Naomi sat all the way up. Why couldn’t this be the real her? How dare he presume to know who she was? And what she wanted?
Especially since she didn’t even know what she wanted this very second. To make love to him or to run out the door? She was torn between desires, although since she was dressed for only one of those activities, she didn’t bolt. Yet.
“Who hurt you?”
She pulled back, her libido screeching to a halt. “What?”
“Who made it hard for you to trust anyone else? What makes you keep all those secrets inside?”
She pulled a portion of the sheet over her to cover the lace bits. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Someone did a number on you. Was it a boyfriend? Ex-fiancé? Is that the ring you still wear?” He pointed at her right hand.
Naomi snorted. “Of course not. You’re imagining things.”
“Isn’t that an engagement ring?”
“Maybe it was once, but never for me. A friend I loved gave me this.” She rubbed the circlet with her thumb and hoped it would help ground her.
“Your family, then. Your dad then, when he died. Where did that leave you? How did you recover from that?”
Naomi shut her eyes. This was too intense. She hadn’t expected this onslaught of questions. Where had her father’s death left her? Alone, a package to be handed off to a mother who wasn’t pleased she’d have to house it for the last year before she turned eighteen. Her boyfriend at the time, with whom she’d never gone past third base, dumped her since she’d be too far away down 405 to be worth driving to. She’d had no one. Even her friends hadn’t called her after she moved, as if they hadn’t known how to talk to her anymore.
The worst part had been her mother, though. To be seventeen and to feel unwanted, unseen, like that. . .
She pushed the feelings down and prayed they hadn’t played across her face. “I was fine. I was studying premed by then, on my own. I wanted only one thing.”
“Love?”
Naomi shook her head, hard. “To be a doctor.”
“Oh,” he said, his voice a rasp. “There you go with the secrets again. I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not asking you to.” Naomi rearranged the sheet around her and didn’t meet his eyes. She almost didn’t recognize her voice as she continued to speak. “If you don’t protect yourself, you get hurt.”
“Darlin’, that’s no way to live life. And I will get to the bottom of your secrets, Naomi. But you can hold on to them right now.” Rig came all the way up on the bed, easing her down, pulling the sheet back off her. “I have other things in mind.”
Then, while she still wasn’t sure what she was going to let him do, he bent over her, flicking his tongue into the dip between her breasts. He licked his way up to the underside of her jaw, then nibbled her cheek, grazed her forehead, and worked his way back to her mouth, all the while holding himself above her, not touching her with anything but his mouth.
Keeping his lips on hers, their breathing mingling, he said in a dark, low voice, “You want me inside you.”
She gasped against him. Yes, she did. That’s what she’d come here for. To get it out of the way already, to get her brain back into working order when it came to him.
“But that’s not the way I work,” he went on.
All her senses went on even higher alert as he drew back and looked down at her.
“You just lie back. Relax,” said Rig.
Oh, no. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.
“And now,” he went on, “I’m going to take off your bra even though you probably don’t want me to.”
He was right, she didn’t. It would help with keeping the upper hand if she stayed a little bit dressed, she knew it would: men loved a woman in lace. But his hand went to the catch between her breasts, and with one quick snap, the bra came open. Her breasts spilled out, hitting the cool air, her nipples immediately stiffening.
“Now, I’m going to lick you.” He put one hand on her right breast and flicked the nipple with his finger. “Here.” He gave her left nipple the slightest twist. “And here.”
His mouth came down, and he made good on his word. And while he bit and sucked, teased and taunted, his hand roamed her body, dipping into the top of her panties, trailing up to her other breast, then back down to touch her inner thighs as if testing their softness, their willingness to part for him.
When she regained a few seconds of sense, Naomi twisted her fingers into his hair, stopping his mouth from kissing the sensitive skin just below her breast. She could still get herself back in control of the situation. She knew it. If she could just tamp down this need . . .
Oh, thank God. Rig sat up and tugged her panties down. She lifted herself to make it easier and then wriggled her legs, pushing the underwear down with one high heel. He helped her work it off, and then, to her surprise, he took first one of her shoes, then the other one, off. They dropped to the hardwood floor with a clatter. Didn’t he like the way they looked?
But at least he was going to do as she wanted. He’d get a condom and then he’d be . . .
Rig moved down her body, placing slow kisses on her belly button, her hip, the outside of her thigh. Then he put himself between her legs, yes, that was it, but oh, God, he was too far away. Not there. That’s not what she wanted. That would be way too much.
“Rig.” The voice that she’d meant to be commanding came out as a squeak. “Not that, I need—”
He interrupted her as if she wasn’t speaking. “Now I’m going to lick you here.” He touched her inner folds with a finger, running it slickly up to her clit, and then back down. “Oh, Jesus, Naomi. You’re so wet.”
No. That’s not what she wanted. That wasn’t . . .
Naomi lost all ability to think in clear sentences the second he moved between her legs, his tongue touching her, licking her, pushing into her slowly and then retreating. He made broad strokes and tiny little ones, hard ones, and gentle, teasing ones. She writhed, holding on to the bedpost behind her. She moaned—she couldn’t help it. He was driving her out of her mind.
