Moving his mouth to her other breast, he licked, blew, sucked. She cried out, driving her fingers through his hair to encourage him, then freezing under him when his fingers continued their exploration between her legs. He dipped a finger in an inch, then deeper, groaning with satisfaction to discover she was wet, slick, hot.
He let the nipple slide out of his mouth and kissed his way down her rounded belly, over the navel ring, the silky skin, and down between her legs to the fair curls.
* * *
Just in time, Rose reached for his face and held it between her palms. The roughness of his jaw felt so good against her fingers, almost as good as it did on her inner thighs.
She hoped he would understand. “Please don’t,” she said softly. “I don’t like that.”
With a laugh, he broke free from her grip and nuzzled his face between her legs again.
“Seriously, no.” Squeezing her thighs together, she twisted to one side. “I really don’t.”
His head lifted. He stared at her. “I’m not just doing it to be polite. I really like it.”
“Well, I don’t.” She put her hands over her breasts, turning further away, fighting a familiar feeling of inadequacy. Some people—some women—could open themselves up that way. She just couldn’t. Never could.
“All right, sweetie.” His hands curled around her hips, fingers digging under her bottom. “How about here?” He dropped little kisses on the tops of her thighs, right above the band of her stockings.
“That’s—oh!”
Teeth.
She gasped. “That’s fine.”
Handsome backside up in the air, he worked his way down her legs, over her knees, his mouth and hands exploring every inch. Reassured his tongue wasn’t going to attempt another go between her legs, she sank back, closed her eyes, let herself feel.
His light touch on her feet made her draw up her legs with a squeal. “That tickles.”
He crawled back up her body, kissed her open-mouthed. “How about this? This okay?”
“Mmm,” she replied, kissing him back.
His hand glided between her legs, cupping her but not going in. “This?”
She clutched his shoulders. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I love that you’re so wet,” he said in her ear, penetrating her with his fingers, sliding in and out, more and more.
Not enough. “Now,” she said, digging her nails into his skin.
“You first,” he said, low and breathless. “I want this to be really good for you.”
Her reply was to capture his penis in her hand while she sucked his tongue into her mouth.
He angled his mouth to kiss her deeper, then broke away to deal with the condom. She could hear him breathing, see the sheen of sweat on his bare shoulders.
He dropped a hand next to her head on the pillow, kissed her temple. “Next time will be better,” he said roughly, shoving her legs apart with one knee.
“Now,” she said, “I want—oh!”
He was inside her, hard and sudden. Then he withdrew, pushed into her again. “Rose,” he gasped.
Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, stunned by the force of him. All her senses focused on the filling, breaking sensation deep inside her. He felt so good. Each thrust a caress, giving and taking.
She reached around him to help guide his hips, enjoying the feel of his slick skin, the taut muscles, straining and flexing as he pounded into her.
“Mark,” she whispered, not believing it was him, that he could be the one doing this to her.
His rhythm increased, the force of each movement faster, harder. She lifted her knees, let her feet fall to either side, silently begging him to take all of her, go deeper, hit that spot inside her again, again, again.
And then his hand was between their bodies. Rubbing her slowly at first, then faster as she moaned, he found the perfect pace and pressure to send her up into tight, perilous need.
His breath was ragged, matching hers. She felt his own building urgency and hoped he was enjoying it as much as she was, hoped he would stay a little while after they were done, and then she wasn’t hoping for anything except that the blinding, shattering explosion of her climax would last forever.
Chapter 16
THE SUN WOKE HER UP.
Mark’s face was above hers, watching her sleep.
“Did you let John go down on you?” he asked.
She closed her eyes. “Good morning to you, too.”
His hand was on her tummy, gently stroking, almost as distracting as his penis pressing into her thigh. They’d made love once more after the first frenzied time, slow and drowsy. Even now, with his naked body stretched along hers in the bed, she found it hard to believe the confident, talented lover from the night before was her stumbling, shy, awkward, antisocial ex-neighbor.
She brushed a swath of light brown hair off his forehead. The morning sun made his eyes seem bluer than she’d realized, almost as blue as the midday sky.
Which was what she saw out the window. No fog, no haze—bright, midday light.
She started. “What time is it?”
Kissing her neck, he found her nipple and gently kneaded it between his fingers. “Who cares?”
“Seriously, what time is it?”
He drew back, his eyes narrowing. “Why, do you have a date?”
“More like an appointment. I have to get dressed.” She rolled out of bed, found her phone mixed in the folds of last night’s outfit. Crap. Already 11:51. She hurried into the bra and panties, but she couldn’t wear that dress without looking like a hungover, wrung-out Elvira.
He braced himself up on his elbow, the sheet tangled around his waist. His sexy, piercing gaze raked over her as she struggled into her underwear.
He was incredibly hot. But not helping. “Can you please get up?” she asked. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got before they get here.”
He glanced down at himself. “I’ve been up for a while.” Then he looked back up at her and frowned. “Before who gets here?”
“People are looking at the house today.”
