A Will and a Way

by Maggie Wells

  “I hope you enjoyed your weekend, Ms. Asher. I’m afraid I’m going to need you to make up for the time off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He started to move. Long, sure strokes that brought him to the very brink of her entrance before he drove back in. The pace he set was steady. Unapologetic. And oh-so delicious. He slipped a hand between her legs, stroking her clit with the same relentless determination.

  There were no more words. No flirtatious taunts or breathless promises of pleasure. Only the harsh sounds of rasping breaths and slapping skin. She strained toward those magic fingers, urging him to take her up faster. She needed him desperately. Ached for the definitive release she only found with him deep inside her. She wanted him to snap the spring of tension coiled tight and low in her belly.

  “Will. Oh, Will. I missed you.” She bit down on the inside of her lips to keep from saying more. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. Didn’t want to scare him. Wasn’t ready for him to bolt. Watching him walk out the door last Friday had nearly unraveled her.

  He looked her dead in the eye. “I thought about you all the time.”

  A tiny sob escaped her. Betty gulped a breath then squeezed her eyes shut, focusing every bit of her concentration on the deft strokes of his fingers and cock. It would be too easy to grab hold of that gruff confession and clutch it tight to her chest. But she couldn’t do that. Her heart was too bruised and battered to risk it like that again.

  So she zeroed in on what was always right between them. The physical. “Please,” she croaked the last, her voice breaking.

  His fingers gentled enough for the damn to burst. She came. And as the first tremors of her climax washed through her, he followed her over the edge. He spoke her name, like he always did, but this time it was different. Raw. Vulnerable. Questioning, even though this man had just owned her so thoroughly she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand on her own again.

  Hot waves of mind-numbing release ripped through her. Strong arms drew her up off the desk and back against his heaving chest. They fell into his chair, limbs and clothing tangled. The impact of their combined weight snapped one of the wheels from the base of the decrepit old chair. They froze, stunned into immobility for a second that hung suspended for what seemed like minutes.

  Then, the chair began to list to the right. Will’s laughter wrapped around her as tightly as his arms. He kissed her ear. “Take me home with you.”

  The request startled the humor right out of her. “What?”

  “Let’s go to your place?”

  “My place?”

  She pictured her tiny cracker box of a studio apartment. Less than five hundred square feet of living space crammed with all the stuff she thought she couldn’t live without when she left Percy but hadn’t needed for one second since she’d met Will. At first, she hadn’t wanted to take him there because it was hers. The first place she could ever call her own. And she didn’t want to share it. Having her only child in her newfound space for two nights felt like a violation.

  “Why?”

  His arms loosened, but he didn’t let her go. “I want to see your place.”

  “Yours is so much more comfortable.”

  He drew back just a little, and she cringed, knowing the excuse sounded lame.

  But he was trying to insinuate himself into her life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him there. Once one or both of them decided to invoke the no harm, no foul clause, she didn’t want every inch of her apartment to remind her of Will. By the same reasoning, she didn’t plan to visit any of the city’s museums, spend the pretty spring days in the park, or attend the free concerts the symphony sponsored with him. It was bad enough that most of the Riverside neighborhood would be ruined for her, but she could always move once her lease came up for renewal.

  “Betty?”

  She jerked as if he’d hit her with a Taser. Covering her discomfiture with a little laugh, she ran her hands over her sex-rumpled hair then wriggled from his hold. He let her go, and she swallowed hard as she smoothed her skirt over her wobbly legs, wishing to God it didn’t bother her that he’d relinquished his hold without even token resistance. “My place is a mess. I didn’t have a chance to straighten up after Donnie left.”

  Will yanked his jeans and briefs into place then dropped down into the broken seat with an audible grunt. “I don’t care if you’ve cleaned.”

  “Well, I care,” she retorted. Fighting back the panic rising inside her, she balled her hand into a loose fist. Her nails bit into her palm even as she forced a bright smile. “Besides, I’ve missed sprawling out on your big ol’ bed. I was thinking maybe tonight I’d let you have more than half a pillow.”

  “Wow. Really?” he deadpanned. “So generous.”

  Bending to scoop her panties from the floor, she swayed as the scrap of baby blue nylon dangled from her fingertips, but she figured he wouldn’t notice that she was still a bit tipsy. Not after she dropped his trophy panties into his lap. “Sugar, you have no idea how generous I can be when I put my mind to it.”

  * * * *

  Will didn’t push. After years of having women use every trick in the book in their attempts to relieve him of his bachelorhood, he couldn’t quite bring himself to force the issue with Betty. He wanted to. His inner caveman screamed with frustration. It wouldn’t take much to toss her over his shoulder and march to the squat brick apartment building she called home. Hell, she was still half in the bag from the liquid lunch she’d shared with Josie. He could be on her doorstep before she even figured out where she was.

  Gathering the panties she’d dropped like a handkerchief, he smiled as he rolled to his feet. “Sweetheart, no one knows better than me how generous you can be….” He stuffed the panties into his front pocket then fastened his jeans. “…in some areas.”

  She pressed a hand to her throat, her eyes widening in mock dismay. “Why, Will Tarrant, what are you implying?”

