Wicked Burn

“So we’ll take a shower in a little bit,” Vic stated with more ease than he actually felt. His jaw clenched when she still didn’t move. This dawn encounter with Niall struck him as heavy . . . even threatening, although why that should be, he couldn’t say. The eerie mist of dreams must be clinging to him as well.

“I’m leaving for Manhattan later today,” he heard her whisper.

“You told me you’re not taking off until four o’clock. There’s plenty of time. Niall?”

“Yes.”

“Come here,” he said softly.

It was only after she’d slid back into bed and was fast asleep in his arms that he finally exhaled the burning air in his lungs.

NINE

Three nights later Niall followed the hostess at The Art, still breathless from her sprint from the museum. She’d landed late at O’Hare and gone straight to her office at the museum without dropping off her suitcase, so that she could make an important conference call. The call had gone frustratingly long. She hated to be late for the dinner that she’d planned with Vic, knowing how little time he had, given his frantic schedule during these last few days before opening night. She knew he could get away for only a limited time tonight for dinner, so she regretted not being able to spend every second of it with him.

She’d missed seeing him these last few days—more than she cared to dwell upon. She’d been busy in meetings with a curator at the Metropolitan Museum, but she’d always been all too glad to receive Vic’s phone calls in the evenings. The fact that he’d hardly said anything during those phone calls only endeared him more to her. She felt more connected to Vic in the silence than she did with most people after an extended heart-to-heart chat.

In fact, something about the fragile connection of those phone calls between Chicago and New York seemed to signal a shift in her relationship with Vic. Or maybe the change had begun last Sunday morning, when she’d awakened from her typical nightmare and allowed Vic to soothe her instead of withdrawing into her typical solitude.

She doubted the wisdom of deepening the relationship with Vic. If what was between them became more serious, she’d have to tell him about Stephen. She’d have to tell him about Michael. She’d experienced a powerful urge to do just that the other day on the stairs of her new condominium. Vic had guessed that there was some story behind the “emergency” that her parents had come to retrieve her for last week. He wasn’t stupid.

But Niall was so used to vigilantly keeping her life private. It was a difficult habit to break.

And there was always the chance that he would judge her—judge her as her parents had, judge her as Stephen had . . .

It should have been you, Niall.

No. She didn’t want to dwell on that now. Right now she wanted to think about Vic, about how wonderful it would be to see him again. Had it really only been three days since she’d lain in his arms as the light of dawn broke around the shades in his bedroom?

Something in her chest seemed to lurch when the hostess led her to the private booth where Vic sat. He stood. As usual he showed not the least bit of self-consciousness about eating her up with his eyes. Every time she saw him after a brief absence she was struck anew by his rugged, elemental male beauty. He looked movie-star handsome in a pair of khakis that fit his lean hips to perfection, a casual green and ivory button-down shirt with a white T-shirt beneath it. She recognized his well-worn brown bomber jacket hanging on the coat hook attached to the deep booth.

Her eyes swept the length of him hungrily and lingered for a moment on his brown leather belt. She must have made some kind of face, because when she met Vic’s stare, the humor and heat in his gaze made the apologies for being late for their dinner date melt on her tongue.

Her silly smile faded almost as quickly when Vic leaned down and covered it with his mouth. His kiss resulted in even worse breathlessness than her sprint had caused, not to mention a slow, hot burn in her pussy that Niall had never experienced in such a public place before. His tongue swept her depths thoroughly, just as it did that first time he’d kissed her. After he’d seemingly been temporarily sated by her taste, he tilted his head, held her chin steady with his fingers, and slowed to a tender, hot slide.

That kiss kept Niall right at the boiling point, much as the previous one had turned her up to full power as easily as if he’d flipped on a switch.

“You’re the only woman I know who could look like springtime wearing black,” Vic murmured several knee-weakening seconds later. A shiver went down her spine at the sensation of his warm breath next to her ear.

She smiled and turned her head, nuzzling his cheek with her nose. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. It felt indescribably good to be in his arms again . . . to inhale his singular scent.

“I see that you got a new belt.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he murmured through a grin before he bent his head and tasted her lips again.

The hostess cleared her throat. “I’ll just set these menus down here.”

Niall started in embarrassment, realizing that the woman had been witness to her and Vic’s entire exchange. How easily he made her forget herself. But Vic would have none of her embarrassment. He tilted her chin up to meet his mouth for another hot, possessive kiss. Only after he’d had a sufficient taste of her and the unacknowledged hostess was long gone did he finally release her from his arms.

They were back around her soon enough once he slid into the booth after her. She saw that he’d already ordered her a glass of wine.