by Maggie Wells
“The windows, Mike? You want to press me up against those windows and let the world watch you fuck me? Your hands on my hips, your cock deep inside me…”
She let the thought trail away on a pant. The man was making the most incredible noises. His hot, feral growls and groans only egged her on. His fingers were hot and slick with her arousal, their blunt tips pressed into her flesh hard enough to make her gasp. She’d bruise, but she didn’t mind. A little pain always heightened the pleasure. And some backdoor play always got her off the mark quick.
“Press your finger against me. My ass, I mean,” she clarified.
His hearty groan of approval told her she was heading in the right direction. He touched one damp fingertip to her anus and climax slammed into her.
Bingo.
Her legs gave way, but he had an unrelenting hold on her. She shuddered and quaked, but he held firm. He pushed her over the crest of each wave of release with ardent flicks of his tongue. When he’d wrung the last shudder from her, he eased her descent with soft, reverent kisses and murmured nonsense.
This. Oh, this. This was the part nearly killed her.
Sure, the guy was great in bed. Passionate, enthusiastic, and driven. So delightfully driven. But Mike Simmons truly shone in the afterglow. In those dangerous moments when a woman’s heart was most vulnerable.
The man was a master of cooing and calming. Because he had kids, or was he naturally a giver? Probably both, she decided. He was mother and father, after all. Both big parts to play.
Needing some distance, she gently extricated herself from his grasp. Staring down at her suited swain, she staggered two steps to the right and collapsed onto the chair she’d abandoned. Sure enough, other than the telltale gloss on his cheeks and chin and his rumpled hair, the man looked barely perturbed. Above the waist, she amended, dropping her heavy-lidded gaze to the impressive bulge in his suit pants.
“Hi,” she said, flashing him a woozy smile.
“Hello,” he replied, his voice grave and gravelly.
She closed her eyes but kept the smile in place. She needed a minute, only a minute without him touching her, and she’d get herself together again. “Whydonchu get us something from the nightstand while I catch my breath?”
Mike didn’t move right away. She knew he wouldn’t. He was one of those people who like to savor things whenever possible. No doubt he was drinking in the sight of her sprawled bonelessly in a chair wearing nothing but some sequined high heels and the rosy glow of satisfaction. And he should bask in the glory. Even if she’d won the prize.
She felt his gaze traveling over her, her skin prickling with awareness. A low-frequency arousal hummed through her whenever he was nearby. The whoosh of his exhalation cooled her heated skin and raised goose bumps on her arms. She inhaled deeply, letting her senses carry her along for a moment longer.
The floor creaked when he rolled to his feet. Mike gave a manly grunt of discomfort but made no commentary. He wasn’t one for tickles and jokes in the wake of destruction. He was more the type to rush in with first aid. The heels of his shoes clicked against varnished wood planks. The nightstand drawer clunked to a stop at the end of well-oiled rails. There was a pause and the shushing of fabric on fabric. Was he pulling the comforter off? Preparing the bed for his crusade? She wouldn’t mind if he wanted to keep things face-to-face. She liked watching how very seriously he took their lovemaking.
With her eyes closed, she let the fantasy play out in her mind. He doesn’t fuck her. She isn’t the woman created to fulfill his every desire. She’s the woman he loves. He doesn’t want to screw her on the dining room table, or press her up against the cool glass windows. No, because she is his, he treasures her. Worships her. Just the way she is. He carries her to the bed, tucks her gently under the covers, and makes slow, gentle love to her. His eyes locked on hers. Her hand clasped in his. No dirty words. No overblown scenarios. No stilettos needed.
Wetting her lips, Georgie swallowed hard as she listened to him wrestle a condom free from the box. In a few short seconds, he’d make his choice. Anticipation welled inside her. The desire to give him his due warred with an instinctive need for control. Her sweet, soft-focus daydreams probably wouldn’t come true, and she’d have to accept reality. She called this deal. Ladies first, gentleman’s choice.
She blinked a couple of times, allowing her eyes and her mind a moment to find focus. She wanted to be on her toes for this maddening dance they were doing. When he drew to a halt in front of her, she saw he’d shed his suit coat somewhere along the way. Her gaze darted to the neatly made bed.
He held out a hand, palm up. Mystery rustling explained. Georgie looked down at the condom, her heart creeping into her throat. He wasn’t going to take her to the bed and put his movie-worthy moves on her. No, the gleam in his eye said he wasn’t interested in expressing his emotions by cherishing her body. He wanted her in the same reckless, ruthless way she’d taken him their first time together.
Clasping his hand, she allowed him to pull her from the chair. “Table? Bed? Wanna bend me over the end of the sofa?” she asked, lifting a challenging brow.
“Yes to all of the above.” He slipped the condom into his pants pocket. Georgie couldn’t help but wonder how there was room for the packet with his hard-on eating up all the real estate in those worsted wool trousers. He cupped her face in both hands. “How about a kiss?”
A fist squeezed her heart. A kiss. Right. They should kiss. He wanted to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. And kiss and kiss and kiss—
“Georgie?”
Mike ran his thumb over her jaw as he tipped her face up to his. “Hm?”
