by Megan Ryder
He grasped her waist and flipped her again, bringing her legs up high to her chest, going much deeper inside her than ever before. She lay there opened to him, clinging to him for support. The control she had gained earlier in the lovemaking, now completely out of reach. She was completely at his mercy for her orgasm and demanded it in loud cries, grasping his hips and pulling him closer, desperately rubbing against him. Her climax danced out of reach, teasing her, taunting her. She opened her eyes. Jason’s fierce gaze, laser-focused on her, demanding she hold the gaze, connect with him on a deeper level than sex.
She couldn’t break the spell, didn’t want to. His teeth clenched and he lunged in and out, harder, faster, deeper. This time, when she came with a wail, he followed her over the edge with a roar of satisfaction.
He collapsed on top of her, her legs caging him. After a few moments of heavy breathing, he rolled to the side and pulled her with him. They lay there for long moments, panting and quivering in the aftermath.
She snuggled closer. “Still want me to sleep on the couch?”
Chapter Eleven
Sunlight streamed into the room, rudely awakening Stacia. She opened one eye and peered balefully at the skylight, which last night had seemed so romantic and beautiful when the moonlight had streamed in. Now, with the sun up and only a couple of hours of sleep under her belt, she had to rethink the design element. A heavy weight pinned her to the mattress. Jason’s arm. She nudged him, but he only groaned and pulled her closer. She pushed him harder.
“What the hell time is it?” He glared at her out of one squinty eye. “If you’re a morning person, get the hell out of my bed. I’m tired.” He promptly rolled over and started snoring again. Probably faking it so she would leave.
She slid out of the bed and grabbed his shirt from last night, tossed on the floor, a victim of their passion. It would do for a bathrobe.
What were the odds he had coffee in this place? Probably low, but a girl could hope. She closed the bedroom door and went downstairs in search of her morning heaven. A few minutes later, she had the coffee maker percolating, filling the small kitchen with the aroma of a hearty breakfast blend. No wimpy flavored coffee for Jason.
She sucked in a deep breath. No cream or sugar in the house, but at least there was coffee. She always had an emergency stash of creamers and sugar in her bag. She stirred both into the java, and sucked in the sharp scent of Sumatran blend. It was good. No cheap stuff for Jason.
She sighed and leaned against the counter, savoring the quiet and the beverage. She was just drifting to her happy place when the doorbell rang. She jerked and coffee spilled over her hand. “Damn it.” She wiped her hand on the dishcloth and walked down the hall. She opened the door and an older woman dressed in a magenta velour track suit turned.
“So, you must be the new chippie who’s sunk her claws into my boy. Well, you’re certainly not his usual type.” And she brushed by Stacia, rolling her suitcase over Stacia’s bare foot, causing her yelp.
Uh, her boy? Holy crap, Jason’s mother? Stacia tugged the shirt lower, trying to cover more of her legs and followed the woman into the living room, almost running into her, spilling her coffee again.
The woman glanced at the cup. “You have coffee? Good. It’s been a long flight and it’s way too early.”
“You could have stopped at a coffee shop,” Stacia muttered under her breath and followed the older woman into the kitchen. “So, you’re Jason’s mother?”
Probably a good idea to ascertain who this woman was before assuming, especially since she didn’t fit the image she had of his mother, not that she had been thinking of his mother at all. I mean, who thinks of their boyfriend’s mother? And was he a boyfriend, a client, or what? Too heavy questions after way too late a night. But she had a feeling that she’d better figure it out quick.
Shit, too complicated a discussion for this early in the morning. She returned her attention to the older woman. A magenta track suit, cheap tennis shoes, very heavy hand with the makeup and did they still make blue eye shadow in that shade of electric? Maybe only in Jersey, where Jason was from, according to his bio, and where his mother still lived.
When she rounded the corner, the woman was standing by the counter, cupping a mug of coffee and sipping appreciatively. She opened her eyes and fixed a stare on Stacia.
“Let’s sit and talk, shall we?”
