Good with His Hands (5 page)

When he stepped out of the jeans, her eyes widened in renewed appreciation at the erection outlined in snug boxer briefs. He was male perfection. And, for tonight, he was hers.

“Your skirt,” he said, his voice thick with expectation.

She gave a quick shimmy, letting the unzipped skirt slide down her legs. He hauled her closer, so that they were pressed together. She swiveled her hips, grinding against him, hearing the way he sucked in his breath, loving that his reaction to her was every bit as strong as hers to him. He reached between them to unhook her bra. Her muscles were so taut with anticipation she struggled to shrug free of the material. He skimmed his fingers over her midriff, upward. But before he reached her breasts, he changed direction. She let him get away with a second teasing pass before grabbing his hands and cupping them over her. His low chuckle, more vibration than sound, rumbled through her.

He plucked at one nipple, making her gasp. “Is that more what you had in mind?” he murmured against her ear.

Yes.
She arched into his touch, words escaping her when he repeated the movement, this time tweaking both at once while he kissed her shoulder. She rocked back against him, the movement more instinct than conscious volition. He slid a hand past her hipbone, his fingers curling beneath the thin fabric of her panties to graze her skin.

She was both frantic for him to reach the throbbing juncture between her legs and a touch apprehensive that, once he did, she'd ignite like a roman candle. She had a fanciful image of herself, sated in boneless aftermath, her apartment a smoldering ruin around her. When he began lowering her panties, she had a moment of clarity.

“Condoms,” she blurted. That was nonnegotiable, something they needed to agree on before either of them was fully naked.

“Of course.” His acceptance was immediate, although his voice was gruff. “Jeans pocket. In a minute. First...” His fingers parted the dewy folds at her core, expertly targeting where she was most sensitive. She whimpered, moving against him with primal urgency, reaching out blindly for a way to steady herself.

He steered her toward the couch and splayed his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward. She bent over the arm of the sofa, the leather cool against her bare skin. He eased a finger inside her, and she bit her lip.

“Condoms,” she repeated.
Now.

“Right.” His voice echoed with the same hunger surging through her.

She heard the rustle of his jeans, the thud of a wallet hitting the floor, the discreet rip of foil. His talented fingers returned, working their magic and heightening the frenzied need inside her until she almost screamed into the sofa cushion. Then he gripped her hips in a hold that bordered on bruising and thrust into her.

He withdrew partially, then pushed back even deeper. It felt so damn good. As their rhythm increased, she raised her hips to meet him, their bodies coming together with enough force to send her up on her toes. Already, a wicked, shimmering pressure was building, spreading through her body as she tightened around him. He reached around her, his fingers stroking just above where they were joined, and she cried out. The pressure broke, exploding in ripples of pleasure that radiated through every cell of her body.

Somewhere in the glittery starburst of bliss, as Gray pistoned his hips again and found his own release, she had a single coherent thought. Pretending that nothing had happened when she saw him again on Monday would be a problem. Having experienced this shattering, all-consuming ecstasy, how would she ever have a simply platonic exchange with him again?

 

5

S
EAN
CONSIDERED
HIMSELF
pretty fit, but right now—sprawled across Dani's couch with her tucked against him—he wasn't sure he would ever catch his breath again. Should his heart still be pounding against his rib cage? At least the spots in his vision were clearing, which made it easier to appreciate the view of the naked brunette in his arms. Technically, they were both too tall for the sofa, but even given the awkwardness of his legs hanging over the side, he was surprisingly comfortable.

Dani's head rested on his chest. She sighed happily. “That was...”

“Very athletic of us. I wonder if the Olympic committee has ever considered adding couch sex as an event.”

“You'd definitely be on the medal podium.”

“Both of us,” he corrected. “Pairs event. Singles isn't nearly as much fun.”

“Or as sweaty.” She propped herself up on one arm. “I'm feeling pretty sticky. Care to join me in the shower?”

There was the slightest note of shyness in her invitation, which he found endearing. It was difficult to imagine such a forthright, sensual woman feeling bashful. But forthright didn't mean invulnerable. He recalled the flash of emotion in her gaze when she'd confessed that her ex-fiancé had eloped with someone else.

“I would love to join you, assuming I can still move.” He wiggled his toes experimentally.

She unfolded herself from their tangle of limbs, raising her arms over her head and stretching her spine. Then she stood, grinning over her shoulder. “I'll try to save you some hot water, but I can't make any promises. It doesn't last long.”

Watching her stroll across the room, her nude body outlined by the illumination coming through the window, helped him rediscover his energy.

She'd left her bedroom dark as she passed through, but light spilled from the bathroom. It was pretty basic—navy towels that matched small area rugs and a clear shower curtain imprinted with dark blue swirls. With the exception of the curling iron and cosmetics on the counter, he wouldn't have guessed the room belonged to a woman. His ex had fancy soaps no one was allowed to use, lace-edged washcloths and scented candles on a shelf above her tub. She'd also favored lots of sweet-smelling potpourri; visiting her apartment was like being trapped inside a raspberry. Dani didn't need pastel throw pillows or ruffled curtains to highlight her femininity—it was stamped on every curve of her body, from her lush lips to the graceful arch of her foot.

