned and strode to the foyer. Hesitating at the entry door with his hand on the knob, he looked back over his shoulder. But Ellen was out of his range of vision and since she couldn't have been clearer about her desire for him to leave, he let himself out.

Clearly he stank at this courting business, but there had to be books on the subject, sites on the Internet, people he could talk to about improving his technique. Hell, simply having a technique would probably be a start. He stalked back to his own apartment, routed but not vanquished. If he didn't know anything else he knew this one thing.

Come hell or high water, he
would
get better at this. He planned to kiss that woman—and soon.

Or die trying.

C
ARLY BANGED THROUGH
the front door of Treena's apartment, her hair stuck up on one side and flattened on the other. Her diaphanous flowered skirt floated behind her on the current created by her long strides, and with so many colors in its pattern Treena was amazed that her friend had managed to pair it with the only navel-baring halter top she owned that clashed with them all.

“Hey,” she said mildly.

Carly whipped around from her headlong dash to the living room and strode straight over to her, holding up her hand to display her fingers. They were puffed up to twice their size. “I'd planned on getting back to work tonight, but look at these!”

Treena peered at them. “Still swollen, huh? They look better than they did yesterday, though.” At her friend's unimpressed snort, she smiled. “Sorry, stupid response.” She gave Carly a warm hug and a sympathetic moue. “Poor baby.” Then she stood back to examine her. “Although if I were you, I'd be more concerned about your fashion statement.”

Carly laughed. “No kidding. I never realized how many things you need two hands for, and at least the skirt and top didn't need to be tied, buttoned or zipped.
And look at my hair!” She swiped at it with her good hand. “I can't do half the stuff I'm used to doing.”

Treena peered at the abused fingers. “Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore. But they look like little fat sausages, and they're useless!” Then Carly visibly drew herself together. “Maybe I'll go in to work anyway. I mean, there's a chance no one will notice, right?” As if expecting Treena to argue with her, she added defensively, “It could happen.”

Treena just looked at her.

The blonde's shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “I guess I knew that. Hard to change costumes and attach headgear with one hand. Shit.” She stalked into the bedroom and flopped onto her back across the bed. Grabbing a bright silk throw pillow, she hugged it to her breast.

Treena ambled into the room after her, intending to step carefully until her friend's sulky expression eased a bit. But Carly looked over at her and hitched a shoulder.

“What the hell,” she sighed. “It's a day off.”

“And that's always nice.”

“Yeah. If not exactly the way I'd have chosen to spend it.”

“Still, a day to laze around with the babies isn't a bad thing.”

“That's true.” Carly brightened. “Maybe I'll use it to work with Rufus. The situation with him is getting ridiculous. So far it's boneheaded dog ten, boneheaded human zip.”

“What are you going to do if he doesn't shape up?”

“I don't know.” Carly stared up at her with worried eyes. “I don't even like to think about it.”

Treena joined her friend where she was sprawled across the width of the bed. Turning her head on the mattress she assured her, “It's bound to click soon.”

“I sure hope so.” Then some of the gloom left her expression. “Hey! Did I tell you I'm getting a neighbor?”

“No. They finally sold that unit next to yours?”

“Subleased it according to Mack. I'm still undecided how I feel about it. Part of me likes the idea of having someone next door again. But I also kind of got used to the quiet and the privacy.” She essayed the equivalent of a facial shrug. “I guess it'll just depend on who moves in.”

“Mack give you any hint who that might be?”

“Some guy named—get this—Wolfgang Jones.”

Treena pushed up onto one elbow and gazed down at Carly with a puzzled frown as an elusive memory tickled the back of her mind. “Why does that name sound familiar?” she asked. Then it clicked. “No, wait—I know who that is. He works at the casino.”

“At
our
casino? Avventurato? You're kidding me. So why don't
I
know him?”

“He's security. Handles the money and watchdogs the rest of us less trustworthy employees.”

“Ahhh.” It was shorthand for
say no more.
The men—and one woman—who handled the protection and transportation of the millions of dollars that flowed through the casino on a daily basis, rarely if ever mingled with their fellow employees, since they were also charged with monitoring the rest of the staff, from kitchen workers to dealers to the entertainment division.

