Forbidden Fruit by Eden Bradley Page B

let him in. But once he got past that edge of reserve, she’d be all pliant and loose. He could imagine what her body would feelllike pressed up against his. Her hips would be at that perfect height where he could fit his thigh in between them and rub right up against her hot little mound. And she would grind into him…
    yeah…
    Christ.
    He pressed his hand against his aching cock. He was hard as steel. And the wine was not going to help unless he drank enough to render him senseless.
    He shed his clothes as he stalked across the open wood floor of his loft to the bathroom, kept his hand on his swollen member as he waited for the shower to heat up.
    The water came down on him, slid over his naked skin, a sensation he loved. He always jerked off in the shower; it added to the thrill for some reason.
    Didn’t matter why. Just picture her face, imagine what her body looked like, felt like, tasted like…and knowing she would be there with him in only an hour, close enough to touch that pale skin, oh yeah…
    He gave himself over to the images flashing through his mind, his hand stroking and pumping his cock, untillhe was reeling, shuddering with pleasure. Lost.
    His come was hot, slipping between his fingers. He had to close his eyes, give himself a moment to shake it off, that after-burn of climax that completely clouded his mind.
    Yeah, he was losing it over this woman. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that Mia Rose was a totallmind-fuck for him. But he could handle it.
    Despite that small voice whispering doubts in the back of his mind. That familiar voice telling him he was falling again already.
    At eight o’clock sharp Mia stood outside the converted warehouse where Jagger lived. The door was corrugated metal, big enough to fit a car through. She put her finger out toward the buzzer, pulled it back.
    If she rang the buzzer, she would have to actually go up, see him.
    Eat with him.
    Just do it.
    Silly of her. She’d made it here, and now she was afraid to ring the doorbell? But it wasn’t the bell she was afraid of, or even him. It was herself.
    Just do it, Mia.
    She drew in a deep breath, the scent of damp sidewalk and exhaust from the cars passing by on Sixth Street, then pressed the button.
    His disembodied voice came from a speaker over the door. “Hi. Come on up. Freight elevator to your right when you get into the building. I’m on the top floor.”
    A shrill buzzing and she pulled the heavy steelldoor open, slipped into the dim foyer, closed the door behind her. She found the cagelike elevator, got in, and pushed the button. The elevator slid upward, shaking a little as the old cables moved through the pulleys. She was shaking, too, a small trembling allover. She was nearly breathless by the time she stepped out into a small hallway, and Jagger opened the door.
    God, he looked good, in a pair of worn jeans and a fitted white V-neck T-shirt with some band logo on the front that contrasted with his brown skin. She noticed for the first time the triballbands tattooed around both biceps peeking out from beneath his sleeves. She had a thing for certain kinds of tattoos on a man, and this was her favorite.
    The perfect man.
    “Come on in. Did you find the place okay?” Jagger took her hand and pulled her gently inside. He smelled like that patchouli oillhe wore; that and a faint whiff of soap. Clean and a little exotic at the same time.
    “I’m familiar with the area, so it was easy. Oh my God, this place is amazing.”
    One large, open space, with the battered, wide plank wood floors so common in these old warehouses, and huge windows everywhere. He’d laid the place out into roomlike areas marked off with colorfullethnic woven rugs. The living room held two large couches in a dusky sage green, flanking a rectangular brushed-steellfireplace. An enormous slab of old, dark wood made a coffee table. And everywhere were pieces of art: pottery, abstract paintings, baskets, primitive musicallinstruments from