Dreams of Her Own (11 page)

She stepped out of the kitchen to find him holding a towel around his hand, blood running down his wrist.

“Ian! What happened?”

“I sliced my hand on a piece of metal flashing. I’ve got a first-aid kit in my truck.”

“Here, we’ve got a first-aid kit in the cabinet.” Ian followed her into the kitchen. She reached up, opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator, and took down the small box. “Let me see it.”

Pulling his hand over the sink, she unwrapped the towel. Opening his palm, she saw a two-inch cut running from his pinky to his thumb. “It doesn’t appear to be deep. I don’t think it needs stitches.”

Turning on the tap, she held his palm under the running water. “Let it run for a minute.” She dug around in the box, took out a large Band-Aid, antibiotic ointment, some antiseptic, and a piece of gauze.

Gently patting his hand dry, she lifted the antiseptic. “This may sting a bit.” She doused the cut liberally.

Ian sucked in a breath. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Lifting his hand to her mouth, she blew gently on the cut.

Chapter 13

Son-of-a-bitch.
His gaze shot to Millie’s lips as her breath reached the palm of his hand. He expected the blood from the cut to simply dry up given all the blood in his body had headed to parts farther south.

He stood in Darcy’s kitchen, his hand bleeding like a stuck pig and stinging like a mother, and his thoughts had suddenly shifted to Millie’s mouth. And how he’d like to put that mouth to better use.

“Better?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re hand? Has the stinging eased?”

“Yeah.” But something else had flared. He stared into her warm brown eyes, darker with her pupils dilated, and had an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

“Good.” A blush tinged her cheeks as she turned her attention to the Band-Aid and the ointment. She slathered ointment on the cut, then carefully placed the bandage over it, the light touch of her delicate hands setting off a fantasy of what those hands would feel like dancing along his bare chest, sliding down to a part of him that desperately needed her attention. And he didn’t mean his hand.

Damn.
“Millie?”

Her wide-eyed gaze lifted to his.

Thinking better about what he’d planned to say, he said instead, “Thank you.”

A soft smile touched her lips and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome.”

Then he got the hell out of Dodge.

That aft
ernoon, a crazy idea insinuated itself into Millie’s brain and wouldn’t let go. An idea that would allow her to check off Number Two on her list, while helping Ian out, based on the idiom,
I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine.

She could have sworn there was something between them in the kitchen earlier when she’d bandaged his cut. She’d sure felt it. And she thought he had too.

From everything she’d read, his dilated pupils and shallow breath indicated arousal. And then there was the slight bulge beneath his fly.

Question was whether she had the guts to actually make the offer, and to see it through. She took out her ever-present Get a Life List and stared at it. Stepping over to her desk she picked up a pencil and added: ‘Be assertive.’ After considering it, she erased ‘assertive’ and changed it to ‘bold.’ Satisfied, she’d wait until the opportunity presented itself.

A couple of hours later, the opportunity presented itself, much sooner than she had expected. First, Laura came by to see Darcy, so the two of them were in the kitchen, occupied. Then Ian came downstairs, jacket in his good hand, looking as if he was heading out. Making the offer at the end of the day, she’d not only give him time to think about it, she could perhaps postpone the inevitable rejection.

Be bold.
Then she added,
Be positive.

Taking a deep calming breath, Millie closed her eyes, then set her jaw and called his name. “Ian? Can I talk to you?”

He entered the office, pulling on his jacket, his brow creased, no doubt in confusion over her request. “Sure.”

Antony and Cleopatra!
What was she thinking? Her hand drifted to her stomach to calm the swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence there.

“Um, how’s your hand?”

He glanced down. “Fine. Thanks.”

She nodded. “Good,” she said then stood there like a mute.

“Well, I have to get going,” Ian said, zipping up his jacket.

“How is the RFI coming?”

Ian’s brow shot up. “How do you know about the RFI?”

“I, uh, overhead you and your friend talking about it the other day.”

“Jesus. Is there anything you don’t hear?”

She shrugged. “Occupational hazard when you work in someone else’s home.”

“Right. It’s done.” His answer didn’t sound convincing.

