She was used to men looking at her body, but with Ty it was different. The warm little flutter in her chest slid to the pit of her stomach. “Roughly four and a half million men worldwide have seen my pictures in Playboy. If I worried about who’s seen me naked, I’d never leave the house.”
Slowly he raised his gaze back up her body and he looked into her eyes. “So that’s a no—eh?”
“That’s a no—eh.”
The doors opened and she stepped out.
“How long were you married to Virgil?” he asked as he followed.
“Five years.”
“And you’re what?
Aboat thirty?”
“I just turned thirty.” She looked up at him. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know anything about my life. Sometimes you do what you have to do to survive.”
“Not all women would have chosen to get naked or marry an old man to survive.”
He sounded angry. Like it was any of his damn business. “Not all women have lived my life.”
Judgmental jerk. She moved down the hall toward her room and he walked beside her. “Is your room on this floor?”
“No. Yours is.”
“Are you walking me to my room?” she asked and didn’t bother to hide her irritation.
“Yes.” But he didn’t sound happy about it.
“Why? I don’t need you to walk me to my room.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
She laughed without humor and glanced up at him out of the corners of her eyes. “If you believe that, you’re delusional. Maybe you’ve been punched in the head one too many times.” She stopped at her door at the end of the hall and reached into her big purse. She pulled out the card key. “You’re not nice.”
“Some women think I’m real nice.”
“There are lots of words I’d use to describe you, Mr. Savage.” She shook her head and tapped his chest with the side of her card. “
Nice isn’t one of them.”
He raised his hand and flattened her palm against his chest. “What is?”
The warmth of his touch curled her fingers against the hard muscles of his chest. He stood so close she caught the scent of cologne on his heated skin. “What is what?”
“How would you describe me, Mrs. Duffy?”
She tried to pull her hand back but his grasp tightened. “The first word that comes to mind is rude.”
“And?”
She licked her lips and stared up into his sexy blue-on-blue eyes. “Surly.”
“And.”
The warmth of his touch traveled up her arm and across her chest. She swallowed hard and suddenly couldn’t think. She didn’t know if it was the Guinness or the pheromones. “Big.”
A slight smile touched the corners of his eyes and she thought he might laugh. Instead his gaze sank to her lips and he asked in a low voice, “Where?”
She wondered what it would be like if he kissed her. If he pressed his mouth into hers. If she just leaned forward and kissed his neck and tasted his skin against her tongue. “What?”
“Never mind. What else do you think of me?”
She took a deep breath and forgot to exhale. She wondered what it would be like if she licked him up one side and down the other.
“What are you thinking?”
She suddenly felt kind of hot and dizzy, and accidentally let Layla out. “That I want to lick your tattoo,” she whispered.
His brows lifted up his forehead and she shocked him into silence. Once again, she tried to pull her hand from his chest, and once again his grasp tightened.
Lick his tattoo? A mortified hot wave rose up her neck and heated cheek. She was tired and confused, that’s why Layla had slipped out. Mrs. Duffy didn’t talk about licking things. Especially tattoos. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She took a step back and he took a step closer. “It’s inappropriate. I take it back.”
He tugged her closer as soft laughter touched her cheek. “You can’t take it back. It’s already out there.” His slid his free hand up her arm and shoulder to the side of her neck. “You took your hair down.”
“I was getting a headache.”
“I like it down.” He slid his thumb across her jaw, leaving a warm trail across her skin as he tilted her face up. “This can’t happen, Mrs. Duffy.”
She meant to take another step back but somehow she swayed closer. “What?”
“You. Me.” He lowered his face and brushed his lips across hers. “This.” The soft, moist brush of his mouth closed on her throat and curled her toes inside her red pumps. She couldn’t swallow or breathe or think beyond the consuming desire for more. She stood perfectly still, afraid to move. Afraid of what she’d do, but mostly afraid he’d stop.
It had been so long, the kiss was a hot rush across her flesh, an overload to her senses that woke up all those lonely places inside her that she’d ignored for the past five years. He touched his tongue to the seam of her lips, and her chest got tight and achy and her knees threatened to buckle. She raised her hands to his shoulders to keep from falling and tilted her head to the side. Her lips parted, and the slick touch and warm glide of his tongue was like dropping a lit match on a pool of gasoline and she went up in flames. She wanted to burn and make him burn along with her. He tasted like beer and liquid sex and she wanted to eat him up. A low moan escaped her chest, her breasts grew heavy, and her nipples tightened into hard points of pleasure.
Ty’s hand found the small of her back and slid up her spine, urging her closer. He exerted a gentle pressure, closing the space between them until her breasts pressed against the front of his shirt. She slid one hand up the side of his neck and her fingers combed through his hair. He pressed the full, hot length of his hard body against hers and she felt his erection against her lower abdomen. His solid muscles, warm breath mingling with hers, and long, hard penis poking her belly awakened the hot, achy place between her thighs and the painful need for a man’s touch. The touch of his hands and mouth all over her body. She’d always loved this toe-curling part. This buildup to a mindless yearning that made her lose control and forget everything but feeling as much as she could for as long as it lasted. The grasping, greedy part just before clothes came off.
