One Night Standards (3 page)

He laughed, put down the laptops and his duffel bag, and held out his arms. Putting down her purse, she moved into his arms, hugging him tightly. He smelled good and felt like a billion dollars, giving the perfect hug…just enough arm, not too crushing, not at all reluctant.

She was really, really going to miss him. It was ridiculous, after only six hours, but she was going to miss him like crazy.

She was turning to tell him that, she would tell herself later. She wasn't turning to do anything else when she was still in his arms. She just looked up into those sky-blue-gray eyes of his, smiling when he stroked the side of her face. Smiling back at him.

She was still smiling when he leaned down. The two of them were smiling when their lips met. And for a second, it was absolutely perfect—the end of a perfectly awful day with the most wonderful ending imaginable.

Then something changed. Oh, it was perfect—but there was nothing friendly about it.

She felt him crush the hair at the nape of her neck, very gently, with his broad hand, holding her more tightly to him as she let out a soft moan and pressed herself against him. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue brush against her lips, tickling hers. She tilted her head for better access, and sighed right into him. He felt sinfully delicious and tasted like heaven. She clutched at his shoulders, feeling him press her against the door. She didn't care. She wanted as much of him as she could get.

She had no idea how long they stood like that out in the hallway, but it was probably far too long…and it wasn't even long enough. But she heard one of the bags falling over and, startled, she pulled back.

“Wow,” Mark said, his breathing uneven. “Just…wow.” He stared at her. “You okay?”

She took a deep breath. “I think you shorted out my left temporal lobe.”

He laughed, stroking her arms. She took a step back, studying him.

“Do you have any idea how outrageously good you are at that?”

He grinned, tongue in cheek, and leaned against the door frame. “Good manners would say I should be modest right about now,” he said, then he grinned devilishly. “But hell, I'm too tired. Yeah, I knew.”

“Good grief. You should wear a warning label. Be registered as lethal in most states.”

He winked at her. “Just most states?”

“Well…I'm betting you'd probably be okay in Hawaii,” she said. “Thanks again.”

“You make me laugh,” he said, his smile causing her to feel warm all the way down to her toes. “I dig that.”

“Who says
dig
anymore? What are you, Austin Powers?” She had to escape. If she stayed out here…

“Why?” He winked. “Do I make you
randy,
baby?”

“You nutcase,” she replied. “I dig ya right back.”

He sighed. “It was the kissing thing, huh?”

She thought about it. “Actually, it was the car ride. I've never met anybody who could talk about as many non–work related things as you,” she said. “It takes a man of true distinction to find Andromeda, debate the finer points of
A Face in the Crowd
and sing all the words to ‘Dead Man's Party' in a decent voice.”

His eyes lit up, like a kid at Christmas, and his grin was so happy she wanted to drag him into her room and not let him go, possibly ever.

“You keep smiling like that, Tennessee, and I'm going to do things I regret. So let's call it a night.” With that—and because she was an utter, stupid glutton for punishment—she gave him one last, quick kiss, then opened the door, dumped her stuff inside and shut the door behind her. Then, she kicked off her shoes and threw herself onto her bed. She heard him hauling his bags into his room next door, and closed her eyes.

Okay, you're an idiot,
she berated herself. Kissing that man was like juggling chain saws. Might seem like a cool idea in theory, but if you didn't know what you were doing, you were bound to get hurt.

Still…he was pretty amazing. And of course, gorgeous. And really funny.

And
damn,
that man could kiss.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and she groaned. “Will this day never end?”

She peeked through the peephole…and saw a figure that still managed to look good despite the distortion of the fish-eye lens.

Don't do it. You're tired. You're slap happy. You haven't had sex in two years,
she admonished herself.
He works for the enemy. Do. Not. Open. That. Door.

She saw her hand grab the doorknob, twist it and swing the door open.

“Forget something?” she inquired.

His answering smile made her toes curl.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes, regret is healthy for you. Besides, it's been a long time since I've done something somebody's regretted.”

Without another word, she grabbed him by the shirt and shut the door behind him. His lips were on her before the dead bolt even shot the lock.

“We must be crazy,” Sophie muttered breathlessly against Mark's neck, even as her fingers flew to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly. She wasn't going slowly out of any inherent sexiness…. Passion and exhaustion had made her fingers clumsy.

She knew her brain was too tired to be thinking rationally. Otherwise, she'd acknowledge just how universally stupid this course of action was. She'd driven six hours to get here, after a full day of traveling, and now she had a complete stranger in her hotel room after midnight when she had one of the biggest meetings of her career at, what, nine o'clock the next morning….

She suddenly pulled back to stare at him. Good God, what
was
she thinking? Was she a complete and utter moron?

“Mark…”

He smiled, his eyes aglow. Then he leaned down and devoured her mouth. Her fingers twined into the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt his fingertips dig into her hips, pulling her forward, molding her against what felt like a sizable hardness. She opened her mouth, tasting him, cuddling him at the juncture of her thighs as she pressed her breasts against his chest.

Oh, yeah.
A complete and utter moron, indeed, was her last coherent thought.

But a
happy
moron.

He tugged at her until the two of them tumbled onto the queen-size hotel-room bed. For a second, they lay there, kissing softly. It wasn't clawing, or rushed, or even a mad grappling. It was more like coming home. Yes, that was a cliché, but since she'd never really felt it before, even when she
was
coming home to someone…

She wasn't going to think about that now.

