Just For Kicks. Susan Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ jumble of emotions to Treena to sort out as she normally would. This was simply too personal, too…raw.

      And that only made her feel worse, because she had no safety valve for this god-awful head of steam that Wolf had stoked in her.

      Stoked to the boiling point, damn him, before strolling away and leaving her with no means of blowing it off.

      “You bastard,” she whispered. It had knocked her for a loop when she’d opened the door and seen him standing there, looking completely different from the usual spit-shined, buttoned-down, pain-in-the-ass automaton she was accustomed to seeing. Gone had been the uptight, poker-faced Surveillance honcho, and in his place had stood an angry man who’d looked sort of savage and wild.

      Which, of course, had called to her. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she did need therapy.

      She rejected the idea out of hand. Because, please. The guy she more or less knew for his quality clothing—the same man who always looked so pulled together, right down to his coordinating ties, who she imagined must prop himself upright in a closet to sleep so as not to wrinkle his fine threads—had pulled a vanishing act.

      In his place had stood a man not only sans the tie he seemed to consider de rigueur, but in a shirt he hadn’t even bothered to fasten. And the glimpse of his smooth, hard chest and rigid stomach muscles through the narrow opening, the sight of those long, muscular thighs, hair-dusted calves and big, narrow, naked feet, had frozen her in place for several heart-stopping seconds.

      Even then, she’d been cool. And she would have continued to be cool, too…if only she hadn’t tripped. If only he hadn’t kissed her.

      Dammit, he should have kept his lips to himself. Or at least had the decency to be a lousy kisser.

      But he had done neither of those things. Oh, he was still a jerk, still the worst kind of control freak. Who the hell schedules their sexual encounters, for heaven’s sake? But Wolfgang Jones could kiss like nobody’s business, and no longer did she have the comfort of assuring herself he was a clueless, cold and passionless Mr. Robotics kind of guy.

      She truly wished she did, because right this minute she’d rather eat grubs than admit anything good about him. And yet…

      While the man definitely had some strange hang-ups, a lack of passion wasn’t one of them. There had been nothing cold about his mouth on hers. Nothing remotely chilly about the body she’d been pressed against. Damn, he’d pumped out heat like a coal-burning furnace. And Lord have mercy, those hands!

      His fingers had been long and firm and oh-so-hot on her butt, and they sure as hell hadn’t been the least bit hesitant about rocking her against his erection—which had been even longer, firmer…hotter. It had been so long since she’d experienced any of that sweet man-woman friction, and it had felt so good. Just a couple of lousy minutes longer and she’d have been ready to screw his brains out right there against the partition wall.

      An unamused laugh escaped her. Who was she kidding? She’d been so past primed. That was one of the reasons the manner in which he’d pulled the plug on her, the callous way he’d left her twitching with frustration, rankled so much.

      Her first impression was obviously correct. Anyone who’d work a woman into a frenzy, then leave her flat because it wasn’t in his frigging schedule, was cold—his hot hands and hotter kisses be damned.

      Catching herself standing with gritted teeth and clenched fists in the middle of the floor, Carly sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. Great. She was furious all over again.

      Screw it, she had things to do today. Maybe nothing earth-shattering, but a hell of a lot more important than moaning over not satisfying her treacherous libido’s needs. She really did need to get her mind away from Jones’s infuriating callousness and onto something else. The question was: what? Looking around, she saw a piece of paper lying on the floor next to the chintz ottoman, and she walked over and snatched it up, grateful for the distraction.

      When she realized it was the incident report Wolfgang had wanted her to sign last night, however, her blood pressure skyrocketed all over again. Crumpling it up, she tossed it back on the floor and ground it beneath her bare heel. That wasn’t nearly destructive enough to satisfy her urge to annihilate, so she snatched it up again and smoothed it out. Then she proceeded to rip it into the tiniest shreds she could manage. Clutching the handful of confetti in one fist, she rummaged through her little secretaire with the other until she found an envelope. She poured her opinion of Wolfgang’s report into it and sealed it up.

      Tripod stropped himself against her ankles, and she bent down to pick him up, cuddling the gray-and-white cat against her breasts. He purred and butted his head against her chin.

      “You’re right,” she said decisively, scratching the feline between his ears. “Standing around steaming is counterproductive. If I let this turn me inside out, Jones wins—and that is not going to happen.” She gently set Tripod down upon the hassock. “So, let’s go to the hospital and brighten someone’s day. I’ll change into something a little more conservative, do something with my hair, and then we’ll all take off. Well, except for you, Dogface.” She paused on her way to the bedroom to rub Rufus’s head. “You’re doing worlds better, but I’m afraid you’re still not quite there yet. Soon, though, little buddy.

      “Soon.”

      SHE FELT MUCH BETTER by the time she let herself back into the apartment a couple of hours later. She unhooked Buster’s leash and opened the door on the travel container so Tripod and Rags, who always needed a little time to decompress after one of their trips, could let themselves out when they were ready. Rufus was sulking over by the sliding doors and wouldn’t look at her, but she consoled herself with the fact that at least he hadn’t torn the place apart.

      Viewing that as definite progress, she refused to let his displeasure make her feel guilty. She’d been taking her babies to local hospitals as part of the pet-therapy volunteer program for a little over four years now, and Rufus wasn’t ready to be turned loose upon an unsuspecting hospital. The idea wasn’t to have animals running wild, but rather to utilize pets as a means to cheer up patients awaiting surgery or—the ones she had a special affinity for—long-term care patients like the kids on the oncology ward. So until she could be certain Rufus would behave himself on a consistent basis, he’d just have to stay home.

      But she was accustomed to having him think she was the greatest thing since the rawhide chew bone, and getting the continued cold shoulder from him was starting to punch little holes in her resolve. In order to keep herself from rewarding his bad attitude, which would no doubt set his burgeoning training back several giant steps, she strode into her bedroom and changed into her electric-blue bikini. She was a responsible pet owner no matter what He Who Would Not Be Named liked to say. So Rufus could just sulk.

      But there was no reason she had to stick around to be tortured by it. She’d go take a swim.

      A teenager she’d never seen before was rocketing from one end of the pool to the other when she let herself in through the gate several moments later. His form left a lot to be desired, and he was churning up a considerable amount of water, so she decided to give him time to wear himself out before sharing the pool with him. As she snapped her towel over a chaise lounge beneath the shade of the palm trees and made herself comfortable on the cheery blue-and-white delft-patterned terry cloth, she observed his dogged laps. It wasn’t difficult to tell that something was definitely driving him. And she had to admit that all that anger or determination or whatever it was that propelled him was pretty darn compelling. Wryly deciding it almost made up for his lack of style, she applied СКАЧАТЬ