Like a Hurricane

  Mac looked at her and touched her like she was a goddess. Using a combination of talented fingers and his amazing tongue, he once again relieved her of her bra. Slowly, he traced her breasts, teasing the nipples into swollen points and twisting her body into knots of desire.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he whispered.

  And she believed him. He placed his mouth on her, reverently this time, lovingly. The same sparks shot down into her stomach, igniting the same fire between her legs, urging her to find the natural place on his body to fit her hips. But it was different than the fury she’d just experienced on the beach. “Beautiful,” he repeated.

  This was different. This was making love.

  With a tender touch, he traveled the curves and lines of her body, stroking her with the wariness of someone handling a piece of valuable art.

  Her hands literally ached to do the same to him. “Mac. I want to feel you, too.”

  She started to unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers. She pushed the material over his shoulders, making him laugh a little at her determination. But she ached to roam the chest she’d been admiring for three days from its rooftop stage. She buried her face in the dusting of hair, inhaling the salty, sexy smell of Mac. She loved that smell. Loved it. While she held her breath to savor the scent, he took both her hands and placed them on his belt buckle.

  She eased him out of his khakis, his fierce and throbbing erection straining boxer shorts underneath. More flesh. She wanted more flesh. Instinctively, she dipped her head, pushing the shorts away and inhaling a different scent. The hot, heady scent of his sex.

  Curling her fingers around the breadth of him, her tongue flicked over the top and he reacted with a husky groan, tunneling his fingers into her hair. He tasted like salt and skin and man in her mouth. She explored him with her hands and mouth, reveling in his response, loving that he grew harder with each stroke and kiss.

  “Nicole.” His gravely voice sounded tormented. He inched her up, toward his face.

  She paused to cover his chest with kisses. He cupped her chin and leaned into her mouth, turning her over on her back. “Let me make love to you.”

  Every cell in her body kicked into high gear as she sighed in agreement. He glided her panties over her thighs and she wanted to buck against his hand. In one smooth move, he climbed on top of her, and something in his hand caught her eye. A condom.

  He said nothing, but held her gaze as he opened it and slipped it on. She watched, fascinated by him, trembling with the ache to have him inside her. Lowering himself, the full hardness of him settled between her legs. He closed the space between their faces, his mouth just above hers. His tongue touched her lips, parting them, mirroring the action as the tip of his erection touched her.

  He ran his tongue along her teeth just as he slid his head against her slick flesh. “My Lady in Blue.”

  She lifted her hips, need singing through her body. She wanted him deeper and farther. Her swollen opening practically seized him.

  She felt him smile against her mouth.

  “Why are you torturing me, Mac?” It was half question, half laugh.

  He just moaned and entered her one more millimeter. His tongue slid exactly as far into her mouth. Then out again. Then in again. Then out.

  “Because I want to tell you something.”

  She eased against his erection. “Now?”

  “Yes. Absolutely now.” He kissed her again, rolling against her just enough to make her moan in frustration. “The first time I kissed you, I knew.”

  Anticipation snaked through her. “Knew what?”

  “I just knew.” He dipped farther into her as she searched his face, trying to read his expression. Unless she knew nothing about people, what he was about to tell her was the truth. Pure, unadulterated honesty.

  He throbbed against her, nearly inside. It took every amount of self-control not to grab him from behind and push him all the way into her. But something in his darkened, aroused eyes stopped her, her breath caught in her throat.

  “What did you know?” She wasn’t completely sure she wanted to hear it, but part of her, some deep, serious part of her, did.

  “That it’s you, Miss Nicole Whitaker. You. You’re the one.”

  She stared at him, not able to comprehend what he was saying.

  “The one,” he whispered again and then suddenly, he filled her with a firm and solid thrust. She choked in the breath she’d been holding, rising toward him, lost in the force of their sudden union.

  The one? But she couldn’t think, she could only feel. Helpless, she fell into the pulse of their ancient, automatic rhythm of hips against hips, flesh against flesh, man against woman.

  He leaned up on his arms and she cried out a little, pulling him right back into her. She wanted full body contact. Every possible inch of skin touching skin.

  You’re the one.

  The words rang in her ears as they rose and fell together, chugging up the tracks of the roller coaster that they’d been waiting to ride since the moment they first saw each other. Picking up speed and power. He murmured her name and urged her on, and she wrapped her legs tighter and kissed his hot, sweaty flesh.

  You’re the one.

  He tilted her toward him and deepened his entry. She held her breath and sunk her teeth into the granite of his shoulder, as the desire pulled her inside out in an unstoppable free fall. Aching, burning need eliminated everything but the primal wrench of her body. She couldn’t see or hear or smell or breathe or stop. She could feel each plunge into her, pushing her over the edge as they went spiraling together into a long, sweet release of pure, pure pleasure.

  They could only say each other’s name as the thrill ride finally slowed to a halt. They exchanged one unsteady kiss as the blood began to return. Trickles of sweat on his chest mingled with hers. Their halting breaths started to even out.

