Lime Ricky (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

  Rolling her eyes, Gretchen groaned. "Not this again, please."

  "Sorry, but I just have to know. I mean..." He looked down at her naked breasts and shook his head as if in amazement, then trailed his hand down to her hip and looked even lower. "Damn."

  "Stop. You're embarrassing me again," she said lightly, and shimmied a little closer. "I don't know how to explain it," she added, stroking his chest lovingly. "I just always wanted to wait. For the right person, you know. The right moment."

  "So what was so great about that guy?" Rick asked with a slight edge to his voice. Holy cow, was he jealous?

  "Looking back, not that much really," she admitted. "I thought I loved him—or I wanted it to be love, I guess. Not that I had any frame of reference, but..." Smiling coyly, she threw in, "I still have a lot to learn about men."

  "I'm definitely not complaining," he murmured, and kissed her.

  "Mmm... you have soft lips," he whispered between kisses. "Soft, pretty lips... "

  As their mouths clung to each other, Rick snaked his tongue against hers and rolled them both over so she was on top of him and his hands were tightened on her back. He reached all the way over to his nightstand and pulled out a condom.

  Gretchen moaned as he entered her. With her neck arching and her eyes sliding closed, she got lost in the moment, moving rhythmically up and down, rubbing her nipples, vaguely hearing Rick's husky words of encouragement. Gripping her hips, he helped guide her until the tension became white-hot.

  Then, swiftly, he rolled them again, spinning her over like she weighed nothing, taking control, and riding her with relentless passion.

  He was so confident in bed, so commanding, yet so warm and so tender. It almost made her cry now for no reason. There was no reason to cry, but still, emotion overwhelmed her. Suddenly he seemed invincible to her. The whole idea was illusory, but in that moment, it gripped her. She'd never felt such passion and unrestrained desire in her life, and she wanted more of it, much more. Undulating against him, she gasped and held on tight. "Teach me..." she whispered.

  "Teach you what?" he rasped.

  "Everything," she sighed, and then he began.

  Chapter 28

  "Wow, this is so beautiful," Gretchen said as she and Rick stepped inside his late father's cabin in Maine. He'd said it was a cabin, but to her a "cabin" was a tiny, rustic pile of logs, two rooms, maybe three, and a fireplace with a big black pot hanging inside it. But this place was impressive. A tall white house with black shutters, it was a breathtaking contrast to the dark green pine trees that cloaked its back.

  Closing the door behind them, Rick thanked her for the compliment and gave her the tour. The house exuded a cozy kind of warmth, with its woodsy decor and brick accents, but it was spacious at the same time, with high ceilings, four large bedrooms, and a long, winding old-fashioned kitchen that looked like a stone cave—one with copper pots and recessed lighting.

  After what happened between them on Monday night, they'd spent nearly every night that week together, except for when Rick had to work. Gretchen had told him her theory about Misty Allbright's murder—how Misty had actually been the intended victim. She'd managed to convince him that since there had been no more attempts on Brett's life or even threats since it happened, it stood to reason that the killer had, in fact, gotten the right person after all. Otherwise, why not find a way to finish the job?

  When Gretchen learned that the hulking Hawaiian was Brett's bodyguard and not his idolizing cousin, she felt like an idiot. How could she not have put that together herself? It seemed so obvious! Rick said that Brett had found Epau through one of his "discreet celebrity friends" (Brett's words). And Rick admitted to her that even Brett didn't seem that worried these days; he'd started to believe that somehow the sauce was poisoned after it was brought to Misty, and not beforehand, so Brett was back to being full of himself, fat and happy minus the fat part.

  So that seemed to be that. Except...

  Even though Misty Allbright wasn't the nicest girl in the world, Gretchen didn't feel right about just letting her murder go like it didn't matter. Brett should go to the police and tell them about the mushrooms and the sauce, and then the police could try to retrace everyone's whereabouts during the party and find the point at which someone slipped in and poisoned her food. The biggest suspect was Ellie; Gretchen was willing to bet anything that she'd done it and would eventually crack if someone applied the right pressure. She'd filled Rick in on all Ellie had had to gain by her boss's demise, not to mention the off-putting conversation she'd initiated with Gretchen at the craft table the other night, putting her on the spot about going to high school with Misty and implying that the two of them had had "issues." There was something fundamentally sneaky about the girl.

