Susan Mallery - Irresistible

“I’d never have guessed,” Elissa said, shocked by the revelation. “I won’t say anything, of course.”

“I appreciate that. The truth is coming out, but Dani’s still dealing with it herself.”

“Isn’t it funny how one moment in time changes everything? If I’d only come home after Mitch and I broke up. If one of my parents had answered the phone instead of Bobby.”

“If Ben hadn’t pushed me aside and taken that bullet.”

She looked at Walker and saw he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“How much do you think about that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It should have been me.”

“Why? Why do you think it was your time and not his?”

“Ben had something to live for.”

“Don’t you?”

Is that what caused Walker to hold back? He didn’t think he was worthy? She supposed it was possible, but why would he believe that? What had happened to put him on that path?

“I get by,” he said at last.

“You do more than that.”

He shrugged. “I’m running out of Ashleys. What if I don’t find her? I owe him that.”

“You’re trying. He would understand the effort.”

Walker finished his drink, then looked at her. “Ben was like a puppy. He was always sniffing around, wanting to be friends. He wanted to hang out together, do things.”

She read the truth in his eyes. “You didn’t.”

“He was a kid. We had nothing in common.”

“You feel guilty.”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“Is finding Ashley going to make up for what you didn’t do while he was alive?”

“No,” he said simply, “but it might let me sleep at night.”

His pain called to her. Maybe it was a female thing. Maybe it was a mom thing. Or maybe it was just how she felt when she was around him. Regardless of the cause, she put down her drink and moved closer.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, cupping his face in her hands and staring into his dark eyes. “You didn’t kill him.”

“It should have been me.”

“You keep saying that. It’s not as if the bullet had your name on it. It was circumstances, a quirk of fate. Yes, it’s horrible that Ben’s dead, but your suffering doesn’t bring him back. Based on the little you’ve told me about him, he wouldn’t want you doing it, either.”

“I don’t know. I think he might get a kick out of it.”

“Don’t be smart with me, mister.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Or you’ll what?”

In less time that it took for light to travel across the room, the mood shifted. What had been friendly and sharing became charged with emotion and sexual energy.

She was aware of how close they were, how she leaned against him and how her fingers touched his face. She could feel his heat and the stubble on his cheeks. His gaze locked with hers, drawing her in, grabbing her with the erotic threat of never letting her go.

Suddenly she didn’t want to be let go. She was tired of being sensible and thinking things through. Yes, he was the wrong man, but so what? She was used to that. She would deal with the consequences later.

She shifted so that she was on her knees, then dropped her hands to his shoulders. At the same time, she leaned in and pressed her mouth against his.

He had to have known what she was going to do and for a second she wondered if he would resist. But the instant her mouth brushed his, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. Then she was sprawled across him, his tongue in her mouth and his hands everywhere.

He kissed her deeply, sensually, plunging into her as he mimicked the act of lovemaking. At the same time, he ran his palms up and down her legs. His long fingers seemed to touch every inch of her as they moved teasingly close to the apex of her thighs, then drifted away.

She clung to him, needing to hold something solid as her mind darted from sensation to sensation. She hadn’t been with a man since she’d left Neil and given birth to Zoe. Long-dead nerve endings exploded to life and begged for the sustenance of Walker’s touch.

Her breasts swelled and her nipples got so hard, they hurt. Between her legs she felt a gush of moisture. Her insides were heavy.

He broke the kiss and nibbled his way along her jaw. She tilted her head to give him more access, inviting him to continue. At the same time she longed to rip off her clothes so they could get right to it. She was ready-hell, she’d been ready for years.

He put his hands on her waist and urged her to sit up. Not sure what he was doing, she complied, only to have him shift toward the center of the sofa and then position her so she straddled him.

At first the beauty of the situation escaped her. Then, as she leaned in to kiss him and she felt his hands slide from her waist up her rib cage, it all became clear.

