by Susan Gable
As kisses went, it was pretty good—not too sloppy, not too hard. He seemed willing to take his time. A little while later, his tongue probed her lips, and she widened her mouth to let him in. Wanting to impress him, she used a few of the kissing tricks Brian had taught her, like skimming the insides of his teeth with the tip of her tongue, and tickling the roof of his mouth.
With a groan, he pulled away. “Damn. You are one hot Texas tamale, you know that?” He started the car. “I’d better get you home. Wouldn’t do to break your curfew on our first date. I want your dad to like me.”
Hot Texas tamale. Brook bit back a huge grin. She liked that. “Does that mean there’s going to be a second date?”
“Oh, hell yeah, baby. Second and more.”
Score! Finally, a new boyfriend. Let Brian keep little Miss Heather. Dylan Burch, senior and star athlete, made Brian look like a Little Leaguer. She’d hit the big time now.
CHAPTER SIX
STILL SMILING politely at the junior partner from her mother’s firm, Jenna watched out of the corner of her eye as her father slipped from the living room. The Thanksgiving feast her mother had organized was vastly different than the ones they’d had in the past, when Gram was in charge. Lawyers, lawyers everywhere, and not a safe haven in sight. So where was her father escaping to?
The fringe from her sleeve swayed as Jenna raised her glass of champagne. “Mr. Dumont, please excuse me.” He nodded, and Jenna left the room, following the hallway across the house. The door to her father’s study clicked shut just as she rounded the corner. She rapped once on it, then went in. “Dad?”
The burgundy leather chair behind his desk creaked as he lowered himself into it. “Jenna. Looks like you caught me sneaking off. Be a dear and pour me a glass of brandy, will you?”
“Sure.” She lifted the heavy crystal decanter from the mahogany bar on the side of the room. “You couldn’t take it anymore either, huh?”
“The social graces are all part of the game, my dear. And we all do what needs to be done.”
Jenna set the glass on the blotter in front of him, plopped into the wing chair in front of the desk. “Doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it though, right?”
“Indeed.” He swigged back a belt of the brandy.
“Don’t those people have families? And, if so, then why are they here?”
“They’re playing the game, too.”
“Great.” Jenna lifted her champagne flute. “To the players. May they have some fun at some point in their pathetic lives.”
“Jenna,” her father chided. “That’s not nice.” He lifted his snifter. “I’d prefer to propose a toast to those not here to share this day with us.”
“To Gram,” Jenna agreed. “Who is rolling in her grave at Mother’s hijacking of the family holiday for work-related politics.”
“To Mom.”
They both took a drink. Silence settled into the bookcase-lined room. “If this isn’t what you wanted to do for the holiday, Dad, why’d you let Mother do it?”
Her father swirled the amber liquid in the bottom of the glass. “Because for years your mother compromised and did what I wanted on the holidays. This year I didn’t see any harm in letting her plan it how she wanted. That’s what marriage is all about, Jenna. Compromise.”
“Huh. That must be why I’m not married. I’m no good at compromise, especially when it means I have to have a holiday with a bunch of nonfamily members. A snore-fest of PC chitchat. For crying out loud, Dad, we didn’t even have a turkey, we had individual capons. Ugh.”
Dad smiled. “I thought they were quite tasty myself.”
“Thanksgiving is turkey. And family.”
“Well, here we are. Family. Hiding out in my office. And if your mother catches us…”
“There will be hell to pay.” Jenna smiled back at him. “But, as always, she’ll get over it.” She eyed her father as he finished his brandy. “Dad? Gram once told me that you wanted to be a prosecutor when you started law school. Instead, here you are, with a very successful practice built by defending white-collar criminals. That’s quite a difference. So, I just want to know why.”
He raised his hand, gestured around the room. “Look around you, Jenna. You don’t live this kind of life on a prosecutor’s salary. I wanted to give my family everything I could.”
