Jennifer Greene - Blame It On Paris

"In a pig's eye," she said. "A favor is when you need to borrow a cup of sugar. Or a ride to the airport. It's not giving someone a place to live."

"No. no, this is for me. Not you. See…the guy had the place forever, so some things need updating before it's rentable again. Like…the wood floors need sanding and varnishing. The downstairs bathroom needs somebody to pick out a different color and do something with it. Several appliances need an upgrade. Almost all the rooms need fresh paint."

"Will, I'm not exactly sure where you're going with this, but I'm way, way smarter than I look. You're not going to sell me roses in the desert."

"Would you listen?' He put some petulance in his voice as he stacked the dishes on the tray and poured her more wine. Her second glass.

"I am listening, but I'm not a charity case, buster."

"I keep telling you, this is a favor to me. It's one of my dad's messes. There's more to Maguire's than just the manufacturing facilities. The company has real estate. Houses and office buildings, and other holdings beyond that. And the thing is, to get this place ready to rent-or sell-someone has to oversee the renovations. Make the choices about paint and colors and crap like that. Report if the workmen aren't up to snuff. I can't be ten places at once."

"Your sisters could do it. Or your mother."

This was a lot trickier than he thought it was going to be. "Yes. They could. But their taste is in their creditcards, if you know what I mean. They'll spend more than the house is worth. I need someone to look at the house, update where it needs updating, choose what makes sense for the place. Someone like you. And in the meantime-" he raised his voice, because he could see she was about to make another protest"-you could live in the place. It'd be disruptive, but it'd be all yours. That way, you'd get out of that wreck you're in. It's still close to your job. It's a good neighborhood. And…"

He popped the last strawberry in her mouth just to keep her quiet for a moment longer.

"And, when you come to Paris with me, when we have all our messes straightened out-which, I admit, is taking a tad longer than I expected-it'll be easy for you to get out. Besides which-"

"I didn't realize you had this whole con-artist side to your character," she said darkly.

"This isn't con-artist stuff. If you like the house, you could either rent it or buy it when all the reno's done. Say, September. So see? You're not tied to any decision whatsoever. You have all your freedom, all your choices. And I get somebody supervising the update on the place. Everybody wins."

She hesitated. Then hesitated some more, searching his face, obviously thinking hard. "There's something wrong about this deal. I just can't figure out what it is."

"God, you're suspicious. Of course, maybe you don't like the house."

"Of course I like the house! It's adorable! Two fireplaces and this great den and a blue-and-white kitchen? What's not to love!"

"You haven't seen the upstairs. Look…" He did his best to sound apologetic. "I realize it'll be a lot of trouble. A lot of dust. Workmen in and out. A bunch of crappy shopping, picking out colors and appliances and that tedious stuff-"

Possibly he'd laid it on a little thick, because she pounced. "Quit trying to be so damned nice or I'm going to smack you," she warned him. Only then she really did pounce, in a flurry of yellow silk and wine-wet lips. He'd been sitting there, with one knee up, but when she hurled herself at him. he fell back onto the picnic blanket.

All right, all right, so maybe he could have kept his balance. It wasn't as if she was remotely heavy. But she leveled him with a kiss. Her landing on top of him was ideal, after all. And in seconds, they were all tangled up, her bare legs tucked around him. the yellow dress dipping beautifully at the bodice, revealing the bare rounded breasts he'd been so close to seeing before.

It had been a long time since they'd made love.

Too long.

He needed to keep his head a little longer, and he gulped for oxygen before he was completely sucked into that taste, that texture, that look in her eyes. "You forgot underwear," he told her.

"It was a choice," she assured him.

"What happened to sin and guilt and all?"

"There's a time for that. And a time for no underwear," she explained. "Were you objecting?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "Definitely no. But-"

Sprawled on his chest, her elbows digging into his shoulders, rubbing against him with deliberate, manipulative, disgraceful invitation, she was obviously determined to destroy him. "If there's any 'but.' that's it. I'll get up and put on some good-girl underpants and a nice, thick, wired-up padded bra."

"No. Please. No." He got it, that she was enjoying torturing him. But he couldn't take much more teasing. "I need to do something."

"I know," she said smugly.

"Something first."

She was still smiling, but it was that bad-Kelly smile. It was a smile he didn't trust, couldn't trust. An unpredictable, worrisome, adorable smile and, damn, but he loved Kel when she was feeling full of herself and high on being a woman.

He fumbled, fast as he could make his thick fingers work, and finally yanked the blindfold from his back pocket and whipped it over her eyes.

"What's this?"

He didn't answer directly, because she had to know perfectly well what it was. "I figured a silk scarf wouldn't hold for long. Or else you could peek. So I needed a real-life blackout blindfold, which was harder to find than I could believe. But just so you know-this is not for fun."

"Sure it's n-"

Her tone was teasing again, as if she assumed he was handing her nonsense. So he kissed her.

Only this time, he kissed her differently than before. He closed his eyes, because he wanted to be immersed in her, wanted to be blind to everything but her. aware of only the world between them, the world where only their senses alone communicated to each other.

He eased her back down to the blanket, taking her lips, skimming his tongue inside, offering a soft, dark, openmouthed kiss that silenced her. And him.

Her hair had started tumbling from its updo, loosened when he put on the blindfold, and loosened more now when he threaded a hand through those silky strands, just because it felt good. Good the way touching Kelly, any way, anyhow, always felt.

Her heartbeat quickened when he shifted, sliding a hand from her head to her bare throat, down to the loose drape of fabric at her neck. That damn dress was soft, but not as soft as her skin. Nothing was as soft as the swell of her breast. One stroke, and the tip pebbled for him. One stroke, and he was harder than stone. Hot stone.

Somehow he didn't think he'd be able to talk for long.

"Kel?"

"Hmm. I think we have an awful lot of clothes on."

"Yeah,. I'm about to take care of that. In two seconds. But I need to tell you something." He tried talking again and found his vocal cords malfunctioning. A guy had priorities. Obviously before trying to complete the conversation, no matter how critically important it was, he wasn't going to be able to concentrate until he'd taken care of other pressing business first. So easily, smoothly, he shifted her to a semisitting position so he could pull that sweet wisp of yellow silk over her head.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

He'd guessed that from before. And she'd admitted it. But it was another thing to actually find her body completely naked, her breasts already swollen tight, her skin flushed with warmth. Her breath was so quick…for him. Her body hot…for him.

"Kel, the thing is. I didn't know you were going to show up with no underwear."

"Good. Surprises are good."