  Again, police intervention was what was needed here. But with Brett deciding to let the whole matter go so he could stay out of the line of fire, that was never going to happen.

  There was only so much that Rick could do about it. The fact was, the two brothers weren't close. Rick wanted to help him, but Gretchen knew that he couldn't enforce a specific sense of ethics on Brett if he weren't the least bit inclined toward it. So Gretchen was trying to let it go in her own mind. She didn't know why she couldn't. Misty treated her shabbily, and apparently she hadn't been too stellar to some other people in her life—Susanna coming prominently to mind—but there just seemed something fundamentally wrong about turning a blind eye to her murder.

  Now it was Friday. Rick and Gretchen were spending the weekend away from the city in a secluded house that was half shielded from the world by a thick arc of snow-capped pine trees. It had been a long drive; they'd left at five that afternoon and now it was nearly one.

  It was a dark, clear night; Gretchen had thought it was cold in New York, but it was colder than ice in Maine. Yet there was something about the quality of the air when she breathed it into her lungs—starkly cold but also startlingly clean.

  The last stop on the cursory tour around the house was the kitchen. With his hand still resting on her lower back, Rick looked down at her and said, "I'm starving—you?"

  "Oh, no, I'm okay," she said. She'd packed food for the car, leftovers from the set, including a frozen-solid steak that would've defrosted in the car if it hadn't been so damn cold outside. She didn't feel much like eating at the moment, but Rick had an appetite like an ox. (Did oxen eat a lot? Well, in any event, the boy could eat.) "But I'll fix you something," she offered because so far she had yet to use her greatest talent to her advantage in this relationship. A whole week together and Rick still hadn't tried her cooking. Every night, food was always a distant afterthought to sex; it was takeout, followed by more sex. But now, Gretchen was revved up to use the stove. Rick had mentioned once that he couldn't cook, so this would work out just fine.

  "Really? You're not too tired?" he said now, running his hand gently over her back.

  "I'm not tired at all," she replied. His eyes, on the other hand, looked a little sleepy, but he was willing to hold it together for a steak. She told him to sit down and she'd get started. He sat at the table, pulling out the heavy wooden chair and sliding into it with a sigh. "Man," he said and set his head on the table as she started to cook.

  Several minutes later, she went over and stood behind him as he rested his head on the table. "Man," he said again, this time with a yawn. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

  "You should be tired," she said warmly as she rubbed his shoulders gently at first, then circled her thumbs against the skin of his neck. Groaning, he urged her to continue.

  A minute later, she had to return to the stove. She slid his steak on a plate and poured a glass of beer for him from the six-pack she had in the cooler. When she brought it to him, she approached tentatively, quietly, because she couldn't tell if he'd fallen asleep. He looked so boyishly adorable right now, his dark hair rumpled, one lock curling over his forehead and his eyes shut. "Rick?" she said so quietly she barely heard herself.
>
  Nothing.

  She went to put the steak back on the counter when suddenly he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, which gave her a start. "Oh! You startled me!" she said, putting a hand to her heart, smiling down at him.

  With his eyes peering open, he smiled sleepily at her. "Where do you think you're going with that?" he asked.

  Smiling, she replied, "Nowhere, silly," and set it down in front of him. He sat up fully in his seat and went about eating, but before that said, "You're sure you're not hungry?"

  "Nope."

  "Okay, I'll be quick."

  "Take your time," she said, sliding into the chair next to his. "And tomorrow we'll go to the market down the road to pick up some groceries for the weekend and stuff," he added, before setting his first bite of steak into his mouth.

  It only took two seconds for his eyes to come more alive. "Holy shit," he said with a touch of wonder in his voice. "This is the best steak I've ever had."

  Happily, she said, "Really?"

