Man's Best Friend (11 page)

Rand nodded and picked up his soup spoon. "Last week in Las Vegas."

"Kind of sudden, wasn't it?"

Rand set his spoon down and looked at her. "Yes, and no. He's known the woman for some time."

"That's terrific then."

Rand's expression shifted to speculative. "You're sure you don't mind?"

She blinked. "Mind? Me? Why should I mind?" What a question... unless Rand believed something was going on between her and Ned. She chewed on that along with a divine piece of the homemade bread Milt had brought to the table. "I think it's wonderful to think Ned's found someone to love who loves him back. What could be better?"

Rand returned his attention to his soup. "Being hit by a truck? Surgery without anesthetic?"

Tessa blinked again and set her bread back on the plate. "You're kidding. That's honestly how you feel?"

"Without speaking literally, I'd say close enough."

"That's such a sad way to think."

"Not sad. Pragmatic."

"More like pathetic if you ask me."

Rand's gaze shot to hers, hot and hostile. "I don't think I did," he said, an unmistakable steeliness in his words. He gestured toward her bowl of soup. "You'd better eat before it gets cold."

Tessa picked up her spoon. Obviously she'd stumbled into what Annie termed an emotional boneyard, where everyone—absolutely everyone—according to the dramatic Annie, buried the bones of their old secrets and hurts. The girl definitely had the makings of a writer. But, oddly, Tessa didn't care if she'd trespassed. Something about Rand made her reckless—and overwhelmingly curious. She wanted to know everything about him: why he was so withdrawn, why he didn't want a dog, what toothpaste he used, if he liked jazz, science fiction movies...

The list didn't end.

Her interest was nothing more than plain old-fashioned lust, she told herself... but that was no reason to dismiss it. She'd certainly never felt this crazy hunger for a man before.

Milt stepped into the room, carrying two artfully arranged salads. He served them without a word.

Rand looked at their two plates. "Where's Ned?" he asked Milt.

"Gone. It seems the new Mrs. Coleman is flying in tonight via commercial jet, because Cullen Macy delayed his departure until day after tomorrow, and she didn't want to wait." Milt lifted a brow in disbelief. "Neddy was on his way to the airport before he hung up the phone. He said he'd see you when Mr. Macy arrives."

"Damned idiot." Rand tossed his napkin on the table, got up and started to pace."We were to go over the final proposal numbers tonight after dinner."

Milt's long exhalation was an exasperated one. "How tragic for you. I guess you'll just have to while away your hours with this beautiful young woman."

"Works for me," Tessa said, picking up her wineglass and saluting him boldly. She felt like a fifty-pound hound who'd just treed a five hundred pound black bear.

Milt chuckled, called Millie and Licks, and left the room. Tessa guessed he wouldn't be coming back.

"The man drives me mad." Rand stood by his seat now, scowled down at her. She saw a muscle in his jaw working, smelled the citrus tang of his aftershave, and she heard the hard rush of his breath when he dropped his head and added quietly, "And I don't know why in hell I invited you to dinner."

"I could go," Tessa said, setting her wineglass down and giving him an option she prayed he wouldn't take. "If it's what you want."

He walked over to stand behind her chair. She could almost hear the whir of his thoughts, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she closed her eyes tight and wished with all her might, as she had when she was a child and wanted a puppy so bad she couldn't sleep nights thinking about it. Comparing Rand to a puppy was like comparing a sleek black panther to an alley cat, but it didn't matter. Right now she wanted him more than anything in the world.

But the next move was his. She waited, her heart pounding in the uneasy silence filling the room.

He didn't answer. Hope melted into disappointment, and she started to push away from the table.

Rand placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezed. "I don't want you to go." He ran his hands up to the base of her throat, stroked her exposed nape with his thumbs. After an eternity, he let out a long, ragged breath. "What I want is for you to stand up and turn around—because if I don't kiss that impudent mouth of yours in the next second, I'll have to throttle you."

Tessa was in his arms in under a second, looking into his troubled, intense green eyes."That wasn't the least bit romantic," she chided, stroking his smooth, freshly shaven cheek.

"Is that what you want?" He ran his hands down her arms, rested them loosely on her waist. "Romance?"

The heat of his big hands worked through her thin dress, and Tessa struggled to still her uneven breathing, the mad thumping of her heart. She rested her palms against his chest before sliding them up and clasping them behind his neck. "No, I just want you." She grinned and cocked her head. "And maybe an occasional rose."

"The lady likes flowers?" He raised a questioning brow.

"Among other... more exotic things." Somehow, her remark, coming as it did on a throaty kind of whisper that would have doubled the fees of a high-class hooker, carried more sensual electricity than a neon sign in a sex shop. Where on earth had that come from? Now the man probably thought she was obsessed with him or something. Maybe he was right!

"Hmm. Sounds promising."

Tessa blinked and swallowed hard, worried she might have promised more than she could deliver. She tried to compose her features, not let the emotion show. Still, she was no shy virgin, so there was no point in acting like one.

Rand tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear. "I'll look forward to finding out about those other things" he said, his voice as dark and unreliable as her own had been.

A stunning surge of desire lifted Tessa's spirits, leaving her bright and alive with needs: to give, to take, to touch, to feel, to laugh...

