Meeting at Midnight (9 page)

Her smile just got wider. Then she lifted up onto her toes, put her hand on my good shoulder and her mouth right smack on mine.

“You…” Hard to form words with my head buzzing this way. “Why did you do that?”

“Impulse.” She skimmed smiling lips across mine. “Very poor impulse control I have at times.”

I, on the other hand, was great at self-control. I proved it by not grabbing her.

“Oh, dear, here comes another one. Help,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck and tickling my nape with her fingers. “They're coming pretty fast now. Can't seem to stop them.”

“Stop…” Her body brushed mine, scattering what passed for my thoughts. “Stop what?”

“Impulses. Wicked ones. Whoops.” She slipped the top button of my shirt from its buttonhole. “See what I mean?”

“Ah…” I ran my fingers down the whole, wiggly length of her hair, then slowly wrapped my hand around a hunk of it. “This sort of thing, you mean?” And I bent my head and licked her bottom lip. “I'm not supposed to do that.”

“Exactly.” That word glided out on a puff of breath. “I guess they're catching.”

Another button met the fate of the first. And I snapped.

My left arm clamped around her waist—and damn that sling! I couldn't snug her against me the way I wanted. But I could crush my mouth down on hers. I could catch her sigh as her lips parted and send my tongue to steal her taste, take it inside me.

I needed two hands. Hell, I could have used three or four, there were so many places I wanted to touch, but I made do with what was available. She'd fitted herself up against me as closely as possible, so I turned my left hand loose to wander.

It liked the taut shape of her thigh, the flare of her hip, the muscle and flesh of her bottom…but that sweater. I'd been looking at that sweater all day, imagining what lay beneath it. I nudged her legs apart with my knee, making a space for my leg between hers. And slid my hand up under her sweater.

“Lace,” I groaned as my hand found the warmth and weight of her breast. “This damned sweater made me crazy enough. If I'd known there was lace beneath it…” I rubbed her nipple with my thumb and pressed up with my thigh.

She moaned into my mouth. Then bit my lip.

“I want this.” I squeezed her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “I want to see this.”

The shiver that rippled up her spine struck me as agreement, but she shook her head as she slid one hand up my chest. “I'd have to let go of you to take it off. And I don't want to.”

That was a problem, all right. I admit I wasn't much help, since I claimed her mouth again when she scraped my nipple with a fingernail. Her mouth was warm and sweet and a little wild, and though something was nagging at the back of my brain, telling me to slow down and think, I wasn't listening.

Vertical was losing all appeal. I wanted to be horizontal, where the lack of one hand wouldn't matter so much.

I also wanted her naked. “Damn,” I muttered against the column of her neck as that vagrant thought finally surfaced. Reluctantly I eased away. “Hold on. We're by the window, and the drapes are open.”

“Oh. I forgot. I can't believe…” She laughed unsteadily and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands. “Good grief. I'm glad you thought of it.”

“Yeah.” When I pulled the drapes closed, the light dimmed and softened. I smiled. “Now you can take that sweater off.”

“Um…there's something I should say first.”

“If you've changed your mind…” I grabbed for self-control. Never had it felt more slippery. “I won't yell. I might whimper a bit or beg. But I won't yell.”

“No. Oh, no.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned into me. “I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page. I can't picture myself staying in Highpoint, exchanging friendly greetings with my grandmother in the produce section. And I can't picture you anywhere else.”

Some emotion landed with a jolt in my stomach. “So you're saying we should have fun, but nothing serious.”

“Something like that.”

She'd stolen my lines, dammit. The warning I was supposed to give her. The conditions I'd forgotten about. The ones I wasn't sure I wanted anymore.

This wasn't the time to mention that. I bent and nuzzled
her hair away from her ear so I could kiss her there. “I never argue with a lady who's about to remove her sweater.”

Her chuckle sounded relieved. “You've got a thing about my sweater.”

“Oh, yeah. I'd do it myself if I could.” I longed to strip her slowly, teasing and touching and kissing as I went. I couldn't even undress myself properly, dammit.

Which left me supervising again. I ran my tongue along the cord of her neck, then released her and waved my hand. “Up and off.”

“Bossy,” she observed, but her voice was husky. She grasped the hem on her sweater, peeling it up over her head.

Lace. Her breasts were cupped in it, full half-moons of creamy flesh overlaid with white lace, with darker nipples and areolas peeking through. Her hair spilled over bare shoulders, one curly strand falling in a soft hook around one dark-tipped breast.

My mouth went dry and my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. “Did I mention that lace makes me crazy? Never mind,” I said, forgetting my plan to get horizontal. I brushed the skin above the lacy edge of her bra. “I'll show you.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, and stepped back a couple of paces.

