Merry and Bright Page 4

  “Hot sex.”

  He was smiling again, and she gritted her teeth. “Nothing permanent.”

  “How long has it been for you?”

  “That’s not really any of your business.”

  “How long?”

  “Not quite two years.” One year, eleven months, two weeks and three days, not that she was counting or anything.

  “So you wanted me to be your Mr. Wrong,” he said. “To break your not-quite-two-year dry spell with some hot sex.” He arched his brow. “Were there any particulars? Special requests? Kinks?”

  She sighed. “Do you have to be crude?”

  “Oh, baby, if you think that’s crude, then we’re going to be in trouble when we get down to the doing.”

  “I’m not doing! Not with you!” She covered her face. “I’m over it.”

  He put a hand on either side of her hips. “But you wanted to. With me.”

  “Could you shut up now?” she begged. “Please?”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” His mouth nuzzled at her jaw and she attempted not to melt. “How about I keep my mouth busy with other things? God, something smells delicious.”

  “It’s not me, it’s the stuff in that mixing bowl.”

  He lifted the bowl. “What is it?”

  “Organic honey cream. Sort of.” It was a skin repair formula, and also a cell rejuvenation. Magic lotion, really.

  “Organic?” There was a light in his eyes that made her nipples tingle. “As in edible?”

  “I s-suppose.”

  “I like honey.” He smiled, and it was so wicked she quivered. He dipped a finger into the bowl.

  “ Jacob—”

  “I leave for New Orleans tomorrow, so that is your last chance at the whole Mr. Wrong experiment.”

  “Oh. Well. I don’t think—”

  Which was the last thing she got out before his mouth claimed hers. And while he distracted her with his very talented tongue, he gently urged her legs open and stepped between them, putting their bodies up flush together.

  Oh, God. “This is such a bad idea,” she managed as he took his lips on a tour over her jaw.

  “This kind of bad is good.” He took his finger, the one he’d dipped in the lotion, and touched it to her throat, then leaned in and licked it off. “Yum.”

  Dizzy, she clutched at him, holding him so tight to her that he couldn’t have gotten away if he’d wanted to. “I really think we should take a moment and discuss this.”

  “Okay,” he said agreeably, against her flesh. “You go ahead and discuss.”

  “You sh-should know, I might just be using you for the fantasy I’ve had since high school. The one where I was the girl in the empty classroom with you.”

  “Use me,” he murmured, his tongue taking a hot lick at the dip in the hollow of her throat. “You locked the door, right?”

  “No.”

  “I got it.” He slipped the lock and kissed her again.

  God, he was a great kisser. The king of great kissers. Greedy yet generous, soft yet firm, hot and wet but not too wet, and while he was going about rendering her incapable of remembering her own name, he undid the buttons on her blouse, letting out a low, appreciative throaty groan at the sight of her white lace demi bra, which was doing its job of holding up and displaying—until he unhooked it, that is. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the full curves plumping out of the top of the lace as he dipped his fingers into the lotion again.

  “Jacob—” The word choked off as he painted the honey lotion over her bared breasts, following up with his mouth as his very busy hands skimmed down her legs and then back up again, taking the material of her skirt up with them.

  Her pulse skittered. “I don’t know about—”

  “You taste better than the honey.”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “You never answered my question. Just hot sex? Or . . .” With a naughty bad boy grin, he flipped on the vibrating mixer at her hip and wriggled his eyebrows. “Extra stuff?”

  She took a big gulp as he nudged her blouse off one shoulder. The soft material of his shirt was stretched taut over his leanly muscled chest, loose over his belly, which she could feel beneath her fingers, fingers that somehow slipped beneath the tee to touch warm, hard abs.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  She played with the waistband of his jeans. “Um . . .”

  “Oh, don’t lose your nerve now.” His mouth was at her ear. “Tell me, Maggie. Slow and sweet?” He skimmed his thumb over a nipple, making her arch into him. “Or fast and hard?” His other hand was up her skirt, playing with the edging of her panties. “Or somewhere in between?”

