by Mel Curtis
She didn’t say anything.
“Get in bed.” His junk convulsed to attention. “My younger sister left her naked Barbies all over the place. As a teenager, I wanted to get it on with Barbie.”
“I’m more of a Skipper kind of gal.”
He shook his head. “Nobody cares about Skipper.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re Barbie.”
“I’m not.”
He turned and picked her up. She was stiff as a board. He arranged her tenderly on the sheets, checking her body position against the picture in the book. “You’re limber. We can do this.”
“Barbie has boobs.”
He’d moved on from Barbie. His attention was on the intriguingly hot position in the book. He spared her a glance.
Were those tears in her eyes?
“Oh, sugar. You have boobs. Beautiful, beautiful boobs.” He straddled her and bent to suckle those marvelous assets of hers.
“They’re not as big as – ”
“They’re big for the size of woman you are.” What was wrong with her? Cora was hell on wheels, not some insecure, frail woman. He glanced around the pink room once more. Maybe he didn’t know Cora like he thought he did. “Do you…Should we…Why don’t we go downstairs?”
Downstairs, Cora was invincible, the kind of woman who took her own sexual pleasure and didn’t expect flowers the next day. Up here, in the pink room, Cora was fragile, as delicate as the flowers in the prints leaning in the corner. This side of her brought out Trent’s protective instincts. He had enough to worry about without wanting to protect Cora Rule.
He brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Maybe it’s best that I go.”
Her eyes were squeezed shut. “Downstairs. I want you to do me downstairs.” It was the same tone Rachel used when she said, “I’m not too tired for a quickie.” Meaning she’d be thinking of her to-do list while he came alone inside of her.
Trent stood and helped Cora to her feet, his dick sinking along with his hopes for yoga sex. “I need to go.”
She glanced at him. At his deflating symbol of manhood. “Oh, shit. I did that to you.” She looked horrified. “We have to get downstairs.” She hurried past him.
At the bottom of the stairs, she turned, looking like a Hollywood dream come true. The spark had returned to her eyes, the impish smile to her lips. “Stop right there.” She pointed to the third step above her.
She was a sexual goddess. How could he refuse?
But that room…her reaction…
Indecision stiffened his limbs, even as her naked beauty stiffened his cock.
He didn’t stop her when she leaned forward and took him in her mouth, when she sucked him harder than she’d sucked his whiskey-salted finger in the bar. He didn’t stop her when she sheathed him in a condom and pushed him back on the stairs. He didn’t stop her when she rode him as if she’d die without waxing his dick into a hard as steel rod. He didn’t stop her until her tight, juicy orgasm caused his control to burst and his cock to burst and his throat to burst with a roar the neighbors could hear.
One time. It was only one time.
Cora woke up at four a.m. trying to convince herself she hadn’t damaged her career by screwing around with Trent. Her stomach felt otherwise, double-knotted and turned inside-out. She rolled onto her back, drawing deep breaths.
Don’t panic.
It wasn’t like she was climaxing her way up the corporate ladder. She’d only done it one time. Well, technically, they’d done the deed twice and with very satisfying results.
Gotta love a man who’d been abstaining.
No. Nope. No. She didn’t do love.
Besides, the event was a one-time gig. She’d fallen off the abstinence wagon and she was getting right back on.
But what if he thinks it’s not one time?
Impossible.
Trent had been freaked out by her room, almost as much as she’d been freaked out by him in her room. He’d barely spoken to her when he came downstairs. They’d finished, he’d given her a gentle kiss on the lips and left. But…
They hadn’t discussed any of her boundaries. Did he expect her to date him? Did he expect to show up for casual sex whenever the mood struck? Was he going to tell someone he’d tapped her? Was this how he planned to get rid of the Dooley Foundation?
The knots in her stomach tightened. That was it. She was awake and so was Brutus.
Her phone buzzed. A text message from Cal asking if she was awake. He was paying her a retainer. Soon she’d have to figure out a way to ease his troubled heart. But not now.
