Everywhere and Every Way(33)

She panted hard, and he leaned in. Their breath mingled, and he caught  the scent of clean peppermint, the tightening of her nipples against the  thin fabric, the way her pupils dilated when she was turned on. And  yeah, she was turned on, and this time he didn't have the strength to  back off and make proper conversation or polite excuses.

Game on.

"You are an idiot if you think by heaven or hell you'd get me into bed.  Look at us! We're totally different. We'd kill each other."

"Nah, we'd be too busy fucking each other."

Her sharp intake of breath was sexy as hell. He'd pushed, but so had  she, and it was time to sample what he'd been fantasizing about for a  while. Her lower lip trembled, and she practically hissed with catlike  spite, but Caleb sensed the arousal underneath and her desperate need to  not think anymore. The pink flush of her skin, her hard nipples, the  trembling of her hands, the musky scent between her thighs. Had she ever  had a man just take what he wanted from her? Or was she so used to  proper, she'd forgotten how much fun it was to be uncivilized?

"You-you-you're so crude!"

He laughed low and tangled his fingers in her hair. Twisting firmly, he  held her head and tugged back. "That the best you got?" he asked. He  pressed a kiss to her temple, teasing, then one to her cheek. Her skin  burned, telling him she liked it.

"You-you-you're a Neanderthal!"

He nipped the sensitive curve of her neck, tugged on her earlobe. The  whole time she shook underneath him, not pushing him away, telling him  she needed this dominance for a moment to get out of her head. "Not much  better. We've both been thinking about this for a long time,  sweetheart, ever since we kissed. I know you had a bad night, but I can  make it better."

She sucked in her breath, and a moan caught in her throat as he pressed  light, teasing kisses over her cheek. "That's a terrible line. Awful. I  deserve better."

God, he loved that prim and proper tone. Having her say dirty things to  him in that voice was his secret fantasy. But the time for fun and games  was over, because he had to taste her again. Now.

"I promised I wouldn't touch you."

She stilled under his hands. Tension crackled in the air. He waited a beat.

"I lied."

With one firm pull, he drew her head back and crushed his lips to hers.

Cal never had a chance. She engulfed him with her scent and touch and  flavor, and he surrendered to the experience without a fight. Opening  her lips without hesitation, she took each thrust of his tongue with  heat and passion and gave it all back. Being devoured like he was every  fantasy she had, his head spun at her honest, raw reaction to his kiss.  Her arms wrapped tight around his back, holding him to her; he made a  primitive moan and released her head to grip her hips, pulling her hard  against his erection.

She went crazy under him, rocking her hips, digging her nails into his  upper shoulders, and kissing him back with a seething hunger he'd never  experienced, as if she were drowning and he was the one to save her,  making him feel like the fucking hero of every comic book out there.

God, he wanted more.

Swallowing her whimpers, he slid one hand under her T-shirt and hit bare  skin. Thanking heaven above for the gift, he stroked her breast,  tweaking a hard nipple with his thumb, cupping the glorious weight in  his palm. Like he was plugged into a generator, she lit up under his  touch, arching beneath every stroke until he pushed her down to the  floor to lie flat, with every intention of ripping off her shirt,  tugging down her panties, and taking her right here, right now, until  neither of them remembered their names.

"Ah, shit! Sorry!"

The familiar male voice rang out, but it took a while for Cal to  process. He was too deep in the moment, with a head stuffed with cotton  and a raging erection from the woman beneath him. Nothing mattered  except his readiness to dive deep and forget about anything else but  claiming her for his.

But Morgan stiffened beneath him, going so still, he wondered if she'd become a statue. And then it hit him.

Son of a bitch. Tristan was home.

Slowly, he tugged down her shirt, removed his hand, and shifted so he  covered most of the view. "It's past midnight. Why are you here?"

Tristan slapped his hand over his eyes and backed away from the counter.  "I'm not here. Go back to what you were doing, I didn't see a thing.  Hi, Morgan."

Her voice came out strangled. "Hi, Tristan."         

     



 

"I came for my wine. Umm, is there leftover peach pie?"

