Justus, who was still panting, tiredly raised his head. “Is something funny?”
She moved her hand to find him smiling down at her. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t an authorized use for a countertop.”
He shrugged, his grin widening. “It should be.”
“Yeah?” Deliriously happy, she slapped him lightly on the arm. “Well, who’s going to clean up that ice and wipe down these counters, you sweaty oaf?” She pointed to the dented ice bucket, miraculously intact champagne bottle, and what looked like a small iceberg worth of cubes sprayed across the tile floor. “People eat off these counters.”
“I will.” Laughing now, he slid to his feet and adjusted his pants. Then he scooped her into his arms as if she weighed less than Maya and swung her around toward the bedroom. “Later.”
By the time Justus returned from the bathroom, Angela had remembered the precise location of her zipper, successfully removed her dress, and burrowed into bed, luxuriating in the soft sheets.
She didn’t bother with a nightgown.
Justus opened the bathroom door, and for one second, before he clicked the light off, she had a tantalizing glimpse of his magnificent body, which was all sharp angles and long, hard planes. Muscled ridges defined his hairless chest and belly. Powerful thighs with his package in between, impressive even at rest. Long legs. Shapely calves.
Her breath caught and hung out in her tight throat.
Yeah, she wanted him.
Again.
He hurried to the bed and dove inside, immediately pulling her up against him so they were face to face. His arms and legs wrapped tightly around her.
Laughing, she said, “Feel free to make yourself right at home.”
He laughed, letting her go long enough to click on the lamp, toss another foil package on the nightstand, and adjust the pillows under his head. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to get into this bed. That time I saw Maya in it, I wanted to throw her little butt out.”
“Jealous of a child, were you?”
“Damn right. Let’s get one thing straight right now: this is my side of the bed, okay?”
“But Maya—”
“My side.” His jaw tightened into that stubborn, determined line she knew from past experience did not bode well for her. “I don’t want to fight anyone for it.”
And he would fight for it, she realized. He looked like a knight prepared to defend the castle from the barbarian hordes.
“But it comforts us.” She felt sheepish, admitting her vulnerability. “And lately I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“You won’t be.”
His unwavering intention to stay in her bed—when Ronnie couldn’t jump out of it fast enough—thrilled her. Still, a certain amount of decorum was appropriate with a young child.
“Justus,” she chided gently. “We have to set a good example. We’re not married, so we shouldn’t be sleeping together when Maya’s here. Don’t you agree?”
His unforgiving frown told her he didn’t. He opened his mouth to argue—she half hoped he would—then apparently changed his mind and shut it again. One side of his mouth twisted up into something that was more grimace than smile.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
That was the best she’d get from him tonight, and she knew it.
“Good,” she said, tightening her legs around his and pressing her hips closer to him. “Don’t we have more important things to say and do tonight, anyway?”
He smoothed her hair and stroked her cheek, staring her in the eyes the whole time. “I knew. When we danced at the wedding, I knew it would be like this between us.”
“And how is it between us?” she asked, tracing his velvety lips with her thumb.
He faltered, swallowing hard, shaking his head, and looking deeply troubled.
Yeah.
“I knew it, too,” she said quietly. “I wanted you. I was so freaked out about it, but I did.”
“I know, Duchess.” His hand slid around to her nape, pulling her in for a soft kiss. “I really like your New Year’s resolution, by the way.”
“Let’s hope so.” She ran her palm over the hard curves of his upper arm, enjoying the flex and play of his muscles. “Do you have one?”
“Umm-hmmm.” His attention riveted on the white sheet, which he stealthily pulled down and away from her breasts. “It’s to get to know you much better.”
“Interesting.”
The sheet slid past her waist, revealing the curve of her hip and butt.
“I hope I wasn’t too rough.” He gave her another feather-light kiss, flicking her lips with the tip of his tongue. “I usually have a little more finesse.” He rolled her onto her back, stroking his hand slowly over her breasts.
On fire, she bowed into him. He took the hint, lowered his head to one breast, and sucked her, hard, into his mouth.
“I know,” she said, groaning and cupping his head so he wouldn’t stop. “You totally ruined the experience for me. Where can I lodge a complaint?”
Still suckling, he scraped the nipple with his teeth. Her entire body jerked in response, with tiny ripples of ecstasy streaking directly from her breasts to her sex, and she dazedly wondered if this virtuoso would make her come just by doing this.
He slid higher, giving her another teasing kiss on the lips as he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh. “Sorry. Can I have another chance to get it right?”
“Oh, I suppose.”
They laughed together, and she stared up into his handsome face, so boyish and thrilling when he was relaxed like this, wondering how much harder she could possibly love him. Every time she thought she’d maxed out, he found new ways to disarm her.
It was like he wouldn’t be happy until he’d raised his flag in every far corner of her heart.
The thought terrified her.
Her smile began to fade.
So did his.
