Page 35 of A Family Affair: The Vow
Why did she have to saythat? “Your emotions are all jumbled up right now. You’ve unloaded a lot and I just happened to be the person you shared it with, but that doesn’t mean...” He stopped her hand from inching further up his thigh. “Rae, this would cause a lot of complications.”
Her eyes turned bright, her voice dipped to a whisper. “Probably.”
He should leave right now. Stand up, ignore the need pulsing through his body and head out the door. Nothing good would come of staying and giving in to the moment… Nothing good, but lots of white-hot pleasure, soul-deep, all-consuming. His brain tried to shut it down,Don’t do it.You’ll regret it. Big mistake. But the other part of him pounced on it, made him pulse with need.You want her so stop trying to fight it. This was always going to happen. And it’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Stop fighting it...Just stop, just—
Her words pushed through his thoughts, asked the question that would change everything between them. “Do you want to leave? Just tell me the real truth, not the one you think you need to say.”
Ah, damn. He shook his head, dragged a hand over his face and blew out a harsh sigh. “Of course I don’t want to leave, but only an idiot would stay.”
She placed a hand on his chest, no doubt felt the triple-pulse-pounding desire and inched closer, brushed her lips against his. “Or someone who’s tired of denying thisthingbetween us.”
Vic pulled her onto his lap, devoured her mouth. Passion, need, and so damn much pleasure took over, consumed him as he reached for the first button of her blouse, undid it... Then came the second button, and the third... Oh, but he couldn’t wait to taste every delicious inch of her. One more soul-deep kiss and he reached behind her, felt for the bra clasp...
“Wait.” Rae pulled away, eyes bright, lips wet, breathing uneven. She unbuttoned his shirt, slid her hands down his chest to his belt buckle, traced the design. Then she leaned toward him, captured his mouth, and unbuckled his belt. It wasn’t a gentle kiss either, but a strong one, determined, possessive, consuming. Need pulsed between them, made them desperate as they yanked down zippers and jeans, tossed aside shirts and underwear, and finally unclasped that damnable bra. He sucked in a breath, took in her naked beauty. He wanted her. Now. “We aren’t going to make it to the bed.” Her smile covered him, worked its way straight to his—
“And you’re just realizing that now? Silly you.” She crawled back onto his lap, straddled him, and held his gaze as she eased onto him, letting out the most pleasure-filled sigh he’d ever heard. “You feel so...so...” She moved over him again andagain, harder, faster, slower. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the sighs grew louder, desperate. “Oh, Vic...”
“Rae...we need to slow down. We need to...” It was that damn tongue that snuffed out any thoughts of slowing down. That and the way she was moving over him, as though she knew exactly what he wanted...and then there were those sighs...and...
Hell, who was he kidding? No way was he slowing down, even if he could. He cupped her butt and thrust into her with all of the pent-up desire he’d kept buried for too long. She liked that—a lot. The tiny whimper came first, followed by a string of uneven breaths and then she jerked against him, her entire body shivering in release. For the briefest second, he thought of letting her recover before he found his own release, but then she started to move.
That delicious tongue invaded his mouth, those perfect breasts rubbing against his chest, stealing every reason they should not be doing this...It was too much... Need took over, made him desperate. More, more.More.One last thrust and he was free-falling into the purest, most intense climax he’d ever known.
20
Vic studied the second page of the inventory sheet, scrolled down three lines, looked at the count on ½-inch round steel bars. Damn, but he hated inventory. Dreaded the whole process, but he’d never found a manufacturing guy who liked it. Still, it was a necessity and an important one, and like Nate, Vic, saved the process for the times he wanted to get away from his bad mood and the reason behind it. Unfortunately, thereasonfor his bad mood was in the building, delivering 1-inch angle iron for a rush job.
His thoughts drifted back to Rae... She couldn’t just say what was on her mind, no, not Rachel Darlington. That woman had to dance around her thoughts and pretend she didn’t have an emotion tied into anything in regard to him. Great. Fine. Let herpretendshe didn’t feel the sizzle when he touched her. Didn’t want to feel it again, every night. Got it. No problem. Vic updated another count on his inventory sheet, blew out a long sigh. Of course, they hadn’t talked about what happened the other night except for those few words she mumbled in the morning as she yanked on her robe and told him to get out.
