Sinfully Sexy (2 page)
Authors: Linda Francis Lee
Tags: #Romance, #Sex in the workplace, #Fiction
For reasons she couldn't fathom, that wiped every trace of humor off of
his face, the clouds returning.
"You've been reading too many fairy tales," he said sharply. Then his
features settled back into hard-chiseled command. "Would you rather I
left you in the hotel driveway and continued on to find
a cab as I intended? Is that another rule I missed?"
He looked at her, his dark eyes direct, as if he could see into her
mind, her heart. She looked away,
then couldn't help herself. She glanced back.
Her voice caught in her throat. "You're making fun of me."
After a second, that half smile of his reappeared, reluctantly, his
head tilted ever so slightly. "Never."
Then he refocused on his project. Her knees.
"This one's a real mess," he said, pressing a new paper towel to the
ragged skin.
"Ouch!"
He leaned closer, and she looked down at him, his hair thick and dark.
He didn't wear cologne, but he smelled clean and strong. She had a
startling image of him leaning close to kiss her. Sensation flashed
through her. Hot, sweet, and intense. She thought of touching him.
Reaching out. Of being a feline
instead of a llama.
This was the sort of man who made a woman feel sexy. Dark and
dangerous, commanding the world around him with nothing more than a
look and a few words.
A stillness descended over her, fine and crystalline, and she had never
been so aware ... of a man's
hand on her knee. Of the way his strong fingers splayed against her
inner thigh. And when he looked
up, she was sure he felt it, too.
Their gazes locked, their bodies close. He glanced at her lips, and a
teasing sweetness made her yearn even more.
But he was a gentleman.
After one last glance at her mouth, he returned his attention to her
knee. The outside world was
forgotten. She felt cocooned by awareness. She felt every time his
thigh brushed against hers.
Everything that wasn't her, everything that wasn't Chloe Sinclair,
surged up. Suddenly she wasn't embarrassed at the thought of being
sensual. She wasn't afraid of being rejected.
And wasn't that really why she had been afraid to be sexy? The fear of
rejection?
Sitting there now, with this man touching her, this stranger with his
hands on her body, she felt every
bit of embarrassment melt away beneath the terror of what she wanted to
do. Give in. Touch him back. Good girl Chloe Sinclair wanted to be
sinfully sexy.
She felt dizzy at the thought, her heart beating hard as she clutched
her hands together to keep herself from doing what she knew she'd
regret. She thought of splashing cold water on her face. She counted
to ten, then twenty. She concentrated on all she had to do over the
next few weeks. She had to approve payroll. Find new advertising
dollars. Brainstorm new programming options. But when he finished with
her knee, he straightened again, his competence and composure disarming.
He stood there studying her, not smiling. Then his eyes drifted down
over her body, his eyes flaring
with something hot. No one had ever looked at her that way before, the
heat tangible, making her feel both panicked and excited.
Then everything changed.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think. One minute she
was holding on to being sensible Chloe, smart, sane, safe, her life as
it always had been. Then the next she whispered, "Kiss me."
One long beat of silence passed before a tremor raced through him.
She was being forward and inexcusably loose. But as if a dam of
restraint had finally broken apart,
water rushing through, crashing at her defenses, she didn't care. Just
this once she wanted to lose
herself in the arms of this stranger who would disappear from her life
when it was over.
Tonight, just tonight, she didn't want to be sensible or even smart.
She wanted to be free and wild and filled with unchecked desire.
Frustration kicked inside her when he didn't kiss her. He only looked
at her, didn't reach out. He took
her in, and she cringed at the sudden thought that even made up and not
looking anything like her usual boring self, he wasn't attracted to her.
What an idiot to think that a man this strong and handsome and clearly
powerful would want herâeven with no names mentioned or strings
attached.
"Oh, God, I've completely made a fool of myself. I'm sorry." She tried
to get down off the counter, the movement reminding her of the scrapes
on her knees.
