Tawny Weber - Hot-Wired / Coming on Strong - Hot-Wired

He interrupted. “The other?”

She was altogether too, too aware that it was her and him alone in an empty house and to stand about throwing the word kiss or kissing around seemed dangerous territory. Couldn’t they address the issue in a nice civilized roundabout manner? “You know what I mean.”

He closed the front door with a final, resounding click. He approached her with a measured, intent tread, and her pulse hammered. “You’ve got to speak clearly and slowly for us he-man types who are more brawn than brains, sugar.” He held out broad, masculine hands, palms up, as if for her inspection, approval. “These hands have calluses.”

In less than a second, she was imagining the erotic scrape of those calluses against her sensitive nipples, down her body, between her legs. Pathetically, that sent a shiver through her and a rush of liquid warmth between her thighs.

“Kissing.” Brief and to the point, and still the mere mention with him right in front of her left her tingling and aroused because her mind had taken her far, far beyond a mere merging of lips and tongues.

“Oh. That other.” He grinned, an evil, wicked, I’d-like-to-seduce-you-right-out-of-your-panties grin that set her heart knocking against her ribs. He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’m all for it.”

Good lord, she’d like to back him up against that door and eat him alive—especially when he looked at her like that. She grasped at the last few threads of sanity, reminding herself she was here to move this wedding forward and not to make out with Caitlyn’s big sexy brother. “Well, I’m not.”

His slow smile slid devastatingly up and down her spine. “Now you’re making me feel inadequate as a man.” Uh-huh. And there really was a Santa Claus. “I could’ve sworn you liked it.”

If ever a man needed taking down a peg or two, she was looking at his wicked sexy self. “It was…” She tilted her head to one side and pretended to search for a description. She deliberately brightened, as if suddenly enlightened. “Adequate.” She was dancing close to the flames again but she couldn’t seem to help it.

“Oh, hell no.” He shook his head. “I have standards and adequate isn’t one of them.” He took a step toward her and his slow, sexy smile spread a sweet heat of anticipation through her. “We’re gonna have to work on this until we’ve passed adequate.”

No, no and no. Kissing him had been like setting a blowtorch to a marshmallow inside her. She’d never been one to hop in bed with a guy, but Beau seemed to knock every aspect of her off course. She had a sinking feeling that a little more kissing, she’d be hard-pressed to keep her legs together and her panties on. And that was an understatement. She was about two seconds from she wasn’t exactly sure what, but it was dangerous.

She stepped back.

“You’ll have to practice with someone else. I’m sure you won’t have any problem locating a partner—” or two or ten, she thought, recalling the two women who’d stopped by post-race “—but it’s not me. No more kissing.”

He frowned in mock consternation, a wicked gleam in his bedroom-blue eyes. “Now that puts me in a downright awkward position, baby girl.”

God, she was certifiably losing her mind because she found his baby girl incredibly sexy. “How is that awkward? Awkward is carrying on when we’re supposed to be working.”

He reached out and tilted her chin up with his fingertip. One touch—just his fingertip against her skin rendered her breathless. “I suppose I need clarification…Surprised you with that fancy word, didn’t I? Do I go with this or do I kiss you when you ask me to?”

She pushed his hand away. “That’s easy to answer…because I won’t be asking.”

“Right. You do like to take matters into your own hands.” For one moment she was mortified that he knew he’d inspired her to fire up her vibrator last night. Then she realized he was referring to her showing up at the racetrack on Friday evening. “Then, for clarity’s sake, just so I don’t get into trouble— when you kiss me again, is it okay to kiss you back?”

She didn’t miss his when rather than if. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me spell it out for you. No kissing. None. You’re not kissing me. I’m not kissing you. I’m not asking. I’m not doing. Nada.” Good. She’d sounded resolute. Strong. No hint there that she desperately wanted to taste him, touch him, and likewise feel his hands and his mouth on various and sundry parts of her.

Another one of those looks that tightened every cell in her body into acute, aching awareness that she was a woman. “That’s too bad. Just kissed is a good look on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Breathe. She needed to remember to breathe…and not kiss him…or take her clothes off. Work. Renovation. The matter at hand. “Now, to borrow one of your phrases, we’re burning daylight. What do you need for me to do?”

“Since you just told me it’s off-limits—” his glance zeroed in and lingered on her mouth, and the wanton fire inside her flamed a little hotter, higher, brighter “—I guess we’ll skip to the second item on the list.” A tsunami of turn-on assaulted her. One look. One moment of innuendo and she was wet, her nipples were hard and her clit ached.

“I need you to get on your knees…” He paused deliberately, and it was a small wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust at the implication of her on her knees, his fly undone, his dick in her mouth. At this point he could probably talk her through an orgasm…which had never happened before but seemed totally one hundred percent plausible right here and now.

“…to scrape paint off the baseboards.”

So much for her orgasm.

HE WAS HOISTED on his own petard, as his Grandpa Stillwell had been fond of saying. Beau had deliberately saddled Natalie with the most menial, uncomfortable task at hand. However, he hadn’t counted on the effect of her on her knees, bending over, her tight, round ass thrust in the air.

“You know, if you make your stroke a little longer and smoother, it’ll be better for you. Slow it down a little, baby girl, or you’re going to wear yourself out before you even get started.”

She looked back over her shoulder at him and he’d asked for it, he’d taken it there, but it was such a sexual look it slammed him in the gut.

Her cell phone went off in her purse, shattering the moment. She scrambled to get up off the floor, and he automatically scooped up her purse and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, her fingers glancing against his ever so briefly, but still rousing.

“You’re welcome.” Dammit to hell, every time they touched it was as if someone had yanked a rug out from under his feet.

She pulled out the phone and answered. “Hi, Mom…No, it’s fine…I’m just working…I know…Right…Maybe sometime next week…No, I don’t want Miguel to think I don’t love him…No, I know it’s important that he knows he’s important to me.”

Who in the hell was Miguel? And why’d her mother have to remind her that he needed to know he was important and that she loved him? He’d assumed, based on their conversation and the way she’d kissed him, there was no boyfriend in the picture.

“I’m just busy,” she said.

Ignoring Beau, Natalie knelt down again and started scraping, propping the phone between her ear and her shoulder. Beau heard her mother’s voice faintly over the line. He couldn’t hear her words but he picked up on the gently remonstrative tone. He had no difficulty in discerning a Southern mama guilt trip, having been on the receiving end several times, most of the time for good reason.