Читать книгу Seduce Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 13

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NATALIE’S FIRST IMPRESSION of Max’s loft was that she didn’t belong in it. Nothing was overstuffed or secondhand. Of the few things he had, a lot were shiny and black and his television was bigger than her stove. Her second impression was that the only way she’d get through the next part of the evening was if she considered this a visit to another country. She’d always been a brave traveler, never afraid to try the local cuisine or explore the dodgy side of the tracks.

“Courvoisier?” he asked, putting the box of cheesecake on the glossy counter that divided the kitchen from the minimally furnished living room.

“Please.” Noting the bare-but-for-an-elaborate-coffeemaker countertop, she doubted he did much cooking. The well-stocked wet bar looked as if it got a lot more use.

He brought down two snifters from the top shelf and poured them each a generous finger of the cognac.

“My parents liked Rémy Martin,” she said. “My father was a cellist for the New York Philharmonic and he received a bottle every Christmas from the concertmaster. That was the only time they used their snifters. When I was a girl, I used to sneak Coke in them. I imagined myself being terribly sophisticated as I swirled my soda, then sipped elegantly even though the carbonation never stood a chance against the heat from my palms.”

He gave her a glass and a smile. “Who were you terribly sophisticated with?”

“Movie stars, mostly. From black-and-white films, of course. Cary Grant was my favorite.”

“Okay, there’s no way I can compete with Cary Grant.” Max watched her swirl her drink as he did the same. “My folks didn’t do a lot of drinking, but when they did, it was beer. They had a few bottles of hard liquor for guests, but that’s it.”

She looked over his collection of liquor. “You ended up with excellent taste.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I took a class. Okay. More than one. The year between NYU and law school, I learned about wine. That was interesting, and I liked the tasting part, so I took another class that included hard liquor.”

“Very practical,” she said. “I imagine the knowledge has been especially useful in your line of work.”

“If you count sounding like a pretentious ass useful.”

She grinned. “I doubt you made a single mistake.”

Stepping closer to her, he lifted his glass. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” She clinked her glass against his and lifted the snifter to her lips, figuring it was safe enough to take a sip now that some of the alcohol had evaporated. Not only was she wrong, but her sip went down the wrong way and sent her into a fit of coughing that doubled her over.

Thankfully, Max didn’t pat her on the back. He just disappeared for a bit, and then took her cognac, replacing it with a glass of water.

Finally, after a ridiculously long and painful time, the spasms stopped and she was able to breathe again. Naturally, she’d teared up and could only imagine the mascara damage. “Bathroom?” she croaked as she grabbed her purse from the counter.

“Come on.” He touched her arm again, in that same spot behind her elbow. “I’ll show you.”

She closed the bathroom door and leaned her head against it, afraid to look in the mirror. What the hell had she been thinking? Coming to his place had been a disaster waiting to happen, and they hadn’t even gotten to the naked part yet.

For a minute there, it had felt right. More like her teenage dreams than her adult reality. But she’d maxed out her courage simply by meeting him at the restaurant, let alone coming here. To imagine doing more was absurd.

It might be the chance of a lifetime, but if she died of stress in the middle of sex that would probably be a net loss.

Pushing off from the door she braved the mirror. The bathroom was very cool and modern, like the rest of the loft. Tiny, of course, with just a toilet and sink. He must have an en suite by the bedroom.

Well, she wouldn’t be finding out anytime soon. A tissue and some careful dabbing got rid of the mascara tracks. She added a fortifying coat of her Chanel Velvet Rouge but didn’t see the point of adding lip gloss. Then she practiced her exit line in the mirror, the way she always practiced giving speeches. Nothing clichéd because he’d been so nice, and she’d come willingly. Besides, she could afford to admit the truth. They’d never see each other again.

They’d never see each other again.

Her red-rimmed eyes widened as she thought about that. Even after the coughing debacle, she knew he wasn’t going to kick her out the door. He liked her. They’d connected in their odd way, and she was glad she’d met him. The one thing that might cause her regret, shockingly, would be quitting now.

Clearly, Max Dorset had some smooth moves, which undoubtedly came from plenty of experience. He was an amazing man, and she imagined he could walk into any bar or club in town and find himself with a wealth of opportunities.

One thing Natalie knew for sure was that the best way to learn anything was to find a teacher who was deeply passionate about the subject. Not that she knew for a fact that Max was a sex aficionado, but it was more than an educated guess. What might she learn from him?

The woman in the mirror blushed, but so what? They’d never see each other again. It would mean getting naked, which would really give her something to blush about. If she let him see the travesty of her underwear. If not, that meant turning out the lights, which would be comforting in one way, but dammit, when would she ever be in bed with someone that handsome again? If she was going to do this thing, she wanted to see what was going on.

So, she’d make a joke about her panties. God, they were full briefs. Polka-dot full briefs. There were no jokes funny enough.

With a sigh, she turned to leave, but stopped before her hand hit the doorknob. She could take them off now. Put them in her purse. He’d think she hadn’t worn any, which was not a terrible option.

