Metsy Hingle - Seduced

A few minutes later Michael pulled the car to a stop in front of her cottage and shut off the engine.

“Amanda?”

Pulling her gaze from the pink-and-white azaleas that lined the walkway to her home, she looked up. Michael stood in front of her, holding the door open.

Michael held her hand as she stepped out onto the driveway.

After closing the door, he pressed his hand to the small of her back and steered her toward the house.

It was a simple gesture of courtesy. Yet his touch made her nervous, edgy, acutely aware that she was a woman and he was a man. When they stepped into the alcove of her doorway, she wanted to race inside and bolt the door against him and the things he was making her feel.

“I had a great time tonight.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. His fingertips caressed her cheek. “When can I see you again?”

He was so close, she could see the faint shadow along his jaw that would demand a razor’s edge in the morning. The night seemed to close in around her. The sweet scent of gardenias faded and was replaced with the scent of woods, of earth. Of Michael.

Michael sucked in his breath. “Amanda, don’t look at me like that.”

She looked up and saw her own hunger mirrored in his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you want me,” he said in a voice husky with desire. Extending his arms on either side of her head, he placed his palms flat against the door, trapping her within his embrace. “Like you want to touch me. Taste me.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “The way I want to touch and taste you.”

Knees weak, Amanda leaned back, grateful for the solid door. As Michael lowered his head, she braced her hands against his chest, intent on pushing him away.

She leaned toward him instead.

And then his mouth touched hers.

His kiss was just as she remembered it. Gentle, coaxing, a slow brushing of lips against lips. He took her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled, slowly explored its shape with his tongue.

Unable to stop herself, Amanda touched the tip of her tongue to his.

Michael shuddered. His heart beat like a drum against her fingertips and she strained closer. When his tongue began another slow foray of her mouth, Amanda’s control broke. She curled her fingers into his shirt, crumpling the soft cotton in her fists.

When Amanda’s tongue darted into his mouth, Michael thought he would explode. This time there was no hesitancy. This time there was fire; this time there was passion.

He crushed her to him, tangled his fingers in her silky hair.

A whimper escaped her lips, making his body burn anew. Not since he’d been a teenager had he responded so wildly to a kiss. Not since he’d been a young man had he wanted something so much. Never in his life had that something been a woman.

Until now.

This doesn’t mean anything, Amanda told herself as she leaned against him. It was simply a matter of chemistry...of proximity.

It was more than that. And she knew it. Suddenly frightened by the realization, Amanda pushed at his chest.

Easing his hold, Michael drew away slightly. He looked into her eyes, smoky and warm with desire.

“Michael.”

“Shh.” He dropped another kiss on her lips. The sight of Amanda’s beautiful face flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, caused his body to ache even more. He pulled her back into his arms.

“No,” she whispered, panic seizing her. Kissing Michael had been insanity on her part. “This was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he insisted, hearing the alarm in her voice and not understanding it. He stroked her hair, wanting to reassure her.

Amanda heard the denial in his voice, saw the yearning in his eyes. She stepped back, out of his arms. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with fresh air, trying to clear her senses. How could she have done this? Let things get so out of hand?

“Don’t push me away, Amanda.”

“Please, Michael. It was just a kiss,” she said, deliberately sounding flip. “Let’s not make it into more than it was.”

Michael stiffened. Just a kiss? He dropped his hands to his sides. It was a hell of a lot more than a simple kiss and they both knew it.

“Thank you for dinner,” she continued primly as though nothing had happened. But Michael heard the slight catch in her voice, saw the tremor of her lips.

“We’ll have to do it again—soon.” He edged a little closer and experienced a small measure of satisfaction at the flash of panic that clouded her brown eyes.

Just as quickly, she schooled her expression and retrieved her keys from her purse.

Michael took them from her fingers. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open.

“Well, thanks again,” she murmured politely.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in for a nightcap?” he baited, irritated with her for denying there was something between them and with himself for caring.

Amanda shot him a look that would, no doubt, quell a lesser man. “No, I’m not,” she said in those crisp, clear tones that had made him peg her as a New Englander the first time he’d met her.

Michael bit down on his anger at her rejection. “Then next time,” he managed.

“There won’t be any next time,” she said, tipping up her chin.

The haughtiness of her tone caused something to snap inside him. Before he could stop himself, Michael reached for her. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her to him. “I promise you there will be a next time, Amanda. Tonight was only the beginning.”

Amanda glanced at the small, crystal clock sitting on her desk. Four-twenty. The knot in her stomach tightened. Only ten more minutes before Michael arrived.

Unable to concentrate, she closed the file folder she had been studying and, walking across the room, she gazed out the window to the school playground at the dozen or so children who had remained for after-school care.

Hearing a squeal of laughter, Amanda smiled as she spotted Summer—her long, dark braids flying behind her while she raced across the yard engaged in a game of tag.

She wasn’t at all the same child she had been when they had started working together ten weeks ago, Amanda thought. Sad and withdrawn, it had been so heartening to gain the little girl’s trust, to help her sort through her confusion and pain at her mother’s death. Of course, Michael’s love and attention had made her job easier by far.

Michael.

Amanda cursed herself for thinking of him again. It was pointless to think about him.

Instead she focused on Summer’s smiling face, and her heartstrings tugged once more. She was going to miss the child. But there was nothing she could do. And considering the outcome of her last encounter with Michael, perhaps it was for the best. She certainly couldn’t risk another evening like the previous Friday’s.

Amanda touched her lips, recalling all too vividly how that evening had ended. Longing, hot and demanding, flickered through her as she remembered the feel of Michael’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the hardness of his body against her own. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back a groan as she recalled her own wanton response.

“Amanda?”

She tensed at the sound of Michael’s voice. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet, not when the memory of his kiss was so fresh.

“The secretary did say four-thirty, didn’t she?”

Attempting to school her expression, Amanda turned around slowly. “Yes. Please, come in.”

When he closed the door and stepped inside, the room seemed somehow smaller. “You can sit down, if you’d like.” She gestured toward the chair across from her desk.

He cut across the room in swift, easy strides, stopping in front of her. “I tried to reach you all weekend,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers.