by Emery Cross
CHAPTER 9
HARPER
I CLIPPED MY HAIR UP and took a quick shower, polishing my skin with my vanilla scented sugar scrub, the perfect product for a baker. As I dried myself off I realized I had nothing to sleep in but an old t-shirt. No way was I going to start my career as an occasional mistress in a threadbare t-shirt.
I wrapped the towel around me and phoned Rowley. "I don't have the appropriate negligee to start this. I'll buy something tomorrow."
He made a sound, something between a chuckle and a growl. "It doesn't matter what you wear. I'll have you naked the second you come through the door."
"This is not how I expected you to be. You were always such a Southern gentleman with Kat."
"The relationship you and I are going to have will have fuck all in common with that one."
Was he already trying to renegotiate the terms?
"Relationship?"
I sensed heavy silence on his end. "Wrong word. My mistake, darlin'.”
I ended the call. Why the weighted pause? I couldn’t help thinking he hadn’t made a mistake. That he wanted a relationship and was afraid he’d scare me off by suggesting it.
Stop. You’re indulging in magical thinking.
I had to face reality. I was stuck playing the stupid game that I’d started, but I wanted so much more than just sex with Rowley.
I glanced over at the ratty-old tee. That was just not an option. I flung open the closet door.
The hangers sang on the metal bar as I whipped through my dresses. I was hoping a summer shift might do the trick, but nothing seemed appropriate. I stopped at the sleeveless dress of see-through white lace with an under-dress of white silk. A wedding dress I'd never worn. I passed it up and continued through my clothes. I returned to the wedding dress. Wouldn't the simple silk sheath look just like a nightgown? I took the dress out of the closet and snapped the tags off it, and then went in search of some scissors.
I sat on the bed and started carefully cutting the threads securing the straps to the lace.
Success! I'd managed to get one strap free. I worked the tips of the scissors beneath the delicate threads of the second strap.
"Damn," I said as the tips of the scissors cut right through the thin strap. As if I hadn't seen that coming?
I sat with the dress in my lap ready to cry. What if I just tied the straps? I dropped the towel and slipped the sheath over my head and attempted a knot on the severed strap. It pulled the whole garment up too high and looked ridiculous.
A devilishly daring idea sprang to my mind and I tossed the sheath aside and unzipped the lace outer dress and stepped into it.
I checked myself in the mirror. The open lacework left little to the imagination. You could see the pink of my nipples and, well, you could see pretty much everything.
It was sexy all right, but there was something I couldn't deny—I still looked like a bride, a risqué one, obviously, but a bride nonetheless. And what negligee had a zipper down the back?
I reached back to unzip it when Rowley rang. He was going to be banging on the door in a second.
I weighed my options; odd but sexy lace dress or faded and definitely not sexy t-shirt. I re-zipped the dress and took a twirl in the mirror. "What this little ol' thing?" I asked my reflection, affecting a Scarlett O'Hara lilt. "Just something I had lying around."
I took down the bun I'd worn to work and shook out my hair then put a pale rose-colored stain on my lips and walked through a misting of perfume.
I stopped at the door then hurried back to my closet. Strolling practically naked down the drive where a passing motorist could see me was not a great idea. Not only for me, but it would surely shoot Rowley's blood pressure through the roof. I grabbed my calf-length black cardigan and wrapped it around myself hiding the dress.
I let myself into the house. Rowley, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a bottle of beer in his hand, lifted a quizzical brow at the sight of the long black sweater. I decided to drag out the suspense a little longer. I asked for a beer.
I left the kitchen and strolled around the living room checking out the paintings on the walls, like I was a first time visitor. I was trying to calm my breathing. I suddenly wondered why I thought I needed sleepwear. Why did I assume I'd be spending the night? I heard him approach and turned and snatched the beer from his hand.
"I like this," I said, pointing to a painting of a serene lake surrounded by a pine forest. "Is it an original?"
"No clue. It came with the house. Harper, what are you playing at?"
"Nothing. I was just admiring your painting."
"Take the sweater off." He clearly did not want me to waste another second of his time with a slow seduction.
I took another sip of the beer before setting the bottle down on his coffee table. I slowly parted the sweater.
Confusion dawned in his eyes. Of course, he was expecting me to be naked underneath it. Why hadn't I thought of such a simple solution?
"For some dumb reason I thought I needed sleepwear."
"What exactly are you wearing?"
Not the reaction I was hoping for.
The words I'd rehearsed in front of the mirror were on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I said, "I bought it for a wedding. It-it had an opaque kind of slip thingy attached." I was tripping over my words. Why had I done this? Why had I worn this absurd dress? "I decided it would make a slinky nightgown. But then I ruined the strap and—"
"Thought the bride only wore white," he cut right through my blathering.
I blushed guiltily.
His eyes narrowed. "You told me you'd been drinking. That the wedding was a stupid-ass impulse. Yet you had time to buy a dress?"
The seductive moment completely out the window now, I drew the gaping black sweater together. "Don't get all bent out of shape. I didn't buy it for that wedding."