  “You should know by now that I rarely imply anything. I say exactly what I mean straight out.” Staring down at her, he noted her rosy cheeks, tousled hair, and inability to meet his eyes. “It’s one of the things you like best about me.”

  “Will—”

  “It’s early days and you’re wary,” he said, cutting her off without hesitation or apology. “But, Betty, one day you will have to let me in.”

  She blinked. He watched, utterly enthralled, as her back straightened vertebra by vertebra and her eyes cooled.

  “I don’t have to do a damn thing I don’t want to do.”

  He held her gaze, undaunted by her icy stare. “You certainly do not,” he agreed. “But you want me. You want us.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips. “Keep your secrets. Hide yourself away in your apartment if it makes you feel better.”

  “I’m not hiding,” she snapped.

  “We can go back to my place tonight,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She jerked her hand from his grasp. “I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with you.”

  He gave a tired little laugh. “It’s been a long day. You’ve had some wine. I’ve had to listen to Greg whine. Let’s not get into it now.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  God, she did indignation well. He’d have to remember that for future reference. Beautiful. Haughty. A steel magnolia honed into a machete. “I’m the man whose been waiting his whole life for you.”

  She scoffed. “You think I’m going to fall for a tired old line like that? How many times has that worked for you? A dozen? Two?”

  The implication hurt more than he wanted to let on. They’d spent over a week practically living in each other’s pockets and she still believed the gossip more than she believed in him. In them. “I’ve never said anything like that to any woman,” he replied, keeping his tone as even as possible. “I told you before, I believe this is Fate. You are my Fate.”

  “I told you already, I believe we make our own Fate.�
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  “Then I’m asking you to choose me. Make me your Fate.”

  She stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed and incredulous. Then she pressed the heel of her hand to her aching head and turned away. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with a man I’ve barely known for a week.”

  Amazing the way a week can seem like a lifetime to one person and the blink of an eye to another. Swallowing the lump of bitterness in his throat, he drew a calming breath before he allowed himself to even think about speaking again. But Betty didn’t seem to have any such compunctions.

  “You don’t know me, Will. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “But I want to. I want to know everything about you. You’re the one with the mystery life in Mississippi.”

  “And you’re the one who’s slept his way through the phone directory, but you don’t see me pawing through your medicine cabinet checking to make sure your antibiotics are up to date.”

  He took a reeling step back, the accusation landing like a blow. Then he whispered the only word that came to mind. “Wow.”

  Betty pressed both hands to her cheeks. Color rose so high in them he could imagine the heat of her blush. But he didn’t wish it away for her. Nor did he want to soothe it. What she’d said was a low blow, and as far as he was concerned, she deserved to burn a little for it.

  “Oh, my God,” she said in a rush. “I’m so sorry. That was completely out of line.”

  “Yes, it was,” he agreed, unwilling to let her off the hook even though he had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. His fingers curled around the scrap of silky nylon and he dropped his chin to his chest. Staring at the wide plank floor, he tried to figure out how they’d managed to come from dropping panties to hurling insults in so short a time. “You know what? I think it’s probably best if we both just call it a day.”

  “I didn’t mean….” She waited until he looked up then held her hands out in silent supplication. “I’m sorry. That was a horrible thing to say and I know it isn’t true.”

  “Go home, Betty.” He spoke softly, careful to keep his inflection neutral. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “I just…You have to understand—”

  “I do understand.”

  And he did. He knew she was trying to start over. Meeting him wasn’t part of her plan. He certainly didn’t expect to fall head-over-heels for a Good ‘N Plenty shivering at a bus stop. Life was full of crazy twists like that. Surely she knew that by now. But he was open to them, and she wasn’t. At least, not yet.

  He just hoped to God all those damn motivational posters were telling the truth about the boomerang effect of letting the things you love go. Otherwise, he might be blowing the best thing that ever happened to him.

  “You need space and maybe we need a little more time,” he said, hardly believing the words were actually coming out of his mouth. “Things were already a little off from the weekend, then there was the Josie Effect, then this.” He waved an all-encompassing hand at her crumpled skirt and his half-wrecked desk. “I’ll walk you home, kiss you at your door, and we’ll take the evening to cool down a bit.” He sucked in air then let it go slowly. “We can try again tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? We’re not going to…. You want me to go home tonight?”

  He clenched his teeth hard enough to risk a case of lockjaw but nodded. “I think we’ll be better if we start fresh tomorrow.”

  Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and she eyed him warily. “We will?”

  “We will,” he asserted. Brushing a lock of her hair back, he ran his thumb over the curve of her cheekbone. “Betty, you can try to deny it all you want, but it’s Fate. One day you’ll realize I’m right. We’re right.” Letting his hand fall, he twined his fingers through hers. “And you deserve to take a little time,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. Hitting her with a lopsided smile, he led her from his office. “But remember, there’s Fate, and then there’s tempting Fate.” He winked when she paused to gather the purse she’d dropped on her desk. “I’ll wait, but neither of us is getting any younger.”

  Chapter 17

  The man was a sadist. That was all there was to it.

