by Elise Faber
He grinned. “Twenty years ago and minus one wife. Yes. Nowadays, I stick to honest.”
My cheeks felt hot, but I ignored them . . . along with the compliment. We walked down the hall, and Rich pressed the button to call the elevator. While we waited, I asked, “Doesn’t this building have any stairs? I feel like I’m always waiting for these metal death boxes.”
He snorted but nodded to a door I hadn’t noticed before. It was tucked into the corner near the bank of elevators. “Right there. But this old man has bad knees, five flights and I wouldn’t be walking for the rest of the week.”
“Oh no,” I said. “What happened?”
“Football. And too much of it.”
The doors dinged open and we got on. “I hear that can be a brutal sport.”
“It sure can,” he said, then grimaced. “Without risking monopolizing your after-work hours, can I get your opinion on the logo placement?”
I pictured the mock-up of the website the junior designers had emailed just before the end of the day. There was a lot of good in it: fun colors, clear tabs and font, but the logo wasn’t right.
“I don’t think it’s the placement so much as the proportions. It’s too big.”
Rich pulled out his phone, accessed the link, and held it up so I could see the screen. “Damn, if you’re not right.”
“Words a woman lives to hear.”
“Don’t I know it?” We shared an amused gaze as he put his phone away.
“So tell me about this wife of yours.”
“Well, she . . .”
I listened as we rode down, laughing at Rich’s description of his wife and kids and their latest vacation, then at the misadventures of a new puppy at home that the three kids “just had to have.”
“So then the dog took off through the house, one stiletto in his mouth, a pair of my daughter’s underwear around his neck, just as she and her new boyfriend walked through the front door.”
We were both chuckling as we walked off the elevator and into the lobby.
“Oh.” Rich paused then patted my arm. “I don’t think my escort services are needed. See you tomorrow.” He turned for the exit.
I hardly saw him go.
Because my eyes were on Jordan.
Whose smile took my breath away. I found that I couldn’t make my feet move, not toward him, not away. I just stood still and waited for him to approach, my heart thudding. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“Hi,” I whispered when he was close.
“Hi.” He put out his arms as though to hug me. “No deodorant. I promise.”
I laughed, the spell that had surrounded me shattering. “Thank God for that.”
“I got something for you,” he said, taking my briefcase and my purse, slinging the former over his shoulder and holding the latter in his fist. I marveled again at how he made it seem so small.
Then again, what was the saying? Large hands, large . . . hammer?
I huffed out a laugh and Jordan gaze skimmed over me.
“You’ll have to share what’s so funny with me later,” he said.
“Not happening.” I grinned when he frowned. “What are you doing here? I thought you were waiting for my email.”
“With bated breath.” He tangled my fingers with his. “Don’t you want to know what I got you?”
“Sure. But I like surprises too.”
“Noted.” He released my hand and reached into his pocket.
What he pulled out made me laugh.
“Isn’t that more for you than me?” I asked of the shiny new cell phone.
“It is if you hold up your end of the sexting bargain.”
My cheeks went red-hot. “Now wait a minute. I never said—” I broke off when I caught his mischievous expression and smacked his chest. “You’re terrible.”
“You like it,” he teased and held the door for me as we left the lobby.
“Nope.” But I did. I liked this version of Jordan a whole lot.
I could only hope he stuck around for a long, long time.
Or maybe even indefinitely.
Twenty-One
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I said an hour later.
Jordan had conned not only my cell number but my new address out of me before we’d left the parking lot.
“You said you were craving Chinese.”
“That’s not what I’m taking issue with,” I said, pulling takeout containers from the brown bag Jordan had brought in.
“Then what is it?” he asked before starting to go through the cupboards. “Plates?” he asked.
“They’re not unpacked yet,” I admitted. “I couldn’t lift the box. I’ve been using paper ones.”
“Hmm.” He pulled out his phone and pressed a button. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah, yeah. Can you arrange the movers to come out and unpack the boxes Abigail has left?” He glanced up at me, brows raised. “What time?”
“I’m fine,” I said, plunking my hands on my hips. “I’ll get to it—”
“Why should you have to?”
“Because I—”
He turned his back on me, probably because he knew his next statement would piss me off. “Six tomorrow night. She’ll tell them where she wants everything. They do all the heavy lifting.” A pause. “Good.”
Jordan tucked his phone away in his pocket and gave me a look that should have belonged to a little boy. It was guilty, full to the brim with remorse. The only thing missing was a toe making a hole as it dug into the ground.
I sighed, all the annoyance I’d felt in the previous moment slipping away. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”
His expression turned obstinate. “Well you shouldn’t have to—”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“I didn’t say you weren’t. But, sweetheart, I have the money and you’re carrying our baby.” He took a step closer. “Now can’t you let me just take care of you? Just a little bit?”
Taking care of me was fine. It was the becoming used to it—relying on it—that I was afraid of.
