High-Powered, Hot-Blooded(14)

"I like to keep things simple."

"Beige is the universal male color. Or so I've heard."

She followed him into the sitting area. Or great room. She wasn't sure  what it was called. The leather furniture looked comfortable enough and  there were plenty of small tables. She put her purse on a chair and set  the box on the table next to it. Duncan walked into the open kitchen.

"Want some wine?" he asked.

"Sure."

He looked back at her, his eyes bright with humor. "It's not in a box."

She laughed. "Lucky me."

While he poured, she brought out her decorations. There were three  musical snow globes with different holiday settings. Two flameless  candles that sat on painted bases. Some garland, a snowman liquid soap  dispenser and a nativity scene. The last was still in the box, the small  porcelain figures protected.

She glanced around the room. The candles and the garland could go on the  dining table. The snow globes fit on the windowsill. Duncan didn't seem  to have any blinds to get in the way. She spotted a hall bathroom and  put the soap there, then set up the nativity display on the table under  the massive T V. When she was done, Duncan handed her a glass of wine.

"Very nice," he said. "Homey."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

She couldn't tell if he meant it or not. "I wanted to bring a tree, but wasn't sure you were the type."

"My housekeeper would be unamused."

She wasn't surprised.

"Want to see the rest of the place?" he asked.

She looked around at the open room, the tall ceilings, and resisted the need to say "There's more?" Instead she nodded.

Next to the half bath she'd noticed was a guest room. It was bigger than  any two bedrooms at her house, but that no longer surprised her. On the  other side of the bath was a study. The walls were paneled, a big wood  desk stood in the middle, but what caught her attention were the  trophies on the built-in bookcases. There were dozens of them, some  small, some large. A few were of boxing gloves, but most were figures of  a man boxing.         

     



 

"You won these," she said, not really asking a question.

He nodded and sipped his wine.

She crossed the carpeted floor to read a few of the engravings. Each  trophy had his name. There were dates and locations. She also saw medals  in glass cases.

"I don't get it," she said, facing him. "Why do people want to hit each other?"

The corners of his mouth turned up. "It's not all about hitting. There's  an art to it. A talent. You need power but also smarts. When to hit and  where. You have to out-think your opponent. It's not all about size.  Determination and experience play a part."

"Like in business," she said.

"The skill set translates."

She wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't it hurt when you get hit?"

"Some. But my uncle raised me. Boxing is what I knew. Without it, I would have just been some kid on the streets."

"You're saying hitting people kept you from being bad?"

"Something like that. Put down your glass."

She set it on the desk. He did the same, then stepped in front of her.

"Hit me," he said.

She tucked both hands behind her back. "I couldn't."

The amusement was back. "Do you actually think you can hurt me?"

She eyed his broad chest. "Probably not. And I might hurt myself."

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, then unfastened his tie. In one of  those easy, sexy gestures, he pulled it free of his collar and tossed it  over a chair.

"Raise your hands and make a fist," he said. "Thumbs out."

Feeling a little foolish, she did as he requested. He stood in front of her again, this time angled, his left side toward her.

"Hit me," he said. "Put your weight behind it. You can't hurt me."

"Are you challenging me?"

He grinned. "Think you can take me?"

Not on her best day, but she was willing to make the effort. She punched him in the arm. Not hard, but not lightly.

He frowned. "Anytime now."

"Funny."

"Try again. This time hit me like you mean it or I'll call you a girl."

"I am a girl."

She punched harder this time and felt the impact back to her shoulder. Duncan didn't even blink.

"Maybe I'd do better at tennis," she murmured.

"It's all about knowing what to do." He moved behind her and put his  hands on her shoulders. "You want to bend your knees and keep your chin  down. As you start the punch, think about a corkscrew." He demonstrated  in slow motion.

"That will give you power," he said. "It's a jab. A good jab can make a boxer's career. Lean into the punch."

She was sure his words were making sense, but it was difficult for her  to think with him standing so close. She was aware of his body just  inches from hers, of the strength and heat he radiated. There were so  many responsibilities in her life, so many people depending on her. The  need to simply relax into his arms was powerful.

Still, she did her best to pay attention, and when he stepped in front  of her again so she could demonstrate, she did her best to remember what  he'd said.

This time, she felt the impact all the way up her arm. There was a  jarring sensation, but also the knowledge that she'd hit a lot harder.

"Did I bruise you?" she asked, almost hoping he would say yes, or at least rub his arm.

"No, but that was better. Did you feel the difference?"

"Yes, but I still wouldn't want to be a boxer."

"Probably for the best. You'd get your nose broken."

She dropped her arms to her sides. "I wouldn't want that." She leaned closer. "Have you had your nose broken?"

"A couple of times."

She peered at his handsome face. "I can't tell."

"I was lucky."

She put her hand on his chin to turn his head. He looked away, giving  her a view of his profile. There was a small bump on his nose. Nothing  she would have noticed.

"You couldn't just play tennis?" she asked.

He laughed, then captured her hand in his and faced her. They were  standing close together, his fingers rubbing hers. She was aware of  every part of him, of the way jolts of need moved up her arm to settle  in other parts of her body.

The knees he'd told her to bend went a little weak. Her mouth went dry.  She shivered slightly, but from cold. His eyes darkened slightly as he  seemed to loom over her. For the first time in her life, she understood  the statement "getting lost in his eyes."

His gaze dropped to her mouth. He swallowed.

"Annie."

The word was more breath than sound. She heard the wanting in his voice  and felt an answering hunger burning inside her. There were a thousand  reasons she should run and not a single reason to stay. She knew that  she was the one at risk, knew that he wasn't looking for anything  permanent. But the temptation was too great. Being around Duncan was the  best part of her day.         

     



 

He reached for her and she went willingly into his arms. He kissed her  deeply, claiming her. She responded by parting her lips, wanting all  that he offered. He slipped his tongue inside. She met him stroke for  stroke, feeling the waves of shivers washing through her. Even as his  mouth claimed hers, his hands were everywhere. Tracing the length of her  spine, squeezing the curve of her butt, sliding up her hips to her  waist.

There was a confidence to Duncan, a sureness that allowed her to relax.  His strength made her want to surrender, because being around him was  inherently safe.

She raised her hands to his shoulders, feeling the smoothness of his  shirt against her palms. She brushed the back of his neck, then slid her  fingers through his short dark hair. When he moved his hands up her  sides, toward her breasts, she tensed in anticipation.

There was no fumbling, no hesitation. He cupped her curves in his palms,  then used his thumb and forefinger to gently tease her tight nipples.

Sensations shot through her. As he brushed her nipples again and again,  she found it difficult to breathe. She sucked on his tongue, then  plunged into his mouth, taking as well as giving. She moved her hands up  and down his back, feeling his strength. There were muscles everywhere.  She supposed she could have been afraid, but she wasn't. Not of him.

He found the zipper to her dress and drew it down. She pulled back  enough to shrug out of the short sleeves. The dress pooled at her feet.  Wearing nothing but bikini panties and a low-cut bra, she gazed into his  eyes. The fire there, the raw wanting, gave her courage. She looked  lower and saw his erection.

Annie had always been a shy lover. She preferred the lights off and not a  lot of talking. She hoped for the best and was understanding when the  man in question seemed confused about what to do for her. She'd never  found the act of making love anything other than … nice.

Watching Duncan's face tighten with need gave her a courage she hadn't  realized she had. Holding his gaze with her own, she reached behind her  and unfastened her bra. When it fell, a muscle in his cheek twitched.  She reached for his hands, took them in hers, then brought them to her  bare breasts.