The Rush

by Piper Westbrook

  “I’ll say. To come here and play football with a bunch of kids on his birthday. If that’s not the mark of a good person, then—”

  “Rewind.” Veronica stopped Nellie with a light grip on her wrist. “Today is his birthday?”

  “Google seems to think so. When you headed out here, I called my sister to tell her about his visit, and she nearly punctured my eardrum with this cray-cray girl-meets-boy-band scream. She insisted that today’s his B-day, and I looked up his bio on my phone.”

  Veronica met Simon’s eyes as she and Nellie stepped inside. In unspoken agreement he waited while the kids, then Raoul, then Nellie left. The cleaning crew had arrived and was flipping on lights until the entire main floor glowed. Outside, the sky was darkening into a wash of deep reds and purples as daylight wilted.

  Once she’d retrieved her dessert—the neatly packed cupcake she’d decorated with a poor attempt at a calligraphy V—from the kitchen, she joined Simon at the reception desk.

  “A ‘happy birthday’ is in order. Guess you’re going to celebrate Vegas-style?”

  “No plans.”

  “Shut. Up.” Veronica shook her head. “I mean, how can that be?”

  “It’s not that. I’m more selective about who I roll with these days. Fair-weather friends serve a purpose, but it’s not to have my back. Real friends don’t take off when shit hits the fan. Hurley’s got an away game tomorrow, Shaw and his wife are still decompressing from their daughter’s birthday, the Samuel Adams Utopias from Samantha already arrived…and I’m with you now.”

  She made the cut? The instant satisfaction was just as quickly doused with guilt. It was ironic that his birth date slipped her mind when she could recall so many small details from his employee file—such as he was a chess player and had completed community service for speeding when he was at LSU. “I should tell you, then, that I forgot your birthday. Nellie clued me in.”

  “You’re on my side, Veronica. The rest isn’t important.”

  “Your birthday is important. That sexy cavalier grin thing isn’t going to change my mind. Birthdays are miracles. They shouldn’t be forgotten or ignored. They should be shared with people who care about you.” She lifted the container. “I was going to save this for after dinner, but…um, I’d rather share it with you, Simon. The cupcake and your birthday.”

  ◆◆◆

  Veronica had a talent for saying things without actually saying them. Tonight she’d insisted that his birthday should be shared with someone who cared about him—and then nominated herself. If she cared, he wanted her to just say it.

  She was a woman of action, though. Words, promises, she didn’t trust.

  Simon was transfixed by this woman as she led him into her house—if anyone could call the imposing structure that. More like an architect’s wet dream.

  “Damn. A castle in Las Vegas,” he commented, drawing a rich chuckle from her.

  “A castle? Not quite.” She deposited her purse on a fat club chair and dropped her keys into a crystal leaf-shaped dish on a side table. She hung on to the container that held her cupcake.

  “There’s a turret, Veronica.”

  Another laugh. “Well, okay. Castle-esque.” She fiddled with a bank of switches, and in moments the room was awash in light. The textured mahogany coffee table glowed as deeply and richly as a full-bodied wine.

  “Bamboo stalks,” he said, recognizing the ripples in the high-glossed surface. “Where’d you get this?”

  “A friend of a friend of a friend knows an artisan in Europe. It was a wedding gift that I didn’t send off to Christie’s for auction.” She neatened the fan of magazines atop the piece. “Become a music idol, and this, too, could be yours.”

  Simon watched her scan the surroundings with a frown. Classic beauty and luxury—everything a woman who appreciated the finest things in life should want. Yet she looked disturbed.

  “It’s haunted, you know.”

  “Haunted?”

  “Not literally.” She shrugged. “It was never exactly my vision of a home. It was made for entertaining. Now it doesn’t serve even that purpose, since I work so much.” She ran a finger over the top of a framed picture of a woman in a trench coat stepping out of a car, holding a gigantic umbrella against the rain. The shot looked as though it was pulled straight from an old Hollywood movie.

  “Is that—” he stepped closer “—Joan? Your mother?”

