Slippery When Wet

by Kristin Hardy

  “Congratulations,” he went on. “Really, that’s great news. I’ve got to believe that you had some serious competition.”

  “Probably,” she allowed. “I got in early. I’ve been after Pace-Miller since the day I got wind of their move.”

  “Sounds like the construction biz. Strike early if you want to get the advantage.”

  “Do you like it, going after work?” she asked curiously.

  He shrugged. “It’s part of the job, like billing. How about you?”

  “I’m with you on billing, but I kind of like recruiting clients. There’s something exciting about it.”

  “The thrill of the chase?”

  “Maybe.” She reflected. “It’s a challenge to see if I can do a better job building a package and pitching than the competition.”

  “Is that your favorite part?”

  “Are we ever going to talk about the construction?” she asked, more amused than annoyed.

  “Later.” He dismissed it and took a beer nut out of the bowl in front of him. “Let’s talk about your work.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m curious.” Because he’d gotten to know one person in Mexico and a completely different person in Baltimore, and it intrigued him. “What part is the most fun for you?”

  “Pitching,” she said without hesitation. “I like building the package, but I really love getting up there and giving them a spiel that gets them right between the eyes.”

  “Maybe you missed your calling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe you’re really cut out to be a boardroom barracuda,” he said, resting one elbow on the bar.

  “You’ve got to have an M.B.A. to do that kind of thing.”

  “So go back to school.” When Taylor snorted, he leaned toward her. “Don’t blow it off. This is your thing, your eyes light up when you talk about it.”

  “What about you?”

  He grinned. “My eyes light up when I swing a hammer.”

  “Seriously.”

  “I am serious,” he said, rubbing at the calluses on his palm.

  “Then why are you running your own business?”

  He mulled it over. “I guess I like orchestrating the whole thing, too,” he said slowly. “You know, figuring out how to get people to pitch in together, making sure everything’s in the right place at the right time, and working out a solution when it isn’t. It’s like the steps of a dance. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” he said, glancing away.

  “No, I see exactly what you mean. A job like renovating my building has got to be huge.”

  “It’s kept us busy, though I’m sorry about the delays.”

  “Don’t be.” She hesitated. “You’ve been working your behind off to make it up. I’m grateful for that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been monitoring my behind?”

  Dinner arrived, saving her from replying.

  Taylor laid her napkin in her lap and looked at the plate Freddy set before her. If she didn’t expect too much, it was unlikely she’d be disappointed. Then she took the first bite, and closed her eyes in bliss. Oh, no, she wasn’t disappointed. In fact, she was so far from disappointed that she wasn’t even in the same universe. Leon’s, quite simply, had a genius in the kitchen.

  Conversation died off, the truest measure of a good meal. The tavern wasn’t a place that demanded conversation or attention. It was, purely and simply, a place to relax and enjoy.

  Dev smiled as she started to slow down. “Not what you’d expected, huh?”

  “I like to think I have an open mind,” she said with dignity.

  “Yeah, right. I know what you thought you’d get…greasy burgers, limp fries, maybe some chicken nuggets. You ought to have more faith in me.”

  “I’ve seen the error of my ways,” she said lightly, eyeing his crab cakes. “And how’s your dinner?”

  “Good,” he said, fighting a smile at the avaricious look in her eyes. “You want to try some?” he asked, cutting a piece loose and offering it to her. “I’ll trade you for some of the pot roast.”

  Taylor accepted the bite. Baltimore did crab cakes like no place else, she thought, then closed her eyes to better appreciate the flavor. When she opened them, she saw Dev watching her.

  “I have never in my life seen a woman enjoy food the way that you do,” he said. “Usually they’re picking away or ordering salads because they’re on a diet.”

  Taylor laughed. “It’s a chick thing. Don’t let a guy see you eat, especially a good-looking guy.”

  “I think you just gave me a compliment.”

  “Now, see, I can eat in front of you because I’m not expecting anything to happen between us,” she went on conversationally, ignoring him.

  “Mmm. Careful,” he said slowly, studying her. “That sounds a lot like a challenge.”

  She swallowed, her eyes locked on his, her throat suddenly dry. He’d come up on her unawares, putting her at ease, making her think him harmless. He didn’t seem harmless anymore. In the dim light, his eyes had a silver cast, the eyes of a predator who would not be dissuaded from what he wanted. And in the dim light, with his thigh hard and warm against hers, she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t what she wanted, too.

  A startling twang of guitar strings broke into the moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief. In Mexico, an affair between them could be light and easy. Here in Baltimore, it seemed less likely.

  With a few clicks of the drumsticks, the band broke into its opening number and Taylor straightened.

  “This is such a great dance song,” she said, tapping her fingers on the bar. “I used to love this when I was in college.” She moved her shoulders to the beat.

  Dev caught her hand. “Let’s go cut a rug.”

  She threw a glance of disbelief at the empty dance floor. “There’s no one out there.”

  “So?”

  She shook her head. “Not my thing. Back in the day, maybe, but not now.” Back in the day, she’d liked an empty floor best of all, because it gave her all the room she could want, because she knew she looked good. Because it made her the center of attention.