Something in her voice brought my gaze to her face. Her smile was the same, that easy curve of lips. But nerves or uncertainty jumped in her eyes. I wanted to wrap her close in my arms—hell, my one good arm—and soothe her. I took a step forward.

“Uh-uh.” She tossed her hair back, lifted one eyebrow. “You're not in charge here, bud.”

I wasn't?

“Wait,” she ordered. Her hands went to the waist of her jeans.

I'm no fool. I waited.

She stripped for me. First she unfastened the jeans, giving me a peek beneath while she toed off her shoes. Then the socks, and how anyone could turn the removal of socks into a tease I don't know, but she did. Then she shoved the jeans down and stepped out of them.

A slim dip of a waist, and more lace below—white again, riding low on her hips, darker at the notch of her legs. “You have the most magnificent legs I've ever seen.”

She blinked once, like a surprised cat. “Well. And here I thought it was my breasts you were fixated on.” She reached behind her with both hands, which lifted her breasts in a way that nearly made me swallow my tongue. And unfastened her bra.

Magnificent was too pale a word. But when I went to her, I put my hand in the center of her chest, not over one of those bare, perfect breasts. I looked at her face. “Your heart's pounding.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “I'm excited.”

Her voice, her posture, that coolly lifted eyebrow—all spoke of confidence and experience. She knew her body could make a man beg. But while passion might ripen the heart's rhythm, it didn't send it tripping this fast, this hard, as if it were trying to flee. Not unless some other feelings were mixed in.

I didn't tell her I didn't believe her. I didn't follow the instinct that demanded I gather her close, stroking her back until whatever fears rode her had eased. Naked bodies didn't bother Seely. Tenderness would.

The time would come when I wanted her feelings as naked as the rest of her, but not yet. Not today. I touched her cheek and promised silently I would treasure and protect whatever she shared with me. Her body, for now.

Her eyes closed. “You are a devious man,” she whispered.

I nodded. Then, at last, I cupped her breast. “You feel like
rose petals.” I stroked, cupped and lifted, then bent to take the hard little pebble of her nipple in my mouth.

Her breath sucked in. Her fingers fretted my hair, skimmed my jaw as I switched breasts. She made a pleased sound, then, after a moment, said, “As your medical attendant, I insist that you get off your feet. Quickly.”

I licked her nipple, then blew on it. “Want to play doctor, do you?”

“Yes.” She threaded her fingers through my hair, pulled my head up and kissed me. “And the doctor will see you now.” Her hands went to the snap on my jeans. “All of you.”

S
eely believed in giving a thorough examination. And she was right—I wasn't in charge. Or in control in anyway; not for long.

The couch was warm and soft against my bare back and butt. The woman on top of me was softer and a lot warmer.

She also possessed a mean streak I hadn't suspected.

“No more,” I said, then groaned as she immediately disobeyed, drawing her fingernail along the taut skin behind my balls. “Vicious,” I observed when I got some breath back.

She was on her hands and knees over me. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and her hair hung down, tickling my chest. Her lips were shiny and damp, curved in a feline smile.

It wasn't my mouth she'd been kissing. “I haven't completed my tests,” she informed me. “That swelling you're experiencing is quite remarkable. Bears further study.” She started to scoot back down my body.

I growled, looped a hank of her hair around my hand and tugged. “C'mere, woman.”

She came, stretching out all along me. “
Tch.
You aren't supposed to grab the doctor by the hair.”

“No respect for authority. That's my problem.” I urged her head close enough for a kiss. While I made my point with my tongue, I nudged my hips up. The way she was straddling me left her wide open. I rubbed the head of my penis along her slick folds.

She gasped. Her eyes opened wide. “Vicious.”

“Payback's a bitch,” I agreed. I teased both of us until I couldn't play anymore. Not in any way. “Seely. Now. Let it be now. I need you.”

She looked as if I'd said that one of us only had a week left to live. “Don't.”

“Too late.” I kissed that stricken look off her face, gripped her hip to hold her in place and slid inside.

She moaned. Pleasure swirled, a tactile kaleidoscope spiraling up from my groin to surround me, body, brain and soul. Her nails dug into my shoulder, a prick of pain that all but sent me over the edge. I hung on, not daring to move.

A thought floated up.

I moaned again, but not with pleasure. “I forgot. I can't believe I forgot.”

“Hmm?” Her eyelids were at half-mast, her face flushed. “I don't think you've forgotten anything.” She wiggled. “Yep, everything's in place, which is a wonder. I was not entirely sure you'd fit.”

“I'm naked.” I fought the need to move. “
Completely
naked.”

“I don't…oh.” Something other than passion flitted through her eyes. “Not a problem. I can't get pregnant or
catch anything from you. Or give anything to you, for that matter.”

Being on the pill didn't protect her from STDs. Seely wasn't stupid—she had to know that. I opened my mouth to say so, but she bent and captured it, and I lost track of words.

