by Lois Greiman
“Yeah?”
He kissed me there. I tried to stifle a sigh, but I may have failed. “He’s got to be more careful,” he said.
“Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind.”
He pushed my collar aside a little and kissed my neck. “What’s he thinking about?”
I canted my head to the left. “Laney’s wedding. I’m just not … he’s not ready for her to get married.”
“You’re right. He is sensitive.”
I considered nodding, but didn’t want to interfere with the magic he was working on my neck.
“She’s Brainy Laney Butterfield with a big-ass wedding at the Pavilion, which is all wrong for her, by the way. And she’s marrying the Geekster. The Geekster! If he’s the best she can find …” I let my voice trail off.
He pulled away a couple of inches and found my eyes with his. “Then what hope is there for you?”
“For Harlequin,” I corrected, and he grinned.
The expression tweaked something in my gut. Maybe that’s why I didn’t immediately notice that he had loosed the top button of my blouse. But when he tipped his head and kissed the tight valley between my boobs, I was pretty much aware.
In fact, I may have gasped.
“I think there are good things in store,” he said.
I seemed to be gripping the hair at the back of his head with my right hand. Not sure how that had happened. “Yeah?” I rasped.
His eyes were steaming. Swear to God. “Yeah,” he said.
“When?”
“How about now?” he asked.
I felt every hormone in my body do the rain dance. They would have done the fertility dance, but they couldn’t remember the steps.
He was rising to his feet, me in his arms.
“Do you hear a phone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Do you have yours with you?”
“You want me to call Harlequin?”
“I want you to flush it down the toilet,” I said.
He chuckled. The sound sent a little thrill of excitement screaming from my ears to my belly button.
“Maybe we could just ignore it.”
“Hasn’t happened in the past.”
“You weren’t crying in the past,” he said, and stepped toward the bedroom.
“Seriously?” I said. “That’s all it would have taken? A few tears?”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for drippy women.”
The path to my bedroom had never been so long. I could feel every breath that left my body.
“Had I known that, I could have faked a flood.”
He set me on the bed. It creaked a little beneath my weight, but only sighed at his. “You’re not going to have to fake anything,” he said, and kissed me.
27
A man’s world? Are you shitting me? It hasn’t been a man’s world since Eve showed up naked.
—Jack Rivera, post-coital
The world spun to a slow halt while Rivera and I kissed.
“You sure you don’t hear a phone?” I asked when he pulled away. There must be a phone. There was always a phone.
“Not ringing,” he said, and pulling his cell from his pocket, held it up for inspection. “Where’s yours?”
“I think I dropped it when the lamp broke.”
“I’ll take care of them,” he said, and headed into the living room. In a moment he was back, sans phones.
“They’re gone?”
“Under the sofa cushions.”
“I must be either dead or dreaming,” I said.
“You’re not dead,” he said, approaching the bed, then slowly kissed me again.
I reached up and undid his shirt. His chest was smooth and hard and pretty.
“Maybe I’m in heaven,” I said, gazing up at it.
“The rest of me is even better,” he said.
“Really?”
“Want to see?”
“More than anything,” I said, and he stood up and undid his jeans. In a minute he was naked.
I sat there staring and hoping I wouldn’t burst into tears again.
“You okay?” he asked. He looked ungodly comfortable in all his naked glory.
“I love life,” I said.
“You were just burglarized.”
“Don’t ruin the dream,” I said.
He chuckled, then reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet. “You can’t sleep fully clothed.”
I shook my head. “That would be wrong.”
His fingers made quick work of my buttons. Clever fingers. In a moment I was standing in nothing but my underwear and huaraches.
I moved to kick off the shoes, but he stopped me. “My job,” he said, and kissed my left breast.
My heart did a funky little jungle beat in my chest. “You want to take my shoes off?”
“Eventually,” he said, and kissed the other breast.
I grabbed the bedpost to keep the world from spinning into outer space, but then he cupped my boobs together in both hands. I made a little sound in my throat that even I didn’t recognize, but he seemed too busy to acknowledge the feelings behind it. In fact, he was working his way down my midline.
I tightened my grip on the bed knob. He kissed my belly button, then dipped his tongue inside. I screamed like a virgin and he snagged my panties with his index finger, dragging them down a half an inch.
“Jesus, woman,” he breathed. “What are you going to be like when we get to the good stuff?”
“There’s more?” I rasped.
“I’ll think of something,” he said, and chuckled as he lowered himself farther. I spread my legs, teetering on my heels and dropping my head back.
“Think fast,” I rasped, and he kissed me where I was wet and hot and achy.
Every muscle in my body spasmed and suddenly I tilted sideways. It took me a moment to realize the bed knob had come loose in my hand. Another to realize he was holding me upright, hands on my waist, body hard as marble against mine.
“You okay?”
I was breathing hard. “I think so.”
“You keep making so much noise you’re going to wake yourself up.”
“There’s duct tape in the kitchen.”
He chuckled and wrapped his hand around mine, which was still wrapped around the bed knob. Kissing my wrist, he eased my fingers open and relieved me of the metal sphere. Then he sucked my pinky into his mouth.
