One Night Standards (8 page)

Oh, who are you kidding? The only thing you're regretting right now is the fact that you don't have more to feel guilty about.

And there it was, staring her baldly in the face.

She still wanted Mark McMann. Yes, it was foolhardy: he was a competitor; she was a professional; there was a whole litany of reasons why she shouldn't get involved with him. But the bottom line was she liked the way he made her feel.

He's charming. That's his best weapon,
her business instincts warned her. But her body was not listening to her common sense. It was more attuned to the siren call of his southern drawl, the way his blue eyes pierced through her like a hot knife through butter.

Damn, but she wanted him. Even after tonight's fiasco.

I've never wanted anyone the way I want him.

There was a knock on her hotel-room door. She frowned, wondering who it was at this hour. She opened the door cautiously.

Mark was standing there, looking over his shoulder. “Sophie,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Can I come in?”

She nodded, more out of surprise than anything. He hurried inside, closing the door behind him.

“Don't worry,” he reassured her. “Nobody saw me come in here.”

He shouldn't be here,
her instincts kicked up again.
Get him out, before you do something even more stupid.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

He stared at her, silent, for a long moment.

“You know why I'm here.”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

It was crazy. Beyond crazy. But she knew exactly why he was there.

She knew, because she felt the exact same way.

She went to the minifridge, getting out a bottle of wine she'd purchased with the intention of drowning her embarrassment. “Wine?” she offered, her voice breaking slightly.

He nodded. She poured the ruby-red liquid, her hands trembling slightly. She jumped when his large hands covered hers. “Allow me,” he said smoothly.

She let him take over, feeling a sensation of unreality wash over the whole situation. When he handed her a glass, she took a quick, large sip.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a deep, low voice.

She chuckled, her laughter sounding more hysterical than carefree. “Oh, I'm fine,” she responded.
Just as long as I don't think too clearly.
She took two more large swallows of the wine, then put the glass down on the dresser. “So, how do you want to do this?”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“This. Us,” she said, making a vague sweeping gesture with her hands that encompassed him, her…and the bed.

He studied her, and she squirmed under his attention. “Come here,” he said, keeping his voice soft, as if he were approaching a wounded animal.

She took a deep breath, then stepped toward him.

No turning back now.

He took her into his arms, his body feeling hot and hard and fantastic against hers. But to her surprise, he only stroked her arms and her back. He didn't kiss her, much as she wanted him to. She was trembling, and absently she realized it had nothing to do with desire—and everything to do with fear, at what she was doing, and what she might be ruining.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” he murmured against the top of her head, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of her hair. “You don't have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

She curved against him, her arms wrapping around his waist and holding him tight. For a second, conscience warred with desire.

“It's different when we're…you know. Actually in it,” she said slowly, pulling away from him enough to look into his eyes. His face was etched with obvious strain—and an overwhelming tenderness that almost took her breath away. “When I think about you, and the night we almost—you know—it's the easiest decision in the world to make.”

He stroked her back, small, lazy circles that made her blood warm. She felt her nipples peak in a rush, and her breathing went shallow. “But…?” he prompted, his voice taut.

“But then I think about everything else,” she countered. “I think about what we're doing, and what could happen. And I wonder if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.”

He sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed, tugging gently until she sat next to him. He kept an arm around her, and she felt ridiculously comforted by it. She gave into the urge, and rested her head against his broad shoulder. “And what are you afraid is going to happen?” he continued.

She closed her eyes, picturing the worst. “I'll screw up the account,” she said softly. “Someone will find out. Mrs. Marion will think I'm not taking it seriously. I'll get Diva Nation tossed from the running because I look like I lack ethics.”

“You don't lack ethics,” Mark quickly protested. “We haven't shared any secrets, for God's sake!”

“I know. But I also know that, if you asked me, I might let something slip,” she admitted, her voice shaking.

He processed that silently, and she wondered if he understood how big a concession that was—especially from someone like her, whose business was her life.

“I would never ask you,” he said. “I know I might've tried to charm you, a while ago, but this is different. Hell, I've never felt anything like this before.”

“I know,” she said. “It's not even like we have a relationship. Who would believe that we just wanted each other so much, business had nothing to do with it?”

He sighed again. “If I hadn't experienced it myself, I probably wouldn't believe it, either,” he admitted.

“So why are we doing this?” she asked helplessly.

When she opened her eyes, his face looked haunted—tortured. “Sophie, I never meant to hurt you.”

She quickly kissed his jaw, causing the muscles beneath her lips to bunch. “Shh,” she breathed. “You asked how I felt. I didn't tell you to make you feel guilty.”

“And yet,” he said, laughing bitterly, “that's exactly how I feel.”

She silenced him by kissing his neck, then she felt her heart start to beat faster, her stomach tightening with desire. She felt her hands inch lower, her fingertips dancing over the hard planes of his abdomen. “You're not making me do anything,” she said, and she gave in to temptation. She shifted her fingers lower, brushing over his erection, which sprang fully to life beneath her touch.

“You're not making this easier,” he said through gritted teeth. “Sophie, I don't want to do anything that you're going to regret later.”

She paused, her hands perilously close to his waistband. “I don't want to do anything that I'm going to regret later, either,” she said, desire battling against uncertainty.

