SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL

by Sheri WhiteFeather

She toyed with the waistband on his boxers, skimming beneath the elastic with her nails. He made a rough sound, and she scratched his stomach.

  "I'm so turned on," he said.

  "I know. So am I." She tugged at his boxers, and he lifted his hips to help her remove them, to give her free reign.

  Exploring his length, she encircled him, stroking from shaft to tip. And then she tasted the saltiness of his skin.

  His entire body jolted, and she took him into her mouth, setting a warm, fluid rhythm.

  She knew how her touch affected him. And she was powerless to stop. She took him deeper, and he shivered from the pain, from the pleasure, from the pressure building in his loins.

  "Gina." He said her name on a prayer, on a plea. With her hair tangling around her shoulders and her pulse beating wildly at her throat, she stripped off her panties and bra.

  And then she straddled him.

  He reared up to kiss her, and she feared he would devour her in one voracious bite.

  He grabbed her, and they rolled over the bed. Her heartbeat tripped and stumbled while her breath came in short, edgy pants. He used his teeth, his tongue, his entire mouth to arouse her. He left marks on her skin, sucking her neck and biting her shoulders. She could feel the circles of heat, the rings of fire.

  They couldn't make love without going crazy, and she reveled in the madness, in the sheer and utter insanity.

  Once again she straddled him. Only this time she impaled herself, taking him inside.

  He clutched the bedposts while she rode him, while she moved up and down, stroking him, milking him.

  He watched her, his eyes locked intimately with hers. He was so powerful, she thought. So dangerous.

  His chest rose and fell, his stomach clenched, his hips lifted to meet her generous thrusts.

  Then suddenly he released the bedposts so he could hold her, so they could climax in each other's arms.

  When it happened, she let herself fall, knowing she was addicted to him, too.

  * * *

  Later that night, Flint drove Gina home. He couldn't bear to ask her to stay, to sleep beside him. Somehow that seemed too tender, too loving. Too committed.

  But now that they were parked in front of the brownstone, he didn't want to let her go. And that scared the hell out of him.

  He turned to look at her. "We should go out tomorrow night," he said, trying to focus on the scandal. "There's a charity auction at the country club that's bound to get some press."

  "I already have other plans. I'm having dinner with some friends. At their house."

  He frowned, suddenly hurt and envious that he'd been left out. She was supposed to be spending her free time with him. "Who are they?"

  "Robert and Lena Marino."

  He cocked his head. "The pepper people?"

  Gina made a face. "They're not pepper people. They're my friends."

  "If you say so." Flint knew that Robert Marino was the man who'd suffered an allergic reaction to the habanero-spiced gelato. The man who could have died.

  "What's that's supposed to mean?" Gina asked. "That you don't believe they're my friends?"

  "I don't know. I guess. I mean, you're trying to smooth things over, right? Keep them from filing a lawsuit."

  She crossed her arms. "This has nothing to do with the gelato tasting. Or with Robert having that reaction. I've always socialized with the Marinos. I care about them. They're special to me."

  He tapped on the steering wheel. "So what do they think about me?"

  "They know our affair was fabricated for the press."

  He gave her an incredulous look. "You told them? You trust them that much?"

  "Yes, I do. They're good people. And I need to get away, to spend some quality time out of the limelight." She brushed his hand. "Why don't you come with me?"

  "You don't think they'll mind?"

  "No, not at all."

  "Okay, then I'll go," he said, satisfied that she'd included him in her plans.

  A moment later he told himself to get a grip. He was behaving like a teenager with a crush. Hell, he was even jealous of her friends.

  He took his keys out of the ignition. "Come on. I'll walk you to your door."

  "Thanks. Do you want to come up for a nightcap?"

  He stalled, unsure what to say. What if he ended up staying at her place? What then? The intimacy he'd been trying to avoid would jump right up and bite him in the butt.

  "Flint?"

  Tell her no, a sensible voice in his head cautioned.

  "All right," he heard himself say. One drink wouldn't hurt, and he'd make it quick.

