Man's Best Friend (12 page)

"Haven't a clue."

She nearly ate her lower lip. "That I'm kind of experienced, is what I'm trying to say. Because, well, I'm not. I mean I am, but I'm really not. Not, like, really."

"I'm glad you made that clear."

Her brow puckered, and when it looked as if she'd try again, he touched her lips with his finger. "Don't explain. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, when it comes down to a choice between enthusiasm and experience, I'll take enthusiasm any day."

Her expression cleared, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down beside her.

"That's good, because you're about to get all the enthusiasm you can handle." She took his face in her hands and kissed him, her mouth questing, taking on an edge of longing until the kiss turned needy and languorous.

His wanting body turned rock hard. She touched his lips with her tongue, played along their inner flesh. Rand gripped her buttocks, pulled her close to his body and groaned. She opened her mouth, letting a long breathy sigh breeze across his tongue. He cupped her breast, full and firm, under the slinky black fabric of her dress. He groaned again when her nipple thrust up against his thumb. And, oh, the scent of her, part lilac, part honey.

Damn dress.

He tugged at the neckline, pulling it down to regain the naked skin he'd found earlier, lost when she'd raised her arms and brought the dress back into position. He kissed her bared shoulder. Cool until his lips heated it. He tugged again.

Damn dress!

He raised himself on one elbow, took a minute to drag some air into his lungs. "Tessa?"

"Uh-huh." She kissed him under the chin, shoved his opened shirt aside—when had she undone the buttons?—and licked his exposed nipple. He shuddered.

"Tessa?" he growled.

She licked him again.

It killed him, but he pulled back. "That dress of yours fits you too well."

"Hm."

"And I'm having a hell of a time getting you out of the damn thing."

"Oh, right." She sat up, rolled off the bed and stood beside it. In less than a second, the dress was off and tossed onto his favorite reading chair.

He stared at her, couldn't stop.

She wore skimpy black lace panties—and a white cotton sport bra a maiden aunt would heartily have approved of. Her body was a knockout, a vision of shapely muscles and sensuous curves. Rand always figured himself a leg man, until he'd seen Tessa's pebbled nipples pushing against plain white cotton. He yearned to touch, to explore.

Her gaze followed his and she winced. "I guess I'm supposed to match, aren't I?"

She stood before him in her underwear, one hand tugging at a bra strap, her face getting redder by the second. Rand's heart raced. Still reclining on the bed, he offered his hand. She took it, moving forward to rest one knee on the bed.

Her expression somber, she asked, "Are you disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" When he found his voice again, he shook his head. "More like overwhelmed." He ran one finger along her bra strap. "You're spectacular. And I'm a lucky man."

"You sure?" she asked, giving him another nervous look.

"Come to think of it—" he smiled at her discomfort, her naiveté "—I could do without the training bra."

She took a deep breath and tucked a thumb under one bra strap, pulled it from her shoulder. When she started to fumble with the back clasp, he said, "Come here."

She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him, and he undid the hooks, letting the bra fall into her lap. Kissing the back of her neck, he filled his hands with her, lifting, kneading and finally rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

She moaned, and let her head fall back to his shoulder. "Oh, Rand... I just knew..."

He tugged softly, pressed his mouth to her back. "What did you know? Tell me." His voice sounded raw to his ears, low and husky.

"That it would be like this with us," she said. "Good. Really, really good."

He moved a hand down between her thighs, still covered in black lace. "And we haven't even started." He touched her, and it was as if he'd opened a furnace door, his own heat soaring to the flashpoint. "We haven't even started," he repeated, whispering against her skin. He stroked her through the black lace, and she rolled her pelvis toward his hand. She was moist, wanting. His brain roared, the rush of need in his body taking him to the edge. Too soon. Too fast.

He pulled her hard onto the bed, stretched her out under him. God, she was beautiful. "The real fun begins when we're both naked." He managed a smile, told himself to go easy, ignore the primal part of him urging him to take her, hard and fast.

She went straight for his belt, slipped it from its loops and tossed it on the floor. The rest of his clothes followed suit. Blood thundering in his ears, Rand sat back and slowly worked Tessa's panties down her legs. He lingered over every inch of her, ankles to shining hair. She took his breath away.

But with a woman like this in his arms, who the hell needed to breathe anyway? Suddenly, the hard and fast impulse became soft and slow. Tessa was a woman to savor.

She looked up at him, caught his gaze and held it with a look so hot with anticipation, so openly ecstatic, it slammed into him with the weight and force of a wrecking ball. Adrenaline, laced with fear, hurtled along his normally unyielding nerves. But fear or no, it didn't stop him from grasping the hand she was stroking his cheek with and kissing its palm.

And nothing short of a runaway train was going to stop him from making love to her, slowly, carefully, and for as long as his raging body held out.

Tessa didn't know what to do, every nerve and sinew in her body tingled and jumped. She tried to stay cool, act the sophisticate, but failed dismally.

Lying in Rand's arms, his strong, muscular body pressed to hers, she'd never felt so right or so sexually ready.

Except maybe when he touched her as he did now, running his hand up the inside of her leg. If she moved, would he stop? Afraid to risk it, she lay still as the bedpost and held a fist against her mouth, determined to contain the moans waiting for release from her constricted throat. She'd been brazen enough, going after this man. A girl had to stop somewhere. So she kept her mouth shut—no mean feat.

She heard Rand murmur in her ear, whisper something about her letting go, about how her skin was—

Oh, God!

She missed the rest, because as he said it, he stroked her. There.

Tessa arched against his hand. If she'd wanted to cry out before, her voice stilled instantly, lost in the play of Rand's hand, his teasingly erotic penetration.

