Читать книгу Going All the Way - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 8

WORDLESS SHOCK immobilized Serena. How the devil had he become even better looking?

In retrospect, her earlier wondering about how potent the chemistry between them could still be was laughable. His voice on the phone had been enough to generate liquid heat inside her. Now she was faced with a mischievous expression as suggestive as the voice. His sensual lips—the bottom one just full enough for her to want to sink her teeth into it—were curved in a smile that crinkled his pale eyes at the corners. His body was tight, and he’d rolled back the cuffs of his midnight-blue shirt to reveal corded forearms. She had an image of those muscles straining as he held himself above her.

Losing the breath she’d finally managed to catch, she decided it wasn’t such a hot idea to stare at his arms. Or his broad shoulders or his very nice hands.

“David!” She yanked off the phone headset and wondered absurdly what her short mop of hair looked like. There was no way she matched his flawlessly put-together appearance, not that something like that would have bothered her when they’d first met.

Back then, his dark-brown hair had been shaggier—not long, by any stretch of the imagination, but more tousled. Each time she’d seen him since he’d earned his MBA, his hair had been trimmed a bit shorter. Now it was cut so close, you couldn’t help but notice the strength of his rectangular face, the hard, smooth jaw and blunt, masculine features. His hair was just long enough for a slight upswept curve above his forehead and the barest hint of neat sideburns stopping at his ears.

“Surprised?” He shut the door behind him, still grinning that wouldn’t-you-like-to-remove-my-clothes-with-your-teeth smile. Or maybe she was projecting.

“You rat.” She stood, relieved she was able to, and pressed a palm to her racing heart. “I’m shocked. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

His lithe easy stride as he came toward her made her feel melodramatically tense in contrast. “It was more fun this way. Besides, the Serena I know likes surprises. You aren’t happy to see me?”

It was difficult to imagine anyone with David’s self-assurance, heritage or bone-melting appeal worrying about the reception he’d get.

“Of course I am.” Forcing her feet to walk around the soothing haven of Natalie’s desk, Serena bobbed her head in what was supposed to be an affirming nod. Somehow she forgot to stop and ended up feeling like one of those ugly little dogs people stuck to their dashboards. “It’s, um, been a while.”

He said nothing, merely hitched an eyebrow in a knowing expression. The gap between visits had only been so long due to her sprouting a beak and feathers last time he’d been in town.

I’m not a chicken. Or an ostrich. Or anything else ornithological. She could hold her own against the waves of testosterone and sexual confidence he exuded. To prove just that, she stepped in his direction, stopping only when she was close enough for a quick, welcoming hug.

She wrapped one arm across his shoulders and leaned toward him. “It’s great to see you.”

His familiar cologne wafted over her, immediately calling to mind other earthy fragrances, like rain in the air and sex on her sheets. The memory was so strong that she froze for a second. David looped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him for a full-frontal hug, and her muscles went liquid with both recognition and anticipation.

Forget it, she instructed her body. There had been extenuating circumstances behind the one time they’d made love. Rather, the one night they’d made love many times. For starters, there’d been that whole wet clothing issue.

Still, while she had no intentions of repeating past mistakes, no matter how orgasmic, the man felt good.

Patrick had been long and lean—all right, gangly—and had towered over her in a way she’d tried to tell herself made her feel feminine. But David, just tall enough to grin down at her, was the perfect height. Their bodies fit together in all the right throbbing places.

Despite the fabric barriers of clothing, heat sprang from each point of contact as if the two of them were pressed skin to skin. Her breasts brushed against him, and her nipples tightened the same way they would have if they’d encountered the soft friction of the crisp hair that dusted his chest. His hips bumped hers, and a giddy, tingly sensation shot from head to toe as warmth pooled between her thighs.

Serena jerked back, which would have worked better if the contact with David hadn’t dissolved her muscles. Without him for support, her strangely shaky body wobbled. She feared landing on her ass and looking like one.

“You okay?” He steadied her with a hand on her upper arm, his fingers firm through her thin violet sweater.

Goose bumps sprang up all over her flesh. As she recalled, the man had the most talented fingers this side of the Mason Dixon. She wasn’t too shy to tell a lover where or how she wanted to be touched, but with David, there’d been no need. In fact, the few times she had volunteered a suggestion—-faster came to mind—he’d continued his slow, sweet pace anyway, eventually demonstrating that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just…light-headed.”

