“I think your nipples are more sensitive than mine.”
He raised one hand to the outer swell of her breast. “Shall we test it out?” He hovered close, the heat shimmering off him in the dark. “You have the most perfect breasts.”
Her breath came a little faster. “They’re too small.”
He dipped his head to her throat, inhaled deeply. “They’re the perfect size. I want to touch them, taste them.”
Oh Lord, he couldn’t know how badly she needed him to worship her breasts. Yet she pushed him down. “No. I’m not done having fun with you yet.”
“You’ll make me come if you’re not careful.”
She grinned. “That’s the best part of the fun.” Then she stole a kiss. “Or maybe the fun is not letting you come.”
His teeth flashed in the dark. “So you’re a tease?”
She nuzzled his throat and lightly twisted his nipple, eliciting another groan from him. “Maybe. Want me to stop?” She pulled back to gaze at him. The little bit of moonlight through the side window only served to throw his face into shadow. “Tell me to stop or let me tease. Take it or leave it.”
She waited a beat, her own feminine power pulsing through her. He could call a halt to their play, or he could let her tease him without mercy. She licked her finger and glided around his nipple. “It’s your choice.” But she wanted him to give her everything.
With his head against the neck rest, he watched her, the epitome of a relaxed, confident male . . . but for the insistent pressure of his cock between her legs.
Then quick as lightning, he grabbed her face in both big hands and pulled her down to his mouth. “Fuck,” he muttered against her lips. “Tease the fuck out of me, I love it.”
Then he devoured her with a kiss that made her insides gooey, going on and on until her head spun, and she wanted him inside her so badly, she almost lifted her skirt and tore off her panties. Who on earth was doing the teasing?
She forced a hand between their vacuum-packed bodies and stroked him. She craved his flavor, needed to memorize it.
Shoving back, she dragged in air. He hadn’t even let her breathe. Then God, she attacked his belt and the button on his jeans, and finally, finally, his gorgeous cock was right there. She’d never thought a man’s penis was beautiful, yet he was magnificent. I love this.
Then she slid sideways off his lap. Raising both hands, he let her have at him. She teased the head with her tongue, sliding into the little slit, savoring the droplet of come. Sucking the crown into her mouth, she closed her eyes and moaned. He was so good, so perfect. He made her want, and she’d never wanted before. Not like this.
With his hand on her head, he urged her to take more of him, crooning words, naughty words, dirty words, fuck-me-suck-me- take-me words that made her heart soar.
She wanted so much, she didn’t even have a chance to worry if she was doing it right, if he liked it, if he’d need it again.
His hips rose to meet her, and he filled her. So big, so good, her eyes watered. Letting him slide all the way back out, she swallowed the next big beautiful taste of him. Warm, solid, silky steel between her lips. Sweet, salty, pungent, and gorgeously male. He massaged her head in his hands, gently pushing her, tangling his fingers in her hair, wordlessly begging her to take him. Then he held her still and made love to her mouth with short, fast pumps of his body. He filled her mouth, her mind, her body, her heart the way no man ever had before.
Pulsing against her lips and her tongue, he groaned, swore, long and low, then his seed pumped into her mouth. She took every drop, drank it, needed more. Sucking on the tip, she made him give it all until he jerked against her, gulped in a breath and pulled her up. The moment was so amazing. Her eyes teared, and it was more than the insistent pressure of his penis deep in her throat. As she’d taken him, he’d done the same to her.
“Jesus,” he swore, “that’s so damn good it hurts.”
She licked her lips and tried to sit up. Scott tucked her close to his chest.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. “I need a minute. Just let me hold you.”
His heart beat hard as he cradled her tight to him and stroked the hair from her face. Resting back against the seat, he couldn’t stop the stream of words flowing through his mind. “That was good, baby, that was so freaking good.”
So good that she owned him completely now. He’d do anything to have her again. It was her passion, her flirting, her laughter, her sweetness, her lust for him, for life itself, and how she’d turned wild in his arms. She teased and played her little power games, yet she made him heady, orgasmic. And now, the way she snuggled against him, her arm wrapped across his waist, her breath teasing his nipple, it was too close to heaven.
He wanted everything she’d done to him, and he needed so goddamn much more. He wanted all of her. He didn’t give a damn that she was fifteen years younger than him, closer to his daughters’ ages than his own. He appreciated the mystery, thrived on it, but if she walked away, he’d die inside. And if she hadn’t told the truth about not being married . . . he wouldn’t accept that. Besides, there wasn’t a mark on her ring finger.
