by Suzie Quint
He laughed softly. “The fun and games are never over, sweetheart. It’s just a new game. Now what did I do with that condom?”
Yes, please. Find the condom. And then fuck my brains out.
She’d always wanted someone to fuck her brains out, but no one ever had. Maybe this was her chance. Please don’t suck at this. Don’t be the popcorn of sex with great foreplay and a disappointing follow-through.
He found the condom under the corner of her pillow. Should she offer to help him with it? By the time she decided she should, it was too late. She spread her legs to accommodate him as he moved over her.
The pillows elevated her hips but it wasn’t awkward. He reached down to align himself then framed her face with his hands and kissed her as he eased inside.
Is this still foreplay? It felt so good it had to be.
He pushed into her so slowly she wanted to tell him to get on with it, but at the same time, she wanted it to go on forever.
When his body at long last came flush with hers, he paused. When he pulled back, her muscles tightened as though her body didn’t want to let him go. Then he started stroking in and out in an easy rhythm, but each stroke pulled a tiny gasp from her. This was different from any sex she’d had before. Was it having her hips elevated, or was it something he did no one else had ever done? She didn’t know, but at the top of each stroke, his body brushed hers, sweeping across her sweet spot in a way that seemed to guarantee an orgasm.
And then he said something in her ear and broke her concentration.
Could the man never shut up? She might as well give up now.
His rhythm faltered, but then his hands slid from her torso to her waist to her hips, his spread fingers somehow conveying his appreciation for the curves of her body, and she felt . . . no, not sexy. Womanly. Yin to his yang. Female to his male. Perfect counterpoints.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, eliciting a groan. Her hips rose to meet his on the next thrust. Suddenly, the tempo was different. Urgent. Demanding. Her breathing grew ragged. Yes. Oh, please. Yes.
And then it was as if she’d flung herself off a cliff and discovered she could fly.
Chapter 17
Cleo woke the next morning to find Alec’s warm body spooning her. She felt so snug and cozy, it took a few moments for her to remember why this was a bad thing. The mild euphoria she felt on waking evaporated. This was so stupid. How had she let last night happen?
She slipped out of his embrace and out of the bed, snatched up her robe, and headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth and take a shower.
As the water beat down on her, she questioned her sanity. She’d never been one to jump into bed with a guy she’d just met. In her whole life, she’d had a single one-night stand, and since the guy had pursued her for weeks, she hadn’t known that was all it would be until he’d notched his bedpost and barely acknowledged her on campus afterward.
This was way worse.
She’d see Alec every day at work, never knowing if, when he looked at her, he was remembering the things they’d done in bed. She leaned her forehead against the shower stall. When had she become such a screw-up?
Well, she couldn’t change the past, but she could make sure it didn’t happen again.
When she returned to the bedroom, Alec was awake, propped up on one elbow.
“Last night was―”
Good grief, he’s talking again. “Stop.” She threw up both hands, fingers spread wide. “You said, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ You said, ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ but here you are telling me. I want to forget last night happened, but I can’t do that if you keep bringing it up.”
He smirked at her. “You are testy in the morning, aren’t you?” He rolled out of bed.
She forced her eyes to stay on his face, fearing the sight of his naked body would weaken her resolve.
“How about this?” he said, as he closed the distance between them. “What happens in this room doesn’t leave this room. Out there”—he tipped his head toward the door—“we’re colleagues. But in here―”
His chest came up against her hands. She had to retreat, strong-arm him, or let him get closer. Against the advice of her good angel, her arms flexed. His large, warm hand found her waist.
“—Inside this room, we’re not going to pretend we don’t have some kind of nuclear fission thing happening.” He pulled her against him and kissed her.
She should have pushed him away, but the second his lips touched hers, her knees went spongy and every promise she’d made herself seconds before died quick, painless deaths. “Mmmmm.”
He let her enjoy his mouth for a few more seconds then pulled back and grinned at her. “That’s better.”
“This is madness,” she said. “It’s out-of-the-ballpark insane.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion. As long as you play along.”
He was smart enough not to smile, but the light in his eyes said he was amused. As if he knew how hard she was having to fight the temptation.
And why was she fighting this? Unless she could find a way to wipe his memory of last night, the horse was already out of the barn, so where was the harm in indulging a little more? As long as it stayed in this room.
She was pretty sure she was going to regret this. Someday. After they left Vegas. In the meantime . . . She pulled his head back down to hers, intending to kiss them both stupid.
That probably would have led them back to the bed, but music started in the living room. No way was she going to have a bedroom romp when Annaliese was already up.
An hour later, after Annaliese and Jada left to go shopping, Cleo made omelets—she’d be damned if she was going to eat soggy, toasted French bread again. Over breakfast, she and Alec hammered out a game plan.
“We have two ex-wives in Vegas,” he said as she put a plate of eggs in front of him. “Do you know either of them?”
“No. Annaliese might, but probably not well enough for us to trade on it. Not to mention, if either of them does remember her, it might not work in our favor.” She sat down across the bar from him.
“Good point.”
