The MacGregor Brides (30 page)

“Extra crispy.” Her eyes lit with a quick, appreciative humor that had him grinning in response. “And a nice white Bordeaux that’ll enhance, rather than overwhelm, those famous secret herbs and spices.”

“Who’d have thought we’d have similar taste in food? Let’s take it upstairs.” She inclined her head before he could get any ideas about rushing her. “My room’s the only one in the house with the ambience for dining at the moment. Unless you’d rather sit on a couple of drywall-compound buckets and eat on a sawhorse?”

“Your room’s fine.”

“Go ahead up, I’ll see if I can dig up a couple of wineglasses.”

“Everything we need’s in here.” He patted the bag. “Plastic and paper. No use dirtying up dishes while your kitchen’s torn up.”

“Excellent point.” And a considerate one, she noted as she turned to start up the steps. “The work’s progressing smoothly.”

“Just takes planning. And a little luck.”

“I’m looking at a building downtown. It should make into six very nice two-bedroom apartments. With a little luck, and a lot of planning.” She paused at the door to her room to glance back at him. “Do you think you and your father would be interested?”

“If you don’t need
to get started on it until after the first of the year.”

“I haven’t even bought it yet, so it’ll be at least that long.”

She’d built a fire, both for warmth and for atmosphere. It crackled away behind an ornate brass screen. The mantel was crowded with candlesticks and candleholders of varying sizes and materials. She hadn’t yet lit the tapers and votives.

She had, however, lit a fat column of waxy white in the center of the little table in the sitting area.

“Very nice.” The room smelled seductive, and so did she. Cullum set the red-and-white bag on the table, wondering if that was her plan—to seduce him before he could gain the upper hand.

It was going to be an interesting night.

He took out the wine and a corkscrew, watching her as he opened the bottle. “Since we’re being sociable I’ll tell you that you’re doing a hell of a job putting this house together. You move fast, but you don’t rush. You put some thought into the pieces you pick up. You’re making it classy, but it’s still friendly. Not everyone could pull that off.”

She tried not to gape. It was a compliment designed to flatter a woman like her, one that touched on mind and style and heart. “Thanks, that means a lot to me. I grew up in a classy, friendly home.”

“You grew up in the White House,” he reminded her, and offered her a plastic wineglass filled with straw-colored wine.

“True enough, but I was thinking about our house in Georgetown. Still, my parents did what they could to make the White House a home.”

“Must have felt like a fishbowl.”

“Sometimes. Often it was surprisingly cozy and intimate. If I live there again, I’d work to give my family the same.”

His brows lifted. “Thinking of marrying some future president?”

“No, I’m thinking of being some future president.”

She waited for him to choke on his wine, to laugh and to make a sarcastic comment. Instead, his eyes narrowed in speculation, and he nodded. “If you do half as well as your father, you’d be a good one.”

“You surprise me again.”

“Why? Do my knuckles drag the ground?”

“I’ve thought they did a few times.” She sat and opened the bag to sniff. “I’m ready if you are.” This time he did laugh. “To eat,” she specified mildly. “And to talk about the rest.”

“I don’t mind a little dinner conversation.”

They divvied up chicken and french fries on paper plates. Cullum winced as she waterfalled salt onto both. “I know,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s disgusting. Gwen just closes her eyes when we eat together.” She took a big, healthy bite of a drumstick and sighed with pleasure. “But it’s so good. Things that are bad for each other always seem to be. Cullum, could we be very bad for each other?”

“Could be. Life’s a gamble.”

“Agreed. I like to gamble, but I always figure the odds and options—and I always know just how much I can afford to lose and stay comfortable before I play. So, we’re attracted to each other for some possibly insane and contrary reason.”

He picked up his wine, enjoying her as much as he enjoyed the smooth, dry taste. “Agreed.”

“Speaking for myself, I don’t take a lover just because I’m attracted. There has to be a little more foundation. Mutual respect, understanding, affection. I also prefer to go into a relationship with the agreement that if things don’t work out, both parties will accept and step back. And the relationship has to be monogamous for the length of term. If either party finds that unsatisfactory, the relationship ends.
No harm, no foul.”

