by J. A. Coffey
His lips were candy. She licked. She savored his sugar. Her blood rushed. Her cheeks flushed. Her mouth urged him to take her, already. But he didn't. He took his time learning her lips, tasting her tongue.
Her body blazed. Lurid sounds slipped from her throat. He raided her mouth with a carnal need that unleashed her own heat, released her own desperate hunger. Yes. Make love to her. Show her what that hard body could do.
No! Don't stop! Her eyes fluttered open. Dylan's smoky gaze sliced her soul. She clasped her hands behind his neck, persuaded him to kiss her again, kiss her some more. One month. She'd waited thirty brutal days to taste those lips. He wasn't getting them back so quickly.
She took his face in her hands and held him still. Her first kiss was a gentle baby-tap. His eyelids closed. Her second kiss nipped at his sexy bottom lip. He moaned. Her third kiss separated his lips. She found his tongue and masterfully worked it, asserting that she knew what to do, knew what a man like Dylan needed, just like she knew what she needed. Him. Inside her. Now.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Damn alarm clock jarred her right out of a blissful slumber. Shay LaCosta glared at the annoying device. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she focused on the big green numbers. Six thirty AM. She whacked the clock to silence it.
She looked at the empty space beside her, the rumpled, cold sheets. Her husband had gotten up early, probably to avoid her. But then, Dylan had good reason.
Shay dropped back into her pillow and heaved a sigh. She didn't have to get up for another ten minutes, to have adequate time to shower, dress and get to work. Normally, she used the extra time to organize her brain, compartmentalize her duties in neat, orderly fashion so everything that needed doing, got done. This girl owned efficiency. If she couldn't do it, rest assured she had someone who could.
Work didn't monopolize her brain this morning. Nope. She thought about the dream--her first kiss with Dylan. Ah. Sweet memories. She couldn't stop her grin. They'd lived a simple life back then. What she wouldn't give to recapture that youthful spirit. She closed her eyes and reminisced, replayed the beautiful dream all over again.
Her ruminations last night must've triggered it. Once again, she'd fallen asleep alone, wishing he had been there, spooning her body, holding her close. She'd prayed that God would give her a sign, show her the way back into his heart.
Maybe the dream held a clue. Her eyelids shut and she went into deeper thought. First time Dylan kissed her... She knew she'd be with him forever. Now here she was, on the verge of losing him. Five years of marriage. A marriage most women would kill for. A marriage only she could save because she'd single-handedly blown it.
Demanding they have a baby. What the hell? First off, she couldn't bulldoze a guy like Dylan. So not the whipped type. His opinions counted. Secondly, they didn't need a baby. For two workaholics, life was pretty booked. Still, she'd fought fiercely. At one point, she'd even forgotten why they were fighting. She'd only cared about winning. But she'd lost. Lost the surreal connection she'd shared with an incredible guy.
Her eyes popped open and she shot the clock a sideways glance. Five minutes. She let out a frustrated groan, not because she had to get up for work. Shay loved her job. But she loved Dylan more. Life without him meant...nothing. She stared at the ceiling. Do something, woman! Get up off your ass and get back your man!
But how? She dug her head into the over-stuffed pillow. Her gaze swept the contours of textured walls. Think. Think. She could handle any crisis at work. Why couldn't she come up with a solution to this problem?
Dylan wasn't making it easy. Obstinate bull! She'd given him that name for good reason. Okay. No point dwelling on the negatives. Like any marriage, they had their conflicts. They had their fights. But they always made up with incredible sex.
Sex. She wished! Maybe if they were talking, they'd be having sex. Maybe if they were having sex, they'd be talking.
She ransacked her brain. Suddenly, she sat up and let out a laugh. At the time, it had seemed absurd... Her lips peeled a little wider. She'd cried her heart out to her nutty best friend, only to laugh at Erin's wild suggestion. You and Dylan should go to Booty Camp. The things Erin came up with. She needed to stay off the internet.
Shay had laughed then. She laughed now. Desperate times called for desperate measures. What if she devised her own version of Booty Camp? Something she and Dylan could do after work. At home. Alone. She needed to open up the dialogue, get him talking again. Her blood pumped a little hotter. Dylan's butt was hers.
