Just This Night (4 page)

ELIZABETH

I
was beginning to think you took off,” I frowned, reluctantly stepping out of Mac's embrace as real life crashed the party of my fantasies.

“I did. I've been to three other bars tonight.” Stephanie tossed her long black hair behind her shoulder, shuffling from one kitten-heeled sandal to the other. She looked wasted. Okay, let's not kid ourselves, she
was
wasted.

“Oh, of course. Thanks for letting me know,” I muttered. I could feel Mac's gaze on me, tempting me back to fantasyland. And though I'd been looking for my roommate all night, suddenly I wished she'd just go away.

But no such luck. Instead Stephanie caught my arm and started dragging me toward the bathroom. “Steph!” I hissed, trying to subtly nod my head back to Mac who was now standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

“Oh. Sorry.” Stephanie released my arm and sauntered back up to Mac. She laid a hand on his shoulder and dragged her nails down his arm, stopping to trace his tattoo in the way I would have liked to have done had I dared. I bit back
a surge of sudden jealousy. Stephanie could have anyone here. If she even dared to go after my one guy . . .

“Don't go anywhere, hot stuff,” she drawled. “We'll be right back. Girl talk, you know?” Then, before waiting for his reply, she returned to me, seizing me by the elbow. “Bathroom. Now.”

I reluctantly allowed myself to be dragged into the ladies' room. Once inside, Stephanie fished for a compact from her purse and began to powder her dewy face. “So who's the hotness?” she asked, not looking over at me.

I bit my lower lip, suddenly not wanting to tell her anything. I wanted Mac to be mine. My guy. My experience. My fantasy come to life. Not something to be dissected and overanalyzed by a meddling roommate. But when Stephanie turned to give me an expectant, yet impatient look, I gave in. “His name's Mac.”

“He's smokin'.” Stephanie stashed her compact and stared in the mirror with a critical eye before reaching for her lip gloss.

“I did notice that before you dragged me away.” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling annoyed and sweaty again. What if Mac got bored and took off? Or thought that the bathroom thing was just a girl ploy to let the guy down gently without having to say the words? After all, I'd seen Stephanie play that game numerous nights—with “Be right back” loosely translating into “Sayonara, sucker.”

“Don't worry,” Stephanie interjected, as if reading my thoughts. “He won't go anywhere. I saw that look in his eyes. He's definitely into you.”

“Do you think?” I couldn't help but ask, hating myself for sounding so needy the second the words left my lips.

“Totally.” My roommate tossed the lip gloss back into her purse. “That's one throbbing love lance ready to go.”

I moaned, leaning against the bathroom stall, staring up at the ceiling. “I was seriously hoping you'd forget about that.”

“Are you kidding? I would never prematurely evacuate on Operation: Get Beth Laid!” Stephanie protested. “I mean, seriously, what kind of friend do you think I am?”

I decided it was best not to answer that.

“Look, you've already done all the legwork on this one. Trust me, the hookup vibes are radiating across the club. All you have to do now is seal the deal.”

“And I do that, how?”

“Come on, Beth. This isn't rocket science. Hell, this isn't even third grade math. Tell him you're leaving. Ask him if he wants to leave with you. I think he'll get the hint.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “I feel stupid,” I replied. “What if he says no?”

“He's a guy, isn't he? And you're a hot, hot slut, ready for some between the sheets bingo. What red-blooded man could say no to you?”

I could think of a few. Like Ryan, for example. But I decided not to go there.

“Fine,” I said, giving up. “Give me five minutes. I'll see what I can do.”

Stephanie jumped up and down and cheered. “That's my bitch!” she crowed. “Boo-yah!”

Rolling my eyes, I headed out of the bathroom, making my way over to where Mac was leaning against the wall, looking unhappy. When he saw me his expression lifted.

“You're back,” he observed, a smile hovering at the corners of his lips. So he
had
assumed I was going to just ditch him. Stupid Stephanie.

“Yeah, I'm sorry,” I said. “My roommate. She's a piece of work.”

He gave me a knowing look. “I've had roommates like that.”

“Yeah.” I shuffled from foot to foot, suddenly feeling nervous as hell. I tried to remind myself that this was the same guy I'd almost been locking lips with mere minutes before. Nothing had changed. “Well, she's pretty drunk. I think I need to get her home.”

“Yeah?” For a split second his eyes flashed with what looked to me like disappointment. At least I wanted it to be disappointment. Then he nodded. “I should probably call a cab, too,” he said. “It's getting late.”