With just his tongue Rig took her right to the edge—her legs were shaking, her stomach muscles quivering. In another second, she’d—she’d . . . He stopped, lifting his head to look at her. God, if he stopped now—she needed—
“Now I’m going to make you come.” He lowered his head, his tongue sucking, pulling, flicking until Naomi started to pulse. Then, as she came, he put two fingers inside her, right where she needed it, right there, God—he slid up her body, keeping his fingers inside her, using his thumb to continue the pressure his tongue had been giving her, and he whispered in her ear as she came around his hand, “See? I told you so.” He laughed, his chest shaking against her, a deep, happy laugh.
How did this happen? How did he take over her plan? Why didn’t she care more? Instead, she reveled in the feeling of coming down, rolling against him so that she was flush against his body.
“You’re still dressed,” she said. “How did that happen?”
“I wanted to give you something, rather than taking.” He slid his fingers out, and she took a quick, indrawn breath with the aftershock.
“So now you’re going to take off your clothes?” Maybe she could still regain her footing.
“Nope. I’m just going to lie here until you fall asleep.” He laughed again, and Naomi thought fleetingly that she’d never had anyone laugh at her in bed before, but the way he laughed made her feel amazing.
She could make him feel amazing. too, if he let her.
“What about this?” Her hand reached down and pressed against the erection that strained at the front of his jeans.
Rig growled. “Let’s leave that alone, or I’ll forget I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“I’m naked in your bed. How is that gentlemanly?”
“You want me to show you again?”
Naomi smiled, suddenly inexplicably shy. “No. I couldn’t.
”
“Oh, I bet you could.”
He slid down, not heeding her pleas to stop, and when he got to the right spot, his mouth took her the same way. Naomi started shaking again and didn’t stop for a long, long time.
Chapter Thirty-three
Don’t be afraid to jump in with both feet and make the biggest splash you can. It’s a good way to block your finished objects, anyway.
—E.C.
When she woke up, it took Naomi a half second of panic to figure out where the hell she was. The room was dark, and she was perfectly warm from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes.
Rig.
She felt one long tremble rock her as she remembered what he’d done to her, how high he’d taken her, and how hard she’d crashed into his arms. He’d stayed true to his word—he’d kept his clothes on and made it purely all about her.
Naomi had felt treasured. Beautiful. Sexy. Safe.
She was still in his arms, lying on her side, her left arm and leg draped across him as he lay on his back. He breathed deeply and evenly.
God, she’d screwed up. She had to get out of here.
Naomi carefully lifted her arm and leg off him slowly so that she was also on her back. She held her breath for a moment. He didn’t stir. She lifted the quilt that she’d been half under and slid out in one even motion.
Once her bare feet were on the floor, she began looking for her clothes. She found her panties in a ball near the bookcase, and her skirt where she’d left it at the foot of the bed. Her shirt was still on top of the box of books, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find her bra.
She’d just have to leave without it.
Rig made a low, guttural noise as he rolled to her side of the bed, and Naomi froze. With all her heart, she wished to be out of here. She stood stock-still, holding her breath. That big, muscular arm that had held her last night wrapped itself around her pillow and dragged it under his head. Then he relaxed and sank back down under the covers.
Out, out. She crept to the bedroom door, thankful it already stood ajar. She crossed the living room, her heels dangling from one finger. Their tippy-tap would certainly give her away. The front door was a challenge, but one that she took quickly, unsnapping the dead bolt, twisting the smaller lock. Even if he woke now, she could still make her getaway if she moved fast.
In the garden, she paused, almost not breathing. Her ears strained to hear anything from inside. Nothing. Thank God.
Turning, she almost bumped right into Shirley Bellflower.
“Where’s the fire?” Shirley said and grinned.
Naomi couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was Shirley’s yard, after all. Dammit.
“I see you’re dressed for a walk.” Shirley pointed at her heels, still hanging from her fingers, and she cast a glance at the red silk shirt that she possibly had buttoned wrong.
“Yeah. I was just . . .”
“Honey, you don’t have to make up a story. Nothing wrong with a walk of shame. I think he’s a nice guy, and you’ve always looked like you deserved some fun. You’ve been busy lately. This is good for you.”
Shirley looked tired, her face more drawn than Naomi remembered it being.
“Sit,” Naomi said, ignoring every muscle and nerve in her body that was urging her to flee. “Here, on the bench. Sit a minute. We haven’t talked in too long. Tell me how you are.”
Shirley sat, but it was with effort. “Fine, just fine.”
“Really?”
Stretching her arms in front of her as if she was uncomfortable, Shirley waited a beat and then said, “You askin’ as a doctor?”
Should she say no? “As your friend.”
“You usually don’t see me without my face on, that’s all,” Shirley said lightly.
“Anything wrong?” Naomi kept her voice soft, but she caught Shirley’s eye.
Finally Shirley said, “Seein’ a new guy. I didn’t tell you about him yet . . . We were up late last night.” A smile crept across her face. “Now I’m fighting a migraine, but I don’t want to let on, ’cause I have to get to work soon.”
“Can’t you take the day off?”
Shirley shook her head. “Nope. No can do.”
