Bluest of Blue (#dirtysexygeeks #3)

by Melissa Blue

If the interlude hadn't happened, the genuine love she'd heard in Oliver's voice would have given her pause. Maybe Wade could be nice. Some days he might even take his head out of his ass and think of someone else.

  But she had kissed him, had looked him in the eyes when he called himself a mad man. It kept her up. More importantly it made her think. The more she ran over her their interactions, the deeper an ache dug in her gut. She'd been wrong.

  Sophie loathed to admit when she was, but after a cooling down period she managed to see she hadn't listened to him since their first meeting. Hadn't been able to read between the lines like she always could with clients. That much was on her shoulders. So much of it. She'd gotten tunnel vision wanting to win and get him to kowtow.

  Wade had lashed out in response. That much was on him.

  Could Wade have been nicer about the whole thing? Yes, but to be fair she'd had many soul-crushing come-to-Jesus moments with clients. He'd apologized without prompting, and what that said about him only proved how wrong she'd been.

  She knocked harder on the door because...well, he had to answer or she'd lose the courage to do this again. She prepared to eat crow in a very tangible way. Wade needed to answer his damn door.

  “Stop knocking. I'm coming.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back and waited. A long ten seconds passed before the door opened. A short huff escaped her mouth.

  Wade stood no more than a foot away shirtless and damp likely from a shower since he held a towel. He propped his forearm high on the frame and leaned against it. That simple stance elongated his washboard abs. Her gaze traveled across his wide shoulders and up his arm. The sinew of muscle flexed the longer she stared, but she couldn't stop eating up the sight of him. She wondered how it would affect her apology if she ran her hands down his pecs to the half open fly of his jeans.

  “Ms. Lake,” he said her name on a laugh, “I appreciate the I-wanna-fuck-him perusal, but is there a reason why you're here?” He glanced down at her legs then her head. A smile flirted with his mouth. “Though I can guess.”

  Any other man would have let her leering pass with only a knowing smile. Wade likely never would. Great kisser or not, he was wrong for her in so many ways. Being there tempted the fates.

  And what was she doing? Right. Making amends. If she didn't, she wouldn't be able to sleep. Their last conversation would play on repeat in her head.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Talk?” The question came out measured.

  “Yes.”

  His gaze traveled down again. If legs could blush, hers would flush a deep crimson. Wade pushed the door wider then gave her his back. His hair clung to his nape. Beads of water trailed down his spine as his skin dried in the open air. She watched that single stream ride down between the muscled slopes of his back. Dear God. Maybe he dressed as a beach bum so pandemonium didn't ensue in the observatory, or the grocery store.

  She had to track back to close the door since her first instinct was to follow him. When she faced him, Wade swiped the towel down his pecs then his abs to dry them.

  “I'm sorry,” she blurted because if left to her libido, she'd stare until her eyeballs dried out. “I wasn't listening to you. You told me you didn't want to do a PR circuit. I assumed you were just being difficult. It didn't occur to me you must have done something like this your entire childhood. Look at the baby Einstein who grew up and got his doctorate before finishing puberty. You spent your life as an outsider with people looking at you like you were some kind of oddity. I'm sorry I didn't think of that.”

  He threw the towel on the couch. “You came over to apologize?”

  She dropped her gaze from his and brushed her hand along her brown skirt. The soft pleats swished. “Guilt is a great motivator.”

  Wade stepped back. “You had nothing to feel guilty about, I appreciate the apology though.”

  Was it wrong to prefer the asshole Wade? Well, yeah, but him being a gruff, awkward hard ass would ensure she made it back out the door without touching him. Vulnerable, thoughtful Wade would be her undoing.

  “I was steamrolling right over you.”

  He seemed to chew over those words before asking, “And you don't usually?”

  Her stomach clenched. Why did he have to ask that question? She moved closer to the couch to put space between them. The large flat screen displayed a generic game's wallpaper. A quick sweep and she knew he loved to read. Books were littered on any flat surface, and he had a bookshelf. He was getting more interesting by the moment. She had to get out of there.

