Читать книгу Men On Fire - Susan Lyons - Страница 12

She’d know if I’m a good kisser? “I…uh…” I gaped at Quinn.

“And I am. But you shouldn’t take my word on it. You need to check it out yourself.”

A horrible suspicion crossed my mind. “I didn’t buy you for sex.”

He chuckled. “I know. I’m just saying, it’ll be easier to pretend we’re engaged if we’ve kissed.” His lips said “kissed,” but his dark, gleaming eyes suggested a whole lot more.

I jumped up and crossed the kitchen, needing distance. Yeah, I’d bet he was a good kisser. My body lusted to find out. But kissing Quinn—a kiss that, given the gleam in his eyes and my own arousal, could easily go further—didn’t fit anywhere in my game plan.

Either game plan.

I had two goals, each with a distinct strategy. One was short term and work oriented: to find a faux fiancé and win the promotion on my merits, not my marital status. The other was long term: to find my Prince Charming, get engaged and married for real, and live happily ever after. Two separate boxes on my “to-do list,” and I was eager to put tick marks in both.

Quinn definitely didn’t fit box number two, yet his body language said he didn’t want to stick within the confines of box number one. Would it be crazy to create a third box, just for him? A box that had nothing to do with long term and everything to do with satisfying the overpowering sexual hunger he kindled in me?

“D’you agonize this way over every decision?” He cocked an eyebrow, rose, and strode determinedly toward me.

“No.” I evaded him, darting back to the table to gather plates. “Well, yes, if it’s important.” I walked to the counter and turned, the plates in front of me serving as a barrier. I needed to think clearly, and when he touched me, I couldn’t.

“Man, woman, attraction. It’s not that complicated.”

“Isn’t that what Tarzan said to Jane?” But I wasn’t in a jungle inhabited by a sole male, and I’d set my priorities. “I can’t waste time on a relationship that isn’t going anywhere.” That had been my mistake in the past.

Both brows rose. “Not that I was going to go down on one knee and propose, but out of curiosity, how did you reach the snap decision we weren’t going anywhere?”

“I don’t date men who have dangerous jobs. Or who do crazy things like ride a motorbike.”

Quinn looked a little stunned, then took the plates from me and set them on the counter. He rested his hands on the counter on either side of me, trapping me. Our bodies were only inches apart, and again I felt his sizzling energy. “Jade, did I ask you on a date?”

“Uh, no.”

“I said a kiss. How can we convince people we’re engaged if we’ve never even kissed?”

“Uh…” There was a flaw to his logic, but my brain had shut down, except to echo a kiss, a kiss, a kiss. Every cell in my body urged me to hurl myself against him, twine around him, and kiss him until I melted into a puddle.

Perhaps he read it on my face. His grin turned into something intense and knowing.

Standing in the cage of his arms, a hot surge of need and anticipation rushed through me. It wasn’t that I hadn’t dated sexy guys before, but never one so purely masculine, so confident. Never one who gave off that crazy energy, who made me so hungry for his touch.

His head dipped toward me and I stared, fascinated. His expression was appreciative and predatory, like the way I felt when I reached for my favorite treat, a rich chocolate Nanaimo bar.

His lips brushed mine, soft but not the least bit tentative. Leisurely, yet not casually. Almost chaste, yet definitely not innocent. His touch was skilled, deliberate, as he traced the outline of my lips with the tip of his tongue, then nibbled and sucked my bottom lip. Small caresses, yet each brushed fire across my skin, darted arousal through my body, and made me tremble.

Box number three was looking so appealing. Oh, God, I could no more not kiss him back than I could resist a Nanaimo bar. With a moan of surrender, I returned his gentle pressure.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, a big male cat sound like a growly purr. A sound of satisfaction, not of surprise. He’d known I couldn’t resist.

Fine. He was cocky. But damn, he had reason to be.

His tongue flicked against the seam of my lips and I parted, eager for more of this blissfully sensual, erotic experience. He tasted of wine and spice, his tongue was talented but willing to yield to my own explorations, and somehow, without me realizing, we’d stepped into each other’s arms. He plunged his hands through my hair, holding my head at the angle he wanted, and my arms circled his powerful torso as I explored the muscular lines of his back. The fronts of our bodies were plastered together.

Under the jeans, he was unmistakably erect. Beneath my own pants, the crotch of my panties was soaked, my sex swollen and throbbing. His mouth and mine melded as if they’d been designed to mate. Now, this was what kissing should be like. Kisses were often disappointing, but with Quinn, I realized kissing could be an art form. Skillful, beautiful, passionate, emotional.

