New York Nights: Shaken and Stirred. Kathleen O'Reilly

didn’t seem to remember that Gabe was used to dealing with drunk and disorderlies. But then, Gabe didn’t usually cup their asses in such a familiar manner, either.

      “Put me down, Gabe O’Sullivan.”

      “When I get you home, Miss Hart, and not before.”

      He almost let her down in the elevator, but she tried to run, so he hefted her back on his shoulder. God, the woman needed to gain weight.

      “Gabe, I really hate you for this.”

      “In the morning, if you still hate me—which is a big if— I’ll apologize. You’ll probably be thanking me, and I’ll let you grovel in gratitude for a while, but right now you’ve had too much to drink—”

      “I’m not drunk.”

      “Then it’s even worse, Tess. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

      “No.”

      “Fine.”

      “Fine.”

      The doors opened, and she slid down his body, slow and seductive. She probably didn’t mean it to be that way, but his cock jumped just the same. Tessa shot him a look—not an invitation but coy and aware.

      She knew.

      So maybe it was time to stop playing games. Gabe trapped her outside the elevator against the wall, her lean body tight to his. He could feel every inch of her. The fluttering pulse, the tight nipples, the soft hips. She drew in a breath, soft and shaky, and the air burned. His hands itched to go lower, to explore and discover this new and marvelously arousing Tessa. But Gabe was still hanging on to the last edges of his control. His body wasn’t happy, but his body would get over it.

      “Inside. Now,” he said, unlocking his apartment door. This time she didn’t argue and went inside, but he knew from the tight set of her shoulders that she wasn’t happy either.

      Once in the apartment, he shut the door with a bang and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

      “It’s late,” he said because he needed to be alone. Needed to have her out of his sight. He needed to reclaim the image of Tessa from before. Hopefully it was still there, embedded somewhere deep in his brain.

      “I’m not a kid,” she answered, pushing her hair back from her face, and—God help him—gawky and angular had turned exotic.

      “Then stop acting like one,” he snapped, not leaving her alone as he had planned.

      “You’re not my father,” she blurted, hands on hips—lean hips that he could still feel against his chest.

      “I’m your friend, your boss and currently your roommate,” he answered, mainly to remind himself of those key facts.

      She walked toward the dining room table, away from the sensible safety of her bedroom. His gaze locked on her hips, tracking the sway with lethal intent. Stupidly he followed after her.

      “Some friend, Gabe. I bet you wouldn’t do this if Cain was hitting on some woman.”

      “No, Cain outweighs me by fifty pounds.” Humor—another excellent way to defuse tense situations. He could feel the sweat on his brow, the rapid pulse vibrating under his skin. He stood frozen, needing her to break into a grin, or whap him on the arm.

      But the room fell eerily quiet, and he waited, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, not moving, just waiting.

      Eventually she moved, her breath coming out in a rush, and she came toward him, jamming a finger into his chest, which was completely the wrong thing to do. Completely. She shouldn’t touch him. Not now.

      “Do you want to know what’s bothering me? I haven’t had sex in four years. Tonight I wanted to have sex.”

      Four years? His already pained heart stopped completely, before kicking in again. He shouldn’t have been happy about this bit of information, but his cock was.

      Oh, it was thrilled.

      “You want to have sex? Good. I want to have sex, too. We’ll have sex. Together.” It wasn’t the most sterling moment in his life, but as the words came out, he didn’t regret them. He wanted Tessa, he wanted to touch her, taste her, sink deep into her.

      And Miss Frisky Pants, with the need to hit on every man in his building, looked him dead in the eye and said, “No.” The word was carefully enunciated, clearly spoken, with no room for misunderstanding, but Gabe was four years past no. He moved closer, skin brushing against skin. He could smell her perfume mixed with her desire, and it burned inside him.

      “What’s wrong, Tessa? I’m not good enough?”

      She put a hand to his chest to push him back, but the touch was soft and so tempting. “Don’t do this.”

      “Do what?”

      “Don’t get all stupid on me now, Gabe.”

      He pressed into her and her body pressed back.

      “Don’t come any closer,” she warned.

      He didn’t listen. He backed her completely into the table. There was always a moment in a poker game when the bluff becomes a need, when rational logic exits the brain and all that’s left is the game itself.

      Her mouth was inches away. Full and waiting…

      “If you kiss me, I’m going to scream,” she whispered.

      He took her mouth with a hunger that he had never known before. Her mouth was so soft, so perfect. And, oh, the taste of her. There was the bite of lime, the mint of toothpaste and…her. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and he felt her fingers dig into his arm.

      “I’m sorry, Tessa,” he said, and it was the last rational thing out of his mouth.

       4

      GABE. GABE. GABE.

      It was Gabe who was kissing her, eating her alive, making her feel and—worst of all—making her want. Tessa wanted to kill him for it.

      Tessa pushed against him—hard—because she couldn’t want Gabe. Not now. She’d done that in the past, her dreams-can-come-true phase, but this time nobody—no man—would interfere. She had a plan. A career. An apartment. After that, yes. But now? No way in hell.

      And especially not with Gabe.

      In the world of men she trusted, there was only one, and he was currently kissing her as if he were about to have sex with her.

      Gabe.

      Tessa stood there, frozen, so many variations of no forming on her lips, but then his mouth fastened on her breast through the thin silk material and all thoughts of trust flew out the window. He sucked there, driving all doubts from her mind. Her head listed back, her knees weak because the sensations inside her were stealing the life from her.

      The man swore, then pushed aside the straps of her top, and the cool night air blew across bare skin. His mouth was hard and brutal, but she didn’t care. He was pulling, sucking, arousing, awakening, until her whole being shifted down to the piercing ache between her thighs.

      Sweet mercy, she thought. Over and over again, Tessa focused on the pleasure, the sweet, merciful pleasure, because this was new, exquisitely new. So she closed her eyes, pretending this was some dark, handsome stranger who was making her burn. With her eyes closed, she could pretend this man wasn’t Gabe.

      Her hands braced against the table, because she didn’t dare touch him. That much she knew. Better to stay frozen, unfeeling, than for him to guess what rash thoughts were pounding inside her brain. But then one of his hands moved lower, diving to the apex of her thighs. Tessa wanted to clamp them together, to keep her secret safe, but her body had a will of its own.

      Shamelessly her thighs parted, his fingers shoving damp panties aside,