“You can’t use a sick day?”
“Waitresses don’t get sick days. At least not this kind of waitress. I build up vacation time, but I blow that every year on a cruise, and I’ve already been to the Mexican Riviera this year. If I’m out, I’m not making tips, and that’s how I keep this property afloat. That, and renting the back house out to lover boys like him.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of where Rig was sleeping.
“Well, come see me, then. We can talk about medication. Prevention. How long have you been getting the migraines?”
Standing slowly, Shirley said, “Ever since my husband died, years ago. I get them on the anniversary of his death. No exception.”
Naomi stood with her. Grief could trigger migraines. And she knew that sometimes not working wasn’t an option. But . . . No. She wouldn’t give the lecture she normally gave, the one about taking care of yourself before anyone else—with Shirley’s shoulders slumped like they were, it didn’t feel like the right thing. She just wished that she knew what to do. Goddammit, what would she do in the office with a patient she was trying to help?
Then she remembered. A hug. Friends hugged. She’d forgotten that.
She bent awkwardly at the waist and put her arms around Shirley’s shoulders. At first, the woman jumped, seeming utterly surprised. The hug was rigid. It didn’t feel like it was working. Naomi should let go.
Then Shirley made a noise in the back of her throat and dropped her shoulders. She reached up, letting the sides of their faces touch, and wrapped her arms around Naomi. The hug was tight, strong. It felt important. Naomi held on even though her heart rate skittered into overdrive. Shirley needed this.
And Naomi herself felt long overdue.
After a moment, Shirley dropped her arms and pulled away, sinking back into the garden bench.
It was astonishing. She looked like a different person. So gray earlier, there was a slight hint of color to her cheeks now. The tension that had been in her eyes was completely gone. Smiling up at Naomi, she said, “So, you and the doc, huh? Say, have you met Frank, his father?”
Confused, Naomi said, “I’ve met him, yes.”
Shirley nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Nice guy.”
Confused, Naomi really didn’t know what to do now. But she settled on a smile that felt real, and Shirley returned it.
“Don’t work too hard,” said Naomi.
“Thanks, Doc,” said Shirley.
Chapter Thirty-four
Sometimes I feel made of laceweight merino, so happy I could float away on a whispered breath.
—E.C.
Out in her car, Naomi sank into the seat and snapped on the belt. She’d hugged a friend. She lifted herself in the seat so she could see her face in the rearview mirror. A happy-looking woman looked back at her. Her brown curls were messy, of course, and there wasn’t a trace of the eyeliner or lipstick she’d worn last night. But she looked . . . happy.
Shirley had called her Doc. Okay, Shirley was her friend, but still. Someone had called her Doc.
She grinned at herself in the mirror and laughed, before suddenly feeling sheepish.
He’d brought this out in her. Rig, who had never even removed his clothing last night, had found this part of her. Or at least, being near him brought it closer to the surface. Naomi loved this feeling.
And, she decided, as she started the car, it scared her. She hadn’t driven their actions last night like she’d thought she would. He’d been as active a part of their seduction as she had.
Naomi should hate that. It should make her feel almost sick with nervousness. There was no doubt about that. He hadn’t lost his mind like she had hers, so it was unequal. If she could take care of that, the draw to him would undoubtedly lessen. B
ut she didn’t have to reject what happened last night just because she had a good time.
A really freaking amazing time.
She drove toward her house. It was a gorgeous, rare day of summer with absolutely no fog pushing in from the ocean. Crystal clear, deep blue, and flat as a sheet—the water looked like something from a tourist postcard. Hi, Mom, Wish you were here.
Naomi drove past a taco truck that she’d seen before but never stopped at. The sign, LOS MARISCOS, was cheery, and a pot-bellied man stood waiting for his food.
She was starving, she realized. The sense of unexpected buoyancy reacted with the happiness, and it seemed to make her hunger even stronger. She was ravenous.
She pulled over and started to get out of the car. Damn. She’d probably need shoes to cross the dirt to the truck.
Her red strappy heels certainly didn’t feel right, or good, to put on. But she wobbled her way up to the ordering counter of the truck where the open window was up high, and she had to crane her neck to read the even higher menu.
“Hi.” The man peering out the truck’s order window had a broad, florid face with a nose as wide as a spoon. His eyes were friendly, and he looked at Naomi with curiosity. “You want breakfast?”
“I can have breakfast?” Naomi had thought it just sold tacos.
“ ’Course. Everything?”
“Then heck, yeah.”
The day was getting even better. She leaned on her car in the warming sun, waiting, and tilted her head back. A block away she could hear the ocean, a low, dull roar that sounded almost exactly like the freeway had when she lived in San Diego. Two seagulls in the parking lot squabbled over a dirty tortilla.
“Hey,” called the man. He held out her burrito. “Have a good day, pretty lady.”
It was foil wrapped and huge. Naomi could tell it was going to be fantastic. “Thanks.”
Back in her car, she realized she felt like a different person from the one she’d been the day before. And she was too sleepy to examine why. She needed home, a shower, a pot of coffee, and the incredible-smelling burrito, and she’d be able to face going in to the office.
Wishes and Stitches Page 20