“A cab?” I sucked in a breath. Okay, there was my opening. My chance. I could not blow this. From across the room I could see Stephanie giving me two overenthusiastic thumbs up, grinning like a loon, which almost made me want to walk away. But this wasn't about her. This was about me. About Mac.

About Mac and me.

And I wanted this, I suddenly realized. Not as some kind of sex intervention. Not as a way to get my groove back. I just wanted to spend more time with him. Even if it was only for conversation. I liked him. I didn't want to say good-bye just yet.

And so I went for it. “Or, you know, you could catch a ride with us. If you wanted to . . .”

He looked at me with a piercing gaze. “I actually live pretty far up north,” he said. “It'd probably be way out of your way.”

“Um. Right.” I bit my lower lip. Was he not getting my hint? “Well, you could just . . . I don't know . . . crash on our couch or something? And I could give you a ride home in the morning?”

There, I said it. I actually said it. Though now I was pretty sure I wanted to take it all back, as I observed the weirdest look on his face. The hesitation before giving an answer. Had I read him completely wrong? Was he just not that into me after all? Suddenly all my Ryan-induced insecurities came raging back with a vengeance.

But before I could take it all back, to tell him I was totally just kidding, he smiled. “That'd be great,” he said. “And I can get my brother-in-law to pick me up in the morning. So you don't have to drive all that way. He owes me, after all, for ditching me here tonight.”

And I owed him—big time.

“Perfect,” I said, relief washing over me in waves. “Then if you're ready, let's go.”

It was done. Except, actually, it was just beginning.

BETH

F
ifteen minutes later and we were pulling into the driveway of the small Pacific Beach bungalow Stephanie and I shared. To her credit, my roommate disappeared into her bedroom almost immediately after we walked through the front door, leaving me alone in the living room. Alone with Mac, that was. Suddenly the nervous butterflies swarmed through my stomach all over again and I had to lean against the wall for support.

What had I done? Only invited a practical stranger into my house in the middle of the night, that's all. With some kind of vague promise of letting him “crash on the couch.” And now I wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. Had he effectively translated “crashing on the couch” to “having your way with me all night long”? Or did he really expect a quiet night's sleep alone?

“Nice place,” he commented, taking a seat on the couch in question, stretching out his long legs and revealing a pair of scuffed black boots. I stole a glance, my heart racing, as I pondered my next move. Under the crazy club lights he'd
been hot. Under the soft glow of the living room lamp? He was downright scorching.

I forced myself to turn away, walking across the room to pull the picture window's vertical blinds, revealing the distant ocean view. “I love this house,” I admitted, trying to focus on the ebb and flow of the tides and get my raging hormones back to a non-heart attack level. “Growing up in the Midwest I always dreamed of living near the beach.” In fact that had been one of the reasons I'd agreed to move in with Stephanie in the first place. She'd needed a roommate to pay half the rent, I needed a room with a view.

I felt hot breath searing my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn't heard him rise from the relative safety of the couch. Now he was standing behind me, so close I could feel the brush of his jeans against the back of my bare thighs, causing me to shiver.

“Beautiful,” he murmured in a husky voice that gave me the distinct suspicion he wasn't talking about the view.

I wanted to ramble on, to break the spell he'd somehow put over me, but it appeared I'd been rendered speechless. And so I stood there, mute, as his hands found my shoulders and began kneading the muscles, massaging slowly, deeply. I drew in a breath and closed my eyes, trying desperately to quell my nerves and enjoy the sensation of his calloused hands on my sensitive skin.
This is what I wanted
, I tried to remind myself. Why I'd invited him here to begin with. I couldn't wimp out now.

And besides, if we were being honest here, it was nice to be touched. To feel appreciated, cherished even. I'd spent far too long waiting for Ryan to keep his promise and move to San Diego. Far too many lonely afternoons, sitting by the phone after work, waiting for him to call. I had missed the touch of another human being. The warmth prickling across my skin.

I might not know Mac all that well. But I liked him. I liked what he was doing to me, too. And deep down I realized I wanted him to do more.

As if he could read my thoughts, he brushed aside the
barrier of my hair to better access my neck. Goosebumps rose as his hands reached around to stroke my collarbone and I found myself leaning backward, into him, melting into his tall, strong frame and allowing him to support my weight. I could feel his desire pressing against my backside, but it didn't scare me as much as it probably should have. Instead, it filled me with that same intoxicating sense of power I'd felt back at the club. He wanted me. This beautiful stranger desired me. The girl whose own boyfriend ditched her for her sister.