This was a mistake. It can’t happen again.
Fine, why not just pretend it didn’t happen? Yeah, good luck with that. There’d been so much damn heat between them: white-hot, sizzling, explosive. Passion, desire, and need consuming them with each touch, stroke, kiss.
Sure, go ahead and deny that one.
Vic tried not to think about what had happened that night, but that was like trying to forget to breathe. Not happening. He didn’t hear from her for two whole days, and then she appeared forty minutes ago, dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans, and boots, hair pulled into a ponytail looking like the ice princess she pretended to be. But Vic knew about the heat behind the ice, had touched it, stroked it, owned it. And she could deny that all she wanted, but it didn’t make it true.
She’d showed up a while ago, voice bleached of emotion, expression unreadable. As though he were a stranger...as though she hadn’t explored every inch of his body—more than once. “I delivered that rush order of steel Nate needed. I’ll leave the paperwork with you. Mind if I make a few copies while I’m here? Our copier ran out of toner.”
Hell yes, he minded. He minded seeing her, talking to her, trying to pretend they hadn’t shared mind-blowing sex. “Sure. You know the way. Help yourself.” And then he turned back to the damnable inventory that Nate swore could help a guy through a lot of trouble and tried to pretendshewasn’t a room away.
Too bad every sound coming from that room made him think of her. The whir of the copy machine brought a visual of those very capable hands touching the papersandtouching him. The footsteps weren’t just footsteps but a pathway to remember the toned legs and how they’d wrapped around his waist like she never wanted to let him go. Three more memories of that night, all tied into hot sex and can’t-get-enough-of-you, made Vic crank up the radio so he didn’t have to hear her in the next room.
He’d never been so obsessed with a woman before,ever,and talk about losing control of the situation? There wasn’t supposed tobea situation, a.k.a. landing in bed together when she wasn’t thinking clearly. Vic had tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea, but she’d been so damn persuasive and the way she touched him made him believe she wouldn’t regretanythingabout that night.
But apparently, she regrettedeverything. The touching, the kisses, the earth-shattering sex. All of it.It was a mistake. Can’t happen again. That’s what she’d said and he’d been so ticked, he’d agreed and added words likehugetomistakeandabsolutelytocan’t happen again.
So why had his thoughts become a jumbled mess when she showed up a while ago? And why did his belly jump like a trout caught on a line when she spoke? And worst of all, why did he drift off to sleep at night imagining a life with her that included kids, a dog, and an SUV?
Why couldn’t this just be about sex? He could pretend all he wanted, but he cared about Rachel Darlington in ways he shouldn’t. And that was going to cause him a world of hurt because she wasnevergoing to feel the same way.
Vic cursed, turned the radio up louder.Concentrate. Concentrate. He worked his way through four pages of inventory and had actually forgotten his current dilemma when he glanced up to find another dilemma standing in his doorway.
Blonde, blue-eyed, petite. Monica Whitmore, sixth-grade science teacher, hopeful future Mrs. Vic Tramont. Why did Betty have to pick today for a dentist appointment? She usually screened his visitors and didn’t hesitate to make notes along with side comments as to their intent, level of sincerity, and compatibility based on the Betty Rafferty score sheet. How a woman who’d never been married and had never mentioned a man in her life could think she knew what constituted a “solid” relationship was interesting—and not believable. Jack Finnegan called her a chatterbox and didn’t mind telling her toclamp it. Vic couldn’t do that to her, so he listened, nodded, and acted like she might have a clue or two about relationships, which was why she’d begun ferreting out his female visitors. Too bad she’d picked today for a dental appointment because he was not in the mood for Monica and her too-nice personality.
“Vic?” Monica stepped into his office carrying a container that no doubt held some home-baked goods.
Vic turned down the radio, stood. “Monica, what a surprise.” She was sweet, kind, loved animals, and could cook from scratch. Who wouldn’t want that? Had he ever seen the fresh-faced beauty angry? No, he didn’t think so. Not like someone he knew who shrieked and scowled and cursed.
