by Jill Winters
He couldn't believe he trusted her as much as he did, because he didn't trust people easily, but there it was.
When he finished, Gretchen let out a breath and sat back against the couch. Now he sat down beside her, shrugging off his coat, but sitting forward with his hands resting on his knees. "So you really think Brett's in danger? That someone from work would want him... dead? Wow. And Misty... murdered." She shuddered. "I can't believe it. Susanna told me that Misty's death had been ruled a mystery. Or whatever they call it when the medical examiners can't figure out what caused it and the police have got a thousand other cases that require their attention, so they close this one for the time being or at least put it on the shelf."
"How does Susanna know all this?" Rick asked speculatively.
Gretchen shrugged. "She's a gossip monger. It's like a way of life. You'd be surprised what she knows about people. Anyway, it seems like people at work have just moved on from what happened. Like Misty died from some bizarre illness that no one even understands, but once that fact sank in, everyone who worked with her just went back to business. Like, 'Okay, she's gone. Show's over; nothing to see here.' It's kind of sad how people can do that," she added wistfully, more to herself "But now you're telling me that it wasn't even a bizarre illness—it was poison? And that it could be someone from the network. Wow." With another shiver, she let the notion settle in her mind.
Rick touched her knee, letting his hand rest firmly on it, soaking up the heat from her leg into his palm. "I just thought if I got closer to you maybe you could be my in—you know, my access to the people at the network." Chewing her lip, Gretchen looked thoroughly distressed by what he was saying to her. He gave her knee a squeeze, and added, "But now... I like you."
After a pause, she covered his hand on her knee with her own.
Automatically they threaded their fingers together.
"Wait," she said, looking wide-eyed at him, "you said you wanted to get close to me so you could—oh God, do you suspect Susanna?" He hesitated and she said. "That's it, isn't it?" She tightened her hold on his hand. "You can trust me."
"It crossed my mind," he admitted.
"Rick, no. I can't see that. Susanna's neurotic, yes, but she wouldn't kill anyone. And why hurt Brett? She's been dying to guest star on his show—oh."
"What?"
Waving her hand, she said, "No, it's nothing. Just that I think the reason she's dying to be on his show is because of his ratings. She's at a point in her career where she's not the top dog—"
"And Brett is."
"Yeah. But I still can't see it."
"Well, were you with her all weekend at Brett's place?" Rick asked. "Was there any point at which she could've slipped away and planted the poison?"
Gretchen shrugged. "Sure, I guess. But we didn't even stay the weekend. Susanna wanted to get home on Saturday afternoon. She was rushing us all home, actually, because apparently her husband, Ed, was getting back early from his business trip and she wanted to see him."
Rick mulled that for a moment. Then Gretchen told him that Brett should just go to the police and Rick said he agreed; she told him that he should just go if Brett wouldn't, and Rick said he couldn't sell out his brother like that.
"You're so brave to try to protect him the way you have."
Rick was too struck by her words to smile, to respond even. He just looked down at their interlocked hands and ran his thumb over her soft skin. "So you only asked me out to get information, huh?" she said softly. "What a shame. I thought you liked me; I thought you might want to get down and dirty with me. But that's okay, we can just be friends."
His eyes shot up to hers, and she was suppressing a smile. "Like hell," he said gruffly and brought his other hand up to run behind her neck. Just as he pulled her to him for a kiss, a loud beep from inside his coat pocket startled both of them and blew the moment.
It was his cell phone/pager. "Shit, that's the firehouse. Hold on."
He stood and reached inside his jacket pocket, which was on the chair. "Yeah," he said into the phone, then two seconds later, "Okay, I'm heading over."
"What's wrong?" Gretchen said, coming to her feet. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm sorry—there's a four-alarm on Songtree. They need extra hands," he said, setting his phone on the table and shrugging on his coat. "I gotta go."
"Songtree, what's that?"
"A street," he said, "in Harlem."
Gulp. Call her sheltered, but so far what she'd heard about Harlem hadn't been particularly warm and fuzzy. Worry prickled through her as Rick leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "I'm gonna stop by the station and grab my shit. I'll call you later, though," he said hurriedly, and headed toward the door.
