Betting On It

by Violet Blake

  Startled, I stepped away, stumbling on one of my discarded heels. Sawyer caught me, just before I tumbled on my ass.

  “I should’ve given you warning,” he whispered. “John and Cecelia stopped by.”

  His aunt and uncle. Here. Now?

  Shit.

  “I should go,” I said, searching for my other shoe.

  “Blair!” Cecilia said, drifting into the foyer. Her smile couldn’t have been brighter.

  Wide-eyed, I surrendered to her hug. “Hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner plans.”

  She pulled away, her arms holding my biceps like she knew I was a bona fide flight risk. “You came just in time to join us.”

  Sawyer stood behind her, an uncomfortable smile wavering on his sexy lips. He tilted his head and brushed his hair back with his fingers, doing all sorts of crazy things to my hormones. He still hadn’t shaved. And the glasses were still there. Probably his way of softening the blow of a surprise dinner with his aunt and uncle, who we were in the midst of deceiving.

  Fuuuuuuck.

  I snapped out of my stupefied haze and kicked my shoe toward the wall. Much like I wanted to kick a certain sexy nerd’s shins for not giving me a heads up. “What can I do to help?”

  She clapped her beautifully manicured hands together, then put an arm around my shoulder. “We’re all set! Come eat. I can’t wait to catch up with you.”

  I felt like Khan being escorted by a bunch of redshirts to the Enterprise’s on-ship brig.

  John, whose family resemblance to Sawyer was glaringly obvious, poured a cabernet into four wine glasses. “It’s good to see you again, Blair.”

  You’d think I’d been in Antarctica on some sort of lifelong expedition. It had only been a few months since I’d seen them. And yeah, so I’d been a little dazed after moving back to Fort Collins under the circumstances, but still.

  Putting on my public mask, the one where I smiled, hugged, and acted like a poised human puppet, I greeted John with—hopefully—more grace than I’d had with Cecelia. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Grilled filets with roasted mushrooms and caramelized onions filled a serving plate in the center of the table. John busied himself with serving those, and Cecelia passed a bowl of spinach and berry salad to me. “How is your new job coming along, Blair?”

  I took the bowl and served up a spoonful of the salad, catching a whiff of a sweet vinaigrette. “Very well, thank you.”

  I didn’t miss Sawyer’s odd grimace. So I might’ve sounded a bit like I was at a job interview. If I didn’t follow the script, I might blurt out the whole, stupid, heartbreaker of a plan. Sawyer would toss me out of the third-story window if that happened.

  John took the bowl from me and passed it to Sawyer. “I hear Watson & Associates is getting off the ground nicely. Rich Watson and I went to CSU together.”

  And so the conversation continued. We kept it light for the most part, discussing work, the brewery, other safe topics. For a while I was lulled into the false sense that I might just survive this.

  “This candied bacon is amazing,” I said, giving Cecilia an appreciative smile. Little bundles of asparagus had been wrapped in thick-cut bacon and sprinkled in brown sugar and maple before baking. “What’s your secret?”

  She shook her head. “I had nothing to do with it. Sawyer has been taking lessons from Christine.”

  My head couldn’t have whipped his way any faster. “Seriously?”

  And were his cheeks actually getting pink?

  He swallowed a gulp of wine and set the glass on the table. “You said it was a shame I didn’t use this kitchen.”

  Shaking my head, I grinned. “Unbelievable.”

  “John, isn’t that sweet? When is the last time you learned to make something for me?”

  He chuckled and wiped at his mouth with his napkin. “You’re putting me to shame, son.”

  Sawyer practically glowed from the praise.

  What would it have been like, growing up in a family like this? I cast my attention toward Sawyer, who spoke easily with Cecilia about the techniques he’d learned. She listened with rapt attention, offering no apathy, no criticisms, no irritation of the time of hers he was wasting.

  So this is what family was all about.

  And I had no clue what to do with any of it.

