Jacquie D’Alessandro - Why Not Tonight?

He’d been twenty and friendly, home for the summer after completing his junior year of college. He’d been mowing the lawn at her house. At the ungodly hour of 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday. She’d been tempted to hurl a shoe out her bedroom window at him, but then he’d looked up and smiled at her and whammo -suddenly New York wasn’t looking so bad. A friendship and easy camaraderie had been born. He’d made her laugh, and had amazed her when he said he’d lived in the same house his entire life. A year later, their friendship caught fire and for a beautiful, brief time, had burned out of control. A decade after that first meeting, his smile still had the power to affect her.

“Think about what you want to do to your lover,” Adam said softly, jerking her attention back to the present. He looked at her through the lens of his Nikon and adjusted the focus. “Think about what you want your lover to do to you.”

A memory, sharp and poignant, instantly materialized in Mallory’s mind…of that incredible summer…of the first time they’d made love. Adam, scooping her up in his strong arms, his blue eyes hot with want as he carried her to his bed. She’d wanted so badly to touch him, taste him. And wanted him to do the same to her.

She’d been a virgin and nervous, expecting awkwardness, but they’d laughed over their brief fumbles, and then…pure magic. His hands…God, she remembered his hands so well…large and calloused, skimming down her body, touching her everywhere, followed by his lips, which had proved as magical as his hands. Her hands and mouth exploring him. Hot skin, murmured words, tangled sheets. And the way he’d looked at her, with such desire, reverence and need as he’d slowly entered her.

She was vaguely aware of the shutter snapping, but all her focus, all her concentration, was on the memories washing over her. And the fantasy of experiencing that heat with him again.

And that was really…

Bad. Wrong.

And damned inconvenient.

She closed her eyes and tried to visualize Greg-the man she should be thinking about. Greg. Her boyfriend. The man for whom she was having these provocative boudoir pictures taken. Her plan had been to reignite their stalled love life with a gift of these photos. Yet ever since she’d walked into the studio and discovered to her shock and consternation that Adam would be taking the pictures, her fine plan had disintegrated like steam in a wind storm. And speaking of steam…she felt as if it were pulsing from her every pore.

“Roll onto your side,” Adam said, “and let the strap of your teddy fall off your shoulder…that’s it. Now shake your head and wet your lips…perfect. You’re beautiful, Mallory. Stunning. And sexy as hell.”

You’re beautiful, Mallory. Another memory slammed into her. A hot summer night. Adam’s parents away for the weekend. Skinny-dipping in Adam’s pool. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his erection buried so deep in her body she didn’t know where she ended and he began. His fingers slowly tracing her features as if trying to memorize them. His husky words whispering over her wet skin… You’re beautiful, Mallory.

Blinking away the image, she managed to say, “I bet you say that to all the women you photograph.”

He looked at her over the camera and she felt the impact of his regard all the way down to her feet. “No, I don’t.”

Heat seeped through her, and suddenly she felt beautiful. Stunning. Sexy. In that way he’d somehow always made her feel. A way she hadn’t felt for a long time. If she had felt that way, she most likely wouldn’t be here, trying this last-ditch effort to resuscitate her and Greg’s sex life. But Adam’s praise echoed in her ears, encouraging her to push aside her inhibitions.

Staring into the camera, into the place where she knew his dark blue eyes looked at her through the lens, she slowly rolled to her side, then rose to her knees, reveling in the cool slide of the black silk teddy against her heated skin, the delicious friction of the sheer stockings and lacy garter belt against her legs.

Do you remember, Adam? The question whispered through her mind. Are you recalling, as I am, the way it was between us? How we couldn’t keep our hands off each other? How you used to love to touch my hair like this…?

Lifting her hands, she sifted her fingers through her loose hair, envisioning Adam…er, Greg-no, damn it, it was Adam-approaching her, lowering his head to kiss her. Her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted, anticipating the brush of his lips, the delicious sweep of his tongue, and again memories swept through her, of the first time he’d kissed her.

She’d gone to his house, intending to casually mention she’d broken up with her boyfriend, hoping Adam might ask her out. He’d answered the door dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair shower-damp, his skin smelling clean and fresh. He’d looked so delicious she’d nearly forgotten how to speak. Heart pounding, she’d told him her news. No sooner had the words passed her lips than he’d cupped her face between his hands, whispered Thank God, and then kissed her. A long, slow, deep, knee-weakening kiss that left no doubt he’d been experiencing the same pull of attraction as she. When he’d finally ended the kiss, he’d looked as dazed as she’d felt.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he’d asked.

“How long?”

“I met you a year ago, so…a year.”

His confession had thrilled her and made her wish she’d broken up with her boyfriend a lot sooner. She’d smiled and pulled his head toward hers. “Seems we have a lot of time to make up for,” she’d whispered against his lips.

“That’s the end of the last roll.”

At the sound of Adam’s deep voice, Mallory’s eyes popped open, dispelling the memory. He stepped from behind the camera and regarded her with an indecipherable expression.

The spell broken, heat crept up Mallory’s neck, although why she should be embarrassed puzzled her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she was trying to do something right. For Greg. Reliving memories, fantasizing, was perfectly normal. Still, she sent up a mental prayer of thanks that Adam couldn’t read minds. Or Greg, for that matter.

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if Adam’s mind had been filled with similar sensual images while he’d snapped the photos. Probably not. The sexual fire that had burned between them had been short-lived and died out long ago. And while he held a special place in her heart since he’d been her first, the devastating ease with which he’d ended their relationship left no doubt she’d amounted to little more than a notch on his bedpost.

And now, here he was. Looking even more incredible than when she’d last seen him. And here she was. Wearing the three hundred dollars worth of La Perla lingerie she’d purchased to entice another man. A man named…um, Greg. Right. Greg.

With a self-conscious cough, she looked around for her robe. Perhaps Adam could read minds-not a comforting thought-because he plucked the pink terry-cloth garment from the chair next to his camera then walked toward her.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the robe, his eyes alight with the hint of mischief she so vividly recalled, “although it’s a shame to cover up that lingerie.”

Whew! Who the heck had turned on the heat? Didn’t this room have air-conditioning? It was July for cryin’ out loud. Even though she already felt as if she were melting, she quickly slipped on the thick robe, wrapping the material around herself and belting the sash.

Ah, that was better. Feeling much more in control now that she was covered from neck to shin and it was no longer noticeable that her nipples were erect, she slid from the mattress and stood before him. Even though a respectable six feet separated them, she had to brace her knees to keep from backing up to put more distance between them.