Hot Zone

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Is that relaxation technique standard business procedure for you?”

  Luke grinned into the night. “Not so far, but I’m thinking of adding it to my repertoire of negotiation skills.”

  The comment drew a reluctant-sounding chuckle out of Helen, but she seemed to relax a bit.

  “So where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “Home.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “Rather, you’re walking me home since you didn’t drive,” she clarified.

  “I never said I didn’t drive. My SUV’s parked in back of Hot Zone.”

  “And I would have guessed you were the sports car type.”

  “I am, but a sports car isn’t too practical when you’re getting a new business up and running. The SUV hauls a lot of whatever I need.”

  “So what is it you need?” she asked as they crossed under a set of elevated rapid-transit tracks.

  “That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. Right now I need you. I need to tear off your clothes and taste your flesh and bury myself deep inside you.”

  He could hear her gasp into the quiet night.

  Then, sounding breathless, she asked, “Are you planning on carrying through with that need?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind. You?”

  Helen’s clearing her throat sounded suspiciously like a choking noise. “I don’t usually talk so frankly about sex with a man.”

  “I would imagine if you’re having sex it’s with a man and…then again, if you were having it with a woman—”

  “No!”

  “—then I would be happy being a fly on your wall.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “All right, then!” he said with increasing enthusiasm. “I’ll join in. I’m always open to new experiences.”

  She shook her head in exasperation, then sent a sideways glance his way. “You mean you haven’t…”

  “Only in my dreams.”

  Wet ones. Which was bound to happen that night if he didn’t stop joking about sex. Or if he didn’t get some relief.

  They made another turn, walked to the end of the block and turned again only to stop after several yards before an imposing three-story building with a gray limestone facade set on a huge corner lot surrounded by black iron fencing.

  “This is it,” she said.

  “Your apartment?”

  “No, it’s a house.”

  “Roommates?”

  She shook her head.

  He raised his eyebrows and whistled. “Cybercafés must be more lucrative than I ever imagined.”

  “My business doesn’t pay for the mortgage. My trust fund does.”

  “Trust fund,” he echoed.

  “Since I was twenty-one. It’s not the same as having a real father in my life, but when it’s all a girl has…I was able to save enough for the down payment. I bought the place two years ago, and now the trust fund takes place of the mortgage and taxes. At least if I go out of business I won’t be out on the street.”

  He thought about pursuing the father thing, but he suspected it was a sore point, so instead he said, “Out on the street? Uh-uh, that would never happen to you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because type A personalities always have a backup plan. The Web sites you’re building,” he reminded her.

  Her renewed laughter sounded lovely. Almost as lovely as she herself was.

  Streetlight filtered through the trees, just enough that he could see exactly how lovely. Stunning, really. Eyes wide, she stared back at him.

  He dipped his head to taste her mouth. Just her mouth, nothing more. Something made him want to go slowly with her. As he kissed her, a pulse seemed to beat through the night, but he realized it was his own heartbeat rushing through his head.

  The kiss ended with a collective gasp. The tension was so thick…

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, trying to distract himself. Trying to find a reason to see her again that couldn’t be called a date. For some reason, he didn’t want her to start counting the dates he had with her. “I could use new blood working on my Web site.”

  Her soft expression hardened. “What? You aren’t trying to bribe me, are you?”

  “Bribe?” he echoed. “I don’t understand.”

  “You give me work so that I leave you to conquer the coffee world?”

  Now that was a leap. “I’m wounded.”

  “Sure you are. You’re a clever man, Luke DeVries. I give you credit for that. Is there any woman you’ve failed to seduce?”

  Seeing his plan backfire, he groaned. “I think I’ve just run into one.”

  Opening the iron gate, she said, “I’ll be saying good-night now.”

  He stood there like a penniless kid with his nose pressed to a candy-store window. So close and yet so far away…

  Without looking back, Helen unlocked the door and slipped inside. Luke waited until the interior lit up before he started walking toward his temporary home, probably the same distance as the SUV, only in the opposite direction. He could use the exercise.

  But if he’d assumed Helen’s presence was keeping him horny, he’d been wrong. She’d invaded his mind. All the way home, thoughts of her plagued him and he couldn’t help but replay in his mind the intimate scenario at Hot Zone.

  He was subletting an apartment in a warehouse conversion, and he took the old service elevator up to the fourth and top floor. Once in the apartment, he stripped, dropping clothing as he headed straight for the shower.

  Helen Rhodes was still there in his mind, teasing him, making him want her.

  Rather than turning the water on cold, he luxuriated in the pulsing hot stream while going over the brief sexual encounter. He imagined what it might have been like if Helen had invited him into her place.

  If he didn’t do something, he was going to go to bed with an erection. And even if he jerked off, he figured it was going to be a wet night. But at least that would give him temporary respite.

  He soaped his cock and it filled his hand while Helen filled his mind.

  She was all over him. Her lips. Her hands. She tore at his clothes. He helped her.

  When she had him naked, his erection jutting out at her, she stood back and stared, her tongue darting out to wet her luscious mouth.