  In this world, where parents cared and children felt loved, I was an outsider. Closeness, affection, all of it scared me. It’s not that I didn’t want it, but it was like being given keys to unlock a door and not having one that opened the lock.

  Cecilia turned that supernova attention on me. “I take it you’ll be joining us for our annual retreat?”

  I turned to Sawyer and he frowned. “I haven’t had a chance to tell her about it yet, Cecilia.”

  She put her hand over his arm and shook her head. “Thank goodness I showed up when I did.”

  John saved the day. “Blair, we’d love for you to join us. The brewery throws a party for its employees and families in Summit Ridge every July fourth weekend. Of course we understand if you already have plans.”

  Open-mouthed with nothing to say, I looked to Sawyer. Any day, Sally.

  “I was going to ask tonight,” he said, probably more for their benefit than mine. “Give a guy a chance.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “Now that you’ve nabbed Blair I can’t help but want her to join us.”

  Smile, Blair. “That sounds very nice,” I said. “I’ll see if I can work things out and let you know for sure.”

  And by things to work out, I meant Sawyer. This was such a rule-breaking activity, something we were still trying to figure out. If I went, it would mean much more than a holiday up in the mountains.

  “Son, why don’t you and I clean up? The girls can go on the patio and enjoy the sunset.” John rose and took my plate and his.

  Sawyer nodded and grabbed his and Cecilia’s plates. Before he took off for the sink he kissed my temple. “Don’t forget to breathe, baby cakes.”

  Cecilia took my hand, and we were off. On the back patio balcony we sat on the two loungers, sipping wine and sharing small talk.

  After a glance into the kitchen window, where Sawyer and John cleaned up, she pounced. “Sawyer is quite taken with you.”

  Could the guilt be any more crushing? “He’s always been a great friend.”

  “One look at you and I’d say it’s safe to assume you’re more than just great friends.” She laughed and shook her head. “That came out wrong. What I meant is that you two have such admiration for each other.”

  My conscience screamed at me, yelling over and over, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

  What was I supposed to say to that? I didn’t want to lie to her, because I knew when the words left my mouth I’d start to believe them myself. Plus, she was a psychiatrist. Her bullshit detector had to be sensitive.

  All I could do was smile politely, like a mute idiot.

  Unaware of my discomfort—or choosing to ignore it completely—she continued. “I’ve never been introduced to any of the women in his life. I wondered for a long time if he’d ever settle down. He had such a hard time letting go of his parents, I—”

  I almost fell off my seat. I knew his parents had been murdered when he was a kid. That’s why he’d grown up with Jessica and Emily. But they didn’t know much about the circumstances, and it wasn’t something we discussed at our Friday night drink fests. Getting a glimpse into his past, his private life…it felt like a gift from the heavens.

  “Oh, dear,” she nearly whispered. “I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

  Hesitating, I put my hand over hers and shook my head. “It’s all right.”

  Her eyes were shiny, illuminated by the fading rays of the sunset. “In all my years as a psychiatrist, I’ve never seen a person retreat inside themselves they way he did. We almost put him in inpatient care, but just in time he returned from wherever he’d gone.”

  He’d retreated then like he’d done last w
eek. I could only play along, pretend I knew more than I did, and hope she’d tell me something—anything—to help me understand. “He seems all right now.”

  She wiped at her eye and nodded. “He is all right.” She leaned across the expanse between the two chairs and gave me a hug. “Treat him well, Blair.”

  ...

  The next morning I woke up in Sawyer’s bed, sprawled out and alone. The faint sounds of the shower could be heard, and I walked into the bathroom, holding a sheet around my naked body. He stood under the spray, washing shampoo out of his hair.

  John and Cecilia had stayed well past eleven last night. We’d spent most of the evening drinking wine and playing pool. Afterward, we’d gone to bed. No sex, just kissing.

  “Morning,” I said, half yawning. There was nothing good about mornings. Ever. Except for our morning runs, which we hadn’t done in a few weeks with all the traveling he’d had to do.

