by Terry Odell
“Piece of cake, since you log on from home. Once I was in, I poked around a little.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“Hollingsworth is doing very well. In my previous life, I’d have pitched my services—he could use a lot more security in his computer system, but that’s fine with me right now.”
“You’ve been using my computer to poke around. Am I going to get in trouble?”
“Are you insinuating I don’t know how to cover my tracks?”
Blake’s eyes widened and he gave her a warning glance.
“What?” Her heart thumped. A man, older than Blake, approached their table.
“Blake Windsor? I thought I saw you. Small world, isn’t it?” The man extended a hand and Blake half stood to shake it. The man then turned to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I ran into Blake at Dwight Hollingsworth’s office this morning and was surprised to see him again so soon. But that’s how life works sometimes, isn’t it? I’m Vance Griffith.”
“Emily Cranford,” Kelli said.
“Do you work with Blake?” He stared at her, from her face to chest to her left hand, long enough to make her uncomfortable.
“No, we’re cousins,” she said. “I’m in town for a few days and I thought we’d catch up.”
“Right. Well, I won’t keep you.” He turned to Blake. “But I’d like to talk with you about working on the campaign with us. From what I’ve heard, your powers of persuasion would be an asset to the Hollingsworth team.” He smiled at her. “And he’s got the looks, doesn’t he, Ms. Cranford? Can’t hurt for the candidate to be surrounded by beautiful people.”
Griffith pulled out a business card and handed it to Blake. “Give me a call. We’ll talk.” He gave them each one more white-toothed smile and went to a table near the front of the restaurant.
“Is he gone?” Kelli asked, not turning around.
“He’s not gone, but he’s sitting with two other men. Suits. They’re looking at papers he’s passing around. My guess is he’s fund-raising, or vote collecting, or doing something to help Dwight.”
“So, you going to join in?”
“Sweetheart, I met the man for thirty seconds this morning. I’m not about to ditch my job on a whim—his whim, at that.”
“Do you think it’s strange he showed up here now?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The food is good and the prices are reasonable.” He glanced at the card in his hand. “And his office isn’t far from here.”
“I didn’t like the way he looked at me.”
“For that matter, neither did I. But I can understand it.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You look very good.”
“Sheesh, Windsor.” But she felt a warm glow building inside. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as a woman.
Blake swallowed some tabbouleh. “Back to where we left off. Did you find anything interesting?”
She looked up and felt the pull of his gaze. “I looked for Robert.”
“You did?” he said. “Did you find him?”
“No. I didn’t know much about him. I mean, I took whatever he told me at face value. No reason not to.”
“You think he was using a fake name?”
Stunned, her mouth dropped open. “You’d think it would have occurred to me, wouldn’t you? I told you, I blocked everything after … But why would he do that?”
Blake’s eyebrows lifted. “There’s the usual reason.”
Slowly, gears meshed in her head. “You think he was married?”
“It’s a common enough occurrence.” He shrugged.
She replayed those happier times with Robert. “No. I don’t think so. He never seemed to mind when I called him. No woman ever answered. And he’d show up at random times—not like only Tuesday nights when a wife would be at a meeting or something like that.”
But she started running the possibility through her mind. She’d only had his cell phone number. He’d show up at her place, never invited her to his. Had she simply ignored the evidence because she wanted to believe he was as good as the image he projected? Knew what movies she liked, was always surprising her with little gifts, or spontaneous trips to the zoo, or long walks on the beach.
“Hey, only an idea,” Blake said.
“And a reasonable one, but you might be right about him using another name. And if he was, I can’t see any way to trace him after all these years. Not without knowing more about him.”
He wiped his mouth and hands on his napkin, then reached across the table for her hand. A tingle that was becoming too familiar shot through her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m glad you got over the fear, even if you didn’t find what you were looking for.”
She felt the warmth of his touch shoot through to her face. “You helped.”
“Me?”
She spoke to her plate. “I wore one of your shirts.”
Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? It was as if his eyes had the power over her tongue. If he laughed at her, she’d die.
When their eyes met, she saw no laughter in his. He waved to the hostess. “Melina, can you have someone box this please? And bring the check?” His voice was husky.
“Of course.” She left in another swirl of silk.
The tension was palpable as they waited for the check.
Their waiter returned with a white paper bag, which he set on the table. He set the bill in front of Blake. “You can pay up front if you’re in a hurry, sir.”
Kelli stood beside Blake while Melina processed his credit card. She noticed Vance Griffith sat alone at his table, gathering papers and stuffing them into his briefcase. He caught her eye and she gave him a polite nod.
He snapped his briefcase shut and approached the front counter. “Nice meeting you, Emily. And Blake. I’m sure our paths will cross again.” He extended a hand. “Give me a call.”
Blake’s nod was only slightly more polite than hers had been, but he accepted the handshake. He signed the receipt and turned, his hand on the small of her back. Guidance or possession? she wondered.
“Enjoy your afternoon,” Griffith said. His eyes halted at her chest.
The way Blake’s hand pressed tighter, drawing her closer against him, answered her question.
Waiting in the restaurant entry for their cab, she could still feel Griffith’s eyes on them. She turned and he smiled, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
In the cab at last, she had a pretty good idea what Blake wanted. She had a damn good idea of what she wanted. But was it right? Yet when his hand found hers, she didn’t let go.
“The hostess—Melina—seemed to know you. Are you—?”
“Am I what? Hollingsworth Industries owns the restaurant. I negotiated the deal. Dwight doesn’t meddle—they had a good product but didn’t know how to market it. They were proud but we convinced them it was to everyone’s benefit to sell. A bank wasn’t going to loan them any more money. So, they run the place, we offer guidance and Dwight takes a share of the profits.”
“So—you and Melina—?”
He looked at her, confused, then understanding swept over his face. “You thought—? Melina? Sweetheart, she’s married, has three kids. She belly dances there on Friday nights and I’ll admit I enjoyed the show once or twice, but—”
She had to be blushing furiously now. Not soon enough, the cab pulled up to the front of Blake’s building. With effort, she met his gaze. “If you’ll give me the key, I’ll take the food up and you can get back to the office.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No,” she whispered.
Chapter Nineteen
Blake handed the cabbie two twenties, which was as much tip as fare, but he didn’t have anything smaller, and no way he was going to waste a second waiting for change. He wasn’t sure if the cabbie’s snaggle-toothed grin was a “thank you” or a “way to go.”
Strategically holding the doggie bag in front of him with one hand, Bl
ake held Kelli’s with the other. Small, with slender fingers, it almost disappeared inside his larger one. He’d seen the way those fingers whirled over a keyboard and the thought of them touching him— Stop. If he thought of it any longer, this might be the shortest encounter of his life.
“Great day,” Lamonte, the doorman said as they walked past the door he held for them. “Makes you want to be outside enjoying the sunshine.”
Good grief, was there sarcasm in that comment? He gave a polite nod in agreement and hurried Kelli toward the elevators, which, of course, were both on the top floors. Hell and damn. Why didn’t he live on three instead of sixteen so they could walk up? He heard the clacking of tiny toenails on the tile behind him and smelled a cloud of rosewater. Great. Mrs. Feldman and her poodle. Barely topping five feet and almost as wide, Mrs. Feldman wheezed into place beside him, her curly blue hair taking a moment longer to come to a halt. And she lived on twelve, so she’d be with them almost all the way.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Windsor.” She made no pretenses about giving Kelli the once-over from behind her round spectacles.
“Hi, Mrs. Feldman. How’s Skeeter?”
“Fine. She just got back from the groomer.”
That would explain the pink toenails and matching ribbon on the dog’s topknot.
Kelli let go of his hand and crouched by the dog, making kissing noises. “Hello, there, cutie.” She looked at Mrs. Feldman. “I’m Emily, Blake’s cousin.”
“Pleastameetcha.”
