“Come on in, I won’t bite. I promise.”
Before he knew what had hit him, he was pulled inside, and the door decisively clicked behind him. He knew all he had to do was leave, but as was becoming a habit with Marcy, he gave in because he wanted to. Her apartment was spacious, decorated in pastels with a tapestry sofa and chairs.
“Your place is very nice.” He took off his coat in resignation.
“Thanks. Make yourself at home,” she yelled, throwing her coat over a chair as she walked into what he assumed was the kitchen, returning seconds later with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. “Will you do the honors?”
“Sure.” He wanted to protest but decided against it. He would have one glass and then go.
“Sit down,” she said as she motioned to the sofa and as he complied, sat closely beside him holding glasses out to him, which he filled before placing the bottle onto the table.
“I can’t stay long, Marcy.” He thought it best to get that out before she got any ideas in her beautiful head.
“We’ll see.”
He tasted his wine. “This is good.”
“Very,” she whispered, taking a sip of the cold liquid before placing her still-full glass on the table. “You’re so buff.” She lightly fingered his biceps and shoulders. “I’ve never met a lawyer in such great shape.”
“I enjoy working out.” He grabbed her hand, halting her disturbing exploration.
“Mmm,” she approved, trailing the fingers of her free hand across his broad chest. “I can tell.”
“Marcy...”
“What?” She stared into his conflicted eyes.
When he failed to answer, she leaned across the sofa, took his glass from his unresisting fingers and placed it on the table beside hers. Then framing his face in her hands, she kissed him. She felt the tension in him as he resisted her and himself, but within seconds, his lips changed from cold and stiff to warm and caressing—though he refrained from touching her. She tasted the wine on his lips—and the barely restrained passion.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” she murmured, pulling slightly back, though her mouth was still in close proximity to his.
Turbulent, dangerous eyes bore into hers before lowering to focus on her incredibly soft lips that tasted of wine, honey and dangerous desire. He knew he should push her away and leave; instead he reached out, pulled her closer and let his mouth ravage hers. Out of control, impatient hands focused on the buttons of her jacket until it was completely undone, and then he pulled her down to lie beside him as he reclined back onto the sofa.
When his wandering hands slipped beneath the undone jacket folds, he realized to his delight and dismay that she was only wearing a thin black lace teddy, which covered next to nothing of the satiny skin underneath. He rolled until she was nearly lying beneath him. His hands caressed her lace-covered breasts and stomach as his mouth left hers to blaze a trail across her neck and collarbone to the swell of a breast.
His hot tongue licked out and tasted a nipple, which he felt harden through the chemise. With a groan, his mouth opened warmly, taking the still-covered swell into his mouth and suckled maddeningly until she thought she would shatter. Her hands moved behind his head as he continued to feast on her flesh through the now-wet fabric she prayed he would rip away as he was ripping away any sense of sanity she possessed.
In the back of his mind, a nagging voice reminding him of his promise to remain emotionally unattached while he was in Black Ops; the type of life he led wasn’t easy—in fact, it could be downright brutal. He couldn’t become involved with Marcy; it wasn’t fair to her. She deserved better than he could give her, and he knew that.
With a mind of their own, his hand snaked under the satin to touch the warm, silky skin of her stomach, and he felt her fingers clutch the back of his head and release. Desire built within him almost to the point of no return. If he touched her a second longer, if he felt her trembling against him another minute, he would take her and damn the consequences. Somehow, using willpower years of training had instilled, he pulled away and sat up.
It took her a few seconds to realize he was no longer lying next to her or touching her. When she did, she opened cloudy eyes and slowly sat up beside him.
“Stay.” She sighed as she placed her arms around his neck, realizing he meant to leave her and himself unfulfilled.
“You’ve just met me,” he hoarsely responded, fighting for control that was rapidly escaping him.
“We’ve known each other for a week,” she reminded.
“Barely a week,” he contradicted.
“I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.” She scraped her teeth maddeningly along his jaw before lifting her head to stare into his darkening eyes. “Don’t you want me?”
“Marcy, a man would have to be crazy not to want you.” He nearly groaned. But then he forced himself to add, “But I’m here to see my family, not to start a relationship with you—with anyone.”
He reluctantly disentangled her arms from his neck, stood and quickly walked to the door.
“Nathan?” Her soft, seductive voice halted him.
“What?” He asked without turning around. God he wanted her; had he ever wanted anything this much?
“You know what they say about making plans?” He turned to face her, but neither of them made a move toward the other.
“No, what?” At the moment, he didn’t know his name or how he was articulating at all.
“The best laid ones go to waste,” she responded with a smile. Silently vowing she would make sure his did. Impulsively, she walked over, cupped his face between her hands and kissed him again.
“Marcy, would you let me take the initiative for once?” he asked against her lips.
“I’d love to. Go ahead,” she ordered, pulling slightly back.
He shook his head and smiled down at her, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” What the...? Why had he asked that?
“I’d love to.” She beamed. “That was very nicely done.”
“Thank you.” He silently berated himself for his lack of discipline where she was concerned.
“What time?” Her eyes memorized every curve of his handsome face.
“Seven.” He committed himself to his unwise course of action, and unable to help himself, he began outlining her face with his fingertips. She shuddered at his touch.
“Should I meet you, or would you rather pick me up?” she docilely asked, breath coming in trembling gasps.
“I’ll pick you up,” he nearly whispered as the fingers of his other hand played with loose strands of her hair; it was so soft, so incredibly soft.
“How should I dress? Casual? After five? Elegant?”
She couldn’t believe she could comprehend let alone formulate questions. He was touching her lightly yet urgently. She was a quivering mass of jelly, yet somehow she still stood before him instead of sinking bonelessly to the floor at his feet.
“Elegantly,” he decided and said as his hands followed her example and cupped her face.
“Mmm, sounds nice.” She shakily smiled. “You take charge very well.”
“Thanks.” Intense eyes stared into hers, and he decided to take even more as he placed a hand behind her nape and pulled her irresistible lips to his.
Devastation. No other word described what he did to her with that kiss—or what she did to him. He could happily feast