"Okay... but please call me," she said her voice wobbly with concern, and Rick looked back at her.
"Don't worry. I'll be fine," he said swiftly. "And save the food for me. I'll have it next time. I'm really sorry about tonight."
"It's okay, but... will you be back?"
"No, I don't want you to wait. I don't know how long this'll take.
Lock this behind me," he added before he left. It was only when she plopped back down on the couch that she realized he'd left his cell phone there.
* * *
About an hour after Rick left, Dana called Gretchen to say she wouldn't be home that night but would just crash at Chantal's place. Apparently she, Chantal, and Lolly were still waiting to get seated at Bonsai, and the longer the wait dragged on, the more resolved Dana became to, quote, never say die.
Calling from the loud waiting area of the restaurant, Dana had to compete with the din of the background noise. "So he just left?" she said after Gretchen recapped her encounter with Rick.
"Yes, he had to," Gretchen replied as she shimmied out of her tight black pants and pulled a nightgown from her drawer. Too keyed up to sleep, she was going to slip under a mountainous heap of covers and finally catch up on some reading. She had three novels to choose from, which had been lying in wait since she'd moved. "He left his cell phone here, though," she added, then dropped the phone for just a moment to whip off her sweater and bra and throw on her nightie.
When she snatched the phone off the bed, she realized her cousin was talking.
"Wait, what did you say?" Gretchen asked.
"I said, 'left his cell phone there? That changes everything.' He'll have to come back and get it, right?"
"I doubt he'll come back tonight for it. He told me not to wait for him."
"I think he'll be back," Dana said.
After she got off the phone, a shiver rippled over Gretchen's flesh.
Cold in her slinky nightgown, she peeled back her covers, but just as she was about to slip into bed, she had a thought. What if Dana was right? What if Rick did come back for his phone tonight?
Hmm...
Wouldn't Gretchen like to be ready when he did?
So she hit the bathroom, did a quick freshening—spritzed some perfume between her breasts, rubbed lotion all the way up her legs, across her belly, and down her arms, did a second toothbrushing, then donned some black-cherry lip balm to give her mouth a dark pink glow. Then she tossed her head down, spilling her hair over her head, shaking it loose from its loopy bun. When she flew back up, her hair tumbled down wildly over her shoulders. Still wavy from her bun, it looked chaotic and tousled. Hopefully sexy.
She double-checked the nightgown. It was a long, form-fitting, navy blue silk gown with a lacy bodice. This should work. Next she went to Dana's room, searching for some scented candles.
Nearly two hours later, she'd given up hope. The candles she'd placed all around the living room and along the kitchen counter were burned down like melted mounds of plastic caving in on themselves, flickering rather than flaming.
Just as she was climbing off the couch with a tired sigh to blow out the candles, there was a knock on the door. Her heart jumped. Could it be him? Darting to the door, she looked through the peephole and just like that, her puls
e kicked up and her palms began to sweat.
* * *
The door swung open more quickly than Rick expected. He figured Gretchen would be dead asleep by now. She seemed to be awake, though the apartment was dark. And she was barely dressed, he happened to notice.
"Hi, I'm sorry to come so late," he said, keeping his voice low. "Come in," she said, pulling him in. He had to pry his eyes off her immediately because he didn't think she'd appreciate if he yanked her nightgown right down, which was basically what he felt like doing. As soon as he stepped in, he noticed she had candles lit all over the place. The apartment reeked like too much pudding or something. "What is this?" he joked, going to the coffee table where he'd left his phone. "I thought I'd catch you asleep, not having a séance."
The cell wasn't there, so he glanced around the area. "Sorry to get you out of bed, but I left my phone here," he explained, as he looked behind the throw pillows on the couch. Then he felt between the cushions. "And I knew I'd need it early tomorrow. By the way," he added, turning and roving his eyes around the room, to all those mounds of melting wax. "I'd tell you this is a fire hazard, but I wouldn't wanna look like I was showing off."