I did manage a weak protest after a moment, something about protecting her.

“Shh. It's all right, Ben. You can let go. This once, you don't have to be responsible. It will be okay. I promise.”

It couldn't have been what she said, because that didn't make sense. Maybe it was the way she touched my face—gently, as if I were the fragile one. Or the way her hips moved, taking me in, all the way in, then rising slowly to do it again. Or the way she moaned, as if—in this one way, at least—she needed me, too.

Or maybe I lost it, all by myself. Whatever the reason, something inside me snapped. I began pumping up into her. Seely moaned, threw her head back and rode me clear to paradise.

 

I lay on my left side, watching Seely sleep. Her hair was all over the place. I wanted to play with it, but my only usable arm was propping me up so I could look at her. And I didn't want to stop looking.

She was cuddled up against me, her breathing soft and even. The twin fans of her eyelashes spread in tidy symmetry along the tender skin beneath her eyes. The room was murky with early twilight, as if a storm was moving in, blocking the sun.

For the first time in my life, I'd made love without protection.

Even with Gwen that hadn't happened. Zach had gotten started because Gwen had put the condom on wrong, not because I'd forgotten to use one. Or been so carried away I couldn't be bothered.

I grimaced. Seely had told me it was okay, but that didn't make what I'd done right. If she was on the pill…but she hadn't exactly said that, had she?

The possibility of her growing round with my child made a funny kind of pain in my chest, the sort of ache a kid gets just before Christmas, when he wants something so much he doesn't dare wish for it out loud.

Had I skipped protection because I secretly hoped she would get pregnant?

I don't usually waste time second-guessing myself, but I didn't know myself anymore. I kept changing my mind, doing things I'd decided not to do. First I'd just wanted to see Seely again. Then I'd wanted her to work for me, but had no intention of getting involved. Then I'd decided I wanted her even though she wasn't a forever kind of woman, but I planned to wait until she wasn't an employee anymore.

Now I was lying beside her, watching her sleep…after the most mind-blowing sex of my life.

Unprotected sex.

Must be some sort of midlife crisis. I wasn't the sort of man who fell in love every couple of months, and less than two weeks ago I'd been in love with Gwen. Besides, I didn't have any urge to sit around mooning over Seely, making up stories about how things ought to go between us. Nor was I blind to her flaws—and the infuriating woman had plenty of those.

I sighed with relief. No, this wasn't love. More like lust on steroids.

Hormones aside, though, I liked her. A lot. I got up in the morning looking forward to seeing her, finding out what she'd say, what she'd do that day. She was just plain fun to be with, and she mattered to me. Which was one definition of friendship, wasn't it?

Okay, so she was a friend for whom I had a bad case of the hots. I could live with that. But no more unprotected sex.

She went from asleep to awake in a single blink and smiled up at me.

“Hi, there.” I couldn't brush the hair away from her face, so I brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I thought it was the guy who was supposed to fall asleep after sex.”

“I love busting up stereotypes.” She ran her fingers over my lips, as if seeing my smile wasn't enough. She had to touch it, too. “You break a few of those, too, you know.”

“Yeah? Which ones?”

“You seem like a real macho man with your flannel shirts and jeans, your bossy ways and construction work. I really want to see you in a tool belt one of these days,” she added. “But never mind that right now. The point is, macho men are supposed to have thick necks and tiny brains. They aren't supposed to be sensitive to others' feelings. Or be better read than me.”

“You think I'm macho?” And was that good or bad?

“I think you're a man. One hundred percent man, the kind I didn't believe really existed.”

Okay, that was good. I kissed her, taking my time about it.

“Well.” She was satisfactorily short of breath when she flattened her palm on my chest. “Your heartbeat seems elevated.”

“It was calm until you smiled at me.”

The woman who'd played doctor so enthusiastically a few minutes ago delighted me by blushing. She shook her head, chiding me. “You're supposed to be flattened, drained, unable to even lift your head.”

“I want you in my bed. Of course,” I added regretfully, “I might need a little help getting there.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Good as it is for my ego to know you're
at least partly flattened, maybe a second round isn't a good idea. If you're hurting too much to make it back to the den—”

“Not the den.” I stroked her back, enjoying the sweep of muscle and softness. “My bed is upstairs.” The hospital bed was temporary. I wanted her in the bed where I slept every night, in the room where I woke up every morning.

“Stairs are not a good idea.”

“But you can help, can't you?” I stared down at her, willing her to be honest this time. “I haven't figured out exactly what you do, but you damned sure do something.”

Her whole face closed down. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Dammit, if you aren't going to answer, then don't. But don't lie to me.” I shoved up into a sitting position, which pretty much forced her to sit, too, or get shoved off the couch. She sat, eyeing me warily. Which made me furious. “What do I have to do to make you trust me?”

