Dim the Lights: Islands of DesireLiquid ChocolateHer Wild and Sexy Nights

by Lindsay Evans

  But her pleasure alone seemed to be enough to rev him up even further. He uncovered her mouth and used both of his hands to yank open the top of her bodice. Buttons went flying as he deftly opened the front clasp of her purple bra.

  “Sorry, baby,” he whispered in her ear, palming her left breast in his rough, calloused hand and circling his thumb around its taut nipple. “Can’t get enough of these.”

  He then started to pump into her from behind, working inside of her with blazing speed, his hand cupping her breast so tightly, she couldn’t have moved away even if she wanted to. And she definitely didn’t want to.

  “I love you like this,” he said in a fierce whisper against her ear. “Totally exposed. Your knockers hanging out your dress, so wet I can tool in and out of ya, easy as you please.” His lower-class accent seemed to get thicker the more excited he got. “Whaddya think ’ould ’appen if the driver opened the door now? ’Ould you let me keep going ’til you got what you was after?”

  The question sent an almost painful lightning bolt of fresh lust through her body, and she very nearly cried out.

  “Shh, baby! Remember to keep it quiet back here. Just nod or shake your head to answer me.”

  She nodded her head, not caring how it made her seem. It was true. At that moment, nothing would have made her stop receiving his sex inside of her. At the moment the whole city of Paris could be watching them and she wouldn’t have made him stop.

  “Look down,” he said. “Look down at yourself.”

  She did, and he brought his free hand to rub at the button between her legs.

  This time she did cry out. Loud enough for the driver and probably anybody else on the street to hear. It was one thing to get drilled in such a vulnerable and exposed position. But the sight of his hand, pale and heavily veined with muscle moving on top of her dark womanhood? What could she do but cry out and then scream when her release came just a few seconds later, sharp and alive and completely mind-splitting.

  She could hear his dark, triumphant chuckle in her ear even as he continued to pound into her. However, all laughter stopped when he surged inside of her. He held her to him even tighter as he came with a long shout along with a set of curses.

  Not until she felt him spilling the last of himself inside of her did she realize… “Oh, God, we forgot a condom.”

  She immediately scrambled off of him and they stared at each other, both breathing hard.

  He sat up slowly and put himself back inside his underwear before zipping his pants. “Don’t got anything to worry about from me. Got tested just a few months back and I’m clean.”

  “You haven’t had sex since you got tested?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “Been busy.”

  “I—I’m on birth control,” she told him. “And my last ob-gyn appointment was two months ago. They test for everything and it all came back clean. And I…um…haven’t had sex since I was tested either.”

  Now he raised his eyebrows. “You and the wanker went two months without having sex? I can’t keep my hands off you for two hours.”

  “No, we hadn’t,” she admitted, her face so hot it felt like it was burning. “Actually for over three months. Not since my birthday. He said he was too busy. That’s why I went to the doctor. I thought something might be wrong down there because he didn’t seem interested. But now that I’m looking back on it, I’m realizing that was right after the new cheerleader joined the Suns squad. Oh, my God, how could I have been so epically stupid?”

  She let her head collapse into her hands but only for a moment because that was when she realized they were no longer in motion. The car was totally still, with the engine off, obviously parked somewhere. She looked at Mick. “Why aren’t we moving?”

  He had the good grace to look chagrined. “Well, you see, Kayla, we got to the hotel about ten minutes ago. But you were too busy to notice.”

  “And you kept going?” Then realizing that they no longer had the benefit of the car engine to mask their voices she lowered hers and repeated. “And you kept going?”

  He raised his hand. “In me defense, baby, I’d have to argue that as close as you were, it would have been unfair of me to stop. I’m not sure you would have let me stop. And that’s the Law & Order truth, both the U.K. and the U.S. versions.”

  “I can’t believe…” She reclosed her bra with the speed of a teenage girl caught making out by the police. “Now the driver knows.” She looked out the tinted window to see Jacques standing near the door that led into the hotel lobby. His hands were folded at the front, obviously waiting for them to get out of the car. “And Jacques!”

  Mick just laughed. “Baby, it’s fine. They’re French. They know what’s what. Plus, I think your screaming probably gave us away more than anything.”

  She held her hand out to him. “Give me your jacket and the room key. Now! Now! Now!”

  He handed them both to her, clearly very amused as she jammed her arms through the blazer’s sleeves and clutched the front together with a fisted hand to cover up her ruined dress.

  “Bit big on you,” he observed.

  Kayla just put her hand on the door handle and raised her chin high. She refused to do the walk of shame.

  Instead, she did the run of shame. Swiftly opening the car door and racing through the entrance Jacques hastily pulled open for her when he saw her barreling toward it. She was gone and headed back up to the penthouse before anyone could say as much as a bonjour.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kayla should have been exhausted. After the three bouts of morning sex, and the Louvre, and Kentucky—the night club, not the state—and the car sex, then the apologetic round of “I’m sorry we got caught” sex, she should have fallen asleep as soon as Mick rolled off of her.