She reclaimed her arm, expecting to see some kind of thermal handprint on her sleeve, burned into place by the heat arcing between them. “With Natalie out of the office, I didn’t eat lunch.” Unless she counted the salad she’d brought from home and the bag of chips from the vending machine. Fine, two bags, but they’d been the comparatively healthy baked-not-fried kind.

David’s grin widened, and, with the clarity of hindsight, she immediately regretted her fib.

“Then I insist you let me take you out for an early dinner,” he said.

“But—”

“I won’t take no for an answer, Serena.”

An occasionally stubborn person herself, she admired assertiveness in others, but the intimate timbre of his voice was downright unfair.

“I can’t just dash off this second,” she protested.

Actually, with the slow business day she’d had, she probably could, but why tell him that? David Grant could stand for a few more people to turn him down from time to time. She loved the man, she really did—in the nonphysical best-buds-for-ages sense—but he got his way much too often.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said. “I can step out and make a few phone calls where the reception’s better.”

At the prospect of more space between them, her body sagged in relief. “All right. Give me a little bit to wrap things up.”

“Take as long as you need.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Anything important enough to do deserves time and thorough attention, right?”

As the president of her own company—even if it was just her and one other employee—she should agree with the work ethic of his statement. Except there was no work ethic, only veiled seduction. She recalled again the way David had pushed her to mindless limits when she’d already thought she couldn’t burn any hotter. He’d proven her deliciously wrong.

“You really do look woozy,” David observed.

Of course she did. It had been months since she’d had sex, and close to a year since she’d had fantastic sex. Suddenly, it seemed every molecule in her body was vibrating with the effects of the unplanned abstinence. It was like alcohol—if you’d given up drinking for a while, even a sip of something potent went straight to your head.

His forehead wrinkled as genuine concern replaced the humor in his expression. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here now and grab something to eat? Or I could run and get you a snack.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” She glanced between the receptionist’s chair and the overstuffed loveseat for guests, gauging which was closer. Deciding on the blue loveseat, she passed by David, telling herself she’d had a full five minutes to grow immune to that spicy seductive cologne. Its power over her should have waned by now.

Maybe the warm flush stealing through her body was actually embarrassment, not attraction. He was hardly the only man she’d ever been with, yet here she was in a near swoon. Real women do not swoon. Not in the last hundred years, anyway. When she glanced up, she was relieved to find him studying the surroundings instead of her.

“Nice place,” he said. “Took me a while to find, but great location. Definitely an improvement.”

Hard to believe her office would be terribly impressive to someone who’d grown up in the ancestral mansion once photographed for Southern Décor, but he was right about the improvement part. Her first site had been a one-room dive with a slight bug problem. Rent here was more, but worth every penny.

David took in the vintage lamp in the corner, the scarlet patterned swag over the miniblinded exterior window, the framed posters, and the artfully “mismatched” furniture—two chairs and a couch, each in a different primary color. “It is original.”

“Thanks…That was a compliment, right?”

“Yeah.” He sat next to her. “You have a way of making everything you come in contact with uniquely yours.”

He wasn’t crowding her, but then, he didn’t need a macho tactic to make her aware of him. Some of her best memories with this man involved a couch, and she had to concentrate to keep from swaying reflexively toward him. As seemingly relaxed as she was alert, he leaned back and casually fanned his fingers against his knee. Was he deliberately drawing her attention to his hand, daring her to remember the way he’d touched her?

She swallowed. “Well, we do parties, so I didn’t want my office to be stuffy. There are already wedding coordinators who do the whole Emily-Post-slash-Martha-Stewart thing, and planners all over the city who do the black-tie corporate banquets. We do those, too, but I try to give everything a touch of unique flair.”

“Touch is good.”

“W-we want our events to be memorable.”

“You are that,” he said softly. Just when she was starting to suspect he’d traveled all this way to drive her out of her sex-starved mind, he asked, “So, how’s business going?”

It took her a moment to adjust to the change of subject. Oh, wait, they’d been talking about work. Outwardly, at least.

“Not bad. A little slower than I’d like right now,” she admitted. “But business comes in waves. I arranged a bachelor party last week to fill some downtime.”

“Bachelor party?” An eyebrow arched up. “With a stripper and everything?”

“She much prefers ‘exotic dancer,’ and I hired her through the same agency I contact for bartenders and black-jack dealers.”

“Hm. An evening of sex, Scotch and sin, as presented by Serena Donavan.”

