by Alexa Rowan
He looked at her, and the stark need reflected in his eyes created her own personal heat wave. But then he banked that scorching heat down to a manageable smolder and said, “I had a backup plan.” He smiled with a hint of his usual cockiness. “But I’m glad I didn’t have to use it.”
Out of habit her hand slid into his, and he twined their fingers together. Cal matched his longer stride to her shorter one, the back of his hand occasionally brushing her hip as they walked in step.
She knew they would have to clear the air before they could get back together. And she was not at all looking forward to it. The prospect of make-up sex, definitely yes. The process of making up, not so much.
During dinner, Cal continued to steer them toward lighter topics. He might have thought he was doing her a favor by avoiding any unpleasantness—after all, why ruin a spectacular meal with a difficult conversation? But her nerves were jangling so hard she was barely able to swallow a few mouthfuls of her pan-fried trout or the accompanying barley and wild rice pilaf or roasted asparagus spears.
Their plates were cleared, and she half-heartedly prolonged her torture with an order of chamomile tea and a plum tarte tatin.
While they awaited their desserts, Cal took her hands in his. To her relief and consternation, he said, “Bren, I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past month.”
He paused for so long she wondered if he were awaiting a response. But then he went on, saying the words she’d been hoping to hear pretty much since day one. “The truth is, I’m crazy about you. No more friends-with-benefits. You deserve more,” he said earnestly. “We both do.”
She wasn’t quite ready to admit she was crazy about him, too. “But what about being embarrassed by me?” It still bothered her that he’d felt that way.
He glanced away for a moment, then caught her gaze again with renewed intensity. “I still feel awful that I tried to keep our relationship separate from the rest of my life. And even worse that I made you feel bad. It’s not an excuse, but I was worried about the partnership decision at the time and… Well, it was stupid, and I regret it. I was never embarrassed by you or what you do for a living. And I hope you can forgive me.”
“So you’re not going to hide me from your colleagues or family anymore?”
“I’ve already told everyone who matters. My mom can’t wait to meet you.”
Brenna couldn’t help it; her eyebrows rose in tandem with her speeding heart rate.
“Jordie’s just looking forward to when I stop moping, as he put it. Though he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out I’ve asked for a transfer to the Boston office.”
“You did what?”
“Don’t freak out.” His thumbs rubbed delicate, soothing circles against the backs of her trembling hands. “I’ve been considering it for a while now, since even before I met you.”
Their server arrived with their desserts. Brenna took a bite of hers, followed by a sip of her too-hot tea, trying to quell her panic. This was too much, too fast. But Cal always seemed to see through her so easily it was a safe bet he’d know she was, indeed, freaking out.
“Why do you want to move up here?” she asked, hoping to forestall Cal’s questions about how the idea made her feel.
“Lots of reasons.”
And since he was a lawyer, she knew he would enumerate them all.
“First, my family is still in Portsmouth.” He told her about wanting to spend more time with his niece and nephew and be nearer to his aging mother, and her heartbeat began to slow as he described this first, perfectly reasonable—in fact, admirable—motivation.
He added another one to the list. “Second, work.” Wanting to better serve his New England-based clients also made sense, and his ambition to start a litigation department in Boston for his firm impressed her. Maybe this was just a happy coincidence of purposes.
“And that brings me to my third reason,” he said, his focus squarely on her. “You.”
Her heart leapt right back into her throat.
“I want to see if we can do this for real, not just on weekends. It would make all the difference knowing we could be with each other every day, if we want to. I know I want to.”
He swallowed before continuing, his emotions clearly running high. “It just feels right.” Softly, he asked her, “Does it feel like the right thing to you, too?”
It was where she’d hoped they would end up all along. A wellspring of joy began to bubble up, but she capped it, wanting to make sure she understood what he was suggesting first. “It does, but… You’re just talking about moving to Boston, not moving in with me, right?”
He laughed. “Of course I’m not planning to just move in with you. Oh my God, that would be so presumptuous.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” she said as relief gave way to playfulness. “But best to make sure, you know?”
“Finish up that dessert, babe,” he prodded, his eyes darkening like a summer storm. Apparently he was eager to get to the make-up sex, too.
She took another bite, letting the complex flavors spread across her tongue. Now that she seemed to have survived making up with Cal, she could enjoy the tartness of the plums paired with the cool, spicy sweetness of the cinnamon ice cream. The sugar rush helped dampen the lingering aftereffects of her anxiety, too.
“Want a taste of mine?” Cal offered her a spoonful of his triple-chocolate mousse, along with a lashing of the Grand Marnier whipped cream that accompanied it.
She accepted it, throatily humming her approval. “I should’ve gotten that one. The chocolate is just so…intense.”
“If it does that to you, I’m more than happy to trade.” His voice was as rich and velvety as the mousse. “As long as you let me watch you eat it.”
“I wouldn’t mind another bite.”
He offered her another spoonful, his own lips parted with anticipation.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as she took the spoon between her lips. As he withdrew it, she moaned softly. Truthfully, she was hamming it up a bit, though it really was one of the most incredible things she’d ever tasted.
“Okay, we’re going now.” He abruptly signaled their server.
