Jennifer Greene - Irresistible Stranger

The man she discovered behind the protective layers intrigued her-more than intrigued her. He clearly hated talking about himself. But what he grudgingly revealed exposed…well, Lily wasn’t sure what to call it. Depth. Heart. A man deeper than a well.

“My father was old-line, straight military. He wanted the family to run like a machine. You obeyed him right now, no asking questions, no excuses. I was the oldest.”

“So it was worse for you.” It was all too easy for Lily to read between the unsaid words.

“I’m not saying it was worse. Just that being oldest made things different for me. I didn’t want him raining hell on my little brothers. They cowered from him as it was.”

He didn’t say his father punched him regularly. Lily didn’t ask. But she could see the blank expression in his eyes. Hear his light tone.

“When I turned eighteen, he wanted me to sign on for the military. I wanted to go to college. We had a fight. A serious fight. It was the first time I ever hit him back. He had me arrested, thought that would be a good lesson for me, and told me that I’d see what it was like to spend the night in jail, see if I felt like disrespecting him ever again.”

Lily stopped breathing. She was afraid if she said anything, she’d cry. For him. For the pictures he was putting in her mind.

“You have to understand-my dad thought he was raising us with love. He just thought boys needed to be tough to survive, to ‘be men’. He thought toughness was a sign of character.” His gaze narrowed. “That’s the fourth glass of wine you poured me, Lily. You trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“No. Finish the story. How’d you end up at MIT?”

“A seriously decent scholarship. A lot of work. A lot of debt. I see my mother every few months, call her more than that. But I don’t see him. My one brother turned out just like him, a bully all the way. The youngest brother called me when I was at MIT. Johnny was in the hospital, broken collarbone, broken wrist. I came to get him. I was in no financial shape to take on a kid brother-particularly when my father took me to court. But we managed okay. You heard enough?”

Again his voice was lazy and teasing, as seductive as the moonlight.

She answered as she had the last time. “No. It’s still a long way from there to owning an ice cream parlor in Pecan Valley.”

“Actually, it’s not that far. I made certain decisions, once I was grown and had my kid brother on his feet. I was never doing anything requiring discipline as long as I lived. That includes wearing ties, relationships and any kind of work that takes effort.”

“Griff?”

“Yes, honey.”

“You are so full of baloney.”

“What I am is embarrassed. I can’t remember the last time I told this story, probably because I never did. I was raised with better manners than to bore a charming, beautiful woman. We’re wasting this moonlight. I never-it’s the cardinal rule of my life-waste moonlight.”

For a man who’d had four glasses of wine, he was out of the lounge chair faster than magic. His eyes met hers in the darkness as he coaxed her out of the chair, pulled her close, pulled her into him.

Okay, she told herself. Okay. She’d been charged up from the first instant she met him, and she knew it. He was full of baloney, he charmed her, enticed her. Made her want to experience-just once!-being involved with a bad boy, a man who knew his way around women, who just plain liked women and knew what to do with them.

Every woman she knew had flings. Why on earth shouldn’t she?

She realized she wasn’t experienced in being wild and loose, but she was willing to practice. He was ideal to take lessons from.

It was just…the more she knew him, the less she believed of his bull.

And now he’d completely messed up the fantasy. Kissing him wasn’t about the wild, loose, immoral fling she’d had in mind. She liked the damn man. He was lonely, a solo flyer. Tons of people claimed to “love him”, but no one she’d seen so far actually seemed to know him. Much less really love him.

Not like a person needed to be loved.

So really, it was entirely his fault that it all just got out of hand.

He swooped her in his arms, and even though she wasn’t exactly sure how to seduce a seducer, she swooped right back.

Griff couldn’t fathom how she’d so completely messed with his head. Kissing her was supposed to be about…well, about kissing. One of the most enjoyable activities in the universe. A prelude to an even more enjoyable activity.

And a side benefit of kissing her was shutting her up-not that Griff was thinking in such crass terms, but hell and a half, she’d somehow gotten him talking about personal history. He never did that, and never wanted to do that. Hell, he never even allowed himself to think about the past. The whole point of burying something was making sure it was nowhere near the surface.

Her scent, on the other hand, was dangerously near the surface. He was falling into this drug, this unexpected intoxicant made up of all the textures of Lily Campbell-her scent, her taste, her thick lustrous hair, the butter softness of her lips, the sweetness of her. The latter was the killer ingredient. He just wasn’t prepared for that yielding sweetness, the way she tipped her head back, the way she leaned into him, to him.

Hell times ten. What was it about this woman? His arms swept around her, wrapping her closer, as if to protect her from the moonlight, from chills and dangers that didn’t exist, from…him. She was a teacher, for heavens sake, not a Lorelei. She gave off more nerves than an untried girl. She wasn’t a player.

Every Southern girl emerged from the womb knowing how to flirt, knowing the danger line, enjoying the sport. Not Lily. She drifted off when he tried to charm her. And now, when he expected her to bolt because he was crossing the danger line, she curled around him as if inviting Armageddon. Hoping for it. Daring him to bring it on.

Hands skimmed down her sides, testing, exploring. Beneath her thin top, he could feel the suppleness of her skin, the warmth. The allure. Her eyes closed against the impossible brightness of moonlight. She sank into his touch, into yet another kiss, not yielding so much as communicating yearning.

Slow, wary of scaring her, rushing her, of doing anything to break this crazy spell, he eased the side of his hand against her breast, heard her responsive intake of breath, felt the heat rush straight to his groin. His arousal was no surprise, but he was hard to the point of pain, hard like a teenage boy who could only think of one thing. Having her.

Dipping deep into that softness and heat.

He brought her closer, achingly close, burning close, his hands sweeping down to her fanny, pressing. Her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples tight, igniting another firestorm of hunger, of awareness, of want.

Responsively, she swayed even more snugly against him, shimmying just a little against his arousal, nestling against it. At that precise second he understood she was saying yes. That he could have her naked, have her in his bed this night. All night.

Even more confounding, he couldn’t remember wanting a woman more.

Ever.

That thought was enough to scare a little sense into him-not a lot, but enough. He eased back from a kiss, pressed his forehead to hers, tried to remember how to breathe normally. Since they were still glued hip to hip, possibly, normal breathing was highly unlikely, but maybe he didn’t want that much sanity quite yet.

“What are we doing here?” he murmured, knowing exactly what they were doing. That was the problem-an intense awareness of how right, how damned perfect, she felt in his arms.