Perfect Fit (3 page)

The husky tone contradicted the sharp words. Her back remained to him, but Darius glimpsed the narrowing of her eyes in the window.

“Yes, I think I did.” From her silence, he assumed his candor surprised her. He could have lied. Probably should have. But considering the lurid images that had been running through his mind from the moment she’d walked through that living room door over an hour ago, smelling her hair seemed pretty low on the you’re-a-sick-fuck list. Hell, every time she’d closed her lips around her fork, he’d pictured Rowyn as she’d been that night—kneeling before him, her pretty mouth stretched wide around his cock, her moans vibrating along his skin, dark eyes gleaming with pleasure…

His skin felt like a dry-clean-only suit that had been washed: tight as shit. His cock throbbed, and lust gripped his gut in a headlock. In six months, no other woman had made his dick twitch, much less harden to full erection. Shit, if not for the fact that it jerked and erupted in his hand every night to thoughts of this woman, he would’ve believed an emergency regimen of Viagra was in order.

Rowyn turned to face him. Without flinching, she tilted her head back to meet his stare. No fidgeting. No hint of coyness. No flirting. And damn, wasn’t that hot?

“At the risk of sounding cliché, it’s a very small world.” The understatement of the century. He scoffed.

“Somehow I don’t believe Jiminy Cricket meant bumping into someone he’d seen naked. And in his parents’ home.”

Though the image of a tuxedo-clothed cricket bumping uglies was disturbing, he couldn’t suppress the spurt of humor at her dry wit. It had been one of the characteristics that had captured his attention and kept him pinned to that barstool all those months ago. It was also one that had failed to make an appearance this evening until now. Now, as then, it only enhanced the natural beauty and allure that even her cool demeanor, restrained hair, and subtle clothing couldn’t hide.

“No wonder I couldn’t find you,” he said, shifting closer, trespassing her space. This close, he didn’t miss the glint of emotion that flickered in her eyes. Oh yeah, this woman would guard her personal territory and obviously resented his invasion. But she didn’t back up either. Did he say her straightforward manner was hot? He meant hot as fuck.

Unable to stop himself, he lifted a hand to her face and stroked his thumb over the lush bottom lip that fascinated him. He wanted to bite it, suck the sweet flesh between his teeth. His dick jerked, totally on board with the idea.

“Do you know there are fifty-six Rowyns in the greater Seattle area?” he asked softly.

“You searched for me?”

Darius ignored her question and the disbelief that coated it. In one motion, he dropped his hand and retreated away from temptation. Need seemed to replace the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins. The exotic almond shape of her heavily lashed eyes, the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the sinful mouth… He stifled a groan and took another step back. God should have made her the eleventh commandment.

“Why did you leave?” The words seemed to erupt from his lips. The question had plagued him since that night and couldn’t be contained a moment longer. Had he demanded too much from her? Had he hurt her in some way?

The worry had been like an insistent itch at the back of his neck that he couldn’t ease. His memories were of a hot night filled with the most incredible sex with an incredible woman. As he’d fallen asleep, waking up to that same woman and learning more about her had been his last coherent thought.

Instead he’d woken to an empty bed and an emptier hole in his gut, as if he’d been offered the opportunity to partake of a sumptuous feast and had arrived too late.

Rowyn blinked, then cocked her head, her expression as bland as her tone. “To stay two nights would have been a bit counterproductive to the purpose of a one-night stand.”

He arched an eyebrow. Since he was fourteen, women had cozied up to him, flirted—as much for his appearance as well as his father’s money.

None had wham-bam-thank-you-ma’amed him.

“You know,” he drawled and reclaimed the distance he’d placed between them, “if I hadn’t seen you midorgasm, I might buy this freeze-ice-cubes-on-your-ass routine.” He touched her again. This time right where the stomach and pelvic region merged. He dropped his gaze. If she were naked, he’d probably graze the top of the neatly trimmed nest of black hair that covered her pussy. He heard the loud intake of breath, and her abdominal muscles clenched, going concave beneath his fingers. “Now, that sound I clearly remember. Every time I pushed my cock into your tight pussy, you’d suck in a breath and hold it.”

