An Accidental Gentleman (6 page)

“Don’t you want that?” Rolling his head against her, he mimicked a nod. With his embrace, he made them one creature, his arms wrapped and snaking down her sides to his workbench. The place where she ebbed and flowed with his thrusts. “You not wearing panties and my hand under your dress in our dark little booth?”

So vivid he set the scene, cool leather caressed the backs of her bare thighs. Her loose dress bunched beside her hips but not beneath as they sat, and their foolish waiter didn’t have a clue. “Say I did. What would it get me?”

“I’m sliding higher, closer, all the time, but you won’t know”—he broke off and kissed beneath her jaw, deep, open-mouthed kisses as if he meant to capture her throat as she swallowed—“when I’m going to touch you.”

She fought the swirling rush. No man should know her so well. He was supposed to fail. Find her dare too difficult, go back to chasing nice girls, and never again tempt her with his false kindness. Instead, he played her with his whole body. Put in service to his mind, his hands worked not harder but smarter. While his white-collar clothes wrinkled against her, he operated with a craftsman’s skill.

“Will our waiter notice your rounded lips? Your widening eyes? Will he hear those breathy moans you think you’re stifling?” In a two-fingered duet, he revealed the strength in his arms with each thrust from his right and swipe of her clit from his left. His shirt cloaked rippling muscle squeezing her ribs, the effort in his hands originating in his shoulders. Traveling through him the way his words did her, knotting her insides. “Does he know my fingers are inside you, Katherine?”

The tips of her fingers turned tingly and trembling. The wall offered no handholds, no yielding flesh. Indifferent and unchanging the harder she dug in. The climax he owed her—

“Is he watching you come when he serves us dessert?”

Orgasm slammed her knees against the wall, but he held on, he held on and absorbed her shaking and shuddering, burying his face in her neck. She allowed herself to release the moan she’d tried to keep from him. He’d won the race by making her win, and he cradled her in comfort beyond any her mattress or the shower offered. Certainly more than the fuckees she chose for their willingness to leave her alone after.

Nestling his cock in the curve of her ass, he exhaled a low, guttural groan around his teeth in her neck. Holding off with damned impressive restraint. After his performance, he’d more than earned reciprocation, rules of the game be damned.

She needed to taste him. Her arms dropped as she wiggled free of his fingers. She shimmied around to face him.

“Katherine?” In the shadows, his pupils swallowed the spring grass of his eyes. His cock thumped her hip.

The only chance she might get. Risking a second encounter with Brian would be foolhardy when he’d proved so adept. He almost had her craving a damn date. She followed the tail of his belt to his buckle. “Your turn to hold still, pretty boy.”

Singing out in warning from the shop floor, the customer bell announced a new guest.

“Sonova—”

Covering her mouth, he silenced her whisper. Wide-eyed in the darkness, he shook his head. No kidding, he wouldn’t be walking out front, not with his dick standing at attention. Didn’t absolve her of her responsibilities. Fantastic finger-fuck or not, she had work to finish.

She peeled his hand away and called to the customer, “Be right with you.” Taking two good breaths, she patted his chest. Nice and solid. “Looks like time’s up. I have to get that.”

Unmoving as a monument, he stared at her.

Jesus. Straighten bra, zip jeans, resettle shirt in case he’d left marks—a million and one reminders in the blink of an eye. She scraped her hair back with spread fingers on both sides, lest the wall-flattened half give her away. A final shiver shook out her buzzing high. “See? I told you you were good.”

Jaw tightening, he produced a huffy nose-laugh and leaned in as if to kiss her cheek.

She slipped out under his arm. Rounding the corner, she left the back room with her heart racing. The harsh light blinded her eyes. She’d let him get to her. Mess her head up with desire for more than a quick release. Saved by the bell.

“Sorry for the wait.” She forced a smile for the woman approaching the counter and hunted for a stick of gum. Something in her mouth would suppress the urge to go back for Brian. “How can I help you tonight?”

* * * *

She’d reached for his belt but ducked away from his kiss.

Sucking her sweetness from his fingers, he throttled back the conclusions jumping through his cock. The thoughts going on upstairs hadn’t cycled past the rightness of her in his arms and the warmth of her tucked to his chest. Once she agreed to dating, she might spend her nights in his bed, nestled just so close. Lending the pillows her pineapple-and-salt breeze, she’d fill his embrace with her muscled curves and drop him hints of the mysteries spinning behind her secretive brown eyes.

