The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) (17 page)

“I think I owe you dinner as well as lunch,” he said as they
walked to the house.

“What you owe me is three more hours on the end of a shovel.
Don’t think I wasn’t keeping track.”

He noticed that she hadn’t responded to his invitation, which
he chose to interpret as a “thanks, but no thanks.” Probably a good decision,
all things considered.

“Someone’s going to have a great time restoring all that
furniture,” Mackenzie said as they entered the kitchen.

“Not me, thank God. I’ll be more than happy to see the back of
it.”

“Amen.”

Mackenzie busied herself at the sink, washing her dusty hands
and forearms.

“I’ll grab you a towel,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

She was washing the last of the soap off as he returned, and
she glanced toward the doorway expectantly. There was a smudge on her nose and a
cobweb in her hair. At some point she’d stripped off her sweater to reveal a
slim-fitting black T-shirt, and the soft fabric outlined her breasts and belly
faithfully. Because he wanted to touch her so badly it hurt, he fell back on the
devices of adolescence, tossing the towel at her so swiftly and forcefully it
hit her in the chest before she could intercept it.

“Hey!”

“Sorry.”

“Like hell.”

He grinned. She dried her hands, shaking her head.

“You didn’t really expect me to take that sort of unprovoked
attack lying down, did you?” she asked, her head tilted to one side, her eyes
bright.

“It was an accident. Bad timing.” He kept his expression
deadpan.

“Yeah? Wait till you see my timing with a towel flick.”

She held the towel by one corner and twisted her hand in the
air, coiling the towel on itself.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned her.

“Lucky you’re not me, then.”

She flicked the towel at him, but he was ready for her, his
hand flashing out to grab the end before it could connect. She gave a war cry,
securing her grip on her portion, refusing to relinquish her weapon as he tried
to tug it free. He laughed and began hauling her toward him instead, using the
towel to reel her in.

“I warned you,” he told her.

Despite her laughing efforts to dig her heels in, she was soon
within reach.

“Give up yet?” he asked.

“Do
you
give up?”

“Never.”

He gave one last, hard yank, jerking her forward a final step
so that there was less than a foot separating them.

“Now what do you say?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“That you play dirty.”

“Do I?”

His gaze drifted over her face—her neatly arched eyebrows, her
upturned nose, the delicate shape of her jaw. It came to rest on her mouth,
where it had wanted to be all along.

She was smiling, and the urge to lean forward and taste her
happiness was like a hand in the middle of his back, pushing him forward. He
didn’t move, and the smile slowly faded from her lips. “I guess this is going to
keep happening, huh?” she said.

He recognized it as a fundamental truth. Immutable. As long as
there was air in his lungs, he would be attracted to Mackenzie, and he would
want to kiss her and touch her and get naked with her. It was as simple and
basic as that.

“I’m having a hard time remembering why I shouldn’t kiss you
again,” he said.

“If it helps any, I’m all for it. I’d even go so far as to say
that I am an enthusiastic advocate of more kissing. Not to mention any ancillary
benefits that might flow on from said activity.”

How was he supposed to resist this woman? Especially when he
didn’t even want to try.

His gaze found her mouth again. She tilted her face toward him.
He leaned forward, and so did she. She tasted clean and good and sweet and he
angled his head, wanting more. The towel fell to the ground between them as they
stepped into each other’s arms. He made a satisfied noise as her breasts pressed
against his chest and his hand slid onto the curve of her backside.

It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. He slipped his
hands beneath her top, filling his palms with her breasts. Mackenzie freed the
stud on his jeans and made short work of his fly. He groaned against her mouth
as she found him, her hand gripping his erection firmly before stroking up and
down his shaft. Only the knowledge that he didn’t have any condoms stopped him
from throwing her to the floor there and then. That, and the awareness of her
physical limitations. He settled for sliding a hand past the waistband of her
yoga pants. His fingers glided over soft skin and silken hair before sliding
into wet heat. She made an inarticulate noise, her hips curling forward to
welcome his touch. He found her with his thumb, small and perfect and hard for
him, and started teasing her.