Amused, Cullum grinned. “So if I decide I want a little variety—or you do—the contract is void.”

“Exactly. And no hard feelings. That cuts down on the temptation to lie and cheat. I won’t tolerate either in any area of my life, and certainly not in bed.”

“I don’t lie.” It was annoyance that flickered in his eyes this time. “And I don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t say you did,” she returned evenly. “But people often do—and the excuse for it invariably comes down to sparing someone’s feelings. I don’t need, or want, my feelings spared.”

“Fine. The first time I want to try my luck with some hot babe, I’ll let you know.” Deliberately he wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “And the first time you decide to try yours with some slick-faced guy in a tux … Well, I’ll have to hurt him.”

The fact that her pulse took a little bump of pleasure infuriated her. “That’s exactly the sort of attitude that doesn’t work.”

“Works for me. I get the gist here, Jules. You want respect. I respect you—your mind and your integrity. I understand you well enough. You’re used to getting your own way, and you like to run the show. You’re pretty good at it. And I like you well enough, some of the time. There’s your foundation. Now let me add some of the trim.”

He topped off their glasses again, sat back with his. “If you want to make deals and contracts, try it on someone like that Tod you booted out the other night. This isn’t business, and neither of us is going to be able to plan our way through the stages of it. We want each other. Maybe after tonight we won’t want each other anymore, and that’ll be that.”

“And if one does, and one doesn’t?”

“That’ll be damn bad luck for somebody.” He rose and, taking her hand, pulled her to her feet. “Let’s find out.”

She wasn’t finished yet, not nearly, but he had already wrestled the controls out of her hands. His mouth was firm, possessive, and gave hers no choice but to open to his on a moan of the purest pleasure.

She’d wanted to light the candles, to drive him slowly mad until he agreed to everything. But the need sprang free inside her, primal and raw.

Seduction on either side would have to wait.

Her hands streaked under his sweater, gripping the hard ridge of muscle up his back. His strength tantalized her, fascinated her. She hiked the sweater up, dragging it over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. And was desperate for more.

“I really love your body,” she managed.

He tugged the shoulders of the snug suit down, latched his mouth on her throat. “Same goes.” He grabbed the hook of her belt and sent it rattling to the floor.

His hands roamed over the slick material, tormenting them both, then onto flesh, a rough scrape of callus against pampered skin. Their mouths met again, hotly, wetly, with a tangle of tongues and a scrape of teeth and echoing groans of need.

Her breath caught when he swept her up. For a moment, she felt utterly helpless, overpowered, conquered. Panicked excitement prickled along her skin. Then he was laying her on the thick duvet, and his eyes were on hers as he peeled away the suit.

The quick shudder surprised her. She’d prepared herself for him, she’d known the evening would end in just this way. But she hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, that a long, searing look from those intense green eyes could sever the knots of her control so quickly.

With a sound of greed, she reared up, arms and legs snaking around him, mouth fusing with his.

She was as erotic as any temptress, as dangerous as any siren. The blood raced through his veins,
with the flavor of her spiking it like a drug. He was rough, couldn’t help himself. She’d already snapped his tenuous connection with the civilized.

His fingers dug into her hips, would leave bruises. His mouth crushed down on hers until she whimpered in dazed delight. Then, dragging her head back by her hair, he savaged her throat.

Her skin was already damp from the heat when he pushed her back, when his mouth and hands possessed her breasts. The air was too thick to breathe, and each gulp of it made her head reel. There were flames inside her, heating her system beyond bearing. As desperate as he to touch, to taste, to take, she rolled with him over the bed.

Their legs tangled as she dragged at his jeans. Every second was delicious torture, every movement a wild thrill.

He felt his own muscles quivering as his slick skin slid over hers. There had never been anything or anyone he craved as he craved her. Every inch of her, every curve, every tremble, every moan. The need for her was like edgy fingers gripping at his throat, his heart, his loins.

