The Perfect Man (4 page)

I made my way into the bedroom and stripped off my dress, sighing when I removed the boots. Another fantasy to be set aside. In the bathroom, I washed off my makeup, then found my current ragged fleece pants (I had several pairs, all in the same state of ripped up-edness), added a tank, a sweatshirt, and a pair of thick wool socks, then padded out to the kitchen in search of popcorn.

As I rooted around for the popcorn, my mind strayed to the last kiss I’d shared with Alex. Apparently, we had everything when it came to chemistry. Sweetness and fire. Now that I’d seen it, experienced it, it drove home one more thing wrong with my previous relationship. I’d had fire. I’d had softness. But it hadn’t necessarily been sweet or tender.

I braced my elbows on the kitchen counter. Jonah had screwed with my mind in more ways than one. Could I really trust my judgement as far as Alex was concerned?

At least Alex was honest. There was no doubt he wanted me. He’d taken care of me when he didn’t have to. He’d been kind and charming and embarrassed to be caught at an event like the one we’d been at.

I’d spent maybe an hour with him, and I already missed him.

I scrambled out of the kitchen and pounced on my phone. His number was right on top. I opened a new text message.
What if I want to pursue you
?

I wish I could chase you
. Like he couldn’t. Like he wasn’t free.

All the happiness I’d hoarded that evening fled, nausea taking its place. I didn’t want to know if he’d cheated. I wanted to tuck away the perfect memory he’d given me, where it’d always be shiny and clean. My stomach rolled and twisted. Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit send.

And waited.

And waited.

A full minute passed, the edges of the phone digging into my fingers, and I forced myself to put it down. I’d asked. I wouldn’t ask again. I shuffled back into the kitchen and went back to hunting for the popcorn. I swore I had some.

I located the bag of kernels at the exact moment my phone rang. I dropped the bag and darted out of the room, skidding over the hardwood floor and scaring another squeak from Remy. I snatched up the phone and glanced at the read out.

Jonah. Again. I ignored it, then blocked his number. He was an aggravation I didn’t need. I set the phone down, and it rang a second time. Hope leaped in my chest.

Lucy.

Swallowing my disappointment, I hit
Accept
. “Hey.”

“You home?”

I wandered over to the couch and sank down. “Yes. Got home about ten minutes ago. I was about to make popcorn for dinner.”

“Living on the edge there, Han.”

“That’s me. Ms. Spontaneous.”

Lucy sighed. “I’m sorry about tonight. I thought it would be different, you know? Not so rowdy and drunk.”

She sounded genuinely upset, and her words echoed what Alex had told me earlier. Curious, I asked, “What did they promote it as, exactly?”

“You’ve heard of speed dating, right?” I made a noise of assent. “Sort of like that. Not the same structure, but fewer people, more intimate, a good place to meet a number of people without the skankiness of a bar hook up.” She snorted. “That was an epic fail on their part.”

I snorted right along with her. “Agreed.” I sighed. “Hun, I appreciate the effort, but no more attempts to get me to date, okay? Seeing Jonah tonight…kind of made me realize just how badly I’d read him. So maybe I’m not ready to date yet.” Except for one man. One man who’d shown me tenderness and driven me to the edge in the span of an hour.

She was quiet for a minute. “I get it,” she said at last. “I just didn’t like seeing you sitting around your apartment all mopey. But yeah, no more set ups,” she added hastily, when I started to protest.

“Good. Can I go now? I have a hot date with JGL.”

She laughed. “Go forth and drool. Squeeze the tiny monsters for me.” Remy and Lucien were not shy, not in the least, and would climb all over anyone without the slightest provocation. One of them climbed up the couch as I hung up and then tried to claw his way up my sweatshirt. I pulled him off and scritched him behind the ears, jolting when the phone rang again.

Assuming it was Lucy inviting herself over for movie night, I answered without checking the ID. “Yes, I’ll make enough popcorn for you, too.”

Silence.

“Hannah?”

Oh. Oh god.
Alex
.

“Um. Hi?” Heat swept over my face, burning my ears. “I guess you got my text. Um. So. I can make popcorn. Or something else. We—”

“Hannah.”

I shut up.

