All Through the Night (22 page)

…
Be careful what you wish for
…

What did she want, really?

She wanted not to follow the first impulse and dive into bed, not to succumb to her hormones
—
or his
.

No mercy. She wanted to make it
not
easy for him
.

“No sex,” she said finally.

“No… sex… ?”

“No. None.”

“Do you think that’s even remotely possible for more than thirty seconds?”

She didn’t actually; she was already feeling those magnetic waves. And his tight jeans hid nothing. But that was nothing new, either.

“That’s what I want.”

“And that’s it?”

She swallowed. Not one minute of mercy for Bobby after all these years.

“Courting,” she added, through a dry throat. After all, patience was not Bobby’s strong suit. And that ought to keep him at arm’s length. He wouldn’t agree to that. Wouldn’t have, in the past. Bobby had always wanted everything yesterday, including her.

Bobby raised his head. “Courting? Like—”

“Like people used to do back in the Dark Ages.”

“Which people are those?” Bobby muttered. “Fine.” This was a sweet five minutes of nineteen-fifties sensibility.

Or was it a way for Regan to deal with him without getting to the main issue? But that would come soon enough. “Fine. We’re still going to be looking at property, so we’ll take it from there.”

“Take it where?” Regan asked suspicious.

“Movies, dinner. Bowling.”
Bowling
! “Theater. Parties.”
Fucking
. “Whatever.”

“No sex.”

“Your call. But you’re done hiding. And I don’t care what Tony thinks.”

Oh, God. Tony. Tony wanted that megabucks commission and then he wanted to put Bobby out of commission.

Bobby watched the emotions chase all over Regan’s face. “I’m not going anywhere, Regan. You can’t scare me off.”

“Well, you scare the hell out of me,” Regan muttered.

“And no sex on top of that. Nice ploy. When do we start?”

“What?”

“When do we embark on this odyssey of
no sex
?” Crazy. He was nuts to agree to this, nuts to think he could keep his hands off of her for more than—well, it had been an hour now, and that was only because he was still trying to maneuver through the minefield that was
this
Regan.

He thought he was handling her well. Not that he expected her to fall into his arms. Not yet, anyway. He could deal with
no sex
for about—oh, an hour. But in his fantasies, he handled her until she was so spent, so exhausted, she could only collapse.

He couldn’t look at her without wanting to plow her. It was a pure, ongoing never-ending ache deep within him. One kiss had been hardly enough to assuage it. A lifetime with her might just begin to satisfy it.

No sex.

Whatever she wanted, whatever it took, he’d do.

She was oh, so prim and proper when, the next day, she arranged for him to see the next property. She wore a creamy silk blouse, open at the throat in an innocently provocative way, tucked into a long skirt of swingy black crepe, a short matching jacket, and strappy sandals; her hair in a topknot, understated makeup. A big mock croc tote bag. Those Jackie O sunglasses.

That Regan aura, of innocence and knowlege, even as she was scrabbling through the bag looking for information on the listing.

It was the damned sandals. That touch of eroticism that made men salivate.

“You could renovate your own building, you know,” Regan pointed out as they drove past the next location on Main Street.
Forget about yesterday, forget Angie. This was business. It
was.

“But think of the rents I could get if the
Herald
relocated. Want to be my building manager?”
Want to manage me
?

No sex
...
God, he felt twenty-four again
.

The property was a single level full-block storefront that had been a Laundromat.

“Maybe a little too close to Main Street?” Bobby said, as he prowled the premises. The good thing—the work was done. One floor and basement, location near-prime. And that was reflected in the price.

“Maybe. Or maybe you want to be that accessible.”

I am as accessible as a man can be right now.

“But that probably depends on what your plans are
for
the Herald
.”

Oh, those plans.

No sex. That’s what those plans are.

“Okay. I’ve seen enough.”

“Okay. ” She switched off the lights and locked the door behind them.

“How about some pizza,” he said. “In line with courting and bowling and all that.” And watching her bite into that thick doughy crust…

Lord help him…

She slanted a flashing look at him. “Sure, I’m game.” Playing games altogether, being seen with Bobby? What was she thinking?

And when they were seated in the booth and had ordered: “Civility works,” he said.

“No sex works, you mean.”

“No, I don’t think
no sex
works at all,” Bobby said.

“And yet here we are,” Regan murmured, “having no sex and being civil.”

“I like being primitive better.”

“What are you going to do with the
Herald
?” she asked to distract him.

“Turn it into a porn publication.”

“Obviously
no sex
is too hard for you.”

“No.
No sex
makes me too hard for you.”

“You asked what I wanted you to do—”

“And I’m doing it. I’m just not liking it.”

No pity, no mercy
. “Well, here’s the pizza,” she said, as the waitress set it down.

They ate in silence, or rather, he watched her biting and chewing, getting harder and more restless by the moment.

“Regan…”

She looked up at him, mid-bite.