But I’d decided to try this thing with Jordan and that meant pushing old fears away.
Even when it really, really scared me to do so.
I forced a smile. “You can.” A pause. “Just a little bit.”
He studied my expression, and I had the feeling that he understood exactly how much that acquiescence had cost me.
“Thank you.” A brush of his lips against mine. “So tell me, where are the paper plates?”
“Second cupboard on the left. Forks are in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”
He followed my directions and pulled out the plates and silverware, bringing both to the kitchen island, where I’d set up shop and was plucking fried wontons from a container I’d already opened.
“Oh, my God,” I moaned. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
“Setting yourself up there,” he said.
“I’m surprised you resisted the innuendo,” I teased.
“Me too.”
I broke out into giggles, filling my plate with fried rice, chow mein, sweet and sour pork, and lots of wontons. “I almost commented on their salty deliciousness.”
He smirked. “Now I wouldn’t have been able to resist that one.”
“Me neither.”
We both laughed and sat down at the barstools, eating our fill.
“Dare I ask what you were taking issue with earlier?” Jordan ate a mouthful of rice. “Or should I let that sleeping dog lie?”
“You’re brave,” I said, having almost completely forgotten about the bags that were cluttering my counters. “But I’m fed now. I was protesting the fact that my kitchen looks like a drug store exploded inside of it.”
“I need deodorant.”
“Yes.” I popped a wanton in my mouth. “That’s a certainty.”
“Smartass.” He dropped his hand on my thigh.
“You know it.”
A squeeze. “I do. B
ut I’d like to not smell like a caveman while still being able to interact closely with you.”
“You want me not to puke every time you’re nearby.”
“Well, yes, there’s that.”
“So”—I waved a hand at the bags littering my beautiful white marble—“drug store explosion?”
“No. Sniff test.”
I groaned, dropping my forehead to the cold stone, before sitting up and glaring at him. “We should have conducted the sniff test before I had a full stomach.”
Jordan set his fork down next to his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. I didn’t have any of those unpacked either and figured it must have come alongside the food. “Damn. You’re right. Sniff test will have to wait till tomorrow.”
“Well, it’ll have to at least wait until later,” I told him. “Don’t ruin Chinese food for me, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ask.” I sat back in my barstool and patted my belly. “How did we eat so much food? I swear, I always have leftovers when I order in.”
Jordan lifted one leg, placing it between both of mine. The action made my breath hitch and desire sweep through me, so much and so rapidly that I nearly missed the horrible joke that went along with the action. “Hollow leg.”
“Oh my God,” I said when I could speak without sounding like a breathless buffoon. “The dad jokes start already.”
He huffed. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, but it was.” I started giggling and Jordan joined in, his rumbling laughter making the leg between mine vibrate.
Now wasn’t that nice?
“So no sniff test for the present,” he said once I’d managed to pull myself together. “What should we do to pass the time?”
He waggled his brows mockingly, but the heat in his eyes belied the joking exterior. Jordan wanted me and I knew it.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” I said, sliding from the stool then taking his hand in mine.
“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Jordan grumbled, sitting cross-legged next to me at my coffee table.
The coffee table.
Which looked ridiculously tiny with him sitting next to me. Solid little thing. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t broken it that night.
And I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex. Nope, that was the road that led to ruin and failing IUDs.
You can’t get any more pregnant at the moment. The thought popped into my mind and I pushed it away.
Not the point.
This was our chance to take things slow.
“No complaining,” I told him, picking up my crochet hook. “Crocheting helps my brain relax.”
“If anyone ever saw me doing this—”
“You going to invite Heather over for a crochet party?” I asked.
“Fuck no.”
“So, shh,” I said. “And concentrate. Loop.” I looped, showing him, trying not to laugh as he fumbled with the yarn. After a moment, he got it. “Pull the outside loop under the inside.” I demonstrated. “And repeat.”
He started to do it then mishandled the hook and the yarn slid off. A curse slipped from his lips.
“We can do something else,” I offered. “Or you can just relax while—”
Blue eyes met mine and they were determined. “Show me again.”
I did.
He followed my actions, tongue pressed into the corner of his lips as he concentrated fiercely. The yarn slipped off again. Another curse.
“Really—” I began.
A growl. “Again.” His mouth softened. “Please.”
I put down my hook and slipped between him and the table, forcing him to slide backward as I settled myself into his lap.
“This,” he murmured, snaking his hands around my waist, “I like.”
I shook my head, leaned back against his chest. “You need to relax,” I told him, even as my actions made me do the opposite of my words.
Jordan’s scent wrapped around me and that spicy maleness made me want to cuddle closer. That coupled with the heat of his body and the solidity of his muscles, and I was aroused beyond belief. I wanted to rub all over him, like he was catnip, curl up close and forget about the crocheting.
I wanted him. Maybe more than he wanted me.