I hated the phone sometimes. Like now, when I couldn’t see him, didn’t know him well enough to imagine what he might be doing. Were his eyes shut, or open? Free hand fisted or relaxed?

“Are you sure you want me to come over?” His voice was low, rough, and it was easy to imagine him above me, demanding. Demanding everything.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“About earlier.”

Dread coalesced and pooled in my stomach. Was he talking about the kiss? Or kisses?

“That guy, in the coat room—”

“Jonah. His name is Jonah.” I did
not
like this.

“Jonah wanted to know what I was doing with his fiancé.”

Nothing cooled ardor faster than a conversation about the ex. “Ex-fiancé, and I hope you told him it was none of his business.”

The bastard chuckled. “I figured out the ex part already. I doubt you would have reacted the way you did if you’d still been with him. But it stuck. You might not be with him, might not want him back, but I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret anything we do.”

My heart fluttered, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Perfect Man, making a return appearance. I wished he’d go away. “I haven’t seen Jonah in over a year. And that’s all I’m going to say about it. It’s a dead horse, and I’ve beaten it enough already. Are you coming over or not?”

I imagined the sound breaking into millions of particles, traveling through the ether, all to bring the sound of his silence to my ear. “Sweetheart…”

A heavy weight took up residence in my chest, threatening to sink into my stomach. I shut my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to let this drag me down. I’d take what I’d gotten and be happy with it.

“Give me twenty minutes. It’s started snowing again.”

My eyes snapped open and I dumped the kitten off my lap. “Unit six.” I disconnected and hurried over to the living room window.

It was definitely snowing again. Fat flakes, coming down in a hurry. It was calming, in an odd sort of way, the white confident it would cover everything, making it pristine.

Alex was coming. To
me
. Two words, and I’d broken through whatever resolve he had. I glanced down at my pants. I should put on something better. Sexier.

I darted out of the living room and down the hall, into my bedroom, stopping short in the doorway. It was neat enough. The bed was made. There wasn’t any dirty underwear lying around. It would have to do, because it would probably take me the entire twenty minutes to figure out what to wear.

*

The fire crackled merrily, the flames bright and cheery, but I didn’t see them. Almost an hour had passed since I’d hung up the phone with Alex, and the buzzer hadn’t rung. Neither had my phone. I gave up about fifteen minutes ago and changed back into my previous outfit, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders for good measure. I figured I had about another ten minutes to go before hope completely deflated and I started rationalizing.

Remy wandered over and pawed at the blanket, his meow absolutely pitiful. I picked him up and tucked him under my chin, smiling when his little sandpaper tongue licked my jaw. I’d be all right. I’d survived worse let-downs than this. Besides, who needs men when there were kittens?

Bzzzt
.

I froze, Remy squeaking in protest when I dropped him into my lap. I shot to my feet so fast my head spun. I tripped over Lucien in my haste to get to the intercom and had to take precious seconds to calm my breathing. “Hello?”

“It’s Alex.”

Just the sound of him, saying his own name, had a bolt of lust rocketing through me. I hit the button to unlock the front door to the building and flipped the deadbolt and the doorknob lock.

I was in ratty-ass clothes. Clothes
no one
saw me in, except Lucy, and she was forever trying to sneak them out so she could toss them. The pants were stretched out, the sweatshirt hung almost to my knees. It was about as sexy as an elephant, and from the footsteps pounding their way up the stairs, I had maybe two seconds before Alex would walk through my door. No time to change.

I flicked my fingers over my hair, smoothing it into place. He wanted to uncover my tattoos, did he? Here was his chance.

The knock was perfunctory, since I had the door open almost as soon as his fist hit it. He stared at me, his dark eyes full of heat and longing. Took a step forward. Another.

And dove in.

Hands in my hair, holding my head in place, tilting it to the perfect angle for his mouth to claim mine, he kicked the door shut behind him as his tongue slid over my lips. Telling me to open for him. On a moan, I did, melting against him. This was right. I needed this, needed this rush of sensation, this heady feeling of being craved, and as Alex’s tongue probed deeper into my mouth, I
was
craved.

