A Little Less Conversation Read online

  “Honey, in a town this size, everyone knows everyone.” She shot him a grinning look. “Are we back to that ‘not being strangers’ thing?”

  “I just hope that you don’t, you know, believe everything you might have heard about me,” he murmured in that deep, whiskey-rich voice that always made her blood race with sinful sensation. “I’ve lived in Foggy Bottom my entire life, so the gossips have had years to make meals out of me.”

  Twin bright spots of color seemed to burn across the sexy arc of his cheekbones as she peeked at him from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t stop the playful smile from teasing at her lips. “You mean…things specifically about you? Such as your, um, reputation?”

  “Oh hell, I don’t even want to know what you’ve heard,” he muttered. His pale green eyes cut a sharp look at her, dark brows drawn together in a scowl. “Just don’t buy into any of it.”

  “Hmm…so you think the rumors are, um, exaggerated?” she mused thoughtfully, striving for an angelic look. “I did have my doubts. I mean, when little ol’ Mrs.

  McGilley at the flower shop started going on about your incredible technique, and how long and strong and solid your—”

  “She what?” he choked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk with a stunned look of disbelief stamped across his rugged features. “Mrs. McGilley? ”

  “Oak bar is, I couldn’t believe that you’d actually carved the entire thing by hand,” she drawled with absolute innocence, turning back to him with a blank expression, though she was pretty damn sure her eyes were glittering with mischief.

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  “You little minx,” he growled playfully, shaking his dark head as he caught up to her. His green gaze narrowed, burning with a physical threat of retribution. “You did that on purpose.”

  Melanie scrunched her nose at him, loving that mischievous grin curving the hard beauty of his mouth, more than ready to accept any form of so-called punishment he might decide to dole out, so long as it was centered around her pleasure. “Well, how could you blame me? It was too tempting to resist.”

  “I’ll get you back, you know. And it’s only fair, since I haven’t been treated to any juicy gossip about you.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes. “Oh, gee, thanks. Is that a polite way of saying that I’m an old stick-in-the-mud?”

  A gruff sound of humor rumbled up from his chest. “No, that would be my way of saying that you’ve apparently been much better at being circumspect in your private life than I have.”

  “Ah…and what on Earth am I supposed to say to that? If I try to defend myself, then I come off sounding like someone seeking the attention of the town busybodies.

  And if I don’t, then you’ll think I really am boring. It’s a catch-22 of the worst sort.”

  “Melanie, honey, I don’t know how anyone could ever think you’re boring. You’ve made me laugh more in the past fifteen minutes than I have in the last fifteen years.” She sent him a pained look as they neared the fresco-covered front of the restaurant, the patio already bustling with several large groups sipping frosty margaritas and soaking down ice-cold Coronas in the nearly stifling heat.

  “I hate to have to be the one to enlighten you, Mark, but making a man laugh is only a compliment if you’ve purposefully set out to do so. Embarrassment doesn’t count,” she laughed, as he reached around her to push open the iron scrollwork gate that separated Caza’s patio from the sidewalk. His heat, so close to her body, was breathtaking, but before she could truly enjoy the heady sensation, a strong gust of wind threatened to blow up the back of her skirt and expose her panty-covered bum.

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  Mel shrieked, twisting as she tried to catch the diaphanous length of flying material, only to have the gate slam shut, whacking her on the rear, and slamming her into the front of Mark’s hard, hot, impossibly yummy bod. For the span of a second, her lungs froze in shock, then sensation slowly began creeping back into her system and she realized two things at once. Mark Logan had an erection, and the palm of her hand was plastered against the heavy seam of his fly…his even heavier cock resting thickly behind the faded denim.

  How it had happened, she wasn’t sure. One minute she’d been catching at her skirt, and the next thing she knew the gate had sent her reeling into him. Her hand must have turned to brace her fall…and wham, she found herself copping a feel of the most impressive hard-on she’d ever encountered. Not that she’d encountered all that many, dang it…but this one had to be legendary by any standard. And growing more remarkable by the moment.

  Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she took a deep, Mark-filled breath, taking that intoxicating scent of male heat into her body, and slowly raised her eyes to his. The playful glint in his thick-lashed gaze instantly flared into a harsh, feral look of sexual promise, every long, muscled inch of his powerful body going utterly still at the accidental contact, and neither of them moved to pull away. He stared down at her, those light green eyes smoldering and mysterious, as if lit from within with a burning, brilliant flame. His nostrils flared, black brows brought together in a fierce look of…intent? The beautiful shape of his mouth compressed into a hard, uncompromising line while his chest moved with the rough cadence of his slow breathing. Her mind screamed for her hand to move, but her body refused to obey the command. Instead, her fingers formed an open fist, cradling him, and the fire in his gaze went impossibly brighter, even as his lids lowered and a deep, husky sound of hunger vibrated up from the depths of his chest.

  With their gazes locked, her hand sandwiched between the erotically charged press of their bodies, Melanie felt him slowly push forward, increasing the heady pressure, 33

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  and the bulge behind that worn denim pulsed within her palm. It felt so delicious it made her mouth water, and she moaned a low, provocative sound of want, flexing her fingers against his fascinating shape.

  “Ah shit,” Mark growled down at her, suddenly catching her around the waist and pulling her into a small hallway that led to the restaurant’s restrooms. “What about this, Mel? Does this count?” he demanded in a ragged voice, pulling her trembling length into the animal heat of his body, as he rubbed his wicked mouth against her tingling lips with one slow, teasing pass, followed immediately by another.

  Holy hell. Melanie gasped, reeling from the chaotic, breathtaking sweep of sensations, thinking she’d die from the pleasure, right there, pressed against the Spanish-tiled wall between brightly painted doors reading Caballeros and Damas. She experienced an utter, complete, devastating sensual meltdown as the rough-silk texture of his lips rubbed over her mouth, his warm, enticing masculine flavor flooding her system. She made a sharp, hungry sound in the back of her throat, and went in for a deeper kiss, clasping the bronzed curve of his cheeks within the damp heat of her palms as she fitted her mouth against his, their lips and teeth smashing together. Riding the sharp edge of passion, she pressed her tongue into the dark heat of his mouth, and he growled into her, taking control of the kiss and thrusting his tongue past her lips to seek out the textures hidden within. He stroked over the smooth enamel of her teeth, the sensitive pad of her tongue, and Mel could have sworn she heard herself whimper in frantic, sexual urgency.

  They were both breathless, panting, forcing harsh, laboring breaths into each other as their mouths battled for dominance in a kiss that was quickly raging out of control.

  She pressed against him…hard…and was rewarded by the even harder feel of all those long, strong muscles and the hot, male intensity of his big body as he gripped her upper arms and lifted her against the wall. She hung suspended, one sandal sliding off a dangling foot, and then he slammed into her softness, pushing, trapping her against the 34

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  colorfully tiled wall, the mouthwatering bulge of his swollen cock locked against the warm, silk-covered vee of her thighs, where she was growing slippery and wet.


  Melanie jolted from the sensory overload of stimulation, silent and still for the single beat of a second, before she heard herself make another needy sound, this one like a shivering purr. Something dark and dangerous-sounding rumbled up from him in response, vibrating against the swell of her breasts where they were mashed against that solid wall of his muscled chest, his hard, impossibly long, brutally thick erection digging into her fluttering stomach. He was so solid and hot, searing her front, and she breathed in huge, addictive lungfuls of his musky, sun-kissed scent, clutching at the powerful, roped muscles of his forearms as he gripped her tighter.

