I Brake For Bad Boys (10 page)

Absently, she ran her tongue over her dry lips, and realized her mistake when his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Eric . . . don't you think that security is going to notice that this elevator isn't moving?” Amazingly, her voice didn't betray her nervousness, and she managed to sound steady and pragmatic.

“There's no reason why they should suspect anything's wrong, not unless someone presses the alarm bell,” he said meaningfully. “It's after seven in the evening, there are six other elevators operating, and no one is going to miss this one for a few minutes. And you can release the stop button at any time.”

He was giving her that choice to make. Giving her a sense of security and a safety net if she wanted one. But that meant brushing past him to get to the panel of buttons. In the process of her sidestepping him their chests and thighs would touch, and she didn't think she could handle the intimate caress of their bodies when her nipples were already so painfully tight.

She stayed put, out of necessity and partly because she was curious. “So, what's so important that you'd go to such extremes to be alone with me?”

“I would think that would be obvious.” Flattening one hand on the mirrored wall at the side of her head, he leaned toward her, increasing the heat and awareness between them. “But if not, I guess I need to be a bit more forward. How about having dinner with me tonight?”

Startled by his invitation, one that tempted her beyond reason, it took her a moment to form an excuse that didn't give away her deeper interest in him. “Thank you for the offer, but I had a late lunch and I'm not hungry.”

A grin canted the corner of his mouth, as if he saw beneath her struggle to hang onto her businesslike composure when the air around them fairly crackled with a vibrant, seductive energy. “How about a drink, then?”

“I'm not thirsty.” Oh, that was totally lame! She caught herself before she could roll her eyes, and uncertain of what his next request might be, she decided to turn the tables and throw him off guard instead. “Do you know it's common knowledge that you're a womanizer?”

“Really?” He lifted a dark brow, seemingly more amused than offended by her comment. “Says who?”

“A lot of the women in the office.” She shrugged, attempting a nonchalance she didn't feel. “You've got a reputation for being a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy.”

“That's an exaggeration. At least the second part of that statement is.” With his free hand, he reached down and uncurled her fingers from the handle of her briefcase, then set the leather portfolio on the floor beside her. He straightened again, trapping her completely between the arm braced near her shoulder and the palm he lightly rested on the curve of her waist.

His touch was gentle, incredibly sensual, and one hundred percent confident male. His striking blue eyes, locked on hers, made her tremble deep inside. She knew she should tell him to stop. At the very least to back away so she didn't feel so scorched by his close proximity. But she was too mesmerized by the seductive, forbidden spell he'd so effortlessly woven between them to speak. It was just the two of them, alone, and despite knowing from personal experience how risky it was to get involved with a man she essentially worked for, she couldn't deny the fact that she'd craved Eric from the very first day she'd met him.

His thumb feathered along her hip, bringing his gorgeous face, and her predicament, back into focus. The fluorescent lights overhead haloed his dark head, giving her the distinct impression that she was dealing with a fallen angel who knew too much about wicked, sinful pleasures.

“As for that love 'em and leave 'em comment, I
do
love everything about women,” he murmured huskily. “The way they smell . . .” He dipped his head, his nose skimming her jaw as he inhaled slowly, deeply, as if she were an irresistible drug he couldn't get enough of.

Her lashes fluttered closed, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning out loud.

“The feel of their soft skin . . .”

Warm fingers strummed along the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck, and her pulse quickened in her chest, between her thighs. With effort, she lifted her hands and placed them against his rib cage, but couldn't bring herself to push him away.

“And especially the way they taste . . .”

His lips parted against her throat, and his soft, wet tongue lapped at her sensuously, awakening long dormant needs and a rising passion she couldn't contain. Her head fell back, and exquisite sensations curled through her, making her knees weak and her breasts ache for the stroke of his tongue, the heat of his mouth.

His lips traveled back up to her ear. “So, if dinner is out, and so is a drink, how about a kiss?”

Oh, yes, please . . .
The shameless plea tumbled through Jill's mind, startling her at just how far she'd allowed herself to go with Eric. And just how much farther she ached to go with him, to fulfill the fantasies she'd taken to bed with her for the past three months and finally experience reality in its purest form.

“I'm not interested,” she blurted, out of sheer preservation.

