Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Jennifer Skully

  He shook a finger at her. “And there will be no sex.”

  She graced him with the full wattage of her smile. “Of course there won’t be any sex.”

  Laurence had the sense he’d set himself up for total failure.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THEY WOULDN’T HAVE SEX. They’d be making love.

  Steam from her bath rose to mist the mirror. A bath ball fizzed in the water, the scent of tangerines filling the moist air. She sipped a glass of sweet German wine. Liebfraumilch. She couldn’t say the word, but the taste garnered a sigh and a lick of her lips. She’d given T. Larry a glass of wine, too.

  She’d made T. Larry dinner. Not Jigglers or meat loaf, but Hamburger Helper. She didn’t tell him that, though. Men didn’t understand that Hamburger Helper was like making from scratch, without the hassle. T. Larry had eaten it and asked for seconds.

  Thank goodness there’d been no hang up calls, which would have made T. Larry only more jittery. And Sean must have cleaned up any mess the police technicians made dusting for fingerprints or whatever it was they did. One wouldn’t have even known they’d been there. She knew she should be more worried. A normal girl would be. But…she had T. Larry to protect her. And her brothers. Besides, as she’d told T. Larry, God simply wouldn’t follow through on a threat of bodily harm when he’d given her a stroke at fifteen and just might give her another at twenty-eight. See, that wouldn’t make sense in a cosmic sort of way.

  Okay, so that explanation was a lot more agreeable than actually thinking that some Jack the Ripper was going to rip her. She shivered despite the steamy water.

  Enough. She was scaring herself. Much better to think about T. Larry. She only had eight days until her birthday. Well, seven, since today was almost over.

  The last few drops of wine trickled down her throat. Her flesh had sizzled long enough in the slightly too-hot tub. She rose, water sluicing down her limbs. She had such plans for T. Larry. She towel dried, wiped condensation from the mirror and surveyed her pink cheeks. She’d scrubbed her makeup off and decided against applying any more. Pulling her nightie over her head, she tugged it down to midthigh. Maybe blue sheep weren’t the thing for seducing a man, but she loved her sheep. T. Larry wouldn’t want her to be anything other than what she was.

  Adding just a touch of gloss to her lips, she opened the bathroom door, steamy, humid air rushing out and filling the apartment with a light tangerine scent. She found extra sheets, a pillow and a light blanket for him in the hall closet, and armed with her offering, she entered the living room.

  “We can make up the couch with these.”

  T. Larry stared at her bare thighs, then his gaze trailed her legs down to her feet and back up again to the center of her chest. “What are you wearing?”

  “My jammies.”

  He’d been standing. He flopped down heavily on the sofa without another word.

  She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Do you want me to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight?”

  “No kissing.”

  She pursed her lips. He was being very difficult. “It was just a joke. My mother always used to tuck me in.” She plopped the bedding down next to him and opened her mouth.

  “And I’m not tucking you in, either,” he said before she could get a word out.

  “I was going to ask if you wanted me to put the sheets on?”

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I can handle it,” then belatedly added, “thanks.”

  She put her hands behind her back and rocked heel to toe. “Do you want me to wake you up at a certain time in the morning?”

  “I’m sure I’ll wake up on my own.”

  “Do you want to take a shower here?”

  “I’ll take one after my workout.”

  “Are we going to stop at your house for a change of clothes?”

  He eyed her as if she’d suggested they have a little nookie in his bed at the same time. “I’ve got a change in my locker at the gym.” Again, that belated, “Thanks.”

  This wasn’t going the way she planned. Not that she’d had a real plan, not like one of T. Larry’s meticulous-down-to-the-last-detail plans. She’d thought the sight of her in her jammies might drive him wild with desire. Had the sheep been a mistake?

  “All right, well, umm, good night.” She backed up, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to beg her to stay.

  He didn’t. All he said was, “Good night.”

