Working With Heat. Anne Calhoun

as he let the fabric drop. Then he pulled her hair forward, so the blunt-cut ends just brushed the tops of her breasts.

      She peered at him from under her heavy fringe and pushed his shirt off his shoulders. Her fingers smoothed back up his abdomen, pausing at his nipples, then sweeping down his arms to lift his hands to her breasts. Her tight nipples pressed against his palms as he cupped the soft, pale flesh. She traced the collection of scars and burns flecked over his hands until he pinched her nipples and bent to kiss her again. Her mouth was soft, open under his while she worked at his belt and zipper.

      “Take me to bed,” she murmured against his mouth.

      “Absolutely,” he said, and wrapped one arm around her waist, hoisting her right off her feet. She giggled, then whooped when he dropped her on the bed. His jeans sagged low on his hips when he went to his heels to slip off her shoes. Braced on her elbows, she watched him, completely unself-conscious about being half-naked with her skirt rucked up around her thighs.

      He squeezed each foot and watched her sigh with pleasure, then slid his hands up her calves, over her knees to the tops of her thighs, taking the skirt with him. When he found the elastic edge of her knickers, he curled his fingers into it, and, eyes fixed on hers, tugged them down.

      Without blinking, she lifted her hips and let him bare her. It was maddeningly sexy. The dress had to zip somewhere, the back, or the side, maybe, but he didn’t care. He tugged her knickers to the floor, then stood between her legs at the foot of the bed, his gaze irresistibly drawn to little glimpses of her sex as he pushed his jeans and pants to the floor. He scooped her up in one arm and shifted her higher on the bed to reach for the condoms in his nightstand. He tore one off the strip, opened the package, then hissed in his breath when Milla took it from him and rolled it down.

      He made himself wait, pouring all the tension and longing into kiss after kiss, until she was lifting her hips and digging her nails into his shoulders. The next time she arched into him, he slipped just a little bit inside, and inhaled her shuddering exhale. Slowly but surely, he let her draw him in, until he met her searching hips with his first full thrust, powering her back into the bed. She arched her neck and moaned, shivering under his touch as he trailed his fingers over her breast, down her ribs to gather her skirt and grip her bare hip.

      “You like the dress?” she murmured.

      “Yeah,” he said, too far gone to say anything more eloquent. It was feminine and sexual, enticing and powerful, all at once.

      She wrapped her leg around his and used her hips to roll him to his back. Her hair curtained her face as she bent and kissed him, her mouth hot and sweet against his. “How about now?” she asked as she lifted off him, then slid back down.

      He looked down. The loosened top and full skirt hid their joined bodies until she took all of her weight on one hand and gathered the fabric with the other, giving him teasing glimpses of his slick cock gliding in and out of her body.

      “Oh, fuck, yes,” he said.

      He gripped her ass with both hands and shifted with each thrust until her eyes drooped closed and her head dropped back on her neck. A deep flush bloomed on her cheeks and collarbones, then spread along her throat and chest as he lifted his hips into hers. He dug his heels into the bed and held on to his control by the skin of his teeth until she came apart above him. He closed his eyes and gave in, release sweeping through him in sharp, pulsing waves.

      The first thing he heard when he recovered his hearing was Milla’s satisfied panting breaths in his ear. The second thing he heard was laughter and a door slamming downstairs.

      The third thing he heard was his brain reminding him that the risks were great, but the consequences would not be ignored.

      “I smell curry. They must have given up on getting a table somewhere and gotten takeaway instead,” Milla said, stretching like a satisfied cat.

      He rolled out of bed to deal with the condom. When he came back, Milla was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, all dark hair and red mouth against his white sheets. “Let’s not—” he started, then stopped. Shit.

      “Tell anyone?” she finished, listening to the faint clink of plates and laughter coming from the ground floor. “I don’t usually kiss and tell, but sure, if you want to keep it quiet, I’m fine with that.”

      “That’s fine,” he said quickly. Better than fine, actually. He sprawled in the bed and braced his head on one hand. With the creative jag he’d been on lately, the powerful, intense, all-consuming demand that he work until he dropped, he’d been able to ignore how he felt about Milla dating. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could ignore it, but he wasn’t ready to have that conversation now and potentially throw off his work.

      “Just stay?” he asked. “They’ll be up for hours.”

      “That works,” she said. “I’m a heavy sleeper and I left my bedroom door shut, so they won’t miss me.”

      The sun had finally set, casting evening shadows across the floor and bed. He found the zipper at the side of her dress and drew it down. She rocked from side to side so he could pull her dress off and toss it at the foot of the bed. He lifted the sheet and blanket, inviting her under the covers.

      “I’ll sneak in early tomorrow,” she said drowsily.

      Charlie watched her drift, her face no less vibrant as sleep claimed her. The jury was still out, but he knew one thing for sure. As of now they were more than friends, and all the neat compartments he’d built for his emotions were falling apart.

      * * *

      When he woke up the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty. He rolled onto his back and knuckled sleep from his eyes while he took stock. Sunshine poured through the windows, heating the air enough to bring out a faint hint of Milla’s perfume. The bathroom door was open, the shower curtain dry, so she’d not risked the clanking and banging the old pipes made and had sneaked out before dawn, when everyone in the house would be asleep. He knew why. He’d been a talented scholarship student from the East End trying desperately to make his way with art-world royalty from Kensington, hyperattuned to everyone else’s thoughts, feelings, desires. Milla had spent her life as an outsider, a stranger in a strange land. With an outsider’s keen awareness, she’d picked up on his mixed messages and given him that combination of sweet heat and silence he’d wanted, and not seemed to mind at all.