One Hot December (Mills & Boon Blaze) (Men at Work, Book 3)

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One Hot December (Mills & Boon Blaze) (Men at Work, Book 3) Page 15

by Tiffany Reisz


  Ian grinned. This woman knew his life better than he did.

  “You have to be Mrs. Scheinberg,” Ian said. “Flash told me about you.”

  “And she’s told me quite a bit about you. Come in, come in. She should be back soon.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “She’s been cleaning out her workshop all day now that she’s done with her sculpture.”

  “She’s done already?”

  “Oh, yes, took it to the Morrison two days ago. They wanted it there in time for the holiday gallery hop tonight. Here, let me take your coat.”

  Ian shrugged out of his coat and passed it to her. She hung it in the hall closet. She had a nice place. Very old-fashioned but elegant, just like she was.

  “I can’t believe she finished it that fast. I need to go see it.”

  “You should. She showed me a photograph. Just exquisite. She said she was inspired,” Mrs. Scheinberg said with an impish twinkle in her eyes. “And a little happiness helps with the creation process. I never believed that old yarn that artists have to be miserable to make art. I know Veronica. She does her best work when she’s happy. And you have made her a very happy lady this month. Sit. I’ll make tea.”

  She pointed at the kitchen table chair and Ian sat as he was instructed. He would have offered to help but she seemed completely capable of making tea on her own.

  “Thanks for letting me wait here for her,” Ian said. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “Soon, I imagine. She’s been gone awhile and she said something about being back in time for dinner with you. You’ve been very good about planning dates, I’ve noticed,” Mrs. Scheinberg said as she put water in her tea maker. “My husband was a planner, too. Very thoughtful. Always planning something fun for us to do together. He’s been gone ten years, but I still have over fifty years of good memories to keep me company until we meet again.”

  “Sounds like he was a great husband.”

  “The very best. But you’ll make a good husband someday, too. I can tell.” She gave him a little wink as she carried two mugs of tea over to the table.

  “You can tell? Good. I’m glad someone can. When I was a kid, I thought by the time I was thirty-six I’d already be married and have kids of my own. I was fifteen years old when my father was my age. I’m running a little behind.”

  She waved her hand dismissively.

  “Times are changing, Mr. Asher. People live longer. What’s the rush settling down? You settle down when you meet the right person, not because you think it’s the right time. You hadn’t met the right person yet. Now you have.”

  Ian smiled behind his tea mug.

  “Now I have,” he said.

  “That’s good to hear. My son is insisting I move in with him and his wife. He says he can’t sleep at night thinking about me all alone. I tell him I’m not alone, that I have my Veronica one floor above me. He says Veronica can’t always be there. So...he’s right about that. This is proof. My light bulb is out in the bathroom and I can’t stand on the chair to change it. And where’s Veronica? Not here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “But you won’t always be here, either. And as long as she has you and she’s happy, I can be happy and move in with my son without worrying about her being alone. She’s not alone anymore so I can go.”

  “I’m sure she’ll really miss you.”

  “She will. But she can come see me anytime she wants. I’ll have my own little house in his backyard. They call it a ‘mother-in-law suite.’ Isn’t that something. A whole house to keep the mother-in-law out from underfoot but close enough to keep me out of trouble.”

  “I’ve built a few of those,” Ian admitted. “We call them guesthouses, though. It’s a little less insulting.”

  “I’m not insulted. I like my daughter-in-law better than my son most days. She has a sense of humor at least. She has to have one to be married to him. But you know something about that, dating my Veronica. She’s what we always called a ‘tough cookie.’”

  “She’s a tough cookie, all right. I must like tough cookies.”

  “Smart men do,” Mrs. Scheinberg said, nodding her approval. “Would you like a cookie? I have frosted Christmas cookies.”

  “No, thank you. Wait, Christmas cookies? I thought Flash said—”

  “Oh, yes, I’m Jewish. But I’m a sucker for a frosted Christmas tree. Veronica sneaks them to me. She’s my dealer.”

  “She’s a good one,” Ian said.

  “The very best.” Mrs. Scheinberg sat her cup down on the table. “Now that I’ve had my tea, would you do me the favor of changing my bathroom light bulb? I may need to see in there very soon.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  She took him to the bathroom where he quickly replaced the light bulb.

  “You’re very tall,” she said. “I’d have to stand on a chair and my balance isn’t what it used to be. Another reason to move in with my son. Do you know him? Moshe Scheinberg?”

  “Heard of him. Hospital administrator, yes?”

  “That’s him. He knows your father. Donated to his campaign.”

  “Well, thank your son for us. I’m sure Dad will be hitting him up again soon.”

  “We’ll be ready,” she said. “Are you looking forward to the Christmas party?”

  “I’m not dreading it. Can’t say I’m excited about it.”

  “You should be excited. Veronica will be wearing my red Givenchy. I’m making her wear it. Second time’s a charm, yes?”

  Ian grimaced. He’d forgotten Flash had told her neighbor about the party incident.

  “About that,” Ian said. “I still feel terrible. But I promise, nothing bad is going to happen at the Christmas party. I’ll be with her.”

