by Julia Kent
The moonlight spilling into the room gives me all the visual access I could wish to revel in, my eyes feasting on the sharp lines of his body, how muscle dominates in all the empty spaces between bones. Fluid and graceful, Declan moves like a man who knows himself, and I adopt the same, even as it is not in my nature.
Who says it’s not?
His kisses travel lower, attending to my breasts, then down the valley and into the fertile lands where his mouth makes me arch up in surprise and pleasure. He takes his time, hands under me, generous with his effort, erotic with his skill. My hands find his shoulder blades, admiring the fine, artistic lines of his muscled back, then stroke up the nape of his neck to bury in his hair. He is at my essence, tasting all I have to offer, and he is giving in bold, breathtaking ways.
My release is so close, a glow that fills me from top to bottom, and I reach down, curl up, and pull his mouth to mine, wanting more intimacy, wanting him face-to-face. His lips are tangy and savory, his smile all mine, and I nudge him to lie down on the bed, pulling myself up onto my knees.
In full glory, oh—I can’t quite catch my breath, the handsome, powerful pull of his skin and blood next to me magnetic. I want him to belong to me. I want to be claimed.
I want.
I want.
Declan tugs gently on my knee and guides me to straddle him. He turns to take care of practicalities, a condom on him quickly, and I am on him, not leaning forward with rounded shoulders and self-conscious posture, but riding high, sitting straight up, breasts gleaming in the shadow of the city lights and the moon’s eye.
“You are...” He finishes the sentence with a sighing sound more gratifying than any word. Eyes the color of Irish hills gaze at me with an intensity that brands me. I am his. He is mine.
I don’t need to hear the word love. Not yet. Because I know that someday I will. The certainty inside me is so solid, so secure that as he fills me, our connection complete, I will the words to span between us without being spoken. Appreciative, smoking eyes take me in as he pushes up, touching my core, we are one. One flesh, one heart. I feel it beating, strong and pattering under my hand, pulse pounding as we rock to ecstasy.
This is how we find each other.
We tremor together on a frequency of our own creation, and then, with dawning awareness, find the divine within.
Chapter Nineteen
“You have such nice hands.” In the morning light, his big hands look like an artist carved them, the thick veins and muscled thumb pad like an artifact you would find in a display case in a Greek museum. I’m pressed against him under the covers, a handful of pillows under our shoulders and heads, and we’re luxuriating in the sheer quantity of skin that can touch each other when we’re naked, in a bed, and alone.
The way life should be.
He inhales slowly and stretches like a big lion, the thick triceps in his arms bulging and thinning out, making a deep groove in his arm as the muscles pull away from each other. Does the man have any fat on him? I have plenty for us both, I suppose. As if reading my mind he reaches for my ass and gives it a love pat.
My phone buzzes.
“Ignore it,” he groans, breathing with a slight sound of deep satisfaction. “I don’t want to deal with people just yet.”
“What about me?” I pretend to pout.
“You’re not people.”
“What am I, then?”
“You’re prey.” With a playful roar he pins me beneath him, demonstrating that all of his body isn’t nearly as sleepy as he’s pretending to be. Some parts woke up a bit earlier and are standing at attention, ready to, er....plunge into the day.
Bzzzzz.
And then my hotel phone rings.
We look at each other in alarm. “I have to answer that,” I say with a pleading tone.
“Of course.” He lets me go and I grab the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Shannon?” It’s Amanda.
“Who is it?” Declan asks just loud enough for her next words to be:
“YOU HAVE A MAN IN YOUR ROOM WITH YOU?” She screams so loudly I fling the receiver across the bed and hold my palm over my ear, moaning in pain. Declan winces and sits up, scrambling for the phone, which slides off the bed like a paralyzed snake with no ability to save itself from plummeting.
“Amanda? It’s Declan. Shannon will be back in a second. She’s just sewing her eardrum back together.”
The ringing in my ear isn’t fading, and Declan gives me an awkward look. I’m completely naked and his eyes drift down.
Now he looks like a wolf.
“Fine, and you?” he says, making strange small talk with the woman who mysteriously set last night’s events into motion. I have a million words for her, most of them involving some combination of “thank” and “you,” but right now I’m staring, agog, at my naked—boyfriend?—talking about the weather with Amanda.
I snatch the phone back and wave him off to the bathroom. As he stands, his ass muscles make me whimper.
“Ear hurts that bad?’ she asks softly.
I wipe a line of drool from my mouth as I get a very nice view of Declan making coffee in the Keurig. “Um, yes. It’s torture. Why are you calling me in my room? You can’t do that. It could break my cover. Plus, what the hell did you do? Andrew told me you barged into his office and demanded to know about Declan and his mother’s death, and then I came here to do this mystery shop and it’s a plague of McCormicks! Terry and Andrew and Declan and James all pretended to work here.”
Silence.
“Amanda?”
“Um.” Her tone of voice is hesitant. If she were calling because someone got hurt, she’d say so. This is business, and a cold dread fills me.
“What’s going on? Tell me why you set all this up.”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Then why?”