“If he's the one I'm thinking of—and I'm pretty sure
he is—he stopped me once on the casino floor to check my bag.”

“Describe him for me. I can't place him.”

The doorbell rang, and Treena climbed off the bed to go answer it. “Tall,” she said as she headed for the door. “Aryan. Killer cheekbones.”

She opened the door, and her heart rolled over like a trick poodle to see Jax standing on the other side with his legs planted shoulder-width apart, his hands crossed behind his back. “Well, hi there. How goes the tournament?”

“I'm still hanging in. That's always a positive sign.” Dipping his head, he pressed a soft kiss onto her lips. Raising it a moment later, he smiled lazily at her. “Hello to you, too, sweet stuff. I brought you something.” His gaze moved beyond her. “Hey, Carly. How's the hand?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see her friend strolling down the hallway from the bedroom. “Sucky,” Carly replied.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Jax looked at the tousled blonde with a bemused expression. “Interesting getup,” he said as he stepped into the apartment.

“
You
try pulling yourself together with one working hand.” Then she waved it aside. “Did I hear you say you came bearing gifts?”

“Yes,” Treena demanded, “what did you get me?” A sudden thought struck her. “Please tell me it's not encrusted with diamonds.”

“No, ma'am. No diamonds. Never again. I learned my lesson on that score.”

“Yeah, how dare you spend a small fortune on her,” Carly said.

“Ha ha.” But she didn't spare her traitorous friend more than a glance before she reached out and poked Jax. “So?”

He grinned at her. “So, pick a hand, any hand.”

“Ooh, choices. I love choices.” She tapped his left arm.

He whipped it out from behind his back and presented her with a small gold box wrapped with a gauzy white ribbon. A color-coordinated silk flower was tucked into its bow.

“Godivas!” She plucked the box from his fingers. “Thank you! I
adore
Godivas. They're my favorite chocolates in the world.”

He brought his right hand out from behind his back, as well, and offered her the small plastic card he held.

“What's this?” She plucked it from his fingers.

“A gift card for a couple of vendi Frappuccinos, extra mocha, extra cream.”

“You
doll!”
She planted a hot, fierce kiss on his lips.

“Okay, this is obviously my cue to exit,” Carly said. “But break open that box of chocolates first. I haven't had a Godiva in a dog's age.”

She selected one from the box Treena held out to her. “Thanks. Now I do believe I hear a mutt calling my name. So long, kiddies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.” Popping the truffle in her mouth, she strolled out the door.

Treena turned to Jax. “Let's take these into the kitchen and eat 'em all, whataya say? You want a cup of coffee to go with yours?”

“No, thanks. I wouldn't say no to another one of these, though.” And fast as a striking snake he pulled her to him, bending his head to plant a sizzling kiss on her lips.

Chocolates clattered to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His arms
were strong and warm, his mouth was hot and sweeter than Godiva's finest, and she pressed close needing more. Wanting more.

Wanting it all.

Oh, God. She wanted
everything.
Heart pounding with trepidation, with excitement, she pulled her mouth free and stared at him. His eyes blazed back at her.

And the truth sank in. For better or for worse, she, the girl who would just as soon say no, wanted to say yes to lovemaking with Jax. It might turn out to be yet one more mistake, but she couldn't allow fear of failure to hold her back. Not this time, with this man. He made her feel different than she'd ever felt with any other guy, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she refused to take a chance on him, on herself, out of fear of screwing it up. She simply had to hope things would actually work out this time.

Reaching up, she rubbed her thumb over the tiny bit of moisture still clinging to Jax's bottom lip, then stepped back. Taking his hand in her own, she turned toward her bedroom.

“Wait,” he said and squatted to scoop the fallen chocolates up off the floor. He tossed them into the open box, dropped the box onto her entryway table, then reached out to retrieve a slightly flattened milk chocolate truffle. He popped it into her mouth and scooped her off her feet and into his arms.

She laughed, but the dual sensations of chocolate melting on her tongue and his hot tongue slipping into her mouth a second later changed her amusement to a husky moan. Time dissolved, and before she knew it he was lowering her onto her coverlet.