"Wait, what?" He roughly scrubbed his hand through his hair. "You've been married twice?"
"Well, almost. I didn’t go through with it. The tags were still on the dress."
Anger flared in his hazel eyes. "What the ever-loving fuck?"
"Can we please not talk about it?"
"You wearing this was no accident, babe. You wanted to tell me about it."
I pulled in a startled breath. What if it had been a sub-conscious decision to wear the dress? To come clean about everything before we embarked on our friends with benefits journey. "You could be right."
"I'm right. So tell me."
I heaved a sigh. "I'm sure you know that my parents kicked Matt out of the house when he was eighteen. Well, they didn't bother waiting that long to boot me out. I was seventeen when I came home late from a party and found my stuff in garbage bags on the front stoop. And Matt was halfway across the world shooting pictures of wildlife."
"You should have come to me."
"I did actually." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "The cell phone number I had for you no longer worked so I went to where your parents lived, but the house was on the market and they'd moved out. I figured it for a sign that I shouldn't bother you. That I wasn't your problem."
"You’ve never been a problem for me,” he said, his voice gruff. “Damn, I wish you’d tried harder to find me."
"I managed on my own. I did okay. I couch surfed with friends." I shrugged as if it hadn't been a big deal, but it had been truly scary just being thrown out into the world like that. I'd felt really lost. Even though my parents had given less than a damn about me, at least I'd had a roof over my head.
"Trent was an assistant professor at the community college I attended. You know how the high school lets you take a couple of classes in your senior year if you have all your credits to graduate. When he asked me to marry him I jumped at it. A permanent place to live. Someone to come home to... And getting parental consent was a breeze. They didn't even ask a single question about who the man was. I guess they figured if I married they would be well and truly rid of me."
I pulled in
a shaky breath. "He was sweet and caring and far too trusting. He had no idea who he was getting involved with."
It was clear my confession had shaken Rowley. He seemed at a loss as to how to process this new information. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff, and he was studying me with a narrow-eyed thoroughness, like I was some sort of alien creature. My hand trembled as I tucked my hair behind my ear.
I could read the question in his eyes. "I didn't—I wouldn't sleep with him." A nervous laugh escaped me. "That could be why he asked me to marry him in the first place."
I tried for a coy smile, and only managed a trembling one. "See you have an advantage over those two other guys. You've already realized that I can't be trusted. As they say, forewarned is forearmed."
His harsh scrutiny unnerved me. "You probably want to nix the friends with benefits deal." I gestured toward the door. "I'll just show myself out."
I pivoted on my bare heels and moseyed out of the room, adding a little extra swing to my hips. Probably a wasted move, considering my ass was hidden under my thigh-length cardigan, but I was desperate. I wanted him to stop me from leaving. I heard the floorboards creak and my spine tingled in anticipation as I sensed his big body behind me, in slow pursuit. He let me turn the knob before he reacted, his hand hitting the door above my head and smacking it shut.
"It doesn't fucking matter," he said.
My heart was jackhammering in my chest.
He kept his hand braced on the door above my head, so I turned around in the tight confines and peered up into his face. His eyes held no warmth. "Pasts only matter if there is a future. Believe me, I'm not expecting any future with you."
I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. The joke was on me. The reason this relationship would be nothing like the one he'd had with Kat was because it would be sex pure and simple. He really did just want me for a fuck buddy. Wait. Not even a fuck buddy. He'd never used either of those two common phrases—fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. He'd called it a series of one night stands—absolutely no mention of friendship at all.
He continued to keep me trapped against the door. I could sense impatience coming off his hot, hard body in waves.
"Excellent," I said, finally, "'cause I prefer living in the present."
I managed to shrug out of my sweater in that tight space and let it drop to the floor. His open mouth was instantly on my throat, his hand shoving up my dress. His hand cupped my pussy, his thumb rubbing over my slit. He inserted two fingers inside me and pumped. We could both hear how wet I was, how eager I was for him. And then he stopped suddenly.
“I need you to take the dress off. I don’t want to look at it anymore.”
I turned around and he yanked the zipper down. I wriggled out of it and he walked it out the backdoor. He was going to throw it in the trash or maybe burn it on his barbecue. I thought of the alarm clock which he’d probably disposed of that very morning. He was making a habit of getting rid of anything I owned that offended him.
I stood naked in the kitchen until he returned.
“Why didn’t you go to the bedroom?”
Without a word I moved toward him and began unbuttoning his jeans. As his erection sprang free, I started to slide down his body. He caught my arms and tugged me upright.
“You’ll need a chair cushion.” I was pretty certain he wasn’t concerned about my comfort, that he wasn’t trying to save me from kneeling on a hard floor.
I headed through the archway toward the dining room.
“Kitchen chair,” he specified.
The fact that it had to be a particular cushion confirmed my cynical thoughts. It was simply his masculine brain calculating the discrepancy between our heights and figuring a solution.
I untied the thick cushion from the chair and brought it back to him. I set it on the floor by his feet and dropped to my knees. Yup, he’d gotten it exactly right. His stiff cock was aimed quite accurately.
