Chapter 2
3386 Words
Chapter Two
Oh God, oh God, oh God. He’s going to kiss me.
He looked like he wanted to devour her. Right here. In front of her colleagues. She never should have had that third glass of wine. Or the fourth. She was asking for trouble where Blake was concerned. His scent buzzed around her like mosquitoes, making it impossible to string logical thoughts together.
Logic told her he was interested. Logic also told her Blake Sinclaire was the last person she should mess with. Even though she had no intention of ever moving back to Prairie, if her family discovered she’d gotten cozy with a Sinclaire, they’d accuse her of being stark raving mad. Nope. Sinclaires should be avoided at all costs. She was already in the family crosshairs over her profession, and their criticism for that provided more than enough heat.
So what on earth was she doing giving Blake Sinclaire counsel on how to deal with her dad? For a split second she’d felt sorry for him. Her father could be an a*s. Heck, was an a*s. She knew that better than anyone. Especially after her most recent conversation with him. There was no way he’d ever sell to a Sinclaire. Not now. Not ever. Even with his health concerns.
Did anyone even know how the feud had started? Did they even care? Each family took offense at the hint of a slight. As it was, she’d probably said too much to Blake. No doubt she’d hear about it if word got back to her cousins or her dad that she’d said anything. But that look in his eyes when he talked about the property tugged at her.
His head tilted in.
She backed up a step.
Not because she wanted to escape. Quite the contrary. If she kept smelling him she’d lose rational thought and do something stupid like throw herself at him. Blake was sexy as sin. And her p***y throbbed insistently when she focused on his mouth. A mouth she suddenly wanted to taste more than her wine. But she simply couldn’t let that happen. And not only because he was a Sinclaire.
Disappointment flickered in his eyes. And something deeper. More… sinful. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
A throat cleared to her side.
“Ah, Ms. Hansen?”
She turned, surprised someone here recognized her. She’d scanned the room as she’d entered and hadn’t seen any of her close colleagues.
“I’m Gary Armstrong, Research Associate at the James R. Macdonald Laboratory in Manhattan, Kansas.”
“Oh, yes. At K-State. I’m aware of it.”
The man was a few inches taller than she was, but next to Blake he looked insignificant.
“I found your presentation this afternoon to be very thoughtful. I’m passing it along to our lab director. I think he’ll find it intriguing.”
“I’m flattered. But it was a team effort.”
He nodded. “Of course. But the application of your research in experimental AMO physics could be quite interesting. If you’re ever in Kansas, please visit us.”
“I’m sure Maddie would be happy to stop by the next time she passes through Manhattan,” Blake interjected smoothly, placing his hand at her waist.
She shot him a warning look. What the hell was he playing at?
“Oh?” Gary’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.
Great. She could see the gossip wheels already turning in his mind. No doubt the combination of a cowboy and a physicist would feed the mill for weeks. “I have family an hour south of Manhattan. I get down when my schedule allows,” she clarified. Leave it to an arrogant Sinclaire to horn in on her conversation. Well two could play this game. Sending Blake a syrupy smile, she changed the subject.
“Gary, are you aware that the food you’re enjoying tonight was raised right down the road from your lab? This is Blake Sinclaire, a Kansas rancher whose spread is not far from you.” She patted Blake’s arm. “I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about his bison. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to visit with the chef.”
Anything to put distance between them. She spun on her heel and wove through the gathering searching for Jamey. She should have known better than to let Jamey talk her into coming out tonight. It only ever ended in disaster. And this time it was drawing up old memories and new, tetchy sensations. She should have stayed home in her fuzzy pajamas to binge watch Dr. Who reruns.
Jamey bustled up holding an empty chafing tray as if she knew Maddie would want to talk.
Maddie confronted her, hands on hips. “What on earth were you thinking, Jamey? Have you lost your marbles?”
“I told you he was testosterone on a stick, didn’t I? And all this time, I thought the men in your hometown were a bunch of yokels.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “They are.” Well, one of them wasn’t. At least not now. Not that she’d ever admit it outloud. Especially to Jamey.
“That.” Jamey tossed her curls back toward where Blake was still standing deep in conversation. “Is no yokel. And from the way he was undressing you with his eyes, I’d say you’ve more than captured his fancy.”
