One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  Passion filled, yet infinitely gentle, Adam kissed her as he shifted positions. She twined her legs around him, welcoming the fluid thrust of his hips.

  Breath rushed from Calder's lungs. Sex had always been fun. A welcome, physical release. She didn't know what she felt with Adam, but they'd traveled beyond fun. More than sex. She flew. Higher than she'd ever imagined. The burst of pleasure so intense, she swore she saw stars.

  Adam collapsed onto the bed, chest glistening with sweat. Turning, he lay on his side, his face inches from hers. He touched her lips. Her cheek. He had the look of a man who'd ridden out a wild, exhilarating storm and lived to tell the tale.

  "Sex? With you? My new favorite thing."

  Smiling, flattered, and in complete accord, Calder smoothed back a lock of hair from his forehead.

  "I say we go again. Soon. And often."

  "Two in favor. And no dissenting votes." Adam's sigh held the sound of pure contentment. "The motion carries unanimously."

  "You're a fool," Calder chuckled.

  "And you're spectacular. Are you hungry?"

  With more energy than she thought possible—all things considered—Adam jumped to his feet.

  "If I plan to keep up my end of our endless sex pact, I need sustenance."

  Calder enjoyed the view as Adam shamelessly paraded naked to the closet.

  "I didn't say anything about endless."

  Knowing she'd draw his attention, Calder stretched her arms over her head, letting the sheet fall to her waist.

  "Wishful thinking. I—"

  Calder batted her eyes. Hardly innocent, she took a deep breath. His gaze dropped to her breasts. In three long strides, he had her in his arms.

  "What about dinner?"

  "Later. Much later."

  "But—"

  Whatever she meant to say, Calder lost her train of thought the second Adam touched his lips to hers.

  Adam brushed a kiss on her shoulder. Her neck. Her lips again. He met her gaze, his blue eyes heavy with desire.

