Her Favorite Rival (20 page)

“Is that so?”

He ran a thumb over her nipple and they both watched as it hardened in response, puckering beautifully.

“Absolutely.” He smoothed his hand down her breast and onto her belly. Her abdominal muscles jumped as he slid south, past the tiny well of her belly button and into the soft curls at the top of her thighs. “Then there’s this. I’m going to need to put some serious man-hours into getting this out of my system.”

“Man-hours. Are they different from woman-hours?”

“Hell, yeah,” he said, leaning close to press a kiss to her belly. She smelled good there, too. He hadn’t shaved this morning and he used the bristle on his chin to gently abrade the soft skin of her stomach.

She shivered, lifting her hips slightly, and he curled his hand over her mons so that his fingers dipped between her thighs.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured against her skin. “That’s going to take some getting over, too.”

“Is it?” Her voice was low and husky with need.

He pressed an openmouthed kiss to her stomach, teasing her with his tongue. When he glanced at her again she was flushed, her hands fisted into the sheets beside her body as though she was afraid of what they might do if she let them have their way.

She knew what he was doing, where he was going, and he could see it excited her beyond measure.

Good, because this was one thing he’d always gotten off on, and feasting on Audrey was very high on his fantasy list.

Returning his attention to her belly, he trailed kisses across her abdomen to her hip, licking along the curved ridge before following it into the valley where her belly met her thigh. She smelled deliciously of sex and woman, and he inhaled deeply before kissing her where she needed him the most.

She tensed, a small sound escaping her mouth. He teased her with his tongue before sliding one finger, then two, inside her. She was incredibly wet and tight and he could feel himself growing hard again. Ignoring his own needs for now, he concentrated on giving her pleasure, using his hands and lips and tongue and teeth to drive her wild.

“Zach... Yes.... That feels so good. You feel so good....”

Her breathless words and the small, helpless noises she made almost destroyed his control. He’d never imagined she’d be vocal, but he loved it, especially when she called his name as she came a second time, her body trembling in his grip.

She was still shaking with aftershocks when he slipped another condom on and moved over her, sliding inside her with one powerful thrust. Her hands found his hips, then his ass as he lost himself in her warm, willing heat, reveling in the clench of her body around his.

“Zach... More... Please.”

He swore, so turned on he almost came on the spot. Instead, he upped the pace, deepening the angle so that every withdrawal gave her the most stimulation. She tensed beneath him, her breasts thrusting forward as she arched her back. He ducked his head and sucked hard on her nipple and felt her climax roll over her. As it had before, her pleasure fed his and within seconds he was gone, lost on a wave of release.

He was powerless to resist the tiredness that washed over him as he disposed of the second condom. He told himself he would close his eyes for a minute to allow himself some recovery time before he continued to exploit the stunning turn of luck or fate or whatever it was that had brought Audrey to his doorstep. Because no way was two times enough. Not when he had six months worth of half-acknowledged, fevered fantasies to draw upon.

Without saying a word, he pulled the covers over both of them, sparing a moment to press one last kiss to her soft, pretty mouth before succumbing to sleep.

* * *

H
E
WOKE
ABRUPTLY
to darkness and the dip of the bed as she slipped away.

“Hey.” He reached out and caught her wrist as she passed by. “Where are you going?”

He couldn’t see her face in the dimly lit room.

“Home.”

He didn’t want her to go. Not yet. They’d made a tacit agreement that this one time was it, their chance to indulge themselves, but it wasn’t only sex he was interested in. He was interested in her, the real her, not the professional her she presented at the office.

“You must be hungry. Let me grab you something to eat before you go.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he took advantage of her hesitation to move to the side of the bed.

“I make a pretty mean omelet,” he said.

