Courting Chloe

by Nancy Warren

  She touched his naked chest, dipping her head to lick at him. He plunged under that robe, feeling for her, for her breasts that were round and plump and perfect. She moaned when he cupped her, nipped at him, and kept going south.

  His blood was pounding, need driving him to take, to give.

  Her hands were working at his belt, but his raging erection and the way he was sitting made everything too tight.

  He pushed her hands away, not wanting to waste the time, and half rising off the couch, dealt with the thing himself.

  He kicked off his boots, dragged off his socks, and, while she watched him with those amazing big brown eyes of hers, yanked his jeans and shorts off in one less than smooth move.

  Her gaze traveled up and down, drinking him in, and he felt a tiny sizzle of embarrassment along with a need stronger than any he’d ever known.

  Chapter 12

  Stephanie had never seen a guy she wanted more. She loved the darkness of his skin, the tight, hard abs, and the glorious cock arrowing her way.

  Rafe was the latest in a string of disastrous decisions. She understood that. Deborah had explained her self-destructive tendencies—her addiction to bad boys who would hurt her was like being hooked on crack or booze. She wanted to be stronger than this need. She’d tried to be, but she was going down.

  His eyes were dark, liquid, heavy with wanting that matched her own. His breathing was ragged. He reached for her and she loved the play of muscles in his arms. He had a snake tattooed around his right bicep.

  He reached for the belt of her robe, holding her gaze with his, and when he unwrapped her, she felt like a gift.

  His gaze traveled down her naked body and he made a sound that could only be satisfaction. She felt beautiful, irresistible, and so hot she was about to explode.

  He kissed her again, kissed his way to her breasts, where he spent a good amount of time, and she was hot and restless by the time he moved down her belly—not as athletic as his, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  Before she quite realized his intention, he was pushing apart her thighs with his tough cop’s hands and burying his face in her heat.

  Surprise, shock, and intense pleasure hit her in a big, swamping wave as he proceeded to use his tongue and lips to savor and torment her.

  Her head dropped back against the arm of the couch and she gave herself over to the sensations rioting through her body. Shivering heat, little electric thrills. When he pushed a finger inside her and rubbed unerringly at her G spot, she couldn’t hold back the cry that shook her, as her body thrust and rocked against him, spilling over.

  “I want you inside me,” she said, desperate to be filled.

  “Condoms,” he gasped.

  It took her a minute to take in his meaning. “Bathroom. Cabinet. Hurry.”

  He sprinted to the bathroom, giving her the opportunity to enjoy the muscular round butt and the thighs of an athlete.

  She heard the cabinet open. Something crashed to the counter. He cursed in Spanish, she noted, smiling to herself as, in his haste, he knocked something else over.

  She’d deal with the mess later. All of the mess. For now, she was willing to accept that she’d gone crazy. But at least this kind of craziness wouldn’t get her arrested.

  He brought the entire box with him, spilling them out on the table beside the couch. She could help him, but she didn’t feel like it. With the edge taken off and the certainty that while this guy might be terrible for her in every way, at least he’d be a great lover, she gave herself over to the moment.

  Tomorrow she’d curse herself for her stupidity, not tonight.

  He fumbled the condom on and there was something endearing about his clumsiness since he was so obviously one of those athletic, coordinated types who were rarely clumsy.

  Once more he parted her thighs. Once more she opened for him. This time he looked into her eyes. The intimacy was so shocking that she wanted to look away, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.

  He entered her and she felt the slow slide of pleasure as her body took him in. Little pulses from her first orgasm sent tiny shocks through her. Wanting to be closer, wanting more, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him inside her even as he thrust deeper.

  She came in a glorious rush and felt his body climax in tune with hers.

  He rolled them so that she was snuggled against him on the couch. She could hear the bang of his heart begin to slow, his harsh breathing even, and the heat of his skin fade to warm.

  She traced the snake that encircled his bicep. “Why a snake?”

  “Trying to look tough. To fit in with some guys.”

  She nodded. She’d been pretty far off base. Even his bad stuff was a front for a good guy.

  Mostly because she wanted excuses to touch him, she slipped her index finger under the gold chain so she could see his medallion. It was warm against her fingers, warm from his body. “And this?”

  “Our Lady of Guadalupe. She’s the patron saint of Mexico.” His voice rumbled, low and intimate. “My birthday is December twelfth, the saint’s day. I always thought the big celebration and the feast every year was for me.” He grinned. “My grandmother told me I’d always be blessed, like the saint. She’s the one who gave me this.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had a saint watching over me.”

  He kissed her shoulder. “We can share.”

  She drifted, feeling loose and warm and sleepy, thinking that Rafe’s looking out for her was more satisfying than a gold coin around her neck.

  “Babe.” The low male voice brought her out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Her eyes were heavy when she opened them and for a moment she couldn’t figure out where she was. Then she realized she was on her own couch in her own living room.

  “Mmmm?” She pushed a hand up to get the tangle of hair out of her eyes.

