She stopped in the kitchen to put the bottle of champagne in the refrigerator to chill. As she turned, a tight sensation pulled at the back of her neck, telling her something was off, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She did a slow sweep of the kitchen. A water glass, half full and marred by a thumbprint, sat on the counter. But the cleaners would have washed it when they came Thursday….
A bump and a muffled voice came from the master bedroom. Burglars? The same moment that thought popped into her head, she saw the keys to Steven’s Audi on the kitchen table. And she knew she hadn’t interrupted a home invasion in progress.
Knowing, dreading what she was about to see didn’t stop her from going to the master bedroom and turning the knob. Still, when the door swung open, she wasn’t quite prepared for an unimpeded view of Steven’s squarish, somewhat flabby ass as he stood at the foot of the bed heaving and groaning over the woman on all fours in front of him.
All of the restraint, the composure, the impeccable manners Taylor had spent the last fifteen years cultivating flew out the window. “I don’t fucking believe this!” If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere else. Apparently, that someone else was Annemarie, a barely legal junior sales associate Steven had hired last winter. Taylor recognized her as soon as Annemarie’s head whipped around at Taylor’s entrance. “Son of a bitch.” Taylor wasn’t sure if she was referring to Steven, for sleeping with another woman—girl!—under her nose all this time, or to Joe, for being right about the dismal state of her relationship.
“Taylor!” Steven gaped at her over his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
She threw her hands up. “Well, I was hoping to get laid, but it looks like I’m a little too late to the party.” She took in Steven’s sweaty, naked body with distaste. From the neck up, he was a good-looking man, but it had been so long since she’d seen him in the full light of day, she’d forgotten what he looked like naked. Though he wasn’t overweight, love handles had taken prominent places over his hips. And his butt—Taylor never knew men could have cellulite! His arms were scrawny, his hands pale as they still gripped Annemarie’s hips, too shocked to let go.
Taylor realized with cold, cutting clarity that although Steven was the perfect boyfriend for her on paper, she had absolutely no desire whatsoever to have sex with him ever again. And even if she could summon a kernel of sexual attraction, she would never, ever forgive him for cheating on her.
Turning in disgust, she made it halfway down the stairs to the front door before he caught her by the arm. She turned, bracing herself for a full-frontal view, relieved to see Steven had wrapped a towel around his waist. It emphasized the soft pudge of his belly beneath a nearly concave chest, but at least she wouldn’t have to see the part that had most recently been stuck inside another woman.
“Taylor, I’m sorry,” he said as she jerked her arm away and ran down the last few stairs.
“Oh, please, you’re not sorry,” she spat. “You’re sorry you got caught, and probably sorry that you won’t have an inside contact at our portfolio companies anymore, but you’re not sorry you slept with that…that child.”
“Annemarie’s twenty-five,” he sputtered, gripping the knot of his towel as it started to slip.
“Clearly too dumb to realize that sleeping with you won’t get her anywhere,” she sneered, her hand on the doorknob. “I can’t imagine she’d do it otherwise, since she probably doesn’t enjoy it any more than I did.”
His lip curled in a sneer as he met her attack with his own. “That’s where you’re wrong, Taylor. Unlike you, Annemarie actually knows how to relax and have fun. She’s sexy, and funny—”
“And I’m not?”
He rolled his eyes and snorted. “You’re about as sexy as a burlap sack, Taylor. It’s no wonder I went somewhere else, since sleeping with you is like trying to fuck a bag of ice.”
Ouch. Even though she had no interest in sleeping with Steven anymore, it stung to realize how little he wanted to sleep with her. The satin garters itched against her legs, and she suddenly felt very, very foolish.
She ran out of the house, nearly breaking an ankle when her high heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. Tears of humiliation stung the backs of her eyes as she slammed her car door behind her and slipped the gearshift into reverse. Look on the bright side: At least you didn’t have a chance to go through with your ill-fated attempt at seduction. Think how much worse you would have felt if you’d tried and he’d rejected you.
