Rachel Gibson - Nothing But Trouble (better version needed) (mobi).mobi

by Nothing But Trouble (better version needed) (mobi)

  “Oh my God!” She rode him with mindless pleasure and complete abandon. On and on the pleasure built. She might have called his name. She wasn’t sure as she rode up and up. Higher and hotter until she hit a second peak more intense than the first. Scalding heat constricted her inner muscles and spread fire outward across her body. Every cell caught fire, and she opened her mouth and silently screamed as he continued to pump into her. Again and again until his grasp on her behind tightened and he stilled. The muscles in his arms and chest turned to stone. The breath whooshed from hiƒhoos lungs and he swore long and loud. The male equivalent of a scream.

  Chelsea smiled.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m okay.” She did feel a bit raw, but so content she didn’t care. “Are you okay?”

  Pure male cockiness turned up the corners of his mouth. “Yeh. Your orgasm lasted a long time.”

  “Were you worried you couldn’t outlast me?”

  “No. I can outlast you.” He shook his head and slid his hands up her thighs to her waist.

  She buried her face in his warm neck. “Can we do that some more?”

  He ran his hands up her bare back. “Honey, we’re going to do that all night long.”

  And they did. Three more times before Chelsea slipped from his bed and grabbed her dress from the floor. The sun rose through the slats in the blinds as she stepped into her dress. They’d drifted to sleep sometime around four. Sometime after Mark had made a hearty meal of frozen pizza and ice cream.

  Chelsea reached for the zipper on the back of her dress and...

  There had been several times in her life when she’d suffered the walk of shame sex. When the impulses of the night before felt shameful in the harsh light of morning. When regret felt like a fifty-pound lump in her stomach.

  Funny she didn’t feel that way with Mark. She didn’t feel ashamed. She should. Having sex with him wasn’t right. Bad, and she probably would feel shame and regret. Later.

  But right now…right now she just felt calm. Relaxed. Happy and totally wrung out.

  Chelsea carried her shoes into Bo’s apartment, tiptoeing as quietly as possible.

  “Where did you spend the night?”

  Her shoes fell from her hands as she spun around. Jules stood in the kitchen, once again shirtless. “Christ,” she gasped, and placed a hand on her heart. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Making coffee.”

  Coffee sounded good. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ducked into her bedroom. She changed into a big hoodie and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. Her bed was still made, as if no one had slept in it. She moved across the hall and glanced into her sister’s room. Bo was stretched across the yellow sheets, asleep and completely naked.

  Chelsea moved into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. “So, tell me?†” She poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced over at the man sitting at the table. “Are you going to make an honest woman out of my sister?”

  He looked up from his newspaper. “Is Bressler going to make an honest woman out of you?”

  “Who says I was with Mr. Bressler?” Lord, she hoped no one else figured it out.

  “You left wearing his jacket.”

  Oh yeah. “How do you know it was his?”

  “There were only two men there with charcoal Hugo Boss suits. Mark and Ty Savage.”

  God, leave it to Jules to notice something like that.

  “I know you didn’t go home with Ty,” Jules continued, and returned his gaze to the sports page. “Besides, Bo told me you were driving him home.”

  “That doesn’t mean I spent the night—you know—spent the night. Not like you and Bo.” She sat across from him and took a sip of coffee. “That house has like six bedrooms.” Then she told a huge whopper while keeping a totally straight face. “Mr. Bressler doesn’t even really like me that much.” Her brows lowered. Maybe it wasn’t such a whopper. True, he’d liked her when she rode him like the mechanical bull at Gilley’s. He’d seemed to like her in his jet tub and later in his bed.

  “And you stayed in one of those?” He looked skeptical, while teetering on the edge of believing her.

  She nodded just as the memory of their last time together entered her head. Good God, she’d never felt so wonderfully violated in her life. The man didn’t ask permission to do anything. He just did it, and did it so well, he had her begging him not to stop. Her cheeks caught fire and she looked away.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Are you dating my sister now? Or is this a one-nighter?”

  He frowned. “Don’t change the subject.”

  She smiled and repeated her questions.

  “I like Bo. A lot. I would never use her.”

  The statement was a pointed one, but the funny thing was, she didn’t feel used. Maybe a little apprehensive and scared because she didn’t know how Mark would treat her come Monday morning. But not used.

  “When did you get home?” Bo asked as she walked from her bedroom tying a robe around her waist.

  “A few minutes ago.” Bo opened her mouth, and Chelsea held up one hand. “Mark has six bedrooms. I picked one.” Which was true. She’d picked his.

  “I thought he was Mr. Bressler,” Jules reminded her.

  Chelsea shrugged. Her attention was focused on her sister as Bo poured herself a cup of coffee. Bo slowly raised her gaze to Jules, and a little smile pushed up the corners of her lips. Jules saw it too and he returned her smile. Last night had been more than just sex for the two of them. More than mutual satisfaction.