  Her housecoat lay over her like a blanket and Rafe was bending over her, fully dressed. Like a stranger again.

  “I’m heading out,” he said. “Make sure to lock up behind me.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She stumbled to her feet, holding the housecoat in front of her. He turned to head for her door and she scrambled her arms into the sleeves and rapidly belted the robe around her. She felt physically replete, heavily satisfied, and so emotionally screwed up that she wanted to cry.

  At the door he turned to her and gave her a quick kiss. “See you,” he said.

  “Yeah. See you.”

  And then he walked out of her life, like so many had before him. And once more she felt her heart break a little bit.

  As she slid the deadbolt home, she wondered if she was ever going to get her life to work. She flipped off the lights, walked to her bedroom, and crawled into bed. Her sheets felt cold and she shivered.

  See you. He hadn’t even asked for her phone number.

  See you. As if.

  Chloe was beginning to think she might actually have a career that she wasn’t going to get bored with and chuck. Of course, it was early days yet, and her income wasn’t quite keeping up with her expenses, but she was getting busier. More hits on the website, more email, more phone calls of inquiry.

  Some of the people who contacted her were a bit on the odd side. And she’d instinctively turned down a few people who seemed more interested in humiliating their partners or exacting some sort of revenge than in a clean breakup.

  That wasn’t her purpose and she quickly rejected anyone who wanted to use her service for unsavory purposes. Honestly, some people had no standards. Most, however, understood that a breakup was difficult enough and could be handled much more easily by an efficient third party.

  Twice, she’d actually organized a meeting with the lovers and herself. One had ended in a reconciliation when it was clear that the woman who had hired Chloe to help her break up her romance was in fact mistaken in thinking her guy was having an affair.

  He was playing tennis four nights a week, which Chloe thought was enough to have her
dumping him for pure abandonment, but when he offered to take his girlfriend to his tennis club every night so she could see him play, and even suggested that he buy her tennis lessons for her upcoming birthday, all problems were magically resolved.

  Whatever, as the Americans loved to say. Chloe had pocketed her fee and even got a referral.

  The second time she’d met two sparring partners for dinner, it wasn’t so pleasant. In fact, she decided then and there she wasn’t doing a dinner again. Still, by dint of making each of the parties stay silent for one full minute while letting the other speak, she was able to get them to agree that their relationship simply wasn’t working. By the end of the meal, they’d been able to laugh at a shared memory and she thought that at least this couple might be able to move on with fond memories.

  She was heading out to the bank, rather pleased to have another check to deposit, when Matthew came out of his house right after she had emerged from her own. “Good morning,” she said, sounding as cheerful as she felt.

  Matthew’s answer was a single-note grunt.

  “I thought the dinner went very well, didn’t you?”

  If it were possible, the scowl on his face grew heavier. “You seemed to be having a good time.”

  She looked at him, puzzled. “I thought we all had a good time.”

  “Some more than others,” he mumbled.

  She’d never been what one would call a patient woman. “My, you did get out on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she said, doing her best to sound like Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins. “Perhaps you need your happy pill.”

  “Looks like you got your happy pill last night.”

  “Is this pointless rudeness leading somewhere?”

  “Not a damn place I can think of. I don’t like you seducing my friends, is all.”

  “Seducing—” She was about to tell him exactly why she’d asked Rafe to stay behind last night when she realized she couldn’t without giving away the nature of her business, and that she was determined not to do until she was good and ready. She bent her head to shift her bag and then looked up provocatively at Matthew from under her lashes. “I can assure you that no seducing was necessary,” she said, then just to annoy him, tossed out that most American of expressions. “Have a nice day.”

  When she got back from her errands, Matthew was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Instead, she found Brittany getting out of her car, loaded down with sample books of some sort. As she struggled to close the car door, one toppled to the sidewalk.

  Chloe, as drawn by curiosity as good Samaritanism, called out, “Let me help you with that,” and walked up to scoop the dropped book from the pavement.

  “Oh, thanks,” said Brittany, holding her chin against the pile of books she still held. “I should have taken them in two trips, but I’m too impatient.”

  “I’m exactly the same,” Chloe agreed, helping herself to two more off the top of Brittany’s load and walking behind her up the path to Matthew’s house. “Redecorating?”

  “We’re getting some ideas, that’s all. Matthew’s colors are all so dark. I thought it might be nice to brighten the place a little.”

  Oh, you poor, sweet, misguided thing, Chloe thought. Not only were Matthew’s color choices in keeping with his house, but any fool could see he was not a man who’d have any interest in color swatches and wallpaper sample books. She glanced at the closest cover and shuddered. Especially not anything found in a book called Country Inspirations.

  She was going to have to move quickly, before this misguided woman had repapered Matthew’s entire house in ducks and gingham and he ended up murdering her in her bentwood bed.

  She’d been so busy setting up her business and dealing with actual paying clients that Chloe hadn’t had much leisure to think about Brittany and Matthew, but clearly, based on the decorating demon now lodged in Brittany’s brain, she had to quicken her pace.

