Temptation’s Edge (7 page)

She shook her head against the next shiver that tried to tremble through her, put on her coat and opened the front door. She couldn’t resist one final glance over her shoulder before pulling it shut behind her.

Good-bye, Connor.

The cafe downtown where Dylan had asked to meet her for breakfast was a bustling place on a Saturday morning, the warm air carrying the lovely scents of strong coffee and baking pastries. Like so many Seattle buildings this one was older, with high ceilings, a wide front window and old wood floors that had been refinished to a glossy sheen. Dylan waved to her from a small table in the back and Mischa made her way through the crowd.

“Morning, Misch.”

“Hi. Have you been waiting long?” She took off her coat and hung it over the back of the wooden chair.

“Only long enough to get seated. I just ordered some coffee for you.”

“Bless you.”

The waitress arrived with their coffee, set a mug down in front of each of them, telling them she’d leave them to look over the menu.

“Mischa? Are you all right?”

“What?” She looked up from her coffee. “Sure, fine.”

“Okay…then why did you just put four packets of sugar in your coffee?”

“Did I?” Mischa looked into her cup, as if there might be some explanation there. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll drink it, anyway. I need it this morning.”

“But you’re fine?” Dylan raised one dark auburn eyebrow.

Mischa felt her gaze on her. She shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, Dylan. I’m a big girl. I’ll figure this out for myself.”

“Is it the new shop? Have you spoken with Greyson already?”

“No, we’re not due to meet until Wednesday.”

“Hangover?”

“Nope. I hardly drank last night.”

“Are you worried about opening the new shop with Greyson?”

“Maybe a little. But I’ve decided I definitely want to do it, if we can work out all the details, so I’m feeling good about it.”

“You look tired,” Dylan remarked, her gaze sharp on her now.

“I am a little tired.”

“And you didn’t get much sleep because…?”

There was a small smile quirking the corner of Dylan’s mouth, and Mischa realized she wasn’t going to let it go.

“You can be a real bulldog sometimes, you know?”

“So Alec tells me.” She was really grinning now.

Mischa blew out a long breath, wrapping her hands around the coffee mug. “Okay. But it’s really…nothing. I went home with Connor last night. No big deal. I’m just short on sleep. But I promise it won’t hinder my shopping capabilities today at all.”

“I’m not worried about the shopping. I’m worried about you.”

“A little lack of sleep never killed anyone.” She sipped her coffee, winced at how sweet it was.

“If he was an asshole to you, Misch, I will have Alec kick his ass, close friends or not.”

Mischa laughed. “That won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer. He was an absolute gentleman.” She realized then it was true; he had been. He’d taken great care with her. In a way that made her feel absolutely
cared for
.

Maybe that was the most dangerous part.

She shook her head.

“See, I knew there was something more.”

“Dylan, I just…Look, you’re right, there is something else going on. But it’s just all in my head. He was perfectly nice to me, we had crazy hot sex, and now I’m just…being stupid. I’ll sort it out.”

“Wow. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard
you
getting stupid over a man.”

“Yeah, me neither,” she muttered, hating that she was admitting out loud that anything was wrong.

Dylan was watching her, her gray eyes narrowing.

“Come on, Dylan,” Mischa protested. “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s
something
, but I’ll deal with it. I always do.”

“True.”

“So why don’t you show me the pictures of the dresses you have in mind while we get some food?”

Dylan pursed her lips for a moment, but she said, “Okay.”

They were just finishing their breakfast and getting back into their coats to go shopping when Mischa’s cell phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and looked at the number. It was unfamiliar, but had a Seattle area code. She knew somehow that it was him.

Connor.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Dylan asked.

“Nope. Today I’m all yours. Anything else can wait.”

Especially a direct reminder of the man she was doing her best to forget about.

Like that’s ever going to happen.

She huffed and pulled the belt to her coat tight. “Come on, let’s go.”

Mischa unlocked the door to Dylan’s apartment and pushed her way inside. Her feet were killing her, even though she’d worn her favorite pair of flat, knee-high boots with her warm sweater tights and her standard dress—she rarely wore pants. Still, she was dying to get into a hot tub and soak. This wedding dress shopping thing wasn’t for wimps, and she was worn out.

She dropped her coat on the gorgeous peridot suede couch
she’d always admired, sat down long enough to unlace her boots and pull them off.

“Ah.”

She flexed her toes for a moment, then carried the boots across the big loft apartment, the sleek, white-washed wood floors smooth under her bare feet, and into the bedroom with its pristine white bed linens set against soft green walls. It was a comfortable room, all the furnishings in the clean, contemporary lines that were everywhere in the apartment, but the wall color and the fluffy white comforter softened the look. She set her boots on the floor and her purse on the big white bed, pulling out her cell phone. There were three missed calls, all from the same number she’d seen that morning. She pulled in a long breath as a surge of need rippled through her.

Why did she want to talk to him so damn badly?

Defiantly, she tossed the phone on the bed, marched into the bathroom and started the hot water for her bath. She pinned up her hair, catching sight of her face in the mirror. The flush on her cheeks, her dilated pupils, had nothing to do with being tired. She’d been in an odd state all day. Half of her was struggling with the firm resolve to stop thinking about Connor. The other half was losing badly. She was doing no better now.

Just sex. It was just sex.

The hottest freaking sex of my entire sordid life.

Her nipples went hard at that thought. She couldn’t help but remember the way he’d touched her. How she’d come over and over.

