Under Fire

“I’d say that narrows the field. So what exactly did you feel?”

Jana knew what she was feeling now, and she’d zipped right past tingle to outright arousal. When she’d first approached Ben, she’d had absolutely no intention of embarking upon a one-night stand. Now, she was no longer certain she possessed the willpower not to see how far this night would go.

She considered her last sexual encounter in hopes the reminder of what had never happened for her would derail her treacherous thoughts and halt their break-neck pace. It’d been nearly two months before she’d allowed the relationship to move to the next logical step. All in all, the experience had been…nice, she decided. Pleasant, even. She’d been turned on, but miles from the simmering heat Ben had managed to stir with that cute little tongue-on-the-wrist trick.

“After what you just did, I’m sure tingly was the wrong adjective,” she finally told him. “Maybe it was closer to how your feet feel when you take your shoes off at the end of a long, hot day. You know what I mean?”

His attempt to hold back a grin was obvious, but eventually he did. “Sounds more like relief than sexual gratification to me.”

She drained the last of her chardonnay, then shook her head when he attempted to signal for the waitress. “Considering that lack of sexual gratification is under debate here, it seems appropriate. Now, will you please answer my question?”

“Which was?”

“Is it really everything everyone says it’s cracked up to be?”

He settled back in the booth, looking completely at ease and oh-so-sexy. “Yeah. It really is,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “With the right person.”

Dozens of erotic images cluttered her mind, each more enticing than the last. Images that all ended with three basic elements—her, Ben and the closest bed. “Tell me what it’s like.”

He regarded her with such close scrutiny, she started to fidget with her napkin, nearly knocking over her empty glass. She adjusted the set of her shoulders and aimed for a relaxed appearance. She almost succeeded, too, until he said, “What if I showed you instead?”

BEN TOOK the key to Jana’s apartment from her and slid it into the lock. He didn’t bother debating the wisdom of his decision or waste time with self-recrimination about allowing his testosterone to rule his actions. Even the twenty-minute drive from the Ivory Turtle to her place in Culver City had failed to lessen the need that had been clawing his gut since Jana had uttered those magic words—let’s talk orgasms.

Although his motives weren’t entirely chivalrous, he did feel a connection to Jana. Only, it existed on a level he understood and even welcomed—basic animal attraction. It’d been a long time since he’d experienced such an intense need to be with a woman. After the last few days of hell, he wasn’t in the frame of mind to summon an argument for why he shouldn’t exploit the sexual tension that had been simmering between them since the moment their eyes had first met.

At the very least, he had to taste her, see for himself if her lips were as soft and welcoming as he’d been imagining. And there was the issue of the near physical pain he’d been feeling since she’d slid from the seat of his pickup truck. Her long skirt had caught on the seat, hiking the length far enough upward to reveal slender calves and the barest hint of a shapely knee. Not much by way of exhibitionism, but still too incredibly sexy for him to ignore.

He unlocked the door, then turned toward her and handed her the key. The faintest hint of her unique perfume raised his awareness one more notch. His body flexed as he breathed in the exotic combination of floral and spice.

She moved in front of him to rest her back against the doorjamb. Desire brightened her gaze. Beneath the yellow glow of the light in the small alcove, he caught sight of the rapid beat of her pulse at her throat. The urge to press his lips to her delicate skin, to feel the staccato rhythm against his tongue, had him narrowing the already miniscule distance between them.

“Are you coming in?” Her husky voice, and the way her warm breath feathered against his lips, filled him with an anticipation not even a saint could ignore.

His gaze shifted from her throat to her mouth in time to see her tongue slide invitingly across her plump bottom lip. Daring him to taste her?

“Yes,” he said in response to her question. For once in his life, he refused to think about the consequences of a decision and how it would affect everyone but himself. For once, he chose to act purely on impulse. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek in his palm. “But first I’m going to kiss you.”

The corner of her mouth tipped into a seductive little half smile. “I was hoping you would.”

Forget hesitation. He didn’t bother with a tentative brush of his lips against hers. Gentleness failed when he covered her mouth with his, applying a slight amount of pressure with his thumb against her jaw, urging her to open for him.

He slipped inside. The warm silken glide of her tongue instantly mating with his sent a blast of heat south, hardening him in a flash.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck, her purse hit the landing with a thud. The sound registered in the back of his mind. She held on tight, her gentle curves plastered against him, the swell of her breasts pressing enticingly against his chest. His hands itched to tease her nipples into tight beads. He wanted to taste the taut buds of flesh, explore them with his tongue, hear the soft, arousing moans of her pleasure.

Slowly, her knee rose, rubbing against the inside of his thigh. He nearly came out of his skin. Another three or four inches, and she’d have no doubt how much he wanted her.