She clenched her hand around his erection as she strained
toward him. She broke their kiss, pressing her cheek to his, her body taut as a
bowstring as she panted with need. He slipped a finger inside her and she
groaned, the sound vibrating through her body and into his, an expression of
pure need. He could feel how close she was and he backed her against the table
and bent his head to her breasts, suckling her through the thin fabric of her
T-shirt.

Her hand slipped from his pants to grasp his hip, her other
grasping his shoulder. Her whole body trembled as she hovered on the edge of
release.

“Come on, baby,” he urged her.

Her breath came out in a warm rush as she climaxed, her fingers
biting into his shoulder and hip as she lost herself in pleasure. After long
seconds, her grip loosened. He drew back enough to see her face.

Her eyes were tightly closed, her lips rosy from his kisses.
She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. Slowly she opened her
eyes.

Something hard and irrevocable hit him in the chest as he
looked into her eyes. He had the odd sense that for a split second, the world
stopped. There was only him and her and the sweetness of her climax and the hazy
pleasure in her eyes and the need to be inside her....

Then she closed her eyes again and let her head fall forward
against his chest.

“This is crazy,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear
her.

It was. They’d only just met. They lived in different parts of
the country. They had too much going on in both their lives.

But when he was with her, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to
make her shudder with need, and he wanted to make her laugh, and he wanted to be
challenged by her, and he wanted to ask questions until he knew all there was to
know about her.

Maybe it wasn’t smart. Maybe it wasn’t even rational or
remotely explainable. All he knew was that he’d spent nearly twenty-four hours
freaking out over something that had made sense to him only when he set his
mouth against hers again.

This was happening, whether they liked it or not. And right
this second, it felt unstoppable and absolutely inevitable.

He leaned forward and laid his cheek against hers. Closing his
eyes, he inhaled the scent of her perfume and shampoo and the warmth of her
skin.

“I don’t know about you, but crazy is feeling pretty bloody
good right now.”

He felt rather than saw her smile. Easing away, she dug her
hand into a hidden pocket in her pants and pulled out a small foil pack,
pressing it into his hand.

“Just in case,” she said with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.

“Have I mentioned I love how organized you are?”

She took his hand and towed him toward the door. “Tell me
later.”

She didn’t say anything more as she led him to the bedroom. The
moment they got there, he pulled his sweater over his head, then his T-shirt.
Her gaze went to his chest before dropping to his crotch. He savored the gleam
in her eye. She wanted—needed—this as much as he did.

He pushed his jeans down, stepped out of them. Mackenzie
started to undress, quickly catching up to him as she flung her yoga pants to
one side and stripped off her top. She was wearing plain cotton bikini panties
with an equally plain bra and she slipped both off as he pulled the sheets back.
They met in the middle of the bed, legs tangling.

They kissed and stroked and teased each other until Mackenzie
pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Her sex pressed against his
erection and she gazed at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes smoky with
desire. He cupped her breasts, flicking her already-tight nipples with his
thumbs. She arched her back, pushing her breasts more firmly into his hands.

She started to move, stroking her sex along his erection, hands
planted either side of his shoulders. He could feel how wet she was and how hard
he was and he got even harder. She closed her eyes, an intent expression on her
face as she concentrated on the slide of their bodies.

After a minute she opened her eyes again. She locked gazes with
him before collecting the condom from where he’d left it on the bedside table.
She tore the packet open with her teeth before stroking it onto his erection
with firm, sure hands. Then she rose to her knees and took him in hand. His
hands found her hips as she sank onto him.

“Mackenzie.”

She started to move and it was all he could do to stop himself
from coming on the spot, she was so damned hot and tight and wet.