In a deft motion, Rand reached behind her and plucked a single yellow rose from the display on the table.

He brushed her mouth, first with the rose's velvet petals, then with his lips. His kiss coaxed, teased, promised. A soft flutter of a kiss that hit her heart hard. His breath warmed her cheek as he moved his mouth to the column of her throat, kissed up to her ear. His voice rough and urgent, he murmured, "Come to bed with me, Tessa. Let me make love to you."

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back in absolute delight. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Well, consider yourself asked," Rand said, pulling back to look at her, wanting to see the answer in her eyes.

A sexy smile was her only response. He had no trouble defining it as a yes.

Even while reveling in her easy, open acceptance, Rand cursed the swirl of self-advice and guilt roiling in his head, all about how he should walk away—now! How this was a big-time mistake he'd regret later—both on her account and his own. Rational, sane thoughts... but he couldn't make himself back off.

For now, with Tessa in his arms, warm and so damn willing—logic didn't apply. Blood ruled, and his blood was as hot as his body was hard. He pulled her to him, groaning in pleasure when she stood on tiptoe and kissed his neck.

Practicalities and consequences be damned.

He wanted to feel.

And God knew, Tessa awakened emotions he hadn't felt in years. As to her feelings, were they for him or his bank account? He didn't know, and right now he didn't care. What he knew was, he wanted her. Under him. Over him. And beside him for the rest of the night. Their attraction was physical, purely physical. It couldn't ever be more.

He chose to ignore the fact he'd never experienced this passionate a desire for any other woman.

"I'm asking," he repeated, kissing her throat, her mouth, her throat again, "but I can think of a more hospitable place." He glanced pointedly at their wilting salads and half-empty wineglasses.

Tessa's blank gaze followed his. She looked momentarily confused, as if she'd forgotten where they were. "Me, too," she said, nodding her head.

He saw her straighten. Nerves?

"So... your room or mine," she asked hesitantly.

"Mine." He stepped back, took her hand, tugged her toward the hall and the stairs to his bedroom. For a brief moment she hung back, and he was amazed at the sudden panic circling his heart. Second thoughts? He released her hand and studied her face.

"You are the most serious man." She looked at him quizzically. "Are you always like that?"

"I consider this serious business." A small truth that bothered him more than he wanted her to know.

She touched his cheek playfully. "This is just fun, Fielding. There's nothing serious about it." She took the stance of a runner at the starting line and laughed into his eyes. Now—" the look she gave him was pure sass, "—last one to the bed is a you-know-what."

If she had any second thoughts—and he sensed she did—she'd set them aside. So would he.

She looked ridiculous—and wonderfully joyous.

The joy beguiled him.

He threw back his head and laughed with her, the laughter dissolving the last of his reservations. The woman wanted him, and she'd let him know it without fuss or games. The thought was intoxicating.

"Go for it," he challenged her. "But be warned, I'm a competitive guy."

Chapter 8

Rand beat her to his bedroom door, but he didn't beat her inside. She cheated, gripping the back of his belt, spinning him around and kissing him full on the mouth, while craftily turning the knob behind his back and darting inside.

He closed the door behind them. "You don't play fair."

She stepped up to him, started to unbutton his shirt. "Don't like my tactics? Tough."

He grasped her hands, held them together, and lifted them to his lips. "I love your tactics—along with a lot of other things—but like I said, I'm a competitive guy."

"Which means?"

"I like to take the lead."

"So... that means what? You're committed to perfecting the missionary position?" Her smile was impish.

He grinned. "Do I look like the missionary type?" He slipped his hands under the open neck of her dress and shoved it off her shoulders. "Now if you'll turn around, I'll get you out of this thing."

She turned but didn't have to. The dress was a peeler, no back zipper, no buttons. For a moment, he was content to savor the soft skin of her shoulders. He kissed them both, moved his mouth to her nape and was rewarded with a tantalizing shiver.

"You have a fabulous mouth," she murmured, dropping her head to give him freer access—which he took full advantage of. "But to get back to your question, no, you don't look anything like a missionary. You look wicked and sinful and unattainable."

He stopped kissing her. She turned, and he took her face in his hands to study her. Her eyes were misty, unfocused. His breath caught in his throat. "Unattainable?"

"Definitely unattainable." She glanced up at him, and the dreamy quality left her face. "Which is how you want it, right?" She rested her hands on his chest. The heat from them warmed him down to his thudding heart.

He wasn't about to tell Tessa, but right now he felt like the most attainable man since Adam took the apple. "Right," he said, unable to ignore her truth. A truth that didn't seem to bother her a bit.

"That's good, because I'm the kind of woman who loves a challenge." She took his face in her hands. "Now, can I take your shirt off?" she asked, slipping her hands down to his shirt buttons.

Rand decided the question and answer period was over. "No, not yet."

"When then?"

He picked her up and carried her to his bed, placed her in the middle of it, and knelt beside her. "When I get you out of this dress."

A trace of shyness drifted over her expression, and she gripped the top of her dress. "One thing?"

He knelt back, waited.

"There's a chance my, uh, enthusiasm for you has made you think I'm—oh, you know."