A Man for the Summer (6 page)

At the same time, much of the antique furniture was draped in what he took to be her wardrobe, gauzy skirts and blouses tossed next to Indian madras and Mexican embroidery and a host of other textiles he’d never seen before. A bureau held a collection of beer steins; on the wall hung a dozen or so photographs of a motley assortment of smiling people, at least half of them red-heads.

It wasn’t a little girl’s room any longer. And it was unmistakably all Junior.

“I like it,” he said simply.

“Good.”

Junior held his hand and walked slowly backwards, her steps sure and nimble on the smooth wooden floor. When she bumped against the bed she sat gracefully down and then pulled him down beside her.

He landed with less grace. The room. The bed. Her perfume. It was all he could do to keep from rolling on top of her and taking her, he wanted her so badly.

No.
This night was for Junior.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, and she met his lips eagerly. She twined her hands around his neck and hooked a leg between his, and before he could catch his balance, he found himself somehow on his back.

Junior rolled on top of him and fit herself against him, and it was a good fit, a very, very good fit.

Except for one thing.

“Junior—” he grunted, easing a hand down to lift her away from his erection. “I’m sorry, I can’t really help it—”

She pushed his hand away impatiently and replaced it with her own, and Griff nearly lost control when he felt her settle her fingers on him.

And squeeze.

“Nice,” she said, admiration in her voice.

Geez, she was like a kid in a candy store, checking him out. Her fingers explored, gently caressing, and Griff fought to stay focused.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I thought I could…touch you…slowly of course…”

He managed to maneuver himself safely out of the way of her explorations. Junior obligingly allowed Griff to switch places with her, stretching luxuriously in the rumpled bed linens. For good measure Griff grabbed her hands and held them up above her head, out of the way of trouble.

He looked down at her, and the moonlight played over her skin prettily, dusting sparkles along her arms, her throat.

He tentatively placed a palm over her breast, felt her nipple harden in response. Gently he eased a thumb in a slow arc. She arched against him and moaned deep in her throat. He experimented with his touch, slower, softer, faster, and she matched him with delicious murmured responses.

Griff caught his breath. She was amazing, incredibly sensitive, and unafraid to give herself up to pleasure. Not many woman responded like that. It was his dream come true, and Griff had to have more.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice hoarse, “your breasts. Let me help you take off your top.”

But she beat him to it. In one smooth yank she had the stretchy white fabric over her head, and flung it across the room.

So much for asking permission. Griff bent to taste her, and as his tongue laved circles at her nipple, she laced her fingers in his hair and guided him.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moaned. “Like that. Uh huh. More.”

Her running commentary was turning him on beyond belief, but at the same time questions nagged at him. Junior knew what she liked, and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it, but where had she gotten all that experience? Griff decided she must have made her way around the bases pretty damn often for never having scored a home run.

The high school metaphor flashed through his mind, trailing shame. He was pawing at her just like a kid in the back seat of his father’s car. Griff choked back his desire with a groan.
Slow down
.
He forced himself to concentrate on her face, her heavy-lidded eyes clouded with desire, her lips parted slightly as her breathing quickened.

“Don’t stop now,” she whispered.

Before he could fully enjoy her sweet, hot words she slid her legs apart and eased his torso between, rubbing against him in tempo with his attentions.

“Your turn,” she murmured, tugging his shirt out of his waistband. “Fair’s fair.”

And things got away from him. He meant to pause, to take a little time out, re-gain control of the situation. But somehow she had turned the tables on him, and he found himself caught up in the pull of her, like a leaf in a whirlpool, speeding out of control as it approached the core. Griff allowed her to yank his shirt off, shrugging out of the sleeves, and this time when her fingers found his zipper he didn’t have the wherewithal to protest. Instead he found the waist of her skirt and gave a tug, and she wiggled her hips and slid the gauzy fabric down.

Griff paused. Nearly choked.

“Where…” he began, then stopped. Junior looked up at him expectantly, lips parted slightly.

“Where are…your panties?”

“Oh, that.” Junior laughed. “Didn’t wear any.”

Griff shook his head. He couldn’t have heard right.

“You didn’t—”

“Well, because, I knew what all we had planned tonight,” Junior went on. “And you just can never tell where you’re going to end up with something like this. Besides…”

Her eyes narrowed, and a distinctly feline shrewdness lit her expression.

“…I thought you might like it.”

Like it! Griff was nearly going to lose it, like a teenager, with his pants around his knees.

“Yeah, I like it,” he growled. “God damn, Junior, have you got any idea what you’re doing to me? Of course you don’t, but that almost doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse.”

Junior smiled sweetly and pressed herself against him. She rocked gently, and he felt how hot and wet she was and nearly moaned in pain.

“So, are we gonna do it, or what?” she purred.

And he didn’t exactly dive into her so much as just give in to her wiggling, and the fit was wonderful. As he eased into her she made some very appreciative murmurs that quickly grew in volume.

“Am I hurting you?” Griff said anxiously, using all of his power of concentration to hold himself still.

Then she arched against him and shook her head and pulled on his neck to take him in the deepest, hottest kiss he’d had yet, and there was no more holding back.

He went deeper, deeper, and still she bucked against him and demanded more. She broke the kiss only to moan against his shoulder, her teeth against his skin igniting fresh currents of pleasure.

