Part 5 (1/2)

”I couldn't stand the thought of you out here alone, so I got you some food. And if you're gonna be eating, and I'm going to be right there, in case you change your mind about talking to me...”

”You thought you'd just bring a little more, just in case?”

Philip presses the clicker and the T.V. shuts off.

”That's about right,” she says. It's not until he steps into the doorway to the kitchen to continue the conversation that he sees that she's stripped to the waist, her back to the door.

Part of him wants to stay and watch. She's got soft, clear skin, and her dark hair falls against it strikingly. Even from behind, with not a whole lot to see, she's a very attractive woman.

He turns away down a hallway, presses his back against the shared wall. ”You need anything? I could, I dunno, probably get you a change of clothes. No guarantees how it'd fit.”

She doesn't respond right away. The sound of water hitting steel as she wrings her s.h.i.+rt out.

”I couldn't. That would be totally inappropriate.”

”I'm just offering you a s.h.i.+rt and a pair of jeans, Miss Lowe, not askin' your hand in marriage.”

Another pause. Another squeeze-out into the sink.

”I don't want to put you out.”

”You wouldn't be putting me out.” The thought runs through his head and out his mouth, while the alcohol runs interference on his better senses. ”Easier for me than having to look at a pretty woman in a wet s.h.i.+rt like that.”

Another squeeze, this one quieter. Smaller.

”If it wouldn't be any trouble, then-”

Philip doesn't answer. He's already going to grab something from his dresser. The place isn't fit for guests, but now that she's here... well, it could be worse.

It got a lot worse, the first year. It wasn't until a year ago now that he had figured out that he can't just keep wallowing. It had been a big project getting this far. It would be a big project getting any further.

But you either do it, or you quit. What's the point of going halfway?

”Got your s.h.i.+rt,” he says, finally. He's standing in the doorway. The second she starts moving, he's already wondering whether or not she's thought it through, but she turns anyways.

Her bra is hanging over a chair. She must have been thinking about what she was doing, right? And yet... she keeps turning. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are the first thing that strike him, and with the buzz from the alcohol, the voices telling him to stay are a h.e.l.l of a lot louder than the voices telling him to walk away.

She walks up. If she hadn't realized her state of dress when she turned at his voice-well, that might have been instinct. A reflexive action. But the look on her face now shows that she knows exactly what she's wearing, and she's not happy about having just made an idiot out of herself.

She should be giving herself more credit. She might have made an idiot out of herself, but she made for a very attractive idiot.

”Thanks,” she says. She takes the s.h.i.+rt and swings it around her shoulders. It sticks a little where her skin is still damp.

”Not a problem.”

This close up, he can practically smell her. Can practically smell everything about her. The shampoo she uses, the smell of the damp air outside, mixed in.

She smells like a pretty woman. Like everything he'd imagine a pretty woman to smell like. And she's standing in front of him. She's closer to him than he'd realized. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are almost touching his chest. Her face is filling his vision.

And then, before he even realizes that he's the one moving, her lips are pressed against his, and he's pulling his arms around her, and it may be a moment of weakness but it's a moment of weakness that he's not looking to end.

She's kissing him back, and now her hands are on his hips, pulling him in closer, too. It doesn't take long for b.u.t.tons to start being undone. For skin to press against skin as they hold each other.

Her body is cold from the wet and the rain, little goose-b.u.mps raised all across her body. She s.h.i.+vers, though Philip can't say whether it's from the cold or from something else entirely.

His hands dance across her skin, now, pus.h.i.+ng the boundaries that they've set for themselves once again.

He should've stayed outside the kitchen. He should never have seen what he saw. Then he shouldn't have kissed her. But he did.

And now, he shouldn't be letting his hands dance underneath that unb.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt, testing the soft skin of her sides, finding the feel of the curve by her ribs. Feeling the way that her back arches under his dancing fingers.

But he is, and he's not going to stop. His breath catches in his throat. He's not going to stop for anything or anyone, not unless she makes him. And from the way her teeth bite into his lip, pulling on it softly...

He doesn't think she's going to be stopping anything.

Chapter Twelve.

Morgan Lowe knows exactly how much of a mistake she's making. Some small voice in the back of her head is telling her how it's all going to be fine. How this is building up a relations.h.i.+p with him.

Not a business relations.h.i.+p, of course. That part of her is lying its a.s.s off. This isn't going to turn into anything. If it does, then whatever it turns into isn't going to be what she came here for.

She'd been wanting a sense of camaraderie. A sense that she was friendly, that she wasn't just a blood-sucking harpy who was out to steal his land. After all, that was what men thought of her, right? Just some kind of b.i.t.c.h.

Instead, she's building up a very different sense. His hands run across her skin, sensitive from the cold. Like little spots of warmth, wherever he touches. This is a mistake, and it's a mistake she's decided to make anyways.

Her lips press against his neck and then her teeth bite down. Philip lets out a little gasp and lowers his weight a little, turning and pressing her back into the wall. She lets go of his neck and takes a deep breath.

She can see the way that his eyes drop to watch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s heaving as she breathes. He pulls the thin cotton fabric away from them and looks. She resists the urge to cover them up. She's already resisted it long enough as it is.

She'd never been happy with her body in the past. Why should that be any different now? But something about the way that he looks at her, hungry, needing something that neither of them are entirely prepared to explain to the other- It makes her feel like a woman, in a way she's never felt before. In a way that makes it feel less like she's at a disadvantage to every man she's ever met.

His head dips and his hot mouth engulfs a dusky nipple. The heat, surrounding her most sensitive parts, makes her head feel fuzzy. She only knows what she feels, and she knows that her hips are pressed against something very hard.

Her hands decide to go on their own little exploratory mission to find out exactly what it is that he's hiding down there. Morgan has a good idea of what she'll find when her fingers undo the b.u.t.ton fly.

She wraps those fingers around his hardness, through the paper-thin fabric of his boxers, and it reacts to the touch, jumping and twitching in her hand. She gives it an experimental tug and even through the boxers she can tell that the experiment is a complete success.

When she starts to pull the boxers down, sinking to her knees, it reacts again, twitching almost in a gleeful response to its new-found freedom. The shaft is almost too thick to wrap her hand around.

She might be making another mistake thinking that she could take it all in her mouth, never mind inside her. But she's not going to stop herself now. Not going to be stopped by anything.

She presses her lips against the head, a gentle kiss that almost certainly isn't exactly what he's looking for. The sigh that he lets out tells her that she's on the right track, though. Her mouth opens wide, and she takes him inside.