She fisted his shirt and yanked it from his pants, then worked on the buttons. “I might need some help in the shower.”
4
Miranda smiled at the shock in Jack’s expression. He definitely didn’t do this much. It might be one reason she’d decided to go home with him. And she could use some different in her life. Her past choices in men sure hadn’t worked out.
His profession was intriguing. It made her want to talk about her real, seven-to-four job in construction. But she liked the vibe she was getting from him now, and, in her experience, men got a little squirrely when she mentioned she worked on a construction crew. Somehow, she was immediately perceived as less feminine. And most men automatically bristled at her proximity to dozens of other men every day, as if they were all some sort of competition.
Besides, she doubted an architect would find her work very interesting. He was the designer. She was just the help who made his design a reality. She’d met enough architects and developers to know how they saw her—as uneducated white trash who’d gotten into welding as a vocation because she wasn’t smart enough to do anything more intellectually taxing.
But right now, she was just a woman and he was just a man. And she liked this even playing field. No assumptions, no judgment, just two people acting on their physical attraction.
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and her heart rate jumped. His chest was wide, his shoulders and arms muscular, stomach ribbed with muscle. Crisp hair feathered his pecs, trailed toward his belly.
Hunger rolled in her throat. She let her hands travel over his skin, tracing the contours. “Where does an architect get a body like this?”
“Uh… Gym.”
His serious answer to her rhetorical question made her laugh. His mind was clearly on standby. His gaze raked over her, half starved, half shocked, as if he couldn’t decide whether to revere or ravage.
“How long have you lived in New York?” She dropped her hands down to his belt. She could already imagine the way his hard body would play against hers. The thought was intoxicating. As was the way he looked at her body as he slid his hands down her arms.
“About seven years.”
“After college, then?”
He caressed her chest with the back of his hand, his knuckles floating across one breast. Her nipple hardened instantly, and a shiver coursed across her skin.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his hands now exploring her belly.
“Where did you go to school?”
“Cornell.”
She sputtered another laugh with a shake of her head. Only she would pick out the most unattainable guy in that bar to seduce. Her aversion to relationships really was hardwired into her shitty DNA.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing, it’s just, white-collar boy, blue-collar girl? Some would say you’re slumming tonight.”
His hands tightened around her biceps, and his gaze focused like a laser. He was instantly one hundred percent sober and present. “I don’t think that way.”
Right. She knew he thought that way even if he didn’t realize it. Or even wanted to. No doubt the women he dated in New York worked in corporations, not bars. They wore Prada, not Wranglers. Knew how to waltz, not two-step.
But none of that mattered. Not tonight. He was hers for the next few hours.
She stroked his erection through his pants. Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head, joined by a throaty sound of pleasure. When he opened his eyes again, they swam with the kind of heat Miranda had been missing lately.
“You’re as different for me as I am for you,” she told him. “Maybe that’s why we’re together tonight. Novelty.” She pulled his wallet from his back pocket, found a condom, and tossed the worn leather on the dresser. “Tonight, all I’m interested in is getting a little Ivy League education of my very own.”
She slid the foil packet into the edge of her bra, then unzipped his pants and watched his face as she moved her hand between layers of smooth slacks and soft cotton. The heat of his cock burned through his briefs, and her expectations were fulfilled. He was as long and thick as she’d hoped.
His lids dipped, eyes darkened, nostrils flared. His fingers wrapped her biceps with a steady squeeze, and
his jaw muscle jumped. The sight of his raw passion coiled tension between her legs. Her mouth watered. She kneaded his shaft while kissing his lips, his jaw, his neck. Jack pushed out of those shiny dress shoes, and Miranda shoved his pants past his hips.
Once he was down to his boxer briefs, she tucked the condom square between her teeth and held his gaze as she unhooked her bra. Let it fall down her arms. The fire returned to his eyes. Miranda turned away, let her panties drop to her feet, and stepped into the shower. Then offered her hand.
He was naked in a split second. Miranda took one long sweep of a man who’d—so far—proved to be so much more than she’d expected and smiled. She would not go home disappointed.