by Eva Charles
I nod, and point to the top of Kate’s head. “And her money’s no good tonight. I don’t care how much she begs. It’s her birthday.”
Kate swats my arm away from her. “My money is just as good as his. Maybe better.”
Beau puts up his hands and walks away, but he doesn’t spare me the shit-eating grin. “Work it out between you,” he tosses over his shoulder. “I don’t get paid to referee.”
“Why did you do that?” she demands while I’m putting my credit card back.
“Do what?”
“Tell him my money is no good. You paid for dinner. I want to buy the drinks.”
“It’s your birthday. Your money’s no good on your birthday. It’s a rule. Everybody knows that.”
“A rule?”
Jesus she’s mouthy. And begging for a kiss. Something rough and demanding to shut her up. Or maybe that’s what I want.
“Yeah. A rule.” I brush a hand over her cheek. “Eyelash.” It’s a good excuse for letting my fingers wander over her skin. And she allows it, without complaint.
“I’m a practical man. You just left your paper and moved here. I doubt that job at the library pays much.” I shrug. “I’m doing pretty well. I have enough to share—no strings attached,” I assure her. “When the tables turn, as they always do, you can buy me all the whiskey in the joint. I won’t complain.”
Her wheels are turning. They’re always turning. It must be something to live inside that head. “Thank you,” she says softly. It’s heartfelt and humble, and it makes me wonder why a woman with a father and three older brothers is grateful for crumbs. Like I said, it must be something to live inside her head.
I hand her a beer. “Bottles tonight. Easier to manage while we’re playing. I’m not letting you back out on the bet.”
“Don’t you worry. I want that game. But I don’t recall making any bets.”
I put my beer behind her on the bar. “You think of something while I go tell those guys playing now that we’re next. Make it something you’re prepared to lose.”
There are a lot of lies guys tell themselves, especially when it comes to women. I don’t want her in my bed, is the bullshit I’m currently peddling. That cannot happen. I have a job, and she’s a target. And a reporter—not an inconsequential fact. So yeah, I want to taste that pussy, want it bad, but I won’t be surrendering to my base desires. I have more discipline than that.
As I make my way back to the bar, some asshole is chatting her up. I don’t spare him a glance, but place a hand on her thigh, as I reach over her for my beer. When I turn around, the little fucker is still standing there. I might not be able to have her, buddy, but you sure as hell won’t be laying a stubby finger on her.
I inch closer to him. He’s probably six inches shorter, and I must outweigh him by at least seventy pounds. Most guys have a look they use to warn off the enemy without coming to blows. I have several that I’ve perfected, and I use my best one on this little bitch.
“I-I think my friends are leaving,” he stammers, stepping out of my reach. The guy’s smarter than he looks.
“Smooth, Sinclair,” Kate quips after he slithers away. “He’s cute. I kind of liked him.”
The not-at-all thinly veiled tweak rolls off my back, although the ride is bumpy. “Tell me more about your mother.” I take a pull of beer to take the focus off her, and let the question settle.
Her chest moves up and down more rapidly than normal. “She’s been gone for my entire life. I never knew her.”
“She was an investigative reporter, like you?”
Kate nods. “I worked for the same paper in Boston where she did. But she was very talented. Naturally talented. I don’t have that kind of talent.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She looks up at me, through thick dark lashes, and takes a long pull of beer. I can’t look away from her mouth, her full lips on the long neck of the bottle. I am so screwed. Fuck.
I’m saved by a guy in a grey T-shirt waving his hand in the air from the pool corner, signaling the table’s free. Not a moment too soon. I can use a distraction.
Distraction. Right. Just what I need, Kate bent over the table, wiggling her hips while taking shot after shot, or batting those long eyelashes at me while I’m trying to focus on taking one. Every time I move so that my eyes aren’t in line with her ass, I’m treated to the top of her creamy tits. I almost let her win, just to stop the torture. But I’m not that guy. In the end, I beat her both games. Although she’s a pretty damn good player.