She sighed, shut off the faucet and got into the tub, and sat back.

Connor.

He had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen up close. And
the way his heavily muscled body had felt under her hands…the way it had felt held over her. Unbelievably powerful. She’d felt…completely overtaken by him. Even by the thick Irish brogue, the low, gravelly tone of his voice.

She moaned, a quiet sound in the still air.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, just this once…

She closed her eyes, let herself remember his hands on her body. His mouth—God, his mouth—as he kissed her so damn hard. As he went down on her, sucking on her clit until she came.

“Oh…”

She lowered her hands, let one cup her breast, her fingers caressing her nipple. The other went between her parted thighs, pressing onto her hard clitoris.

She remembered the hot silk of his tongue against hers. The way he held her so firmly. As if he owned her. How she’d loved it.

She began to circle her clitoris, pressing, pressing, pausing only to dip down, to push one finger inside herself, then two.

“Oh yes,” she murmured.

She tilted her hips, beginning a pumping rhythm, fucking herself with her fingers. Letting the pleasure drift over her in lovely waves.

She remembered the strange pale green shot with gold of his eyes, the dark brows that looked almost menacing when he was holding himself over her, fucking her. So much intensity there, a thrilling darkness. It was as though pleasure
changed
him, opened up something, turned him into something more primal. She loved it.

She pressed her fingers deeper, angled them to hit her G-spot. Remembered his big, beautiful cock. She spread her thighs wider, added a third finger, trying to duplicate that sensation of being utterly filled.

Pleasure surged, deep in her belly, her clit, her breasts, pulsing with need. She gave her nipple a sharp pinch, let the pain and the pleasure wash over her. Knew that he did it better. It was still good. But less so, without the interplay, the power exchange.

Connor.

She remembered her response to his command, the way it made her shiver. Remembered how her body had felt, crushed beneath his. The thrill that he had taken her from behind their first time together, how it felt a little dirty. She loved that, too.

Connor.

She moved her hand faster, fucking herself hard, her hips pumping. She twisted her nipple between her fingers. Pleasure shafted through her with a keen, lovely edge, and she felt herself nearing her peak.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, Connor. Fuck me.”

She plunged her fingers into her aching sex, let her nipple go to pinch her clit, hard. Pleasure roared through her, along with the small bit of pain that took her over the edge.

“Ah, Connor!”

She shivered with it, wave after wave, her body jerking, the water splashing around her.

Finally it was over, and she let herself drift in the heat of the water, her muscles loose.

Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

She washed herself, the soapy sponge seeming to light her sensitized skin on fire. Needing more. Needing him.

She rinsed off, got out of the bath, wrapped a thick moss-green towel around herself, not wanting to see her reflection in the mirror. To have to look at her own post-climax gratification. At the hunger she knew would be clear in her eyes, a hunger that was still somehow unsated.

She marched back into the bedroom. She’d get into her yoga
pants, order some dinner from one of the many take-out menus Dylan kept in the kitchen and distract herself with a movie. Or maybe she’d draw until it was time for bed.

Her gaze flicked to the bed, to her small silver train case sitting on the floor next to it that held her vibrators. Oh yes, she knew what she’d be doing at bedtime. But not yet. She’d just had a ripping orgasm in the bathtub; she didn’t need to come again so soon.

Except that she did.

She huffed out a breath. Where the hell had she put her yoga pants?

Her cell phone buzzed. She’d left it on vibrate all day. Now she could barely listen to that sound without her body lighting up, craving the vibration. She’d do better to put the ringer back on.

She picked up the phone, checking to see who it was, saw Dylan’s cell number on the screen.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry, Misch, but I just realized our appointment tomorrow at the florist is at ten, not eleven.”

“No problem. I’ll be ready.”

“What are you up to? Have you eaten?”

“I was just about to order something. I just got out of the bath.”

And just had one of the best solo orgasms of her life, which she didn’t need to mention. Or that she planned to do it again in a few hours—if she could manage to wait that long.

“Okay, Misch. See you in the morning.”

“Night, hon.”

She was about to toss the phone back onto the bed when it rang again. She pressed the talk button. “What did you forget, Dylan?”

“Mischa.”

Oh, this was
so
not Dylan.

“Connor? How did you get my number?”

“I asked Alec for it.”

God, her heart was going a million miles an hour. Excitement warred with annoyance that he hadn’t gotten the message to leave her alone. If she’d wanted to talk to him, she would have returned one of his calls—she was certain it had been him trying to reach her all day.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“We need to talk.”

“What about?”

“You running out this morning.”

“Come on. You can’t tell me that bothered you.”

“I’d rather we talk in person, Mischa.”

“I’ve had a long day. I’m not up to going anywhere.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m at your front door.”

“What?”

She stomped through the apartment, the wood floors hard under her bare feet, and flung open the door.

“What are you doing here, Connor?”

He grinned, his lush mouth quirking at the corners.

“Lovely outfit.”

She glanced down at her green towel, huffed and pulled it tighter. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You did warn me you’d have questions.”

Why was he still grinning at her? And filling up the doorway like some sort of giant. But she wasn’t about to be intimidated.

“So?” she said, her jaw clenching.

Why did he have to look so damn gorgeous? And why did he have to be so even-tempered? The man was going to drive her crazy. Not to mention the way her nipples were hardening beneath the towel, the slight
zing
of desire between her thighs.

Stop it.

“So,” he started. “This would be easier if you’d invite me in.”

“I don’t know that I want to.”