Hot Spot (15 page)

But the vehicle passed by.

Guess it didn't matter.

Then the truck came to a stop, backed up, and pulled into her curb.

So it was a Chevy
, a little voice inside her brain said.
Now what are you going to do
?

He was getting out and looking up at the house.

Jumping away from the window, she stood with her back against the wall, not exactly sure how she should respond. Should she be effusive in her greeting or blase? Should she tell him she'd been thinking of him all day or act like an adult and keep her mouth shut? Should she pretend she hadn't been fantasizing about having sex with him a hundred different ways since she'd left him that morning? Could she carry that one off when he was closer than a mile?

She wasn't so sure. Maybe she couldn't discount her mom's passionate sensibilities entirely. Maybe genes did matter.

Before her dilemmas of conscience and maturity were solved, he was on her porch, ringing her doorbell.

Indecision aside, there was no way she wasn't going to answer the bell.

Pushing away from the wall, she walked to the door, opened it, and smiled. "Hey."

"I thought I'd wait until closing time."

For what
? she thought, but she was cool enough to say, "Good timing."

For what
? he thought, not entirely unsure of the answer. But he, too, knew his manners. "I thought you might like to go out for dinner."

"Not really."

He hesitated—a half second, maybe only a tenth of a second with that look in her eyes. "Would you like to do something else?"

"It's been a real long day."

"Tell me about it."

"I was going to act mature. I was thinking blase even."

He grinned. "Don't bother. I'm more or less out of control."

"It must be a virus going around."

"No doubt." He dipped his head. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"I was thinking about it." She shrugged. "Either that or stalk you later."

He lifted his gaze from her breasts that had jiggled as she'd shrugged, inhaled softly, refocused his thoughts from expressions like "the more you get the more you want," and said in as bland a voice as he could, "Lucky I came over and saved you the drive."

Not that he actually wanted her in his house after his office had been rifled. Which was part of the reason he'd come to her— a small part. The major reason he'd driven over was his libido. "You left early this morning." Fuck. He wasn't going to show it mattered.

"I'm more obsessed with this store than I thought. Sorry."

"Not a problem." At least she hadn't left for one of those guys in the sketches under her bed—another subject he'd vowed to ignore, because the men in her life were none of his concern. Or shouldn't be. "So?"
Keep on target, man
. He glanced past her shoulder.

Moving back a step, she waved him in. "Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."

He shot her an amused look. "Should I be packing heat?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Nah. I just love that line."

"I warn you," he said with a quirked grin. "I won't go down easy."

"Just so long as you go down," she murmured with a smile.

She didn't mess around. Definitely his type. "Is that first on the agenda?"

"First, second, third—whatever. Did I say I've been thinking of you all day?"

"Ditto here. I tried to read, sleep, swim—" He didn't mention his security project. "Anything to get you off my mind. Without success, as you can see."

"I'm grateful you held off until now, considering I had a store full of kids until five minutes ago."

"Seven, but who's counting?"

"You've been waiting?" How sweet. Her pussy did a little dance of delight.

"I parked around the corner. I wasn't sure I could keep my hands off you, and I didn't want to mess with sensitive, young minds."

"We've plenty of time now. The store doesn't open till nine tomorrow."

He blew out a breath. "I'm not sure you should have said that."

"Consider it a warning," she said with a wink.

He grinned. "You're one of a kind."

"I like to think so." She crooked her finger and turned toward the stairway.

What was there not to like about a woman who knew what she wanted, he cheerfully reflected. "Give me a minute to lock the doors. I don't want any interruptions."

"Especially when I plan on taking out my sex toys."

"Should I have brought my whip?"

"Not unless you're a masochist." She was halfway up the stairs, and her voice drifted lightly downward. "That's not my idea of a toy."