“So what did I win?” I ask after we hand off the sticks to the group waiting.
“You don’t have to dance with me.” Her bottom lip is out in an exaggerated pout.
I throw my head back and roar. “Sweet Jesus. My guardian angel must be on tonight.” She shoves my arm, and I laugh some more as we go back to the bar.
The place is starting to clear out, and we don’t have to shout to be heard. I order more beer, and Beau brings them over with a couple shots and a salt shaker. “Happy birthday,” he says, “on the house.”
Kate’s face lights up slowly. “Thank you.” She’s so grateful, you’d think he just plunked down shots of Pappy’s. When he walks away to serve another customer, she sniffs the drink. “Tequila?”
I nod. “The lime and the saltshaker are giveaways.”
She sniffs it again.
“Ever done a shot of tequila?”
She shakes her head.
“Wet the back of your hand, like this, and put a little salt on it. Then lick off the salt and tip your head back. Take it all down at once, like any other shot.” I throw back the shot. “And then shove the lime in your mouth, real quick.”
She eyes the glass.
“You don’t have to do the shot.”
“No. I want to,” she says, bringing her hand to her mouth. When she licks the skin with her wet pink tongue, I feel it in my groin, but I don’t look away. Within seconds she’s sucking on the lime, grimacing, and trying not to laugh at the same time. She’s adorable. I reach out and sweep her to my chest, placing a kiss at the top of her head. Harmless gesture—normally—something I might do with Gabby, or any female friend. But it’s not harmless with Kate. And I fucking know this. But I did it anyway—without thinking. Goddammit.
I plunk the bottle on the bar harder than necessary. “It’s getting late. We should go.”
“I haven’t finished my beer. And—and—”
“And what?”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “I was hoping, maybe, I could still have that dance.”
“You lost. That ain’t happening.”
“It’s my birthday,” she turns over her phone, “for ten more minutes.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Not even a slow dance?” she asks, after throwing me a you’re a lying sack of shit look.
“You mean slow, like at a high school dance, where we shuffle our feet without moving much, but my over-eager cock presses into you at every opportunity—that kind?”
“That very kind. Although the cock thing is an add-on I don’t need.” She tips her head and gives me a small smile. It’s flirty with a hint of impertinence. The kind of smile you like to see from a woman when she gazes up at you from her knees.
“Please,” she begs, dragging her fingers through her hair in seductive slow motion.
Jesus.
I put out my hand reluctantly, and she takes it, dragging me to the dance floor. “Don’t blame me if your feet are all banged up when the music stops.”
We start with one of my hands on her back, and the other hand holding hers. It’s all civilized and innocent—until she lets go of my hand and wraps both arms around my neck.
This was a mistake.
Now I have a free hand with nothing to keep it out of trouble, so I rest it low on her back, pushing the heel into the sexy hollow. She sighs softly, lowering her head to my shoulder. I feel her warm breath on my skin as she melts into me. She’s so relaxed,
I’m practically the only thing holding her up. “You’re drunk, Kate.”
“A little,” she murmurs. “It’s my birthday.”
She’s warm and soft, and her hair smells like the sun-drenched Mediterranean. That first breath that fills your lungs when you step off the transport for a few days of much-needed leave. Where you breathe sandless air, refuel the tank, and tend to your dick. I need to get my mind out from between her legs.
“I didn’t follow you to Miss Macy’s,” I confess. “I was having lunch with my guys there on Wednesday when you called to make a reservation.” She lifts her head, searching my face with those innocent eyes. “No one ever calls to reserve a table, and Jasper was all hopped up about it. I knew it was you.”
“How?”
I shrug. “Just knew, but I asked anyway. Sure enough. I wasn’t planning on showing up.” Although it crossed my mind once or twice. “But Josh, the guy who’s been making sure you don’t get into trouble, mentioned it was your birthday when he signed out this afternoon—I decided to join you.”
“Why? I still don’t know why.”