She deleted the message and followed Brutus downstairs, letting him out to do his business in her small backyard. The stars were just starting to fade. The air was fresh. Tail wagging, Brutus was happily sniffing a path along the shrubbery. She should have felt renewed, not disheartened. She should have felt upbeat, not uptight. But Trent was a loose end and she needed to talk to him.
An hour later, she was sitting in a chair in the Beverly Hilton hotel lobby waiting for Trent to make an appearance. She bent over to reassure Brutus in his carrier that things were okay and when she straightened Trent stood in front of her.
No wickedly-crooked smile. No twinkle in his eyes. Trent looked put out. He towered over her, making her feel worse when he said flatly, “This is a surprise.”
She crossed her legs against the idea of sex. She’d chosen to wear plain black pumps, a knee-length black skirt and an olive green sleeveless blouse that hid what little cleavage she had. Her hair was clipped in a long ponytail at the base of her neck. She channeled Amber’s most business-like voice. “Please, sit down. We need to talk about…things.”
He didn’t immediately sit. He checked the time on his cell first, then waved to the valet to bring around his car, before placing his phone on the table between them. “What’s up?”
“Last night…” His standoffishness combined with her uncertainty made her forget the speech she had planned. She laced her fingers together over her knee. “It was great…You were great.” What was it she wanted to say?
“I should have said something before I left. I’m sorry about taking you upstairs.” Trent’s gaze was almost pitying. “Your room, or rather your reaction to me being in your room…”
She refused to acknowledge she had a hang-up. “My room?”
“You know, the room with all that pink that you didn’t want me to see? The one you don’t allow anyone to see?” He covered her hands with one of his. “You talk a good game about sex without strings, but that room and whatever it means to you…”
“You’re dumping me?” Cora didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. She stood. “Over the color scheme of my room?”
“Cora – ”
“You used me.”
With a shake of his head, he came to his feet, reached for her. “Sugar, don’t do this.”
She jerked away. “No. You told me that I was a distraction. Your curiosity’s been satisfied.” Google alert: She was angry. The tightness in her stomach unraveled and shot through her veins. “Well, that’s fine. It’s awesome. I couldn’t ask for anything better. I don’t date. Ever. And you probably – ”
“Cora – ”
“ – made a list of things to do when you reached this level. Eat at fancy restaurants, buy a fast car, hook up with hot women.” His jaw ticked. She’d struck a nerve. “You can cross that last one off your list.”
His brows lowered as decisively as a door slam. “Are we through?”
“We’re more than through.” Thankfully. “We’re done. Water under the toll bridge. Best-forgotten history.”
He walked toward the front door. It was a shame she had to follow him to leave. He was infuriating.
“I need a life coach,” Cora muttered to Brutus once she was in her car. Someone to keep her legs closed despite the most delicious temptations.
Chapter 18
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Linc
oln
…Sighted leaving the Beverly Hilton in the wee hours of the morning – Flash coach, Trent Parker, and the Dooley Foundation’s, Cora Rule. My, that girl must never sleep.
…The Rules of Matchmaking, starring Blue Rule, is in full production. You think you have dating challenges? Check out the teasers posted on the show’s website. Makes me feel better about my rejection by a certain underwear model.
“You don’t have to come with me.” Gemma tried not to sound whiny. She tried to sound like Cora – confident and ball-busting. “I’ve gone shopping with Mimi without you before.”
Cora said nothing. She unlocked her car doors and got in, leaving Gemma to either be left in the Dooley Foundation’s parking lot, or hop in.
Gemma got in. “I can take on Mimi’s case. You have other things on your mind.” Like Coach Trent Parker, if this morning’s Happenings column was any indication.
Cora continued to say nothing. Gemma gave up on conversation and stared out the window at the usual L.A. traffic. They’d left Brutus back at the office with Mr. Jiggles. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them.