He lowered his hands, drawing his arms around me, skimming my midriff through the thin silk of the dress Stephanie had let me borrow. At the time I'd argued that there wasn't enough fabric to call it a dress. Now it felt bulky, cumbersome, a barrier to the skin-on-skin contact I was dying to feel. Heat burned low in my belly as he traced my hipbones with lazy fingers, and it was all I could do not to turn around and jump his bones right then and there.

Eventually I did turn around, still pressing against him, looking up at him with heavily lidded eyes. I wanted to say something though I wasn't sure of the appropriate Emily Post manners for a situation like this. Or if my tongue would even cooperate if I tried. But it didn't matter. He cupped my face in his hands and smiled slowly at me, meeting my eyes with his own deep, dark blue ones. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.

He tasted like mints. Fresh, sweet, delicious. A gourmet dessert I never wanted to stop tasting. But at the same time, I recognized something darker, fiercer, just beneath the surface of the gentle kiss. A pressure, an urgency, a need. And when he pulled away from the kiss, I found myself licking my lips, desperate for more.

“Yum,” I said shyly, smiling up at him. It was ridiculous, but at that moment I couldn't think of another single thing to say.

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of stray hair from my face, then studied me with a concerned look in his eyes that both scared me and excited me more than anything had
up until this very moment. Then I watched, concerned, as a shadow of doubt flickered across his face. “Are you sure about this?” he asked in a gravelly voice. “Because I really don't mind sleeping on the couch.”

His consideration—the fact that he cared, the fact that he'd asked—made me want him even more. Not as a one-night love lance, I realized suddenly. Not as a cure for my sexual slump. But as a guy I wanted to stick around the morning after so I could make him breakfast and grill him about his life. Sure, there were a million reasons I wasn't ready for a new boyfriend. But if Mr. Perfect shows up at your front door, are you really going to slam it in his face?

“Couch?” I murmured. “Well, sure. But it's not very comfortable to tell you the truth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Lowering his hands to my bottom, he pulled me tight against him, the hard planes of his body molding perfectly to my soft curves. His erection was stiff against my belly and I was soaked with desire. “Well then, where do you suggest I sleep?”

He leaned in, not waiting for an answer, his tongue darting out to tease my lips open and then plunge into my mouth. I moaned in delight, scissoring his thigh and pressing against him to relieve some of the pressure. “There's . . . always . . . the bed . . . room,” I managed to gasp between kisses.

He pulled away, giving me a look that was both skeptical and amused. “I don't know,” he drawled. “Is your
bed
comfortable?”

I swallowed hard. “You'd have to try it to know for sure.”

He grabbed me in his arms, scooping me up like a baby, and I squealed in delight as he carried me to my room, his strong arms cradling me as if I weighed nothing at all. Once we were inside, he kicked the door closed, then lowered me tenderly onto the bed, pulling a pillow from the pile to cradle my head on. The sweetness, the thoughtfulness of such a simple gesture almost made tears spring to my eyes. And, after shucking off his jacket and throwing it on a nearby chair, he surprised me by pulling me into his arms, continuing to kiss me over and over again until I lost track of kisses and time.

And suddenly I realized
this
was what I had really needed all along.
This
was what had been missing from my life. Not some wild sexual romp. But to be touched, to be kissed, to be treasured. The way Mac was looking at me now—with fascination mixed with adoration and maybe a little fear, too—that was what I needed tonight. That was what had the power to make me whole.

I knew if I asked him to stop—or to not go any further, he would have agreed with no questions asked. He would have taken me in his arms and cuddled me all night long without a single complaint. But I was feeling so warm by this point, so safe, my nervousness completely abandoning me. Instead I found myself reaching up, grabbing the hem of his shirt with both hands and pulling it over his head, revealing the smooth, chiseled chest I'd been dying to touch since he'd first walked up to the bar. And let's just say I was not disappointed.

He was lean, all muscle and sinew. Carved in stone from an honest day's work, not honed in a gym. I wondered, suddenly, what he did for a living, but it seemed silly to ask him now. Maybe tomorrow morning when I served him that breakfast and we lingered over coffee I could get to know the 411.

Right now all I wanted was the foreplay.

As I ran my fingers over his abs, enjoying the sensation of silky skin laid over hard muscle, I could feel his chest heave in and out, mirroring his labored breathing. He was as turned on as I was and I loved that. Loved that he wanted me, that he desired me, that he was having a hard time taking his time with me—but did so anyway. I reached up to trace the tattoo I'd first seen peeking from his sleeve, realizing it was a letter A written in Celtic-like script. I wondered what it stood for.