Lifting her dress was simple enough, but actually removing her underwear was daunting. She really intended to do this thing. To have sex with a man she barely knew with no expectations of anything else. Not a follow-up phone call, no second date. And no expectations meant she wouldn’t be crushed by disappointment when neither of those things happened.

The polka dots hit the floor. Color rose to her cheeks. Again. But so did a grin. No use walking into this unless she was prepared to have a great time. Which she most certainly was.

“Take that, Oliver, you big idiot,” she said, straightening her back and running her hands down her body, surprised at how naughty it felt to be bare down below. “All this could have been yours. Ha.”

With that, and at the last second remembering to fold up her panties and stuff them in her purse, she opened the bathroom door.

Max stood a few feet in front of her in his white poplin shirt, the sleeves rolled, baring strongly corded forearms. When her gaze moved back to his face, his tentative grin broadened. Before she took her third step, he was inches away. She had to look up to meet his eyes. His finger brushed her cheek, light as a feather.

“Eyelash,” he said, even though she knew it was a lie.

Her lips parted, but whatever she’d been going to say slipped away when he leaned in for a cognac-flavored kiss. It was mesmerizing. Surprisingly intimate.

A second passed, then another. They moved together at the same time. Slow, in stages. Lips against lips, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam in between hers until she let him in. She made a sound that wasn’t quite a whimper, and it must have been the sign he’d been waiting for.

He brought their bodies together as the kiss deepened. All she could think was that this wasn’t her life. No man had ever felt this way before, had ever been as smooth or sure. And, thank God, she’d never see him again. Coming this far had been brave. Going further was a crazy risk.

But this was the new Natalie, and she wanted—needed—to know how much she would dare.

* * *

MAX RAN HIS hands down Natalie’s back, stopping just under her waistline. He’d take his time with her. That she was in his arms was his great luck, but he could tell she wasn’t entirely certain she should be. Now that he’d felt her against him, how she curved in the middle, he wasn’t about to lose her to his own impatience. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to move back up again, to feel her twitch under her sexy red dress. Not when her nipples were so hard.

He was getting hard himself, and shifted his hips so his nascent erection wouldn’t spook her.

She huffed against his lips, and then shocked the hell out of him with a firm hand on his right butt cheek, which got his attention.

“You don’t have to tiptoe,” she whispered, her mouth barely an inch away from his own. “I’m not a virgin or a delicate flower.”

It was a good speech, and he would have bought it completely if she hadn’t been trembling. “I can see that,” he said, holding himself very still. “But I don’t want you to regret this.”

She breathed out and he inhaled. “I’ve got you for one night, and then we’ll never see each other again,” she said. “I doubt I’ll have another opportunity like it. Please don’t think I’m exploiting you for your sexuality.” Her brow furrowed, then relaxed. “Scratch that. I do want to exploit you for your sexuality. If you have no objections.”

“Can’t think of one. Please, be my guest. Anything you’d like.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

She pulled back to look at him. Her cheeks were pink, her pupils had taken over her beautiful brown eyes and her lips looked swollen and well kissed. Perfect. “‘Within reason’ covers a lot of territory.”

He grinned. “No lasting scars. At least, not where they’d show.”

Her laugh was as sexy as her chutzpah. “I have no intention of hurting you. But you should know I haven’t had a great deal of experience. With men.”

“I understand. I’ll do my best to expand your horizons.”

“I don’t need acrobatics or accessories. Just, well, I hope like crazy that the men I’ve been with were...unskilled. Because there hasn’t been one single bell or whistle.”

Now he leaned back. “You’ve never had an orgasm?”

Her eye roll was impressive. “Of course I’ve had an orgasm.” Then she hid those same wicked eyes with her lowering lashes. “I’ve never been given one, though.”

“Ah. Okay,” he said, the word stretching as he thought of everything that could go wrong. “I’ll do my best.”

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything.”

He had to laugh. “Tell you what. Let’s both just have a good time.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s what I want.” She nodded. “Although you’re probably limp as a noodle by now.”

“You don’t have an internal censor at all, do you?”

She removed her grip from his ass. “Too much, right? When I’m nervous I either clam up completely or say everything that comes to mind. But I can tone it down. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“No,” he said, putting her hand back where it’d been. “I don’t mind, I swear. In fact, I like it. Keep on saying what you want. If I do something that doesn’t sit right, tell me.”

“Deal,” she said. “But how do we get back to before?”

He pulled her close, proving that the talk had done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm. “All you have to do is be yourself and I’ll be fine.”

Natalie met his gaze for several long seconds before she kissed him. Holy crap, did she ever.

* * *

LETTING GO OF every kiss she’d had in the past wasn’t difficult. It was a relief. Secretly, Natalie had always suspected she could be one of the great kissers of all time, but she’d never been with anyone who truly inspired her.

Max made her bold. Committing herself to...this...was as intoxicating as champagne, as the moment when Fred Astaire sees Audrey Hepburn running down the steps at the Louvre like Winged Victory herself. With Max, she could be as silly or foolish or dramatic as she liked, and not obsess over her embarrassment for the rest of her life. Because she wasn’t going to be embarrassed. Nor was she going to see him again. It all worked out.