  Mac broke the silence with a tender kiss on her temple, then let his body weight fall against her. “You are, you know.”

  And she knew exactly what he meant. She was just too satisfied, too spent and too far gone to let the old fear consume her.

  They didn’t move for what seemed like hours, in and out of exhausted contentment. But Quinn knew it was only a few minutes. He could count her heartbeats against him, feel the sheen of perspiration begin to dry in the sporadic, but functioning, air-conditioning.

  They lay chest to chest, her legs wrapped through his.

  “Mac?”

  He smiled at the name. “You know, only the guys on my baseball team and few of my ex-frat brothers call me that.”

  “You told me that was your name when we met and that’s how I think of you.” She looked up at him. “You play baseball?”

  “I’m on a softball team in a city league. Nothing serious, just frustrated executives who wish they had talent.”

  She eased to his side, tucking in close to him. “I thought you corporate types networked over martinis after a long day at the office.”

  “My boss would like that. He’s a lunatic who works 24/7.” He pulled her closer, suddenly wishing she could watch him play. And he could look up in the bleachers and she’d be there with the girlfriends and…wives. “I like to be outside. My brother, Cameron, plays, too. It’s mostly a way to blow off steam.”

  “Are you good?”

  “I have my moments.” He ran his finger along her collarbone and winked. “I can throw a sweet curve ball and hit a line drive with power.”

  She caressed his stomach muscles, her finger dipping lower. “I bet.”

  His reaction was instant. “Sweetheart, don’t start again unless you’re serious.”

  She bit back a smile. “What position?”

  “You can have the top if you want it.”

  “In baseball.” She laughed. “What position do you play?”

  “Pitcher. Catcher. Shortstop.”

  She moaned softly and walked her fingers up and over his chest, along his shoulder, tr
acing his bicep with her pretty pink nail. “You have a baseball player’s body. Strong and solid and…”

  “Keep going.”

  “Fabulous.”

  “Yeah?” He rolled on his side to see her better, his hands sliding over her hips, dipping into her waist. “You have a centerfold’s body. Lush and perfect and…” He scooped the delicate flesh of her breast into his palm. “More fabulous. How on earth were you so blessed?”

  She shot an eyebrow up. “Cursed, you mean.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” He pulled back to really see her face. Was she serious? “Women pay three months’ salary to buy something that’s not nearly as perfect as this.”

  “And me, I’d just rather have windows that worked and railings on every balcony.”

  Guilt twisted at him again as he leaned up on one elbow. “If I had known how much this meant to you, I would never have—”

  “Yes, you would have,” she said softly. “It’s your job. No, your career, your partnership. It seems like it’s your life.”

  It seemed that way to him, too. And that felt really stupid right now. With this woman in his arms and in his bed. What the hell was a partnership?

  This. This was a partnership.

  The words were right on his lips. But he didn’t want to scare her. He’d sound like some kind of love-struck teenager if he told her she was “the one” again. He had no control over what he said fifteen minutes ago. But, now. The blood had nearly returned to his brain and he had to exercise common sense.

  “It’s not my whole life,” he finally said.

  “Of course not,” she agreed facetiously. “There’s always your baseball team.”

  “My level of baseball doesn’t pay much. Just beers for the winning team.”

  “And money’s important to you.”

  He heard the gentle indictment in her voice. “Not that important.”

  “Ambition, then. Success. Position. Title. Wealth.”

  “You have me all wrong,” he insisted. He hoped. Was that how he came across?

  “You’re a driven man, Quinn.” He noticed the use of his given name, but let her continue. “I saw you slip into character in our meeting with Northcott. Damn, I bet you drive a hard bargain at the negotiating table.”

  He studied her, considering how to respond. He didn’t want to deny it; he just wanted her to understand why. “Yes, I do, Nicole. I’m good at my job.” He propped his head on his arm and looked down at her. “It wasn’t really what I wanted to do, but it’s where I ended up. So I do the best I’m able to do. I won’t defend it and I’m sorry that my career’s gotten in the way of us. Of this.” He ran a hand over the smooth skin of her hip. “But my career isn’t my life. It’s how I make a living.”

  “How did you get into commercial real estate?”

  How could he avoid it was a better question. “Well, I told you my dad sort of pushed all of us to the whitest of white-collar work, good colleges, impressive degrees, the works.”

  She said nothing, so he felt like he had to say more. To explain why. To open up the black hole of intimacy. He teetered on the edge of it, closing his eyes for a moment.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I went right along for the ride and he was right, life is easier with money and prestige. For my dad, it’s everything.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her, a stream of moonlight in her hair, a serious question in her eyes. In any other time and place, with any other woman, Quinn would start the sex up again, or hop out of bed for a shower, or make a joke. Definitely a joke.

  He exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “My parents got divorced when Colin was a baby. My mom, she…wanted more. Read a book about women’s liberation and decided she hated men and wasn’t cut out for mothering three boys and she moved to Wyoming.”

