Your Alibi

by Annie Dean

  She rushed to fill the silence. “Okay, just listen. I'm going to put myself on the line here because it's my turn. I didn't think I'd see you again, but here you are. I guess I have Lorene to thank for that, some way. She's been bugging me to call you for months, but I'm stubborn. I said a lot of stupid shit, and I drove you away because that's what I do. I'm no good at loving somebody. I wasn't lying when I said I'm no good at the long haul, but..."

  Her voice grew reedy thin, and he wasn't making it easier with that thousand-mile, unblinking stare. Addie paused, trying not to make a scene at her friend's wedding. She didn't want to hear how she'd upstaged Lorene for the next ten years.

  Taking a deep breath, she soldiered on, her throat tight. “I want you around. Somehow. I want ... I don't know what I want.” Goddammit, if I cry ... “All I know is that ... I'm home when I'm with you. I have everything I need, everything I could want, right here, and I don't have anything if I don't have you. But I'm scared..."

  "Addie,” he said gently, a smile building at the corners of his mouth.

  "Yeah?"

  She took another breath. Another. A strap slipped off her shoulder, threatening to show everyone her bandeau style bra, and she pulled the bowl closer because she anticipated the emotional blow. He'd tell her he had thought better of it, met someone else, some smart and educated. She was the transitional woman, after all. No future in it.

  "You had me at Jell-O."

  She put the container down on the buffet table. “Prick!” Her shriek likely made dogs howl for two counties, although nobody at the wedding seemed to think anything of it.

  Then again, they're used to me launching myself at men. The fact that she was laughing and he was swinging her around wildly by the waist probably went some way toward reassuring them as well. Addie wound her arms around his neck and breathed him, aching because she'd been so dumb. Maybe she was what he needed. Maybe she could be.

  But maybe they'd needed the distance and time apart to be sure it wasn't a fluke too, wasn't just a vacation romance—

  "Stop thinking,” he ordered, just before he gave her a kiss that curled her toes.

  She pressed against him, feeling him harden against her stomach. Again. Yes. Yes, yes, yes ... I want that. Want him. Someone brushed by them, coming out from the kitchen, and she realized they were on the verge of becoming a floorshow. Somehow she managed to pull her lips away when they wanted to cling forever.

  God, he tasted good.

  When she could breathe again, he added, “We have some things to talk about."

  Addie grabbed his hand. “Sex first. Talk later."

  To his credit, the man gave one cursory look at all the guests before they bolted. They kissed blindly down the hall, banging into walls and doors, and eventually fell into the first room they came to on the first floor. It wasn't hers, but it wasn't rented either, and the bed would do, but he didn't seem to want to let go of her.

  "Addie,” he murmured against her throat. “Oh God, Addie, Addie..."

  "Yes.” Promise, encouragement, whatever he wanted.

  His hands cupped her ass, working the satin higher on her thighs. She strained against him, rocking, and he pushed back, flattening her against the door. With one jerk, he lifted her dress above her hips, biting down on the side of her neck. She shuddered as his fingers slid into her panties.

  "Be ready,” he begged, stroking her. “Oh, you are, love. You want me."

  "Yes,” she said again.

  She hadn't realized how much until this moment. He ruined another pair of her panties, then. With the pure brute strength she loved, primarily because he would only ever use it to defend her, he lifted her and unzipped his dress pants in the same motion. Pinned her against the door with his hips.

  "Now?"

  What a lousy pussy tease. Addie tilted her pelvis and wrapped her thighs around his waist. “Please?"

  "I will,” he whispered. “I promise."

  No finesse, no gentleness, though. He thrust like he wanted to fuck her through the wall, and she ground back, squeezing him. Her nails bit into his shoulders; they kissed wildly, teeth against teeth, bordering on ferocity.

  His breath came hard and fast while she worked herself against his dick, but she couldn't hear her own respiration for her heart. Sweat beaded, slid down her throat to her breasts, where he licked at it with his tongue. Her dress clung, twisted around her waist, but she couldn't think about anything but the rising heat in her pussy.

  She ached, needing more, and he gave more, until they both shook with need, her pussy contracting on his cock. He lost it then, almost bruising her with his thrusts, and he came with a low groan and a string of sweet obscenities against her panting mouth. Her hands felt numb as she tried to caress him.

  "You're such a spectacular fuck,” she mumbled.

  He slid her down his body, smiling. “You say the sweetest things."

  "Don't I?” Addie made no resistance when he carried her to the bed; she wasn't sure she could stand under her own power anyway.

  They needed to cool off before getting close or their skin would stick, but he laid his palm across her belly. “I listened while you talked. Now it's my turn. Fair?"

  "Yeah.” Most likely she would have agreed to anything that didn't involve her getting up. The endorphins in her blood made her stupid-agreeable right then.

  "You hurt me a few months ago. There's no point in trying to articulate how bad.” He held up a hand, forestalling her interruption. “I understand why you said what you did, though, and I needed to take care of things in Virginia anyway."

  She had to know, though. “Are you divorced now?"

  Sean nodded. “Papers are signed. Cami and Robin seem to be very happy. That has very little to do with us anymore, though they may come out for vacations sometimes. They are family, after all.” His smile flickered like an energy-saver bulb. “What you said about being my transitional woman, that struck a chord, Addie. See, that comes from the rules of how relationships work, like there's one guideline that applies to everyone. Since when have you been a fan of following the rules?"

  Well, she came up blank on that.

  His smile became a grin. “Exactly. So here's what I want from you. One day a time. One day at a time, Addie. That's not the long haul. That's all I want from you, whether it's one week or thirty years ‘til you can't stand me anymore. If that means we never get married, I'm okay with that. If that means no kids, I'm fine with that too. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life, and I don't care about anything else. But if you're my transitional woman, I hope you're there when I make my transition to the next life because I hate like hell how I am without you."

  Then she did what she'd promised she wouldn't on Lorene's wedding day—she bawled. And it wasn't pretty. Her eyes swelled up, and her nose turned red, and Sean clutched her to his chest, looking stricken. His hands ran over her hair in soft, soothing repetition until she got herself in hand.

  "Nobody's ever loved me like that,” she mumbled against his shirt, which she'd pretty well ruined.

  "I'm just getting started,” he assured her in the honey drawl she adored. “But you're wrong in one thing you said, honey. You're good at loving people, one of the best I've met, in fact—you're just no good at letting them love you back. We'll work on that."

  It was quite a while before they left room 107, took some doing to put themselves back together. It wasn't the room where Mel died anymore, somehow. Instead it was the room where Sean came home to her. When they did, they found a yellow sticky note on the door in Lorene's handwriting:

  You're welcome.

  Later she'd tell Sean that she'd sold the web address for Your Alibi at a hefty profit; she'd fill him in on her partnership with Manu, about the restaurant and Pop's patent. And they'd discuss what he intended to do out here, if he meant to go to work for a newspaper or write freelance columns. But all of that was just details, really. One day at a time, girl. That much she could do, could prom
ise.

  For now, she felt like Jell-O.

  The End

  About the Author:

  In her life, Annie has been a clown, a clerk, a savior of stray kittens, voice actress, and the mistress of a Lebanese nobleman, not necessarily in that order. She grew up in a yellow house across from a cornfield, but now she lives in sunny Mexico with her husband and two adorable children who sometimes do as they are told.

  * * *

  Visit www.atlanticbridge.net for information on additional titles by this and other authors.