  “Fast and hard,” she decided as she shoved up his shirt, revealing his stomach, which made her mouth water. “Really fast,” she choked out, as his finger slipped just beneath her panties.

  “I can do fast.” He glided the pad of his finger over her, his own breathing uneven, his body tight against hers.

  She was breathing just as erratically, and her body was every bit as tight, and also trembling.

  And wet.

  She dropped her forehead to his chest. She could tell he was holding back, being careful with her, and she’d have expected that from Mr. Right but not Mr. Wrong.

  She didn’t want careful.

  She wanted wild, unmitigated, unadulterated passion, from him, for her, and she wanted that now, along with her fast. So she kissed him, gliding her tongue to his. He made a low, rough, intimately thrilling sound from deep in his throat and his arms came up, banding tightly around her, pulling her flush to him.

  Careful restraint gone. Mission accomplished.

  “Tell me it’s like getting back on a bike,” she gasped. “That I’m going to remember what to do next.”

  “Trust me, you’re going to remember.”

  “Okay.” Desire was getting the best of her, and her fingers outlined the bulge of him straining the front of his jeans.

  “See?” He breathed shakily. “You’re remembering already.”

  She could hear the loud beat of his heart in her ear, could feel him shudder in pleasure when she stroked him. He wanted her. Her Mr. Wrong wanted her. Unlike her last encounter, the man she was with wasn’t worrying about the time, or his next meeting, or how he looked. He was thinking of her, touching her, kissing her, completely lost in her, and she let herself get a little lost in that, lost in the heat, the passion, the need, all the things she’d deprived herself of for so long.

  He tugged off her blouse, let out an extremely satisfying growl at the sight of her, and lapped up some of the honey concoction he’d left on her breasts, his thumbs rasping over her nipples until she thunked her head back against the wall. “Definitely remembering.”

  “Good.” He laved one nipple with special, tender care, then gave the other the same attention, until her hips were rocking restlessly, needing, desperately needing. His hands danced up the back of her thighs, cupped her bottom and squeezed. “That’s real good.”

  She tried to tug off his T-shirt, murmuring in delight when he helped, pulling it over his head. When she leaned in to kiss his chest, he let his head fall back, his hand coming up to cup the back of hers, which tightened on her as she licked his nipple. Egged on by his shaky exhale and the way he moved hungrily against her, she did it again, lapping up his magnificent body, all lean, long, hard angles, so male, so hot. It was incredible, it was freeing, knowing this was just sex, that’s all, and for that moment she felt like a different woman, and she loved it. Loved how he made her feel. “I’m ready for the fast and hard portion of the program,” she whispered against his skin.

  “Me, too.” He urged her hand lower to prove it, helping her unzip his pants to free the essentials.

  “Oh,” she breathed, wrapping her fingers around him. “You’ve definitely got the hard part covered.”

  “Yeah. Let’s work on the fast.” Pressing his mouth to her shoulder, he hooked his fingers in her panties. “Lift up, Magg
ie.” He tugged the material off and over his shoulder. The table was cold against her butt, making her gasp, but he slid his hands beneath her.

  She’d meant to do this quick, meant to get only what she needed and get out, but suddenly, getting out was the furthest thing from her mind. Awash in sensory overload, she wanted to do this for the next hour.

  All night.

  Straining against him, breathing like a lunatic, she murmured in surprise when he suddenly dropped to his knees and yanked her forward.

  Right against his mouth.

  He kissed her then, using his tongue, his teeth, and she lost herself.

  Completely.

  Lost.

  Herself.

  When she’d stopped shuddering, he surged back to his feet, produced a condom—God bless the condom—then in the next breath filled her so full she nearly came again on impact.

  And then he began to move, and she did come.

  Instantaneous orgasm.

