by Heidi Betts
With a moan, she arched her hips in an attempt to get closer to his erotic ministrations.
“I wish I were a hundred percent,” Zack whispered near her ear while he nibbled her lobe and kissed a warm trail down the line of her throat. “If I didn’t have to baby this damn knee, I’d have you pinned to the wall right now. I’d be taking you on the table, in the shower, up against the door …”
The erotic images he created seared themselves into her brain, leaving her gray matter singed and smoldering…and every other part of her sizzling like a live electrical wire.
“Here is fine. This way is fine. Just…” She shifted on his fingers, driving them even deeper inside. “Stop talking and take me already.”
He started to chuckle, only to break off as she took his mouth, then released his cock and forcefully moved his hand so that she could drive herself down on his hard length. The bold action made them both groan, but it didn’t slow them down. They were too turned on, too ready…and all too aware of what awaited them at the end of the blinking neon rainbow.
Ever cautious of his knee, they remained on their sides, using their lower bodies to create a rhythm, a steadily increasing cadence of up and down, thrust and retreat. Friction built. Tender, swollen tissue rubbed along slick, velvety steel.
Her nails dug into his shoulders and she wanted like crazy to cry out, but refused to relinquish his mouth. She needed him everywhere. Wanted to feel him, taste him, absorb him into her system until there was no Zack, no Grace, only a single entity intent on pleasure and fulfillment.
His hands moved along her bare skin, raising both gooseflesh and flames everywhere they went. He knew just how to touch her; he always had, from the first time passion had overtaken them. And she knew how to touch him—light here, more firmly there.
He groaned against her lips and she felt it down to her toes. Her legs tightened around his hips, her hands on his shoulders and biceps. His clutched her buttocks, pulling her harder, faster into his forceful pounding.
And then, without warning, she broke. Her heart stuttered in her chest, her inner muscles clasping, seizing, grasping at him like a swimmer drowning in a raging sea while wave after wave of perfect, intense pleasure broke over her head. But if she were to die, to drown in the complete ecstasy only Zack could give her…wow, what a way to go.
Zack followed her over only a split second later, biting her lower lip, yanking her to him in an almost painful grip while he stiffened. He growled his completion into the taut flesh of her throat where her pulse beat erratically, taking advantage of a store of oxygen she apparently didn’t have access to. But she certainly shared the sentiment.
As he stilled beside her, her breathing slowed to a more normal pattern and she wrapped her arms around him, taking comfort in his nearness, his warm embrace.
She wished they could stay here forever. That they could stop the clock and lock themselves away in this cramped hotel room, forgetting about the rest of the world for a while.
Did she know where they were going from here? Other than to New York, no. She didn’t know if she truly trusted Zack, didn’t know if she could block out what she’d seen that day in Columbus and believe it hadn’t been an act of infidelity. But, oh, how she wanted to try.
To that end, with his gentle snores filling the room and echoing in her ears, she forced her brain to turn off and not overthink what was going on between them right now.
In the wee hours of the night, with the lights turned low, that was simple. She let herself close her eyes and enjoy the feel of his skin caressing hers, of his chest rising and falling against her own. And when he woke her in the wee hours of the night with soft kisses and the stroke of his fingers on her breasts like butterfly wings, she made love with him again—happily, willingly, exuberantly.
But the hours ticked by too quickly, and when the alarm went off at eight A.M., neither of them wanted to move. The sharp, incessant buzz filled the room for a good three minutes before Zack reached over and smacked the snooze button. Nine minutes later, the buzz started again, and once again Zack did the ol’ karate chop to make it stop.
Grace would have been happy to stay where she was, pressed like plastic wrap to Zack’s side from shoulder to ankle, and repeat the process for the next twelve to twenty-four hours. But then Bruiser started to stir, to whine, to climb up on the bed and “massage” them awake.
“We’d better get up before Bruiser decides to flood the place,” Zack said groggily.
Grace groaned and screwed her eyes shut even tighter. “Do we have to?” she asked, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder.
“‘Fraid so.”
He stretched, reaching his long arms up over his head and his toes toward the end of the bed, dislodging her from her warm and cozy cocoon of drowsiness.
“We should probably get on the road, anyway. Those Insides Out folks will start to wonder if we drift into town a couple days later than expected.”
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled on a sigh of resignation. “Fine, but don’t blame me if I fall asleep at the wheel.”
A large, warm palm spread across her left butt cheek and gave her a little morning goose. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to keep you awake.”
She cracked open her eyes to find him grinning down at her. Her mouth opened on a witty retort, but then Bruiser’s big, long-nailed paw goosed her on the other cheek and she gave a screech of shock instead.
Laughing, Zack climbed out of bed and began to dress. He took the bathroom first, giving her a few more precious moments of rest with a side order of panting, dancing dog.
When he returned, he collected his crutches, Bruiser’s leash, and Bruiser himself.
“Are you going to be okay with him?” she asked, holding the white top sheet to her breasts as she pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard.