  “You were right.” Words she could guess he liked to hear. “And after the...”

  God. She couldn't say kiss. She'd licked into his mouth like a woman headed to the gallows, and he was her last chance for human contact. Her mind couldn't hold onto the fact he was her client and the way his taste filled her at the same time, and she'd chose tasting him. Kiss wasn't the word. Neither was interlude, if she wanted to be honest.

  If she let the silence continue, it would speak for itself. She couldn't have that happen—not with them. “After the award ceremony, I had time to think.”

  “And what did you think about?”

  “You.” She winced. “What you said. You couldn't be all bad. Neither could the show you loved. And we had a deal.”

  “Of course, after the...award show you were only thinking about the deal.”

  She glared at him. “You were right, so I sucked up my pride and gave Doctor Who another chance.”

  He smiled, likely at the obvious way she avoided the trap he'd set. “I can guess how you feel about the show, but tell me.”

  She stuck her hands into the tweed jacket's pockets. “It was a horrible experience the first three episodes, and I wanted to call you and let you know in painstaking detail.”

  His gaze revealed nothing but he said, “I wish you had called me.”

  Sophie wanted to crack open his head to read his thoughts, know his feelings. How could his eyes be so dark when they were so blue? “I...decided against that until I absolutely couldn't watch another episode.”

  He asked, his voice so steady, “A lot of curse words while watching?”

  “All of them, and new ones.”

  Wade stepped forward. “And?”

  “Then I found a best of the best list and only watched anything made after 2005.”

  He snorted and took another step. “That didn't work either. So what did you do?”

  She laughed because he was right. “By then I figured out you wanted me to watch the show because it would annoy the shit out of me.”

  Wade strode closer and soon she'd be able to pick up the scent of his soap on his skin. Her stomach clenched again but for a different reason.

  “But you kept watching.”

  And she hadn't liked what that said about her. The show seemed fanciful, ridiculous and a bit weird. Okay. A lot of weird and campy. One meeting and he had her pegged for someone who would hate fun. That of course roused her stubbornness. She would like the show goddammit.

  “Just when I was about to give up, right at the eleventh hour, I got it.” Sophie waved at her outfit. She wore a tweed jacket, blue shirt, a red bow tie, brown boots and a Fez. The skirt made the get-up feminine but for all intents and purposes she dressed like the 11th Doctor. Any self-respecting fan would know.

  She'd worn her apology. It was probably why he hadn't slammed the door in her face.

  Okay.

  A woman he wanted to fuck, even in public places, showed up on his door step dressed in a short skirt. That could also be the reason he hadn't sent her away. As though that truth needed to be confirmed, Wade's gaze went back to her legs then he shook his head.

  “Your doctor's story is about a little girl who grows up no longer believing in fairy tales or miracles.” He added, “That's something any adult can understand.”

  “I watched that season then went back to the beginning with Nine. I'm still wor
king my way through, but I'm a fan.”

  He was closing in on her again. A prickle danced over her skin.

  His voice dropped an octave. “You've watched the show and now you think you understand me?”

  She moved to the opposite end of the couch. Sophie couldn't let him touch her. She'd forget why she was there. “When we met your first instinct was to run from me. What I don't get is why you call yourself a mad man.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. Sophie could see he'd dressed in a hurry. Or that's what she told herself at the peek of pubic hair and no sign of underwear.

  She needed to run. He really didn't have to explain. His words were a warning. She should take them to heart. Apologize and leave. Since Sophie had done the first, nothing kept her in his home.

  “So...” She backed up toward the door. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry and I hear you. If you want me to be your publicist then we'll come up with something that won't leave you feeling like an oddity. We'll put together a FUBAR plan, too. If you feel like you need it.”

  His brows rose. “I'm not your client?”

