Finding Mr. Right Now (24 page)

“Move out of the doorway. It’s either that or we do it against the wall here, again, which wasn’t exactly what I was planning. I’m guessing your room has more to it than this, right?”

She glanced back. They hadn’t moved more than a foot away from the door since he’d closed it behind them. She nodded. “Move. Sure. There’s a bed.”

“I figured as much.” He grinned down at her. “Time. A bed and time.”

“This way. I think.” She pulled away from him, pushing a hand through her hair. Cotton fluff. Her head was now full of cotton fluff. She stumbled toward the bed, shrugging away her T-shirt and bra as she moved.

At the bedside she paused, trying to decide whether to pull back the spread or just go for it. Cotton fluff.

“Okay?” Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.” She blew out a breath, trying to get her brain functioning again. This was all happening at light speed. “Should we slow down a little?”

“Nope.” He moved beside her, pulling her down, then reversing at the last minute so that she was beneath him. “Definitely not.” He moved between her thighs, pinning her under his body, his lips moving into a quick grin as he looked down at her. “I like you like this, Monica McKellar, with your hair wild and windblown and your eyes all dazed. We are definitely not slowing down so that you can start thinking again.”

“But—” Her breath caught in her throat as he dipped his head to her breast, his lips closing around the pebbled areole while his teeth grazed her nipple. He moved his hand to her other breast, kneading it gently while he sucked hard, drawing the nipple to a point, then moving over to take the other nipple into his mouth. She dug her fingers into the spread, then brought her hands to his head, holding him in place. A thread of heat seemed to spread from her breast to her core.

He moved his mouth to her breastbone, then kissed his way along her belly, pausing to dip his tongue into her navel.

Her breath came out in a whoosh, and she moved her hand to the waistband of his jeans. He caught her fingers, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

“When?” she moaned.

He took hold of her pants, pulling them down her legs with her panties and then tossing them somewhere out of sight.

“Why am I naked while you’ve still got all those clothes on?” she gasped.

“You’ll get your chance.” He grinned again. “I promise.”

He kissed her belly, moving lower, his hands dropping to push her legs farther apart. His lips moved across the tender skin at the top of her thighs, kissing, licking, tasting.

She worked on catching her breath. “Could we maybe cut to the chase here?”

“No,” he murmured. “We could not.”

He parted her folds with his thumbs, then took her in his mouth, his tongue moving across her clit while one finger probed inside her. Exquisite pressure blossomed deep in her core, fast, so fast. Another finger joined the first and he began to move them in and out as he sucked hard. Her hips moved convulsively as the first climax took her almost before she was ready. She moaned, her hands grasping the spread.

He put a hand on her hip. “Sssh. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

“Not so much, as it turns out.” His thumbs rubbed across her thighs again, and then his tongue stabbed inside her.

The tension became fire, driving her up toward another peak, her heels digging in on either side of his body. “Please, Paul,” she gasped. “Please. I need you inside me now.”

He raised his head slowly, moving up her body, then leaned down to kiss her. She tasted her own salt and musk, herself on his lips and tongue.

“Did anybody ever tell you you’re bossy?” he murmured.

“Did anybody ever tell you you talk way too much during sex?” She reached for his waistband again, unbuttoning it quickly and pulling down the zipper. “Lose the shirt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it behind him.

“Now the pants.” She managed to shove the spread and blankets down underneath her.
Compulsive, Monica.

He shook his head. “Bossy.” But then he stood up beside the bed, pushing his pants down. His cock swung free, and she bit her lip, staring.

She hadn’t really seen him in Salt Box or the night on the terrace. They’d been hiding in the dark. Now she wished she had a while to appreciate him. The long stretches of muscle along his body, the sprinkling of dark hair across his chest, the brown coins of his nipples. The jutting cock in the nest of dark hair, which looked huge but which she happened to know fit her just fine. She could definitely spend some time looking at him, but they had better things to do. “Come here.”

He stepped to the bed, brown eyes dark, the muscles of his chest flexing as he reached down to run his fingers along her cheek. “You may be bossy, but you’re also beautiful, Ms. McKellar.”

She took a breath, trying to slow down her pulse. “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself, Mr. Dewitt.”

He grinned quickly, the indentation at the side of his mouth deepening, then he knelt over her again, sliding between her bent knees. She tipped her hips up to meet his thrust, then rocked against him as he moved. He kept his eyes open, staring down at her, his jaw rigid with effort.

“Say my name,” he said between his teeth. “I want to hear it.”

“Paul.” Her voice was a rasp, barely a word at all.

“Again.”

“Paul. Oh, Paul that feels so good.”

He thrust deep again and again, hard, sharp movements that brought their hips slapping together. Her eyes began to flutter.

“Eyes open,” he commanded. “Watch me. Be with me.”

Her head fell back as she looked up at him. His face was set, his shoulders taut with the effort of moving against her. She brought her hands to the sides of his face, stroking her fingers down his cheeks, feeling the slight prickles of his whiskers against her skin. “Paul,” she whispered again. “Ah, Paul.”

His face darkened and drew tight, and then he thrust deep, driving into her so that he touched deep inside and brought her with him. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist, tipping herself back to take him in.

“Monica,” he groaned. “Oh sweet Monica.”

She clung to him, wrapping him tight against her as the waves broke again and again, subsiding finally as she gasped for air. Her heart rate slowed to something that felt like normal. He turned his head against her hair, kissing the tip of her ear then settling his head in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

“Good,” he murmured. “More than good. I’ll think of the right word later. Bed is definitely good.”

“Later,” she echoed. “No more talking.”

He chuckled softly. “Bossy.” His arms closed around her, pulling her close again. “Sleep now.”