Standing beneath the spray of water, she smiled at him through the translucent curtain. “Here to wash my back?”

“Something like that.” He stepped over the side of the tub, joining her.

Squeezing into the narrow bathtub was like cuddling on the couch all over again—crowded, yet not uncomfortable. He liked being here with her.
Too bad you won't be with her much longer.
The thought was a dark whisper in his mind, an unpleasant reminder that their time was limited. When he told her the truth tomorrow...

“Here.” He reached for the shampoo bottle she held. “Let me.” He squeezed some of the citrusy shampoo into his palm and worked it into a lather.

With the water temporarily taming her curls, her hair hung even longer than it had dry. He took his time, massaging her scalp, working the shampoo through each strand, enjoying her soft
mmm
of contentment. She was gratifyingly vocal, making it easy for a guy to tell when he was doing something right.

After he'd finished with both the shampoo and conditioner, she turned in his arms, snuggling against him as she dotted kisses along his collarbone. “That felt good. I can't remember the last time I was this relaxed.”

“What can I say? Making you feel good is addictive.” He tipped her chin up with his finger and kissed her. With their earlier urgency somewhat mellowed, this kiss was slow and leisurely. The sex had been incredible but, in retrospect, he wished he'd taken more time to explore her body, to find all the secret places that made her moan and writhe.

He straightened abruptly, reaching for the bottle of body oil on the shower shelf. “You know, you should never underestimate the importance of moisturizing.” He started to pour the liquid into his palm, then changed his mind, drizzling it directly across her shoulders and chest.

Her earlier lassitude was gone, her dreamy expression replaced by an eager gleam in her gaze. How was it possible for someone's eyes to be so dark and so bright at the same time? He rubbed the satiny oil in lazy circles across her skin. When he caressed the undersides of her breasts, her head fell back, lips parted on a noiseless sigh.

He brushed a thumb over one taut peak. “I didn't get the chance, earlier, to taste you here.” An oversight he meant to correct immediately. He bent his head, swirling his tongue around her nipple, then sucking hard.

She made a sound low in her throat that reverberated off the tile walls. If it weren't for his realization that the water pelting his skin was turning increasingly cool, he could happily stay here for hours. Reluctantly, he let her go.

“You weren't kidding about the short-lived hot water,” he complained. “If we don't get out of here, we're going to turn into popsicles.”

“Told you,” she said ruefully. As she drew back the shower curtain, she added, “It's probably just as well. I'm starting to get light-headed from hunger. Not that I was thinking about food while you were... With your mouth on me, I can't think at all.”

“We'll have to test that theory later. There are other places I still haven't had the chance to kiss you,” he drawled, his voice full of wicked intent.

She stilled, her eyes wide and her cheeks rosy with color. It took considerable willpower not to scoop her up and carry her to the bed in the next room. But then she blinked, shaking off her reverie and grabbing an oversize blue towel. She handed him a matching one.

Wrapping herself in terry cloth, she tucked in the corner so that it formed a mini-dress. “I really am starving. Three beers and a handful of chips does not a dinner make.”

“You sure?” He secured his own towel around his waist. “I have a number of buddies who would consider that fine dining.”

“I just hope I have actual groceries. I put in what feels like a hundred hours of work this week.”

Including going to the office on a Saturday. “Are you always so driven, or were you going out of your way to stay busy?” he asked tactfully. The days leading up to the aborted wedding must have been tough.

“Both. My colleagues call me ambitious.”

He managed not to wince at the word. Once she knew more about him, would she share his ex's opinion—that Sean was going nowhere simply because he didn't wear expensive suits to work? He was currently the lead builder on a new phase of a luxury subdivision. He'd worked before in brick and concrete neighborhoods where every house looked alike and the only landscaping attention was given to the token shrubbery surrounding the pool area and private tennis courts. This subdivision, on the other hand, had personality in addition to the community pool and clubhouse. Flowering magnolia and dogwood trees offered shade and color in generous-size yards; stately pines marched along property lines. It struck him as the kind of dream neighborhood his parents would have loved to raise him and Bryce in, had they ever been able to afford it.

“I've always been goal oriented,” Dani continued as she flipped on her bedroom light. “And I don't mind busting my ass to meet those goals.” She shot him a grin. “But I try not to let it make me stuffy.”

“Definitely
not
the word I would use to describe you.”

Her apartment was so small there was no hallway. The living room sat in the center, with a kitchen and bedroom at either end. Now that there were more lights on, he was getting his first real look at the place. A flat-screen television hung on the wall, above a shelf of DVDs. Most of the titles he glimpsed were action movies.

“You bowl?” he asked, spotting a turquoise bowling bag in the corner.

“It used to be a weekly tradition for me and my dad. He gave me a ball for my birthday a few years back, but it's been a while.”