  She was forced to go down the hall to her bedroom. Before slipping beneath the covers, she’d left the door open a few scant inches. The sound of his movements drifted through the cracked door, the snap of sheets, the pounding of a pillow, the soft snick of the bathroom door. She’d left an extra toothbrush out for him. The door opened, a zipper rasped. Her cheeks heated, imagining him undressing. He’d fold his slacks just so and hang his shirt over a chair to keep it from wrinkling. T. Larry wouldn’t sleep naked.

  Well, what to do now? Madison didn’t like to give up. She closed her eyes, hovered on the edge of sleep despite herself, until he groaned and punched his pillow.

  The solution came to her as if it had been there all the time. What she needed was a nightmare, one that would bring him rushing to her bed like a hero in a romance novel.

  SHE’D DRIVEN HIM CRAZY with that bath. The citrus scent hung in the humid air. Laurence had salivated over every slosh of water, every sigh, every chink of her wineglass against the porcelain tub. He’d imagined her naked in bubbles, the tips of her breasts peeking through. He’d imagined licking the water from her thighs.

  Then she’d come out to say good-night in her terrifyingly short blue-and-white nightie, her legs bare, her nipples perked.

  He couldn’t sleep for the life of him. He’d tried counting sheep, but then he saw her nightie instead, and began stripping it off in his mind. Sheep definitely did not work.

  Laurence tossed. He turned. Listened to the occasional drone of a car engine as it passed, the tick of the kitchen clock, the high-pitched bark of a dog. A soft sleepy moan from her room.

  Oh God.

  Not a moan. More like a cry. A frightened cry. The sound galvanized him. He threw off the blanket and sheet, grabbed his glasses from the coffee table, rushed down the hall, and pushed her door open. Her head twisted on the pillow, and she made another distressed little noise.

  “Madison?”

  She didn’t answer, continuing to thrash beneath the covers. One hand swatted at something he couldn’t see. She was dreaming.

  He whispered into the night, loath to cross the threshold. “Hey, Madison Avenue, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Her citrus scent called to him, as did her frantic motions. Christ. She was probably dreaming about the person who’d broken into her apartment, endlessly running from the perpetrator.

  He took three steps into the room, called her name again and realized he was clad only in briefs and a T-shirt. Moonlight fell in through the window. Her hair, spread across the pillow, begged to be touched. A soft sigh and her still stepped-from-the-bath fragrance seeped inside his head. His groin tightened impossibly.

  “T. Larry?” Her voice quavered as if the nightmare hadn’t quite receded despite the fact that he’d managed to wake her. Had she heard the nickname?

  “It’s me.” God, he wanted to climb beneath those covers, lift that little nightie, touch…taste…stroke.

  “Thank goodness. I was having a bad dream. I thought someone was in my room.” Her voice was tiny and weak.

  “It’s over now. You can go back to sleep.” Not that he’d be able to.

  “I’m scared, T. Larry. Could you sit with me for a while?”

  He wanted so much more. Looking around, he found the only seat was a round stool in front of her dresser. He skirted the bed to sit, hiding his erection in case she should look.

  “That’s too far away. It doesn’t help.” She patted the bed. “Come here.”

  Inside her skin was the closest he could get. Hi
s fingers clenched, but his legs moved despite the screaming protest from his brain. Setting his glasses on the bedside table, then nestling down on the covers next to her, he itched all over to crawl beneath.

  She turned on the pillow, her eyes reflecting moonlight.

  He searched for anything to take his mind out of his shorts. “What was the dream about?”

  She shrugged, hair rustling against cotton. “Don’t remember.”

  Of its own accord, his hand reached for the silky tresses. His fingers tangled in the locks. It was just hair, he could touch his fill and no harm done.

  She murmured deep in her throat, as if she had nerve endings in the strands. “That’s nice.”

  So many nice things he could do to her. She’d pushed the bedspread down to her waist. His touch followed the length of one long curl, the backs of his fingers lingering against the swell of her breast.

  “My mother used to stroke my hair.”