  They reached the brownstone stoop, and she unlocked the front door. "Thank goodness, the reporters are gone."

  "Yeah. We've had enough of them for one day." Because he longed to put his arms around her, he jammed his hands in his coat pockets.

  They entered the brownstone and took the stairs. Silence engulfed the building, and Flint assumed Gina's sisters were already tucked in for the night.

  Her apartment was dark, and when she flipped on a light, he stood like a statue.

  Suddenly he wanted to sleep in her bed, to awaken beside her in the morning, to climax at dawn and then linger over coffee and croissants before they made love again in the shower.

  He could almost feel the warm, pulsating water, the rising stream, the—

  "Beer?"

  He glanced up. "I'm sorry. What?"

  "Would you like a beer?"

  "Do you have anything stronger?"

  She removed the jacket he'd given her and placed it on the back of the sofa. "I've got a full bar."

  "Then I'll take a shot of—" He paused, deciding what his mood demanded. "Tequila," he finally said.

  "Lime? Salt?"

  "Sure." He wanted something with a kick, something to take his mind off a warm bed. And an even warmer woman.

  He watched her walk to the bar. Her jeans hugged her rear, and her hair swayed while she moved.

  As she prepared his drink, he studied her face, those violet eyes and that luscious mouth.

  She handed him the tequila, and he downed it in one desperate second. Then he sucked the juice out of the lime, recalling how she'd sucked—

  "I think I'll have a glass of milk," Gina said.

  Flint set the lime on the bar and tried to clear his mind. His dirty, male mind. "Milk? Is your stomach acting up?"

  "It's burning a little."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's not your fault," she said. "I just didn't eat enough today."

  "I should have fed you more." But he hadn't been focused on food earlier, and the bread and cheese they'd prepared had been a snack, not a meal. "Maybe you should eat something now."

  "I suppose I should. Are you hungry?"

  "No. I'll just have another drink." While she went into the kitchen, he topped his glass, then stared at the amber liquid.

  What was he doing? Waiting around for an overnight invitation?

  Yes, he thought. That was exactly what he was doing.

  Flint shrugged off the guilt. So what? So he wanted to spend the night. That wasn't a crime. After all, they were lovers. And she'd agreed to keep their relationship going, at least until the party that would end it all.

  To bide his time, he picked through her VHS and DVD collection. She favored the classics, movies that made Hollywood seem glamorous. He appreciated her taste, her fascination with dames, dolls, gangsters and G-men. But as he came across an unexpected tape, a low-budget western from the late sixties, his gut clenched.

  He didn't need this. Not tonight.

  Desperate to numb the rising pain, he finished his drink and stared at the cover of the movie. He knew this film intimately. At one time he'd even been proud of it. But these days it made him hurt.

  Gina returned to the living room carrying a half-eaten sandwich, a glass of milk and a napkin. She set her drink on an end table.

  He looked up and faked a casual air. "I didn't know you had one o
f my mother's movies."

  "I meant to tell you. I bought it awhile ago."

  "Before we met?"

  "No. Right after." She picked at her sandwich. "I was curious about her."

  He shifted the tape in his hand, once again keeping his tone light. "Why?"

  "Because she's your mother, and I wanted to compare the family resemblance." Gina sat on the sofa, but he remained standing. "You're a lot like her, Flint. Not just how you look, but your mannerisms, your smile."

  He was nothing like Danielle Wolf, he thought. Nothing like the woman who'd given him life, then taken it away. When he thought about his mother, he felt dead inside.

  "Your mom had incredible sex appeal. She should have been a big star."

  He flinched, but luckily Gina didn't seem to notice his distress. Then again, she was still caught up in the supposed similarity she'd uncovered between mother and son.

  He glanced at the tape. "Her movies weren't that great."

  "No, but she was. I'm sorry you lost her, Flint."

  He did his damnedest to mask his emotions. His pain. "I was just a baby."

  "It's so sad." Gina reached for her milk and sipped slowly. "It must have been hard on your dad, losing his wife soon after their child was born."