But if I was doing this—making a go of the dating thing with Jordan—then I wasn’t going to jump into bed with him again. That had been the crux of our problems, and I was determined to avoid that stumbling block this go around.
And dammit, the man was going to learn to crochet. It wasn’t that hard.
I put the hook in his hand and placed mine over his. Then I did the same with the yarn.
“Loop. Tuck. Pull,” I said and guided his hands through the actions. “Loop. Tuck. Pull.”
He got it. Of course, the man got it. Two times through and perfect stitches, perfect tension. He repeated the action one more time. Two. Then he dropped the hook and yarn.
“That’s good enough,” he said, mouth coming close to my ear, his husky words making me shiver.
“There are other stitches—”
“I don’t give a damn about the other stitches.”
“Then what—?”
I didn’t finish the sentence as Jordan spun me in his lap.
His mouth slammed down on mine.
And suddenly I didn’t give a damn about the other stitches either.
Twenty-Two
I was on fire. Oh God, I was on fire.
Jordan’s hands were holding me tight against him, his lips plundering mine. It was too much and not enough. Our clothes were in the way. I wanted skin-to-skin. I wanted him on top of me.
And then with a shift of his mouth, everything changed.
The touch softened, his hands came up to gently cup my cheeks. His tongue was gentle and probing.
I sighed and he caught my breath.
“Hi,” he said, pausing to stare down at me.
“H-hi.” My heart was still pounding, that gnawing desire bubbling just under the surface.
His forehead dropped against mine. “You undo me.”
I snorted. “Except you’re not the one with wet panties right now.”
He laughed, the sound puffing against my skin, filling my heart with a lightness that only seemed to appear when Jordan was nearby.
“True,” he said. “Wet isn’t really my problem at the moment.”
My eyes drifted down and I smirked.
“No hammer jokes,” he grumbled.
I couldn’t help it. Apparently, I couldn’t resist an innuendo.
“But there are so many good ones,” I said, laughter punctuating the words. “It’s—”
He kissed me again and it wasn’t the hot, searing-me-to-the-soul kind. Nor was it gentle and coaxing. This one was demanding. He knew what he wanted from my mouth and he took it.
We broke apart, both breathing heavily.
I glared at him with heavy eyes. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”
“Did it work?” I opened my mouth indignantly, only to close it when he shot me a teasing look. “I kissed you because I can’t seem to help myself.” His lips twitched. “The shutting up part was just bonus.”
I poked his chest. “Incorrigible.”
“Your big words must come from all the books you read.”
I fanned myself, fluttered my eyes. “Oh darling, you say the sweetest things.”
“You taste sweet.”
My breath caught. Jordan’s hand stroked my waist, inching lower, slipping under the waistband of my slacks. “It’s the fortune cookie.”
“It’s you.” A dip of those fingers, calloused skin brushing the top of my underwear. “I bet you taste sweet here too.”
“Jord—”
“Would you like it if I kissed you there?”
Now that was an image. Who wouldn’t like Thor between her thighs? But . . . I’d been at work all day and wasn’t sure how fresh I was.
“I—”
He tilted his head, fingers running back and forth, back and forth. I wanted them to dip a little deeper, to slide home. “You what?”
One lock of hair had slipped over his forehead and I brushed it back, feeling both extremely self-conscious and turned on. He smelled great. I, on the other hand, probably had B.O. and needed to douse myself in Purell.
“Sweetheart.” He kissed my throat. “What is it? Do you want to go back to crocheting?”
The angst dissipated as I laughed. “God, no.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“Just having a girl moment.” I waved a hand. “Ignore me. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
His eyes narrowed and I sighed, knowing him well enough by now to understand he wouldn’t let the point go without further explanation.
“I want you to go down on me, but I’m not sure how”—I waved a hand in the direction of my vagina—“good things are down there at the moment.”
“Because of the baby?”
I shook my head. “It’s been a long day. I haven’t showered—”
Clarity finally dawned on his face. “You want me to eat you out but are worried about how you smell?”
I’m sure my cheeks were bright red. “Yup. That’s pretty much the crux of it.”
“Women.”
“Hey! I’m trying to be considerate—”
“Shush, you.” He picked me up, tossed me on the couch. “I’m trying to lick my girlfriend’s pussy.”
“Jord—” But my protest and embarrassment faded the moment he unzipped my pants and yanked them down my thighs. He dipped a finger beneath my underwear, eyes hot when he found me dripping.
All the air left my lungs when he put that finger in his mouth and sucked.
“Sweet,” he said, voice gruff. “Like I said.”
“Okay,” I whispered in awe. “That might have been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“No, that would be you writhing beneath me.”
“But I—”
He didn’t let me finish, instead yanked my pants past my ankles and started on my shirt. Something ripped. Buttons flew. My underwear disappeared like magic.
And in less time than I could have imagined, I was naked.
Jordan didn’t give me a second to catch my breath. He spread my thighs, tossed one leg over his shoulder, and dove in.