Baby, It's Cold Outside (25 page)

He ignored the heated blood coursing through his veins at the thought.

She lifted a brow and went on. “I’ll let you keep my Hello Kitty underwear as a reminder of what you missed.”

Wes should say no. But, damn it, he’d dreamed of her enough that, when she failed, he wanted
something
to remember this day by.

So instead, he said, “I need to work tomorrow. Which means when you lose, you also have to leave me alone and let me get some sleep.”

“Deal,” she said.

Her quick agreement should have been the second sign that he was in trouble. But there was no way in hell a woman could get his clothes off with ice tongs.

And a big part of him was disappointed.

Evie stepped unbearably closer, and Wes steeled himself against the onslaught of sensual images. Her upper body covered by the still-damp T-shirt and a lacy bra that did a terrible job of shielding the tips of her breasts, Evie dropped the towel from around her waist. Hello Kitty stared at him expectantly from the patch between her thighs. Wes clenched his teeth and forced his gaze back to hers.

Her sultry expression was not reassuring.

Using her tongs, she clasped the loop of leather threaded through his belt buckle and tugged. When the strap wouldn’t give, her brow furrowed.

A look that really shouldn’t have been so endearing.

After several jerks without success, her furrow grew deeper, and Wes couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “You can give up now if you want. Save face and keep me from gaining custody of Hello Kitty when you lose.”

But the teasing tone was his third—and fatal—mistake.

She shot him a libido-piercing look and adjusted her grip on the tongs. With a tug, she slipped the looped leather from the buckle. Another hard pull at just the right angle, and the catch slid from the hole in the belt, the strap going slack.

Evie’s eyes glowed as she yanked the leather free from his pants and the belt fell to the floor with a
plop
.

Wes concentrated on not coming unglued.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, voice clearly delighted. “I guess the fates have finally decided to smile on me.”

God help him.

“I should have left you in that snowbank,” he said darkly.

Pink lip between her teeth, a line of concentration on her brow, Evie grasped the front of his pants with the tongs and pulled. The catch loosened and released, and his pulse responded.

“And I should have changed into tight jeans,” he muttered.

Beaming, she stared at his erection, now patently visible beneath the fabric. Her voice was a breathless mix of awe and desire. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

And then she gripped the zipper and pulled, the teeth mutinously giving up their position easily, and the scrape of metal sent a piercing thrill through his body. His gut clenched. Wes fisted his hand.

His pants fell, pooling around his feet.

Tongs in hand, Evie stepped back and admired her handiwork. “My luck has most definitely changed for the better.”

Heart pounding, Wes kept his gaze steady on hers. “Too bad I wear briefs,” he said, managing a wry tone.

“I’ll worry about those in a minute,” she said. “I’m still working out the problem of the buttons on your shirt.”

Despite his vulnerable position, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid ice tongs won’t do you much good there,” he said, leaning his hip against the marble counter.

Evie chewed on the corner of a full lip and set the tongs down. She opened a drawer and pulled out a tiny knife.

He let out a hiss. “Christ.”

She leaned in close, her hips lightly pressed against his, and his body screamed for him to press his erection firmly against her.

Evie slid the knife between the fabric and the top button, and Wes’s breathing grew harsh. “If this is sharp enough,” she said, her voice husky, her proximity robbing him of the ability to think, “your shirt doesn’t stand a chance.”

With time and a bit of pressure, the button gave, pinging to the floor and wrenching Wes’s heart. When she popped a second one, the urge to crush her in his arms grew stronger. Staring down at her, he forced his hands to remain at his side, fixing his stare on the tiny stud at her eyebrow.

“I was kidding,” he said, his voice gruff. His breaths came faster as she worked her way down.

“About what?” she said, sounding breathless herself.

“You never mentioned kitchen utensils.”

“Too late for a confession, Harvard,” she said.

More buttons popped and hit the floor with a
tick
.

More of Wes’s restraint lapsed. Until, finally, his shirt hung open in front. He was faring remarkably well, despite the crippling desire, until Evie spoke again.