“As presented by Inventive Events,” she corrected, wishing the gleam in his gaze weren’t quite so speculative. “Quit looking at me like you’re picturing I was the stripper.”

He leaned toward her, his smile naughty. “Do I have to stop picturing it, or just stop looking like I am?”

His husky tone seduced her into sharing the fantasy. It was too easy to envision giving a sultry performance for him alone—slipping buttons out of their holes, shimmying out of a blouse as she rolled her shoulders and hips to the accompaniment of pulsing background music.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are a bad influence. Can’t you see I’m trying to be a respectable businesswoman here?”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been trying for years to demonstrate that she didn’t have to fit into her estranged father’s eight-to-five, corporate-America notions of respectability to be happy and successful. The results had been decidedly mixed—prompted in part by his new girlfriend, James Donavan had decided last summer to try to be part of her life again, but his brand of support included offers of finding her a job at one of his banks if “that party thing ever falls flat.”

Then again, how reputable could she be? She had strippers on speed dial.

David shook his head, his tone laced with amusement. “Give it up, Serena. You’re not cut out to be respectable.”

She flinched inwardly. David had teased her plenty of times in the past and was only echoing what she herself had just been thinking. Yet somehow the joking indictment sounded a hell of a lot different coming out loud from a Savannah Grant.

HOLDING HIS cell phone for prop purposes, David sat in the lobby where “reception might be better,” on a decorative bench uncomfortable enough to have been used during the Inquisition. Make a guy sit on one of these long enough, he’d confess to just about anything. Like being unbelievably arrogant?

AGI had sent him here this weekend to check out apartments, but David’s personal goal had been to find out whether the burning attraction between him and Serena was as he remembered, or if his imagination and time had exaggerated it. He’d also wanted to discover if the Happy Wanderer presented any real competition. David’s earlier call as he drove though an exasperating series of one-way Atlanta streets had eased his mind on both matters. Her announcement of the breakup and the breathy, telling pauses in conversation had led him to half hope she’d fall into his arms when he walked through the office door.

Arrogance.

Instead of fawning over him, or even pushing him away so he could tell himself she was running from a powerful desire, she’d blinked off her initial shock, then approached for a depressingly casual hug. If it hadn’t been for the way she’d watched his hands while they talked on the couch, her doe eyes becoming heavy-lidded and dazed as if his fidgeting fingers were actually moving over her skin, he might honestly have worried that they were doomed to platonic friendship.

But the longer he’d sat with her, the more obvious her arousal had become. There’d been no mistaking her dilated pupils, the way she nervously licked her lips or the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath her soft knit top. Maybe he’d only overlooked her desire at first because he’d been too consumed by his own.

Even though he’d been the one surprising her, when she’d glanced up at him with those wide brown eyes, the jolt of sensual energy that had shot through him had been like a force of nature—something meteorologists had warned was coming but that still had to be experienced to be believed.

For instance, who would have believed an ensemble as theoretically conservative as khakis and sweater could be so sexy?

Serena looked like a bad girl impersonating a businesswoman. The slacks, while the right innocuous color for casual Fridays across the country, fit very snugly across her hips and were slung low at the waist. Only the embroidered hem of her plum-colored top kept him from seeing whether or not she was wearing the bellybutton ring that glinted teasingly in his memory. The neckline of the long-sleeved shirt dipped down in a rectangle that actually laced up over her breasts. Because of her understated curves, the cleavage revealed stopped just shy of being completely inappropriate for the office, but it was plenty to make his mouth go dry.

Although David knew it was an optical fashion illusion, he couldn’t help thinking that if he pulled the ends of the string bow apart, her sweater would fall away and leave her bared for tasting. He could recall with aching clarity the feel of her velvety breasts and the peach-hued nipples that had been so sensitive to his touch. On the one occasion he’d undressed Serena, peeling off a sodden T-shirt that seemed to leave less to the imagination than actual nudity, she hadn’t been wearing a bra. Was she today?

Wanting to find out had made him restless enough to drum his fingers and tap his thumb as he sat with her.

What he really wanted to find out was if she still objected to the physical connection between them. And if so, why. When he factored in everything that Serena meant to him, her newly single status and the timing of this transfer, it seemed fate was handing him this opportunity on a silver platter.