She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “What are you trying to pull here? You know our family’s history with them. It’s best we stay far apart from each other.” Even as she said it, her heart sank a bit. Blake addled her. Made her insides all twisty and her skin burn. A sure sign that she should stay far away from him.
“Sinclaire, schminclaire. Did you happen to notice how hot he is?” Jamey dropped one side of the tray to fan herself. “Lordy. The only battling you should be doing with him is under the covers. Climb down out of your ivory tower and bury the hatchet, Mads. Before you shrivel up into a dried out old cat lady.”
“I am far from that.” Indignation roiled in her chest.
Jamey speared her with stern eyes. “Don’t make me get my Irish whup-a*s out.”
Oh no. She’d been on the receiving end of that look more than once over the last twelve years of their friendship. “Don’t go there. Not tonight, Jamey.” She shook her head vehemently.
“Can’t talk more, Mr. Hottie is on his way over. But listen to me.” Jamey’s eyes turned serious. “It’s time for you to drop this whole ‘romance is an impediment to my career’ act.”
“Well played, Maddie, well played.” Blake’s voice in her ear sent shivers rippling down her neck, settling right at her apex. Her thighs clenched automatically in response. Of all the times to be without panties. She could shoot Jamey for forgetting the laundry today.
She turned on him. “What was that all about back there? Since when do you get to speak about my schedule?”
His lips quirked, and humor danced in his eyes.
God, he should not do that.
Look at her like that.
Turned her insides to jelly.
He tsked. “Touchy, are we? I expected more control from a Hansen. Especially one as… tightly wound as you seem.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, irritated at how unsettled she was around him.
He smiled laconically, and she watched in fascination as he undid his tie with one hand, stashing it in his jacket pocket. He arched his brow. “Oh I think you know.” He unbuttoned his top button.
She licked her lips, trying not to ogle the skin he’d just exposed. “Enlighten me.” Damn. Her voice came out all breathy. Excited even. And her heart was suddenly pounding.
He dipped his head close and his breath warmed the spot under her ear, sending shivers dancing down her spine. “Care to dance?” His voice scraped over her nerve endings like a five o’clock shadow. Her n*****s liked the sound.
A lot.
She shook her head. “Oh no. I don’t dance.” Especially with hot cowboys.
His eyes gleamed.
Damn him, he was toying with her.
“Why not, Dr. Hansen?” He leaned in closer. So close his lips brushed her ear. So close, she could see a hint of dark curly hair at the top of his unbuttoned shirt. Her pulse leaped at the jolt of electricity that buzzed through her.
“You’re not… scared, are you?”
She didn’t miss the note of challenge in his voice. Pressing her lips together more in an effort not to tilt her head and meet his lips with her own, she inhaled deeply.
Mistake. Big mistake.
Her brain cells swirled in delight. Smelling him was like breathing damned fizzy water.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she answered loftily, adjusting her glasses.
He threw his head back in laughter. Rich, dark toffee laughter that warmed her belly as much as any Irish whiskey.
His hand pressed at the small of her back, propelling her toward the crowded dance floor. “Even I know a whopper when I hear it.” He turned, pulling her into his arms.
Hard thighs pressed against hers as he expertly maneuvered her around the dance floor. His hand engulfed hers in warmth and strength. It took all her self-discipline not to rake her other hand down his shoulder, relishing the corded muscles that heated her palm. This was a body perfectly chiseled from long days of labor. A Rodin statue come to life.
His hand splayed across her hip keeping her pressed tight against him. Awareness surged where their bodies touched. Could he tell she had no panties?
He angled his head closer, his breath sending warm shivers to her achy n*****s. “I’ve figured out what makes you tick.”
She tilted her head back to study him. The light in his eyes scorched her, launching her pulse like rocket fuel. “Highly improbable, but shoot.”
“You’re afraid of losing control.”
She kept her face impassive. “Not.” It was a non-issue. She never lost control. Ever.
“Then why is your pulse hammering like a stampede of bison?”
Tongues of heat flamed through her. “Because my… ah… pheromones are confused.”
He made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. “Your pheromones?”
“Yes.” She nodded emphatically.
A growl rumbled in his chest, and he pinned her with a look that made her squirm.
“I’m calling bullshit, Madison.”
“What?” She blinked her eyes at him.