  “I did a year at the Buckingham Institute, an interior design school in London. Perhaps I could be of assistance?”

  “Oh, wow. In London?”

  “Yes. Well, almost a year. I didn’t do enough to get the degree, but I certainly learned the basics. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Excellent. Why don’t you call me later when you’ve had a chance to get some ideas and we can talk color palettes and so on.”

  “It’s very nice of you. Oh, and thanks again for last night. I had a really good time.”

  “Me, too. You know, I haven’t had a chance to make any real friends here. I do miss my girls.” She thought of Nicky and Rachel and all of them.

  “Oh, I can’t imagine. Well, you’ll have to come out with me and my girls. We’ll show you how to have fun Texas style.”

  “Really? That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They took the books inside and she put the ones she’d brought in on the third step of the staircase before she headed for the front door.

  “When Matthew’s free, would you ask him to help me move a couple of heavy things in my house?”

  “I sure will.”

  Ten minutes later there was a pounding on Chloe’s front door. She didn’t even have to look out the bedroom window to know who it was.

  She finished the email she was composing to Jordan assuring him that she had matters well in hand to inspire Deborah to break up with him. She disregarded the fact that Rafe hadn’t said yes, since she was an optimist at heart and had good reason to know that her persuasive powers were top notch.

  When the pounding on her door was joined by the persistent ringing of the bell, she got up and went downstairs.

  She threw open the door. “I am trying to run a business here,” she reminded her glowering neighbor, who looked as though he’d love to be back on the force so that he could go around brandishing a gun and arresting people.

  He’d reduce crime in Austin simply by glaring at potential criminals.

  “So am I. I hear you want furniture moved. There’s nothing in your lease about moving furniture.”

  She gazed at him calmly. “Bite me,” she said.

  His jaw clamped as though he was preventing himself from doing exactly that. “I’ve got Brittany trying to turn my place into Tutti Frutti Central and you moving furniture. Can’t you women ever leave anything alone?”

  “Not if it needs improvement,” she said, glancing significantly at him.

  His eyes narrowed and he stalked past her. “What are you thinking of moving?”

  “The bed out of the second bedroom. I’ve hired an assistant. I’m putting in a desk for her.”

  “An assistant. You hired an assistant.”

  “That’s right,” she said, walking ahead of him up the stairs.

  His voice sounded a lot less stressed when he said, “A junior detective.”

  Her lips curved. “Exactly.”

  She fluttered around a little, trying to help him, but Matthew basically hefted the mattress up and carried it upstairs to the attic single-handed. He did the same with the box spring and the headboard and she couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of his muscular build and the manly way he had of making nothing of what would for her have been a huge job.

  “Where’s the desk?” he asked her once the bed was all gone. He’d even offered to hike the dresser out of there but, since she couldn’t afford much in the way of office furniture, she’d elected to keep it for supplies.

  “It’s in a box. In the kitchen. It needs putting together.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He looked down at her. “Want me to take a look?”

  “It’s not going to cost me another dinner, is it?”

  “Coffee’ll do.”

  She put on a fresh pot while he hauled the box upstairs. By the time the coffee was done and she carried a mug up to him, she found him on the floor, the pieces already unboxed and the Allen wrench, which she personally considered the most evil tool known to man, already at work.
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br />   He took the coffee with a grunt of thanks.

  “Why aren’t you helping Brittany with the decorating?”

  He shot her an evil glance and went back to his furniture construction.

  She watched him for a moment, enjoying his handiness, the way his biceps tightened and flexed as he worked, the shifting of muscles in his back.

  “You do realize,” she said to that very nice back, “that if you don’t stop her you’ll end up living in a gingham cottage?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  She shook her head. “If you weren’t a genius with furniture-in-a-box, I would definitely take offense,” she said breezily, and went back to her own office to catch up on some paperwork.

  It was actually rather nice to listen to the shifting of furniture, the creaking of floorboards as he moved around. When he cursed, she smiled to herself. She was alone too much, she realized. She’d enjoy having someone to work with.

  In a shorter time than she would have believed possible, he bellowed, “Where do you want this thing?”

  She rose and went into the other room and had him leave it in the middle, facing the door. Stephanie could move it wherever she liked, Chloe decided, since she didn’t intend that clients would actually visit the office.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” she said, sincerely grateful in spite of his rudeness earlier.

  He seemed in no hurry to leave and picked up all the packaging, bundling it neatly. “So, Rafe.”

  She glanced at him. “Yes?”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  “I would hope you’d think so, since he’s a friend of yours.”

  He shuffled a little, seeming uncomfortable but determined. She had an idea she knew where he was going with this, but had no intention of helping him get there. Foolish man.

  “Doesn’t seem like your type.”

  She ducked her head to gather a piece of tape that had stuck to the oak baseboard Matthew had no doubt installed. Probably after fashioning it from an oak tree he had personally grown and then felled. “You don’t know my type.”