By the Book Read online

  And, after usually being the instigator of sex and the aggressor, Luke wasn’t a man to say no when told to lie back and enjoy the ride.

  He chuckled, unable to help himself. Her head bobbed up and down with his chest as laughter shook him. “What?”

  “I was just thinking what an excellent teacher you are.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  He rolled her onto her back so that he ended up on top of her. “You in my bed is a gift,” he said. Enough already with him being the passive one. She could play teacher anytime she wanted, but right now, he felt like showing her a few moves of his own.

  Her eyes widened when he made it evident to her that his cock was all perked up and ready to party. “Again?”

  “You got a problem with that?” he said, grinning down at her, enjoying the sight of her curls tossed all over the pillow.

  A smug female smirk met his gaze. “Oo-ooh, no,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

  He had a new condom on in record time. Luke slipped inside her at the same time he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Wet sweetness seemed to engulf him everywhere. He wanted to keep on kissing her and he wanted to watch her face as he took her over the edge. He solved his dilemma by kissing her for a while and then pulling back to watch her for a while. Now that the frantic edge of lust had abated, he could take his time and enjoy a slower ride. He watched her eyes darken and her cheeks flush, then her hair danced on his pillow as she began to toss her head. Her breathing turned to panting and was then lost in high-pitched cries.

  He grabbed her hips and raised them, and she wrapped her legs tight around his waist. He wanted to wait, wanted to watch her through every stage of climax before seeking his own pleasure, but he was balanced on the knife edge of his own keen desire.

  She was so close he felt her tightening around his cock, squeezing him with her inner muscles until sweat popped out on his forehead at the effort of holding himself in check. He thought one of them might burst if the pressure didn’t let off soon. And then her hand snuck under him before he realized what she was doing, and she was holding his balls, squeezing them gently.

  It must be instinct that had her squeezing to the same rhythm as her clenching inner muscles, but it was too much. He couldn’t hold back. With a great moaning roar, he thrust deep and fast, tossing her over the edge and diving in right alongside her.

  SHARI AWOKE, groggy but content, her body curved against Luke’s.

  “Morning,” a sleepy male voice murmured, so close his breath stirred her hair, tickled the back of her neck.

  “Morning,” she replied, feeling not quite ready to face him. She was naked and wore no makeup. She hadn’t intended to stay the night, but somewhere along the line she’d fallen asleep.

  Waking together implied an intimacy she wasn’t ready for in this very odd relationship.

  “Coffee?” he asked on a yawn.

  She raised her head and squinted at the clock, more to buy herself a bit of time than because she cared what time it was. It was Saturday. She could stay in bed all day if she wanted to. The rush of warmth that suffused her at the thought had her blinking. It was just after nine. Late for her, but then she didn’t often make love far into the night.

  It was rarer still for her to sleep over at a man’s place. In fact, she hadn’t done it since Gary and that had been more than six months ago.

  Realizing she still hadn’t answered Luke’s question, she decided pleading a fictitious morning appointment when she was too fuzzy-headed to think of anything half believable would only feel childish. “Thanks. I’d love some.”

  Unlike her, Luke seemed totally unfazed about slipping out of bed naked. She was awfully glad he did as it allowed her to peek and confirm that every part of his physique looked as strong and lean and wonderful as it felt.

  He scratched his chest, yawned and dug into the old oak dresser for sweats that he slipped on without any underwear. Yum.

  He disappeared into the bathroom and came out a couple of minutes later with a faded navy terry-cloth robe. “Here,” he said, laying it across her knees. “Borrow that if you like.”

  “Thanks.” She waited until he’d left the room to slip the robe on and to take her turn in the bathroom. Her hair was a wreck, her face a little pale from lack of sleep, and her eyes and lips a bit swollen. Passion-drunk. The term went through her head and seemed to fit the image of the smugly disheveled woman in the mirror. Except this one looked passion-hungover.

  She ran her tongue across her teeth and grimaced. She’d gone to sleep without brushing her teeth, something she never, ever did.

  She considered her predicament. Her own toothbrush, plus spares, were in her apartment upstairs, but coffee was down here. Luke was certainly neat—neater than she was, anyway. Perhaps he had extras. Sure enough, when she clicked open the medicine cabinet, there were two unopened brushes. Delighted with her find, she brushed her teeth and with a shrug, used Luke’s hairbrush.

  Back in bed, she was propped on pillows, still wearing the bathrobe when he came in with the coffee and newspaper.

  “Milk, no sugar, right?”

  She nodded, inordinately pleased that he’d remembered from last night how she liked her coffee.

  As he crawled in beside her, his own coffee in hand, splitting the newspaper and giving her half—as though they’d spent hundreds of nights together instead of just the one—she asked the question that had plagued her since she’d woken.

  “Where are we in the book?”

  A page rustled. “Ahead of schedule, but following along nicely.”

  She stared at his profile. They couldn’t possibly be. “But…are you saying? I mean…last week?”

