Page 23 of The Bad Girl and the Baby

“You do?” Her voice was breathy. “I’m surprised.”

“Why? Because I’m conservative?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead he lowered his head and kissed her. The action took him by surprise as much as it did her. He wasn’t one for spontaneous gestures. And for a second, the logical part of his brain tried to put the brakes on. Just at that moment, her lips parted, and he was lost. And that logical part of his mind shut down completely.

His hand came up and he cupped the back of her neck, pulling her harder against him as he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth. She tasted of heat and spices and sweetness that made his head swim. His spare hand went to her waist and encountered bare flesh.

She was tall; they fit well together, and he kissed her long and deeply until they both ran out of air and came up gasping. He caught her gaze and saw something flash behind her eyes. So he kissed her again before she could do the sensible thing and back away. For a second, she was tense against him. He slid his hand up her bare back, under the edge of the tight sports bra, and his palm splayed against her, pressing her toward him, molding her to the length of his body, so he could feel her breasts and her belly hard against his erection. He groaned into her mouth.

There was too much between them, and he released her for a second, tugged open the buttons on his jacket and shrugged out of it, dropping it to the floor. He had a sense that he had to move fast, before she came to her senses and remembered that she hated him. Or, if not hated him, then hated a man who looked very like him and was responsible for what had to have been the worst time of her life. He ripped open the buttons on his shirt, grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against his heart.

Her eyes were hot and heavy as she stared at him, then slowly she stroked her hand down over his chest, her nails raking his nipple, then lower until her fingers grazed over his erection straining against his pants. Her hand rubbed against his hardness, sending pleasure shooting through him, tightening his balls, and he groaned again.

He pushed against her, backing her up until she hit the table behind her, then his hands went around her, gripped her ass, and lifted her so she perched on the smooth wood. He parted her knees and pressed in closer, shoving up against the junction of her thighs, and she returned the pressure, pushing back against him. He toyed with his fingers along the seam of her sweats, then, overcome by the need to discover if she was as turned on by this encounter as he obviously was, he shifted his hand upward, slipped it in the waistband of her pants, and found the silky curls between her thighs. She went still but made no move to stop him—thank Christ. He pushed lower, and she shifted to give him better access. Finally, one finger slipped between the folds of her sex, hot and wet. Her lashes fluttered closed as he ran his finger lower, finding the entrance to her body, so welcoming, and he pushed inside. A small moan escaped her lips, and he added another finger, stroking the inner walls of her pussy, loving the way her muscles clenched. He imagined his cock deep inside her, held in a tight grip, those muscles pulsing around him.

He moved his fingers, out of her and upward, finding the small swollen nub. A squeak escaped her as he grazed it lightly with the pad of his finger, and again so her hips lifted off the desk.

Soon.

He wanted to see her breasts, but he needed her to come first. Because after that, he was going to be deep inside her, and he reckoned he’d last all of about five seconds.

He stroked again.

“Harder,” she muttered.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” she said, though her eyes narrowed. Then she lowered her back to the desk, arched her spine, widened her legs and she gave herself to him. He shoved his hand farther down her pants, cupping her sex. He crossed two fingers and pushed them inside her hard, at the same time he pressed down on her clit with the pad of his thumb, massaging the little nub. She was writhing on the desk top, and he held her still with his free hand cupping her breast, squeezing as his thumb rubbed hard circles over her. Her head went back and a small scream escaped her, and he slid his hand higher to cover her mouth.

He pressed harder and felt the heat of her release, the contractions against his fingers as she came for him.

Goddamn stuffy?He didn’t think she would call him that again.

He pulled his hand free, as she came up on her elbows, then held her dark gaze while he licked the sweet salty taste of her from his fingers. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted and, tattoos and all, she was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Now he wanted her naked, her hands all over him, and he wanted to be deep inside her. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, then sat up, reaching for his belt buckle. Her hands fumbled a little as she unfastened it, then her fingers moved to his pants.

Soon.

His dick was so hard now, he might explode if she touched him—hell, when she touched him. This was happening. Nothing was stopping it. He didn’t care how inappropriate, he needed this like—

“Darcy Butler, put that soldier down.”

The words, spoken from behind him, stopped him short. He went instantly still. So did the hand so close to his dick.Fuck.

This wasn’t happening. It was a good job he wasn’t armed, because he might have shot whoever had interrupted.

He closed his eyes for a count of ten, then took a deep breath and stepped back. Darcy was watching him, one eyebrow raised, hand still outstretched. Her eyes held a sleepy, post-orgasmic look. At least one of them was satisfied. She gave a rueful shrug, and her hand dropped to her side. Her lips twitched as she studied him. “Maybe not so stuffy after all.”

He glanced down at himself. His shirt had come out of his pants and hung open. His erection still pushed at his fly but was wilting fast. He blew out his breath and tried to tell himself that it was just as well. For one thing, he didn’t have any condoms. Gone were the days when he carried one…just in case. He hadn’t really thought about sex since his brother died. Why did it have to be this woman who woke his dormant libido? Inappropriate. Inconvenient. And not going to happen.

But Christ, he needed to get laid.

Darcy jumped down off the desk, hitched up her sweats, and moved past him. He buttoned his shirt, tucked it in his pants, and looked around for his jacket. It lay on the floor, but before he could pick it up, someone beat him to it.

He took the jacket from the beautiful brunette and tried not to dislike her on principle. Because she had stopped his one chance of getting inside Darcy Butler. From now on, he’d be forewarned. Avoid situations that might lead to temptation.

“Hi,” she said as he shrugged into his jacket. “I’m Regan Malloy. Darcy’s flatmate.”

He thought about shaking hands, then remembered where his had been and decided against it. Instead he gave her a brief nod. “Matt Peterson.” He recognized her now. She’d been with Darcy at the club that night, along with a pretty blonde.

---