“A kiss?”
“Sure.”
Their breaths mingled and she didn’t even care if she sounded like she’d been running wind sprints. Her ankles wobbled when his lips brushed over hers. Once. Twice. Then he got serious. His lips were soft. Deceptively sweet. She could taste herself on his tongue, inhaled the aroma of her own arousal. He took the kiss deep, but not in a plundering, demanding way. She wasn’t opposed to plundering, but this was something…different.
Mike smiled as he pulled away. “Come on. Come to bed.” She must have looked surprised because his warm smile morphed into a rakish grin. “We can defile the couch, the table, and maybe the kitchen counter later.”
She laughed and let herself be pulled in his wake for once. “Can I take these shoes off?”
He twisted his wrist and propelled her toward the bed. She dropped down on the edge of the mattress and crossed her legs demurely, showing off the shoes in question.
Mike glanced down as he loosened his tie. Apparently, the question of her footwear warranted a good deal of consideration. “Hm. Not yet, okay?”
Smirking, she fell back, resting her weight on her elbows and thrusting her breasts into the air. “Fine, but your foot fetish has been duly noted.”
Chapter 10
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Mike gazed at the woman dozing next to him. This was bad, so bad.
Draping his arm over his head, he gazed at her like a lovesick puppy. He was in trouble. So much trouble. Being with Georgie had him imagining dinner dates and the occasional movie. And more. He pictured her with his kids. The trouble was, the scenes he cooked up looked nothing like the life he’d once envisioned for himself.
All his life, he’d dreamed of living a kind of Nick at Nite sitcom existence. The mom, the dad, two adorable kids armed with an arsenal of quick-witted commentary. A smooth, classy, middle-of-the-road existence. He knew some people would consider his life a boring life, but he figured those people were the lucky ones. They didn’t know better. Those were the kids who didn’t have to pick their mother up when she passed out on the kitchen floor. The ones who hadn’t grown up lying to their father’s boss about why the old man was late to work. Again.
Most parents were quick to teach their kids how to do chores. Not Mike. He didn’t want his kids worrying about whether they had clean clothes to wear to school, or how hard it was to chip three-day-old egg yolk off dishes. They wouldn’t know how to set mouse traps, or mask the scent of booze poured down the drains. He wanted his kids to be kids. Period.
So, yeah, his vision of home and hearth seemed bland to some, but routine was okay with him. His only responsibility, his whole life purpose, was to provide a stable base for his children.
But, Georgie…
She was anything but a safe bet. Even without the piercings and funky hair colors, the woman was undoubtedly high-definition. Hell, she was almost the female version of Willie Wonka. Not the creepy Johnny Depp version, but the more charmingly quirky Gene Wilder. His kids took to her right away, which both pleased and worried him. Of course, she had cake, and his offspring were undoubtedly cake whores.
Still, once they got to know her, they would love her. Too.
They’d love her, too.
After all, apples didn’t fall far from the tree, right?
Shit. He loved her.
And if they all loved her and they didn’t work out… Another ungodly mess.
Heaving a sigh, he rolled onto his side and stared at her perfect profile.
“You seriously aren’t sleepy?” the woman of his Technicolor dreams murmured. “Do I need to club you over the head? Force-feed you sedatives?”
“No.”
“I’d do you again, but even if I could move, I’m starting to worry we might end up fused together. The conjoined thing would be so hard to explain to people, particularly your kids.”
He chuckled as he reached for her, drawing her close to him. Georgie let him fit her body to his. Her bottom nestling into his crotch. He slid one hand high on her belly, letting his knuckles graze the underside of one breast. Her hair tickled his nose. She smelled incredible. The perfume she’d put on earlier in the evening. The lingering scent of sugar and spice and satiated woman. She smelled like him. As she ought to. He’d sure done his best to mark every inch of her.
“Is insomnia a problem for you?”
Her question was serious. Sincere. And made him feel like shit. She really didn’t know if he slept or not. Because he kept their relationship limited to a couple of hours of afternoon delight.
Wetting his dry lips, he gave his head a shake and grunted a soft “No.”
Georgie didn’t say anything, which was a relief. He wasn’t in the mood to play a game of twenty questions. Oddly enough, though their affair had started out as a bout of hot sex, he thought he knew Georgie.
Boy, had he been wrong.
Until a few hours ago, he hadn’t even known her real surname.
For a second, he missed the days when he was young, unfettered, and apparently, heartless. Before he met Laurel, he didn’t think twice about the women he slept with but never bothered getting to know. Looking back, he realized he rarely let anyone get to know him. The distance he kept was number one on Laurel’s litany of complaints. He didn’t let people in. At least, not many. Trust issues. The self-help books she’d piled on the bedside table practically screamed the words at him every night.
But he had people he trusted. A few. He’d been kicking Colm around most of his life, and James for over a decade now, so they’d wheedled their way into his dark corners. But he’d never wanted a sophisticated woman like Laurel to know how bad things really were for him growing up. The moment they met, he became an expert in revisionist history.
“My parents were alcoholics.”
