Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  He touched my arm. “Let’s call the New York City police and see what we can start.”

  ~*~

  After more phone calls, I was thrashed and went straight to bed even though it wasn’t near to bedtime. Stress, suspicion and jet lag had caught up with me. After I awakened, Fletcher took me out to eat that night on the terrace of an outdoor cafe in Fiesole, high above the city. I watched the lights of Florence emerge from the dusk in the valley below. In the deepening night, the Arno looked like a dark ribbon flung across glittering silver sequins.

  I didn’t have much to say, but found myself touching Fletch often. It was as though I needed reassurance and contact to anchor me in a world gone increasingly skewed. I held his hand, caressed his thigh and played footsie but somehow our eyes didn’t meet. I was increasingly disturbed by the mixed signals.

  I knew how I felt but didn’t have a clue about his emotions, if there were any. He clearly wanted me and had for a long time. The intensity of his lovemaking left no doubt of that. But lust meant nothing to most men. Desire, possession, and love weren’t always related, and Fletcher Wolf had always impressed me as a predator. From the moment he’d seen me, he’d schemed to take me and everything I had. Not only had he achieved his goals, but he was frighteningly close to stripping me of my closest associate.

  But how could I blame him for Maggie’s crimes? Sighing, I realized that the truth was hard, very hard to face. Maggie hated me. Did Fletch love me? I found my upper teeth dragging at my lips. Regardless of my own feelings, how could I trust anyone after how seriously I’d blundered with her? I’d misjudged her so badly.

  I raised her eyes to meet his. He watched me with that disconcerting golden gleam. I should have been used to that look, but my heart still lurched.

  Good God. I loved this man, but had no idea what he felt about me or wanted from life. I was too damn scared of the answers to ask. I couldn’t hear myself saying, “Do you ever want to marry? Have kids?” Most men took one look at Nat and ran away as fast as they could.

  Who cares for the caretaker? The question I’d put to Fletcher haunted me. A lone wolf, he seemed content to run alone at the top of the pack, but that could be a mighty lonely place. If he chose that place forever, there would never be any room for me or my daughter in his life.

  ~*~

  After we made love, he kissed me, tenderly cupping my breast as I continued to come. The trembling that seized me gentled into blissful afterglow as we cuddled.

  “Here. I want you to have this.” Rolling away from me, he reached into a drawer of his bedside table to take out a small wrapped box.

  Though still boneless with pleasure, I managed to sit up. The sheet slipped off me and bunched around my waist as I took the gift. Pulling off the purple ribbon and gold paper revealed a small velveteen box, the kind of jeweler’s box which often contained a ring. Shocked, I inhaled in a short, sharp burst. “F-fletch, I don’t know what to say…”

  “Better save your acceptance speech ’til you’ve seen what it is.” He leaned back against the pillows, smiling. His eyes held a mixture of lust, amusement, and something I was scared to analyze.

  The box contained a cameo ring surrounded by tiny pearls and set in gold filigree. “Oh, this is wonderful.” A bewildering mix of surprise, relief, joy and disappointment tumbled through my heart.

  God. I’d actually thought he’d propose. Shit. I’d become a fool over this man. Rattled by the situation, I wondered if I’d truly wanted him to propose. How would I have reacted? It was surely too soon for a declaration of undying love, but to be honest, wasn’t that what I really wanted?

  I remembered the thirty page prenuptial contract and winced inwardly. No wonder it wasn’t an engagement ring. If he ever proposed, he’d probably have his attorney deliver a diamond along with a contract delineating the rights and responsibilities of each partner in their relationship.

  Nope. No way. I wanted an old-fashioned marriage like my parents’, based on love and trust. I’d treat this romance for what it was—a fling. At some point, I’d find a way to tell him that, despite mind-blowing sex and burgeoning love, we couldn’t continue our relationship back in New York.

  But the cameo was a sweet gesture, and I appreciated it. Really. I took the ring out of its black velvet nest, trying it on various fingers.