But Serena was on edge and clearly not about to fall into his lap—delightful as that prospect was. He needed to romance her, convince her, figure out her reservations and overcome them one by one. His desire to handle this with finesse was why he hadn’t simply sprung his relocation announcement on her already. But he had supreme confidence that he could win her over. That was why he was on the business-development side of things at AGI—his specialty was new partnerships, finding or creating opportunities and overcoming any obstacles with various means of persuasion.

Persuading Serena would be far more enjoyable than, say, persuading the CEO of Digi-Dial, leaders in cell-phone technology.

Her office door swung open with a gentle creak, and Serena appeared, holding a massive beige purse that looked more like a weapon against muggers than something they might steal. In Boston, she would have needed a jacket, but it was warm here.

“Sorry I took so long,” she said. Her tone was breezy and her smile even, but she ran her hand through her honey-blond, not-quite-chin-length curls in a self-conscious gesture.

“Not a problem.”

She turned to lock up the suite. “If you’d like, I can suggest a place for dinner.”

“Lord, no.”

Serena was big on what she called “cultural color,” and while four out of five places she picked were surprisingly excellent (with the fifth being horrific), David desired something a bit more intimate tonight. He didn’t want their conversation to be interrupted by some poetry reading, and he didn’t want to have to worry about exotic herbs in their unpronounceable entrées that might lead to indigestion or unkissable breath. Just because he was prepared for longer-term wooing didn’t mean he couldn’t be optimistic.

“And what’s wrong with the places I pick?” she asked, glaring down at him.

He stood. “They usually look like they’re only still in business because someone bribed the health inspector.”

“But they have fabulous food. Usually.” She sniffed. “A restaurant doesn’t have to have valet parking to be worth eating at.”

“I know that.” If his tone was defensive, it was because he’d just realized he’d been to at least three restaurants this week that used valet service. “But, tonight I want to take you…someplace nice.” He could tell her they were celebrating his likely promotion, except he wasn’t ready to tell her his news yet.

They headed toward the building’s canopied main entrance. David reached out to open the door for her, but she’d already pushed it open herself.

Following her into the early-evening shadows, he felt a ridiculous need to prove she wasn’t the only one who’d ever discovered a culinary treasure in an offbeat hole-in-the-wall. “There was a dive you would have loved in Boston.”

“Meaning what?” She whipped her head around, impaling him with her narrowed eyes. “That I can only appreciate dives?”

Nice. Seduce women often, idiot? But he hadn’t expected Serena to be so touchy.

“Meaning you would have seen beyond the unrefined décor, and you would have loved the live bands and the oyster bar’s creative menu.”

“Ah.” On the sidewalk, she stopped, glancing between David and her dilapidated decade-old Honda.

Letting himself bump into her would have been transparent, but he came awfully close before he, too, drew up short. She’d never wear an expensive, trendy perfume, but whatever she had on smelled like spices and rare exotic flowers swirled in one heady, lust-inducing scent.

“Since you obviously don’t need a recommendation from me, where do you want to go?” Serena asked.

To the nearest bedroom.

“In case we get separated in traffic,” she added.

“Separated? We can ride together.” In light of her apparent skittishness about spending time with him, he appealed to her time-honored sense of thrift. “I have to pay for the rental car whether we use it or not.”

She sighed. “Let me guess, you’re the Beemer over in the corner.”

“Not even close.” He gestured toward a sleek yellow convertible. “That’s mine. Temporarily, anyway.”

Her body tensed as she took in the sexy sports car, then she shot him a look of such unexpected disdain that he wondered if he’d have been better off with the BMW.

“Men. I suppose it was the flashiest one on the lot?”

The brightly colored fantasy on wheels had actually reminded him of Serena, but she didn’t seem to be in the right mood to appreciate that compliment. “Well, it is yellow—”

“Extremely.”

“—so I figured the pollen that coats everything here wouldn’t show up as much.” He shrugged when she didn’t smile at the joke. “The weather’s been dreary in Boston, and this looked like a great ride for the weekend.”

“Looks expensive,” she muttered. “What is it they say about men and cars and overcompensation?”

Without making a conscious decision to do so, he leaned forward, closing much of the space between them. “And what inadequacy do you think I need to compensate for?”

She blinked up at him. “None. It was a random comment. You…” As she trailed off, her eyes moved downward to the front of his pants, and her admiring gaze took what felt like his entire blood supply down with it. “Nothing inadequate about you.”

Damn right. Still, he almost wished she’d challenged his prowess in some way. Then they could’ve skipped dinner, leaving him free to spend the rest of the night making his case.