“Wanted to give Mother everything, you mean. I certainly don’t need—never needed—all these trappings.”
“Again, dear, sometimes in life we make compromises, even with ourselves.”
“Have you ever considered the cost of those compromises, Dad?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never asked myself that.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
He pushed back from the desk. As he passed her, he pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “A good defense lawyer learns immediately that some questions are better left unasked. Don’t stay here much longer, or your mother will come looking for you.” The tread of his shoes against the hardwood floor stopped at the doorway. “I think the idea of just the three of us, alone at a table, terrifies your mother. That’s why she invited twenty-five other people to share the holiday with us.”
“Oh, nice parting shot, Dad,” she called after him. Now she had guilt for not enjoying her mother’s version of Thanksgiving. Her mother, terrified? Of her? The concept baffled Jenna. Her mother swam with sharks on a daily basis and feared nothing—except, maybe, letting her hair down.
Jenna made her way back to the gathering in the living and dining rooms, making small talk, earning approving looks from both parental units. But after about another forty-five minutes, she knew she had to cut and run or end up doing something outrageous that would scandalize her mother, like tap-dancing on the parquet floor in the foyer, or gathering a group around the baby grand and plinking out “Heart and Soul” with two fingers.
After collecting her purse and coat, and taking her leave from her parents—a process delayed by her mother wanting her to talk to Judge Andrews— Jenna settled into the seat of her car with relief. She exchanged her heels for driving mocs, and let the engine warm for a few minutes while she checked her cell phone for messages. The usual happy-holiday wishes from friends could wait until later to be returned. But one surprised her. Sloan.
She wasn’t sure how to define their relationship. They’d mainly been very casual in their contact since their “date,” with a few stolen moments of some very hot necking. Very frustrating necking when he kept backing off. She wished the man would either just give in to the impulse and take her to bed, or cut bait. Still, she hadn’t expected to hear from him today.
She tucked her phone earpiece into position and dialed his cell before pulling from her parents’ circular driveway.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he answered.
In the background, Jenna heard shrieks of laughter.
“Girls, don’t run in the house. Something could break, and it might be one of you,” Sloan said.
“Sounds like your holiday is a lot more exciting than mine’s been.”
“I wondered what you were doing today. We’re at my sister’s house, down near Cranberry.”
“Hey, I’ll be driving by there in a little bit. I spent the day with my parents in Pittsburgh.”
“Then you should stop by.”
“Holidays are for family, Tex.”
“Around here we say the more, the merrier.”
“I suppose that’s true only if you invite more merry people.” Not staid guests.
“Merry is the perfect word for you. So, you’ll stop?”
After a few more protests, she caved. Why not? She scribbled his explicit directions on the back of an old bank envelope in her purse. Without a hitch, she found her way unerringly from Route 79 to the white Victorian house with cars spilling out of the short driveway. She parked down the street, then put her black heels back on, eyeing the mocs with longing.
Sloan answered the door. “Come on in.”
�
�I feel horrible, showing up empty-handed. That’s a cardinal sin, but no stores were open.”
“Forget it. We’ve got more than enough food to feed a platoon. Come and meet everyone.”
As Sloan led her from the foyer, Jenna waved to Brook. The teen was perched on the upper level of the staircase, a cell phone plastered to her ear. She returned the wave with a big grin, pointing at the phone. “Tell Dylan I said hi,” Jenna called up. The girl’s smile widened. Sloan groaned in front of Jenna but stopped before entering the dining room.
“Everyone, meet Jenna, my neighbor from Erie. Jenna, meet everyone.”
“Oh, so you’re Jenna,” said a woman carrying a pumpkin pie into the room. “The woman who finally convinced my brother to get off his butt and go out. Well done.”
“Put a sock in it, squirt,” Sloan said. “That’s my baby sister, Rachel,” he told Jenna.
“I never would have guessed,” Jenna replied. Actually, that wasn’t true—the siblings had the same bright blue eyes. Everyone laughed.