  Chelsea stood. Suddenly all the reg‹nlyret she thought she’d feel came crashing in on her, but it wasn’t the regret she expected. She didn’t regret spending the night with Mark Bressler. No, her regret was that he would never look at her like Jules looked at Bo.

  “I’m going back to bed,” she said, and made her way down the hall. The apprehension she’d felt a few moments ago bumped up a notch. What would she say to him Monday morning? And would he return to his usual MO and ignore her?

  She didn’t have to wait until Monday to find out. Mark called her at noon. She was sound asleep but she knew it was him before she opened her eyes. Not because she was psychic, but because of his special ringtone.

  “Where are you?” he asked. The sound of his voice settled in her chest and made her feel kind of fuzzy and warm.

  “I’m in bed.”

  “How long will it take you to get ready?”

  She sat up. “To do what?”

  “Drive to Issaquah.”

  “Why would I drive to Issaquah?”

  “I want to look at that house up there. You’re coming with me.”

  Typical of him not to even ask. “It’s my day off.”

  “So?”

  “So ask.”

  He sighed, and she could almost feel the touch of his breath on her ear. “Chelsea, would you please come with me to Issaquah?”

  She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “To see the house I showed you last month?”

  “Yes. Is it still on the market?”

  “I don’t know. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

  He laughed. “’Cause I wanted you to show me more houses.”

  That really made no sense.

  “Can you be ready in half an hour?”

  She thought of her sister and Jules. “Give me an hour and meet me out front.” She didn’t want her sister or Jules to see her take off with the man she worked for, but she needn’t have worried. By the time she got out of the shower, her sister and Jules were gone.

  Chelsea dressed strictly for comfort in a blue ankle skirt and a peasant blouse. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slid her feet into a pair of jeweled flip-flops. As she shut the apartment door behind her, Mark’s Mercedes pulled into the complex, gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. He parked in a space directly in front of Chelsea, and the car door swung open. One big hand grasped the frame and he stood. He moved toward her, back to wearing his
usual white T-shirt and blue nylon jogging pants. His steps were a bit slower today.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” His brows were drawn over his brown eyes like he was angry about something. Not like the time he’d threatened to kill her angry, but angry. Or maybe he was in pain.

  “You look—” His mouth on hers cut off her breath in mid-sentence. Like a lot of thing he did to her last night, the kiss was a complete ravishment. Just as she was starting to get into it, he pulled back and said, “Don’t ever sneak out of my house again.”

  She touched her moist bottom lip. “I didn’t sneak.”

  “You snuck.”

  Was he really mad because she’d left in the middle of the night? “Are you upset because I didn’t wake you up before I left?”

  “I’m not upset.” He glanced away. “I don’t get upset.”

  But he was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  He looked back at her and let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t get hurt feelings. I’m not a girl.”

  That was such a ridiculous statement that she tried and failed not to smile. “I know you’re not a girl. I think you proved it last night.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “You sore?”

  “A little. I haven’t worked out like that in a while.”

  He placed his hands on the sides of her face and looked into her eyes. “You’re not some woman I picked up in a bar, Chelsea. You’re not a one-night stand. Don’t sneak out on me.”

  If she wasn’t a one-nighter, what was she? “Okay.”

  He took her hand and moved to the passenger-side door. “I’m starving. Do you want to eat around here or in Issaquah?”

  She turned and looked up at him. At the sun filtering through his hair. She might not be a one-night stand, but she wasn’t his girlfriend either. She wasn’t even in that really nebulous place where all relationships start. She worked for Mark. She couldn’t date him. So, what was she doing getting into his car? “How far to Issaquah?”

  “We were just there a few weeks ago.”

  “We’ve been to a lot of places in the past few weeks.” She sat in the passenger seat and glanced up at him. “I can’t keep them all straight.” Then again, it was just a sandwich. A sandwich didn’t mean anything. It was five bucks and she could pay that herself.

  “It’s about ten minutes.” He shut the door and walked to the other side. “Or we can go with plan B,” he said as he got in across from her. “Go to my house, order a pizza, and eat it in bed.”

  She laughed. “Was Issaquah just a ruse?”

  “No, but we’re going to end up at my house in bed anyway. Why waste time?” He put the Mercedes into reverse and backed out of the space.

  She should probably be offended that he just assumed she’d fall into bed with him again. Maybe she should put up some resistance. Play a little harder to get. Or just resist temptation altogether. “Don’t you want to see the house?”

  “I can see it tomorrow with the Realtor.” He looked across his shoulder at her, his eyes and voice a smoky caress. “The choice is yours.”

  “Plan B.” She was weak. A sinner with no will-power to resist temptation.

  He chuckled. “Good answer. You won’t be sorry.”

  And she wasn’t. They ate pizza in the leisure room and watched movies on the enormous television. Of course, he had just about every station.

  “Even your television has the premium package,” she said.

  He chuckled and took her empty plate. “There’s only one package you need to worry about,” he said as he set the plate on the floor next to the chaise. He pulled her on top of him until her legs straddled his lap. She put her hands on his big chest and looked down into his deep brown eyes.

