Lead Me On (7 page)

"One night?" He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "That's not much of an affair."

"I just think it would be best. Seeing each other as lovers for a solid month could be emotionally dangerous. Don't you think?"

He didn't appear too happy, but sighed in resignation. "Very well. One night it is."

The waiter arrived to take their order.

"Appetizer?" Scott asked her.

"Yes. An appetizer would be lovely." She set her menu down and folded her hands in her lap. Beside her, Scott smoothed his beard, but she still saw the smile he was trying to hide at her prim manner. Did it really turn him on? Or had he been making fun of her?

"We'll have the spinach and artichoke dip," he said, then glanced over the wine list before turning back to her. "Will you be ordering steak or seafood for dinner?"

"I haven't decided."

He picked a Chardonnay, claiming it went with anything. "Besides," he told Allison when the waiter was gone, "red wine makes me sleepy. If we're only going to have one night, I don't want to waste it."

Nerves skittered deep in her belly, even as arousal sent out a flush of heat.

The waiter returned with the wine and Scott went through the ritual of tasting, then nodded his approval. He watched Allison closely as she took her first sip and wondered if she could even taste it, she was so nervous. Leaning back in his chair, he studied her over the rim of his wine glass. She sat perched in her chair, back ramrod- straight, legs crossed tightly at the ankles with her feet tucked under the chair. He figured if he made one wrong move, she'd bolt.

Except, she'd said she wanted this. And so did he. He couldn't remember the last time his whole body tingled just sitting next to a woman watching her play with the stem of her wine glass. Her delicate hands looked perfectly suited for serving tea in those fancy porcelain cups she sold in her gift shop. But all he could think of was feeling those hands on his skin.

If she bolted at the last minute, he'd probably keel over from frustration.

By the time their appetizer arrived, he decided he could do one of three things: call the whole thing off and take her home; talk about something neutral to help her relax; or ... he could seduce her with words until she was equally eager to go upstairs. He was good with words. He knew their power to stir thought, emotion, physical response.

His eyelids lowered as he watched her nibble at a tortilla chip with a scant amount of spinach dip. Taking a chip, he trailed it through the dip. "Here," he said, leaning toward her. "Some things are better when you indulge all the way."

She jumped slightly, then started to take the chip from him.

"Naw-ah." He pulled it back. "Trust me. Now open wide."

Her gaze met his as she opened her mouth.
Oh, sweetheart, you do take direction well.
His groin tightened as he placed the chip on her tongue and watched her lips close about it.

"You know," he said, holding her gaze. "There are reasons men like to take women out to dinner."

She blushed and swallowed. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm normally better at making conversation. I'm just ... nervous."

A smile tugged at his lips. "No. I wasn't talking about conversation. I was talking about ... anticipation."

Her eyes widened.

"You see"—he leaned in close—"while we sit here looking very proper and dignified I'm visualizing all the things I plan to do to you the second I get you upstairs."

She dropped her gaze, and stared at the table so hard, he expected the linens to burst into flames. Okay, maybe a verbal seduction wasn't such a good idea. Instead of exciting her, he might frighten her off. But if she were going to change her mind, he'd rather she do it before he had her in bed.

He rested one elbow on the table as he swirled the wine in his glass. The position brought his mouth close enough to her ear for him to talk softly. "I've always had a very vivid imagination. Do you want to know what I'm imagining right now?"

She sat perfectly still, but her breathing turned fast and shallow.

"I'm imagining how much I'm going to enjoy peeling that little black dress off your very nice body to discover what you have on underneath." He took a sip, savoring the oaky flavor. "My guess is something white and virginal, with lots of lace and a tiny pink bow between your breasts."

She nearly stopped breathing altogether and her gaze remained fixed on the table. Well, he supposed that was answer enough. She definitely wasn't up to this. He set his wine down as disappointment settled over him. At this rate, he might as well drive her home as soon as their meal was over.

She whispered something very low that sounded like the word "lavender."

"Excuse me?" he asked, not even sure she'd spoken.

"My underwear. It isn't white." Her lashes lifted revealing dilated eyes. "It's lavender. With black lace."

A punch of desire hit him low and hard. "Describe

it."

She took a shaky breath. "The bra is ... mostly lace, but with some satin. I've always enjoyed ..."

"Yes?" he prompted.

She reached for her wine glass and took a deep sip. "I've always enjoyed the way satin feels. Like ... decadence."

He shifted to accommodate his arousal as he imagined the cool, smooth fabric beneath his fingertips. "Are your panties satin?"

She nodded. "They're cut high on the leg, and have lace insets on the sides."

Oh man.
He took a slow breath to keep from pulling her to the floor then and there. The response worried him since he'd never been this desperate to touch one particular woman. Ever. "Do you always wear sexy underwear?"

"No." Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I usually wear simple cotton. A while back, though, I saw this set in a store window, and I bought it on impulse. But I've never worn it."

Until now.
The unspoken words hung between them. Frightening in their implication. She was the innocent he'd suspected in so many ways, but with a streak of hidden passion she'd never let out. He felt suddenly torn between the desire to seal her in a glass case to protect her from all the world's vices, and a potent urge to help her explore every naughty thought she'd ever entertained in the privacy of her mind.

