TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  "No, it's you. Look at you." She pointed to the mirror. "You're white as Wonder Bread."

  Mike stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm fine." He backed out of the bathroom and closed the door before leaning against the wall to wait. His heart beat so fast, he could hardly hear over the sound of blood rushing though his ears. Christ. He swallowed hard. He was getting in deep, and he was making the trip alone.

  The toilet flushed and then water ran in the sink. The squeak of crutches being positioned and then the jiggle of the doorknob announced her eminent reappearance.

  Shit, he'd better leave.

  Annabelle hobbled out of the bathroom and to the bed relieved to see that Mike had left her alone. She needed to get her head together, and she didn't know what was wrong with her, if it was the pain, the pills, or just Mike that made her feel too much. She scooted up on the bed and rested her screaming ankle on the pillows. She put the ice bag that Mike had left for her back on and hissed out a breath when the cold hit her injured ankle. Damn that hurt.

  The sketch pad he'd brought her slid into her hip, and she picked it up and broke the seal. She ran her hand across the textured sheet, enjoying the feel of it against her skin. It had been so long. She pulled a pencil out of the box and checked the point. He must have had someone sharpen them for him at the art store.

  He really was sweet. The scent of the newly sharpened pencil brought her back to the mornings she would awaken before Chip and lie in bed sketching him as he slept. The memories were so vivid with the scent of the pencils, feel of the paper beneath her fingers, and the softness of the pillows behind her back. She shuddered, flipped the sketch pad cover over, stashed the pencil back in the box, and pushed them as far away from her as she could.

  Mike had dashed out of the room and into the kitchen where he made himself look busy while he mulled over his options. He couldn't force Annabelle to talk to him, and when it came right down to it, they hadn't spent enough time together to exchange life stories. But it hadn't escaped him that she skillfully avoided the subject. There was none of the usual "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," which meant she was either not interested, or she was hiding something. Both possibilities threw up red flags.

  Since he was seriously sleep deprived, and Annabelle was on pain meds, now wasn't the time for meaningful discussions, especially since she didn't have any more tolerance for narcotics than she did alcohol.

  He could do one of two things. Retreat, or he could go blindly into dangerous territory, if he wasn't already up to his neck in it. The prudent thing to do would be to leave and deal with this matter another time.

  He spooned the leftover soup into containers, refrigerated half, and froze the rest. The chicken he packed into individual servings. She could get a couple more meals out of it.

  After wiping the counters, sweeping the floor, and scrubbing the sink, Mike realized he'd run out of reasons to avoid Annabelle. He went back to the bedroom, half hoping she was asleep. She wasn't.

  "Kitchen's all clean."

  "Is there anything you're not good at?"

  He sat beside her on the bed and smiled. "I take the fifth." Her eyes were still shuttered, and Mike felt like a drowning victim going down for the second time. He kept telling himself that they hadn't known each other long enough or spent enough time together to form a strong bond, except for sexually. That bond was there since the first time he had set eyes on her.

  Annabelle rested her hand on his thigh, and she began tracing the inner seam of his suit pants. That's all it took. The way the spaghetti strap of her tank top slipped off one shoulder and the come-do-me-baby look didn't help. Mike swallowed hard and put his hand on hers, stopping her.

  "What?" Annabelle slid her hand from beneath his and reached for the button band of his shirt.

  "It's getting late, and I need to go."

  "You're leaving?"

  "Yes, it's probably for the best."

  Annabelle moved closer. She licked her lips and ran her hand down the front of his shirt to his fly. It wasn't difficult to guess he wanted her. It was as clear as the bulge in his pants.

  "You can stay."

  "Thanks, but I can't."

  "But why? I need you."

  Chapter 7

  What Annabelle needed and what she wanted were two different things. Not that Mike was complaining about the sex. Lord knew the two of them were almost too hot to handle. Together, they generated enough heat to melt the polar ice cap. He wanted her to need him. He wanted to become an integral part of her happiness as she'd become part of his.