“God,” he said hoarsely, coming down on top of her. “I've been dying for this. For you.” He speared his hands into her hair and held her in place while his mouth returned to ravage hers.

Heat saturated her lips, her nipples, between her legs, until she couldn't think. For just a second, with some hazy intention of locating her absent brain cells, she struggled to break to the surface of this churning pool of arousal. Then Jax's chest rubbed more urgently against her breasts and his erection bumped the bundle of nerves hiding behind the crotch seam of her cutoffs—rocking her into a fine madness. And she gave up her already nebulous purpose without a second thought. Plunging her fingers into his hair to hold him in place exactly as he held her, she wrapped her ankles around his calves to keep him from pulling back.

Apparently that wasn't in his game plan, however, for with a very male sound of appreciation he opened his hard thighs between hers, spreading her legs wider. He settled deeper between them. Then he slid his right hand from her curls. Reaching to loosen her left hand from its grip in his hair, he linked their fingers and brought their joined hands down to the mattress next to her head. He repeated the action on the other side, then slid their clasped hands against the coverlet until their arms extended straight overhead. Her breasts arched into the hard press of his chest.

Their lips slowly separated by increments, clinging together until the very last instant when he raised his mouth from hers and looked down at her with eyes that had darkened to midnight. “I've got you in my power now, me pretty,” he said in a voice so raspy it strummed nerve endings from her nape to her tailbone.

But while his voice was like liquid foreplay to her ears his words roused unfamiliar emotions. Competitiveness surged to the surface. Perhaps she should demonstrate that she, too, possessed power. Being completely, carnally captivated for perhaps the first true time in her life didn't mean she was without resources of her own.

“In your power, huh? You think?” She rubbed the soles of her feet up his calves, to the backs of his knees, to his outer thighs. The action spread her own thighs wide, and tilted her pelvis up. That in turn caused the rigid length of his penis to settle hard between her legs.

They both sucked in a simultaneous breath.

“Maybe not,” he croaked. Eyes dreamy, as if he'd never felt anything so marvelous in his life, he oscillated his hips.

“Omigawd.” Her newly birthed competitiveness died. “Oh. My.
God.
”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed fervently and lowered his mouth to kiss her jaw and the tender skin just beneath it. “My sentiments exactly.”

She tugged her hands against the grip pinning them to the coverlet. “I want to hold you,” she panted when he didn't immediately release her. She gave another tug. “Please.”

He unlinked their fingers and trailed his down the inside of her forearms, along the vulnerable skin of her inner elbows, up her arms to her shoulders and inward to her neck. Then sliding his hands into her hair, he gripped her head and held it steady as he pressed kisses beneath her chin and down her throat.

Treena stroked her fingers over his wide shoulders. Hard muscle gathered and bunched beneath her touch,
and fine wool caressed her flesh as she stroked her hands down his back. Her palms itched to trace the shape of his butt, but between the disorienting sensations burning along every nerve and his jacket vents flapping in her way each time she attempted it, she couldn't quite manage her goal. She plucked at the lush fabric. “You've got on way too many clothes.”

Still kissing her neck, his hair softly brushing the underside of her jaw, Jax pushed up on his palms. She slid the jacket off his shoulders, but it would only go so far and no farther, and her feet flopped from his thighs onto the mattress in frustration. With a grunt, he reared back to kneel between her sprawled legs and whipped the coat off, tossing it toward the nightstand but clearly unfazed when it slid onto the floor. Color burned high across his cheekbones as he stared down at her, and his breathing was audible in the silence of the room.

“Lose the shirt, too,” she commanded.

He yanked the pristine white T-shirt off over his head. Treena stared at the view his action exposed and felt a blowtorch of lust consume every last drop of moisture in her mouth.

Jeez, girl,
she commanded herself,
get a grip. It's not as if you haven't seen that chest, those abs, before.
She had, of course, just the day before yesterday. Still, the impact didn't lose a thing upon second viewing.

Staring at his abdomen, she reached out and massaged her fingers over each individually defined muscle from his diaphragm to the belt of his jeans. She shivered at how much she wanted him. “How does a sedentary card player get such a nice body?”