“Junior. I want you to…” He wanted her to come, wanted to feel her explode around him. But it was her first time.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying again, trying to slow down his pace and stave off the inevitable. The way she writhed against him, it took all his concentration not to just let himself go. “I can—if you just maybe slow down a little—oh Jeez…”

He was momentarily derailed as Junior shifted under him and tangled her long legs around his. But she didn’t stop, oh no, she didn’t stop rocking and demanding and wiggling.

“If you let me maybe, let’s roll over, Junior, and I can, can—”
Can stop reciting the Hail Mary just to make sure I don’t go out of my mind right this second.

“Nope.” Junior smiled at him, a little crookedly, and arched against him again, running her tongue slowly along her lower lip. “I mean, no offense or anything, but I just don’t think it’s going to happen for me tonight. It’s not you, it’s me, really,” she said, giggling as though she found herself very funny. “I mean, it’s that damn champagne. But you go ahead, now.”

Griff’s head was spinning, from the concentration of trying to hold back in the face of a fresh onslaught of sensation. Somehow Junior had managed to work her slim fingers between their bodies and was caressing him in time with the rhythm of her thrusting, finding the incredibly sensitive place at the base of his shaft and—

“Unnnngh,” Griff moaned. “You don’t—but this was supposed to be—I mean I wanted—”

“Shhhhh,” Junior whispered, her lips at his ear. “Honey, don’t give it a thought. I know
exactly
what you want.”

And, as it turned out, she did.

CHAPTER FOUR

Griff popped the top on another diet soda and squinted out the window. It was finally getting lighter out, no doubt about it. He checked his watch: 4:40 am, a time when the only people awake in the world were on their way to the early shift, like waitresses and truck drivers.

And insomniacs.

Which Griff generally wasn’t. In fact, he usually had no trouble at all falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

But it wasn’t every day—or every night—that he took a woman to bed, intending to give her a night to remember, and found himself in way over his head, manhandled like a mouse in the paws of a tiger.

Make that
tigress
. God, she was something. He felt the blood rush to his temples again, just thinking about Junior. Those…
muscles
. The way she gripped him between her thighs and taunted him with those incredibly long strokes, pure magic below him, making him ache, making him beg for satisfaction before arching against him, plunging them both into ecstasy again.

Well. Griff reddened, took a long, deep gulp of the soda. Ecstasy for
him
, anyway. When he’d finally given up and ridden the tide to the most thunderous climax of his life, it was marred only by the knowledge that the woman in his arms was just waiting it out, putting up with him, probably—what, bored? Or worse—

He couldn’t bear to take that thought to its conclusion. Griff wasn’t the type to brag, but never before had any complaints from a lover. Just the opposite. He’d come to view himself as more than adequate, just a fact, like the fact that he was six-foot-two or the fact that his golf score hovered around 80.

The embarrassment was total. Griff stifled a disgusted groan and drained the rest of the can. His…third? Fourth? A tough way to caffeinate, but coffee was out of the question. They had left last night’s pot on for hours and now the bottom was coated with a smoking, gluey mass.

When Junior had nodded off, minutes after…the debacle, it had only been nine-thirty. Which meant that Griff had had seven hours to sit around her kitchen tormenting himself by trying not to think about her.

He’d be gone—out of here, out of this damn town—and well on his way to forgetting all about her, except for a few pesky little details.

Number one: he’d just deflowered a virgin.

Number two: the virgin had mere months to live.

And number three—except there was no number three because he was for damn sure doing his best not to think about it—that virgin had somehow managed to get under his skin.

Staying put was just the right thing to do, Griff reminded himself. Any guy worth his salt would do the same. You hold open a lady’s door, you light her cigarettes, and if you just happen to give her a really crummy first intimate experience, you stick around to apologize.

Crash
.

Griff jerked his head up. The sound had come from upstairs, from Junior’s room, and before he could think twice Griff was bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He careened down the hall and came to a stop in her door frame.

Junior was sitting—stark naked—on the floor, gingerly rubbing her elbow. When she saw him, she blushed deeply, but managed a grin.

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“What the hell was that?” His momentary panic had quickly given way to irritation. It wasn’t her fault, exactly, that she was sitting cross legged without a stitch on. And it wasn’t her fault that the sight was making his blood pound, or that he was suddenly very, very anxious to join her on the floor.

“I tripped. On this.” Dorothy held up one of her clunky sandals, then sighed and tossed it into a corner. “Course I guess my head was spinning a little too. I don’t, y’know, drink much.”

“Got a hangover, do you?” Griff asked, forcing his gaze away from her. He stared very deliberately at the ceiling, the curtain rod. Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them in his pockets.

Hell, next he’d be whistling.

“Uh huh. I think a pretty bad one. I sort of didn’t eat yesterday, either, after lunch.”

Junior got to her feet, and still the woman didn’t seem to notice or care that she was stark naked.

“‘Scuse me,” she mumbled, and gently pushed him aside as she passed.

Griff cleared his throat. “No problem,” he managed to croak.

He waited until the bathroom door shut before he dared to turn around, then bolted back downstairs.

Okay, so she didn’t appear to hold last night against him. So he was off the hook. Right? No harm, no foul. He’d done his best, and even if it hadn’t been perfect, at least she had experienced the touch of a lover, an extremely enthusiastic one at that.

Except –