And while valid, it also had the bonus feature of discouraging him from mentioning Annaliese to anyone who might spill Cleo’s secret. “So which one do you want?” she asked.
“Both.” He took a bite of his omelet.
She blinked at him. “You get both and I get none?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I mean I think we should talk to them together.” He pointed his fork at his plate. “This is really good. What kind of cheese did you use?”
She shouldn’t feel pleased he liked her omelet, but it was her own personal recipe and she was also kind of proud of it. “It’s cream cheese.” She took a bite. Yup. Cream cheese made everything better. “If we both go on all the interviews, they’ll take longer.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You have an appointment I don’t know about?”
“Well, when you put it like that. Okay. So how do we get them to talk to us?”
“How did you do it at The Sun?” He forked another bite into his mouth.
“I didn’t. Not anyone like this. They never gave me a story assignment where I had to compete with every media outlet in town.”
“This is where your education starts then. We have some advantages. With that Pulitzer-nominated story behind you, you look like a respected member of the press. If that doesn’t work, we’ve also got a home-field advantage because you may know someone who’ll vouch for you. And then there’s the last trick up our sleeve.”
“Which is?”
“Unlike most other media, The Word isn’t above paying for interviews.”
“That seems so . . . unethical.”
“I suppose we could debate that, but it’s not worth the time because, when the day is over, all that counts is that it works.”
Why wasn’t she surprised? “So do we call them or just show up?”
He looked at the two bios
The Word had sent him. “They’ve both been divorced from Sebastian for a while. If the other media outlets even bothered, they probably just called, hoping for something quotable.”
“And we’re going for more . . . why exactly?”
His smile was smug. “Because we’re not going for the same story they are.”
She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Of course they weren’t.
“That’s why we’re going to be different and show up. Loretta Ellis works in management at the Hilton Grand, so we’ll wait until evening and approach her at home.”
In almost any other town, a stripper would work exclusively at night, but in Vegas, that wasn’t a given. Cleo called the Crazy Horse Too, where Candy Cane worked, and learned her shift had ended at two A.M.
At one P.M., they pulled up in front of an older brick building where Candy had lived since her divorce. The shrill yap of a small dog immediately followed their knock on the door of the ground-floor condo.
Oh, no. Please let it be one of those mostly hairless dogs.
The words, “Hush, Bruiser,” followed. Seconds later, Sebastian Koblect’s twenty-seven-year-old ex-wife opened the door.
According to the pictures they had, she’d been blonde when she was married to Sebastian. Today, her short, layered hair was Lucille Ball red. The low-cut, sleeveless, gold-lame blouse and skin-tight, leopard-print pants emphasized her taut, trim figure. Insanely spiked heels, also leopard print, completed the ensemble.
In contrast to her clothes, Candy wore almost no makeup. A little mascara, a little blush, some shiny lip balm. She didn’t need more. With one hand, she held the door open. A folded-over newspaper was in the other. “Yes? Can I help you?” Behind her, a fluffy Pomeranian barked. “Bruiser! Shut up!” Candy yelled over her shoulder.
The dog didn’t, so Cleo tried talking over his enthusiastic yap. “Hi, I’m Cleo Morgan, and this―” She turned to indicate Alec only to find his mouth agape and his eyes nearly out of their sockets as he stared at Candy.
Cleo wasn’t jealous. That would imply that she had a claim on him. Which she didn’t even want. Besides, they’d agreed there was nothing between them outside the bedroom. It was still rude, though, to gawk at another woman when she was standing right there. Not that she actually blamed him. Candy totally rocked that outfit.
That’s what she was really jealous of.
With the tips of her fingers, Cleo pressed up on Alec’s jaw. When his mouth closed, she turned back toward Candy. “This is Alec Ramirez.” Normally, she’d have added who they worked for, but she feared she’d choke on the words. “We’re doing a story on Sebastian Koblect. Would you mind talking to us for a few minutes?”
Candy glanced over her shoulder. “Bruiser! Stop it.” She turned back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’d want to talk to me about Sebastian. I’m three wives ago.” She waved the hand holding the paper. “That makes me ancient history.”
“We just need to . . . to talk to you because . . .” Suddenly, Cleo didn’t know what they wanted from her. Candy was right. What could she offer that was relevant?
Alec stepped forward. “I don’t think Cleo mentioned we’re from The Inside Word.”
Candy’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a silent O. She looked at the paper in her hand then back at Alec. “I love The Inside Word. I read it all the time.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Alec said. “Would you like to see yourself quoted in it?”
“Oh my stars, would I ever! Would you like to come in?” She took a step back, nearly stepping on the dog behind her. He yipped and dashed back about five feet before starting to bark again. “Bruiser!” Her attention snapped back to Alec. “Would you like some coffee? Tea? A drink maybe?” She scooped the dog up into her arms.
“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Cleo said.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. How about some tea? I have a bunch of different kinds and the kitchen has instant hot water.”
“Tea would be great,” Alec said.
“Come on back,” Candy said with a wave of encouragement. She didn’t put the dog down until they were in the kitchen. As soon as they were seated at the table, the dog started sniffing Alec’s shoes.