  Oh, that mouth…that mouth was coming closer…but it wasn’t aimed at his face. He held his breath waiting…watching. She went down to her knees…and surrounded him with the wet warmth of that lovely mouth.

  “Oh, yes, darlin’,” he muttered, tangling his fingers in her hair as he sank deeper inside.

  She took in all of him—no mean feat—and he felt the soft palate at the back of her throat against his ultrasensitive tip. He groaned and fought the building pressure that screamed for release. Not yet, not this soon. He wanted more. He wanted to know what she would do to pleasure him.

  Her mouth slipped along his length and when she got to his head did an unbelievable dance with her tongue and teeth. And then, with agonizing slowness, she sucked him, let him loose and slid home again.

  Fighting it was no use. He couldn’t hold out against her.

  “I’m going to come,” he said with a groan.

  She slipped back and released him for an agonizing second. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  When she took him again, she cradled his balls and worked them gently one upon the other. Unable to hold back any longer, he let go of his grasp and felt his hot come pump into her mouth. She drank and drank and sucked him dry.

  Then releasing his cock, she made greedy-sounding noises like she wanted more.

  She ate her way up his stomach and along his abs, sucked at his nipples and then at his mouth.

  Tasting himself, he drank deeply, plunging his tongue in her mouth the way he wanted to join his body to hers. But if he couldn’t…

  Shoving her over the edge of the chair, he spread her legs and then her lips, engorged and wet before he even touched her. He dipped
the tip of his tongue along the creamy split and she arched to his mouth.

  Even as he plunged his tongue deep inside her, his cock stirred. And when he surrounded her clit, sucked on it with a sex rhythm that had her writhing and moaning and begging for more, his cock grew erect again faster than he’d ever known it to.

  Holding her hips, he pulled her closer, and teased her with his tip, an angry red to her seductive pink. She arched and lifted her legs, and with his encouragement hooked her ankles around his neck.

  He slid into her slowly and controlled. Tweaked her nipples with increasing pressure until she slipped a hand between their bodies and cried out, “Fuck me…hard!”

  He drove into her and she echoed his force and speed with fingers that slid around his erection and against her own clit. She arched like a bow and made sexy guttural sounds that drove him faster and closer to losing his lode.

  And when she cried out, “Now!” and shuddered, her sex squeezing him in a pulsing rhythm, he came.

  Helen shuddered as the waves of her orgasm decreased in intensity, and she lay on her bed, naked, panting, wishing she wasn’t alone. Wishing she hadn’t had to indulge in fantasy. Wishing she hadn’t had to gratify herself.

  But Luke had opened Pandora’s box, starting with that damn drink of his, and now Helen feared she wouldn’t be able to lock it up again.

  It had been far too long since she’d had satisfying intercourse. And even the pseudo-sex of the evening had been more satisfying than most of the lovemaking she’d experienced in her twenty-eight years.

  She ached to feel a hard masculine body next to her. On her. In her.

  Good heavens, how had she come to this?

  She didn’t want just any man…she ached for Luke DeVries!

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered, deciding to turn on her television to distract herself from thinking about him. Maybe she could catch the footage of the protest Nick had shot. That would set her priorities straight again.

  Her bedroom being a lush cocoon of colored pillows, coverlets, curtains and upholstery of plum, rose and cream meant to satisfy her senses, the only electronics she’d allowed in here were a well-hidden surround-sound CD system and a tiny alarm clock disguised as an enameled treasure box next to her bed.

  And then, of course, there was the vibrator safely tucked in her nightstand drawer. She hadn’t even needed it tonight.

  All she’d had to do was think about…

  With a shriek, Helen slid out of bed. She would not think about him again tonight! Wrapping herself in a deep plum sheet, she shivered as the silk slid against her body. Her nipples sprang to life and the sensation quickly spread downward, planting itself between her thighs.

  Quickly, she escaped the room of her fantasies, traipsing barefoot over her prized Oriental rug and down the stairs carpeted in a similar pattern. Her living room was as stark as the bedroom was plush.

  Two lean-lined cream sofas, one on each side of the fireplace with its hand-carved wood mantel, faced each other. And on the wall opposite the fireplace, a cabinet of rich cherry wood hid her electronics. She opened the highly polished doors to reveal the television, VCR and DVD player. She might not have much in the way of furniture yet, but she couldn’t do without her electronic toys.

  The ten o’clock news had just started. She settled down on one of the couches, placing a velvet plum pillow behind her back. Stories about a shooting, political maneuvering between the mayor and governor and a potential teacher’s strike when the schools reopened didn’t interest her, but she tried concentrating on them anyway. Anything to get rid of the sexual buzz that still lingered.

  When that didn’t work, she muted the sound, breathed deeply and tried to meditate, but instead of seeing parklands and a sunrise over the lake, she saw dark eyes and a wicked smile that made her toes curl….

  Suddenly realizing she was actually looking at Luke’s face on television, Helen scooted up straighter and clicked the mute button again.