No, wait, not emotional. We were strangers. We didn’t care about each other. And never would, because we’d never have a relationship.

His mouth broke from mine. “Jade? Where did you go?”

I stared up at him, realizing I’d disengaged from the kiss and seeing the puzzlement in his dark eyes. “What are we doing?” I forced my hands to let go of him and took a step back.

“Thought that was obvious.” The uncertainty in his voice belied his words.

“Okay, we’ve kissed. Now we know what it’s like. We should…call it quits.” I had to force the last words out.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “The way we were kissing…That didn’t feel like you wanted to quit.”

“No, but…” The truth was, I didn’t.

Perhaps he read it on my face. He put his arms around me, slipped his hands into the back pockets of my pants, cupped my ass, and pulled me close again. “You don’t want to quit.”

“This doesn’t make sense. It could complicate things.”

“Not if we don’t let it. We’re grown up, know what we want. Let’s go for it.” His pelvis flirted with mine, the press of his arousal arguing his case.

I didn’t make a practice of sleeping with guys on a first date, or even a second or third one. But tonight I wanted to. It had been so long since a man had held me, satisfied me, and Quinn was…smoking hot. Powerfully arousing.

He must do this sort of thing all the time. That thought actually reassured me. He was right: We could have great sex and not let it complicate our lives, much less my faux fiancé plan. I could enjoy box number three as a treat on the side and remain committed to my real priorities.

“Oh, wait,” he said softly, his mouth an inch from mine, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I forgot. You said you didn’t have time to waste on, what was it?”

How could I think when he was invading all my senses? “Uh, a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. But you have a point about the role-play thing. If we had sex and were, you know, attuned to each other that way, it would be easier to act engaged.” Was lust making me rationalize, or did I have a valid point?

His quick “Absolutely” broke my train of thought.

I chuckled. “You’d agree to anything if it got me into bed with you.”

“Pretty much.” That dimple flashed.

He was irresistible. A player, a sexy bad boy, whatever he might be, I wanted him. “Of course, if we’re not sexually compatible,” I teased, “that could mess up the role-play.”

“Not going to be a problem.” He lifted my shirt to caress the skin above the low waistband of my pants. The pads of his fingers were slightly rough, a reminder he wasn’t my usual white-collar date. I’d have thought the abrasiveness would be unpleasant, but it was stimulating. He stroked my skin to a level of sensitivity I’d never experienced before.

I wondered what those fingers would feel like on my nipples. My clit. Oh, God. “You’re right.” Need made me breathless. “Let’s go someplace where we can get comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah.” He hoisted me in his arms, making me gasp with surprise. “Where?”

“Down the hall.” My bedroom. Maybe I should have chosen the living room couch as being less intimate, but I wanted to make the most of this experience.

He carried me easily—and I am by no means tiny—then, in the bedroom, let me slide down until I stood at the foot of the bed. I hurried to light a couple candles; then he tugged the hem of my T-shirt. “I want to see you, Jade Rousseau. All of you.”

“I want to see you too.” From the first time I’d set eyes on him. And now that I’d made my decision, I was totally into it.

Dark eyes gleaming, Quinn peeled my shirt over my head. A big, smug grin curved his lips. “Talk about pretty.”

I hadn’t worn the champagne-colored lace bra and matching thong for him, honestly. I’d always loved sexy, feminine underwear, ever since I’d got over my adolescent embarrassment over my curviness. To put it bluntly, as Kimberly did, I had boobs and booty—and everything was toned and in the right place.

From the expression on his face, Quinn agreed. He flipped open the button at my waist and undid the zipper; then I took over and tugged my pants down.

My nipples were taut, thrusting against flimsy lace. My inner thighs and the crotch of my thong were damp. Knowing I made a sexy picture, a portrait of arousal, I thrust back my shoulders and stood proudly as his gaze roamed my body. When he reached out, I took a step backward. “Uh-uh. Not until you lose some clothes, mister.”

“Want to help?”

“No, I want to watch.” Perhaps because I’d first seen him onstage, I had the crazy notion I’d like to see him do a striptease. With music. The whole bump and grind thing. Not that I had the nerve to tell him that.

He stretched, flexing and flaunting the muscles that pressed against his blue tee, then pulled the hem free from his jeans. His fingers grazed the fly, drawing my attention, and I gaped hungrily at the imposing bulge. Slowly, he raised his shirt and my gaze tracked up his body as the T-shirt rose, revealing six-pack abs and muscular pecs with a scattering of dark hair. Yes, I’d seen his naked torso the night of the auction, but this time I was up close and personal with all this beautiful masculinity, and his body was gilded by flickering light.

