was overrated; he could get his point across in other ways. Pulling the expensive bouquet from her arms, he dropped it to the floor. He hesitated for a moment, waiting for her to protest. When none came, he covered her mouth with his, drinking in her heat, her spice...her goddamn alive-ness.
Carrick moved her back so that she rested against the wall and then rested his palm against the cool plaster above her head. He wouldn’t touch her with anything but his mouth. Because if he did, he wouldn’t stop until he had her naked, panting and screaming his name.
Sadie had no problem using her hands, and he felt her tugging his shirt from his pants, and then her hands were on the bare skin above his belt, skimming across his spine. Every muscle in his body contracted and he wondered where all the oxygen in the room had gone.
But it didn’t matter because Sadie was kissing him. And kissing him with a lot of enthusiasm.
Sadie’s tongue pushed into his mouth and she wrapped her arms around his waist, silently telling him that she wanted him—this—as much as he did. Unable to keep his hands to himself, not for one more second, he floated his palm across the bare skin revealed by her oversize sweater and marveled at the softness. Would she be this soft everywhere?
“Touch me, Carrick,” Sadie murmured. Her breathy words, punctuated by kisses, was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her sweater up so he could access her fragrant skin. No bra, thank God. Dropping his head to kiss her throat, he told her exactly what he wanted to do to, and with, her.
Her excited, low pitched murmurs encouraged him to do all that. And more.
When she pulled his hand up to cover her breast, he groaned at the feel of her taut nipple pushing into his hard palm. Needing to taste her, Carrick pulled her sweater up and over her head, looking down at sheer perfection when she was exposed to his hot gaze.
Firm, high breasts, pretty pink nipples...
“I can’t wait to taste you.” Carrick bent his head and laved her with his tongue before sucking her into his mouth. Perfection. Carrick moved on to her other breast and after paying it the same attention, stood up and tunneled his fingers into her hair. “I want to take you to bed.”
Sadie reached up to hold his wrist with her hand. “I know.”
Carrick bent down to lean his forehead against hers. “That’s not a yes, Sadie.”
Sadie took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. Inside that china-blue and white space, she pushed her pants down her hips, taking her underwear with them. Stepping out of her socks, she stood before him, naked.
“Make love to me, Carrick. You make me feel so damn...”
Hot? Horny? Turned on?
“Alive,” Sadie whispered. “I so very badly need, right now, to feel alive.”
He could give that to her. And so he did.
Carrick Murphy heard the snick of the lock on the bathroom door and turned his head to bury his face in Sadie’s sweet-smelling pillow.
Hell.
When he left his historic Beacon Hill house last night, his intention had been to check up on Murphy’s new art investigator. Because, as he told himself repeatedly on the drive to her apartment, he only needed her in a professional capacity. He needed her skills to authenticate a painting so that the possible lost Homer could be included in their much-anticipated, once-in-a-generation auction happening in the spring. He’d brought her flowers—they were still on the floor in the hallway, probably dying—as a gesture from a client to a consultant, desperately trying to convince himself that his visit had nothing to do with Sadie being sexier than sin.
Great snow job, Murphy. Not your usual style, dude.
Releasing a frustrated huff, Carrick looked around for his clothes. The least he could do to make this morning less awkward was to be dressed when Sadie eventually decided to leave the bathroom.
He found his underwear by the door and pulled on his boxer briefs. They’d started shedding clothes in the hallway, a minute after their lips collided.
Not seeing any more of his clothes in the immediate vicinity, Carrick followed the garment trail through her apartment and plucked one of her socks off the frame of a black-and-white print and picked up her yoga pants and thong off the hallway floor. He found his shirt by the gray couch and his pants behind it.
Carrick pulled on his pants and then his button-down shirt, leaving the shirt open as he pulled on his socks, then his shoes. He eyed the door, wishing he could just slip out. But Sadie wasn’t some woman he’d never see again and he wouldn’t do that to her.
Since he was no longer a kid, he didn’t leave without at the very least a “thank you,” and even if it wasn’t world-rocking sex, an “it was fun.”
But it had been world-rocking sex and he would see Sadie later since he was paying her an exorbitant figure for her expertise to authenticate a painting. He needed her...
But only on a professional basis.
He’d trained himself not to need anyone anymore.
Since divorcing Tamlyn, he always thought long and hard about whom he slept with and the potential fallout—would the woman take her story to the press? Would she spread a rumor or four about the way he treated her? But his need for Sadie had drowned out all his fears and considerations.
He’d wanted her. She’d wanted him back. His brain had shut down after that...
But man, he hoped she didn’t think this was the start of something special, that they were going anywhere. The worst outcome would be her catching feelings, wanting or expecting more from him than he could give.
Because he didn’t have it in him.
He’d lost too many women he loved and cared about—his real mom, stepmom and sister-in-law to death, another sister-in-law to divorce—and his own divorce had drained him of any hopes and dreams and trust he had in a happy-ever-after, in having a family, a partnership, a wife he’d grow old with.
The closer someone became, the more they could hurt him. His ex was proof of that.
Carrick rubbed his hands over his face.
Yep, Tamlyn had soured him so he didn’t bother dating, preferring an occasional, discreet, low-key one-nighter here and there. Sure, the sex was never as good as it could be in a committed relationship with a solid emotional connection...
Yet, it had been. With Sadie.
With Sadie, he’d forgotten that he hardly knew her, that this was their first time. Making love to her was as natural as breathing; his body—dammit!—recognized hers. There had been no awkward fumbling, no indecision, no do-you-like-this?
She’d murmured her approval whenever she could speak, either by her breathy moans, low do-that-again groans or one-word sentences. The words yes! and more! had fallen from her lips with regularity.
The hell of it was, Sadie was the best he’d ever had, better even than those first heady days with Tamlyn.
Sadie, and their night together, exceeded all his expectations and set the bar space-high for his next one-night stand.
If he ever had another one of those again...
Carrick stood up and headed for the small galley kitchen on the other side of this open-plan, generic, boring-as-hell apartment. The least he could do was get the coffee started.
Carrick changed the filter on the machine, dumped in some coffee and topped up the water. After flipping the switch, he walked back into the living room and picked up her shirt from the pile he’d made on her coffee table. He lifted the