The Boss, The Beauty And The Bargain
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“That we’re supposed to be an engaged couple. Engaged couples kiss.”
Engaged couples do lots of things, Livvy thought longingly, as a sudden image of Conal’s broad, bare shoulders filled her mind.
Livvy fought against the desire that was eating at her composure and tried to think. It was hopeless. The only thing she could think about was what it felt like to be pressed up against him. Even better than she’d thought it would.
She peered up into his eyes. There were tiny sparks glowing deep in them. Like minuscule explosions of passion were being set off just below the surface. But was it really passion? And if it was, was his passion directed at her personally or was it simply the result of him holding a woman, and any woman would have produced the same results?
The question lost some of its urgency as she watched his head come closer. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at his firm lips. They looked so enticing. So alluring. She wanted to taste them and explore the exact shape and texture of them.
Her eyelids were becoming heavy, weighted down by her growing need. It was all she could do not to grab his head and yank him down to her. Finally when she was ready to scream with frustration, his lips brushed hers and a shower of reaction drenched her. Goose bumps popped up on her arms, and shivers chased after them. To her massive disappointment Conal made no effort to deepen their kiss. Instead, he raised his head, staring down at her, his expression unreadable.
What was he thinking? Unease began to nudge aside the pleasure Livvy felt. Had he found their kiss a disappointment? Chagrin drove the last lingering shreds of desire from her mind. The thought that Conal might find her deficient in the area of lovemaking made her feel confused and uncertain. Her relationship with him to date might not have developed along the lines she’d wanted, but at least it had been fairly clear and uncomplicated. It hadn’t reduced her to this present dithering mass of uncertainty.
Livvy watched as Conal took her hand and gently pushed the ring over her finger. It was a perfect fit. An omen? All it signified was that the girlfriend that Conal had bought it for had the same size hands she did. She mentally chided herself. The idea that she was nothing more than one of an interchangeable line of women moving through his life infuriated her.
“Thanks,” she snapped, and turned to her suitcase, which was sitting open on the sofa.
Conal frowned slightly at her clipped tone, wondering if it was the ring she objected to or if the problem was with the man who had placed it on her finger. Or could it simply be that she was nervous about the coming weekend? He didn’t know. There was so much he didn’t know, he thought uneasily. Starting with how to act around her family. His experience with families was limited to visits to his married friends and what he’d seen on television. He wasn’t so naive as to believe that sitcom characters represented reality. At least he sure hoped not.
Concentrate on what you can do and don’t worry about what you can’t, Conal reminded himself of the motto he’d shaped his life around. He had finally managed to breach Livvy’s seemingly impenetrable professional shield. Or rather, her mother had breached it for him. But whatever the reason, he now had the opportunity to get to know Livvy on a personal basis.
Conal swallowed as his body clenched beneath the onslaught of images he had of just how personally he would like to get to know her. He wanted so much to take her in his arms again. To nuzzle the velvety skin of her cheek. To run his lips down over the soft flesh of her neck. To explore the precise texture of her breasts. To... He took a deep, steadying breath. For so long he’d felt starved for the taste and feel of her, but strangely enough, the brief kisses they’d shared had only made his hunger worse. Before, he’d only had his imaginings; now, he knew exactly what it felt like to have her in his arms and he wanted more. Lots more.
Conal totally lost his train of thought as Livvy bent over to close her suitcase and the well-worn jeans tightened over her hips. His eyes narrowed as he savored the sight. She had the most fantastic shape, slim and yet femininely rounded. The only way she could look any better would be if she were naked. He gulped as he felt sweat pop out on his forehead.
You’re in a bad way, Sutherland, he told himself. You need a woman. No, he corrected himself. He didn’t need a woman; he needed Livvy Farrell and he needed her very badly. He was getting damn sick and tired of spending hours every evening trying to work off his frustrations in the gym.
The snick of Livvy’s suitcase locking echoed loudly in the still apartment, cutting through his thoughts.
“Is that all you’re taking?” He gestured toward the case.
“That and five dozen bagels.”
Conal blinked. “Five dozen bagels?” he repeated. “What are you going to do with five dozen bagels?”
Livvy grinned at him. “At the risk of appearing obvious, I’m going to eat them. Or rather, my mother is going to serve them at the buffet dinner this evening. Mom swears that only a real New Yorker can make a proper bagel.”
“She’s right. You get the bagels, and I’ll bring the suitcase.”
Livvy grabbed the bagel sack off her kitchen counter, checked once more to make sure that everything was turned off and hurried after Conal who was carrying her heavy suitcase as if it weighted no more than a few pounds.
She stole a furtive glance at his upper arm. Just how strong was he? she wondered. He’d played professional football until two years ago when he’d retired and opened the ad agency. Football players were supposed to be very strong.
Maybe she would have a chance to explore the exact state of his musculature over the weekend. A shiver of anticipation danced over her skin. The possibilities seemed endless.
To Livvy’s surprise, Conal was a competent driver who showed an amazing patience for the idiosyncrasies of the other drivers on the road. Apparently he had escaped the macho speed syndrome that had infected so many of the men she’d dated over the years.
“Now where?” Conal asked her, once they had left the expressway in Scranton.
“Turn right at the light and go straight for a while.”
“Interesting place.” Conal glanced curiously at the old houses that lined the hilly streets. “Did you grow up here?”
“Uh-huh. My family has been in the Scranton area for a hundred and fifty years. Before that, they starved in Ireland.
“Turn right at the next light,” she said absently, as she tried to decide what she should tell him about her family. Should she warn him about potential conversation pitfalls like mentioning the health hazards of smoking to her great-uncle Harry, or politics to her aunt Rose, or tax audits to her grandfather, or the state of the public school system to her cousin Henry? It seemed kind of unfair to let Conal meet her family with the assumption that they were all rational adults who would respond to seemingly innocuous conversational gambits politely.