He sketched a small circle over her dress, applying enough pressure that he felt the soft give of her flesh beneath. “Remember the first time I fucked you? God, it took forever for your pussy to loosen around my dick. I had to move
so
slow. It was torture feeling those muscles quiver around me. I almost lost it before I was fully inside. You were so wet, so small.”

He groaned and widened the circle, coming perilously close to the top of her sex. The rasp of air from Rowyn’s lungs confirmed his assumption. “But the second time you took me easier. And the third…” He paused, glanced up, and beheld eyes that were anything but cold. They gleamed with heat. Her lush lips parted under her pants, and a delicate flush colored her high cheekbones. Fuck, she was beautiful. “The third time,” he continued, “I slid right in as if I’d broken in your pussy with my cock.”

A small, inarticulate cry escaped her, and she shuddered. Thick lashes lowered.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured and slid a finger lower.

“There you two are,” a cheery voice interrupted, shattering the desire-thickened tension that had woven around them like a cocoon.

In an instant, the passion of a woman on the verge of surrender gave way to such stricken vulnerability that Darius bit off a blistering curse. He turned around and blocked Rowyn from her sister’s view. Even as he faced Cindy and forced a stiff smile to his lips, nothing could erase that haunted expression from his mind.

“Dad wanted to give you a tour of the house, Darius.” Cindy crossed the room and linked an arm through his. She tipped her head back, then gave him a pretty grin and flirtatious squeeze. “He’d like to show you where the party will be held Saturday night. You are staying in town for it, aren’t you?” She guided him toward the opened door of the room, and he allowed it. As he responded to her question about his plans, his thoughts lingered on the silent woman who remained in the living room.

No doubt shoring up her prickly defenses.

Good thing he didn’t mind getting scratched.

Chapter Four

“When another ball was held the next evening, Cinderella again attended with her Godmother’s help. The prince became even more entranced.”—
Cinderella

“What? Do I have broccoli stuck between my teeth?”—Rowyn Jeong

“I’m coming!”

Rowyn almost flew down the staircase, shoving pins in her chignon as she hurried to answer the insistent ringing of her doorbell. A harried glance at her wristwatch revealed the time: 7:30 a.m. A barrage of thoughts raced through her mind and set her heart pounding. Her mother. Cindy. An accident. It had to be bad news to bring someone to her door, much less this early in the morning.

God, please let them be all right—

She gripped the knob with one hand and twisted the lock with the other. Not bothering to peek out the side window, Rowyn jerked the door open.

And stared.

“Good morning.” Darius grinned down at her.

What. The. Fuck.

“Please tell me you’re bringing news of a tragic car accident and have beaten the police to my door.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. Rather than respond, he held out a foam cup. A thin wisp of vapor rose from its lid, bringing with it the seductive aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She scowled and folded her arms across her chest. He didn’t really think he could distract her with coffee, did he?

Darius sighed. “No tragic accident. Why would you think that?”

“It is the only explanation for your showing up at my house this early in the morning. Hell, showing up at my house, period,” she snapped.

“Such a gracious host.” He tsked, shaking his head, a small smile playing about his full lips. Damn, those lips. The things he could do with them… She delivered a mental slap to herself with a sharp order to get it together. But the warning came too late. He had already maneuvered his way past her and into the foyer of her home.

With a low growl of irritation, Rowyn slammed the door shut behind him. Darius turned, and once again, she ignored the offer of the cup.

“What are you doing here?” Jesus, she sounded like a shrew. Yet she couldn’t stop the anxiety that sharpened her voice. Her home was her domain. Her sanctuary. The four years she’d lived in the Back Bay house, no one but Wanda had been allowed inside.

Without glancing behind her, she knew the soft colors, overstuffed couches, and landscape paintings he studied represented a side of her she didn’t reveal to many people. Watching him survey the airy living room that opened off the small foyer caused a vulnerability she detested.

“Very nice,” he commented, bringing his inspection to rest on her face. With those deep blue eyes that seemed to see far too much, the touch of his gaze was almost tactile, and she resisted rubbing her face to discover if she’d inadvertently left behind a dab of moisturizer.

“What?” she asked, sounding as if she’d just sprinted around the block.

“Nothing,” he said, and with the same half smile quirking a corner of his mouth, extended the coffee cup again. “Please,” he murmured.