  He grinned at her. “Chapter five. ‘To the Brink and Back.’ Get her so hot she’ll be coming back for more.”

  “But that’s crazy.” She’d like to meet the author of that book. She’d give him, or her, or them such a piece of her mind. Women weren’t that predictable.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  So she was, but not because of some lame book. Was she? “You make it sound like a game.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “It is a game.” He ran a finger between the crossed lapels of his robe where the swell of her breasts was revealed. “Seduction, courtship, sex—it’s the greatest game of all.”

  “No. I don’t believe that. It’s not a game to me.”

  “Last night was chapter six.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Six for sex. How obvious.”

  “Obvious worked for me last night.”

  It had worked for her, too, but she wasn’t admitting that. She thought for a minute. If last night was only chapter six, then… “What’s in chapter seven?”

  Luke turned to gaze at her for a long moment, then, throwing back the covers, got out of bed, disappeared and returned a few minutes later with the garish red book she’d seen drop onto his floor.

  Crawling back into bed, he handed her the book.

  She flipped it open, wishing she hadn’t asked. She didn’t care. Besides, it was a bit embarrassing reading it in bed naked with the man who’d just become her lover.

  She flicked through pages, trying to ignore the diagrams, and found it at last. She choked with laughter. “I don’t believe this guy. Chapter seven. ‘Lap It Up. Your Guide to Oral Satisfaction.’”

  “Don’t mock it till you’ve tried it,” he told her, and licked his lips deliberately.

  “Oh, stop.” She shut the book with a thunk and put it on the night table, then picked up her half of the newspaper.

  Reading in bed with Luke was so snug and intimate that she felt like part of an old married couple—except for the very new, very potent sexual hum in the air.

  He’d given her the front news section and she peeked over his shoulder, expecting him to be buried in the sports pages, only to find him pulling out department store flyers.

  “What are your plans for the day?” she a
sked, only increasing her feeling of old married coupledom.

  “I have to go shopping for a wedding present for my dad.”

  “Your father’s getting married for a second time?”

  He snorted. “The fifth time. We’ve got bets on who ends up with the high score, him or Liz Taylor.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of weddings. Does he have some sort of…um, issue?”

  “He’s a determined optimist, I guess.”

  From the cynicism in Luke’s voice, he didn’t seem to share the trait.

  “What a coincidence. So am I.”

  “A determined optimist?”

  She chuckled. “Yes. I guess I am. But I meant I’m going wedding present shopping today, too. For B.J.’s wedding.”

  He glanced up from the JC Penney flyer. “Want to go together?”

  “Your father’s been married four times?” She still couldn’t get past this rather startling fact.

  “Yep.” You could pack a lot of emotion into one “yep” but Luke didn’t bother to do it. He sounded fine with his dad’s many marriages. Hmm.

  “Which union produced you?”

  He glanced at her with a glimmer of humor. “You might say I started the whole train rolling. I was the reason for the first marriage.”

  “You mean, your mother was…” She petered out, trying to find a sensitive way to ask.

  “Knocked up with me, yeah.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “You’d think he’d have learned a lesson about sloppy birth control, but—” Luke shook his head sharply and his annoyance was clear. Where he hadn’t seemed to mind about the four wives, the unplanned pregnancies had him narrowing his lips.

  “Some men aren’t cut out for marriage,” he said. “My dad should have steered clear of the altar.”

  “I’m sorry, Luke,” she said, wishing there was a way to help him overcome his cynicism about relationships that would be as quick and effective as the book that had launched him on the path to being an outstanding lover.

  “My mom always tells me I’m like my dad.” He tossed the papers aside and leaned back, and she heard both pride and defensiveness in his tone.

  “Are you?” she asked softly, sensing that what he believed might be nothing like the truth.

  He snorted. “I’m not going to marry a string of nice women, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t care what a woman tells me about any birth control she’s on, I always use a condom. Always.”

  “That’s sensible, anyway, in this day and age,” she said, feeling a creeping sadness for Luke.

  “How about your mother? Did she marry again?” she asked delicately.

  “You don’t know my mother. Being the betrayed first wife is pretty much a vocation with her.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. It’s too nice a day to go into my dysfunctional family. All four of them.”

  “Surely you only grew up in one family.”

  “Well, theoretically, but Dad liked the fantasy of one big happy family, so every summer we’d get together at a cabin he owns. All the kids together.

  “Mum had three kids, and two of the other wives had two each. Of course the last few are a lot younger.” He shrugged. “Most of us still turn up every summer.”

  “It must be something,” she said, trying to picture seven assorted half brothers and sisters getting together every year.

  “You can see it if you like,” he said, focusing fiercely on his coffee mug. “Dad’s getting married out there the week after your friend’s wedding. You’ll meet most of the sibs.”

  He was inviting her to his father’s wedding. Wow. That felt almost serious. She wasn’t sure, after one night with him, that she wanted to commit to being his girlfriend, with all that that implied. And yet, why not? Stalling for time, she said, “You must all get on with one another.”