  “Good. They call people like Veronica ‘crabby’ but that only means she’s got a hard shell. Inside she’s soft as the rest of us. She takes things much harder than she lets on. She was very hurt that night. Very hurt. It’s been good to see her so happy lately. She says her new sculpture is the best work she’s ever done.”

  “I hope it sells fast,” he said.

  “She does, too.”

  Ian grinned. “I’ll tell you a secret. I asked Flash to move in with me.”

  “You did? She didn’t tell me. When is she moving?”

  “She’s not. Not yet. She said she can’t move in with me until she can afford to pay her half of my monthly mortgage payment.”

  “You have to respect that woman.”

  “I do, although she drives me crazy with her pride.”

  “Let me ask you these three questions, Ian Asher. First, would you want to date a woman without any pride or self-respect? Second, would you want to date a woman who expected you to foot every bill? And third, would you want to be with a woman who was attracted to you because of your father’s money or attracted to you in spite of your family’s money?”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah, you may have a point there.”

  He started to ask Mrs. Scheinberg a question but he heard the familiar sound of a pickup truck door opening and slamming shut.

  “That’s her,” Mrs. Scheinberg said.

  “I should go. Thank you for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Thank you for taking good care of Veronica. She’s been a dear friend to me and I have very few dear friends left.”

  “I’ll be your dear friend, too, if you like,” Ian said.

  “That would make me very happy.” She patted his cheek. “Such a handsome boy. But you need to cut your hair.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” he said again. “I promise.”

  “Good boy. Now go on. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  Ian took his coat out of the hall closet and noticed the G
ivenchy dress hanging in a clear plastic dry cleaner bag. He looked at it and he looked at Mrs. Scheinberg.

  “Can I ask you something strange?” Ian asked.

  “Strange questions are my favorite questions. Go on.”

  “Are you really, really attached to this dress?” he asked.

  “My husband gave it to me, but I haven’t worn it in forty years. Middle-aged spread is a menace to the waistline, young man.”

  “Are you planning on giving it to anyone?”

  “I haven’t thought about it. Everything I own goes to my two sons in my will. I don’t think either Moshe or Michael will wear it. Not their color. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I need to get Flash a Christmas present, something special.”

  “Red is her color,” Mrs. Scheinberg said.

  Ian smiled.

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  * * *

  FIVE MINUTES LATER Ian knocked on Flash’s door.

  “Who is it?” she called through the door.

  “Joe Biden.”

  The door flew wide open and Flash stood there in the doorway.

  “You’re not Joe Biden.” She started to shut the door but he put his foot in to stop it.

  “I’m a Catholic dude in a suit. Close enough, right?” he asked.

  She looked him up and down.

  “Close enough.”

  “You got my flowers?”

  “I did.”

  “Did they please you?”

  “I was pleased,” she said.

  “Did they please you enough that you’ll allow me to have my manly way with you?” he asked.

  “I’ll consider it. Come in.” She stepped back and let him in. Before she could even lock the door he pulled her to him and kissed her.

  “Ian, stop,” she said, pushing him away. “I’m disgusting.”

  “You’re a little foul-mouthed, but hardly disgusting.”

  “Let me take a shower before you manhandle me,” she said. “I smell like a blacksmith fucked a coal miner in an oil refinery.”

  “Mmm...the sweet, sweet scent of fossil fuels...” He pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled.

  “I’m covered in grease and brass polish and you’re going to get it all over your suit.”

  “Don’t care. Got lots of suits.”

  He pushed her up against the wall and kissed her. She laughed and surrendered to him as he knew she would.

  “You look incredibly sexy right now,” he said into her ear as he pulled up the bottom of her T-shirt and touched the bare skin of her stomach. She was wearing ripped jeans, her steel-toed work boots, a tight white T-shirt covered in grease stains. Her arms were dirty, too, and she had a streak of something black across her cheek. Her hair was sweaty and disheveled, and she smelled of sweat and metal polish. “I think I have to fuck you. What do you think?”

  “I think I’ve heard worse ideas. But I’ve heard better ideas.”

  “What’s a better idea?”

  “Fucking me after I take a shower.”

  “Terrible idea. This is exactly how I want you,” he said, sliding his hands up her back to find the clasp of her bra. “This is how you looked after work every day.”

  “Disgusting? Dirty? Sweaty? Gross?”

  “Hot. Hot. Hot. So...” He unhooked her bra. “Fucking.” He lifted her shirt off over her head. “Hot.” He slid her bra down her arms and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth found her mouth and kissed the life out of it as he took her breasts in his hands and massaged them.

  He was rock hard already and there was nothing for it but to bury himself inside his unbearably sexy girlfriend as soon as humanly possible. Nothing would stop him from dragging her jeans and panties down her legs, tearing them off, unzipping his pants and fucking her right here against the front door. Nothing. Not an earthquake, not a volcano eruption, not the end of the fucking world.

  “Mreow.”

  “What was that?” Ian asked.

  “My pussy,” Flash said.

  Ian looked down at her crotch.