  The things he thought of doing weren’t the slightest bit motherly. She purred like a cat under his ministrations.

  “I think my bath was too hot. I’m burning up.”

  He was burning up.

  Then she flipped back the spread and clambered out to lie beside him.

  His heart stopped, his fingers slid to the flesh at her throat, and his gonads snapped. She sighed, and he felt it to the tip of his penis.

  “There, that’s better.” She closed her eyes as if she hadn’t a clue what she was doing to him.

  Lying flat, her nightshirt drifted down against her full breasts, outlining her peaked nipples. The hem rode up to the tops of her thighs, seducing him.

  “I’m not sleepy anymore,” she said, letting him play with her hair and his fantasies. “Are you?”

  Sleep? It was the furthest thing from his mind. “What are you wearing under that?”

  “Under this?” Her fingers plucked at the flannel material covering her hip.

  He nodded, incapable of speech.

  “Nothing.”

  He shut his eyes and clamped down on a groan. Her fruity perfume made stars dance before his closed lids.

  “I never wear anything. Is that bad?”

  Run, a voice shrieked inside. His muscles neither listened nor obeyed. Instead his fingertips trailed between her breasts, followed the slope of her abdomen and twitched above her hip bone.

  “Madison.” His voice rasped in his parched throat. He hadn’t even kissed her, but gone straight for the goodies like an eager schoolboy.

  “It’s all right, T. Larry.”

  What was all right? “I want to kiss you,” he managed, dragging his eyes to her face.

  She smiled. Then, oddly, the smile faded. “T. Larry, I just can’t do it.”

  Something began to pound behind his eyeballs, inside his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I lied to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Nothing mattered but touching her.

  “But I tricked you. And it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Of course, it’s fair.” What? He didn’t care about what.

  “I can’t make love with you when I lied.”

  He wanted to cry, but shut his eyes once more and drew in a deep breath of her. “Tell me about the lie.”

  “I didn’t have a bad dream.”

  “That’s good.” What the hell dream was she talking about?

  “I just pretended to have a nightmare so you’d come in here.”

  Oh, that dream. He was beyond anger. “That’s okay.”

  “But it was such a childish thing to do. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He opened his eyes to find hers seriously gazing at him. “You shouldn’t have done it,” he said to placate her. “Now kiss me.”

  “But it isn’t right.”

  He cupped her head, pulled her against him, then took her lips. Oh, the taste. Sweet wine, toothpaste and Madison. She parted her lips, took his tongue, then glued her body to his, arms wrapped around his neck. Her nipples were hard little nubs against his chest, her leg smooth as it curled around his. His hand slid down her back to tug at the flannel until soft flesh sizzled beneath his fingers.

  God, if this was having sex, he wanted it as he never had before. If this was making love, then he didn’t think he could live without it. He pulled his lips from hers, trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, licked, suckled.

  “Do you forgive me, T. Larry?” she whispered next to his ear.

  “I’ll get mad at you in the morning.” He’d think about his control failure tomorrow. Then he pulled her nightshirt over her head and pushed her to her back.

  God, he’d never seen such beautiful skin, soft, delicate. And her breasts, round, beckoning. He sucked the plump flesh, then pulled a nipple into his mouth.

  She gasped, put her hands to both sides of his head and held him there, one smooth leg caressing his.

  “Do you like that?” he murmured after a swipe of his tongue.

  “Yes.”

  He heard her swallow, felt her chest move beneath his mouth. He switched to her other nipple. She tasted like oranges. She arched against him, moaned. It drove him crazy. So many spots he wanted to taste, to touch, but his body called him to that place between her legs. He tested with his finger, felt her spasm and her wetness.

  God, she wanted him. Madison really wanted him. It was almost too much to believe, and he removed his hand, pulling back to stare into her face. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.” She ran her hand over the top of his head. “I love your head, T. Larry. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “Uhhh, no.” She loved bald? “I thought you always said it made me look old and stuffy.”