Randy had chosen her as his Woman Crush Wednesday on Twitter. Gemma felt like flying. If Cora had slept with the Flash’s coach, she should be flying, too.
But she wasn’t. She was quiet and hadn’t said anything to Amber when she’d asked about the L.A. Happenings column except, “Mind your own business.”
Mimi opened her front door before they’d had a chance to knock. She scrutinized Cora’s face. “Are we in a happy mood or a punching bag mood?”
“I’m an idiot,” Cora said.
Instead of politely telling her she wasn’t, like any normal person would, Mimi hugged Cora.
What was going on here?
The two non-virgins went into the house, leaving clueless Gemma on the stoop. She followed them in, feeling let down. There’d be no shopping trips today. No makeovers. No updates to her Twitter feed with glamorous photos. Next Wednesday, Randy would choose some other lucky girl as his Woman Crush Wednesday.
“Oh, boy,” Mimi was saying. “Coach Parker must have amazing powers of sexual persuasion, because it seems like only recently you and I were making a pact about – ”
“Please.” Cora glanced at Gemma. “Not in front of the baby.”
“You can tell me.” Gemma lifted her chin. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Mimi regarded her, then turned to Cora. “As long as we feed her fan-girl addiction with Coach Farrell, she won’t say a word. She’ll do anything we say.”
“Not anything,” Gemma grumbled.
“Anything,” Mimi repeated without looking at her. “Now, tell me. Is Coach Parker someone you’d like to date exclusively, or just another boy toy?”
“He dumped me.”
Cora’s admission couldn’t have shocked Gemma more. Cora was smart and savvy and sexy. The Dooley Foundation version of Angelina Jolie. Ok, so maybe she could be a bitch, but what man in their right mind would dump her?
“He said I’m not ready for a relationship,” Cora was saying. “He said I have unresolved issues.”
For once, Gemma held her tongue. Cora’s personal life was a thing of myth. It had only been recently that L.A. Happenings had posted anything about her personal life at all. And to be dumped? Ouch.
Cora’s father, and Gemma’s old boss, Dooley, would have said all that emotion indicated she was in need of a teaching moment. Gemma had listened in on enough of Dooley’s phone call sessions to recognize the signs. The man had never been able to talk to anyone without putting them on speaker.
Mimi tapped her lips with one pink, manicured fingernail. “You’re either a rebound and the issue crap is an excuse to never see you again, or he cares about you…He’s older, right? By seven or eight years? Older dudes always have different expectations than guys our age. Did he say what he thought your issues were?”
Cora clammed up as tight as an airliner ready for take-off.
Could it be? Did this mean…? Cora needed a bit of her own life coaching medicine? Wait until Amber found out.
Gemma bit her lip. But what if she didn’t find out? At least, not yet. Not until Gemma had a chance to prove that she could be a life coach for the most difficult of clients – Cora Rule.
“Well then.” Mimi brought out her brightest smile. The one that said she had nothing going on upstairs. The one Gemma didn’t fall for any more. Mimi was one of the sweetest cupcakes in the display case and one of the few with a smart filling. “It must be time to make Gemma over and go shopping.”
The smile welling up inside of Gemma couldn’t be contained. Things were starting to look up.
~*~
After too many sleepless nights, Cora had finally drifted off early, only to be interrupted.
The text message from Antoine seemed desperate: Cops about to take me to jail.
Cora glanced at the clock. Two a.m.
It had been several days since she and Trent had spoken in the lobby of his hotel. She’d suffered a lecture from Amber, a sympathetic hug from Mimi, unexpected scrutiny from Gemma, and speculative looks from the Flash players.
Oh, and Portia had cancelled their life coaching appointment with a nasty text message about Cora being able to use sex to create buzz, but using a double-standard on her. Cora hoped that meant Portia hadn’t slept with Cal Lazarus. It’d be nice if someone learned from her mistakes.
“You are so going to owe me, Antoine.” Cora threw on a pair of jeans, an old T-shirt, and casual-heeled sandals. She didn’t bother with make-up, and left Brutus sleeping in his bed upstairs.