  Her face flushed at the question. “In the most technical sense, Dr. Scott and the observatory are my client.”

  “Weasel words.”

  “This time I want you to agree to be mine.” Her heart jumped into her throat. How many times would she shove her foot in her mouth? Why did he have the power to make her lose her professionalism? She swallowed the nerves and tried again. “I want you to be my client because you decided.”

  His lids lowered. “So I'm not your client...”

  There was no mistaking the heat in his tone. She took a step back and he took a big one forward. If she lifted her hand, she could brush her fingers over his warm, wet skin.

  “Wade...”

  Prowl was probably the best word to describe the way he strode toward her. “Yes?”

  In the next step her back hit his door. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to make you understand I really, really like you in my fez.”

  She'd primped in front of the mirror to get the tilt just right. She hadn't flat ironed her hair so she had curls and they were wild. Apparently so was he.

  “We should—”

  “Kiss. Touch.” He braced one hand against the door and leaned so their mouths were level with each other. “I want to see you in just the hat.”

  Wade would have fez sex.

  He pressed his lips to hers, not quite a kiss but her knees threatened to give out anyway as their breath mingled.

  She would so have fez sex with him.

  That was the heart of the problem. Despite knowing better, experiencing the worse-case scenario of mixing business with pleasure, there was something undefinable about her attraction to Wade. It didn't start when they first locked eyes, but when they sparred—when he beat her at her game. He was sexy and clever. How could she not want to kiss him? Strip them both down to nothing and fuck until they couldn't see straight?

  And how could she even compare the two circumstances? Wade wasn't a rock star hungry for the headlines. The average Joe wouldn't care who Wade took to his bed. Her life wouldn't be placed under a microscope. She wouldn't be found wanting again.

  He studied her. “What lies are you telling yourself?”

  “Lies?”

  “I can't kiss him again because...” He pressed his thumb to her lips. “Just kiss me. We both know you want to.”

  “You are such an ass, and I can't stand you.”

  He smiled. “There are some studies that say you can kiss that emotion away.”

  Lies, but she tilted her head up for another taste. His mouth—goodness. He used it with sensual precision—the right pressure, the perfect tease of tongue. Once, just once she could kiss him. Burn off the steam they'd generated with furtive looks and arguments.

  Kiss him. You know you want to.

  She speared her fingers through the wet strands of his hair, gripped and dragged him into a kiss. Wade slid his hand to the small of her back and thrust his hips. Their bodies slammed into each other. She gasped, shocked at how right the press of him felt.

  Because he did feel so right against her, Sophie let her fingertips rove over his taut skin. She mapped the ripples of each muscle and inhaled the spicy, masculine scent of him—Wade was overwhelming. He dropped his other hand to her waist and pulled her flush against his cock. She moaned. Nothing about him was small. She mewled in approval.

  Wade lifted his mouth from hers, a smile already forming. He slid a hand up her torso, paused over her right breast—squeezed—then went to work on her bow tie. He kept his gaze locked on hers.

  “Wade,” she chided.

  “I had to,” he explained, his smile wide.

  Her condemnation didn't stop him from undoing the buttons on her shirt. Neither of them talked about how things were progressing so much further than a kiss. Why would they need to? Words would only complicate the knot of need forming in her gut. A short conversation about what they were doing would highlight the questionable ethics of their actions.

  Sophie only wanted to feel the rough chafe of his palm against her breastbone after he peeled her shirt open. Those long beautiful fingers dipped into her bra. He kissed her again as he fondled her nipple, pinched and tugged it until she was moaning in his mouth. At least that answered one question floating in the back of her mind: Did he have any sexual experience? Fuck, yes, if he could make her knees feel wobbly with a touch.

  “Miss Lake, I wouldn't mind taking you against the door, but my room is better for what I have in mind.”

  He closed his hand over her breast, her nipple peeking out between his fingers then he squeezed. His room could have been five feet away but it was too damn far.

