Our First Kiss Page 4

“After Tasha and I get settled in as an old married couple, we’ll have to take you out and reintroduce you to some of the good spots,” Damien offered.

  “I’d like that.” Nathan smiled.

  Nathan’s eyes connected with Marcy’s again, and she smiled at him knowingly. He had a feeling she knew exactly what he and her brother were talking about, and she was going to make his resolve not to become involved with her near impossible to keep—just as he feared he was going to find it nearly impossible to live up to his promise to leave her alone.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later the occupants of the private dining room were preparing to leave and go their separate ways. A few days later, they would all gather again for Damien and Natasha’s wedding.

  “Can I bum a ride home from someone?” Marcy glanced expectantly at Nathan. “My car’s in the shop.”

  “Tasha and I can drop you off.” Damien placed an affectionate arm around his sister’s shoulders. “It’s on the way.”

  “It is on Nathan’s way, too,” Nicole quickly intervened.

  Marcy silently vowed to send her a huge bouquet of flowers the next day. She was turning out to be a wonderful ally.

  “That’s a fabulous idea,” Linda decided, winking at Margaret. “Nathan, you take Marcy home.”

  “It’s no problem. We can take her,” Damien insisted, despite Marcy’s glare.

  Damien could see what was going on here, and though Marcy didn’t seem to mind, he did; for some reason, even though he had spoken with Nathan and liked him, something was nagging him about Natasha’s brother. In his gut—and he had learned from painful experiences to trust his gut—he knew that somehow Nathan was going to end up hurting his sister, and he would do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

  “Darling, I’m tired and would rather go straight home,” Natasha intervened. “Nathan, you don’t mind taking Marcy home do you?”

  Nathan realized every female present in the room was very skillfully ambushing him. He had come up against some worthy adversaries in his day but none as lethal as the quintuplet in front of him. What could one do against such skillful opponents, except surrender—and hope to live to fight another day?

  “No, not at all,” he dryly agreed.

  “Good, now that is all settled.” Linda smiled pleased and walked over to talk to Margaret. Marcy was a lovely woman and might be just what her absentee son needed to get him to settle down.

  “You’d better watch out, son, your mother and Marcy’s mother are plotting your downfall.” Lincoln slapped his son on the back as Marcy walked away to retrieve her coat.

  “Really? You could have fooled me, Dad.” Nathan shook his head in exasperation as he glanced at the smiling faces of the two women in question.

  “Ready to go, Nathan?” Marcy came back with her leather coat draped over her arm.

  “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered, taking her coat and placing it over her shoulders.

  “What?” She glanced at him, stifling a laugh.

  “Nothing,” he denied. “Good night everyone,” he shouted as they prepared to leave.

  “Good night!” Marcy beamed as she preceded him out.

  “Promising.” Margaret approved, having witnessed her daughter’s keen interest in Nathan on New Year’s Eve manifested again tonight. Obviously, Marcy was serious, and after watching the two tonight, it was obvious Nathan was taken with Marcy, too. Although being a man, he was trying his best to fight it.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” Linda agreed as both women walked away to discuss their children’s futures.

  * * *

  Nathan was silent for most of the drive, which was okay with her. She was formulating her strategy. He was so much work, but she knew he’d be worth it in the end. She would remind him of this one day, and they would laugh about him clinging to his overrated bacherlorhood.

  When they reached her condo, he opened the car door and helped her out and then started to walk back around to the driver’s side. She placed a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

  “I was,” he curtly agreed.

  “Nathan, anyone could be lurking in the dark, just waiting for me. Then what would I do?” She feigned alarm. “I’d be helpless.”

  Despite his black mood, he smiled genuinely at her assertion. “Marcy, one thing you will never be is helpless.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She took his proffered arm as he walked her into the building. “I’m pretty helpless when it comes to you.”

  “Marcy.” His steps faltered at her admission. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” He was silent for the elevator ride to her floor. “Come in for a drink,” she offered as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  “No, I’d better not.” He turned to leave.

  “Come on in, I won’t bite. I promise.”

  Before he knew what had hit him, he was pulled inside, and the door decisively clicked behind him. He knew all he had to do was leave, but as was becoming a habit with Marcy, he gave in because he wanted to. Her apartment was spacious, decorated in pastels with a tapestry sofa and chairs.

  “Your place is very nice.” He took off his coat in resignation.

  “Thanks. Make yourself at home,” she yelled, throwing her coat over a chair as she walked into what he assumed was the kitchen, returning seconds later with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. “Will you do the honors?”

  “Sure.” He wanted to protest but decided against it. He would have one glass and then go.

  “Sit down,” she said as she motioned to the sofa and as he complied, sat closely beside him holding glasses out to him, which he filled before placing the bottle onto the table.

  “I can’t stay long, Marcy.” He thought it best to get that out before she got any ideas in her beautiful head.

  “We’ll see.”

  He tasted his wine. “This is good.”