Even as his tongue circled hers, teasing, playing, inviting, he cupped her breasts. His large hands covered her curves. Exquisite pressure had her moaning. Every inch of her was so sensitized, she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of him touching her like that. When he brushed his thumbs against her nipples, it was all she could do not to scream.

Sensation rocked her. Her skin was on fire, yet she was so hungry, nothing was enough. She deepened their kisses, needing everything he had for her. He met her demands and clamped his lips around her tongue, then sucked hard.

More, she thought frantically. She needed more.

He read her mind, or maybe just the way she writhed against him. While he kept one hand on her breast, he moved the other between her legs.

Even through the layers of panties and jeans, she felt the pressure of his fingers. She pressed down and he pressed up and when he found that one spot of pleasure, she groaned.

A very tiny, sensible part of her brain told her this was not a good idea. That she would regret this later. But the part of her that had done without for so long didn’t really give a damn.

So when he unfastened the button on her jeans, she didn’t protest. And when he moved her to one side, she helped push them down. And when he slipped to the floor between her legs, turned to face her and bent low to kiss her intimately between her thighs, she could only breathe a prayer of thanksgiving.

The man knew what he was doing, she thought in relief as he pressed his tongue against her swollen center. He moved slowly, leisurely, forcing her to keep pace with him when her choice would have been to run as fast as possible to the finish.

He circled around, then returned to that one spot and began to lick it over and over. At the same time, he slipped a finger inside of her and rotated it.

One finger. That was all, but it was enough. Her muscles clamped around it and held on. Deep in her belly she felt a pulsing kind of tension. The kind that warned her she wasn’t going to hold on for very long.

“No,” she moaned. “Not yet.” She had to make this last longer than thirty seconds.

But she couldn’t. Not when he continued to rub his flat tongue against her sensitive flesh and she could feel his hot breath on her. Not when he thrust in and out of her, teasing her into an arousal that was surely going to make her explode.

She clutched the edge of the sofa and tried to think of something mundane. Laundry. Yeah, laundry. Then she imagined him taking off his clothes so she would do the laundry. She imagined him hard and naked and plunging into her and she was gone.

At the first contraction, she drew her legs apart, exposing all of herself to him. She moaned, she held in a scream, she begged him never to stop.

When she’d wrung every last bit of pleasure from the experience, she put her feet on the floor and wondered what on earth she was supposed to say. Getting naked hadn’t been on her to-do list, despite all the fantasies she’d had about him.

He rested a forearm on her bare thigh, kissed her belly and said, “I’d like to take credit for that, but I think it’s more a reflection of how long you’ve been out of the game.”

She felt a blush climbing her cheeks. “Yes, well, I’m sure it’s both.”

He rubbed his thumb across her mouth. “It just happened, Elissa. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Which meant what? That it didn’t mean anything to him or there was no pressure?

Her gaze dropped to his very obvious erection. “And for our second act,” she said lightly.

“No second act.”

He stood and then pulled her to her feet. She felt very strange, standing there naked from the waist down.

“I wanted to do that,” he said. “I don’t get to do it enough.”

“But…”

“No buts.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m a guy who doesn’t want to get involved. You’re not the fuck-and-run type.”

Okay, but who would be doing the running? Him or her?

“We can’t just leave you like that,” she said.

“I’ve been through worse.”

“But we could…” Her voice trailed off as she wasn’t sure what she was offering.

“No, we couldn’t. Trust me. This is better.”

And then he was gone. The front door closed behind him, leaving her feeling exposed in more ways than just being undressed.

What had just happened? How could he do that to her and just leave?

REID GLANCED at the résumé in front of him. Sandy Larson, age thirty-five. She had a bunch of initials after her name, which he assumed was a good thing for a nurse.

So far he’d had three interviews with women who were qualified, but didn’t come close to having personalities that could stand up to Gloria. He was already bored with the process, so he was thinking he’d just hire them and call it a day.

Someone knocked on his office door promptly at ten-thirty. He glanced up and saw a tall, large-breasted blonde with big green eyes and a smile that could light up Chicago.