Although she still did have to take off the rest of her clothes. The hell with it. Tonight, she had the body of a goddess and the courage of Katniss Everdeen.

His hands ran down her back as he mapped out the territory. Did he realize she had gone commando? It seemed so, from his surprised grunt and the press of his erection against her tummy. Things were in motion. And wouldn’t that just shock every person who’d ever met her.

She decided to do some exploring of her own, even as they kissed as if it was going out of style. To her delight, he knew just how much to open his mouth, how to not try to swallow her face. That he tasted like expensive cognac was a liqueur-soaked cherry on top.

But the real treat was having free rein over his unbelievably fine body. She didn’t give one solitary damn that her thoughts were as shallow as a wading pool. His muscles rippled. Rippled. How many times had she read that, imagined that? Despite the thrilling sensation of Max lightly sucking on her lower lip, she giggled.

In another one of his smooth moves, he let her lip go and asked, “What’s so amusing?” then picked up directly where he’d left off.

“Amazing,” she said, although the word was so hopelessly garbled, she didn’t even try to go on. Talking was not her priority at the moment. In fact, touching him through his clothes seemed a waste. Like nibbling on crackers when a whole banquet was on offer.

Without too much effort, she was able to sneak her hands between their chests. Undoing his buttons was a little more difficult than she’d imagined. Mostly because she was so greedy, wanting every sensation at once.

But Max let her know he was on the same page by finding her zipper with no trouble at all. He lowered it expertly, then put his hands on her bare back, just below her bra strap.

It shouldn’t have felt so different. Oliver had touched her there plenty of times. But she’d never once shivered from top to toe, wiggled her shoulders and her hips, or whimpered.

He groaned in response and she remembered about the buttons, continuing down the line. When he undid her stupid white bra with a single, elegant flick, she might have lost it for a minute. Hands flat on his shirt, she found her forehead resting on his shoulder.

He kept rubbing down the naked part of her back. “You okay?”

“Umm.”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded enough for him to feel it. “You’re very good at this,” she said, just before taking a deep breath and looking at him once more.

He only smiled and slid his hands underneath her bra to cup both her breasts. “You feel good.” Dipping his head, he kissed behind her ear. “But I really want to see you,” he murmured against her skin.

“Oh.” Her eyes had drifted closed and she couldn’t seem to lift her lids. “Okay.”

In seconds he’d led her to his room, to his very large bed. The spread was burgundy, the wood of the frame dark, maybe cherry or teak. It was a guy’s room, with heavy pieces and neutral tones, but the framed oil painting above the bed was an abstract with vivid reds and yellows and turquoise. Very surprising.

He cleared his throat and she quickly forgot about the decor. It was showtime. The bedside lamp was turned on, and she had to decide if she was going to say something about that, or let it be.

Turning it off really would make her feel more comfortable.

Katniss wouldn’t turn off the lights.

Natalie wouldn’t, either.

He must have seen her determination, or maybe he just didn’t want to wait anymore. Before she’d even registered the move, her sleeves were sliding down her arms, along with her bra straps. Looking down, she was startled to find her breasts naked, her nipples hard and very there as her dress pooled at her waist, caught by her belt.

Max moaned as he cupped her breasts. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “I want to look at you. All of you.” He tackled her belt, which wasn’t much of a challenge, and she closed her eyes as her dress fell to the floor with a soft whoosh of fabric.

“Oh, Christ. Look at you. I never expected—”

She opened her eyes to find him staring, his lips parted in a very flattering way.

He stepped back until he was no longer touching her, then one more step so he could sit on the edge of his bed, as if looking at her made him lose his sense of balance.

She moved one foot back to take off her heels, and jumped at his, “No, wait. Please. Leave those on.”

He didn’t look as though he was kidding. Especially when he pressed his palm against his very obvious hard-on.

She’d wanted new experiences. This definitely met the criteria. She curled her right shoulder and knee, although it didn’t hide very much. Not that hiding was exactly what she wanted to do, but being stared at like that was kind of intimidating.

“Oh, I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, his voice very low and rough. “On those World War II pinup posters, with your ruby lips and your luscious curves.”

She froze right there. Just stopped. Her? A pinup? She loved those women, those images, had one framed in her office. It was probably the dress that had done it. Or her hair. It was what she’d always wanted people to see, but they never did. Never had.

He was the wrong Max, and yet...

There was no longer any need to pretend to feel sexy. Because she was. Truly. Like Betty Grable or Marilyn Monroe. It was intoxicating. Freeing.

No one had ever looked at her that way, with his three undone buttons and his desire-darkened eyes, and she was going to revel in it.

He wanted a show, and she gave him one. Slow and naughty, with a soundtrack in her head and a sharp need to press her thighs together.

This night had been fantastic. Even if he didn’t give her an orgasm it was already the best ever. She owed a great big thank-you to whoever had messed up the trading card, because tonight, she was her own dream come true.