  “I woke up wanting you again.”

  “We did it four times.” Sheesh. She hadn’t done it four times in one night since…maybe never.

  He ran his warm hands up her thighs. “It wasn’t enough. I want more. I want you.” He brushed his thumbs across the silk center of her panties. Her flesh got hot and tightened in response. “Tell me you want me too.”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips and nodded.

  He slid one thumb beneath her panties and touched her bare crotch. “Tell me.”

  It seemed important to him so she said, “I want you, Mark.” She reached for the ends of her blouse and pulled it over her head.

  “Why?” He slid his thumb across her slick core and she moaned out loud.

  “Because you’re good at making me want you.” She lowered her face to his. “Because I need you.”

  She spent the rest of the afternoon needing him. She slid all over Mark’s hard body, getting hot and sweaty. By the time she left, it was around ten that night, and she fell exhausted into her own bed. Bo had written a note saying that she was spending the night with Jules, and Chelsea didn’t see her sister until they both left for work the next day. By the time she arrived at Mark’s front door, apprehension once again sat heavy in her stomach. It was Monday morning, and the weekend she’d spent with Mark was suddenly real. She’d never wanted to be one of those women who had an affair with the celebrity she worked for, essentially her boss. She never wanted to be one of those women who was left with nothing but a broken heart and no job.

  The front door to Mark’s house was unlocked, and he sat in his office at the computer, typing something with two fingers. “That house in Issaquah has been dropped twenty thousand,” he said without looking up. “Isn’t that the one with the walk-in closet you liked?” He hit send and reached for his cane leaning against the desk.

  “Yeah. It had all those revolving shoe racks.” What did it matter if she liked it? “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you use your cane in a few days.”

  “Some days are better than others.” He stood and walked toward her. “If you’re worried, you can‹orr come upstairs and give me a rubdown.” He pushed one side of her hair behind her ear.

  “That isn’t in my job description.” She took a step back before she gave in to temptation and turned her face into his palm. “If I’m going to continue to work for you, we have to have boundaries.” Maybe if there were rules, she wouldn’t become a sad cliché.

  He put one hand on his hip. “What boundaries?”

  “No sex Monday through Friday.”

  “That’s bullshit. That only leaves the weekends.”

  “Okay,” she compromised. “No sex during working hours.” And she meant it too. If she wanted to keep what little dignity she had left, she had to at least try and separate her working and personal relationship with Mark.

  “I’ll try to remember.”

  But he didn’t. He didn’t even try. It was up to her to be the strong one and maintain a distance. She had to remind him that sliding his hand to the small of her back or up her thigh wasn’t work-appropriate. And touching her bottom during three-man hockey was definitely illegal contact. Not even when she fell on her butt. Later, after Derek left and the clock struck five, she let him kiss it better for her.

  During that whole week, she didn’t see very much of her sister. But she wasn’t surprised. That was how Bo operated. Whether it was a job or new boyfriend, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly. Most of the time her relationships ended in heartache. Chelsea had a good feeling about Jules, though. She had a feeling things would turn out all right. She wished she could say the same for herself.

  She didn’t know where her relationship with Mark would lead. It was so new and different and terrifying. Most terrifying of all, moving back to L.A. was losing its appeal. She didn’t want to be one of those women who gave up her dreams for a man. Her head and her heart were at war, and she was terrified that her heart was winning the battle.

  “I changed your ringtone,” she told him as they lay in bed watching Big Trouble in Little China. For a hockey player he was surprisingly good at remembering dialogue.

  He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed. “Trouble�
� by Pink played from her purse.

  “You’re trouble,” he said. “That’s for sure.”

  “You’re the trouble.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you showed up on my porch.” Once again, she wondered where this relationship would lead.

  The Saturday after the Stanley Cup party, Mark surprised her with tickets to Oklahoma! and her heart won a bit more ground. “Do you like musicals?”

  “Yeh.”

  What a liar.

  After the play, he brought her to his house. Instead of taking her to bed, though, he took her hand and led her through the dark house. He opened the pocket doors to the formal living room—empty except for the S‹xcetanley Cup sitting on the floor in the middle of the white carpet. A bottle of Dom Pérignon lay in the top of the cup, surrounded by ice, while the crystal chandelier shot prisms of light across the shiny silver.

  “Oh my God.” Chelsea moved toward the three-foot trophy. “You took your turn after all.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced about the empty room. “I thought there had to be a representative from the Hall of Fame with the cup at all times.”

  “Not at all times.” He moved behind her and wrapped his long arms around her waist. “All the other guys took the cup to strip clubs or sports bars. Walker took it to the top of the Space Needle, and Daniel drove around with it in his convertible. Every guy who has ever dreamed of winning the cup dreams about what he’s going to do with it. It’s time I lived mine.” He kissed the part in her hair. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to spray champagne on your naked body and make love to you in front of the cup.”

  “That’s the dream you’ve always had?”

  He shook his head, and his lips brushed the top of her head. “It’s better than the dream I had.”