Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) (6 page)

“I don’t know. Does it?”

He took a quick swig of his beer and put his glass down on the desk as he walked over to join me. “What if I said no?”

“I’m not sure I’d believe you.”

He looked from me to the scattered magazines. I leaned over and slowly pushed the most recent issue of
Maclean’s
onto the floor. He stood in silence for a few seconds, then swept every magazine onto the floor with a flourish. He turned to me, triumphant.

I squealed and flung my arms around his neck to stop myself from falling backward when he whisked me into his arms without warning, but I needn’t have worried. He held me securely, pulling my shoulder forward as he kissed me with wild abandon. He dropped onto the couch, lips still locked onto mine, magazines crunching under our weight as we fell back onto the cushions. His tongue was warm and tasted of Guinness. Absolutely delicious.

He propped himself up on an elbow, brushing my hair off my face. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“You know what I think?” I said.

“What?”

I grabbed the neck of his T-shirt and pulled him toward me. “I think we should talk later.”

He grinned, drawing his legs up onto the couch and pulling me toward him so we were lying side by side.

At last.

He shifted my body slightly, his lips moving against mine. A magazine beneath me crackled and ripped as I rolled onto my back. He pulled away and sighed.

“Move your ass for a sec,” he said.

I lifted my butt, which brought our hips firmly together.

He moaned. “See what you do to me?” He pressed against me and tossed the mangled magazine unceremoniously onto the floor.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said breathlessly. “You’re not the slightest bit neurotic.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

He covered my body with his own, deliberately pressing against me and looking into my eyes. I laced my hands in his hair, closed my eyes, and kissed him, teasing his tongue and enjoying the hoarse sound of his moans as he moved against me in a slow, measured pace.

Bliss. Pure, hot bliss. This was so wrong and so incredibly right. Strangely, I found myself repeating a line from The Lord’s Prayer over and over again in my mind:

Lead us not into temptation, lead us not into temptation…

But it was too late. Temptation was leading
us
, and we were skipping along behind it like a couple of kids chasing an ice cream truck. Who knew a fully-clothed make-out session could be so hot?

His hand traveled from my hip, down my thigh and under my knee. He pulled my leg up, and the button-fly on his jeans rubbed me at just the right angle, at just the right speed, and God help me, in just the right spot. I was losing my grip, forgetting myself as I strained toward him, matching the pace of his movements.

His lips and tongue were everywhere—on my mouth, on my neck, sliding down to the hollow of my throat, grazing my collarbones. My husky breaths joined his desperate moans. I ran my hand down his side and found my way under his T-shirt, sliding my fingertips slowly up the smooth, taut muscles of his back.

Remember this moment. Remember how incredible his skin feels under your fingers as you touch him for the first time
.

“That’s amazing,” he sighed.

He’d dropped his head forward, eyes closed, drinking in the sensation of my hands on his skin. I gently traced a path down his spine with my nails. His eyebrows came together, and he shivered.

“Fuck, yes, harder,” he breathed. “Scratch me so hard that tomorrow I’ll know I didn’t just dream this.”

His eyes clouded over with desire, and his open mouth hovered over mine, our breath mingling. I darted my tongue out to lick the cleft of his chin, dug my fingers into the hollow between his shoulder blades, and then dragged my nails firmly down to the small of his back.

He arched his back and let out a low guttural moan. “So fucking sexy, Aubrey.”

He rubbed against me, his pace quickening and his breath following suit as his hand held my hip firmly in place, when suddenly the most ridiculous series of thoughts flew through my mind.

I don’t know his middle name, his birthday, how he takes his coffee, his favorite flavor of ice cream. I don’t even know the topic of his PhD!

I remembered Julie’s words of caution, recalled the reason why I’d agreed to come over tonight. My brain echoed Daniel’s words from earlier that evening: “
I haven’t forgotten your conditions and our compromise. I’m just as determined to take things slowly as you are. Like you said on Friday, I want us to spend time together, getting to know each other
.”

I froze.

“Daniel,” I gasped. “I think you should get off.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” he said huskily, eyes closed, fingers anchored around my hipbone.

“No, I think you should get off
of me
.”

He collapsed against my shoulder, chest heaving. “I was hoping that wasn’t what you meant,” he groaned.

He rolled onto his side, eyes shut tightly. I placed my hand over his heart and felt the thumping rhythm under my palm.

“Please don’t hate me,” I whispered.

He shook his head but didn’t look at me, his hand now over his eyes. “Why would I hate you?” he asked, sitting up and dragging himself to the other end of the couch.

I quickly refastened the top button of the PJ top. I didn’t even know he’d undone it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m purposely being a tease.” I sat up and slid down to the end of the couch to rest my chin on his shoulder.

He ruffled my hair affectionately. “I don’t think you’re a tease. I got carried away. It’s my fault, not yours. However, if we’re going to have a hope in hell of making it through the night, I think I’d better go grab a shower.” He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed in defeat. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be fine. You just go ahead and, um, do whatever it is you need to do. Maybe I’ll get started on my stupid PowerPoint.” I tried not to laugh. He looked so pained.