Without waiting for a response, she settled herself at the table and gestured to the seat opposite her. Stacia blindly followed and sat across from her, yanking discreetly on the shirt again, making sure everything was covered.
“So, who are you?” Definitely from Jersey, based on the accent and blunt manner. Having little experience with morning afters, especially morning after conversations with her lover’s mother, she sipped her coffee and studied the woman over the rim of the mug. The high cheekbones and sharp eyes reminded her of Jason, especially the guarded look in them, suspiciously checking her out. This woman was rounded and soft, but not tender and sweet. She was a mama bear protecting her young, even if he was in his thirties.
“I’m Stacia Kendall. I’m helping your son with his media image.”
The other woman studied her for several long moments, eyes seeming to pierce her soul. Seeming satisfied with what she saw, the older woman nodded then reached across the table and grasped Stacia’s arm, a look of pleading and hope replacing wariness. “Can you help him?”
Stacia immediately relaxed and smiled. “I’m trying, Mrs. Friar.”
“Call me Celia.” Both women laughed and Stacia sagged back in her chair.
*
Jason woke slowly, blinking rapidly against the sun shining in his eyes. He stretched his hand out and only felt cool sheets. He suppressed a stab of irritation. He had to break Stacia of that habit of rushing out after sex while he was sleeping. He ignored the fact that he was usually the one leaving in the middle of night. He did not appreciate her sneaking out on him, again, and he cursed the unusual feeling. Dammit they were more than fuck buddies. Hadn’t last night proved it?
He tossed the sheets aside, determined to have the discussion immediately, clear up any remaining misunderstandings. She belonged to him, by his side. After all her attempts to get there, she’d better be ready to stay there. At the thought, he stopped, shocked by the turn of his feelings. Not once in his life had he ever wanted a woman to stay the night, much less the next morning. The idea that Stacia was getting under his skin, becoming a part of his life, was not scaring him as it would normally.
Despite the fact he hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, she’d steamrolled her way in and should have had the decency not to run out. Although he vaguely recalled a brief conversation earlier where he may or may not have kicked her out. If she wouldn’t leave then, she damn well better not have left now.
The sound of voices drifted up the condo stairs, both clearly belonging to women. A bad feeling wafted over him, and dread dogged his footsteps. As he walked further down the steps, the second voice became more and more clear.
He stepped into the kitchen, smelling coffee and another scent, a perfume from his youth, reminding him of conversations over dinner and unconditional love. Passing it off as delusion and lack of caffeine, he muttered, “Must have coffee.” He slid the carafe out and started to pour but only a few drops trickled into his cup. “What the—?”
“Watch your language, young man.”
He froze, an icy chill grabbing his balls in a vice-like grip. Slowly, he turned and faced the small dining area. Stacia waved, a smile playing about her lips. And the other woman scowled at him while dressed in something that hurt his eyes. “Mom, what the hell are you wearing?”
“Jason.” Her tone threw him back to his childhood, the tiny kitchen, closet really, in New Jersey, and his hand flew to his ear, already feeling her tug it as a correction.
Stacia’s grin broadened. She walked into the kitchen, barely suppressing laughter. “I’ll make some more coffee.”
As she passed him, she punched him in the arm and hissed, “You didn’t tell me your mother was coming for visit, honey.”
“That’s because she didn’t tell me.”
Stacia reached up in the cabinet for the coffee can and he lost his train of thought. His mother tapped him on the arm. “I taught you better than that, young man.”
“You also taught me to call before dropping in.” He glared at her. “Did you think to pick up the phone?”
“And why should an old woman like me have to call her son? You should be calling me daily, checking in, making sure I’m not lying dead in my kitchen. I live alone, you know. The only thing I ask is for my only son to call me once in a while. Instead, I have to haul these old bones down here from New Jersey to see him.”
He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “Give me a break, Mom. I just got here and have been trying to get up to speed. Besides, you have a houseful of girls living with you, all with babies on the way. You have no time for me.”
