Body Heat Read online

  He uses everything he has to please me. His tongue, his lips, and his chin all work together. I yelp when his hot tongue wiggles inside my tight asshole. He spreads my cheeks wide and tunnels inside of me again and again with his tongue. It’s so intimate. I’ve often imagined being touched there, but was always too ashamed to ask.

  I ride his face and rock my clit against his chin as he tongues my secret dark place. I brace my hands against his chest and sink lower, reaching for the thick cock that rests tight against his navel. A drop of precum glistens on the swollen head, and I scoop it with my tongue. I go back for more, digging the tip of my tongue into the slit on the head of his meaty dick. His tongue fucks my back door even more furiously. I’m on the cliff, ready to go over. I take his heavy member in my fist and clamp my mouth around the sensitive tip. He moans, and I feel the rumble against my tight rosette. I clench around his tongue and come, shuddering against his face as warm salty cum spurts into my mouth. I suck him dry and collapse on top of him. He finally breaks the silence.

  “Want to go for number three?” he says as he slaps my ass playfully.

  No way. I feel delirious with pleasure, but, at the same time, there’s a dull ache pooling within me. I know what it means, and I carefully dismount from his face. My legs are like jelly, but I still quickly scramble for the edge of the bed before he manhandles me again.

  “I have more immediate needs for you to tend to,” I say.

  MY HAIR IS STILL damp from the shower when I rise from the bed. Max might be a human furnace, but without his body next to mine for warmth I break out in goose bumps. He rubs my arm as he slides off the bed.

  “I’ll get you something to put on,” he says. I make a mental note of how nice it is to have someone notice my needs and attend to them. Sometimes it’s a relief to get what you need without always having to ask for it. To know that they pay attention to your needs as much as they do their own.

  He walks to the closet and tosses me a lavender-gray cashmere robe. I slide my arms into the feather-soft sleeves and nestle in the warmth. It fits like a glove, like it had been made for me. I can’t help but wonder about the woman who wore it before me.

  “Good thing we’re the same size,” I say as I belt it around my waist.

  “I bought it for you,” he says as he stands before me and looks right into my soul with his electric blue eyes. “Do you think I’d give you someone else’s castoffs?” He kisses my lips and answers his own question. “Not in a million years, Ivy. I’ll grab a towel for your hair.” He walks into the master bath and returns a moment later with the fluffiest towel I’ve ever seen. He drapes it over my hair and squeezes out the residual dampness.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Much warmer.” I reach up and nibble his chin. “But I’m starving. Feed me and I’ll do delicious things to you.”

  “We can order in,” he says. “I have a healthy stack of delivery menus in the other room.”

  “That would be a waste,” I say. “You’re looking at a classically trained chef. Just show me to the kitchen. I’ll whip something up for us.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m entirely serious.” I nestle my cheek against his bare chest. He’s still naked, and I soak up every glorious inch of his physique. “Right now you have your arms wrapped around a graduate of the prestigious Institute of Culinary Education.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Kill spiders.”

  “A tough woman like you? Really?”

  I look up at him from below my lashes, my trademark playful look. “Sometimes I suck them up in the vacuum cleaner.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I can’t change a tire or hold my liquor. I hope you’re still comfortable sleeping with me now that you know all my dirty secrets.”

  “Well, it’s somewhat reassuring to know you aren’t completely perfect.” He wraps himself in a robe, takes my hand, and leads me to the kitchen. “I can’t let you cook for me. You’d be horrified at how poorly stocked my kitchen is, and then this whole thing will be over before it started. Plus, my mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I made a woman cook for me.” He pulls out a stool at the breakfast bar.

  “Have a seat.” He pats the seat cushion. “You can supervise.”

  I settle into the chair. “Supervise what?”

  “As luck would have it, I know a few things about cooking. From the prestigious school of trial and error.”

  “Really? I can’t wait.”

  “I’ve picked up a few tips over the years. How to stab the top of your Hot Pocket with a fork to keep it from exploding in the microwave, for example.”

  “So you focus on gourmet cuisine,” I say with a straight face.

  “You should see the junk they fed us in the army. I was a legend in my own time when it came to making MREs edible.”

  “Tell me more.” I lean forward and rest my head in the palm of my hand as I gaze at him and fight back a grin.

  “I’d always tell the new kids coming in: ‘Condiments are your friend. You put enough hot sauce on it and almost anything is edible.’”

  “Very wise.”

  “Thank you.” He reaches up and grabs a couple of plates and glasses from the cupboard. “Also, it was a safe bet to take everything in the pack and just mix it into one giant casserole. But I assume they covered that at your fancy-pants cooking school.”

  “I must have been sick that day.” He sets a glass of water in front of me and I take a sip. “Give me your best work. What was your signature dish? The one all the kids still talk about.”

  “Oh, let me think.” He opens the oversized stainless steel fridge and rustles around inside. He pops out a moment later and deposits an armful of ingredients on the granite countertop. “I’d have to say it was my lime pie.” He arranges things on the counter as he talks. “You start with a vanilla dairy shake and mix it with crushed-up crackers, creamer, and lemon-lime drink mix.”