  “Mark,” she moaned, her body feverish and full with a twisting, voluptuous need that seemed to take up all of her, fill her completely from the bottom to the top, until she was heavy and aching, needing the physical promise of pleasure only he could deliver. She knew, because no other man had ever come close to making her feel so much mind-shattering passion, and all he’d done was kiss her. She gasped for breath as he thrust his imposing jeans-covered cock into the giving softness of her belly and bit at her lower lip, the action utterly provocative and male—and then suddenly he stopped, not even breathing, and a terrible tension gripped the warm river of hope washing through her blood.

  She went cold, shivering, and carefully released his arms, dangling there in midair against the wall, her toes not even touching the floor.

  “Don’t…move,” he gritted in her ear, forcing the words through his clenched teeth, deep voice dark and tortured, burying his face in her neck as he slowly, in careful degrees of movement, pulled his heavily aroused body back from hers, until at least an inch separated them. He breathed roughly against the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and she trembled, unable to stop the telltale action.

  “Why’d you stop?” she whispered, a little shocked by her question, when it seemed rather obvious. They were in a public place, and anyone could have looked into the 35

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  little hallway and witnessed them going at one another with so much blatant hunger.

  That would definitely have the gossips gabbing about her, she thought with a hysterical inner laugh. But she didn’t care, because all that mattered in that moment was that Mark Logan had kissed her like she was the last woman on Earth—like he wanted to consume her—and then he’d stopped, as if shocked by what he’d done.

  And suddenly Melanie realized that he’d simply reacted out of instinct. After all, she’d had her hand on the poor guy’s crotch, copping a feel of his jeans-covered penis.

  Sheesh, no wonder he’d kissed her! God, she was hopeless. Here she’d just experienced the most insanely sexy kiss she’d ever had in her entire thirty-one years, and all because she’d accidentally felt a guy up. If it wasn’t so damn heartbreaking, she knew she’d have been laughing her ass off.

  “I’m…sorry,” he finally muttered, lowering her to her feet and moving completely away, until he stood with his back against the opposite wall, his expression shuttered, mouth bruised and wet from her kisses.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she croaked out of a dry throat, trying to ignore the sudden, tearing little rip of pain his words caused, even though she’d been expecting them.

  “Christ,” he said on a deep, ragged breath, still not meeting her eyes as his jaw worked with frustration and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I swear that’s not what I was looking for when I asked you out tonight, Melanie.”

  “No, of course it wasn’t,” she said in a soft, faraway voice, wanting to laugh at herself almost as much as she wanted to cry. Damn her stupid, idiotic fantasies and traitorous sex drive. Maybe she should just become a nun. Well, first she’d have to take care of the whole Catholic requirement, but then she was becoming a nun, damn it. She might as well. She sure as hell wasn’t having much luck getting laid. Too bad there was only one man she wanted for the job, because he definitely didn’t seem too keen on the idea. No, if Mark Logan’s reaction to kissing her was anything to go by, the idea of sleeping with her didn’t rank very high on his list.

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  Obviously that wasn’t what he was looking for, despite the outrageous flirting he’d done back in her office, stealing the picture of her in the bikini and making up all that nonsense about being nervous around her just to make her feel better.

  She took a quick peek at his hard face, and wasn’t sure who was more upset.

  Feeling the need to soothe, when all she really wanted to do was grab hold of him and never let go, she forced a grin and said, “Let’s just forget about it and grab a table, okay?” The bright smile she plastered on her face felt so brittle, she was amazed she didn’t crack, and from the look on his face, she wasn’t too sure he was buying it. Before he could open his mouth and crush her even more, she took off around the corner, thankful when she heard him moving behind her, following her to the corner table she chose that bordered the soft sand of the beach. The raging breeze played savagely over the rolling dunes of the golden, Pacific Coast shoreline, washing away the evidence of countless footsteps over its giving surface, erasing their existence as if they’d never been—and Melanie wished the same could be done to the tender, passion-starved landscape of her heart.

