That kiss had not been one of uncontrolled passion, Fiona realized, but one borne out of fury and frustration. Even so, it left her all hot and fluttery—wanting more.Damn.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, gathering up her indignation—which was difficult, considering what she wanted mostly to do was step back into his arms. “And if you really believe that I’m somehow juggling Carl and Brad,whilekissing you, then you’re only degrading yourself by kissing me back.”
She stepped out of his loosening grip and planted her hands on her hips. “And you’re one to talk,HollisGideon Nath—considering the fact that you were with your friends-with-benefits ice queen on Saturday.”
“I didn’t sleep with Rachel,” he said, his eyes dark in the shadowy light. “I wouldn’t do that then—then kiss you.”
But Fiona wasn’t finished with him, even though her lips were still full and ready for his kiss. “And, by the way,Hollis—when andifI choose to be involved with a man, that’s it—it’s him and no one else.”
He’d taken a step closer during her tirade. She felt the presence of the brick wall behind her, brushing it with her fingers, but she did not feel trapped.
Not trapped. Excited.
“Don’t call me Hollis,” he muttered just before his mouth descended on hers once again.
She should have continued to berate him, she should have insisted that he apologize for such a rude comment…she should have stayed in control, walked away…but she didn’t. She let go.
Dropping her one-ton leather bag, Fiona slipped her arms up around him, smoothing her fingers down the sides of his warm neck and over the breadth of his wide shoulders, thinking vaguely that it was odd—scary, almost—that she should be so affected by his kisses, and the closeness of his body.
And then, she had no further coherent thoughts. She concentrated onhim, on the skillful way his mouth moved over hers, the taste and heat of him…every plane and angle of his body and that of the wall behind her…the ridges of brick pressing into her spine.
He must have realized she wasn’t going to push away, so Gideon released her arms, planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, pinning her back against the rough wall with his mouth and thighs. Fiona shifted, kissing him back, pushing her breasts up into him so that he exhaled long and raggedly as he trailed his lips along her jaw-line.
“Fiona….”
“Ever done it in the back of a VW bug?” she murmured with a husky chuckle that ended in a gasp as he circled his tongue around her ear. “Gideon . . .” she began, but then forgot what she was going to say as he returned to taste her mouth again. His hands had long since left their anchor on either side of her, and were deftly unbuttoning the back buttons of her pantsuit top.
He slipped those long, elegant fingers up under the silky fabric, smoothing them over the satin of her strapless bra, then into it to cup her nipple-hard breasts in his hands.
The cooling night air breezed over her hot skin through the open back of her shirt, and the sandpaper roughness of the bricks grazed her bare back, but Fiona was conscious of little other than what his fingers were doing to her body. She was just about to yank his shirt open—damn the buttons—when there was a crash, followed by a shrill alarm.
Gideon staggered back, pivoting to look toward the back entrance of the shop—but the view was hidden by a large Dumpster. “What the he—”
“That’s my alarm!” Fiona pushed him away and started toward the Dumpster and her shop’s back door.
Just then, a figure burst into view from behind the Dumpster, started toward them, then spun to run in the opposite direction. Gideon was after him in a flash, with Fiona stumbling behind in her high heels.
“Hey! Stop!” she shrieked as Gideon tore along, gaining on the intruder and leaving her far behind.
She hurried after them, damning herself for the little bit of fashion sense she’d chosen to follow this evening, but unwilling to kick off her shoes and run barefooted through a back alley. She saw Gideon disappear around the corner of the opposite end of the alley and sped up her pace. Her foot landed awkwardly on a stone or some odd object, wrenching her ankle enough to bring her to a wincing halt.
She forced herself to hobble along at a much slower pace, realizing belatedly that the cool breeze on her back was due to the fact that the top of her pantsuit was unbuttoned. She angled her hands up behind her, fumbling to connect at least one button before the whole thing fell off as she rushed to catch up to her date.
When she finally rounded the corner around which he’d disappeared, she nearly ran into him. “What happened?” she exclaimed, breathing heavily, looking around past him. “Did he get away?”
Her hands landed on the center of his chest, and she felt it rising and falling rapidly. Only then, when he didn’t reply, did she look up to see a dark stream running down the side of his face, and the hand he had pressed to his head. He was leaning against the wall.
“Gideon! What happened?” she cried, pulling his hand away.
“Don’t fuss,” he muttered, placing his hand back onto some type of wound. “Let’s get back to the shop and see what damage he did.” His voice, though weaker than usual, still held the stilted command of a man used to no-nonsense—and dripped with self-disgust.
“He crowned me as I came around the corner—caught me right in the gut, then knocked me against the brick edge there.” He had begun the walk back to the shop, and Fiona could do little but walk along with him.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She wrapped her arm around his waist as though to support him, already feeling guilty that he should have been hurt.
“I said don’t fuss,” he repeated, but he did not move away from her embrace. In fact, he may have shifted a bit closer to her. “I didn’t get a look at the guy at all—did you? Just that he was fairly tall, and average build. Fat lot of good that’ll do us.”
They had reached the back of the store now, and Fiona saw that the bathroom window next to the back door was shattered where someone had obviously tried to break in.