  He opened the glass door for me, and took my hand to help me shamble inside. I dropped the sheet and nestled up against him, letting the water pour over me. He reached for some shampoo and massaged it into my hair. I couldn’t help but notice he’d bought the same Aveda brand I used. Good man.

  “Tip your head back,” he said, and worked the shampoo suds out of my hair. He reached for the bottle of conditioner and combed it through my strands. I twisted my hair onto the top of my head to let the conditioner work, and tucked back into his arms and closed my eyes.

  Mornings could suck all they wanted, but waking up like this wasn’t that bad.

  “I’m taking all day off,” he said, his fingers working out the kinks in my neck and shoulders.

  “Hmmmm.”

  “I have to make up for lost time from the last week,” he said. He kissed my neck. “Time to play catch-up or I’m going to have to beat up all the single men in Denver at that auction when they see that naked painting of you.”

  “This coming from a second-degree black belt? Not worried.”

  “Third.”

  “You got this, Callahan,” I said, and yawned.

  He laughed. “I never thought I’d have to use my years of training to fight for your honor. It’s all come down to this, I guess.”

  I slapped his ass. “Your sensei would be proud.”

  “He’d kick my ass, and I’d let him.”

  “You tell him this ass is mine.” I squeezed the ass in question.

  His cock twitched against my belly and he groaned. “See what you do to me?”

  “You know what else I’m going to do to you?” I reached for his balls and caressed them, enjoying the way they stiffened with his cock.

  “Besides kill me?”

  “Whatever, Sally.”

  He hissed in a breath and put his hand on my neck.

  I wrapped my arms around him and let him wash me with a loofah, then rinse out my hair. When the shower was finished I put on lotion and joined him in bed. “So. I was thinking, we have a few things we can tackle today. Seven things, specifically.”

  “I do have all day off.”

  I didn’t, but I didn’t want to talk about that. I’d play catch-up tomorrow night. “Then consider yourself officially on my clock.”

  We christened every available surface in his house that day. I’d never look at his air hockey table the same. Or his desk. Or the guest room’s linen closet.

  No wonder seven times in one day was a big deal. Although fun, it didn’t take long to lose inspiration. You had to leave the bed at some point, and there were only so many places you could have sex without serious bodily injury.

  “One more to go,” I said, and took a swig of Gatorade. We lay on the floor in the game room, me nestled into his side.

  He bent his arm and positioned it behind his head. “How are your pink parts holding up?”

  “Let’s just say I won’t want to sit for a few days.” I traced circles on his abs, watching the hairs on his skin prick up after I touched him.

  “Then I’ll do everything I can to take care of them.”

  “Oh, you chivalrous sweet man. That’s not to say I’m not completely enjoying myself.”

  “I aim to please,” he said.

  “You know what we need?” I asked. My gaze settled on the end table with the book he’d stolen from me. “Inspiration.”

  “Okay, inspire me.”

  I got up and walked to the table. “Read me a story.”

  “No way. Your voice is sexy when you’re turned on. You do it. Then we’ll act it out.”

  “You really are kinky,” I said.

  I open the book, flipped through the pages a few times, then settled on one three-quarters of the way through. The set-up on first page made my mouth go dry. Between my legs was a whole other issue.

  “If your get cheeks any redder I’m going to call the paramedics,” he said.

  I let a slow breath out. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He dove for the couch and laid on his side, his jaw propped on his fist.

  Rolling my eyes, I followed him and sat next to him, the book on my lap. I turned the page back to the beginning of the story and began. “One Night in Heaven. A short story by Nikki Martin.”

  “One night stand? I like it already,” he said.

  I closed the book, putting my thumb between the pages to hold my place. “Are you going to keep interrupting me?”

  He smiled, one of those ruthless smiles that you know has nothing to do with being friendly or supportive or anything remotely nice. “You nervous?”

  “Please, Callahan. You may surprise me with your deep literary material—”

  He coughed. “You said deep.”

