Avril Tremayne - Kiss Don’t Tell

Ahh.

His mouth was on hers, his rock-hard chest plastered against her.

And her brain went dead.

His mouth was firm and soft at the same time. It was like he was … ohh … massaging her mouth with his. Insistent, nudging, nuzzling. She realized her breath was stuck somewhere in her chest, and she opened her mouth to drag in more air. Then his tongue— his tongue, God, God —was inside her mouth, pushing, licking at her own.

She felt his hands slide down her back, cup her bottom, pull her closer, adjust her pelvis to his. She heard a soft moan—where it had come from? He deepened the pressure on her mouth, his tongue sliding rhythmically, luxuriously, licking into her like she was full of warmed honey and he was searching out every last smear of it. Another moan. Oh, God, it had come from her . She was moaning . And she couldn’t seem to help it.

Lane’s hands crept up, clutching at Adam’s T-shirt as she held on to him, leaned into him. Dear Lord, what was happening to her? If not for her hands anchoring her to him, she’d keel over. The kiss was so … delicious. Smooth and rough at the same time. How could that be? Her legs felt unsteady. And there was a shivery sensation flowing down through her chest to tingle in her breasts, in her stomach, lower.

She should be concentrating. Trying to work out what it was about Adam’s technique that was making her feel like this. But his tongue was everywhere inside her mouth and she couldn’t think, could only feel, only drown …

At last he raised his head, slowly, so slowly, his breath a warm mist against her still-open lips. Don’t stop . The words were there, in her head, wanting to get out, but before Lane could form them with her mouth, Adam stepped back.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said softly, and smiled, and Lane’s mouth snapped shut because the smile was very definitely one of triumph.

She took an extra step back, recovering quickly now she was free of the intoxicating kiss and had put some extra space between them. She looked around, saw the receptionist staring at the two of them. This was not good. There would be gossip. Uptight Lane Davis kissing a hot guy in the reception area! How did boring old Lane get such a gorgeous guy? Lane Davis, the ice queen, getting into it with a man who anyone could tell was out of her league —way out!

Lane’s insides clenched. She didn’t want to be gossiped about, sniggered over, at work. Never again would she put herself in such a position. And she particularly didn’t want this little episode to find its way to David Bennett. God forbid David should think she was already taken. If David lost interest in her, it would ruin everything, negate the whole reason for the contract. Without David there would be no Adam Quinn as far as she was concerned.

If there’d been an actual purpose in telegraphing her relationship with Adam to her colleagues, it would be a different story, but it wasn’t as though ‘anywhere, any time’ was a real lesson. Adam had only kissed her here and now to make a point. He wanted to be the one in charge; he’d chosen her workplace deliberately, because she’d said not here. She’d read up on the alpha male in preparation for tonight; understanding them wasn’t exactly rocket science.

But if this was an indication of the way he anticipated their arrangement would proceed, she knew she had trouble on her hands. She was the one in charge; she had to be. So best get the derailed train back on the tracks immediately.

‘Sweetheart,’ she repeated the word, as though tasting it. Shook her head. ‘No. Not necessary, I think. No endearments.’ She straightened her jacket, frosted her eyes and raised her eyebrows at the receptionist, who quickly averted her rapt gaze. Turning back to Adam, she said, ‘Shall we go?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Adam said, and who knew a guy could drawl out a Southern style ma’am without any hint of softness? ‘I’m parked in the station across the street.’

‘How nice for you,’ Lane said. ‘My car, which I have every intention of driving home, is in the car park of this very building.’

She started walking towards the bank of elevators, but stopped when she sensed she was walking alone. She turned back to find Adam standing where she’d left him, rooted to the spot, his countenance dark.

It felt a little like pistols at dawn. Her at one end of the reception area; him at the other; both waiting for the goggle-eyed receptionist to drop a hanky to signal the start of a fight to the death. And suddenly, Lane wanted to giggle. She didn’t, though. She couldn’t, if she wanted the upper hand. The upper hand … and him. She wanted him . Because the kiss had been good. Very good. And that was part of the alpha male she’d read up on, too—the part she needed. The I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing, take-no-prisoners part.

She needed to learn how to kiss like that, how to melt a guy using only her lips and tongue. So no giggling; no getting on her high horse, either. It was concession time, and she was happy to negotiate if it would get her the skills she needed, even though the contract had been signed and strictly speaking she didn’t have to.

Smoothing a hand over her tied-back hair, Lane walked swiftly back to him. ‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ she said, low and soft so the receptionist wouldn’t hear. ‘I know it can’t be easy for someone like to you to take …’ Hmm. She needed a word that wouldn’t set off his alpha temper. ‘To take …’

‘Orders?’ he supplied, not low and soft.

‘Yes. I mean no. Not … exactly.’ She grabbed his arm and steered him out of hearing range of the receptionist. ‘Everything’s covered in the contract, you know, to make sure neither of us does something the other hasn’t bargained on. The clause about the lessons being taught in my home is there for privacy reasons. Mine and yours. Now, there’s wiggle room in there—for example, I’m happy to come to your place sometimes, if it’s more convenient—but the office is completely out of bounds for me. You can understand that, can’t you? I’m sure you don’t want me popping up at building sites, or at family functions, or—well, you know what I mean.’

There, that was logical, reasonable. He’d have to see she was making sense.

‘I understand you want to call the shots,’ he said. ‘But I don’t work like that. So how much of that “wiggle room” am I going to get?’

‘That will depend how valuable you turn out to be.’

‘Oh, I’m worth the money, I promise you.’

She looked into his eyes and knew it was true. Suddenly the hand that was still on his arm started to tingle and burn; she hadn’t even realized she was still touching him. She sucked in a reactionary gasp, released her hold and took a step back. ‘The thing is, I generally don’t enjoy surprises.’

‘Sex is full of surprises, Lane.’

‘But the contract—’

‘ Don’t make me tell you what to do with your contract before we’re even through our first date, Lane.’

It’s not a date, it’s a lesson, and I’m paying you to do what I say. The words trembled on Lane’s tongue, and she had to draw in a deep breath to stop herself saying them. She needed something placatory to stave off a public escalation of hostilities, but she couldn’t think of a replacement response. She didn’t have placatory skills. There was a terse moment as their eyes clashed. And then she gave up. ‘I’m going home,’ she said, simply said tightly. ‘We can discuss it in private if you’d care to join me there.’

‘Let’s not “discuss” it to death, Lane, let’s just suck it and see as we go along,’ Adam said. He gave her a cold-eyed smile and closed the distance between them, full of the promise of sex. ‘An expression you can think about while you drive home. In fact, why don’t you spend that drive imagining what I’ll do to you once we’re nice and private , since “discussion” isn’t high on my list?’ Another of those cold smiles. ‘Sweetheart.’