LUKE’S LEFT HAND held a shot glass, which he’d already drained twice. The fingers on his right hand curled into a fist and uncurled again. Over and over. He recognized trouble pretty quickly, and Doug and Frank were nothing but trouble. He’d headed out of the apartment the minute he saw them, making Molly stay behind. If someone was going to take a piece of those two, it was going to be him, not his dog.
They’d bullied his baby brother, Cody, and they were part of the crowd that chased his sister Jessie right out of town after she got pregnant in high school. And then, of course, there was the wreck that left Doug’s brother dead, and Luke’s brother Zayne badly injured. It had all started with dear old Dad. His actions had made his children targets. Made them hard. Hard enough to take on a couple of townies hassling Whitney.
Luke had been coming around the back of the truck when Doug shoved Whitney against it. Through the red haze of anger that had blurred his vision, he saw Whitney jam that spiked heel into Doug’s foot. Clever girl.
Doug Canfield wasn’t the type to take a hit without returning it, though, woman or not. Before Doug could even think about retaliating, Luke had him on the ground. He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t beaten the guy to a pulp. His fingers curled again.
“For a minute there, I was pretty sure you were going to beat the bejesus out of Doug Canfield.”
He blinked and looked at Whitney. She quietly sipped her whiskey, watching him over the rim of her glass as she leaned against the wine-tasting counter. It wasn’t bad enough she was under his skin and in his dreams these days—now she was inside his head? His heart thumped an extra beat.
“Why?” He saw the surprise in her eyes at his sharp tone. Good. Anything to make her back off and get out of his head and heart. “Because I’m a Rutledge?”
“You know, I keep hearing ‘a Rutledge’ used around you like it’s some common descriptive noun everyone knows but me.” Whitney stepped closer. Wrong direction. “I don’t walk around claiming to be ‘a Foster.’ I’m Whitney. And you’re Luke. I don’t know what your last name means to everyone in this town, but your surname doesn’t define you.” She drained her glass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and flashing him a grin that hit him square in the chest. “If it did, I’d be a lounge singer in Vegas.”
He couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at that image. Buttoned-up, professional Whitney, sitting on top of a piano in a slinky dress, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, crooning to the crowd. His laughter died when he realized that image of her, uninhibited and free, was...beautiful. And way too good for a Rutledge. She was out of his league. He reached over to refill his glass, but her fingers touched his hand, stopping him.
“Tell me about this Rutledge name of yours.”
Bad idea. He tried to ignore her, forgetting how relentless she could be.
“Is your father really in prison, like Doug said? Did he kill Doug’s brother?”
“I don’t talk about my family.”
She patted his hand. “I get that. I don’t talk about mine much, either.” She boosted herself up to sit on the counter, crossing her long legs. The combination of skin-tight jeans and spiky heels was hot as hell. There was something about the way she was looking at him. Curious, but not about his name. About him. Was she...flirting with him? Whitney picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses. “But this is a weird night, and maybe we should do stuff we don’t normally do. Like drink whiskey and share history. Or whatever.”
Whatever? What the hell did she mean by “whatever”? And why did it sound so inviting?
He stared at the honey-colored liquid in his glass. She was right—this was a weird night. And she was sending him some serious seduction vibes. Touching him. Sitting up on the counter so close he could smell her perfume. Talking about whatever in a voice that curled around him and drew him in. He tried to keep his guard up, reminding himself he’d had women come on to him before because of his name. Women who wanted a “bad boy,” whatever the hell that meant. They wanted the thrill of danger, but he was a man, not an amusement park ride.
“Let’s stick to finishing our whiskey, and then you go back to the house.” They should both retire to their prospective beds, in separate buildings, and wait for morning to arrive. Alone. They should not stay together here in the tasting room, drinking and talking and flirting. And they should definitely not go up to his bed and make love.
Aw, hell.
Where did that idea come from? No. That was an awful idea. A horrible idea. The worst.
Whitney’s voice was as honey-colored as the whiskey, and just as smooth and tempting.
“Maybe...I don’t want to be alone tonight. After all that with Doug, I just... I want to feel connected to someone.” The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile as she took another sip of whiskey. “And you refuse to answer my questions, so maybe we need to...connect without using words.”
He swallowed hard. “Connect without words, huh?”
She leaned toward him, her voice dropping. “Yeah, you know. Let other parts of us do the connecting?”
