Can’t Say No

and silent…”

“Do you have a family?” Bree swung her legs under her, her fists on her knees.

“How did they get into this? Of course I have a family.” He added mildly, “What members didn’t disown me in my younger days.”

“Specifically, did your mother survive those younger days?”

“Mom? She’s a brick.”

Bree had to severely repress laughter. “And your father. The one who despaired you’d ever turn out a productive human being?”

“Dad was a very productive human being. He had me, didn’t he? And three more. He’s more into being happily retired than reproducing these days. None of the rest of the siblings, alas, inherited my incredible good looks. Come on over here, Bree.”

When she failed to move, he tugged at her pantlegs. The harder he pulled, the more the jeans were in danger of slipping down from her hips, in spite of the belt. Bree batted at his fingers, but Hart’s hands were bigger than hers. He wasn’t content until she was sitting facing him, with his legs over hers and a lazy grin within kissing distance. “We’ve been talking too much,” he informed her gravely. “Let’s get you polluted on apple juice, so I can have my way with you.”

She sighed, loudly. “You’re not going to have your way with me, Hart. That isn’t why I came here-and did they all turn out as badly as you did? The siblings, I mean?” She was determined to finish the conversation. As far as she could tell, every single thing he’d ever told her about himself had been a lie. In one sense, she felt enraged, in another like laughing, and in another…she wasn’t at all sure what she was feeling. Danger, at being close to him. And loving being close. And fear that she was coming to conclusions too fast.

It was kind of mind-boggling, watching the transformation of Hart from irresponsible globe-trotter to dedicated businessman. From an alcoholic to a man hooked on apple juice. From articulate cynic to secret softie.

And Hart’s eyes held navy blue glints that kept trying to beguile her, even as he impatiently answered her questions. “Most of them turned out worse. John’s been in law school for about fifty years now. He loves going to school. Jennifer married a doctor, which sounds good enough except that they had to buy into a practice, and with a baby on the way-”

“They were broke?”

“After so many years of medical school? Hell, they didn’t have a crumb in the cupboard. Eric’s the worst. He decided a few years ago to go back to nature. He has a little farm in Vermont. Very picturesque. Very, very picturesque mortgage. They charge gold bullion for land there, you know.”

“Nope, I didn’t.”

“And Eric’s got two kids besides. Twins. Two years old and so damned cute-not that I like kids,” he added hastily. “But when you’re stuck with a couple of nephews, what the heck.”

“You adore them,” Bree said flatly.

“Maybe,” Hart hedged.

“And you’ve been obligated to help your brothers and sisters financially.”

“They’re all in a hurry to get off my hands. A few more years and I can be really irresponsible. Anyway, this conversation has taken a kind of boring turn.” He smiled in such an innocent, disarming way, just before his fingers pulled at the open throat of her shirt and he ducked his head for a view. “You know, I really think this is one of the world’s scenic wonders. Ever seen the Taj Mahal?”

“No. Hart-”

“Lots of white marble, a few fountains. Domed tops. I like your domed tops better. Talk about your architectural wonders.” Thirty seconds later, he had whisked all the wrapping paper away, lowered a startled Bree to the carpet and was straddling her. One of his fingers was busy with the buttons of her shirt as he grinned. “I know a great game for domed tops.”

“You weigh at least a ton, and I didn’t come here for this.”

“Now, Bree.” He flipped open two buttons, in spite of her hands chasing after him. “To hell with domed tops. Ice-cream cones. That’s really what they remind me of. Do you lick your ice-cream cones from the top or the sides?”

His tongue flicked over a nipple. The helpless laughter rippling through Bree abruptly died. His soft tongue strayed down to the side of one breast, lapping at the circumference as if he were indeed savoring vanilla ice cream. Or maybe chocolate. Or maybe wild cherry.

“Unlike ice-cream cones, the more you lick, the less they disappear. Have you noticed that phenomenon, Bree? They’re swelling up,” he whispered. His eyes lifted distractedly to hers. “Also, they’re not at all cold. One might even go so far as to say-”

“Hart. Sex is a serious business. Do you have a straightjacket I could conveniently put on you for the next five minutes?”

He shook his head. “Honey, you’re such a mental mess. Who on earth gave you your sex education, anyway? Sex is fun. I thought we covered all this two nights ago.” He glanced down at what his hand was covering and started chuckling. “We did. Cover this. Extensively.”

“You still have work to do,” Bree said desperately. How had things gotten out of hand so fast? Maybe her prepared speeches were in a mental rejection pile, and maybe they belonged there, but she still didn’t want an affair based only on sex…even if her heart was kicking in approval at a thundering rate.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“A stitch in time saves nine,” she shot back.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Bree frowned up at him. “What do apples have to do with anything?”

“I thought you wanted to quote proverbs.”

She closed her eyes disgustedly. A mistake. Hart promptly leaned over to kiss them. Lips softer than silk brushed the delicate flesh of her eyelids, then grazed her cheekbone, then burrowed into her rain-softened hair.

He was doing it again, she thought dismally. Making her smile, making her feel intensely desired, making her believe there could be absolutely nothing more right or delightful than fooling around with him. Ice-cream cones, damn him.

His lips teased the corner of her mouth, nipping and gently biting until she parted her own. He waited then, eyes soft and silent on hers before he moved. His tongue flicked at the entrance of her lips, then thrust in, filling every secret moist corner. He withdrew it, then thrust in again. And again. With a helpless, almost angry little murmur, Bree surged closer, rubbing her hips against his, a capitulation that she could no more have helped than breathing.

“Honey.” Hart raised his mouth. Not far. “I know you’re hot for my bod, but try to slow down a little. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

If it weren’t for the dance in his eyes, she would have killed him. Actually, it was probably because of the dance in his eyes that she wanted to. “Manning. Hasn’t one single woman in your life ever taught you to shut up?”

“Nope. That’s going to be up to you.”

Bree took a breath, a vulnerable softness suddenly haunting her eyes. “You know, the only reason I came over here was to tell you I didn’t want any more of this.”

“Tell me, then,” Hart encouraged. Putting an elbow on both sides of her face, he cupped his chin in his hands, giving her all his encouraging attention.

“I just did. Affairs just aren’t my thing, and I really don’t think getting involved with you is…wise,” she ended lamely.

“Honey, you seem to be terribly confused. We are involved. And you like it just fine. You’ve been trying not to laugh for the better part of half an hour.”

She bit her lip. “Hart, stop making this so hard-”

His eyebrow flickered up. “You’re the one who made it so hard, honey.” He shifted his hips expressively.

“Hart.”

“You’re right. Let’s get serious, Bree.” Using an arm for leverage, he vaulted off her and, when standing, reached for her hand. She took it and raised herself up beside him, her lips still throbbing faintly from the pressure of his. The suddenly disappointed look in his eyes startled her. “If you really want to get serious that fast, we can