He chuckled, the deep, arousing vibrations rippling along her nerve endings. “You are such a liar, Jill.” Amusement laced his voice and flickered in his eyes, which quickly faded to a more serious, sensual mood. “I can smell your desire. I can feel how much you want me. And I tasted the heat of excitement on your skin.”

The man was absolutely shameless. Despite knowing all the reasons why she should avoid any involvement with him, she felt her defenses crumbling, her resolve weakening. In its place anticipation stirred her blood, and a hot ache settled low.

“Just one kiss?” He bent his head, slow enough to give her time to protest.

But she couldn't resist him, or the deeper longing to give in to something so spontaneous and impulsive when she'd spent the last year and a half alone, being much too sensible about everything. Including her attraction to this sexy man.

Her lashes fluttered closed as his mouth touched hers, soft and fleeting at first, then gradually he exerted a firmer, more coaxing pressure. Her lips parted on a low moan, one he took as the invitation it was intended to be. The gentle glide of his tongue was slow and lazy, seducing her in degrees. Her fingers curled into tight fists against his chest as the kiss grew deeper, wetter. Giving in to the delicious, heady sensations and the thrill of arousal setting her nerve endings aflame, she returned his kiss with reckless abandon.

The hand resting on her hip slid lower and smoothed over the curve of her derriere. He squeezed her bottom in his palm, groaned deep in his throat, and pulled her closer, until there was no mistaking the hard, impressive length of his erection pulsing against her belly. Her body slickened in a purely feminine response as she imagined how all that aggressive male heat would feel stroking deep inside her.

The erotic hunger and need he incited was instantaneous and explosive, an intimate connection that sent her world spinning out of control. Her physical reaction to him was so powerful and instinctive, all from a bone-melting
kiss,
and she knew, and feared, that this man had the ability to make her forget about the hard lesson she'd learned about mixing business with more intimate pleasures.

She broke the kiss and looked up into his blue eyes, heavy-lidded and smoky with passion. For her. And then a breathtakingly confident smile made an appearance.

“I'd
really
like to see you outside of the office,” he murmured.

Panic streaked through her. His big hand still cupped her bottom possessively, and somehow she managed to shore up the fortitude to end this interlude before she gave in to the desire simmering between them. “We can't,” she said abruptly, then amended that with a firm, “
I
can't.”

He tilted his head, looking adorably boyish, and too damn persuasive. “Why not?”

Easing past him, she released the stop button and put the elevator back into motion before she did something incredibly stupid . . . like change her mind, or worse, let him take her right there in the elevator. Lord knew her body was primed and ready for his.

Feeling more in control with distance between them, she turned to face him again, and answered his direct question. “We're coworkers, Eric, and it's not . . . ethical.”

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, which served to pull the fabric of his pants tight across his burgeoning erection. “We're more colleagues than coworkers,” he pointed out in a practical tone of voice.

“It doesn't matter.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and wished her breasts didn't feel so sensitive, so achy. “I make it a rule not to mix business with pleasure, and that means
not
going out with someone I work for. Period.”

“Don't you think we already crossed that line of yours with the kiss we just shared?”

Her face warmed at his blunt reminder of her eager participation in their embrace, and since she couldn't come up with a snappy reply, she glanced up at the number panel and mentally counted down the floors.
Twenty . . . nineteen . . . eighteen . . .

“Look,” Eric said, and casually strolled over to where she stood. “You're at Massey on a temporary basis as a freelance creative director, so it's not as though you'll lose a job if you decide to date me and someone finds out about it.”

Lose her job? No. But she wasn't about to jeopardize her standing with the firm in any way, since there was no telling what the future might bring, or if she'd need a reference or another freelance project with Massey.

And that thought was enough to make her think twice about involvement with Eric, no matter how much he tempted her to say
yes.

“In fact, we both know you only have a few weeks left at the firm,” he continued, the first tinges of frustration threading his voice. “So don't you think we could make an exception to that business/pleasure rule of yours?”

The man was relentless and it took all of her strength to refuse him. “No.” She kept her eyes glued on the flashing numbers.
Twelve . . . Eleven . . . Ten . . .

“How about when the Enchanted Cruise Line account is contracted and your part in the project is over?”