His lips quirked, but the challenge was unmistakable in his eyes. “You’re a physicist. You don’t know s**t about biology.”
“How do you know?”
His eyes narrowed as he dipped his head closer. Invading her space. His breath tickled deliciously at her temple. “I think you’re so terrified of losing it, you tell yourself whatever lies necessary to believe you’re in control.” His hand drifted casually down and cupped her a*s. He leaned his head back to catch her eyes, and squeezed.
The jolt went straight to her clit, proving his point. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Refusing to look away just made it worse. Her skin heated and prickled. She was overcome with the urge to grind her hips into his.
No, no, no, no. She couldn’t give into these sensations. Not in public, not ever…not with him. She’d walk barefoot on hot coals before admitting he did things to her no one else ever had. Not even Marcus all those years ago. Before she’d wised up and put herself on a romance-free diet.
“Are you challenging me?” Her voice came out too breathy. Like she anticipated whatever was coming next. She really should have slowed down on the wine. This was all it was.
The wine.
Not chemistry.
Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.
His hand pulled her closer. Close enough there was no question of his arousal. Close enough that she was pressed into him from knee to shoulder and she was eye level with the hollow in his neck. A hollow that smelled like pine, and salt, and delicious pheromones.
“Oh, no. I’m absolutely confident.” His chest rumbled as he talked, the vibrations setting off sympathetic vibrations where they touched. “I bet you’re glorious when you lose control, Madison.” The way her name rolled off his tongue started a fire in her belly.
“Wouldn’t you love to find out.”
“I aim to.”
The certainty laced with the laughter in his voice triggered something bold inside of her. She couldn’t let him win. He’d leave here and laugh all the way back to Prairie. That was so not happening.
She inhaled deeply, letting his proximity set her body buzzing. Her n*****s puckered to hard points at the thought of what she was about to do.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Then inching just slightly forward, brought her lips to the hollow of his neck and tasted. Shivers cascaded down her body, and her clit throbbed with wanting.
He tasted just like he smelled. Of musk, salt, leather and pine. Of a masculinity that egged her on. She flicked her tongue over the hollow before she drew the cord of his muscle between her lips and gently sucked it in.
His breath rushed out in a hiss as his arms tightened into a vice-like grip. They had practically stopped dancing, not that anyone had noticed.
Ignoring the tremors in her own body, she risked a glance up. Raw l**t glared down at her. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Now who’s afraid of losing control?”
Spinning on his heel, he wheeled them both around, and quickly threaded them toward the glass doors leading to the courtyard.
The quiet of the courtyard echoed in stark contrast to the noise of the band and patrons. Her ragged breathing sounded loud to her own ears.
His grip not releasing, he navigated randomly placed chairs and tables until they reached a darkened corner, half in shadow from the glow of a lantern. The scent of lilacs dripped in the air. Propping his hand against the wall, he let go, glaring at her.
The night air did nothing to cool her feverish skin. Lifting her hand, she traced a finger from his delicious hollow, still damp from the ministrations of her tongue, slowly down his shirt.
He grabbed her hand and held it away from him.
Hmm.
So. Turnabout wasn’t fair play. Interesting.
“What do you want?” he rasped, the edges of his voice grating over her like hot coals.
What did she want? Him obviously, but that was out of the question. Too dangerous, for starters. She bit her lip, unsure how to answer.
“Your eyes tell me you want this.”
Before she could process what was happening, his mouth had claimed hers.
Fiercely.
Possessively.
The tinder they had been dancing through ignited in a rush, instantly blazing to an inferno.
His tongue did not politely seek entrance. It demanded she open, which she did willingly. How could she not, held in t****l by his sheer magnetism? As soon as his tongue slid against hers, burning coals melted at her apex. Swirls of desire raced up through her, pulling her toward him like he was some kind of black hole and his gravity was stripping her bare.
She melted into him, letting his weight support her, and pressed her hands up his shirt, tantalized by the hard muscles beneath her palms. Her tongue curled against his, meeting his thrusts with an enthusiasm that surprised her.
His body radiated heat.
And strength.
And raw animal power.
Her hips rocked against his in an effort to slake the building pressure at her core.
Quick as a whip, he pivoted and had her pressed up against the wall, his knee between her legs. He released her lips, breathing heavy. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you playing me?”