He should walk away. Walk away right now.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Whitney?”
Her voice was tinged with laughter. “Seriously? Does being ‘a Rutledge’ mean you can’t understand innuendo?”
The reminder of who he was had the same effect as if she’d poured ice water over his body. He welcomed it, because it kept him sane. Or at least as sane as he could expect to be around this woman.
“Being a Rutledge means I know my place. And that place is nowhere near this whatever that you’re suggesting.” He drained his glass, wincing against the sharp burn in his throat as he set it down hard on the counter. “Look, you said it yourself. It’s a weird night. You had a scare. I punched a guy. We’ve had some whiskey. And you’re looking for a walk on the wild side with a Rutledge. It’s not gonna happen.”
He turned away, but Whitney grabbed his arm. Her eyes were dark and angry.
“We’re back to the Rutledge thing again? I still don’t know what it means, and I don’t care.” Her grip loosened. “Maybe it is the adrenaline, but Luke...we already know we have chemistry. We’re grown-ups who can choose to explore it if we want to. And tonight? Maybe I want to.”
He carefully pried her fingers from his arm. How the hell had they reached the point where they were seriously discussing this?
“You’re tossing around an awful lot of maybes. You need to be damn sure before we go any further.”
Whitney’s lips parted slightly, curving into a seductive smile. Her eyes softened and warmed, and something inside of him warmed, too. Her hand slid up his arm to cup his face. And Luke knew he was toast. He’d do whatever she wanted, as long as she’d keep looking at him like this. Touching him like this, with her fingers barely brushing his skin. In a way no one had ever touched him before. Or looked at him before. Like he was something valuable. Worthy. Desired.
“I’m sure, Luke.”
He swallowed hard, fighting back a surge of fear and doubt. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was sitting on the counter in front of him. Wanting him. Seducing him. She uncrossed her legs and he moved to stand between them without a second thought. His hands rested on either side of her hips. He was afraid to touch her. Afraid he was misreading everything. Afraid she’d come to her senses and...
She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
Sweet Jesus.
Their first kiss had been tentative and brief, full of sweet caution. They’d given into temptation, and they’d been interrupted before it could build any real heat. There was no caution to this kiss, though. Her lips were soft but determined, and he gave in without hesitation. He gripped her waist and pulled her against him. Then he slid his hands up her back, twisting his fingers roughly in her hair, pulling it free from the ponytail so it tumbled around her shoulders. Her hands gripped his face as if she was as determined to hang on as he was. He tugged her closer, driving his tongue into her mouth. The taste of whiskey on her completely undid him.
He was on fire. His veins were flowing with gasoline, and her kiss had just lit the fucking match. He yanked her off the counter and spun to put her against the wall. Wine bottles rattled next to them, but they didn’t care. Whitney had been in control while sitting above him, and that was fine. But now? Now he was taking charge. Small, desperate sounds came from her throat as she kissed him over and over. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. He ground his hardness against her, his shorts against the zipper of her jeans, and her sounds changed. Less whimper. More demand. Her hips moved against his, and damned if things hadn’t officially gotten out of hand right there in the tasting room.
He tore his mouth from hers, running kisses down her neck, barely able to keep his lips away long enough to grunt out one word.
“Upstairs?”
Her head hit the wall with a thud, and her back arched to push her breasts into his very willing hands. His mouth moved lower, over the top of her shirt, finding its way to her right breast and nipping through her clothes. They were out of control, but he wasn’t moving until she answered him. She cried out, then gasped a breathy reply.
“Upstairs.”
WHITNEY HAD NO idea how they got up the steep staircase, seemingly without removing their hands from each other or ending their kiss. She didn’t remember the door opening, but she remembered Luke kicking it shut behind him, his mouth firmly on her breast. Wait. When did she lose her shirt? And her bra?
Her fingers tugged his hair until he released her nipple and lifted his head to meet her eyes. His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black in the dim light from the single table lamp. Black with desire. With lust. For her.
A shiver of caution traced up her spine. She’d been looking for a distraction tonight. A scratch to an itch. An exploration of the odd little spark between them. A follow-up to that tender wine barn kiss she couldn’t stop replaying in her head. But right now, looking into Luke’s fevered eyes, half-naked and feeling reckless, she wondered if they were going to get far more than either of them anticipated. If they were going to ruin each other for other lovers. Because there was no doubt that Luke Rutledge had the potential to do just that.