She looked his way and sighed softly. Regretfully. “Massey is turning out to be a huge, lucrative account for me and my agency, so any involvement with anyone in the firm, let alone someone in your position who has the power to approve freelance employees for certain projects, just isn't smart.”

He narrowed his gaze, seemingly hurt that she'd lump him into such an unsavory category. “You think I'd use a personal relationship against you?”

“It's happened to me before.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, but maybe he needed to hear the brutal truth from her. And maybe she needed to remind herself, as well.

He appeared taken aback by her candor, and for the first time ever, speechless.

Nearing her stop for parking garage two, she crossed the elevator and picked up her briefcase, then forced herself to meet his gaze again. “How about we forget that the kiss ever happened?”

“You can do that?” His voice rang with disbelief.

She was certain she'd never forget that soul-stirring kiss, and would most likely relive it every night when she tried to fall asleep. Not that she'd ever tell
him
that.

The elevator came to a smooth stop where her car was parked, and the doors opened silently. “I just think it's the smartest thing for us to do.”

He caught her arm before she could exit, his sensual lips tightening with determination. “I think I proved there's something between us worth pursuing,” he said, and released her. “Just think about it, Jill.”

As if she'd be able to think of anything else.

Eric quietly and covertly scaled the stone wall to Jill's backyard, knowing there was no other cure for the surge of lust that had gripped him during and after the kiss he'd shared with Jill. And nothing, absolutely nothing, had taken the edge off the raw sexual energy riding him hard ever since.

He'd spent an hour working out at the gym, and had even met his sports enthusiast brother, Adrian, for a fierce game of racquetball. He'd managed to beat Adrian's ass, just barely, and even that victory hadn't eased the tension thrumming through his veins. Probably because his sibling had accurately guessed that it was a woman who had him all tied up in knots, and Adrian hadn't hesitated to rib him unmercifully about his inability to score with this particular female.

As a last resort, Eric had tried a more conventional method of taming his arousal with a cool shower, all to no avail. Or relief. He was
still
hard with wanting her, he thought in disgust.

He had to have her.
It was that possessive, all-consuming thought that had driven Eric to more extreme measures. While pacing across his living room floor to help shake off his agitation, he'd come to the conclusion that the only way to bypass Jill's issue of mixing a working relationship with pleasure was to cater to her fears, and that meant keeping the two totally and completely separate. Business would remain at the office, and pleasure and fun would come after-hours, in a private, intimate setting he planned to establish this evening. No one would ever find out that they were seeing each other outside the office, so there wouldn't be any conflict of interest for Jill to worry about. Or any threat to her standing with Massey and Associates.

All he had to do was convince her to agree to the private affair he had in mind.

Now, after climbing over the stone wall surrounding the front of the Victorian house in which Jill lived on the far end of a quiet residential street, he moved stealthily through her backyard and kept close to the lush foliage clinging to the one-story structure. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, and staying well hidden in the shadows of a few long-limbed trees, he waited patiently for the right opportunity to put his plan into motion. To set the stage for a beguiling seduction beyond anything she'd ever imagined, and one she wouldn't be able to refuse. At least not easily, if the combustible kiss they'd shared in the elevator was any indication.

He caught sight of Jill through a window leading into what appeared to be the kitchen. Adrenaline and anticipation rushed through him, and he continued to watch her as she poured herself a glass of wine, then disappeared down an adjoining hallway.

Keeping to the outer recesses of the yard, he followed her through the length of the house with nothing but moonlight leading his way, until she finally entered a large bedroom with a king-size, four-poster bed dominating the room. The French doors leading to a tiled patio were wide open, giving him an unobstructed view of every move she made.

A brass lamp on the dresser gave off a soft illumination, and he watched as she strolled into the bathroom, set her glass of wine on the rim of the tub and turned on the faucet. She added a generous amount of bubble bath to the churning water before returning to the bedroom, where she stripped off her T-shirt, heedless of anyone's presence.

Eric's mouth went dry when her lacy bra followed, baring to his gaze, her gorgeous breasts, which looked full and firm in contrast to her slim waist. The tips were crowned with raspberry-hued nipples, and it didn't take much to imagine them trembling against his stroking fingers, so sensitive beneath the soft scrape of his teeth, and hard and taut as he suckled her into his hot, hungry mouth.