  I swatted his arm with the book. Might as well get on with the reading. “Ahem. ‘The night I met Victor I was out alone, wandering from club to club. By ten my feet were killing me and I needed a drink, so I grabbed a seat at the closest club’s bar and ordered a cosmopolitan. Frat boys took the seats on either side of me, but the moment one of them vacated a man wearing a suit filled it.

  “‘You don’t look like a frat boy,’ I said. And when he turned to me his eyes told me he could do far more for me than any frat boy could. But he held out his hand and introduced himself. ‘Victor,’ was all he said. The gold glint of his Rolex flashed in the strobe lights, and his manicured fingers held onto my hand. Power. Rich, raw power.’”

  Ew. I scowled at the book.

  “What?” Sawyer asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. No reason to go into my irritation with alpha billionaires. “Anyway. ‘When I finished my drink, he signaled the bartender, and within seconds another drink was on the table in front of me. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and he smiled. ‘It’s my club. I get what I want fairly quickly.’ We made polite small talk, but my attention couldn’t help but be drawn to his burgeoning cock.’”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. “Burgeoning cock? What the hell does that even mean? And who uses words like that?”

  Sawyer motioned to his pelvis. “I’m pretty sure it looks something like this, and is brought on by the mere sound of a sexy woman’s voice. Continue.”

  I brought the book up and held it close enough to my eyes it would hide my satisfaction. “‘His pants barely contained it, and my lips ached to suck that wild beast into my mouth.’”

  Sawyer’s fingertips appeared at the top of the book and guided it down. “You’re all muffled.”

  “Fine,” I said, and continued a muffle-free reading. “‘Victor seemed to notice my attention had turned elsewhere, and his hand covered my bare knee. ‘How is your drink?’ he asked me. Shivers ran all over my body and I craved the feel of his hand on my p-pussy.’”

  “I love the way you say pussy,” Sawyer said, his fingers lightly skimming the surface of my knee. “Say it again.”

  I stifled a shiver. “I’m never going to get through this story if you keep interrupting me.”

  He made a zipping motion over his lips, then laid on his back, closed his eye
s, and crossed one arm behind his head, the other lingering on my knee.

  “‘I told him I enjoyed my drink very much, and swirled the cherry around the rim of the glass. Victor took a measured sip from his whisky, and when he leaned in I relished in the aroma of the quality peaty liquor. His hand moved up my thigh, until it met with the hem of my skirt. Fingertips brushed back and forth over the fabric, and he watched me drink from my glass as if it were the only thing happening in the room.’”

  Sawyer’s hand followed along with the story, touching the sensitive flesh on the inside of my thigh.

  Forcing myself to concentrate on telling the story, I continued. “‘The cherry in my drink swirled around the rim of the glass, and just as I was going to suck it, his hand moved up to the edge of my underwear. He watched me quietly, daring me to tell him to stop. There were people all around us, oblivious to what was happening between Victor and me, and my Catholic upbringing warned me not to let this man go further. But every cell in my body begged his fingers to move inside me.

  “‘We chatted for several minutes, over what I don’t remember. All I remember is the way his fingers brushed over my slick pussy over and over again—”

  Sawyer’s fingertips pushed my panties aside and brushed over the skin of my sex. I gasped.

  “‘N-n-never going inside, but tantalizing me enough that I nearly grabbed him and shoved him inside me right there. As I finished my drink, the cherry sat woefully alone in the glass, and as my fingers moved to grab it, he intercepted me. He put the cherry first in his mouth, then removed it. Down his hand went, until it moved up my thigh and into my cream-covered cunt.’”

  “Nice use of alliteration,” Sawyer said appreciatively.

  “I’m reading about cream-covered cunts and you notice the rhetorical devices?” I exclaimed.

  He gestured to the book. “I want to hear what happens to the cherry.”

  “‘His fingers pushed the cherry as far in as it could go, then thrust in and out of me as he continued to tell me about his vacation in Naples. My pussy contracted, and I came all over his hand, and although I was mortified, he simply brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them.’”

  Sawyer got up. “Be right back.”