“Oh.”
Mother of invention!
Now what? “Well, if you’re selected for the RFP. I could help, if . . .” She ran out of breath. His eyes were on her face, and she couldn’t bear it. Closing her own, she took a deep breath, “I’d like to make you an offer. I’ll help you with the RFP . . . if you’ll have sex with me.”

She kept her eyes closed as silence engulfed her. Not even the sound of his breathing. Then she felt him close. Too close. Her eyes flew open and she gazed into Ian’s stormy face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She cringed. “I, uh, I thought we could help one another out.” Her mouth had gone dry, and she’d lost the ability to breathe.

An expression skittered across his face. Anger? Dismay? Disgust?

“Did you, now?” He stepped up to her, still within the boundaries of his own personal space. Barely. His eyes held hers, his a dark stormy gray, then he looked her up and down as if considering.

“Well, how do you feel about cunnilingus?” he asked, as he stepped outside his personal space and into hers, backing her up to the bookcase in the office, the shelf digging into her mid back.

Remembering how to breathe, she filled her lungs with a gasp. “What woman wouldn’t enjoy it?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He snorted. “Do you even know what it is?”

“Of course I know what it is. I’m not stupid.”

“No. You’re most definitely not stupid. Inexperienced, maybe. Stupid, no.”

Before she could sputter a response, he stepped further into her personal space, leaving mere inches between them. “How about fellatio?”

“Um, sure. Sex is give and take, isn’t it?”

“No. Not always. Sometimes it’s all take.” He skimmed a finger along her cheekbone. Stepping in a little closer, he asked, “How about if I put my hand here?” He placed his uninjured hand over her breast. “And my mouth here?” He pressed his tongue to the spot below her ear.

The air backed up in her lungs, her knees wobbled, and a heaviness settled between her legs. How could she be both afraid and aroused? No. Not afraid. Intimidated. This Ian was different. Dark. Yet unbearably sexy. But not frightening.

“I—”

The phone on the desk rang, once, twice.

“I—I have to get that.” Unsure he would move or that she would be able to budge him, she pressed her hands to his chest—his really, really hard chest—and he stepped aside, a smirk on his face.

“Saved by the bell, sweet Millie?”

Ian scrubbed his hand through his hair and st
rode into the living room. What the fuck was that all about? Damn, but he was pissed. Pissed that she would offer herself like that. And pissed at himself for backing her into a corner. Literally.

He’d meant to scare her. Warn her to stay away from him. Instead, he’d scared himself. The feel of her firm breast in his hand, the warm skin below her ear against his lips, had shot heat straight to his groin. Beneath those ridiculous clothes was a woman’s body, as he’d been discovering over the last few weeks.

He remembered her little panting breaths. The way her pulse beat like a hummingbird’s in her throat. The fire in her eyes when she believed he’d thought her stupid.

And what he thought were dull brown eyes, proved to be far from it. Those eyes glinted with golden sparks, lending them depth and warmth.

What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t intimidate women. He didn’t back them into bookcases and put his hands on them. At least not without their permission.

What the hell had
she
been thinking? Offering herself to him like an object up for barter. Did she do that with other men? Did she think that was the only way they’d have sex with her?

And the sad thing was, he’d wanted to take her up on her offer. Right then and there, she’d turned him on with her fuck-me voice, and her little pants when he’d put his hands on her. After the encounter in the kitchen, his senses were on heightened alert.

Caleb was right. He needed to get laid. And soon.

Trouble was no one appealed to him. Except Millie in her brown schlumpy clothes and her too tidy bun.

He should check on her, but his inclination was to let it go. Maybe she wouldn’t bring it up again. Forget it ever happened. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t make deals with women for sex. Even if he did find her appealing. And the image of her naked and writhing beneath him made him hard enough to pound nails.

He strode toward the front door without a backward glance.

Millie watched as Ian left without so much as a goodbye. Ang
ry, defeated and beyond aroused, she headed for the kitchen where Laura and Darcy were talking about the upcoming baby shower. She’d vowed she would never put herself out there again. Never open herself up for ridicule. But she had. And look what happened.

At least there wasn’t a cafeteria of witnesses this time.

Reaching out, she grabbed the glass of wine from Laura’s hand and took a gulp.

“Help yourself,” Laura said dryly as she took another glass from the cabinet and filled it with the red wine.

“Millie!” Darcy said. “You don’t drink.”