He moved from her mouth to her jawline, insistent kisses against her neck. She gasped a little, and her hands went back to his shirt, finally succeeding in getting the last of the buttons undone. She pushed the shirt away from his chest, letting her palms slide over the taut muscles of his torso. He felt hot, and smooth, and perfect. He was kissing her collarbone, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

He reached for the hem of her short-sleeved blouse, and pulled away enough for her to wiggle out of it as he pulled it up over her head. He shrugged out of his shirt, and the lace of her bra was the only thing between the heat of their skin. She sighed against him, rolling him onto his back and straddling him. He reached for her belt buckle as she kissed him, over and over.

This was madness. Utter, fantastic madness.

He had her buckle undone and the top button on her linen pants open, unzipping slowly, and she laughed with sheer abandon. “I never do this,” she murmured, wondering if he'd think she was easy. Wondering if it was too late to be wondering about that kind of thing.

Wondering, halfheartedly, if she really cared.

“I never do this, either,” he said instead, and he smiled at her, a sugary kind of smile that had her smiling right back before he started kissing her again, deeply, and moving her over on her back. “You are exceptional in all kinds of ways, Sophie Jones.”

“And you're wonderful,” she said, and meant it. She barely registered the fact that he'd tugged her pants off, leaving them on the floor. Now she was in her underwear and knee-high socks, and he was still in his trousers. “Come here.”

He slipped off his trousers and socks and then he was just in boxers, striped white and blue, which for no reason she thought was amusing until she saw the erection tenting the front of the material. She suddenly didn't find anything funny at all. She only felt desire, white-hot and ravenous.

He covered her with his body, kissing her, and she kissed him back passionately. She reveled in the feeling of his fingers combing through her hair, and she clutched at his back.

Then she felt his hand smooth down her shoulder, skim over her rib cage and cup her breast.

“Oh,” she gasped, tearing her mouth away from his as the sensation shot through her. After two years, it was almost more than she could bear, complete sensation overload on a global scale.

His hand paused on her, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the lace of her bra. “All right? Are you okay?”

“More than,” she murmured, arching her back and pressing more firmly into his hand. He was between her legs, only the thin material of her panties and his boxers between them. “This is…Oh, my.”

He pushed once, experimentally, and circled her nipple with his fingers at the same time. She opened her eyes long enough to see him smile, a tender smile, and she almost came undone in his arms.

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she couldn't help it…. She wrapped her legs around his, feeling herself go damp enough to soak her underwear. He had to feel it, too, because she could feel the muscles at his shoulders bunching and heard him groan against her neck as he pressed a hard kiss against her. “You're sure?” he whispered.

“More sure than I've been about anything,” she said recklessly. “Please. Please, make love to me.”

He pulled back, his blue eyes lit like blowtorches. “I want to, believe me.” He paused. “I can't believe I'm asking this, but…you wouldn't happen to have a condom, would you?”

She whimpered. “No. I don't…. That is…I haven't had sex in a long time.” And she really, really wanted to rectify that, she thought, staring at the harsh beauty of his face, the absolute perfection of his torso…the feel of him pressing between her thighs.

“Damn it.” He rolled off her, and she felt bereft, trying to follow him, but he kept her at arm's length.

“What is it?”

“I don't have a condom, either,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I don't do this, like I said, and I don't generally travel with condoms handy.”

She felt frustration claw at her, and couldn't help but let out a growl of pain. Even so, a little part of her felt a thrill…glad that he didn't do this all the time. Glad that she wasn't the only one who was out of her mind because of this whole situation. “I'm sorry,” she said inanely.

“Why?” Despite the wince of frustration as he rolled onto his side, he then sent her a wistful, lopsided smile that made her heart race. “It's nobody's fault. And I, for one, don't regret a minute of it.” He laughed. “Well, okay. I regret not being more prepared.”

She rolled onto her back, wondering how long it would take before her blood cooled down and her heart stopped galloping in her chest. She was also not sure how long it would take before she'd be able to get to sleep.
If
she was able to sleep at all tonight.

All at once, a wave of exhaustion hit her. It had been an amazingly long day. She felt as if all the aches of the travel, all the craziness and all the stress that had been creeping up on her for far too long, just hit her like a tidal wave. To her intense embarrassment, she felt a tear creep down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, but not before he saw it.

“Shh…Baby, what's wrong?”

“It's been such a crappy day,” she said, trying to blink hard as more tears followed the first. “And I really, really wanted to make love to you.”

To her surprise, he stood up…then pulled the covers back, lifted her and tucked her in, climbing in next to her and spooning with her, his arms wrapped around her comfortingly. She could still feel his erection, nestled against her bottom, and it was all she could do not to whimper and wriggle against him. He had to be hurting with need, as it were, but he spoke to her gently. “Listen, we both wanted it. But it's probably just as well. You've been through a whole lot. I don't even know you, and I know that.”

That was the thing, she thought, as she let herself cry onto the pillow, her cheek warming with the heat of the tears. He didn't know her. But damned if he didn't know exactly how to help her feel better at any particular moment.

“I really like you,” she said, with a slight catch in her voice. “Seriously. And not because of what we were going to do.”