Amazing?

Astounding?

Awesome?

He grabbed my hand, pulling it away and pinning it above my head. Then he leaned down and kissed me hard on the
mouth, his other hand dragging down the inside of my arm, skimming my breast and belly before landing between my legs. I groaned, squirming against him as he explored the inside of my thigh, the heat and ache pooling to the point of combustion. Desperate, I reached down with my other hand, guiding him to where I needed him to be and he cupped me in his palm for a moment before deftly sliding his fingers underneath my panties and finding my core.

“Oh God,” I whispered. “Don't stop.”

He smiled wickedly against my mouth. “Believe me, I'm just getting started.”

As he stroked me with long, even strokes, he lowered his head, planting hot kisses on my shoulder before reaching down to pull the spaghetti straps of my dress away, followed by my bra. Before now I'd only been naked in front of one other guy but at this point I had long since stopped caring about being so exposed. Instead I only whimpered as Mac nipped, then licked my right breast, his fingers ever stroking my nub. The combination of his deft fingers, combined with his velvet tongue rolling across my nipple made me burn like wildfire and soon I was arching my back and grabbing handfuls of sheets as I bit down on my lower lip to keep from screaming and waking my roommate.

With Ryan I'd hardly ever been able to climax. In fact, I'd assumed I was one of those girls who just didn't have it in her to come, except by her own hand. But Mac—Mac evidently had the power to bring me to the precipice without any effort whatsoever. And soon I found myself shattering into a thousand stars of light as I came hard against his hand.

“Wow,” I managed to say after the aftershocks of orgasm finally shuddered through me. It was all I could say.

But it wasn't all I could do. And before I knew it I was grabbing at his belt, somehow managing to unbuckle it with my shaky fingers, ripping it from its loops before working on his fly. I could see his erection straining under his jeans as if it couldn't wait to be freed from its constraints.

And then it was.
There
it was. The throbbing—

No. This wasn't some fantasy romance purple prose.

This was a cock. Mac's cock. And it was magnificent.

I reached out, closing my hand around his length, rejoicing in the feeling of silky soft skin over hard erection. I stroked the crown with my thumb and he jerked in my hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Don't stop.”

A smile crept to my lips. “I'm just getting started.”

As I ran my hand up and down his shaft, I placed my other hand on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat against my flat palm. He groaned, his face tormented with pleasure. I could see his hard swallow. He wasn't going to be able to take much more. And so I lay back in bed, still holding him in my hand, and began guiding him into me.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, his voice struggling for composure. I cocked my head in question.

“What?” I asked, a little worried.

His face flushed. “I don't have any protection,” he confessed. “I wasn't planning—”

“Oh.” I sucked in a breath, relieved. Then I smiled. “Don't worry, I've got it covered.” I leaned over to my nightstand and pulled open the top drawer, now thankful for the night when Stephanie had pranced in, right after Ryan had dumped me, filling the drawer with an obscene amount of condoms. Now that I was “free,” she had declared at the time.

I drew one from the nightstand, angling so he couldn't see how overflowing the drawer was—I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Then I shyly handed it over to him.

The relief on his face was palpable. He leaned down and kissed me again, his hands working to remove my panties in one deft movement, leaving me bare beneath him. Once properly sheathed, he climbed on top of me, his hands gripping my hips as he lowered himself onto me. Into me. It wasn't difficult—I was soaking wet by this point. Ryan had never been big on foreplay and we'd always had to supplement with lube. Not today.

His first thrust was slow, tentative. Almost exploratory. Filling me, stretching me, finding his place inside me. The second thrust had more power behind it, causing a gasp to escape me as he pushed deeper inside. I wrapped my legs
around the small of his back, breathing in deeply, trying to match his movements with my own as chills racked through me at an almost alarming rate. God, he felt even better than I'd imagined—and I'd been imagining quite a bit. As he pushed deeper inside of me, his mouth grazed my earlobe, sending shivers straight to my core while my body burned with wildfire.

“God, Elizabeth, you are so fucking beautiful,” he breathed as he lifted his hips, then brought them down again. Over and over, harder and harder, higher and higher until finally we both crashed over the threshold together and this time I couldn't hold back a loud cry. Stephanie was going to have a field day tomorrow—but I didn't care. At that moment nothing else mattered but the waves of ecstasy cascading over me. Mac's hot body against my own.