Still, he needed her name.
“NO name, no phone number, no address.” She loved the anonymity. No longer bound by self-imposed rules for Little Miss Perfect Trinity Green, she was free to do all the naughty things she’d only imagined. It was wild and crazy to suck a man in the backseat of his car, just that and nothing else. She could never explain how powerful that felt. If he knew her name, she’d lose it all.
Then she’d have to start thinking about how other people would judge her behavior. If she kept her name secret, she could keep Scott himself in a separate compartment of her life where no one could interfere. Not even her own sense of shame.
At a little after ten on a weeknight, the restaurant parking lot where she’d left her car was emptying out. Standing beside the Mustang beneath an overhead light, she went up on her toes and kissed him, short and sweet, then licked the seam of his lips. “Still wanna play the game anyway?”
“You know I do.” Scott trailed his fingers down her arms, leaving shivers in his wake.
She adored his height. He made her feel petite, feminine, special, desired.
He tipped her chin, his gaze mapping her face. “We need one rule.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t like rules.” Actually, she lived her entire life by a set of rules, yet she didn’t want rules between them. Except the one where they didn’t talk about his daughters or his marriage or his other women.
“Only one, I swear.” He waited.
She had to acquiesce. “What?”
“If you decide not to call again, you need to tell me.”
“You mean like at least a see-you-later sayonara, baby?”
“Yeah, sayonara, baby will do.”
His eyes were dark, he smelled so yummy, and his taste lingered in her mouth. “I can handle that rule.” She couldn’t imagine giving him the old sayonara. She needed what he did for her. “Ditto?”
Smoothing a finger down her cheek, he played with the corner of her mouth. “Ditto. But I have a feeling I’m not the one who’s going to be calling sayonara.” Then he kissed her, tracing her lips with his tongue. “You have my number.”
Oh yeah. She did.
Retreating to his car, he watched while she climbed in and started her engine. As if he were making sure she was safe before he left.
Glancing at him in her rearview mirror, her heart gave a little jolt. God, he was so perfect. Everything she could have hoped for at this point in her life. He’d asked for her name, yet taken it gracefully when she refused. He tasted better than brandy bread pudding. He held her as if she mattered.
She could live with that one rule. Because she needed it in return. Honestly, she couldn’t bear it if one day he suddenly stopped taking her calls or cut off his e-mails to her. The thought gave her palpitations.
How had he come to be so important?
>
“It’s not him,” she told herself. “It’s how he makes you feel. There’s plenty of men out there who can give you that when he gets tired.” Men always got tired, didn’t they? Which was another reason to keep her identity a secret. Men chased what they couldn’t have.
When she got home, the street was quiet. Harper’s car wasn’t in evidence. Hopefully he’d given up trying to get back in her good graces. Inside, she flipped on the hall light, tossing her purse and keys on the entry table.
Then she stopped in complete and total horror. Her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror was atrocious. Mascara and eyeliner had leaked down beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were bare of blusher. Good God, she was lipstickless. And her hair was . . . well . . . askew. Instead of her usual silky smooth blonde tresses, she wore a rat’s nest. Trinity clapped her hands over her eyes, shutting out the horrific sight.
What must he think of her? Thank God he hadn’t been able to see her clearly.
A bubble of laughter welled up. She’d gone down on him in the backseat of his car. Not to mention swallowing, which every lady knew was terribly undignified, yet she’d loved it.
She splayed her fingers and looked through them like a child watching a horror movie.
Scott had seen her. Beneath the parking lot lights, he’d lifted her chin and traced her face with his gaze, every last inch of it. Then he’d kissed her anyway. Scott didn’t care how she looked. And she loved his hot, sweet taste, his skin beneath her fingers, the soft silk of his hair.
Maybe he thought she looked just ducky with makeup shadows under her eyes and bare lips. “He looked at you, and he wanted you anyway.” Perfect or not.
Trinity dropped her hands and stared. Really, she didn’t look so bad. Nothing more than a long day at work, which resulted in dark circles under her eyes. As if she hadn’t combed her hair all day. But not so bad.
“Heh.” She laughed, and wow, she looked even better with a smile on her face. She didn’t have to be perfect all the time. She scrabbled in her purse for her cell phone because she suddenly experienced a huge need to call Scott.
Instead, her doorbell rang. She almost jumped at the sound, for one very split second, thinking it might be him, and she wanted to let him in, in, in!
Until reality hit. Scott didn’t know where she lived.