  “As luck would have it,” he said as the ring slipped easily onto the third finger of my left hand and stayed there.

  I squirmed with embarrassment. What exactly did he mean? And did I really want to wear a ring on that finger? That was pretty possessive. However, did I want anyone else?

  No, I didn’t. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I picked out one just like it for Natalie. Call me corny, but I think that matching rings on you two will be cute.”

  “That’s very sweet. Where did you get them?”

  “On the Ponte Vecchio, while you rested.”

  “I didn’t want to miss our last day of sightseeing, but I needed that nap.”

  “I’m sorry that today was so hard on you, honey.” He picked up the purple ribbon from the sprawl of crackling golden paper.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I could have warned you. Let me make it up to you.” He slid closer, pushing box and wrapping out of his way. He passed the cut edge of the ribbon over my breasts, and my nipples hardened despite the feather-light touch. He ran the soft satin strand down my belly, bouncing it over my hip. “Open your legs.” He trailed the ribbon between my inner thighs. My skin rippled like a lake swept by a summer breeze. Tossing the ribbon aside, he took me in an intimate kiss that went on and on until I thought the top of my head would blow off.

  Covering me again with his body, he slipped inside as I opened, then tightened, gripping him with my knees and wrapping my legs around his waist. He groaned as he glided in and out in a rhythm old as life, yet new and fresh as morning in Eden.

  ~*~

  “Oh, baby, we really messed up.” Fletcher squinted at the face of his watch as morning sun shafted into the room between the heavy brocade curtains. “We’ll never make our flight to Paris.”

  “What time are we supposed to be at the airport?” I stretched her arms up over the pillow.

  “An hour ago.”

  “Oops.”

  “Oops is right. I’m sorry, honey. I forgot to ask the concierge for a wake-up call.”

  “This must mean you’re loosening up. What happened to precise, punctual Fletcher, ‘Mr. Organization is the key to Success?’“ I laughed at the chagrined look on his face. “Hey, I thought you had a private jet.”

  “I don’t own the plane, but I have shares in it. It doesn’t make sense for us to own a jet. Fletcher Tool and Gear wouldn’t use it enough. We have to schedule use of the plane.” He punched buttons and got through to the airfield. “Just as I thought,” he told her. We can’t leave today. Tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  I reached for him. “Bummer. I guess we have to spend another day in Florence.”

  He groaned as I rolled him between her palms. “Cara mia, you’ll be the death of me.”

  ~*~

  We had to wait until it was daylight in America to call Richmond to talk with Damon, but he’d already left for New York. Veronica told me she’d put Natalie on a flight to J.F.K. on the same morning that we’d arrive.

  The flight back the next day was uneventful, except for the discussion I dreaded. I waited until we were high over the Atlantic before raising the subject of our future.

  I clicked my champagne glass against his before taking a sip. Okay, it was a swig. Then two. I hated to tell Fletch, who’d treated me like a princess, that our romance was over, and back in Manhattan we’d have to stick to business. I cleared my throat, preparing to speak, then took another swallow of champagne. So I’m a chicken. Squawk, squawk.

  “Better go slow on that stuff, honey. It’ll only be eight-thirty in the morning when we get back home. You’ll have a whole day to get throug
h, and you won’t make it sloshed on Dom Perignon.” He peered at me over the rim of his champagne flute. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Damn him. How did he always know when I was bothered? “Ummm, you.”

  “Little ol’ me? What now?”

  “Well, you know,” I paused and took another gulp of liquid courage. “We can’t go on like this back home.”

  “Like what?” He twinkled, daring me to get graphic, the wretch, with a flight attendant hovering to fill our glasses or offer appetizers.

  “Like, well, you know.”

  He tipped back his head to stare at the ceiling. “Don’t know much right now, honey. For the last four days, I’ve been loved until my mind is blank.” He turned back to me and smiled, baring his teeth, alpha wolf keeping his mate in line with the program.

  “You are determined to make this harder than it needs to be, aren’t you?” I spoke very precisely, feeling the effects of the alcohol.

