Free Falling for the Groomsman by Diane Alberts Page A

door. Once she had her hand on the knob, she turned it. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
    “Christine…”
    “No.” She opened the door. “This isn’t happening again.”
    He followed her. “Don’t—”
    She slammed the door in his face and took off running, not letting herself look back or stumble. Jeez, she’d just been thoroughly pleased, and he hadn’t removed anything except her pantyhose. The fact that he was able to make her feel more incredible than any other man ever had when given a compass and a map was just ludicrous.
    Even now, after having just left his side, she wanted to go back and crawl all over him. Sheer lunacy. What would it take to break his hold over her? Would she ever get over this incessant infatuation with Tyler Dresco?
    Or would he forever haunt her?

Chapter Eight
    The next morning, Tyler groaned and closed his eyes tight. Christine knelt at his feet, her glorious red hair brushing against his bare thighs. She rolled her tongue over his cock, moaning low in her throat. Fucking magical. “Don’t stop,” he moaned. “Harder.”
    She pulled back, and he squeezed his eyes tighter. No, she couldn’t leave him again. Not now. Not when he needed her so damn much. If she ever tried to pull a stunt like that again…fuck, he’d go insane.
    Maybe he already had.
    He squeezed his eyes shut even more, turning off his thoughts. In his imagination, Christine’s hands worked over his cock, closing over the head and squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure. Pretending his hand was hers, he tugged on his shaft even harder, his breath escaping his lips in a whoosh .
    In his mind, she closed her delicious lips over him, looking up at him with those blue eyes of hers, taking him in so deep he couldn’t breathe. Looking up at him as if he was the best thing on this fucking earth since peanut butter met jelly. He grunted and arched his hips higher, pumping into his hand. His balls drew closer to his body, tightening painfully, and he knew he was close.
    He moved his hand faster, picturing Christine bent between his knees with her bare ass in the air. God, she was fucking gorgeous like that. In his mind, he cupped her perfect little ass and smacked it gently. She cried out, pressing closer and begging for more. Begging for him and only him.
    With a tortured groan, he came with an explosive pleasure even he couldn’t believe had come from a fantasy. All from a dream that wasn’t real. He collapsed against the pillow, holding his other arm over his eyes to hide from the sunlight for another minute or two at the very least.
    He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning with a raging hard-on. After waking up with his erection even more painfully obvious than when he’d fallen asleep, he’d finally decided he needed to take care of it himself. But he had a feeling even that hadn’t helped. If anything, it had made the discomfort worse.
    He needed Christine , damn it.
    He yawned, checked the time, and then cleaned himself off from his solo session. Damn it, he still felt like he hadn’t even closed his eyes at all. Of course, it wasn’t every night he got left high and dry by a certain investigative journalist who would probably ask him how he felt when she’d left, taking notes in her little notebook as she nodded her head.
    And he’d tell her.
    He felt fucking lousy.
    A part of him had to wonder if this had all been planned on her part. If she’d deliberately set out to seduce him, get him all hot and horny, and then walk away. But he couldn’t believe she could be so cruel and calculated. Not his Christine. He didn’t think she could fake the panic he’d seen in her eyes as she clung to the doorknob.
    She’d looked as if she was about to cry, scream, or both.
    He kicked off the covers and then padded barefoot into the bathroom to turn the shower on. He was still hard as a rock. His body wasn’t satisfied with the half-assed replacement of his hand—and neither was he. But he