by Cindy Dees
Not to mention the damned outfit made her look about fourteen years old and playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. He had a flashback to when he’d first known her, and how guilty he’d felt about the lecherous thoughts she had inspired in him back then. Since when had he become a dirty old man? He had no business sleeping with someone her age. She ought to be out finding some nice young man her age to settle down with, not wasting her time with an old bastard like him.
“Are you drunk?” she asked when he stumbled on the edge of an area rug.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
She nodded knowingly. “Be careful. Whiskey makes for some interesting true confessions.”
“Confess something to me so I’m not laying out my guts all by myself,” he retorted.
“I’ve imagined doing some very kinky things with you in bed, over the years.”
He stared disbelievingly, shocked out of his buzz. “No way.”
“Way,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I fantasized about sleeping with you pretty much all the way through high school. And truth be told, through college, too. You thoroughly messed up my social life.”
Son of a— Who’d have guessed? Sweet little Willa Merris had harbored naughty thoughts of an older man? Tsk, tsk.
“Drink?” he asked her.
“No, thanks.” She said that like she could use a little liquid courage. But hey. If she didn’t want it, that was her call.
He made his way to the wet bar where he pulled out a double old-fashioned glass, stabbed it into the ice maker and poured a few fingers of whiskey over the ice. Damned women. Made a man drink politely. Out of a glass instead of straight out of the bottle. He carried his whiskey over to the sofas and sank down cautiously on the one opposite Willa.
“Why are you here?” he asked baldly. He winced at the lack of subtlety in his voice. If he wanted to remain rational, he’d probably had enough to drink.
“To apologize for yesterday. For refusing to take your calls. I overreacted.”
“To what?”
“To you calling Melinda your wife.”
He frowned, confused. Huh? “I’m drawing a blank here. Help me out. What the hell are you talking about?”
“When the police called to tell you they had a video, you called her your wife. Not your ex-wife.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what had your panties in a wad?” he exclaimed. “The cop on the phone called Melinda my wife and it was easier not to bother correcting him. The FBI analyst made the same mistake, too.”
“What analyst?” Willa asked. She added in quick concern, “Is Melinda all right?”
She sounded like she genuinely gave a damn about Melinda’s safety. He knew plenty of women who would have secretly been rooting for his ex to die horribly, and clear the way for them. Not that Melinda was actually in the way...
...Right? It had been years since they divorced. He was over her, even if he hadn’t gotten into any serious relationships since then. He’d been too busy getting rich and letting the money fill his bed with beautiful women to get serious with anyone. No need to settle down. He had all the time in the world to do the whole commitment and marriage thing. Except now he’d blasted past age forty and his window of opportunity was starting to close. What if he never found the perfect woman? Was he doomed to live out his old age alone and bitter?
Damn, he’d forgotten how maudlin whiskey could make a man. The young beauty seated across from him was certainly ripe for the picking. She would make some man a hell of a wife. She was sweet and smart and a lady in public. And in private, she was another story, entirely. His body stirred with lust at the memory of the wildcat she’d been in his arms two nights ago. Once she had let go of her inhibitions, she’d been all the woman a man could ask for and more. He had to admit, it had made him feel damned good that he’d been the one to unlock her sensual side like that.
At the moment, her lips were pursed, her arms folded across her middle and her legs crossed primly at the ankles. Her body language screamed that she wasn’t even remotely thinking about sex right now. She was probably wallowing in disapproving thoughts of how he was going to hell for getting drunk.
“I don’t care if I go to hell for indulging in a little whiskey,” he announced.
She shrugged, apparently unfazed. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, I wouldn’t call you actually drunk. You’re only mildly buzzed. You might have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink a little water before bed, but that’s about the extent of it.”
Now where would John Merris’s shockingly sheltered daughter learn to gauge a drunk so accurately? “John Merris was a drinker?” he asked, stunned.
“More often and more heavily than you might think,” she replied grimly.
Well, hell. Now he felt bad for drinking in front of her. He set his glass down on the coffee table in sudden distaste. “Why did you get all upset over me calling Melinda my wife?”
That brought spots of color to her already pink cheeks. “I was in bed with you for goodness’ sake. Why do you think it upset me?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I like you.”
Ooooh-kay. “And?”
She huffed. “And I was jealous. I was mad at the thought that you still have deep feelings for her and think of her as your wife, not your ex-wife.”
He frowned. Did he still think of Melinda as his wife? He tried to imagine her sleeping with another man to see how he would react. Not only did no anger or hurt stir in his gut, but he couldn’t even conjure up an image of Melinda with any man. All that came to mind was some poor schmuck on his knees in front of her while she wore a latex jumpsuit and snapped a crop against her boot.
Maybe that was what broke them up. He’d refused to be her lackey the way she wanted him to be. He’d insisted on being his own man, heaven forbid.
Thank God Willa wasn’t that kind of woman. She’d liked it when he took charge in bed. The simmering lust in his loins heated up a little more.
