Kathleen O'Reilly - Beyond Breathless

His hand reached down between her legs, finding a silky set of panty hose and he broke through easily, pushing one finger inside her.

She bucked on his lap, and he heard another moan. Deeper, longer. His.

Her hands clasped his shirt, first for support, and then her fingers worked to release the buttons, and she pulled it free, running her hands up and down his chest.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said.

He pushed her back against the long, bench seat, and slid the sensible dark skirt down her legs.

“I know,” he murmured against the creamy skin of her stomach. “You have beautiful legs,” he continued, not because he thought she had beautiful legs, but because he had never been so taken over by a woman before. He didn’t act on urges, he was the master of steely self-restraint. However, the close confines with her were killing him. He met her eyes, expecting to see the same odd, reckless urgency, but instead he found something that could have been nerves.

Nerves.

Cold reality intruded. What the hell was he doing? Andrew stopped the skirt-sliding because they were in a Hummer limo. Relative strangers.

For God sakes, they were in the financial industry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, removing his hands from her skirt, but he wasn’t a complete fool. They hovered nearby—just in case.

He waited, perched like a lion guarding his prey, his breath uneven. If he had more scruples, he would have moved back to his seat, but he couldn’t. Her look, half tailored, more than half mussed, entranced him. The jacket loose on her shoulders, the blouse pulled aside, exposing the firm swell of her breasts, one nipple coyly poking out, just to tempt his fingers, his mouth.

In a Hummer, for God’s sake…

JAMIE COULDN’T SPEAK even if she wanted to because her heart was pumping too fast. She wasn’t impulsive, she was strategic, but she’d never considered sex like this before.

Fast, furious. If he wanted her to fling her bra out of the roof, she was just turned on enough to do it. Anything to bring that taut mouth back to her breasts, anything to keep those glorious hands between her thighs.

And there he was, his dark eyes glazed with lust.

For her.

In that moment, she considered the wisdom of having a one-morning stand with a man she’d just met.

But he had gallantly offered her a ride to Connecticut.

“Ride” being the key concept, prompted her more cautious self.

He’s no Casanova, she argued back. He was either an award-winning actor, or he was as appalled by what was happening as she was. Overcome with passion, she thought with a romantic sigh. She’d never overcome Todd with passion before; their matings were planned, scheduled, and scripted. This exuberance of passion from her was new. Maybe this was a rebound response?

She studied his face. Anxious dark eyes were watching her, not forcing her into something she didn’t want to do, not even coaxing her into something she didn’t want to do. Damn.

Dark, crisp hair coated his chest, tempting her fingers. He tempted her. His mind was sharp as a tack, yet he was chivalrous, and okay, built.

On the other hand, he was a man. A man who belonged to that rare three percent of the gender who would never coax. Instead he would let the woman choose her own poison, relieving him of all conscience and responsibility.

God, that meant he was probably in upper management.

The scintilating thought was enough to push her one step closer to the edge.

Slut, screamed her proper side.

Delicious, said the other.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked him, preparing to forsake the whole experience if he wasn’t prepared. If he said, “yes,” it would be fate, because he didn’t look like a man who carried a condom in his wallet.

Anxiety pulled at her nerves while she waited for his response. Behind her back, her fingers were crossed, because deep in her heart, she wanted her sensible half to lose.

“UH,”HE ANSWERED.

“That’s a ‘no,’” she announced with regret in her voice, raising herself on her elbows, the shirt lapels sliding closed.

Sadly he shook his head, but then he remembered something. A mere figment in the back of his mind. The night of Kevin’s wedding reception.

Did he still have it?

He fished out his wallet, and snapped it open, and there he found the gold coin inscribed with “Kevin and Marlene, 6/15/2005.”

He blessed his old college roommate in that moment. “A wedding souvenir.”

“Fate,” she murmured.

“Indubitably,” he said, and ripped the top off his salvation. “You’re sure?” he asked one more time because he wanted her to be.

She gave one definite nod, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

In less than two heartbeats he was inside her.

Damn.

Andrew froze, reliving the thrill of being surrounded by woman. His whole body burned with pleasure, and he took a moment just to feel. She was tight, wet, fitting him like a glove. Her eyes clouded with emotion, soft and welcoming. Then her thighs moved, tightened around him, and all the softness disappeared. This was fire, heat, the same hot flame he was feeling.

Slowly he began to move inside her, testing her depths, seeing what she liked, discovering what she loved. There was only one condom, so this was a one-time offer, and he wanted to make it last forever—or at least the two hours that it took to make it to Connecticut.

WHAT HAD SHE DONE?

Jamie struggled into her clothes, the post-orgasmic passion cooling to her normally level-headed nature. The hose were beyond repair, but if there was a drug store near the Newhouse building, she might have time to get new ones.

Studiously she avoided looking at Andrew, difficult to do in the confined space of the vehicle, but with a stubbornness born to a fifth-generation Scot, she managed.

He was already shrugging into his shirt, the neatly starched linen not quite so proper anymore. Secretly she admired the strong lines of his chest. He didn’t look like the gym-rat type, but those pecs weren’t iron-on tattoos, either.

Ever since she had set foot in this awful car, she’d been off her game. Maybe it was the car, maybe it was him, maybe it was the way he sparked her pulse, touched her skin, kissed her like a sexy, desirable female.

The last shimmers of passion were still glowing inside her, which couldn’t be allowed because she had a huge presentation in…She checked her watch.

Ten minutes ago.

Jamie rubbed the back of her neck, trying to rub away the disappointment, too. It didn’t work.

“I should call you,” he said, and her panicked gaze collided with his.

“Please don’t assume,” she started, and then trailed off miserably. Somehow the situation would have been easier if the sex had been mediocre, or even better, awful. But nooo…

They had had great sex.

In a Hummer.

And what if he’d ruined her sex life forever? What if she was destined—cursed—to only enjoy cheap, tawdry sex with complete strangers?

It was a nightmare of stupendous proportion.

“You don’t want me to call? You’re involved, aren’t you?” he said, and to her ears, he sounded relieved.

Quickly she nodded. A white lie, but lies were made to get people out of jams.

Her cell phone rang, rescuing her from further conversations or recriminations.

“McNamara here.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. McNamara, but Mr. Newhouse will be unable to wait any longer for your meeting.”

Her gaze shifted to her briefcase, boring through it, letting all her tensions narrow into one tight beam. She pushed away all thoughts of hunky guy and mangled hose, letting experience and twenty years of educational instruction whip her into shape.