From Nice Girls Do
â€œIâ€™m not that kind of girl.â€ Cara tried on her best glare. But how could she glare at a fine-looking man like Mark? He was the type a girl could fall into. Especially with his damn beautiful green eyes.
â€œWhat kind of girl are you, then?â€ he wanted to know, reaching for her.
His hands, so warm and inviting, landed on her waist, pulled her gently toward him. His delicious cologne tickled her nose, exciting her beyond words. Just that hint of him made her want to turn to jelly.
â€œA nice one,â€ she heard herself say. But she could be so bad for him. Sheâ€™d do anything he asked. All he had to do was look at her like he was right now. Her heart rammed against her chest, making its presence known.
â€œHow nice?â€ he purred, tilted his head down toward hers.
Lordy, she sounded like an idiot. But she didnâ€™t care. He was a breath away from kissing her and she was going to let him.
â€œI can only imagine how nice you really are, Cara.â€
Her heart had made its way up to her throat, pulsing madly. Sending heat shooting through her from head to toe. Making her stomach bottom out. Oh, God, would he please kiss her already? Her head titled back a smidgen, just enough to look him directly in those depthless eyes. And then his lips brushed hers so slightly she thought she might faint.
Wonderful, sensual lips that came back for another taste until they were in full lip lock in the shadowed corner of the club. And oohhh could he kiss. His mouth melded with hers, his tongue dipped to get a sample. His scruffy whiskers scraped against her face, heightening the sensation a little more.
Before she knew it, her hands had slid up his arms, pausing in the crook of his elbows, feeling the sinew of muscle beneath the rumpled long sleeved shirt. His mouth had traveled from hers down her neck, kissing her just below the earlobe. And suddenly she was in his arms, his hands pressing the small of her back into him, her arms around his neck. Her ample breasts crushed into his chest, only a breath of cotton separating skin-to-skin contact, as his mouth continued that forbidden taste test.
She knew she had to stop him, had to push him away. She had to be the stronger of the two, had to make the decision and keep her promise to her boss. His mother. Her hands slid from the back of his neck to his chest, pausing to feel his warmth, his strength, radiating through her fingertips and she knew then at that very moment, she would always want this man.
â€œYeahâ€¦you are nice.â€
Now why the hell did he have to go and say that? Just when she was ready to push him away and slip out of his arms. Instead, his hands caressed her back, one sweeping through her short red locks, toying with the straight strands and sending her stomach into a downward spiral.
â€œIâ€™d like to take you home with me.â€
That stopped her in her tracks and snapped her out of bliss. Her mind shouted in protest, but her arms gave a forceful shove. She managed to wheedle out of his embrace and step out of reach.
â€œNo way,â€ she said, shaking her heard. A few stray locks of hair fell across her face.
â€œWhy not?â€ He stepped toward her, intent on reclaiming her but she moved away.
â€œWe canâ€™t.â€ Because she could lose her job, her livelihood, her dignity. Because sheâ€™d break her promise to herself she wasnâ€™t going to sleep with a man just to sleep with him. Even though one look at him could make her forget it all.
As if he could read her thoughts, his jaw set, the muscles flexing there. â€œBecause of my mother?â€
She could only nod.
He waved the thought away, like it was nothing. â€œI want you, Cara. I donâ€™t give a damn about that.â€
â€œI do, okay?â€ she snapped, her Irish temper flaring. â€œSo stop thinking with your dick. Iâ€™m not losing my job over it. No man is worth that.â€
And with that, she stormed away, trying to look as angry as possible as she weaved through the crowd of sweaty bodies. She couldnâ€™t look back and see him still standing in that shadowy corner, because she just might go back to him.
Â© Michelle Miles, 2005