  “What’s it trying to tell me?”

  “I need to feed my pussy.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?” he asked. “Because I’m into that.”

  “Oh, my God, I have to feed my cat. Excuse me.” She patted his erection. “You excuse me, too.”

  She grabbed her T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on. A small striped gray cat sat in the doorway to the little kitchenette.

  “Ian, this is Bob Ross. Bob Ross, this is Ian. You two make friends,” Flash said as she went into the kitchen and picked up a bowl from the floor.

  “Why is your cat named Bob Ross?”

  “He’s my favorite artist obviously.”

  “Your favorite artist is the happy little tree guy?”

  “And happy clouds,” Flash said. “You can call him Bob if you want. Or Ross. Or Bob Ross. He’s a cat so he answers to none of them.”

  “Hello, Bob Ross,” Ian said. “You are cock-blocking me. Do you know that?”

  Bob Ross only looked up at him and blinked. It was a disdainful blink.

  “Can I pet you or will you bite me?” Ian asked Bob Ross.

  “Only one way to find out,” Flash said as she opened a cabinet.

  “Is he a biter?”

  “No more so than I am.”

  “Not comforting,” he said, remembering the dozens of love bites Flash had left all over his body two weeks ago.

  Ian held out his hand and Bob Ross sniffed it before sauntering in the kitchen without giving him another look.

  “I think he likes me,” Ian said.

  Flash only smiled as she put the cat food on the floor in front of Bob Ross.

  “That should keep him busy a couple minutes,” she said. “How fast can you fuck me?”

  “Pretty fast,” he said. “Is there a need for speed here?”

  “He’ll get on the bed with us and make us pet him. Very hard to fuck and pet a cat at the same time. I’ve tried.”

  “Can’t we just not...pet him?”

  Flash looked at him as if he’d asked if they could skin Bob Ross and eat him for dinner.

  “Okay, can’t we shut the door?” he asked.

  “He’ll whine and caterwaul until we let him in.”

  “Can we fuck in the shower?”

  “I hate shower sex. The stall’s too small.”

  “All right. A quickie, it is, then,” Ian said, ripping his tie off. “Let’s do this.”

  “Goddamn that was sexy.”.

  “What was?” he asked. “Tell me so I can do it again.”

  “Ripping your tie off like that. That was insanely sexy.” Flash put her hands on his chest and made as if she wanted to tear his shirt off him. “I’ve seen you in ties and out of ties but that was the first time I’ve ever seen you tear yours off. Please do it more often.”

  “You want me to put it back on and do it again?”

  “After,” she said. She glanced back over her shoulder at Bob Ross still eating. “We have to hurry. Bob Ross eats fast.”

  “I’m hurrying. I’m hurrying.” Ian grabbed Flash around the waist and hoisted her squirming and screaming self over his shoulder.

  “Ian!”

  “What? You said we had to hurry.”

  “Mrs. Scheinberg is going to think I’m getting murdered up here.”

  “She knows I’m here. We’ve met.” Ian strode down the narrow hallway to Flash’s bedroom and threw her down onto her back on the bed. “Even if she calls the cops, I’ll be done by the time they get here.”

  “I might not be,” she said. He looked down at her and raised his eyebrow. Two nights ago she’d come before
he was even inside her. This woman could orgasm easier than he could most nights.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll probably be done.”

  “Thought so.”

  She unzipped her jeans and he yanked them down her legs. He opened his suit trousers and pulled his cock out. They were on a deadline here. No time to disrobe entirely. He climbed on top of her and pushed her legs wide with his knees. Underneath him, she arched her back, grinding her pussy up and down his cock.

  “Are you going to tie me to the bed?” she asked as he lifted her shirt to kiss her breasts. He pulled back and looked down at her.

  “Look—you can have bondage or you can have a quickie. But you can’t have both at the same time. Also, you don’t have a headboard so I’d have to install brackets to tie you to the bed.”

  “I wouldn’t do brackets. You could damage the drywall.” She tapped the wall. “Maybe a tension rod, floor to ceiling like a stripper pole?”

  “With a tile ceiling?” He shook his head. “Wouldn’t hold. Plus you wouldn’t screw the brackets directly into the wall. You screw two-by-fours into the studs and then install the brackets into the two-by-fours. Minimal drywall damage.”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “It’s how I mounted the flat screen on the wall at my place.”

  “Good idea. Until then we can use the rope that’s under my bed,” she said.

  “You have rope under your...never mind. Not asking. Stay.”

  She stayed. He pulled an eight-foot length of black rope out from under the bed.

  “Suggestions?” he asked.

  “Loop it around the bed leg.”

  “Genius.” He looped it around the leg and pulled it up to the mattress, grabbed Flash by her wrists and tied them together with a neat camping knot he hadn’t used since his Boy Scout days. “How’s that?”

  “Pretty good,” she said, testing the ropes, and they held her arms fast to the bed above her head. “But now I want to try mounting bondage brackets into my wall.”

  “You can later. I’m mounting you first.”

  “If you—”

  He entered her with one hard deep thrust.

 

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