Whispered Surrender

by Lynn LaFleur

  She moaned. “Oh god, that feels so good.”

  Brett’s mind spun. He felt bombarded by feelings and emotions he didn’t understand. For the first time in his sexual life, he wanted to please his partner far beyond anything he wanted for himself. He wanted to touch Abby, kiss her, taste her, feel her—fuck her. And yet he wanted to protect her, cherish her, satisfy her. He wanted to do so much to her, he didn’t know what to do first.

  Don’t think, Kincade, just do it.

  Brett slid his hand into her panties. The aroma of her desire wafted up between them. With two fingers, he traced the channel from her clit to her anus and back. Abby tightened her grip on his shoulder. In his hand, she was all heat and cream.

  “You like?”

  Her head bobbed up and down.

  “Want me to play with your clit? Or do you want my fingers inside you?”

  Her words were muffled, but he heard them clearly. “My clit.”

  Using her cream to smooth his entry, Brett slipped a finger between the folds of her lips.

  “Right there?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He slid his free hand up her back and grasped a hank of her hair. “Faster?”

  She shook her head. “No, slow, in circles.”

  He willed himself to slow down. Abby was so hot, so wet, he knew she’d burst at any second. Her breathing increased, her body began to quiver. She was so close.

  But he needed more. He needed to feel her come. He flexed his hand so that the side of his thumb still massaged her clit while his long fingers found their way to her hot, silken pussy.

  She arched her back, spread her legs wider and bucked when he slipped one finger inside her. She gasped with the second. Trembling in his arms, she cried out, “Oh no, I’m going to…”

  “That’s okay, baby, come for me, come for me now.”

  Abby clung to him as if she were about to fall off the world. She threw back her head, bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out and exploded in Brett’s hand. She collapsed against him while he buried his face in her hair, savoring every beat as her pussy throbbed against his fingers.

  Even breathing as hard as Abby was, Brett couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips. There was no better feeling in the world than knowing you’d satisfied your woman. Not an eighty-yard touchdown pass, or rushing for a first on fourth and nine. Holding Abby, touching her, feeling her heat—it was all of that and more.

  Now if only his cock weren’t still as hard as his gearshift, he would have been a completely happy man.

  “Hey, you okay?” He gently lifted Abby’s chin again. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. I want to see for myself.”

  She sighed, sounding as content as a little kitten. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Na-ah. I’m ruined for life.” She slowly separated her lids and smiled up at him. “I’ve never had such a powerful orgasm.”

  He chuckled. “Plenty more where that came from.”

  “Have I died and gone to heaven?”

  “Maybe not heaven exactly.”

  Abby stepped out of his embrace. Somehow, the little swatch of silk that had covered her bottom now lay on the pavement next to her boot. “How did that happen?” She stooped to pick it up but Brett snatched it out of her hand.

  At the same time, the back door to Love In Bloom swung open.

  “Okay, you two, time’s up,” Judy shouted in their direction. “Abby, if you’re not back here by the time I count to ten, I’m coming to get you. One…”

  “She’ll be right there,” Brett shouted back. “Two more minutes.”

  “The second hand’s ticking.”

  When the door closed again, Abby turned back to Brett. “Hey, I can’t go back in there with a bare bottom.”

  He grinned at her. “You should have thought of that before you dropped ‘em.”

  “Seems to me I had a little help with that.” She giggled. “Sure you don’t want to come in and watch me moon everyone in the place?”

  He took her hand and rubbed it against his still hard cock. “If I have to go home with this, you have to keep your knees together.”

  “You’re horrible. A torturer.”

  “And you loved every second of it.”

  Abby stopped smiling. She latched on to Brett’s gaze with wide dark eyes that turned his brain to mush. Why hadn’t he noticed the depth of those brown eyes behind long, lush lashes?