  "Dinner can wait. I can't."

  ~~~~

  THEY ATE. EVENTUALLY. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her feet bare, Calder watched—thoroughly impressed—as similarly attired Adam prepared their steaks.

  "You really do know your way around the kitchen."

  "Why are you so surprised? People all over the world cook. Every day."

  Calder wondered if her answer would sound pompous. Elitist. Probably. Facts were facts. She had a privileged childhood which continued into adulthood. She wasn't embarrassed. Nor did she like to flaunt the perks wealth afforded her.

  When asked directly, Calder didn't shy away from the subject.

  "I don't. Cook, that is. Neither do my sisters. Or my mother. Or our fathers."

  "Because you don't have to?" Adam placed a filled plate in front of Calder. "Or you don't want to?"

  "Both."

  With a nod, Adam joined her. He filled their glasses with a deep-red burgundy.

  "My mother loves to putter around the kitchen. Her words, not mine. Me? Not so much." As he sipped his wine, his gaze met hers over the rim. "Want to know the truth?"

  "As often as possible."

  "I eat out more often than not. Tonight? All an attempt to impress you." Adam waited as Calder took her first bite. "Well? What's the verdict?"

  Calder slowly chewed the juicy, perfectly cooked piece of meat. She'd observed Adam's technique. Salt. Pepper. Butter heated in a sizzling pan. The process looked simple. She knew better. Nothing that tasted so good could ever be termed simple.

  "Slam dunk. Too bad we already had sex, or I'd show my appreciation." Calder dug into the tossed green salad. "Mm. The dressing is outrageous."

  "One of my mother's specialties," Adam said with pride. "If you think Mrs. Finch would like the recipe, I can text you a copy."

  "She would be over the moon. If your mom wouldn't mind, have her call the house. Mrs. F. can talk food for hours."

  "I warn you. Mom will grill Mrs. Finch for every piece of information she can get about you. Your childhood. Your intentions toward her baby boy."

  Calder laughed so hard she almost spilled wine down her front.

  "For the past few hours, I've made my intentions crystal clear. I say we spare Mrs. Finch and your mother the details."

  "I agree." Adam clinked his glass against hers.

  "Are you and your mother close?"

  "We are." Adam's smile was warm, with a nostalgic quality as if the memories were only good. "My father died when I was a baby. My grandparents live in California. They still visit every other Christmas. Mom worked hard all her life. Did her best to keep me on the straight and narrow."

  "Obviously, she succeeded."

  "For the most part."

  Calder sensed Adam had tales to tell about his youth. Interesting stories she planned to ask about. One day soon.

  "Why the Navy?"

  "As opposed to the other branches of the military?" Adam shrugged. "My father served. Before he married my mother. He was a good man. I like to think he would have been a good father. Guess I decided to carry on the Stone tradition. My way of honoring a man I never knew. Silly, I suppose."

  "I doubt your mother thinks so."

  Surprise sparked in Adam's eyes.

  "She never said."

  "Perhaps she didn't want you to feel any pressure to follow in his footsteps. Be your own man. Find your own path."

  Adam brushed his hand over hers. A brief, seemingly careless gesture. Calder's pulse stuttered. So quickly she thought she might have imagined the sensation.

  "I like your reasoning. Why are you so wise on the subject?"

  "Wisdom is easy when someone else is involved. If you asked about my father? Our relationship? I have no answers."

  "How often do you see him? Sorry. If you don't want to talk about him, I understand."

  Edwin Calder wasn't a subject she discussed outside the safe circle of her sisters. Different fathers, different dysfunctions. Same complicated father/daughter dynamics.

  Calder shied away from questions she knew were about a desire for juicy details, not any real interest in her. Another one of those pesky trust issues she could never completely leave behind.

  Adam had chipped away at Calder's defensive shell. Cracks were showing. But she knew he would never get all the way in unless she decided to let him.

  "Edwin Calder isn't the most paternal man in the world." A massive understatement. "My existence is a fact. One he easily ignores most of the time. When he's in New York, which isn't often, we do the whole obligatory get-together. Usually lunch at a very trendy, very public place. My father loves to see and be seen."

  Calder stopped when she heard the tone of her voice. Though she'd come to terms with her parental situation long ago, bitterness occasionally seeped to the surface.

  "I can only give you one side of the story. I'm certain my father would—" Calder had no idea what her father would say. "He doesn't make excuses for his actions. Fault or virtue? I have no idea."

  "I've never understood why some people think an apology equals weakness."

  Because, you, Adam Stone, are a real man. Good and strong and, fingers crossed, trustworthy. Calder felt another crack in her shell—near her heart. A hopeful feeling. And damned scary.

  "My father doesn't apologize for one simple reason. In his mind, he's never wrong."

  "Never?"

  "To my knowledge? No." Calder couldn't read Adam's expression beyond disbelief. "Not exactly Father Knows Best. I'd understand if you want to see the back of me."

  "I'd rather see the front of you. But I'll take what I can get."

  Calder appreciated Adam's attempt at a joke. Bad, but she'd heard worse.

  "I haven't met your parents," Adam said as he cleared the table.

  "Consider yourself blessed."

  A plate in each hand, Calder followed him to the kitchen

&
nbsp; "I have met the rest of your family. Your sisters. Mrs. Finch."

  Adam couldn't know, but when he included Mrs. Finch, he earned himself a mess of brownie points.

  "You're a formidable group."

  "And proud of the distinction."

  Adam laughed.

  "I admire strong, independent women." He leaned with his hip against the counter. "I was raised by one. She taught me respect has to be earned."

  Cleanup was quick. He shut the dishwasher, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

  "Sounds like a woman worth knowing." Calder placed her hand next to Adam's. Close, but not touching. "I should thank you for dinner. Properly."

  "Properly." Adam mulled over the word. "As in a handwritten note and a bouquet of flowers?"

  Calder smiled when he wrapped his arms around her. Exactly where she wanted to be.

  "I misspoke. I want to thank you improperly."

  Adam backed from the kitchen, taking Calder with him.

  "Tell me more."

  "Stop." Calder picked up her bag. "I have goodies."

  "Don't tease." He maneuvered them into the bedroom. "What kind of goodies?"

  "Lotion."

  "Sounds promising."

  With a push, Calder had Adam flat on his back, onto the freshly made bed. He lay, hands behind his head, eyes alert, as she rummaged through the leather tote for treasure.

  "A paintbrush?" Adam chuckled when she held up the item for his viewing pleasure.

  "Left, unused, after your friends cleaned up." She straddled Adam's legs, pushing up the hem of his shirt to expose his flat stomach. She lightly swiped the bristles over his skin. "Very soft."

  Adam let out a sound of pleasure from deep in his throat. When she loosened the waist of his jeans, tugging them past his hips, all kinds of wonderland were exposed. Slowly, she moved the brush lower, lower.

  "What do you think?" Calder paused at the most interesting moment.

  The glint in Adam's blue eyes told her she would pay for teasing him. Unconcerned, she showed no mercy.

  "Well? Yes, or no?"

  One light flick across his hard length brought a moan as his hips twitched, reaching for more. Calder sent Adam a knowing smile.

  "I guess I have my answer."