  It boggled her mind, coming like that, coming without even trying, certainly without straining for it. He brought her up again with fierce thrusts that took her so far beyond her own experiences, she wasn’t sure she could even bear it. But then he whispered her name in a voice that assured her she wasn’t alone in this, that he was just as lost in her as she was in him.

  Right there in the very lab where she’d had endless fantasies about him for the past two months, he made them all come to life. And suddenly she wasn’t lost at all, but found, one-hundred-percent found.

  Jacob was still trying to find his legs and gather his senses when he heard it, a soft click, like a door closing. With Maggie plopped against him like a rag doll, he lifted his head but the lab door was closed.

  In his arms, Maggie stirred, and frowned. “Was that the door?”

  “I thought so but—”

  “No.” She peeked over his shoulder. “Couldn’t be. It’s locked. Oh my God, do you think someone saw us?”

  “Who has the key?”

  She blanched and straightened. “My bosses. And probably others. But they’re all gone for the day, or so I thought.” She pushed at him and he released his hold on her, stepping back as she hopped down and tried to put her bra back on. “Someone was in here.”

  Yeah. Very likely, which pissed him off.

  “But why? No one could have known we were going to . . .”

  “What do you keep in here? Anything you don’t want anyone to see?”

  She struggled with her blouse a moment, then whirled around, snatching her panties off a microscope with a sound of distress. “Plenty.”

  Her answer had him taking a second look at her as she fumbled to right her skirt, which was all twisted around her waist, a hot look he might add. He knew Data Tech specialized in the latest technology and inventions, putting new and innovative things on the market, often years ahead of their competition, but he had no idea what Maggie did exactly except make edible honey lotion. She limped away and into her office, still trying to fix her clothes. “I don’t know what anyone could have been looking for . . .” Then she turned back to him. “My briefcase. I left it and my purse in your temporary office—”

  “Wait here.” He ran back to the other side of the building, grabbed her briefcase and purse and turned to head back to her, but she’d come up behind him, standing there pale and quiet as he handed everything over.

  “There’s no one on my floor,” she said. “No one who might have come into my lab. Everyone’s office is dark.” She opened up her briefcase, searching inside for . . .

  A glass vial.

  Looking extremely thankful to see it, she flipped through the rest of the briefcase, checked her laptop, and then took a deep sigh of intense relief.

  “Important stuff?”

  “Two years’ worth of work, and this sample is definitely valuable enough to steal. If you know what you’re looking for.”

  “What is it?”

  “Transdermal drug delivery.”

  “Trans what?”

  “It’s a way to get cancer prevention and gene repair medication through skin care.”

  “Impressive,” he said, staring at her, suddenly understanding exactly what someone was doing snooping in her lab. “And definitely worth stealing.”

  “Yes. When the formula is right, just a little bit of this stuff could deliver a critical dose of meds, and if done correctly, virtually eliminate the side effects common with injections. I’m in testing now, the dosing is still inconsistent.”

  “But you’re close,” he guessed.

  “Yes. I believe I’m nearly there.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Not yet it’s not. At the moment what I’ve got is some fairly fabulous face cream that works better than cosmetic surgery, suitable for acne, anti-aging, and psoriasis, as well as repairing sun-damaged skin. But I’ll get there.”

  “Is that why your skin is so amazing?”

  Her gaze flew to his, startled. “You think my skin is amazing?”

  He slipped his fingers into her hair, letting his thumb trace her jaw. He’d just had her, and yet the simple touch still electrified him to the core. “I do.”

  “It’s my lotions, not me.” She clasped her hands and avoided his gaze. “So . . . thanks for tonight.” She grimaced. “I mean, for taking care of me after I fell, not for . . .” Her eyes drifted shut. “You know.”

  “For being your Mr. Wrong?”

  “Well, yes.” She was still flushed, her shirt a little crooked. She covered her eyes and laughed, and the sound did something low in his belly. “Look,” she said. “I know this is silly but I really do want to thank you. Can I buy you a coffee?”