I tighten my hold on her. “Yes, you do.”
She rests her head back on my shoulder. The shirt she’s wearing is so thin, I can feel her skin under my fingers, yielding gently, supple and creamy, a blank canvas waiting to be marked.
When the song ends, I pull away abruptly, because I’m a grown man with little control over his dick right now, and this isn’t a high school dance.
“One more,” she murmurs, clinging to my shoulders.
I place my hands firmly on her upper arms, trying not to let the smooth skin distract me. “Kate. My guys are monitoring you. You’re a target. This,” my finger gestures back and forth across the dance floor, “doesn’t change that.”
“I know,” she says softly, without a twinge of regret in her voice. “One more. Then we can go.”
I don’t say a goddamn thing. Nothing. I just surrender to the moment. Let my hands slide over her round ass, cupping the curves while I soak up her scent. I want to fuck her. Bend her over, and plow into her until she’s babbling. I want to feel her clit swell and harden on my tongue. I want to coat her throat with my cum.
“I love this song,” she says, oblivious to my filthy thoughts—thoughts that don’t involve anything resembling love. “Do you know it?”
I don’t know. I haven’t been paying attention. When I listen, I recognize the band. Lady Antebellum. “I’ve heard it.”
“It won a Grammy. I think.” She tucks her cheek into the crook of my neck. Her lips are almost grazing my skin. “Do you want to know a secret?”
I smile and pull her closer. “Sure. Is it a secret about you?” She lifts her head and nods, chewing on her plump lower lip.
“The last time we were here. When I went back to the hotel—I was confused, and agitated, or something. I don’t know—aroused, I guess.” She buries her face in my chest, like a shy little girl.
“Is that the secret?” I stroke the back of her head, my fingertips learning the contours of her scalp. She shakes her head. “Come on, don’t be like that. You promised me a secret. I was expecting something good.”
“I—I.” She’s smiling, but even in the dim light, I can see the top of her cheeks are bright pink. “This song came on while I was in the bathtub—and I touched myself—while I was thinking about you.”
I push back the groan and say the stupidest thing any man who needs to keep his dick in his pants has ever said. “Tell me about how you touched yourself—in the bathtub. I want to know—everything.” I drag my thumb over her cheek. “Was it filled with water?”
“I let most of it out. Then spread my legs and hooked them over the side.” Her face is back in my chest. “I let the water run on my—”
I tug her hair back, just enough so she’s forced to look at me. “On your pussy? You let the water beat on your sweet pussy.” I’m seconds away from tearing off her panties and burying my face in her cunt. But my words are measured, and my tone reserved. More reserved than I would normally use in this kind of conversation with an attractive woman. I don’t care how many times she’s gotten off under a faucet, she’s inexperienced and I don’t want to scare her. But I do want her to keep talking. To tell me more dirty secrets.
“I can’t believe I just told you that.”
I brush her hair back off her face. “I think you wanted me to know.” She shakes her head vigorously, and rests it against me while we continue to dance. “I won’t tell anyone, Kate.” My hand glides up and down her back. “Your secrets are safe with me. All of them.”
I’m convinced she wanted me to know. She’s not so drunk she’d blab something like that. She’s had just enough to give her a boost of courage, to make her all warm and fuzzy—and horny. I’m horny, too. I haven’t had that much to drink, but I don’t need booze to get me there.
While I’m trying to think about something, anything, besides about how hard my dick is, she reaches up to kiss me. But my training kicks in. It’s automatic, and happens so fast, it’s jarring. I press a finger to her lips to stop her. “We can’t. We just can’t.”
15
Kate
By the time we leave Tallulah’s the temperature has dropped, and there’s a sobering breeze from the ocean. I can’t believe I told Smith about the bathtub. Is he right? Did I want him to know? I’ll have to unpack that later, or tomorrow when I’m thinking more clearly.
