I Brake For Bad Boys (6 page)

No words came. Ian shirtless was a sight to enjoy. He remained balanced on the balls of his feet, his arms draped loosely over his bent knees, his eyes direct, unflinching, watchful. His brown hair was damp, brushed straight back from his forehead, and he still had those sexy whiskers on his cheeks and chin. His eyes seemed bluer than ever, and as she absorbed his presence, he again came forward to kiss her.

She again let him.

It seemed she had no willpower around this one hunk of man. Somehow, she ended up lounged back with him caging her in, his mouth eating at hers, slow and deep and oh, so thorough. His whiskers rasped her delicate skin, but gently, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Tentatively, she touched his chest and felt his astounding heat, the heavy beat of his heart, the taut silk of his shoulders, the crisp hair over his chest. Her hands flattened on him, her fingers spreading wide. “Ian?”

He groaned as if in pain, then levered himself away. “Damn, you are a temptation.”

He said it like an accusation, confounding her.

“My chops are burning.” His crooked grin was back, more endearing—and frustrating—than ever. “Stay put, relax while I finish dinner, okay?” With that, he touched the end of her nose, straightened with a grimace that eased once he readjusted himself, and strolled into the kitchen, again whistling.

Erica flopped back in her seat, utterly speechless. She was losing and she knew it. And even worse, he knew it. Using almost no effort at all, he had her panting after him and she couldn't let that continue. Somehow, some way, she had to get control so that he was the one panting.

She had to turn the tables on him.

Ian tried but failed to ignore his straining boner as he diced tomatoes, sliced zucchini, and seasoned the light sauce for the linguine. Having Erica alone in his apartment was enough to tempt a saint, and God knew he wasn't a candidate for sainthood. She'd surprised and aroused him with her quick capitulation each and every time he touched her. Of course, he'd known they'd be great together, a fact that had driven him nuts for the past few months. But now that he had her where he wanted her, he'd expected to have to work for it.

Apparently, Erica had expected the same. Grinning, Ian peeked out the glass doors at her, saw her frown and mulish expression.

She was conniving something, he could feel it.

And his anticipation grew.

Seconds later she strode in, all saucy and in control once more. She perched on the stool while sizing him up. Or admiring him. With Erica, it was hard to tell.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You should get more comfortable.” Pretending to be struck by his own words, he shook his head. “No, I said that wrong, didn't I? I'm your slave for the weekend, so I should get you more comfortable.”

As he spoke, he wiped his hands off on a dishcloth.

Erica's smile was slow and wicked, just the way he liked it. “All right. What do you suggest?”

“When you get home from work, what's the first thing you do?”

“Kick off my shoes.”

“We'll start there, then.” Without hesitation, Ian went to one knee in front of her and lifted one slim leg. Her shoes were leather wedges that tied around her ankles. Very sexy. He propped her foot on his thigh and loosened the lace, then slipped the shoe off.

She wore stockings, and for a moment, he enjoyed the silky feel of them against his palms.

He was involved in imagining her legs around his waist when she offered him the other foot.

Ian took his time removing this shoe, while noticing that his lowered position and the way her leg bent gave him a peek at her iridescent peach panties. She knew it too, the little witch.

“It's warm today,” he murmured, most thoroughly distracted. “Why don't we take these stockings off too?”

Erica stood, again placed her foot on his thigh, and said, “All right. They're thigh-highs, not panty hose.”

“I noticed.”

“Do it slow.”

Ian's heartbeat quickened. She was in full boss mode now, and damn, it was exciting. Without looking away from her, he took quick note of the food, using his nose to determine how much more time he had.

The scents of sautéed veggies joined the other aromas in the room. The chops were almost done, and the pasta wouldn't last more than another minute without being overcooked.

He leaned in to reach beneath her skirt, putting his face even with her belly. Eventually he'd have her in this exact same position again—but she'd be naked.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, she inhaled. Moving as slowly as he could manage given the trembling in his hands and the thundering of his heart, Ian trailed his fingers up her right leg until he encountered the warm, firm flesh of her bare thigh. He'd love to feel that flesh on his jaw while he tasted her. He'd hold her naked bottom in his hands and control her while she bucked and cried out a climax . . .

