Read Online A Novel Seduction by Gwyn Cready - Free Book Online Page A

igniting her instantly. They fell into a kiss deep and hard enough to remind her that this had the potential to be an epic mistake. A deep-bellied fear shook her, launching hot arrows of doubt through her veins.
    “I want to be your friend,” she said, slipping an arm back into her blouse. “Not this.”
    The weight of her statement was reflected in his eyes, which turned an abrupt emerald green. But a curve rose at the corner of his mouth as well. “Do you think at this point we can go back?”
    The answer, of course, was no. She damned herself for lifting her mouth to his at that bottom stair and thought of what Hemingway had said: “Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.” She’d been drunk with giddy lust, and it was a lesson she needed to learn. In the course of a single reckless instant, she had ended the heady, laughter- and debate filledfriendship that had roared to a start like a drag race two months ago, fueled by an explosive mixture of admiration, attraction, clashing creative egos, cheap chardonnay and a lot of expensive beer, and launched them, one literal step at a time, into God knew what. If she was lucky, it would be everything they’d had before and more. But she wasn’t lucky, and the only thing she knew for certain was that whatever tomorrow would be like between them, it wouldn’t be like yesterday.
    She gave him a fierce look. “If we’re not friends after this, I’m going to be really pissed at you.”
    “Fair warning.”
    He leaned between her legs and bent to kiss her.
    “I mean,” she said, stopping him with a hand, “if you had to pick between our friendship and this”—she fluttered her hand vaguely between his midsection and hers—“which would you pick?”
    He laughed. “This,” he said, and lifted her to standing.
    “That doesn’t sound very committed to friendship.”
    “Doesn’t it? Which would
you
pick?” He unzipped her jeans and buried his hands in them.
    “Ooh, this.” She thrust her head back.
    “There you go. We’ll sort the rest out later.”
    In another moment, her panties and jeans were in a heap on the floor and her legs were wrapped around his hips tighter than Warhol’s labels on a can of soup.
    He carried her back into the darkened gallery and pressed her against the nearest wall.
    “I’ve wanted this since the first day we met,” he said, “well, since the first time we argued. Same day, come to think of it.”
    “That shot should have been in landscape, I’m telling you.”
    He gave her a long, deep kiss and squeezed her hips. The neon beside them blinked rhythmically, rendering his profile in
Alice in Wonderland
colors.
    He dug something out of his back pocket and handed it to her. It was his wallet.
    “You’re paying for this?” she asked.
    “Condom,” he said, and unzipped his fly.
    He carried her to the adjoining wall, kicking off his running shoes, briefs and jeans as he went, and kissed her with a fire that made thinking seem like an Olympic feat. Her hands were out of sight, crossed behind his neck, and she tore blindly through credit cards, business cards, receipts, pills and cash, which rained down on the gallery floor, coming up at last with the familiar foil-wrapped square.
    “Got it,” she said, and he looked.
    “No, no, no. That’s the good one.”
    She giggled, and he let her slide to the floor. Muscular and tan, his forearms stood out against his pale, lightly haired thighs, and her breath caught as he suited up, handling the long, thick length as skillfully as he did his camera lens, with much the same heart-pounding effect on her.
    “Where is best?” he asked.
    Her face must have betrayed her shock, and he laughed and said, “I meant here, in the museum,” then added in a low voice, “though if you stand with your mouth like that for much longer, I’ll have no choice.”
    His fingers were already exploring the soft triangle ofhair below her belly. She knew