Indecent Suggestion - By Elizabeth Bevarly Page 0,39

the reasons didn’t matter, he told himself. Maybe all that mattered was that they both wanted the same thing for a change. Why was he trying to fight it? This was what he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. And he knew Becca well enough to be certain that she only got sexual with a guy when she cared about him. Emotionally. So if she was coming on to Turner, it was because she had come to care for him in a way that went deeper than the way she’d cared for him before. And when all was said and done, what difference did it make what the reason for that was?

Becca wanted Turner. Turner wanted Becca. He didn’t need to know any more than that.

He glanced up from his musings to see that he had driven halfway to Becca’s apartment without even paying attention to where he was going. His subconscious, at least, knew what was what. Still, he was dressed in his work clothes, and he hadn’t had lunch. Becca probably hadn’t, either. So he decided that instead of going straight to her place, he’d go home first and change clothes. Maybe even pack a few things for the night. Then he’d stop by their favorite deli and grab some stuff to go. Becca had been awfully adamant earlier in voicing her needs. Turner’s needs were no less demanding. What he had in mind for the rest of the day—and night—was going to require a lot of stamina. And that meant refueling. Once he entered Becca’s apartment, he didn’t want to leave again for a long, long time. So maybe a few provisions were in order before he arrived.

He smiled as he made an illegal U-turn to take him back to his place so he could change into something more comfortable. Something that would take less time for Becca to remove. Too bad Bluestocking didn’t make underwear for men, since it might have been kind of fun to see where that led. Ah, well. Becca had taken all those samples home with her, so he’d still be able to enjoy their newest client’s products. As long as it took for Becca to strip them off, anyway.

Oh, yeah, he thought as he pulled into his parking space outside his apartment building. He had big plans for Becca’s underthings once he got to Becca’s house.

And he had even bigger plans for Becca.

7

BECCA AWOKE FEELING disoriented and confused, and wondering what the racket was that had caused her to wake up. Her bedroom wasn’t fully dark the way it would be at night, but the blinds were drawn, and what little light did get through indicated it was late in the afternoon and not a sunny day. What was she doing sleeping in the afternoon? she wondered groggily as she pushed a long strand of hair out of her eyes. The last thing she remembered was—

Oh, God.

Her hand stilled in the process of nudging her hair over her shoulder, and she closed her eyes again—though not because she was sleepy this time. The pitch to the Bluestocking people. She remembered that she and Turner had given it that morning, and that it had gone extremely well. And then…

Oh, God.

And then Becca remembered being suddenly and inexplicably turned on. So turned on that she hadn’t been able to stand it. And she hadn’t wanted just anyone. She’d wanted Turner. The same way she had wanted him Wednesday night when they’d stayed late to work on the pitch: thoroughly. Completely. Obsessively. Immediately.

Oh, God…

What the hell was going on? she asked herself as the racket started up again, and she recognized it as someone pounding on her front door. Turner, she knew. Because she also remembered how he had dragged her out into the hallway, and how shamelessly she’d thrown herself at him, and how ruthlessly she’d pawed him and how adamantly she’d shoved her tongue into his mouth. And she remembered, too, how she had made him promise to come to her house after he’d finished the meeting, and how she’d compelled him to touch her so intimately before she would leave.

Oh, God…

Why had she done such a thing? How could she have behaved in such a way? Especially after just telling Turner something like that would never happen again? How could she have been so completely overcome by one emotion, to the utter exclusion of all others? And not just any emotion, either, but pure, unadulterated lust. For a man