But when his hands were on her, Ellen’s entire world pared down to what felt good and what didn’t. Christopher’s hands anchoring her face close, his approval, and the longing he didn’t even try to hide, all felt too good.
She slipped her arms around his waist.
Her actions weren’t a concession. They simply were. A necessity. A fact. The chemistry between them was too potent to ignore. No point in even trying, although Christopher had always found this easier to acknowledge than she had. Perhaps because he’d simply been looking for a woman who challenged him. He hadn’t been looking for the one.
At this moment, Ellen wasn’t, either.
Dragging her fingers along his damp skin, she explored the contours, recalled the sleek strength of trim muscles, the way his waist veed into the broad lines of his back. She remembered this man. The feel of him. The scent of him. The taste of him.
Her tongue sought his and she answered his demand with a demand of her own. Kiss me. Touch me. Want me. Not an admission of how much she’d missed him, not a surrendering to his boldness, but simply a kiss that explored their desire.
His hands trailed from her hair, following the lines of her face, his touch gentle and searching, as though he was refreshing his memory or perhaps proving to himself she was real. She was very real. And she savored the feel of his fingertips against her skin, the hot minty taste of his mouth, her body’s explosive reaction to him, his explosive reaction to her.
Christopher had always reveled in the chemistry between them, had held his hunger up as proof of how great they were together. She’d been the one overwhelmed by her need. Trying not to break the rules and sleep with him before enough time had passed had been a balancing act of anticipation and longing, where she could too easily lose all control in his arms.
She’d been sure this sort of passion meant he was the one.
He wasn’t. But when his hands rounded the curve of her neck, tipped her chin just enough to deepen their kiss, Ellen forgot the past, forgot the rules. She knew only excitement when he crowded her back against the sturdy post of the tester bed, sealed their bodies together. Inch upon inch of hard, damp muscle crushed her, awakening all sorts of hunger.
Her hands raked his shoulders and trailed down his back, recalling the smooth flexing of muscle when he’d thrust on top of her, beneath her, from behind her.
Her sex began to clench with hot little aches.
And when he drove his thigh between hers, hard muscle into yielding skin, Ellen knew, oh, she knew exactly what Christopher wanted. He wasn’t going to stop with a kiss. He wasn’t going to waste their first meeting in so long—not when he was almost naked. Apparently time hadn’t lessened their chemistry.
Lifting her, he anchored her along his hard thigh. Her filmy skirt was only a whisper of protection separating skin from skin, nothing against the need making her sigh against his lips.
He caught the sound with his kiss and she felt his mouth curve upward, tasted his smile. He had the upper hand and he knew it, as he always had. Three months hadn’t changed that.
Sanity cried out, a mental scream reminding her that she’d left this man for a good reason. The right reason. But reason didn’t exist when he touched her. Nor did rules. Apparently time hadn’t changed that, either.
But she wasn’t the only one who lost her mind when they were together. Ellen may have sighed. She may have melted against him. She may have spread her legs to ride his thigh, the pressure kneading just the spot to feed that pleasure inside.
But Christopher’s breaths were as ragged as hers.
His fingers dug deep as they dragged the curve of her shoulders, her silk tank top only inviting him to caress the length of bared arms, to slip below and reacquaint himself with her breasts. He did. A gentle weighing of her fullness that was at once appreciative and reverent.
And so needy. He was as caught up in this moment as she, clearly unable to resist the pull of their bodies or burying a hard-as-steel erection against her stomach.
His hot shaft was an insistent, demanding pressure, greedy for her attention, straining against the flimsy barrier that barely separated them, promised such ecstasy….
A promise Ellen couldn’t ignore. Not when his hands traveled through sheer silk with such skill. Not when her breasts filled with an eager heaviness that made her swell into his palms, made her so sensitive she gasped when he flicked his thumbs across the tips.
Not when she hadn’t had sex in so long, when she’d never had sex like she’d had with him.
But wasn’t she already two steps ahead in the game since she knew he wasn’t the one? Wouldn’t knowing that protect her when she had to leave him all over again?
Damn Miss Q.
Damn her own disobedient body for this desperate ache that wouldn’t consider denial, even though everything about him wrought havoc on her emotions.
And Christopher knew—damn him—pressing his advantage by trailing his mouth along her jaw, down her neck, nibbling, sucking, tasting her skin as though he planned to savor every inch of her at his leisure.
Tingles chased behind his kisses, the steady flicking of his thumbs over her nipples making her tension coil tighter.
He bent low, nipped her shoulder with exactly the right pressure to make her tremble. The sight of his dark head poised over her brought her emotions so close to the surface, made her recall with almost painful clarity how much she’d enjoyed having her world blocked out by the breadth of his wide shoulders, his dark head, his laughing kisses.
Slipping her hands beneath his towel, she dislodged it, and he assisted by shifting his hips to bare himself to her.
Skimming her hands along his skin, Ellen explored, cupping the tight curves of his butt, drawing him closer, his hot erection branding her through the sheer silk of her skirt.
He shivered, a vibration that ran from head to toe, and his teeth flashed white as he nibbled her nipple through her blouse.
She gasped.
He lifted his gaze, those blue eyes meeting hers with his mouth parted over her breast, over the faintest trace of wetness on silk.
All she saw in his darkly handsome face was desire.
Christopher wanted her.
No matter that he’d let her go with only a few token phone calls and no fight. No matter that they’d lived in the same city and he’d never shown up at her office, or her apartment, never suggested a compromise that could satisfy his impulses and her needs. No matter that he hadn’t followed the rules.
Christopher wanted her, and right now she wanted him.
So what if Miss Q had manipulated her—and most likely him—into this situation? They were together, the weekend’s training session provided the perfect cover to protect her from the media’s attention. Here they could play in privacy and safety.
There was a bed. And they weren’t expected in the parlor until seven.
All hurt faded beneath the strength of their attraction. Nothing mattered beyond how explosive they were together. Every inch of her skin tingled, made her want to peel away her clothes and melt against him.
Letting her eyes flutter shut, Ellen pressed a kiss to the top of his silken head.
It was all the permission he needed.
Drawing the hem of her blouse up and over, Christopher peeled away her bra before his arms came around her, pulling her close. She melted into the strong circle of his embrace, breasts crushing his chest, bare skin against bare skin.
Then his mouth found hers again, his kiss urgent, as if he had something to prove. To her. Maybe even to himself.
Driving his fingers into her hair, Christopher cupped her head and braced her entire body