Extreme Exposure (8 page)

“Considering how much you’d had to drink, I think you handled yourself pretty well.” His voice was serious, but Kara didn’t miss the smile that tugged at his lips. “I doubt anyone could drink three margaritas at The Rio without saying something . . . colorful.”

“I appreciate your tolerance, and I hope you’ll understand when I say I didn’t come here so we could have sex.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s good, because I’d disappoint you otherwise. I came here to eat.”

Kara felt herself blush. She never blushed. “I didn’t mean . . . You know what I mean.”

He took a sip from his water glass and nodded. “This is your way of telling me you’re embarrassed about the things you said last time and making certain I know you’re not going to sleep with me tonight.”

Relieved to have it out in the open, Kara nodded. “Exactly.”

He set his water down and met her gaze, his blue eyes boring bluntly into hers. “If all I wanted was a quick fuck, I would have taken you up on your offer for a cup of tea that night. You were more than willing then, but I turned you down. Remember?”

Not this time. Ask me again when you haven’t had three.

For the second time in less than a minute, Kara felt her cheeks flame. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Reece. I always seem to be saying or doing something stupid around you. Can we start over?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

Kara leaned forward and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Kara McMillan.”

He took her hand in his and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb—not the conventional handshake she’d been expecting. “Delighted to meet you, Kara. I’m Reece Sheridan.”

By the time he released her hand, her heart was beating noticeably faster than normal.

The black-and-white-clad waiter arrived. “Are you ready to order, sir? Perhaps wine and an appetizer?”

The wine list was the size of a three-ring binder. Kara had glanced through it and had been astonished at how much a bottle of wine could cost. Did people really drink this stuff?

Reece flipped to a specific page and then looked up at her. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Taken aback by the question, she answered reflexively. Trust him? She barely knew him.

Reece looked up at the waiter. “We’ll have a glass of the Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio 1999 Mastroberadino with the polenta con funghi as an appetizer.” The Italian rolled off his tongue as if he spoke the language.

The waiter looked surprised and grinned. “You know your Italian wines, sir.”

“Some of them, anyway. Do you eat meat, Kara?”

She nodded, quickly glancing through the menu.

“Then make it two orders of your Vitello Saltimbocca, please, with a bottle of the Barolo 2000 Ginestra Domenico Clerico.”

Kara had never had a man order for her before, and she found herself torn between a feeling of feminist irritation and one of strange feminine delight. But then the food arrived—first the polenta and mushroom appetizer and then the tender veal—and all she could feel was gratitude. And although she knew nothing about wines, the varieties he had chosen were delectable. Taken together, it was the most delicious meal she’d had in years. By the time the waiter cleared their plates away, she was feeling surprisingly relaxed.

She watched as Reece poured the last of the Barolo into their glasses. “Why did you decide to go into politics?”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about work.” He set the empty bottle down and leaned back in his chair, wineglass in his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders
seemed compared to the high back of the chair, and she found herself undressing him with her eyes. Would his shoulders be hard and muscular? Would his chest have lots of hair or just a little? Were his nipples red like wine or tanned and brown? “I would really like to know.”

“My students challenged me to run for office. I was teaching U.S. government to juniors and seniors that year and gave a passionate speech about the need for citizens to participate in their government if our democracy is to succeed. So they called my bluff, told me that if I cared so much I should run for office.”

“So you did.”

“Yes. I decided they were right. Besides, real-life experience is a better teacher than a textbook, and whatever I learn, I can pass on to my students.”

“You plan to return to teaching?”

“I’m not a career politician, if that’s what you’re asking. As soon as I feel I’m no longer contributing effectively—or when the voters send me packing—I’ll go back to what I love.”

Kara was almost sorry she’d asked. Throughout dinner she’d reminded herself repeatedly that he was not a man but a politician, motivated by an oversized ego and unhealthy ambition. Now he’d gone and shattered that perception. He was making her see him as not only a man—and an unbelievably sexy man at that—but also an ostensibly decent man. She hadn’t imagined anyone actually ran for office these days simply because they wanted to help people.