The tension and events of the last few days began to ebb slowly, quieted by the silent, sensual demands of the woman in his arms. His sexual attraction to Jana had nothing to do with blowing off steam, or even reconnecting with another human in the most basic way imaginable. What drove him to taste her more deeply, to smooth his hands over her rib cage and upward to cup the weight of her breasts in his palms, stemmed from nothing more than demanding lust.

She ended the kiss long before he was ready to let her go. Little puffs of air fanned his lips as she tried to catch her breath.

Slowly, she lowered her arms and inched away, as if needing distance. Not wanting to break contact with her, he dropped his hands to her hips, preventing a complete escape.

Her lashes fluttered, and she drew in a deep breath. “Now would you like to come in for a while?” The strength and surety of her voice took him by surprise. He could’ve sworn she’d just been gathering her courage.

“Are you sure?” She might have agreed to his suggestion they go to her place where they could be alone, but he wanted, needed, to know she understood exactly what would happen once they went inside her apartment. The kiss they’d just shared had left him with no illusions of exactly what he wanted.

She replied by reaching behind her to shove the door open in invitation. He stooped to pick up her purse then followed her inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

She stood in the middle of the room, a slight frown tugging her eyebrows. Second thoughts? God, he hoped not. He’d never been a fan of cold showers.

A table lamp emitted a soft, buttery glow over the room from atop a square white table, flanked by a pair of blue-and-white, thick-striped chairs. He tossed her purse on the cushion of the matching sofa, then crossed the plush carpet to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

Jana’s brief moment of considering that she could be making an epic-quality mistake evaporated the second Ben’s mouth claimed hers in another bone-melting kiss. When she’d first approached him, she honestly hadn’t believed for a second she’d seriously consider a one-night stand with a man she’d just met. She couldn’t decide whether she’d been stupidly naive or unconsciously determined, but before she could solve the puzzle, Ben was gently guiding her backward until her bottom came in contact with the wall.

She slid her arms around his waist, her fingers spanning his rib cage. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, the muscle in his back flexed and danced at her touch, filling her with a unique sense of feminine power, rivaled only by the heated surge of arousal that had her squeezing her thighs tightly together. The coolness of the wall against her skin conflicted with the heat his body generated. He surrounded her, filling her senses with his taste, his touch, his scent. The brush of his fingers against her stomach as his hands tugged her thin blouse from the waistband of her skirt had a pool of something she couldn’t define—tension? need?—gathering in the pit of her belly.

The answer to a question she couldn’t even remember no longer mattered the moment the warmth of his hands cupped her breasts. Through the lace of her bra, he dragged his thumbs rhythmically over her sensitized nipples. She moaned and tore her mouth from his, her head thumping against the wall as she arched her back, desperate for more of his touch.

“Taste me.” Her harsh, whispered demand took her momentarily by surprise. She’d never been much of a talker during sex, preferring instead to communicate her needs with action. Could that have been part of her problem, she wondered?

He made a sound that rumbled up from deep in his chest, dissolving any remaining ability for coherent thought. The instant he dipped his head and gently nipped and laved the slope of her breasts, she forgot her doubts and concentrated on the urgency filling her. With agonizing slowness, he unbuttoned more of her blouse, then pushed the fabric aside until it gathered halfway down her arms. His mouth over her nipple, he suckled her through the lace. She cried out from the shock of such exquisite sensation.

Her breathing faltered, then resumed with short, hard pants. She couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. The world tilted. No, it spun, she decided. Spun her right off the edge of reality.

She gripped Ben’s shoulders to steady herself. Too late she realized nothing could put an end to the crazy, chaotic wonder gathering with the force of storm clouds inside her.

He moved to the other breast and took her into his mouth. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she attempted to brace herself. Only she couldn’t. If she did, the incredible pleasure she felt by pressing her thighs together would end.

Ben straightened, but he didn’t stop touching her. His hands slid to her throat, then up farther until he cupped her face in his work-roughened palms. The appreciative look in his eyes alone did for her what no lover had ever accomplished; it made her squirm with a need so deep every square inch of her body hummed with anticipation.

Could Chloe and Lauren have been right? Was there indeed something absolutely liberating about making love to a man for the sole purpose of experiencing pleasure? Even the way Ben looked at her, with a heady mixture of awe and desire, stripped her of her usual anxiety, and filled her with a wild, reckless sense of abandonment. Tonight, she reminded herself, had nothing to do with performance, but only with absolute pleasure and gratification.

His.

Hers.

And no regrets, regardless of the outcome.

“I’m going to taste you.”

His words were an enticing integration of velvet and steel. Smooth, yet strong. Like his kisses. Or his touch. Comforting yet demanding.

“Every inch of your skin, Jana. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

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