Asking for Trouble Page 12

  She was terrified. “It would have killed me.”

  “You’re fine,” he murmured.

  “That thing would have nailed me and taken me over with it. I would have seen it a moment too late and been hit dead-on.”

  Knowing he needed to calm her down, before her admittedly vivid imagination got too out of hand, he sat on the ottoman across from her, dropping his elbows onto his knees and leaning close. “You would have heard it in plenty of time, Lottie. The thing rattled like a freight train.”

  She just shook her head. “I wouldn’t have, I was too busy, cursing you under my breath just like my great-aunt Carmela does whenever she’s mad at someone. I wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

  Nice to have a little forewarning about what she did when she was mad at someone. But Simon didn’t waste time thinking about that now. He only wanted to calm her down, to reassure her that she was fine. Safe.

  That he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  God, he would never let anything happen to her. He was still utterly terrified at just how close a call it had been.

  “Where the hell did that thing come from, anyway?” Though her voice shook, a bit of toughness appeared in her expression.

  “It’s been just a backyard decoration for years. It’s usually got blocks of wood stopping it from going anywhere. I have no idea how it could have started rolling.”

  She looked him in the eye for a long moment, and in her dark eyes, he saw a number of questions. Concerns. Worries.

  One thing he did not see, however, was fear. Not of him, anyway.

  He couldn’t even begin to thank her for that trust. Nor could he begin to evaluate why he was so damned grateful for it when he’d been telling himself for months that he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. “I swear to you,” he murmured, “I would never do anything to put you at risk.”

  She waved her hand, grunting. “Of course you wouldn’t. You can’t possibly think I suspect you just tried to bump me off.”

  He didn’t answer at first. No, he hadn’t thought that…but it occurred to him that if his cleaning lady had been the one on the cliffs, that’s exactly what she’d have thought. What most people would have thought.

  But Lottie trusted him. End of story. God, had he ever been that trusting? That quick to evaluate someone and put all your faith in them, to never doubt?

  “Damn, Simon, what is going on with you?” she asked, appearing shocked and dismayed by his continued silence. “You actually think I’d suspect you? What on earth happened to you to give you this awful outlook on yourself and on other people?”

  He knew she wanted answers. He couldn’t, however, give them to her. Instead, gently pulling her fingers open so he could look at her palm, he said, “Your hands are pretty cut up. You should go get these clean.”

  Sighing audibly, she shook her head, silently expressing her disappointment. Then she flipped his hand over, too. “Ditto.” Dropping the blanket, she rose and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill. “I wish there was a bathtub in here. I’d love to soak in a bunch of bubbles in front of that fire rather than in that icebox on the third floor.”

  She’d mentioned the cold room a couple of times, but he hadn’t had a chance to go up and check out the individual heating unit. He’d been too selfish, too self-absorbed to think about her comfort.

  What a bastard.

  “Look, there’s another bedroom down here in the private apartment. If you’re not uncomfortable having a little less privacy, you’re welcome to use it. I think it would be more comfortable than being up on the third floor.”

  Her eyes widened and she slowly nodded. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

  Wonderful? No. It would be sheer torture having her so close—close enough he’d probably be able to hear her breathing at night as she slept on the other side of a thin wall in the apartment. But he’d get over it.

  “In the meantime, use my bathroom. My uncle had the private rooms renovated a couple of years ago and there’s a double-sided gas fireplace, one side right at the foot of the tub.” Even as he made the offer, he wondered how he was going to handle waiting around for the next hour, visualizing her standing in his bedroom, stepping out of her clothes. Walking naked to the bath and bending over to turn on the spigot. Reaching down to test the water. Settling in to the hot tub until only a layer of bubbles coated her wet body.

  Only the smile on her face made him stop his instant impulse to take back his offer.

  “That would be perfect,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. Leaning down, she pressed her mouth to his temple, kissing him right beside the thin scar, his constant reminder, his penance. “Thank you. For everything. Whether you want to believe it or not, you saved my life.”