They sat for a moment in silence.

“You like children then?” She was certain she knew his answer, almost dreaded it.

Please let him say he hates kids.

“I adore kids. They have such a unique way of seeing things. If we stand any chance of making this world a better place, it’s through them.”

She ran her fingers over the damp stem of her wineglass, finding her mental checklist of reasons she shouldn’t spend time with him growing perilously short.

“Is Melanie your only sister?”

He shook his head. “I’m the eldest of four—one brother, two sisters. My parents got divorced when I was nine. The younger kids went to live with my mother and her family in Texas, while I stayed with my father here in Denver. Melanie just moved here two months ago. We’re just getting acquainted really.”

“That sounds like a lonely way to grow up. It must have been hard being so far away from your mom and the other children.”

He shrugged. “I suppose so. I think my mother thought of me as being my father’s son, while my brother and sisters were her children.”

Kara couldn’t imagine a mother abandoning her own child that way. “Are you and your father close?”

A troubled look crossed his face, and his gaze dropped to the table.

“I’m sorry. Is that too personal?”

“No, Kara. You can ask me anything you like.” He looked up, gave a sad smile. “My father died last May. A car accident on I-25.”

And then she remembered seeing it in a headline. She hadn’t even bothered to read the article. To her it had been nothing but another news story, ink on newsprint. To him it had represented overwhelming grief, the loss of someone he loved. “I’m so sorry.”

He reached across the table, took her hand in his, and caressed the back of it with his thumb. The contact was white-hot, made her breath catch in her lungs.

“Thanks. And, yes, we were close.”

The waiter approached with the dessert tray.

“Have you ever had Laudisio’s tiramisu?”

Kara shook her head, almost unable to speak. She’d seen a program on the Discovery Channel once, something about how the human hand has more nerve endings than most other parts of the body. She decided it must be true, as every nerve from her fingertips to her wrist was alive and tingling.

“Then you really must try it. We’ll split one order of tiramisu with two glasses of the Reciotto della Valpolicello 1997 Mazzi.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter hurried away, a big smile on his face.

“Enough about me, Kara. You’ve been ‘interviewing’ me all evening. Now it’s my turn.” He leaned forward in his chair, his hand still holding hers. “Tell me about your family.”

Distracted by his touch, by the heat of his gaze, she fought to find her voice. “There’s nothing to tell really. It’s just my mom and I. My father left when I was a baby. I’ve never even met him.”

He interrupted his relentless caresses to give her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “That must have been hard on you both.”

Unable to help herself, Kara stroked him back, running a finger slowly across his knuckles. She felt dizzy, almost drunk, but it wasn’t the wine. “My mother would never admit that. According to her, it was the best thing he could have done for either of us. She’s a bit of a . . . free spirit. She never remarried and swore she had no use for a man in her life.”

“Regardless of how she felt, it must have been difficult for you to grow up without a father.”

A strange pain Kara hadn’t allowed herself to feel since she was a teenager crept into her stomach. She forced it down, irritated with herself. She hadn’t thought about her father for years, and she couldn’t imagine why Reece’s question—no different from those she’d asked him—should have called up an emotional response. She was grateful when the waiter interrupted them with one dish of tiramisu, two small glasses of wine, and two spoons.

Reece watched Kara swallow her emotions and decided to let the subject drop. He’d been about to ask her whether she, like her mother, felt no need for a man in her life. After all, she, like her mother, was raising a child alone. But he knew instinctively that would be going too far.

He snatched up her spoon before she could reach it, scooped a small bite of their dessert, and deliberately lowered his voice. “I want your first taste of paradise to come from me.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide, a sexy flush stealing into her cheeks. “You must be joking. You’re going to feed me?”

He’d surprised her, caught her off guard. Good. She’d kept herself too tightly reined in all evening, asking him questions from behind the safety of her journalist’s mask, seeming to him more like the serious, controlled woman whose photo ran in the newspaper than the passionate pleasure-seeker he suspected she was.

