Holy crap. This was not how she’d expected today to pan out at all. There was taking baby steps towards opening your life and your heart to someone new, and there was shooting yourself out of a cannon into some hot-and-sweaty passion with a drop-dead-gorgeous man. And, by some crazy turn of fate, Tress appeared to be doing the latter.
Rex had followed her into her tiny cupboard slash office, and she’d automatically assumed that, like everyone else who stopped by, he was angling for a coffee and maybe even a biscuit on the side. She should have known better. The man’s body hadn’t seen carbs in a decade.
She’d turned, perched on the edge of her desk and expected him to flop into the armchair in the corner, just as he’d done the last few times he’d dropped by. But no. Instead, he’d taken a few steps forward, until the front of his thighs were almost touching her knees, then he’d reached over, lifted her chin, used the soft flesh of his thumb to gently caress her cheek. And… yep, right on cue, prickles of desire swept around her for the second time in his company. At least she thought that was what it was. It may have been prickles of absolute fear because she hadn’tlocked the door, or because this wasn’t the type of thing that she thought acceptable in the workplace, or because she still wasn’t confident in what the hell she was going to do with this specimen of physical perfection. And… stomach-flipping thought – if she ever actually found herself having sex with this man, the light would have to be off and she would run the risk of fainting from holding her stomach in for a prolonged period of time.
No such trifling matters had seemed to be concerning him in the least.
‘For the second time this week, I find myself in the position of wanting really, really badly to kiss you.’
‘Oh.’ She was pretty sure she’d done one of those cartoon gulps that resembled a ping-pong ball being swallowed and travelling down her throat.
‘And I was just wondering…’ He’d moved closer, pressing against her knees now. ‘If that…’ Using his free hand, he’d nudged her thigh and, like some biblical parting of the denim-clad seas, she’d opened her legs so that he could step forward between them.
Now, her pulse was thudding, and she could feel a tiny rivulet of sweat running down inside the back of her white shirt, a sure sign that her temperature was reaching the diagnostic bracket for malaria. And she still couldn’t decide if it was because she was loving it or some kind of human-contact terror had set in.
‘Rex, I don’t think…’ The words drifted away as his lips came down to her upturned mouth and gently, so very softly, grazed her lips. Bugger. They hadn’t seen lip balm since it got lost between the baby wipes and the nipple pads in the bottom of the oversized landfill site that she used as a handbag.
He pulled his face back, his hips still firmly pressed against her groin, a bulging reminder of what sexual attraction felt like. His hand began tracing a faint trail down her neck, across her collarbone, then down further until it reached her top buttonand she gasped. ‘If you tell me to stop, I will,’ he whispered, and she wondered if anyone ever did.
Then she heard a voice that was like a higher-pitch version of her own say something that sounded like, ‘Stop. I need a minute.’
He carried on for a couple of seconds more, then did as she asked. ‘You don’t like it?’ he asked, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was channelling Richard Gere, circaPretty Woman. Or maybe Jamie Dornan inFifty Shades of Grey. If he pulled a cat o’ nine tails out of his back pocket, she was calling security. Maybe.
‘I like it. I just… Like I said before, it’s been a while. And the last person who touched me was… well, it was my husband. I know I need to get past this, and I really want to…really, reallywant to right now. But it just kind of feels like it shouldn’t be here, like this, when I’m absolutely terrified that Alf could barge in at any moment demanding that I redesign the household goods aisle of the corner shop.’ She was babbling. She knew it. Yet she couldn’t stop.
Her words made him laugh, but he didn’t back off, didn’t take his foot off the sexual chemistry gas. She was fricking doomed. ‘I get it. I really do,’ he told her softly, lifting her hand then kissing her palm, her thumb, her fingers, one by one. In the name of the holy erogenous zone, what was he doing? And why did it feel like she was in a Swedish sauna? ‘I tell you what,’ he went on. ‘Why don’t I just stand here and let you take the lead? You can do whatever you want. I won’t touch, I won’t push. It’s all on you.’
Knickers would be flying at half the ladies’ nights in the country if Rex Marino made that offer, and yet she felt like she’d been tasered and was only just getting back the use of her motor skills. It was a good offer. Maybe this way, she could enjoy it, without the pressure. Or maybe she should just stop this nonsense and offer to make him an erotic cappuccino instead.