  “Give the man a prize,” Veronica said with a teasing smile. “Yes, it’s her. The car she’s getting out of? My sisters and I were in it. I remember this exact moment.” She traced her mother’s image lovingly. “I thought, if I could be so perfect, so adored…But I can’t. Too many flaws. Too much to juggle.”

  “Faith House was started before the Greers bought the Villains franchise. Why put so much on your plate?”

  “I don’t see it that way,” she said. “My parents insisted that my instincts and specific skill set made me a perfect fit for GM. It’s a position of power, and I’m not sorry I took it. My parents wouldn’t entrust this level of responsibility to just anyone, and they want the best. No one’s more committed to protecting my family’s interests than I am.”

  What he wasn’t hearing was what she wanted.

  Veronica patted the food container. “I’ll put this on a dish.” She vanished through an arched entryway. When she returned, she said, “Faith House is something I can call my own. It’s really taking off, with the college counseling and the crisis shelter. Good things ahead.”

  There was pride in her voice, but sadness in her eyes.

  “It helps me remember Faith.”

  “Was she a friend?”

  “She mugged me at knifepoint.”

  Simon stilled, then crossed his arms. “I’m gonna need some help connecting the dots, Veronica.”

  “She was a sixteen-year-old who was so desperate for a way out of a gang and prostitution that she tried to steal enough money to outrun her pimp. She said she’d slice my throat, I called her bluff, and it turned out that she was just a scared girl.

  “I saw to it that Faith got help. An incredible difference it made, too. But a few months later, she was in a car that wasn’t safe. It blew up on the highway.” Veronica cast her gaze at the cupcake. “The news referred to her as just another unfortunate kid whose life jumped the rails. She was more than that, and I took a chance because I believed in her. I still do.”

  Was that the same way she believed in him?

  Veronica extended the plate to him. “Couldn’t find a candle small enough not to topple the cupcake. I figured since it’s your birthday I’d give you the whole thing. It’s a great, great sacrifice for a sweets addict such as myself.”

  “Have some,” he said, and she didn’t hesitate before swiping her finger through the crooked calligraphy V and scooping the frosting into her mouth.

  She sat on the sofa, putting the coffee table between them as she swirled her tongue around her finger. Simon couldn’t pry his stare from the slow, slick movement of her tongue curling around the digit. “Simon.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t forget to make a wish.”

  He looked directly in her eyes and swept his tongue over the frosting.

  Her eyelashes fluttered. “What’d you wish for?”

  Simon set the dish on the table. “A cold beer.”

  “Beer. I can do that. Fresh out of Utopias, though.” Her head tilted, and her gaze stroked him. “I thought you’d wish for a kiss.”

  “If I had, would you have given it to me?”

  Veronica didn’t blink for several heartbeats. Then she suddenly sprang off the sofa and vaulted herself onto the coffee table. Standing a few inches above him, she snaked one arm over his shoulder while the other hand cradled his jaw.

  So many secrets swirled in her eyes, and he wanted to unlock every one.

  Veronica’s body swayed into his, and as if on command his groin tightened. Another intimate gyration. Then an almost tortured moan
sawed through her full lips before she brought them down to his.

  He met her with his tongue, licking into her, savoring the sounds of their mouths tasting and taking. With a small sigh, Veronica closed her lips around his tongue, sucking him to the tip before she withdrew from the kiss.

  Fluidly hopping off the table, she strutted from the room. “A cold beer. Coming up.”

  Every centimeter of Simon’s body vibrated with need so intense it was audible, surging in his ears. The house was quiet except for the cadence of Veronica’s shoes striking the floor. The sound lured him to an expansive kitchen that was set in shadows except for the lone light pouring from the open refrigerator.

  Veronica emerged, shutting the door with a bump of her hip and smoothly moving toward the entryway. She stopped when she saw him filling the space. “Hey.”

  Accepting the drink, he turned the bottle up for a long swallow that quenched absolutely nothing. He set it down and twisted around.

