Page 536 of Summer Heat
And, well—her breasts. He couldn’t help it. His mind returne
d over and over again to that moment high above the ground when he’d lifted his hand and found her breast had been made for him. He kept remembering the feel of her—supple and delectably sensitive to even the tiniest touch. He wanted to make love to her in the light, so he could see what he touched, and watch her face blur with passion as he cupped his hands around her luscious flesh once again.
He hadn’t forgotten the odd sensation he’d had when he got out of the car, that maybe he was in too deep, that maybe he had no right to be wanting this woman. Especially not with this kind of intensity. She deserved better.
But maybe she deserved a little fun, too. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to just want to please a woman—especially one who seemed to come alive to his touch like she did. Especially when it seemed life had not been particularly kind to her.
Yeah, right. He heard the litany of justifications with cynicism.
He could justify himself all he wanted. The fact was, he wasn’t going to leave her alone because he wanted her. It was that simple. It wasn’t for her at all.
He spent half his time in a pleasurable haze, wondering what she was doing, what she was wearing, how it looked on her, the other half remembering how blisteringly passionate she had been. How richly she had responded. He had one vision of her, her head thrown back, her hair scattering over his fingers, as he moved his mouth on her throat.
It aroused him massively.
In fact, as much as he liked women, this kind of round-the-clock arousal was new for him. When he was younger, Valerie had whipped him into a frenzy at times—but there had always been a deliberation about the way she did it. He’d never been entirely sure she really enjoyed him. Even when she thrashed and hollered, he’d suspected a lot of it was sheer playacting.
It was hard to believe Tamara was even related. There was a guilelessness about Tamara he found refreshing, and there was no doubt in his mind that her response to him—that soft cry, that trembling, rocking, falling apart—had been utterly genuine.
His blood was fevered by the time he could call her Sunday night. And he was more crushed than he would have admitted to anyone when she declined his invitation. She sounded tired, and made apologies, but the fact was, she was too swamped with schoolwork to go out.
He thought he sensed a little reserve in her manner, but put if off to her preoccupation with school. He also reminded her to call Marissa.
Every night for the next week, he called. The story was the same all week long. She was too busy. She had too much homework. She couldn’t spare the time. By Thursday, his persistence embarrassed him, and he called Marissa instead.
“Hey, good-lookin’,” he said. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“Only if I can ask one in return,” she countered.
Lance felt the tension that had built in him ease a little. Marissa was a sunny, smart woman, and he loved the way she made him laugh. In spite of what Tamara had implied, Lance also knew Marissa was not the slightest bit attracted to him—she liked big, burly, hairy biker guys. Her father would approve far too much of Lance for him to be even remotely interesting. “Anything you want, doll.”
“You first.”
Lance drew an eye on a piece of paper in front of him. “Has Tamara called you by any chance?”
“She did. I helped her with her accounting.” She chuckled. “I have to tell you, this woman does not have a head for figures.”
Lance carefully added eyelashes to the almond-shaped eye. “So I guess she’s really been swamped?”
“Are you going to get to the point anytime soon?”
“I want to go see her at the bar tomorrow night, but I don’t want to be too obvious about it. I think—” he cleared his throat “—maybe I’m getting the brush-off.”
Marissa laughed softly. “I get it. You want some female there to balm your bruised ego if she tells you to get lost.”
Lance grinned. “Exactly.”
“I can do that. But I can tell you, she wants you bad, big boy.”
“Yeah, right. What’s your favor?”
“I need someone to take me to a dance at the country club in a couple of weeks.”
“The country club? I thought you scorned all that rich-girl stuff.”
Marissa sighed. “The fact of the matter is, I’m sick to death of the sideways comments about diet and exercise from a certain blond bimbo in my acquaintance, and I want to shut her up.” She made a frustrated little noise. “Mine’s an ego favor, too.”
“I’ll make a spectacle of myself, adoring you.”