Her eyes drifted shut as she rested her forehead against his shoulder.
He’ll have to leave before morning.
The words floated through her mind just as she felt herself sliding over the edge into sleep.

Of course he would. But they’d think about that later, when she wasn’t so warm and happy and satisfied.

Which would, of course, happen soon enough.

Chapter Seventeen

Paul lay still, staring at the ceiling of Monica’s room, trying to figure a way he could stay a little longer. Already the sky outside was turning gray. He couldn’t see the clock without moving, but he figured it must be close to four thirty. He couldn’t stay longer than another twenty minutes or so or he’d risk being seen when he left.

Part of him didn’t give a crap if he was seen. Leaving her wasn’t as enticing as the feel of her soft body in his arms, her warm skin against his own. If he stayed, maybe they could make love another time before the sun came up. And then they could drive down the mountain and grab some coffee and a Danish, spend the day walking around Salt Box, learning more about what made each other tick.

Except that they couldn’t do that, of course. He had to go back to the Bachelor House and pretend to be happy that Ronnie had spared him for yet another round of counterfeit courtship. And Monica had to pretend to give a damn about what Ronnie decided to do next. Whatever might happen in the future, they both had jobs to consider right now.

Which sucked on multiple levels. Sooner or later he’d have to figure out what to do about all of this.

He sighed, pressing his lips against her throat. “Monica,” he murmured.

She turned against him, muttering.

“Monica.” He slid his hand down her side, marveling again at the milky smoothness of her skin. “Babe, I have to go.”

Her eyes drifted open and she smiled up at him drowsily. “Who are you again?”

Paul grinned. “Very funny. But I should probably get out of here before somebody sees me leave.”

She sighed, burrowing a little farther into his arms. “I guess.”

He closed his eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes, but you can’t.”

His turn to sigh. “I guess.” He kissed her hair lightly. “Can we get together tonight?”

She pushed the confusion of curls off her forehead. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t exactly remember what we’re doing tonight. I think it’s the spa.”

“Another date?”

She sighed again. “Oh yeah, another date. But it’s not your date, it’s Billy Joe’s.”

“Terrific. Maybe he’ll charm her into cutting me.”

“Maybe.” She was smiling now, all drowsy curls and sleepy eyes.

He’d never wanted more desperately to make love to a woman in his life. And he had to duck out before he gave in to the temptation. He kissed her lightly one more time, then pushed himself to the side of the bed, searching for his pants. “Okay, count on it then. Let me know when you get off. Can you call me or is that breaking the rules?”

“It’s probably breaking the rules, but I’ll call you anyway.” She ran her finger down the bumps of his spine as he leaned over to tie his shoes. Every muscle in his lower body went on high alert.

His turn to sigh now. “I’ve gotta go, babe. We both know it.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll be back. Swear to God, Monica.” He leaned down to kiss her, hard.

Her hand drifted to the back of his head, holding him down as she nipped at his lower lip.

He blew out a quick breath. “Christ, woman, you don’t make it easy.”

“Was I supposed to?” She gave him one last, lazy grin.

“I guess not.” He leaned down again, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

She yawned, running her hand across his chest as she burrowed back into the covers. “I believe I’ll do that.”

He opened the door a crack, checking the hall, but it looked like no one was up at that ungodly hour. Which, of course, was the whole point. He stepped out, closing the door as silently as he could, and moved quickly to the stairs at the side. He figured at this point he was safe even if someone saw him leaving since he could have been anywhere inside the hotel. But he still cracked the door at the bottom of the stairs before he stepped out.

Still dark. Still empty. Still cold. He could hear some fanatical songbirds warming up as he trudged back along the trail to the Bachelor House, but no one else seemed to be awake. Just as well. He didn’t have a lot to say to anyone at the moment.

Sooner or later, he’d have to figure out what exactly was happening between him and Monica. Sooner or later, he’d have to decide what to do about it. Because they needed to do something about it—that should be obvious. But right now, he didn’t want to think. He was still enveloped in that rosy glow of terrific sex that might disappear if he prodded at it too much.

The living room of the Bachelor House was empty. Not even Faisal would get up this early. He headed back toward his room, now truly his since Lex had left for more comfortable quarters downtown. Once inside, he sat down at the narrow desk beneath his window, pulling out his cell phone.

He’d had it turned off since he’d gone to meet Monica. He wasn’t particularly excited about turning it on now, but he figured he had to do it.

Three missed calls. Two from Cathe.

He went to voice mail and listened to her snarl. He’d talked to her a couple of days ago, just to tell her he had nothing to tell her, but Cathe had never been good at taking no for an answer. Plus now that the earlier episodes were being broadcast, she’d undoubtedly figured out he was one of Ronnie’s bachelors. She’d assume he’d be able to give her a lot more inside information. Hell, she’d not only assume it, she’d demand it.

You need to end this.
Unquestionably. The tricky part was figuring out a way to do it without bringing Cathe’s wrath down on the innocent, mainly Ronnie but possibly Monica.

Monica.
He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, closing his eyes. He should probably get some sleep. The cameras would start rolling after breakfast when the crew showed up to do the interviews. It looked to be a long day.

But with any luck, that day would be followed by an even longer night.

Monica’s day had been more harried than usual since Glenn had decided to switch dates from the spa to the mountaintop restaurant, a place that usually had a long waiting list for reservations. She’d spent a couple of hours cajoling and pleading until the restaurant manager had given in and found a table for them. Then she’d had to put up with Glenn’s snarls when Ronnie had flatly refused to ride up in the gondola unless Monica came with her. Apparently, Ronnie had both motion sickness and fear of heights. How having Monica around was supposed to make this better wasn’t exactly clear, but Monica figured anything that moved production along was worth encouraging.