“Shit,” she mumbled and accepted the hot drink. Their fingertips brushed, and a bolt of lightning charged up her arm, straight to her breasts, and zinged to her pussy. Winded, she glanced down at her linen sheath, amazed no scorch patterns appeared on her clothes. She flicked her eyes up and slammed into such heat, it intensified the sweet ache in her nipples and between her thighs.

God, his stare seemed to burn a hole right through her.

Had anyone ever looked at her like that before? Yes, she assured herself. He had. While stripping her clothes from her body. While staring up at her from between her spread thighs as he circled her clit with his tongue in a wicked caress. While pounding into her pussy with so much force, the headboard had banged against the wall in time to his measured and deliberate thrusts.

Blood rushed between her thighs, and even now she could feel the echo of those demanding strokes deep in her sex. Moisture glazed her slit, drenching her panties. The power this man had over her body with one look… It should be criminal.

Rowyn ducked her head on the pretense of drinking her coffee and took a step back. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipped, and jerked her head up in shock.

“You know how I take my coffee?” she asked, the creamy flavor of the brew still on her tongue. Most people would assume a ballbuster like her would prefer her coffee black, not liberally sweetened with cream and sugar.

“You ordered a cup before we left the bar,” he reminded her and cocked his head, studying her. “There isn’t much I don’t remember about you, Rowyn.”

Silence filled the foyer. His words dropped in her soul like a pebble in a pool of water, and unfamiliar warmth rippled out in ever-widening rings of tenderness. He barely knew her, yet he’d noticed and remembered her likes. She couldn’t even say the same about her family.

“Well…” She cleared her throat and curled her toes self-consciously against the cool wood floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Since this is my first time to your city, I thought I’d do the tourist thing.” He gave her what he probably considered a charming smile. And damn him, it was. “I couldn’t think of a better guide than you.”

“What have you been smoking?” Flames rushed up her neck and singed her face as he grinned wide. She grimaced and wondered where the hell her much-lauded reserve had disappeared to.

Rowyn had made it an art of hiding her emotions behind a wall of indifference. She’d learned long ago that if she didn’t give a reaction, people—Pamela—didn’t derive as much pleasure from needling and provoking her. So how Darius managed to slip under her defenses and wreak hell so effortlessly boggled her. “It’s a workday, in case you haven’t noticed. And that’s where I’m headed. To work.”

“Take a day off.”

“I don’t take days off,” she protested, balking.

He arched a brow, and she ground her teeth together, surprised she didn’t exhale powdered enamel. God, she was beginning to hate that eyebrow.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replied calmly.

“Not today there—” Darius held up a finger, and her mind blanked at the imperious gesture. She blinked. Then blinked again. “Did you…?” she sputtered. “Did you just
hold up a finger on me?
” Her voice rose a decibel with each word, outrage and disbelief jacking the volume up to the no-the-hell-he-didn’t! level.

“You’re yelling,” he pointed out.

“Damn right,” she snarled and stabbed a finger toward the front door. “You can go now.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Darius agreed and slid a hand in the front pocket of his black pants, the coffee he’d bought for himself held in the other. Unfortunately the loose fit did nothing to detract from the narrow waist, the strength of his muscled thighs, or the impressive bulge under the zippered panel. “As soon as you change, we’ll leave.”

Rowyn tightened her grip on the cup while fisting her other hand down at her side.
Ten, nine, eight, seven…

“Are you growling?” That fucking brow
again.
By God, she was going to snatch it off his forehead!

“I. Am. Going. To. Work.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, lifted the foam cup to his mouth, and studied her over the lid. He sipped the coffee, the muscles of his throat working. Even the man’s Adam’s apple was sexy. “I can spend this day with you, or I could accept Daniel’s lunch invitation, followed by a round of golf. Of course, I don’t play, but I’m sure we could find all
sorts
of fascinating topics to discuss…”

Rowyn had grown up with Pamela as a mother, so she understood anger. But never had she experienced the primal urge to kill. Maim. Dismember.

“Blackmail is not attractive,” she snapped.

“Ah”—he tapped a finger against his bottom lip—”but is it effective?” Darius smiled, and she suspected he didn’t try to conceal the satisfaction from his expression or his tone.

He’d won this round, and they both knew it.

“I’ll be right back.” She shot him a glare of disgust and then wheeled around to head back up the stairs, warm cup still clasped in her hand.