He drove himself into her, blindly, fiercely, felt her clamp around him like a hot fist. Triumph, heady and sweet, streaked through him when she cried out. Then those long, limber legs wrapped around him.

Her hands fisted on the bedcover as the first violent orgasm ripped through her. The pressure inside her tore free, then built again, forcing her to sob in air. Mindlessly she scraped her nails down his back, arched against him, and met the next crest head-on.

He fought back the mists that blurred his vision. He wanted to see her, had to see her, as their bodies plunged toward the edge. Her face was flushed and damp, her eyes were closed, her lips trembling, her hair a wild tangle of fire over the rumpled bedclothes.

Something struggled for freedom inside him, something more complex and more demanding than lust. He fought it back, let himself ride on the towering wave of sensation.

But it was her name that broke from his lips as he emptied himself into her.

* * *

They didn’t speak. Julia wondered if her vocal cords had been singed by the heat they generated together. She’d never felt like this before, so sated and weak, so sinuously female. She was content to drop off into sleep just like this, sprawled naked on the bed, with Cullum’s body pinning hers heavily to the mattress.

When he shifted a little, she sighed, and wondered if it was the only sound she’d be capable of making for the next decade or so.

She looked … smug, Cullum thought as he managed to lift his head to study her face. As his mind cleared, he’d worried that he’d hurt her. He knew his hands were big and rough, and though he doubted he’d be considered a gentle lover, he’d never been quite so unrestrained. He was afraid he’d come perilously close to brutal.

But judging by that contented-cat expression on her face, it didn’t appear apologies were in order. He was grateful. He hated apologizing.

Then her eyes fluttered open and met his. Her lips curved wider. “Mmm …” she said.

“At the very least.” It surprised him that he wanted to—needed to—trace a fingertip along her jawline. Her skin was soft there, despite the arrogance of the shape. Giving in to the urge, he lowered his
head and brushed his lips just under her chin.

The gesture made her heart flutter. She told herself it was a foolish reaction, even a dangerous one. Her heart had to maintain a safe distance. Despite the warmth of his body, she shivered.

“Cold?” He wanted to bundle her up, to keep her warm. To keep her. And that wayward thought tied an uneasy knot in his stomach.

The shiver had had nothing to do with the cold, but she latched on to the excuse. “A bit.” She couldn’t stop herself from lifting a hand, running it through the tousled length of his hair. “I guess we could use another log on the fire.”

“I’ll get it.” He leaned down, intending to kiss her lightly, casually. And lingered over it until they were both clinging.

Desire built again, too quickly for either of them to build a defense. Together, they reached out, draped the duvet over themselves and yielded to it.

November, Julia decided, was the most interesting month of the year. It was so transitional, with the air both smoky and bracing. Hints of winter blew on the wind, with all the adventures and surprises that accompanied the holiday season.

She was almost sorry to see it end. She’d never spent a more fascinating or exciting month.

She believed she and Cullum were being very discreet. They kept a professional distance during working hours. For the most part, Julia acknowledged, remembering a brief and torrid encounter in the remodeled pantry. And that, she had to admit, had been her doing. There had just been something about the way he stood in that tidy, homey area, his tool belt slung on his hips, his skin smelling of sawdust, that fried her circuits enough to have her pushing him up against the door and attacking him.

Not that he’d put up much of a fight.

The basic truth was, they had a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Struggling to do so for the best part of eight hours a day, five days a week, added quite a bit of desperation to their after-hours meetings.

Her bedroom and the pantry weren’t the only rooms they’d enjoyed. She thought of how they’d ended up rolling around on the drop cloths in the half-finished library, laughing like loons and fighting with buttons and zippers.

They didn’t seem even close to getting enough of each other.

“You certainly look … content,” Laura commented. Both she and Gwen had set aside the first Saturday afternoon in December to help Julia decorate her tree. Though each had their own home now, none of them had forgotten the years they’d lived together, or the bond they had formed.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Julia searched for the perfect spot to hang the carved wooden Santa riding his sleigh over a crescent moon. “The house is nearly finished, and it’s coming together exactly as I wanted.”