“That him?” Sean asked, noting the framed eight-by-ten on a small end table. It looked pretty recent. Sean knew the stern-jawed man with silver hair was her father even before she nodded. The man had the same dark eyes as his daughter—and the same air of determination.

“Yep, that's the Major,” she said, affectionate pride in her voice.

In the kitchen, a couple more photos were stuck to the refrigerator with pizza delivery magnets. One was a shot of Dani in a tank top and sunglasses, a runner's number pinned to her shirt.

“Last year's Peachtree Road Race,” she said, following his gaze. “The other one's me and my friend Meg.”

The two women sat on the deck of a boat, crossing their eyes comically and raising bottles of beer.

“She barely looks old enough to drink,” he commented. “Or...I don't know.” It wasn't that the pretty woman literally looked underage. It was more a sense of innocence and youthful merriment. Strawberry-blond ringlets framed a cherubic face with a button nose, a smattering of freckles and a sweet smile. “If I had to guess, I'd say she either teaches kindergarten or directs a church choir. Maybe both.”

“She owns a high-end lingerie store and sells the occasional sex toy at private parties.”

While he absorbed that bombshell, Dani added, “I actually need to send her a quick text to let her know I, uh, got home okay. Excuse me for a sec?” She retrieved her cell phone from the purse she'd dropped as soon as they entered the apartment.

Sean continued his informal study of her place. Her personal mementos seemed limited to the three pictures he'd seen. Because she wasn't overly sentimental, or because she'd removed any keepsakes that included her ex? Sean had an irrational urge to punch the unknown former fiancé in the nose. He hated the idea of any guy hurting her.

“Okay. Food,” Dani said decisively. She swung open the refrigerator door, frowned at the array of takeout containers, then checked the freezer.

Watching over her shoulder, Sean laughed. “Takeout food, beer and pizzas? You have the body of a swimsuit model, but the refrigerator of a frat house.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose
your
fridge is full of kale and imported brie?”

“Touché.”

The kitchen was small enough that Dani could preheat the oven without even stepping away from the fridge. She pulled a square box from the freezer. “I doubt college boys splurge on gourmet Mediterranean veggie pizzas. This okay with you?”

He nodded. Although he hadn't given food much thought before she mentioned it, now he realized he was famished, too.

She opened an overhead cabinet, which caused her towel to slip a tantalizing half inch, and got down two glasses. “Help yourself to anything you want to drink.”

He waited until she was done with the pitcher of filtered water, then poured himself a glass, as well. The digital display signaled that the oven was preheated, and she set the pizza on the rack.

“Frozen pizza and a dress code of towels.” She grinned at him as she set the timer on the microwave. “Do I know how to throw a classy dinner party or what?”

“Best social event I've been to all year. And, trust me, I was dragged to plenty.” He hadn't meant to add that part, but it was true. Tara had the busiest calendar of anyone he'd ever known.

“Work events?”

“No. Ex-girlfriend, hell-bent on networking.” Looking back, he was surprised he'd convinced the youngest daughter of Dunwoody socialites to go out with him in the first place. “You're not the only one who's been through a breakup recently,” he commiserated.

“Were the two of you serious?”

“There was a time I thought we might be, but we never lived together or got engaged.” He could imagine the disdain on Tara's face if he'd proposed. “She wanted someone different. Or at least, she wanted me to be someone different.”

“Then she's a moron. You're...” She ducked her gaze. “Well. You're you.”

Under other circumstances, the soft spoken flattery would have gone straight to his head. But it was impossible to accept the compliment when she didn't know who he was.
Doesn't she?
She'd spent hours with him, enjoying his company and their chemistry. Okay, she had his name wrong, but was that more important than the connection they'd formed?

“So did you always know you wanted to be an architect?” she asked.

He flinched inwardly, her innocuous question destroying his attempt at rationalization. “Not exactly,” he said. “I got started in my dad's roofing company. I guess my career evolved from there. You spend enough time working on people's houses you start to imagine how you would build them yourself. What you'd do differently. What your own dream home might be like.” That was entirely true. He might not have Bryce's schooling, but Sean had consulted with friends and experts and was almost finished with blueprints for his eventual dream home.

“Sounds a little like my inspiration. Except I never worked as a roofer.”

“Shame. You'd look cute in a hard hat.”

“Dad and I moved a bunch of times when I was growing up, so I spent a lot of time daydreaming about my perfect home, too. In case you were wondering,” she added in a wry voice, “this apartment isn't it. This was just a temporary stop that got extended when my relationship status changed. Anyway, even when Dad and I stayed in a place longer than usual, it was base housing. It was never truly
ours
. Helping clients find their perfect place makes me feel like a fairy godmother.”

He tilted his head, unable to reconcile the sexy as hell woman whose towel only barely concealed her luscious breasts with a kindly old godmother. “Didn't you want to be the princess when you were a little girl?” Dani was certainly more beautiful than any fabled heroine with snowy skin or rosy lips.