by Heidi Rice
A muscle jumped in his jaw, the naughty twinkle in his eyes going feral. Exactly the way she wanted it.
“What’s your position on spooning?”
She pushed out a laugh, her throat dry with lust. “Spooning is permitted, but only when erections are involved.”
“Understood.” His thumbs glided back down to the slope of her backside. “I can guarantee that when spooning against this butt with two ‘t’s…” He gave her butt cheeks another squeeze making the throbbing heat settle in her clit. “Erections will definitely be involved.”
“Excellent. We have an agreement on rule one.” She stretched, rubbing herself against the hard ridge growing in his shorts. “Rule two.” She raised a second finger against his chest. “This is a three-day fling, tops. No bargaining for extra days, from either one of us.”
Not that she would want to. She hadn’t gotten past three days in the past five years. But she wasn’t taking any chances.
He nodded. “I’ve got a court date on Tuesday morning, so three days tops works for me. No exceptions.” He smiled. “Or buts.”
“Rule three.” She had to do this, even though it felt kind of sneaky. “We don’t tell Faith now or in the future. If she asks, I’ll say you helped me out with the citation and that’s all.”
Faith looked up to her brother. And Faith was a romantic who had always believed the best in Zel, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Maybe it was selfish and dishonest, but Zel didn’t want Faith to know she had used her big brother for down and dirty sex—it might make Faith, and by extension her other friends, uncomfortable. And that she couldn’t bear.
Faith and Dawn and Mercy had been there for her when she’d needed them the most at St. J’s. Then Mercy had dragged her out of the pit five years ago, Faith had always been on the end of a phone line with words of support and encouragement during the most painful days of her recovery and now Dawn was back in all their lives.
The four of them were just beginning to rebuild the unbreakable bond that had been her salvation on the day they’d all been hauled in front of the Mother Superior. The bond which she was sure—if she hadn’t been kicked out of St. J’s that day and exiled from them in the years that followed—might have stopped her from going off the rails so spectacularly. She wanted to help make that bond strong again. As strong as it had once been. And she certainly wasn’t going to put a possible dent in it over something that would mean nothing a week from now.
She edged back, a horrifying thought occurring to her. “Assuming of course you haven’t told Faith already?”
“I don’t generally brag to my sister about my sex life,” he said, wryly. “But I’ve gotta say I’m not great at lying to her either.”
“Really? So what exactly did you tell her about missing the Sullivan Family barbeque today then?”
His darkly tanned skin flushed again. “All right. Point taken. White lies I can do. But if she asks me a direct question…”
“She won’t, why would she? Especially if we abide by rule four.”
“Rule four? Seriously? How many rules are there? This is beginning to feel more like a contract negotiation than a weekend booty call.”
“This is the last one, I promise.” She took a steadying breath, knowing this rule was the most important. She couldn’t cut loose with Ty Sullivan unless she knew she could control the fallout. And she really, really wanted to cut loose. “No contact after we’re through.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Define no contact?”
“No texts, no emails, no phone calls, no chance meetings. No extracurricular booty calls for old times’ sake after our three days are up. No nothing. Once I leave on Tuesday morning, we go back to being strangers. Our worlds don’t exactly collide,” she added. “So it shouldn’t be too hard to pull off, logistically speaking.”
“Except at the pub. You and Faith and Dawn and…” He clicked his fingers a couple of times. “The other girl, whose name I can never remember…”
“Mercedes, or Mercy for short,” Zel added helpfully, wondering where he was going with this.
“Mercy!” He said, exasperated. “That’s the one. You guys hang out at the pub. I can’t guarantee I won’t ever go there.”
“I don’t hang out there on a regular basis,” she said, knowing this was another golden opportunity to apprise him of her recovery. She never hung out in bars to socialize casually, because it would open her up to temptations she might find it hard to resist. She only went to Sully’s when she had a specific reason to be there—namely the monthly meet ups with her friends and the odd celebration, such as Dawn and Finn’s party. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. It was too personal. Too revealing. And still way too much information for a casual fling. “We have a scheduled girls’ night out there on the second Thursday of every month. That’s the only time I’ll be at Sully’s. So as long as you make a point of steering clear of arranging family time on that day, we’re good.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re serious about never wanting to see me again? Even accidentally?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I don’t know whether to feel hurt or used.” He didn’t sound hurt, more like astonished.
But still she nodded. This bit was non-negotiable. Ty Sullivan was going to be a hard habit to break. Thanks entirely to his phenomenal cock, she added hastily.
“Actually, you should feel flattered.” She spread her fingers on his chest and ran her hands over his shoulders. Sinking her fingernails into the curls at his nape, she noted the compelling twists of gold in the deep green of his irises, and inhaled the delicious scent of soap and man. “These rules are for your benefit as well as mine.” She pointed out. “I have an addictive personality. And I could become seriously addicted to sex with you.” That much was certainly true. “Neither of us wants to get distracted by this for more than a long weekend, though. So cold turkey is the only way to go once it’s over. If that doesn’t work for you, say so. And I’ll leave now.”