  “Couch?” she countered, breathless.

  Wade chuckled. “Jump. I'll carry you.”

  She huffed. “I'm starting to think you aren't happy unless it's your way.”

  “If someone tells you they like compromise, they are lying.”

  He cupped her ass and lifted her without strain. Sophie snorted. “Was I taking too long?”

  Wade kissed her in answer, shifting her until she obeyed the silent demand to wrap her legs around his waist. He gave her tongue as a reward. It took them a while to get to his room because every few steps he'd stop to deepen the kiss and re-situate her so her pussy remained against his cock.

  They bounced and she glanced up to see they'd made it to his bed—not quite in it though since their legs hung off the edge. That was all the time he gave her before he started tearing at her clothes. Hat off, shirt, bra, skirt then panties. He paused at her shoes.

  “Too many laces,” he muttered.

  In the next breath his mouth was back on hers—her boots still on. But that was fine. He was taking too long as it was. She didn't know why a sense of urgency pounded in her veins, but the dryness in her mouth, the race of her pulse all beat out a staccato message to her brain that she needed him, now. She slipped her fingers into the front of his jeans, tugging them down. His pubic hairs were still wet from the shower and left her knuckles damp.

  Wade climbed the rest of the way out of his pants then straightened like he knew she wanted to see all him bared. His relaxed attire hid a beautifully sculpted male. He couldn't hide now that she knew his secret—Wade, the anti-social nerd was sex on two legs with the most perfect dick she'd ever seen. He closed a hand over his cock and gave it two slow strokes as he continued to stand and look at her with the same reverence she felt pulsing through her. The tip darkened and spilled out precome onto his palm.

  Her body responded in kind by going tight then wet. The slickness suddenly dampening her pussy begged for friction. “Now you're the one taking forever.”

  His jaw clenched as something feral flashed in his eyes. He took a step forward and stopped. He muttered a curse, swiveled on one foot and strode out of the room. Wade punched the bathroom door and went in. That reaction left her cold until she realized why he
was in the bathroom turning the air blue.

  He was looking for a condom.

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and sent up blasphemous prayers. Silence fell over the apartment. Her stomach dropped, knowing what he'd say. He closed a hand just above the high-topped boots and she jerked, surprised by the touch since she hadn't heard him come back into the room.

  “Sophie,” he said, his hands were riding up between her thighs. “Good news or bad news?”

  She glanced at him and wished she hadn't. His eyes weren't dark but dangerously intent. “Bad news.”

  He spread her legs then tilted his head at the sight of her open. He grunted and the noise sounded so primitive, so visceral, goose bumps climbed up her skin.

  “I have to go the store, and that means you'll be sitting on my bed, naked and thinking.”

  That was bad, but if push came to shove she could distract herself. “How far is the store?”

  “Ten minutes round trip if I run in and out. Not long, but long enough.”

  The way he frowned at her, between her legs then the space on the bed made her think he'd turned their sexual hiccup into some mathematical problem he needed to solve. She was sure of it when he stepped back, the furrow above his brows deepening.

  “Wade?” she asked, wariness edging in.

  “Legs together and hold the back of your knees.”

  She did what he asked and yelped when he pulled the comforter so her ass sat on the edge of the bed. He narrowed his gaze, his focus on solely on her before he sucked on his middle finger. He dipped his finger into her pussy, slicked with her arousal and she tensed.

  “Relax. I'll stop if it hurts.”

  Before she could voice her doubts or ask what he planned to do, Wade swirled his digit just below her clit. She gasped as the tip rubbed against a sensitive spot. His touch was so light, gentle but every one of her muscles bunched at the intensity of his caress. She went from slightly aroused to soaking. That made whatever magic spot he found slippery. He continued to massage her with the tip of his finger, slow, in tight circles.

  Her legs trembled, heat flashed like lightning from head to toe. “T-too much.”

  He dropped his hand away. “Open your legs. I'll do the rest with my mouth.”