My body quaked. He kissed the palm of my hand. I groaned.
“Chrissy.”
I could barely open my eyes.
“Don’t you dare come without me,” he said.
“If I were you I wouldn’t dillydally.” My voice was a little throaty. A little raspy. Kind of gritty.
He pressed up against me. He was throbbing. Truly, there is nothing in the world I like more than throbbing. He slipped his hands into my panties, squeezing my buttocks. “I thought women liked it slow,” he said.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience, which, come to think of it, would have made me bitchin’ mad. I mean, if there was ever a time I wanted to be in my body, this was it.
“Trying not to be,” he said. “Take this.”
It took me a moment to realize he was holding a condom. I have no idea where he’d been keeping it.
“Don’t dally,” he reminded me.
I tore the foil away with my teeth. There was a moment of panic on my part when I feared I had forgotten how to apply the thing, but finally he was sheathed and raring to go.
“Ready?” he said.
“If I were any more ready you’d be superfluous.”
“Never,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure. François is one sweet-talking—” I began, but suddenly he lifted me up and pushed into me in one smooth glide.
The earth moved. I shrieked. He groaned. In approximately thirty-two seconds, it was over. I was panting like a bulldog, sweaty as hell, and happy as a songbird.
It took several minutes before either of us could talk, and when he did his voice was gruff. “Sorry,” he said.
I still couldn’t think straight, but I was cognizant enough to realize I was one lucky little nuthatch. “For being as big as a frickin’ train?” I asked.
“I’m usually … I didn’t mean to go so fast. You’re just so …” He paused to breathe.
“Just so what?”
He stared into my eyes. “Just so fucking sexy you make me crazy.”
“You already got my clothes off, Rivera. No need for sweet talk.”
He stared at me, eyes like lasers. “You don’t think this is over, do you?”
He was looking at me like I was a mocha turtle sundae. The desire in his eyes made my caramel simmer.
I skimmed my gaze down his body, and just past his navel saw that this was definitely not over.
“I hope you’ve rested up,” he said, and kissed me again.
By midnight we had moved to the floor. By 1:17 we had found the bed.
Dehydration pushed us into the kitchen. At 5:05, I realized I had been entirely wrong about there being enough room on the counter for two.
Panting, Rivera rolled onto his back. I pulled a bag of grapes out from under his left shoulder, considered taking some nutrition, and decided I didn’t have the strength.
“I’ve got to get home,” he said.
“Now?”
“Five hours ago,” he said, and sitting up, swung his feet to the floor. The scenery from behind was almost as stimulating as the frontal view.
I found the strength to run my hand down his back. He looked over his shoulder, eyes smoldering. “Don’t get me started.”
“You haven’t even started yet?” I asked, and sat on the edge of the counter. My clothes were long gone. All that remained was one shoe. I have no idea how that had survived.
He kissed me, then pulled away and growled. “I have to be at work in three hours.”
“You could sleep here.”
“Maybe if you were dressed in full armor and put a padlock on your chastity belt.”
“Would a bike chain work?” I asked, but he was already headed for the bedroom and his long-lost clothes. His buttocks bunched and gathered on every step. I slipped off the lone sandal and followed By the time I reached the bedroom, he was pulling his jeans over bare skin. The sight did something lascivious to my nether regions.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you could do it again.”
“Do what?” I asked, and dangled the huarache from two fingers.
He stood there staring at me, body tense. Then he swore and kissed me with enough heat to bake a vase. “Come with me,” he said.
“To your house?” I’m not sure why I was surprised. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been there before, but I had never stayed the night … or the morning … as the situation happened to be.
“You can’t stay here alone.”
I glanced around. As it turns out, I had almost forgotten the burglary. “I have to get this cleaned up.”
He kissed me again. “Tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” I said.
“Don’t be stubborn, McMullen …” he began. The edgy, bossy tone was already sneaking back into his voice, and for a moment I felt my hackles rise, but then I remembered that he was buck naked under his jeans and somehow that made everything better.
“I’ll lock the door and arm the system the second you leave,” I promised.
“You think I’m nuts? I can’t leave you here alone.”
“So you’re staying?” I asked. “Great,” I said, and turning, sauntered away. I could feel his gaze sear my backside. “I’ll get some clean sheets. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of sleep before you have to give one hundred percent to the LAPD.”
He answered with a growl. I turned, all innocence, shoe still dangling from my fingertips. His brows were lowered, and I think I saw his jeans shift a little at the crotch. I raised my gaze slowly to his. A muscle danced in his jaw. I believe he may have been realizing we had just had sex about forty-two times and that forty-three might kill him.
“You’ll lock your door?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“And arm your system.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“If something happens to you I’ll never forgive you.”
I laughed. The world looked surprisingly rosy on zilch sleep and eight hours of mind-blowing sex. “I’ll keep that in mind. Go home.”
“You’ll keep your phone on?”
“The landline and the cell.”
“Is it fully charged?”