“Look, Gabe. I think it’s decent of you to still care for Melinda. It dawned on me last night that she may not have any other family to look out for her. She’s a human being, after all, and it’s not her fault some nut job kidnapped her. The fact that you put up the reward money and you’ve been pushing the cops so hard to find her is noble.”
Noble or sycophantic? Had he let go of his obsession with pleasing Melinda or hadn’t he? When John Merris had rejected him, had he been so needy that he’d turned to the next impossible-to-please control freak he could find? The thought sickened him vaguely. He was his own man, dammit. Had been for years. But who’d have guessed those ancient apron strings would be so hard to cut? He ought to walk away from Melinda and let her stew in whatever mess she’d landed in.
But Willa was right. Melinda was a human being. He couldn’t turn his back on her in her time of need. It was common decency to see this thing through.
Surprised at Willa’s altruism, he replied, “It’s good of you to understand. She and I haven’t had anything between us since long before we divorced. But she’s got no one else. Her brother’s her only living family, and he’s in jail for the rest of his life. I didn’t have a choice but to step up and help out.”
He was a cad for taking credit for such noble motives. But the way Willa’s eyes softened and warmed toward him, how could he not do it? He’d do just about anything to make her look at him like he was some kind of hero.
“And about tonight,” she said softly, snapping his attention sharply back to her, “thanks.”
“You’re not mad at me for punching Ward?” Melinda would have had a fit and called him a Neanderthal for acting out on his violent impulses.
“Mad?” she exclaimed. “I’m just grateful I was there to see it! I wish I could do the same.”
“You can. You just need to learn how to make a proper fist and put your weight behind it.” Inspired, he stood up. “I’ll show you now.”
* * *
Across town, her nemesis st
ewed. Funny, but Willa didn’t even know she had a nemesis. But she would, soon enough. That was a promise.
Willa Merris would get hers, all right. That bitch thought she could sic her toy boy on decent, upstanding members of the community and get away with it? Someone needed to take her down a peg or two. Hell, knock her off the damn pegboard.
Uppity bitch.
Pain would be hers. Panic. Suffering. Death.
Definitely a knife. Peel her skin like an orange.
* * *
Gabe was mesmerized as Willa smiled up at him and rose to her feet. He led her over by the windows where there was open space for them to maneuver.
“Rule number one,” he lectured, “never stick your thumb inside your fist. Curl your fingers and keep your thumb outside your fist so you don’t break it.”
She nodded in concentration, getting into the spirit of the thing, and rolled her fists into experimental balls.
“Rule number two,” he said, warming to his subject, “keep your fist aligned with your arm bones. If you cock your wrist and really put force into your punch, you’ll break your wrist.”
He showed her how to punch her left palm with her right fist to get the feel of how the energy traveled down her arm. After a minute, she nodded and held up two credible fists in front of her.
“And now to put your weight behind it.” He showed her how to punch off her back foot, leveraging her entire body weight into the thing. She didn’t get it right away, though, and he moved behind her, put his arms around her and guided her body through a slow-motion punch.
She felt so good in his arms, he could barely focus on the task at hand, though. And she smelled good, too. That intoxicating gardenia scent of hers swirled around her. It made him think of southern belles and hot, lazy summer nights. And sex. Smoking-hot, mind-blowing, toe-curling sex with a lady turned wildcat.
She relaxed back against him, her body going limpid in his arms. Memory of that body by turns taut and boneless against his surged through him. His head lowered and his mouth found the shell of her ear. She inhaled on a sexy little gasp as his lips brushed across it. Her hips rocked back, pressing against his exquisitely uncomfortable groin. He groaned under his breath as lust pounded through him.
She turned in his arms, and suddenly the prim-and-proper lady gave way to the siren. She kissed him so deeply his head spun, promising delights that would beggar the mind. And he had just enough whiskey in his system to ignore the little voice in his head warning that the two of them still had things to work out before they fell into the sack again.
He didn’t have to drag her up against him. She was already there, pressing herself into him, her arms twining around his neck as if she couldn’t get enough of him. His hands slipped under her linen suit, shoving the pesky thing off her shoulders. The white silk of her entirely too prudish blouse at least had the good grace to cling enticingly to her curves. He cupped her breast through the sleek fabric and she moaned softly, arching into him even harder.
He didn’t deserve her. He ought to let her go. She was young and had her whole life ahead of her. And he was a half-drunk old man who had no business taking advantage of her. Not to mention she’d had an upsetting encounter with James Ward just a few hours ago. She needed time to recover, and any half-considerate bastard would keep his hands off her tonight. But damned if he could stop himself.
He did promise himself to go slow with her. To be gentle and let her call the shots. It was a flimsy compromise between his conscience and his lust, but it was the best his impaired judgment could manage under the circumstances.
He untied the annoying bow at her neck and worked his way down the row of buttons that guarded her virtue like tiny, plastic sentinels. The silk fell away beneath his fingers, and he inhaled sharply at the fragile lace bra that came into sight. The naughty beneath the nice of it made his knees go a little weak. Or maybe it was just all the blood pooling in his groin that made him light-headed.