“Seems like a good time to start,” Millie retorted.

Laura snorted, lifted her glass in a toast and said, “
In vino, veritas,
then.”

Millie winced and took another slug. God, she hoped not! She’d be taking that little encounter with Ian to her grave. She only hoped he did the same. The wine spread a pleasant warmth down her throat and into her chest. Tasted pretty good, too. Like plums, and maybe some dark cherries.

“Careful there, lightweight,” Laura said with a smirk. “You’re supposed to savor wine, not drown your sorrows in it. That’s what tequila’s for.”

And why shouldn’t she drown her sorrows in it? She needed to drown them in something. Feeling a little floaty, Millie tossed back the remaining contents of the glass, and tried to slam the glass down on the countertop, but missed it altogether. The fact that she’d skipped lunch only added to the effects of the wine on her motor skills.

The room had lost all its edges, blending into soft lines and colors. From some distant place, she heard Laura snicker.

“Millie? Are you okay?” Darcy grasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes.

“Yes. No.” Millie couldn’t decide what she was. “Why?”

“Because you were weaving back and forth, and frankly it was making me seasick.”

Laura stepped up, stuck her hand in Millie’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Millie tried to swat her hand out of the way, but missed. Twice. Dang Laura and her fast reflexes.

“She’s toasted,” Laura said, a smirk on her supermodel face.

“Ladies.” Josh walked in with Nathan on his heels. “You ready for dinner?”

“Hi ya, Josh. Nathan.” Millie thought she handled that pretty well considering the moving floor beneath her feet.

“Millie, what’s wrong?” Josh asked.

A funny noise came out of her mouth, a cross between a snort and a
pfft
.
What’s wrong?
Where should she start?

“Are you drunk?” Josh raised an eyebrow at Millie, then turned to Laura. “You let Millie get drunk?”

“Me? Why is it my fault?”

“You brought the wine.”

“How many has she had anyway?” Nathan asked, peering into her eyes.

“One glass,” someone said.

“One!” Nathan chuckled and shook his head.

Why is everyone talking about her as if she’s not there?
Oh right.
Because that’s how she wants it. She wants to be invisible.
No, wait. Not anymore. Not since that delivery truck almost pancaked her. Not since Ian saved her from certain death. And held her against that hard body of his. That chick-magnet body. That body that had pushed her against the bookcase in the living room while he talked dirty to her. She shivered at the memory.

“Clearly, Millie is a cheap date,” Laura said.

Darcy, Laura, Nathan, and Josh all began speaking at once, bickering over something.
Whatever.
At least they weren’t all staring at her like a bug under a microscope anymore.

Remembering the recent addition to her list, she took the phone from the cradle, and dialed Ian’s cell, determined to give him a piece of her mind.

“Brand,” Ian answered, his voice gruff.

“Listen here, you, you . . . thug. You think you can get me all hot and bothered and just leave?”

“Millie?” came Ian’s surprised voice. Just that sexy rasp had her nerves a-tingle. At least she thought it was her nerves. Could be she just needed to pee.

“Dang right, I mean,
damn
right, it’s Millie.”

“Millie! Who are you talking to?” Darcy asked with a laugh.

“You think you’re God’s gift. Well, I’m here to burst that burble, er, babble, er, oh, you know what I mean.”

“Give me the phone, Millie.” Josh held out his hand, and she put her back to him.

“You think you’re so hot. Well, you are. Wait, that’s not what I meant to say. Brain cramp.” She lifted her hand to her head and massaged her muddled brain.

“Come on, Millie, friends don’t let friends dial drunk.” Josh finally pried the receiver out of her hand. “This is Josh. Who is this?” He paused a moment. “Ian?”

Darcy’s hand flew to her throat, while Laura snickered.

“I like this Millie,” Laura said. “She should drink more often. Better than the Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Millie.”

Deflated, Millie slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor.

“Yeah, Millie had a tad over her limit. Sorry about that. Yeah, Nathan and I will see her home. No worries.”

No worries.
Pfft.
There were worries aplenty. But the topper—the
numero uno—
was how she’d ever look Ian Brand in the eye again.

Millie woke the next morning to the sound of sirens outside her window. Sitting up, she gra
bbed her head, afraid if she let go it might roll of her shoulders and across the floor. “Oh, God.”