  Chewing heartily, he dove right into it, his second and third bite, saying, "Damn, this is good," until finally he asked, "What's your secret?"

  "Honestly? A really hot pan," Gretchen said simply. "That's it?" he said, surprised.

  Not quite, but for the most part. "That's it."

  "So when do I get my key lime pie?" he asked with a sexy yet boyish grin.

  "When you've earned it," she replied teasingly—though, little did Rick know, she meant it.

  After he was done, she took his plate, set it in the sink; then they headed upstairs to his bedroom. Though she was tired, she wanted him. She'd been fantasizing about making love with him the whole ride up, and now, watching him move as he locked up the house, feeling him close by her side as they walked up the stairs... it was all she could do not to turn and jump on top of him. Maybe he'd be too tired for sex—she should be prepared for that possibility.

  As they walked into the dark room, tension thickened between them. As usual, Gretchen's lust for Rick overpowered her body, her mind. She couldn't seem to get enough of him. She didn't know if she ever would, and it scared her. Agitated her... excited her...

  Rick didn't bother turning on a light; he just shut the door.

  There wasn't even a stream of moonlight in the room. She turned, knowing he was right behind her, but she couldn't see him. Then she felt his hands on her. Wordlessly he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. She felt his arousal against her body and it made her moan, knowing too well the thrill of his thick, swollen cock inside her...

  Her arms coiled around his neck as she folded into a passionate, drugging kiss with Rick. It only heightened the tension between them. Instantly, there was an upsurge of heat that sexually charged the air, igniting the already explosive attraction between them. Running her fingers through his hair, Gretchen kissed Rick even harder, which sent him into action. Aggressively, he spun them around and backed her up against the closed door.

  She gasped.

  Restlessly, she rocked her body, rubbing her hips against his, rising up as he bent down, so he could grind against her, driving his steel-hard erection into her damp, aching center over and over, and each time he did it, she let out a punctuating little moan. It was so intoxicating, so good, that she wanted it to go on and on, even as she longed for relief from the torment of so much arousal. He held her bottom in his hands, keeping her pressed tightly to him with each movement. Hazily, she reached for him, cupping his stiff cock through his pants, squeezing him. He grunted and thrust into her hand. She squeezed harder and they gasped together.

  A gruff sound tore from his throat as one of his strong hands went to her waist, popping open the button on her jeans, shoving the zipper down, yanking her jeans and panties down her thighs in one motion.

  "Ohhh..." she gasped again and reached for him, fumbling with his fly. But her fingers were too clumsy. He tore his pants open with one hand and used the other to stroke her, rubbing her clitoris. She could almost hear the sluicing sounds when his fingers went inside her—in and out, stimulating her almost to the point of discomfort, working her into a frenzy. She gripped the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand and his muscular biceps with the other, and tried to steady herself, but she couldn't quite do it.

  Sweating, panting beyond embarrassment, with both hands she reached up to his shirt and started to claw at it to drag it up and off of him. He pulled back to whip it off, and crazily, she began running her hands all over his chest, his sleek shoulders, combing her fingers through his chest hair, and he descended again, shoving her panties and jeans all the way to the floor, then sliding his hands behind her naked thighs and scooping her off the floor.

  He spread her legs around his hips. Sandwiched between Rick and the door, Gretchen felt secure, protected, bur still, a little out of control. When she felt him finger her opening again, she said, "Wait, what about a...?"

  "I got it," he said hoarsely, his voice strained. Somehow he got a condom on in seconds, from who knows where, and vaguely Gretchen thought, There's something to be said for experience, as she tightened her grip on his biceps, waiting for him to enter her. And just like that—

  It was a hard sharp thrust up her body, with a shock of pain that burned into hot, seeping pleasure. He drove into her again and she cried out, her legs bracketing his hips, her thighs starting to ache, but she was barely aware of it. Eyes closed, she bit her lip and savored every move Rick made that pushed her closer to ecstasy.

  ".Yes," he whispered in her ear. "Oh... yeah..." And then he went off, mumbling a string of incoherent things she couldn't make out, but after endless moments, she found herself urging him on even more.