She knew what was going to win.

“So what do we do now?” she breathed, her blood pounding hot and heavy in her chest.

His hand stroked her back, and his other hand cupped the side of her face. His face was the picture of perfection, harsh and gorgeous and full of passion.

“Would you regret it,” he asked, his voice fierce, “if we never slept together?”

That surprised her, but she knew that he was just trying to convince her…to convince them both. She thought about it, then finally made her decision.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”

“No one will find out,” he said, almost to reassure himself as much as her. “And we won't do this again, not if it makes you unhappy, or if you do wind up feeling regret. This won't affect the competition, or any business matters, or anything else whatsoever.” He kissed along her jawline, and her pulse danced beneath his attention, causing his words to simply float in her mind, almost meaninglessly. “It's a risk, Sophie. But I think it's one worth taking.”

“Oh,” she murmured, as his hands cupped her breasts. “Yes…”

“I won't do anything to hurt you,” he promised her. “No matter what this is, I swear I won't do anything to hurt you.”

She arched her back, releasing herself back onto the bed. She started to unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers.

“I know you won't,” she said, and gave herself over.

“I
JUST WANT YOU
,” he said, saying the thought that was blazing through him like electricity. “I want you so damned much….”

She leaned up and kissed him again, and this time there was nothing confused or tentative about it. Her lips teased at his, even as her hands tugged his shirt off. He swept his tongue into her mouth, tickling against hers, and she moaned, savoring the taste of him. They broke apart long enough for him to take off her blouse, and he kissed at the lacy edges of her bra as she sighed with pleasure and tugged off her skirt, leaving her only in matching midnight-blue lingerie. He growled with approval.

“Pants,” she said to him, undoing his fly.

They made quick work of his pants, socks, shoes and boxers. She was stretched across the chintz cover, her pale skin looking like cream against the lingerie. Her eyes blazed with invitation, her curls tumbling wildly about her shoulders.

She was the most amazing woman he'd ever seen. He reached for her like a starving man, all other thoughts leaving his head in a rush. He kissed her eagerly, wanting to taste all of her—her shoulders, the hollow behind her elbow, the slight indentations of her ribs. She was breathing in sharp pants, her short fingernails clawing delicately against his back, stroking him to incoherence. He leaned down, taking off her panties, and finding the matching curls between her thighs. He reached in, feeling her already damp and waiting for him. He kissed her hips, then her legs, before stroking a quick lick at the juncture between her inner thighs. The surprise of his motion quickly made her clench and tighten against him, involuntarily. His erection throbbed in response. Insistent, he spread her legs apart gently, before sweeping in to taste her, his tongue lightly delving until he found her clit.

She let out a moaning sob, her legs finally relaxing and opening wider for him. He spread out on the bed, working only her clit with his tongue as he gently pressed one finger into her opening, feeling a wave of wetness. She was insanely responsive, her sounds of desire only stirring him more. He worked more intently, until he felt her stir beneath him, twisting.

He lifted his head. “Anything wrong?”

“No,” she said, and she was wearing a mysterious smile he'd never seen on her before. He was intrigued, but before he could pursue the thought further, he noticed she was contorting herself to be nearer to him…that strawberry mouth of hers tantalizingly close to his erection. He still had a finger inside of her when she took him between her lips, stroking the tip of him with her tongue, and the snug pressure of her mouth was matched by a clenching wetness around his finger.

He moaned, returning to her, his tongue matching hers until he thought they'd both explode from it. Her moans caressed his feverish skin, pulling at him, even as her hips bucked beneath his lips. He finally pulled away.

“I need you,” he said, his voice grating with desire. “I need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

He got a condom, his own hands shaking with his need, finally putting the thing on and reaching for her. He didn't mean to rush, but she was already slick with her own wetness, and he felt her muscles tighten around his cock as he buried himself in her. “Oh, Sophie,” he muttered harshly.

“Yes,” she said, wrapping her legs against his waist. “Deeper. Please, deeper.”

She felt like heaven…or the best sin in hell. He was mindless with it, the pure pleasure of it. He didn't want to rush, wanting to savor the feeling for as long as he could. He withdrew slowly, his moan of pleasure mixing with hers as she twisted her hips sinuously and her legs pulled him back, drawing him inexorably deeper. She clawed at him, clutched at him, until he could no longer be slow, couldn't hold back. He pushed deeper into her, his tempo increasing until they almost seemed like one person, the definitions of themselves blurred out of focus by the sheer heat of desire.

“Mark!”
she screamed, and he could feel her body contract around his, milking him, shocking him. His body responded by bucking against her, wanting to bury himself in her as completely as possible.

“Yes,”
he shouted back, his release slamming through him. He clutched at her hips, pumping into her with breathless abandon.

She clung to him throughout, and her responding
“Oh, oh, oh…”
echoed the second wave of her orgasm.

When it was finally over, he collapsed on top of her, mindful enough to be sure he didn't crush her. He couldn't believe it—how it felt, the whole experience. He didn't have the words, and for him, that was shocking in and of itself. So he pressed gentle kisses against her shoulders, nuzzling her, wishing that he had something better to do, to say, to describe how he was feeling.