“Absolutely.”
“You don’t know that.”
I laughed. Rosy? The world looked absolutely giddy. “I’ll be fine, Rivera. I promise.”
He blew out a hard breath. “Keep Harley—” he began, then glanced around. “Where is Harley?”
The truth hit me in a rush. “Oh shit! I—”
“We forgot him in the car,” he said, but I was already heading toward the door, flooded with guilt.
“You go out like that, McMullen, and I’ll never be able to sleep again.”
I turned, embarrassed for the first time by my lack of clothing. I had honestly forgotten.
“I’ll do a perimeter check around your house,” he said. “Then I’ll bring him in.”
“I can—”
“You get some clothes on before my hard-on becomes permanent.”
“That’s not physically possible,” I said, and glancing to the left, spied a grape that had gone AWOL sometime before midnight. Turning, I bent to retrieve it. I could feel his gaze follow me like a spotlight.
“Jesus,” he said, and turned away. In a moment I was alone.
I managed to stifle my laughter, but my mood was positively euphoric. By the time he returned I had found a robe. I dropped to my knees as Harlequin loped up to me, all wiggles and squirms.
I crooned at him a little, engaging in the kind of baby talk that makes me sick when other people do it. He sat down on my bare foot and licked my sleeve.
“I guess he doesn’t hold it against us,” I said.
“He was asleep in the backseat,” Rivera said. “Twitching like a Taser victim and drooling on his paws.”
“Well …” I rose to my feet, feeling strangely uncomfortable suddenly. I cleared my throat. “Thanks for …” I shrugged. “Everything.”
“Anytime.”
“Really?” My face felt warm. His eyes looked hot.
“I might need a few hours to hydrate,” he said.
“I’m sorry it got so late.”
His eyes said something I couldn’t quite read. “I’ll call you when I get to work,” he said.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, and then he kissed me.
“You’re a hell of a lot better than fine,” he said, and turned away.
I planned to go to bed immediately, but Harley looked hungry, so I fed him a half a bag of dog food, then rummaged in the fridge for something for myself. There were two onions trying to grow their way to freedom, leftovers from ten days ago, three eggs, and a half a carton of soy milk.
It seemed like a sign from God. I mean, my chocolate chip cookie recipe called for three eggs. In five minutes I was adding the chips to the batter and humming.
It was then that I heard a sound at the front door. For a moment my breath caught in my throat, but then Laney spoke. Her footsteps rushed down the hall.
“Mac! Mac!”
“In here.”
She appeared in the doorway of the kitchen like a frantic doe. “What happened?”
I felt the blush rise to my cheeks. “Nothing. Why?”
“Nothing! I’ve been trying to call you since nine o’clock last night.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I must have put my phone …” I didn’t let my gaze skim to the pile of cushions under which Rivera had hidden it. “… on vibrate. Where’s Solberg?”
> “I left him at the inn with his parents. You—” She stopped, scowled. “Are you baking cookies?”
“Yeah. Well, making dough.” My cookies rarely see the inside of an oven. Why waste the electricity when dough is the ambrosia of the gods? I gave the ambrosia a good stir.
“I—”
“Are you making cookies at six in the morning after you’ve been burglarized?”
“Oh.” Maybe it was a little surprising that I had forgotten that little tidbit of information. “I just … I was kind of …”
She gave me a narrow, assessing glance. “When did Rivera leave?”
“What?”
“Rivera.” It was the only word she repeated. The blush had moved down to my clavicle. “What makes you think—”
“You’re humming.”
“Am not.”
“‘Feliz Navidad.’”
“I am not.”
She stared at me a minute longer. “He got naked!” she said.
I stirred the dough again. “Did not,” I said, but she had seated herself by the table. I could feel her staring at me.
“Tell me about it.”
“Listen, Laney, I don’t know what you think happened, but—”
“Was he worth the irritation?”
I opened my mouth to deny everything, but I was dying to tell her. “Holy cow!” I said, and launched into the tale.
28
Sex is all right, but it’s damned hard to compete with a fresh-brewed cup of coffee.
—Grandma Brady, whose
memory might be slipping
a little
I saw two clients the next morning, an unhappy sex addict and a happy asexual guy who was sure he should be miserable.
Rivera called that afternoon. I knew I should have been tired, but it was holiday heaven in my head. I was humming “Welcome Christmas” by the Whoville Whos when Shirley buzzed to say Rivera was on line one.
“How you doing?” he asked, voice all low and rumbly in that way that makes my brain cells go limp.
“Quite well,” I said, and smiled as I settled back in my chair. “How about you?”
“I can’t get you out of my mind.”
“The city of Los Angeles deserves your full attention.”
“Then you shouldn’t sit on the counter wearing nothing but a shoe.”
I laughed. The sound was funny. Like a sex machine running on all cylinders. We bantered a little, then said our good-byes.
By the time I pulled up to my curb that evening, the high had worn off a little. When I saw the interior of my house I stopped and blinked. It was clean like it had never been clean before. As I stepped into the living room, I realized that even the air sparkled.