She waited for his reply, convincing herself that the only reason Bugs had begun to punch her throat like a heavyweight champ was because she really didn’t want to miss out on all the hot, recreational sex they still had in their immediate future.
*
Ty looked into Zelda’s upturned face, trying to halt the flames licking up his torso from melting the last of his remaining brain cells. He was pretty sure he’d never met a woman who said exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it—without an ounce of hesitation or prevarication. And on one level that was extremely hot, because he knew for damn sure he’d never met another woman he wanted as much.
And on a purely practical level, he didn’t have a problem with Zelda’s rules.
They made total sense. While he didn’t have an addictive personality, he could imagine himself getting addicted to Zelda. And as she was the opposite of his Miss Right, a weekend booty call was the only way to go.
But even so, he hesitated. Disturbed by that hollow sensation under his breastbone again. Why did he get the feeling there was a whole host of stuff she wasn’t telling him? And what the hell was wrong with hugging after sex? Or letting Faith know about their hookup? It wasn’t as if his little sister would care? Was Zelda ashamed of him?
He dismissed the knee-jerk reaction—a layover from his time at Columbia, when he’d walked around with a chip on his shoulder because he was the first person in his family to make it to college. Zelda wasn’t a snob, he’d already established that much. So if she wasn’t ashamed of him, what was she so scared of?
He shook off the thought. Why was he overthinking this? A Labor Day hookup was what they both wanted. So there was no point overcomplicating stuff, or worrying about Zelda and her motives? She didn’t need to be rescued. Especially not by him.
It was just the attorney in him, always trying to calculate all the angles, be the devil’s advocate. He gazed at her, the flush of arousal riding high on those awesome cheekbones as she waited for his answ
er. The ache in his shorts became painful.
Fuck it, if there was ever a time to take something at face value, this had to be it. No need to question the rules, if he was happy to follow them. And there was no rule against them getting to know each other better during the next three days.
Enough soul-searching.
Closing his hands over her hips, he tugged her into his embrace.
“I’ll agree to your rules on one condition,” he murmured, sinking his face into her neck and licking from her collarbone all the way up to her earlobe, the hollow feeling burned away by the rush of lust as she moaned.
“What condition?”
“We can stop talking about what we’re going to do to each other and actually start doing it.”
She laughed, the smoky purr making him imagine all the wicked things he wanted to do to her. His dick shot to full attention and strangled in his shorts.
“But you’re so good at talking.” She teased.
Drawing back, he yanked the bedroom door closed, so no one walking past the barge would see them. If he wasn’t careful, she was liable to get him a citation for disorderly conduct.
“True, but right now my mind is on other stuff.”
“Other stuff? That doesn’t sound very articulate for a qualified attorney.”
Anticipation made his throat dry up to parchment as he backed her toward the bed and then whipped her T-shirt over her head.
She crossed her arms over her naked breasts, but the bold, flirtatious look on her face made a mockery of the modest gesture.
“Was that a grunt I heard, counselor?” she said. “My goodness, you’re becoming less articulate by the second.”
He gave her a soft shove, toppling her onto the bed. Her breasts bounced, the large, cherry red nipples begging to be sucked. Climbing on top of her, he stretched her arms above her head, so she couldn’t hide herself from him again.
“You want articulate?” He licked around one thrusting peak, smiling when she bucked off the bed. “You’re gonna have to hire some other lawyer. Because this one is now officially off the clock.”
He captured the nipple between his teeth and tugged, all the thoughts crashing out of his head bar one—as that smart-ass laugh turned into a thready moan.
Why had he always strived to be a goddamn gentleman, when bad guys got to have this much fun?
Chapter Seven
‡
Zelda felt the soft sway of the boat, her body slightly sore but mostly pleasantly numb after a second day and night of raw, energetic sex—during which all the rules had been carefully observed.
Well, apart from the rule about snuggling, because she could vaguely remember drifting off to sleep with Ty’s arm wrapped around her midriff at midnight. She sighed. Fine, she’d give him a pass on that one. At least she hadn’t woken up in his arms. She spread her hand over the rumpled sheets on Ty’s side of the double bunk, inhaling the scent of him that lingered. Then frowned at the sunshine blazing through the shutters on the back of the barge, lighting the dust motes. It had to be well after noon.
It was Monday. They only had today left to spend together, and she’d already slept half of it away.
She pushed off the flicker of melancholy. The Labor Day weekend couldn’t last forever and she needed to get back to Manhattan tomorrow. Not only was that one of the rules, but she would have to face her brother sooner or later and explain her disappearing act on Thursday night.
Not that he seemed to care.
As expected, Sebastian hadn’t bothered to check on her whereabouts. If he’d been informed of her no-show at the foundation gala, it obviously hadn’t surprised him enough to make him pick up the phone and break his usual no contact rule.
At least the press attention had died down already.
She’d spotted a headline on the cover of the Post, when she and Ty had ventured out to the Seven-Eleven to get some supplies during their all-day sex fest on Sunday, but hadn’t given it much thought. It was only the second lead, featuring a blurred picture of her taken a month or so ago with the headline: ‘Not So Model Behavior From Fantasy Girl.’ If she didn’t even warrant a name check anymore, that could only be good.
