Floor Time Page 6

  She had it listed for eight hundred thousand. Insanity, she knew, but it came with three acres and it would make an incredible building lot if the new owners couldn’t tolerate its choppy floor plan. The sellers were friends of hers, a couple she went to college with who’d gotten married right away and launched into a whirlwind of reproduction with two kids nearly within a year of each other, with a third on the way. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to actually care about someone so much you’d want to carry his child and raise it together. As usual, Jack’s striking face shot through her brain before she banished it.

  Open houses sucked, generally. They rarely yielded anything more useful than a good nap or some quality time with a book, but she got the place ready. Brochures, business cards and fresh flowers were strategically arranged on tables. Anger rose, nearly choking her, as irrational images of Jack kissing another woman passed in front of her vision.

  Snap out of it! Focus. Sell this damn house today or at least snag a new buyer who can afford it.

  The temperamental alarm system got a final once-over to make sure it wouldn’t go blasting off when a potential buyer entered the house from the side door instead of the front like it had the last time she held this one open. Sara caught her image in the front hall mirror. Ralph Lauren tan trousers; bright teal linen top; high-heeled, open-toed Ferragamos; freshly pedicured feet; light makeup and lipstick – check. Ready to roll.

  Two o’clock became two forty-five with no guests. No big surprise. She made it through half of her water and a few chapters of the latest silly vampire novel she’d brought with her to pass the time. Bored, she got up to walk around when she spotted a familiar car in the long gravel drive.

  She watched as Jack unfolded his tall frame out of the Corvette and walked around to reach into the passenger’s seat. It struck her that she had never seen him in anything but a suit, or at least dress pants, shirt, and tie, as she admired his ass in the dark jeans. He looked good enough to eat. But panic replaced her blooming desire.

  What was he doing at her open house? Was there a problem with their deal?

  She glimpsed a shopping bag from the local organic chain grocery in one hand. He grinned at her, lighting up his arresting eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Shit.

  She had made a vow to herself she would not get caught up in the Jack Gordon whirlwind, regardless of her semi-obsession with the thought of having her between her thighs again. However, here she was, high and mighty, and yet about to explode with need for his lips on hers.

  Double shit.

  “I thought you might be lonely all the way out here and we should have a picnic. What do you say?” He made his way to the front door. He wore a plain burgundy t-shirt, jeans that hugged his front as nicely as his rear, and driving shoes. Momentarily blinded by lust, she fought the impulse to pull him into the foyer and make him fuck her until she was spent.

  Nice, very nice. The guy brings you a picnic and you want to skip right to the after-play?

  Turning on her heel she headed back into the house without even responding to his suggestion, assuming he would follow her. Sara realized she had to get control of herself before talking or her voice would surely betray her. She glanced at her watch. Three p.m. – she had to focus on her job for one more hour. Let him wait.

  “Don’t you have an open house of your own?” She sounded a tad more irritable than she intended.

  “Nope.” He walked right into her personal space, brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her. His firm lips remained noncommittal. She shivered as he kept his hand on the back of her neck. He caressed her cheek almost absentmindedly as he looked around at the house.

  “Well, the view is great,” he admitted as he strode into the front bedroom suite. Sara watched as he walked out of that room and took in at the high cathedral ceilings made of light ash wood. Then he whistled, picked up his grocery bag, and walked into the kitchen complete with new gleaming stainless steel appliances and white tile floor.

  “Nice, but it’s sort of cold in here, isn’t it? Maybe some color, flowers or something, would help?”

  “Fuck off, Jack. I don’t need your help. Why are you here, anyway?”

  “Easy, tiger, easy.” He leaned on the countertop. “I know you know what to do. I can’t help it. It’s second nature for me to say something about the house.” Sara caught herself clenching and unclenching her fists, and stopped.

  Damn the man, anyway.

  She couldn’t even stay mad at him. She slumped against the doorframe.

  “It’s a shit listing. I don’t get any showings and hardly any new buyers from these open houses. The sellers couldn’t care less that it sits here and gets stale.” She sighed, then relaxed, only to have her desire for him rush over her like a tidal wave. He attended to his grocery bag and began setting stuff on the counter.

  “What the hell am I going to do when a guest shows up, Jack? Put that crap away.”

  “It’s okay, babe, we’ll just say we rolled out the red carpet for your potential buyers with these nice strawberries and this cream.” He pulled the last container from the bag with a flourish.

  “You are insane, you know that?” She stared at the array of stuff on the counter.

  “You won’t think that when I show you this amazing bottle of wine I found. I forgot I had it.” He pulled out a green bottle with a French label of some sort, two wine glasses, and a corkscrew.

  “Um, yeah, well, I’m not really comfortable doing this here. I mean, it’s not my kitchen.” Sara gulped as she took another step away from him to get his smell out of her nose.

  “Sure it is.” He worked the cork out, allowing her to admire the amazing definition of his arms. “I’ll bet you’ve spent more time in this fucked-up house with its million-dollar view than you have in your own house since you listed it. I mean, you do opens, you refill sales brochures, you check on the lawn – what else? Tell me I’m wrong.” He pulled the cork free, splashed some golden liquid into each glass, and handed one to her. By the time he’d completed the task, Sara had made her way nearly six feet away from him.