Gretchen didn't laugh or even smile at that.
Hmm. Was she pissed at him for coming over without calling?
She was still standing about ten feet away from him, her mouth was curved into a small O, her expression unreadable.
Even in the dim glow of the candles, goddamn, she was hot in that nightgown. Her long, dark hair was floating over her shoulders, with one wisp veering off, half covering her right eye.
As if reading his mind, she blew it back—and just looked at him. Still trying to brighten her mood, get some kind of friendly reaction, he sniffed the air. "Man, those candles are pretty strong, huh? Is this like one of those girlie incense rituals, or do you just polish your furniture with vanilla extract?"
No reaction. Jesus, he was only teasing.
As he headed over to the kitchen counter, she slowly walked closer, following him from a distance of a few feet. "Damn, I can't figure out where I left that thing..." Rick was muttering, as Gretchen just stared at him, her blood boiling, irrational as it might have been. Here she'd set the scene for romance, and then not only does he come back, he doesn't even get it. He'd barely even noticed her nightgown! He'd even made fun of her candles!
She felt like an idiot—hurt and undesirable. Irritably, and silently, she went from candle to candle, blowing each out with a quick, sharp puff.
"Hey, you don't have to blow them out on my account," Rick said. Casting her eyes off to the side, she muttered something indecipherable. "What?"
"Forget it."
"Well... do you want me to turn on the lights?"
"No, really, it's fine," she replied tightly, partly wanting to cry. "What, you're just gonna stand here in the dark?" he said with a laugh and came over to her. Wordlessly, she grabbed his phone off the shelf she'd set it on earlier. "Here," she said, and slapped it into his palm.
"Oh, there it is, thanks," he said, looking at the phone, then looking up at her questioningly. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Not at all."
"Well, you seem kinda testy. Are you pissed at me 'cause I woke you up?"
"I wasn't asleep," she said with a touch of exasperation. Granted she'd forgotten to put on the sexy music, but did she need to draw him a road map? Couldn't he at least have kissed her when he'd come through the door?
"Well, that's good. At least you didn't fall asleep with all the candles going again. We wouldn't want a replay of that," he said, grinning.
Rolling her eyes, she slapped her hands on her sides and blurted, "For God's sake! I was trying to seduce you, you jerk!"
Rick's face darkened, going from playful to serious in less than a second, and in one step, he bridged the gap between them.
Then he was right there, barely an inch away, and up this close, Gretchen could feel the heat of his body, feel his strength. He towered over her, nearly a foot taller than she was in her bare feet. Her eyes traveled up his chest, his neck, to his face, and even in the darkness, she could see the naked arousal in his gaze. There was blatant, carnal desire in the way his eyes devoured her.
She swallowed a gulp as her heart pounded in her ears, her breath coming up shorter. Instinctively she rose on her feet, just barely resisting the urge to slide into him, to fall into him, to drag them both down to the floor in a heap.
Wordlessly, Rick reached up, slid his hand behind her neck, and cupped the nape, the burning heat of his palm seeping into her skin. Instinctively, her head tipped back, and he pulled her closer, lowering his mouth to hers, and just before their lips met, he said, "Why didn't you just say so?" And then he kissed her. It was warm and gentle, just lingering there, his soft lips working over hers with sensual skill, with patience, and it took only seconds for her to become frustrated with arousal, wanting more from him—needing it—and the longer it went on, the less she could take.
So she tried to take more of him, gripping her hands on the front of his jacket, trying to pull him in. But he kept her mouth at enough of a distance that he had complete control and kept their kisses breathy and soft until Gretchen was moaning in frustration, tugging hard on his coat. Her fingers crunched the fabric and then her hands peeled the coat apart.
That seemed to step things up. With a grunt, Rick tightened his hold on the back of her neck, slanted his head, and finally slid his tongue inside her mouth. Instantly her knees buckled. Kissing him back, she pushed his coat over his broad shoulders and all the way off, then heard it hit the floor. With a soft, low moan, she savored the scalding wet heat of his tongue as it snaked against hers, and she practically climbed up him—wrapping her arms around his neck, clinging to him, rubbing up against his body, trying to feel him huge and hard like she'd done the night before.
