That’s true, but if a male reporter walked around with full wood, chances were Luc wouldn’t even notice. Now, Jane, he noticed. “I’ll work on that.”
She took one more step and her back hit the wall behind her. “And you’re spoiled. You get everything you want and everything is your way.”
She was talking about the interview again. “Not everything.” He moved forward and placed both of his hands on the cold concrete beside her head. “Some of the things I want aren’t good for me. So I have to leave them alone.”
“What?”
“Caffeine. Sugar.” He lowered his gaze to her lips. “You.”
“Me?”
“Most definitely you.” He slid his hand to the back of her neck and he lowered his mouth to hers. “I’ve never had you my way,” he said, and he kissed her because he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Her lips were warm and sweet and instant desire settled heavy in his groin. With nothing more than his hand on the back of her head and his mouth pressed to hers, lust rolled over him like a Zamboni.
He pulled back with every intention of walking away, of leaving before he did something he would regret, but she looked up at him and licked her moist lips. Instead of turning on his heels, he wrapped one arm around the small of her back and brought her body against his. He was used to tall women and he had to pull her up on her tiptoes. His mouth opened wide over hers and he fed her a hot wet kiss. He held her to him as her hands ran across his shoulder and up the sides of his neck. His tongue touched and mated with hers as she combed her fingers through his hair. His scalp tingled from her touch. She moaned deep in her throat, that sound of lust and frustration and yearning that had urged him on the other night and had him thinking about having sex with her right there against the wall now.
In the weak light of the parking garage, he unbuttoned her coat, then shoved his hand under her sweater. Her flat stomach was warm and he slid his hand to her breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breast hardly filled his hand. Her puckered nipple poked the middle of his palm like a hard little raspberry, and his testicles squeezed and his scrotum tightened and his knees almost buckled. He slid his mouth to the side of her cheek and took a deep breath. This was the most sexual excitement he’d felt in a long, long time, and he had to stop.
“Luc,” she gasped, then she grabbed the sides of his head and brought his mouth right back to hers. She ran her hands over his shoulders and chest and kissed him like a woman who wanted to end up in bed. A hot openmouthed feeding kiss that had him thinking of security cameras and of the likelihood of arrest. He rolled her hard nipple beneath his palm and she wrapped her leg around his waist. He shoved his erection against her crotch. The heat of their bodies nearly did him in. He ground against her and forgot about stopping.
“Not here,” he said as he ended the kiss. “We’ll get arrested. Believe me, I know.” He tilted his head back and took a deep breath. “There’s a Best Western or a Ramada within a few miles.” He blinked. He was fairly sure there was anyway. “I’ll grab a room while you wait in the car.”
“What?”
God, he wanted her. He wanted to fall on top of her and stay there for a good long while. “We’ll have sex all night. Half the morning too. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, we’ll go at it again.” It had been a long time since he’d wanted it so bad that he could hardly think beyond the throbbing in his pants. “I’m going to fuck you real good.” She didn’t say anything and he looked down into her face.
She unwrapped her leg from his waist and lowered her foot to the ground. “In a motel room?”
“Yes. We can take my car.”
“No.”
“Where?”
She pushed his hand from her breast. “Nowhere.”
“Why the hell not? I’m hard, and I don’t have to stick my hand down your pants to know you’re wet.”
Her eyes were wide and a little glassy. “You’re talking to me like I’m one of your groupies.”
He’d never even thought of her in those terms. Had he? No, he hadn’t. “You don’t like wet? What do you call it?”
“I don’t call it anything, and I don’t fuck. I make love. Groupies fuck.”
“Jesus,” he swore, “who cares? When you get down to it, it’s all the same thing.”
“No, it’s not, and I care.” She shoved at his chest and he took a step back. “I’m not one of your women. I’m a professional reporter!”
He didn’t know who she was trying to convince. Him or herself. “You’re a tease and a damn prude,” he said and turned on his heels. He shoved one
hand in the pocket of his jacket and his hand curled around his keys until they cut into his palm. He was sorry he’d ever met Jane. He was sorry he’d ever laid eyes on her, and sorrier that she made him so insane that he’d kissed her and now he was going home hard. Again.
As he walked to his vehicle, he heard her car start and by the time he unlocked the driver’s side door of his Land Cruiser, she was gone, the glow of her red taillights the last remnants of her.
That and the ache in Luc’s groin and the pounding in his brain and the knowledge that he’d have to see her again in three days.
I make love, she’d said. The first time he’d met her, he’d figured her for one of those uptight, probably-hadn’t-had-sex-in-five-years women. And he’d been right.
“ ‘Make love,’” he scoffed as he climbed into his vehicle and started it up. Jane didn’t want to make love. He hadn’t misinterpreted her signals. A woman who wanted him to “make love” to her didn’t kiss like a porn queen. A woman who wanted to “make love” wanted to take her time. She didn’t wrap her leg around his waist while he had her shoved up against a wall in a parking garage.