Pursued by the Playboy by Jill Blake Page A

side of her.  “Your turn, Kate, to answer the question.”
    She had to clear her throat twice before any sound emerged.  “What question?”
    “Are you sleeping with him?”
    Resentment mixed with desire bubbled up in her, made her voice sharp.  “I told you before.  Jake is a friend.  I needed a place to stay for a while.”  She paused, then added more softly, “We’re not sleeping together.”
    She felt his tension ease.   His leg bumped hers as he moved even closer.  He stroked a finger up her arm and she shivered.  “Why did you need a place to stay?”
    Her jaw clenched.  “You know that my mother is camping out at my place.”
    His head dipped as he breathed her in.  “Yes.  I met her.”
    “What?”
    “Last night.  I stopped by your place.”    His lips grazed the pulse hammering at the base of her neck.  
    “What did she say?”
    “Not much.”  He licked his way up her neck, drew softly on the sensitive skin beneath her ear.  “Apparently you don’t share much of your personal life with her.”
    Kate dropped her head back slightly to allow better access.  “Anything I tell her gets twisted anyway, so why bother?”
    He traced a light path across her exposed collarbone.  Her nipples peaked, and he circled one nub with his fingers through the thin cotton of her shirt.  “So what made you leave?”
    It was getting increasingly difficult to follow the thread of the conversation.  “I can tolerate her.  In small doses and at a distance.  I needed a break.”
    His palm cupped her breast more fully, kneading it.  “You could have come to me.”
    “We don’t have that kind of…”  Her breath hitched.  He took a final step that brought them flush against each other.  Heat pooled in her pelvis.  She tried again, “It didn’t occur to me.”
    “I’m offering.”
    She tried to hang on to her scattered thoughts.  “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
    “No imposition.”  He cupped her hip with his free hand, long fingers fanning across her bottom.  “I’m asking.  Come home with me.”
    Her voice was thready.  “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
    “Which is where, exactly?”
    For a moment, it escaped her.  She had to force herself to concentrate.  “Horsham.”
    “Good Lord, that’s what—an hour commute?”  He lifted his head to look at her.
    She moved her hips restlessly against him.  “Give or take.  I catch the train in.  Walk from Market East, or take the Blue Line.”
    He grunted, unimpressed.  “My place is two miles away.  We could drive in together.”  He lifted her onto the desk and stepped between her legs.  His erection brushed against the juncture of her thighs, unmistakable even through the layers of clothing between them.  “Think of all the fun we’d have .”
    She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brought his head back down to hers.  Their mouths met, lips parting, tongues tangling, breaths mingling.   She had sufficient presence of mind to pull back briefly.  “Door?”
    “Locked.”  He took her mouth again.   His hands stroked up her legs, over her thighs, thumbs dragging along the inner seam of her lightweight cotton capris.   Moisture welled at her core and she shifted impatiently.  His thumb found the sensitive nub and circled slowly, pressing hard through layers of cotton.  With his free hand he popped the button at her waistband and drew the zipper down.
    All of her defenses tumbled at the overwhelming onslaught of desire.  Whatever anger or resentment she had harbored over his apparent infidelity—as unwarranted as those feelings may have been —melted away.  Likewise eliminated under his skillful touch was all sense of time and place.  It didn’t matter that they were in her office, that it was the middle of a workday, that just beyond the door her graduate students were continuing to set up and run experiments and note down the results. 
    All that mattered was what was happening