A Wicked Kiss Read online

  A Wicked Kiss

  Tiffany St.Claire

  … one steamy kiss with a stranger changes his life forever!

  This is a work of fiction.

  All names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.

  A WICKED KISS

  Copyright © 2009

  Brittany Adams and Tina Adams

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Get MORE Tiffany

  Chapter 1

  It was a bit difficult making her way to the door in the dark, but she hadn't wanted to leave the light on. All she wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower and relax, but here she was, playing delivery girl for her brother.

  Drew worked for Maxwell, and he'd asked her to drop the package off on her way home, since he wouldn't be leaving the office until much later, and she had agreed.

  She'd left the heavy envelope Drew sent her here to deliver on Maxwell's desk in his study, and now making her way carefully across the stone-tiled floor of Maxwell Brennan's foyer, Genevieve fished her keys from her purse, and headed for the door.

  He caught her there in the dark, spun her around and into his arms. She'd barely had a second to utter a squeak of surprise before his lips closed over hers.

  Genevieve knew it was Maxwell. She knew he probably thought she was Rissa, his latest “companion” (Maxwell didn't have girlfriends, he had long-term “dates”), and she started to protest.

  Really, she did.

  She started to insist he release her at once but for some inexplicable reason, just for tonight, she allowed her curiosity to get the better of her.

  Normally, she would have broken the embrace (not that Max had ever taken her into his arms before, by mistake or otherwise) and blasted him for thinking her a casual candidate for his misplaced affections, but tonight, just for tonight, something was different.

  Tonight, she simply wanted to know.

  Wanted to know if the rumors were true; those things she'd heard about Maxwell's kisses.

  Shelby Waters said Maxwell's kisses were hot enough to melt bone. Jacklyn O'Neil said the things he could do with those lips of his should be illegal. Rissa had even casually mentioned she'd been powerless to object to anything Max asked of her after a single kiss.

  None of which would have mattered under normal circumstances, but there was something about tonight that somehow made a difference, and so Genevieve allowed the kiss to happen.

  Participated even.

  Dropping her purse onto the cold stone of the foyer, Genevieve relaxed in his arms, melding her body against his.

  Spearing the fingers of one hand through his hair, she let the other drift down his back, caressing him as it went.

  Pressing closer, she opened her lips beneath his, allowed his tongue inside to duel with hers, meeting his thrust for passionate thrust with her own …

  … and everything changed.

  Like an explosion in her body, searing heat spread through her limbs, igniting every possible nerve ending, and unleashing a wildly yearning response inside her she hadn't realized herself capable of.

  From her lips to her toes, Genevieve felt her body's explosive response to Maxwell's kiss, and a low moan escaped her. She tightened her grasp, pulling him closer still, wanting more.

  Vaguely, Genevieve realized the door was still open behind them.

  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew anyone driving by on the street outside could probably see the two of them hungrily mauling each other there in the foyer. But the electrifying sizzles racing along her insides made her ignore everything that might interrupt the intense pleasure of Maxwell's kiss.

  * * *

  Maxwell Brennan knew all about kissing women. If he were so inclined, he might even go so far as to say he was a connoisseur of kisses, and of women.

  He was well acquainted with the warm, velvety feel of a woman's lips beneath his, knew intimately the soft, silky heat of a woman's tongue joining his in a passionate duel, knew with exact precision how a woman's breathing changed when her body suddenly demanded more. How it broke on a sigh while she reveled in the pleasure she was feeling.

  He could easily anticipate exactly how her fingers would first caress and then clench during the crest of a particularly intense wave of feeling, her nails scoring the muscles of his arms or back, and he knew just when to capture her scream of pleasure with his mouth, swallowing the proof of her ecstasy in his kiss.

  Yes, Maxwell thought it was safe to say he had perfected the art and science of knowing exactly how every moment of kissing a woman should feel, but never in his life had his own body's reaction during a kiss been quite this unpredictable, this volatile. So immediately pleasurable, or so demandingly greedy and hungry for more.

  There was one other thing Maxwell knew just now, without a shadow of a doubt. The woman in his arms was definitely not Rissa.

  This woman was small and soft and delicate. She smelled of warm flowers, sweet female, and her whole body seemed to radiate an unbelievably evocative hint of sensual promise.

  Her hair felt like silk, sifting like water through his fingers an instant before he plunged them deep into the thick curling mass, holding her head still, turning it slightly so he could deepen the kiss even more.

  She eagerly obliged, and he groaned.

  His hands slid down to her hips. Cupping her firmly rounded bottom in his palms, Maxwell pushed his body full against her. He wanted to bury himself inside her. Now. But something was hindering him. A skirt.

  Clothes?

  They were still dressed?

  Maxwell groaned again, his senses rioting.

  He was loving every electrifying second of this unexpected kiss and his own shockingly unanticipated reaction to it.