"Gotcha." Nice ass. He watched its gentle sway as she ascended the stairs, his erection taking note as well. Only after she disappeared from sight did he turn to lock the front door, then move down the hall to the back of the store. Passing by a table and chairs painted in green and yellow polka dots and tucked into a small bay with windows overlooking the neighbor's yard, he came to a sudden stop. A folio-sized paperback lay on the table— the title burning his retinas,
Video Game Graphics and Electronics
.

Trying to ignore the danger bells going off in his brain, he picked up the book, slid his finger under one of the two pages that had been flagged, and opened the book to the marked page. Fuck. And every other profanity known to man. A set of images from his
Blizzard 9000
game filled the page, along with step-by-step instructions for drawing the characters and setting up the game. Flipping over the second tab, he saw similar images for
Blood in the Streets
. The fact that
Blizzard 9000
was the most popular game on the planet and the other tabbed game was in the top five may have motivated the reader to examine them. It was a how-to book after all, and comic book aficionados were in the same gene pool as video game enthusiasts.

If his office hadn't been searched that morning, he wouldn't have given the choices a second thought.

Unfortunately…

It took less than five seconds to reconcile the warring factions in his brain—maybe less considering he was literally minutes away from burying his cock in the hottest of cunts. It helped that his office was miles away and secure. Furthermore, the possibility of the lady upstairs engaging in industrial espionage tonight was pretty much nil. She'd be too busy riding him.

With all the negatives quickly disposed of, he set down the book and resumed his undertaking. Reaching the back door, he slid the chain lock into place and then glanced around the small entry as though in search of some clue to the woman who had consumed his thoughts of late and who may or may not be a hazard to his peace of mind in more ways than one. A denim jacket, frayed at the cuffs, hung on a hook, garden clogs had been tossed in a corner, a couple straw hats lay on a cubby bench, and a bright green frog apparently used as a door stop was painted with the words LOVE LIFE—in neon orange. Now there was a Stella Scott metaphor. Resplendent, irrepressible… with color-me-hot buzzwords.

He exhaled slowly, telling himself not to blow it by attacking her—his libido might require a choke chain in that regard. In general though, he was counting his blessings. Time enough to deal with more dicey issues tomorrow. Right now, he was going to count his blessings and fuck his brains out.

STELLA WAS CURRENTLY engaged in her own internal discourse having to do with restraint because she was so-o-o ready for sex she was nearly shaking. The last thing she wanted to do was scare off Danny Rees by coming on too strong.

An entire day of sexual fantasy starring you-know-who and his large, lovely cock was the cause—not that understanding in any way mitigated her horniness. Nor did it help that she'd been thinking more than she should about his proficiency in all those provocative Kama Sutra contortions. Apparently, there was nothing new under the sun in terms of sex for Danny Rees.

Nice.

Pulling open her bottom dresser drawer, she lifted out her favorite toys. They were all about her. She hoped he didn't mind, she thought, lining them up on the top of the dresser. Somehow, she didn't think he would.

So she was selfish. It wasn't as though he hadn't come with the regularity of Old Faithful last night. Jeez… she could see it now, the tantalizing memory almost enough to give her an orgasm just thinking about it. Was he prime or what? No doubt.

He was world-class, A-list sexy, and she was about to experience him up close and personal
all night long'
.

"If you want to try all of that by morning, we're going to have to crank up the time table."

She turned at the soft drawl, took in the accompanying smile, and felt a delectable warmth suffuse her senses. "I'm just laying out the options. I like them all. Take your pick."

He didn't move from his lounging pose in the doorway, his expression suddenly unreadable.
How many others had been here before
, he found himself thinking, when he shouldn't have given a damn. How many others had entertained her with that prodigious display? "You decide. It's your party."

His voice was brusque; his shuttered look gave her pause. "Should I apologize for being selfish? I'm just psyched after thinking about you all day."

His smile reappeared. He was way off-base anyway. Since when did he believe in getting involved? This was sex—not Hallmark card stuff. "Psyched I understand," he murmured, back on track. Pushing away from the door jamb, he tipped his head toward the row of sex toys. "What's your pleasure?"