  "Belle. Don't say things you don't mean."

  That stopped her. Or it could have been his tone. Sure, he was at the end of his rope, and damn, this definitely cost him, but he refused to fall all over a girl who was just using him for sex. Even if it was great sex. For the first time in his life, great sex wasn't enough.

  Annabelle reached for the sheet at the foot of the bed and covered her skimpy tank and boxers. When he reached over to touch her, she shied away.

  Great. He was really smooth. "Belle, I've got work in the morning, and I have to get some sleep. I was up most of last night on call."

  "Sure, whatever."

  "What's that mean?"

  "I might not be the mental giant you are, but even I know there's more to this than you being tired. Why else would you leave?"

  "Maybe because every time I get a glimpse of who you are, you shut me out. And although the sex is great, it's not enough. I like you. A lot. If you're looking for a bed buddy, I'm setting myself up, and frankly, I don't think I can handle one more failure right now."

  Fabulous, she stared at him as if he were a loon. She probably had a point. What was it about her that made him crazy? What made him want to brand her as his and keep her all to himself? What made him want to introduce her to his mother? He closed his eyes and cringed. He sounded desperate, even to himself. God, how embarrassing. "Look, I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll make sure Wayne and Henry will be able to help you out until you're better. Be sure to check in with Dr. Doyle. His number is on the instruction sheet by your meds."

  "What do you mean when you say you can't handle another failure?"

  Shit, he really didn't want to go into this now—maybe not ever. "Things at work aren't going well. It's a long story."

  "And you think I'm just using you for sex?"

  "Aren't you?"

  She put three fingers over his lips, effectively shutting him up and stopping him from saying too much. As if he hadn't already. Her fingers trembled, and he found his hand wrapping around her wrist. He kissed the center of her palm, closed her fingers over the kiss, and stood to leave.

  "Mike, wait."

  He stopped. Probably because he was a fool. Definitely because he was a fool. She had him so wrapped it was embarrassing.

  Annabelle scooted closer. "You know, I've never felt this way before. I've never wanted anyone like I want you."

  "Yeah." Why did that only depress him? Any other guy would be jumping for joy. He turned and walked toward the door.

  "Wait."

  Mike stopped and took a deep breath. He didn't turn. He really didn't want to see her looking beautiful and injured and confused, maybe even a little hurt. He stretched it with the hurt part, but hey, he deserved a little latitude after what he'd been through.

  Arms came around him from behind, her breast pressed against his back. She held tight.

  "I want you, Mike. But that doesn't mean I don't like you. I do, you know. I like you a lot. I just want you a whole lot, too."

  He turned and lost himself in her eyes. Her admission had cost her, almost as much as walking away had cost him.

  She seemed uncertain. "Is that okay? Is that enough for now?"

  Relief washed through him, and every muscle in his entire body seemed to relax. He wrapped his arms around her, and when she looked at him, those eyes of hers nearly knocked him to his knees. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to leave before. Now, with her
looking at him like that, there's no way in hell he could leave, not if she wanted him to stay.

  "I'll stay if that's what you want. It's up to you."

  Annabelle pulled his head down for a kiss and then pulled away, her hands still in his hair. "You'll tell me all about what's going on with your job?"

  Mike nodded.

  "It's a long story, huh?" She kissed him again. Her fingernails running across his scalp made his hair, among other things, stand up. "You might as well get comfortable." She reached for the button band of his shirt. "We have all night."

  Annabelle unbuttoned his shirt, ran her hands down his chest, and when she slid them over his flat nipples, he tensed. She loved the way his body reacted to her every move. She kissed his nipple, his heart beating like a jackhammer beneath her lips, and as her hands slipped under his shirt at the shoulders, his muscles bunched under her fingers. She swept the shirt off and pushed him down on the bed, kneeling beside him as she worked the loosened buckle of his belt and flipped the top button of his pants open.

