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“Let me,” Joe said, reaching for the keys from her cold, shaking hand as she rose.
She did, passing the key chain to him, nearly unable to think because of his closeness. His breaths touched her hair, his fingers sent friction shooting up her arm. His low, sultry whisper was only a tiny bit louder than the roar of her wildly beating heart.
Finally, when the door was open, she could resist no longer. She swung around, backing into the darkened room, throwing her purse to the floor. Grabbing the front of his jacket in both fists, she tugged him in with her. She noted the surprise in his widened eyes, but paid no attention to it as she leaned up on tiptoes and crushed her lips against his.
“Sweet Meg,” he whispered against her mouth. He resisted for no more than a second, then wrapped his arms around her as if he were a man holding on to a life ring. Their lips parted. Breaths were shared. Tongues met and danced in a hot, wet frenzy that tasted like wine, pizza and frantic need.
And suddenly Meg knew she didn’t want a glass of milk. She wanted the whole damn cow.
When he moved his hands lower, cupping her hips, pulling her tighter against him, she whimpered. Feeling how affected he was by their embrace—hard and stiff against his jeans—her whimper turned to a moan. Instinct, not experience, made her grind her hips against him there.
She needed so much more.
When she felt his hand slide up, under her sweater, to delicately stroke the sensitive skin along her spine, her legs went weak. He held her tighter, caressing the arch of her back, his fingers moving in tiny circular patterns near the edge of her skirt She hissed when they dipped below the waistband.
Reaching for the door, intending to slam it shut she suddenly realized Joe’s other hand was already there. He was holding it open. He moved his mouth to her jaw, kissing her, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck, just under her ear.
“The door,” she whispered. “Shut...the door.”
“No, Meg.”
She froze. “What?”
She saw the effort it took him to pull his hand from her body. “I should go.”
Go? Now? “Why?”
“It’s late. You’ve had a long day.” He took a step back, separating them by much more than a few inches. The way he held his body told her they were miles apart. “Plus, we just met.”
Oh, God, he thought she was a floozy. She, Meg O’Rourke, whose simple white underwear had served as an effective chastity belt for the past five years. Meg, who’d never initiated a kiss with a man in her life, had gone from nun to tramp in thirty seconds. Must be a record.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to, uh...you must think I...”
He shook his head hard, then cupped her chin to force her to meet his stare. “No, I don’t. What I think is you’ve had a long, emotional day. As much as I want what you’re offering, I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage of a very vulnerable woman.”
Just her luck. She’d decided to go for it with a man who had a conscience.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Meg. And I’ll see you tomorrow night. You can count on it. Okay?”
He was gone before she could agree, hurrying down the hall as if afraid that if he didn’t leave right then and there, he might not leave until morning. That was some small consolation, she supposed. There was no way he could have faked his response. The evidence had been, uh, impressive. Meg stood in the doorway, listening to his steps on the stairs and the closing of the building’s front door. Then she leaned forward, thunking her forehead on the door frame.
“Well, you certainly blew that one, didn’t you, missy?”
Oh, please. Not this. Not now. She looked up and saw her neighbor scowling at her from the doorway across the hall. “Mrs. Mahoney. You’re up late.”
“Indigestion.” The woman dropped a hand to her pendulous stomach and rubbed at it absentmindedly. “Rico at the deli put hot peppers on my hoagie. He knows my stomach can’t take them. I think he did it on purpose because I didn’t give him a big enough tip last time.”
“Why didn’t you pick them off?”
“Because I love the blasted things,” the woman confessed. “Don’t change the subject How’d that hottie slip off the hook?”
Meg shook her head. “It’s late. I really need to turn in.”
The elderly woman, who was actually rather nice when she wasn’t doing her imitation of Mrs. Kravitz from that old show Bewitched, smirked. “Tell me what happened and I won’t tell your mother you went out with a blond-haired man in a sports car, and came home with a dark-haired man in a truck.”
And to think she’d just believed the woman could be nice. Knowing the old battle-ax with the steely blue eyes would make good on her threat, Meg briefly explained how she’d switched dates. She never mentioned where she’d met Joe, though.
“He was being noble. So, when you kissed him, he ran off.” She crossed her arms. “Darlin’, you really need to learn, males have to build up to these things. He looked upon you as someone he’d saved from a wicked man. The last thing he needed was to feel like he was a wicked man himself.”
