Bringing Up Baby New Year & Frisky Business Read online

  She walked over and nestled her brush beside his in the paint thinner. Cozy. Then she looked up at him and a wave of hot desire hit her like a tsunami. She fought the impulse to throw her arms around him.

  As she gazed at him, she realized that they’d never be closer to making love than they had been tonight. The tension still crackled between them, but if they managed to stay away from each other until sunrise, they’d probably be able to hang on to their resolution for the rest of the holiday.

  The thought was so deeply disappointing that she almost groaned aloud. She wanted him so desperately that she could taste his kisses, feel his hands caressing her, hear his murmurs of need. The picture taunted her like a desert mirage taunts a person dying of thirst.

  In that moment, when deprivation cut like a knife, she made a decision. Maybe fatigue had weakened her and she wasn’t thinking clearly, but she didn’t care. Making love to him felt right, and if they couldn’t have forever, she would settle for right now.

  Joe, however, would take some convincing.

  “Go on up,” he said again.

  “I’m not going unless you come with me.”

  He wished she meant that literally, but of course she didn’t. Shouldn’t. “I’ll be up in a little while.” He rolled his shoulders. “I want to fool around with the mechanism for dropping the lighted ball. The judges will come through at seven, right? Before they open it up to the general public?”

  “That’s what Madge Elderhorn told me.”

  “That should give me time enough. I want the ball to be a dramatic surprise, something unexpected, to wow the judges. My idea is to hide it behind the display until the perfect moment, when you and Gus are ready to come out. Then it’ll rise up over the Allied Tower Building and slowly descend while you parade in with Gus.”

  “Sounds spectacular.”

  He gazed down into her green, green eyes. Even after staying up most of the night working, even after spattering and smearing black paint over most of her exposed skin, she looked wonderful. Kissable. Lovable.

  “Come on to bed, Joe,” she said.

  His chest grew tight as he imagined how he’d feel if she were really inviting him to bed and not simply suggesting he get some rest. “You go ahead.” He reached out and tucked a red-gold curl behind her ear. “And thanks for hanging in there with me. You’re a trouper.”

  “I want this as much as you do.”

  Oh, but this conversation could have been so much more interesting if they were talking about something besides a yard display grand prize. “Well, you certainly deserve it.”

  “We both do.”

  His breath caught at the look in her eyes. But no, he was engaging in some extremely wishful thinking brought on by exhaustion. What he saw in her eyes was probably sheer determination to stay upright until the work was finished. “Go on upstairs,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t.”

  She turned and walked toward the kitchen door.

  He watched her the whole way. Maybe the paint fumes were getting to him. As she approached the doorway, her hips seemed to sway more seductively than he’d ever noticed them before.

  She walked up the two steps to the kitchen level and glanced over her shoulder. Her voice grew sultry. “Promise me you won’t be long.”

  His mouth went dry and his heart hammered. If he weren’t so damned tired and high on paint fumes, he’d swear she was coming on to him. But they’d had that discussion and they’d both decided to stay away from that particular activity. Hadn’t they?

  He must be hallucinating. She wouldn’t be coming on to him. Not after what they’d already been through with their aborted lovemaking attempt. Not after painting for seven hours straight. Not at four-thirty in the morning.

  He cleared his throat. “I won’t be long.”

  After she left, he tried to concentrate on the weighted pulley mechanism he had designed for the lighted ball, but he kept seeing the way she’d looked at him over her shoulder. If that wasn’t a come-hither look, then he’d never seen one.

  So what the hell was she doing, come-hithering like that? Now that he thought about her walk and her backward glance, he was sure it was a come-hither. Okay, so she’d painted by his side all night, and he admired her grit. But that didn’t give her the right to tease him with a come-hither at the end of the night. Not by a long shot.

  Throwing down the pulley apparatus, he stalked over to the garage-door button and jabbed it with his thumb, sending the door down with a solid whack. Then he flipped off the garage light and went into the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind him. Time to get a few things straightened out with Miss Come-Hither.