“But these desserts are so good,” she protested, her eyes dancing as he asked for the bill.
“You can finish up while I get the check.”
She took another bite of her own dessert, waving her spoon at him. “Culinary masterpieces like these are meant to be savored, not wolfed down.”
“I’m feeling pretty wolfish, right about now.”
Brenna’s wanton side finally resurfaced after a month in hibernation. She leaned toward him. “Are you hard for me, baby?” she cooed.
“I’ve been hard for you since the day I met you,” he muttered, looking around. “Where the hell is that check?”
“While we’re waiting, I think I’ll have another bite of this gorgeous plum tart.” She slipped the spoon between her lips, licking off a trace of ice cream suggestively. “Mmm. You want a taste?”
Cal looked about ready to lunge across the table and sample the dessert from her lips. Her nipples hardened at the thought of his imminent loss of control.
He noticed—of course he did. “Ohhh, Brenna, don’t do this to me.” His leg jiggled up and down against her knee in his agitation.
Their server finally appeared with the check. Cal immediately sent her off with his credit card, telling her they were in a hurry. Understatement of the century.
Brenna arched her back slightly, pushing her small breasts out so they strained against the fabric of her dress.
Cal was captivated by the display. “You are so gonna get it when we get home.”
“That’s good,” she retorted. “’Cause I really, really need it.”
The sound that came out of the back of his throat sounded remarkably like a growl, and her eyes widened. Then she noticed his flared nostrils and the perspiration dampening his temples. He looked like an enraged bull who’d scented his mate in the next paddock
and was ready to break through the fence separating them. Oopsie. Maybe she’d gone overboard with the teasing?
His command was gritted out from between clenched teeth. “Not. Another. Word.”
She smiled coyly, but said nothing as he paid the check. He’d find out soon enough how wet she already was for him. Turning this controlled, confident man into a quivering mass of testosterone and lust was going to become one of her favorite pastimes.
In short order he had bundled her into a cab, trying to keep his distance during the ride as he attempted to restore his self-control. His rangy frame radiated a taut urgency. She placed a soothing hand on his upper thigh—well, she’d intended it to be soothing, at any rate.
Before she could process what was happening, he’d engulfed her in his embrace. His tongue slid into her mouth, and he thumbed her nipple as his palm caressed her breast.
Her hand cupped his erection, which jumped beneath her touch. She just bet it was covered with slippery pre-come, all warm and musky and smelling of Cal.
She might have moaned. Cal definitely did.
It didn’t take long before they arrived at Brenna’s apartment. When they broke apart, panting and breathless, his pupils were blown, leaving just a rim of smoky silver remaining around the edges.
He practically threw a twenty at the cabbie as he ushered her out of the back seat. She held the foyer door open for him, then launched herself up the three flights of stairs, knowing he’d be close behind.
At the top, she struggled to unlock her door. It wasn’t helping that every single inch of his erection was pressed up against her butt, while his fingers curled possessively around her hips.
“Cal, you’re just going to make me take longer,” she protested in a quavering voice. He merely bent down and started nibbling and sucking on the sweet spot along the tendon in her neck. She shivered, her fine motor skills deserting her.
Finally they burst through the door, slamming it behind them as they rushed for the sofa, clothes and shoes flying everywhere. The bedroom was simply too far away and their need was too great.
He urged her onto her knees, and she braced her hands against the sofa’s back, her hair cascading over one shoulder as she looked up at him behind her. In this position, her thighs were spread and her buttocks tilted upward. She trembled with desire, imagining Cal seeing her pussy all soft, and open, and wet.
Without a word he rolled on a condom—prepared, as always—and mounted her. Lining up the head of his cock against her, he drove it home, spearing deep into her with a tortured groan. Within a few strokes, his rhythm had become fast and hard, accompanied by little grunts of effort.
Oh yeah, her bull had busted through the paddock fence, all right.
Her head dropped down. She reached for her swollen clit, busily working it as Cal pounded into her.
“Christ, Bren,” he panted. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
Brenna rubbed faster, the strain in his voice spurring her on. Her orgasm was building, and his big, warm body suddenly covered her, the slightly roughened pad of his finger displacing hers. She let out a whimper at the burst of pure pleasure catalyzed by his touch.
His next words were strangled, incoherent. “I’m not… I can’t…”
The idea of Cal robbed of the power of speech nearly blinded her with lust. Her arousal spiked as she tumbled into an orgasm, shrieking as it ripped through her.
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed. Then his hot mouth was on her neck as he shuddered and moaned his climax against her skin.
They remained there like that for a minute, Cal’s breath puffing against the back of her shoulder between the kisses he nuzzled onto her.
“That was amazing,” he said. “You’re amazing.” He gently pulled out of her and dealt with the condom. Then he eased onto the sofa and guided her into his lap, bringing them chest to chest, skin to skin.
She straddled his muscular thighs, and his arms immediately came around her, crushing her to him in the most wonderful way. With his dear, handsome face cupped in her hands, she kissed him—mouth, cheeks, jaw, neck, mouth again—desperately trying to erase the weeks they’d been apart.
“Ah, Bren,” he murmured. “I need you so much.”