She couldn’t hide the smile that quirked the corner of her mouth. “Just staying in control.” Barely, but he didn’t have to know that.
He stilled, then gently removed her glasses, tucking them safely in his pocket. That simple movement sent a little thrill of anticipation through her. Who was playing who?
He placed his hands on either side of her head, fingers massaging and searching for the pins that held her thick waves securely in place. Her breath hitched as he lowered his head. He stopped, his lips so close that if she tipped forward she could touch them.
“Never challenge a Sinclaire where control is concerned. We’ll win every time.”
He brushed her mouth in the barest of kisses. Her pulse launched like a rocket booster and her breath lodged in the back of her throat. Still moving his lips barely against her, he swept his hand up her side to rest just under her breast, his thumb sweeping her already taut n****e.
His mouth smiled against hers.
Realization dawned. He was totally playing with her. No doubt about it. If she was smart, she’d walk away right now. Right back home to her fuzzy pajamas, bunny slippers and geometric equations.
But she wasn’t.
She was hungry.
And tense.
And prickly, and hot. White hot chemical reaction hot. And dammit if she wasn’t going to meet his challenge head-on. He might be a Sinclaire, but she was a Hansen, and Hansens didn’t back down and cower in corners.
A slow grin spread across her face. “Bring it on, cowboy.”
He growled pulling her flush against him, his hands cupping her a*s.
She’d just unleashed the Kraken.
And she loved it.
“The first one to make the other moan wins.” His breath was hot in her ear. His tongue ran over the sensitive cartilage, sending pulsing shivers through her n*****s to her clit.
“Wins what? A cookie?” She panted, her hands tracing the hard as rock muscles in his arms.
He raked his teeth down her neck to her collarbone, biting gently, then soothing it over with his tongue. Every place he touched made her clit throb harder.
He was good. Really good. Like he had a road map of her personal buttons.
“The chance to call the shots next time.” He ground his hips into hers, pinning her to the wall.
She shook her head. “No next time.” She wouldn’t survive a next time. She was barely in control as it was. A next time would reduce her to a puddle of goo. She needed to carry this out to whatever ending they were determined to write, and escape with her dignity.
His response was another low growl before his lips claimed hers. Something unlocked deep inside as his tongue slid with hers, swirling her to dizzying heights. Was it possible to shatter from a kiss?
Hands tugged her blouse from her skirt, and calloused fingers caressed the flesh below her breasts in lazy circles, leaving goose pimples in their wake. If he was going for the slow burn, it was working.
Her arousal overflowed and slicked her thighs, heightening the ache that threatened to overwhelm her. She clenched, in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the building ache. He just made her feel too damned good.
But she refused to go down without a solid attempt to break him first. Reaching inside his denims, she yanked his shirt loose, feathering her fingers over the ripples that could only be his abs.
Sweet baby Jesus.
She had to feel them again.
Moving her fingers back toward his belly, she pressed harder this time, letting her fingernails get in on the action.
The quick intake of air through his nose was the only indication that she was having an effect on him. That, and the rock solid erection pressed dangerously close to her p***y.
She should end this quickly and just ride him right there in the shadows. But truth be told, she wanted this to go on just a bit longer. The curiosity was too tempting. She’d never been with a man that made her… feel.
Feel what? Wanton? Desired? Like she couldn’t think about anything except stripping her clothes off?
“Stop thinking, Maddie,” he muttered into her mouth.
She pulled back. Had she spoken aloud?
“Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute.”
Sparks raced up her neck. How could he tell? She hadn’t meant to think. It was just something she did. All the time. She shook her head, squinting slightly to study him. His face was inscrutable.
“You think I’m the kind of man you can kiss while you work quadratic equations in your head?” He shook his head at her slowly, the corner of his mouth pulling down. “Don’t play me for a fool, Madison.”
He kissed her again. Hard. Then pulled away, his breathing as ragged as hers. He scrubbed his hand over his face.
“I should have known better than to tangle with a Hansen.”
The ache between her legs protested as he spun on his heel and stalked off toward the door. With her glasses.
She leaned her head back against the brick, fighting waves of humiliation. What in the hell had just happened? Blake Sinclaire had beaten her at her own game. But she hadn’t lost control… had she? Doubt assailed her and an ache twisted in her ribs. She’d lost this evening. She’d definitely lost something.
- Writer