  “Mmmm.” My stomach does flip flops. I push myself off the chair. “Actually, I’m not hungry anymore. Why don’t we go fool around for a while?”

  “Get back here, funny lady,” he says, and I return to my chair. “Can you get behind some breakfast food?”

  “I never turn down scrambled eggs.”

  “Toast? Bacon? Orange juice?” He ticks off the items on his fingers one by one.

  “Yes, yes, and yes.” God, even his hands are perfect. “Do you need a second pair of hands for anything? I’m happy to help.” Or just sit here and stare at your perfectly muscled ass, I think.

  “Just sit there and look cute.”

  “Consider it done.” I walk over and grab the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and pour some for each of us. I hand him a glass. “As long as you know I’m more than a pretty face.”

  “I’ve known that since the moment I saw you.” He takes a long draw of the juice and stares at me with amused eyes. “Do you think I would have waited in line for any other woman?” I feel heat creep up my cheeks. I quickly change topics.

  “You actually look like you know what you’re doing in there.” I lean back against the counter. “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mom made each of us boys, my father included, learn to cook a few meals so we wouldn’t be a burden on our wives. She seemed to be continuously shocked at my father’s lack of aptitude for housekeeping and didn’t want to inflict the same horror on the next generation.”

  “And did these mean cooking skills help you to snag a wife at some point?”

  “Oh, I locked down my high school sweetheart before I headed off to basic training. It lasted nine months.”

  “Ouch.” I hope he shares more details. I always feel an instant camaraderie with those who had marriages as epically messed up as mine.

  “Yeah. I was deployed when I got my Dear John letter telling me she was pregnant. Three months along and I hadn’t been home for eight. I started on the divorce paperwork the next day.” He quickl
y cracks the eggs with one hand and then gives them a quick mix with a whisk.

  “That must have been a real kick in the nuts.”

  “It was not a good time for me,” he says as he slides the eggs into the pan and adds a pat of butter. “But it was a long time ago.”

  “You never took the plunge again?”

  “Nope.” He lays the bacon in a second pan, and it immediately sizzles.

  “Because of her?” I ask.

  “No, because of me. Don’t get me wrong. I was angry for a while. But I was out chasing tail again in short order. I just decided to be a little more discerning the second time around and I never found the right woman.”

  “Maybe she’s still out there.” And maybe it’s me, part of me thinks. But then there’s the other part, the part that wants to run terrified from the room at the thought of any commitment.

  “I have a good feeling about it.” He slides a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “I feel like I’m talking about myself an awful lot. Tell me something about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You’re a chef. Where do you work?”

  “I was the executive chef at Champagne for a few years. And not because my sister owns the place.” I stab the air with my fork for emphasis. “I worked my way up and earned my spot.”

  “You’re not there anymore?”

  “I just needed a change of pace.” I take a crunchy bite of bacon and it melts in my mouth.

  “Things start to feel stale after a while, don’t they? So, what do you do now?”

  “I imagine nothing feels stale in your line of work.” The transition is clumsy, but we’re venturing into dangerous territory and I’m anxious to direct the conversation back to him. “Do you do security for any famous people? Any exciting stories of close calls?”

  “No close calls.” He reaches down and knocks the wooden base of the island. “I find security is easier the less famous people are, so we tend to focus on the uber-rich but not in the limelight. It makes life easier for all of us.”

  “And how many of ‘us’ are there?”

  “We’re a small firm. Two partners, a few senior consultants, and a dozen or so junior consultants. We’ve only been open a few years, but things are really taking off now and we’re looking into expanding into new markets.”

  “Would you like to stay here?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I consider this home. It’s where I grew up and where my brothers live. I wouldn’t want to move away from them.” He drains his cup of coffee. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

  “On the east coast,” I say.

  “Do you have family here?” he asks. “Besides your sister.”

  My chest tightens, and I know that talking about my family is the last thing I need right now. Time to dodge and weave. Again. “What daring exploits were you undertaking when you got that bad boy?” I trace the scar running down his arm.

  “A knife fight in Brazil. With a hooker.” He stabs one last forkful of eggs and winks at me.

  “Oh, really?” I can’t hold back a laugh. “And what about that one?” I trace the side of his face.

  “Kicked in the face by a mule. Stubborn as hell.”

  “You or the mule?” I reach in and kiss the mark. “And this one?” A patch of burn scar on his chest.

  “I microwaved a jelly donut too long and ate it shirtless.”

  “So you’re not going to give me an honest answer?”

  “Well, to be fair, you aren’t really giving me any answers at all. Do you have some kind of advanced ninja training in conversational redirection strategies?”

  “Just because we get naked and fool around doesn’t mean you get to know all my deepest and darkest secrets.” Mostly because I’m worried you wouldn’t like me if you did.

  He shrugs. “I never said it did. I just happen to think you’re fascinating. I’d like to know more about you.”

  I pause and wrack my brain for something interesting, non-threatening, and hopefully a little sexy. Got it. “I was a roller derby girl in my twenties.”

  “Damn, I just got hard again. Tell me more. Don’t skimp on any details.”

  “I was the Kalashnikov Kitten.”