  * * * * *

  Seconds later, Mark found himself taking a chair across from Melanie, and he met her guarded gaze squarely, determined not to hide from her anger. But instead of looking irritated or disgusted with him for all but mauling her back there in that cozy hallway, she looked…disappointed. His gut clenched at the expression on her precious, freckled face. Damn, maybe she was disappointed with him—with the fact that he had the control of a cockroach when it came to her, but what the hell did she expect? She was gorgeous and giving, gentle and soft, and everything about her just made him want to fall all over her, plundering that innocent aura with the brutal intensity and pent-up frustration of his need for her.

  Not to mention the fact that she’d practically had his cock in her hand.

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  In fact, she hadn’t appeared put off by his aggression when he’d all but nailed her to the wall. No—she’d dove right in and tangled tongues with him as if she were starving for his taste, and he found himself suddenly off balance again. He, a man who always knew how to handle a woman. Yet this shy little travel agent had him twisted up in so many knots, he didn’t know what the hell was going on. All he knew for certain was that he wanted her.

  Two frosted Coronas with lime were brought to their table moments after he signaled Carlos, one of Caza’s longtime fixtures. He sent her an easy grin and tipped his bottle against hers, retreating to safer ground. “So, at the risk of sounding totally lame, why don’t you tell me all about yourself, Melanie Green?” She slanted him a dry look. “I thought you wanted to have a good time, Mark, not listen to me bore you to tears. Why don’t we talk about you instead?” He leaned back in his chair and sent her a genuine smile, in spite of the raw ache throbbing behind the fly of his jeans. “Uh-uh. I want to hear about you.” Lowering his voice to an intimate, seductive pitch, he murmured, “I want to learn all the dirty little secrets about Melanie Green that no one else in Foggy Bottom Beach knows.”

  “Then I’m afraid this is going to be the world’s shortest conversation,” she drawled, a small crease forming between her fine brows as the corners of her mouth tipped into a wry frown. “And you’re going to be sadly disappointed.”

  “Not gonna happen, sweetheart, so you might as well start at the beginning.” She laughed softly, and he wanted to press his lips against that small furrow between her brows to reassure her.

  Oh hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to toss her up on the wooden table, rip that damn sexy skirt away, and shove his face in her pretty little pussy until she was screaming and clawing, coming all over him, begging him to fuck her hard and deep…and forever. For several torturous seconds, Mark lost himself in thoughts of what color her nipples would be,
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  hidden within. Pale and pink, blushing crimson, or flushed with the deep, bruised rose of her lush, plump mouth?

  Damn, he swore beneath his breath, feeling a trickle of sweat trail down his spine, the meandering bead all but steaming against the feral heat of his skin.

  She’d tasted delicious, like innocence and sin, all honeyed and sweet, and he couldn’t wait to taste the warm spill of her juices as they slipped from her tender little cunt. Couldn’t wait to feel the velvety texture of her nipples against his tongue as he pounded his way to heaven, cramming himself deep inside her. Deeper than he’d ever been inside a woman, until she surrounded him and was all that he knew. Until he was wrapped up tight in her soft, sweet scents and tastes, held within the clutching grasp of her legs and her arms, and her rippling pussy.

  She was so slight and small…and he knew the tight, silky grip of her body as he fucked her, the gentle cushion of her full breasts and soft thighs pressed against the carnal heat of his flesh while he moved within her, would be more than enough to blow his mind. To rip his legendary control completely from his grasp, and leave him at the mercy of everything she made him feel.

  Christ, this woman really did it to him, and he made a mental note to go easy on the beer or he’d lose his head altogether. He was already flying on a dangerous natural high. God only knew he didn’t need any additional stimulants to add to the heavy, heady sensations.

  He blinked against the bright orange flame of the setting sun on the distant horizon, its vibrant fire turning the gray-blue waters of the Pacific to a roiling, molten gold, and suddenly realized that she’d been talking to him while he’d been lost in thoughts of taking her.

  Of controlling her pleasure. Of claiming her for his own.

  Damn, was he a glutton for punishment or what?