A red, steamy haze of lust engulfed him and he lifted her onto the counter. She gasped an approving sound against his mouth and spread her legs. Evan stepped between her splayed thighs and trailed his lips across her throat while his hands tugged down the stretchy neckline of her dress. Her breasts sprang free, and he filled his hands with their warm fullness, teasing her already hard nipples between his fingers. His mouth cruised lower, circling the aroused peak with his tongue, then drawing the tight bud into his mouth.
“Evan…” She uttered his name in a passion-filled, husky groan and arched her back. She jerked the robe off his shoulders then ran her hands over his chest, down his back, setting bonfires on every inch of skin she touched.
His hands skimmed downward, over her incredible curves, to her silky smooth thighs, then under her dress. Where he encountered nothing but bare skin.
“No underwear,” he growled, the discovery spiking the fever raging through him and he pushed the stretchy material up to her waist. Dipped his hand between her splayed thighs. Found her wet and hot.
She gasped as he slid two fingers into her silky heat. “Didn’t think I’d, ahhhh, need it.”
“You don’t. Believe me, I’m not complaining.”
Panting, she tugged his boxers over his hips, freeing his erection, then stroked her fingers down its length. He sucked in a hissing breath and thrust into her hand.
“Condom,” she said, leaning forward to nip his neck.
“In my wallet. On the other side of the room. Damn it.”
“My purse. It’s closer.”
While he continued to stroke her, she reached behind her and dragged her wet purse forward. Something clattered to the floor. They ignored it. Muttering an impatient sound, she dumped her purse upside down, spilling an assortment of feminine stuff on the counter. He spied the condom and rolled on the protection as quickly as his unsteady fingers allowed. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he entered her in a single, deep thrust.
Their mutual groan filled the room. Her wet heat gripped him, and he withdrew nearly all the way, then sank deep again, experiencing the slow glide into pleasure he’d wanted since the moment he’d stepped into her store. Again, and again, the erotic pull of her body rendered him oblivious to everything except the intense pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back, and he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming need to come. When she threw back her head and gasped, he let himself go, thrusting deep, his orgasm rocketing through him.
When the shuddering ended, he tipped back his head and struggled to regain his breath. She dropped her forehead limply against his heaving chest, her ragged breaths pelting his skin.
A beeping sound broke through his postcoital fog, and he raised his head. And frowned. That beep was familiar.
“Is that a beeper?” Lacey asked, lifting her head. She looked as dazed and glazed as he felt.
Beeper. That noise was his business beeper going off. Reality returned with a jarring thump that felt like an anvil falling on his head. Jesus. What the hell was he doing? He’d just had sex with a tenant. He never had sex with tenants-it was one of his hard-and-fast rules. But one look at Lacey in that dress had morphed his hard-and-fast rule into a bout of hard-and-fast sex.
He stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “My business beeper.”
She stared at him for several seconds. “Business? At this hour? On a weekend?”
“It’s my boss. He’s in London this week. It’s the afternoon there now. Doesn’t matter that it’s a weekend-he works seven days a week.”
She didn’t reply, but based on the chill that filmed over her expression it was clear that she’d just filed him under the category of soulless clone. Without a word she handed him a wad of paper napkins, then slid off the counter.
“Listen,” she said, adjusting her dress while he pulled up the silk boxers, “I’m not sure what came over me, but what just happened between us…that isn’t normal behavior for me.”
“Believe it or not, it’s not for me, either.”
“Things just got…out of hand.” She looked at him and he barely suppressed a groan. With her tumbled hair and moist, parted lips, she looked like living, breathing sin. “I’m pleading temporary insanity.”
“That makes two of us.”
“This isn’t going to happen again.”
He knew he should agree, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to be uttered.
“In fact,” she continued, “we need to forget it happened this time.”
Before he could reply, a knock sounded and he swiveled his head toward the door. A man wearing a tan jacket proclaiming he was from the American Car Association tapped on the glass.
His interlude with Lacey was officially over.
And it occurred to Evan that maybe he really was cursed.
7
AT TEN O’CLOCK Tuesday evening, Lacey locked the door to Constant Cravings and headed across the courtyard. Sales had been unusually sluggish Sunday, Monday and today, and she’d spent the bulk of her time baking to fill cookie platter orders. Not good, as that had left her with too much time to think, and her mind had remained firmly focused on the one thing she desperately wanted not to think of.
Evan Sawyer.
Okay, the two things she desperately wanted not to think of-Evan Sawyer, and that bout of mind-blowing sex with Evan Sawyer.
You’d think the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they’d parted company late Saturday night-technically Sunday morning-would have been enough for “out of sight, out of mind” to kick in. But no. Instead, she’d thought of him about every three seconds or so. Sometimes more frequently. The feel of his hands and mouth on her, the sensation of him buried deep inside her, the deliciously potent taste of his kiss, his skin pressed against hers, all seemed to be tattooed onto her senses. They’d all given her libido a jolt equal to a nuclear blast. Three days later and she was still hot and bothered.
Yet more than hot and bothered. He’d not only turned her on, he’d surprised her. And disarmed her. With his revelations about his family and his non-English-speaking dog. He’d been amusing and intelligent and, well, likable. Extremely so. Unsettlingly so.
She hadn’t expected to see him on Sunday, but when he hadn’t come into the shop yesterday or today, it was clear he’d taken her “we need to forget it happened” words to heart and was ignoring both her and the explosive attraction that had flared between them.
Which was for the best. Definitely. Still, despite that he was only doing what she’d asked, if she were brutally honest, she had to admit his complete and total brush-off unreasonably pricked her feminine ego and, damn it, annoyed her. Clearly he hadn’t found her as amusing, intelligent and disarming as she’d found him. And the fact that she was annoyed really annoyed her. So why couldn’t she write him off and stop thinking about him?
Well, she’d almost succeeded today-had gotten to the point where he’d only invaded her thoughts every six seconds or so-when she’d checked her e-mail during a quick break. And discovered a message from him. Just seeing his name in Constant Cravings’ in-box had set her heart aflutter, a fact that thoroughly irritated her. After clicking open the note, she’d read his brief message: Would appreciate it if you’d stop by my office before going home tonight. Doesn’t matter what time-I’ll be working late. Evan.
The impersonal tone and complete lack of details had only served to fuel her mind with questions that had plagued her for the remainder of the day. Why did he want to see her? Had he been thinking about her? Did he want a repeat performance? Did he want to find out if making love would be as explosive the second time around?