“Need you, too,” she said between kisses.
His embrace eased, and his hands began softly tracing up and down her back. “Not just for sex. For everything.”
“I know. Me too.”
And then his arms wrapped her up again, so tight there was barely room to breathe.
“I want so badly to say, ‘Let’s not fight again,’ and for you to agree,” he said. “But I know that’s not realistic.”
He pulled back, and his eyes were clear, his expression earnest. “So instead I’m going to say, let’s not break up again, when we fight. Let’s talk about whatever it is, and work it out. Because I think we’re really good together.”
Despite being more practical than romantic, his words gave her a rush of confidence in their future. “I agree,” she said with a smile. “Wanna seal it with a kiss?”
Cal nodded, his own smile turning mischievous. “Though we still have a serious kiss deficit from last month.”
“Then we’d better get cracking.” And she bent her face to his, dropping the first of those kisses onto his soft, sweet lips.
14
“BREN!” CAL CALLED OVER HIS SHOULDER in the direction of the bathroom door. “Come out of there, I don’t want us to be late. And I want to see you in that dress.”
He was already in his tux, silver cuff links gleaming from his French cuffs. He frowned at his hair in the mirror. Maybe Brenna could help him style it. If she ever came out of the bathroom, that is.
She’d refused to let him see the dress she’d bought for the Partner Prom, though she’d revealed what color it was—champagne blush, whatever that meant. He imagined her clad in frothy bubbles. He imagined licking frothy bubbles off all of his favorite places—the spot on the side of her neck that made her shiver; the fine, slightly paler skin at the top of her throat; her rose-petal soft inner thighs; around and around each dusky nipple…
He started guiltily when the bathroom door clicked open and Brenna made her grand entrance.
“Oh my gosh, look at you!” she enthused.
He’d completely forgotten he was wearing a tuxedo. Because she was poured into a lustrous pale pink gown that slid silkily over her curves. Two tiny straps held the dress up at each shoulder. An off-center slit up the front revealed a breathtaking glimpse of her long, toned legs. And holy hell, she wore sexy stiletto heels that he knew he’d be telling her to leave on when he finally gave in and hustled her back to their hotel room later that night.
He’d seen her in plenty of dresses before, but never a dress like this. She was the picture of confident, stylish elegance. Yet at the same time, she’d never looked sexier.
His gaze lifted to hers once more. He regarded her helplessly, digging deep for the words to express how she looked. How she made him feel.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Those gorgeous, golden brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “You haven’t even seen the back yet.” And she pirouetted a half-turn.
He groaned. “Oh my God, Bren. You’re killing me.”
The dress scooped low, plunging nearly to her waist. In a miracle of engineering, the two straps at each shoulder criss-crossed her upper back, holding the otherwise backless dress close to her body.
He wanted to keep her all to himself in their luxury hotel room’s king-sized bed, warm and naked. Except for those fuck-me shoes; they could stay on.
He wanted to show her off, introduce her to Jordie so maybe the man would finally understand why he had to move to Boston.
He wanted to shout to the world that she was his, and no one else’s.
Brenna swung back to face him. “Didn’t you say we were going to be late?” Her smug grin was adorable. She could clearly tell the effect she had on him, and she was enjoying it immensely.
/> “Yes,” he managed to croak. Time no longer mattered, however.
She crossed her arms, which merely plumped her luscious little breasts up above the dress’s draping neckline. “Cal, I took a day and a half off from work for this. I don’t want to miss dinner.”
He shook his head, regaining his senses. Of course they couldn’t miss dinner.
“Right.” He paused to collect his scattered thoughts. “Can you do something with my hair? It’s not working.”
She looked him up and down like the vixen she usually hid inside. “I dunno, that bed-head vibe you’ve got going works pretty darned well for me.”
“Bren, you know I can’t go down there like this. You can mess my hair up all you want after it’s over.”
“Trust me, I will,” she assured him as she sat him down in the desk chair.
Five minutes later she’d worked some kind of magic he was pretty sure he could never replicate on his own, and his hair looked perfect. But Brenna was still missing something, he remembered as he stood up.
“You’re not ready,” he said.
“Yes, I am,” she insisted.
“You look…unadorned.”
“What?”
“Allow me to take care of that for you.” And he pulled a small rectangular jewelry box out of his pocket.
“Cal,” she protested delightedly, “you didn’t need to do that.”
“Open it,” was all he said.
He’d spent several weeks looking for exactly the right present. After seeing her in that dress, with loose tendrils escaping from her upswept hair, he was even more certain he’d chosen wisely.
She lifted the box’s lid to reveal round diamond studs set in white gold, each with a little chain attached to a dangling barely-pink freshwater pearl. “Cal, they’re beautiful.” Her eyes shone when they met his. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said, and meant it.
She put the earrings on, then tilted her face up for a kiss.
He meant to give her just a chaste brush of the lips. But she melted against him, her lips parting, and he couldn’t resist sliding the tip of his tongue between them. She moaned softly into his mouth, her tongue tip flicking against his, and his hands came around her upper back, pressing against the silkiness of bare skin. He tugged her closer, settling the cradle of her hips against his groin.