“Ian?” Her shaky voice drew him back.

“Just making it slow—the way you said.” He allowed his fingertips to graze the crotch of her panties—and his heart almost stopped when he realized they were damp.

His control snapped and his muscles went slack. He leaned into her, his jaw against her pelvis while he inhaled the spicy scent of her sex.

She sounded as breathless as he felt. Disregarding her orders, he quickly rolled the stocking down her leg and removed it, tucking it into her shoe.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she offered her left leg and he went through the routine again. But he only touched her thigh this time, not wanting things to progress so fast that he ruined his plans. When the second stocking joined the first, he didn't stand. Instead, he looked up at her, met her heavy, darkened eyes, and wrapped his arms around her hips.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he leaned forward until he could kiss her belly through her soft cotton shirt above the waistband of her skirt. Her lips parted on an indrawn breath. Nostrils flaring, he opened his mouth and gently bit. She was soft, just as a woman should be. Very edible. He'd enjoy nibbling on her everywhere once he got her complete acceptance of him as her man.

The kitchen filled with the sounds of their accelerated breathing. Suggestively, easing her into his command, Ian nibbled his way lower.

Her eyes closed and her hands on his shoulders clamped tight, stinging in force.

The leather skirt felt slick and impenetrable, drawing him to a halt. “You know what I think?” he rasped while noting the way her breasts rose and fell and her legs were braced apart. “I think you should be dessert.”

Her eyes snapped open. For one long moment, she looked disoriented, and then she shoved away from him with a flushed face and a noticeable dose of annoyance.

Giving her room to collect herself, Ian went to the stove. He removed the browned chops, arranging them on two plates on a tray. He lifted the pot of linguine from the burner and emptied it into a strainer. While steam rose in his face, adding to his inner heat, Erica approached. Without her shoes, her petite stature was more obvious than ever. At least, she was petite next to him. He supposed she stood around five-feet-six, an average height for most women.

Her fingertips skated along his naked spine, making his stomach clench. “Speaking of dessert, I'm wondering if you shouldn't be naked while you do all this.”

He almost snorted. Once again, she'd taken him by surprise. While water ran over the pasta, rinsing it, he faced her with a smile and his hands on his fly. “Want me to shuck the jeans? Just say the word.”

Her eyes widened, but quickly narrowed. “Not just yet. I'm afraid you'll be a distraction and I am hungry.”

“For food?”

“That too.”

Giving her her due, he saluted. “You're the boss.”

Under her breath, but not quite under enough, he heard her mutter, “Now if we could both only remember that.”

“You want to eat on the balcony?” He seasoned the pasta, mixing in the sauce and zucchini and topping it off with diced tomatoes and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. “It's cooling off a little, so it won't be too uncomfortable.”

“I think it might rain.”

He looked her in the eyes and said, “You won't mind getting a little wet, will you?”

Her nose lifted into the air. “I'll wait outside. You can serve me.” And off she went, her hips swaying, leaving Ian to grin behind her.

Twenty minutes later, when she was halfway through her meal and he was almost done, she gave him a genuine compliment. “This is absolutely delicious.” Up until then, she'd been quietly eating, and he'd been quietly watching her.

Because he'd just taken his last bite of pork, he merely nodded in acknowledgment of her praise.

During the meal, the sky had darkened considerably but Ian hadn't bothered with the outside light. He'd considered getting a candle, but the breeze had picked up so there didn't seem to be much point. Besides, the dim evening suited Erica and her exotic looks. In the deepening shadows, her eyes were more luminescent, her skin softer. And the charged, humid air repeatedly stirred her scent, keeping him on the keen edge of awareness.

A heavier gust of wind brought the promise of an energetic storm. Erica held her hair away from her face and studied him. “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”

“I'm good at a lot of things.”

She swirled linguine around her fork and asked, “Such as?”

Ian leaned back, getting comfortable while she finished. Just watching her mouth as she chewed, her throat when she swallowed, turned him on, proving he was in dire straits. He liked the way her lips closed around her fork, how he got the occasional peek of her tongue . . . “I'm the best electrician around.”

She waggled her fork at him. “And modest, too.”

He shrugged. “Modesty is overrated. Did you know I've considered setting up my own shop a time or two?”