The last two days had gone by in a rush of great sex and not too much conversation. She’d ventured out to phone her sponsor first thing on Sunday morning while Ty was still fast asleep. But there hadn’t been anything too confusing to work out with Amelie. Zelda had explained about Ty, about their weekend booty call. But when Amelie had quizzed her about him, she’d dismissed her concerns.
It was okay, there was nothing serious between them. Certainly nothing for her to need to work through with Amelie. One of the few weaknesses she’d never had as an addict was relying too much on the men in her life. Her brother had taught her that lesson at thirteen and she’d never forgotten it. She’d had that minor freak-out before establishing the rules with Ty, but that was two days ago and there hadn’t been a single wobble since.
Scooping her T-shirt—correction: Ty’s T-shirt—off the deck, she threw it on and padded into the main living area following the sound of tuneless whistling and the luxurious scent of melting butter. She paused in the doorway to appreciate the view. Ty’s dark head bent over a mixing bowl as the pan sizzled on the two-ring burner. Naked to the waist, his lean, tanned back glowed bronze in the sunlight, the bare feet and the low-slung button-fly jeans adding to the picture of super sexy domesticity. Seriously, was there anything more mouthwatering than a hot guy cooking pancakes?
He dumped a dollop of the mixture into the pan, looking as focused and competent as he had the day before while bringing her to orgasm. The aroma of freshly fried batter drifted towards her and her stomach rumbled.
God, the man looked delicious. His unruly hair falling across his brow as he concentrated on the task at hand, the two-day stubble making him look rough and ready and dangerous. Drool collected under her tongue—and not just for the pancakes.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, the melancholy spiking under the lust at the realization that it was already two in the afternoon.
“You must be the only Sullivan Brother who can’t carry a tune,” she said.
The off-key whistling cut off as his head whipped round. His wide mouth tipped up in a self-deprecating grin, the lazy once over he gave her making heat glow like a hot coal in her belly.
“True enough.” His eyebrows wiggled, the smile decidedly suggestive. “Luckily, I have other much more useful talents.”
She smiled back, the glow sinking low. “Such as cooking pancakes, I see.”
“Among others things.” He gripped the pan. “Pancakes happen to be one of the three things I can cook without killing anyone. I hope you’re hungry because I’ve made enough for a football team.”
“I’m starving.” Her belly flipped over with the pancake. She blinked away the stupid sting of emotion.
Get real, Madison. He’s making you pancakes. This is not a big deal.
“What are the other two things?” she asked, as she walked to the table which was already set with syrup, plates and cutlery, and a carton of OJ.
“Oatmeal and Lucky Charms.” He slid the finished pancake onto the stack by his elbow and set up another. “I did the breakfast shift every Sunday before Mass when I was a kid, so my mom could have a couple of extra hours in bed.”
“That’s sweet.” Zelda grabbed a mug from the shelf and poured herself some of the freshly brewed coffee, trying for sarcastic but not quite pulling it off thanks to the melting sensation in the center of her chest.
“How old were you?” she asked, trying to concentrate instead on the play of his shoulder muscles as he handled the pan with proficiency.
She knew Faith’s mother had died when she was still a teenager; that was why her father had packed her off to St. John’s. She also knew how much Faith had missed her brothers, especially Finn. But how much she had also depended on Ty’s support. And over the last couple of days Zelda had begun to see why. T
he man was a natural-born nurturer, despite all his big talk about being a workaholic. The care and attention he paid to her during sex matched the care and attention he paid whenever she spoke to him. She’d had to be fairly careful the day before, when they’d been having the evening meal they’d put together from the leftovers in his fridge on the roof of the barge, not to spill any secrets. He listened, and asked questions, as if he were genuinely interested in the answers. And her. Luckily though, she had been cautious, managing to steer him away from anything other than the vaguest of conversations about her modeling career and her reasons for leaving. And it hadn’t been too hard to distract him with sex.
But it occurred to her now, that while she’d been distracting him, he’d also been distracting her. And she was wildly curious now, to return to the topic of his family. She’d always been so fascinated by Faith’s closeness to her brothers and her pop. While she and Faith had the connection of shared grief, she’d always felt that Faith had this bedrock of support which Zelda had always lacked. So it fascinated her now to realize Ty seemed to have a much less rose-tinted view of his childhood. The problem was, he also seemed as reluctant to talk about it as she was to talk about her family life. Which of course just made her all the more curious.
“How old was I when I started doing the breakfast shift?” He shrugged, stacking the last of the pancakes and transferring the plate to the table. “Around seven, I guess.”
“That’s young,” she said as she forked up a pancake from the stack and smothered in it maple syrup. “To be handling a frying pan on your own.”
“The first couple of attempts weren’t too pretty. I’m not a natural when it comes to kitchen chores. But I wanted to do something to help my mom out, so I kept working at it till I had it.” He smiled, but his gaze remained focused on his plate.
Had she embarrassed him? She tried to erase the thought. Before the melting sensation got any more gooey.
“The effort paid off. These are delicious.” She hummed with pleasure. “Why was it so important to you to help your mother out?”