He bit back a low groan at the lustful thoughts tumbling through his head. His groin throbbed, and he pressed a hand to his aching shaft, doing his best to rearrange and accommodate the erection straining uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans.

Her shorts came off next, sliding down her long, slender legs, leaving her clad in a pair of silky bikini panties that looked insubstantial enough to rip off her in the throes of passion. The thin fabric didn't quite conceal the shadowy cleft between her thighs, and the sight of her standing there half naked and completely uninhibited was enough to bring him to his knees. He could only hope that he'd be fortunate to find himself in such an erotic position with her, to be able to press her thighs wide apart with his hands, inhale her warm female scent, and taste her desire with his lips, and the soft lick of his tongue.

He scrubbed a hand through his thick hair, every nerve in his body strung tight as he waited for her to remove that last scrap of material. Much to his surprise and disappointment, she left her panties on while she dumped her clothes into the hamper, retrieved a pair of underwear and a nightgown from an armoire, then returned to the bathroom and the billow of steam curling from the tub. Setting her change of clothes on the vanity, she switched on a radio to a soft jazz station, turned off the water, and in one smooth motion shimmied out of her panties.

Sweet Jesus.
Eric exhaled hard as he was graced with a quick glimpse of the smooth slope of her back and the more enticing curve of her buttocks, before she stepped into the steaming water and sat in the tub, immersing herself up to her neck in frothy bubbles.

He remained outside for another five minutes, just to make sure he had himself under control, and giving Jill time to lose herself in the relaxation of her bath.

Then silently, he made his way up to the house and came to a stop just outside the open double doors. Like the phantom lover he hoped to become, he kept himself blended in with the night shadows . . . and waited for the fantasy to unfold.

 

 

Jill finished off the last of her wine and sank deeper into the tub of lukewarm water, wishing that the one guilty pleasure she indulged in when she was feeling uptight would do the trick of subduing the tension thrumming through her body. No such luck. The fragrant heat of the water, mellow music, and sweet wine had relaxed her mind, but her body remained restless and needy. And it was all Eric Wilde's fault for instigating such a thorough, dominating kiss, and for planting provocative, tempting ideas in her mind of the two of them together.

Sexually. Intimately. Carnally.

Her stomach clenched as another rush of desire settled low, beckoning her to finish what Eric had started in the elevator. She'd been excruciatingly aroused ever since she'd felt the hard length of his erection against her belly, and tormented by wicked thoughts of his thick shaft impaling her in a sleek, heavy glide, stretching her, filling her with hard, sure thrusts.

Her head rolled back against the rim of the tub and a low groan escaped her throat. Her sex tingled, pulsed, and she knew exactly how to give herself the satisfaction her body screamed for. Feeling defiant, she curled her fingers into tight fists against her sides, stubbornly refusing to cave in to her body's demands. She was so damned tired of the solo, self-induced orgasms she'd resorted to for the past year and half. She wanted—
needed
—a man. Specifically, Eric. She hungered for his touch, and the warmth and firmness of his big hands branding her flesh. She ached to feel his mouth on her breasts, her belly, between her thighs.

Frustrated and aggravated at the direction of her thoughts, as well as Eric's hold over her even in the solitude of her own home, she pulled the plug on her bath and abruptly stood up, determined to put her mind and restless energy to better use—such as immersing herself in the work she had piling up in her office—until she was too tired to think of anything but
sleep.
And then maybe,
hopefully,
she wouldn't dream of a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed bad boy who'd starred in her most carnal fantasies for the past three months.

A man who'd made it clear with a kiss and the suggestion of an affair that he wanted her just as much as she craved him.

Water cascaded down the length of her like a lover's caress, and her breasts tightened painfully as beads of liquid trickled over her erect nipples and down her belly. She shivered and, gritting her teeth against another onslaught of feverish sensation unfurling along her nerves, grabbed a towel and methodically patted down her wet skin, careful to keep the terry material away from ultra-sensitive places.

Slipping into her panties and chemise, she cleaned up the bathroom, then padded back into her master bedroom. Plucking the pins from the hair she'd twisted into a tight knot at the back of her head, she tossed the clips onto her dresser and let the long, wavy strands unravel until the ends fell halfway down her back. Separating the thick mass into three sections, she began braiding her hair so it didn't end up tangled around her head by morning.