  Taking my hand, he put it into his lap. His bulging sex strained the cloth of his khakis. “How hard does it need to be for you, honey? And I know how you like it. Very hard, very deep and very long.”

  A flight attendant stopped at my side, and I felt a slow burn start in my cheeks. I snatched my hand away.

  The attendant lowered a tray of caviar canapés toward me. “Hors d’oeuvres?” the lady asked.

  “Two, please,” Fletcher said, and she put a pair of the munchies on a china plate on my tray. Picking one up, he held it in front of my nose, letting me smell the salty fish. “Open your mouth.”

  I didn’t like to be told what to do, but I was hungry. The caviar, miniature bombs of briny flavor, exploded between my tongue and palate. The chopped egg mediated the taste. Yum. I sipped more champagne. I’m lost, I realized.

  “Now what did you want to talk about?”

  I gathered my straying wits while I still could. “Us.”

  “Isn’t it a little early to have a relationship talk? We’ve been lovers less than a week.”

  “Is there a schedule I’m supposed to follow?” How like Fletcher. Everything on time and precisely organized.

  “Of course not. Just relax and go with the flow.” He waved his hand in the air.

  “What about Natalie? I’m supposed to be setting an example for a pre-adolescent.”

  Fletcher chuckled. “Whatever you want, honey. So we had an affair when we were in Florence that we won’t discuss with Natalie. Does that make you feel better?”

  “We-ell, yes, it does.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Let’s call it an affair so we don’t have to worry about something as serious as a relationship.” He snuggled closer to kiss my forehead, and then my cheek and mouth. “Hey, come with me to the lavatory.”

  “What’s in the lavatory?”

  “I want to join the mile high club.”

  “Fletch!”

  “Since we won’t be able to do it back home, we might as well get a quickie right now.”

  “Aren’t you romantic.”

  He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I am. So what about it?”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Ummm...my jeans are too tight.”

  His fingers played a tango on the front seam of my denims, making me swell and sizzle. “Very poor planning, Carissima mia, but I’m creative too, in my own way. I can adjust.” He sipped champagne, still spearing me with his intent gaze. “Come on, honey. Live a little.” Leaning over, he unlocked my safety belt, then tickled my side.

  I squawked, spilling champagne into my lap. The remaining appetizer fell off the china plate. Smelly caviar smeared my jeans.

  “Oops,” he said blandly. “Guess we’d better get you to the lavatory to clean up.” He gave me a shit-eating grin and a little push.

  Glaring, I hauled myself out of the seat and headed aft. Fletch, following, crowded into the restroom before I could close the door. Being a private jet, the restroom was larger than on a commercial airliner, but it was by no means huge. Its small size didn’t seem to deter him.

  He knelt, licking chopped egg off my pants. I gathered his long hair with one hand to keep it out of the food and watched him with a growing sense of amazement. As dominating as he could be, he sure seemed to spend a lot of time on his knees. Hard to complain about that, so…I decided not to whine about his invasion of the bathroom.

  He rose. “Hmm. This space does present a challenge, doesn’t it?” He flipped the toilet seat down with a clatter. “Turn for me.”

  I did, and he reached around me, pressing his body against my back as he fumbled at the catch of my jeans. He rubbed against my backside. I drew in a short, sharp breath. What was he planning? I didn’t want to do this...or did I?

  “Live a little, honey. Have a new experience,” he murmured into my ear.

  I closed my eyes. Fletch had led me to the breakfast banquet of life, and I was ashamed to find that I wanted...waffles. Plain waffles. But he wasn’t a waffler. I figured I’d better decide what I was going to do very soon. Cool air washed my buttocks as he yanked the jeans down to my knees, then to my ankles. He held me pinned between his body and the back wall of the john. My jeans, tangled around my legs, trapped me. I felt controlled, but not scared.

  I trusted him.

  He stroked my bottom, making me shiver with want. “So lovely. Up you go.” He hoisted me up so that one of my bent legs rested on the closed seat. Bending from the hips, I leaned my forearms against the wall and rested my brow on them. The weight of his ring on my finger, however slight, reminded me that he’d staked his claim.

