Ignoring her shriek of outrage, he flipped on the dim lights hidden behind foliage. The many mirrors captured the scene of Jenny scrambling to her feet like some angry she-devil rising from a prehistoric swamp. At least he’d stopped her questions.
“You…” Words eluded Jenny. There weren’t any that could describe her fury, her thirst for vengeance, her…excitement.
Sloan grinned at her, his smile a flash of wickedness in the almost-dark room. “Hey, I’m just granting your desire.”
“I did not desire to be sitting in a mud puddle—”
“You typed it into my desire box.”
“—with all my clothes on.” She lowered her gaze to the area of his personal desire box.
“Then take them off, Flame. Take them all off.”
His husky suggestion wrapped around her. I want a bad man in the worst way. Why not now?
To night, she’d get rid of her inhibitions along with her clothes.
Never breaking eye contact with the green glitter of his heated gaze, she stripped off her muddy coat and dropped it over the ornamental rocks beside the pond. “There’s something more I forgot to type in the box.”
“There’s always room for more.” His whisper promised that he was the king of more.
“A mud puddle’s no fun alone.” She couldn’t believe she was about to venture into the dangerous area of fun, which had an infinity of answers.
She turned her back to him and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. Okay, no stress here. She’d just modify his take-them-all-off statement. She’d get down to bra and pan ties, then they’d roll around and laugh just like the other time. Then she’d be ready. Her truth monitor’s cluck clucks were really getting on her nerves.
She watched him in the mirror. His gaze never left her as he stripped off his Santa suit…and everything else. He’d always been an all-or-nothing guy.
The room’s glow highlighted his body in shades of gold and shadow, stole away the boy she’d known in high school and replaced him with a hard, dangerous stranger.
He stepped into the mud, moving toward her with the measured tread of a predator, sure of his prey.
She took a deep, steadying breath. Can the melodrama, there’s nothing hard and dangerous about him. She glanced in the mirror. Okay, nothing dangerous.
Closing her eyes, she anticipated the moment he’d touch her, wondered if she’d feel anything different this time.
“Don’t move.” His voice was soft beside her ear. His breath, warm against her neck.
His fingers slid across her shoulders, down her arms, as he removed her blouse. When she felt his fingers move to the clasp of her bra, she could only shake her head.
“What ever you want, Flame.” His attention shifted. “It’s your memory.” Within seconds he’d removed her jeans.
Turning her to face him, he ran the tip of his finger down the front of her pan ties, paused between her legs. “Whenever you’re ready.” His whisper was hot need, and she clenched her legs against the urge to shout yes.
Too fast. Everything was moving too fast.
He was a dreamer. I want him. Okay, maybe he wasn’t really a dreamer. After all, he had this place. I want him. He was totally right brained. Look at what he did for a living. Look at what he’d done to this house. I want him. Fine, so between his right brain and her left brain they’d have one whole brain between them. Good enough for one night of fun. After all, this was just a fling.
She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know. Biting her lower lip, she indulged in some mental hand-wringing.
“Shh.” He slid his finger up over her stomach, between her breasts, and touched her lips.
“I didn’t say anything.” Should she close her lips around his finger, signaling that the fun could begin? Or should she bite him, thereby ending fun thoughts as he rushed to his local emergency room for rabies shots?
“Sure you did. I bet people blocks away could hear the battle between your brain and your baser instincts. Watch out. Baser instincts fight dirty.”
While she was busy mulling that thought over, he slipped to his knees. All mulling came to a sudden halt as Sloan’s hand glided up her bare leg.
“What do you remember most about the first time, Flame?” His hand continued up her thigh, and he fingered the lace at the edge of her pan ties.
Her legs wobbly, she sank to her knees in front of him. The mud felt cool against her heated flesh. “Mosquitos. Lots of mosquitos.”
“Liar.” Laughing, he pulled her down into the mud with him.
She squealed as he rolled her beneath him. Squealed? Clients would desert her in droves if they heard her. Squealing was not an accepted accountant noise.
She blinked up at Sloan. The truth? She didn’t give a damn what her clients thought. She was having fun.
Suddenly, her laughter died. The mood shifted as he straddled her hips and studied her through eyes that gleamed beneath half-lowered lids. “I just remembered something.”
“Uh-oh.” She shifted her hips along with her attention to his most striking point of interest. So close. She could reach out and slide her fingers along his length, cup him in her palm—
“I remember writing a message on you.”
She wanted to laugh, to restore the feeling of light-hearted fun. Nothing came out. “On me?”
“Yep.” Slowly, he slid the mud over her stomach, and her stomach muscles clenched in anticipation. He allowed his splayed hand to rest there until his heat seeped into her, warming her. “Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“Sort of like when guys leave messages inside hearts on tree trunks? That kind of thing?” Her breathing quickened, her need to touch him, to clasp him in her hand, almost unbearable.
“I guess so.” Dragging out the torture, he ran his fingers between her breasts, leaving a trail of mud and frustration.
Touch me everywhere. Now. “It must be a guy thing, like when bears leave claw marks on trees to mark their territory.”
“Could be.” Lingeringly, he molded each breast with his hand, then rubbed the pad of his thumb across each nipple.