“My God, Wes,” she whispered. “Your chest is beautiful.”

And when she placed those soft lips on his pectoral muscle, desire skewered his groin so sharply, Wes couldn’t help it.

He let out an agonized groan.

Wes closed his eyes and concentrated on his harsh breaths as her mouth headed from one side of his chest to the other, trailing damp, openmouthed kisses along the way.

Much more of this and he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.

“Evie,” he said. “You might get more than you bargained for.”

Her lips on his skin twisted the achy pleasure higher, cranking his agonized need tighter.

“I’m hoping I do.” Evie leaned back, sounding remarkably focused given the pulse bounding at her neck. “Though I still have the problem with your underwear.”

With a determined light in her eye, she carefully slipped the tip of the blade beneath one leg of his briefs. He struggled to restrain the blunt curse, chest heaving as she lifted the knife. But instead of cutting, the fabric stretched, refusing to split as it strained against his aching shaft. Frustrated desire firmly gripped his groin. And all the blood left his brain and headed south, to support more urgently needy areas. He clenched his teeth, praying she wouldn’t find a way.

Praying that she
would
.

She reached around him, and the sound of a drawer opening barely registered in his brain.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. And from her tone he knew he was in trouble. “I
have
gained an appreciation for the finer things in life.”

Desire throbbed painfully through his body as he gazed down at her face, his voice rough. “How so?”

With an innocently delivered Cheshire cat grin, Evie held up a small pair of scissors. “Your expensive penthouse suite comes fully equipped for a proper seduction.”

Wes wasn’t sure, but he might have whimpered.

Sweat beaded along his brow, and his chest heaved as she slid the open tip of scissors up one leg, the scrape of metal pricking goose bumps up his spine.

With a few snips, one side of his briefs went slack.

His erection screamed for release as his heart thundered erratically.

Once more he tried to warn her, his voice almost a growl. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Wide, decadent eyes held his as she switched the scissors to the other hand, the now inevitable promising slide of metal on his hip the most erotic sensation he’d ever felt.

“Well,” she said, “you’re not me.”

With one final snip, the briefs released his shaft and fell, and years of fantasies involving the delectable Evie came crashing down.

With a crude curse, Wes crushed his lips to hers.

Chapter Four

Wes’s mouth captured her gasp, and Evie’s heart rolled over and went a submissive belly-up as his lips consumed hers. The kiss was fierce. Raw. And Evie relished the arrival of the wild, primal man beneath the responsible, do-right exterior.

All pretense of patience gone, Wes speared his fingers through her hair and forced her head back, taking more of her mouth, thrilling her with his actions. His tongue rasped against hers, demanding everything. As if he could merge his body with hers with his lips and strength of will alone. As if he’d never get enough. As if she was all he’d ever need again.

Lost, Evie basked in a kiss that made her feel what she hadn’t in a very long time. Wanted. And what she’d never quite felt before.

Irresistible
.

Wes pulled away.

“Wes—”

“Don’t.” His gaze burned into hers as he yanked at her Hello Kitty underwear and pushed the fabric to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her shirt and bra. “You’ve had your turn,” he said gruffly. “Now I’m going to engage in my favorite pastime.”

Her lids stretched so wide he must have seen the question.

His dark eyes bored into hers, his breathing harsh. “Telling you what to do,” he answered.

She didn’t have time to laugh because, with a determined swipe, he swept the utensils from the marble bar, brushing aside her short-lived amusement in exchange for a roaring desire. And, as the gadgets clanged against the floor, he gripped her hips and hauled her up on the counter.

His first order came out brusque. “Take off your shirt.”

Fingers fumbling, she jerked the fabric over her head. His teeth nipped her lower lip as she dropped the tee, before taking her mouth again and leaving her head spinning. For a moment all she could manage was to keep up with another soul-searing, devastating kiss that threatened to devour her.

“Bra,” he rasped.