“I promise I won’t complain about you being too big.” Had I meant to say that out loud? “Even though you are,” I added.
“Anytime, darlin’.”
I wrapped my fist around the thick base. “Don’t expect too much. I’ve never done this before.”
His body jolted as I finally took a tentative taste of him. His fingers dug into my hair pulling my mouth away.
“That’s not possible,” he said.
My fist was still around his cock. “My ex was nothing like you. He didn’t just snap his fingers and make demands.”
“I didn’t demand this time. You offered.”
“That’s true,” I said a little sheepishly.
“But, Jesus Christ, he must have asked.”
“What do you think?”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“You’re gloating.”
“Sure as fuck am.”
It was understandable. I’d denied my husband what I was willing to give him on only our second night together.
“How about instead of sassing me, darlin’, you put that beautiful mouth of yours to good use.”
I leaned forward and swirled my tongue over the wide fleshy head of his cock, and realized suddenly why I’d been talking so much. I wanted him to know that he was my first. I wanted to give him something I’d never given anybody else. And I found myself wishing he’d been my first in everyway.
I licked and sucked and bobbed my head taking as much of him as I could manage. Giving him pleasure, gave me pleasure. I hadn’t anticipated how turned on I would get sucking him off. I stroked my curled hand up and down the substantial portion of him that wouldn’t fit into my mouth. The wetness of my kisses created a slickness that made pumping him easy. From cock base to my lips and back again, in a smooth, but snug glide.
He growled low in his throat and dug his fingers into my hair again, trying to separate me from his cock. Suddenly, he was going to be the Southern gentleman. Hell, with that. I ignored the tug on my hair and applied myself more diligently.
Even though I’d anticipated it, I had a moment of shock when he came in my mouth. But I quickly recovered, sucking harder, and swallowing him eagerly.
He was no longer trying to pull me up. His hand cupped the back of my head and held me in place to ensure that I wouldn’t miss a drop.
CHAPTER 10
ROWLEY
I STILL SAW RED WHEN I thought of her in that white bridal dress. I'd been so angry about that goddamn dress and having my face rubbed in the fact that she'd said yes to marriage to two men. It didn't even help knowing that she'd reneged on one of those promises.
Logic told me that she wasn’t to blame. She’d been completely vulnerable, set adrift with no support system, and those assholes had both known it and taken advantage.
Maybe the only difference between me and those guys was that I’d be the end of the fucking line. If...when, she married me it would be permanent.
She was usually out of my house by dawn. But today she was in my kitchen making breakfast...and that gave me hope.
She was dressed in faded jeans with torn out knees and a dinky shirt that left her tiny waist exposed. Her hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail.
Damn, the girl was sugar through and through, even her sass had a sort of sweetness to it.
She had a serious look on her face as she ladled a spoonful of batter onto the frying pan.
"Pancakes?" she asked.
I poured myself some coffee. "Sure."
She picked up a fork and started transferring the bacon that was sizzling in another pan, to a plate lined with a paper towel for soaking up the grease.
I took a swallow of coffee. "I'm meeting some friends tonight."
"That's nice," she said absently.
"I want you to come."
She frowned at me over her shoulder. "You want me to meet your friends?"
"That's the idea."
She stacked some pancakes on a plate and added a side of bacon and handed it to me. "Butter and syrup are on the island."
"Just two friends from college and their wives. A few drinks at a bar."
She still looked doubtful. “Do you really want me to go?”
"You know I do.”
IT WAS A DRY, WINDY October night. The Santa Anas were kicking up, which meant wildfires.
I honked my horn again. She was late. She’d changed in the guesthouse, and I’d already walked to the door and knocked like the Southern gentleman she wanted me to be. That had been ten minutes ago.
When she finally stepped out of the house, she had on a clingy dress with a thin cream-colored sweater and high-heeled strappy sandals. The wind blew the dress against her, so that it hugged her curves even tighter. She gathered her hair together to one side trying to spare it from the wind, but strands were whipping around her face.
I got out of the truck to help boost her onto the passenger seat. As she got closer, I realized that she sparkled. There was glittery nail polish on her fingernails and toenails. Little diamonds sparkled in her ears. And whatever skin lotion she’d used made her skin shimmer.
I took a call from the station as we drove. I glanced over at her. She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It was a nervous habit that she’d had since I could remember.
I pulled into the parking lot and checked the address again. Damn, this was the right place. A karaoke bar of all fucking places.
Far too much pink and purple neon was my first impression. That it was crowded was my second impression. I steered her toward the table near the back. Nick and Clay were getting to their feet. She stopped midstep.
“They’re nearly as big as you. Did you guys all play football in college together?”
“Yes. And you would know that if you hadn’t disappeared from my life.”
She squeezed my arm. “You have no idea how much I missed you during those years.”
My heart thumped in my chest. Whenever she said things like that, or told me she loved me, I wanted so fucking badly to believe her. But she was too elusive. She left personal items lying around my house; hair clips, earrings, a perfume bottle, but by the next day the items would be gone.