  Now, she’d been cured of being the center of attention and she had no idea if her dance moves looked even moderately coordinated, let alone appealing. Nope, not even on a half-empty floor.

  Still, her foot tapped and the music called to her.

  “You know, I remember someone telling me not so long ago that they were finding their way back to someplace they’d been a long time ago.”

  Taylor flushed. “That just slipped out.”

  “The person I was with in Mexico wouldn’t have balked at going out on an empty floor.”

  “I didn’t know anybody there.”

  “You don’t know anyone here now. Freddie is sure as hell not going to care. The only one who cares is you. So why not?” Dev caught her hand in his. “Come on out with me. Find Taylor again.”

  The dance floor seemed enormous. Dev led her onto it, pulling her to the center when she would have huddled on the edge by a table. She stepped from side to side, snapped her fingers, and suddenly the beat took hold of her. It was like being caught up by a wave, the way that the music seemed to move her muscles without her even trying. Motions that she’d forgotten came back. Delighted, she found herself vamping, spinning, whipping her arms to the music.

  This was the person she’d once been, the person who wasn’t self-conscious, who didn’t care what people thought. The light feeling that had come over her in Mexico returned, a sense that she was starting to fit into her own skin again. The professional, the drudge was part of who she was, she knew that, but this was part of who she was also. It was like welcoming herself home.

  The band moved straight into another song. Taylor didn’t notice when more couples began to move onto the floor. She danced close to Dev, laughing into his face, galvanized by the music. When she turned too exuberantly, glancing off another dancer and bouncing against Dev, sh
e didn’t object that he put his hands on her hips to steady her.

  Hot and out of breath, they grinned at each other. The music turned into a bluegrass tune with a fast beat. When Taylor would have turned away, Dev caught her hands and moved into the step. He urged her in and out, back and forth, until she got the hang of it, following the push and pull of his arms. Her feet thumped the floor to the beat. Then he started to turn her. First it was just an underarm turn, then he was reeling her in and whirling her out until she was breathless and giddy and laughing. He spun her in so they were side by side and she was cradled by his arms. As he walked them in a circle, she registered the feel of his hard body next to her and the heat of his arms around her, a little dizzy and off balance until he spun her back out.

  The band wound up with a finishing flourish just as Dev pretzeled her back toward him in a double handhold. The final note hit even as she turned to grin at him.

  And found his mouth too close. Awareness thudded through her. The moment seemed to stretch out interminably.

  Abruptly the band shifted gears into a ballad, a slow, sexy throb of rhythm and blues. Couples moved together. Dev unwound her and started to pull her toward him.

  “Dinner’s getting cold,” Taylor said, quickly twisting out of his arms and beating a hasty retreat back toward the bar stools.

  His long legs carried him back to her more quickly than she’d expected. “For being out of practice, you did a pretty good job out there.”

  Taylor reached her stool and took a long pull on her beer. “It was fun. Thanks for talking me into it.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Where did you learn to do the spinning stuff?”

  He looked, of all things, embarrassed. “I lived in Savannah for a while. One of the guys I worked with had a thing for cowboy bars. You pick it up after a while.”

  “And then you pick the girls up,” she said dryly.

  Sometimes he had, though the hasty liaisons always left something of a bad taste in his mouth after. Somewhere along the line he’d just given it up, and hadn’t much missed it.

  Taylor, now, Taylor he’d miss.

  Inside him, some thread of awareness started to thrum. The ache for her that had begun to permeate his days began to throb more insistently. The ache for the old Taylor, the chance taker. The ache for the new Taylor, the one who was as focused as he. The ache for the woman next to him, the one who’d been on his mind, interfering with his sleep, breaking his concentration ever since he’d come back from Mexico.

  She gave up picking at her dinner, pushing the plate away.

  “Big lunch?” Dev asked, watching her.

  “No lunch at all,” she said. “Bad habit of mine.”

  “You seemed to have more of an appetite in Mexico.”

  “Mexico was different,” Taylor said slowly, looking down along the bar.

  He reached out and touched a finger to her chin, turning her to face him.

  “Why?”

  “That’s not who I am anymore.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe that. It’s not all of who you are, but it’s part of you, the same part of you that was out there dancing tonight.”

  “I only did that because you pulled me out there.”

  “You wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t wanted to. That person is as much a part of you as the corporate pitch artist. You just lost her for a while. Now you’re getting her back.”

  “I should never have told you that.”

  Dev’s eyes were dark in the shadows, his gaze focused, intent. Taylor felt like she was standing on the sand at the edge of the water, feeling it melt away under her feet in the face of the oncoming waves. She ran a hand through her hair, resting her elbow on the bar.

  “Why do the two Taylors have to be separate?”

  “Because it doesn’t work. I can’t be that person anymore.” I don’t have the courage, she thought.

  “You’ve got the courage to be whoever you want to be,” he said, as though he’d heard her, reaching out to take her hand in his, turning her to face him.

  Heat spread through her. What she wanted, with a suddenness that nearly overwhelmed her, was him.

  “Mexico doesn’t have to be a place that exists outside of time and real life,” he said, leaning close to her, his words soft, compelling. “I’m the same person now as I was then. And I still want you.”

