by Beth Andrews
Providing he could stay sober.
He knew that any shot with Allison depended on that. And he had five weeks to convince her he intended to change. Five weeks to turn this into a full-blown fresh start.
She rubbed her hand lightly over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ready to go again?”
She rolled on top of him, and drew her knees in to straddle his hips.
“I’m thinking that’s a ‘yes,’” he said, and his dick responded appropriately.
She sucked air. “That’s very nice, what’s happening down there. But there’s something I’d like to know first. Something you already offered to tell me.”
He fumbled the box of condoms and gave her a wary look. “O-kay.”
She took the box from him, ripped off a packet and handed it back. Crawled up his chest and hovered over him, her hands on either side of his head, leaving his junk to feel a draft but putting her breasts within easy reach. Before he could take advantage of the situation, she asked her question.
“How did Danielle find out about us?”
He tightened his hands on her hips. “You didn’t want to know before.”
“I didn’t want to hear anything else one of us might have to apologize for.”
“You mean you didn’t want to have to apologize. Again.”
She cocked an eyebrow, and lowered herself to her elbows. “Is that truly the position you want to take?” She held the condom packet by the corner and dangled it over his face. “At this particular moment?”
“Touché.” He lifted his hands to her hair, smoothed it behind her ears. “Danielle didn’t want me to leave T&P.” She tensed, and he lifted to give her a quick kiss. “And no, not for that reason. A few months before everything fell apart, Tackett assigned me as her mentor and I took it seriously. I guess she didn’t want to lose that advantage. I gave her pointers, let her shadow me and sat in on her meetings with new clients to help her get things started off right. But when it came to handling accounts she was a disaster. Lost paperwork, missed appointments, shoddy pitches—which was why it shocked the hell out of me when I heard Tackett had given her your promotion. I suspect he was the recipient of her one successful pitch, and it likely involved getting naked.”
Allison pushed upright, which put the moist heat of her center in direct contact with his groin. Instant hard-on. But he seemed to be the only who noticed. “If that’s true then he’s guilty of the same thing he punished me for.”
“If you’re looking for fair, you’re looking in the wrong place. If you’re looking for action...” He raised his hips.
A smile flirted with her lips and she did a little shimmy that had his fingers digging into her thighs. But she wasn’t going to let him use that condom until she heard the rest of the story. He knew that because she said, “I’m not going to let you use this condom until I hear the rest of the story.”
He forced his fingers to relax on her hips and hoped like hell it wouldn’t take him long to get through this. Every last muscle was crying out for another release—a release that only she could provide.
“When I was packing up my office, Danielle was right there, begging me not to leave.” Allison stiffened and Joe knew exactly what she was thinking—Allison herself hadn’t begged him to do anything but understand why they were through. “I kept a photo of you in my desk. She knew what it meant, and must have decided that turning into an informant would make it that much easier for Tackett to justify keeping her on.”
“I’m sorry I thought you told her.” She was trembling, and it wasn’t with passion.
“Come here.”
She tipped forward again and he took her into his arms, rolled so she lay on her back. He leaned over her. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry I was shallow, narrow-minded and critical.” He picked up her hand and pressed it to his mouth, kissed it again when he discovered the bandage he’d placed there earlier. “Sorry it took me so long to realize that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She squirmed. “Joe...”
“Maybe if I’d paid more attention, you’d have taken me up on my offer a year ago.”
She shook her head and repeated his name, but this time it came out silent. He levered himself over top of her.
“I know. Not gonna happen. I just wanted you to know that I get it. That it was my fault.”
She touched her fingers to his mouth, and when she spoke her voice was rusty. “I should have—”
He stopped her words with a kiss, forced a smile because he didn’t want her to feel anything like the shame that was ripping through him.
Shake it off, man. He had more satisfying things to concentrate on.
“Now,” he said, and proceeded to pat her down as he worked his way toward the foot of the bed, his smile turning genuine when he heard her breathing quicken, watched her thighs fall open in anticipation. “Where did you hide that rubber?”
* * *
ALLISON WOKE SLOWLY, reluctant to leave behind a dream that involved chocolate mousse, whipped cream and Joe. She blinked into the dim light, at a wall that should have been a window, and realized she was hugging a pillow that wasn’t hers, in a bed that smelled like Joe.
She’d slept at Joe’s. She’d slept with Joe.
How long had it been since she’d made such a stellar decision?
She smiled, stretched her arms over her head and rolled, seeking the fireside warmth of Joe’s naked body. But his side of the mattress lay empty. She hesitated, wondering what that meant. Damn that man, if he’d gone any farther than the bathroom she’d beat him with her unappeased libido.
“Good morning.” The sound of his deep, gravelly voice tingled through her, and she responded with a mmm as she remembered all the delicious things he’d said using that voice. All the wicked things he’d demanded. But why was he so far away? She sat up in time to watch him zip himself into a faded pair of jeans.
“No,” she moaned. Warm, sleepy morning sex was her absolute favorite. Did he really not remember? She crawled to the foot of the bed and rose to her knees, put her hands on her hips.
