French Kiss

by Susan Johnson

  “You shouldn’t have had to deal with assholes like Yuri and Raf. It pisses me off something awful.” Taking her hand, he led her over to the couch in her living room. “Tell me what happened, now. Start from the beginning. I want to know what they said and how they said it. I want to know if they mentioned where they were going. As for Lisa, I’m too teed off to go anywhere near her. My lawyer will deal with her.” Sitting down, he pulled Nicky onto his lap and held her in a gentle embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better about this. It’s my fault that they even knew who you were. So, give me a list, or tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

  With such a carte blanche offer, that dazzling engagement ring fantasy immediately took center stage in her consciousness. It was crazy, of course—and totally immature. But she was feeling all warm and cozy in his arms, and white picket fence fantasies always went hand-in-hand with that kind of storybook enchantment. Not having lost all reason, however, she didn’t put in her bid for an engagement ring. She said, instead, “You’re off the hook. No list required, but thanks for the offer. Mostly, I’d like if I didn’t have to worry about people like them ever again.”

  “You won’t. My word on it.”

  “How can you be so sure? They’re not the type to live by your rules.”

  “Trust me. I just am. But with your safety in mind, why don’t you come and stay with me for a while. I’d feel more comfortable.” A startling statement if he’d acknowledged it. But he didn’t. He conveniently ignored the implications of such an invitation. “What d’you say?”

  “If you don’t mind.” She had to admit, the thought of staying alone in her house wasn’t so attractive after having had a gun to her head.

  “Of course I don’t mind. Why should I mind?”

  Maybe because he’d sworn off relationships since his divorce.

  Or because he’d vowed to never become involved with a woman again.

  At least not until Jordi was grown and gone—say in ten years.

  But previous pledges were conveniently overlooked at the moment.

  Who knows why?

  Maybe the all-too-revealing Simpsons T-shirt was to blame.

  While Nicky went upstairs to dress and pack, Johnny made a few calls to augment his plans for some personal revenge.

  But he was smiling and congenial when Nicky came back downstairs. Taking her suitcase from her, he kissed her and said, “I’m looking forward to waking up with you.”

  “Me, too,” she answered, more grateful and relieved than she would have thought by his generosity. She was also half in love, but that was a separate issue and one she was seriously fighting.

  For his part, Johnny never thought in terms of love. He never had—even when he’d married. Not that his wedding had been planned. It had unwittingly happened one out-of-control week-end. He and Lisa had flown up to Vegas from L.A., and when he woke up the next morning, he saw a marriage certificate on the bedside table. Lisa told him she was pregnant later that day, and his first thought was to ask if it was his. But he figured it was a little late for that.

  When Jordi was born, he was glad he hadn’t bailed.

  She became the center of his life.

  From that moment on, he’d stopped taking recreational drugs.

  As for Lisa, once he’d detached himself from the drug scene, she’d become a real pain in the ass.

  So, long story, short, since breaking free of Lisa, he’d avoided permanent women in his life.

  Until now.

  Thirty-four

  “The remodeling story, then," Johnny said as he and Nicky walked toward his house a short time later.

  “It works for me.” She tried to smile and only managed to remind herself that she was still shaky from her early morning encounter with evil.

  Johnny reached out and slid his fingers through hers, folding them into the warmth of his hand. “You’re safe here. We have security on top of security.”

  The gate at the bottom of the drive did bring her comfort, not to mention all the security cameras she’d never noticed before. They all twinkled in the trees and bushes, like personal guardians of the peace.

  She exhaled softly. “I should be back to normal soon.”

  “Sure you will. Not that my household is exactly normal, with Jordi keeping everything stirred up.” He grinned. “In a good way, of course. I’m not complaining. But you might not be used to kid commotion.”

  “I’m the youngest of three.” Her smile was real this time. “Believe me, I understand turmoil.”

