“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” I growl and gently bite her chin. “I’d just made love to the most beautiful woman in the universe. Of course I wanted to see you.”
She gives me a sly glance. “Didn’t notice you calling me.”
I could say I didn’t have her phone number, but that was a lie, thanks to Brooke.
“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” I counter. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the universe, remember? I’m … Zach.”
“The very hot Zach McLaughlin?” She lifts her arms and twines them around me. “I saw all the women looking at you in the restaurant tonight. Wanting to tackle me and take my place.”
I knew she had to be joking. “Nah, they were looking at Austin. He attracts attention.”
“Bull.” Abby slides against me, and my thoughts scatter. “This was after Austin left. But it doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”
“True.” I kiss her again. “Here. Now.”
That’s all that matters.
Our clothes start coming off. I find the zipper and the dress loosens. I help her pull off the jacket, and the top of the sleeveless dress slides down her arms, revealing a black lacy bra.
Her hands are busy unbuckling my belt, unzipping my pants. I suck in a breath as her fingers find my cock, which is plenty stiff.
“Oh, man.” I let out the breath, which sounds hoarse. “I don’t think I can stand up for this.”
Before she can speak, I sweep her off her feet and into my arms, heading for the bed.
Sounds easy, right? In the movies, the hero lifts the heroine like its nothing and runs with her somewhere. I saw one dude run all the way up the stairs with his lady.
In reality, it’s hard to catch my balance without bouncing her, and as soon as she lets go of me, my pants fall. I trip over them, but thankfully the bed is nearby, and we land safely on it. Abby’s laughing at me once again.
I kick out of my pants and shoes, and roll over to her. She’s on her side, tugging at the hem of my shirt. It’s a polo shirt, which I wear to look professional for clients. I drag it off over my head then the T-shirt beneath it.
Her turn. I unhook her bra, which drops off. Not waiting, I cup her breasts then lower my head and close my lips over her nipple.
Abby arches into my mouth, and I feast on the velvet softness of her. Her fingers rest again on my cock, stroking it through my underwear, sending fires through my body.
I need her. I’ve been thinking about her since I woke up yesterday morning, and the time between hasn’t dampened my wanting. I’m dying for her.
I push her into the mattress, continuing to suckle her. She skims her fingertips up and down my cock, which jerks, ready to be inside her.
I need to get rid of the underwear. I release her, grab the elastic, and wrestle the stupid boxer briefs down my legs. The band twangs, and the briefs go flying somewhere across the room. I’m glad the window’s shut, or they might have taken off into the neighbor’s yard. Or landed in the pool. Or the neighbor’s pool.
I scramble off the bed and into the bathroom, pawing through the drawers in search of condoms. I should have one or two left over from the past. They haven’t expired yet, so I grab one and dash into the bedroom.
Abby’s underwear is gone by the time I make it to her again. Probably neatly folded beside the bed. I rip open the condom packet, the wrapper flying to join my underwear.
She helps me put on the condom. This fans the flames, and I can barely breathe.
I come down on Abby, sliding one hand beneath her supple body to lift her hips to me. I position myself and slide inside her.
There. Damn.
We fit so well, like a key in the right lock. I stop and stare down at her, deep into brown eyes that hold the answer to happiness.
I’m so glad I found you again, Abby.
A soft noise comes from my throat, and Abby smiles at me.
I groan and start to love her. Slowly at first, then faster, faster, as we both catch the rhythm and move together.
Outside, a mockingbird starts to sing, its many calls following one after the other. The guy is pouring his heart out, trying to attract lady mockingbirds to his side.
Inside, all is quiet, except for Abby and me. She’s not shy about her cries of joy, telling me exactly how good she feels and how much she loves what we’re doing.
I respond, less coherently. I’m burning—she’s quenching my thirst. My body floods with icy excitement, like I’m soaring over the top of a mountain, every beat of my heart better than the last. I reach the peak and yell as I start coming down the other side.