“Greg’s been trying to call you. Me, too. Shannon, go get your smartphone and log in to your Twitter account.”
“Say what? I don’t need to read any more crap from Jessica Coffin right now.” I give Declan a once-over as he makes the second mug of coffee. “Especially right now.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about your mom. And Jessica. And the credit union client.”
“What do those three completely unrelated things have to do with each other?”
“Marie made them not-so unrelated last night.”
“Speak in English, please.”
“Well, she, uh...”
“Spit it out!”
“Your mom started taunting Jessica Coffin on Twitter and insisting that you were pretending to be a lesbian for the credit union shop, and Jessica looped the client in, and now they’re insisting Greg fire you.”
I asked for the full story and got it. In one sentence.
“Say that again,” I peep. Declan’s frowning now and he hands me the hot cup of coffee, a concerned look on his face.
She takes a deep breath and repeats it, word for word.
“I’m fired?”
Declan’s eyebrows shoot up and he mouths the word. I shrug. None of this makes sense.
“Not yet, but when Greg calls...”
“Was this because I didn’t do the mystery shop I’m on right now correctly?” The words come out of my mouth and I know they’re wrong, but what she’s saying doesn’t make sense.
“No, honey. It’s because your mom and Jessica publicly blew your cover and the client basically needs to save face. It’s all public relations. They need a fall guy. And that’s...you.”
“I’m the fall guy?”
She sighs. “Yes. I’m so sorry,” she adds in a rush. “Greg feels awful about it and argued with the client forever, but they are absolutely adamant. The credit union called the client and it’s turned into a nasty mess.”
“Have you talked to my mom?”
Amanda pauses mid breath. “She, uh, didn’t really understand what a see-you-next-Tuesday Jessica could be.”
My jaw
drops. “She didn’t realize that? After everything we’ve dealt with?”
“I think your mom just turned into a Mama Bear and went crazy.”
“Like that’s different from...what?” Declan crawls on the bed and starts massaging my shoulders, which are two big lumps of granite right now. Fired. I’m fired.
Fired for doing my job.
Fired for nearly losing the man who is right behind me, touching me with tenderness and compassion, trying to massage the crazy away.
Fired for being loved by a mother who has the business skills of a sno-cone salesman in a blizzard.
Bzzzzz. I haven’t even reached for my phone to look at the Twittermess. I can only imagine. But Declan reaches across me, smelling like sex and spice and mmmmm, and hands me my phone.
Greg.
“Is that Greg on your phone?” Amanda asks with a pitying voice.
“This is real. You’re serious,” I whisper.
“I wish I weren’t. Trust me.”
Declan peels the receiver from my fingers carefully. “Answer the phone, Shannon. Get it over with. It’s like ripping a Band-Aid off. It’s better to just do it.” The look he gives me is no-nonsense, but understanding at the same time.
I take a deep breath, hit Talk, and say, “You don’t have to say it, Greg. I already know.”
Declan heads to the bathroom to give me some privacy. I hear the shower turn on as Greg blusters and apologizes, rants and overexplains. His words pour over me as I wonder how my life could pivot like this in less than twenty-four hours.
I get my (ex) boss off the phone quickly so I can go shower with my (ex-ex) boyfriend. Just as I knock on the door the water stops. Great. He’s one of those people who can take a three-minute shower.
Freak.
“Come in.” I open the door a crack and poke my head in. He’s toweling off. His face softens into a look of compassion.
“You okay?”
“I’m fired.”
“Come here.” He opens his arms and I walk into his embrace, still in a state of shock. Even my libido is stunned, because the press of his clean, wet wall of skin against my body isn’t making me hump his leg.
“I have more student loan debt than you could ever imagine. Plus credit cards, and now I won’t have a car because I have to give the Turdmobile back. And as bad as it was driving that piece of—”
“Shhhhhh,” he urges. “It’ll be fine.”
“Fine? No, it won’t! You try finding a good, steady job in this economy. I have a marketing degree. I’m lucky I haven’t spent the last year handing out new product samples at Costco for $15 an hour!”
“You’ll find a better job,” he says with confidence.
For some reason, his reassurance is annoying. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am.” He rests his chin on my head. “Because I want you to come work for me.”
My laughter makes my breasts bounce against his chest. “Ha ha.”
He pulls away, eyes dead serious. “I mean it. Come work at Anterdec. Assistant Director of Marketing.”
“I really don’t need you to make fun of me right now.”
“I don’t joke about business. We’ll pay you more, Anterdec has great benefits, and you’ll get stock options, bonus, and a great maternity leave package.” He winks.
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.” I feel numb.
“Did I overdo it on the maternity comment?” He makes a sheepish face. “Didn’t mean to over play my hand.”
“No, I mean that you’d think I’d just jump right in and take a job working for you, that you’d ride in on your white horse and rescue me.”
“That’s not what I—”
I start to shake. Can’t control it, can’t mute it. Just...shake. It’s all too much, from Guido being Terry to my confrontation with James to reuniting with Declan and now I’m fired?