“How do women do that?” he asked, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

“Do what?”

“You know, walk away and do the damn dishes or something. I’m in agony here.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “I think we’re wired differently, sailor.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, giving me a chaste kiss. “Fortitude of a saint, if you ask me. Feel free to use my laptop.” He winked at me and made his way out the door.

How
was
I managing to keep a grip on myself? Wired differently, my ass. I slid Daniel’s chair up to the desk and logged onto my email, rolling my shoulders as I waited for the program to load. I’d need to get at least an hour of work in before we could chill. I found the message with the attached Word document containing everyone’s research information. While it opened, I sipped my wine and thought about Daniel in the glass shower stall, the doors coated with condensation as he soaped himself up…

Okay, not a good idea at all.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to sit up straight, focusing on the document in front of me. I was frowning and reading one of my group member’s analyses when movement in the doorway caught my eye. Daniel was watching me as he rubbed the back of his neck with a towel. His face was flushed. He’d changed into a pair of PJ bottoms but still wore his white T-shirt.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Getting a lot done?”

“Just proofreading and editing. How was your shower? Did
you
get a lot done?”

“I accomplished what I set out to do, yes. Thank you for your concern,” he said, smiling self-deprecatingly.

He joined me, resting against the desk. “Hey,” he said. I looked up at him. “You probably think I was lying my face off earlier now that I’ve proven myself to be a complete horn dog.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You think I’m just realizing
now
that you’re a horn dog?”

“This is true. Seriously, though, I got caught up in the moment. Thank you for stopping me when you did.” He laughed. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that. Anyway, I think I’ve got my act together now, so I promise to conduct myself appropriately for the rest of the evening.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

He leaned over to kiss me softly. “Now who’s the horn dog?” he whispered.

“Guilty as charged.”

I stole another quick kiss before peering back down at the laptop.

“How can I help?” he asked, looking over my shoulder.

“I’m okay with the content. It’s all the transitions and animations in PowerPoint that I get frustrated with.”

“I’d be happy to help you with that. Let me grab another beer first.” He turned back to me when he got to the door. “Oh, and make sure you’re saving that. My laptop can be temperamental sometimes. Use the flash drive.”

Having lost my fair share of important assignments over the years, I clicked on his USB drive and attempted to save the document as “Aubrey.”

A dialogue box opened up.

The file “Aubrey” already exists. Do you want to replace existing file?

Daniel had a Word document saved with my name? Okay, that was kind of weird. I clicked “no” and tried again, this time using my full name.

The file “Aubrey Price” already exists. Do you want to replace existing file?

What the hell?
I frowned and opened the flash drive menu. Six main folders popped up.

One of the folders was called
Aubrey
. I nibbled on my nail for a second and then clicked to open the folder. Inside there were three documents:
Documentation
,
Aubrey Price
, and
Aubrey
. The temptation to open the files was overwhelming. I tapped my foot and heard Daniel whistling as he came back down the hall. I closed the file folder hurriedly, yanked the flash drive out of the USB port, and tossed it across the desk. It landed beside a paper weight—a glass figure of Sisyphus pushing a shiny metallic boulder up a crystalline mountain.

Daniel strolled back into the room, and I looked up with a start.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great.” I forced myself to smile.

I looked again at the flash drive, and my eyes were drawn back to the paper weight and the words etched in silver script along its mahogany base:

The truth shall make you free.

Chapter 5

Love is All Truth

Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
(
Venus and Adonis
)

“R
IGHT
, L
ET’S
T
AKE
A L
OOK
,” Daniel said, squeezing my shoulder as he pulled a chair over to sit beside me.

I avoided looking at him, quickly copying and pasting the entire text I’d edited into an email and re-sending it to myself before closing all the programs.

“You know what? I think I’ll work on this tomorrow. I don’t want to waste time when we could be relaxing and talking,” I said.

I needed to get away from this desk. Away from Sisyphus and his eerily pointed message.

“Besides, I don’t have the novel, and what I need to do next is look for quoted support, you know, to back up my own points, so I should probably wait until I’m home…” I trailed off, wishing Daniel would say something because I was quickly approaching Aubrey-who-can’t-lie-without-turning-red-as-a-beet territory.

“Really? What’s the book?” he asked.

“
Madame Bovary.
”

“I think you’re in luck.” He pointed to the top of his book shelf. “That’s all French lit. I’m sure I’ve got it if you want to check.”

I had no desire to start looking for quotations in
Madame Bovary
, but I decided to humor him and distance myself from Sisyphus at the same time. I got up and scanned the book shelf, mumbling titles as I read the spines.

“Here it is.” He reached over my shoulder. “Right here, beside
L’Invitée.
”

He handed me the book, and I glanced at the next few volumes on the shelf.

“Daniel, are these arranged in alphabetical order?” I asked.

He crossed his arms and rested against the bookshelf with a smirk. “Maybe.”

“Wow, you are
so
much like your father,” I said.