Chapter 10
TEN
Lucy knew that kissing Cormac was a bad idea. There was too much going on in her life, too many unknowns. The day’s events had rocked her to her core. What she should have done was curl up in bed, sleep for an age, and then try to pick up the pieces and figure out her next steps. She had to contend with a dangerous rival stationery man, an exploded car, and an unsafe home.
The worst thing in the world to do would be to fall into Cormac’s arms, because if things went sour, what would she do? Where could she turn? She had friends and parents, but as her protector had pointed out, she’d be bringing trouble to their doorstep if she asked them for help.
Adding sex to the mix was a terrible idea. Lucy knew it. Cormac, no doubt, did too.
But as his lips touched hers, logic and responsibility fled from her mind. His touch was confident and sure, though it was gentle. He kissed her softly to begin, pulling away an inch to gauge her reaction. When she tugged him back to her lips, he let out a moan that lit a fuse in Lucy’s core.
His grip on her jaw tightened, his arm squeezing her closer. Suddenly, she was being kissed like nothing else existed. Cormac’s tongue brushed against hers, and the last of Lucy’s wits disintegrated. All that was left was sensation: his palm against her neck, thumb angling her jaw with gentle pressure. His arm around her back, curled around her body so he could grab the soft flesh of her hip. The rumble of his groan as he tasted her again and again.
Lucy melted. She submitted. She gave in. She kissed him back with a sort of desperate lust, using the strength of Cormac’s presence to ease the fears that had plagued her all day.
It had been weeks of tension and stress, weeks of worrying about the Expo, months and years of wondering if Aaron Phillips was serious in his threats. And it all compounded into an explosion that nearly took her life.
Cormac was a balm to soothe all those worries away. His kiss was an antidote. His touch was the cure.
As if he could sense her surrender, he let out a low grunt and lifted her onto his lap. Straddling him, Lucy cupped his face in her hands and renewed the kiss. He tasted like strength and lust and man. He touched her like he’d been starved for her.
She lost her mind.
Grip tightening on the nape of her neck, Cormac slipped his free hand under the oversized clothes she wore. Gasping at the heat of his hand on her waist, Lucy leaned her forehead against his and tried to catch her breath. He kissed her jaw, her neck, holding her exactly where he wanted.
“Love seeing you wear my clothes,” he admitted in a low rasp. His hand slipped from her waist to her ribs, pausing for a moment just shy of her breast.
Lucy trembled. Her legs were spread as she straddled him, and she felt the spaces between their bodies like they were on fire. She wanted her clothes to disappear. She wanted to feel him thrust inside her until she lost the last remnants of her rational mind.
“Touch me,” she begged in a desperate whisper, her hands tunneling into Cormac’s hair.
His breath trembled as he exhaled, the warmth of it washing over Lucy’s neck. Then he slid his hand up to her breast, the contact jolting through Lucy’s body so hard she jerked.
He brought his lips to hers again, his hand squeezing and fondling and teasing. Their movements turned frantic, harried, as if time were running out and they had one last chance to feel pleasure.
“I’m going to make you scream my name,” he told her, pinching her hardened nipple for emphasis.
“Cormac,” she gasped.
A low, rumbling chuckle. “Yes,” he said, doing it again. “Just like that, but louder.”
He was teasing her, and it was driving her wild. Lucy used the only weapon she had: she widened her knees and rubbed herself against him exactly where she needed it. He was hard and throbbing, all the layers of clothing doing nothing to hide the evidence of his need.
She’d done that to him. In baggy clothes, looking like a tired, overstressed mess, Lucy had made him mad for her.
That thought was a drug. She ground herself against him as both of his hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements. He was strong, and rough, and perfect. They moved against each other in an imitation of an intimate dance, bodies writhing in hopeless need.
Cormac’s hands tightened on her hips as his breaths began to stutter. Every muscle of his body was taut, hard as marble wherever Lucy touched. She kissed his jaw, fisted her hands in his hair. She was needy for him, desperate?—
“Wait,” he gasped. “Lucy.”
She sucked in a hard breath, body pressed against his.
“Wait,” he repeated. He turned his head so she could only see that his eyes were squeezed shut, his hand gripping her hips so tight she wasn’t sure if he was trying to pull her closer or push her away. Seconds ticked by. Her body ached. Every pulse of her heart drew her attention to the emptiness between her legs.
“We can’t do this,” he finally rasped.
Lucy’s heart thundered so hard she wasn’t sure she’d heard properly until he shifted to put a little more distance between them. The movement was like a bucket of ice water drenching her from head to toe. Suddenly, she was mortified.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, averting her gaze. Her cheeks were on fire. Clambering off his lap, she scrubbed her palms over her face and tried to catch her breath.
“No—don’t be sorry. It’s my fault.” Cormac had his own hands combed through his hair, his gaze steady on the closed lid of his laptop. “I shouldn’t have let things get that far. You’re—you’ve had a rough day. You didn’t want that.”
Lucy held her tongue. She most definitely did want that with every fiber of her being, but with every new breath that filled her lungs, her mind won a little more ground over her body.
“I should try to get some sleep,” she said, forcing herself to look in Cormac’s direction and only managing to stare at a spot just over his shoulder.
“Yes,” he replied.
With a jerky nod, Lucy turned and walked to her bedroom. Her steps were awkward, and her arms felt wooden. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. By the time she made it safely behind the closed door of her bedroom, she was a stiff, sweaty mess. The wetness that had drenched her underwear earlier now felt cold and uncomfortable against her skin.
She stripped them off, put Cormac’s pants back on, dove under the covers, and forced herself to close her eyes. It took a long time to fall asleep.
On the other side of the apartment, Cormac leaned over his bathroom sink and cursed himself. The last thing he needed was to get involved with Lucy. The last thing he wanted was to sleep with her and complicate his life.
But…that wasn’t quite true, was it?
He did want her in his bed—desperately. A part of Cormac that he hadn’t known existed burned for her. He was desperate to feel her in his arms again, to have the softness of her skin beneath his palm. Kissing her had felt like watching the sun rise after a cold, rainy night, its warmth breathing new life into the husk of his body.
But she was a client, first of all. And second, Cormac had no interest in getting involved with anyone—Lucy included. His life worked because he was on his own. Any entanglement he’d had with a woman had been casual and short, just the way he liked it. But he knew that wouldn’t work with Lucy.
When he’d seen the man toss something under Lucy’s car that afternoon, the fear that had iced his veins had been so intense he’d staggered. In that moment, when he sprinted toward an unconcerned Lucy, there’d been nothing in his mind but blank, white terror.
He could have lost her, and she wasn’t even his to begin with. How would he be able to function if he let her in? How could he live with himself if he took her to bed, let himself care for her, and then found out that he couldn’t protect her, after all?
It would kill him more surely than any explosion. He knew it, because that part of his personality had been written into his DNA. Letting someone into his heart meant being responsible for their safety. Cormac couldn’t handle the risk of inviting Lucy in.
So, after a cold shower, Cormac climbed into bed—alone. Exactly the way he should.