  “Local businesspeople and neighbors marched against progress today, trying to stay the inevitable opening of Hot Zone, one of a chain of unique coffeehouses. Thirteenth in the chain, the Bucktown venue promised to be unlucky for owner Luke DeVries until he came face-to-face with the protest organizer and owner of Hot Zone’s main competition.”

  The shot changed to one of her and Luke.

  “Judging by her reaction to DeVries, it looks like the lady has a mind for compromise.”

  Catching her loopy smile as she looked up at Luke, a horrified Helen jumped up from the couch.

  And when the camera cut back to the news anchors, they were grinning at each other knowingly. Before one of them could make the inevitable wisecrack, Helen used the remote to cut them off.

  Feeling exposed—both figuratively and literally, since her sheet had fallen to the floor and she was standing buck naked in the middle of the living room—Helen turned her rage against Luke. He had to be responsible for turning a legitimate protest into a piece where no one would take her seriously.

  A piece that hadn’t even mentioned her name or the name of her café!

  Somehow, Luke had turned her efforts to stop him into a joke and had gotten publicity for himself and Hot Zone all in one fell swoop.

  And he thought she should trust him?

  Helen whipped up the sheet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, all soft or sensual feelings driven out by her resentment.

  He’d played her, the underhanded jerk.

  Good thing they weren’t dating.

  4

  “MAYBE YOU OUGHT to give the guy a break,” Annie said when she and Nick joined Helen for their ritual morning coffee before Annie’s Attic opened for the day. “Newspeople aren’t actually known for having words put in their mouths.”

  “But Trevor Brandt is known for his wandering eye,” Nick said.

  “You’re not intimating he and Luke—”

  “No! He and Flash Gordon. That’s DeVries’s public relations director.”

  Wondering about the name, Helen asked, “How would you know that?”

  “I got it from the horse’s mouth. The horse’s handler, anyway. The producer who said he’d run a clip. Apparently Ms. Flash got to Trevor.”

  Helen groaned. “Isn’t that special! Wait until I get my hands on that Luke DeVries….”

  “How can you be sure he even knew what Brandt would say ahead of time?”

  Helen spoke through gritted teeth. “Because he’s a control freak.”

  “Ooh, you’ve met your match,” Nick said, ducking when she threw a packet of sugar at him.

  Annie’s eyebrows shot up over the top of her glasses. “Examples, please.”

  Though Helen felt her cheeks flame, she refused to let her friends bait her. “Isn’t it time you opened up shop?”

  “Gloria will do it.” Gloria Delgado was Annie’s capable assistant manager. “So what aren’t you telling us?”

  “Yeah, spill,” Nick said, suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, undoubtedly at the prospect of getting something juicy on her.

  “One of these days, I’ll spill something on you, all right.”

  “More threats,” Nick grumbled and met Annie’s gaze. “It must be something really good.”

  “Don’t worry,” Annie said in a pseudo-whisper, “I’ll spill when she tells me.”

  Gaping at them both, Helen plunged to her feet. “I have real customers to wait on!”

  Nick looked around at the mostly empty café. Rush hour had come and gone and they were in the long lull before lunch. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  When the door opened, Helen sighed with relief and almost bolted to her spot at the register.

  She would work the café alone for the next couple of hours. A college kid helped with the morning rush, then her assistant manager Kate reported for work before lunch and stayed until closing. Other part-timers worked the lunch and evening rush as necessary.

  But for the next hour or so, she was it, and so
when the door opened again and in walked Luke DeVries, she felt trapped.

  “Good morning, can I help you?” she asked, her voice purposely cool.

  “You saw the newscast. A Breve, please.”

  “Certainly. You must have gotten a good laugh last night. Regular size or large?”

  “Not at all. I had very different emotions, actually. Large.”

  “And then this morning you must have congratulated your PR person—and what kind of name is Flash Gordon anyway? Three dollars.”

  “Actually, I stopped by to apologize,” he said, sliding the money to her.

  “You what?”

  “I have to admit I was relieved not to get negative publicity right before the opening, but the last thing I wanted was for you to feel foolish.”

  Helen swallowed hard. He was apologizing. He seemed sincere. Could she believe him?

  Could she trust him?

  “So you didn’t know anything about it?”

  “Flash told me she handled it. She just didn’t tell me how. I didn’t ask.”

  “A crime of omission rather than commission.” But her accusation held less hostility than was warranted.

  “I really am sorry. Will you forgive me? Give me another chance?”

  “A chance at what?”

  Luke looked around and Helen’s gaze followed his. Only Tilda, the homeless woman, lingered at a table by the windows.

  “Can we sit and talk for a moment?” he asked.

  Helen couldn’t help herself. Her anger and resentment had faded in the face of his apology.

  “For a moment,” she agreed, coming around the counter and following him to a table. She sat across from him.

  He glanced around him. “This place is nice. Comfortable. Appealing. Totally unlike mine.”

  “Now you’re saying that Hot Zone isn’t nice?” Helen couldn’t keep the disbelief from her tone.