  “You know what, Brett, I did love it.” She looked away for a moment. “I didn’t realize how much I missed being with a man. I swore I’d never get close to anyone again, but just now…oh my gosh, you showed me how much I was only hurting myself. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  Brett had seen anger in a woman’s eyes before, lust, even love, but he’d never seen the depth of honesty and raw emotion he saw now in Abby’s gaze. In just a few hours, she had managed to touch a place in his mind and heart he didn’t know was there. Her eyes, the softness of her skin, her body, something—hell, everything—intoxicated and energized him, even the wisp of a light kiss.

  “Abby, come home with me now.” He curled his fingers around her upper arms. “Judy can get along without you for a few hours. I’ll come back and shred roses with you.”

  She laughed. “I’ll be removing thorns, not shredding the roses.” Her smile faded. “I really want to, Brett, but I can’t. I promised my aunt, and I promised Judy. There’s too much work for them tonight.”

  “Then come to Whispers with me tomorrow.”

  “I…but…”

  “Please.”

  He watched her search his face, then she kissed him again, lingering for a moment. “I think I finally understand Pierce’s addiction to cocaine. You’re like a narcotic, Brett Kincade. I can’t say no to you.”

  She parted her lips, the invitation he needed to come inside. In slow, deliberate strokes their tongues tasted and teased. He loved the way she kissed. Loved the taste of her, the feel of her, the fragrance of her most intimate juices still on his hand. His knees went weak when they broke apart. She splayed his fingers and, one by one, licked them clean.

  Each lick sent shock waves straight to his cock. Recklessly, he grabbed her hand and shoved it against him. He didn’t think he could get any harder. He was wrong, especially when she began sliding her hand up and down the length of him. One moment, he was fine. The next, he went rigid. “Abby, stop that, or I…oh shit!”

  The door to the floral shop flew open again. This time, Judy peered around it. “Time’s up!”

  “We’re coming,” Abby answered. Then both burst into laughter at Abby’s double entendre.

  Brett wound his hand in Abby’s hair and brought his mouth down hard on hers. After he’d kissed her soundly, he ground his hips into her. “Tomorrow night at Whispers.”

  Abby waited until Brett started the car then began walking back to the shop. A few steps from the entrance, she stopped until he pulled up alongside her.

  “What do women wear to Whispers? I only brought a few things. Mostly jeans and shorts.”

  He reached out of the window and cradled her cheek. “Let me worry about that.”

  “What time?”

  “Six o’clock. And remember, no bending over in there.”

  The headlamps of the Porsche lighted the way for her. At the shop’s door, instead of reaching for the knob, Abby looked over her shoulder. She blew him a kiss, and with the palm of her hand barely hiding the most devilish grin, she flipped up her skirt, bent over, and touched her toes.

  Brett slammed on the brakes. He would have gone after her, except she broke into laughter and slipped inside the shop before he had time to turn off the engine. He looked down in his lap. Despite the sticky wad of cum inside his briefs, his cock was swollen and throbbing again.

  Chapter Five

  Brett called three times that evening. In his first call, he tried mightily to convince Abby to spend the night at his place.

  She declined.r />
  The second time he took a different tack. Since he knew they’d worked so late, he worried she’d be driving home alone at midnight. Why didn’t he pick her up instead?

  Again, she said no.

  Smiling at his transparent ploy, she agreed to call him when she got home. That meant she had to take down the number to his cell phone, home phone, and private office line.

  The third call came through at eleven-thirty, at the same time Judy turned off the lights. Abby stood near the back door, waiting to set the alarm.

  “You can answer that if you want to,” Judy told her. “If it’s for me, that means someone’s bleeding. Nothing I can do about it until I get home.”

  They waited for the answering machine to pick up.

  “Hi, Abby. It’s Brett.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Judy said.

  “Hope you’re on your way home. I’ll be waiting for your call to wish you sweet dreams.”

  Judy rolled her eyes. Abby felt a rush of heat. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had so blatantly pursued her.