Grinning, he flopped onto his back. “I’d think you’d want to scare away potential buyers for as long as possible.” He stretched out, wiggled his toes. “I think I should stay right where I am.”
Her eyes fell on the chaos of bedding. “Oh, God. I’ve got to get that put back together.”
He still wasn’t getting out of bed. Where had she put her suitcase? The closet. Right. She jogged out into the hall and pulled it out, unzipped it, dug through for jeans and a T-shirt. Oh, clean underwear, too.
Shivering in the hallway, she wriggled out of last night’s thong and pulled on something cotton and clean. Not sexy, but Mark would understand.
If they got together again later today…
No time to think about that right now.
Breathing a sigh of relief as she pulled the shirt over her head, Rose kicked the suitcase back into the closet. Then she realized they might look inside so she pulled it back out, zipped it up neatly, rolled it in next to the other bags, and closed the door.
There. Now if only Mark would get up, they could make the bed and go out for brunch somewhere. Luckily she hadn’t made a mess in the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Which reminded her she really, really had to brush her teeth.
“Mark, I hope you’re getting up! Sylly will be here any minute with those friends of his!” she called out before she closed the bathroom door. Her toiletries were already neatly out of sight in the cabinet where she’d put them yesterday afternoon. After a quick pee, a teeth-brushing, a facial-cleansing wipe, a swipe of deodorant, a spritz of jasmine body spray, and a dab of lip gloss, she was ready. No, not quite. She had to compensate for the lack of a shower somehow. Another squirt of the jasmine and some eyeshadow, a little powder on her nose.
There.
And then she wiped the sink with a paper towel and hid it under the sink.
Now she was ready—except for the bed. God, where
had she put the binder of photographs the stager had given her? Hall table. She scurried down the hall, peeking into the master bedroom to make sure Mark wasn’t snoozing with his sexy bare ass in the air.
She froze.
The bed was made, the pillows were arranged. Just as ridiculously mountainous and symmetrical as before. Even the rose slanted in its vase at a perfect twenty-degree angle.
Mark was nowhere to be seen.
“Mark?”
The doorbell chimed. Mozart, she thought. It went on and on, dum dum da dum, da de da de da dum…
She raised her voice. “Mark?”
But then there was laughter, and several voices coming from the front of the house.
“Rose? You here?” Sylly’s booming voice, not Mark’s.
Was he hiding in a closet somewhere?
Had he left?
“I’m here! Just leaving!” she called out.
She scanned the bedroom for her dress and stockings, used condoms or their wrappers, then gave up and went to greet Sylly and his potential homebuyers on her way out the door.
* * *
How can I not have her cell number? Mark thought. He scrolled through his contacts as though Rose’s number would magically appear.
Any minute now his mom would realize he was parked in the driveway. She knew he’d gone out with Rose last night, had certainly noticed he hadn’t come home.
Would she wag a finger at him for not calling? Or book the wedding chapel?
He needed an alibi before his mother got the wrong idea. Or had any ideas at all.
He called his sister, knowing it was early for the little party girl, but desperate.
“Mark, what the fuck?” she groaned over the line after six rings. “It’s practically still dark out.”
“I need a favor,” he said.
“What?” Her voice got muffled as she spoke away from the phone—to someone in her apartment, probably a boyfriend. “Okay, Mark. Hello? Are you dying or something? Should I call 9-1-1?”
“Not yet. I need you to lie for me,” he said, eyeing the house. The spiders weren’t half as horrifying as the woman inside. “Back me up when I tell Mom I was at your place last night.”
“What? Why…” she trailed off, then squealed. “Did you finally get laid?”
“Just tell her I was there, okay? I went to the city for Halloween but didn’t want to deal with traffic on the way home, so I crashed on your couch.”
“Where were you really?”
“Please. Just back me up.”
“You have to tell me everything.”
He snorted into the phone.
“That’s my price,” she said. “You’re asking me to lie to the woman who gave me life.”
“Can’t you just do something nice for nothing for once?”
“How do I know it was nice?” she said. “You’re not talking.”
“April,” he said through his teeth. “I can’t tell you everything.”
“Then I’m sure Mom can tell me.”
He sank lower in his seat, eyes on the house. Any minute now she was going to come out and see everything in his eyes. His mother had always seen right through him.
“Fine,” he spat out. “It’s my neighbor. But I’m not telling you any more.”
“You slept with a pregnant chick? Dude, that’s—”
“No. The other one. Her roommate. Well, not anymore. She moved out.”
“And you followed, huh? What’s her name?”
“Later. I have to go inside.”
“Her name or I spill.”
He squeezed the phone. “Rose.”
Her smile was audible. “Nice. Excellent. I can’t wait to meet her.”
God forbid. “So, I arrived last night after midnight and left around eleven-thirty this morning.”
“You should say we got shit-faced to explain why you look the way you do.”
“How do you know how I look?”
“Please,” she said. “As if I don’t know what a dude looks like in the morning after he’s been screwing all night.”
He put a hand on his stomach, feeling queasy. “Right. Shit-faced.”