He led her through the house, introducing her to others in the kitchen, and some men in the family room watching a football game. Although the group consisted of a mixture of family and friends, the warmth and the camaraderie were exactly what she’d missed at her parents’. “Do you think your sister would mind if I kicked off my shoes?” she asked Sloan when they’d completed their rounds.
He shook his head. “Make yourself at home.”
She smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
Several hours and two slices of pie later, she’d played Twister with the younger girls, refereed an arm-wrestling contest between Sloan’s father and a family friend named Jerry, and helped her team achieve victory in the charades tournament played in the breakfast nook. So it was with some reluctance that she announced her departure. Rachel pressed her to take some leftover pie with her.
Sloan held her coat as she slid back into her shoes. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Tex.” She winked at him. Outside on the top step, he reached for her hand, and she entwined her fingers with his, enjoying the warmth. They walked down the sidewalk in silence, the glow from the streetlights illuminating the path. At her car, she set her bags on the hood and turned to face him. “I had fun. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
She stared at him for a few moments. “Tex? What exactly are we doing here?”
“Saying good-night?”
“You know what I mean.” She reached up, brushed back the errant lock of hair from his forehead.
“For the life of me, Jenna, I honestly don’t know.”
JENNA SMOOTHED the hem of the satin kimono over her stocking-clad thighs. Fortunately, the two pieces of pumpkin pie she’d indulged in last night at Sloan’s sister’s house hadn’t made their presence known here—yet. The red FM shoes pinched the balls of her feet, but if they did their job, it would be worth it.
Tonight would determine whether Jenna and Sloan were going anywhere at all. If he could resist this plan, there was no hope and she’d have to forget about him, despite the sparks.
Candles flickered on the table set for two, and elsewhere in the apartment. The drapes were drawn. The meal she’d prepared waited. Princess was ensconced in Jenna’s huge walk-in closet with her bed and a bone, so she’d be out from underfoot for the evening.
Now if only the guest of honor would arrive, the seduction could begin. When the door buzzer rang she jumped. The little security monitor Sloan had installed gave her visual confirmation—her prey awaited. “About time, Tex. I was starting to think you’d stood me up,” she said into the intercom.
He held up a bottle of wine in one hand and a bundle of flowers in the other. “I’m sorry, and I have the gifts to prove it. It never fails that something breaks down right before I’m ready to leave work, especially when I have a hot date with a beautiful woman lined up.”
“Well, if you’re bearing gifts and compliments, I suppose I should let you in. Just come on in the apartment—the inside door’s open.”
She buzzed the door release, then hustled into the bathroom for a last check of her hair and a quick retouch of her lipstick. Besides, she didn’t want to appear too keen.
She took a good look at her reflection and laughed. Yeah, right. Fat chance he wouldn’t peg her as overeager the second he laid eyes on her.
Sloan let himself in, dropped the flowers on the island and poked under the cover of one of the dishes. The aroma of something spicy—curry?—wafted out. It didn’t look too much the worse for wear, given his tardiness. And the leftover pumpkin pie Rachel had forced on Jenna last night sat nearby, answering the question of what was for dessert.
“Jenna?” he called. “Where’d you vanish to?”
The door to the bathroom opened. “I’m right here.”
He turned, and all thoughts of dinner vanished. Jenna wore a fiery red satin kimono that barely reached her thighs. Black stockings blazed a shimmery trail down to a pair of red spiky shoes that gave her calves additional curve. He unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth to stammer, “What are you wearing underneath that getup?”
A sultry laugh snapped his attention upward. She gave him a saucy wink, reaching for the belt. “I’ll be happy to give you a peek, but only if you say the magic word…” She toyed with the ends of the tie at her waist.
He swallowed hard. “P-please?”
She shook her head. “Dessert, Tex. No peeking until you promise me that tonight, you’re going to take the plunge, be impulsive, and finally eat dessert. First.”
