Frank slid in a little farther, stretching her wonderfully, deliciously, insisting her female body submit to his male intrusion.
But the funny thing was it didn’t feel like intrusion. It was more like she’d been achingly, yawningly empty, and now things were as they should be. Sweetly, spectacularly full.
“I’ve rendered you speechless,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder as he drove those final few inches, seating himself to the hilt and rocking her softly against the mattress.
“Oh, Frank,” she moaned at the feel of him inside her, above her, all around her. She was drowning in him, and it was the sweetest sensation.
“Ah, so your oral faculties have returned.”
“I’ll show you my oral faculties later,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his back, pulling her knees up around his hips and hooking her heels beneath his surging buttocks. His hips drove smoothly and rhythmically, like the pistons in a well-oiled engine.
“Sweet Lord,” he growled, and she grinned as he pulsed inside her.
So, he likes the thought of that, eh? Yeah well, what man didn’t?
She whispered hot words against his lips as he pumped inside her, describing exactly what she’d do to him when she got her mouth on him. Then she could no longer speak because her world shattered once more, and she was left glorying in the feel of him following right behind her.
Later, after a little catnap, she held true to her promise and devastated his control with her oral faculties. And after that, he returned the favor, and she…well, she was certain to make her little announcements.
Chapter Sixteen
Becky moaned grumpily and slapped a hand down on her screaming alarm clock. “It’s time,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching as Frank sat up and swung his long legs over the mattress.
Clicking on the lamp, she scratched her head and smiled sleepily at the sight of his broad back. The hard muscles on either side of his spine flexed as he bent to retrieve his shirt.
Oh, and what a butt. When he pulled on his jeans, she avidly watched his high, tight ass disappear into the denim. Grinning, thinking back on all they’d done mere hours before, she wolf-whistled her appreciation of the show.
He darted a brief look in her direction, then went back to buttoning his fly.
Uh-oh.
Sitting up, she whistled again, and even though he flashed her his wonderfully lopsided grin, it was impossible to misread what was written all over his face.
In a word: regret.
Oh God. She’d convinced herself this wouldn’t happen, convinced herself that once she tore down all the barriers he’d erected against her over the years, he’d realize that what had finally happened between them was inevitable. That it was good and real and, more importantly, right.
Wow. She was turning out to be a cock-eyed optimist and, worse, a complete and utter dumbass.
Her heart started pounding, and a strange buzzing sounded in her ears as she threw off the covers and padded over to her dresser. Wrenching open a drawer, she grabbed some panties and stepped into them, then fished for the matching bra, wrestling herself into it and calling herself one hundred kinds of fool for ever thinking this had any chance of working out.
Oh dear, sweet Christ, she’d seduced him.
She’d propositioned him, stripped naked in front of him, and completely, recklessly, willfully seduced him, thinking she could be his new go-to girl, his brand spanking new Chesty McGivesItUp.
Of course, it took two to tango, as they say, so she wasn’t the only guilty party, but what red-blooded male could resist the woman he’d freely admitted to fantasizing about for over three years when she shucked her drawers and spread her legs in invitation?
None that she could name.
So, yep, he’d surrendered, but with the light of day and the reality of what’d they’d done sinking in, it was obvious one night of passion with her didn’t change the fact that he had no plans to make her a regular in his heart, mind, or bed. She was the one who’d asked for just sex, and that’s precisely what he’d given her. The best sex of her life.
But that was it. End of story.
The two of them weren’t going to ride off into the sunset together. She was obviously not going to replace the original Chesty, and the fact that she’d even considered that a possibility was so absurd it was almost laughable.
She would’ve laughed too, had herself a real knee-slapper, had her heart not been breaking into a thousand little pieces.
“Hey.” His voice was as gentle and warm as the hand he laid on her shoulder after she shimmied into a pair of jeans. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay. I talked big about sex just for the sake of sex, but that’s all it was. Talk.
“Yeah.” She grabbed an AC/DC T-shirt out of her top drawer and pulled it over her head because firstly, she no longer felt comfortable being naked around him—and, okay, after what they’d done to each other it was a classic case of closing-the-barn-door-after-the-cows-escaped, but she couldn’t help it—and secondly, because pulling the shirt over her head allowed her to avoid his gaze. “I’m great. How are you?”
“Becky…honey…” He softly forced her around by the shoulder, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, making her look at him.
Don’t cry, you stupid, stupid woman. If you cry, he’ll know all that talk about sex for the sake of sex was nothing but a boatload of bullshit.
“I wish things were different.” He shook his head, the look on his face enough to pulverize her already wounded heart into a fine powder. “I wish…”
He didn’t finish, just sighed regretfully.
“It’s all right, Frank,” she told him, using the excuse of locating her boots to slip away from him.
Of course, it was anything but all right.
“But I want you to know that I—”
“It was sex for the sake of sex, Frank. Isn’t that what we agreed on? And it was great, way better than anything I ever imagined, but you don’t need to explain anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I want you to know how—”
“Hey, if you don’t mind,” she quickly interrupted him, because she sure as hell didn’t want to hear the words about to come out of his mouth. Her pride could only take so much, “I’d like to leave for the hospital a little early to stop by Starbucks. That waiting room coffee is worse than the sludge we brew around here and—”
“I don’t want you to go to the hospital. You can come, uh, after…” Some strange emotion flashed across his face, and his deep voice broke before he continued, “but not before.”
Her stomach tied itself in knots, and she wondered just how stupid a woman could be.
She briefly closed her eyes as she pushed her feet into her boots, swallowing the hot ball of misery clogging her throat before gathering all her strength to glance up at him and smile. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll just wish you good luck.”
“Becky, I—” His voice sounded miserable.
