“So do it,” he murmured, lea
ning in and doing it for her.
At first it was the complete antithesis of the kiss she’d shared with Matthew. That one had been crazy, emotional. Uncontrolled. This was a gentle mating of lips. Soft, sweet, and easy. He didn’t press for her to grant him access, but she gave it, opening for him with a low moan.
When his tongue curled around hers, she shivered. She was already so aroused from the direction of her thoughts that his drugging kisses short-circuited her senses. She slid her hands up his chest to his broad, corded shoulders, digging her nails into his skin as she angled her mouth over his and took the control she knew he was waiting to give.
He swooped in, enfolding her in his strong, steady arms. He tasted so good, like toothpaste and sex. Her mouth explored every nuance of his while the pressure in her belly built. Lazy explorations turned to a mad duel of tongues and lips. She panted, dizzy from lack of oxygen, but she couldn’t have torn herself away from him if her life had been at stake.
As frantic as his mouth was, every bit as wild as hers, his hands didn’t roam her body. They stayed securely on her back while she tried to feel as much of him through his clothes as possible.
More. Just more. It was the only thought she had left.
The noises coming from the coffee machine made them jerk apart. Breath heaving, she dropped her forehead to his and closed her eyes.
What the hell had she just done?
“Morning, kids,” Matt said, his cheerful hello nearly sending her stumbling backward onto the floor. Though her muscles protested from crouching for so long, she still didn’t move. She felt frozen in place. “Sleep well?”
She shot Matt a hateful glance and said nothing. Tristan’s arms held fast around her, keeping her in place. “Guess you didn’t have a chance to start the coffee,” she said to Tristan.
Tristan shook his head. “Hadn’t gotten that far.”
“Figures.”
He ran a hand down her hair as he spoke to Matt. “Finesse, pal. Learn it.”
Cait stared hard at Matt, mentally willing him to remember what she’d said last night.
Don’t say a word.
Matt shrugged and turned away, reaching into an overhead cabinet for a cup. “Sorry. You want privacy, you know where the bedrooms are.”
That got her moving. “I have work to do,” she said stiffly, pushing at Tristan’s biceps.
“Now that’s what I like to hear. Which one of us should drop his pants first?”
“Jesus, Matt. Shut the hell up.” Tris brushed his fingertip over her swollen lower lip, his gaze searching hers. “You okay?” he asked in an undertone. “I’ll get you another mug.”
In spite of the tears one blink away from filling her eyes, she managed to smile. “Sure. Fine. Can I get up now?”
He released her, and she rose unsteadily. “How’d the mug get broken anyway?” he asked, grabbing the dustpan.
Cait glanced at Matt and caught his smug little smile. “I can’t remember.”
Before Matt could make another smart comment, she headed back to her desk. She dropped into her chair and swiveled to face her computer, then clicked open her latest design project.
One stilted attempt at normalcy coming right up.
Tristan immediately engaged Matt in some inane banter about Abe Donnelly’s latest over-the-top demands. She didn’t listen.
Now that she’d made an impossible situation even worse, she was going back to work.
“She’s a good kisser, huh?”
“What?” His mind on his current crisis—what to order for lunch from the takeout menu in his hand—Tristan almost didn’t hear Matt.
Then his brain clicked into gear, and he turned to glare at his best friend. “What did you just say?”