  Adrenaline overruled exhaustion as he strode right up the stairs. No lights were on anywhere except for the little night-light in Gus’s room. She’d obviously skipped right into bed, not even kept awake by a guilty conscience. Well, he’d give her conscience a working over for toying with him like that. A guy could only take so much before he cracked. And Joe had cracked.

  He walked straight to her darkened bedroom where the door was partly ajar and gave a no-nonsense rap on the door frame. “Wake up, Darcie O’Banyon. We’re going to have a talk.”

  No answer.

  “I give you fair warning, Darcie. Playing possum isn’t going to work with me.”

  Still no answer.

  “Darcie, now stop pretending to be asleep and answer one simple question. Were you, or were you not, come-hithering when you walked out of that garage?”

  “Sure I was.”

  “Aha! I thought so! I…” Then he hesitated, confused. Unless she was good at throwing her voice, it hadn’t come from her bedroom. It had come from his.

  As the implications of that information sank in, he felt as if somebody had just plugged him into an electrical outlet. Slowly, he turned toward his open bedroom door, but he couldn’t see anything in the dark room. “Darcie?”

  “Yes?” She snapped on the bedside table lamp. The light cast a glow over her lightly freckled shoulders and her red-gold hair spread across his pillow as she lay in his bed, the sheet pulled modestly over her breasts. She’d managed to get most of the paint off her face, and she looked scrubbed and soft and…incredible. She smiled, the perfect touch to an outstanding picture. “Taken your own sweet time, haven’t you? Now come to bed, Joe Northwood.”

  He blinked and told himself he was dreaming. In his experience, reality had never looked this good.

  Her heart jumping like a rabbit’s, Darcie waited for his reaction. He looked frozen in place, as if she had him on film and had pushed the pause button.

  Finally, he spoke. “This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.”

  “Do you have a better one? I don’t know your habits in this area. Perhaps you’d rather do it in the shower, or some men like chairs, I’m told, and you have a great armchair over in the corner there. Or the floor is another popular spot for some. Or up against the wall, or—”

  “Stop! First you come-hither me and now you’re getting me even hotter by suggesting variations!”

  “Are you too tired?” She braced herself for rejection. She’d left her robe within reach beside the bed in case he sent her out of the room. She’d found a box of condoms in the bathroom cabinet and put them in the bedside-table drawer in case he didn’t send her out of the room.

  “A half hour ago I was totally wasted, but at the moment every single part of me is awake. One particular part is so awake. But I don’t get it. Why would you want to start something that can go nowhere?”

  “Because I need you now, more than I can stand. We’ll worry about the rest tomorrow.” She drew back the sheet, revealing both herself and the tulip petals she’d scattered over the bed. “So are you coming to bed, or would you prefer to stand there debating the matter for what’s left of the night?”

  His gaze moved over her very, very slowly. He swallowed. “Tulips.” His voice sounded raspy. “You would
have to throw in tulips.”

  Darcie smiled. “Zee pistil ees so…how you say? Erect.”

  “No kidding.” He took one step into the room and stopped. “I just don’t want to be in the same category as Bart Junior, that’s all.”

  “Other than the fact you’re a man and he’s a man, you’re in totally different categories. Bart Junior lured me into his bed. I’m already lying buck naked in your bed, and I’m the one trying to lure you. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

  He sighed and came into the room, stripping off his T-shirt on the way. “You have to make allowances for the fact that I’m an idiot.”

  A beautiful idiot, she thought, her pulse racing as she admired his bare chest.

  “I need to get something from the bathroom,” he said.

  “Just a minute.” She reached in the bedside table and took out the box she’d found. “Would this be what you’re after?”

  He gazed at her. “You really have thought this through, haven’t you?” he said softly.

  “I have. I won’t repeat the mistakes I made with Bart Junior.”