  “Very,” she whispered, taking a sip of the cold liquid before placing her still-full glass on the table. “You’re so buff.” She lightly fingered his biceps and shoulders. “I’ve never met a lawyer in such great shape.”

  “I enjoy working out.” He grabbed her hand, halting her disturbing exploration.

  “Mmm,” she approved, trailing the fingers of her free hand across his broad chest. “I can tell.”

  “Marcy...”

  “What?” She stared into his conflicted eyes.

  When he failed to answer, she leaned across the sofa, took his glass from his unresisting fingers and placed it on the table beside hers. Then framing his face in her hands, she kissed him. She felt the tension in him as he resisted her and himself, but within seconds, his lips changed from cold and stiff to warm and caressing—though he refrained from touching her. She tasted the wine on his lips—and the barely restrained passion.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” she murmured, pulling slightly back, though her mouth was still in close proximity to his.

  Turbulent, dangerous eyes bore into hers before lowering to focus on her incredibly soft lips that tasted of wine, honey and dangerous desire. He knew he should push her away and leave; instead he reached out, pulled her closer and let his mouth ravage hers. Out of control, impatient hands focused on the buttons of her jacket until it was completely undone, and then he pulled her down to lie beside him as he reclined back onto the sofa.

  When his wandering hands slipped beneath the undone jacket folds, he realized to his delight and dismay that she was only wearing a thin black lace teddy, which covered next to nothing of the satiny skin underneath. He rolled until she was nearly lying beneath him. His hands caressed her lace-covered breasts and stomach as his mouth left hers to blaze a trail across her neck and collarbone to the swell of
a breast.

  His hot tongue licked out and tasted a nipple, which he felt harden through the chemise. With a groan, his mouth opened warmly, taking the still-covered swell into his mouth and suckled maddeningly until she thought she would shatter. Her hands moved behind his head as he continued to feast on her flesh through the now-wet fabric she prayed he would rip away as he was ripping away any sense of sanity she possessed.

  In the back of his mind, a nagging voice reminding him of his promise to remain emotionally unattached while he was in Black Ops; the type of life he led wasn’t easy—in fact, it could be downright brutal. He couldn’t become involved with Marcy; it wasn’t fair to her. She deserved better than he could give her, and he knew that.

  With a mind of their own, his hand snaked under the satin to touch the warm, silky skin of her stomach, and he felt her fingers clutch the back of his head and release. Desire built within him almost to the point of no return. If he touched her a second longer, if he felt her trembling against him another minute, he would take her and damn the consequences. Somehow, using willpower years of training had instilled, he pulled away and sat up.

  It took her a few seconds to realize he was no longer lying next to her or touching her. When she did, she opened cloudy eyes and slowly sat up beside him.

  “Stay.” She sighed as she placed her arms around his neck, realizing he meant to leave her and himself unfulfilled.

  “You’ve just met me,” he hoarsely responded, fighting for control that was rapidly escaping him.

  “We’ve known each other for a week,” she reminded.

  “Barely a week,” he contradicted.

  “I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.” She scraped her teeth maddeningly along his jaw before lifting her head to stare into his darkening eyes. “Don’t you want me?”

  “Marcy, a man would have to be crazy not to want you.” He nearly groaned. But then he forced himself to add, “But I’m here to see my family, not to start a relationship with you—with anyone.”

  He reluctantly disentangled her arms from his neck, stood and quickly walked to the door.

  “Nathan?” Her soft, seductive voice halted him.

  “What?” He asked without turning around. God he wanted her; had he ever wanted anything this much?

  “You know what they say about making plans?” He turned to face her, but neither of them made a move toward the other.

  “No, what?” At the moment, he didn’t know his name or how he was articulating at all.

  “The best laid ones go to waste,” she responded with a smile. Silently vowing she would make sure his did. Impulsively, she walked over, cupped his face between her hands and kissed him again.

  “Marcy, would you let me take the initiative for once?” he asked against her lips.

  “I’d love to. Go ahead,” she ordered, pulling slightly back.

  He shook his head and smiled down at her, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” What the...? Why had he asked that?

  “I’d love to.” She beamed. “That was very nicely done.”

  “Thank you.” He silently berated himself for his lack of discipline where she was concerned.

  “What time?” Her eyes memorized every curve of his handsome face.

  “Seven.” He committed himself to his unwise course of action, and unable to help himself, he began outlining her face with his fingertips. She shuddered at his touch.

  “Should I meet you, or would you rather pick me up?” she docilely asked, breath coming in trembling gasps.

  “I’ll pick you up,” he nearly whispered as the fingers of his other hand played with loose strands of her hair; it was so soft, so incredibly soft.

  “How should I dress? Casual? After five? Elegant?”

  She couldn’t believe she could comprehend let alone formulate questions. He was touching her lightly yet urgently. She was a quivering mass of jelly, yet somehow she still stood before him instead of sinking bonelessly to the floor at his feet.

  “Elegantly,” he decided and said as his hands followed her example and cupped her face.

  “Mmm, sounds nice.” She shakily smiled. “You take charge very well.”

