of them knew where to start.
Trying to keep things low key so Jude wouldn’t back off, Nick suggested, “Tell me something about yourself. Anything you want. Then I’ll tell you something about me.”
“Okay.” She tapped her finger against her wineglass. “This shiraz is from Australia. I lived there for a year after college and got a chance to explore.”
“Cool. One of the firefighters at my hall is from Queensland. He’s doing an exchange because his girlfriend lives here.”
“I visited Queensland. It has the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen.”
They talked about her year in Australia, the conversation flowing easily now. Nick liked watching Jude—her changes of expression, the light in her eyes. Everything about her was a turn-on that kept his blood humming with awareness. Arousal.
The way she’d lift a hand and rake her hair back in one of those feminine gestures that accented the curve of her breast, the long line of her neck. She’d curled her legs up, sitting sideways facing him. One denim-clad knee touched his thigh, a subtle turn-on. The air was rich with her peachy scent. She smelled edible, and he was getting very hungry.
His hands itched to touch her. Talking was good, but her body drew him.
He guessed she’d told Karen she was looking for sex, but that didn’t mean he should insult her by taking her for granted. No, he should act like this was a normal first date. It was getting late. Time to leave and ask her out for dinner tomorrow.
“And can you believe the Aussies put sliced beets in hamburgers?” She laughed, shaking her head. A strand of hair stuck to her moist lips.
Oh, damn, he couldn’t resist. He reached over to free it and tuck it behind her ear. “Beets, eh?” His fingers traced the soft rim of her ear.
Bublé was singing about how he’d met a wonderful girl out of an orange-colored sky. A meeting as unexpected as the one set up by Nick’s Secret Santa sister-in-law.
He forgot about the music, caught up by the silky texture of Jude’s skin as his fingers drifted across her cheek and down to her chin.
“Mmmm.” Her lips parted, and he ran his fingers lightly over them, too. Free of lipstick, naturally rosy. Full and soft against his skin. Kissable. Very kissable.
Testing, he leaned toward her.
Jude stopped breathing. This was the moment the evening had been leading up to. It was her move, her decision. Fear brushed her, making her shiver. The last man she’d kissed was her ex, Don. The fiancé who’d dumped her.
But this was different. Neither she nor Nick wanted a serious relationship, so there was no danger he’d commit to her and then betray her. All he was asking for was a kiss.
She shoved aside the fear and leaned into him, smelling the richness of red wine, meeting his lips with hers.
A first kiss was always a test. A delicate exploration and negotiation. Who are you, what do you taste like, what feels good for you, what’s your style as a kisser? And, most important, what feelings do you arouse in me? And vice versa.
An entire future hung in a first kiss. It could be lost or created in those seconds.
This kiss definitely created a future. It was amazing.
First his lips brushed hers as softly and as lightly as a butterfly’s wings, and then they came back a little more firmly. Eagerly she pressed against them, trying to hold him in place. But he moved again, sucking her bottom lip between his, darting his tongue against the burning flesh.
She licked out, running her tongue over his top lip, tracing its full curves.
He nipped gently and then settled his mouth fully against hers. His hand slipped through her hair to caress the back of her head. Running up and down through the roots of her thick hair, he circled in a motion that was almost massage. Soothing and arousing at the same time.
Leaning close, she put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heated strength of his muscles through the flannel of his red shirt. At work, the men she met were white-collar. If they had muscles at all, they’d been built in a gym. Nick’s were the real thing. These were shoulders that carried people out of burning buildings.
A sexy thought. A sexy man.
Now his tongue was in her mouth, invading and caressing in a leisurely, seductive way that hardened her nipples and dampened her panties.
It might have been a long time since she’d had sex, but her body definitely remembered. It was ripe and aching to be given. To be taken.
Nick was gorgeous and sexy and nice. Why should she hold back?
Hungrily she tried to press against him, but it was too awkward with her legs curled up on the couch.
He made an impatient sound, then tore his mouth from hers. “There’s a better way.”
In a moment he’d grabbed her by the hips and then they were lying side by side on the couch. Their bodies adjusted to each other in a series of small movements until all the pieces were interlocked just right. “Mmmm, feels good,” she murmured. Yes, she remembered what this was like.
Except Nick’s body was harder and stronger than any she’d ever cuddled against, and the fit was even better. He was so overwhelmingly male, and his kiss, the touch of his hand as he cupped a breast through her T-shirt, were sure. But gentle, too. Caressing. Seductive. Making her want to give him everything he asked for. And more.
Impatiently she hooked her fingers in the hem of her shirt and struggled to pull it up her body. His hands took over, skimming the garment over her head. Her undies were at-home ones, plain cotton in a tan color that almost matched her skin. No silk or lace, yet his eyes glittered with heat as he ran a finger along the top edge of her bra. “Man, you’re gorgeous, Jude.”
His touch stole her breath, but she managed to say, “Even in this boring bra?”
“Even in a turtlenecked T-shirt. I bet you’re even gorgeous in sweats.”
She didn’t own any, but she had half a dozen pairs of flannel PJs. Nights were cold when a girl slept alone.
Nick lowered his head, and his lips took her swollen nipple through the cloth of her bra.
Nights wouldn’t be cold with Nick in her bed. In fact, right now her blood felt as hot and thick and sweet as the Grand Marnier syrup she made to go with crepes. Just waiting for a dash of brandy and a match to ignite it.
Deft hands reached behind her and unfastened her bra, and then his lips were on her bare nipple. She gasped, body arching toward him. Her nipples had always been sensitive, and too intense a touch hurt, but Nick’s mouth was perfect as he laved and sucked gently.
Amazing that one pearled nipple not much bigger than a bead was almost as sensitive, as responsive, as her clit. In fact, it seemed directly linked to that other pearly bud, and both fed directly to the pleasure center that ruled orgasms. His jean-clad thigh was between her legs and, as need mounted inside her, she pressed shamelessly against it as two layers of denim rubbed the soft cotton that covered her crotch.
Her hand found his erection, steely hard behind the fly of his jeans. Denim, more denim, too damned much denim. She fumbled to undo the button and lower the zipper, then she reached past denim and cotton to grip that strong shaft.
Nick made a sound that was half groan, half growl, and turned his attention to her other breast as she fondled him.
He was so perfect in her hand. Big and hot and hard with a crown that was soft as silk and damp from his own arousal. Sliding her hand up and down his shaft, she imagined him inside her. Stroking back and forth, in and out. Pressing against the walls of her vagina, reaching deep into her secret places, each stroke stimulating her clit.
Aching with need, she moaned, writhed. Realized that somehow Nick’s hand was inside her jeans, his finger on her clit as deft and as