Her heart stopped. Oh God, it had to be Harper. He’d been skulking in the dark, waiting for her.
9
HEART pounding, Trinity put her eye to the peephole. Good Lord, it was her brother Lance.
Swinging the door wide, she threw herself at him. “Where have you been, why haven’t you called me? I was so worried!”
Lance pried her arms from around his neck. “You’re suffocating me, sweetie pie.”
She knew he’d done some scummy things. But he was still her brother, and she loved him. Her mother would have wanted it that way. Love him no matter what. Stepping back, she dragged him into the foyer. “You’ve lost weight.” There was something else, too. “Oh my God, you shaved off your mustache and beard.”
He stroked his bare chin. “I got tired of it.”
Besides, the goatee look was so out, though Trinity would never have said that. “I like it. It makes you look younger.”
“Look at you.” He leaned in. “Your makeup’s all messed up.” Her hands clasped in his, he held out her arms and surveyed her body critically. “And are you gaining weight, Trin?” He slammed her with a grimace of absolute horror.
She whirled to the mirror. Did her cheeks look fat? She patted one. No, it was her mussed hair that made her face seem rounder. She tried rubbing the mascara streaks under her eyes.
“Long day,” she managed to spout. “Rushing around. Just got home.” Been out doing nasty things in Scott’s car. It was oh so good, I loved it and need to do it again.
“I’m sorry about Harper.”
She glanced at his reflection behind her. “Who told you?” God, please, not the country-club circuit. She so did not want to be gossip fodder. In fact, she hadn’t been to the club since she kicked Harper out.
Lance gave her a duh look.
“Verna.” She stepped away from the mirror. The mascara wasn’t coming off. Who cared at this point? “She never told me she talked to you.” Why had Lance called Verna when he hadn’t returned one of Trinity’s messages in all this time? Six months, for God’s sake. She wouldn’t think about that. He was back, and that’s all that mattered.
“I asked her not to. You’d get into trouble with Dad if he found out I’d talked to you.”
Wasn’t that sweet of him to worry? That’s why he hadn’t answered her messages. “You want a drink or something?”
“I’d kill for a margarita.”
She wouldn’t normally have kept a bottle on hand, but Harper liked a margarita in the evening. Leading the way to the kitchen, she flipped open the cupboard beside the fridge. At least Harper hadn’t taken the bottle on his way out.
“So what happened, Trin?”
Running the ice-cube maker and filling a glass for Lance took all her concentration. She poured a smidge for herself. Then a double smidge, because why the heck not? Handing him a tumbler, she finally answered. “I jumped before I looked. We weren’t compatible. ” That was all she’d say. “Let’s sit down.”
In the living room, she folded herself into the corner of the sofa while Lance took the chair. “So where have you been?” she wanted to know.
Until her marriage, she’d lived with her father. The house was huge, and she hardly had to see him if she didn’t want to. Lance had moved out of Daddy’s house and left the Bay Area a week after the merger announcement.
If Daddy knew Lance was in her living room now, he’d have conniptions. These days, she didn’t tell her father everything, and Lance would always be her big brother. Yet between them, she felt pulled apart. How could Lance have ignored her calls for six months, as if she’d had something to do with his and Daddy’s battles? She had to forget about that. He was here now.
He shrugged. “Aspen. Santa Fe. Around.”
Despite losing the income from his vice presidency in the company, Lance had a trust fund from their mother, just as Trinity did. Her father, however, was trustee of hers and had made sure Harper couldn’t get his greedy fingers on any of it.
“It sounds like you’ve been having fun,” she said, trying not to think of Harper and his fingers. If she was going to think about anything besides her brother right now, it would be about Scott. How he tasted—so much better than a margarita.
“Right,” Lance scoffed, “loads of fun.”
Trinity sighed. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you. But you’ve been okay, right?”
He sipped his margarita, the ice cubes chinking. “It’s been hard, Trin.”
She didn’t want to scold him for what he’d done, yet neither could she agree with it. “I’m sorry” was the least innocuous answer she could give without being judgmental.
“I want to come home.”
“Then come home,” she said. “You can get an apartment.”
“I mean home.”
“But you can’t go home, Lance.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Daddy won’t even talk about you.”
Daddy might never forgive Lance. It wasn’t only that Lance lied, but he’d involved her father in the lie. It could have permanently damaged Daddy’s relationship with Jarvis Castle, Faith’s father, and they’d been friends since their college days.
Show and Tell Page 13