  He clasps both hands to his chest and pretends to pass out. “I bet you wore something sexy as fuck.”

  “It was pretty good. Microscopic shorts and a black low-cut tank top. My helmet had cat ears and I’d always draw on whiskers with eyeliner.”

  “What are the odds of you still having that costume somewhere?”

  “Extremely low.”

  “Tragic. But don’t worry, I’ll jack off tonight just thinking about it.”

  “Oh, if you have the strength to jack off later after I’m finished with you, I’ll be impressed.” I push my empty plate aside, slide off my chair, and saunter back toward the bedroom.

  I RUN A HAND through my hair and will myself to concentrate. I’ve read the security system specifications three times without absorbing a word because all I can think about is her. The look on her face last night when she knelt before me and drained my balls one last time. Her face was bare of all make-up, her hair was tangled, and she was as sweaty as I was. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.

  And it goes far beyond looks. I’ve been around the block more than once, but I’ve never before been with someone so in tune with my body and my desires. We are so in synch. We just click. And not just the almost sex, which blows my fucking mind every single time. I’m completely intoxicated by every aspect of her. She makes me laugh and she laughs at my jokes. She’s interesting and I could talk to her for hours without getting bored. She’s smart and sexy as hell and I plan on holding on to her for as long as I can. I don’t know what I’ll do if she cuts and runs, because I’m in this thing for the long haul and I’m too crazy about her to think about the alternative.

  “Are you trying to burn a hole in that paper with the power of your steely gaze?” Parker, my business partner, stands in the doorway with a mug of coffee, clearly amused by my lack of focus. He has a slight build that disguises an iron will and tremendous courage. I’d trust him with my life, and I had many times over the years. “I guess I don’t have to guess how your date went last night.”

  “It’s been a long time since I met someone like her,” I say as I toss the paper on the desk. There’s not much I keep from Parker, but I hadn’t told him about Body Heat. He knew I had met someone, but wasn’t aware of the circumstances or limitations surrounding our encounters.

  “If she’s that awesome, you probably don’t have long before she realizes she can do better.” He sinks into the chair in front of my desk and props his feet up.

  “Very funny,” I say. “I’m going to try to hang on to this one for as long as possible.

  “Chloroform and handcuffs. Works without fail.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “When do I get to meet her?”

  “That might be tricky.” For numerous reasons. “She’s a little skittish,” I say. “She’s been pretty clear that she just wants something casual. Sounds perfect, right?”

  “Until you realize she’s the one,” he says. Parker has been married for fifteen years now, so he’s picking up what I’m putting down.

  “So, you think maybe little miss sexy lady has a few secrets?” He takes his feet off my desk and leans forward. “It’s too bad you don’t know anyone who could dig into that kind of thing.” His deadpan sense of humor is something I’ve always enjoyed. “C’mon, Max. It’s almost like your blood isn’t making it to your brain now that it’s pooling somewhere else.” He motions with his hand. “We have a guy three offices down who used to assemble intel for the company. He could put something together on her in a few days.”

  I give him my best withering stare. It’s an obvious solution, but I’m hesitant to take that step. I know her full name. Any one of the guys would be happy to do a little digging for me, no questions asked. It’s easy to rationalize it; if I knew what her issu
es were, maybe I could help with them. But then there’s a little voice in my head that cautions: Don’t be that guy. Don’t betray her trust. If she wanted you to know, she’d tell you. Wait for her to come to you.

  “It’s up to you. Let me know.” He rises to his feet. “Now for the bad news. Securion Systems is jerking us around.”

  “Again? Are you kidding me? I just talked to that asshole last week.” I toss up my hands in frustration.

  “I was thinking about sending Mark out there to work through everything with the old bastard. Trial by fire, but I know he can handle it.”

  “We’re not flying Mark out there by himself to deal with the most unreasonable person on earth with no backup.” I start an email to my assistant. Time to book some last-minute travel arrangements. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

  “Are you sure? I know you have your hands full right now. With a great set of tits, apparently.” He makes an obscene grabbing motion with his hands. Normally I’d laugh, but I’m not in the mood today.

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle a couple of days away from her.” Even though I won’t like it. I won’t like it one bit.

  He heads for the door. “Don’t worry. It’s only for a couple of days. You’ll be balls deep again in no time.”

  “Thanks for your sensitivity, Parker. As always.” Once he’s gone, I pick up my cell and dial Ivy’s number. I’m hoping it wouldn’t go through to voicemail, so I’m thrilled when she picks up on the third ring.

  “Hey, handsome.” How can her voice make me go instantly hard? I hear the smile in her voice and there’s something else there, something beyond the physical pleasures we have shared. I just pray she feels it, too.

  “I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?” It’s close to lunch. If I’d called thirty minutes earlier maybe I could have sweet talked my way into a lunch meeting. Now I’ll just have to settle for a phone call.

  “Not at all. What’s up?”

  “I have to reschedule our date tomorrow night.”

  “That’s so cruel. Where am I going to find another guy as good-looking as you are to sexually service me on such short notice?” She laughs and it comes out as a sexy little growl. Thank Christ she’s joking, because the insane jealousy that coursed through me at the thought of her with another guy just isn’t right.