Skeeter, who had never regarded him with anything more than a bored sniff of his ankles, writhed with pleasure under Kelli’s touch and flopped down on her back for a belly rub. He curbed the temptation to join the dog.
By the time the elevator arrived, so had four more tenants, including old Mr. Norris from eighteen. Although Blake’s frustration level had escalated, his arousal hadn’t diminished in the least. He pulled Kelli to the corner of the car and turned her so she stood in front of him, her backside against him. Fire surged through the fabric of his trousers. She leaned into his erection and he slipped a hand around her middle and pulled her tighter. He glued his eyes to the lighted floor indicator over the door.
The elevator stopped at five and the doors opened to let out a woman with a toddler. Kelli started to step aside and he tightened his grip to keep her in front of him. He had no doubt Mrs. Feldman suspected Kelli was hardly a cousin, but there was no need for him to stand on display at full attention. When the car stopped at eight, Kelli wriggled her hips and he almost dropped the doggie bag. “Stop that,” he hissed in her ear.
She craned her neck around and grinned. “Stop what? This?” She ground her buttocks against him some more. He glanced at Mrs. Feldman and Mr. Norris, who quickly averted their eyes and stared at the floor display.
When they stopped at twelve, Mrs. Feldman, cradling Skeeter, gave a wink to Kelli as she exited the elevator. “Enjoy your visit, Emily.”
“Thanks,” Kelli said.
The doors closed before either could say anything else. Mr. Norris moved to the other corner of the car, Kelli resumed her grinding, and he thought he might die. “You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he whispered.
“Hmm. You mean this?” She pressed harder. “Maybe.”
“Well, stop it, or there’s not going to be anything else happening when we get home.”
Finally, the car stopped and after what seemed like an hour, the doors separated at a snail’s pace on his floor. He could swear he heard Mr. Norris choking with laughter as Kelli yanked on Blake’s arm, pulling him out of the elevator and down the hall.
At the door, she had her hand in his pocket, fishing for his keys. Somehow, her fingers ignored the keys, finding something else to occupy them. He stopped breathing. Her touch was butterfly gentle, teasing and tormenting. He twisted her to face him and slanted his lips over hers, dropping the leftovers at their feet. With one hand, he caressed her face. With the other he took her wrist and removed her hand from his pocket. His keys were hooked around her finger and without breaking the kiss, he slipped them off and somehow got them into the lock.
One foot found the bag of food and slid it inside the door. She pushed it shut behind them and he leaned against it, cupping her buttocks and lifting her to his waist. Their tongues explored, danced, entwined. She tasted exotic, faint hints of garlic and spices.
He slid his hands under her blazer, seeking her waist where her sweater tucked into her slacks. “Too many clothes.” He lowered her to the floor and worked her blazer off her shoulders while she did the same with his suit coat.
Her green eyes glistened, darkened by her enlarged pupils. Her tongue ran across her lips. Her chest rose and fell with her accelerated breathing. His fingers found her nipples, straining against her sweater through her bra. When he tried to pull her sweater out from her slacks, she stiffened. Pulled his hands away.
He gave himself a mental kick. He was a jerk. Slow down. How many days ago had Scumbag hovered over her? He tried not to think of Robert. Deep breath. Gently, he took her hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” Fingers locked, they strolled through his apartment, around the glass bricks to the space he always thought of as his bedroom, although it was more accurately a bedroom area.
That’s right. Slow down. Keep thinking about mundane things. Don’t think about what it’s going to feel like to lie on that bed with her.
At the edge of the bed, Kelli kicked off her shoes. When the hell had she painted her toenails bright red? That was not slowing things down. He toed off his own shoes and stood beside her. Kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. Her lips parted, and he accepted the invitation, brushing her lips, nibbling. Not until her tongue met his did he deepen the kiss.