  He was pleased to see that the haunted look in her eyes had dissipated. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, that’s all,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Brace yourself. We’re going in.”

  They found Jordi and Vernie having breakfast in the kitchen with Maria and Johnny launched into the agreed-upon story. “Nicky’s having some remodeling done on her house, and the crew woke her up at the crack of dawn with”—he turned to Nicky with a grin—“did you say jackhammers?”

  “It sure sounded like jackhammers.”

  “Anyway, I told her she might as well camp out with us until all the dust settles at her place. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  “And then Nicky can finish up on my tree house faster!” Jordi exclaimed. “Come, sit by me,” she added, patting the chair next to her. “After we eat, I’ll show you the most perfect swinging chair for my tree house Vernie and I found on the Internet.”

  Johnny met Nicky’s gaze. “I don’t know if Nicky’s schedule—”

  “That would be fun,” Nicky said, moving around the table to take a seat beside Jordi. “After breakfast we’ll check that out.”

  He hadn’t been about to tell Nicky she should take the day off; he knew better. But he was pleased she’d decided to take a breather. Not that she was going to forget what happened to her in a few hours or a day.

  Nor would he for that matter.

  He already had a list of people who were gonna pay for what they’d done to her.

  * * *

  As predicted, Jordi kept everyone busy. Several hours in the morning were devoted to the tree house, even though it was temporarily on hold. Jordi and Nicky selected some furniture on the Internet and went over the addition of fairy lights and a bunk bed to the plans. They even laid out a secret path to the structure, outlining it on the grass with washable pink spray paint.

  They all ate a picnic lunch on the hill where the tree house was going up, the blue Pacific sparkling in the sun, the scent of eucalyptus pungent in the air, the specimen redwoods that outdated not only San Francisco but the state of California soaring high above them in all their stately splendor.

  While they ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, and cookies—Jordi’s menu having precedence over this picnic luncheon—the adults shared a fine Riesling, a wine tolerant of such wide and varied food groups.

  Johnny could see Nicky visibly relax as the meal progressed, liquor a useful tranquilizer. After lunch, they played Ping-Pong and video games in the pool house, then swam and finished the afternoon on Johnny’s putt-putt golf course. Jordi upstaged them all playing putt-putt golf—at least Nicky and Vernie. Nicky wasn’t so sure about Johnny. But then, he always let his daughter win.

  No rainy days existed in Jordi’s world.

  Except for the occasional views into her mother’s life.

  Added reason, no doubt, why Johnny protected his daughter when he could.

  * * *

  Dinner that evening was en famille and delightful. She could really get used to this style of happiness, Nicky reflected, her gaze on her host, who was in the process of teasing Vernie about the men in her past. “The stories I’ve heard,” he said with a grin. “Rumor has it you almost broke the bank in Vegas one time.”

  Vernie was blushing and smiling at the same time. “I happened to have a good friend who owned the casino. Why shouldn’t I win?” she lightly noted.

  “And you bought yourself a house in the Hollywood
Hills. Smart girl,” Johnny said, smiling.

  “What can I say? Some people have more luck than others.” Vernie grinned. “Present company included, of course.”

  As if on cue, Johnny and Nicky’s eyes met.

  “Affirmative from where I’m sitting,” Johnny said, winking at Nicky.

  “Daddy winked at Nicky! He likes her!” Jordi’s gaze swiveled to Nicky. “Do you like Daddy back? Say yes, say yes, Nicky! Come on!”

  “Your father’s very nice,” Nicky said, blushing cherry red.

  “See, Daddy, she likes you back! He never hollers, and he always lets you do whatever you want,” Jordi noted, her intent blue gaze on Nicky once again. “I hope you stay with us forever… Tell her, Daddy, tell her she can stay!”

  “Now, Jordi, that’s enough,” Vernie interposed, stepping in to defuse an awkward situation. “We don’t have to tell your father what to do. He and Nicky can work things out for themselves.” Jordi was silenced but not inhibited. She smiled and included Nicky in all her future plans, from her favorite pep fest the first week of school to mall shopping and helping her practice her swimming.