Cold comfort, even to a “bag of ice” such as herself.
She turned down her street, stomach clenching when she spotted Joe, still shirtless, his back muscles rippling as he stooped to pull weeds from around a hedge of flowering bushes. For God’s sake, it was nearly six o’clock! Didn’t the man ever stop working?
Maybe she could sneak by without his noticing. The last thing she needed was for him to rub her face in it. She pulled into her garage, wishing she could use the connecting door into the kitchen and bypass her front walk altogether. Unfortunately, she’d lost the key to that particular lock, and with her hectic work schedule, hadn’t taken the time to get it rekeyed. She sighed. Having to haul groceries in the rain had nothing on facing a smug, arrogant neighbor.
“Must have been a quickie.”
Taylor’s shoulders tightened at the sound of his voice, and it took every ounce of restraint not to turn on him and tell him to shove his giant hedge clippers straight up his perfectly sculpted ass.
Instead, she took a deep breath and turned around, doing her best to keep the rage and hurt from bubbling to the surface. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know you were right.” She strove for a smile, feeling like her skin was cracking around the bones of her face. “Steven was indeed ‘getting it somewhere else,’ as you so quaintly put it. In fact, he was ‘getting it’ from his new sales associate when I walked in. Go ahead, say ‘I told you so.’” She drew her shoulders back, bracing herself for yet another round of humiliation.
Joe’s smirk melted away, concern clouding his green eyes. “Taylor, I’m sorry.”
She didn’t want his pity, but the sincere kindness in his voice started a warm glow somewhere in her belly. She held her hands up. “Don’t be. Better I find out now before it’s too late. Besides, we obviously weren’t terribly…compatible in that regard anyway.” As if I’ve ever been sexually compatible with anyone, she thought morosely. She turned and started up the cracked flagstones that constituted her walkway, freezing in her tracks when he called out.
“Hey, do you want to come over for a drink or something?”
Great. Now he felt sorry for her. “You don’t have to console me, Joe. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than entertain your—how did you put it?—frigid bitch of a neighbor.”
“I think I said ‘uptight bitch,’ actually.” His grin made her toes curl in her high-heeled sandals. “I don’t have any plans, other than to maybe watch a movie and get to bed early.” Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes momentarily focus on her breasts when he said “bed”? Oh, come on, Taylor, I think we’ve just established that you’re not the type to incite instant, wild lust in anyone, much less a young stud muffin like Joe. Not that she would want to anyway, she reminded herself fiercely, as Joe, while gorgeous, was emphatically not the type of guy Taylor would ever go for.
But what would be the harm in one drink? Her only other option was to go home and feel sorry for herself. And right now, the only thing more pathetic than taking him up on his pity-driven hospitality would be to go home and wallow in the death of what she had thought was a perfectly nice, stable relationship.
Pasting on her brightest smile, she said, “I could really go for a strong vodka and tonic.”
3
J oe mixed her vodka and tonic and excused himself to take a quick shower. Taylor took the opportunity to look around his house. Like hers, it was a small two-story, with an open floor plan on the bott
om level. The recently updated kitchen opened onto a great room, which boasted a comfortable-looking ultra-suede couch and matching love seat. Across from the couch, nearly an entire wall was dominated by a huge, flat-screen television. Tiny surround-sound speakers were mounted in the corners.
Though Joe suffered from the typical male syndrome of decorating with major electronics, the house was much nicer than she would have expected from an unmarried man. Framed black and white photos decorated the putty-colored walls in interesting arrangements. And it was clean, too, although the stainless-steel kitchen sink was crowded with soaking pots and pans. Unlike her, he obviously cooked.
All in all, very nicely furnished and decorated. But obviously masculine. No little knickknacks, no little feminine touches. No girlfriend. Not that she cared.
