Same Time Next Year by Jenna Bennett Page B

not to open the door to him. She’d
wanted him, in a way she’d wanted no one or nothing in her life before, and God
help her, she still did.
    Someone was at the door again now. Ty
must have arrived while she’d been reliving the past, too caught up in the
memories to notice the sounds from next door. She heard the deadbolt slide
back, and the regular lock disengage. The doorknob twisted, and the door
opened. And Ty stood in the opening.
    Gina scrambled to her feet, facing
him.
     
    Damn , she looked good .
    Ty had perfect recall when it came to
the way Gina had looked eight years ago, when he first laid eyes on her. Those
bright green eyes and white skin and that long tangle of red-gold curls down
her back, and that killer body in the short skirt and tight top she’d had on,
with those long, long legs he could just imagine wrapped around his
waist.  
    He’d been pretty one-track minded
back then. Not that he didn’t imagine those legs wrapped around his waist
still. 
    He’d gotten hard watching her from
across the room, when he should have been listening to ways he could take his
small accounting firm to the next level. Instead he’d kept an eye on his watch,
counting the minutes until the lecture ended, planning what to say to begin
maneuvering this woman he didn’t yet know, but wanted to know much better, into
his bed.
    She’d been a knock-out eight years
ago, but she was no less of one now. Stunning, wearing that low-cut bra and
those barely-there panties. Crimson lace, vivid against all that pale skin.
Those mile-long legs, made longer still by four inch heels. And that sheer
robe, which exposed more than it concealed.
    He grinned, his body tightening in
anticipation. “I like it.”
    She lowered her eyes demurely, long
lashes sweeping over her cheeks. “I thought you might.”
    He moved a step closer. “Looks good
on you.”
    Understatement of the century. She
looked fantastic. Almost as good as she’d look naked. Under him, with her legs
wrapped around his waist. And her eyes blurry as he buried himself inside her
and brought her to a screaming climax.
    She took a step back. “Champagne?”
    “You ordered some?”
    “And dessert. I made sure we wouldn’t
have to open the door again for the rest of the night.”
    He smiled. “Good thinking. And no, I
don’t want champagne. I want you. Naked. And wet. And begging.”
    He watched as she sank her teeth into
that plump bottom lip while a flush stained her cheeks. As always, it was a
turn-on. After eight years of this, you’d think she’d have gotten used to the
way he wanted to be inside her the moment he walked through the connecting
door, but she always tried to slow things down, to make it seem she wasn’t as
eager for him as he was for her.
    As if he couldn’t see right through
her. Couldn’t see the way her pulse beat in the hollow at the bottom of her
throat. The way her breath came fast and shallow. The way her nipples had
tightened against that red lace bra, straining for his touch, his mouth.
    She moaned when he pushed the robe
aside to fill his hands with her breasts. He ran his fingers over the tight
lace, his thumbs rubbing the fabric covering her nipples, watching as her head
fell back and that bright red hair—shorter now than when he first saw
her—brushed her shoulder blades.
    “God, I want you. More and more every
year.”
    His voice was thick. And he didn’t
wait for an answer from her, just lowered his head to feast. Licking her
through the lace, suckling, drawing one tight bud into his mouth and using his
teeth to make her whimper, shudder, squirm in his arms.
    Her hand brushed against his zipper
and it was his turn to groan. He’d been hard when he walked into his own room
earlier, and by now he was threatening to bust a seam.
    She smiled, her hand settling,
touching him through the fabric, making him suck his breath in sharply, but she
didn’t offer to do anything to relieve him. She knew what he liked: knew