He pulled back, looking at her through heavy blue eyes and breathing as if he’d just run a marathon. Then he came at her again and the kiss got hotter. Her mouth opened and closed with his as she gave and received long, feeding kisses. A deep groan vibrated his throat and she got a feeling that Ty had what it took to finish what he’d started. That he could give her what she needed to put out the fire rushing across her skin and pooling between her thighs. That he would make love like he played hockey. That he was a guy who’d keep going at it until he got the job done.
A door down the hall opened and closed, and Ty pushed her away. “This can’t happen,” he said, gasping for air.
She nodded and reached for him. She slid one hand to the back of his head and opened her mouth against the side of his throat. “Mmm,” she moaned as she sucked his warm skin. He tasted yummy. Like a man. Like a man she wanted to kiss all over.
He placed his hands on her shoulders but didn’t push her away. His fingers curled into her flesh. “This is no good, Mrs. Duffy.”
“So good.” She sucked harder.
“Listen to me,” he gasped as his fingers dug into her.
She bit his earlobe and whispered, “Don’t stop. Touch me, Ty. Touch me all over.”
“Oh God,” he groaned as if he was in real pain. “You’re a talker.”
“Please. Touch me. I want to eat you up.”
He took a step back and held her at arm’s length. “This can’t happen,” he repeated, and this time he sounded like he meant it.
A frustrated moan escaped her lips. “Why?”
“I have too much to lose.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took another step back. “You’re not worth my career.”
Chapter 9
A steady downpour drenched Seatt
le as the United flight from San Jose landed at Sea-Tac Airport and rolled to the gate. Faith sat in coach with her Fendi purse on her lap. It had been years since she’d flown coach. She’d forgotten how crowded it was. Not that it mattered. If Jules hadn’t found her a flight, she would have sprouted wings and flown herself home. She would have rented a car and driven. Hell, she might have even walked. She hadn’t cared what it took; she’d had to get out of California.
She was a coward. Running away like she was guilty of some crime and not wanting to face what she’d done. Maybe at some future date, she’d be able to face Ty again. Maybe next week, or next month, or next year, she’d be able to be in the same room with him and not recall the excruciatingly painful details of kissing him and touching him and wanting him more than she could ever recall wanting a man. His pushing her away and his wide shoulders and dark head as he’d left her in the hall, alone and confused.
She would have to see him again, of course. But not today. She just couldn’t face seeing him on the flight back from San Jose. Probably not tomorrow either, when her behavior and his rejection would still be so fresh in her head.
She was definitely a coward, but feeling like a coward didn’t compare to feeling like she’d betrayed her husband. After she’d kissed Ty and made a fool out of herself, she’d gone to bed and lain awake all night with a horrible churning guilt plaguing her and burning a hole in her stomach. Virgil was dead, but she still felt married. Felt like that kiss—that hot, consuming kiss she’d shared with Ty—was a knife to the back of her dead husband. Not because it had been so bad, but because it had been so good. So good she might have done anything to make it last. To make it burn hotter and longer. To drink him in and suck him up and feel things for him she’d never felt for Virgil. Hot, achy things she wanted to do with a man who did hot, achy things to her.
She gathered her jacket and hatbox from the overhead and moved toward the gangway. It was after noon the next day, but she still was as embarrassed and confused as she had been standing outside her hotel room watching Ty walk away. How could he have left her? He’d been as turned on as she was. She’d felt his extremely hard erection pressed against her, and yet he’d been able to walk away. And as humiliating as that was to face, thank God he had. Waking up naked with one of her hockey players was so extremely wrong. Way beyond acceptable. He worked for her. Good Lord, he could probably sue her for workplace harassment or something. What a disaster.
She shoved her arms through her jacket sleeves and hung her purse on her shoulder. So, how had it happened? With him? Of all people? There was only one possible explanation.
Layla.
The part of her she’d created to deal with the harsher realities of her life as a stripper. The woman she’d created who didn’t mind a lap dance because the money was good. The woman who’d partied till the sun came up and loved a good tequila shooter. The part of her that liked good, hot, sweaty sex with a beautiful man.
She was Mrs. Duffy now. She didn’t need Layla anymore. Layla was trouble.
Her Louis Vuitton wheelie waited for her at the carousel and she pulled it to long-term parking.
Her neck and shoulder ached from the long flight and she had a difficult time shoving the piece of luggage into the trunk of her Bentley. By the time she made it to her condo, she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and pull the covers over her head.
Pebbles’s yippy bark greeted her as she opened the door to her apartment. She picked up her hatbox and wheeled her suitcase inside. The drapes were drawn across the wall of windows overlooking Elliott Bay, casting the great room in inky shadow. The gas fireplace licked the fake logs and Marvin Gaye’s smooth “Let’s Get It On” purred from the speakers of her sound system.
“Mom?” she called out as she moved into the room and hit a bank of lights.
“Faith!” Her mom rose to her knees in the middle of the living room floor. A man knelt behind her, and except for their shocked expressions, they were both completely naked.
