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I sank into the sofa facing the fire and kicked my shoes off. There was a chill in the early autumn air, so I tucked my feet under me on the cushion and reached for the cream-colored chenille throw draped over the arm of the couch. I covered my bare legs with it as he poured Scotch for himself and then opened a bottle of Chardonnay for me.
“Want more flame?” he asked as he joined me.
“No, it’s fine. I should have worn pants today. Little nippy out there.”
He eyed the flash of bare thigh not covered by the blanket. “The skirt puts me in a more generous mood.” He wagged both brows at me.
“No flirting,” I warned. It was bad enough that one look at him made my nipples tighten and my insides sizzle. He truly was a handsome devil, with chiseled cheeks, a strong jawline, straight white teeth and mesmerizing azure eyes. I didn’t need him adding more fuel to the fire with his suggestive comments.
Nearly a year had passed since I’d last had sex, and I’d been feeling nature’s call of late. This weakened my resistance. Michael’s charm and stunning good looks quickly did a number on me, making me a little breathless and a lot restless. My instant reaction to him hardly supported my resolve to stay out of his bed.
He took a sip of whisky then said, “I can’t help flirting with you. I’ve missed you.”
Subconsciously I’d already known that, which served as another hit to my determination to keep this a friendly, not sexual, visit. But I couldn’t dismiss the fact that his calls from the road, while he was on assignment, had become more frequent over the past couple of months.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admitted. Dinner or drinks once a week when he was in town had almost become the extent of my social life since I was working most of the time.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze slowly roving my body. His eyes lingered on my breasts, concealed behind a silver, satin button-down blouse tucked into my black skirt. He moved onto my bent legs and added, “Why don’t you curl up over here with me? I’ll warm you up.”
“Michael.”
“Fiona.”
The battle of wills ensued once more.
“I’m not here for anything more than a drink and to ask my favor.”
“Let me unbutton your blouse, and you can have whatever you want.”
A little prickle of desire along my clit made it damn hard to resist giving him whatever he wanted. Though he wasn’t dressed in black leather pants and a T-shirt as I’d envisioned when we were on the phone, he still looked unbelievably sexy in a pair of faded Levi’s and a white, button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his biceps, revealing the strong muscles of his arms. His hands were large, the fingers long and blunt tipped. I knew just how they felt on my skin and in my pussy, the memory making me bite back a moan.
I couldn’t help but think of how incredible it felt to make love with him. The images of numerous torrid nights spent together were vivid in my mind, even close to a year later. Of course, I fantasized about him enough to keep the mental pictures fresh.
Diverting my gaze so it didn’t land on his too-handsome-for-words face and those extremely kissable lips, I reached for the glass he’d set on the coffee table in front of us. I took a sip, hoping the chilled wine would cool my blazing insides. I even had to push the throw off my legs because I was burning up.
Christ Almighty, the man was ridiculously gorgeous and evoked the most carnal sensations deep within me. Lust was not something I felt o
n a regular basis, but when I was with Michael, I couldn’t escape it. I had naughty desires in spades!
When I turned back to him, one corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin.
He said, “Feeling a little hot and bothered, babe?”
“Do you call every woman that?” I countered, purposely ignoring his question.
He didn’t call me on my cowardice. Instead, he gave a slight shake of his head and answered my query. “Just you.”
I didn’t know if I believed him or not. He was, after all, as famous for his sexual exploits as he was his photos. His most recent conquest had been a lingerie model. At least, that’s what I’d read in last month’s tabloids. Thinking of this prompted me to ask another direct question. “Still with Lena Kensington?”
Another shake of his head. “Not for the past couple weeks. I wouldn’t be coming on to you tonight if I were. I know better than that.”
I had to give him points for being so astute. He knew my boundaries.
We’d been good friends when I was engaged to Seth. He and Jane were the only people who knew how truly heartbroken I’d been when I’d found out about the affair. I’d confided in Michael because he was easy to talk to, and he’d been genuinely concerned about me. I trusted him with my secret pain, though not my heart. Once bitten, yadda yadda.
“I’m not the one-night stand type,” I reminded him. “You’re not into commitment. I guess that resolves the sex issue. As in, we’re not getting it on tonight or any other night.”
Oddly, I felt disappointment over that statement. But I had to stick to my guns.