  But something he had said earlier had her brain turning and wouldn’t let her go to sleep even after he pulled her nice and cozy to his side. “Hey, Mick?” she asked.

  “Hmm,” he answered.

  “You keep saying that you don’t joke.”

  “’Cos I don’t,” he answered.

  “Earlier when you congratulated us on getting through that Eiffel Tower argument, you said we got it sorted without any yelling or cracked beer bottles. If you never joke, why would you say that?”

  He went still, so still that she could tell she had stepped on some kind of emotional land mine and she wondered if he would even answer what she now understood to be an intrusive question.

  Then he said, “Your parents, what’re they like? Nice house, two jobs, three squares a day, church at least every other Sunday sort, right?”

  “You forgot Suns season ticket holders, but other than that, you’re right. They still live in the same house I grew up in. They’re both lifelong members of the postal service. My dad’s a mailman and my mom works the counter at our local post office. What are your parents like?”

  Again he was silent for a long while, but he eventually answered. “Me dad’s worked for the power company all his life, and me mom’s been a hairdresser long as I can remember, but they’re not like your parents. They’re the sort who’ve got to keep moving from flat to flat because they get pissed and trash the place. Landlord finds out and they’re on to the next. We moved three times the last year I lived with them. Ain’t a clue where they’re at now ’cos we don’t keep in touch. If I got married or anything like that, I’d have to hire a private detective to find ’em. But then I’d never do that, would I? ’Cos they’re the kind of parents you don’t invite to posh events. They’d do things like sneak in beer to your youth league football games, get blind drunk, then break off ’em beer bottles like they’re on one of ’em telly dramas and threaten to off each other with all your teammates looking on.”

  Kayla didn’t need to be told this description wasn’t hypothetical or even hyperboli
c. Mick had lived these stories, had lived with these terrible people and was still living with them, even if they hadn’t been in contact in years. Her heart broke for him.

  But she kept her voice casual. “You’re right. My parents aren’t like yours. Especially my father. He was, still is, a great dad. Always supportive, always there for me. He played high school American football, and he’s a big guy, really macho-looking. A lot of people are scared of him when they first meet. But he’s a huge teddy bear. He gave my brother and me all the hugs we could ask for growing up, and he never picked us up late. Not once.”

  She entwined her fingers with Mick’s. “He also never took us to meet his parents. We didn’t even know they were alive until they died in a car accident. Drunk driving. They ran into a pole. We were pretty much the only people that came to their funeral. I couldn’t believe those people raised my kind and loving dad. I told him that after the funeral as we were driving home. I was sitting in the backseat, and I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, ‘It’s easy for me to be a good dad. With every decision that comes up in regard to you two, all I gotta do is think, What would my parents do? Then I do the opposite.’”

  She felt Mick’s breath hitch in his chest underneath their intertwined hands. She suspected he was fighting back tears, but she’d learned enough about him by now to know that he wouldn’t appreciate her drawing attention to it. She could envision him as a little boy, his eyes fierce and wide as he refused to cry, even when his parents humiliated him. So she continued with her story.

  “When the stuff went down with Marcus, I turned off my phone. The plan was to spend the time I was supposed to be with Marcus here in Paris nursing my wounds at home in my condo. But my dad showed up at my door. And you know, he’s my dad, so I had to let him in. I thought he’d be disappointed because the Suns were his favorite team. But he was mad at Marcus. Even madder than I was. He told me I was better than Marcus, that I should go on the trip anyway, even if I had to go alone. He would have gone with me, but he works for the government, and they don’t let you take a week off with only a day’s notice. He went into my room, packed a bag for me—that’s why I’ve been wearing so much Suns apparel on this vacation—and drove me to the airport himself. Dad’s not big on traveling himself, but he really didn’t want me to let what Marcus did ruin my trip. So I came to Paris alone. And that’s why I’m here with you now.”

  “And your mom, tell me about her.”

  “Well, she’s a great mom. We’re really close now, but when I was a teenager, we got into a lot of arguments. Now that I’m grown, I think it was because—”

  “You were too much alike,” he guessed. “She’s soft-spoken, likes to read, doesn’t like a lot of drama, thinks your dad’s a softy even though everybody else is like, ‘Hey, look at that bully.’”

  She laughed. “Yeah, exactly. How did you know?”

  He didn’t answer, just pushed their intertwined hands above her head as he rolled on top of her. His lips found hers and soon he was pushing into her, his strokes rolling and unhurried. Like he had no destination in mind for them other than making their joining last as long as physically possible. It was heaven. She kissed him back, wanting the same thing and wondering what would happen when they had to part the day after tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Shopping sprees, as it turned out, took way longer than their name suggested. Especially at Je T’aime Tourdin, a boutique located in the heart of Paris’s affluent Golden Triangle. An attendant, a tall and thin woman who wore her pencil skirt and pretty silk blouse like a uniform, was waiting for them when the car pulled up to the curb. She escorted them into a space with beautiful hardwood floors and pink-and-silver damask wallpaper.