  When he banded an arm around her waist, she went willingly, pressing that taut body against his. One step backward. Then another. Then more. Like drumbeats, he felt them in his core as he walked her backward across the room.

  Veronica’s back met the refrigerator, and he went for her mouth, taking her warm tongue in deep as he peeled away her jacket. Roughly he ridded her of shoes, top, bra, and pants, then grasped the crotch of her thong and stretched it so that the silky strip grazed her cunt. Finally, he slid it down her legs.

  Veronica’s hand roamed down her body, and he almost came in his jeans at the sound of her finger exploring her wetness. Simon rolled his tongue over her nipples, learning their texture, before he took her hand and sucked her damp finger into his mouth. He let her taste coat his tongue, instantly addicted. “If you’re going to turn back and grab on to those rules, now’s the time to do it, Veronica.”

  She shifted her hips forward to meet his, giving him an answer. He pulled a condom from his pocket and unzipped his jeans to free himself. Veronica gripped his shoulders as he grabbed her ass and boosted her high against the refrigerator. Magnets popped off the stainless steel, clattering onto the floor. Papers crumpled and floated down.

  Simon speared her tight, wet heat. The answering moan she made against his lips almost unraveled what little restraint he had left.

  She spoke, the words punctuated with the whimpers his thrusts pulled from her. “You can take me away.”

  Then, in a wave of hard spasms, she broke. Deep inside her, he fed off her pleasure, and in moments he followed her orgasm with his own.

  Eventually he was able to let her go, setting her gently on her feet. Simon got rid of the condom, then wandered to the counter where he’d left the beer. He damn near drained the bottle.

  Not enough. Fucking her against a refrigerator wasn’t enough. Not by a goddamn long shot.

  He heard a rustle of fabric as Veronica kicked her clothes across the floor and moved through the shadows. All of a sudden, light engulfed the room. Squinting to adjust his vision to the brightness, he whirled away from the counter.

  Veronica waited near the entryway. Naked. Mouth swollen. Hair a sexy mess. White skin shimmering with sweat. “What now?”

  “Now—” Simon wound his arms around her, sweeping her up slowly until they were eye to eye “—I take what’s mine.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As hot as refrigerator banging was, Veronica knew it was only an introduction to what limits they could push. A warning of a potency that was rawer than fucking, deeper than lovemaking, more complicated than sex.

  She wanted him to touch her until she was thirsty, starved, and too spent to move. Now that she was in his arms, digging her heels into his ass, gauging his readiness for more by pumping her body tight onto his crotch, she thought she was off to a good start.

  “This is the second time I’ve been naked in this kitchen today,” she confessed.

  He exhaled onto her throat. “God. Is that a habit?”

  “Uh-uh. Could make it one.”

  “Move in with me.”

  Veronica angled herself to kiss his temple. “No.”

  Simon carried her out of the kitchen as if she were a Fabergé egg—precious, tiny, delicate. She loved that he could hold her. It was a longed-for change; even she grew weary of standing on her own two feet all the time. But she wasn’t a jeweled egg, and tonight she didn’t want to be handled with caution. She wanted the full force of his fucking. They might be mismatched in height, size, and brawn, but she was looking forward to taking him on.

  Abruptly, she threw her arms up.

  She slid an inch or two down his body and he tightened his hold to keep from dropping her. “What the hell was that?”

  “Put me down.” Veronica wriggled out of his embrace, grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists. “Chase me. Up the stairs. Let’s go.”

  Simon was a step behind her the entire way to her bedroom. At the door, she grunted as he suddenly bent to squeeze her bum.

  “I don’t know which I like more,” he muttered. “Your ass…” He spread her cheeks, squeezed them. “Or your tits…” He dragged his hands up to pinch her nipples. “Or what about your pussy?”

  He twisted first one, then two fingers into her. Veronica shut her eyes, sighing in dirty delight. The authority he had with her body was unexpected, yet it shouldn’t have been. Hadn’t he warned her on the balcony at Villains Club Lounge?