“So why haven't you?”

Because I like working with you.
He shook his head. “The timing isn't right yet. Maybe soon.”

She looked a little downcast by the idea that he might leave the factory, which encouraged him. “What else are you good at?”

“Building things. Someday I want to build my own house.”

“All by yourself?”

“With subcontractors, but using my designs and direction. I'd like a place isolated away from neighbors. In the woods maybe, with a pond or a creek nearby.”

“Wow. That sounds wonderful.” At that moment, Erica looked softer than he'd ever seen her. She wasn't bristling, wasn't erecting barriers to keep him away. She looked almost . . . dreamy. “I like my privacy too.”

He sent her a look. “Really?”

The dreamy expression faded, replaced by teasing. “Hey, even us party girls like our downtime.”

“So you wouldn't be averse to living quietly?” He hadn't expected that. In fact, he'd thought the living arrangements might be his biggest obstacle.

“Someday. So when do you plan to build this dream home?”

Ian pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over the table. He saw Erica's gaze skirt to his chest and then, with marked determination, come back to his face. Since her body fascinated him, he was glad for some reciprocal interest. “When I marry and settle down.”

She, too, pushed her plate away. “Got a woman in mind for that?”

Before he could think it through, he said, “Oh, yeah.”
A beautiful, intelligent, stubborn woman
—who suddenly looked ready to strangle him.

Well, hell. He'd certainly set himself up now.

Erica drew up straight, making Ian regret his hasty admission. In a flash, she was on her feet, pacing to the railing behind him, her every step filled with barely restrained anger. “Strange.” She looked out over the back lot. “I can't imagine a woman fitting into your life.”

Ian twisted to see the rigid line of her back. She looked cute standing there in her short skirt, her legs bare, her hair dancing in the wind. “No? Why not?”

She huffed. “Just look at how you live. All neat and orderly with things just so. Men your age are very set in their ways.”

“A truism? Is this from experience or supposition?” Or from watching her mother? A string of boyfriends, she'd said, all of them wrong . . .

“Men don't like to change just for a woman.”

She hadn't bothered to look at him when she made that ludicrous accusation. “Maybe a woman would be the one changing.”

Whipping around, she glared at him. “Typical male attitude,” she all but spat. “The woman is always the one who needs to adjust.”

Ian stood. With every minute he spent near her, he better understood her. “I just said maybe, Erica. No reason to bite my face off.” He moved closer to her until she braced her hands behind her on the railing, but couldn't lean any farther away. His eyes on hers, his hips nestled close to her pelvis, he said, “Seems to me if two people are in love and ready to build a life together, they both ought to do some adjusting.”

“Ha! What adjusting are you willing to do?”

She flung the words at him, as if she expected him to be totally inflexible. How could he be inflexible when she already had him wrapped around her little finger?

She didn't know that though, and part of his plan was not to tell her. She needed a man to match her, and love her, otherwise she'd grind him under.

He stroked her cheek, bent till his mouth touched hers. “For the right woman, I'd do whatever I need to.” His words were an explanation she couldn't yet understand, only because she didn't know
she
was the right woman. But before the weekend was over, she'd figure it out and she'd know he had done whatever he needed to—including duping her, with George and Cameron's help.

Erica flattened her hands on his chest to keep him from kissing her. He allowed her to put a small space between them.

“Who's the woman?”

“What?” He'd been so close to taking her mouth, so lost in the best part of his duping,
mainly getting her in bed,
that his thoughts were scattered.

“This paragon you hope to marry and settle into the woods with. Who is she? Someone we work with?”

A slow smile took him by surprise. Why, she sounded jealous. “It doesn't matter. She doesn't want me that way. Yet.”

“So I'm here to fill the time?”

Damn it, how had he gotten into this exchange? Ian locked his jaw, measured his words in his mind, then mentally shrugged. He'd give her some truths and see what she did with them. “You're here because we're sexually attracted to each other.”

He half expected her to deny it, but she only pursed her mouth. “You want me enough to risk alienating this other woman? What if she finds out about this weekend?”

“She'll know because I don't keep secrets.” He lowered his voice to a growled whisper. “And yeah, I want you more than enough.”

“For a weekend.”