I drive into her, and Abby holds me the whole time. She’s yelling too, telling me I’m amazing, and hot, and other flattering things.
I kiss her but the two of us are too frenzied to make it romantic. I fall onto her, my hips moving, my heart full.
Abby catches me and brings me safely in for a landing. And then we’re both breathless, laughing, kissing, touching, stroking. Happy. Loving.
This night is perfect.
* * *
Abby
I let out a groan—not one of passion—and press a hand to my rat’s nest of hair. “I should go.”
It’s late. Very late. I’m in Zach McLaughlin’s bed, and we’ve made love maybe four times, each of them better than the last. So good, I’ve lost count.
Zach’s pillow cradles my head, and he lies next to me on his side, lazily brushing a hand across my abdomen.
“Why should you?” Zach caresses my breast with the backs of his fingers.
“I have to work in the morning.” I say it with sorrow.
“So do I.” Zach’s smile undoes something inside me.
“It’s a long drive home.”
“I know.” Zach’s strokes become warmer. “Like hell I want you to drive across a big dangerous city alone at night. Stay here. Stay safe.”
Until daybreak, when traffic clogs every artery in this town. It will be an arduous crawl back to the East Valley. Not looking forward to that.
On the other hand, Zach’s bed is comfortable, and he’s in it with me. I yawn, pressing my fingers to my mouth.
“I might be able to stay a little longer.”
“Good.” He says it like a purr, and kisses my shoulder. “Stay as long as you like.”
My heart trips. I suddenly yearn for his wish to extend past this night, that he wants me in this wonderful house with him for the rest of our lives.
He can’t really mean that. He meant until morning, until after breakfast, when we’d go our separate ways. This will be another one-night-stand. Can you have more than one with the same person in three days?
I force myself to not ask questions. I have Zach for the right now. I draw my finger along his cheek, brushing his lips. He leans down and kisses me, and we get lost again, in the night and the moment.
When I wake once more, daylight pours through the window and Zach is gone.
I lie still for a time, waiting for feeling to return to my body, thoughts to my head. Then I sit up in a hurry.
Sunshine fills the room, windows in three directions letting it in. Sunlight gleams on the white-painted paneled walls, the simple wooden furniture, the hardwood floor scattered with throw rugs.
My clothes are in a neat pile on top of the dresser. Did Zach do that? Or does he have a maid I now have to be embarrassed in front of?
I smell coffee. Heavenly coffee. And the smell of bacon frying.
I could sit here and debate, or I could get up and have some coffee and breakfast.
I slide out of bed and snatch up my underwear. The dresser contains photos, which I see once I move my dress. Zach has pictures of his family here, some of them at a desert lake on a boat. One with his dad and mom, then the four brothers together: Ryan, Zach, Ben, Austin. They’re laughing and goofing, Austin with one hand raised.
The photo captures their personalities well. Ryan, chin lifted. He’s the oldest brother and has to keep these guy
s in line. Ben, with his shy smile. Austin, daring anyone to get in his way. And Zach …
Zach is smiling, indulgent of his brothers, warmth in his eyes. He’s happy with his family, with his life, with his choices. A rare thing to see.
I’m not settled with anything. Searching—for what, I don’t know. I have good friends, a mom I love with all my being, a decent job, and prospects for another. I know I’m selfish for feeling empty, but the desolation in my heart as I contemplate returning to my own life smacks me. I want to cry.
I stop the tears by pulling on my clothes, zipping into the bathroom to wash my face and to try to pat my hair into place.
I finally go downstairs, following my nose to the kitchen. It’s a large room, as kitchens are in old houses, instead of a galley attached to a dining area or family room. A table stands here, real plates set out, and silverware.
There’s no maid in sight, just Zach with a spatula. He shoves a cup of coffee under my nose, which I take, and I gulp coffee gratefully.