  It didn’t look like any clothing store Kayla had ever been to. There was more open space than actual clothes, and with its sprinkling of settees throughout the front, the place looked more like a well-lit nightclub than a place to shop. Beautifully dressed mannequins seemed to be thrown into the boutique’s large windows just because. A cash register wasn’t even visible.

  However, it must have been a store because a woman in a chic peplum dress welcomed them in a rapid, heavy accent. She then introduced herself as Giselle and informed them that she would be assisting with their shopping needs.

  Giselle had two assistants, also dressed impeccably but in black dresses with much shorter hemlines than their middle-aged boss. They magically produced flutes of champagne, which they pushed into Mick’s and her hands while Giselle asked Kayla if there was anything she wanted to see from their current collection.

  Seeing as how Kayla had only just learned of the store’s existence the night before, she had no idea about their current collection. Back in Los Angeles, where casual was king, she considered flipping through the latest Banana Republic catalog keeping up. “Um…” she said.

  Mick quickly took over. “Right, fix her up with some work clothes ’cos she works in an office, yeah. We’ll also take a couple of dresses, something properlike for a night out. And while you’re at it, give us a look at your casual clothes.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that she already had enough casual clothes, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Nothing against your dad, baby, but I’d appreciate seeing you in something other than American football gear.”

  Giselle and her two assistants tittered, and before Kayla could protest again, they were being escorted to a seating area with even plusher seats at the back of the store. A few minutes later, actual models came out and did a sort of runway show, walking along a raised L, pivoting in front of a stunned Kayla.

  “What do you think?” Mick asked, taking another swig of his champagne. Kayla goggled at him. Even though he was a blue-collar worker, he seemed completely at home and not at all nonplussed by this experience. As if this was the way he shopped all the time.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she whispered so she wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. “All those models are like a size zero.”

  “Right, then,” he said, putting his glass down on a side table.

  He went over to Giselle, and they had a conversation that she couldn’t hear from where she was seated. Giselle nodded, clapped her hands together twice and called out something to her assistants in French that had one of them rushing to the back of the store. Then Giselle indicated that Mick should follow her to a little room discreetly tucked away at the corner of the store.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as Mick passed by.

  “Gotta give her my shopping spree coupon and all that,” he answered without stopping. “Be right back.”

  Just then a little old lady appeared with a length of measuring tape around her neck and a pincushion strapped around her wrist. She had Kayla stand up and started taking her measurements.

  “Wait—what’s happening?” she asked the assistant who had come back with the tailor.

  “Your…ah, friend said you were having trouble deciding, so he is choosing the clothes for you.” She pulled out a notepad. “Also, we will need your address so that we may send you the clothes when they are ready.”

  Kayla’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “Wait a minute. You’re tailoring whatever he picks out to fit my exact measurements?”

  “Oui, of course,” the assistant answered, as if they lived in a world where all clothes were made to order.

  Kayla had no idea what to say. On one hand, it was weird to have a man pick out her clothes. On the other, it was Mick’s shopping spree, so he should be allowed to spend the money however he chose. Mistaking her conflicted look for concern, the assistant hastily quickly added, “And do not worry about the dress. We will have it expedited and couriered to your hotel.”

  Kayla found out what the sales associate from Je T’aime Tourdin meant a few hours later when Jacques showed up at their door carrying a damask dress bag with the stor
e’s logo scrawled across it. She thanked him and took it back to the bedroom.

  “What you got there?” Mick asked as he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and another one he used to swipe his short hair dry.

  The sight of him in nothing but a towel distracted her from the dress, which she’d been hanging up on the closet’s outside door hook.

  “What?” he asked when she openly stared.

  “Has anyone ever told you have a really nice body?” she asked a little breathlessly. “I mean, none of the guys I see tending the power lines in my neighborhood look like you.”

  He grinned. “So that’s why you’re with me then? You’re just using me for m’ body?”

  “No, I’m with you because you’re easy to be with and because you’re really great. I’m just saying the body doesn’t hurt. You’re more ripped than some of the players on the Suns.”

  “More—how did you call it—‘ripped’—than Marcus the Wanker?” he asked.

  “Yes, more ripped than him.”

  He seemed pleased by this piece of information, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Go ahead and put on the dress. I’m starving, and we’ve got to be there in less than an hour.”

  She had no idea where there was. Some fancy restaurant he assured her was covered by the prize package but definitely wouldn’t let her in wearing her flip-flops and a Suns T-shirt.

  She unzipped the bag and almost let out an audible gasp.

  “You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have,” she said, pulling out the shimmery strapless bandage tube dress. The detailed knitting on it was so fine, she could tell it must have been at least partially hand sewn. “I mean, how much did this cost? Was it really all covered by the shopping spree?”