  He felt, rather than saw, her tiny spasm of sympathy and gave her a comforting squeeze in return. “My grandmother helped raise us and she is the greatest person alive. So don’t worry. No irreparable damage done.” At least none that he was willing to share at this point in time. He didn’t really blame his loser mother, anyway. Just his father for marrying the wrong person.

  “I’m sure it was hard for you—for all of you.”

  “We all found a way to cope. Cam turned tough. Colin turned wild.”

  “And Quinn?”

  He grinned. “I make jokes.”

  She just smiled and, again, he felt like she was waiting for more. Why not? If she was the one, she should know everything.

  “Anyway, even with Gram’s guiding hand on our household, my father had to work really, really hard to keep it together—to keep us together. Even though he eventually bought his construction company and had his name on the trucks, he was a manual laborer, a builder, a tradesman, his whole life. He thought that if he managed to get all of us into suits and offices, then my mom would have been, I don’t know, proven wrong somehow. He would show her just what a good parent—single or married—could do for his kids.”

  She was quiet for a moment, her precious lip tucked between her teeth. “So you went along with it. The good boy. But maybe you’d have rather done something else with your life.”

  Aw, hell. He didn’t just trip over the black hole of intimacy, she sucked him right down into the vortex. He shrugged and stayed casual. “I made my choices, Nicole. Good boy, yeah. Big boy, too. To be honest, I probably would have been just as happy to follow in his footsteps and build houses. I like working outside.” He grinned again. “I’ve enjoyed my vacation.”

  Her expression softened and she nestled deeper into him, starting the warmth in his groin again. Long night ahead, he thought with a smile as he absently ran a hand through her hair.

  “I really can’t thank you enough, Quinn.”

  “Mac,” he whispered. “I like when you call me Mac.”

  She kissed his shoulder and sighed, her fingertips trailing down his stomach again. “Mac. What am I going to do?”

  “More of what you’re doing right now, I hope.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to give up my home and my job and my little world. I know it’s a mess and needs work, but—”

  “Shh.” He quieted her with one finger on her lips. “I’m going to work on it tomorrow. I have some research to do and I want to talk to my boss about all the possibilities. Including the higher offer and a plan not to demolish the property. Let’s not talk about it tonight.”

  “Okay, but I want to tell you something and I’m very serious.”

  His heart tightened and he waited for her to continue. More intimacy. Dead ahead.

  “The property…the sale. That’s not why I…made love to you.”

  He laughed, relieved at the innocent admission. “I know that.” He kissed her hair and pulled her incredible naked body even closer. “You made love to me because of the magnificent job I’m doing on your roof.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Can you finish it before you leave?”

  “I’d need help.”

  Disappointed, she dropped her head back into its place on his shoulder.

  Unless I didn’t leave. “I need to look at those papers again. I need to think this through.” God, did he ever need to think this thing through.

  She jerked up. “We left the bank documents over there, at the picnic table.”

  He eased her back. “I’ll get them later. I’ll clean up the food and stuff after the plunderers finally go to bed.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Roofer. Busboy. What other jobs do you have for me?”

  She started moving her hand again. Lower. He hardened at her touch. “I have lots of positions available.”

  He guided her leg over his hips. “Like?”

  “Pitcher. Catcher. Shortstop.” She moved her leg over him, sliding up to a straddle, arching slightly to tempt him with her breasts. “Lover.”

  His
erection sprung into the dampness between her legs. “Put me in, coach.”

  And she did.

  As Nicole emerged into morning consciousness, her first thought was of the powerful arm across her stomach, anchoring her backside into the solid male body warmth. Mac had her locked into place, his breathing slow and steady in her ear. She stayed frozen, darting her eyes toward the shades to gauge the time. Six o’clock, she thought from the peach color of the bit of sky she could see. Maybe six-thirty.

  She resisted the urge to purr like a kitten. Good heavens, she’d slept well in Mac’s bed. They’d stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, except for the few minutes he so graciously left to get the papers and play busboy with the Cusick’s surprise dinner. She’d made him a platter of the cheese and crackers from the basket and they’d eaten it in bed, then made love again on the crumbs. And again.

  She bit back a smile at the memory. There were many moments from the long night they shared, but his words—the words he’d said just as he made love to her for the first time—kept floating back to the surface.

  You’re the one.

  What did he mean? He couldn’t be serious—long-term, commitment, forever serious—after they’d known each other less than a week. Could he?

  He stirred and tightened his grip. As though he knew she was awake and thinking. But his breathing resumed uninterrupted and Nicole closed her eyes and let her mind over-flow with the possibilities.

  For the first time, she let herself indulge in the fantasy of Mac not leaving her. Of him not returning to New York, or at least coming here on a, how did he put it…a “long and repeated basis.”

  But he’d been referring to sex. Or had he?

  A completely unfamiliar warmth soaked through her, in the vicinity of her chest. Right where her heart, her solitary, independent, carefully unbruised heart, resided. Well, not entirely unbruised, but protected. Protected from the inevitable trouncing it would take with love. From the achy, bitter pain she’d first felt on that winter morning in Chicago, a skinny, scared eight-year-old girl shivering in shock at a grave site.