He tried to ignore the familiar spike of irritation at the thought of her girls, as she called them. Girls who always came first in her mind, taking all of her attention, money and focus. Except for the few times she decided her son needed her.
“Girls?” Stacia asked, leaning against the counter watching the coffee percolate.
“Mom takes in pregnant girls from the neighborhood who have nowhere to go. She helps them find adopted parents for the kids or start on their own.”
Stacia stared at his mother, the glimmer of admiration in her eyes. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“Not really, dear.” His mother waved her hand, dismissing the compliment. “I know what it’s like to be pregnant and alone. And you.” She poked her finger hard into Jason’s chest. “How hard is it to hit a damn ball or catch it? Look at this place. You’ve barely settled in. You’re not even unpacked and there’s nothing to feed this poor girl. Where did I go wrong in raising you?”
He rolled his eyes at the same old litany. At least she wasn’t whining about grandchildren. This time. The coffee was taking too long and he was desperate. He snatched the cup out of Stacia’s hand.
“Hey!”
“It’s your second cup.”
“You don’t know that.” He arched an eyebrow. She huffed. “Fine, but you didn’t have to be so rude.”
“I didn’t raise my boy to be like that, Stacia. I don’t know where he got that from. His father probably.” The thread of old bitterness weaved into his mother’s tone.
Jason shot a glare at his mother, then grabbed Stacia around the waist and planted a kiss on her lips. “Happy now?” He sauntered across the kitchen and flopped into a chair next to his mom, grabbed a Danish from a plate, and smiled smugly while Stacia stood bemused by the coffee maker. A sharp rap across the head jarred him out of his amusement. “Ow.” He rubbed his head and glared at his mother.
“Be nice to that young lady. She’s too good for you.”
“You know, most mothers support their kids not someone else.”
“I’m not most mothers.” She frowned at him. “Look at her. She’s a decent young lady, no tattoos, weird-colored hair or odd things pierced. You’ve done worse.”
“Don’t I know it.” He faced his mother fully. She never left New Jersey on a whim. She had a motive for coming down here. Time to get to the bottom of the issue. “So, Mom, why are you here?”
“A mother can’t visit her son?”
He arched a look at her while Stacia smothered a laugh in the kitchen.
“Fine.” She huffed. “I wanted to check out this woman, make sure she isn’t taking advantage of you like the last slut.” She turned and glanced at Stacia, her tone turning into the honey badger protecting her baby boy. “I assume you’re not trying to trap my boy with a baby, right? I’ll never let him throw away his life on someone like that.”
Heat flooded his face. “Okay, Mom. That’s enough. I can take care of myself. Besides, she’s helping with my image. And how did you know about her?”
“In your bed? From what I hear, your image in the bedroom is perfectly fine, if a bit exaggerated.” She perched in a chair and sipped her coffee. “Besides, it was in the paper. Jason Friar caught at last was the headline I think.”
“Exaggerated?” He shot straight up in his chair, then glanced slyly at Stacia. “Stacia can attest that it’s not.”
Stacia flushed and turned away, muttering something under her breath.
“What was that, Stacia?”
She whirled, red color blooming on her face, heat in her eyes. “Maybe a bit of exaggeration.”
He scowled. Typical. All women stuck together. “That’s not what you said last night. Or rather yelled.”
His mother whacked him on the side of the head. “That is not the way I raised my son. She’s a lady.”
“But Mom. You just called her a slut.”
“No buts. Apologize. Now.” She deliberately ignored the truth in his statement, much as she always ignored what wasn’t convenient for her argument. A mother’s prerogative, she always said.
Stacia grinned. “Celia, I hope you’re staying for a long visit.”
He scowled. “Speaking of that, how long are you staying? I assume you’re staying here, considering you weren’t invited,” he finished under his breath.
“Jason! Family never requires an invitation.” Stacia walked across the room and smacked him on the arm.
She was mimicking his mother’s bad habits and the whole conversation was sliding downward very rapidly. “I didn’t mean that. I just would have liked some warning. Would you want your father showing up on your doorstep?”