“Breakfast?” he asks. “I did bacon and eggs. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“It is. But I really don’t have time …”
“Everyone has time for breakfast. It’s still early. We expended a lot of energy last night.” Zach laughs and kisses me on the cheek, comfortable with us.
I decide to enjoy letting a hot man fix me breakfast. Zach tells me to grab whatever I want, so I root in the refrigerator for butter for the toast, salsa for the eggs. He’s well stocked.
“Does your mom go shopping for you?” I ask.
“Hey, men can know about food. My mom never was much of a cook—she’s obsessed with accounting and numbers. She’s like Ben—can be absorbed in her job until she doesn’t realize the sun is down. My dad does the cooking, and my brothers and I figured it out when we moved into our own places.”
As he speaks, he serves me up scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, toast finished to perfection—not too dry, not too limp and cold.
Zach sits next to me as I shovel it all in, worrying about the time. Zach eats with more restraint. He’s a great cook, of breakfast anyway, and I force myself to slow down and savor it.
“I’ll cook dinner for you some night,” Zach says, fingers resting on his coffee mug.
My heart flutters. “Do you do gourmet stuff like Crepes Suzette? Whatever those are.”
“Nope. My cooking is pretty plain. Steak and potatoes. Burgers. I can put together a decent salad when I want to. And I make a mean soup of leftovers.”
“Sounds awesome. I don’t cook much, sorry.”
Zach shrugs. “Why sorry? The old days when you had to cook because you were a girl are gone. At least they are in my family.”
I relax. “My family too. My mom and I perfected the art of take-out. We know how to get what we want from almost any restaurant in town any time.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I love that.”
We talk about our favorite restaurants, which new ones we like, and the great ones we were sad to see go. You can tell a native of Phoenix, because we refer to places by what used to be there instead of what’s there now. New is not necessarily better, but it’s not rejected either.
After a while, I let out a heavy sigh. “I really should go. I’m going to be late.”
Zach is resigned. “I guess you should. If I’m late, I get reamed out by my mom. That’s the problem with a family business—everything is personal.”
“Sounds nice,” I say with longing.
Zach watches me a moment. “I might call you. No—I will call you. Today. If you don’t want me to, or you think it’s too soon, all you have to do is let it go to voicemail. I’ll figure it out.”
My heart hammers, joy flooding out my worries. “I’ll pick up.” I grimace. “As long as I’m not in the bathroom. I’m not a toilet talker.”
“Whew!” Zach dramatically wipes his forehead. “Neither am I. Last thing I want to hear when I’m pouring out my heart is a toilet flushing.”
We start laughing and can’t stop. I get up and so does he, and we hang on each other, gone in hysteria.
Zach walks me to my car. A few neighbors are out, picking up newspapers or getting into cars for work. They wave to Zach, and he waves back, unembarrassed about emerging with a woman who has obviously spent the night.
He even kisses me in front of everyone. “Have a great day, Abby.”
I know I will, because he’s said so.
I finally make myself get into the car. “Wait—how will you get to work?” Zach’s truck is nowhere in sight.
“I called Austin when I got up. He’ll swing by.”
He says it with confidence, knowing his brothers have his back at every turn.
Zach leans down and kisses me through the open window. Then he pats the top of my car and waves me off.
I drive down the road, wanting to sing. I turn on the radio, find something I can sing with, and start wailing. I turn off onto Central, heading south with everyone else in Phoenix.
The crawl to my house takes forever, as I knew it would, but I cease caring. I sing, I smile at people hunched in their cars with road rage in their eyes, wave cars to go ahead of me when they’re stuck, and generally enjoy the commute.
At home I jump through a shower and dress. I could have showered at Zach’s and driven straight to work, but arriving in the clothes I wore yesterday would have embarrassed the hell out of me.
My shift starts at 8:30, and I make it, miracle of miracles, at 8:40.
“Warren!” Mr. Beale yells down the cubicle alley the minute I scuttle into mine. “My office. Now!”