Cal let out an irritated breath. "I ate it."

"Dude, I only had a piece."

"Dalton ate most of it. There's a bag of Ruffles in the pantry. Take that instead, then go."

His brother ducked his head to grab the bag of chips, keeping his eyes  covered the whole time. This was ridiculous. The mood was completely  broken, and he was screwed in an entirely new way. The bad way. Not the  good way.

"Is there dip?"

"Tristan!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm gone. Carry on."

His brother disappeared with the chips and a bottle of very expensive  red. Okay, how was he gonna save this situation? "Sweetheart, let me-"

She threw her hand up in the air, halting him midsentence. "No, Cal,  don't. I've gotten arrested for prostitution, thought I hurt a dog, made  out with my business partner on the kitchen floor, and found myself  half-naked in a compromising position by your brother. I'm exhausted,  embarrassed, confused, and still turned on from one of the best kisses  I've ever had. I'm going to bed. Alone. See you in the morning."

Pivoting on her bare heel, head held high like Queen Elizabeth, she stalked out and left him alone.

Cal grinned. Best kiss ever, huh?

Oh, yeah. Morgan Raines was gonna be a hell of a lot of trouble. But also a hell of a lot of fun.





chapter twelve







Morgan dragged in a deep breath and climbed out of the car. Gripping her  clipboard way too tight, she tried to calm her galloping heart. With  each step toward Caleb, the events of that night roared in her memory in  vivid, blasting neon.

His body pinning hers. Legs tangled, mouths fused, that delicious  pounding heat between her legs that drowned out every reasonable  thought. She'd wanted to give him anything and everything, everywhere  and every way. When was the last time she'd ever felt so needed? Like  she was the only thing in the world that would slake his hunger? That  type of power was addictive. And it had only been a kiss. If he took her  to bed, would she lose not only her body but her mind? Soul? And, God  forbid, her heart?

She shivered in the blast of sun. She'd played with the idea of engaging  in an affair, but after that kiss, Morgan changed her mind. It was too  complicated. She wasn't a gambler with her love life. How bad she craved  to be one of those kick-ass, fearless women who could take her pleasure  and walk away in a few months unscarred.

But she wasn't. She couldn't lie to herself. If she took Cal as her  lover, he'd end up sneaking past her defenses, and they'd both end up  hurt. The project would eventually suffer-how could it not? Regret  flooded her but there was no other way to protect herself. Better to  know and accept her limitations than leap for something that would only  cause pain. Her job forced her to live like a nomad, and she liked it.  At the end of the project, what if she got attached to Cal? How would  she handle it? Even worse, the possibility that she'd fall for him and  he'd walk away without a backward glance sliced deep. No, the gamble  held bad odds. She had four months left to build this house and needed  to focus. Involving herself in a fling with a man who could snatch her  heart wasn't wise.

She reached the site. Her mouth dried up as she watched him swipe his  forehead and stride toward her. Strands of umber hair fell messily over  his forehead and stuck up in odd places. His navy-blue T-shirt was damp  with sweat, his muscles solid and tanned from the endless sun. Worn  jeans hugged every hard curve with loving efficiency. Now she knew how  good those thighs felt pressing her body to the hard ground. His  gunmetal eyes glowed fierce and hot, touching her with their gaze,  reminding her of every hidden place his fingers had stroked.

He stopped in front of her and scowled. Those full lips turned down. "You snuck out. Didn't even let me make you breakfast."

Morgan tried nonchalance. "I had a lot to do."

"How'd you get home?"

She blinked. "Cab."

He leaned in. His jaw tightened. "I got worried. I would've driven you home."

She loved his masculine code of chivalry, but she was used to taking  care of herself. She'd freaked out a bit over the kiss. It was as if  they'd formed a tight bond that went beyond a simple make-out session.  The hotel seemed a much better place to wake up in. "Worried I didn't  get to sample your five-star French toast breakfast?"

He studied her face, then shook his head. Muttered under his breath  something about stubborn women. "I'm sorry about my brother. Sorry if I  pushed too far. I lose my head around you."