She sipped her drink, savoring the bitter bite of the vodka and the cold fizz of tonic on her tongue, the relaxing warmth that spread through her veins with each sip. As she admired Joe’s beautifully landscaped backyard through the sliding-glass doors off the kitchen, the memory of Steven’s betrayal and parting insults faded behind a foggy, alcoholic haze.
She drained her glass as heavy footsteps sounded on the stairway. Joe entered through the door off the kitchen, and her mouth went a little dry. How could he look so good in a faded T-shirt and equally threadbare jeans? “I was admiring what you’ve done with the backyard,” she said.
“Thanks. I could do the same with yours.” Her what? Between the vodka and the way the cotton of his shirt pulled across his chest, she was having a hard time focusing. “In fact, it would be a favor to me if you let me fix up your yard a little bit.”
“Oh, right. My yard.” She shook her head as his words sank in. “I’ll think about it.” But she could barely think at all, what with all of the blood having left her veins. She felt flushed all over, hot even in his cool, dark living room. The garters chafed her thighs, and her stockings clung to her skin. For a split second she wondered what Joe would do if she asked him to peel them off her legs.
“Can I get you another?”
She stared stupidly until he gestured to her empty glass. “Oh, sure. But maybe you could go a little lighter this time, since I drained that one so quickly.” And the alcohol was clearly scrambling her brains, turning her into a horny, lust-crazed nympho. He smiled and came over to retrieve her glass. The aroma of soap and warm skin assaulted her, tempting her to lean in and bury her nose in the strong column of his neck. But he retreated quickly, going to the granite kitchen counter to fix them both fresh drinks. His hair was still damp, waving a little bit in the back. Taylor laced her fingers together before she did something stupid, like walk over and stroke them up his nape.
He turned, his smile a slash of white against his work-tanned skin. She took her drink and raised it up in a little toast. She took a sip and sucked in a breath. “I think this is stronger than the last one.”
He waved her to the couch. “I figure after the day you’ve had, you deserve to get a little plastered.”
Normally she didn’t overindulge in alcohol. She’d been around enough drunks growing up to know firsthand how unattractive it was. Plus, she didn’t like the idea of losing control and saying or doing the wrong thing. In her profession, image was very important, and she would never let her colleagues see her in anything but a professional light.
But she seriously doubted Joe ran in the same circles as she, so it wasn’t like he was going to run into her managing partner and tell him how she had spent Saturday night lolling drunkenly on his couch. Besides, he was right. After a day like she’d had, she should be allowed to cut loose a little.
She plopped down onto the couch with little grace, half-heartedly rearranging her skirt as it rode up her thighs. “Thanks for taking pity on me. I just can’t believe…” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to talk about Steven, or the fact that she was almost thirty-three and a hell of a lot further from marriage than she’d thought only the day before. Or the fact that she’d been dumped for a woman nearly ten years younger, at least twenty IQ points stupider, but all the more appealing because she let Steven do her doggy style, a position Taylor had always hated.
She looked over at Joe, smiling at her from the other end of the couch. He lifted his glass to his mouth, his tongue coming out to catch a stray drop from his lush lower lip. An image popped into her head, of her bent over, naked in her bed as Joe drove into her from behind. Rather than repulsing her, the thought sent a bolt of heat pulsing between her legs. She shifted her legs restlessly, squeezing her thighs as though to contain the hot surge of moisture dampening the thin strip of her thong. “I just can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure out who my neighbor is!” she said in a desperate attempt to distract herself. “I would have never guessed it was someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” He raised a thick, dark eyebrow, as though trying to decide whether or not he was being insulted.
“Well you’re so young. How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“That’s pretty young to own a house in the Bay Area, especially in this area.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“I’m thirty-two,” she said, reminding herself of a little girl insisting she was not five, but five and a half.
“Ancient.” He chuckled. “Let me know if you ever need help with your walker.”
“Besides,” she said, eyes rolling, “this neighborhood isn’t exactly a mecca for young, single men.”