*****
The garage door squealed as it lifted. Dylan arrived home early, only because she'd called him on his cell and asked him to join her for dinner.
Four months ago. That's when it had all fallen apart. She'd turned twenty-nine and wham--life was inconceivable without a baby. Shay knew the timing sucked. What about the career she'd worked so hard for? Not that a woman couldn't have both, but she had always said she'd raise her own kids.
Then there was Dylan, who obsessed over their finances, not that he had to. She had it covered. Don't tell him that. Everything they had, they'd paid for with sweat. He wouldn't have it any other way. Her well-to-do folks could never say Dylan didn't provide for their daughter.
Her heart rate kicked up a notch when he entered her space. She looked at her husband. Poor guy. Worry filled those pretty blue eyes that five years later, still melted her on contact. He looked beat. But gorgeous.
Propped against the doorframe, he watched her suspiciously. His gaze lingered on her snug denim cut-offs. Slowly, his focus trailed up to her white, spaghetti-strap cami that did nothing to hide her erect tan nipples.
Shay held her breath. She titled her head to the side, and her smooth dark hair cascaded in lush waves over her shoulder.
"What's up?" Dylan asked, in a husky tone.
Most days, she had already gone to bed when he got home from work. They rarely saw each other, let alone when Shay was dressed like that. "Hungry?"
She stepped into the light so he could see every inch of her sweet curves. Her husband flinched and she knew she'd gotten to him. Good. Because this was what he'd been missing.
Dylan dropped his work stuff on the kitchen stool. He looked at her, his gaze sweeping her up and down again. "You cooked?"
"Uh-huh." She took in his handsome face. Did he still love her? "Shocking, huh?"
He nodded. "About as shocking as..." His chin pointed at her transparent top. "What is this? The calm before the storm?" His jaw tightened. He looked like he was waiting for a bomb to drop.
"It's just shorts and a tank," she said, shrugging it off. Underneath, her body felt tingly and nervous. Hopefully, she wasn't making a fool of herself. What if he rejected her? Whatever. She had to give it a shot. "I'm just about done here. Why don't you go change while I finish up?"
He stared straight ahead. "Okay."
She watched him stroll away, his gait strong, fit and purposeful. She didn't want to be angry with Dylan anymore. After months of mulish behavior, she'd rationalized her situation. At twenty-nine, she had plenty of time to start a family. It's not like Dylan didn't want kids. He did. He just had this need to secure their future first. The man showed tenacity, but didn't she love that about him?
While he changed, Shay spread out the meal. She used the good china and lit a line of candles down the center of the table. Dimming the overhead lamp instantly transformed the mood to soft and relaxing. Barefoot, she sauntered over to the stereo and clicked on the CD player, already loaded with atmosphere music. She chose something not too romantic, just a light, melodic tune.
Back at the table, she tinkered with the wineglasses. She straightened a fork, aligned the salad dressing.
"Whoa," Dylan said from the hallway.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. Dropping into a tall, cushioned chair, she kept her eyes on him as he strode her way.
Faded jeans hung low on his waist. A white athletic undershirt smothered his hard upper body. Wide arms pressed against a V
-shaped torso. Bright eyes contrasted with spiky dark hair. At thirty-two, Dylan was pure hotness. "Going all out tonight?" He checked out the glamorous display.
"Yep." Her eyes raked over the tribal armband tattoo inked into his upper left arm. God, it was sexy. God, he was sexy. Almost as sexy as the first time she'd seen him in her father's living room. He'd come with his own dad, a carpenter who'd been hired to work around her parents' estate. It'd been an instant, mutual, heated attraction. Tall, dark and proud, he'd made a tool belt look like a sex toy. Blue eyes and a sinister grin--she had fallen hard.
Her father had discouraged...uh...forbidden the relationship. Dylan was the son of a carpenter, for Christ's sake. What could he possibly do for her? Despite Daddy's disapproval, she'd pursued Dylan, because in her heart, she'd known something Dad had not. Dylan epitomized the man of her dreams. Money didn't matter because he had the more important things. Character, integrity, heart, compassion, loyalty, respect... The list had gone on and on.