  The words hung in the air as Taylor tried to remember how to breathe. In Mexico, it had been simple. She’d wanted and she’d taken. Now, it was no longer simple, and the need that sliced through her was far sharper.

  “Come home with me,” Dev whispered into her ear. “Let me take you places.” His lips grazed her jaw. His fingers slid up her nape and into her hair. He nipped at her lower lip.

  And heat exploded through her.

  THERE WASN’T AN OLD TAYLOR, a new Taylor, a Taylor in Mexico, a Taylor at home. There was just a Taylor who wanted. Desire flowed through her veins in an intoxicating cocktail, bringing with it a lightness that made her giddy.

  She pressed herself against Dev, dropping kisses on his neck as he made the short drive from the tavern to where he lived. They pulled up beside his house, a looming bulk that gave an impression of the sort of Victorian Gothic that Mr. Rochester would have lived in. No lights were on. Maybe that meant no roommates, she thought hopefully. She didn’t want to share the moment with anyone, didn’t want to think about anyone or anything but Dev. If it alarmed her that the ravenous need felt so right, she’d deal with it later. Having him now was vital. Whatever the next day would bring, there would be time enough to face it.Their feet thudded hollowly on the wooden porch, and then they were inside, the front door closing behind them.

  “Roommates?” she managed to say.

  “No way,” Dev said, pulling off her coat and dropping it on the floor.

  Impatience ruled him. He had to see her, to touch her, to have her. Light and enticing, her scent wove into his senses. Another time, he’d have been patient, deliberate, seducing her over the course of an evening. Now, need blinded him, bound him to her with one single driving desire—to have her. He plundered her mouth, tasting her urgency and need, let his hands rove over her, tantalizing himself with the feel of her taut and quivering against him. In between, he whipped off his jacket, tore at the laces of his boots.

  He’d known her body before, countless times. How was it that it all now felt new? When he pulled her sweater over her head, and looked at her in only her lacy demi bra, it was as though he was seeing her for the first time. When he felt her hands stroke down the muscles of his belly, the sensation had his toes curling in anticipation of what came next. Her soft sigh only made him more greedy to hear the sound of her orgasm as she clenched around him.

  Taylor reached out to unbutton the fly of his jeans and pushed down, sinking to the carpeted stairs, she pulled him toward her, rubbing the tip of his hard cock against her lips. God, she’d missed this, the feel of him in her hands, his desire for her made palpable. At the sound of his groan, the sense of power surged through her. She could give him this, pleasure that made him shudder, that had his fingers twisting in her hair. The want was not hers alone, it clutched them both, dragging them closer to madness.

  Dev groaned and pulled away, tugging her up against him for a hot, melting kiss. She wanted to linger, glorying over every instant. She wanted to feel him against her, in her, now. The urgency swelled, became towering, overwhelming everything else. There would be time later, she thought fleetingly. For now, she couldn’t wait.

  Caught up, perhaps, by the same thought, Dev broke the kiss and turned her to face the stairs.

  “Up,” he murmured, biting at her shoulder.

  She could feel how hard he was, how ready. She knew how close she was to tumbling over the edge herself. To be taken was what she craved, taken hard so that she felt it in her every fiber. She needed to know that he was as ravenous for it as she.

  “Hurry, go,” he muttered, his cockh
ead trembling against her butt, his hands urging her upward.

  “No,” she countered, reaching back to pull him against her, leaning forward to stretch over the stairs. “Now.”

  “Now,” he breathed, and she cried out as he slid up into her.

  The pile of the wool stair runner was soft under her fingers. His hands were hard and urgent on her ribs, his cock was hot and urgent inside her. The sense of being plundered had her shivering with delight; when his fingers searched out the slick cleft at the front of her, she moaned. “Harder,” she managed, crying out as he pounded into her until she felt him through every bit of her body.

  “You want it harder?” he panted, his hands driving her, his body surging against hers.

  She shivered with every stroke. He was taking her somewhere unknown, toward some edge of dark glory and delight. The days of temptation, the nights of longing, the moments of sensual extravagance had blended and intertwined to bring them to this place, to this instant, to this precipice.

  And when the torment of his touch flung her over, she cried out in shock, her body bucking and jolting through the aftershocks even as he clenched her against him and groaned.

  MORNING SUNLIGHT SHONE INTO Taylor’s eyes, had her blinking groggily. Thank God it was Saturday, was her first coherent thought. The second was what the hell was she doing?

  The night rolled back to her. Catnaps were all they had managed between the flash and the fury of their reunion. In his dimly lit bedroom, they’d relearned each other, only to discover new places and fresh needs. In the brief instants they managed to nod off, the slightest movement, the lightest brush of skin against skin, leg against leg, sent hunger rocketing through them again.Dev lay next to her, fast asleep, his face in the pillow and one arm draped over her waist. Taylor looked around the room she hadn’t even registered the night before. The house was a Victorian, that much she knew. Fluted moldings rippled around windows that had to be two yards tall. A crown molding accented the edge of the ceiling.

  She could see where he’d done some work patching the walls and woodwork. More renovations, she thought with a smile, turning to roll away.