"You haven't made a fool of yourself," he said, his voice ruggedly
insistent, his body blocking her way. "You are beautiful and desirableâ"
Her snort was a knee-jerk reaction, the old Chloe surging back
ruthlessly.
"âbut you don't know the first thing about me."
That stopped her. She cocked her head and studied him. Was he testing
her?
"You don't know me either," she whispered. She met his eyes, and she
bit her lip for a trembling
second. "That's the point."
She startled him, and from the look of him she guessed he was rarely
surprised.
His brows slammed together. "I could be a ..."
"What? A murderer?"
"I am not a murderer." He sounded put out.
"Okay, then a Mexican bandit?" She tried to smile.
"Are we living in the same century?"
He looked at her lips again, despite his better intentions, and she
could see something that her inexpert eyes swore was desire. Hope
surged, and she felt an impatient anticipation.
"Would it help," she asked breathlessly, "if I promised that
I'm
not a bandit?"
She expected him to laugh, or at the very least smile. Instead his gaze
darkened. "I'm not so sure about that. With your innocent blue eyes and
mouth meant for sin, you look like you could easily steal something
I've never been willing to give," he stated cryptically.
But before she could question him, he groaned and cursed. Then this
stranger pulled her into his arms.
They clung together, the warmth of his body surrounding her. Their kiss
grew instantly hot, their mouths slanting together as if neither of
them could get close enough. His hands ran down her spine, and she knew
with a heady sense of certainty that whatever his reasons for kissing
her, this wasn't about pity.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't admit how many
times she had imagined something like this. In her dreams, in her
fantasies. Giving in to a forbidden passion.
He ran his tongue along her lips, opening her more. Their tongues
tasted and probed as she tugged his shirttails from his pants, wanting
to feel skin.
"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely against her ear.
She hesitated for a second, then said, "Does it matter?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She ran her hands up his chest, material
gathering against her wrists,
and after another second he gave in again.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded in a gruff voice.
A sharp thrill ran through her, centering deep and low. She did as he
asked, then felt a shiver of excitement as he unzipped the back of her
dress, the beaded skirt riding higher until it came up around
her hips, the top sliding lower until it revealed the curve of her
breasts. And no bra.
He picked her up and wheeled her around, pressing her back against the
finely papered wall. Then he dipped his head, that dark hair brushing
against her cheek as he trailed his lips along her skin.
"God, you're soft."
Lower and lower until he took one nipple in his mouth. He had exuded
raw sensuality just tending to her wounds. Now, with his intent purely
sexual, there was an animal fierceness to him that scared her as much
as it thrilled her.
White-hot electricity pulsed along every nerve ending. Struggling, she
tugged her arms from the restraint of her dress, the beads bunching in
cool heaviness against her hips. When she was finally free his thumbs
found her nipples. She felt hungry and needy in a purely physical way.
She groaned without an ounce of inhibition when his thumb and
forefinger closed on one taut peak. She trembled inside and her head
fell back against the wall. Then he ripped off his shirt, lowering her
just a bit, and it was in a moment of gasping surprise that she felt
the hard contours of his naked chest against her breasts. She felt
alive and captive at the same time, pleasure heightened by the
illicit-ness of what
they were doing.
Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in his hair, instinctively arching
to him as he seared his mouth across her body. When he gently sucked
one breast, her hands knotted, and she had to force herself to let go.
Neither of them said a word. They came together in a dance of silence.
Slowly, he let her down until she stood, her dress falling to her
ankles. His mouth nipped at her skin. He cupped her bottom, the thin
edges of a thong she had secretly purchased doing little to separate
their bodies. Palms to flesh, his fingertips curled low until she felt
him touch the juncture between her spread thighs.
The contact surprised her. At first she felt self-conscious. She
started to break free. But that was the old Chloe, the one she'd find
again once she walked out the door and never saw this man again. But
right now she wanted to let go. While she had the chance. No one ever
had to know.
Drawing a breath, she widened her legs. His deep, guttural moan brought
an answering cry welling up in her. She felt desperate, like this was
her only chance. She wanted more of him, wanted to be closer. He must
have sensed it in her. He pressed their bodies together. He kissed her
again, his hands coming up
to frame her face as his mouth reclaimed hers.