He touched her as if she were spun gold, the most fragile of crystal that would break apart in his hand, which, if he kept touching her as he was, she would.

Every tiny muscle in her body stretched to its limit, expectant, taut under a mind now a blur of sexual mist and dark cravings.

She cried out, lifted her hips, shamelessly asked for more. Rand gave it, stroking her deeply, kissing her mindless, his tongue moving in perfect synchrony with his expert hand.

Tessa sensed his sexual tension, felt the high heat of his body, the sheen of moisture hazing his shoulders. Rand lifted his head, his face within inches of hers. "Open your eyes," he commanded quietly, never once stopping his incredibly sensual foreplay. "I want to see you."

Tessa tried to oblige, she did, but her eyes refused to cooperate, opening but then closing again to savor the skill of his intimate touch. Her eyelids might as well have been lined with lead. Which was just as well, because she was pretty sure she was about to embarrass herself by... coming early to the party.

Rand leaned over her, kissed her breasts, her tummy, her silken inner thighs.

He replaced his fingers with his mouth.

Her eyes shot open, but it was the ceiling, not Rand, she saw. She closed them again. Breath gone, she dug her nails into his shoulders, groaned like a mad thing, needing, desperate for... what? She didn't know, couldn't know. She'd never felt anything like this. Never been loved like this before.

Rand raised himself, rested above her. She reached between them, stroked his hardened flesh. He closed his eyes, shifted under her grasp, probing her with his heat and length.

"I want—" Alive with new sensations, she couldn't finish. She felt him nudge her, and she pulsed high, opened for him.

"I know," he whispered, his breath searing her cheek. "So do I."

He entered her in one controlled stroke, glided perfectly over her tender, swollen nub.

Frenzied, she tried to anchor herself, curling her fingers in the tangled sheet. The heat. She was exploding with it.

"Come to me, Tessa. Come." Rand clasped her buttocks, pulling her hard against him with one powerful, final, thrust.

Tessa did as she was told.

* * *

Rand lay on his back, one arm behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Tessa, her head on his shoulder and one arm flung across his chest, slept like Licks after lunch. To ease the muscle she was using as a pillow, Rand shifted his shoulder, careful not to wake her.

He had thinking to do.

He considered getting up, doing his thinking under a cool-down shower, but the idea of leaving Tessa stayed him.

As did what happened last night.

Hell, he'd counted on some hot sex—and they'd had that and then some—but he hadn't counted on feeling anything higher than his groin. The truth was, the woman in his arms hadn't just touched him physically, she'd planted something in his heart curiously like hope. It scared the sap out of him. Words like hope, trust, and faith weren't in Rand's dictionary. Not anymore.

A grim smile tightened his lips.

Old bed-em-don't-wed-em Boyd Fielding was no doubt twitching in his grave.

There'd been a time when he'd detested his father's sexist philosophy, accused him of being a rampant misogynist. Although Rand had to admit the old guy had his reasons. It couldn't have been easy, having a young wife—who'd just given birth to your twin sons—just up and leave and take all of your bank account with her.

Boyd Fielding had expended a lot of effort and a lot of words to ensure his sons never made the same mistake he did. Griff had listened and kept every woman he ever met at arm's length. Rand hadn't. Result? Andrea. She'd cost him everything.

Was Tessa a second chance?

Rand closed his eyes. If so, he didn't deserve it, and if he had any sense, he'd keep her at a safe distance from here on.

Tessa stretched and nuzzled her head closer into his neck. The warmth of her breath gusted down, across the hair on his chest, making him quiver. Keeping a safe distance was obviously the last thing on his mind.

He was steel hard. He wanted her again, and he was afraid he was going to go on wanting her, a detail he hadn't factored in when he'd been thinking with his lower half last night.

But, damn, she felt good in his arms.

Dangerously good.

He moved a little, shifting Tessa's warm cheek and tangle of dark hair from his shoulders. He needed to get out of here—fast.

Five minutes later, he was in the shower.

Two minutes after that, Tessa joined him.

* * *

Tessa, chin propped on her palms, lay on Rand's rumpled bed and watched him pull a soft sweater over his damp head. A satisfied sigh wafted across her lips at the thought of what she and Rand had done last night—and again just minutes ago in the shower.

Rand snapped his watch closed on his wrist. "Why the sigh?" he asked.

"I don't know." She rolled over on her back, the T-shirt she'd borrowed from Rand twisting around her hips. "I just feel sighful." She frowned. "Is that a word?"

Rand walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Depends. What does it mean?" He tucked a strand of her still-wet hair behind her ear, studied her as if she were a diamond presented on black velvet.

"It means full of heartfelt, happy, contented sighs." She took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "It means I've never been loved like I was last night... or this morning."

There was a subtle change in Rand's eyes. Unreadable. "Made love to," he amended. "There's a difference, Tessa."

"I know." She didn't, but it didn't matter. Nor did it matter that his correction created a hairline fracture in her heart. She was a big girl, but she wasn't Rand's girl. Nor would she ever be. Her sister Annie would be proud of her; she wasn't completely daft. Yet. Although another night or two like last night, and she wouldn't bet on it.

Rand arched one of those brows she admired so much, adding, "I'm glad, because I don't want you making more of this than what it is." He looked as serious as a border collie faced with a thousand misplaced sheep.

The ache in her chest began to get worse. "Which is?" she prodded, not sure she wanted to hear his answer.

He moved another strand of her hair from her cheek, brushed it away from her mouth. "A beautiful, generous woman and a very appreciative man enjoying each other."

Tessa dug deep, looking for some major big-girl attitude. "Appreciative, huh?" She managed to look him in the eye without blinking.