Baddest Bad Boys (38 page)

Annoyed but resigned the man wouldn’t leave, Irene put her paperwork on the couch and walked across the room. She pulled open the door and ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach at seeing the man standing there in a dark gray sweater, jeans, and sneakers. She knew few men who made casual wear look anything but.

“What?”

She watched as his eyes moved over her, from the droopy sweat socks on her feet, past the worn cotton shorts and the paint-splattered T-shirt that spoke of a horrid experience trying to paint the hallway the previous year, straight up to her hastily created ponytail. He swallowed and muttered, “Goddammit,” before pushing his way into her house.

“We need to talk,” he said by way of greeting.

“Why?”

He frowned. “What?”

“I said why do we need to talk? As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing that needs to be said.”

“I need to kiss you.”

Now Irene frowned. “Why?”

“Must you always ask why?”

“When people come to me with things that don’t make sense…yes.”

“Just let me kiss you and then I’ll leave.”

“Do you know how many germs are in the human mouth? I’d be better off kissing an open sewer grate.”

Why did she have to make this so difficult? He hated being here. Hated having to come here at all. Yet he had something to prove and goddammit, he’d prove it or die trying.

But how dare she look so goddamn cute! He’d never known this Irene Conridge existed. He’d only seen her in those boxy business suits or a gown that he’d bet money she never picked out for herself. On occasion he’d even seen her in jeans but, even then, she’d always looked pulled together and professional.

Now she looked goddamn adorable and he almost hated her for it.

“Twenty seconds of your time and I’m out of here for good. Twenty seconds and I won’t bother you ever again.”

“Why?”

Christ, again with the why.

“I need to prove to the universe that my marking you means absolutely nothing.”

“Oh, well, isn’t that nice,” she said with obvious sarcasm. “It’s nice to know you’re checking to make sure kissing me is as revolting as necessary.”

“I’m not…didn’t…” He growled. “Can we just do this please?”

“Twenty seconds and you’ll go away?”

“Yes.”

“Forever?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine. Just get it over with quickly. I have a lot of work to do. And the fact that you’re breathing my air annoys me beyond reason.”

Wanting this over as badly as she did, Van marched up to her, slipped his arm around her waist and yanked her close against him. They stared at each other for a long moment and then he kissed her. Just like he did Athana earlier. Only Athana had been warm and willing in his arms. Not brittle and cold like a block of ice. Irene didn’t even open her mouth.

Nope. Nothing, he thought with overwhelming relief. This had all been a horrible mistake. He could—and would—walk away from the honorable and brilliant Irene Conridge, PhD, and never look back. Van almost smiled.

Until she moved slightly in his arms and her head tilted barely a centimeter to the left. Like a raging wind, lust swept through him. Overwhelming, all-consuming. He’d never felt anything like it. Suddenly he needed to taste her more than he needed to take his next breath. He dragged his tongue against her lips, coaxing her to open to him. To his eternal surprise she did and he plunged deep inside. Her body jerked, her hand reaching up and clutching his shoulder. Probably moments from pushing him away. But he wouldn’t let her. Not if she felt even a modicum of what he was feeling. So he held her tighter, kissed her deeper, let her feel his steel-hard erection held back by his jeans against her stomach.

The hand clutching his shoulder loosened a bit and then slid into his hair. Her other hand grabbed the back of his neck. And suddenly the cold, brittle block of ice in his arms turned into a raging inferno of lust. Her tongue tangled with his and she groaned into his mouth.

Before Van realized it, he was walking her back toward her stairs. He didn’t stop kissing her, he wouldn’t. The last thing he wanted was for her to change her mind. He managed to get her to the upstairs hallway before she pulled her mouth away.

“What are you doing?” she panted out.

“Taking you to your bed.”

“Forget it.” And Van, if he were a crying man, would be sobbing. Until uptight Irene Conridge added, “The wall. Use the wall.”

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“Anytime, Anywhere” copyright © 2008 by Shannon McKenna

“After the Lovin’” copyright © 2008 by E.C. Sheedy

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