  Unable to resist, he caught the mass of rich, mahogany hair in his hand, twining his fingers in it and tugging her closer. He needed to feel her mouth, to breathe her in, if only to drive away the remaining coldness her close call had caused deep inside him.

  She didn’t hesitate, meeting his mouth with hers, parting her lips in a sweet sigh of surrender. Neither of them deepened the kiss or made it anything other than what it was…a gentle thank-you, a soft you’re-welcome. An acknowledgment that something was happening between them.

  And, on Simon’s part, an admission that perhaps something more was going to happen.

  Then she left the room, going upstairs to get her things. Simon walked out the other door of the office, which led to his bedroom. His bed was unmade, the covers tangled and strewn around—evidence of his restless nights, he supposed. He had a moment’s impulse to straighten up, the intimacy of an unmade bed almost seeming unbearable in light of his feelings for the woman about to walk into his room.

  But there wasn’t time. If she walked in here and saw him making the bed, what else could she think except that he wanted her to help him unmake it?

  Instead, he went into the bathroom, used the remote to fire up the gas fireplace, then turned on the hot water, letting it flow into the tub. Using a dimmer switch on the wall, he brought the lights down, wanting Lottie to have exactly the warm, relaxing bath she so needed after her harrowing experience.

  Which meant he needed to get out of here. Because it wouldn’t be relaxing if he was still here, hovering, picturing her clothes hitting the floor as she stepped into the tub.

  But he hadn’t even turned around when he realized he was no longer alone. He hadn’t realized Lottie had come into the room behind him until he saw her hand reach around to dump a milky liquid into the water gushing from the tap. Frothy bubbles immediately appeared, and a strong scent of vanilla wafted up.

  “You travel prepared,” he murmured, not turning around, having to push the words out of his tight throat.

  “I’ve just been waiting for the chance to get my hands on your…bathtub.”

  Lottie’s voice was low, throaty, and Simon had to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath for strength. He needed to get out of here. Now. Before he did something really stupid.

  “Help yourself to whatever you need,” he said, walking away from her toward the linen closet. “Towels are in here.” Grabbing one, he turned around, prepared to hand it to her.

  But nothing, God in heaven, nothing could have prepared him for what he’d find.

  Lottie stood there beside the tub, her hair loosely piled on her head with a few long curls trailing across her cheeks to brush her shoulders.

  Her bare shoulders.

  She was completely naked, her beautiful, curvy body perfectly illuminated by the flicker of light from the fireplace. Enveloped by steam, she was like some mythical being stepping out of the mist. Perfectly shaped, from her long, graceful neck, her delicate throat, to her smooth shoulders. Those unbelievable breasts topped with hard, rosy nipples. Her waist was slim, her hips generous. A tiny tuft of curls appeared between her creamy thighs, and the perfection continued straight down to her toes.

  She was like the epitome
of woman brought to life by an artist working with the most valuable, ethereal clay.

  “I think I need someone to scrub my back,” she murmured, her tone so sultry, her meaning so clear, it made his blood turn into lava in his veins.

  She lifted her hand, reaching for him. “Will you?”

  “Lottie…”

  “You are not alone anymore. And I don’t want to be alone anymore, either. Not when we can do so much for each other.”

  Lottie bent down and turned off the faucet, revealing more of that perfect body. The slimness of her waist, the generous curve of her hip. Rising, she smiled and drew in a deep breath. “I think my bath’s ready.”

  He couldn’t force a word past his lips.

  Delicately stepping over the side of the large clawfoot tub, she hissed a little at the heat of the water. Slowly lowering herself, her hiss turned into a purr of delight.

  Simon almost echoed it as he watched her begin to disappear beneath the bubbly surface, inch by inch. She stared at him, confidently, obviously seeing the sweat breaking out on his forehead as it became more and more impossible to hide his hunger.

