straight up. He didn’t lie and he would never cheat on his girlfriend the way Mark had. And he was currently single.
“ Anything ?” Lauren licked her lips as she traced the line of his jaw with her finger.
“What’s going on, Laur? Are you sure you’re all right?” He put his hands on her shoulders and the heat of his touch sent her spiraling into desire for sweaty sex and sweet, sweet revenge.
She wanted revenge against Mark for letting her find him this afternoon cock-deep in a blonde bimbette. She wanted to feel important to someone, cherished and sexy and safe. Eric could do that for her. She needed him to do that for her.
Fear of rejection lasted all of two seconds. Her tumultuous thoughts conjured a particularly vivid memory of last summer’s Fourth of July beach party. Brilliant fireworks over the bay, an oyster bar and an extra large beach towel spread on the coarse sand had led to a moment of soul searching she still hadn’t forgotten.
A single kiss from Eric had sent her senses rocketing up among the roman candles bursting overhead. For a moment, as she’d absorbed the sweet taste of saltwater taffy from his lips, she’d wanted him inside her.
It never happened. The moment fled too soon. Their friends, marching down from the rented beach house in a drunken conga line, had shattered the spell with an off key rendition of Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”.
The next morning, Eric had feigned amnesia about the whole evening.
Lauren, ever the self-analyst, realized it was his way of letting her know, without embarrassing either of them, that the kiss had meant nothing. It had been just a sweet moment between two friends, nothing more.
Until now. Now she drew on that memory to give her courage. It had sustained her during the long cab ride to his apartment from the restaurant where she’d left her two best girlfriends. She turned that memory into the full-fledged belief that she needed Eric now. Tonight. All the way.
“I want you. I want you to make love to me, right now.”
Wet dreams don’t get much better than this , Eric thought as he lowered his arms and brought Lauren’s sumptuous body close to his.
She kicked his front door shut, and the sound galvanized him, waking the skeptical part of his brain.
Lauren wanted him. Lauren James. His best friend. Had the world turned upside down when he wasn’t looking?
Lauren dropped her purse on the floor and pressed her body against him. Together they stumbled back a step. She gazed up at him, her luminous green eyes dilated to huge pools of endless black. Her plump lower lip beckoned him and he leaned in close. His gaze plunged into the deep valley of her cleavage visible in the open neckline of her blouse and his mouth went dry.
She smelled like sultry sex perfume and strawberry shampoo. Would she taste like peach lip gloss and coconut rum the way she had that one reckless moment last July when he’d kissed her and indulged in the fantasy they might be good together as more than just friends?
“Don’t say no, Eric. I know you want me. Don’t you?” Did she look hopeful, or desperate? God, did it matter?
“A favor…” He repeated the words as he dipped his head into the space between her neck and shoulder. He took in the alluring scent of her skin and thought about planting his lips on the pulse point below her jaw.
“I need you, Eric. I need you to make love to me tonight.”
“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” asked the good Eric Reynolds, the corporate security consultant who spent his days building computer firewalls and tweaking virus protection software. Drunk and horny , thought the bad Eric, the one who hated being the guy all the women turned to for moral support because he was always honest and trustworthy.
Women liked bad boys. He’d been reminded of that time and time again when his girlfriends left him for ex-cons, compulsive gamblers and rock musicians with coke habits.
Good guys finished last.
“ Anything ?” Lauren licked her lips as she traced the line of his jaw with her finger.
“What’s going on, Laur? Are you sure you’re all right?” He put his hands on her shoulders and the heat of his touch sent her spiraling into desire for sweaty sex and sweet, sweet revenge.
She wanted revenge against Mark for letting her find him this afternoon cock-deep in a blonde bimbette. She wanted to feel important to someone, cherished and sexy and safe. Eric could do that for her. She needed him to do that for her.
Fear of rejection lasted all of two seconds. Her tumultuous thoughts conjured a particularly vivid memory of last summer’s Fourth of July beach party. Brilliant fireworks over the bay, an oyster bar and an extra large beach towel spread on the coarse sand had led to a moment of soul searching she still hadn’t forgotten.
A single kiss from Eric had sent her senses rocketing up among the roman candles bursting overhead. For a moment, as she’d absorbed the sweet taste of saltwater taffy from his lips, she’d wanted him inside her.
It never happened. The moment fled too soon. Their friends, marching down from the rented beach house in a drunken conga line, had shattered the spell with an off key rendition of Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”.
The next morning, Eric had feigned amnesia about the whole evening.
Lauren, ever the self-analyst, realized it was his way of letting her know, without embarrassing either of them, that the kiss had meant nothing. It had been just a sweet moment between two friends, nothing more.
Until now. Now she drew on that memory to give her courage. It had sustained her during the long cab ride to his apartment from the restaurant where she’d left her two best girlfriends. She turned that memory into the full-fledged belief that she needed Eric now. Tonight. All the way.
“I want you. I want you to make love to me, right now.”
Wet dreams don’t get much better than this , Eric thought as he lowered his arms and brought Lauren’s sumptuous body close to his.
She kicked his front door shut, and the sound galvanized him, waking the skeptical part of his brain.
Lauren wanted him. Lauren James. His best friend. Had the world turned upside down when he wasn’t looking?
Lauren dropped her purse on the floor and pressed her body against him. Together they stumbled back a step. She gazed up at him, her luminous green eyes dilated to huge pools of endless black. Her plump lower lip beckoned him and he leaned in close. His gaze plunged into the deep valley of her cleavage visible in the open neckline of her blouse and his mouth went dry.
She smelled like sultry sex perfume and strawberry shampoo. Would she taste like peach lip gloss and coconut rum the way she had that one reckless moment last July when he’d kissed her and indulged in the fantasy they might be good together as more than just friends?
“Don’t say no, Eric. I know you want me. Don’t you?” Did she look hopeful, or desperate? God, did it matter?
“A favor…” He repeated the words as he dipped his head into the space between her neck and shoulder. He took in the alluring scent of her skin and thought about planting his lips on the pulse point below her jaw.
“I need you, Eric. I need you to make love to me tonight.”
“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” asked the good Eric Reynolds, the corporate security consultant who spent his days building computer firewalls and tweaking virus protection software. Drunk and horny , thought the bad Eric, the one who hated being the guy all the women turned to for moral support because he was always honest and trustworthy.
Women liked bad boys. He’d been reminded of that time and time again when his girlfriends left him for ex-cons, compulsive gamblers and rock musicians with coke habits.
Good guys finished last.
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