“Leave your hair down.”

Startled by the deep, masculine voice she'd heard, she dropped her unfinished braid and whirled around, her gaze scanning the room in a quick sweep. She caught a subtle movement just outside the open French doors. Heart racing, she tried to make out the shadow, wondering if it, and the sexy male voice she'd heard, were all a product of her overactive imagination.

A summer breeze blew outside, rustling a light sprinkling of leaves across the patio. The sultry warmth swept through the room, fluttering her silk chemise around her thighs. Her skin tightened, and the little hairs on her arms prickled to attention just as a large silhouette moved into the open archway, the unmistakable size and build of a man. Silvery moonlight glinted off his dark hair and gave him a surreal aura.

She gasped and took a step back, ready to brandish the brush in her hand as a weapon, if need be. “Who's there?” she demanded.

The man entered her room, bold as he pleased. But instead of running for the phone to call for help, she stared in stunned disbelief, more intrigued by Eric Wilde's presence than she would have liked. His hair was tousled in wild disarray around his head, and he wore tight black jeans that molded to lean hips and long, muscular legs, and a black T-shirt that stretched taut across his chest. He looked dark and forbidding as original sin, and dangerous in a way that excited her.

She swallowed hard and found her voice again. “What are
you
doing here?”

He moved toward her, a lazy smile curving his sensuous lips. “You've been waiting for me,” he stated confidently, his tone as pretentious as his entrance into her private life.

She opened her mouth to deny his claim, and quickly snapped it shut again. Despite whatever game he was playing, she couldn't lie. She'd dreamed of him too many nights to count, a fantasy lover who came to her in the dark of the night to fulfill her desires. She'd just never expected him to appear in the flesh. And she'd never expected him to look so good, so sexually intense.

He strolled past her to her dresser with a pantherlike grace that brought all her feminine senses to keen awareness. There was power beneath that control he exuded—power she sensed that once unleashed would have the ability to consume the woman he was with. She wanted that heat and strength to consume
her.

She continued to watch him, mesmerized, as he lifted one of her perfume atomizers to his nose and inhaled the fragrance. He closed his eyes as he did so, making it seem like an erotic experience in which she wanted to share. When he lifted his raven lashes again, his eyes were filled with a raw hunger, directed solely at her.

She began to tremble, from the inside out, and struggled to maintain the upper hand in this scenario. “Did you know that breaking and entering is against the law?”

“I didn't break in,” he said, his voice low and amused. “You left your doors wide open, which isn't safe, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I've lived in this house all my life and there's never been a problem with prowlers in this neighborhood . . . until tonight,” she added meaningfully.

He absently touched the other feminine things on her dresser, his fingers lingering on her personal items. “I'm not a prowler.”

She eyed him critically, taking in his choice of clothing, his arrogance, and the way the entire length of him radiated pure, unadulterated sensuality. “At the moment, you look
very
predatory to me.”

“And you like it.” His gaze slid from her face to her chest, then back up again. “The fast-beating pulse in your throat is a dead giveaway, as are the hard nipples pressing against your nightgown.”

She resisted the urge to cover her body's response to him with her hands and deny his too accurate claim.

He slowly circled around her, so close she could feel the heat of his body, the subtle brush of his hand over her silk-clad bottom. “You're filled with anticipation,” he murmured huskily, “wondering what I'm going to do, if I'm going to touch you, or kiss you, or if I plan to strip you naked and have my way with you right here and now.”

God, how did he know her so well that he could verbalize her thoughts and know
exactly
what she ached for? “What do you want, Eric?”

He stopped in front of her. In direct contrast to his dark attire, his eyes were a stunning, sultry shade of blue that made her weak in the knees. “There's no sense beating around the bush in terms of what
I
want. I'm here to issue you a proposition.”

She was too curious to hear the rest of what he had to say to interrupt him with her own immediate misgivings.

“We both want each other, that much we established earlier in the elevator,” he said, brazenly reminding her of her wanton behavior with him. “But since dating is out of the question because of how public it would make our relationship and attraction, and you're nervous about risking your reputation with the company, I'd like to propose a fantasy world, one that stays just between the two of us and is only visited at night.”