Willa returned the favor and unbuttoned his shirt with gratifying haste. He’d already shed his jacket and tie when he got home. He led her toward the sofas as they mutually stripped each other, he dragging her skinny skirt down over her hips while she fumbled at his trousers eagerly.
He groaned as her hand dipped inside his briefs, clasping him boldly and fanning the inferno that was his desire. She bumped into the back of the sofa, and he kissed her deeply, invading her mouth with his tongue the way he wanted to invade the rest of her body. Her hands shoved impatiently at his remaining clothing, and he stepped out of the puddle of wool. He eased her sexy little panties down and cupped her core, all but scorching his fingers on her eager heat.
She whispered hotly in his ear of how badly she wanted him and her fingers squeezed his flesh until he nearly exploded. His jaw dropped when she turned around in his arms and bent slightly over the back of the sofa. She gave him a smile and a come-hither look over her shoulder that brought a disbelieving grin to his face. Apparently, the lady had given way to the wildcat.
Gripping her hips, he guided her gently back and onto him, letting her find the perfect fit. She groaned his name aloud as he filled her tight heat, seeking the core of her desire. She rocked against him experimentally, and he savored the elegant curve of her spine as she arched backward into him.
“More,” she murmured.
As the lady requested. He pressed deeper into her by slow degrees, gritting his teeth as she slid up and down his length, wet and hot. He ventured farther and farther until she finally went still around him.
“You all right?” he managed to grind out, straining for all he was worth not to slam into her mindlessly. He felt her internal muscles relax and adjust to accommodate him, and then she was gripping him again, her body pulsing so sweetly around his, he nearly lost it then and there.
“Oh, yes,” she gasped. “I’m fine. More than fine. Fantastic.”
He moved slowly, worried about hurting her in this position that gave him such deep access to her body. She wiggled impatiently against him, silently demanding more. He loosed the reins on his lust a tiny bit.
“Please, Gabe. Don’t make me beg.”
“For what, baby?”
“For all of you. I want it all. Now. Please...” She ended on a keening moan that was so sexy he couldn’t stop his hips from rocking forward, from pushing to the hilt within her. Checking himself sharply, he withdrew partway and eased forward carefully once more.
“Again,” she panted.
“Faster,” she begged.
“Harder,” she demanded.
And he complied, dammit. How could he not? All his best intentions to be gentle with her went right out the window as she planted her hands on the sofa cushions and opened herself entirely to him, sobbing out her pleasure as he finally let go, pounding mindlessly into her, lost in her body and their mutual lust and the completeness with which she gave herself to him.
She arched up off the leather, shuddering around him as she cried his name out loud. Her orgasm went on and on, one spasm folding into the next until she destroyed what little control he had left. His own orgasm ripped through him like thunder and lightning. He shouted her name hoarsely, gripping her hips to his until their bodies were all but fused together. She shuddered out the final throes of her massive orgasm as he collapsed against her, covering her body protectively with his.
“You’ve killed me, woman,” he panted in her ear.
“Then we’ve died and gone to heaven,” she panted back.
He eased out of her limp body and lifted her in his arms, carrying her back to his bed. Next time, dammit, he would be gentle with her.
Except there shouldn’t be a next time. Any way he cut it, having sex with her was a mistake. She deserved more. He couldn’t give her what she needed, and continuing to have sex with her was selfish on his part, and potentially destructive to her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She’d already been hurt far too much already. It was clear she had a crush on him, and taking a
dvantage of it made him the worst kind of cad.
Except he liked her, too. A lot. Too much, in fact. Was it wrong for the two of them to indulge in the private fantasy they’d both held for all these years? Maybe it was a good thing they’d scratched the itch between them. Maybe it would give them closure and allow them both to move on with their lives. Right?
Who the hell was he trying to kid? He’d seen her, he’d wanted her, he’d taken her. He was a first-class son of a bitch who ought to be thrown in the deepest circle of hell for taking advantage of a sweet, innocent young woman. End of discussion.
He lay her down in his bed, drew the covers up over her sleepy, relaxed body, kissed her gently on the brow with a murmured promise to come back soon and walked out on her.
Chapter 14
Willa opened her eyes and disorientation slammed into her. Where was she? In a moment, recollection came. Gabe’s bed. And last night...
A smile curved her lips. She stretched luxuriously under the soft cotton sheet, feeling better than she had in years. That man sure knew how to make her feel like a woman. An attractive, sexy, relaxed one.
She got out of bed and availed herself of his super-high-tech bathroom. It was kind of fun to watch the news on the plasma screen in the shower, and the full body dryer was amazing. Dozens of jets blew warm air at her, and in a matter of seconds, she was entirely dry. No shivering, dripping race to towel herself off this morning, no sirree.
Her clothes were nowhere to be seen in Gabe’s bedroom. If she was certain he would be alone in his living room and not using that video teleconferencing phone he’d shown her the last time she was here, she wouldn’t mind prancing out into the condo naked. But as it was, she raided his walk-in closet and found a T-shirt and gym shorts in the built-in drawers that opened silently at a touch. Too cool.
She padded, barefoot, out into the condo. It was silent and still. “Gabe?” she called out.