When he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, I sucked in a breath. Never had I been with a man who was built like this. How was any other guy ever going to measure up?

He unbuckled his leather belt, then unbuttoned his jeans, movements relaxed and confident. Not arrogant, just sure of himself, and of his effect on women.

Well, I wasn’t exactly chopped liver myself. Casually, I raised my right hand and flicked my thumbnail slowly across my nipple through the lace, a soft, warm prickle of sensation that made the taut bud even harder.

His heated gaze followed the motion and his hands paused in the act of unzipping his fly.

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said.

The zipper rasped and the jeans drifted down an inch, revealing his lean belly, the waistband of his underwear and—oh, God—the crown of his erect cock thrusting out the top. “In a rush, are you?” he teased back.

I had to swallow before I could speak. “To see what you have to offer? You bet.”

He stuck his thumbs in the waist of his jeans on both sides and eased them down farther, over bulging navy boxer briefs. The jeans hit the floor. Oh yeah, I was going to have trouble finding another guy who measured up.

Not that I was all about size. It was how the man handled the equipment that mattered.

I had a feeling firefighter O’Malley had a pretty good idea of how to handle equipment.

He tucked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, hands framing his package. “On or off?”

I really wanted to see him, and this was no time to play shy. “Off.”

He slid down his underwear and his cock sprang from a nest of dark curls, and rose full and proud up his belly. I almost whimpered as a surge of pure naked lust shot through me. I realized I was fondling my nipple through my bra, breathing fast and shallow, squeezing my thighs together against a needy ache that urged me to spread my legs and offer myself to him.

Quinn stepped toward me, took my hand from my breast, and cupped both my lace-clad breasts in his own big hands. Low in his throat, he hummed satisfaction as he explored me through the lace, teasing my nipples to buds so hard they hurt. Then he flicked open the front clasp and my breasts spilled free, into his hands. “Let’s lie down, so I can do these justice.”

Stunned from the suddenness of this intimacy, the intensity of the way I responded to this almost-stranger, I let him tug me to the bed. I eased free of my bra, then pulled off the duvet and lay down, the cool cotton of the sheet a pleasant contrast to the heat of my skin.

Quinn followed me down, lying beside me and stretching over to claim my lips in a slow, sexy kiss. My breasts hungered for his touch, and so did my pussy, but he was in no hurry. As our tongues and lips played sexy games, I ran my hands through his short hair, then down his neck to his shoulders, feeling soft heat over solid muscle and bone. The man felt as good as he looked.

My fingers drifted through chest hair, found a nipple, and squeezed it between thumb and index finger. His chest tensed under my hand.

My breasts were full and throbbing, crying out for his attention. Finally, he broke the kiss and eased back. He stroked down my neck, circled the hollow at the base of my throat with a finger, then moved across my chest. His touch, with those roughened fingertips, was firm, not a drifting caress but harder, as if he was recognizing and appreciating my own strength. Quinn didn’t touch me as if I were a porcelain doll, but like I was a healthy, vital woman.

When he reached my breast, he lightened the touch, caressing my flesh with the gentlest of abrasion, tweaking my nipple. Then he lowered his head and sucked that hard bud into his mouth. Exquisite sensation rushed through me and I cried out. He licked, flicked, sucked, squeezed, learning exactly how to touch me to give me the maximum pleasure.

The way he was sitting on the bed, I couldn’t touch him, except to cup the back of his head, feel the springy thickness of his hair, explore the strong shape of his head.

He was deft, experienced. A patient lover, not one who rushed single-mindedly toward his own gratification. And I reaped the benefit. Perversely, I almost wished he’d lose control.

When my breasts were so sensitive they trembled at his touch, he moved down my body at a leisurely pace, his head pulling free of my grip. Now all I could do was lie there and let him bring my body to throbbing, erotic life, inch by inch.

“Pretty skin, Jade. Like rich, creamy coffee.” His finger circled my navel, making my belly quiver.

“And you smell like flowers and spice,” he said. That big finger traced the top band of the front of my thong, then followed the diagonal line of the edge down to my crotch, rough against my smooth skin. Gently, he spread my legs and stroked over the soaking crotch of my thong, pressing hard enough to stimulate the swollen flesh underneath.

I whimpered. “Quinn, I want more.”