And Declan wants to wrap me up in gauze and make me his little porcelain doll.
Nope.
“I, um, need a shower. Don’t you have a business meeting or something you need to get to?” I mutter as I turn on the water and climb in. I couldn’t hint any more if I shoved him out the door and threw his clothes at him.
Declan’s face appears between the tiled wall and the shower curtain, like Jack Nicholson breaking through the door in the old version of The Shining. Okay, not quite that bad, but...
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he says, and climbs on in with me.
“You just showered!” I protest. The slick feel of his skin against mine as he holds me from behind is at odds with my righteous indignation, which I’m holding onto by a thin thread.
“I can get wet again.” He turns me around, the hot spray glorious against my back, my hair hanging in limp strands against my cheekbones and shoulders, Declan’s second head definitely not limp. “And my eyes are up here,” he coaxes.
I raise mine. “Oops.”
“You’re ogling me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He kisses me so deeply I think my toes have curled into themselves. “Don’t be mad. I really mean it about the job. I thought about offering it to you a while ago.”
“How long ago?”
“The day you showed up at that meeting after the toilet incident.”
“That long ago?” I eye him with suspicion. “Why?”
“Because you’re smart.”
“Pffft. That’s not a good enough reason! No one gets a great job with a huge megacorporation because they’re smart,” I say, making a dismissive sound with the back of my throat.
“Then how do you get a great job with a megacorporation?” he asks.
“By knowing someone—” I groan. “Networking.”
His hands squeeze my ample ass. “Is that what they call this?” He kisses the hollow at the nape of my neck. “Networking?”
“You can’t give me a job just because you’re sleeping with me! What kind of feminist would I be if I did that?”
“An employed feminist?”
I stop and consider that for a moment as his hand does unspeakable things. Really. He’s making it hard for me to speak. “Would I work under you?”
He makes a suggestive sound.
“How about we conduct a little employee orientation right now?” he whispers.
And then he schools me.
Chapter Twenty
“Check out that headline,” Josh crows as he slaps a morning paper on my desk at work. Um, former work, technically. I’m here to clean out my desk.
Unidentified Flying Orgasm screams the newspaper headline, with a giant picture of a crushed vibrator on the ground next to the bumper of a taxi, two men arguing over it.
“Nice.”
“Funny how that happened at the exact hotel where you were working,” he adds with a sly look.
“The world is made up of unremitting coincidences.”
“And you have an awful lot of them following you around.” He walks out of my office and into his. Keyboard keys click furiously in the distance.
I make a dismissive sound in my throat and continue putting my personal stuff in a box. Greg isn’t here today, but he’s called me three times in the past two days to apologize profusely. I get a month’s severance and can continue to mystery shop for him, but he can’t chance losing the second-biggest client for Consolidated Evalu-shop.
I get it. I really do understand. And there’s a silver lining. A big one.
Carol’s taking my job. She screamed in my ear after Greg interviewed her, and Mom and Dad can fill in for child care during the occasional non-school hours she has to work. It’s a relief to know that even as my own career turns to shambles, at least my sister and nephews are in a better place.
“Hey,” Josh whispers, carrying his laptop with him. I’m about to hand mine over and he’ll back up all my personal files, then wipe it clean for Carol. “I need to show you something.”
He clicks on a tab with Twitter open. On Jessic
a Coffin’s profile. I groan.
“No, no, just look,” he assures me. His eyes are lit up and he’s so animated, which means I’m about to learn all about Linux sftp protocol scripting or he’ll explain some intricate detail about how the darknet will take over the world when the Millennial Illuminati gain power.
“I really have no desire to even think about Jessica Coffin again.”
“She’s getting completely trashed online. Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Tumbler—you name it. There’s a long, long thread on Reddit calling her out.”
Now I’m interested. “What happened?”
He waves his hands in front of him with glee, face consumed by the glowing screen. “Someone,” he says in an arched tone, “appears to have hacked into her Twitter account and is posting all of the direct, private messages she’s been receiving for the past year.”
“Huh?”
“Basically, people have been feeding her gossip and now they’re all being outed by her. Her Twitter stream, that is.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She’s not doing it. A cracker did it.”
“A cracker?”
His harsh sigh makes me feel stupid. “A hacker.”
“So do I know this ‘someone’?”
Pride shines through in his upright posture and he strokes his chin. “I can’t imagine knowing anyone who would do such a thing, but you never know. Could be 4chan, or...” He goes on and names a bunch of groups I’ve never heard of.
I stare at the screen and read some of the messages.
Many are from Steve. Busted!
A wide smile stretches my face as I turn my own computer off and hand it to Josh. “Thanks.”
“For what?” He looks at the ceiling and pretends to be innocent.
I stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “For helping to balance the world a little more fairly.” My keychain rattles in my hand as I palm it off on him.
“Company car?”
“Yep. You can take the Turdmobile and hand your car off to my sister when she starts working here. Though my nephew, Jeffrey, would be disappointed. He wants to drive around in a ‘pieth of thit car’.”