“Sure. We’ll take it slow and I’ll let him lead.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He shot her a smile before hobbling out of the room, a prancing, tail-wagging Bruiser preceding him into the hotel hallway.
Although she desperately wanted to hunker back down under the covers and grab a few more minutes of much-desired snooze time, she knew Zack was right about getting on the road. Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to the bathroom, and made quick work of washing her face and brushing her teeth.
Zack hadn’t been kidding about the shower curtain. What was left of it hung from the hooks like the mast of a wrecked ship and looked as though a shark had gotten hold of it. Not that this was the first time she’d thought of Bruiser as a Great White of the canine world.
They would definitely have to pay for that when they checked out. The question was, how did they explain the curtain’s condition?
A slip and near-fall while climbing out of the tub?
Really wild sex?
Multiple Personality Disorder, one of whom thought he was Norman Bates?
Oy.
Drifting into the other room, she dressed in the same jeans and mint-green Aéropostale tee she’d thrown on to walk Bruiser last night. By the time Zack returned with a much less wiggly pup in tow, she had her suitcase and Bruiser’s designer zebra-print tote packed and sitting by the door.
While Zack collected his own things, she moved about the room, cleaning up what little clutter they’d made during their short stay. Housekeeping would come in to clean-clean, she knew, but she’d always had an ingrained need to straighten her own area and not leave more of a mess than she absolutely had to for someone else to take care of.
When Zack was ready, and they’d done the usual under-the-bed-and-inside-the-drawers check to be sure they hadn’t left anything behind, she suggested he take Bruiser down to the Hummer and leave the heavy lifting to her. He grumbled about not being able to pull his own weight, but she merely smiled, stretched up on tiptoe to buss his cheek, and told him he could make it up to her later.
It took two trips to get everythin
g into the car, the second time going through the lobby to check out and turn in their key cards.
Once they were back on the road, the drive went much the same as the day before. A bit of small talk; the occasional argument over radio station choices; warm, panting Saint Bernard breath tickling their ears; and frequent stops for Zack to exercise his leg and Bruiser to water the local foliage.
The only difference was that today both their moods seemed lighter. Grace noticed the change immediately…as soon as they woke up, actually, but she was glad to see it carry over into their trip.
Zack’s conversation was breezier, less tense and walking-on-eggshells than it had been the day before.
The day before? Who was she kidding? Since she’d moved into his apartment, and probably more accurately, since she’d raced away from that hotel room in Columbus and refused to look back.
Oh, there were times when they’d been civil to one another, and she thought they’d done an admirable job of getting along these past few weeks, but looking back now, she could definitely see that things between them had still been strained.
For good reason, she knew, and not particularly surprising.
But last night had changed that. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as snapshots of those hours together flashed through her mind.
How much they’d changed, she wasn’t yet sure. The sex had been good—great, amazing, freaking fantastic—but she wasn’t some bobble-headed stereotypical ditzy blonde. Zack could come bearing a vibrating, solid-gold dick that made her see the face of God, and she still wouldn’t be willing to simply roll over and forget or forgive everything.
She had some thinking to do where that was concerned. More than thinking; some deep, dark, and intense soul-searching.
But what she did feel fairly certain of was her willingness to consider starting over with him. Given that only a month or two ago she’d pretty much been wishing him into eternal damnation on an hourly basis, that was real progress.
For the first time in … forever, it seemed…she thought she might actually be willing to believe his claims that he hadn’t slept with that woman in his hotel room. She wanted to believe it, anyway, and felt open-minded enough (for a change) to try to get to the bottom of what had really happened that day.
She didn’t know how to go about that, exactly, but she would think of something. Some way to discover at least enough to put her mind at ease—she hoped.
Because even without being absolutely, positively certain he hadn’t betrayed her, the truth was that she felt better around him than at any other time in her life. Happier, more relaxed and content.
So if there was a chance she’d overreacted and assumed the worst when he was actually innocent…Well, she would kick herself for all the months they’d lost, for sure. But she would also rejoice in being able to take him back, and then dedicate herself to making up for wasted time.
The radio station they were listening to went from a nice, upbeat Kelly Clarkson song to something much louder, with a lot more screeching guitar and migraine-inducing drum solos.
“Oh, no,” she said, reaching for the button to find something else. “You can listen to that noise on your own time.”
She expected him to start a friendly argument. To tell her to leave it, to dispute that it was a good song, and she would appreciate it if she just listened for a few minutes with an open mind. She knew for a fact it was one of his favorite bands, even if she couldn’t stand them.
And given the rapport between them so far this morning, that should have been his lighthearted reaction.
But instead he remained silent. Not just listen-to-whatever-you-want-I-don’t-care silence, but tense, distracted silence. He was staring out the passenger-side window, watching the scenery as it flew by.
“Zack?” she said softly. “Are you all right? Do you need to stop and stretch your leg or…”
He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she noticed immediately that his eyes were shadowed, shuttered. His mouth was a flat slash across his face, his jaw squared with tension.