He couldn't very well tell her he wanted her for a week, a month, a hundred years. “So what about you? Are you always honest?”

“Brutally.”

That made him laugh.

“It's not funny, Ian. A lot of guys expect women to sugarcoat things, to always cater to their macho egos. But honesty is important to me.”

“Yeah?” Damn. What would she think when she found out he'd finagled their weekend from the start?

“If I don't like something I'm going to say so, and if a guy can't take it, tough.”

“I'm not exactly fragile, Erica.”

“Not your body, no. But male egos are far more delicate than—”

On behalf of males everywhere, he felt he had to interrupt. “You can be as honest with me as you want. Feel free to tell me exactly what pleases you, what you like and don't like.” She looked skeptical, so he added, “I want to hear it.”

She gave a sharp nod. “Fine. I don't want anyone to try to change me. And I definitely don't want anyone to try to control me.”

Ian sighed. If he took her words to heart, all of his plans would be wasted. But he didn't want to change her. He just wanted her to stop trying to be so tough, to accept him and how he made her feel. As to controlling her, well, only in a few sexual situations where he knew she'd enjoy herself.

He cupped his hand over her shoulder and trailed it down her arm until he could lace his fingers in hers. “Speaking of control . . . I promised you some service, remember?”

Just that easily, she went breathless. “Of course I remember. It's . . . it's our deal.”

“So you want to soak in the tub while I put away the dishes? When I'm finished I could help you with your bath.”

A little more color bloomed in her cheeks. Embarrassment, or excitement?

“Help me how?”

“However you want. It's your show.” He started backing up into the apartment, tugging her along with him. The idea of having his hands on her naked, wet body damn near took his knees out from under him. If there was any justice in the world, he'd have her tonight because waiting any longer than that would be torture. “I'll wash your back, your feet, your hair.”

“I just washed my hair.”

Such an inane comment for Erica. He loved it. He loved her. “Then we'll skip that part. You're in charge, so what you say goes.”

They reached his bedroom and Ian opened the closet. “Help yourself to a robe or a shirt or whatever you'll feel most comfortable in. I'll get the bath water ready.”

She stood in the middle of his floor and bit her lip.

Ian wanted to hold her, to coddle her, to lay her atop the mattress and make slow, heated love to her. But more than that he wanted her trust. “I'll be right back.”

He wasn't gone for more than a minute. Once the temperature of the water was adjusted and the tub began to fill with bubbles, he went back to her. She'd pulled out his old terry cloth robe and had it clutched in her hands.

“Erica?”

“Hmmm?”

“You're not shy about getting naked are you?” He approached her slowly, more because he had to hold himself back than because he was afraid of rushing her. “Remember, no matter how damned tempting you are—and believe me, you're plenty tempting—I won't do anything that you don't want me to do.”

She nodded. “Right.” And then with a frown, she said, “I want to ask you something first.”

“Shoot.” They stood five feet apart and
not
touching seemed almost impossible.

Slowly her head lifted until their gazes connected. “Why me?”

His brain went blank. What could he tell her that wouldn't blow his whole plan? That lust at first sight had morphed into love rather quickly? That wasn't the way to handle Erica. “What do you mean?” he asked, stalling for time.

“I know you keep talking about sexual chemistry and all that. But there's more to it. Why focus all this energy on me? You know, Becky tells me that a lot of the women at work try to get your attention.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, she said, “They think you're gay because you ignore them.”

He grinned at that.

“You think that's amusing?” She looked more confused than ever.

“Am I supposed to be insulted over someone else's assumptions? Let them think what they want.”

“But . . . why aren't you interested in any of them?”

He drew a long, deep breath. Time for a few more truths. “You want me to bare my soul? All right.” He held out his arms. “I'm a big man.”

Her gaze dropped to his lap, making him laugh. “I didn't mean that, although everything about me is . . . proportionate.”

Judging by the way her eyes widened, she understood his meaning. He
was
a big man, from his feet to his intelligence and everywhere in between. “I meant that my size intimidates people, especially women.”

“The women at work?”

He waved a hand. “They're silly, hiding in the bathroom and gossiping. So, yeah, they'd probably be the type to jump over a look. Ever since I've been a teenager, I've had to hold back. My temper, my attention. And my sexual drive.”