He took her hands and placed them on his chest. Covering her hands with his, he could feel his own heart beating through them. She fingered his shirt buttons. He shifted his hands to her shoulders and watched her unfasten each one, toying with the hair on his chest as she progressed from one to the next. Each hair sent its own electrical current coursing to his groin. She traced the red line on his chest where Scumbag’s knife had done its damage. The butterfly strips she’d applied were still there. His breath hitched, but he resisted the urge to touch her. “I’m fine.”
She kept her eyes on his as she tugged the shirt from his trousers and loosed the final buttons. He slipped the shirt off and it fluttered to the floor.
He touched her sweater. “May I?”
She nodded. He worked it over her head and she maneuvered her arms free. “Not as sexy as buttons,” she said.
There was no fear in her eyes. No hesitation. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Before she could shrug it off, he touched one thin strap. “Let me. Please?”
Another nod. He ran his finger along the satin strap from her shoulder to the lace trim that topped each of her warm, round breasts. He saw her nipples peak even harder beneath the satin, but he kept his fingers on the lace. Her eyes closed and her breathing quickened. With the pad of his thumb, he circled her areola, still avoiding that straining nubbin. She wiggled, trying to get herself positioned under his teasing thumb.
“You like that?” he whispered into her neck. She smelled delicious—a new scent that had arrived with Emily.
He reached for the straps, lifting them from her shoulders. She extended her arms, letting the garment slide down. He tossed it on top of his shirt and she took his hand and cupped it under her breast. With half a step they were against the bed and he sat down, pulling her across him onto his lap. One hand moved up and down her back, the other traced lazy circles around her nipples. Not the rosy pink he was used to. Darker, latte colored.
With a start, he remembered she’d had a child. Had been married. He wondered who he’d be with once they lay together. The cautious Kelli? A compassionate Casey? Or a refined Emily? Maybe a combination of all three.
He lowered his head to her breast and took one of those gorgeous nipples into hi
s mouth. Laved it with his tongue. Felt her squirm on his lap. Her fingers tangled through his hair, pressing him tighter against her. He reached for her waistband. How did those damn pants open? He felt no button. Releasing his head, her hands pushed his away, fumbled with a side fastener. He heard a zipper release and his fingers felt the sleek satin of her panties. Her hips lifted enough for him to slide her slacks down her legs and she kicked them the rest of the way off. Somehow, she got her hands between them and worked at his belt buckle.
“Wait,” he said. He lifted her from his lap and stood. “Better?”
She reached forward, unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and had his zipper lowered before he’d taken two breaths. And then she stopped. He held his breath, waiting. Slowly, she inched his trousers down his legs, kisses following them past his knees, to his ankles. Struggling to keep his balance, he lifted each foot and kicked his pants away. She smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s—well, guys look funny wearing socks without pants.”
“I can fix that.” He sat down again and tugged them off.
“I like the silk boxers. Sexy. So’s your friend. But he seems to want to get out.”
“Why don’t you take care of it?”
“Eventually.”
“Sweetheart, I have to be honest with you. I haven’t had sex in over six weeks and I’ve wanted you since my fever broke. Eventually might be a little optimistic on your part.”
“More like six years for me. I’ll keep up.” She reached for him, got a finger under the elastic of his shorts and released him. Kissed him.
“Wait.” At least that’s what he thought he said. He sped to the bathroom and dug a handful of condoms from his leather kit. Hurrying back, he dropped them on the night table. Kelli had pulled the bedcovers down and she waited for him in the center of the bed.
They knelt facing each other, and he nuzzled her breasts again, fingers circling one nipple, teeth scraping the other. She moaned with pleasure and reached between his thighs, fondling him with a touch so light he thought he’d scream. He cupped her through her panties, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. She lifted her hips, granting him more access. His finger teased the soft curls, then slipped inside. She rubbed herself along his finger, and he stroked deeper. Her breath came in shallow pants—he wasn’t sure he was breathing at all, except he could hear it intermixed with gasps and groans. He reached behind him, his fingers desperately seeking one of the foil packets he’d set out. Found it, ripped it open with his teeth and covered himself.