  “You know what?” Joe hopped on one foot and took off a shoe and sock. “Let’s not mention him anymore.” He hopped on the other foot and repeated the process. “Is that okay with you? Because I think I could go my whole life and not hear his name again, and I would be very happy with that.”

  “We won’t mention him again.” She caught her breath as his hands went to unfasten his jeans. Ah, but he was well put together. “Black Irish,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been wondering if you’re Black Irish,” she murmured as he shucked the jeans and briefs in one motion. Oh, my. “Definitely Black Irish.”

  He approached the bed, his gaze hot as he looked at her lying there in the midst of red tulip petals. “How can you tell if I’m Irish?”

  “By the cut of your jib.” She stared in frank admiration at his erection.

  He put one knee on the mattress and propped a hand on either side of her head. “The cut of my jib has nothing to do with being Irish. That has to do with finding a naked Irish maid in my bed.”

  Her heartbeat thundered as she saw the desire raging in his dark eyes. Still, she needed a little more reassurance. She’d never presented herself naked to a man before. “I hope you’re not terribly disappointed that I’m not a French maid.”

  “If you’ve noticed the condition of my jib, then you know for certain that I’m not disappointed.”

  “Your jib does look…interested.” She reached over and curled her hand around it. “Very interested indeed.”

  He made a strangled sound deep in his throat. “Easy, Darcie. I’d like to make this last awhile.”

  “So would I.” She stroked him gently, and in response her body seemed to flower like the tulips she’d shredded to decorate his bed.

  “Enough,” he whispered, taking her hand away. “My turn.”

  “Would you be kissing me soon?”

  “Very soon.” His dark eyes sparkled and his lips curved in a delicious smile, a smile full of anticipation. “And where would you like me to kiss you, Darcie?”

  “Anywhere that takes your fancy.”

  “Then I guess I’ll kiss you here.” His lips brushed her forehead. “And here.” He moved to her eyelids. “And here.” He touched his mouth to her cheek. “Oh, and here.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. Then he lifted his head to gaze down at her. “To tell you the truth, every sweet, creamy, freckled inch of you takes my fancy. I’ve dreamed of licking each of your freckles to see if they taste like cinnamon.”

  She thought her heart might pound right out of her chest with excitement. “I suppose you’d better get busy, then. We don’t have all night.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he said as he kissed his way down her throat. “To think we could have been doing this instead of painting the town black.”

  She buried her fingers in his thick, silky hair. “We had…a reason.”

  “Wonder what it was? Mmm. I do believe you taste like cinnamon. And sugar. And honey. Damn all that time spent painting.”

  “We’re trying to—” she gasped as he reached her nipple and pulled it into his mouth “—win money,” she finished breathlessly.

  He rolled her nipple against his tongue before kissing his way to her other breast. “But this is priceless,” he murmured, and captured her other nipple against his tongue.

  She sighed in agreement as he gradually turned her into melted butter. Then he proceeded to kiss and lick every freckle on her skin.

  “I’m following the dots, trying to make a picture,” he murmured against her skin. “If I make a good picture, I might win a prize.”

  “I…think you might at that,” she said, gasping at his intimate investigation of her body.

  “I’ve always loved to play connect the dots.”

  She was fast becoming partial to it herself. And the picture he was making was breathtaking. For the first time in her life, she longed for more freckles.

  13

  JOE KNEW HE’D LOST his mind, and he wasn’t the least interested in looking for it. Right now, there was only Darcie—satin-smooth skin covered with cinnamon freckles, red-gold hair that curled around his fingers, pink mouth that tasted like exotic fruit, green eyes growing softer and dreamier by the second.

  “An ache’s building inside of me, Joe,” she murmured, low and sexy and pitched to drive him wild. “And it needs filling.”