Mackenzie rode him with her eyes closed and her head tilted
back. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell as her movements became
increasingly urgent. He watched her through half-closed eyes, his hands gliding
over the warm silk of her skin, fighting the growing need to grab her hips and
thrust into her soft, yielding warmth.

Finally it was too much for him and he gave in to instinct,
driving himself into her, need an urgent tattoo in his blood. She gave a small,
inarticulate cry, her head dropping forward, her hands clutching at his
shoulders. He felt her pulse around him...and was gone.

For long seconds there was nothing but the pleasure of release,
then Mackenzie slid off him and dropped to the pillow next to him. He grabbed a
tissue from the box beside the bed and took care of the condom before pulling up
the covers and stretching out an arm. Mackenzie took the cue to rest her head on
his shoulder, curling her body into his side.

He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the perfect simplicity
of the moment. Her body warm from the exertions of their lovemaking. The
thud-thud
of her heart close to his own. The hush of
her breath across his chest.

A feeling welled inside him, almost painful in its piercing
sweetness. It took him a moment to recognize it as happiness.

Mackenzie rose onto one elbow, her blue gaze traveling over his
shoulders and chest before scanning his face. She reached out and ran her
fingers across his chin.

“Don’t think it to death, okay? We’ve both had a shitty time.
Let’s just enjoy some good stuff for a change.”

There was only one possible response to her suggestion.

“Okay.”

She ran her fingers across his chin again, her gaze following
the action.

“Your whiskers are like glitter. Gold and bronze and
chestnut.”

“Glittery whiskers. I’ll add that to my Facebook profile.”

She smiled faintly. The sheet slipped off her shoulder,
exposing her upper arm and the curve of her breast.

“You’re the first man I’ve slept with who has longer hair than
me, you know that?”

“Is that a fact?” He tugged on her fringe.

“I used to have long hair. Before the accident.” She said it
wistfully.

“It suits you short.”

“Does it?” She didn’t sound convinced. “Every time I look in
the mirror I feel like I’m looking at a little boy.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing boyish about you.” His gaze shifted
to the curve of her breast.

“You talking about these little ladies?” she said, glancing at
her chest.

“I believe I was. Among other things.”

She pushed herself up so that she was kneeling beside him. “You
like them, huh?”

The covers pooled around her waist as she slid her hands onto
her breasts, plumping them for him.

“I do. Quite a bit, actually.”

“You don’t think they’re too small?” She considered her breasts
and almost absently ran her thumbs over her nipples.

He grinned, well aware of what she was doing but more than
happy to go along for the ride.

“I think they’re about right. They say more than a handful is a
waste.”

“But you have pretty big hands.” She pinched her nipples this
time and he watched as they hardened into pale pink peaks.

He was getting hard again. Such was her power over him.

“Your breasts fit perfectly into the palm of my hand.” He
demonstrated, cupping her warm flesh.

“Huh. I guess they do.”

There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she noted the tent
his erection made beneath the covers.

“You’re a vixen. A wanton, lascivious vixen,” he said.

“I think you’re supposed to sound more disgusted when you call
me names like that.”

“Are you kidding me? Wanton, lascivious vixens are my
favorites.”

She slid her hand beneath the covers and wrapped her fingers
around his erection. “I can feel that.”

She’d only brought the one “just in case” condom, so they drove
each other crazy with their hands and mouths instead, taking their time,
learning each other’s sweet spots. Afterward, she sprawled across his chest,
limp and sated, her cheeks a rosy-pink.

“Wake me if I get too heavy,” she murmured as she drifted into
sleep.

He was on the verge of sleep himself, but he smiled as he
thought about the way she’d teased him, the sass of her, the way she made him
feel.

This was good. He knew it in his bones. It might be too soon,
he might be too messed up, but it was happening and he wasn’t about to throw it
away. As Mackenzie had said, they’d had enough shit in their lives. Why
shouldn’t they enjoy some good stuff for as long as it lasted?