Thirty minutes later, as she completed the paperwork for Antoine’s release, Trent’s sleep-roughened voice startled her. “What the hell, Cora?”
The last thing Antoine needed was his coach knowing he’d been busted.
She turned, feeling naked and vulnerable. “I’m helping out a friend. What are you doing here?”
Ren towered behind Trent, looking sheepish. “Antoine texted me, but I did not know how to make bail.”
Trent looked good, despite his frown and a slight case of bed-head. “You’re bailing Antoine out of the drunk tank?”
“Yep,” she said with false cheer.
His frown deepened. “Was it something the team needs to discipline him for?”
“His baby mama slugged him, but fled the scene.” When Trent’s eyebrows shot up, Cora was quick to explain. “He didn’t hit her. A bunch of wasted do-gooders felt it was their civic duty to support a woman, even after she left.”
Trent washed a hand over his face. “Thanks for bailing him out.”
“No problem.” But there was a problem. Unlike other men she’d slept with, being with Trent made her nervous. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
“He’s my half-brother,” the woman at the counter was saying. “I barely know him. He just got to town yesterday.” She backed away from the clerk. “I’m sorry. But I can’t bail him out. Not for fifty thousand dollars. I have to think about my kids.” The woman high-tailed it out the door.
What if that had been me? Called on to post bond for one of Daddy’s other children? Would she ignore them? Pay the bond out of obligation for family? Show up out of guilt because at least one of the tantrums she’d thrown as a child had forced Daddy to cancel plans he’d made with them?
Ren paced in front of her. “Coach, may my Evening Star drive you and Antoine home? I need sleep before workout.”
Trent looked like he wanted nothing to do with Cora. She imagined she looked the same. They both nodded.
Ren left. She checked Facebook on her phone. It buzzed and she nearly dropped it.
A text from Cal: Let’s bang bones.
She was really going to have to make time to get that man back on track.
Antoine shuffled out a door and gave Cora a jaw-dropping look of disbelief. “You brought Coach?”
“Not me.” She held up her hands. “Ren
“My fault, then
. I needed an insurance policy. I wasn’t sure Ren would get my message.” Antoine touched his black eye gingerly. “Sorry for the trouble, Coach.”
“It’s no excuse to slack off your workouts later,” Trent grumbled.
Cora led them to her car.
“Girl, you need a new ride.” Antoine eyed her vehicle dubiously. “A quality woman like you doesn’t need to be driving a near classic.”
“Shut up, Antoine.” Cora’s Mercedes was five years old. She hadn’t wanted to buy a new car since she’d been planning to move to Paris after graduating from the Fashion Institute. And then Daddy died. “You live in Westwood, right?”
“Yep.” While she drove, Antoine worked the windows up and down, checked out the arm rest, bumped his knees in the back of Trent’s seat. “Aren’t we going to pick up my wheels? I left them at Tingle.”
“You can send one of your freeloading homeboys tomorrow,” Cora snapped. Why couldn’t he be grateful? She was the one who’d been put out. “Why didn’t you call one of them tonight?”
“I’ve dropped down to one assistant since Evan wouldn’t let my posse in during summer training.” Antoine continued with the attitude. “And Demarcus has some previous paperwork with the law he’s been avoiding.”
“You mean a warrant for his arrest?” Cora exited the freeway.
Trent swore. “My players don’t associate with law-breakers. If it’s not taken care of by Monday, I’ll cut you.”
“That’s harsh, man. He’s like my brother from another mother.”
“Monday,” Trent repeated. A conversation killer.
“Antoine, how many kids do you have?” Cora asked when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“One. What kind of a man do you think I am?”
“Well, I – ”
“Anjawon is one of those birth control babies.” Antoine’s voice had lost all its bluster. “My dad had a string of baby mamas. At last count, I have six brothers and sisters.”
“You don’t know?” Cora felt immensely better for not wanting to know about her siblings.