Susan Mallery - Only Yours

He began walking again, only to stop when he was a few feet in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

His tone was neutral. There wasn’t any emotion in his eyes. She shook her head. That wasn’t true. Plenty of emotions swirled in his eyes, she just couldn’t read them.

“I heard that you’d been in surgery most of the day. You haven’t gotten a break at all or a chance to eat.” She held up the bag. “You must be exhausted. I brought you dinner. It’s from the Fox and Hound. They make a great stew. And there’s bread and a salad.”

“Aren’t you feeding me tomorrow?”

“That’s my mom. This is from me.”

Okay, so this hadn’t been her best idea. The poor man probably thought she was stalking him. She wished she could think of something clever to say. Something smart and funny. Anything that would stop him from staring at her.

“I didn’t know you were a triplet,” he said.

“For as long as I can remember.” She smiled. “I have three brothers, so there were six of us. My mother stayed amazingly sane despite the chaos.”

“You must’ve been impossible to tell apart when you were younger.”

“We were. It was fun. Now we try to be different.”

“You outgrew the need to try to fool everyone?”

The tension in her body faded away. Well, that wasn’t completely true. The nervous tension was gone, but a different kind took its place.

She was aware of Simon standing close to her. Of the lines of weariness around his mouth and eyes. But even with the exhaustion, he had an energy that drew her. She wanted to step into his embrace and hold him against her. She wanted his mouth on hers, taking her the way he had before, as if he couldn’t help himself. No one had ever wanted her like that. Being desired was more seductive than she had ever known.

“By the time we were teenagers, we were ready to be more distinct.” She tilted her head. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

He said the single word with great finality. As if there would be no more discussion about family. At least not his.

While she was trying to figure out what to say next, he opened his car and took the food from her. After setting it on the passenger seat, he straightened and faced her.

“I don’t think coming to dinner tomorrow is a good idea,” he said. “I’m not the family type.”

She didn’t know very much about him. Finding out he was an only child practically doubled her knowledge pool. But sometimes she was good at guessing about people. Her gut told her Simon spent most of his life alone, even when he was around others.

“There’s no entrance exam. It’s dinner. You’ve done dinner before.”

One corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he were going to smile. A flicker of anticipation danced through her.

“Besides,” she continued, “you need a family dinner. It will do you good. Make you less stuffy.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Sometimes. But not in a bad way.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Because there’s a good stuffy?”

“Maybe. It can work if you’re British.”

Now he did smile. His whole face changed as the amusement turned him from merely handsome to completely irresistible. She supposed some women would be put off by his scars, but she barely noticed them.

“I don’t do a very good accent,” he admitted. “Although I have a friend who’s British.”

“You should practice the accent. Because women really love that. Not that the doctor thing isn’t working for you.”

“The doctor thing?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. There you are, a good-looking doctor. Better yet, a surgeon. You’re like catnip.”

The smile faded. He stared at her with an intensity that made her want to take a step back. She knew she’d said something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what it was. She didn’t think he was mad, exactly. But he was—

He reached for her. His large, strong hands cupped her face, his thumbs lightly caressing her cheekbones. Then he was kissing her, his mouth on hers, claiming her with the passion she remembered from their last kiss.

She was less startled this time, more ready to step closer and lose herself in the feel of his lips against hers.

The heat was familiar, as was the need that rushed from him to her. She surrendered more quickly, putting her hands on his shoulders, then tilting her head so he could deepen the kiss.

She inhaled the scent of skin and night and the faint smell of the dinner she’d brought him. He tasted of coffee and mint. Stubble lightly scraped against her skin.

She was aware of the smooth wool of his suit jacket, the breadth of his shoulders, the tension in his muscles. Then he parted his lips and his tongue swept in to claim her.

It was exactly as she remembered, she thought happily as desire flooded her. The erotic dance, the way he kissed her, as if desperate and starving. She answered stroke for stroke, letting his kiss sweep her away because getting lost had never felt so right.

He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her hard against him. She felt the strength of his body and had a vision of them naked together. Skin on skin. She shivered, her breasts becoming more sensitive, her nipples getting tight. Heat pooled in her belly before slipping lower.

He dropped his hands to her hips. His fingertips lightly grazed the curve of her butt. Her belly came into contact with his groin and she felt his erection.

She instantly wanted to touch him. No, that wasn’t it. She wanted to be on her back, naked, ready. She wanted his mouth everywhere.

The images were so real, for a second she thought she had begged to be taken, standing there in the parking lot. Instead of being embarrassed, she wanted to grab his hands and place them on her breasts or between her legs.

She’d been kissed before, had made love before, but she’d never been so…hungry.

Without warning, Simon stepped back. His breathing was ragged and his expression stark with passion. If he asked her back to his hotel, she wasn’t sure she could say no. Having sex with someone she barely knew wasn’t exactly the wisest thing to do, regardless of how good it would feel.

But he didn’t ask. He apologized. If one could call it that.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly. Then he turned from her and got in his car. As she watched, he started the engine, then drove away.

“A hit-and-run kisser,” she whispered when she was alone. A dangerous man. She would have to be more careful when it came to Simon Bradley. He was the kind of man who could easily break her heart.

TUESDAY AFTERNOON, SIMON stood in the center of his hotel room, not sure what to do. He didn’t usually allow himself to be indecisive. In his line of work, decisions had to be made quickly. He’d learned to trust his instincts, to believe that his training and his ability would guide him. But this wasn’t surgery. This was regular life and he’d never done very well there.

He fully expected Montana to have given her mother some reason why he couldn’t show up. After what had happened yesterday, there was no way she would be waiting for him in the hotel lobby. He hadn’t just kissed her, he’d claimed her. Once again he’d been unable to resist, and this time she’d felt the proof of what she did to him. His inability to restrain himself humiliated him, yet he knew if given the chance he would do it again.

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly four. He’d gone to all the trouble of arranging to leave the hospital early. Either he went through with the damn meal or he went back to work. Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, he made his way downstairs. Even if she didn’t show up, he owed it to her to be waiting. It would be his penance.

But when he stepped into the lobby, she was all he saw. Her long golden-blond hair, tumbling across her shoulders. The pale blue sundress that left her arms and legs bare. She was beautiful and sexy and he wanted her with a desperation that robbed him of speech.

He saw other men glancing at her and wanted to step between them and her. He wanted to announce to all the world that she was his and no one else could have her. The primitive need shocked him. He wasn’t that man. He was always in control.

Except with her.

She saw him and smiled, then walked toward him. Her hips swayed, enticing him. Every movement was sensual, a siren’s call to pleasure.

“Look at you, wearing jeans again. You’re doing it to mess with my head, aren’t you? We both know you’re much more the suit type.”

Because that was how she saw him. What was it she had said? That he had a stick up his ass?

“About yesterday,” he began.

She shook her head. “Don’t you dare apologize. You can’t kiss like that and then say you’re sorry. Because if you really are sorry, I’ll have to punch you hard in the stomach. I’ve accepted that you’re a hit-and-run kisser. Luckily for you, you’re the best one around.”

“There are others?”

She laughed. “No. Just you.”

He could see she wasn’t angry. If anything, she was teasing him. He’d hoped she enjoyed kissing him. She’d kissed him back—he’d felt her response. But he didn’t know if he’d taken it too far. While that wasn’t an excuse for his behavior, her acceptance made him feel a little better.

She placed her hand on his chest. He supposed it was casual, or at least intended to be. But he felt the heat of her touch burning down to his soul.

“You should do that more often,” she said, staring up at him.

“Kiss you?”