He sucked at her lower lip, before teasing her mouth open, allowing him
in to taste her more intimately. She didn't realize she had moaned
until the sound rumbled in her ears. She felt small and cherished,
even beautiful. Her hair was wild, but the way he held her made her
feel as if he could hold her forever and he'd be lucky.
His hands slid down her neck to her shoulders. The heels of his hands
grazed the tops of her breasts, but not lower this time. The tips of
his fingers brushed back and forth over her collarbones as he kissed
her. She thought she would cry out in frustration before he finally
cupped her breasts in his palms.
He pressed them high, his fingers teasing the peaks, circling. She felt
his breath against her ear when he ran his tongue along the delicate
shell. Then his thumb and forefinger closed with gentle insistence over
her nipple. Pulsing once, twice, his tongue dancing the same rhythm in
her mouth. She felt everything
in the core between her legs. Hot and needy.
When she groaned, he secured her spread-eagle against the wall, his
hands touching her, worshipping her... wanting her. Cupping her hips,
he pulled her to his hardness, again and again, ever so slightly, in
that rhythm prescribed by his tongue.
She trembled, stunned by the strength of her need. His breath on her
nape was like wind to a fire.
He cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him. "I want you," he whispered.
His voice was laced with the sound of raw hunger.
"I want you, too," she answered.
And when he started to undo his belt, she reached down to help, their
fingers tangling together.
Frantic, they tugged at the buckle and leather, and the sound of the
door banging against the lock didn't reach her at first. Her world
consisted of this stranger and his hands on her bare skin. But
something
must have registered with him because he cursed and tore away from her.
With a sudden flash, she realized people must be gathered just outside
the door. She could hear them talking, some woman complaining that the
hotel shouldn't lock the only bathroom they had in the main lobby. Then
someone else who told them to step back, followed by a jangle of keys
against the lock.
"Oh, my gosh!" she gasped.
Thankfully her stranger wasn't paralyzed. He immediately whipped up her
shimmery dress, whirled her around, and had her zipped back up with the
proficiency of a dresser at a Broadway play. Just as the
keys turned in the lock, he had his own clothes back in place.
"Let me handle this," he stated, stepping in front of her to block her
from view.
He stood like a warrior, his stance wide, his features dark, his frame
massive and forbidding. If anyone could protect her from embarrassment,
this man could.
But Chloe was hardly paying attention. With her heart in her throat,
she lowered her head, tucking in
her chin. Her heart beat like a drum, pulsing through her, and the
second the door opened, she flew into action. She wheeled out from
behind him, startling the small crowd who had gathered, and dashed for
the door.
She felt badly for leaving the stranger to deal with the mess, though
not badly enough to stay. Not even the realization that she had left
her tiny purse made her hesitate. But just when she got through the
crowd, for one quick second, she looked back. He was looking at her,
his hard-chiseled face quickly shifting from surprise to anger when he
understood what she had done. A shiver of regret raced through her. He
didn't look like the type of man any sane person should anger. She
prayed she never saw him again.
She flew out of the hotel, into the wind that hadn't died down. She
felt as if she was falling farther into a kaleidoscope of scenes in her
head. Of him. Of her. Blending together in passion, then separating.
Distinct, but different. Changed.
Anxious to get away, she found her car, thankful for the ever-practical
Hide-A-Key box under the wheel well. She had to get home, back to her
world, to put her life back into the order she had worked so hard to
achieve. But when she slipped into the front seat, then finally managed
to get the key in the ignition, she had the fleeting thought that her
perfectly ordered world had just changed for good, and that she would
never be the same again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   Katherine Bloom
From: Chloe Sinclair
Subject: Emergency
I've tried to call you both but your lines are going directly to voice
mail. Which means you're online. When are you going to get second lines
or DSL?!!! But first things first! Can we meet at Danny's Cuppa Joe for
a breakfast confab before our 10 o'clock appointment? It's an
emergency, plus I'm starving.