“—and Dad’s birthday’s this weekend, so I was really glad to get the call this morning.” At bullhorn levels, the stranger who’d interrupted his pending date interrogation projected cheery and chipper feminine tones. “We weren’t sure we’d be able to get the set restored in time. I don’t think the train’s run since he was a boy.”

“My grandpa was the model train expert, but Dad’s not a bad hand at them.” Reverted to distant friendliness, Kit hardly seemed the same woman who’d moaned and shook in his arms minutes before. “You said it’s under Baxter?”

Drying off his fingers inside his pockets—one less stain for the dry cleaners to rail at him for after last week’s mud and grease—he cursed the delay. Post-orgasm, sexy-as-hell Katherine all soft and sparking might’ve granted him a night out without arguing. Customer service, business-as-usual Kit stood out front, raising her walls.

“That’s right. My married name, of course. Dad’s a Larson. You should have two boxes…” The woman droned on, boring as a tenth-grade history lesson.

Despite the annoyance, his damn erection wouldn’t subside. The second he reached to adjust himself, he’d pop off in his shorts. So hard his dick would support his whole weight and carry a full pack besides, for chrissake. He laid his forehead against the wall and his hands alongside. Near same position he’d put her in, and damn if she hadn’t loved the take-charge attitude.

“Oh sure, sure. Let me grab that for you.” Kit strode into the back and passed behind him. At her desk, she settled her ass on the ledge and sat surrounded by a lamplight halo. Head tipped, she studied him as if he stored a model train set in his pants. Not damn likely, though his engine hadn’t stopped chugging.

After five long-ass Mississippis he counted with dick twitches, she flashed him a smile and stood. Three soft-soled steps later, she grasped his ass with both hands.

Hips jerking, he bit his tongue. If God loved him even a little, she’d repeat that move some night when he was on top and drag him deeper.

She leaned in, grazing his back with her breasts, and nuzzled his ear. “This, I’m grabbing just for me.” Letting go far too soon, she sauntered back into the light. “Oh, shoot, there they are. Sorry about the wait, Mrs. Baxter. Dad must’ve moved your order under the counter when he called you.”

Sneaky temptress. Her entire purpose for stepping into the back room had been to tease him. Fuck, she was a bold one. Liked danger and thrill-seeking. His risky dinner scenario sure had made her come hard. And sweet.

His woman demanded an equal, one who’d meet her fire with his own. He’d be a better man with her. For her, because she deserved better. Not Brian the class clown, not Brian the fuck-up, and not coasting-through-life Brian. Standing alongside Katherine, he’d plant his feet and be the man she needed. Once he convinced her she needed him.

He flipped around, quiet-like, and rested his back on the wall. Rock-hard and stuck eavesdropping, he filtered out the customer’s gabbing in favor of the rise and fall of Kit’s voice in reply. She’d called him good when he’d been establishing his bad-boy credibility. Had that been compliment or complaint? Taking her up on her dare might’ve been the wrong move, but Christ, he couldn’t regret it and he wouldn’t take back a second. Scrubbing his face in his palms, he inhaled her lingering scent.

The cash register rattled out front, the drawer slamming as the women exchanged goodbyes. The bell over the door chimed. A trash liner rustled. He waited for her shadow in the doorway. Three Mississippis.

“All clear.” Kit let out a sly laugh. “You waiting for me to come back there and frisk you?”

“Praying to the wall god for mercy.” If winning her dare had been about getting something in return, then more time with her was the prize he’d claim. His dick would hold off until they’d straightened out her soon-to-be-gone no-dating rule.

As he entered the main shop, the bright lights wiped out his night vision. Kit wandered to and fro with a fuzzy outline, and his eyes carried her hazy afterimage everywhere he looked. No different from the way his mind had kept dragging her into view all weekend. “Thought that lady would never leave.”

She stopped her flitting. Back to him, she stood stiff as a slick-sleeve at her first inspection with her proud chin raised. “Everyone has to leave sometime.”

Son of a fucking bitch. He’d gotten warmer send-offs from women shoving his clothes into his arms while they pushed him out the door.

