Lori Foster - Hot In Here

Turning to walk backward, depriving him of his preoccupation with her behind, Clair frowned. “You know me better than most people.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Harris took satisfaction in pointing that out.

She turned her back again and started moving a little faster. “What’d you think, Harris? That I was a virgin? A nun? A misanthrope?”

“A misan-what?” Harris trotted to keep up.

“Misanthrope. You know, a hater of men.”

“No.” He was sure of one thing. “You like me and I’m a man.”

Over her shoulder, she smiled at him, a smile unlike any he’d ever seen from Clair before. “That you are.”

Harris’s eyes widened. Was she flirting? Did Clair even know how to flirt? But her voice was different, too, sort of soft and playful. He caught up to her. “So who was the boyfriend?”

“No one important.” They began jogging in earnest, gliding along smoothly. “Just a guy I knew who seemed nice enough and interesting enough to pass the time.”

“You weren’t serious about him?”

She snorted, giving Harris all the answer he needed—though why he needed an answer, he couldn’t say.

They loped on in silence, past the dark, quiet park, along deserted streets where older homes sat back in majestic splendor, along the levy where a concrete path had been poured.

Their movements were fluid, well timed to match. They had a great rhythm together. Harris groaned. He could just imagine setting the pace in bed, and how easily Clair could keep up.

“So how many bras do you have?”

Her laugh got carried away on the evening wind. “At least one for every day of the week.”

He thought about that. “A special one for each day?”

“No, just variety. Different colors, different fabrics.”

Like French lace or slinky nylon or maybe... “What are you wearing tonight?”

“We’re jogging, sweating. So it’s plain old comfortable white cotton.”

Somehow, when he pictured it on Clair, cotton didn’t seem the least plain. He was wondering about her panties, whether they matched the bra or not, when Clair slowed, veered off the pavement to mosey into the grass, then leaned her shoulders against a thick maple tree.

That far from the street, the light of lampposts barely penetrated.

Immediately, Harris was beside her. “Hey, you okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Just a little tired today.”

She’d been pale earlier, unsteady on her feet, and now she was tired? Clair never got tired. Hell, usually he was the first to get winded when they ran, and he knew he was in extremely good shape. All firefighters were.

Come to that, so was Clair, and he didn’t mean healthwise, although that applied too. Her white shirt and shorts reflected the scant moonlight, emphasizing certain swells and hollows, making her body look more feminine than ever.

She bent one knee, stuck the other leg out straight. The pose showed off the length of her long legs, causing Harris’s mouth to go dry. Her dark brown hair, hanging loose tonight, lifted a bit with a gentle breeze. His fingers twitched with the need to smooth it back into place. He resisted.

Still with her eyes closed, Clair smiled.

“Why,” Harris asked, full of suspicion now, “are you smiling like that?”

Her eyes opened, her head tilted. “Like what?”

“Like you have a secret.”

For a single moment there, Harris thought he saw alarm flicker in her gaze. Then she straightened away from the tree. “Don’t be absurd. Can’t a woman smile?”

“Sure.” He propped his hands on his hips. “When she’s got a reason.”

“I’m happy,” Clair snapped, in a very unhappy tone. “I feel good. The air’s fresh, your company, before just now, wasn’t too heinous, and so I smiled.” She shoved past him. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Harris caught her arm and pulled her around. She slammed into his chest, but quickly back-stepped. “You get mad too easy, too fast.”

She relented just a bit, tugging free of his hold and folding her arms around her middle. Sounding mulish, she said, “I’m not mad.”

“No? Then what?”

She stared up at him, one expression after another crossing her features before she stalked in a circle around him. Harris turned, keeping her in his sights.

“You told me I wouldn’t understand about lust.”

Oh hell. First bras and now this. Except for the racing of his heart and a twitch of male interest, Harris went very still. “Yeah.” Shut up, Harris. Let it go.... “And?”

“You were wrong.”

He shouldn’t have pushed for an explanation. “I am, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m...antsy. The guy you were asking about? We broke up two months ago.” She peeked up at Harris, all innocent temptation. “I haven’t been out with a guy since.”

No way could he have this conversation. Not with a platonic girlfriend. Not without a bed around. He took a step back. “Right. Gotcha. Maybe a, uh, run will help.”

“No. I need to find a new guy.” As if she hadn’t just dropped a verbal bombshell, Clair turned away and headed back to the sidewalk. “In the meantime, running just exhausts me so I can sleep at night instead of fantasizing.”

Fantasizing! Well, yeah, so all women probably fantasized, same as men. But Clair? Harris stomped after her. “What the hell does that mean, you have to find a new guy? You make it sound like shoe shopping.”

She ignored his furious blustering to say, “Come on. Let’s finish our run.” Rather than wait for him, she took off, forcing Harris to catch up.

Because he was annoyed now, it took him only two long strides to reach her side. “So where do you intend to look for this new guy?”

“I dunno.” She glanced at him over her glasses. “You got any suggestions?”

Of all the nerve. “You can’t tell me you’re horny, then expect me to help you find a guy.”

She whipped around so fast he nearly plowed over her. They bumped. Hard. Harris had to catch her arms to keep them both on their feet.

Giving her a small shake, he groused, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Me!” She pushed him away, almost landing him on his butt. “I didn’t say anything about being horny—how crass is that?”

“You think antsy sounds prettier? It means the same thing.”

Clair gasped. “It does not.”

Disgusted, Harris stared into her sexy green eyes and taunted, “Then I was right. You don’t know anything about lust.”

Her pupils flared. The seconds passed with the impact of a ticking bomb. He could feel the tension building, stretching almost to the breaking point—and she attacked.

One second Harris was standing there, smirking at her, and then he was flat on his back in the cold dank grass, little rocks prodding his spine, mosquitoes buzzing with delight at the feast thrown to them.

And Clair, well, Clair had an unshakable grip on his skull and her mouth was plastered to his, hot and wet and demanding. Somehow, with the prodding of her tongue, he opened and she plundered, licking and tasting, stealing his objections and melting them with her heat.

Astounded, instantly aroused, Harris cupped her head, felt the silkiness of her hair, the warmth of her skin. He tipped his head for a better angle and let her deepen the kiss more. Clair, he thought. This was Clair straddling him, Clair kissing him with so much passion. Her breasts flattened on his chest, her thighs shifted against his, wrenching a deep groan from him.

Then she was gone.

Moon and stars filled Harris’s vision. His lungs labored to draw in more cool night air. His body burned. Confused, he pushed up to his elbows. Clair stood over him, hands on her hips, her glasses askew, her white shorts now dirty.