“But you figure I'm different?” She sounded a little awed by that.

“From the moment I saw you flirting and taunting and driving all the guys nuts, I knew I could let loose with you and you wouldn't turn tail and run.”

Touching her became a necessity so he took one long stride and closed the space between them. He caught her shoulders and brought her to her tiptoes, close to his chest. “I know if I grumbled, you wouldn't get afraid. You'd just grumble back.”

“Damn right, so don't try it.”

“Yes ma'am.” He kissed the end of her nose. “But I am just a man, so if I forget or lose my temper, you won't quail, will you?”

She snorted, but asked with a scowl, “Just how violent do you get when you lose your temper?”

“I get loud, not violent. And that's enough to send most women running.”

The very idea set her off. “I don't run from anyone!”

“And I don't hurt women. Ever. I'd sooner break my own arm. I swear it.”

She nodded. “I believe you. But don't think you can get away with yelling at me either.”

The things she said made his heart full to bursting. Gently, he said, “If I did, I wouldn't mean anything by it. Besides, you'd just yell louder.”

“And longer.”

He laughed. “When I have you under me, small and vulnerable, you'll love it. You'll take what I give you and want more and you won't ever feel overpowered.”

Her lips quivered and a pulse raced in her throat, but she thrust up her chin. “I'll demand my turn on top.”

“Yeah.” His voice went low and hoarse. “That's what I figured.” She started to lean up to kiss him, and Ian said, “The bath is probably ready to overflow.”

He hustled her out of the room and down the hall. The tub was full, but he caught it in time. Kneeling, he shut off the water, set a thick towel on the ceramic floor just outside the tub, and turned—in time to see Erica unbuttoning her shirt.

Apparently, their exchange had emboldened her. Ian dropped back onto his ass with a thump and watched, spellbound. She smiled as she slipped each button free, knowing she drove him crazy and enjoying it.

“I told you that I take my shoes off when I get home, but know what else I like to take off?”

“Your clothes?” Damn, he sounded hopeful.

“Sometimes. But my shoes and my bra are always the first to go. Both are so constrictive. You won't mind if I spend the weekend barefoot and braless, will you?”

He shook his head, rendered mute by the sight of pale flesh visible through the gaping shirt. Any second now he'd see her breasts. Be strong, he told himself. Do not start groveling. Or drooling. Drooling would be bad, too.

And here he'd thought this would be the easy part.

She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders and tossed it at his face. “Fold that for me.”

“Right.” He dropped it to his lap, unwilling to look away for even a second.

She reached behind herself and dragged down the zipper on her skirt. “Ian?”

“Mmm?”

“I need you to help me. Tug this down my hips, okay, so I can step out of it.”

Oh, good Lord. He moved forward on his knees and reached for the skirt. But that close to her, his hands automatically went to bare flesh. He shaped her waist, loving the fine texture of her skin in contrast to his rough palms. Her belly was gently rounded, smooth and pale, and her navel made only the slightest indent. He had to kiss it.

“Ian? The skirt.”

He cleared his throat and gathered what meager control he had left. He just hadn't counted on the effect of her nudity. He felt like a ravening beast, hungry, in heat, ready to conquer. He wanted her under him—now.

The skirt was tight and had to be worked down. Her panties almost came with it, tripping his heart and freezing his breath in his lungs, but at the last second she caught the waistband and kept them on her hips.

Her bra matched her panties, and the shiny peach shade did interesting things to her rich black hair and ivory skin. It also did interesting things to his dick, making him swell to a full, demanding erection.

Through the thin material of her underclothes, he could see the darker circles of her nipples and a neat triangle of pubic hair between her legs. Still on his knees—a position now somewhat familiar with Erica—he reached up for the front clasp of her bra, then waited.

“Go ahead,” she whispered.

Ian had been in his teens when he'd mastered getting a female's clothes off her. He sure as hell didn't fumble now. The bra clasp opened and he drew the material apart. She lowered her arms and the straps slid down, then off so that the bra landed on the floor.

Her nipples, not pink but a deep mauve, were tightly puckered, making him groan. She didn't have large breasts but they were soft and round and this was Erica. He'd wanted her for so long, he almost couldn't remember ever
not
wanting her.