Sultry Escapes. Leslie Kelly

forced herself to go on. “I meant it when I said I don’t have a lover or a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I’m free. I have made a serious commitment and I intend to keep my word. Once I leave here next week, when Grandpa gets home, this is completely over.”

      He eyed her intently. “You want to tell me what the commitment is?”

      “I could try, but it wouldn’t be easy for me to say too much without breaking someone else’s confidence,” she said, hoping that wouldn’t be a deal-breaker.

      “Understood,” he said with a nod. She already knew he valued integrity and wasn’t totally surprised he hadn’t insisted she spill everything.

      “You’re an adult, you want me and you’re not married. As long as all three of those things are true, then, honestly, right at this moment, I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

      He fell silent. So did she. Their stares locked.

      Finally she spoke. “All those things are true.”

      He moved closer.

      “But I do have a request to make. Can we just agree that, if we, uh…” She could feel her cheeks warming. “If we enjoy tonight…”

      His spontaneous laugh made her smile. The man did not suffer from any lack of confidence.

      “If we do, and we want to spend the rest of the week together, that’s great,” she explained. “After that week though, it’s never mentioned again, never referred to. You don’t contact me…. I don’t contact you?”

      “No strings? Absolutely no regrets?”

      “Exactly.”

      He didn’t jump for joy the way most men probably would have at hearing a woman admit she wanted a nostrings sexual affair with him. “You’re serious?”

      “Very.”

      He didn’t answer for a moment, considering. Then, at last, he slowly nodded. “My life’s too crazy now to even consider getting tangled in any strings. If that’s really the way you want to play it, that’s the way it’ll be.”

      Another long stare. A silent assent.

      Then an exchange of slow, sultry smiles.

      They’d made a bargain. They would be lovers.

      She had a week. And she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

8

      ONCE THE WORDS had been said, the deal struck, Candace let all her questions, doubts and worries fade away. She might not have a long-term future with Oliver, and her life might be taking her in directions she could never have imagined, but for now, for tonight at least, she intended to enjoy herself with a man who made her whole body come alive.

      “I have a bed upstairs in the loft,” Oliver murmured, sliding his hand down her calf.

      “I like it right here,” she said, not willing to waste the time moving, not when she was finally going to get what she’d so desperately wanted.

      His approving nod said he agreed. When he reached into his pocket and withdrew a condom, she knew he’d been anticipating this moment. Considering she’d picked up a box at the drug store and had a few tucked into her purse, she couldn’t pretend to take offense. She could only be grateful.

      The man was gloriously handsome at any time of day, in any lighting. But when he tugged at his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor, she had to admit he did amazing things for firelight.

      His body was perfectly shaped. The shoulders so broad, the chest beautifully sculpted. Months of hard, physical labor had obviously eradicated any sign of the L.A. lawyer and turned him into a muscular god, with incredibly defined abs, a lean waist and slim hips. A light swirl of hair encircled his nipples, trailing down into a thin line that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

      She licked her lips, wanting to see where that happy trail led. But after kicking off his shoes, he stopped, leaving his jeans in place.

      She pouted. “Keep going. You definitely don’t have to stop on my account.”

      “We’ll get there. But fair’s fair. You’re still fully dressed.”

      “You can fix that for me.”

      “I’d be happy to.”

      He tugged the boots off her feet, then gently palmed and massaged her arches. When his fingers slipped up under her pant legs, the brush of skin on skin made her internal temperature soar. An hour ago she’d been freezing. Now she knew a spark had just ignited and she was going up in flames.

      Her skinny jeans were tight, and he couldn’t move his hand nearly high enough to satisfy her, so she stretched out and began to wriggle, reaching for her waistband.

      “No. Let me,” he insisted.

      Still kneeling on the floor, he touched his way up her limbs, slowly, deliberately. By the time those talented fingers reached the tops of her thighs, she was groaning. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like when he finally got her undressed. Fortunately, she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

      “Please, hurry,” she whispered when he traipsed his knuckles up the strip of fabric covering the zipper.

      “You’re not the patient sort, are you?”

      “If you go negative-two miles an hour I might just have to kill you,” she admitted, whimpering when he reached for the button and unfastened her jeans.

      “We have all night,” he insisted, not sounding the least bit prodded to speed up. “I’ve been thinking about this—dreaming about it—since the minute we met. There’s no way in hell I’m rushing through it.”

      “Ditto,” she admitted. Then, being honest, she added, “The thinking and the dreaming part, I mean. I’m all about rushing.”

      Fast and hard. Deep and wild. She was dying to be filled by him, possessed, pounded into and taken.

      “Sorry, beautiful. It’s not happening.”

      He slid the zipper down slowly. She could practically hear the teeth separating, the faint hiss competing with the roar of the wind outside, the crackling of the fire and the pounding of her blood in her veins.

      When he’d finished unzipping her, she lifted her hips, shimmying to help him as he pulled the pants down, peeling them off and baring her legs. To her disappointment, he didn’t slide his hands down the front of her groin, didn’t take the skimpy panties with the jeans. But she really hadn’t expected him to. Aside from what he’d just admitted, Oliver had already proven himself to be a very patient man. He was going to take his time, go slow, wring every ounce of pleasure out of each and every experience they shared.

      “I will, too,” she told herself, whispering it aloud. “I can do this.”

      “You will and can what?”

      “I’ll go slow,” she promised. Then he traced the tip of his finger along the elastic edge of her panties and she whimpered. “Oh, God, yes, please, rip them off. Take me!”

      His chuckle was pure evil. “That’s not going slow.” He slid his finger below the elastic, scraping it into the soft tuft of curls nesting at the top of her sex, then away again.

      “I said slow, not in slow motion,” she groaned, her hips thrusting up as a nameless but very familiar need took over.

      “We’re just getting started,” he insisted, moving his hands to the bottom hem of her blouse.

      Okay, that detour she could allow. Her breasts were aching, her nipples pointy and so sensitized her own shirt was giving her a thrill. His mouth