"Are you ready to order?" the waiter asked, making them both start.

Scott glanced at Allison.

She stared at him, her gray eyes dark, her lips slightly parted. "To be honest," she said in a breathy voice, "I'm not very hungry."

"Neither am I." He pulled his attention away from her long enough to ask for the check, and for the wine to be recorked so they could take it to their room.

What have i gotten myself into? Scott wondered as they rode up in the old elevator. Every bachelor survival instinct he had screamed for him to run like hell. The woman who stood quietly beside him watching the numbers change was far more complex than he'd bargained for, and his fascination for her had grown all out of proportion to what he was used to handling.

The elevator came to a jarring halt and the doors slid open to reveal the ornate hall with Art Deco chandeliers. Allison glanced up at him, her smile timid. Shifting the bottle of wine to his other arm, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Everything will be fine, he told himself as they started down the hall. You've spelled out the rules. She's agreed. Nothing to worry about.

Except he wasn't usually this nervous about making love to a woman. Or this aroused so early in the game. Just holding her hand made his pulse jump. Once he'd matured past the selfishness of adolescence, he'd learned to take pride in pleasing his partners. But what if he was so rusty he'd forgotten how?

He brushed that possibility aside as ridiculous. No one "forgot" how to pleasure a partner.

As for the fact that she intrigued him more than any other woman he'd ever met, it didn't have to mean anything. They were two mature, consenting adults about to share a little mutual gratification. Period.

When they reached the suite, he dropped her hand to unlock the door with the card key. "I hate these things," he muttered when he couldn't get it to work.

"Here, let me." She took the card from him and got the green light to flash on the first try. He turned the handle and opened the door for her.

Allison's knees shook as she walked to the center of the sitting area, clutching her purse. Soft light from the courtyard came through the sheer curtains, giving the room a peach-colored glow. Behind her, she heard the jangle of loose change and keys hitting a hard surface. She turned and found Scott standing by a marble-top table near the door, emptying his pockets. It was such a simple male ritual that suddenly seemed very intimate—the sort of thing a wife would watch her husband do at the end of each day.

He set the bottle of wine on the same table, then looked at her. He appeared more shadow than reality, with his dark beard and hair, the darkness of his clothing. But his eyes captured the light in a way that made them gleam. Wolf's eyes, she thought with a shiver.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked.

"No," she said, barely above a whisper. She wanted him to kiss her and end the wondering and the waiting.

He came toward her and her body began to tremble. When he reached her, he pried the purse from her hands and dropped it to the coffee table. The height and breadth of him dwarfed her as she tipped her head back to meet his gaze.

He raised his hands and cupped her face. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

She closed her eyes as his mouth descended, the contact so soft it was hardly a kiss at all. He held her there, his warm palms cradling her face as his lips brushed and retreated, then brushed again.

A tingling heat spread downward from his hands, relaxing her chest, then her stomach, as hunger unfurled. He deepened the kiss while his hands held her still for the onslaught of need he poured into her. She rose on her toes

and pressed her body to his, gripping his shoulders as a demand for more.

He kissed her cheeks, then spoke against her temple. "I take it you're excited too?"

She nodded, her throat too tight for her to speak.

"Say it," he coaxed. Raining kisses over her face. "I love the sound of your voice. Tell me you want this."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to voice her desire, but a quiet "yes" was all she could manage.

"Louder." He brushed his lips over hers.

"Yes," she whispered. "I want this."

He rewarded her with a hard, searing kiss as his hands traveled down her back to cup her bottom. He pulled her against him, letting her feel the strength of his erection. With a whimper, she rubbed against him as excitement rolled through her.

"Oh yes," he breathed in approval. "Talk to me. Tell me what you like, what pleases you. If all we have is this one night, I want to make the most of it, for both of us."

"I ... can't." Embarrassment made her pull away. "I'm too nervous."

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. "If it makes you feel better, I'm nervous, too."

"You are?"

He gave her a lopsided grin that seemed oddly self-deprecating. "I'm afraid I'm a little out of practice here, so I'd be a whole lot more comfortable if you'd agree to tell me when I do something you like, or don't like."

The embarrassment softened to tenderness. She didn't believe he really was nervous, but it was sweet of him to try to put her at ease. "I'm afraid I'm a
lot
out of practice. And"—she dropped her gaze to his chest—"I'm worried I'll disappoint you."

He lifted her chin with a knuckle. "Not a chance, sweetheart. Just tell me if I do something that feels good.

If there's anything you want to do, tell me that, too."

She lowered her lashes to hide her eyes. "There is one thing."

"Yes?" He kissed the corners of her mouth.

"It's just ..."

"What?"

"Every time I look at you, I try to imagine you"— her cheeks flamed, but she forced the words out—"naked. I wonder what it would be like to ... touch you. Simply run my hands all over you. That probably sounds ridiculously tame, but I fantasize about touching you. A lot."

