Best Man...with Benefits

He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?

She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?

She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.

She didn’t slap him, though.

She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.

They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.

And then she put her mouth on his.

3 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

JACKSON EXPERIENCED THE slam of lust, sharp and fierce, as she kissed him. Not some dry-mouthed kiss your great aunt Mildred would give you, like the one they’d shared earlier, but a deep, wet, hungry soul kiss.

He pulled her against him, feeling her soft, warm skin, the silky slide of a nightgown that was definitely in the way.

When she moved her mouth like this, he wasn’t reminded of firing squads or poison ivy. He thought of hot skin sliding on hot skin, of what her nipples would taste like on his tongue, the sounds she would make when he brought her to climax.

He ran his hands lightly up over the silky gown to stroke her breasts through the fabric and felt her nipples respond, hardening beneath his palms.

Her body began to grow restless, but something about this place, the romantic location, the soft hush of the ocean coming from the open French doors, the moonlight, the wedding, made him want this to be special for her.

Their first time to be special.

Those clever artist’s hands of hers began to move over his body, learning him, exciting him. When her hand closed around his cock, his hips jerked helplessly against her hand. He wanted so much more; he wanted her wet heat surrounding him and he was too excited for much handling.

As though she’d read his mind, she moved on, stroking his chest. Then she pressed herself against him as though their entire bodies were kissing.

As they rubbed and teased, she rolled right on top of him. She’d taken her hair out of its updo and it spilled over her shoulder in sexy loose curls.

He reached for her, but she kept rolling until she was off the bed.

What the hell?

Stunned, he watched her dash into the bathroom, heard rustling and then she returned carrying—oh, yes—condoms. He liked a woman who traveled prepared.

She tossed a trio of square packs on the bedside table beside him and then, still standing, the moonlight glinting on her skin, she put her hands to the hem of her short, silk gown and slowly raised it.

He watched, not daring to blink in case he missed something, his eyes taking in every superb inch as she revealed herself.

Long, elegant legs, rounded hips with that glorious triangle beckoning, then the long, lean abdomen of a runner, and the small, perfect breasts.

She pulled the gown over her head and let it float to the ground.

Naked, she walked to the bed to join him.

* * *

LAUREN HAD NO IDEA what she was doing, but ever since she’d woken to find Jackson mysteriously in her bed, she’d followed her instincts.

For all she knew, she was dreaming, and this was nothing but a wet dream.

But what a wet dream.

When she kept his mouth busy doing other things besides insulting her, he was good company. Especially naked. And as she looked at that mouth, she knew she was going to keep it very busy for the next few hours.

She slid back into bed, settled herself against him once more and put all thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind.

This was a sex fantasy, she reminded herself.

Nothing but a wet dream. And dreams were always gone in the morning.

As he moved against her, she loved the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her smoother flesh, loved the muscles—and who cared how he’d come by them, really.

When he slipped a hand between her thighs and found that perfect spot, she forgot to think at all.

Sensation. That was all she had. The quiet lap of waves outside mingled with their soft sighs as their excitement increased.

The moonlight cast the night in the colors of a dream.

The tiniest taste of scotch when she kissed him, and the taste and smell of hot, horny male when she moved her mouth down to his chest.

He played at her wetness, taking her relentlessly up. Slipping a finger inside her to stroke deep. She felt herself growing slicker, felt her hips dance in time with his knowing fingers.

The first climax took her so sweetly it was on her almost before she knew it, so she felt tossed as surely as one of those waves out there lapping the beach.

She kissed him: part gratitude, part demand.

She wanted more, so much more, and based on the rock-hard cock pushing against her thigh, she wasn’t alone.

He fumbled for a condom from the night table and, with a lot more haste than finesse, sheathed himself.

When he rolled over her, she opened for him, finding, to her surprise, that she was trembling. Almost a year had passed since she’d last been intimate with a man. She’d been so busy working a second job to support her stained-glass business that she hadn’t missed the time commitments of a relationship, or the sex.

Or had she?

He kissed her deeply as his body entered hers. There was a moment, when they were fully connected and his hips rested against hers, that she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, that she’d fallen off a cliff without noticing it was there.

Then he kissed her once more and the strange feeling fled. He began to move, slowly at first, and then faster. When they moved together she felt stunned that their bodies had a perfect ease that their daily selves had no idea of.

She felt a kind of magic happening. His face was shadowed where he gazed down at her and she wanted to see him.

She nudged him, and they rolled together until she was on top of him, her knees anchoring her to the bed. She felt him deep inside her. As she began to move, finding the perfect angle, she felt the beginning tremors of another climax. She gripped his hands, stared into that rugged, way too gorgeous face, blue eyes that could suck a foolish woman into their depths, and rode him until her head fell back as she cried out. Even on the echo of her own cries, she heard his.