  ~~~~

  "YOU DIDN'T TOSS me out."

  "Of the shower?" Adam handed Calder a towel for her hair then continued to personally and thoroughly dry her damp skin.

  "Of your bed. You told me you don't sleep with women."

  "You aren't any woman. You're Calder. A class all your own."

  Somewhere. Under all the perfect, Adam had to have a flaw. Nothing major—fingers crossed. Perhaps he sang off key. Or left his dirty socks on the floor.

  What amazed Calder? She wanted to be around long enough to find out—even if his great flaw was a tendency to leave the toilet seat up.

  "Besides," Adam continued. "We didn't do a whole lot of sleeping if you recall."

  "Sex on the brain. Typical man."

  Calder hid her smile. Adam Stone was the least typical man she'd ever met.

  "I didn't hear any complaints while you were on orgasm number five."

  "You need to learn how to count."

  "Four?" Frowning, Adam squeezed a healthy dollop of lotion into his palm. He started moisturizing Calder's legs. "I know the number was higher than three."

  "Six."

  Calder always gave credit where it was due. Adam's lips curved into a slow, self-satisfied smile.

  "Sit."

  Calder did as he asked. Adam dispensed more lotion, moving from her left foot to her right. He was very thorough. She kissed the top of his head.

  "Thank you. Again."

  "After your creative use of a paintbrush? I owe you. Big time." Adam winked. "Where did you ever come up with the idea?"

  "Sex blog."

  "You read blogs?" Adam sounded skeptical. "About sex?"

  She turned onto her stomach so he could finish.

  "I read many things. On many, wide, diverse subjects. Keeps my mind fluid."

  "Calder?"

  "Mm?"

  "If you come across anything interesting, sex-wise? I'll be happy to act as your guinea pig. Experimentation keeps the mind extra-fluid."

  "You don't say."

  Adam lightly patted her butt.

  "Flip over. I missed your breasts."

  "You spent a good five minutes washing each one. How could you miss them already?"

  "Not miss, smartass. Missed. With the lotion."

  "Oh." Calder rolled to her back, arms over her head. The perfect position for what Adam proposed. "My mistake."

  "Not a single thing about you is a mistake."

  "No?"

  "Absolutely not."

  The lotion forgotten, Adam joined her on the bed. Eager, Calder welcomed him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~~~~

  CALDER WAITED WHILE Bryce checked her email. Adam had set up a consultation with the private investigator, Dee Wakefield, for two thirty. After a brief sister confab, they decided to meet at Calder's downtown office rather than at home, just in case Ingo Hunter popped up—as he tended to do these days.

  Calder and her sisters didn't want to give Hunter even a hint of what they were up to. If Dee Wakefield found nothing to worry about? They would chalk the investigation up to a case of better safe than sorry.

  If, as suspected, something nefarious turned up in Hunter's past and/or present? Calder's stomach turned at the prospect. They would deal with Billie, her boyfriend, and the fallout when the time came.