  “Umm, warm,” she said as she stretched lethargically. She sunk lower, beneath the bubbles, her bent knees rising above them. Parted.

  The tops of her round breasts remained just above the water as well, a few bubbles clinging to the taut nipples, begging to be kissed off.

  She dropped a hand on her chest, sliding it down until it disappeared beneath the foamy white layer concealing most of her glorious form from his gaze.

  “Yes, I’ll definitely need someone to help me with my back,” she whispered, licking her lips and never taking her eyes off him. “So tell me, Simon. Will you stay?” Lifting her hand, she trickled some soapy water on her upraised knee, lifting that endless length of toned leg high and resting her foot on the side of the tub.

  “Please, Simon. Stay.”

  9

  Lottie

  I’VE BEEN ACCUSED of being many things in my life—bossy, hardheaded, loyal, mouthy and determined among them. But no one has ever accused me of being subtle.

  This moment would surely put the exclamation point on that declaration.

  As I sat in the bubbling, hot water, hiding my hint of nervousness behind sheer bravado born of outright hunger, I couldn’t help wondering what was going through Simon’s mind. Was he shocked? Surprised?

  Please, not disgusted.

  I didn’t accept his offer of the use of his bathroom intending to strip naked and practically beg the man to make love to me. In fact, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me until I was returning from my room, my bathrobe and toiletries in hand.

  Seeing him standing there, testing the water, his thick, nearly black hair glimmering in the low light, made the vague idea an imperative compulsion. I’d stripped off my clothes, as if in a daze. Focusing only on how much—how very much—I wanted him, I’d put aside all question and doubt, embarrassment and modesty.

  And now I waited, exposed and vulnerable, wearing my desire on my face and making no effort to hide anything I was feeling.

  Simon, to my great relief, was not very successful at hiding what he was feeling, either. Still standing a few feet away, at the foot of the tub, he looked down at me, his whole body clenched tight. From his rock-hard jaw to his stiff shoulders, his fisted hands and his rigid posture, he was the picture of a man striving for control.

  “Stop fighting it,” I urged, letting my fingertips trace a slow, lethargic trail up my thigh. I wanted to be touched by him, not myself, but I wasn’t above using that sultry imagery to get him to acknowledge he wanted me, too. “Simon, please, stop pretending you don’t feel the same thing I’m feeling.”

  “I’m not pretending it,” he admitted, his tone thick. He cleared his throat. “I just don’t know that we should act on this.”

  Sliding to the end of the tub, I shifted until I was on my knees, my arms across the edge. He was just a few inches away and as I rose higher, my hair brushed his hand. My mouth was close enough for him to feel my breaths falling warm on his stomach. My wet breasts glistened and shone.

  “Yes, Simon,” I murmured, reaching up to slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing his muscular chest inch by inch. “We should act on this.”

  He didn’t resist. For a long moment, he remained silent, staring down at me as I finished unbuttoning and tugged the shirt free of his waistband. Then I reached for his belt.

  “Lottie…”

  “Shh. I have to act on this.”

  Casting a quick glance up, I saw his head was back, his eyes closed. The muscles of his chest flexed and rippled beneath the unfastened shirt and his taut stomach just cried out to be touched. Kissed. So I leaned forward, pressed my mouth there and licked my way down to the top of his trousers. I continued to taste him—savoring the salty, masculine flavor of his body—as I undid the belt and slowly tugged it free, loop by loop.

  Tossing it to the floor, I unfastened his pants, nibbling my way lower to sample more skin as it was revealed. I scraped my teeth on a wiry, thin trail of hair that disappeared into the elastic waistband of his tight boxer briefs. Inhaling deeply, I moved my mouth lower, so I could exhale my hot breath right on that huge, rigid erection straining against the white cotton.

  He still didn’t speak. But his hands moved to my hair.

  And I knew I’d won.

  Almost shaking with my triumph—and my excitement— I tilted my head back to look up at him, seeing the blazing heat in his eyes as he stared down at me. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” Moving one hand to my face so he could scrape the rough pad of his thumb across my lower lip, he added, “And I want you so much.”