I fumbled with the zipper of his coat, losing control all together when he moved his mouth from my lips to my jaw, nipping and sucking his way along it to tongue the delicate skin where jaw met neck. A strangled whine escaped, and I redoubled my efforts to get him out of his coat. I went for the buttons on his shirt and was met with smooth cotton.

Panting with need, I pulled away and glanced at his chest. “Wha—?”

He was wearing a t-shirt. My gaze traveled down, taking in jeans and heavy boots. He looked just as hot in them as he had in the dress slacks and button up shirt he’d been wearing earlier. “Take off your coat.” My voice was raspy with renewed lust, temporary confusion forgotten.

His coat fell in a heap on the floor, and I rushed him, sliding my hands under the hem of his shirt, greedy for skin. So
hot
. Hot and firm, and the lean muscles in his back flexed under my hands as I stroked up.

His hands started doing battle with my sweatshirt, and a giggle worked its way free. “Not funny,” he muttered, finding the hem and dragging the sweatshirt up. Thank god the tank I was wearing underneath was cute. Red, with little pink hearts. Valentine’s appropriate.

He skimmed his hands along my sides, lips curving in appreciation as his eyes locked on my chest. I’d always liked my breasts. From the look in his eyes, so did Alex.

He reached out and drew me to him, his mouth connecting with my neck and working its way down to my collarbone. I shuddered as he rained tiny kisses over it, his tongue trailing damp heat over my shoulder to the strap of my tank top. Nudging it aside, he worked his way across to my other shoulder. I couldn’t feel my knees any longer. “Alex…”

He lifted his head, desire bright in his eyes. “I want you over me,” I whispered. Needed him. Needed to see him braced above me, his weight pinning me down, his skin against mine, our hands and mouth everywhere.

On a groan, he took my mouth again, lust a vicious beast clawing at my belly. Every part of me was straining and aching for him to continue. Skin tight, heart racing, I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t
want
to. I whimpered, and he jerked back, his eyes wild as he looked around the living room.

He dragged me over to the fireplace, where I’d dropped the blanket I’d been using, and lowered me on top of it, following me down to settle between my legs. The groans we loosed were loud, long, and on the edge of embarrassing as our hips notched together. Even through several layers of clothing I felt the long, thick ridge of him, and I bucked my hips, crazy with need.

He stroked a hand down my side and over my hip, palming my ass with one hand to bring us into closer contact. “I’ll take care of you, Hannah,” he murmured.

His mouth was just as hot, as potent, as sweet, but some of the urgency had dissipated. He drew wet, lazy patterns on my exposed skin with his tongue, dipping under the top of my tank, gently tugging the straps aside to free my breasts.

The feel of his lips sealing around my nipple had my hips rocking against his, clit throbbing and seeking friction. Seeking relief. He sucked, swirling his tongue around the hardening point, biting down when it became so swollen it pulsed. I arched my back, clutching at his head and babbling incoherently.

His head came up, dark fire in his eyes, and he went to work on the other nipple.

My panties were sticking to me, nerves on high alert and begging for release. My hands scrabbled over his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it this way and that. “Off. It needs to come off.” He sat back and yanked it over his head, and I pushed my tank down to my waist, reaching for him.

He felt amazing against me. Like his skin would burn into mine, fuse us together. Mouths battling once more, his hand snuck up to plump my breast and thumb the nipple. I grabbed his hand and shoved it between my legs.
That's
where I wanted him. I was dying, inch by fiery inch.

Growling, he skipped over the waistband of my pants and dipped under, fingers arrowing for my dripping, greedy sex. The first brush of his fingers made us both still. “Christ, sweetheart. You’re
soaked
.” He kissed me, hard, his hand pushing at my pants. “Get ‘em off. Now.”

He sat up and dragged my pants down my legs, taking my panties with them. Tank scrunched around my waist, floppy wool socks still on my feet, he braced himself on one arm as his other hand cupped my sex. “Tell me what you need,” he said hoarsely.

I bucked my hips against his hand. “Touch me.”

One long finger slid through my labia, bumping against my clip. “Like this?” Gentle, almost too soft, and slow and steady, one finger bumping over my clit. Then two. I whined. “Or like this?” Those two fingers became one again, and he thrust it into me. I cried out, hips pumping in concert with his hand.