  Sweet dreams? If she thought again about what they’d done in the parking lot, she wouldn’t sleep at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Brett’s face and that devilish little grin that told her tomorrow night would be amazing. Her body yearned to be with him. The anticipation of an evening at Whispers promised so much. Did she dare think reality might exceed her dream?

  The answering machine beeped to signal the end of Brett’s message.

  “Well?”

  In answer, Abby pushed the “ready” button on the alarm and followed Judy into the parking lot.

  * * * * *

  Aunt Rose had assured Abby she had nothing to fear in Seaside. She didn’t need to lock the doors at night, or switch on a nightlight. Abby had listened and nodded in all the right places, except she’d lived in Manhattan too long. Four deadbolts kept her door secure. Timers switched the lights on and off all evening so potential intruders never knew whether she was home or not. Her Marine Corps dad had taught her never to step out of her car without “squaring away the area”. Better safe and alive than careless and sorry.

  Most of the houses on Roxbury Bluff Road had been built in the twenties, all bungalows similar to Aunt Rose’s. They perched on huge lots on the rise of a bluff. Giant sycamore trees lined both sides of the street with perfectly manicured lawns, pristine white picket fences, gazebos and trellises, gazing balls and hammocks.

  Exhausted on her feet, Abby climbed the steps to the master suite in time to hear the chimes of the grandfather’s clock striking midnight. Her back ached, her toes screamed in her boots and her fingers still stung from dozens of thorn pricks. How had Aunt Rose done this for so many years?

  She stripped off her clothes and boots and dropped them where she stood, then ducked in and out of a blissfully hot shower. Wrapped in a warm terry robe, she padded across the hall to Rose’s study and her stash of wine and brandy.

  The shower had washed away the grime of dirt and roots and shoots, yet Abby still felt keyed up enough that she knew she’d simply toss and turn if she tried to sleep now. Curled up on the couch Rose kept next to her computer, Abby dialed Brett’s number.

  If he were psychic, he couldn’t have answered quicker.

  “Abby? I was getting worried something happened to you on the way home.”

  “I’m fine,” she purred. “Curled up in a robe and sipping some ancient cognac my aunt kindly left behind.”

  “Sounds good. Bet you’re tired.”

  “Right to my bones. I don’t know how my aunt does it.”

  He laughed. “Rose is a remarkable woman, who’s smart enough to hire people to do what you did tonight. She supervises them from that little backless stool you were sitting on this morning.”

  “I’m jealous. You know Aunt Rose better than I do.”

  Brett’s voice loss its playfulness. “You should have visited more often, Abby. Rose is a great lady.”

  A great lady in the best tradition of Katherine Hepburn. Wise, attractive, driven and successful.

  “You’re right.”

  “She’ll be back sooner than you think.”

  “Really? And you know this because?”

  “I know Rose. She’s too committed to Seaside to stay away.”

  Abby stretched her legs. What would Brett say if he stood in the doorway watching? Especially when the lapel to her robe fell open. “How did your visit with Mom go? Did the roses do their job?”

  “If you knew my mother, you wouldn’t bother to ask. She’s focused, single-minded, a slave driver right up there with Simon LaGree.”

  Abby clicked her tongue sympathetically. “You poor baby. I suppose she drove you mercilessly?”

  “Merciless would have been a piece of cake by comparison.” She heard the smile in his voice. “She’s lucky Dad left his pickup behind. We filled her car, mine, and couldn’t have forced another garland, streamer, or frou-frou bric-a-brac in the back of Dad’s truck if we’d used a hammer and trowel.” The warmth of his chuckle, riding on the tail of the cognac, shot straight to the parts of her crying out to be touched. Her fingers crept toward her pussy. No. She pulled her hand back. Hers would never bring the pleasure Brett’s had. Tomorrow couldn’t come too soon.

  “What about you, sweetheart?” he said. “I have the perfect cure for aching muscles and cuts and scratches.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I bet you do.”

  “Give me two minutes. You’ll be a new woman.”