“Why aren’t you in this bed?”
“Trust me. It’s exactly where I want to be.” His eyes were hooded, his face still flushed with sleep. He lifted his hands, looked her over and gave his head a shake, as if he didn’t know where to touch her first. Then he swooped, slid his fingers into her hair and pressed a hard, swift kiss to her upraised mouth. He smelled like pine trees and peaches. She wrapped her arms around his naked waist and pulled him close, moaned at the solid caress of his chest.
“Then why are you?” she murmured against his lips. “Leaving me?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
“Ignore them.”
“I can’t. Not the way they’re pounding. There might be something wrong.”
She heard it, then, a frantic rapping on the glass. “Marcus?”
“He knows how to get in if he needs to. No, the only guy I know who knocks like that is Snoozy.”
She jerked away. “Mitzi’s loose. He came to warn us.” She saw the grin he wasn’t trying very hard to hide, snatched up a pillow and smacked him. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s also not true. The point I was trying to make is that it’s a woman at the door.”
“How do you know it’s not true?” Then his words registered and she groaned. “I bet it’s Audrey. If she brought scrapple, do I have to eat it?”
He dragged a shirt over his head, leaned down and kissed her again. “Don’t go anywhere.”
As soon as he shut the door behind him she flopped back onto the bed and made a snow angel in the sheets, enjoying the stretch, anticipating the hard, hot length of him pressing down on her again. She wouldn’t think about their limited time together. She’d
only think about what they could do to take advantage of it.
But several minutes later, when Joe hadn’t reappeared, she realized what she needed to be thinking about was getting dressed. He might need her help.
She put on a borrowed pair of boxers and a T-shirt, opened the bedroom door and heard an agitated Hazel Catlett. Had something happened to Hazel’s sister? Or to Audrey? Allison rushed into the lobby, found Hazel shaking her finger while a gray schnauzer sniffed at Joe’s bare feet.
Allison’s gaze jerked from Hazel’s suddenly self-satisfied smile to Joe’s pained expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Hazel’s worried about STDs.”
“I-I’m sorry?”
“You will be, honey, if you don’t use a rubber.” From the outer pocket of the battered brown purse tucked against her belly, Hazel pulled a bright blue strip of condoms. “For you.”
Good grief. What was it with these women and their purses? Allison shuddered to think what June might be carrying around in hers.
Hazel rattled the condoms at her. Allison felt her cheeks burn as she accepted the gift with a murmured thanks. The old woman reached into her purse again and Joe held up a hand, palm out.
“Give them all away and you won’t have any left for yourself.”
Allison glanced sideways at Joe and he countered with a wink.
“Oh, I’m not going for more rubbers, Joseph.” Hazel showed off her cell phone then snapped a picture before Allison could scoot behind Joe. “In case no one believes you’ve gotten back together.”
A long pause. The awkward kind. “We’re not together,” Allison said.
Hazel’s arm dropped like her phone had just gained twenty pounds. “You mean you’re just...together.”
“That’s right.”
“Well.” She recovered her smile. “At least you got over your grudges. Amazing what a little hot sex can do. Anyway, hon, I just came by to make sure you’re still planning to come to my card party.”
“Card party?”
Joe scratched his jaw. “I, um, forgot to tell you.”
“Lucky I came by, then, isn’t it? Lunch and canasta, that’s the plan. What do you say, hon?”
Allison cast a desperate glance at Joe, who was grinning, damn him. “I really should be helping out around here....”
Hazel waved a dismissive hand. “He can spare you. And don’t forget, Joseph, you have a meeting with Snoozy in about fifteen minutes. I saw him at the supermarket and he said he was coming over to talk to you about Mitzi’s pen.”
Damn it. Allison barely restrained a growl. So much for going back to bed.
Hazel snapped another picture, pointed at the strip of condoms and gave a thumbs-up, then left. But two seconds later she opened the door again and made kissing sounds. Allison gaped. Was she...did she actually think...was she trying to get them in the mood? Then the schnauzer hightailed it from behind the counter, a spitting and fluffed-up Tigerlily right on his tail. Oh. She’d forgotten her dog. Joe scooped up his cat, Hazel disappeared with Baby Blue and Allison buried her face in her hands. When Joe started to laugh she rounded on him.
“A card party? Really?”
With an unabashed grin he put down the cat, moved in close and nuzzled at her hair. “Are we okay, you and me?”
“We’d be better if you hadn’t offered me up as a sacrifice to the gossip girls. And if we’d managed to have wake-up sex. Now we don’t have time because Snoozy’s on his way.”
“And I need a shower.” He backed her up against the counter, his hands roaming. “I haven’t given you a crash course in plumbing yet. Want to see my fixtures?”
“These...fixtures. I guess you expect me to be properly impressed with them? Ooh and ah over them? Maybe even...fondle them?”
His breathing quickened. “Even fixtures like to be appreciated.”
“Then by all means.” She grinned. “Let’s go get wet.”
