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“I’ve been here during the summer, way back when,” he said. “They had a man who spoke Ray Charles songs like they were poems.”
The low, alluring musings from the bass floated on the air, seducing his conscience, telling him it was okay to lie for just one night.
“Does he still perform here?” Tam asked. Her voice wasn’t higher than a whisper.
“I have no idea. I—” Careful.
He’d almost added that he didn’t have much time for entertainment anymore, but he’d stopped himself. Kyle wouldn’t have said it, and neither should he.
Suddenly too self-aware, Murphy didn’t move toward her, even though he was dying to.
In an effort to change the subject yet again, he said, “Your hair. It’s…”
“I know. Messy. Frizzed out.”
She glanced away, and disappointment seized him. But then, as if recovering from something, she looked at him again, allowing that huge, gorgeous smile to light over her lips.
“It’s not messy at all,” he said. “I like it.”
Understatement. It reminded him of steamy nights, of a woman lounging on a bed with the sheets sweated to her body, her hair in disarray. Reminded him of younger, New Orleans-misted memories from Tulane.
Dammit, he wanted to see her that way, sated and relaxed by what he could do to her.
“I guess,” she said, voice low as she moved closer, “it’s natural that you’d like my hair. You said on the phone that you’re into wild things.”
The comment made him smile. And he knew it was a smile he wouldn’t normally wear. It felt wolfish, appropriate for a man reaching out to test a woman’s hair between his fingers, wishing he could slip his hand a little lower….
“You’re into the same things, right, Tam?”
She was playing the game—the touch-and-go of verbal foreplay. It was in the tilt of her mouth, the rise of her chin as she met his stare.
“Wild as in…?” she ventured.
Screw it.
He reached toward her, coasting his fingers to the back of her neck, slipping one into her high collar to smooth over her nape. He heard her intake of breath.
“As in—” he whisked his fingertips downward over her spine to the small of her back, where he started drawing slow circles “—anything goes.”
Good. So, so good.
As her breathing got faster, his other hand crept around to her throat. He stoked the soft skin of it, feeling her working to swallow.
“I don’t really even know you from Adam,” she said.
Or Kyle.
She’d said the right words, revving him up with the reminder that he’d left himself behind.
“Then we need to do something about getting acquainted,” he whispered.
He knew she could leave right now—that he could, too. But neither of them was moving.
Maybe she was the type of woman who knew what kind of message those boots sent. And maybe she could give Murphy what he needed.
A taste of bad.
4
AS KYLE STROKED Tam’s throat, he also pressed and circled his fingers just below her spine—in very insistent, very persuasive caresses. They sent rivulets of gathered steam through her belly, dampening and readying her for more.
Her breathing picked up speed, and she instinctively shifted her hips, getting closer to him. When her stomach brushed his jeans, a hard ridge told her that this was really on. That she was back in the game.
She gripped his shirt as her sex tightened into a pinpoint of stimulated pain.
She’d missed this. One whole year had gone by since her last make-out session, but, miraculously, tonight was proving that it wasn’t impossible for her to be wanted. How was it that this gorgeous man didn’t see what she saw in the mirror?
Still…there was something keeping her from fully grinding against him, giving in and going for it. Was it fear that he would realize he wasn’t attracted to her after all?
An excuse, she thought biting her lip and fighting the thoughts that wouldn’t leave her alone. That’s just a lie you tell yourself instead of facing the real reasons you’re afraid.
In the back of her mind, she remembered a long-ago night, the aroma of barbecued hamburgers still lingering on the air from dinner. She’d stayed outside in the dry Nevada air to play with some dolls, but her parents had gone in once they’d started arguing again. They’d unwittingly left their bedroom window open.
You screwed him, her dad had said, agonized. And it wasn’t just one time. Didn’t you think I’d find out?
In answer, her mom had only cried.
Now Tam pushed away the memory. But she couldn’t deny that this was why she stayed home so many weekend nights. To avoid a relationship that could one day lead to secrets and lies, to a breakup as wounding as her parents’. A divorce that had given her too many reasons to get tired of the dating world quickly and easily. A divorce that had established a pattern for rejection after her mother had abandoned her without a fight.
“Tam,” Kyle whispered. His breath was laced with a reminder of the beer he’d had at the last bar.
The word tingled her ear and, with a final refusal to listen to her misgivings, she gave in to the warmth, finding it could be oddly simple to forget everything but him if she allowed herself to. He nuzzled her cheek, his own scratched with stubble. He smelled like shaving cream—clean and masculine.