Like a puppet whose strings were all attached to a master puppeteer, her hips arched at the bare-wire sizzle of his touch.
She had to share. Reaching out, she drew her fingernail the length of his erection.
He shuddered, then stilled. “Not a good idea, Flame. If you touch me like that, I could get serious real fast.”
She smiled up at him, then purposely licked the dry-ness from her bottom lip. “How serious?”
He shook his head, and the slide of tangled hair across bare shoulders gleaming with mud strengthened the image of primitive male power. “Always the number person. On a scale of one to ten, I’m at about six.”
“Hmm. Lots of room for serious growth then.” Giving in to temptation, she clasped him. “But not here.” She swallowed to clear the huskiness that had crept into her voice, the feeling that she couldn’t get enough air.
“You’d be surprised.” His response was muffled as he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his.
His lips were hot, hungry. He slid his tongue across her closed lips, and she opened to him. Deepening the kiss, he explored her, and she knew he could taste all her desires, the ones she’d dreamed and the ones she hadn’t even thought of yet.
She was working hard on those unimagined dreams when he pushed away from her. As the clamor of her pounding heart and the harsh rasp of her breathing eased, she heard the voices of carolers in the street.
Sloan grinned. “Sorry. When it happens, I don’t want to be lying in mud listening to ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.’”
She nodded, the only movement she was capable of now.
“So don’t you want to know what I wrote on you?”
She nodded again, fascinated by the rapid rise and fall of his gleaming chest. He’d been as much into the moment as she had.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the track of his fingertip between he
r breasts.
I. He’d traced the word “I.” Made sense. What other word would fit in that narrow space? She kinda yearned for a longer word, though. One with maybe seven letters. He could start at one nipple, put the fourth letter right in the middle, then end up at her other nipple. Her nipples ached with the need for their very own letters.
He moved lower. Jenny frowned. Not a word, but a shape. She concentrated on the slide of his finger over her slick skin, tried to ignore the trail of goose bumps decorating his artwork.
A heart. He’d drawn a large heart. Okay, no reason to hyperventilate here. It didn’t mean a thing. There were lots of messages out there with the same lead-in. I—heart drawing—cats, I—heart drawing—baseball. Millions of possibilities.
The only drawing space left was her lower abdomen. She wished she hadn’t eaten that last Mario’s hoagie. He had enough space down there to fill in the whole Phillies’ roster, including the hot dog vendors.
She felt him edge her pan ties lower on her hips. Lordy, he couldn’t need more room unless he intended filling in the amount of his last electricity bill.
He started on the last word. Strange, he was beginning in the middle of her stomach. Must be a short word.
She stopped breathing completely as he traced a long line down below her panty’s edge, beneath the silky material still covering unexplored territory, then touched the spot that dragged a groan of pure sensation from her.
Jenny didn’t care what word he was spelling, all she wanted was his finger to remain there, to rub that spot until tears trailed down her cheeks, until she screamed with raw pleasure.
Opening her eyes, she stared at his bent head with unfocused gaze, then reached out and grasped a handful of his tangled hair in a grip she hoped would anchor her to Earth.
Suddenly, his finger was gone. She mourned its loss with every disappointed cell in her body.
Slowly, she realized he was finishing the letter. Y. The “o” and “u” that followed were an anticlimax…until the meaning of the message hit her.
He lifted his head and gazed at her. She couldn’t read anything in his expression, his eyes.
It had been a kid thing, something they would’ve laughed over ten years ago.
But now? She broke his gaze, glanced at the mirror behind him, noted dispassionately the image of his bare body crouched over hers—muscular, mature.
They weren’t kids anymore, and somehow the message didn’t seem like something to laugh at.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He’d managed to surprise himself, and that didn’t happen often to Sloan. Why had he remembered that stupid heart after all these years? It hadn’t meant anything.
Then why the basket thing? Why was it so important that she live with you in this house? Why’re you so hot and hard you’d take her even if a dozen Rudolphs were singing outside your window? Figure that out, hotshot.
“It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Jenny’s voice echoed his thoughts.
And made him mad. “It could mean something. How do you know it doesn’t mean anything?”
She lay in the mud, her body slick, her hair sticking out in every direction, a smudge of dirt on her nose, and an uncertain smile on her lips. She was beautiful.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, and her breasts lifted, hot-wiring his adrenaline. “But it could mean a lot of different things, like I admire you, or I get a kick out of you.”
“I get a kick out of you?” He cast her his best you’ve-gotta-be-kidding look.
Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. “What’re we arguing about, Sloan?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Darned if I know. Want to share a cold shower?”
Her smile widened. “I don’t think so, but wouldn’t a roll in the snow be quicker?”
Sloan knew his gaze was heat and hunger. He didn’t give a damn. “You watched me last night.”
“Yes.” She ran her tongue across her lower lip. “We could do it together. Now. I’m ready, and the carolers are gone.”
The very thought of Jenny standing naked in the snow, her nipples hard from the cold, waiting for the warmth of his mouth…
“You’re not ready.”