*****
Dylan approached the table. He took in his wife's sweet face, stole another look at her beaded nipples. His last meal. Yep. Shay wanted to soften the blow. She'd feed him and tell him to take a hike.
He eyed his wife intently. Damn, she was hot. How stupid could he be? What a quality lady. What a fool he was for blowing it with her. His heart hammered hard. How long would she drag this out? Not that he was in any hurry. He didn't want to leave. He loved Shay. But he knew things between them had changed. First the wedge. Then the wall. Now they hardly spoke. Not about anything important, like goals or dreams. Or them.
He repressed his feelings, kept everything locked inside. Shay accused him of not caring. Of course, that wasn't it. He just didn't like to show weakness. Weak or not, she was more important than his foolish pride. And he had every intention of fighting her on this, fighting for his marriage.
"Dig in." Shay grinned at the simple chicken dish.
He helped himself to a spoonful of everything, not that he had much of an appetite. With his stomach knotted and tense, he braced his feet on the floor and waited for the dreaded announcement. Torturing him with silence, Shay happily filled her plate. She didn't look nervous or anxious. If anything, she looked relaxed, almost...relieved. Relieved? I'm in deep shit.
"Do you remember the first time we had sex?"
Dylan dropped his fork. He hadn't expected her to say that. Great. She wanted to rub it in his face, make him realize the full extent of his loss. He already knew, dammit! Fine. He'd play her little game. Locking eyes with her, he crossed his arms over his chest, plumping his hard biceps in the process.
"I threw you on the back of my Harley and drove you to the beach. We did it on the sand." He used a brusque, raw tone.
His wife didn't flinch. Instead, her steady eyes went dark and dreamy. "It was more romantic than that," she said. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. "The black sky had a zillion stars."
Their first encounter had replayed so many times in his head. He remembered it in vivid detail. "I wanted you bad."
She crunched her bottom lip. "Me too."
"We waited a long time." A record breaker for him. But he would have waited even longer.
"Maybe too long." Her eyelids squeezed tighter.
"It was worth it." That night Dylan fell in love. Not lust. Love. He'd been with enough women to recognize the difference.
"Your heart pounded so hard." Her words were a willowy whisper.
"Everything was hard."
"I can't believe I rode your bike in that skimpy outfit."
"I can."
"You pressed me up against the palm tree and wedged your knee between my legs." Her breaths were a little ragged.
"Then what happened?" Like he would ever forget.
"You lifted my skirt."
"And?"
"You slipped your hand inside my panties." Shay's eyes popped open. Her hot gaze seared right through him. "And you stroked me."
"Then I ate you."
"I don't know which felt better. Your tongue or..."
"The way you cried out, we know."
"Hey, you cried out too."
He forced a smile. "Maybe I did."
Shay grinned. Stuffing some food into her mouth, she stared at him for the longest few seconds. "We haven't cried out like that in a long time," she finally said.
His half grin evaporated. Uh-oh. Here it comes. He wanted to shut his eyes and plug his ears. Instead, he looked dead at her. "No, we haven't."
She leaned her elbows on the table and wavy tendrils of hair fell forward, framing her sweet face. Slicking her tongue across that full bottom lip, she tormented him with the sexiest I-want-you eyes he'd ever seen. "Would you like to try?"
He did a double take. Would I like to try? Is that what she'd just said? He reprocessed her words. Holy crap. Shay didn't want to break up. She wanted sex. Yes! He scooped his heart off the tiles. "Baby, I would love to try."
Chapter Two
Break down his defenses. And break out the black leather.
"Want to get your man talking? Give him booty!"
Erin's words. Not Shay's. Crazy chick. Then again, maybe she wasn't so crazy. After all, Shay was pretty desperate. She would do anything, anything to get back on stable ground with Dylan. Talk? He didn't want to talk. Not about their problems. Yet he seemed real willing to talk about sex.