  For an instant, Flint wanted to tell Gina the truth. He wanted to confide in her, to reveal the whole sickening story. But the torment in his heart kept him from saying it, from admitting what his mother had done.

  "Death is never easy," he said instead. "But my dad found someone else. He remarried."

  "I know. But wasn't it ten years later? That's a long time to wait."

  "He's happy now."

  "I'm glad."

  "Yeah, me, too." But as hard as he tried, he couldn't forget his family's deception, the way they'd all covered for his mom.

  Gina met his gaze, and he knew she'd finally picked up on his discomfort. He glanced away, wondering if he should pour himself another drink.

  "I upset you, didn't I?"

  Yes, he thought. Her compassion hurt. "I was taught not to speak too freely of the dead. It's not the Cheyenne way."

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know."

  "That's okay," he responded, ashamed of the lie. Although his grandmother had always followed that practice, Flint never did. He used to talk openly about his mom before he'd discovered the truth.

  Flint put the tape on the rack, and Gina rose to toss her napkin away behind the bar.

  "Are you all right?" she asked. "You still seem upset."

  "Honestly, it's no big deal. How about you? Is your stomach better?"

  She nodded and gave him a sweet smile, and he resisted the urge to sweep her up and carry her to bed, to take comfort in her body. Sleeping with her just to ease his pain didn't seem right.

  "I better go," he said.

  "You're welcome to stay," she told him.

  "That's probably not a good idea. It's getting late, and we both have to work in the morning."

  She walked him to the door. "Are you sure, Flint?"

  "Yes, I'm sure." He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and went home with a troubled heart.

  * * *

  Nine

  « ^ »

  Robert and Lena Marino lived in a modest suburban home. Flint had expected as much, but he hadn't thought too deeply about what kind of people they were or why Gina claimed to care about them so much.

  But now he understood. Gina had met the Marinos many years before. They owned an Italian market and deli in her neighborhood, but their hospitality went beyond the boundaries of their store. They'd adopted Gina into their lives and into their hearts.

  Robert was an animated man, short and paunchy, with a heavy accent and a ready smile. He called his wife Mama and bragged about her cooking. Lena, as charming as her husband, appeared to mother anyone who came within hugging distance, so the name fit.

  Flint and Robert sat at the dining room table, sampling a relish tray, while Gina and Lena bustled around the kitchen, seasoning sauces and stuffing artichokes with garlic-seasoned bread crumbs. Both women wore aprons tied around their waists, but the practical garment managed to look sexy on Gina.

  As Flint studied her long, slim frame, Robert popped an olive into his mouth and slanted him a pleased look.

  "You like our girl, eh?"

  "Yeah, I like."

  "You're the first boyfriend she has ever introduced to us. The first special one we've met."

  "I see." Apparently Robert had figured out that their affair was real even if he didn't have the facts straight. But out of respect to Gina, Flint wasn't going to explain that he was just a temporary lover, not a boyfriend.

  He knew his emotions were all tangled up over Gina, but he also knew when to cut his losses, when to sever a tie that would only make him bleed.

  The sound of a baby crying interrupted Flint's thoughts. He glanced around and realized that the noise had erupted from a monitor.

  "Nonna," Robert called into the kitchen. "Our boy is awake."

  Nonna, Flint assumed, meant grandmother in Italian. Robert and Lena were a bit too old to be producing bambini of their own.

  Lena wiped her hands on her apron and darted down the hall. In no time, she returned with a round-faced child in her arms. The kid looked ruffled from sleep, with dark hair and big, curious eyes.

  She carried the tyke into the kitchen, and the boy grinned at Gina.

  "That's Danny," Robert explained, beaming with pride.

  "Your grandson?"

  "Sí, our youngest. We baby-sit him when his mama and papa go out."

  "How old is he?" Flint asked, unable to determine the child's age.

  "Nove mesi. Nine months."

  "He's a nice-looking boy."

  "Sí, he's very handsome. And if you're not careful, he might steal Gina away from you, eh?"

