Free A Woman To Blame by Susan Connell Page B

behind Rita's car.
    "Me? I wasn't the one who—" He broke off in midsentence when she stepped around him and headed back up the stairs. The best thing, he decided, was to allow her to cool off a little before having it out with her. He intended to wait a good five minutes, but instead found himself at the top of the steps staring at her before sixty seconds had elapsed.
    Gliding her fingertips over a delicately carved chair, she appeared to be inspecting the new furniture for flaws. The closer he got to her, the more intense her examination became, as if she were on the verge of discovering a microscopic ding in the wood. He began wondering if the meticulous attention she was giving to the chair was a way to ignore him. Or tick him off. In an undisguised act of frustration, he dropped her sandals to the floor.
    "I thought you'd have had the decency to leave by now," she said, bending closer to the top of the chair.
    While he could cut off other people with a look or a gesture, these things only fueled Bryn's fire. He slammed his hand over the headrest. "Just what the hell was that all about?" he asked, moving closer.
    Straightening slowly, she held her own with admirable control. "You tell me," she said in a dangerously quiet voice before cutting her eyes in his direction. "Your fan club was perfectly happy to be here until you arrived." Stepping sideways to the next chair, she began another meticulous inspection.
    "I'm not talking about the committee. I'm talking about you," he said, reaching to cover one of her hands with his to keep her from moving away. His voice suddenly gentled. "And me." With her lips parting to take in more air and her breasts straining against her blouse, he noted with guilty pleasure the difficult time she was having holding herself together. Slipping her hand from under his, she reached toward the table to place an empty salsa bowl and one of the pies on a tray. Beneath her lowered lids and those incredible sable fans that passed for her lashes, her gaze moved away from him.
    "What about us?" she asked in a whisper. With a deliciously slow sweep of her lashes, she cautiously looked up his arm to his mouth and then his eyes.
    His heart pounded with pleasure and pain; the inevitable moment was upon him. He had to get into it and out of it without her touching any part of his soul. He smiled, knowing he could manage it. After all, he'd been sleeping with Sharon Burke for two years and that hadn't altered anything of importance in the secret recesses of his heart. He was simply going to kiss her. "I have this theory."
    "I'm willing to listen."
    Running the backs of his fingers under her chin, he lifted it as he lowered his head. From the corner of his eye he could see her curl her fingers into the key lime pie, then lift a delicious-looking gob out of the plate.
    Shifting his weight, he leaned closer and suggested the wrong thing.
    "You wouldn't."
    As her hand arced through the air, he caught her wrist hard, sending a splatter of pie filling onto the sleeve of his blazer. Ignoring the mess, he brought her hand to his mouth and began licking her fingers. After trying to pull her hand away once, she gave up, her gaze riveted on his lips and tongue.
    "We're going to have to deal with this underlying tension," he said, moving on to her palm.
    Her eyelids lifted suddenly. "What are you suggesting?"
    Their gazes locked as he took one of her fingers into his mouth and gave it a warm tongue bath before he answered her. "Getting a few of the kinks worked out of our systems."
    "How do you intend to—" she began mumbling.
    Letting go of her, he stepped back to strip off his blazer. "I think it would be better if I showed you," he said, slipping his hands around to the back of her neck and his fingers up into her hair. "Open your mouth. It'll be easier that way."
    "I don't know—"
    "I do."
    "But—"
    "Captain's orders."
    Her lips parted at his whispered command.
    He started the kiss with a deft stroke of his