Chapter 85 85
His gaze locked with hers. “I like seeing you like this,” he said.
“Like what?” This was why people closed their eyes during sex. Too much communication was scary.
“Relaxed. Compliant.”
“Trust me,” she squeaked as he delved farther and hit a sensitive spot, “I’m not relaxed.”
The tightly wound spiral in the base of her abdomen clamored for attention. Justin's left arm lay curled beneath her neck. With his free hand, he plucked lazily at her nipple, adding fuel to the inferno that throbbed between her legs.
His lazy grin made her want to slap him, or kiss him, or both.
“You will be,” he promised.
She squeezed him with inner muscles that took over the reins in naughty intent. “Show me,” she whispered, the words in challenge.
Every trace of humor fled his face to be replaced by sheer male determination. With one arm, he dragged her closer for a kiss that was carnal and curious and calamitous. With the other, he drew her even more tightly into the cradle of his thighs, melding their bodies in a frantic hold. His tongue tangled with hers, his chest heaving, skin damp with perspiration.
“Come for me, baby. Let go…now.”
That he could coax a climax from her at will was both exhilarating and terrifying. She slammed into the peak and crashed over it with the force of a speeding train, her senses all focused on that one perfect moment.
Justin held her in a bruising grip as he shouted and shuddered at almost the same instant.
“Sweetheart,” he gasped. “You’re gonna kill me before the weekend is out.”
Sherry wrote off his dramatic words to postcoital hyperbole. After all, her hands-on experience with the erotic arts wouldn’t fill a paragraph on a résumé. He was exaggerating in order to ensure that she would agree to another round later.
But even as she lectured herself inwardly, she couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of feminine power that she had satisfied him. Moments later, she winced when he withdrew, not that it hurt, but because he broke the wonderful feeling of togetherness that was like nothing she had ever experienced.
Justin made up for the loss by urging her onto her side and spooning her back, one of his arms cradling her head and the other tucked beneath her breasts. She allowed herself one dreamy smile, since he couldn’t see her face. If she could maintain the fiction of sex as recreation, she could protect her heart.
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Lunch was awkward and long. Sherry picked at her chili, though she professed it to be delicious. Her careful politeness emulated the demeanor of a reserved young lady. It was weird. And scary.
Justin wolfed down his first bowl and went back for seconds, not so much because he was hungry, but for something to do. When they were done, Sherry offered to help clean up. He declined. When she stared at him briefly, her eyes turbulent with unspoken emotion, he almost cracked.
Instead, he turned toward the sink and held his breath until he heard her leave.
__________
Two hours later, he was ready to climb the walls. After a spirited conference call to handle a few pressing work matters, he was itchy, and irritable, and, well…hard.
When he gave in and went in search of his guest, he found Sherry in the same room as earlier, on a ladder this time, picking at a corner of a wallpaper with a pocketknife. This time she didn’t give him the courtesy of looking up to note his entrance into the room. Her gaze was focused on the task at hand, as if by peeling back enough layers she might uncover the secrets of the Rosetta Stone. Justin didn’t like being ignored.
“What are you doing now?” he asked, his tone a masterpiece of mild interest.
Still no turn of the head. “Trying to determine how many layers of paper are under here.”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t you have work to do?”
She came down two rungs.“Don't you?” she retorted. “What do you want?”
His eyes narrowed. Suddenly, every cell in his body hummed with sexual energy. You. It was a shocking truth. And one he decided not to give voice to. He rocked back on his heels, hands braced in the door frame. “I want to take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Linen tablecloths. Roses in crystal vases. Soft lighting.”
Suspicion etched her delicate features. “I told you we are not doing any of that romantic stuff.”
“No romance,” he said quietly, trying to gauge her mood. “Just a civilized meal between friends.”
“Not in Olkfield.”
“Why?”
“You know why. I don’t want anyone to see us together and get the wrong idea.”
“Then where?”
“Maybe Nemford?”
“We’d have to spend the night.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Okay, maybe.”
“We’re both grown-ups, Sherry. If we want to have a secretive tryst, it’s our business.”
She nibbled her lower lip, her gaze moody. “Again with the romance. I said no.”
“Every woman likes romance. But the point is, it’s up to her partner to decide what that means. If I decide to romance you, darling, you’ll never see it coming. Subtlety is my middle name.”
She snorted. “You’re not subtle. In that case, wager accepted. But dinner only. No funny business.”
He held up his hands. “You wound me. I’d never try to seduce you without your permission.”
“My permission? That will be a cold day in Hades.”
His body tightened. Sherry had the heart of a tease. And she played the game well. The problem was, he was pretty sure it was all instinctive. He doubted she knew what her sass and smart mouth did to him. Without waiting for an invitation, she started pulling balls out of pockets and setting them on the table, the movements of her hands both graceful and efficient.
“Who gets to break?” he asked.
“We’ll flip a coin.”
Before he could comment, she pulled a dime out of her pocket, shot it in the air and caught it on her forearm, covering it with her free hand.
“You call it.”
“Heads.”
She showed him the result. Tails. Of course. He sighed audibly.
Sherry smirked. “Too bad.”
He slouched against the wall as she gathered the balls, racked them and carefully removed the plastic triangle. When she leaned over the table, he recognized his basic handicap.