She wore some sort of fascinating female construction of silk and lace that flirted over her breasts so they had little choice but to rise up, threaten to spill out. The black silk skimmed down her torso, nipping in her waist, molding over her hips to end in flirty little garters that held up sheer black stockings.
"I'm trying to think of something memorable to say, but it's really hard when all the blood's drained out of my head."
"Give it a shot."
"Wow."
"That's what I was shooting for." She reached out and began to unbutton his shirt. "I like the way you look at me. I did right from the first time. I especially like the way you're looking at me now."
"I see you even when I'm not looking. That's a first for me, and a little unnerving."
"Maybe some people are supposed to see each other. Maybe that's why this is happening so fast. I don't care why." She drew his shirt away, ran her hands up his chest, then locked them around his neck. "I don't care," she repeated and crushed her lips to his.
She only knew she wanted to go on feeling this way, to have these jolts of excitement shocking her system, to tremble with the sizzling flood of anticipation. To know the power of having a man's, this man's, complete attention and desire.
She wanted to be reckless, to take exactly what she wanted in greedy gulps for once in her life, and to think only of the moment, of the pleasure, of the passion.
When he spun her around, she arched back against him, lifting her arms to hook them around his neck, and gave his hands the freedom to run over her. Over lace, silk, flesh. He fed at her neck, at the curve of her shoulder while he touched her, aroused her. Her breath caught, released on a moan when his hand slid between her thighs. She pressed hers against his, rocked her hips and rose up on that hot wave of pleasure.
He imagined himself swinging her up, laying her on the bed to take the next stage with something approaching romance and finesse. But somehow they were tangled together on the neatly turned-down sheets in a desperate struggle to touch, to taste.
Her hair had spilled down, bright fire against the white. The scent of it, of her skin, dazed his senses until he wondered if he would ever take another breath without drawing her in.
"Do things to me." Her mouth was wild hunger on his. "Do everything to me."
He was lost in a storm of needs and greed, drowning in the heat of them even as he feasted on her, and she on him. As she moved under him, over him, surrounded him, he was rougher than he meant to be in a desperate search for more.
Her lungs were screaming, her heart galloping to the point of pain. Her skin was so hot it seemed it might melt off her bones. And God, it was glorious.
His hands were so strong, his mouth so ravenous. She could revel in the sensation of being taken over, body and mind. He tugged and pulled at snaps, impossibly tiny hooks, made her laugh breathlessly when he fumbled and cursed. Made her gasp in shock when he drove into her and shot her over the edge.
It was she who demanded it all, now, now, now ! And arched and opened, who cried out when he plunged inside her. Her vision blurred, her galloping heart stopped. Then everything, everything was clear as crystal, her heartbeat raging, her body racing as they took each other.
She could see his face, the lines and hollows, the shadow of the beard not shaved since morning, and his eyes, tiger eyes focused on hers. Then going darker, going opaque an instant before he buried his face in her hair and emptied into her.
***
Her body was drenched, saturated with pleasure, and her mind calm as a summer lake. She was trapped under his body, and delighted with herself and him. She could hear the ragged sound of his breathing. There was such satisfaction in knowing she'd caused that. Toying with his hair, she closed her eyes and let herself drift.
"You okay down there?" he murmured.
"I'm wonderful down here, thanks. You okay up there?"
"I may be paralyzed, but I'm feeling pretty good about it." He turned his head so his lips brushed the side of her neck. "Laine."
Eyes still closed, she smiled. "Max."
"I have to say . . . I have to say," he repeated as much for himself as her, "this is something I never expected when I . . . took this assignment."
"I like surprises. I stopped liking them along the way, but I'm remembering why I always liked surprises. It's because they just happen."
"If surprises deal with finding you at my door wearing a sexy black dress, I freaking love them."
"If I did it again, it wouldn't be a surprise, it would be a repeat."
"I can live with that. Where's Henry?"
"Henry?"
He pushed onto his elbows to look down at her. "You didn't leave him at home, did you? After what happened last night."
It wasn't heat flashing now, but a slow and lovely warmth sliding. He was worried about a dog. Her dog. Any man who'd worry about a dog when he was naked in bed with a woman shot straight to the top of her list of all-time heroes. She dragged his face down to hers so she could rain kisses over it.
"No, I didn't leave him alone. I took him to Jenny's. How can you be so perfect? I'm always looking for the flaws in everything, but you're just . . ." She pressed her lips to his in a long, noisy kiss. "Absolutely perfect."
"I'm not." He didn't care for the twinge of guilt. It was a sensation he overcame or avoided. Worse, there was worry tangled with it. What would she think, how would she react when she found out just what his flaws were?
"I'm selfish and single-minded," he told her. "I—"
"Selfish men don't wander into antique stores looking for a gift for their mother, just because."
The twinge became a pang. "That was impulse."
"See, a surprise. Didn't I just say I love surprises? Don't try to convince me you're not perfect. I'm too happy with you right now to think anything else. Uh-oh, now I've got you thinking." She ran her hands down his back, gave his butt a friendly pat. "Is she trying to turn this into more than fun and games?"
"That's not what I was thinking. And it already is more than fun and games."
"Oh." Her heart tripped, but she kept her eyes steady on his. "Is it?"
"That's what I wasn't expecting, Laine." He lowered his head, touched his lips to hers. "Makes things a little more complicated."
"I don't mind complications, Max." She framed his face with her hands. "We can worry about what this is, or isn't, what it's going to be, tomorrow, or we can enjoy it. And each other. The one thing I know is when I woke up at home tonight, I was happy because I knew I wanted to be with you. I haven't felt that way in a long time."
"Happy?"
"Satisfied, content, productive and happy enough. But not dance-around-the-house happy. So about the only thing you could tell me that would make this too complicated for me is that you've got a wife and a couple of kids in Brooklyn."
"I don't. They're in Queens."
She pinched him, hard, then wrestled him over onto his back. "Ha ha. Very funny."
"It's my ex-wife who lives in Brooklyn."
She straddled him, tossed her hair back. "You've been busy."
"Well, you collect corkscrews. Some guys collect women. My current mistress is in Atlanta, but I'm thinking of branching out. You could be my Maryland tootsie."
"Tootsie? It's always been one of my driving ambitions to be someone's tootsie. Where do I sign up?"
He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and just holding on. Complications, he thought. He couldn't begin to list them. So he'd just have to deal with them. So would she. But not tonight. Tonight he was going to take her at her word and just enjoy.
"Are you going to stay awhile? Stay awhile, Laine."
"I thought you'd never ask."
***
"Don't go." The moment the words were out of Max's mouth, he realized he'd never said them to a woman before. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, sexual exhaustion. Maybe it was just her.