She searched his face, desperate to memorize every feature she’d only been able to admire from afar, like the straight edge of his nose, the heavy black slashes of his brows, and the unexpected sparks of color—gold, black, and maybe even a little green—in his eyes. The cupid’s bow of his upper lip thrilled her. The faint bristle of his five o’clock shadow made her skin prickle. The harsh planes of his cheekbones were exquisite.
“I could stare at you forever,” she admitted helplessly.
One corner of his mouth hitched up in a wry smile that never quite took hold.
“I know the feeling.”
The sudden stormy unhappiness in his expression was unmistakable, especially when she was watching him so closely.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head again, his rapt attention so glued to her face she doubted he’d answer her, even when he opened his mouth to do so.
He hesitated.
“One of these days,” he said quietly, “you're going to realize how much power you have over me. And it’ll be all over for me when you do.”
“You silly boy,” she said, tightening her grip on his prickly cheeks to pull him down for her kiss. “You’re the only one with any power here.”
“No,” he whispered, before covering her mouth with his.
This time, the dance was different.
Slow.
Painstaking.
The way his tongue took its own sweet time about gliding into her mouth.
The way his hands settled on either side of her head so his thumbs could stroke her temples as they kissed.
His throaty hum of approval as she opened her legs for him so he could settle his weight in the cradle of her hips.
The way he withdrew just long enough to find that condom on the nightstand and put it on, then came back to watch her face twist with pleasure as he easily slid inside her eager body.
The way he linked his fingers through hers and pressed their joined hands into the pillow over her head while he made lazy and endless figure eights with his hips.
T
he way she struggled to breathe as, with a choked cry, she came...
And came...
And came.
The way he came quietly this time, murmuring her name like a prayer.
The way they fell asleep, still joined, and he held her in his possessive grip all through the long night.
It had to be nearly dawn when Justus woke, stumbled to the bathroom and back, and gathered Angela close again. She was warm and deliciously pliant as she rested her head on his chest and slung her sleek arm over his torso, so irresistible he wanted to take her again.
“Justus,” she murmured, and he felt the apple of her cheek swell against him as she smiled.
“Are you awake?” He trailed his fingertips up her bare back, not wanting to be too inconsiderate when she had to be sore and they’d barely slept at all. But his dick was, once again, like a slab of marble dipped in concrete, and he seriously doubted he could fall asleep again anytime soon. Not like this. “Angela?”
“Something on your mind?” she asked drowsily.
And she surprised him by sliding down his body and disappearing under the covers, a move that made her hair tickle his belly.
He froze, not daring to blink or breathe. He’d imagined this very moment so many times that he wanted to make damn sure he didn’t wake himself up if it was only a dream.
But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t—
“Ah, shit, Angela.”
Her fingers closed around him in a firm grip and began to stroke up and down, spiking him higher. When he felt the damp heat of her breath on his head, he flipped the covers back because he had to see this. Had to watch.
Shooting him a sly half-smile up the length of his body, she licked him, swirling her glistening tongue around him and crooning as though she’d found an ice cream cone in her favorite flavor.
His breath hitched as the sensations spiraled through him and he struggled to keep his head up and his eyes open.
He could do this, he thought with a shaky laugh, beginning to pant as he put his hands on her head just so he could keep a grip on something anchored to the earth. He could take this kind of unspeakable ecstasy without making a fool—
Without warning, she took him deep inside her mouth, all the way to the hilt.
Justus jackknifed, crying out as his hips rose involuntarily off the bed and he thrust against her.
She laughed, taking advantage of his movement to slide one of her hands underneath him and cup his ass.
The throaty vibrations unraveled him the rest of the way, which wasn’t far. “Fuck, Angela,” he said, well aware of his croaky voice and the sweat beginning to bead across his forehead and chest. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t...I can’t...”
But on this dark night, Angela had zero mercy for him, which was exactly the way he wanted it.
Laughing again with a woman’s triumph, she picked up her rhythm and slid her mouth over him, gently using her teeth, until she’d reduced him to a barely conscious and boneless shell of a man who didn’t know which way was up (and didn’t care), and whose entire vocabulary consisted of a single choked word:
“Angela.”
Late the next afternoon, Angela looked up from the thick file to see Carmen standing in the doorway of her office. Angela had thought she’d be the only poor dope here in the eerily silent office on New Year’s Day, but she should’ve known Carmen would also put in an appearance.
“Come on in,” she said, waving her inside.
Grinning, Carmen hurried in and shut the door.
Angela’s heart sank.
“So?” Carmen plopped into a chair, crossed her legs, and leaned her elbows on the desk. “What happened with Justus last night? And don’t leave out any details.”
Angela grabbed her pen and blindly flipped pages, keeping her head down. “Oh, you know.” She shoved the heavy file aside and picked up another, smaller one. “We talked.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
Face burning, Angela bolted to the file cabinet and jerked open the top drawer. “I don’t really want to—”
Carmen twisted in her chair to stare after her. “You did!”
Angela shoved the file in the drawer, slammed the drawer shut, and resumed her seat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“How was it?” Carmen asked.