  He definitely did not want the moment to end, but a flash of intuition told Maxwell it might be in his best interest to learn the name of the woman he was about to devour with his suddenly raging passion.

  Before things went beyond his control.

  He broke the kiss, pushing her slightly away from him in the process.

  Breathing hard, his body throbbing in wild protest at being so cruelly denied, still hotly flushed and demanding, Maxwell peered at her through the darkness, trying to discern her identity – but he could not.

  “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

  Chapter 2

  Genevieve felt the heat of the blush spreading over her all the way to the roots of her hair. Had she really done it? Had she really just shared a soul-searing, bone-melting kiss with uber-sexy Maxwell Brennan? Her brother's boss? The man who had seen her many times over the past seven years but never acknowledged her existence?

  “Genevieve Delacroix,” she croaked, embarrassed now to the core of her being – but not ashamed. “Andrew asked me to deliver a package for him. I put it on your desk.”

  “Genevieve?” His brows rose and he stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. “I was expecting Rissa.”

  She nodded. “I know. It was an honest mistake. I'll just see myself out now, Mr. Brennan. Have a great evening.”

  Genevieve didn't wait for him to reply. She bent to grab her purse from the floor, and made a bee-line for the door, hoping against hope he didn't try to detain her. The way she felt at this moment, there was no telling how she might reac
t to an invitation to stay, and she meant to be well on her way before he recovered enough to remember to issue one.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, she was inside her own apartment, standing under the scorching spray of her shower, trying her darnedest to drown the memory of the kiss she and Maxwell had shared.

  No matter how long she stood under the sharp, stinging fall of water, the tingling awareness in her skin would not go away.

  And now, she ached.

  There was a heaviness in her breasts that hadn't been there before, an aching void in her lower region that yearned to be filled.

  Agitated, Genevieve shut off the water and stepped out into the chilly air conditioned bathroom. Her nipples tightened, and she closed her eyes, growling out a muffled curse on Maxwell Brennan, on her curiosity, and on her brother, Andrew, for putting her in a position to give way to her curiosity in the first place.

  At that precise moment, she truly regretted having given in.

  Slipping into her robe, she headed for the phone in the living room. She was supposed to call Drew when she got home, but all things considered, it was no wonder she had forgotten.

  Dialing the number, she put the receiver to her ear.

  “Drew? Yes, it's Genevieve. I put the packet on Maxwell's desk. He knows it's there, yes. He came in as I was leaving.”

  After a few back and forth replies with him thanking her and her saying he owed her, she ended the connection and dropped down onto the couch with a sigh, her eyes closed.

  He'd smelled of summer sun and sin, she thought. So hot and enticing and so like a man. She wondered idly what the name of his cologne was.

  The scent of him teasing her nostrils once more, she sat up, a frown drawing her brows sharply together.

  She'd only just left the shower, blast the man. Had she somehow missed a patch of skin he'd touched?

  “Maxwell Brennan, get out of my head!” she whispered into the quietness of the empty room. But it did no good. She could still feel him.

  At that moment, Genevieve feared nothing would ever erase the memory of the one stolen kiss they had accidentally shared.

  * * *

  She must have seen him standing there waiting for her, Max guessed, because she stopped for a second, hesitating before coming on across the lobby to meet him.

  He smiled. “Your brother told me you prefer to have lunch at Ginger's through the week. Mind if I join you today?”

  Genevieve flipped her hair over her shoulder, and shook her head. “Join me for lunch? No, of course not. Was there a problem with the package I delivered for you last night?”

  Max almost groaned out loud. He didn't know if he was ready to bring up last night, but since she had done so, he said, “No … no, the reports were fine.”

  His gaze bore into hers. “But you did leave something else at my place last night, Genevieve Delacroix, and it has definitely caused a problem.”

  He thought he saw her wince, but wasn't sure. She turned away, but not before he saw a flash of remembered heat in her gaze.

  “Look, Maxwell, if this is about … about … ”

  Nodding, he put his hand at the small of her back, leading her toward the revolving door. “The wicked kiss you gave me last night, and then left me there alone to deal?”

  Pink suffused her cheeks. “I'm sorry, Maxwell. I should have stopped you. I knew you thought I was Rissa, but ...”

  Once they were through the doors, Max didn't wait, couldn't wait another minute. He pulled her close and kissed her, hard, right there on the sidewalk, in front of God and everyone.

  “No, don't apologize, Genevieve. I'm not sorry. You shouldn't be either. I'd like to do it again. And again. And again.”

  He punctuated his words with kisses.

  “And more. So much more, Genevieve. Last night, that kiss...” he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

  After a moment, he shook his head, still amazed by just how affected he'd been, how affected by her he was even now. So affected he'd kissed her again. In public. People were staring.

  A couple walked by, and the woman gave him a curious stare just before her mouth turned downward in sour disapproval.