  “Baby, I don’t bite,” he said, holding out the glass to her.

  She surged forward, as if to prove she wasn’t afraid, grabbing the glass as she passed.

  “Thanks. Never had a happy hour at an open house.”

  Sara positioned herself at the far end of the room, as far from Jack as she could get. She faced out to the river and contemplated her options. On the one hand, her body declared its intention. She shivered at the thought of what his plans included for a “picnic,” in a house where she didn’t even feel welcome to use the bathroom, much less host some sort of kinky food-sex session. She glanced at him, standing so calm and collected while every inch of her flushed and her heart deafened her with its pounding.

  Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips. She really should tell him to get the hell out of there. The situation was headed in a dangerous direction and not because it was obvious he had come here for one reason only. His sheer chemistry spoke volumes to hers. She knew what he wanted. The clarity of that realization calmed her.

  Looking back out at the river, she tried to slow her breathing. A familiar feeling stole over her. It was an annoying slip of focus, much like when she’d gotten absorbed by Adam last year. How in the world could one man turn her on and piss her off so completely just by standing on the other side of the room and staring at her? It simply wasn’t fair.

  Jack stayed quiet. Finally, he turned and looked out the window, sipping his wine alongside her, his breathing calm and controlled.

  “What’s the basement like?” he asked. “I mean, are there more rooms down there? There is really only one bedroom on this main floor – that’s a tough sell, even with this view.”

  “Uh, yeah, there are two beds and two more full baths down, plus another great room, a walk-out with an enormous fireplace,” Sara muttered, brain fuzzy from the shift in conversatio
n. She glanced at her watch. Three-twenty-five. About another half-hour and they could lock this place up and be on their way.

  She watched him without trying to stare. He was truly larger than life and he knew it. Tall, exotically Celtic – with his raven’s-wing black hair and blue eyes – he soaked up all the energy in any room he entered. His torso was V-shaped and strong, with prominent muscle definition in his arms, shoulders and back, leading down to a completely grabbable butt, strong thighs and calves. She let her eyes travel along his arm holding the wine glass.

  Her legs started to quiver again so she took a step back from the window. The dark blue of the jeans hugged his ass in way she wished her hands could. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to cross the room, drop to her knees in front of him and… Sara shut her eyes and pictured them in the hallway of her office again with her back shoved up against the wall.

  Jack downed his glass and crossed back into the kitchen. She waited for a count of ten and saw him emerge carrying a tray from God-knows-where containing the strawberries and cream.

  “The view is the best part of this piece-of-shit house,” he declared. “Let’s not waste it.”

  Speechless, she followed him out onto the screened porch where he plopped the tray down on a small square table. A couple of ratty chairs crouched on either side of it. He motioned for her to sit next to him and began dipping the strawberries into the bowl of cream.

  “Sit back, Sara,” he insisted, in that low voice she remembered so well from the hallway. “Relax. Work time is over.”

  “B-b-but, it’s not four o’clock yet,” she said, mesmerized by him, hypnotized in a way that thrilled and irritated her both.

  New Sara spoke.

  Screw the open house. Let’s see what he has planned. You know it will be worth it.

  “Okay, but let me close up the house first.” She dashed out of the room under his bemused gaze, locked all four doors, and set the alarm. When she returned and sat back down, she kicked off her shoes, ready for his next move. He held out a hand. She took it and let him tug her onto his lap.

  “Here, have one of these,” he said, as he handed her a strawberry drenched in cream. She took the fruit without breaking eye contact with him. She ignored her brain as it once again tried to raise a protest and let herself drown in those sapphire blue pools.

  As she licked the cream slowly dripping down her fingers, his eyes widened and he captured her hand, bringing it to his lips. The sensation of him licking the drips made her gasp. He released her but kept his gaze steady as he dipped another strawberry, bringing the sweet concoction to her lips.

  He’d brought some kind of triple cream. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to eat for years. The strawberries exploded in her mouth at every bite with bright, sweet flavor. She chewed, swallowed, and nodded at him to give her another.

  His grin at her eagerness to get at them, to lick them and gorge herself on their bounty, didn’t even bother her. When he pressed his lips to hers she had the distinct feeling that she had been kissing him, tasting him, forever. She sighed as he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up. She started to turn and straddle him, aching with need.

  “No.” He made her stand all the way up. “Have a seat over there.” She did, obeying in a way that went against her fundamental resistance to being bossed around. When he pulled her foot onto his lap and sunk his knuckles into her instep, she groaned and leaned her head back. The release of tension in her neck and back seemed directly proportional to the spot on her foot he chose to rub.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she muttered, easing herself down further in the chair, allowing more of her leg onto his lap.