  “So take me,” I replied, sinking my teeth lightly into his thumb. “Have me.”

  He shrugged his shirt off, tossing it away and I almost slipped in the tub, my breath taken from me at just how perfectly made he was. His broad shoulders were even more emphasized by the leanness of his hips and waist, and there wasn’t an ounce of excess anywhere on his hot, hard body.

  Glancing at his bulging briefs, I quickly amended the thought. I suspected he definitely had something extra to offer in that area. Judging by the way the white cotton gapped away at the top, barely able to cover the man, I suspected it was a lot extra. And I just couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

  Starting to push his khakis down, I paused when he reached into his pocket. Seeing him grab a condom from it, I smiled. “I guess I wasn’t the only one thinking this way.”

  He shook his head. “No. You weren’t.”

  He said nothing else, and I went back to what I was doing. Getting the glorious man out of his pants.

  When they were gone, I trailed my fingertips across his erection, almost shivering in anticipation. Simon continued running his fingers through my hair, tugging it until it tumbled down over my back and my breasts.

  Scraping my nails lightly on his stomach, I watched his skin quiver in reaction, then I pulled the briefs down and off.

  “Oh,” I whimpered, my whole body shaking with heat and desire. The moisture between my legs was a hundred times hotter than the bathwater as I stared at the big, powerful erection just inches from my face.

  I had to taste him. Oral sex wasn’t something I’d had a lot of experience with—nor had I particularly cared for it, either—but I suddenly had this compulsion to thoroughly savor the man. Scraping the tip of my tongue across the base of his shaft, I moaned at his hot taste and musky scent. I thought I heard him groaning above me, but I couldn’t focus on that. I could only think about exploring him, licking a path from the very base all the way up to the top of his cock.

  Once there, however, I wanted nothing more than to suck deep. Pausing only to lick away a few drops of his body’s glistening moisture, I opened my mouth on him. Knowing by the long shudders ratcheting through his body that he was definitely enjoying it, I sucked the entire silky smooth, bulbous tip between my lips and lathed him with my tongue.

/>   “Holy…Lottie…”

  I didn’t stop what I was doing, lowering my mouth, twisting my head so I could take him deeper. I kept one hand on his lean hip, and slid the other along his thigh, then between his legs to cup his most vulnerable spot. He groaned again as I toyed with him, stroking and caressing while I continued to draw him deep into my mouth and then ever so slowly pull away.

  When the enamel of the tub grew hard on my knees, I shifted a little. Simon used the moment to take control. Stepping away, he stripped off the rest of his clothes.

  “You are absolutely perfect,” I whispered hoarsely, meaning it when I saw his entire body for the first time. His strong legs were as muscular and toned as the rest of him. And his sex jutted out in bold male determination.

  “Lie back,” he ordered, staring at me from above.

  I did. “Are you going to join me?” I asked as I slid back in the water, extending my legs out in front of me.

  “Not yet.”

  Dropping a hand into the water, he gently pushed me until I was reclining against the curved end of the tub. Pulling a small, decorative bench out from under the window, he moved it behind the tub and sat down behind me. If I put my head back, it would be resting right on his erection.

  I put my head back.

  Simon didn’t protest, but merely leaned over to place both hands on my shoulders, slowly kneading and massaging my body.

  I almost purred at the strength of his touch as all my tension and worries disappeared. Sighing at the pleasure of it, I turned my head and lazily kissed the inside of his strong thigh.

  My body was slick with the bubbles and his hands skimmed easily over my skin. But they didn’t go quite where I wanted them. “Please,” I whispered, knowing he knew what I wanted.

  He did. He flattened his palms on my shoulders, then slowly moved farther down until they scraped over the tops of my breasts, which protruded from the top of the water. Taking them in his hands, he whispered something, low and guttural. Something that sounded like, “Perfect.”