“Actually, you can,” he responded, and flashed a sexy, George Clooney smile as his eyes wandered the length of her, from the top of her hair, down to the tips of her toes. “That’s really a shame,” he uttered, lifting his gaze to hers, his smile now shining through his smoky gray eyes. “I would think the vast majority of men on this planet would think they had died and gone to heaven if they had a chance to be with you.”
The unexpected sentiment unhinged her. She wanted to say that Bud sure hadn’t wanted to be with her, and at present, she wasn’t exactly turning them away from her door and that really, in spite of what everyone seemed to think, men rarely approached her. But Matt was standing there looking so handsome, so . . . manly man, that for a moment, Rebecca couldn’t remember why she didn’t like him. And to make matters worse, the new Rebecca—the saucy drunk one—reminded the old Rebecca that it had indeed been FOUR YEARS. Four long years. Boring years. Achy years.
“What?” he demanded of her casual perusal, still grinning.
“Would you?” she asked in a whisper, and through no conscious thought, stepped forward, stepped into him, stepped so close that her breasts brushed against his chest, and she lifted her hand, laid it against the hard wall of his chest. “Would you want to be with me?”
Matt’s gaze drifted to her hand on his chest, her breasts. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I’ve never made love to an alien before. And besides,” he added as he lifted his hand to brush hair from her eyes again, “you’re drunk.”
“I’m free,” she corrected him, amazed at how free she did suddenly feel. “Come on, Mattie . . . you owe me a favor, remember?” she murmured, and closed her eyes.
Nothing happened.
She felt a tug of disappointment and the world spinning furiously beneath her, and just as she was about to let go and fall into the vortex, she felt the slightest whisper of breath against her lips.
Rebecca froze; the feel of it was shockingly raw. Come back, her heart whispered. Come back, come back. For all she knew, she said it out loud, because the next thing she knew was the pressure of his lips on the skin of her neck, a pressure so softly demanding that it immediately fired down to her groin.
The sensation of it rocked her; it was a thousand-watt, searing jolt of life through her body, a sensation as deeply familiar and buried as it was new and fresh. Like silk against her skin, his lips slid to her mouth. Her heart and her body were instantly on fire, a raging inferno. Rebecca opened her mouth, and the pressure of his lips intensified as his tongue dipped into her mouth. Matt’s fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her closer, lifting her to him. Held tightly against his chest, his scent filling her nostrils, his taste filling her mouth, she wondered if he could feel her heart pounding, because this was, she realized, the most exquisite feeling. She’d forgotten how exquisite, how exhilarating.
That feeling quickly turned to fever that built in her chest, filling the space her pounding heart did not, then traveling fast and furious to her groin. Matt shifted, pressed his body tightly against hers, and Rebecca realized in that sensual fog that her body was eagerly curving into him, melting against the hard ridge of his desire. Matt’s hand drifted from her face to her breast, brushing his palm lightly across it, then cupping it, feeling the swell of it in his palm.
She felt herself melting away when his lips sought her neck again, and she let her head fall back, let her entire body melt into that oblivion of pure sensation, until she was floating and spinning below the weightlessness of his kiss.
They were moving, waltzing backward, Matt moving her, Matt’s hands on her back, lifting her, moving her. Her body was shimmering, pulsing around him, absolutely alive, and she drifted onto the leather couch when he gently pushed her into a sitting position. Smiling, her head lolling along the top of the couch, she felt him go down one knee before her, unbutton her blouse, his hand on her breast.
“It’s unnatural, four years,” he murmured. “No one should have to go so long as that.”
“I should stop,” she said breathlessly to the ceiling. “Make me stop.”
“You want to stop? Or do you want to end the drought?” he asked, his voice deep and soft. “Rebecca . . . do you want me to make you come?”
“Ooooh,” she breathed. She could feel the dampness between her legs, and felt her alter ego, the new Rebecca, take firm control. “Yes!” she whispered, and lifted her head through the fog to smile dreamily at the man on his knees between her legs.