  He continued to caress her foot, stopping only long enough to hand her freshly dipped strawberries. The combined sensations of the rich, sweet cream and the tart strawberries, along with his firm touch on her foot, were too much. She started to sit up, worried about losing control yet again to Jack’s magic. Her brain tried to break through the fog of horniness. It reminded her that, of all men on the planet, this one she really ought not toy with. It could only end in disaster.

  At that moment, the alarm boomed throughout the house.

  “Fuck!” She lurched up, knocking over her wine glass.

  “It’s cool. I’ll see what it is.” Jack stood, adjusted the crotch of his jeans with a smirk, and walked into the house.

  Sara sat and took long, deep breaths, willing herself calm. Jack was a professional and had been at this job way longer than she had. He could handle whatever it was.

  It took about fifteen minutes for him to come back into the porch.

  “What?” She winced at the squeakiness in her voice. “Did someone want to see the house?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “You forgot to pull in your signs when you locked the place up. These poor saps thought they could walk right in and so they did. I showed them around, made an appointment to meet with them tomorrow to discuss other options. Sweet couple.”

  “You utter asshole.” Sara jumped to her feet, prepared to call this little rendezvous finished.

  The man had stolen her buyers. He simply couldn’t turn it off, could he?

  Her brain cheered her on.

  Yes! Run away! Get as far away from him as you can and stay there. It’s for your own good.

  He intercepted her.

  “Hold on, hold on. We’ll share them, I swear,” he declared.

  “You know what, Jack? Fuck you. This is nuts.”

  His eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and tried to still her pounding heart. His dark gaze pinned her, intent and sexy as hell. She took a breath but as she started to order him out he pulled her close and smothered her protests with his lips. Walking her backwards a few steps he propped her against the wall, kissing her with an intensity that made the room darken. She tried her best but couldn’t resist burying her hands in his thick hair and arching her body into his. He broke the kiss and took her arms from around his neck without a word.

  “Take your clothes off. All of them.” His voice was rough and low and brooked no argument.

  She started to cross her arms but he yanked them over her head, pinning her against the wall as he had done that night in her office. The cloud of lust that surrounded her parted, leaving room only for bright, clear fury. His lips were centimeters from hers. His strong body pressed close, compelling her ways she didn’t know existed.

  I can’t let him do this.

  She licked her lips, encouraging him to come closer, which he did.

  “Ow! Son of a…” He stepped away holding a hand over his mouth. Sara’s body shook so hard she had to sink to her heels. She could taste blood and knew she’d bitten hard, and meant it. But her brain had shut down on her now, leaving her alone with regret and a sharp kernel of unmet need. She realized at that moment she’d do whatever he wanted. She had to, although part of her tried to fight it. He pulled her to her feet gently, his eyes concerned but intent.

  “Trust me. Take them off.” He leaned in before she could move away and licked her lower lip, letting her know she was forgiven, before stepping back.

  Her hands shook as she slid the zipper down the front of her blouse and then slipped her trousers off her hips. If he thought she’d be intimidated by this, he had another think coming. A breeze flickered through the screen, bringing a welcome chill to her overheated flesh. She raised her chin and flipped the clasp on her bra. Hesitating just a minute, long enough for him to give a nearly imperceptible nod, she hooked a finger in her panties and slid them down her leg. She stood, trying not to cross her arms over her newly vulnerable exposed flesh.

  “Dear God, you are exquisite.” He exhaled, not moving from his spot nearly two feet away. She sensed something, something she would come to associate with a darkness deep within him that she wanted more than anything to lighten, as long as he shared it with her, and only her.

  Mine.

  The voice started out small, but got steadily louder in her brain.


  Mine?

  Oh hell, she was really screwed. In more ways that one.

  Jack swallowed, took a breath, and came to terms with what he wanted to do to the woman standing there, gloriously naked and… his. He shook his head. No, she was just there. In no way whatsoever was she “his.” Chest tightening as he closed the gap between them, he ran a hand down her cheek, her neck, and across her collarbones and brushed his thumb over her peaked nipple. She shuddered but didn’t move.

  He cupped her neck with his other hand and pulled her close, slanted his lips over hers, and dove into her mouth, lazy, slow, and easy, but stopped when she started to hold him close.

  “No. I want to do the touching right now.” She frowned but he smiled and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, Sara. Let it go. Let me do this. You won’t be sorry, I promise you. You relax. Let me do the work right now.”

  Jack sensed the dark control steal over him, taking him like it used to as he ran his hands over his woman’s body while she stood, trembling. His soul longed for more, to take, own, and possess in ways he had never experienced. His balls ached, his cock was so hard, and he knew if she touched him anywhere right now he’d likely come all over himself like a teenager.

  He teased the hard nubs of her nipples with both thumbs, licked her lips, then owned her mouth once more. The small sounds she made drove him insane but he kept control, held back.

  “I’m going to make you come, Sara, but you can’t until I tell you. Do you understand? If you do, I’m leaving and you can’t do any of the touching I know you want to do.”

  He cradled her face in his hands. Her eyes were wide and her breathing fast. He could smell her need, could taste it on his tongue. It made him grit his teeth against the urgency to toss her on the floor and fuck her. No. He had to do it this way.