In reality, he wasn’t even sure he had eggs, but he was confident he could improvise something.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He reached across and flicked the light on, the better to find something to wear. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the light. He hadn’t had the opportunity to fully appreciate her body earlier—he’d been too busy trying to get close to it—but now his gaze swept over her, pausing appreciatively at her full, rosy-tipped breasts before dropping to her belly and hips and legs. He’d always known she had great calves, but her legs in general were incredibly sexy—toned and athletic, but still womanly. And he’d already worshipped the curve of her hips with his hands and mouth.

Was it any wonder he’d been hot for her since he walked into the Makers building all those months ago? Who wouldn’t want this woman?

She was looking around and he guessed she was searching for her dress.

“By the door,” he said, and she turned in that direction, offering him a heart-stopping view of her peach-shaped backside, complete with a colorful addition that he’d failed to notice until now: a tattoo, some kind of cartoon animal that occupied the top third of her right butt cheek. The edges were fuzzy, indicating it wasn’t a recent addition.

It was the last thing he’d expected to find beneath her crisply tailored clothes. Totally out of keeping with the woman he’d always assumed she was.

He grabbed a pair of cargo shorts from the chest of drawers to his right, tugging them on as she stepped into her dress. He moved forward to zip her up, feeling a definite twinge of regret as the dress closed over the pale, smooth skin of her back.

She was glancing around again, looking for something else. He grinned and stepped out into the hallway. Her panties lay in a small silken pool beside his abandoned running shorts. Had she forgotten the way she’d shoved first his, then her own, underwear down so that they could cut to the chase?

He hadn’t. The memory would stay with him for a very long time.

He collected her panties, noting the softness of the ivory silk before returning to the bedroom and handing them over to her. Her cheeks were pink as she bent to pull them on.

“Kitchen’s this way,” he said, gesturing with a jerk of his head.

He could feel her following him up the hallway, could hear the swish of her full skirt. He flicked on lights as he entered the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge.

“This is nice.”

He glanced over his shoulder to find her surveying the white cabinets and dark granite counters.

“It’s okay. Needs updating, though.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you could see the kitchen in my place.” She pulled a face. “The seventies are alive and well. I even have burnt-orange countertops.”

“Hang on to them long enough, they’ll be cool again. Genuine vintage.”

“I’m not sure I have the stomach for it.”

He opened the fridge and sent a little prayer of thanks out to the universe when he saw he had a carton of eggs. He also had some cherry tomatoes and feta cheese. Dinner was officially sorted.

She slid onto one of the two stools on the other side of the counter as he set out ingredients and reached for the chopping board.

“I didn’t realize you cooked,” she said.

He shot her a look. “What did you imagine I did, pry cans open with my bare teeth?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever it is that swinging bachelors do. Eat a lot of takeout, go to a lot of restaurants. Get their women to cook for them.”

“I eat my fair share of takeout, I’ll own that. But you have an inflated view of my social life.”

She combed her fingers through her hair, trying to restore order. A futile task, since she still looked enticingly bed-rumpled.

“I bet it’s better than mine.” She sounded rueful.

“Not much time left for anything else when you start at seven and finish at eight,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“Then there’s the catch-up work on the weekend.”

“And still my in-tray has a hernia.”

He smiled as he started cutting the tomatoes into quarters. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”

“Am I?”

He glanced at her. She looked uncomfortable, perched there on the other side of the counter. As though she’d rather be anywhere else.

Maybe it had been a mistake, asking her to stay for dinner. They both knew what this was, after all. Sex. A mutual satisfying of desire and curiosity. So why had he tried to parlay it into a meal and conversation?

“Listen, if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to,” he said.

She blinked. “Is that you giving me my marching orders or you letting me off the hook?”

“Option B. I didn’t want to send you home hungry, but it wasn’t meant to be purgatory.”

A small smile curved her lips. “It isn’t. Not even close. I’m just...out of practice, I guess. And maybe a little worried.”

“That I’m going to go to work and let everyone know how I put Audrey Mathews away on the weekend?”