“Are we interrupting? Were you going somewhere?” Cleo asked, hoping Candy would give them an excuse to cut the interview short.
“Oh, no. I was going to the store to return some shoes, but I can do that anytime.” Candy pulled cups from the cupboard.
Cleo glanced at Candy’s feet. The leopard print was exactly the kind of tacky Annaliese would buy and that Cleo secretly coveted. If these were the shoes Candy kept, what kind of shoes would she return?
While her eyes were on the floor, she saw Bruiser’s nose pushing up the bottom of Alec’s trouser leg. His foot slid across the floor, scooting the dog away.
Cleo shifted her feet, hoping the dog wouldn’t decide to investigate her next.
“What kind of tea do you like?” Candy asked, opening a shallow built-in pantry.
“Whatever you have,” Cleo said, returning her attention to the kitchen at large. “I’m happy with anything.” There was a large canvas bag on the corner of the table with white yarn spilling out of it.
Candy turned halfway around. “If you’re thinking you’re going to get Lipton teabags in my kitchen, you need to raise your standards.” She looked at Alec. “How about you?”
He looked up, the picture of attentiveness. “Surprise me.”
“A man with an adventurous spirit. Good.”
She selected from midget wooden canisters then scooped loose tea leaves into three infusers. Each infuser went into a cup.
“Where are you from?” Alec asked.
“I’m a Midwest girl,” Candy said as she filled three cups with steaming water from a tap on the corner of her sink. “Iowa born and raised. I couldn’t wait to put all those corn fields behind me. Thought I was going to make it big in LA.” She laughed. “You wouldn’t believe how naïve I was. I got off the bus, and a day later, this guy says I’m perfect for the starring role in this movie he’s making. I was over the moon until I got to the set and discovered he was making porn. I must have been the color of a tomato, I was so embarrassed.”
She set a saucer on top of each cup and set a digital timer. “I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Eventually, I ended up here.” She joined them at the table. “I would have loved to be a showgirl, but there aren’t many openings for those, so I ended up stripping.” She laughed. “Kind of ironic, huh? I was so appalled at the idea of doing a skin flick, and here I am stripping for a living.”
“What does your family in Iowa think of that?” Alec asked.
It was a softball question. Personal enough to make Candy think they were interested in her and to encourage further revelations when they got to the topics they really cared about. Not that Cleo expected any earth-shattering revelations to come from this, so she was happy to let Alec carry the ball.
“When I started, I told them I was an exotic dancer. They think it means I dance with fans like Gypsy Rose Lee.” She smiled. “Or at least they pretended to. Now, they think I live off my divorce settlement.”
“I thought you signed a prenup,” Alec said.
“I did. But Sebastian was generous with me. He gave me a settlement and invested it for me. I’ve been lucky. I haven’t had to dip into it. It’s my fallback for when I’m too old to dance.”
“Why do you think he was so generous?” Alec asked.
“Because at heart, he’s a good man.” She hesitated. “Was a good man. I guess I haven’t really taken it in that he’s gone.”
“A good man . . .” Alec prompted.
“Yeah. Sometimes he was even a good husband, but he was always busy with the casino. It was kind of a lonely marriage.”
The timer beeped and Candy brought the tea to the table. “This is Spiced Mandarin Oolong. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure we will,” Alec said.
&nb
sp; A fusion of hot citrus and spices wafted from the cup she set in front of Cleo. This wasn’t tea like anything she’d ever had before. She took a sip and nearly melted as the flavors hit her tongue. “This is delicious.”
Candy smiled. “I know.”
“How long did you know Sebastian before you married him?” Alec asked.
“Oh, just a few weeks. It was one of those whirlwind courtships. All hearts and flowers. Some expensive jewelry Sebastian let me keep.” She sighed. “I know people think I’m naïve, but deep down, he really was a sweet guy. He had a rough life growing up, you know. His parents divorced when he was ten and they used him to hurt each other. I think that made him cynical, but when you dug down, he really wanted to believe in love. He just couldn’t do it for very long because he thought it should be perfect. You know—soul-mate love. When it wasn’t, he got all cynical again.”
“You don’t believe in soul mates?”
“No. I think it doesn’t matter how well suited you are, you still have to work at marriage. Sebastian wanted love that transcended everything, so he wouldn’t have to make an effort.”
“That’s pretty deep. How did you figure that out?”
“Oh, I didn’t. Loretta did.”
Wife number two. Interesting. “So you know Loretta?” Cleo asked.
Candy nodded.
“Did you know her before you married Sebastian?”
“No. She’d been out of the picture for a while then, but she was still bitter about some things. After my marriage ended, she called one day, out of the blue, and we went out for a liquid lunch.” Candy smiled. “Loretta says we’re the founding members of the Life After Sebastian club.”
“Do you see her often?” Alec asked.
“We get together every few months or whenever the mood strikes.”
“Is she still bitter?” Cleo asked.
“No, she got over that when she met her husband. He’s a great guy.”
They were starting to shoot questions at her too fast, losing the friendly, chatty quality that made people open up, so Cleo nodded at the knitting bag. “What are you making?”