  Max ignored her and took Genevieve's hand, leading her toward the car park. “I was so turned on, I thought I would explode every time I thought of it. And I couldn't stop thinking about it, Genevieve, couldn't get it out of mind. That has never happened to me before. Which is why I asked Andrew about you this morning … ”

  She gasped. “You told Drew you and I … ?”

  Max was already shaking his head. “No, I didn't tell him about the kiss, but he is definitely curious to know why I was so adamant about finding you today.”

  He chuckled, totally unrepentant. “I told him I'd kick him out on his ear if he didn't tell me what I wanted to know.”

  She looked shocked, and he smiled. “Hey, I was desperate!”

  She gave him a speaking look. “You? The never-without-a-woman-on-his-arm, uber-sexy Maxwell Brennan? Desperate?”

  She snorted. “I don't buy that for a minute, Max. You have women falling at your feet.”

  He couldn't deny that. So he nodded. “Maybe. Yes. But none of those women are you, Genevieve.”

  Chapter 3

  “What about Rissa, Maxwell?” Genevieve asked after the waitress delivered her chef's salad and a soft drink. “You seem to forget I know about the two of you. I know you were expecting her last night. I know you and she have a 'thing' going on right now, and … ”

  Max was already shaking his head. “No, we don't. You just assumed that. Everyone does.”

  He shrugged. “Rissa is my friend and my occasional date when I need one. That's all. Neither of us are committed or attached to the other.”

  The latest “date” in a long, long string, Genevieve thought. And he wanted to make her his next conquest. “Is that what you tell each of your new lady friends when she asks about the one before her?”

  His eyes darkened. “No, I tell them my previous relationships are none of their business.”

  “Ah, I see. I am special, then.” She grinned at that. “I'm teasing, Max. And I don't believe you for a minute.”

  Max reached across the table, taking her hand in his. She dropped her fork, and it made a loud clanging noise as it fell against the stone of the patio where they had decided to sit for lunch, but he wouldn't let her retrieve it and ignored the blush that spread slowly across her cheeks.

  “You are special, Genevieve. No woman has ever entangled my thoughts like you do,” he admitted.

  Uneasy in the face of his declaration, she pulled away. “It was the kiss, Maxwell, not me, that entangled you. For heaven's sake, stop trying to pretend it was some life-changing event.”

  “Just a kiss? Really, Genevieve? Look me in the eye, and tell me the kiss we shared last night was truly just another kiss to you and I'll forget it ever happened, forget trying to convince you we could have something more, and I'll leave – right now.”

  He stared at her, daring her to voice what she knew would be a lie.

  She couldn't.

  * * *

  “What is the name of your cologne?” Genevieve asked on the drive back to her office.

  Shifting his attention from the road to her and back again, Max grinned. “You like?”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. “I couldn't get the scent off me after … I showered when I got home, but it wouldn't go away.”

  She shrugged. “I was just curious.”

  Max turned his gaze her way again, briefly, a hot look in his eyes. “Dammit, Genevieve, now I am jealous.”

  Surprised by the sincerity in his tone and the injured look on his face, she laughed. “Of what? Your cologne?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my cologne. And don't laugh. I have every right to be angry that damned scent of mine was allowed to be where I could not, to sleep against your skin, to slip into your thoughts and tease you until you ached … ”

  H
e paused for a moment, apparently considering his words, and then asked, “You did ache, didn't you? If you say you didn't I'm not going to believe you.”

  Genevieve thought about lying, thought it might be better, for her own sanity, to decry the long hours she'd lain awake last night wanting what she believed was not available for her to have.

  Finally, she looked away, out the window. Unable to force this lie past her lips either, she confessed, “I ached, Max. There. Are you happy?”

  He groaned.

  The car swerved onto the shoulder, stopped, and Max shut off the engine. Stunned by his sudden maneuvering, a little laugh of surprise escaped Genevieve's lips. “Max, what are you doing? I have to get back to work … ”

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it hard against his arousal. “Feel how I ache for you, Genevieve. You're killing me. Just being near you, with you, watching your lips move, knowing you're close enough to … ”

  Obviously battling to control his notorious passions, he broke off, releasing her hand at the same time. He gripped the steering wheel instead.

  Genevieve's gaze flickered to his lips, her own parted on a sigh. How she wanted to feel them again, she thought.

  A warm heat spread outward from her core, and her tongue flitted out to wet lips gone dry. “Maxwell?”

  “I want you. So much. Come home with me, Genevieve,” he demanded. “Come home with me and kiss me again. Like you did last night.”

  She wanted to.

  Very much.

  She shook her head. “I can't, Max.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Can't? Or won't?”

  Genevieve turned away from the intensity in his gaze. “Won't then. I won't come home with you Max.”

  His head dropped back against the seat and he sighed, obviously displeased with her answer. “Why?”

  Genevieve looked away, thought about his question for a moment, unsure how to explain. Finally, she decided on the truth. “Because of Rissa. Because of Jacklyn and Shelby, and Donna, and … I won't be just another 'long-term date' for you, Maxwell.”