  What kind of a playboy, womanizing, dog of a man avoided having sex with his lover for three whole days? Will Tarrant was a bastard. Like a drug dealer. He went and got her hooked on him, and now he refused to give her a fix. All because she hadn’t taken him back to her cramped little craphole of an apartment.

  How stupid was that? Since when did guys care where they did it as long as they did it?

  The worst part was, he hadn’t cut her off cold turkey. He still strolled into the office every afternoon, flirted with her shamelessly, updated Greg on the various projects he’d checked on that day, then holed up in his office making and taking phone calls until quitting time came and went. Each evening, he walked her home, planted a sweet, searching kiss on her lips, stared into her eyes until her knees went watery, then wished her goodnight.

  The bastard.

  And desperate times calling for desperate measures and all, she’d finally broken down, poured herself a second glass of a hearty Australian Cabernet Sauvignon—because three days without sex didn’t exactly make a woman a nun, but too close for comfort—and texted Josie.

  What does it mean when your former man-whore of a lover refuses to sleep with you?

  She’d had to wait forty agonizing minutes before her phone chimed to alert her to a reply, and when it came, she was either too tipsy to understand it or Josie was speaking in tongues.

  Mend the nets, Annette. It means you’ve landed the whale.

  Landed the whale. She finished off her wine and crawled into her too-empty bed. By the time she drifted off to sleep, Will had morphed into young, hot, Splendor in the Grass Warren Beatty in her head.

  Betty awoke that morning determined to haul her catch in. Even if it meant giving up a little space to get a little, uh, splendor. As usual, Greg was already at his desk when she arrived. He handed her a sticky note with the names of the sites Will would be checking that day, but snatched the last pod of Java Jolt from the stash by the coffee maker before she could reach for it.

  “Sorry, I’m pulling rank,” he said, clutching the brew pod in his hand. “You’re going to have to make do with the Cartel Café this morning.”

  She gaped at him, stunned by his uncharacteristically selfish behavior. “I guess chivalry truly is dead,” she drawled. Resigned, she propped her hip on the credenza as she waited for her sub-thermonuclear blast of caffeine to brew. “I reordered. They’ll be here today.”

  “Not soon enough,” Greg grumbled. Squinting at his monitor, he added some dimensions to a column then whipped the reading glasses from his face as he swiveled to glare at her. “Someone showed up at my house last night with a bottle of Chivas and a tale of loneliness so sad I almost cried.”

  The tips of her ears flamed. She smoothed her skirt as she stood straight but kept her gaze locked on the coffee machine. “I bet it was touching.”

  “You growing pot plants in that apartment?”

  A laugh popped out of her. “No!”

  “Keeping your, uh, brother-husbands stashed in there?”

  She blinked at the terminology. Curiosity won out, of course. Turning to look at him she asked, “Brother-husbands?”

  Greg shrugged. “Josie says if there can be sister-wives there can be brother-husbands. Tried to get me to agree to allow her to keep Will and husband number two.”

  Betty stared at him. Yes, as always, she was stunned by Josie’s crazy notions, but she was more surprised by the tingle of ‘Oh, hell yeah!’ that trickled through her bloodstream as she pondered the possibility.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  She jerked and Greg smirked.

  “She gets that same look on her face,” he said, “so I’m giving you the same
answer. Never going to happen. No way, no how.”

  Drawing a shaking breath, she let it go slowly, clinging to the thought of keeping two or more devastatingly handsome men cooped up in her apartment for just a few seconds longer. After all, a woman had to dream.

  With a sigh, she plucked her mug from the dispenser and blew across the steaming coffee to cool it. “He showed up at your house, huh?”

  Greg nodded once and turned back to his computer, his hand resting comfortably on the mouse as he scanned the page for the place where he’d left off. “Not long after your little bout of textus interruptus.”

  Rolling her shoulders back, Betty tipped her chin up and gave him her haughtiest stare. “This conversation is highly inappropriate for the workplace.”

  He snorted. “This is the least inappropriate thing that’s taken place in this office since you came to work for us and we all know it.” He softened the words with a smile, then gave her a sly glance. “Will’s desk has never been so clean.”

  “Or so dirty.”

  The rejoinder popped out of her mouth before her filter could catch it. Her eyes widened and she clamped a hand to her mouth, but Greg threw his head back and laughed. Luckily, his cell rang, saving her from further embarrassment. His kind eyes twinkled as he tamped the laughter down to a chuckle and took the call.

  “Hey, Julio. What’s up? Take it easy on Señor Will this morning. He was a bit fractured last…What?” He sat up straight, his glance darting to Betty then back to his desk as he scrambled for a pen. “When? How?”

  Instinctively, Betty moved closer to Greg and placed a hand on his shoulder. “How far up was he?” A shudder ran through him as he blew out a breath. “Bad?” He scribbled something that looked like ‘St. Anthony’s’ on the corner of a report and nodded. “But he’s conscious, right? Talking?” He breathed a quick, harsh laugh but sucked it right back in. “Yeah, well, he’d have to be dead not to notice a lady paramedic.”

  Betty’s hand clamped down as it dawned on her that they were talking about Will. “What? What happened? Where is he?”