Bringing Home a Bachelor. Karen Kendall

the scent of his freshly laundered shirt and a musky smell that was all Pete—which went to her head most of all.

      He slipped his tongue into her mouth, touching hers, and deepened the kiss. He tasted of champagne and mint and … cocktail sauce? She wasn’t sure, but then he set down his glass and took hers away, too, and it didn’t matter.

      He took her face between his big hands and kissed her with urgency. She couldn’t think—she was all sensation, all pleasure.

      Pete’s fingers threaded through her hair and he pushed her back onto the mattress. He found the hidden side zipper of her dress and pulled it down, down, down. He eased the spaghetti straps off her arms and peeled back the bodice. She wore a lacy black bra, strapless.

      Pete kissed her cleavage and then freed her from the lace, the tiny sand dollar from the beach rolling onto the bedspread. His face became a study in boyish awe. Speechless, he mounded her breasts in his hands and then whistled like a construction worker.

      Mel laughed, glad not to have disappointed him.

      “They’re incredible … stunning.” He simply stared at them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

      “Yours to play with,” she said, trying to catch her breath—a lost cause. “For now.”

      Pete fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and removed it, never tearing his eyes away from her body.

      It was her turn to stare at his, to take in the solid mass of furred muscle that was his chest, the gym-hardened, cut arms, the tanned expanse of his skin. Her mouth went dry.

      How could she ever have thought of him as a teddy bear? Simple: she hadn’t seen him shirtless in years.

      And dear God, now he’d kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and dropped his pants. Pete had the tough, built legs of a soccer or rugby player. How could she have known? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him in shorts. And she’d never seen him in plain blue boxers, as he was now.

      He moved towards her with an expression of ownership that she’d never seen, either, a possessive gaze that made something inside her go all girly.

      He mounted the bed and straddled her, then bent his head and kissed her again, the hair on his chest brushing her breasts erotically. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, the act imitating what he wanted to do between her legs.

      When she was breathless, he turned once again to her breasts. He squeezed them together and took the peaks into his mouth, like a kid trying to devour two ice-cream cones at once.

      Pure, hot pleasure overwhelmed her and reminded her that he was no kid. It surged between her legs and dampened her inner thighs. It spiraled through her belly, tugging at her womb.

      Pete sucked harder, abrading her nipples with his tongue. Her powerful response to him came from somewhere primal; somewhere no other man had accessed before. A low scream tore out of her throat, shocking her, and turned to a keening noise as he continued.

      She briefly considered shame, and rejected it. She threaded her fingers through his dark curls and pulled on them, her legs moving restlessly.

      Pete tore his mouth from her breasts, rolled to the side and pushed the skirt of her dress up, over her knees and then above her thighs. Shame came rushing back, cresting as he gazed down at her, pooling at her core. She knew her thighs weren’t slender.

      But he didn’t seem at all interested in evaluating the circumference of her thighs. Pete relieved her of her black lace thong before she could even squeak out a protest, and when she tried to pull down her skirt again, he grabbed her wrists. With one hand, he pinned them on the mattress, over her head.

      “Let me look, Mel. I think you’re gorgeous.”

      Heat rose in her cheeks and she muttered a denial.

      “Gorgeous,” he repeated. He released her wrists, eased off her dress and looked his fill while she lay naked and blushing. After a few moments, her discomfort had her rolling to the other side of the bed, where she swung her legs off the mattress and put her feet on the floor.

      “Where do you think you’re going, honey?” His voice was soft, but commanding. “And why?”

      She struggled to verbalize her self-consciousness. “I—”

      “Have you changed your mind?” He rounded the bed and took her chin in one hand. She could feel the heat of his body; smell his desire.

      As she raised her gaze from the floor, she couldn’t help but notice that he’d ditched his boxers. That part of Pete that she’d never dreamed she’d see … it was heavy, thick, hard. She remembered from the beach exactly what it felt like in her hand. How would it feel inside her?

      The thought made her go weak.

      “Have you changed your mind?” Pete asked, again. “It’s okay if you have.”

      She moistened her lips with her tongue, still staring at his cock, knowing that her body was more than ready for him.

      He forced her chin up, gently, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her pulse beat triple time.

      “If you haven’t changed your mind,” he said softly, “then I want you to do something for me. I want you to lie back right now, on the bed, and spread your legs. Open your thighs, like the dirty girl you were pretending to be … open them all the way, until I can see pink.”

      Shocked, her gaze flew to meet his, but she looked away just as fast. Her breathing had gone fast and shallow, her pulse haywire. Those lighting streaks were coming in clusters, assaulting her erogenous zones.

      “Pink,” he repeated. “I want to see you. I want to stroke

      you. I want to taste you. And then I’m going to make love to you.”

      She thought she might come on the spot, just from his words.

      “So what’s it gonna be, Mel? Hmm?”

      To hell with shame …

      She followed instinct.

      She lay down for him.

      She spread her thighs.

      4

      MELINDA WAS LAID OUT like a banquet in front of him, and Pete shook his head, a little dazed by the sight. Was it the champagne or pure lust that fogged his brain?

      He eased himself onto the bed, noting her self-conscious blush. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Do you know that?”

      Her blush only intensified. She moved a shoulder ever so slightly, saying nothing, but everything.

      And it got to him. Pete’s heart turned over. “We’ve got to do something about this,” he said firmly. “Right now.”

      Mel shot him a puzzled glance and tried to close her legs, which didn’t work well since Pete moved quickly to position himself between them. He sat back on his heels, then ran his hands from her knees up to her thighs, his thumbs tracing the sensitive flesh on either side of her mons.

      She shivered as he caressed her lightly there; let out a soft gasp. She parted her lips; so did he, rubbing a little more firmly against the slickness and paying special attention to the small nub that he knew would bring her the most pleasure.

      “You like that?” he asked, as she pushed against him unconsciously. Her eyes had fallen closed and her breathing hitched.

      “Yes …”

      “I like it, too. You know you’re beautiful?”

      Mel’s mouth twisted; again, she made no comment, and again, it bothered him. He slipped a finger inside her while still stroking that little fold of flesh. Tight, hot, wet, welcoming: the crazy mystery of a woman, the innermost cave that drew a man.

      A small moan escaped her, and he smiled, knowing he was bringing her pleasure.