The scent, the friction of a man’s skin on her own, struck a primal chord. She twisted his shirt out of his pants, the vibration of the bass from the main bar throbbing in her ears. Gently she latched her teeth against his neck, tasting the tang of him, and bit lightly.
Kyle grunted, obviously surprised. Then he laughed softly, sliding a palm under her butt. With determined force, he guided her out of the light and into a corner where the darkness semicovered them from anyone who might wander into the yard.
Oh, yeah, Tam thought, too excited to even think anymore. It’s on.
He pressed her back against the brick wall. His arms cushioned her from most of it as he planed his body against hers, fit himself comfortably then—after a second in which they both caught their breath—almost arrogantly. In the next instant, his lips covered hers, wet and carnal. An open-mouthed kiss, it was both demanding and languorous, spinning her mind out of her body and replacing it with pure impulse.
Solid thoughts escaped her, and she saw butterflies on the backs of her eyelids, free and open, within her reach.
Grasping at the liberation, she gave herself over to Kyle’s kiss, devouring him right back, threading her fingers through his hair and rubbing her body against his.
His erection had only gotten harder, prodding her as she wrapped a boot-clad leg around him.
He gasped for air, almost as if she’d just thrown a punch at his gut. But he recovered quickly, nibbling at her ear and skimming his hand over her boot. He panted, and in the dimness, she could see him glancing down at her leg. At he same time, he arched into her, made her groan low in her throat.
“These boots…” he said.
At the hint of frantic reverence in his tone, her confidence climbed a notch. “What about them?”
He adjusted his grip on her leg, rocking her against his stiffness at the same time. She made another wincing sound of pleasure. Her sex was slick and pounding with longing—damn, she could hardly stand it.
Expertly, he slid a palm up to the cusp of her boot, inserted a finger into the gape where suede met the cotton of her pants. The black scarf around her hips covered the rest of his hand with its fringes, and the hidden mystery of what he might do next shot a buzzing thrill through her.
When he rubbed, she reacted with a jerk. He smiled knowingly down at her.
Dangerous, she thought, grasping at a thread of common sense that unfurled through her brain. He was a near stranger who had way too much sway over her right now.
But she was allowing him to do this, so she could handle it. She wanted it, and she was ready to take what was being offered.
He was running his fingers across her leg, getting closer, then dragging away from the ache between her thighs.
“I’ve already had about fifteen fantasies about you in these boots,” he whispered.
He almost sounded shy. Sure. As if this Romeo was capable of shy.
Still…he’d already had fantasies? About her?
“When I saw you in the bar,” he continued, fingers reaching her outer thigh then, slowly, so slowly, traveling back inward, “it only took me about a second to invent a scenario.”
Ooooh. His naked admission speared into her, turning her on like a solar flare.
His fingers strayed to her inner thigh, and she flinched again in reaction, hitching in a tight breath.
“Tell me,” she said. “Just tell me what you imagined.”
In the half-darkness, he smiled again—more to himself than anything else, she thought. He toyed with her nerve endings, drawing her out with every exploring touch.
“It’s nothing too out there.” He stroked upward. “I just wondered if you were going to let me—” he glided his thumb into the crevice between her legs “—do something like this.”
When he pressed her clit, she strained against him, crying out softly. She didn’t even have time to suck in another ounce of oxygen before he began massaging her. Even through her thin pants, his touch was electric.
In the midst of this, she had no shame. Why should she? Tam was a woman, one who craved and needed, one who knew right now exactly what she wanted and wasn’t ashamed to claim it.
She echoed his strokes with tiny movements of her hips, encouraging him, showing them both that she was the kind of woman who went for what she wanted.
“I haven’t,” she said between pulsations, “worn these…boots at all…. This is…first time.”
“Good.” With every subtle thrust of his thumb, he watched her, as if entranced by the show. “I’m just going to go ahead and think that they’re all mine, then.”
At least for tonight, she thought. They didn’t need to clarify that. Didn’t have to make promises about the future when this was enough for now.
Beats of a building hunger slammed through her, faster, harder. He circled with more intensity, wedging his arm behind her head so it didn’t knock against the wall with every push.
Then, kissing her again, he used his tongue to accentuate and echo the drives of his thumb, the gyrations of her hips.
She clung to him for life and sanity. And bit by bit the sharp anguish between her legs expanded, heated, grew until it ate away at every inch of her.
When she came, it was in tearing doses, one climax, two, wave upon wave of pounding release and quiet fury. She groaned into his neck with each blow until she was done.
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