  Veronica clumsily opened her bedroom door—only to remember how messy she’d left it this morning, as though her closet had puked clothes all over the bed. She snatched the door shut. “New plan. We can’t go in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not fit for guests.”

  “I’m not a guest, good girl. I’m a man who wants to smash your sweet pussy. If we go in there, I swear I’ll be looking only at you. And I’m not after a perfect woman. I’m after pushy, klutzy, sexy-as-hell Veronica Greer.”

  Sexy as hell was flattering. Pushy, not so much—even if it was true. Klutzy, that was uncalled for. “I’m not klutzy.” She preceded him into the bedroom, making a dash for the designer label pileup on the bed.

  “Argumentative. I should’ve added that one,” he said, and when she pivoted to give him a profane gesture, he whipped off his shirt. At his collar was a cross on a silver chain.

  Veronica was struck dumb by the definition of muscle and bone and the symmetry of his body. She wished she could zap her mattress clear and push him onto it.

  She turned to scoop up a handful of garments but misjudged the distance. Clotheslined at the thighs, she landed on the bed with a stunned “Oooppphhh!”

  Great way to prove his point.

  Simon was on her, flipping her onto her back, taking full advantage of her position. The abrasion of the scruff on his jaw on her mound was a marriage of pleasure and pain. Spreading her legs wider, he lapped her slit.

  “Yes, fucker, eat my pussy.” Shocked by her own words, she dropped her hands onto her face.

  “No, Veronica. No holding back. First, to take care of this…” Simon helped her off the bed. He yanked the four corners of her comforter toward the middle of the bed, trapping all the clothes inside, and slung the bundle onto the floor. “Now say what you want.”

  Veronica boldly stared him down. “You—naked and inside me.”

  Simon stripped swiftly, and the sight of his rigid cock had her lowering to her knees. She went for his balls, testing the weight of them in her mouth before she confronted his penis.

  “Your mouth,” he growled, withdrawing from her. “Definitely your mouth is what I like best. It was made for my dick.” Then he went completely still. “Oh, shit. I don’t have another condom.”

  Veronica almost fainted in relief. “I’m all over it.” She jumped on the mattress and crawled across to her nightstand and hunted for the party favors from Grace’s bachelorette party. She dumped the contents onto the bed and counted the foil packets. Six. Well, that might get them through the night. “I
want to use everything in this bag. Think you can help me do that?”

  He responded with a kiss that sucked the sense out of her. Bringing his body down on hers, driving slowly and deeply into her, he held her.

  ◆◆◆

  Three foil packets, a silk blindfold, and a shower that had been more dirty than cleansing later, panic caught her. Veronica had pulled on the first article of clothing she saw—a ruffled red shirt that was long enough to cover her hips—and was untying the blindfold from one of the bed’s posts when it dawned that she was in it deep.

  With each climax, each stroke of his talented hands on her body, she only ached for him more intensely. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. They were on borrowed time together; neither had the right to expect the passion they found—or created—in each other to bleed into the real world. Veronica’s carefully structured life had no room in it for a spontaneous man who coaxed her down from the pedestal she’d been perched on for so long. She had defense against the consequences of wanting more than one night.

  What a fantastically dumb-ass mistake it was to let lust lead them here. Because now, as Veronica lowered to all fours in search of her shoes—where were they, anyway?—she was finally afraid of something. Afraid that lust might abandon her on love’s doorstep.

  Simon had come into her life without a warning, and damn it, it wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be on opposite sides. But what had that led to?

  Plenty of sex, and emotions she hadn’t a clue what to do with. The possibility that she couldn’t think her way out of a predicament ramped up her fear.

  Head to the floor, ass in the air, Veronica peered beneath her bed. No shoes. Ugh.

  So, this was what happened when you free-fell and hit the bottom….

  “Not that watching your ass isn’t getting me hot,” Simon said from behind her, “but is there a reason you’re down there?”

  Veronica turned over onto her back on the floor. “My shoes are missing.” She gazed up at him—he was wickedly gorgeous standing there in just his jeans—as tears swamped her eyes.