* * *
MARCUS GRIMACED AT the freshly tiled floor, now freshly spattered with primer. As was the toilet, and the front edge of the sink. Maybe he should have used that drop cloth after all. Who knew he’d suck at painting? Joe—make that Meathead—was going to kill him.
Except he wasn’t. The dude wouldn’t even yell at him. He’d give him that “yeah, you effed up but we can fix it” look, then either help him fix it, or leave him alone to figure it out himself.
He lowered the roller into the paint tray for a reload. He should be grateful they’d left him alone. That they trusted him to have the place to himself. Allison had gone to some old lady lunch deal and Joe—Meathead—had taken Snoozy somewhere to talk someone else into making a pen for that python they’d found. Meathead said he didn’t have the time.
He’d made time for Marcus, though.
He raised the roller and paused. Thought about that snake, hiding in the wall all these years. Just trying to survive. Wondering why she’d been abandoned. Why no one came for her. Thought about what it would have suffered if Marcus hadn’t put out that fire those kids had started. Thought about the bigger, better, un-effin’-stoppable blaze he planned to set himself.
Thought about what it would mean to Joe.
What it would mean to him.
The emotion slammed him in the throat.
He struggled to breathe, and eventually registered that someone was standing behind him. He blinked, and inhaled, dropped the roller back into the tray and hoped that whoever it was had just walked in.
“The door was open,” she said.
Shit. It had to be her.
He raised his head but didn’t...couldn’t...turn around. Couldn’t even tell her to get the hell out. Not without giving away the fact that he’d been bawling like a baby a few seconds ago.
Except somehow she knew. She squeezed in at his side, slid a warm palm onto his shoulder and spoke in the kind of voice he’d have given anything to hear when he was a boy. But didn’t deserve to hear as a man.
A man. Who was he kidding? Even Meathead called him a kid. He was trapped in between. And he longed for someone to pull him out of his purgatory.
“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s the matter? What can I do to help?”
He balled his empty fist. He wanted nothing more than to turn and curve down into her embrace, to let her hands and her lips and her whispered words stroke away his pain. But then he’d only want more, because she’d make him feel good. Somehow she’d sensed his need from the first time they met and for some godforsaken reason she wanted to answer it.
But he wasn’t worthy of feeling good. She’d figure that out and sooner or later she’d want to know why. That’s when he’d end up scaring the hell out of her.
Might as well do that now and get it over with.
“What is it with you?” He swung around to face her, the sudden violence of the motion startling her into backing out of the bathroom. Deliberately he followed, his jaw set and his gaze narrowed as he herded her toward the door, the paint roller clutched in both hands. “I mean, give me a break. I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to be friends and I sure as shit don’t want to screw you. So why don’t you go pester someone your own age?”
Liz had folded her arms across her chest and her eyes had dampened the moment he’d turned on her. But after that last crack, outrage replaced the hurt in her expression.
“Just how old do you think I am?” she demanded.
For the first time in...Jesus, how long?...he wanted to laugh. But weeks of homelessness had honed his ability to gauge a situation, and the people in it. Which meant he knew damned well that if he so much as smiled she’d kick him in the balls.
“I don’t have time for this,” he said instead, and stomped back into the bathroom. For a while she stood outside the door—he could hear the harsh rhythm of her breathing. He
leaned over and flushed the toilet to drown out the sound. When she spoke again it was from the doorway to the motel room, and he had to strain to hear.
“Friends don’t have to talk, or pretend, or even screw. Sometimes they can just be.”
He knew the moment she’d left, and found himself resenting the smell of paint that overpowered her fresh summer scent, and aching from the longing her words had roused. He pressed too hard on the roller and the piece of shit broke, the handle gouging into the drywall.
“God damn it.” His own breath came rough and fast, his muscles coiling as he battled the urge to attack the wall until there was nothing left of the handle. But he knew better than anyone—violence ruined lives. He launched into his breathing exercises and set the broken roller carefully aside. Yeah, he’d hoped to finish painting today. He’d wanted to show Joe—Meathead, damn it—that he was serious about earning his keep. About pulling a paycheck. About—
He sucked in a breath. What was he thinking? It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He’d gotten so caught up in pretending to care about fitting in that he’d forgotten why he was there in the first place.
He forced out a laugh as he replaced the lid on the can of primer. Funny, how an empty room could make a noise sound so hollow. With a final appraising glance at the hole in the wall, he went to scare up some spackle.
* * *
ALLISON SMILED WEAKLY at the plate Hazel set in front of her. “Um. I don’t think I can—”
“Of course you can. Just one bite. That’s all I ask.” Hazel nudged the plate closer, smiling with lips the color of Pepto-Bismol. She turned and poked at her sister, who wore eye shadow in the very same shade—or maybe she’d just coated her eyelids with her sister’s lipstick? “What were you thinking, telling her what was in it?”
“She asked, for cripes’ sake.”
“Oh, and I suppose if she asked how many times I did the nasty last week, you’d tell her that, too?”