He inched a little closer, draping his arm across the back of the couch. Another inch, and his fingers could brush against her bare shoulder, if he were so inclined. “Or for young, single women.”
“I’m not single.” She corrected herself. “At least up until today I wasn’t. And I bought this house thinking I would raise a family in it eventually.” She frowned, not wanting to dwell on Steven but unable to quell the thoughts of all the hopes and expectations she’d so foolishly placed on him. No, he wasn’t the love of her life—Taylor wasn’t sure there was such a thing—but she’d been content and thought he’d been too. They’d had similar goals, both personally and professionally, and Taylor had been confident he would be able to give her the two kids, a dog, and a picket fence sort of affluent lifestyle of which she’d dreamed. The kind of life that was a universe away from the life of her mother, a single waitress who raised Taylor in a trailer park while supporting a never-ending string of unemployed losers.
Instead, she would have to start all over, two years wasted with nothing to show for it. Sudden, hot tears burned at the back of her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose to hold them back. The last thing she wanted was to start sobbing uncontrollably in front of Joe.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, taking the drink from her hand and awkwardly pulling her into his arms. One big hand patted her back as the other pressed her face into his chest. She buried her nose against the firm muscle. God, he smelled good. Her hand rested lightly on his waist, the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt. She wanted to tug it up over his chest and run her fingers over his smooth tan torso, but it would be rude to shamelessly hit on him when he was only offering comfort.
Besides, she reminded herself, though she might be wearing the sexiest underwear she owned under her dress, if she couldn’t tempt a man like Steven, Joe would certainly find her powers of seduction sorely lacking.
Finally, she pulled away with a sniff, thankful the urge to break down and weep seemed to have passed. “I’m not usually this emotional,” she said.
“Your boyfriend’s an idiot.”
She shook her head and settled back against the cushions. “It’s not his fault he didn’t want to sleep with me.”
Joe leaned over, resting his palm on the couch next to her thigh, close enough that if she shifted her leg one millimeter to the right, she would feel his skin against hers. “There’s no man in his right mind who wouldn’t want to sleep with you, Taylor.” His tone was fierce and
so was his gaze as he fixed it on her mouth. She licked her lips as his intent became clear.
She should move, she should get off this couch and run for the door. Because he was too young, too wrong…too good of a kisser, she realized as his mouth settled on hers.
His taste flooded her as his lips parted, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, hot, sleek, and smooth as it tangled with hers. Wet, open-mouth kisses melted together until Taylor’s breath came in little pants. Long, rough fingers slid the strap of her dress down her shoulder, his tongue sending sparks down her spine as it followed. She’d never thought of her shoulders, her collarbones, her jaw as erogenous zones until Joe nipped and sucked his way across them. She heard the buzz of her zipper at the same time cool air hit the skin of her back, and then she was bare to the waist except for her ice-blue-satin strapless bra.
She didn’t recognize the wild woman who arched and moaned against Joe’s hands and lips, who practically tore his shirt from his body so she could feel him, skin to skin. All Taylor knew was she was starving for the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him. She was so turned on, the skin of her inner thighs was slippery with her own moisture, and he still hadn’t touched her below the neck.
Her hands eagerly explored his back as he tugged at the satin cups of her bra. “Beautiful,” he murmured as her breasts sprang free, her nipples dark pink and so hard they nearly hurt. She moaned in anticipation as his tongue sneaked out, barely grazing the tip of first one, then the other. A low, throaty groan emanated from her throat when his lips closed over the sensitive flesh. Heat flooded her belly as he pushed her back against the cushions and settled himself between her spread thighs.
The thick column of his erection pressed against her stomach, his size evident even contained as it was by the fly of his jeans. Then again, everything about him was big, from the broad, work-toughened palm closing over her breast to the immense shoulders blocking everything from her view as he leaned over her. The mere thought of his long, thick cock sliding in, of her slick flesh stretching to accommodate him, sent a shudder coursing through her.
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