April started to ask for their drink menu for the night before, “for realism’s sake,” she said, but he couldn’t deal with his fun-loving sister any longer and got off the phone.
As he walked toward the house, he hoped Rose would forgive him for taking off like that.
But Sylly…
He couldn’t find out either. Will we be paying out a referral bonus every time you want to get laid, Mark? he would ask, only pretending he thought it was funny.
He’d promised Sylly he wasn’t interested in Rose. Now he’d put both of them on the spot. Mark was fine no matter what happened, but Rose…
She needed that job—probably more than she needed him.
And Sylly was dancing around that drug company. Mark needed all the clout he could get to talk him out of it. Not embarrassed and defensive about starting an affair with the newest hire. One who was living in the boss’s house.
Damn, if only he had her number.
Maybe she’d call him. His mother was in the book, had been for years. He’d go in, shower, tell his mom to mind her own business, and—
Blair. Of course. He’d ask Blair for Rose’s number.
He got out of the car and stopped himself from going straight over. He was wearing his vampire suit. Now that it was Sunday morning, his outfit had a religious air, perhaps in even a door-to-door sort of way, but he’d feel better if he changed.
His mom was sitting at the old upright piano in the living room and stopped playing when he flew in.
“Morning! Sorry I didn’t call. I crashed at April’s last night.” He waved and ran up the stairs. “Can’t talk!” In sixty seconds he was in jeans and a T-shirt, leaping back down the stairs and out the front door. “I’ll get the paper!”
If his mother said anything, he was moving too fast to hear her.
He swept up the Sunday paper in the driveway and rapped on Blair’s front door.
John answered, a phone at his ear. “Oh, Mark. Hi.” His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, tired. “No, it’s just the neighbor… I don’t know, she’s in bed… I hope so.” He rubbed his hand over his face, glanced at Mark, eyebrows up, waiting.
Mark’s own troubles faded away. “Sorry. This looks like a bad time.” He took a step back but his worries overcame his manners. “Is everything all right?”
John closed his eyes for a moment, held up a finger, his attention back on the phone call. “She’s in bed. We’ll go in tomorrow to… induce.” He rubbed his eyes. “They have to… she has to, you know…” His voice cracked.
Mark fell back another step, his stomach clenching. Oh, God.
John cleared his throat. “No, she wasn’t bleeding. If she had, we might’ve gone in earlier.”
Blood. The baby. Blair. The images struck Mark with such graphic detail he saw his vision go sparkly around the edges. He put a hand on the side of the house for support. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
John continued talking into the phone. “We were at home, just watching TV, started talking about how the baby hadn’t moved in a while. We went into the ER and they did an ultrasound.” His hollow, red-rimmed eyes met Mark’s. He listened for another moment then said, “No, please don’t come over. I’ll have to call you later. Really, I have to go.” He hung up abruptly, shoved the phone in his pocket, looking at Mark.
“I’m so sorry,” Mark said, trying to swallow over the dry lump in his throat. “Blair?”
John nodded, lips tight. Then he tilted his head, looked him up and down. “You all right? You look green.”
After everything John had probably been through, the last thing he needed was his neighbor to faint on his doorstep. “I was just… bringing your paper. It was in the driveway.” He held it out.
“Thanks,” he said with a sigh, taking it. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m
fine.” Unlike Blair. The baby. You. “Let us know if we can do anything.”
“Thanks.” Nodding, John stepped back into the house to close the door.
Mark sucked in fresh air and hurried back to his own house, his skull floating a foot off his shoulders, trying to focus his eyes on the agapanthus, the Meyer lemon tree, the blue sky streaked with a single gash of fog. Anything to wipe away the image of blood. Blair, baby, blood—
Just inside his front door, his ears roared and the world shrank to a pinprick before the lights went out completely.
* * *
Rose got the call when she was waiting for her latte at Peet’s Coffee and Tea. As soon as she saw John’s number on the screen, she went out onto the street, fearing the worst.
Why else but for an emergency would he call her, after all?
“She was asking for you,” John said after he’d given her the news, sounding exhausted. Blair would have to go into the hospital the next morning to induce labor and delivery. She was already so far along—
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Rose said, her throat tight.
In fewer than seven she was pulling into the driveway. Frowning at Mark’s VW next door, she strode up to the door and didn’t bother knocking before she went in. “Hello? It’s Rose.” She dropped her keys and bag near a large box, then saw it was a baby carseat and felt her eyes fill with tears.
“Hello?” she called again, her voice wobbly.
John wandered over, hands in his pockets. He looked terrible: unshaven, limp. “She’s on the sofa. Just fell asleep.”
Rose put her hand over her mouth, cursing herself for shouting her arrival. “Poor Blair,” she whispered. Then, perhaps belatedly, she put a hand on John’s arm. “You, too. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, looked away. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for calling me.”
“She asked.”
Rose bit her lip. He’d been through a lot, he could be rude. “Can I do anything?”
“What can anyone do?” Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, he walked away.
Rose followed him into the kitchen. “I can stay with her if you’d like to go out—”
“Go out? Where the hell am I going to go?”
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