She paled immediately and looked stricken. He desperately wanted to take the words back, and did the only thing he could. He pulled her close and rubbed a hand up and down her arm, comforting her.
“Relax, Jason.” Celia waved a hand in the air. “This is a whirlwind visit. I have two new girls moving in Monday, but if I’m an inconvenience, I could stay at a hotel. I don’t need anything special. I hope it doesn’t throw out my bad hip, though.”
“Oh jeez. Put away the damn violin. You can stay here.” Jason rolled his eyes. “My mother, Stacia. The drama queen of Trenton, New Jersey. Mom works with pregnant teens. I send her money all the time, despite how she’s dressed right now. What the hell are you wearing?”
She grinned. “I wanted to get on the level with your new girl. Dreadful, isn’t it? I can see that wasn’t necessary. Thank God. I hate this outfit.”
“Mom trots out this outfit every time she comes to visit.” Jason shook his head. “She thinks it scares people away.”
“Women, Jason. Scares women away.”
“How often do you have to do this, Celia?” Stacia refilled the coffee, placed some pastry on the counter and slid into the other chair.
“Not as often as you think. I did one thing right, making sure Jason always uses protection and watches out for gold diggers. At least I assume he always uses protection.” Celia took a Danish and pointed it at Stacia. “I like this one. She’s domesticated. Perfect for my grandchildren.” She glanced sideways at Jason, who choked on his coffee.
Stacia blushed and sipped hers, remaining silent and let Jason twist.
He glowered at her. “When did you buy pastry?”
“Your mother brought it. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Celia shook her head. “I knew you’d have nothing in your fridge. Honestly, you’d think I raised him in a barn. I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Jason jumped up, irritation at his lack of manners finally getting the better of him. “Okay, that’s enough bashing me. I didn’t ask her to do anything for me. She just barged in and took over, like someone else I know. Now, I’m going to take a shower and head to the stadium. You two, stop talking about me!”
Both women smiled at him. Celia waved to the hallway. “Go ahead. We have more coffee to finish and lots more to talk about.”
Jason stood, torn between wanting to drag Stac
ia away for a bout of hot shower sex or just away from his mother, and wanting to stay and stop his mother from sharing too much about his past. She didn’t need to know he was a poor kid, way out of her social league, anecdotes about his legions of women, most of which were exaggerated, and tales from his misspent youth. Thank God Mom hadn’t brought photo albums.
Celia leaned across the table. “How did his penis turn out? He has—”
“Oh my God, Mom!” Jason turned and fled, the sound of their laughter drifting after him.
*
“Now that he’s gone, we can talk.” Celia grabbed Stacia’s hand. “Are you really his image consultant or his girlfriend? Is this all a ruse?”
Stacia shifted in her seat, glancing away. In the cold light of day, reality intruded and asked a lot of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. If it had been anyone else asking, she knew what to say. In fact, Michael, her boss, Cole Hammonds, and even Sophie would probably be calling, asking the same question soon and Stacia would have to say something. Answering them would be easier, but with this woman, whom she had met less than an hour ago and was her lover’s mother, the answer was much more difficult, much more personal, much more scary.
And she didn’t have one.
Celia’s eyes bore into hers, a silent demand.
Stacia avoided her gaze and began to clean the table. “So, how long are you staying? I haven’t had a chance to set up the guest bedroom. I don’t even know if it has linens or anything.”
“You never answered my question.” The quiet steel in her voice clued Stacia in on how this sweet woman had raised her son.
Stacia laughed, a shaky nervous sound. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.” She cleared the table, put the Danish away and cups in the dishwasher.
“He’s a good boy, despite everything you’ve heard. He’s had a tough life. Frankly, I’m surprised he let you in.”
Stacia turned to find Celia in the small kitchen. “I didn’t give him a chance to say no. I’m not really living here. We haven’t gotten that far. We just got in last night from Kansas City and I’m afraid I steamrolled my way in here.”