  “Mostly. They’re a decent bunch, and it’s not the kids’ fault Dad can’t keep his pants zipped.”

  “Is the next Mrs. Lawson…” She fluttered her hand in front of her belly.

  “Pregnant? Oh, no. We all chipped in and bought Dad a vasectomy for his fiftieth birthday. We didn’t think another Lawson was going to do the world any favors.”

  “Your dad didn’t mind?”

  “Hell, no. I think he was relieved.” He toyed with her hair, skimming his fingers behind her ear. “So will you?”

  She drained the last of her coffee. “Go with you to your father’s wedding?”

  He sent her a crafty glance. “I’m going to the boyfriend stealer’s wedding. It’s a fair trade.”

  She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Excuse me, but did I or did I not see you through not only four chapters of this book of yours, but all the way to chapter six?”

  His eyes weren’t sleepy now, they were dancing with wicked humor. “You did. How about a side deal?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What might that be?”

  He had her on her back, his hand sliding beneath the lapel of his robe to find her breast so fast she didn’t have time for more than a startled squeak. Luckily her coffee mug was empty, for it fell from her shocked fingers and rolled to the floor.

  “Chapter seven.”

  When she tried to squirm out of his grip she merely increased the friction of his hand on her breast, which made her giggle and turned her on simultaneously. “Stop!” she cried. “Stop! You’re tickling me.”

  “I don’t think I’m tickling you. I think I’m exciting you.”

  She was so busy wriggling and giggling that she didn’t even notice he’d untied the belt and opened her robe until she felt his lips close over her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. “Lap it up,” he said, repeating the chapter title.

  Before she knew it, her laughter turned to panting and arousal spiraled through her belly.

  “No, no,” she panted. “No sex before breakfast.”

  He raised his head to grin at her. “Eat fast. Then I’m going to eat you.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Slowly.”

  A low moan rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down ruthlessly. She was sliding far too deep into Luke’s messy life. And frankly, he was sliding far too deep into her body. She needed some space to sort things out.

  His chapter seven threat hung in the air as they got out of bed and padded to the kitchen with their coffee mugs.

  “Let’s see what there is,” he said as he opened the fridge. “Aha, dessert…” He turned and winked at her. “We never did get ours last night.”

  “Dessert. For breakfast.” She shook her head at him in mock rebuke as she helped herself to a clean cup from the cupboard. “What is it?”

  “Blueberry pie.”

  “Seems a shame to waste it.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” She refilled their mugs, and he dished up two very generous slices of pie. He raised his brows at her and grinned wickedly. “Ice cream?”

  Refusing such a challenge would be cowardly. “Why not?” she replied, and bit her tongue on the automatic, but not too much for me.

  As she ate last night’s dessert, she decided that blueberry pie and ice cream was a pretty good breakfast once in a while. Besides, since she was, in fact, eating yesterday’s calories, it hardly counted.

  “Are your father and his, um, fiancée registered anywhere?”

  “You mean, like the kennel club?”

  “That’s very disrespectful,” she said, trying not to giggle. “No, I meant bridal registry for gifts.”

  “I don’t think he needs a fifth set of china and flatware.”

  “Well, no, but the bride might.”

  Having cleaned his plate, he licked his spoon clean. She couldn’t watch his tongue sweep the last vestiges of creamy ice cream off the silver spoon and not think of chapter seven. And she couldn’t think of chapter seven and not tremble deep inside.

  “I can see I’m going to have to explain my wedding present philosophy to you.”

  “This I have t
o hear.” She spooned up the last berry smothered in half-melted ice cream and found she was looking forward to Luke’s philosophy. The man never ceased to surprise her with his silliness. She was so routine-oriented and predictable, she wondered if a little silliness was, in fact, good for her.

  She suspected it was.

  “You can’t stop people getting married. But let’s face it, you know when you go to a wedding there’s at least a fifty percent chance it won’t last. In my dad’s case, a hundred percent. As a wedding guest, and a friend of at least one of the parties getting married, I feel it’s my duty to save them some grief down the road. I’m determined not to give them something that will end up fought over in the divorce. My presents have a short shelf life.”

  “Really, this is fascinating.” It was also a pretty cynical attitude, but given his family situation, she supposed it was understandable. “How short a life span?”

  “Now that’s the scientific part.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned forward, but there was seriousness there, as well. “I try to make an educated guess on how much time they’ve got. The extreme would be a bottle of champagne and two glasses, with the card telling them to smash the glasses after drinking—for good luck.”

  “So you’d only buy crystal if it was going to be smashed.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you’d never buy china.”

  “Nope, it’s got permanence written all over it. Same with flatware.”

  “How about linens?”

  “Depends. Towels are good. You need new towels every couple of years. Fancy tablecloths and things? Forget it. It’s like china.”

  “Well, my philosophy is to assume every couple whose wedding I attend will see their golden anniversary. I also need to look for an outfit for the wedding.”

  “No problem. I’ll carry your bags.”

  The idea of having her own personal shopping sherpa was undeniably appealing. “You don’t mind?”