Chloe Sinclair
Station Manager
Award-winning KTEX TV
his face, the clouds returning.
"You've been reading too many fairy tales," he said sharply. Then his
features settled back into hard-chiseled command. "Would you rather I
left you in the hotel driveway and continued on to find
a cab as I intended? Is that another rule I missed?"
He looked at her, his dark eyes direct, as if he could see into her
mind, her heart. She looked away,
then couldn't help herself. She glanced back.
Her voice caught in her throat. "You're making fun of me."
After a second, that half smile of his reappeared, reluctantly, his
head tilted ever so slightly. "Never."
Then he refocused on his project. Her knees.
"This one's a real mess," he said, pressing a new paper towel to the
ragged skin.
"Ouch!"
He leaned closer, and she looked down at him, his hair thick and dark.
He didn't wear cologne, but he smelled clean and strong. She had a
startling image of him leaning close to kiss her. Sensation flashed
through her. Hot, sweet, and intense. She thought of touching him.
Reaching out. Of being a feline
instead of a llama.
This was the sort of man who made a woman feel sexy. Dark and
dangerous, commanding the world around him with nothing more than a
look and a few words.
A stillness descended over her, fine and crystalline, and she had never
been so aware ... of a man's
hand on her knee. Of the way his strong fingers splayed against her
inner thigh. And when he looked
up, she was sure he felt it, too.
Their gazes locked, their bodies close. He glanced at her lips, and a
teasing sweetness made her yearn even more.
But he was a gentleman.
After one last glance at her mouth, he returned his attention to her
knee. The outside world was
forgotten. She felt cocooned by awareness. She felt every time his
thigh brushed against hers.
Everything that wasn't her, everything that wasn't Chloe Sinclair,
surged up. Suddenly she wasn't embarrassed at the thought of being
sensual. She wasn't afraid of being rejected.
And wasn't that really why she had been afraid to be sexy? The fear of
rejection?
Sitting there now, with this man touching her, this stranger with his
hands on her body, she felt every
bit of embarrassment melt away beneath the terror of what she wanted to
do. Give in. Touch him back. Good girl Chloe Sinclair wanted to be
sinfully sexy.
She felt dizzy at the thought, her heart beating hard as she clutched
her hands together to keep herself from doing what she knew she'd
regret. She thought of splashing cold water on her face. She counted
to ten, then twenty. She concentrated on all she had to do over the
next few weeks. She had to approve payroll. Find new advertising
dollars. Brainstorm new programming options. But when he finished with
her knee, he straightened again, his competence and composure disarming.
He stood there studying her, not smiling. Then his eyes drifted down
over her body, his eyes flaring
with something hot. No one had ever looked at her that way before, the
heat tangible, making her feel both panicked and excited.
Then everything changed.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think. One minute she
was holding on to being sensible Chloe, smart, sane, safe, her life as
it always had been. Then the next she whispered, "Kiss me."
One long beat of silence passed before a tremor raced through him.
She was being forward and inexcusably loose. But as if a dam of
restraint had finally broken apart,
water rushing through, crashing at her defenses, she didn't care. Just
this once she wanted to lose
herself in the arms of this stranger who would disappear from her life
when it was over.
Tonight, just tonight, she didn't want to be sensible or even smart.
She wanted to be free and wild and filled with unchecked desire.
Frustration kicked inside her when he didn't kiss her. He only looked
at her, didn't reach out. He took
her in, and she cringed at the sudden thought that even made up and not
looking anything like her usual boring self, he wasn't attracted to her.
What an idiot to think that a man this strong and handsome and clearly
powerful would want herâeven with no names mentioned or strings
attached.
"Oh, God, I've completely made a fool of myself. I'm sorry." She tried
to get down off the counter, the movement reminding her of the scrapes
on her knees.
"You haven't made a fool of yourself," he said, his voice ruggedly
insistent, his body blocking her way. "You are beautiful and desirableâ"
Her snort was a knee-jerk reaction, the old Chloe surging back
ruthlessly.