  His daughter’s reaction to Nicky was definitely over the top, Johnny noted.

  Especially since Jordi had only tolerated the few women he’d brought to the house in the past.

  His daughter’s vetting was significant.

  Although he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with it.

  Both pleased and uncomfortable, he did what every red-blooded male did in similar situations.

  He blew it off.

  For propriety’s sake, Nicky had been given her own bedroom. It was conveniently next door to Johnny’s, however, so later that night, when the house had quieted, she heard her bedroom door open and couldn’t help but smile. “Are you sure everyone’s sleeping?”

  “They better be. Baby, I can’t wait any longer.” Johnny had found himself actually counting the hours since he’d last slept with Nicky. An unprecedented act for a man who often couldn’t remember who, when, and where, with the number of women passing through his life.

  “I’ve been thinking of you—a lot—since getting into bed,” Nicky murmured, watching him approach in the moonlight.

  “Sounds like you might be in the mood.”

  “Sorta, kinda.”

  “Is that equivocation I hear? Have I lost my touch?” He was stripping off his robe as he approached.

  “It’s not about you. It’s about that stuff this morning. I’m having trouble getting it out of my head.” Although the sight of such gorgeous male splendor was a start, she decided, her libido already taking note in spades.

  “I wish I could make it all go away.” And he would very soon if his plans all came to fruition. Lifting the covers, he slid into bed beside her. “You’re safe here now,” he murmured, bending to kiss her. “Nothing and no one can hurt you.”

  His kiss was soft and gentle, a balm to her anxieties, the scent of his cologne familiar and comforting, the warmth of his body a bulwark against all uncertainty. A kind of snug, agreeable security encompassed her as he took her in his arms and made the world disappear—or at least diminish to the sweet, restricted environs of blissful desire. “I’ll make you forget,” he murmured, easing his body over hers. “I promise.”

  “That would be nice.” Sliding her hands over his shoulders, she pulled him close. “I could use some of your brand of forgetfulness…”

  “Good, ’cause—”

  “You can’t wait,” Nicky interposed, liking that they were both obsessed.

  “He can’t wait,” Johnny corrected, his grin sweet and sexy at the same time, the head of his erection nudging her sex.

  But as he entered her, he did so with abstemious forbearance, as though he understood how vulnerable she still was. He eased into her sleek passage slowly, delicately, as though she needed calming.

  Although his cock forcing its way inside her was doing the complete opposite, and by the time he’d reached target point and she was gorged full, she was faint with longing. Not that his solicitude and concern for her feelings weren’t equally powerful aphrodisiacs. She was warmed heart and soul, along with other more pertinent portions of her anatomy, which were pulsing and throbbing, awash with lust, and craving more. Had her brain not been increasingly focused on those nerve centers immediately adjacent to his erection—as in surrounding it—she would have told him his skill at inducing forgetfulness, was prime. If only she weren’t waiting breathlessly for his next dexterous stirring inside her, she might have been able to operate that brain-to-tongue mechanism required for speech.

  “How’s this?” he murmured, sliding his hands under her bottom, lifting her higher to meet his smooth downstroke. “Is this better?”

  As if he didn’t know, she thought, so overwhelmed by spiking pleasure, she would have replied in poetic verse if she could have formed the words.

  She tried—because she adored the poet Hafiz who knew all about passion—but her breathy reply was inaudible, incoherent, and definitely nonpoetic.

  But Johnny understood, because he was feeling the same speechless delight. After all the years of fucking other women, he’d finally lucked out—all that screwing mere prologue to this—the real thing.

  Shifting into a languid rhythm, he set about memorizing every tiny fold and furrow in her slick, silken passage. It was an exercise in offering pleasure, but perhaps he was marking her cunt as well—performing the human equivalent of leaving his scent so he’d be able to recognize her as his, eyes shut in the dark.