Knowing she didn’t mean the pie, he nodded, struck dumb by the fact that his entire blood supply had already rushed south of his belt line.
When she dropped the kimono into a puddle of fabric at her feet, he groaned. A pair of barely there black lace panties. A matching push-up bra that did amazing things to her cleavage. And, best of all, a black garter belt with real, honest-to-God stockings, the kind he’d often fantasized about but never had the pleasure to encounter in reality.
“Well?”
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he managed to get out.
Her throaty amusement shot straight to his crotch and caused his erection to swell even harder. She shook her head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Tex. No angels here tonight.” She crooked a finger at him.
Without conscious thought, he moved in her direction, a sailor caught in the call of a beautiful siren. He stopped just short of her, drinking her in in ten-gallon gulps. Candlelight flickered over her, illuminating her porcelain skin with a warm glow. His hands trembled, but he fisted them, held them at his sides.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re scarin’ the hell outta me, sugar. I wanted this to be so perfect for you, and I’m terrified that once I touch you, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”
“That’s the idea.” She closed the gap between them, reaching up to caress the back of his neck. She pressed her lips to his mouth and her lingerie-covered body to his at the same time, and the last remnants of clear thought fled. He gripped her hair in his hands, ravished her mouth like a starving man presented with a feast. The weeks of restraint snapped like an ancient, frayed wire.
He nudged her against the wall, fitting his form to hers. She arched her spine, driving her hips forward, brushing those black lace panties over the ridge in his jeans. She smelled of roses and tasted like tequila and lime. He plundered deeper, needing more. He palmed her breast, and she encouraged him with a groan that vibrated through his mouth. He brushed his thumb over the peak and she sighed, melting into him. “Yes,” she whispered, grinding her hips forward again.
He obliged her, thrusting his erection against her, loving the way she moaned and moved. She reached up, pulling the cups of her bra beneath her breasts, then she arched again, offering them. He groaned, immediately lowering his head to accept her invitation. He drew his tongue across the nipple, making it tighten.
Jenna shuddered. “Y
es, Sloan. More.”
He lost himself completely then. Somehow her panties were removed, and she fumbled with the snap and zipper of his jeans. He shoved them down just far enough to free his erection. He inhaled sharply when she rubbed against him. “So wet.”
“Yes, for you. Sloan, I need you.”
He reached for his wallet. “Condom, wait—”
“No!” She brushed against him again, bare skin to bare skin. “I’m using the birth-control patch and I swear, I’m STD free. Tested and clean. I feel pretty safe with you as far that goes, too. Am I right?”
He gasped as she fisted him, stroking slowly down, then back up again. When he could manage speech again, he said, “Shoot, it’s been so long since I had sex, the only STD I could possibly have is lackanookie.”
She laughed, the warm sound reaching deep into his soul. “We’re gonna take care of that right now.” Hiking her knee over his hip, she took him inside her body with one easy move.
Her tight heat fried every circuit in his brain.
He pulled back, then pistoned into her. “Oh, sugar.” She felt so good, so right.
She gripped his shoulders. “Yes. Harder.”
The picture just over her head bounced in time with his tempo, her body pressed against the wall with every thrust. She clawed at his skin, crying out his name, demanding more and more until she shuddered around him, keening her pleasure in an unabashed way that triggered his own orgasm. “Jenna,” he murmured, body shaking with the exertion. His knees trembled, and he took her down to the floor with him, spent. Their ragged breathing eventually slowed as they lay on the rug.
The full impact of what they’d just done hit him about a minute later—once his brain came back online.
So much for his fabulous restraint. So much for making it a slow, wonderful experience where she’d feel cherished. Hell, no, he’d done her standing up against a wall like a ten-dollar whore. “Jenna, hon, I’m sorry.”
A sharp pain in his shoulder made him yelp. He grabbed the spot, rubbing it. “Hey! Why did you bite me?”
“Because. That may very well have been the most amazing sex of my life, and you’re sorry for it?”