Kristin Hardy - As Bad As Can Be

Need sliced through her, sharp and intense. She needed his hands on her, his skin against hers. She needed his mouth on her, hot and wet.

“When I first saw you I wondered what this would be like,” she murmured.

Desire slammed through him. Earlier, he’d watched her dance as though he’d been under some spell. Seeing her sway and tease, he’d imagined what it would be like to taste her, to feel her body against his. Imagination was nothing compared to the reality, though.

Hot and sweet, her flavor infused him, left him craving more. Her wild, sultry scent seemed to be everywhere. He could feel her breasts, warm and yielding against his chest, and the sensation threatened his control. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He wanted her, period, on the floor, against the kegs, anywhere, as long as it was now.

They were in the bar cellar, he struggled to remember, running his hand down her back to where her top ended and warm skin began. He definitely had no business wrapping himself around an employee on the clock and on the premises, but the sound of her soft moan made a mockery of his common sense. Her hands stroked the denim of his black jeans and he felt himself strain against the fabric, against the heat of her touch. Instead of stepping away and getting out, he found himself slipping a hand up under her tank top, sliding his fingers over the soft swell of her breast. With his eyes closed and the noise from the bar only a soft murmur in the background, they could have been anywhere. Then the insistent firmness of her nipples against his palm tore a groan out of him.

Mallory gave a soft laugh of delight. His arousal was an aphrodisiac, and a sudden frenzy of desire tore through her. She wanted to know how he felt inside her, how his body convulsed at orgasm. She wanted to feel him hard in her hand, in her mouth. Hastily she fumbled for his zipper.

Heat raced through him. There was no room for practicality, only for the rush of sensation from her mouth, the warmth of her hand through the denim of his jeans. In the bar overhead, someone began whooping. Then he felt the tug, heard the growl of his zipper. He could tell himself to quit all he wanted to, but his hands still slid over her curves to find the hem of her skirt. “This isn’t smart,” he said, “we’re in public.”

“Not at all,” she said, running her tongue along his neck. “I know for a fact this is private property.”

Shay ran a hand up under her skirt, moving between her thighs to find her already wet. “What’s your boss going to say about you disappearing?” he managed, the slippery evidence of her arousal making his head pound. Feverishly he wondered what it would feel like to be inside her, to have her hot and wet beneath him.

“Don’t you worry about the boss,” she said breathlessly, her gasps catching as his fingers began to slide against her.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he said raggedly, as her clever fingers searched him out and wrapped around him.

Mallory laughed deep in her throat. “Trust me, I know she’d approve.”

Then he felt her begin to stroke and he groaned, abandoning his attempts at control in the face of the delicious friction, the tantalizing touch. He pushed her back against the wall of kegs and kissed her hard.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed open.

“Mallory, get up here quick. We’ve got a fight,” someone yelled down.

They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“The bar. Oh my God.” She broke away and lunged past him, rounding the banister and heading up the stairs.

Mallory, Shay thought dazedly, zipping up his pants. They’d called her Mallory. Mallory was Dev’s sister’s name.

Which meant she was Dev’s sister.

Shouts filtered in from the barroom, the sounds of a fracas underway. The noises galvanized him and he ran up the stairs. Whatever was going on, another pair of hands would surely help. He wasn’t much for fighting, but in his years of bartending, he’d learned a few nasty tricks that were useful for dealing with rowdies.

As it turned out, his help wasn’t necessary. By the time he’d ducked out from behind the bar, the bouncers had grabbed the fighters in painful come-along holds and were leading them out the door. No obvious damage had been done, aside from a stool or two overturned. The rest of the patrons were milling around. The redhead jumped on the bar and began to dance, working to bring the energy of the room back up. Slowly people filtered back toward the bar, but the crowed was smaller than before.

Shay saw Mallory in a corner, talking sympathetically to a weeping girl, and he was abruptly furious at himself. Dammit, he’d been the worst kind of idiot. One minute he’d been sitting in the bar checking it out, trying to figure out what to tell Dev. The next, he’d seen Mallory and she’d driven all thought and responsibility out of his head. He’d gone from chatting her up to groping her in the cellar. He could say he’d gone down to help her, but deep down he knew it was because he wanted to be near her. Needed to be near her. And now he, who always prided himself on being the responsible, trustworthy guy, had wound up almost doing the sister of one of his best friends.

He saw Mallory holding the girl’s hands and talking to her soothingly. Just for a moment, the purity of Mallory’s profile stopped his heart. He didn’t date often. His responsibilities more or less precluded it, but it also wasn’t often that a woman captured his interest. All Mallory had had to do was walk into his line of sight. It wasn’t just the face, although admittedly, that had gotten his attention first. It was the intelligence and humor that sealed the deal.

And of course the physical stuff.

That was history now, he thought, slipping unobtrusively out the door. He was going to be smart and stay away. If Dev wanted his input, he’d give it, but that was all. He was going to keep a healthy distance from Ms. Mallory Carson. Certain things were unforgivable, and one of them was sleeping with a friend’s little sister, he thought, as an image of his own sister, Shana, rose in his mind. Especially when you were supposed to be watching out for her.

Out on the sidewalk, Shay shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the ache in his belly. Just for a moment there, she’d had him. Despite his best resolutions, he wouldn’t have been able to stop for his life. The interruption had saved him from doing something he’d really have been sorry for. Walking away had been the easy part. Convincing his body that the time for fun and games was past was a little tougher.

Nice behavior for a local businessman, he thought sourly. Yeah, he’d really make points at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting if word got around that he was entertaining young ladies in backrooms.

Not a young lady, he corrected himself. A woman.

A woman who was going to be on his mind possibly for the rest of his life.

“NIGHT, MAL. SEE YOU tomorrow.”

“See you,” Mallory echoed, locking the door behind the departing Belinda. The lights were on, the harsh illumination giving the bar a very different feel from the intimacy of the night. Scars on the wood and floor showed up, as well as the odd spill. She made a face. Thank heaven for Doug the magical custodian. Cleaning and restocking the bar was one thing—in its own way, it was sort of soothing. However, the idea of facing the men’s room after a night of rowdy drinkers was enough to make her shudder.

She went behind the bar and began checking the bottles of liquor, refilling them when necessary, or bringing out spares for the shelf. Truth be told, she was glad of something to do. Even though hours had gone by since her interlude with the stranger, she was still restless, distracted.