“That’s right. Now taste.” He slipped the spoon between her parted lips, felt the tug of her mouth against the spoon.

Her eyes closed, and she moaned.

Christ!
Blood rushed to his cock and made him painfully hard.

Had he really promised her that all they would do tonight was talk? Well, yes, in not so many words. And she’d made it clear she wanted nothing more from him—yet.

You should know that I’m not like that.

Try as she might to deny her nature, he wasn’t buying it. Tequila—and now the tiramisu—simply released a part of her she kept hidden. But no woman who owned a large purple jiggle stick could suppress her own sensuality forever. And despite his raging hard-on, he could be a patient man—when the reward promised to be sweet.

“It’s delicious!”

He took another spoonful and held it to her lips.

This time she took it eagerly. Again she moaned. “I’ve never tasted anything like this.”

He fed her another bite and imagined kissing that mouth, feeling those lips around his throbbing erection. “Their tiramisu is a full-blown culinary orgasm.”

As soon as he said the word
orgasm
, her gaze locked with his, and he saw a response in her eyes that had nothing to do with her taste buds.

CHAPTER 6

R
EECE PULLED
into her driveway and turned off the engine. She’d been silent since they left the highway and entered the city. She was pulling back, walling herself off from him. Did she think he was going to try to make her pay for the meal with sex? Had their conversation gotten too personal? What was she afraid of?

He hadn’t imagined that a woman as sexy, smart, and successful as Kara McMillan would feel nervous around men. Then again, he hadn’t known she’d been abandoned by her father. What did that do to a little girl, to a woman?

“Thanks, Reece. I had a good time.” She said it as if she hadn’t believed it was possible.

“Don’t sound so surprised. Besides, the pleasure was entirely mine.” He reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. “In case you’re wondering, I’m planning on walking you to your door and giving you a good-night kiss. I hope you don’t object.”

“That might not be a good idea.”

“Just a kiss, Kara. Nothing more. Don’t tell me the woman who brought city hall to its knees is afraid of a kiss.”

Even in the dark he could see the flash of fire in her eyes. “Of course I’m not afraid of a kiss! But you’re assuming I want to be kissed.”

He leaned across the seat and brushed her lips with his. “Don’t you?”

He heard her quick intake of breath, saw the heat in her eyes, and knew he had his answer.

He pulled her closer, tasted first her upper lip, then her lower, forcing himself to go slowly. He wanted to get past her reserved exterior, to awaken that part of her she tried to hide, to force her to admit, at least to herself, that she felt some attraction to him. He wasn’t trying to seduce her. Not tonight.

But then her lips parted, and her tongue flicked his, one timid touch.

With a groan, he fisted his hand in the dark silk of her hair, crushed her against him, and kissed her the way he’d wanted to all evening—deep and hot and hard.

He’s kissing you, McMillan.

It was the last coherent thought in Kara’s mind as Reece’s tongue penetrated deep into her mouth. But this wasn’t just a kiss. It was a full-on assault on her senses—the velvet thrust of his tongue, the musk and spice of his aftershave, the press of his hard upper body.

If she’d been able to think it through, she might have pushed him away, told him to stop. But she couldn’t think. Not with her brain. So it must have been some other part of her that decided she should slide her arms behind his neck, press herself against him, and kiss him back.

And that other part of her was already aching and wet.

Oh, lord, but the man knew how to kiss! He ravished her mouth with delicious attention to detail, stroking her sensitive inner cheek with his tongue, sucking and nipping her lips, and angling his head to take the kiss deeper, stealing her breath, breathing for her.

She was lost in him, lost in the scent and feel of him, as he consumed her, devoured her, seduced her with his mouth. Something that sounded suspiciously like a purr came from her throat, and her hips rose reflexively off the seat as she squirmed against him, wanting to get closer, needing to get closer. It had been so long since a man had touched her, so long since a man had kissed her.