  After having survived the fear and terror of the morning, Nicky willingly gave herself up to sensual bliss and oblivion, welcoming the waves of carnal pleasure as a benevolent gift.

  A gift as wondrous and uncommon as the man affording her that delight.

  “You’re the best,” she whispered, her words infused with the full impress of lust and tender emotion bombarding her senses. “The very best…”

  What the hell did that mean? The best of what? he resentfully thought. A hundred other men? Raf this morning, if he’d been able to stay? Some guy next week or the week after?

  Jealousy had him in its steely grip—this a man who hadn’t understood the word existed a week ago.

  “Tell me you feel this,” he muttered, pulling her forcefully into his downstroke, impelled by male prerogatives previously beyond his ken, the thought of Raf and Yuri having seen her almost undressed suddenly filling his brain, the thought of other men fucking her—Jesus! “Tell me you’re mine,” he growled, as though he’d lost his senses.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she breathed, her climax beginning to swamp her senses, willing to cede him anything as she trembled on the brink.

  Gratified, he smiled—this man who had prided himself on never needing a woman. “Scream if you want,” he murmured, giving her permission in his newfound role of authority. “No one can hear.”

  Immune to his novel, proprietary feelings, she only thought— How did he know she was stifling a scream? And then a second later it didn’t matter, because he’d swung his hips out and back in again, harder this time, and then again and again—so violently her impending orgasm exploded in a flame-hot rush and her half -smothered cry was ripped from her throat.

  Ecstasy flooded over her in ten-foot-high waves. Hot, foaming waves that picked her up bodily and held her suspended in a shimmering, glowing, outrageously hedonistic sensation of bliss.

  Superlative control aside, Johnny wasn’t completely selfless. Even with this woman who mattered like no woman had ever mattered before. He’d waited for her out of courtesy, but he caught up now, racing to join her, coming with her at the end in a dozen, violent shuddering thrusts.

  Like all good things, however, bliss was short-lived and no matter how rarified that pleasure, their obsession remained. A single orgasm wasn’t likely to quench appetites too long deprived—a relative term—but powerful to those in the grip of carnal sorcery.

  “What if I said you had to stay here wi
th me,” he muttered, still lodged inside her, yet discontent, driven by a curious need to possess her.

  Her gaze—steamy hot—came up and met his scowl. “Here?” she whispered, shifting her hips in an explicitly lewd swivel and pivot that imploded through Johnny’s rising cock and shot to his brain with the force of a pile driver.

  “Damn right,” he grumbled, wondering where she’d learned that little trick. “And here, too”—he slammed his cock into her— “and here”—a swift repeated crash dive and withdrawal—“and here,” he finished on a caught breath, his cock at full mast and hard as a mallet bottoming out in her.

  “Whatever you say,” she purred, melting around him, her arms and legs spread wide in acquiescence, her gaze submissive. “I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want.”

  Impelled by such ripe and ready compliance, his erection swelled larger with shocking swiftness. Christ, he’d never been into domination, never even felt the urge. Sex had always been simple. Uncomplicated screwing—not him imposing his will. “You have to fuck me all night,” he said, heated and gruff, taking her face between his palms, staring into the fiery green depths of her eyes, jettisoning his past without a qualm. “And then you have to fuck me some more.”

  “I have to go to work in the morning.” The lust in her eyes was in direct contradiction to the servility of her tone.

  “You can’t,” he said, brusque and low. “I’ll have my cock in you.” He measured the length of her cunt with a swift down-stroke, the head of his penis hitting her womb so forcefully she gasped.

  But when she spoke, her voice was as heated as his. “How long do you plan on staying inside me?”

  “For as long as I want,” he harshly replied, the thought of keeping her filled with cock adding inches to his erection.

  She drew in a breath as he surged larger, only to offer him a sweetly seductive smile a moment later. “May I come, too?”