  She kissed him, teased him, and listened to the change in his breathing as she slid the zipper of his fly down, reached into his jockeys, and wrapped her hand around his erection. The lamp on the bedside table created shadows, highlighting the washboard of his tensed stomach muscles—ridges she traced with her tongue.

  Mike raised his hips, pushed his pants and jockeys down, kicking off his shoes, socks, and pants. His legs spread, and he seemed to be holding his breath. Their eyes met as his hand wrapped around hers, squeezing harder than she thought she should, and moved it up and down, pumping from its base to its head. A drop of semen glistened in the light; her tongue traced the ridge around the head.

  Mike's hand moved hers faster and faster. When she gently slipped her other hand around his testicles, she opened her lips around him and every muscle in his body seemed to strain as she went down on him, testing to see how much of him she could take.

  His balls tightened in her hand as she advanced and retreated, sucking the sensitive head before sliding her lips back toward the base, until its head hit the back of her throat. The taste of him, the smell of him, and the sounds of his strangled cries drove her higher than she'd ever been, higher than she knew she could be considering he wasn't even touching her.

  She squeezed harder and followed her lips with her fist up and down his shaft. His hand made a fist in her hair as a groan ripped through him, egging her on, making her want to control him, just as he'd controlled her.

  She sucked harder, tasting him. She heard him begging and tightened her grip around his erection, taking him deeper than she thought she could, and when she raked her nails lightly over his balls, he pulled her away just as he came. She'd never seen anything like it, spurting out over and over again, the power of it running through her hand and shooting over his chest and stomach.

  Mike was spent. It was all he could do to breathe, his limbs felt like lead, and he threw his arm over his eyes to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but once he got it there, he ran out of energy. That was the most amazing, intense… He jumped when he felt something cool hit the fevered skin of his stomach. Annabelle sponged him down with a cool washcloth. Christ, he hadn't realized she'd even gotten out of bed. Okay, so he took the selfish bastard prize for the day, and he'd make it up to her just as soon as he could move. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

  God, was she kidding? He cleared his throat and put some real effort into rolling onto his side to face her. She looked … concerned. "No, you didn't hurt me, incapacitate me, yeah, but in a good way."

  "Oh. Okay. You had me worried there for a minute."

  "Baby, you can't wring a guy out like that and expect him to be coherent anytime soon."

  "I'm sorry."

  Mike pushed himself to a sitting position, and his stomach muscles felt as if he'd just done two hundred inclined crunches. He wrapped his arm around her waist, dragged her close, and kissed her swollen lips, tasting himself on her tongue. Damn, she was so hot; he couldn't believe it, but he was getting hard again.

  In between kisses he laid her down, pulled her tight little tank top over her head, and stripped the boxers she wore off her too. His hand roamed over her breasts, and his mouth joined in. His tongue played with her nipples, rolling one between his teeth and the other between his fingers.

  Mike slid his hand down her body to the triangle of curls. She was hot and wet, and when he touched her, she moaned and pressed into his hand. He slid two fingers deep inside her as his thumb caressed the tight, hard nub. Mike reached blindly into the bedside table drawer for the box of condoms he'd tossed in there earlier, but his hand landed on something else.

  "Mike, please … more."

  "You want more?"

  "Yes." Annabelle was trembling. He took BOB out of the drawer and looked it over while she rammed against his hand. It was big and purple, and it had a clit-tickler and a couple of buttons on the side of the battery pack.

  "Close your eyes, and I'll give you what you want."

  As soon as her eyes were closed, he pulled his fingers out and slid BOB in. Her eyes shot open as the vibrator filled her. As soon as he slid it home, he hit both buttons, and she bucked against it. She pulled her leg up and planted her uninjured foot on the mattress, and the second the tickler hit her clit she went wild. He'd never seen anything so erotic. Her back arched and she screamed for more, and he gave it to her. She took his hand in hers and set a rhythm, and when he didn't follow her exact instructions, she pushed his hand away and pleased herself.