  Perched on the edge of a huge mahogany desk, she ran her fingers over the keys of an antique typewriter. A dust catcher, some might say. Inspiration, Bryce countered. And not a speck of dust to be seen.

  The entire room was spotless. The opposite of a temperamental artist, Bryce guarded her latest masterpiece with care, not her life. The maids were allowed to clean on a regular schedule. With ample warning. She, laptop in tow, was always careful to be someplace else.

  "I don't believe you." Finished, Bryce turned off her iPad.

  "Hand to God."

  "You and Adam had sex—no cheating—all night long."

  "What constitutes cheating?"

  Bryce shrugged.

  "I don't know. Battery-powered substitutions. Little blue pills, or the generic equivalent. Tag team."

  The image of a professional wrestling match popped into Calder's head. In the center of the ring, a bed. One man. One woman. Observing the action, just outside the ropes, several men ready to tap in if the main man's energy flagged.

  Weird. And a bit disturbing.

  "Should I worry about the kind of men you date?"

  Bryce chuckled.

  "Consenting adults, Calder."

  "Meaning?"

  "If I want to have sex with a dozen firefighters. In full gear. And everyone involved thinks the idea is peachy? Nobody else's business."

  "You'd tell me."

  "Because, I know you wouldn't judge," Bryce reminded her.

  "If you were happy," Calder qualified.

  "A dozen firefighters zeroed in on my pleasure? Why wouldn't I be?"

  The alone time Bryce spent with her characters, building worlds, scaring the crap out of her readers, wasn't her entire existence. Parties. Ballgames. Drinks with friends. Unless she was deep in a writing frenzy or buried in edits, she rarely turned down an invitation.

  Yet, like the rest of the Benedict sisters, Bryce's dating life could be sketchy at best. At the moment, hers was on the downswing.

  "I could set you up with—"

  "Stop." Bryce ran a hand over her face, her expression horrified. "A setup? Do you honestly think I've sunk so far?"

  Calder wondered if her brain had been fried by a night of unbelievable sex. Offer to arrange a date? Impulsive. Crazy. Borderline unforgivable.

  "Sorry. Older sister syndrom
e."

  "By fifteen freaking minutes. Always in a rush, you shoved your way to the front of the line."

  "I never shove." The idea appalled Calder. "I cajole. Charm. As do you. And Andi."

  Grinning, they finished the thought simultaneously.

  "Destry shoves."

  "She's a pip." Bryce sighed. "I refuse to believe I've run through every decent man in New York. You found one. Why shouldn't I?"

  Adam exceeded decent. Right now, their relationship was shiny and new. She didn't know if they would move toward something deeper. She wasn't sure she wanted more.

  Fun was fantastic. A jumping-off point to something more—or nothing at all. Why shouldn't she want the same for Bryce?

  "I had some news," Bryce said.

  Calder let the less than smooth conversation transition pass.

  "Well? Tell me."

  "My agent received an offer to make The Last Nightmare into a movie. Not, maybe we will, maybe we won't. If I agree to the terms, a green light all the way."

  "How? When? Who?" Calder gave Bryce a firm shake. "And why don't you sound half as excited as I do?"

  "I want to write the screenplay. The director/producer/control freak isn't keen on the idea. I'm not a proven commodity. Or some such ridiculousness."

  "Don't you hold all the power? Tell him—or her—to talk or walk."

  "Him. Zach Devlin."

  Bryce sneered the name.

  Calder was in her sister's corner. Always. Never a question. But holy crap! Zach Devlin. Like a good portion of the world's population, she'd seen every one of his movies. And loved every second. Few and far between, he made stories that entertained, and were loved by critics.

  Devlin had the golden touch. However, fangirl or not, Calder wasn't happy with anybody who tried to keep Bryce from what she wanted.

  "Meet with him. Prove him wrong."

  "My suggestion exactly. Unfortunately, the man is a recluse. He only comes down off his mountain, or out of his cave—wherever—to grace the world with one of his masterpieces. The rest of the time, he's incommunicado."

  Incommunicado? Really?