Restlessly, she dropped one hand down, reached down for him, rubbed her palm hard against his arousal, squeezed him, stroked him through his pants, made him groan.
He gripped her hair. Then he slid his other hand off her waist, down to her bottom, and squeezed her there. When she dug her nails into his shoulders, he practically growled; it was a gruff, savage sound that only drove her hunger more. He started walking her backward until finally her back hit a wall and Rick pushed into her. Pressed up .against each other, she could feel him solid and thick and fully aroused. He dragged her up just enough to feel him right between her legs and then dipped his head and ran his tongue down her throat. The sensations shocked her. His steel-hard erection stabbing her tender, aching crotch, the scorching wetness between her legs, the flimsiness of her thong, Rick's mouth sucking the curve of her neck—they set her whole body on fire.
They kissed hungrily, with Rick grinding his pelvis into hers, almost hurting her but turning her on so much at the same time, and then his hand reached down low and his fingers moved to drag the nightgown up inch by inch. Gretchen could feel the coolness of air on her bare leg as it became more and more exposed. Nearly panting, she rocked her lower body against his, needing to feel more of him, needing him sliding inside her, filling her up, feeding her savage hunger. She needed him to be devastating, urgent, untamed.
Suddenly his hand was completely under her nightie, which was bunched up around her hips. He slid both palms over her near-naked bottom, squeezing it, pulling her even harder against him. She cried out as he held her butt tightly, keeping her plastered to him, and he thrust his cock against her over and over. Growling deep in his throat, he dug his way between their bodies and fingered the slim strip of silk of her underwear, running it back and forth over and over. "Oh, God..." she whispered, barely recognizing the cracked voice as her own. "Deeper," she urged before she could stop herself.
But he didn't go deeper. Instead, still fingering the damp fabric of her thong, he tugged on her hair again, arching her neck, and dragged his open mouth up her throat. He spoke right into her ear, his voice gruff and his breath warm. "Let's go to t
he bedroom," he said. "I want to touch you more..."
More? God, at the thought she nearly wilted to the floor, but he pulled her closer, harder, catching her before she could fall, holding her up between the wall and the strength of his body, and then, before she could process it, he scooped her up off her feet, straddling her legs around his hips, and turned to walk them from the living room to the hall.
"First room to your right," she whispered, coiling her arms around his neck, squeezing her legs tight, practically vibrating with anticipation. He pushed the half-opened door all the way open with his foot and carried her inside. She thought he'd set her down on the bed and fall on top of her, but that wasn't what happened.
Her light was on and she briefly contemplated shutting it off but didn't get a chance to suggest it. Instead of setting her on the bed, Rick let her slide off him with maddening slowness, forcing her to ride down his powerful body and the vee of her legs to slide against his thick, hard erection as she went. When her feet landed flat on the floor, her legs felt weak. They stood there for a few seconds, looking at each other, before Rick brought his hands up and ran a finger underneath both straps of her nightgown. Gretchen sucked in a breath and waited. Confidently he pulled the straps down over her shoulders and sent the silky nightgown sliding to the floor in one swift motion.
She gasped, standing in the lit room in just her flimsy underwear, so aroused she couldn't speak, as she watched Rick's eyes glaze over at the sight of her naked breasts. He scanned down her body with stark hunger, his chest rising and falling, the faint flare of his nostrils, the almost dangerous arousal marked on his face. "Holy Jesus," he whispered molding his hands over her breasts, shutting his eyes as if unable to help himself. Then sharply he stepped back just an inch; he whipped off his shirt and tossed it.
Her mouth dropped. He was everything she could ever dream up—powerfully built but with plenty of flesh for her to hug. No chiseled piece of cold hard slate here, but more what Dana would call the "teddy bear type." He had a tattoo high on his left arm, but she couldn't tell what it depicted. Biting her lip, she couldn't help but stare at his corded muscle and the dark hair that fanned across his chest and trailed down his stomach.