"âbut you don't know the first thing about me."
That stopped her. She cocked her head and studied him. Was he testing
her?
"You don't know me either," she whispered. She met his eyes, and she
bit her lip for a trembling
second. "That's the point."
She startled him, and from the look of him she guessed he was rarely
surprised.
His brows slammed together. "I could be a ..."
"What? A murderer?"
"I am not a murderer." He sounded put out.
"Okay, then a Mexican bandit?" She tried to smile.
"Are we living in the same century?"
He looked at her lips again, despite his better intentions, and she
could see something that her inexpert eyes swore was desire. Hope
surged, and she felt an impatient anticipation.
"Would it help," she asked breathlessly, "if I promised that
I'm
not a bandit?"
She expected him to laugh, or at the very least smile. Instead his gaze
darkened. "I'm not so sure about that. With your innocent blue eyes and
mouth meant for sin, you look like you could easily steal something
I've never been willing to give," he stated cryptically.
But before she could question him, he groaned and cursed. Then this
stranger pulled her into his arms.
They clung together, the warmth of his body surrounding her. Their kiss
grew instantly hot, their mouths slanting together as if neither of
them could get close enough. His hands ran down her spine, and she knew
with a heady sense of certainty that whatever his reasons for kissing
her, this wasn't about pity.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't admit how many
times she had imagined something like this. In her dreams, in her
fantasies. Giving in to a forbidden passion.
He ran his tongue along her lips, opening her more. Their tongues
tasted and probed as she tugged his shirttails from his pants, wanting
to feel skin.
"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely against her ear.
She hesitated for a second, then said, "Does it matter?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She ran her hands up his chest, material
gathering against her wrists,
and after another second he gave in again.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded in a gruff voice.
A sharp thrill ran through her, centering deep and low. She did as he
asked, then felt a shiver of excitement as he unzipped the back of her
dress, the beaded skirt riding higher until it came up around
her hips, the top sliding lower until it revealed the curve of her
breasts. And no bra.
He picked her up and wheeled her around, pressing her back against the
finely papered wall. Then he dipped his head, that dark hair brushing
against her cheek as he trailed his lips along her skin.
"God, you're soft."
Lower and lower until he took one nipple in his mouth. He had exuded
raw sensuality just tending to her wounds. Now, with his intent purely
sexual, there was an animal fierceness to him that scared her as much
as it thrilled her.
White-hot electricity pulsed along every nerve ending. Struggling, she
tugged her arms from the restraint of her dress, the beads bunching in
cool heaviness against her hips. When she was finally free his thumbs
found her nipples. She felt hungry and needy in a purely physical way.
She groaned without an ounce of inhibition when his thumb and
forefinger closed on one taut peak. She trembled inside and her head
fell back against the wall. Then he ripped off his shirt, lowering her
just a bit, and it was in a moment of gasping surprise that she felt
the hard contours of his naked chest against her breasts. She felt
alive and captive at the same time, pleasure heightened by the
illicit-ness of what
they were doing.
Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in his hair, instinctively arching
to him as he seared his mouth across her body. When he gently sucked
one breast, her hands knotted, and she had to force herself to let go.
Neither of them said a word. They came together in a dance of silence.
Slowly, he let her down until she stood, her dress falling to her
ankles. His mouth nipped at her skin. He cupped her bottom, the thin
edges of a thong she had secretly purchased doing little to separate
their bodies. Palms to flesh, his fingertips curled low until she felt
him touch the juncture between her spread thighs.
The contact surprised her. At first she felt self-conscious. She
started to break free. But that was the old Chloe, the one she'd find
again once she walked out the door and never saw this man again. But
right now she wanted to let go. While she had the chance. No one ever
had to know.
Drawing a breath, she widened her legs. His deep, guttural moan brought
an answering cry welling up in her. She felt desperate, like this was
her only chance. She wanted more of him, wanted to be closer. He must
have sensed it in her. He pressed their bodies together. He kissed her
again, his hands coming up
to frame her face as his mouth reclaimed hers.