  “Do I have to wait for you to shave your legs?”

  “Ha. No, it’s a little late now.”

  “I’d love a coffee, and the thanks, but I’ve got to get back to work. We’re working through the night and all of tomorrow so we can be done in time for the holidays.”

  “Oh. Right.” She backed up a step. “No problem.” She grabbed her briefcase and purse. “I understand.”

  She didn’t, he could tell. She thought he was rejecting her. “Maggie—”

  “No, I don’t want to keep you. Don’t work too hard!”

  And with that, she quickly rushed toward the elevator, out of sight, but not, most definitely not, out of mind.

  5

  That night, Maggie was home making chocolate chip cookies and eating most of the dough before she could bake it, still unable to believe she’d had sex in her lab—her lab!—when her phone rang.

  It was Scott. “Maggie?” he said, sounding caught off guard. “You’re . . . home?”

  “Well, yes. I am. Is there something wrong?”

  “No, but . . .” He let out a laugh. “You know what? This is embarrassing. I hit the wrong number, sorry.”

  Click.

  Maggie looked at the phone. “Okay.” Good to know she wasn’t the only one smart enough to calculate the mass of any object in her head but not socially talented enough to hold a conversation with the opposite sex.

  And yet she’d held the attention of a man earlier, hadn’t she? And even though the good-bye had been painfully awkward, everything between the Band-Aids and that awkward good-bye had been . . . perfect. She’d been wearing a stupid grin for hours. And still was. God, orgasms were good.

  She should bring him some of these cookies, as that thank you she owed him. It was the right thing to do, the polite thing to do. Thank-you-for-the-perfect-sex cookies.

  Still grinning, she put a batch in the oven and ate some more dough, which made her happy, and received two prank calls, which annoyed her. She watched Letterman, which didn’t annoy her, and finally went to bed, still grinning a little bit.

  When she got to work the next morning, she’d managed to downgrade the grin to a smile, but as she entered the building, nerves replaced it. How was she going to look Jacob in the eye after getting naked with him? On her worktable. She still had the
imprint of a slide on her ass. . . .

  But it turned out she’d worried for nothing. While the construction equipment was still blocking most of the hallway, Jacob was nowhere in sight. If he’d worked all night long, he was probably catching a quick nap, or maybe breakfast, so she brought the container of cookies she’d made him into her office, where they proceeded to call her name all morning. By lunch she’d peeked out her door so often for a sight of her Mr. Wrong that two of his workers thought she was stalking them. Annoyed at herself, she ate a few of the cookies.

  Just a few.

  All afternoon she could hear Jacob’s voice on the Nextels of his workers as they communicated, and every time she did, she felt the urge to eat a few more cookies.

  By quitting time she’d consumed a total of seven, leaving only five.

  Alice stuck her head in Maggie’s door to wave good-bye and Maggie absentmindedly waved back, sneaking out one more cookie. She was thinking about the last four when Alice called her cell phone.

  “Didn’t you just leave?” Maggie asked her.

  “I did. I am. Your car has a flat.”

  Dammit. She needed new tires. “Okay, I’ll call Triple A, thanks.”

  “Call now so you don’t have to wait.”

  “I will.” She hung up and looked at the cookies. Stress. Stress made her hungry. Jacob didn’t need four cookies, they were huge. So she took one more while she went back to her computer, and when she looked up again another hour had passed and the construction workers were gone.

  And so was their stuff.

  They were done, they were gone, and Mr. Wrong hadn’t even come to say good-bye. That hurt. But it also meant that the cookies were hers, so she ate one more and called Janie. “I made Jacob a dozen cookies and ate all but two by myself. Not counting the dozen I ate last night.”

  “This is why you’re single.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up and took her loser self to the parking lot where she found her flat tire and remembered that she’d forgotten to call Triple A. With a sigh, she sank to the curb by her car and pulled out the Tupperware.