"You're sure now? Sometimes I'm too pushy."

He grinned. "Sometimes you talk too much." He picked up the number one vibrating dream date: the Rabbit Habit. "How about this?"

That was her absolute favorite. "You must be psychic."

"Lucky guess," he said, not mentioning the vibrator with the little rabbit ears for the clit was lots of women's favorite.

"Have you seen the Babes in Toyland online catalogue? It's really great."

His lashes lowered faintly.

"No? With all your computers, I thought you might have seen their site."

He experienced one of those two-second twinges at her mention of computers—his mental blip almost instantly overridden by more powerful sexual impulses. If she was working for his competitors, he didn't want to think about it right now. "I don't go online much," he said. "I mostly play video games."

"Aren't you getting a little old for video games?"

"Aren't you getting a little old for comics?"

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"So are we back to essentials?"

"Sex you mean?"

He held up the pink vibrator. "And this. You like toys—right?"

"And you."

"And me," he said with a faint smile. "We can argue about our arrested adolescence sometime later over tea."

"Tea? Really?"

"Sarcasm, babe."

Too bad. She was a sucker for a nice tea.

"Are we done talking, then?" It sounded like he was settling an account.

"Maybe if you say that in a different tone of voice we might be."

"Euh-feisty."

But he'd said it real softly, and it didn't hurt that he'd pulled her into his arms and held her close so she didn't miss that pertinent contour she'd been dreaming about all day. "That's for me to know and you to find out," she whispered, leaning into his hard, muscled body.

"After last night, I'm not sure there's much more to find out."

"What if I've been saving my extra-special repertoire?" she purred.

He wasn't sure he liked the thought of her extra-special anything if it involved other guys and that collection of colored sili-cone and latex on the dresser. So much for "live and let live" and not getting involved.

She glanced at her dresser. "You might enjoy some of those, too."

"What if I said I wouldn't?"

"I'd say you weren't very experimental." Although, after last night, she knew better.

"Don't push your luck." He set the vibrator back on the dresser, sensitive to curiously earnest feelings that had no place in this strictly sex scenario.

"What if I like to?"

"You're gonna lose, babe." His hands slid downward, curved under her bottom. "I'm bigger," he murmured, pulling her into his erection, reminding himself why he was here.

"I don't know whether to be frightened or consoled."

He gave her an assessing look. "Why don't we play it by ear?" And bending low, he kissed her, ungently, unequivocally, with a kind of machismo promise that left little doubt about who would be doing what to whom, making sure she knew what that promise meant by holding her firmly against the bulge in his jeans.

Not that she minded a bit, his erection her target zone of bliss. "Ummm…" She moved her hips in a slow, gentle undulation, focused, really focused on what she'd been wanting all day. Anticipation racheted up another heated notch with each brushing sway of her hips, only two layers of denim separating her from nirvana. Easing her mouth away, she murmured, "This is better than chocolate…"

His heated gaze warmed her clear down to her toes.

"Maybe even better than shoe shopping," she breathed.

"Too bad we don't have some chocolate syrup." He glanced at her toys. "We could try it inside… with whipping cream…"

"I could say something really cheesy."

"And unoriginal."

"Speak for yourself." She placed her palms on his chest and pushed away enough so he could see her displeasure. "We haven't all gone 'round the world a dozen times."

Was he actually pleased that she'd said what she'd said—that she had sexual boundaries? Was it possible he subscribed to the double standard after all? Were those guys she'd sketched really the result of some creative process and not a record of her busy sex life? "How many times—you know… have you gone—" Christ, he must be losing it, asking such a question.

"You first."

"Never."

"Liar."

Was he that transparent? "Your turn," he said, figuring a bluff was a bluff only if you didn't cave.

"Never, and unlike you, it's the truth. I lead a very quiet life."

He
had
lost it, 'cuz he liked her answer.