She made a rude noise. “‘Put away.’ I’ve always hated that saying. What does it mean, anyway? Put me away where?”

“What would you prefer, then?”

“I don’t know. ‘Took care of her’? ‘Slipped her a bone’?”

He laughed, because he knew she wasn’t remotely serious. “Okay. You think I’m going to be bragging all over the office on Monday about how I slipped Audrey Mathews a bone?”

She was struggling not to smile. “No. You don’t gossip.”

She said it with absolute certainty.

“Neither do you.”

Unlike many of their colleagues, Audrey avoided watercooler speculation.

“Only with Megan, and she doesn’t count because she’s a vault. What goes in, stays in.”

“So if I’m not going to be wearing a T-shirt on Monday letting everyone know I ‘took care of you,’ what are you worried about?”

The smile faded from her mouth as she considered his question. “I don’t know. That I’ll act differently around you and people will be able to tell. That Whitman will take one look at us and know. That this was a really bad idea.”

“Hey, we both knew that going in.”

“I haven’t forgotten your timely reminder, don’t worry.”

“Probably would have been more effective if I’d issued it before I invaded your underwear, huh?”

“You think?”

He moved to the stove and put a frying pan on the burner.

“Don’t worry about work. It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. We both care about our jobs too much for it to be any other way.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

He whisked the eggs before pouring them into the pan. “Stop worrying. Tell me about something else instead.”

“You want me to talk about the weather?”

“Tell me something I don’t know about you. Like how you got that tattoo, for example.”

She frowned. “I should get it removed, but I figure having to look at it in the mirror for the rest of my life is a fitting punishment for being stupid enough to get it in the first place.”

There was a world of self-recrimination in her tone. “You don’t like it?”

“A fuzzy, badly inked version of Tweetie Bird? What’s not to love about that?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her sarcasm.

“How old were you when you got it?”

Her gaze slid away from his. “Sixteen.”

It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “That’s pretty young.”

“It is.”

She didn’t say any more, and he decided not to push.

“I was going to get one when I was eighteen, but I know too many junkies with ink to ever trust a tattoo needle.”

He said it without thinking, wanting to put her at her ease. Then her eyebrows shot up with surprise and he registered what he’d done.

“That’s a nice neighborhood you grew up in,” she said after a short pause.

“The mean streets of Footscray. You want some toast with this?”

He could feel heat in his face, hoped that she’d assume it was because he was standing over the stove and not because he was suddenly feeling burningly self-conscious.

Audrey was the last person he wanted to know about his background. Her parents were doctors. The world he knew, that he’d grown up in, would be as foreign to her as another country. There was no way she could even begin to understand...and he didn’t want her to. He wanted her to continue to see him as the guy in the nice suit and the great car who’d done well for himself. That was the important part of who he was. The part that was available for public consumption, anyway. It was why he’d lied to her that night in the bar, telling her both his parents were dead rather than having to shuffle around telling a bunch more lies to cover the truth about his mother.

That part of his life didn’t belong in this part. It was separate. A different world.

“Toast sounds good. I can take care of it if you tell me where the bread lives.”

She slipped off the stool and looked at him expectantly, and the tension inside him eased. She wasn’t going to pursue his slipup.

“In the fridge. Bottom shelf. Toaster is behind that door on the right.”

He pulled out two plates while she slotted bread into the toaster and returned to the fridge for butter. Twice they bumped hips as they maneuvered around each other, and both times he had to fight the totally inappropriate urge to grin like an idiot.

Who would have ever thought he’d be jostling for space with Audrey while they rustled up a meal together? Not him, that was for sure.

Five minutes later they sat at the kitchen counter to a meal of buttered toast and omelet. He’d never been particularly fussed about his cooking skills in the past, but he watched warily as she took the first bite.

“Oh, that’s good. I never would have thought to put feta in an omelet.” She closed her eyes briefly to savor the flavors, and he felt a ridiculous surge of achievement.