The drive to my place is quiet, but not awkward. I still have a decent buzz, so I’m nowhere near as embarrassed as I should be. Besides, Smith took the whole thing in stride, as though women confess their masturbation rituals to him all the time. What did you do last night? Nothing much. Laundry, watched a movie, polished my toenails, and got off in the bathtub fantasizing about your giant cock.
The twitch of shame is beginning as we pull up in front of my apartment, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering if he’ll kiss me goodnight. Why, Kate—why do you wonder? He made it pretty clear that there would be no kissing.
“What exactly do you want my help with?” A small panic ensues while I wrack my brain—I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. “The story, Kate. What do you need from me?”
Oh. The story, yes. “I want to know about the St. Anslem’s Society. King is a member. And I still haven’t figured out why his hearing was postponed. But you probably won’t be able to help with that.”
“I’ll talk to a few people. See what I can turn up,” he says, his hand on the door handle. “Wait. I’ll come around.”
“You don’t need to. I can make it inside. I’ve sobered up—since the dance floor.” I smile through a flutter of embarrassment.
“Will you just wait?” His tone is clipped, but I ignore it, and wait for him to come around to open my door, because I know he expects it, and—because I know it will please him. Where did that come from?
We bide our time at the base of the porch steps, neither of us anxious to say goodnight. “Go inside,” he says finally, cocking his head toward the front door. “And lock up behind you.”
I want him to kiss me.
“This is a transitional neighborhood,” he continues, clearly not reading my thoughts. “Not unsafe, but not exactly safe either.”
“I have a gun, remember?”
“Do you actually know how to use it?” He asks it in such a way that maybe I don’t want to kiss him anymore.
“I come from a family of cops and Marines. When other girls were having a girls’ day out with their mothers, I was at the range with my father.”
“My sisters come from a family of soldiers, but there’s only one I’d trust to shoot straight. Make sure you carry that gun when you walk around at night.”
“Anything else, sir?”
His lips part, and the flame in his eyes dances dangerously. Without warning, he grabs my hand and we duck into a narrow alley on the side of my house where my neighbor sometimes parks. Before I can adjust to the dim light, my
body is pressed against the building. The stone is rough and uneven on my back, but still warm from the day’s heat.
“You,” he says gruffly. “You’ve been a tease all night. Do you know what happens to cock teases?”
He towers over me, one hand on the brick, the other still on my hip. I have a pretty good idea, but I want to hear you say it. I shake my head, clinging to his eyes. “Tell me.”
Smith lowers his mouth, stopping inches from mine, and pounds a fist on the brick wall just above my head.
I hear the rumble of desire, before the eruption, and slide both hands to his chest. The reverberations are powerful, and my fingers tremble where they rest. But I don’t wait passively while fate decides. I dig in and roll the tips over the dense muscles working the tempest loose with the skill of a trained masseuse.
“Fuck it,” he growls, and his lips capture mine.
The first swipe is kind—soft, smooth lips that warm gently. But the tenderness is fleeting, and even though I’ve surrendered, it’s a rough capture. His teeth sink into my bottom lip until I cry out, arching into him.
But there is no reprieve.
A strong hand slides through my hair, fisting the long strands possessively. My head falls back, exposing a large swathe of my neck to the cool air. I shiver when his tongue connects with the flesh, blazing an upward path.
His teeth scraping.
His tongue laving.
His hot breath raising an exquisite prickle on my scalp. The sensations are too much. I want to squirm. I need to squirm, but his hold is firm—there’s no escape, not even when he bites into the tendon at the base of my throat.
A moan escapes into the thick sultry air. It’s loud and frantic, pleading for more.
“Open your eyes,” he demands in a raspy voice. “Don’t hide from me.” My eyelashes are still fluttering when his large calloused hands skirt under my blouse, kneading my breasts, while rolling the sensitive nipples between his fingers. Like his kiss, it begins gently, but as I sway into him, nudging his cock, his touch grows hungrier. Before I know what’s happening, my bra is hanging loose and his hot mouth is on my nipple, sucking and coaxing, until it’s long and hard.