He sucked at her lower lip, before teasing her mouth open, allowing him
in to taste her more intimately. She didn't realize she had moaned
until the sound rumbled in her ears. She felt small and cherished,
even beautiful. Her hair was wild, but the way he held her made her
feel as if he could hold her forever and he'd be lucky.
His hands slid down her neck to her shoulders. The heels of his hands
grazed the tops of her breasts, but not lower this time. The tips of
his fingers brushed back and forth over her collarbones as he kissed
her. She thought she would cry out in frustration before he finally
cupped her breasts in his palms.
He pressed them high, his fingers teasing the peaks, circling. She felt
his breath against her ear when he ran his tongue along the delicate
shell. Then his thumb and forefinger closed with gentle insistence over
her nipple. Pulsing once, twice, his tongue dancing the same rhythm in
her mouth. She felt everything
in the core between her legs. Hot and needy.
When she groaned, he secured her spread-eagle against the wall, his
hands touching her, worshipping her... wanting her. Cupping her hips,
he pulled her to his hardness, again and again, ever so slightly, in
that rhythm prescribed by his tongue.
She trembled, stunned by the strength of her need. His breath on her
nape was like wind to a fire.
He cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him. "I want you," he whispered.
His voice was laced with the sound of raw hunger.
"I want you, too," she answered.
And when he started to undo his belt, she reached down to help, their
fingers tangling together.
Frantic, they tugged at the buckle and leather, and the sound of the
door banging against the lock didn't reach her at first. Her world
consisted of this stranger and his hands on her bare skin. But
something
must have registered with him because he cursed and tore away from her.
With a sudden flash, she realized people must be gathered just outside
the door. She could hear them talking, some woman complaining that the
hotel shouldn't lock the only bathroom they had in the main lobby. Then
someone else who told them to step back, followed by a jangle of keys
against the lock.
"Oh, my gosh!" she gasped.
Thankfully her stranger wasn't paralyzed. He immediately whipped up her
shimmery dress, whirled her around, and had her zipped back up with the
proficiency of a dresser at a Broadway play. Just as the
keys turned in the lock, he had his own clothes back in place.
"Let me handle this," he stated, stepping in front of her to block her
from view.
He stood like a warrior, his stance wide, his features dark, his frame
massive and forbidding. If anyone could protect her from embarrassment,
this man could.
But Chloe was hardly paying attention. With her heart in her throat,
she lowered her head, tucking in
her chin. Her heart beat like a drum, pulsing through her, and the
second the door opened, she flew into action. She wheeled out from
behind him, startling the small crowd who had gathered, and dashed for
the door.
She felt badly for leaving the stranger to deal with the mess, though
not badly enough to stay. Not even the realization that she had left
her tiny purse made her hesitate. But just when she got through the
crowd, for one quick second, she looked back. He was looking at her,
his hard-chiseled face quickly shifting from surprise to anger when he
understood what she had done. A shiver of regret raced through her. He
didn't look like the type of man any sane person should anger. She
prayed she never saw him again.
She flew out of the hotel, into the wind that hadn't died down. She
felt as if she was falling farther into a kaleidoscope of scenes in her
head. Of him. Of her. Blending together in passion, then separating.
Distinct, but different. Changed.
Anxious to get away, she found her car, thankful for the ever-practical
Hide-A-Key box under the wheel well. She had to get home, back to her
world, to put her life back into the order she had worked so hard to
achieve. But when she slipped into the front seat, then finally managed
to get the key in the ignition, she had the fleeting thought that her
perfectly ordered world had just changed for good, and that she would
never be the same again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Â
   Katherine Bloom
From: Chloe Sinclair
Subject: Emergency
I've tried to call you both but your lines are going directly to voice
mail. Which means you're online. When are you going to get second lines
or DSL?!!! But first things first! Can we meet at Danny's Cuppa Joe for
a breakfast confab before our 10 o'clock appointment? It's an
emergency, plus I'm starving.
Chloe Sinclair
Station Manager
Award-winning KTEX TV
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