  Flint couldn't help but smile. The little rascal, all warm and snuggly in his teddy-bear pajamas and with his wild, wispy hair, did appear to be flirting with her. When she reached for him, he went willingly into her arms.

  "Our Gina, she'll make a good mama someday," Robert said.

  Would she? Flint wondered. Or would her position at Baronessa get in the way? Her career mattered so much to her, she'd gotten an ulcer over it.

  Lena handed Danny a bottle, and the kid gave his grandma a sappy grin before he grabbed it and snuggled closer to Gina. She boosted him up and came toward Flint and Robert.

  "There's your nonno," she said, making the boy flash that sappy grin at Robert. "And that's Flint," she added, shifting the child in his direction. "He's my friend."

  Danny studied him with a serious expression, tilting his head and burrowing against Gina's breast. Then he held out his bottle.

  Unsure what to do, Flint stared at it.

  "He's offering you a drink," Robert explained with a grandpa chuckle.

  A drink? He looked to Gina for help.

  "It's apple juice," she said.

  "I can see that." But did she realize it was only accessible through a rubber nipple?

  Danny waved the bottle and made a fussy noise. Apparently the little tyke didn't take no for an answer.

  Robert chuckled again. "He's stubborn, that one."

  No kidding. Flint was being forced to accept the offering. He took the bottle, then made a face at the nipple.

  Gina laughed. "You don't really have to drink, Flint. Just pretend."

  Well, hell. His inexperience was showing. He didn't have any nieces or nephews or friends with bottle-sharing babies. He wanted children of his own, but he didn't know a thing about them.

  "Got it," he said, hoping to recover his dignity. Cupping his hand around the nipple, he made a sucking sound and pretended to enjoy the juice.

  Danny clapped and squealed, and Flint's heart went soft. Gina caught his eye, and they stared at each other, lost in a tender moment.

  "Go ahead and hold him," Robert coaxed. "See what a sturdy boy he is."

  Flint b
roke eye contact. Was the older man trying to make a dad out of him? A father to Gina's future children?

  "Maybe Danny doesn't want me to hold him."

  "Sure he does." Robert gestured to Gina to hand over the child.

  The transfer wasn't the least bit awkward. Danny bounced on Flint's lap, happy as a little clam.

  "Do you like your new zio?" Gina asked the youngster.

  Danny nodded, then leaned back and sucked on his bottle. Flint shifted the boy to a more comfortable position and gazed at Gina.

  "Zio means uncle," she said.

  "That's what I figured." He accepted the title with honor. "Na khan is uncle in Cheyenne, for a mother's brother," he explained. "A father's brother is ne hyo, the same thing a child would call their own father."

  "Really? It's the same term?"

  "Yeah." Someday he wanted to be called ne hyo.

  "That's nice." She stepped forward to brush Danny's cheek, to make the little boy coo.

  Flint told himself not to be swayed by Gina's fondness for children. She wouldn't give up her career to raise a family, to be a wife and mother.

  But when she sent him a warm smile, he found himself swayed nonetheless. She looked sweet and maternal, with her hair banded into a messy ponytail and her apron slightly askew.

  Soon she returned to the kitchen, and within the hour, they were seated at the table, dining on homemade cuisine.

  Danny wiggled in his high chair, eating the food his grandma had prepared for him.

  Flint leaned over and pressed his mouth to Gina's ear. "Will you come home with me tonight?" he asked.

  "Yes," she whispered back.

  "Will you stay for the rest of the week?"

  "Yes," she whispered again.

  Craving her touch, Flint reached for her hand. The rest of the week was all they had left. On Saturday night, at a party his family hosted every year, his love affair with Gina Barone would end.

  * * *

  Flint drove Gina to the brownstone so she could pack her clothes and toiletries. A reporter lurking outside of the building questioned them about the sex tape they'd supposedly made, but they refused to comment.

  Once they entered the brownstone, Flint started for the stairs, but Gina turned in the other direction.

  "Let's take the elevator," she said.

  "All right." He stood beside her while she pushed the button.