Yet again, the voice in her head asked her what the hell was holding her up and the truth was, it felt awkward. It felt… dishonest. It almost felt like she was being unfaithful to Max. She wasn’t prepared for the flash of rage that thought invoked. Screw Max. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he’d been unfaithful to her with Anya for their entire married life. Even when she was heavily pregnant and in danger of going into labour at any time, he had still sneaked off with his mistress for one last shag. She honoured him for the happiness their marriage gave her, and for the wonderful gift of Buddy, but she owed him nothing. Some internal determination to prove that point fired up something inside her. She would not back down from this. She deserved pleasure. She was worthy of love. For the last year, she had put her life to one side to bring up her child and she’d done a bloody good job of holding it all together. She was an independent, confident, cosmopolitan woman of the world. So she could damn well feel up Rex Marino when he was standing right in front of her and telling her to call the shots.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Come on, Tress, demanded her internal monologue.
Her thighs were still on either side of his hips, which she was sure were about a dozen inches smaller than hers. She reached up and stroked his face, just as he’d done to hers. That jawline was rock hard, then she felt her finger dip as it reached the dimple on his chin. Her gaze locked on his and stayed there while she reached up and ran her fingers through his jet black hair. All the while he stood stock-still, just as he’d promised.
Her fingertips came down and grazed across his lips, then this time she was the one who slid her fingers down his neck, then over his shoulders. He was wearing a black, skin-tight T-shirt and she had a sudden urge to feel what was underneath, so she ventured down across rock hard abs, then slipped her hands up under the hem, flinching as they reached skin. He didn’tmove a muscle. Not in his face. His jaw. Or in the six-pack that felt like rows of speed bumps under her touch.
Still under the cotton of his top, she moved further north, hitting pecs that belonged on a Calvin Klein model. The T-shirt wouldn’t allow her to rise any further so she came back down again, slowly, with the softest touch, until he groaned, voice thick and sexy, ‘Tress, you’re killing me.’
‘I think I’m killing myself too,’ she admitted in a whisper, torn between wanting to stop and wanting to go further. She pushed both her hands into his hair this time, and pulled his face down towards her, stopping when their lips were just a centimetre apart. She held him there for a second, before pulling him closer, kissing him, letting her hands drop and go round his back, tracing a line down his spine, across his buttocks, which had clearly been carved from stone.
She was still kissing him, but the perfection of his body was having the opposite effect to the expected outcome. Her libido should have been cranking up to irresistible, but instead it was stuck at quandary. She wanted him to speak, to connect with her, to make her laugh, to dispel her fears.
He slid away from her kiss, and she felt the warm, provocative touch of his lips as they worked their way down her neck. His hands entered the game again, sliding up the denim on her thighs. ‘Tress, I want to lock that door, and I want to clear this desk and make love to you right here. Tell me you want me to.’
Oh shit. Shit. Did she? From the waist down, she definitely did. From the neck up, she was in full-scale panic. She had a sudden premonition of what the seconds after they shagged on the desk would look like. When all the sweaty, grunty stuff had finished, he’d be on top of her and she’d be on top of the design for the set that would host next Wednesday’s Scottish Slimmers meeting at the Clydeside community centre.He would push himself up and they’d stare at each other as acute embarrassment kicked in. Then there would be the toe-curling mortification that her bikini line hadn’t seen a razor (or a bikini) in a year and was full-scale Leylandii underneath granny pants that had been washed with Buddy’s red Power Ranger pyjamas and were now a subtle shade of ham. Not to mention she’d need to nip over to Farrah in costumes and ask her to iron this shirt.
And, in fact, she wasn’t even sure that this desk would hold their weight, because she’d built it from flat-pack and she’d had a whole bag of screws left over at the end. If they went sprawling on the floor, she’d have to quit her job, take Buddy and emigrate to somewhere she’d never see Rex’s face again. Did they have British channels in Alaska?
But all that aside, even if it was mind-blowingly fantastic, and the earth moved in a non-desk-calamity way, and she had the best sex of her life, every single time she walked into this office afterwards, she would be reminded that she had shagged Rex right here, and she wasn’t sure that she could live with the face-flaming mortification of thinking about his penis while at work. It didn’t feel intimate, or special, or right. And while she was a firm believer that there was a place for a lustful quickie, this wasn’t it.
No. She didn’t want this here. Not now. Not today.
She was about to tell him that when the situation and the options were taken out of her wandering hands.
She was vaguely aware of a distant knock on a door, then shockingly aware of the air in the room moving as the door swung open, then a startled voice saying, ‘Sorry! I was looking for Tress. Apologies for interrupting.’
Tress’s head snapped up, her chin coming close to leaving Rex needing rhinoplasty, which would have been almost as painful as her jumping off the desk and landing on his feet.Bollocks. Hopefully there were no dancing scenes planned for the next week or so.