Luke’s brow rose as she stared at him. His tight grip relaxed a bit. His voice was gravelly and thick.
“Are you putting on the brakes, babe?” He stroked her skin with his fingers, grinning at the groan she couldn’t hold back. He looked mighty proud of himself for making her sound like that, so uninhibited. Hell, he should feel proud. She’d been with a few men in her time, but she’d never made that sound before. His gaze cooled with concern. “I need to hear your answer, Whit. In words, not moans. You can say no anytime, but if you’re gonna say it, I’d sure as hell rather you do it before we go any further.”
She should stop this, for so many valid reasons. And she might have. If only his thumb wasn’t gently grazing the small of her back, sending goose bumps across her skin. If only it didn’t feel so good to have her bare chest against his. Hey, when did he take his shirt off? If only he hadn’t kissed her literally senseless downstairs. If only she didn’t want this...want him...with a hunger she’d never felt before tonight. Considering all the random thoughts weaving in and out of her head, she was surprised how strong her voice was.
“I’m not going to say no, Luke.”
She gave a quick glance toward the double bed, which was, of course, totally disheveled. His pillows were thin, and folded in half. The faded blue sheets were untucked and twisted, and the light quilt had been kicked to the foot of the bed, where it tumbled like a waterfall to pool on the floor. Shoes and sneakers were tangled together under the bed, along with some random, mismatched socks. A pile of folded T-shirts was stacked on the floor, side by side with a stack of jeans and shorts. Whitney had stayed in plenty of luxury hotels around the world, and she’d never seen a bed look so inviting.
Luke’s lips pressed together and he stared hard at her, as if waiting for her to change her mind. She slowly moved her hands up his chest, letting her thumbs flick across his nipples, causing him to hiss in a sharp breath, his own hands tightening around her waist. He still didn’t move, but she could see flames there in his eyes. Flames that surely mirrored her own. She flicked her thumbnails across his chest again, playfully trying to break him out of the trance he’d fallen into.
She’d never played the role of temptress before. But right now? She was a woman going after what she wanted. Not in the boardroom, which was suddenly inconsequential, but in the bedroom. Or, to be more accurate, a studio apartment that included a bed.
“This was my idea, remember?” Her hands slid down his ribcage, resting just inside his low-riding jeans. “You need to believe me when I tell you I. Am. Not. Saying. No.” She pushed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek, and he closed his eyes. “I’m saying yes, Luke. I’m saying take the rest of my clothes off. The rest of your clothes off. I’m saying take me to that bed of yours and—”
Before she could finish, Luke tugged her hard against him. His mouth landed on hers and all hesitation was gone. Buttons came undone. Zippers were unzipped. She kicked her jeans off in one direction across the floor and he kicked his in the opposite.
He said one word sharply. “Bed!”
Whitney laughed. “I think we’ve already established that.”
His teeth nipped at the base of her neck. “Not talking to you. Molly.”
Who? Oh, the dog. Molly the dog. Whitney rolled her head to give Luke better access and saw the brown dog walking forlornly to the puffy green dog bed by the sofa. Tough luck, Molly. He’s mine tonight.
Something happened to the space-time continuum when she and Luke kissed. Clothing vanished without warning. Locations changed with no sensation of moving. It was the only way to explain how Whitney came to be lying on Luke’s bed. The pillows, top sheet and quilt were nowhere to be seen. It was as if some giant hand had swept the bed clean and placed her there, wearing only her pink lace panties.
Luke stood next to the bed, thumbs hooked into the top of his dark boxer briefs, starting to draw them down, but frozen midway. He looked as surprised to find her there as she was to be there.
Whitney decided to embrace her new brazen side. She nodded at his hands. “What are you waiting for? Keep going.”
His smile started in his eyes, and he complied with her demand. The result was...well...the result was a fully naked Luke Rutledge, and she finally got to see what that delicious happy trail of dark hair led to. Oh, my. If she’d had any doubt he wanted this to happen, those doubts were long gone now. He was rock hard and ready. She reached for her panties, but Luke stopped her.
“Uh-uh-uh. Those are mine.” He kneeled on the edge of the bed, stalking toward her. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t form words. His calloused hands caught the edge of the lace and he slowly—oh, so slowly—pulled the pink panties down her legs. As he slid them past her feet, he lifted one foot and kissed her toes, one by one. Could she die from this? From a man kissing her toes? She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, but he was having none of that.
