There were several very good reasons that had nothing to do with age. One of which she gave. "That's why I can't have sex with you."
He took a determined step toward her, and her palm flattened against the front of his shirt. "Are you still mad that I didn't drag you up to my room?"
She shook her head and her hair brushed her shoulders. "I can't have sex with you because I know you now."
"But you could have sex with me when you didn't know me?" He grabbed her wrist. "That doesn't make sense."
"Yes it does." She looked into his eyes and tried to explain. "That night in Sun Valley, you were supposed to be part of my fantasy. My fantasy of picking up a stranger in a bar. I was supposed to use and abuse you and kick you out."
"You still can."
"No. You're real now." She tried to pull free, but he didn't let go. "You killed all my fantasies."
"I'll give you a new fantasy. God knows I have hundreds." He raised her hand to his mouth. "Do you want to hear one?" he asked against her palm, but he didn't wait for her answer. "My favorite involves you wearing your black dominatrix boots."
She stopped trying to pull away. He fantasized about her? No man had ever admitted that he fantasized about her. Her. Kate Hamilton and her size ten boots. She felt herself weaken. Almost give in. She should leave. Run away. Fast. And she would. But she hadn't been able to work up a good fantasy of her own for a while now. It seemed only right that he should share his. "What else am I wearing?"
"Nothing."
"What are you wearing?"
"A hard-on and a smile."
She didn't know if she should laugh or pretend outrage. He looked serious except for the teasing laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. "Where does the fantasy take place?"
"In my bed." He placed her palm on the side of his neck and slid his hand to her waist. "On my pool table." He pulled her so close that her breasts touched the front of his shirt. "My car." The teasing lines at the corners of his eyes disappeared by the time he added, "Right here. Anywhere I happen to be standing," he lowered his mouth and said just above her lips.
"You star in every one of my fantasies." He kissed her, a gentle caress of lips and tongue in stark contrast to the hard, fast beating of her heart.
Kate slipped her hand to the back of his neck and leaned into him, the weight of her breasts pressed into his chest. Her nipples tightened. She wanted this. This hot liquid pumping through her veins and pooling between her legs. Making her feel wanted and needed, her skin buzzing with sexual need. It was wrong. He was bad for her. But… it had been a long time since a man had wanted her anywhere he happened to be standing. A long time since she'd felt the heavy pull of desire take over and shut out the pessimist in her head.
She fed him a deep, hot kiss that had him groaning into her mouth. He tasted a little of granola, of need and sex. He cupped her breast through her sweater, and she arched against his rock-hard penis, feeling the heavy length of him pressed into her lower abdomen.
His free hand grabbed her behind, and he pulled her up onto her toes. He pushed himself against the apex of her thighs as his thumb brushed across her hard nipples. Back and forth, an unhurried rhythm in perfect time to his erection he rubbed against her crotch. A maddening, frustrated, moan escaped her throat as she threaded her fingers in the back of his hair.
The ringing of the bells on the door barely penetrated the sounds of heavy breathing in the loft.
"Mr. Sutter?"
Rob straightened, and his hand dropped from her behind. He looked toward the front of the store as the sound of two young voices rose from below.
"Are you here?"
"Shit." Rob removed his other hand from Kate's breast and looked at his watch. "I forgot I told those two boys to come on by." He returned his attention to Kate. His gaze filled with lust and hunger. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right down," he called out, his voice rough.
"Okay."
"Stay here and wait for me, Kate. I won't be gone long."
She took a deep breath, and her sanity partially returned. At least enough to allow her to take a step back. "No."
He reached for her, but she moved, and his hand grasped empty air. She kept on moving before he could touch her and make her change her mind. Before he could make her forget that he was just heartache number twenty-six. The latest on the long list of men that were bad for her. That wasn't her inner pessimist talking, either. It was the truth.
Just before she reached the doorway he called out, "You can't say no forever, Kate Hamilton. Someday I'm going to make you say yes."
She didn't dare stop. She moved down the stairs and through the store. With her hand on the front door handle, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. He stood in the loft, his hands gripping the railing.
"Someday real soon," he said.
Rob whistled to "Sex Type Thing" as he twisted hare's mask dubbing and tan thread into a long thin strand. He attached the bobbin to one end, then wound the dubbing around the shank of a three-inch hook clamped in a vise. Several fluffy strands of dubbing landed on the knee of his jeans, then drifted to the toe of his white sock.
As Scott Weiland sang about being a man who could give a woman something she wouldn't forget, a smile lifted the corners of Rob's mouth. Kate didn't think sex was a good idea, but she was just plain wrong. That afternoon, he'd given her fair warning that he was going to make her change her mind. He'd been serious. He was going to give her something she wouldn't forget.
He wound the thread and dubbing to the eye of the hook, then spun the bobbin and loosened the stand. During a pause in the music, the clock on the mantel in his living room downstairs chimed ten times. He wanted Kate. She wanted him. She wasn't crazy. It was inevitable.
Both times he'd kissed her, she'd kissed him back like she was never going to stop. Earlier, she'd melted against him, so hot his hair had about caught fire. He'd touched her breast and thrust his hard-on into her, and if those boys hadn't come into the store, he would have had her naked and up against the wall before she'd known what hit her.
The bobbin swayed as he stripped the excess dubbing from the thread. He turned in his chair and selected a gold-and-black hackle feather from his assorted trays of feathers and fur. He stripped the barbs, then secured the stem to the hook shank with three tight wraps of his thread.
Other than wanting Kate on her back and in his bed, he didn't know how he felt about her. She was stubborn and competitive and had a smart mouth, but he didn't mind those qualities in a woman.
He clamped a pair of hackle pliers on the tip of the feather and wound it toward the bend in the hook. By rote, his hands passed the pliers back and forth as he wound the feather over and under the shank.
Kate was competent and believed she could damn well take care of herself. Some men didn't like that about her, but he didn't mind those qualities either. In fact, he didn't care for clinging, needy women.
At the bend in the hook, he tied down the hackle feather with wire, then wound it up the shank toward the eye. Kate was smart and beautiful and sexy. Most important, she wasn't a psycho.
The cordless telephone sitting next to his elbow rang. He glanced at the caller ID and hit the mute on his stereo. He pressed the connect button on the phone and said, "Hey, Lou. What's up?"
"Well, I've been thinking," his ex-wife began.
"About?"
"About our conversation the other night, and I didn't want you to think I was mad about Easter."
He released the pliers and set them on the workbench. "Amelia is young enough that she won't remember, and besides, it's not your weekend anyway."
A suddenly reasonable Louisa worried him. "Are you dating someone?" The last time she'd been this pleasant had been the time she'd been in love with a Boeing executive. She'd wanted Rob to stay with the baby while she flew off to Cancun with her new man, which he'd been happy to do. Her relationship with the exec had ended last fall, before she'd started dropping hints of a reconciliation.