She waited for him to laugh, or puff up with arrogance. Instead, he removed his jacket, then raised his hands and undid his tie. Next he unbuttoned his shirt. Her mouth watered as the shirt parted, revealing first his chest, with its gorgeous muscles and mat of black hair, then his taut stomach. She swallowed hard as he pulled the shirt-tails from his trousers, removed the garment completely, and tossed it aside.

She stood there, mesmerized, until he took hold of her wrists and placed her hands on his chest. The texture of his hair thrilled her. She spread her fingers to touch as much of him as possible and heard him draw a breath through his teeth. The breath made his chest expand, and she moved her hands in a slow circle to learn the shape and feel of him. Drawing her hands downward over his stomach, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the center of his chest, where the hair formed a little swirl. His muscles twitched against her lips as his masculine scent filled her.

He ran his hands through her hair, pulling it out of the way, and she could feel him watching her. Giving herself over to impulse, she turned her head and caressed one of his nipples with her tongue.

With a groan, he pulled her head back and covered her lips in a full, openmouthed kiss, explosive with passion and need. She stroked him with her hands, petting his stomach and chest. He arched her head back farther, exposing her throat to his hungry mouth. His lips found a pulse point and the pressure of his mouth made her heart pound harder.

"Tell me," he rasped, "does this fantasy of yours involve me touching you as well?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want ... I want you to touch me. I want to feel your hands on my body."

He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and drew it down slowly. "First I want to see this underwear of yours."

He stepped back enough to let the dress fall to her feet. With her body tanned from living on the coast, she wore no hose, nothing but the satin and lace bra that barely covered her aching breasts, the French-cut panties, and high-heeled sandals.

His gaze moved over her, thoroughly, and when he lifted his eyes, she saw a desire that made her feel exotically beautiful. The look emboldened her enough to hold out her hand. He took it and led her to the bed.

"Kneel on the mattress," he told her.

She slipped off her shoes and did as he asked, facing him as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Watching him, she realized this was no clumsy adolescent, eager to get to the deed as quickly as possible, but a man in his prime, with the restraint to linger and savor. The idea sent a shiver of excitement racing through her.

When he was nude, he knelt on the mattress as well, so they faced each other. This time, she placed her hands on his chest by herself as he cupped her lace-clad breasts. Like mirror images, they touched and tasted, each seeking out sensitive spots that made the other suck in a breath or moan for more.

He removed her bra, and bent his head to suckle her breasts. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, gloried in the heady rush of pleasure as he slipped a hand inside her panties and found her aching center. A purr sounded deep in her throat.

"You like that?" he whispered as he caressed her.

"Y-yes. I— Oh yes."

His touch grew bolder, making her bones feel weak. As the pleasure built, she felt faint and would have collapsed backward onto the pillows, but he caught her and held her to him. Then he was the one talking to her, whispering, telling her how beautiful she was, how much she excited him as his touch drove her higher. She closed her eyes, listening to his thrilling words as the tension grew tighter and tighter in her belly.

Then the tension snapped. Gasping in shock, she clung to him as she splintered into a thousand pieces.

Slowly, the world settled. She opened her eyes, startled and dazed, to find him smiling at her. When he saw her expression a chuckle rumbled in his chest. "First one?"

Her blush must have told him he'd guessed right.

He kissed her sweetly, smiling against her lips. "Well, it won't be your last."

The kiss deepened as he lavished her body with attention, stripping off her panties. By the time he stretched out on the bed, powerfully built and beautifully male, she'd lost all her inhibitions. Almost.

The shyness returned when he reached for a condom, removed it from the wrapper, and held it out to her. She stared at it both surprised and curious since she'd never seen one in person. She'd definitely never touched one. Her gaze shot to his.

He smiled, that lazy lopsided grin that had attracted her from the beginning. "You said you wanted to touch me."

She took the condom from him, praying she didn't give her inexperience away, but her first attempt proved a dismal failure.

"Like this," he said, and covered her hands with his own.

She closed her eyes to savor the feel of him, so hard and hot within the circle of her fingers and palm, while his hand guided hers.

"Jeez." His breath hissed through his teeth. In one swift move, he pulled her down beside him and was looming over her, staring at her with his intense amber eyes. "I already loved watching your hands. Now I won't be able to look at them without getting hard."

Nibbling her jaw, he shifted until he lay with his hips cradled between her thighs. "Talk to me, sweet Alli. Tell me what you want."

"You," she said, as her heart began to pound. Everything inside her felt wild and reckless. She arched beneath him, telling him with her body as well as with words that tumbled from her lips how desperately she wanted him inside her. He answered with a hard nudge that made her gasp. He pressed again and she bit her lip because he didn't seem to fit

"Gawd, you're tight." His expression looked pained as he started to pull back.

"No!" She wrapped her legs around him, holding him close. "I want you. Now, please, now. I want you." She kissed his neck, feeling his beard against her cheek and his rapid pulse against her lips.

With a groan, he pressed forward again, forcing his way inside her one small thrust at a time. Her head arched back on a gasp of both pleasure and pain.