Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

Still not enough. More. More. More . The chant throbbed in time with the ache at her core and she lifted on her toes to get closer. Closer to the hard ridge that held the promise of satisfaction.

Not close enough.

Then his hands took a rapid slide down her back to flatten against her butt and pull her up into him. A wild little cry escaped from her throat and he ripped his mouth away to look down. His eyes dark and intense, pupils dilated, nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe.

He wants me.

I want him.

"Please." The single syllable was rusty, ripped from her throat. She had no idea what she was asking for, had no thought beyond more . More something. Anything . Anything was better than this terrible unmet need, the cavern that only he could fill.

In answer he took her mouth again, hotter, harder, and in two big steps backed her against the refrigerator, pressing hard between her thighs. Against the place that throbbed and wept for him. She thrust back, as hard as she could, leaning into the refrigerator for leverage.

It was a strangely erotic mix of sensations. Cold, hard machine at her back, hot, hard man at her front. Hard big hands against her, kneading, pulling her closer. Then one of his big hands freed its hold on her butt, and she wriggled against him in protest, making him groan, so deep she could feel the vibrations rattle against her breasts. But a moment later the groan was hers as he covered her breast with his hand.

But not enough. Not nearly enough.

His other hand left her butt, but instead of claiming the other breast that felt like it would burst, he pulled at her dress, straining the buttons. Some released. The others made a clatter as they rained to the floor. She pressed her head back against the refrigerator as his mouth moved from her bruised lips down her throat and his hands fumbled with the front clasp on her bra.

Yes. Please.

If she said the words aloud, she didn't hear them over the panting. Hers. His.

With a curse he gave another yank, tearing the delicate lace and her breasts fell free. Into his hands. And into his mouth.

The strangled cry was hers as he sucked, lashing the nipple with his tongue. All feeling clenched between her thighs and she felt her body tighten with need. Greed.

Oh, my God.

She was almost there and he hadn't even touched her yet. There . Hadn't slid his hand up her thigh and into the fragile lace panties that were now soaked with wanting him. Hadn't pressed his thumb against her clitoris or slid his finger up inside her. She was almost there and he hadn't done any of those things.

Not yet. Please.

Please.

More. More. More.

She looked down, the sight of his golden head at her breast more erotic than anything she'd ever seen. "Please," she whispered. "Steven."

He pulled back far enough to look up, his lips wet, his eyes almost black. Without saying a word he took the other breast in his mouth and his hand fell to her hip, ran down her thigh as she bent her knee, trying to get closer, her legs wider.

Closer.

His hand pushed at her dress, up her stocking to the bare inch of thigh between her garter and her soaked panties. Then his palm was on bare skin, cupping her ass and she cried out.

His hand froze on her butt and he pulled back from her breast, his eyes taking in the sight of her bare breasts, wet and swollen from his suckling mouth.

Then they lifted to her eyes and Jenna felt her body go cold in an instant.

He was angry.

His jaw clenched until a muscle in his cheek spasmed. He pulled his hand away and pushed at her thigh, straightening her leg, pulling her dress back in place.

"No," he ground out from behind clenched teeth and stepped away, leaving her trembling against the refrigerator, her legs barely supporting her weight, her breasts wet and cold.

Her senses frozen.

She said nothing as he marched into the dining room and grabbed his holster and coat from the back of the chair with jerky movements.

She flinched at the sound of the slamming front door.

Then unable to stand a moment longer on legs that felt like jelly, she pressed her back against the cold refrigerator and slid to the floor.

Wednesday, October 5, 12:15 AM.

"Now let me get this straight," Mike said, refilling Steven's empty jelly jar with iced tea he'd pulled from the refrigerator in the rectory. Steven scowled at the refrigerator. He'd never be able to look at a refrigerator the same way again.

Dammit all to hell.

"You kissed her," Mike said, sitting across from him and propping his chin on his folded hands. It was a very priestlike pose and should have completely quieted the lust that still throbbed in Steven's veins.

Should have.

Didn't.

"She kissed you back, maybe did a few things that you probably won't confess." He lifted a black, bushy brow. "Am I on target?"

You shouldn't have touched her, Thatcher , Steven thought fiercely. Shouldn't have laid a hand on her. Shouldn't have turned from the wall. Should've kept your eyes on her diplomas and patents and "I love you, Aunt Jenna " certificates .

But, nooo. He just had to look over into the kitchen. Had to watch her bend over looking for that damn pizza wheel. The sight of her black dress stretching over her incredible round ass… something had simply snapped, letting all the pent-up frustration come rushing out.

I shouldn't have touched her . But he had.

And it had been more incredible than he'd imagined. Dammit, he was still imagining.

So, was he angry he'd kissed her? Hell, yes. Was he angry she'd kissed him back?

She'd done a helluva lot more than kiss him back. But the fault was squarely his own. He'd started it. And dammit, he'd finished it, too. And with such sensitivity and regard for her feelings.

Thatcher, you are a dickhead.

Furious with himself and with Mike for being so right, Steven drained his glass and set it back on the table. Hard. Mike picked up the glass and checked the bottom to make sure it wasn't broken, which just made Steven angrier. "Yes," Steven hissed. "Right on target, as usual, Father Leone."

"Don't break my glassware," Mike cautioned. "Mrs. Hen-nesey gave me blackberry jam in that one and if I don't return the glass, I don't get any more jam."

"Dammit, Mike," Steven gritted and Mike pursed his lips.

"Mrs. Hennesey makes very good jam. And please don't swear." His lips twitched. "My son."

Steven just glared and Mike laughed. "I don't see the problem, Steven. She's beautiful. And she seems to like you, which I personally don't understand, but a basic understanding of women is unfortunately not taught at seminary. She has to be smart to have a Ph.D., although book learning does not necessarily equate to wisdom, which goes back to my not understanding why she likes you. She seems compassionate and articulate and has a sense of humor. She wanted to take care of you, for heaven's sake." He shrugged. "So you let things get out of hand tonight. Understandable, I suppose. Just don't let it happen again."

Steven looked away, focusing on the rosary that hung on the wall, wishing it would have the deflating effect he needed it to have. He'd been rock-hard since he'd stormed out of Jenna's apartment, an hour before, leaving her standing there shocked and openmouthed.

And bare-breasted. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful and passionate and… Mine, mine, mine .

His body throbbed painfully and he knew it was nothing less than he deserved.

Steven blew out a frustrated breath. "You just don't understand."

Mike spread his hands out wide, palms forward. "So enlighten me. Explain to me why you're so upset that a smart, pretty woman desires you. I may not have a Ph.D., but I do have wisdom, which, incidentally, was taught at seminary. Too bad you didn't go. Looks like a good dose of wisdom is what you need right now." He folded his hands and resettled his chin. "I'm listening. Go ahead. Explain."