  He forced words past a tight throat. “That’s the prize I’ve been going for.” He decided then and there that nothing could be sexier than an Irish brogue spoken by a willing woman stretched out beneath him in his bed. Forget the naughty French accent or the sultry Southern drawl. Give him an Irish brogue any day. Give him Darcie.

  Her kiss-reddened lips parted, and damned if her Irish eyes didn’t smile. He’d thought it was only a catchy phrase in a song.

  “Then claim your prize,” she said.

  He’d never rolled on a condom so fast in his life. Heart beating like a jackhammer, he eased between her warm thighs. He gazed down at this freckle-faced angel of a woman and wondered if she had any idea the value of the gift she was giving him at this moment.

  “You should be pampered and spoiled,” he said, his voice husky. “Showered with jewels. Fed champagne and caviar. I can’t do any of that for you.”

  Her eyes darkened and she grasped his hips, urging him forward. “Do what you can,” she said in a throaty purr, “and, by all the saints, I’ll try to make the best of what you can give me.”

  Pure, unadulterated Darcie talk. He was crazy about her. No point in denying it to himself. “I don’t deserve this.”

  “Perhaps not. But I do.”

  “Ah, Darcie.” He sank slowly into her, savoring every moment of the trip, watching her eyes widen and fill with passion. So lush, so ready. The pleasure enveloped him, wrenching a moan from deep in his chest.

  “It’s good for you?” she asked, sounding breathless.

  He was ready to explode from the intensity of being buried within her heat. “Passable,” he said. “And you?”

  Her breath came in quick little gasps. “I’ve felt worse in my life.”

  If he hadn’t been on the brink of an orgasm, he would have laughed. Instead, he gave her a tight smile. “Should we…go on with this, do you think?”

  “We might…oh, goodness.” A tremor passed through her. “We might give it a try.”

  He moved carefully. He’d always prided himself on his control, but then, he’d never made love to Darcie O’Banyon. Every time she lifted her hips, he wanted to shove deep and lose himself in her. Once he did that, his world would come apart. He wanted hers to come apart first. If he couldn’t give her the world on a silver platter, at least he could give her this.

  So he tried to distract himself from the warm, wonderful feel of her body surrounding him, tried to tell himself that being inside her wasn’t driving him absolutely,
totally, around the bend.

  He leaned down to drop a kiss on her full lips. “Talk to me, Darcie. Tell me how I’m doing.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “Good.”

  “However…”

  He lifted his head to look down at her. No guy liked to hear the word however in connection with his lovemaking technique. “However?”

  “You’re holding back.”

  “But I need to hold back, Darcie. The way you’re affecting me is too…powerful.”

  She held his face in both hands. Her eyes burned into his.

  He felt his control slip a notch just from looking into her eyes. “Darcie—”

  “It’s that power I want, Joe.”

  With a groan of surrender, he drove into her, and drove into her again. She arched up against him, her nails digging into his back, her gasps becoming whimpers. And her eyes glowed like precious emeralds. He couldn’t look away from the fire in her eyes.

  “Like that?” he murmured, shoving forward, his body straining with the need for release. “Like that, Darcie?”

  “Oh, yes. Like that. Like that. Oh, Joe! Yes! Now!”

  Her convulsions came a split second before his, and he wrapped her tight in his arms. Rocked by tremors such as he’d never known, he felt himself spinning, hurtling, through space. But Darcie was there. Darcie would save him. Darcie was all he needed. Oh, no. No… He was falling…in love.

  DARCIE WOKE UP to the same sound she’d been waking up to for months—her baby crying out for her. That much felt normal.

  But the minute she opened her eyes, she knew nothing else was normal about this morning. She was in Joe’s bed, and by her own choice, too. So she had no one else to blame for the fact that she’d turned her life inside out in the space of an hour.

  Or perhaps a little longer than an hour. For they’d made love again, once the first time had worn off some. She’d given his jib a treat. And they’d rubbed each other with tulip petals and then he’d given her the same sort of treat she’d given him. Seems he was fascinated by more than her freckles.