  She grabbed his chin in her fingers and squished his lips together until he felt like a bloated fish. “I never thought that, T. Larry. Didn’t I tell you bald is sexy?”

  “Yes, but—”

  She put her thumb on the seam of his lips. “No buts. I love it. And I only said you were stuffy when you were talking about your silly plans. And don’t say they’re not silly!”

  He couldn’t say a word, first because the pad of her thumb caressing his lips did odd things to him and second because the thought of her loving his bald head was…nothing short of a miracle.

  “I’m not lying, T. Larry.”

  He hadn’t said a word.

  “But I can hear what you’re thinking.”

  He blinked.

  She removed her thumb and brushed his lips with hers. “You’ve got hot eyes, too, all smoky and stuff, and they do funny things to me. Are you going to make love to me now?”

  He swallowed, and knew if he were in his right mind, he wouldn’t simply accept everything she said. He’d return to his station on her couch. “I don’t have any protection.”

  “There’s something in the nightstand.”

  He wouldn’t ask why even as the thought stabbed him. Instead he rose, stripped off his T-shirt and briefs, then opened the drawer to find a full box of condoms. She lay on the bed looking beautiful, trusting and vulnerable.

  He put one on while she watched, her eyes glittering with fascination, and then he moved between her legs. He pulsed against her, but something held him back from simply entering, taking. He wished suddenly he hadn’t rushed with the condom. Rising above her on his elbows, he nibbled her bottom lip.

  “Put me inside you.”

  She reached between them, found his length. His fingers joined hers, enjoying the feel of her hand wrapped around him. Then he slid away to touch her, finding the same sweet spot he’d known so lovingly yesterday. She sighed, arched and caressed him with her hand, her touch only slightly diminished by the rubber.

  He delved more intimately. God, she was so wet, so ready, as ready as he. Still he couldn’t quite believe it. He entered her with two fingers. She squeezed him, then reached down to cup him.

  “Do you want me, Madison?” he whispered into her hair.

  “Yes. Please.” Her breathy voice m
ade him jerk in her hand.

  He withdrew his fingers, sliding them once more over her clitoris, then joined with her hand to guide himself inside. She held his buttocks as he entered fully. God, she was tight. He buried his face in her neck, her hair, and eased deeper. She slid damp fingers to his back, his shoulders, then hugged him close.

  Raising her hips to meet him, she rode each thrust.

  “Are you going to tell me what the T stands for after this?” she whispered as if it were a sweet nothing in his ear.

  Jesus. He’d tell her anything she wanted to hear. She was hot and slippery and unlike any woman he’d ever known. And this, this was unlike any act he’d ever known. Her soft cries echoed in his ears as he pumped, and when she started her orgasm, she bit into the flesh of his shoulder. The love bite sent him over the edge, and he dived headlong off the cliff he’d been standing on.

  The cliff was called Loving Madison Avenue.

  MADISON HAD BEEN AWAKE for some time. T. Larry snored gently against her arm. All was right with her world. At least it should have been. He made love to her, the most fantastic glorious love, along with all the other delicious little adjectives she couldn’t think of at the moment. T. Larry had taken her beyond anything she’d ever felt in her entire life. Yet…something was missing.

  One-sided love just wasn’t enough.

  With anyone else, she could have deluded herself, but love would never hit T. Larry unexpectedly. She wasn’t in his plan.

  She rolled to her side, pressing against him, to look at the clock. T. Larry grunted softly but didn’t wake. The alarm would go off in two or three minutes. He slept like a child, his face smooth and unlined, almost young.

  Looking at him, she ached inside, which wasn’t something she was used to. Being in love with T. Larry, she was destined to feel this particular ache a lot. Still, a tiny smile grew on her lips. The man was adorable.

  Beep, beep, beep. She didn’t use a music alarm. Music lulled her back to sleep.

  T. Larry jerked. “What?”

  She clambered over him, reached for the switch, then lay still against him, chest to chest. She was hoping for a good-morning kiss. “It’s time to get up.”