  "Harder..." she whispered almost tentatively, because it was plenty hard as it was, but still she wanted more of him.

  With a harsh grunt, Rick increased the pressure of his thrusts until they were relentless, almost animalistic, and Gretchen's body was thumping against the door over and over. Her neck arched, her head dropped back, and she let out a strangled cry as her orgasm took hold and vibrated through her in hot, rippling contractions. The sensations were overpowering and new to her; it had never been like this before. It seemed like she was always reaching new heights with Rick. Logically she knew that all things eventually leveled off, and sex would become saner between them, but that itself was a sweet and precious thought. She looked forward to comfort with Rick just as much as she savored the chaos. Now, dazed and still catching her breath, she felt she could almost drift off on a cloud.

  The muscles in Rick's back tightened as he moved faster still, in a frenzied rush to the end, thrusting wildly until his orgasm rumbled through him. His shoulders nearly shook from the force, and his groans of pleasure were deep and long.

  Seconds later, she heard him thunk his forehead on the door and mutter, "Jesus Christ." Her neck slumped forward, bringing her cheek to rest on Rick's shoulder; his skin was hot and faintly sweaty. Depleted by exhaustion and satiation, Gretchen barely registered it when Rick carried her to the bed and when, only seconds after, she conked out on top of him.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Gretchen rolled over on the softest, most comfortable bed she could ever imagine. Something flickered, so she opened her eyes. Blinking sleepily, she saw a small crackling fire before her eyes. And then she realized she wasn't in Rick's bed anymore. She had a vague memory of him carrying her downstairs, but she'd been too zonked out to process it really. Now she was in the family room, she realized, lying beside Rick on an unbelievably thick, luxurious white rug. Was this one of those bearskin rugs? (Because if so, she'd rethink using the word "cabin.")

  The fire bathed the room in an orange glow. They were both snuggled under a flannel blanket, and she was naked—even though she hadn't recalled taking off her sweater before she'd fallen asleep upstairs. Wait, she did remember. It had been in the darkness of the bedroom. It could've been minutes or hours after their first time; sleepily, she'd turned in to him, curled against
him, and he'd rolled over, peeled her sweater off, and climbed on top of her. She'd held on to him as he'd made love to her slowly, sensually, both of them gliding against each other in a deep, almost drugging haze of arousal, until Rick eventually brought her to an intense, scorching climax that left her throbbing.

  Now he was lying flat on his back with one arm draped over his eyes as his chest rose and fell deeply. Gretchen smiled to herself and inhaled a deep, satisfied breath, then rolled in to Rick till their bare bodies touched. He shifted in his sleep, pressing closer. Then he started to snore lightly in her ear, and for some reason, she smiled at that, too.

  * * *

  Rick's truck crunched through the snow as he drove them to the Corner Store. Today he was going to show her the Crests, a snowy set of mountainous hills that overlooked the frosty bay below. Gretchen had bundled up to the hilt for this; it was a cold day, but the sky was a sunny bright blue.

  "So I liked that rug we slept on," she said now. "Yeah?"

  "Yes, was it a bearskin rug?"

  "Yup, My dad got it about ten years ago, I think." At the mention of his dad, his voice was flat, didn't seem to want to elaborate. "They sold a bunch after a big bear hunt."

  "Your dad hunted bears?" she said, surprised and a little put off; she was a huge hater of hunting for sport but didn't think now was the appropriate time to debate the point.

  "No, no," Rick corrected her. "I mean, the bear population in this area got to be too much, so they had an organized hunt to reduce the population. My dad didn't personally have a part in it, though." After a brief pause, he said, "I know you probably think that's terrible, huh?"

  "Yeah, kind of," she admitted. He didn't bother trying to sell her on the concept of organized bear hunts, which she appreciated. "I don't even remember you putting me there," she remarked.

  "Yeah, you were pretty tired," Rick replied, then slanted her a look. He grinned at her, and she lifted her brows and said, "What?" and he just shook his head, still grinning. "Nothing," he said and refocused on the road.