  “Thanks.” Intense eyes stared into hers, and he decided to take even more as he placed a hand behind her nape and pulled her irresistible lips to his.

  Devastation. No other word described what he did to her with that kiss—or what she did to him. He could happily feast on those lips for an eternity. She gladly clung to his hard shoulders as his mouth continued to plunder. When his lips released hers, they were both breathing hard. She opened stormy eyes to see the echoing depths of his.

  “Very well indeed,” she murmured. “That was a wonderful first kiss.”

  He frowned. “That wasn’t our first kiss. New Year’s Eve was.”

  “New Year’s Eve I kissed you.” She smiled impishly. “This is the first time you’ve initiated a kiss between us. I hope it won’t be the last.”

  “If you recall, I kissed you back on New Year’s Eve—” he traced the outline of her trembling lips with his fingers “—and I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  “You did?”

  “Oh, you know I did,” he said and smiled.

  “So did I. Let’s not wait so long before you kiss me again,” she softly suggested.

  “We’ll see.” He touched her trembling lips with his fingers and then quickly removed them. “Good night, Marcy.”

  “Good night,” she echoed. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

  He glanced back at her trying to decide what he should do and what he wanted to do next—his head won out over want, and he determinedly opened the door and left. If he touched her again, he would be lost.

  When her limbs would finally obey her commands, Marcy slowly retraced her steps and fell across the sofa. She let out her breath with a long, unsteady sigh. Gingerly, fingers touched her lips, and starry eyes closed as she remembered the feel of Nathan’s lips, body and his heart beating so close to hers.

  She’d had a few crushes in her day but nothing close to what she felt for Nathan. She felt alive with him; he did things to her mind and spirit that she had never experienced before. They hadn’t known each other long, but he was the one; she knew it. Now her goal was to make him realize she was the one for him.

  Chapter 3

  The next night, Marcy and Nathan sat in the private dining room at one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Fresh roses of every imaginable color were scattered throughout the room in one arrangement or another. A bouquet of red ones sat beside her plate on the table. Soft, romantic music was being piped into the room, and the light was dim. The flames of candles danced in the table centerpieces.

  She silently admitted that when he took charge, he took charge well. She had dressed as instructed in an elegant gold sequined floor-length gown with a slit up one side to her midthigh. The halter top left her back, shoulders and arms bare. Her hair was left down, cascading over her shoulders to her back in soft curls. The body of the gown fit her like a glove, accentuating her female curves in all the right places. Nathan wore a black designer suit that hung on him as if it had been especially made for him.

  The evening passed in a perfectly wonderful blur. All she was certain of was that she was having a wonderful time with a secretive and oh-so-alluring man whose company she craved.

  “How am I doing?” he asked as they finished their dinner.

  “Excellently,” she vowed.

  “Dance with me,” he commanded, taking her hand and pulling her up into his arms.

  “Mmm, beyond compare.” She amended her previous statement as she rested her head on his sturdy shoulder, and her fingers entwined with his.

  “I’m glad you approve,” he whispered against her ear.


  She felt and heard him inhale her fragrance, and a smile curved her lips as the hand on her waist pulled her closer still. He ran his mouth softly up and down the crook of her neck, creating shivers of anticipation within her.

  “I definitely approve,” she whispered.

  “You have beautiful hair.” Raising his head, he slowly ran fingers through its length from root to tip several times.

  “You have my mother to thank for that.”

  “How so?”

  “She refused to let anything touch my hair that wasn’t natural, which meant no chemicals at all.” She paused and laughed impishly. “That is until I took it upon myself to perm it.”

  He smiled and asked, “What did your mother do?”

  “Let’s just say Daddy and Dami had to protect me for a few weeks.” She chuckled at the memory.

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “A mere baby who couldn’t possibly make such a decision,” Nathan teased.

  “Mom will always think of me as her little girl.” Marcy sighed in angst, and they shared a comfortable laugh.

  “Well, remind me to thank your mother next time I see her.”

  “Mmm,” she said and sighed. “I will.” She moved a little closer to him. “You can thank me, too. Right now.”

  She wanted him to kiss her, and she wasn’t disappointed as his mouth swooped down and seduced hers. He lingered over the kiss, savoring her different tastes and textures. She met the probing inquisitiveness of his lips, content just to have him go on kissing her; however, when his hot tongue darted into her mouth in a search for hers, she wanted nothing more than a molten combination of their bodies and hearts.

  The kiss changed from gentle to hungry as he set out to plunder and destroy. Never before had a woman nearly caused him to take her on the spot with just a kiss, but he was close to doing just that with Marcy; every time he touched her, he lost his grip on sanity. His hands ran up her silky bare back, molding her, pressing her closer to his rock-hard length.

  How had he ended up kissing her? He didn’t remember. His moves had been instinctive, automatic—as was his hunger for her; it was a hunger so intense that it nearly made him pull her to the floor, strip away their clothes and fuse his body with hers. What was she doing to him? What would she do if he didn’t continue to fight her and himself?