“You don't know what you're asking for.”

“So tell me. Explain it to me.” I looked around for my walking stick. It was across the room. Tough. I pushed to my feet anyway and started limping. “Everyone trusts me. The bank, my neighbors, people I do business with—the whole damned
town
trusts me, dammit. Ask anyone. Charlie's the charming McClain and Duncan's the mysterious one. Me, I'm Mr. Dependable.” I ran a hand over my hair. “What good is having a reputation like that if you won't trust me!”

“I think you're charming.” She uncoiled from the couch and came to me, naked and magnificently unconcerned about it. “Something of a mystery, too. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you pull a 180 on me.” She slid her arms around my waist. “But I've only known you a week, Ben. It takes time for trust to grow.”

“You trusted me with your body. But you can't trust me with the important stuff. Is that it, Seely? You don't think of this—” I ran my hand down her side “—as important?”

“Oh.” That came out on a little puff of air, as if I'd punctured something. She laid her head on my shoulder. “Damn you. There goes another toppled preconception—bam! You aren't supposed to see that much.”

“Was I being macho or sensitive?” I stroked her hair.

“Difficult.” She sighed. “There was a time when I didn't much like my body. I developed early—and boy, did I develop. From the time I got breasts, I was never sure if men ever saw my face. Boys certainly didn't.”

“Teenage boys are scum.” Her hair looked so wild, and felt so soft. “They think with their second head.”

“True. Well, at some point I decided that if I couldn't beat 'em, I'd join 'em.” She lifted her head and looked at me, one eyebrow cocked. “I worked as a stripper when I was twenty.”

The eyebrow, the expression, were all defiance. The eyes, though—they made me ache. So wild. And so soft. I kept petting. I didn't know what else to do. “So, were you any good?”

Her laugh broke in the middle. “I was damned good.”

“Well, then.” I slid my good arm around her waist and hugged her close.

She didn't say anything for a minute, but I felt the tension draining out of her. Then she sighed. “I was also young and stupid. Twenty is almost as arrogant as eighteen, isn't it?”

“Mmm.” It felt good, holding her this way. “When I was twenty I ran off to get married.”

She straightened, staring. “You're kidding. What happened?”

“We got halfway to Vegas and turned around. She started crying and wouldn't stop. Ruined the romance of it,” I said dryly.

“I can't believe I didn't hear about that when everyone was filling me in on you.”

“No one around here knows about it.”

“Not even your family?” She grinned. “I sense real blackmail potential here.”

“Seely…” I made a warning out of her name.

The amusement in her eyes softened. “She was the one you mentioned earlier, wasn't she? Did the aborted elopement end things between you?”

“No, we were still planning to get married after college.” I shook my head, remembering. I'd been crazy about Bev, thought the sun rose and set on her. “We broke up when my parents died and I had to return to Highpoint. She, uh, didn't want to live here.”

“Oh, Ben.”

The ache in her voice made me uncomfortable. “It was a long time ago.”

“She hurt you.”

“She hurt, too. But she still had two years to go when it happened. Journalism degree. Not much opportunity to carve out a career as a reporter in Highpoint.”

“And did she carve out a career?”

“I've seen her name in one of those weekly news magazines, so yeah, I guess she did. Don't look so sad. I haven't exactly been nursing a broken heart for the past twenty years. Now.” I shifted my hold on her and nudged her toward the hall. “You going to help me upstairs, or do I have to crawl up there on my own?”

“Never lose track of a goal, do you?”

“Never.”

That slow smile started in her eyes. “I could make you forget about going upstairs.”

“Sure of yourself, are you?” We were moving slowly, with me leaning on her enough so she'd think she was helping. Good tactics, since it caused her bare body to rub up against mine.

“Damned right I am.” We'd almost reached the stairs when she slipped in front of me, making me stop. Then she just stood there smiling at me…with the tips of her breasts brushing my chest with every inhalation. “What do you think?”

“You have a point. Or two.” I ran my thumb over one.

Her breath sucked in. Then she got serious about making her point.

Several long, lovely moments later a thought intruded. I nuzzled her ear. “Something I almost forgot.”

“Mmm.” She nuzzled my throat. “What's that?”

“You're fired.”

She jerked—then shook her head, grinning. “Only you would order me to trust you, then try to fire me.”

What was she grinning about? “I'll help you find another position.”

“No, you won't. First, I don't need help. Second, I'm not fired.”

“Uh…I don't think this one is up to you.”

“Sure it is.” She patted me on the arm. “You can't fire people when you're naked.”

I was blinking, trying to think of a logical answer to that wholly illogical statement, when the front door swung open. And there stood my little sister. Her husband, Jack. Behind them were Gwen, Duncan and Zach. And my brother Charlie, whose voice, very dry, broke the stunned silence.