“Uh-huh. Until we meet again.” With a shot of deep-breath courage, he pumped false cheer over his fears. She’d liked his style, dammit. If she wanted to throw him out now, he’d reached her deeper than she’d wanted. A step in the right direction, by his measure. “Say, Friday night?”

As she turned her head, her eyes fluttered shut and a there-and-gone smile touched her lips. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not on you.” He’d forever believed a long-term relationship would be too confining. The death of sex arrived around the three- or six-month mark—no point hanging in for that. Short-term worked better. Except Rob was obviously still getting plenty with Nora, and Kit wanted plenty, so plenty-wanting women existed and long-term relationships worked, and they’d damn well figure one out together. “The fooling around was good, right? The date will be, too.”

“Brian, I can’t—” Fingers clenched back, she rubbed her palm on the side of her jeans. “I’m not going to dinner with you.”

“Why not?” With them, sex was a given. The tightness in his chest came from fear of missing out on building that meaningful partnership with the woman who challenged and inspired him.

“You know why not.” For a half-second, she met his gaze, and her eyes flickered wide and wild. Abandoning her stare, she exposed the graceful curve of her neck and the tightness in her jaw. “I don’t date. I fuck. When and how I feel like it.”

She’d have been kinder to pick up one of her screwdrivers and stick him between the ribs. Least then the hurt would stay in one place. If he walked out with a no, she’d have a stronger one for him next time he asked. She’d be a cautionary tale he told himself on nights alone, his arms folded behind his head as he practiced blanket denials. No, he’d never wanted her. No, he hadn’t fantasized more with her from the moment she’d flipped him a granola bar.

Goddammit. He’d offer her everything if she’d fucking take it—and she refused to take him seriously. Might as well call him a liar. “So you’re just—”

“The word ‘slut’ passes your lips”—four flying steps brought her right up in his face—“and you best haul your ass outside before I kick it there.” Puffing sweet-cherry breath, probably owing to the pack of chewing gum on her desk, she squinched her face in tight lines. “One orgasm isn’t going to melt my brain.”

A harsher synonym sprang up out of spite, and he buttoned the slur down like every ill-advised retort to a senior officer. Not what he intended to say in the first place, and damn her for thinking he would. “I told you I’m not playing little-boy games, Katherine. Name-calling is the shitty behavior of a boy pouting over what he’s not getting. Knowing what you want and asking for it doesn’t make you a slut.”

By force of will, he kept his voice level. If she had the sense and guts to ask him, she had the guts to ask any man and replace him quick as a summer storm.

Dating and sex had always been a dance, and everyone knew men led and women followed. The currents had shifted in the decades since Dad had sat him down and polished off half a case of beer before giving him the man talk in the backyard. Different expectations. Different beliefs. The changing times or the wisdom of a man who’d spent twenty-two years in the hunt, who the fuck knew anymore? He floated on unsteady ground with her, waiting for a rogue wave to wipe him out.

Dipping her head, she eased off. “No, you’re right. I jumped to a conclusion I shouldn’t have. I get touchy about staking out boundaries.”

A fact to add to the short list of infobits he had on her. One of the great mysteries of the universe, how he cared so damn much with such limited data. Yeah, he knew her determination and strength, her grace and kindness to customers. The rightness as she came in his arms. But he couldn’t lay claim to basic details. Her age. Her family. Where she lived.

She shrugged. “A lotta guys, you let one thing slide, and the world becomes fair game. I’m just—” Rolling her neck, she popped a joint. “A mite bit tense.”

Eyebrow cocked, he pitched his voice low. “I thought we took care of your tension.” Not his, though their argument had knocked him back to a manageable semi. Much as he enjoyed her fire and her fiery demands, what if his Surfer Boy antics doused her? Fire and water didn’t mix. He might never have more than this from her.

“One kind, very well.” She shot him a wry, kissable grin. “A woman who can’t invent a dozen ways to think herself tense in under a minute isn’t a woman at all, right? I figured a man of your advanced years would know that rule by heart.”

“My advanced years?” Clutching his chest, he staggered back from her teasing barrage. “How old do you think I am?”

With her hands shoved in her back pockets, she rocked on her toes. “Thirty-four?”

“Thirty-seven. Let’s go with your number instead. Dare I ask a woman’s age?” Not too young, please God. “Or should I know that rule by now, too?”