Oh yeah, last night she could've violated him a million different ways. But no. Not so fast. As much as her soul ached for him, she couldn't let go that easily. Too much had been said. Too much had not been said.
Still, if last night said anything... Shay had barely done a thing. A little food. A little sex talk. She'd left him wanting more. But then, she'd promised more. He only had to come home at a decent hour. She would do the same. She would do the rest.
Shay's Rules of Seduction. She'd hatched them overnight. One way or another, she'd get inside his head. No matter how many orgasms it took.
She found her motorcycle jacket stuffed in the back of the closet. When was the last time she'd worn that thing? Creamy leather. Sexy cut. Funky zippers. Back in the day, she'd never taken it off. They'd ridden Dylan's Harley all over South Florida. Lord, her father had detested that machine. But she had loved it, almost as much as its owner. Wearing the jacket--which she had to admit still fit perfectly--she looked hot, felt hot.
"Going to a biker bar?" Dylan set his laptop on the kitchen counter. The heated look on his face spoke volumes. His blue gaze practically raped her.
Shay felt a thrill of satisfaction. She didn't let on, keeping her expression severe, like her outfit. "No. You're taking me for a ride."
"Am I?"
She hooked a finger in the belt loop of her tight, low-riding jeans. "Is that a problem?" Ultra glossy lips pursed as she paused for an answer.
He seemed unsure. Not unwilling, though. "When's the last time you rode?"
"Haven't done a lot of things lately." Her smoky gaze swept him up and down. "So?" She squared her body at him. "You want to answer questions with questions, or do you want to get out of here?"
Dylan stood silent for a spell. "All right." His eyes went to the deep V of the black tee she wore under her black jacket. "Guess I won't ask where we're going." He looked from her boobs to her face to her boobs. "Since that would constitute a question."
"Good," she said, with a deeper laugh than usual. Guys were so easy. A little red lace peeking out. A Miracle bra that plumped her breasts, pushed and squeezed for the miracle effect. Nope. It didn't take much.
"I'll go put on something more appropriate," he said.
They were walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other, but all that would change soon. Real soon. "Wear black." She scrutinized his strong jaw line, his well-shaped lips. What if she grabbed him and kissed him right here in the kitchen? No. That might freak them both out.
Dylan's demeanor remained cool, controlled. "Anything else?"
How about everything else? She contained her b
ubbling lust. Damn jacket always made her feel so horny. "That was a question!"
He let out a chuckle. "Oh." He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his gray dress slacks. "How about if I just go change." He turned to walk away. "That was a statement, by the way."
*****
The fast breeze on Shay's face awakened her dormant parts. She took a long breath, inhaling it all in. Problems? What problems? She and Dylan didn't have any problems. No sir. At the moment, everything felt great.
Dusk had to be her favorite time of day, because the hectic pace slowed to a crawl. With autumn well underway, cool air offered a welcome relief from a long, sticky summer that seemed to be getting stickier. Then there was the hunky man between her legs.
She could've wrapped her arms around his frame. Crushed her breasts against his back. Shoved her face into his worn leather jacket until sweet memories seduced her. Memories like this, two lovers zipping along the coastline on Dylan's custom chromed-out bike.
The proximity of his scent caused enough of a rush. Her thighs anchored her husband, brushed the outsides of his muscled thighs. Friction from the motorcycle and him stormed already steamy thoughts. She kept her hands on his waist, bunching fistfuls of jacket and t-shirt.
This was what their life had been missing. Freedom. Adventure. She almost threw her hands up in the air. Dylan seemed lost in his own world, leaning back comfortably, his broad body slackened and relaxed. Now he looked like the guy Shay knew, the man she'd fallen in love with and married.
Married. She loved being married to him. Her eyes misted. Watered. Whatever it took, she'd get back the closeness they'd had. She missed it. Missed him. She only now realized how much.
"Pull off," she yelled over the rumbling engine. She hadn't ridden in forever, and after forty-five minutes, her lower extremities ached. Working behind a desk might've contributed to the problem. Maybe her body was out of practice. But a fiery spirit lived on. It just made less frequent appearances. And Shay needed to change that.