He blurted the secret out, blunt and stark. No segue. No nothing. Only the unvarnished truth. For a moment, he wondered if she’d even heard him. She may have drifted off. He hoped she’d drifted off. He closed his eyes and wished with all his might she had.
But Georgie was awake. Wide awake. She didn’t speak or roll over to face him. All she did was cover his hand with hers. And the dam burst.
“Are alcoholics,” he corrected gruffly.
“Do you see them?”
“No,” he replied quickly, leaving no room for doubt.
She hesitated, then asked the most perfect question. “Better not to see them?”
He exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “Yes.”
She wiggled, nestling deeper into the curve of his body. “Good for you.”
The matter of fact response startled a laugh out of him. “You are one of a kind, aren’t you?”
Georgie didn’t answer right away, and for one heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he stuck his foot in his mouth. The silence stretched long enough for him to wonder if she’d drifted off to sleep. Then, she blew out a tired breath, and rolled over with an excess of huffing and puffing. When they lay face-to-face, her cheek pressed into the pillow he’d been using, she brushed his hair away from his forehead with a tenderness that made his throat ache.
“If there’s anyone who knows how important living your own life is, it’s me.”
“I’ve tried to create a life where everything is…normal.”
She shot him an arch look. “How’s it working out for you?”
Mike laughed, short and mirthless. “Not so great.”
“Because normal is boring.”
“I like boring.”
“Bullshit,” she whispered. “If you liked boring, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
He gave her a weak smirk. “I admit I’ve veered off the beaten path the last few weeks.”
She withdrew a couple inches. “And is this detour a good thing or bad?”
“More…confusing,” he answered honestly. “I mean, things are good. So good. But, come Monday morning, I could find out what we have here is bad for my company. What if your brother fires us? How do I justify this to James and Colm?”
“Gerry won’t fire you. If he even considers canceling your contract, tell him I’ll tell the press he still keeps his teddy bear.”
“And I don’t know how to do this. Date with kids, I mean.”
“Well, we won’t take them to the rated R movies,” she said dryly. “There’s one hurdle down.”
On this topic, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—settle for witty repartee. “What if they get attached to you and things don’t work out?”
“I don’t know,” she answered soberly.
He had to give her credit for trying. But the more he thought about introducing anyone who wasn’t going to be a frontrunner for stepmother, the more firecrackers of panic set off inside him. He couldn’t deal with the fallout from another failed relationship. He was barely keeping their lives together, and things were…normalish…now.
He covered his eyes with his hand in a vain attempt to block out the flashbacks playing through his head. “Tyler started wetting the bed when Laurel left. Christ, I just got Chrissie out of training pants.”
His voice rose at the last, but he was too far gone to care. The mere thought of ammonia-scented air, plastic sheets and pull-up diapers was the stuff of single-father nightmares. Dealing with the excess of bodily fluids kids expelled was hard enough when two parents were on hand. He was the only one on duty.
“Kids, they absorb everything,” he said, trying to find a way to explain.
“Like pull-ups,” she quipped.
He lifted his hand and gave her a sharp shot of side-eye.
Georgie smiled her sweet, open smile in response and wrinkled her ringless nose at him. “Or so I’ve heard. For all I know, they’re complete crap.”
He couldn’t hold off a chuckle. “Depends on how much fluid was consumed.”
Her smile brightened. “So some things never change, huh?”
He turned his head. She met his gaze and held steady, her eyes dark with understanding. Without another smartassed remark, she reached for his hand, wove her
fingers through his and squeezed. His heart rate decelerated as fast as it had revved. For someone who came across as flighty and scattered, this woman was remarkably grounded in many ways.
“I’m all they have,” he said, his voice creaking. “I’m everything. And knowing I am is…terrifying.”
He trailed off and she squeezed again. “I get you.”
“They know when I’m stressed. Worried. Scared shitless. I can smile and joke and horse around all day long, but they know. They just know,” he ended in a whisper.
“Kids are intuitive.”
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look away, half-afraid she might be able to hypnotize him with those eyes. Chrissie had called them unicorn eyes. Claimed they were silvery and pretty, like a unicorn’s. Of course, Ty had quickly reminded his sister she’d never seen a unicorn, so she wouldn’t know.
Staring up at the ceiling, he zoomed in on a brown water stain highlighted by the streetlights below. He caught himself using one of the hippie-dippy breathing techniques his sister was always rambling on about and grimaced. The slow breaths actually worked, but he felt foolish doing them. Steadier, he gave voice to the biggest concern of them all. “What if I get attached?”
“I guess I’ll have to be very, very careful with you.”
Mike didn’t need to look at her to know she was pleased by the notion. He could hear the smile in her voice.
“With all of you,” she amended.
Pressing his lips into a line, he flipped onto his side again. “You promise?”
“Yeah.”
Holding her gaze, he nodded. “Okay. Well, I guess we’ll figure it out.”
A few seconds ticked by. Apparently, he was supposed to have something more to say, because when he didn’t Georgie scoffed in disbelief and gave him a shove. “Jeez, you are such a guy.”
He frowned, not quite making the leap. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for noticing.”
“So typically male. I got mine, everything’s all about me, blah-blah-blah,” she chided.