JENNIFER LABRECQUE - Red-Hot Nights - Daring in the Dark

Stern, austere, sarcastic Simon offered her solace. That this man who didn’t like her very well was reduced to having to comfort her went a long way in cooling her anger and stemming her tears. Crying when she was angry had proven a curse of embarrassment since childhood.

That was almost as humiliating as her being inadequate enough to send Elliott to seek male companionship. She ought to have some measure of pride and pull away, but somehow it felt less embarrassing to simply stay where she was, pressed against Simon’s chest. Plus it was a very nice chest.

“How amusing for me to offer you advice on your love life when mine was down the toilet and I didn’t even have enough sense to know it,” she said against his shirt. “How pathetic.”

“Tawny, never refer to yourself again as pathetic .” He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head back until she looked at him. He gentled away her tears with his thumbs. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. His jeans-clad knee pressed against her bare leg. “There is nothing remotely pathetic about you. You’re beautiful and sexy.”

Simon could obviously lie with the best of them. She knew her eyes and nose were swollen from crying. Some women cried prettily. She wasn’t one of them. She was fairly certain she wasn’t looking her level best. And then there was the little matter of Elliott dipping his wick … definitely where it didn’t belong. “Yes, I’m so beautiful and sexy, I drove my fiancé to being gay.”

“Right now I’m very pissed with Elliott. And even though he’s my friend, he’s an idiot.” He patted her awkwardly on her shoulder.

Poor Simon. Small wonder he’d been so reluctant to broach this subject. “It was bad enough that he stuck you in the middle. You don’t have to say all of this. And don’t worry, I’m through crying. When I get angry, I cry. Charming little quirk.” She dashed away the last of her tears.

“Elliott is all kinds of a fool.”

She sniffled. This was the man she’d seen the day he’d photographed her, the man she’d glimpsed behind the wall of reserve. He really could be very nice. “It’s very chivalrous of you to say that.”

“I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my body. I’m stating the obvious. You’re beautiful and sexy and Elliott’s an idiot,” Simon said.

Tawny opened her mouth to argue the point and Simon interrupted her.

“Perhaps this will convince you,” he said, lowering his head and capturing her mouth.

TAWNY TASTED LIKE EXACTLY what she was—forbidden fruit. Sweet, hot, drugging, addictive. He felt her hesitation and surprise, tasted the brine of her tears.

Simon pulled away from her mouth and the temptation to plunder and explore. He raked his hand through his hair. “That was out of line. I apologize.”

She shook her head. “No.” She linked her arms around his neck and pulled his head back down to hers. “Please don’t apologize,” she said, her breath warming him. Her lips molded to his and a fantasy came to life. Tawny kissed him, hard and hot.

He knew she was angry with Elliott. Knew he was payback. Knew he should walk away. But while his head said one thing, his heart said another. God help him, he returned her kiss. Six months of pent-up passion unleashed within him. He’d lived with fantasies. And now he held the flesh-and-blood embodiment of those fantasies in his arms.

Her tongue probed at his lips and the last vestige of his resistence deserted him. He buried his hands in her hair and crushed her to him. She strained against him, her anger, her frustration almost palpable. And then it was gone, replaced by something less volatile—and far more dangerous. She softened, her mouth now giving rather than taking. Offering. He took and gave in return.

Simon slid his hands from her hair and stroked down the satin warmth of her bare shoulders. She moaned into his mouth and shuddered against him.

Reason took a holiday. He sank back onto the couch and she followed him, lying against him, between his thighs. Her hips pressed against an erection he couldn’t deny. Her fingers winnowed through his hair as he thoroughly explored the hot sweetness of her mouth. He plied his hands along the sexy curve of her back. He would love to photograph the lovely curve of her neck, bared by her upswept hair that led to the sinuous line of her back. He touched her with the reverence of an artist and the appreciation of a man.

The intensity of her kiss shook him. She pressed against his erection in supplication and he groaned into her mouth. He filled his hands with the full roundness of her buttocks and pulled her harder against him. She slid one leg over his, straddling his thigh, opening herself to him.

He ran his fingers along the silk of her thighs, his knuckles brushing against the edge of her panties. Oh, sweet heaven, they were wet.

“Oh, Simon,” she moaned into his mouth, “you always make me …”

She provided a voice-activated sanity check. He wrenched away from her and steadied himself on one elbow, although she remained between his thighs. What the hell was he doing? He’d been one second away from slipping his finger beneath the elastic of her panties and touching her intimately. He gulped air and sought some measure of his control that had been woefully missing a few seconds ago.

Tawny remained atop him, her body pressed intimately against his. Her arousal, mingled with her perfume, was a heady scent.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And just how sorry was he with one hand still on her delectable bottom? He jerked his hand away and rubbed his brow.

She scooted to the other end of the couch. He sat up, missing the press of her between his thighs, as if a vital part of him had been amputated.

Tears still clung to her lashes. Passion weighted her lids. His kisses had left her lips swollen and ripe.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to … that shouldn’t have … I got out of hand.”

“Please don’t apologize, Simon. You didn’t exactly force yourself on me. I crawled on top of you.” She looked away from him, throwing the fine line of her nose and the curve of her cheek into shadowy relief. “You must think I’m a slut.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. He had the utmost respect for her— slut had never crossed his mind. He’d kissed her to show her how desirable she was, because telling hadn’t worked. Instead he’d further compromised her self-esteem.

“Never. You were upset, I was out of line and it won’t happen again. I never meant to take advantage of you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t take advantage of me. I was the one out of line.” She touched his hand and then jerked back when she realized what she’d done. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I won’t throw myself at you again.”

He almost pointed out that she should have a very good idea of just how much he’d enjoyed it since she had been riding the ridge of his erection. It had left him hard, but it had by no means posed a hardship. His body screamed that she could throw herself at him any day, any way, any time.

Tawny curled up, tucking one foot beneath her. She smoothed her fingers over the back of the couch. “Did you know about Elliott?”

Elliott. Much better than discussing that kiss. “No. On either count. He’s never even hinted at being gay or at being interested in someone other than you.”

Although maybe the signs had been there but Simon had been too obtuse to see them. Elliott was a bastard for cheating on her and dragging Simon into it, but Simon believed Elliott cared for Tawny. Right now she was hurt and betrayed, but she must still care for Elliott. As a friend, it was his role to ensure neither Tawny nor Elliott did anything rash regarding their future that they’d later regret. That’s how a man of honor would behave.