  He caressed and explored. I tried to open my legs wider for his touch, so enticing, so entrancing.

  “Yeah, baby, just like that.”

  I heard rustling as he shifted position. He kissed and nibbled my cheeks, then flicked his tongue deeper. I twitched with need.

  What had happened? I’d ignored sex for months. Then this man came along, and I couldn’t get enough, even though I was sure it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  The click of his belt buckle. His zipper purred. He continued to kiss me tenderly in the crescent that separated my cheeks. A crackling sound that I recognized as a condom packet opening. Something hot and hard prodded the furrow between my buttocks. I jerked away, stiffening.

  His chuckle, a low bass note, rumbled in my ear. “Easy, honey. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want.” Fingers slipped inside and I moaned, pushing back against his hand. “Shhh. We have to be very, very quiet. You don’t want to entertain the flight attendants, do you?”

  I clamped my lips shut as he eased into me. Only partially in; the small space made sex awkward. I bit my lips to repress a cry as Fletch slid a hand around to my belly, then down through my curls, stroking the bud within.

  Torture, taking him without a sound, a moan or a cry. Pure sexual torture, and he had to know it. But two could play this game. I tightened my sheath and heard him gasp, a very satisfying sound.

  He hilted himself with one long, smooth motion that pierced me to the core, then rocked within me. No fireworks, just a slow, easy tide of desire that crested into a torrent as he dove deep, gripping my hip as he flooded my channel with hot spurts of jism. I gasped, and his other hand snaked over to cover my mouth as he buried his head in my shoulder to muffle his own growls of satisfaction. I took his finger between my lips, sucking while he penetrated me. His breath scorched my neck before the ridge of his teeth scored my shoulder, driving me higher while claiming me as his. Writhing in his grasp, I peaked with him, in tune with him like two blended violins. “My mate,” he murmured.

  I felt his ring on my finger, his mark on my shoulder, and a brand on my heart that would never disappear.

  Chapter 16

  After our luggage was unloaded, we endured an interminable wait before Natalie, bubbling with joy, deplaned from her flight from Richmond. She’d had a great time, and I made a mental note to remind her to write thank-you notes to Veronica, Griffin and even Damon, who
’d turned out to have an unexpectedly soft side.

  The limo pulled up to the airport curb at precisely ten in the morning, New York time, but I had already tolerated a long day of travel. I could hardly wait to get home, take a shower, and slip into my nice, familiar bed. My nice, familiar, empty bed. Lovemaking with Fletcher had a major drawback: I didn’t get much sleep.

  As the car stopped outside our brownstone, I opened the door and sniffed.

  “Pe-yew, gross smell, Mom,” Natalie said.

  I craned my head to find the source of the stench. Nothing suspicious in the gutter. I looked up, and my mouth dropped open in horror. I squeaked and scrabbled for Fletcher’s sleeve, tugging him out of the limo. Couldn’t he move any faster?

  “What?” He looked up. “Sweet Lord Almighty!”

  The upper portion of the building was a smoke-blackened ruin. With mounting outrage, I saw that only our loft had burned. The other apartments seemed to be untouched.

  Natalie jumped out of the car before I could stop her. “Hillary! Chelsea!” she shrieked, dashing toward the building.

  “Damn, the birds,” I murmured. My daughter had a fondness for those lovebirds that was grossly out of proportion to the avians’ brains, looks, or personalities. “Nat!” I called. “They’re with Tom and Ellie, remember?”

  Natalie stopped. “Let’s go see them right away, Mommy.”

  “Please,” Fletcher muttered.

  I shot him a look which I hoped screamed Not right now, okay? I hurried after Natalie, who’d resumed her headlong flight into the charred building. But at ten in the morning on a weekday, I didn’t expect to see either Tom or Ellie at home.

  She pressed her ear to the door. “I can hear them. I can hear Hillary and Chelsea talking.” She banged the knocker.