Chapter Nine
Zach
Austin shows up in my truck, which he’s taken good care of. As he drives us to work, he keeps flashing me an annoying grin.
“What?” I finally ask, irritable. I don’t want to interrupt my constant thoughts of Abby and our time in bed together.
“I haven’t seen you this gone in a while.” Austin gives me a satisfied glance. “I like it.”
“Gone? What kind of bullshit is that?”
But I know he’s right. I’m out the other side of gone and off over the horizon. I still feel Abby beneath me, her body moving with mine—one time she was on top, beautiful as she rocked on me. I stifle a groan, and Austin laughs louder.
“Oh man, your face. So are you and Abby together now, or what?”
“Two dates,” I growl. “And they weren’t really dates. Mind your own business, little bro.”
Austin lays off, but he’s still laughing under his breath.
We arrive at the office and he slams out of the truck and inside, me on his heels. I don’t want him announcing in the middle of the showroom that I slept with Abby last night.
Austin stops short when we walk inside, and I nearly run into him.
Mom is at the reception desk with a young woman who has light brown hair pulled back into a bun. She’s slender but not skinny, athletic but not muscle-bound. She wears glasses with light blue rims that match her eyes.
Mom turns around when we come in. “Good morning. I want you to meet Erin Dixon. The temp agency sent her. She’s going to be filling in at reception for a while.”
Erin smiles and says hello. Austin checks her out, but she doesn’t appear to notice him beyond politeness. Interesting.
And a relief. Erin is pretty, and if Mom hired her, even as a temp, it means she’s good. We don’t need Austin breaking her heart.
“Glad to have you on board,” I say neutrally.
“Likewise,” Austin says.
Mom gives Austin a look. He touches two fingers to his forehead in salute and moves to his office.
Ben emerges from his dark den, head bent over the tablet in his hand. He moves purposefully toward the front desk, eyes on whatever the hell is so important on his device.
“Ben will set up your computer,” Mom says to Erin. “He’ll get you logged in and explain our phone and message system. Ben, this is Erin.”
Ben
drags his attention from his fascinating tablet and lands it on Erin. She smiles.
He stops. He goes so completely still his fingers are arrested in mid-tap. Mouth open, eyes fixed. Erin widens her smile.
“Uh,” Ben says.
“Hi.” Erin gives him a shy look, wrinkling her nose in an adorable way. Ben turns the shade of a clay brick.
If Mom notices, she says nothing. “Our system is pretty simple. Ben should be able to show you everything by lunch. If you have questions after that you can ask me, or Ben. I’ll leave you to it for now.”
She bustles away, scooping up her mail as she goes.
I linger, picking through the rest of the mail. Ben remains motionless. I deliberately bump into him.
“Uh …”
“Guess I’d better get to work,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Erin. If I get any calls, just put them through. I never hide. You should get started, Ben, before Mom cracks the whip.”
Erin sits down, fingers resting lightly on the mouse. “So, Ben, how do I log in?”
Ben gulps and finally scuttles around the reception desk to her. I walk off to find coffee, chuckling to myself, letting Ben suffer on his own.
* * *
Abby
I answer the phone after one ring.
“You on the toilet?” Zach asks cautiously.
“No, eating lunch.” I stab at the lettuce on my leafy-green salad, my penance for the eggs and bacon at breakfast and the chicken last night. “I wouldn’t have answered, remember?”
“Just thought I’d check. How are you?”
“Me? Great.” I don’t tell him Mr. Beale yelled at me for twenty minutes for being ten minutes late. Result, I’m taking a short lunch and will be staying after work.
“I’m great too.” His voice is low, sultry, holding notes of what we shared last night.
I forget all about my salad, Mr. Beale’s stinging reprimands, my painful workload. I remember Zach, his hands on my body, the heat of his lips, the way his face smooths out when he comes.
This Changes Everything: McLaughlin Brothers, Book 1 Page 7