“Eyes on me, Whitney. Eyes on me.”
She watched as he kissed his way up her leg, caressing and kneading with his fingers as he went. He kissed the top of her knee, then lifted her leg and licked the tender skin behind it. She cried out so loudly she clamped her hand over her mouth in horror. She wasn’t a screamer. She usually had to concentrate to have an orgasm the regular way, so why did she feel like she almost had one just now, as Luke’s tongue slid across her skin? Behind her knee?
Strong fingers wrapped around her hand and pulled it away from her mouth. She got lost in his eyes, feeling another wave of ecstasy threatening to drown her.
“The sun won’t be up for hours, Whit.” He smiled, his voice calm and sure. “We have all the time in the world. Don’t hold back. For one night, this night, neither one of us needs to hold anything back.”
“But I don’t want it to be over too soon...” She winced, knowing she was whining. Luke kissed her shoulder, laughing against her skin.
“Well, if that happens, we’ll just have to do it again.” He ran his nose up her neck, nibbling her earlobe and making her tremble. “And again.” His lips brushed the side of her face, kissing her temple. “And again.” He kissed her mouth, pulling away before she could return it. “We’ll do it as many times as we have to. Or until one of us passes out from the effort. But right now I feel like I could be here with you for hours on end without running out of steam.” Another kiss. “How about you?”
His nose was touching hers, his chocolate eyes looking down, filled with desire and promising a night filled with passion and abandon.
“I don’t know how to do this...”
Luke frowned, raising his head. “You don’t know how...? Whitney, are you...”
“Oh, my god, Luke!” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “No, I’m not a thirty-one-year-old virgin. I know how to have sex. I’ve done it more than once. A lot more.”
His face twisted. “Yeah—don’t need details. Thanks. What don’t you know how to do?”
How could she possibly explain this? Obviously, he’d had plenty of nights where he did things over and over. Goodie for him. And for the lucky women he’d been with. She’d clearly been sleeping with the wrong guys. Or maybe it was her. Maybe she was the defective one. Scientifically speaking, if her experiences with men were always something less than randy all-nighters, then the likeliest cause was the common denominator—her. It was only fair to come clean. To lower Luke’s expectations.
“My body isn’t...wired right, I guess. I’m not an over-and-over-again kind of girl. Just ask any of the men—”
“Again, don’t need those details. Not now. Probably not ever.” He studied her intently. “You’re afraid.”
“I am not afraid.” She gestured around the apartment. “Again, my idea, remember? But I don’t want you to be expecting more than I can—”
His kiss silenced her. Hard and insistent. Firm, yet full of tender promise. How did he do that? His hand moved up her side, leaving a ripple of chills on her skin that made her breath catch and her abdomen clench. How did he do that? He raised his head and she was horrified to hear a whimper escape her lips. There was a quick spark of humor in his eyes.
“Whitney, if this little meltdown of yours is because you’re feeling more turned on than you’ve ever felt with another man...well, feel free to say that.” He kissed her softly, speaking against her lips. “Tell me as often as you like.” Another kiss. His hand slid up her neck to cup her face. He stared into her eyes. “But believe me when I tell you I know exactly what you’re feeling. I’m a long way from being a virgin myself, and no woman has ever made me feel anticipation like this.” He dropped his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. His words, rasping and deep, burned into her soul. “I want to taste every inch of you, and I want to take my time doing it. Then I want to taste you all over again, to make sure I didn’t miss a spot.” His fingers trembled against her skin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But if tonight is it for us...if we’re both feeling the same weird kind of magic...then let’s just...roll with it.” His eyes opened again, dark and hooded. “Unless you don’t want—”
She put her finger on his lips. “I want. I really, really want.”
His mouth curved into a wide smile beneath her finger, and he kissed it.
“Good, ’cause I’m so hard it hurts.”
The graphic confession surprised a laugh out of her, and it was exactly what she needed. She relaxed in his arms. She’d deal with tomorrow when tomorrow got here. But right now she was naked in bed with a man who wanted to taste every inch of her. Yeah. She was definitely going to roll with that. She removed her finger from his mouth and kissed him.
Kissing Luke Rutledge was her new favorite thing to do. But she had a feeling having sex with him was about to make a strong fight for first place.