Talking Dirty With the Boss(44)
Dear God, what had he been thinking having her here? The woman was trouble. Pure, undiluted trouble.
“I go to the racetrack at Hampton Downs,” he said tersely. “I wouldn’t take them on the open road. You can’t go fast enough and it’s too dangerous. Not to mention illegal.”
Marisa straightened and turned around to lean against the side of the Jag, the gleam in her eyes even wickeder. “You know, you’re kind of sneaky, McNamara. You seem like this uptight, proper, sensible guy but underneath you’re a secret bad boy.”
Ridiculously, he found himself rather liking this assessment of himself. “Because I have a few cars?”
“Not any old cars. Fast, sexy cars.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, when can I have a drive?”
He rounded the end of the Ferrari and came over to where she stood, knowing it was a bad thing to do but he couldn’t stop himself. “You can’t. No one drives my cars but me.”
“Aww, that’s no fair. Not even a teeny, tiny drive?”
She had the most delectable mouth. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. He remembered how she tasted, too: spicy and hot, yet sweet at the same time. But then that was Marisa, wasn’t it? She was spicy all right, not to mention sexy. And yet there was an unexpected, vulnerable, sweet side to her, too.
He put his hands in his pockets, trying to control the urge to touch her gripping him like the most insistent of his compulsions. He’d told her he would control himself and he would. He had to, didn’t he?
Do you? Do you really?
A thought occurred to him. A dangerous thought, powered by the reckless edge he tried to keep locked away. Perhaps by denying this need he was doing the opposite of managing it. Perhaps, like his compulsions, denying it would make it worse.
In which case, in order to manage it, control it, he should be indulging it.
What about work? You have to keep your hands off her otherwise you’re breaking the rules.
Today was Sunday. And they weren’t at work. Tomorrow it would be a different story, but today…
The thought sat there in his head and he couldn’t let it go.
He could have her right now. Right here if he wanted. Spread her out on the bonnet of one of his cars, the Ferrari for example. Golden hair and golden skin all over the red metal…
“Uh-oh,” Marisa murmured. A flush had crept over her cheekbones, her eyes dark. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
No, of course he wasn’t. And having her here on the car would be madness. She’d make a mess of the paintwork for a start.
Yet still he found himself taking a step toward her. “And what do you think I’m thinking?”
“I think you’re thinking about sex.” Her voice had gotten breathless. “You’ve got that hungry ‘I must have sex now’ look about you.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“Perhaps you better not.”
“This is the problem. I’m not sure I can stop.”
Her gaze locked with his. “I thought you said you could manage it.”
“I thought I could.” He took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. “But it’s getting harder and harder.”
“Hmmm, so it would appear,” she said, her gaze dropping down.
“That is not helping.” He reached out, took her chin in his fingers, and tipped her head back. “I think we’re managing this wrong. Ignoring it is not working.”
She made no effort to get away from him, her eyes wide and dark. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her, letting his thumb trace the line of her lower lip, outlining the curve of it. She was so soft. So unbelievably soft. Just the way she’d been when he’d lost his head and taken her in the supply room. Melting into him, giving and generous. He didn’t know why that appealed to him so much when the women he preferred were self-contained, serious types. Women who didn’t care that he never told them about himself and who weren’t interested in finding out. Women who wanted something physical but nothing more. Women who didn’t mind when he ended it after two weeks because two weeks was all he could manage to hide the OCD for.
She didn’t pull away from his touch so he did it again, watching her shiver as his thumb brushed her mouth.
“Perhaps indulging is the answer,” he said quietly.
“But we did that last time, though. I mean, that’s the whole reason I’m pregnant now, after all.”
“Only once, remember? Maybe once isn’t enough. Maybe it’s an itch we need to scratch a couple more times.”