“Think we could take a short detour?” he asked.
She blinked, startled by the request.
“Um …” She glanced at the dashboard clock. The Insides Out people expected them to get into town sometime Wednesday, but she hadn’t been specific about their arrival. And except for a tentative meeting Thursday afternoon to discuss their plans for the photo shoots and such, they weren’t scheduled for anything crucial until Friday and through the weekend.
“Yeah, sure, I guess that would be okay.”
“Take the next exit,” he told her in a low, unemotional voice.
Another mile and a half passed in utter quiet until they reached that exit, but inside her nerves were jumping. Her heart had adopted a slightly irregular beat, wondering what was going on.
Finally, she licked her lips and said, “Mind if I ask where we’re going?”
For long, drawn-out seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, “My father lives about forty-five minutes from here. I thought I should stop in as long as I’m in the area.”
Instead of putting his request into perspective, his explanation only confused and intrigued her more. Zack had never spoken of his family before, at least not in any great detail.
She knew the basics about them—that his father had left him and his mother when he was only a few years old, going on to remarry several more times; that those relationships had resulted in a handful of half siblings Zack had never met; and that Zack felt very strongly that his father’s abandonment of them had forced his mother to work herself into an early grave just to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.
Which was why his suggestion that they drop in and say hello caught her off guard. Of all the people she might have expected him to want to visit, his father would have been at the very bottom of the list.
“I didn’t think you and your dad got along,” she ventured to say. Tentatively, hinting that she was curious about their relationship, but leaving him room for privacy, if he preferred.
He shrugged a shoulder, returning his attention to the view out the side window. “We haven’t talked in a while, but I know his health hasn’t been great. I thought I should probably stop in and see how he’s doing since I’m this close.”
That was the last bit of conversation they shared— other than Zack’s roughly mumbled directions—until she brought the Hummer to a stop in front of a small, two-story brick house with white and black trim in a well-kept, middle-class neighborhood.
It was a nice-looking house. Neat without being ostentatious; in need of a little work without looking rundown. There were empty flower boxes lining the porch—which Grace assumed would be full of colorful blooms come spring—and the path leading to the front door had been shoveled free of snow.
Putting the Hummer in park, she shut off the engine and got out, moving around in time to help Zack. In the backseat, Bruiser danced around, excited about getting to explore another new patch of grass or meet new people.
But she didn’t think Zack would appreciate having an overactive Saint Bernard tripping him up while he was reuniting with a parent for the first time in God knew how long. For that matter, he might not want her around, either.
Ignoring the stab of disappointment that came with that thought, she waited for him to get his crutches under him, then said, “Do you want me to wait here while you visit? I can take Bruiser around town for a little exercise until you’re ready to go.”
It took a minute for him to answer, but when he did, it was with a shake of his head. “No, you can come in.”
That was it. No “Don’t be silly” or “I want you to meet my family,” just “You can come in.” But it was enough of an invitation for her.
Leaving Bruiser to soak the seats and paint the windows with pupsmears, she followed him up to the front door. He knocked and they waited, and seconds later the door opened to reveal a tall, gawky teenag
e boy with a mop of brown hair and spattering of adolescent acne dotting his long face.
As soon as he spotted Zack, his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. And then he was gone, taking off back into the house yelling, “Mom, Dad, it’s Hot Legs! Hot Legs is actually here, in my house. Holy shit!”
Grace chuckled. “Your reputation precedes you,” she told him.
“Yeah,” Zack muttered. Rather than being flattered, though, he looked slightly embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable.
A few seconds later, a woman appeared, brows drawn together in a mix of curiosity and confusion. Her too-black hair (from a bottle; definitely, definitely not natural) was teased and sprayed in a style reminiscent of the 1980s…or perhaps modern-day New Jersey. She wore too much makeup and too-tight clothes, and put Grace in mind of the Peggy Bundy character from Married…With Children. She was even wearing a pair of high-heeled slides. Indoors. In the middle of winter.
“Can I help you?” she asked, taking hold of the door and closing it a few inches in a gesture that clearly said she wasn’t sure yet if they were welcome or not.
“I’m Zack. I’m here to see my father.” Straight to the point, not even offering his last name. Assuming, Grace supposed, that this woman should already know who he was.
Grace, however, was still clueless. Was the Peggy Bundy wannabe Zack’s stepmother, his father’s most recent wife? She looked awfully young for that, if Grace’s math was right. But then, if Zack’s dad had gone from woman to woman, wasn’t it likely that he’d gone for younger models each time he’d traded in a previous wife?
And wasn’t it strange that she didn’t recognize Zack, either from a prior meeting or because he was practically a national celebrity?
Grace had more questions than answers, and had to bite her tongue to keep from asking every single one.
If anything, the woman’s expression soured even more at Zack’s lackluster introduction, but she didn’t try to shut them out. Stepping back, she said, “He’s in the other room. I’ll show you the way.”
Grace followed Zack inside, closing the door behind her. Without being obvious, she studied her surroundings.