Evie released the clasp and chucked the undergarment aside. Pulling back, his gaze fiercely appreciative of the view, he lowered his head. When his mouth closed around a nipple, her throat clamped tight, the thrill cutting off her breath.

And liquid heat pooled between her legs.

Frantic, desperate, she clutched the cabinet door handles behind her head as his lips, teeth, and tongue worshipped her breasts with such a single-minded determination she couldn’t tell who enjoyed it more—her…or him.

The ache between her legs grew acute. Wes was just what she craved. A man she could trust, who was dependable. The kind of guy who watched over her when she was at her most vulnerable, but who burned with a passion so powerful it slayed all thoughts of treating her with kid gloves. He took her to places she’d never been before. Pushed her to very edge of her limits. Protective when he had to be protective.

Fierce when she needed him to be fierce.

From her breast, his third command rumbled against her sensitized skin. “My shirt.”

His mouth still working its magic, she complied. Her hands slipped under the fabric and slid down hot, hard shoulders, his muscles bulging and lengthening beneath her palms as he shifted to help push his shirt to the floor.

Once freed, his hands moved to her legs, his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh. Evie bit her lip.

“Wes, please,” she breathed, arching her back.

“Not yet,” he said. He flicked his tongue across a nipple as he brushed a thumb across her slick center.

She whimpered, the sound alien as she held her legs open, desperate for him to end the agony that held her tightly in its grip. As he continued to drive her mad with want, his thumb on her nub, mouth relentless on her breasts, strangled sounds came from her throat. Her mind went blank, numb with pleasure.

“Evie,” Wes said, his voice barely penetrating her consciousness. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” As if realizing that her brain was too far gone to function, he gripped her butt more securely, his voice firm. “
Evie
.”

Acting on instinct and one hundred percent desperation, she did as told, locking her ankles behind his back.

His sure swift thrust sent her pleasure skyrocketing. There was no time to think. To react. To breathe.

Clearly he burned as brightly as she did.

And all she could do was
feel
. The focus of his raw power between her legs driving her higher. The faint smell of cologne, heated by his body and tinged with sweat. His shoulders damp beneath her fingers, the muscles hard beneath her nails as she urged him on. One hand at her hips, his other fisted in her hair, positioning her mouth to be consumed by his as surely as his body did the rest of her.

With power.

And with absolute authority.

As if he’d humored her by allowing her to seduce him, but now was hell-bent on showing her who was in control.

The gathering sensory storm raged on as their hips arched in a rhythm that built in intensity, and a small cry escaped her mouth, absorbed by his hard lips. Pleasure clogged her throat—the promise of an orgasm so significant, the potential was almost frightening. Hungry, eager, she began to writhe against him, pleading for completion.

And, as if he’d been waiting for her to beg, hand still in her hair, he raised his lips from hers. Thick lashes heavy, his eyes dark, he pumped his hips hard, forcing her off the cliff. Sending her free-falling into a climax so bright, so hot, she pulsed with pure, white light.

…

“I thought Evie was with you, Wes?” Dan Burling asked the next day as he sank onto his parents’ living room couch. “I came by to offer moral support during her reunion with Mom and Dad, but she hasn’t arrived yet. My phone calls keep going to her voice mail. Where is she?”

Ah, yes. The million-dollar question.

Wes took a seat across from Evie’s brother. “I assumed she’d be here by now.”

Waking this morning to an empty bed had been shocking as hell, especially after the night they’d shared. Wes’s experiences with one-night stands were limited to the single episode. It had been, bar none, the most memorable evening of his life. He was pretty sure that was more a reflection of their chemistry than of the current barren state of affairs of his life. And while he’d tried to brush her disappearance off as a predictable Evie move, somehow, after getting to know her better, he knew there was more vulnerability in the escape than any real callous recklessness.

Yes, after several hours of contemplation, Wes recognized Evie’s maneuver for what it was.

Panic.

And with her brother’s brown eyes fixed on Wes’s face, and the memory of how he’d jerked Evie into his arms—and the steamy events that followed—he could sympathize with the feeling.