“Oh!” She spun around to face a blank wall as her shock buzzed her tired brain. “Oh my God!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here!” While Marvin sang about not beating around the bush, her cheeks burned with the horror at what she’d glimpsed. Walking in on her mother was just as disturbing now as when she was fourteen. And ten. And seven. Hell, pick a year. She pointed behind her. “Who the hell is this?”
“Pavel Savage,” the man said.
Her mouth fell open as she stared at the rough texture and latte-colored paint on the wall in front of her face. “Ty’s father?”
“You weren’t supposed to be back until tonight,” her mother accused.
“What does that have to do with anything? You’re having sex. In my living room.” Oh God. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“With one of my hockey players’ dads!” she continued, placing a hand on her hot cheek. And not just any hockey player’s dad. The father of the hockey player she’d made out with the night before.
“We’re adults, Faith.”
“I don’t care.”
“You can turn around now.”
Slowly, while Marvin purred about “being sanctified,” she turned as if she didn’t trust what she might see. Her mother had slipped into a red silk robe while Pavel zipped up his jeans.
“I thought Sandy was staying with you.”
“She went back home.
Pavel moved toward her and offered his hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Faith.”
She pulled her hands behind her back and shook her head. “Maybe some other time. You just had your hands…You know.”
“Faith!” Her mother gasped as if her daughter had done something to be mortified over.
Pavel tilted his dark head back and creases wrinkled the corners of his blue eyes as he laughed. Except for the creases and the laugher, he looked a lot like his son. “I understand.” He reached for the black shirt thrown across the back of the couch. “How was the trip?”
“What?” He wanted to know about her trip? God, these people weren’t normal.
“How is his ankle holding up?”
“What?” she asked again. Her mother had been in town less than two weeks and she was already having sex in Faith’s home. Faith had never even had sex in the penthouse.
“How is Ty’s ankle holding up?”
“Oh. Uh. I don’t know. I had to leave before they played. I felt sick and came home.”
“What’s wrong with you?” her mother wanted to know.
“I’m coming down with something.”
Pavel buttoned his shirt. “I hear the flu is going around. Perhaps you need to rest and drink lots of fluids.”
Was she really standing here talking to Ty’s father about the flu? While he got dressed?
“Maybe you should sit down.” Her mother put her hand on Faith’s forehead. “You do feel hot.”
That’s because her blood had rushed to her head. She swatted her mother’s hand away. “I’m fine.” Or at least she would be if and when she could get over the last twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry, Pavel,” Valerie said as she moved to the sound system and turned off Marvin.
She was sorry,
Pavel? Faith just caught her mom naked on her hands and knees. Something a child should never see, and she wanted to stab out her own eyes. What about I’m sorry,
Faith?
“Not to worry, Val.” He tucked his shirt into his pants. “We will have many more enjoyable times together.” He shoved his feet into a pair of boots and grabbed his leather jacket.
“Next time we’ll get a hotel,” Valerie promised as she walked Pavel to the door.
“Please do that.” Faith picked up her hatbox and wheeled her suitcase down the hall toward her room. Just before she shut the door to her room, she could swear she heard them kissing. She tossed her hatbox on the bed, unzipped it, and took out her clean
underwear. Years ago she’d lost luggage and now she always carried her jewelry and other essentials on a commercial flight with her.
“I can’t believe you,” her mother said as she opened the door and walked into the room. “You embarrassed me in front of Pavel.”
She glanced over her shoulder as she moved across the floor toward her mahogany dresser. “You were having sex in my living room like a teenager,” she reminded her mother. “You should be embarrassed. For God’s sake, you’re fifty.”
“Fifty-year-olds enjoy sex.”
Which wasn’t the point at all. She opened a drawer and placed her panties inside. “Not in their daughter’s homes with strangers.”
“You were gone and Pavel isn’t a stranger.”
“I know.” She shut the drawer and moved toward her bed, which was covered in a red silk duvet. Her mother and Pavel were just a disaster waiting to happen. And it would happen. It always did. “He’s Ty Savage’s father. Couldn’t you have found someone other than my captain’s father?”
“Did you see Pavel?” she answered as if that explained it all. Sadly, for Valerie, it did.
“Yes. More than I wanted.”
Valerie crossed her arms beneath her large breasts. “I’ve never understood how you could be a stripper and a Playmate, yet remain such a prude about sex.”
She’d never been a prude. Far from it; she just wasn’t a nympho, like her mother. Despite what people thought of her, her former jobs, and the way she’d dressed, she’d never been a very sexual person. She’d always been able to control herself. Except for last night, anyway. And she wasn’t so sure that had been about sex as much as satisfy ing five years of pent-up need. It was just too bad that need had been released all over Ty Savage.
“How could you be in Playboy and want to live like a celibate nun? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
Stripping and doing Playboy had never been about sex. Those things had been about money. Faith had always kept the two separate in her own head. She’d explained it to her mother before and she didn’t feel like explaining it again. To her mother, being sexy and sex were one and the same thing, and she’d never understand. Not even if she tried. Which she didn’t. “And I’ve never understood how you could sleep with men you hardly know.”
True Love and Other Disasters Page 11