Resistance, Angela knew from long experience, was futile. Leaning against the tall back of her chair, she closed her eyes and sighed, her body flooding with warmth. “I can’t begin to describe how amazing it was.”
She really couldn’t. Even if she wanted to share the most deliciously intimate experience of her life—which she didn’t—what words could possibly make Carmen understand how Justus had made her feel? He’d been exactly the kind of masterful lover Angela had always suspected he was. No one else could possibly know a woman’s body—her body—like he did. When he’d finally left this morning, only his promise to come back for dinner with her and Maya tonight had enabled her to let him go—
“Oh my God!” Carmen cried. Angela opened her eyes to see Carmen staring at her, a look of dawning horror on her face. “You’re in love with him!”
“What?” Angela couldn’t hold Carmen’s gaze. “Please.”
Carmen shook her head, looking stricken. “Justus is a player, honey. He’s not a man you build dreams around. He’s a man you sleep with. That’s it, unless you want your heart broken.”
Angela, now too miserable to speak, didn’t bother answering. There was no worst-case scenario Carmen could throw at her that she hadn’t already thought of herself. Still, she hated the fact that Carmen thought she was so stupid.
She smiled coolly. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”
“Well.” Carmen watched her dubiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again so soon after Ronnie.”
“Don’t worry,” Angela said tightly. “So what are you doing—”
Knock-knock-knock.
They looked around as Larry poked his silver head into the office.
“Happy New Year!” he said. “I should’ve known my two hardest-working associates would be here, too.”
“Hi, Larry.”
“Isn’t the final pretrial hearing on the Golden Valley case tomorrow, Angela?”
Like he didn’t know, Angela thought sourly. “That’s right. Nine sharp. That’s why I’m here.”
“Everything under control? No more surprise visits from case workers?” he asked.
Angela sometimes thought Larry should come with subtitles to explain what he really meant. Something like, Don’t fuck it up if you want make partner.
Nodding, she gave the only acceptable answer: “Everything’s under control.”
“Wonderful.” Larry beamed. “Well, you two ladies should finish and go on home. Enjoy the rest of the day.”
He ducked out, shutting the door again.
Angela and Carmen rolled their eyes at each other. Since it was now five thirty, there was precious little of the day left to enjoy.
Carmen stood. “You’ll think about what I said?”
“Believe me,” Angela said, dredging up a false smile that made her cheeks hurt, “I know exactly where I stand with Justus.”
Inside the cozy warmth of his library, Vincent sat in his leather wingback chair and squared off with Maya over his Napoleon chessboard. Her little face, which rested on her arms, which in turn rested on the edge of the mahogany game table, was screwed up with absolute concentration. He had, of course, let her win. Studying the board, he saw where she could put him in check in two more moves, but her attention had begun to wander.
She looked up. “I resign, Grandpa.”
He covered his heart. “How can you resign when you’re about to beat me fair and square?”
“I’m ti-erd,” she complained, rubbing her eyes.
“Well, you played a good game, Maya.” He held his hands out. “Come here, little girl.”
She scurried around the table to him. He pulled her to
his lap, covered her small head with his hand, and stroked her wavy hair.
“That’s what Uncle Justus calls me,” she told him.
Vincent froze, his hand suspended mid-stroke, too surprised to speak for a moment.
You don’t even realize how much like you he is.
He wanted to forget what Angela had said in her fit of anger, but her insidious words wouldn’t leave his brain.
Eventually, curiosity about the son he barely knew got the best of him. “What do you do when you’re with Uncle Justus?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you play chess with him?”
“Yeah.” She giggled. “But he always loses, just like you.”
Smoothing her hair again, he said, “Do you ever go anywhere with him?”
Her head bobbed. “Yeah. To the mall and the playground. And the buffet place.”
Vincent shuddered inwardly. He’d once seen a commercial about that place, where people sidled up to some communal buffet line like farm animals at chow time. Well, leave it to Justus to yield to Maya’s baser impulses. And yet...
“Do you ever spend the night at his apartment with him?”
More head bobbing. “Yeah. On Friday. Not every Friday, but a lot of Fridays. He makes pancakes.”
The girl made it sound as miraculous as spinning thread into gold.
Maya loved Justus, Vincent realized with surprise.
Actually, adored was a better word.
Vincent doubted whether Maya was this excited about spending time here with him, and he had a swimming pool. More surprising was the fact that Justus was a conscientious and devoted uncle—and apparently had been long before the accident.
Would wonders never cease?
Just then the door swung open and Justus, smiling broadly, strode into the room.
“Happy New Year, little girl,” he cried. “What’s up, Pops?”
Vincent gaped, almost not recognizing his own son.
Well, he recognized him, of course. Nothing about his physical appearance had changed since last night, not even a haircut. But he looked like a new person. Justus’s step seemed lighter, his face brighter. His smile, in fact, wasn’t the begrudging smile he dredged up whenever he came here. It seemed to be freely given, to emanate from some more profound place than just his mouth.
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) Page 27