  He'd never been so turned on. He watched her take herself over the edge and come holding the vibrator deep within her while the tickler vibrated on her nub. Mike grabbed a condom and rolled it on. "Belle, it's my turn." Mike rolled her over onto her stomach, lifted her onto her hands and knees, and tossed BOB aside. He knelt between her legs and slid himself in from behind. She tightened around him, and as he slowly pulled out, Annabelle tilted her ass up and took him deeper than he'd ever gone. She begged him to go faster, harder, and he was happy to oblige. Her orgasm began to take hold. He reached for the vibrator, held it to her clit, and she shattered like glass. The vibration ran through her to his dick. He drove hard, her orgasm gaining strength, gripping him, milking him, drawing him deeper. The combination of vibration and Annabelle's orgasm had him coming so hard he saw stars. Annabelle collapsed onto her stomach, and he not so lightly followed her down. He lay there, still deep inside her, aftershocks shooting through them and the vibrator beside them vibrating away. He turned it off, rolled them over to their sides, and held her until they were both breathing normally. Once he thought he could stand, he slid out of bed and removed the condom. She was asleep by the time he came back to bed. She rolled over, used his shoulder as a pillow, and threw her leg over him without ever waking up. Mike kissed her forehead and fell asleep with her in his arms and a smile on his face.

  The next morning, after Mike went home, showered, and changed, he checked the messages on his cell phone. There were three from Nick. He locked his apartment, nodded to Mrs. Kravtsov on his way out, and hit the speed dial.

  "It's about time you called me back. What's going on with you and my fruitcake of a sister-in-law?"

  "Hi, Nick. Aren't you supposed to be bugging your new wife? You've been married all of, what? A week?"

  "Nine days and"—there was a pause—"fourteen hours of wedded bliss … for the most part. However, I wouldn't recommend redecorating on the honeymoon."

  "You haven't taken a honeymoon."

  "We've got to get the Premier Motors deal put to bed and the house Dave-proofed, and then we're off to tour Italy. I've got a meeting scheduled with the Alfa Romeo people. They're giving us a car for two weeks."

  "Only you would conduct business on your honeymoon."

  "What can I say? I married the perfect woman."

  "Is Rosalie there with you?"

  "Of course, where else would she be?"

  "Do me a favor. Ask her who Chip and Becca
are."

  "What kind of name is Chip?"

  "I don't know. Would you just ask her?"

  "Okay, hold on."

  Mike crossed the street at the light and waited for Nick.

  "She said Becca used to be Annabelle's roommate a few years ago. Lee says Annabelle never brought her home and was kind of closemouthed about her time away. But then, it wasn't as if Lee and Annabelle were ever really close. Hold on. Lee said she thought Becca may have a brother. She doesn't remember his name, but it could have been Chip. Why the questions?"

  "Annabelle's never talked to Rosalie about some dead guy named Chip?"

  "Chip's dead?"

  "Yeah, that's why she doesn't paint anymore."

  "Lee doesn't know anything about any dead guy. You never said what was going on with you and Annabelle. Vinny hasn't stopped talking about you two."

  "Vinny has a big mouth."

  "Yeah, but only because he's concerned. You haven't been by the restaurant, and Mona said you even skipped out on your weekly dinner with your mother."

  "I swear you and Vinny are like a bunch of old ladies. Why don't you find someone else's life to screw with? I've got my hands full without your help."

  "You need something?"

  "Only a new job, a few hundred K, oh, and possibly a good lawyer."

  "What's this got to do with Annabelle?"

  "Nothing. Right now, our relationship is the only thing going well in my life, so lay off, okay? We're just figuring things out, and we don't need anyone getting in the middle of it."

  "Mikey, what's the problem?"

  "Nothing you can help me with. One of the partners at work is a malpractice suit waiting to happen, and when I voiced my concern, the partners' reactions were less than encouraging. If I go to the New York State Board for Professional Conduct and complain, I'll be blackballed, not to mention I'll be kissing my job, my investment, and my sweat equity good-bye."

  "You have to rat him out? Couldn't you threaten to rat him out in exchange for your initial cash investment back?"