  “Two minutes?” She giggled. “That’s not much to look forward to. I was hoping for maybe two hours.”

  If he tried to stifle his groan, it didn’t work. “My god, woman, why are you there instead of lying here beside me?”

  “Because I promised Rose I’d look after Love In Bloom. And like Rose, I always keep my promises.”

  “You promised to let me make your fantasies come true. You’re not going to change your mind?”

  She took a deep swallow of the smooth brandy before answering. “Those proverbial wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  “From Whispers, or from me?”

  “From both of you.”

  “We could get a head start if you’d let—”

  “Uh-uh. I’m going to finish the last sip of this wonderful brandy, drop my damp robe—”

  “Your damp robe?”

  “Yep, I stepped out of the shower only seconds before I called you.”

  “Oh.” The sound was a mixture of need and want.

  “And crawl between silky, soft sheets—”

  His groan sounded like a man in pain. “Stop. You’re killing me.”

  “And dream about the fantasy you’re going to make come true.”

  “I can be there in ten minutes.” The words rushed out of him. “Five if I take the Porsche.”

  She laughed, rich, hot and kittenish. “Until tomorrow, bonne nuit, mon joli.”

  “Good night to you too, mon amour.”

  * * * * *

  Abby remembered falling asleep in Aunt Rose’s study after talking to Brett. Some time after three, she’d awakened, trekked down a dark hallway and crashed in the first bedroom she found.

  Now she patted the nightstand until her fingertips brushed up against the chain pull that lit the bulb and bathed the room with a rose-colored glow. Abby looked at her hands, at her chipped and broken nails, at the cuts and scratches from her new trade, and at her bare ring finger.

  “You’re better off without that ball-less, car-stealing sonofabitch,” Rose had declared when Abby told her Pierce had taken off to find fame. “Lily, my darling girl, there’s a special someone waiting for you to find him. Open your eyes. Don’t just look—see!”

  “A special someone is the last thing I need right now,” Abby had retorted and meant it. She wasn’t so sure anymore. She smiled. What would Aunt Rose say if she knew where her darling Lily would be spending the evening?

  * * * * *

  Abby gra
bbed the brown bag lunch and a bottle of water from the fridge, and headed for the front door. She stepped into the crisp morning air. “What on earth?”

  She stopped in mid-stride.

  While she gaped, a small limousine turned into her aunt’s driveway. Besides stopping only a breath short of tapping the rear bumper of Rose’s BMW, the limousine blocked her exit. She knew Judy would kill her if she was late this morning, and she was quite certain Judy had not sent a car to make sure she’d arrived on time.

  Fascinated, she watched a man somewhere near her dad’s age slide out from behind the wheel. He wore a chauffeur’s full attire—a black suit and tie, crisply starched white dress shirt, and even white gloves.

  “Good morning, Ms. Horton.” He smiled up at her and actually tipped his hat, something she thought they did only in the movies.

  “You are Ms. Horton?”

  Abby nodded. “And you are?”

  “Carlton.” He literally purred the name, softening the “r” in the rich, smooth tradition of the Deep South.

  In his right hand, he carried a parcel the size of a shoebox, wrapped with silvery iridescent paper and a silver and black bow. Before handing the box to her, he presented her with a small envelope. She saw her name scrawled across the front in black ink and recognized Brett’s handwriting from the credit card slip he’d signed yesterday.

  Hands full, she stared first at the envelope and then at Carlton. She had no experience with chauffeur protocol.

  Carlton must have sensed her confusion. “May I take those?” He pointed to her lunch bag and her bottle of water.

  She handed them over. Now what did she do? Open the envelope and read the message in front of him? Turn her back?

  He answered those questions too, by taking a step backward and averting his eyes.

  Brett had tucked the back flap inside the envelope instead of sealing it. She pulled the flap up and eased out the card.

  Good morning, pretty lady. Shoes to dance the night away.

  He’d ended the message with a single B.