God, that mouth
—
he never could get over that mouth
…

“
No sex
is getting us nowhere.”

“Where do you want to get, Bobby, except back in my bed?”

“That’ll do, for starters.”

She was silent for a moment. There was no denying this was a test, testing his endurance, his mettle, his patience.

Testing herself, and what she wanted after all this time, at a distance where she could feel as if she had some control. But that was an illusion at best. It really came down to sex: he wanted what was between her legs. That was a certainty. Everything else was heartbreak.

Catch me
...

She’d thrown down the challenge.

No sex.

“Yeah, well—” she temporized. “That would be too easy.”

“Oh, stop it, Regan. Just—just let me back in.”

“You
were
in, all that time ago.” She bit into another slice, hard, and he felt that telltale spurt between his legs.

“Let me in again.” His voice was husky, urgent, arousing things in her she didn’t want to remember, to feel, things that were heightened by the way he looked at her all the time, and were underpinned by her unrequited feelings about him, and his undeniable sexual magnetism.

She didn’t know this new Bobby—or what he was capable of, in bed or out of it.

He grasped her hand suddenly, explosively. “Caught you, Regan.”

Her throat tightened, her body liquefied. “You can’t come up tonight.”

“I don’t have to
come
up—I am up. I’ve been up for days. I could push out walls, I’m so hard for you. Try me, Regan.”

“You’re not the house specialty, Bobby.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Not on this menu, and not tonight.”

“Right. The menu: Dinner. Bowling. Whatever. Twelve ninety-five with soup and salad.”

“Exactly.”

“So, then, what’s for dessert?”

She had an instant vision of
creamy
things. She
felt
creamy, all soft, pliant, her body unfurling like a flower. He was a magician to make her feel like that when she was resisting him so hard. “Don’t go there.”

“Oh, I’m already there, Regan.”

A recipe for disaster, this was. There was too much against it—not least, their past. And they were sideswiping everything about that in his tearing need to quickly reestablish a connection.

And everyone was opposed to it.
Everyone
?

All good reasons to forge full steam ahead.

Which was exactly what the old Regan, pre-divorce, would have done.

Hell, Bobby had a head of steam on him already that was damned hard to resist, even with all her resolve. Her every instinct was to touch him, melt into him, take his heat, his hardness, for her own. The urge was so tempting, so much folly.

… so what
? …

Who would know? Who would care?

Sweet little lie.

“Regan?”

And then that softness in his voice, that emotional break. His warm, hard hand still grasping her own. Those dark eyes with worlds more experience, full of promise. When Bobby Torrance was hot, hard and ready to go, there was no getting in his way. He was mesmerizing.

I came back for you…

Irresistible.

I want you
...

Indomitable.

The night was young, and she’d punished herself—and him—enough, she thought.

She pushed out of the booth. “You win. Yes, sex. Let’s go.”

In the elevator. She lifted her skirt before the door even closed. She was naked underneath. His possession was swift, hard, the prelude to a night of hot, unrelenting fucking.

There was hardly time as the elevator shot up to her floor, to do anything but feel the pleasure of him cramming into her before they had to pull apart.

She’d forgotten how hot he was, how hard, how
there
. Like granite between her legs. Her hand shook as she opened the door.

She stripped in thirty seconds and pulled him onto the couch, her legs spread, her pubic hair glistening with his ejaculate.

He mounted her without preliminaries; she was slick, hot, tight, endless.

Home.

He rocked against her hips, working himself deeper, tighter, harder, his head buried against her shoulder, listening to the erotic sounds of her accommodation, her pleasure.

“I may never move again,” he whispered. “This is where I belong.”

And the minute he had made that admission, his body seized and spewed, and he reared back and drove his point home.

Chapter Six

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This was fine. On her back on the sofa, with him mounted on her, his penis swimming in his cream deep inside her, oh, that was so fine. So luscious.

So necessary. How did she live without it—without him—so long?

She felt a swamping greed. She wanted more. She felt his penis flexing inside her, still rock hard.

He wanted more.

“I want your nipples,” he murmured.

“You just don’t stop.”

“We haven’t even started.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He shifted his body and maneuvered her onto his lap, his penis still embedded in her, and her breasts now at mouth level.

Gorgeous, responsive breasts, the nipples pebble hard and pointed. Inviting. Just waiting to be fucked by a mouth and tongue that knew just what to do with them.

“I need that nipple now.”

She braced her hands against his shoulders as he settled his lips around her left nipple.

Just his lips, soft and moist. Just the nipple, tight and hard. Just the faintest of pulling sensation. Faint, faint, growing more definitive, more precise, just the tight, hard tip of the nipple compressed in his lips.

No tongue. Not yet. Just the pull, the sucking, pressing pull on her nipple, growing harder now, and harder. His other hand cupping her right breast, his fingers seeking that nipple, so that she felt two sensations centered at each hard tip: a sucking, pulling wetness and a soft caressing compression between his fingers.