“I can’t believe you. Who’re you to say I’m not ready? Are you waiting for Santa to leave a gift-wrapped announcement under your tree proclaiming that Jenny Saunders is ready?”
“I’ll know when it’s right.” When you come to me. With no questions, no reservations. In what millennium would that happen? He didn’t think he could wait that long. And why did it matter anyway?
She sighed. “Are we reversing roles here? Remember, I’m the careful one and you’re the impulsive one.”
“We’re back to me being impulsive again, aren’t—”
“Wait, wait.” She met his gaze. “At first I thought impulsive was all bad, but look at me…”
He looked at her. At her lips swollen from his kiss, at her full breasts barely covered by her flimsy bra, at the curve of her stomach and hip. His eyes lingered on the small piece of silky cloth still guarding her femininity, and he wondered why the path of his gaze didn’t burst into instant flame. “Okay. Looked at you.”
“I said ‘look,’ Sloan, not burn and pillage.”
“That wasn’t burning and pillaging.” He didn’t smile. “You’ll know when I’m burning and pillaging.”
Her expression indicated a growing interest in the pillaging part. “Anyway, I’ve just done my best imitation of a mud wrestler. Can’t get more impulsive than that. And you know something?” She reached up and touched each of his nipples with the tip of her finger. “I loved it.”
“If you’re looking for my power button, it’s down on my surge protector.” He couldn’t control the huskiness of his voice anymore than the explosion mode of his surge protector. If he didn’t disconnect fast, his whole system would crash.
He rose and moved away from Jenny. “So you’re admitting that in some situations, impulsive actions can be good things.”
“Yes.” She slowly rose to her feet.
He should’ve helped her, but if he touched her again to night, it’d be all over. And he had plans. Big plans that didn’t include another roll in the mud. He was the king of desire fulfillment, and Jenny still had a few unfullfilled desires, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
“Hey, it’s a start. So where did you first get the idea that I was impulsive?”
He thought she wouldn’t answer. She slogged out of the mud and sat on the bench beside the pond. He sat down beside her, making sure no part of him touched any part of her.
She sighed. “I don’t know. A bunch of things. You always had these wild dreams in high school. You were going to contact aliens one day on your computer.”
“Done that a few times.”
She didn’t smile.
“Lots of kids have wild dreams in high school. It’s part of growing up.” Like drawing stupid hearts on women’s stomachs.
“Then you show up at my door sounding like you did ten years ago, telling my you’d been doing this-and-that. Didn’t sound too stable to me. And you have to admit, this internet business sounds a little bizarre.”
She reached out and traced an aimless pattern on his bare thigh. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t react either.
“Great believer in giving a guy the benefit of the doubt, aren’t you, Flame?” He didn’t care if he sounded cold.
She withdrew her hand from his thigh. “I did give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re here for your fling. Character flaws don’t matter much when you’re only scheduling a one-nighter.”
“Low, Mitello.” She stood, still managing to look composed. “If you’re finished with your mud slinging, figuratively speaking of course, then I’ll go up to my room and take a shower.”
There was nothing composed about the seductive sway of her bottom. Made him almost forget about being mad. Almost.
Jenny awoke to a
discreet tap on her door and a surrealistic memory of the night before. She forced one eye open, then glanced at the clock. Yep, Ridley. Right on schedule with another bowl of yummy oatmeal.
Mumbling her hope that the IRS would audit him for the rest of his irritating life, she covered her head with her pillow.
Translating the mumble as permission to enter, he opened the door, strode to her bedside table, then plunked her breakfast where she could smell the tempting odor of congealing oatmeal.
Jenny yanked the pillow from her head and glared at Ridley. “I won’t eat that oatmeal, and you can’t make me.” Lord, she sounded about six years old.
Ridley sniffed his disdain. “Madam left muddy footprints all the way through the house. I had to wipe up every one of them before I made madam’s breakfast.”
He was good. Very good. He’d sharpened guilt into a deadly weapon. Hating herself for doing it, she hiked the sheet up to her neck, sat up, then picked up her spoon and forced down a little of the cereal. “There. I ate some. Satisfied?”
Ridley cast her a contemptuous glance. “There were many, many footprints.”
She sighed. “So I have to eat many, many spoonfuls.”
He lowered his chin a fraction in acknowledgment. “Then of course, you’ll want to enjoy your present.”
“Present? What present?” She scanned the room, and there by the fireplace she saw it.
“Ohmigod, it’s my horse. Sloan got me my horse!” All her childhood Christmas disappointments faded into the past as she gazed at the life-size carousel horse gleaming white and beautiful in the morning light. “If you don’t want to see a naked woman, Ridley, you’d better run, because I’m naked and I’m getting out of this bed right now to look at my horse.”
Ridley didn’t hang around. “As you wish, madam.” He hurried from the room with none of his usual dignity.
Jenny grinned. Her very own horse and a win over Ridley. Life was good. She wondered if Sloan would be surprised when he found out she’d thrown away her pj’s. And he would find out.
Scrambling from her bed, she didn’t even take time to fling on her robe as she rushed over to her horse. She slid her fingers along its smooth neck, touched the gold trim on its saddle and bridle, admired its upflung head and tail flowing in an imaginary breeze. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”