“You better get back to your room if you want to catch a shower and change before you have to leave,” she interjected before she stood and marched to her bedroom door, ignoring the sight of her rumpled bed and the memories that came with it.
She unlocked the door and held it wide.
He wasn’t a dummy. He knew a get-the-hell-out when he saw one. Still, before he stepped into the hall, he stopped beside her. Scanning her face, his lopsided smile was a parody of its usual self. When he brushed one finger down her cheek, to her horror, hot tears climbed up the back of her throat, and these weren’t the kind she was going to be able to stop.
He needed to leave. Now.
“I’ll see you in recovery,” she told him, closing her eyes when he bent to place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.
“You’re one of the most wonderful women I’ve ever met, Rebecca Reichert,” he grumbled hoarsely. “No matter what happens, I want you to remember that.”
She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight, allowing herself one last moment of holding him and pretending he was hers to keep forever.
***
“Hi, I’m Michelle or Shell if you prefer. Frank’s sister. He’s told me so much about you all,” the tall, chestnut-haired woman said as she shook hands with Dan Man.
Bill choked on the swig of Pepto he’d just taken.
Boss has a sister? He couldn’t believe it. He’d known the guy for over three years and never had he heard anything about a sister…
“Well now, he hasn’t told us a thing about you, sweetheart,” Ozzie drawled, wiggling his eyebrows and resembling—with his all-American good looks, mad scientist hair, and Star Trek T-shirt—some strange combination of Casanova and your typical audio/visual class president. Standing and vigorously pumping Michelle’s extended hand, Ozzie leaned in to whisper in mock conspiracy, “And now I know why. He knows us well enough not to dangle a treat such as yourself under our noses.”
“You must be Ozzie,” Michelle laughed, then as she made her way around the waiting room at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in order to shake the hands of the Knights who’d gathered there to wait for Boss to get out of surgery.
“And you must be Wild Bill.” She came to stand in front of him, extending a long, elegant hand. “I’m very glad to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure,” he replied hoarsely, still coughing, still having trouble believing…
He was just about to open his mouth to ask her if he’d heard her right, if she was really Boss’s sister when his own sister breezed through the door, weighed down with an armful of snacks from the vending machine.
Becky stumbled to a halt when her eyes lighted on Michelle. A bag of Cool Ranch Doritos fell to the floor.
“Becky,” he said, bending to retrieve the chips, “this is—”
“I know who she is,” Becky interrupted, her eyes glued to Michelle’s face.
“You do?” he asked, perplexed.
“Yeah.” She nodded, pasting on a smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He glanced at Michelle. Okay, so she and Boss did share the same eyes and similar hair coloring, but that’s where the similarities ended. Because Michelle was the beauty to Boss’s beast.
“I guess it is.” He scratched his ear.
“You must be the amazing Rebecca Reichert.” Michelle went to shake Becky’s hand but was thwarted by the mound of snacks.
Becky walked to the plastic coffee table pushed in front of the sofa where four of the Knights were lounging. She dropped her load on its surface, bracing herself on its edge for a second as if she was dizzy, before coming back to take Michelle’s hand. “Call me Becky,” she said. Her voice gruff.
Bill peered at her closely but could read nothing on her face. Something was wrong with his sister…
Probably just nerves over Boss’s surgery combined with too much caffeine, he assured himself with a mental shrug.
“Mama, mama!” A little boy about three years of age came running into the waiting room, the soles of his tiny sneakers lighting up with each step, a Chicago Cubs baseball cap pushing his ears out from his head. “Can I eat it? Can I?” He was holding a bite-sized Hershey’s candy bar as if it were the Olympic flame.
“Sorry.” A nurse scurried after him. “He saw the basket of candy sitting on my desk, and I just couldn’t resist his little face.”
Michelle bent and scooped the boy into her arms. “It’s perfectly fine. What do you say, Franklin?” she prompted, and Bill turned to his sister when he heard her drag in a strangled breath. She immediately started coughing, and he reached over, pounding her on the back.
“You aren’t coming down with anything, are you?” he asked.
“No.” She waved him off as she struggled to catch her breath, staring at the little boy in Michelle’s arms.
“Thank you,” Franklin dutifully told the nurse before turning and catching his mother’s cheeks between his dimpled hands. “Now can I eat it?”
“May I eat it.”
Bill watched Franklin’s little chest expand on a deep sigh of exasperation. “May I eat it?”
“Yes you may,” Michelle grinned, “but first I want to introduce you to some nice folks.” She turned toward the group, rolling her eyes when the bundle of energy suddenly turned shy and tucked his head under her chin, peering out at the gathering of strangers. “Everybody, this is Franklin. Say hello, Franklin.”
“H’lo,” Franklin mumbled, refusing to look at any of them, his candy bar suddenly an object of intense study. Bill noticed the kid had the same eyes as his mother. The same eyes as Boss. Obviously, they were a family trait.
“Mr. Knight is ready for visitors,” a short, plump nurse in pink scrubs announced from the doorway.
“Oh good.” Michelle hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder, positioned Franklin on her hip, and started following the nurse down the hall. The Black Knights trailed behind her like a line of train cars, Becky slowly bringing up the caboose. “Can you believe that loser had himself convinced he was going to die?” Michelle threw over her shoulder, helping Franklin tear open his candy bar wrapper.
“What?” It was Christian who asked the question they were all thinking.
“Oh yeah. He’s only been given general anesthesia once, as a kid, and it nearly killed him. Did kill him, as a matter of fact. He died on the operating table, but they were able to bring him back. I guess that’s a given, huh?” She chuckled again. “Anyway, apparently he metabolizes narcotics in a weird way, and it’s easy for him to overdose. Ever since then, he’s been petrified to go under again.”
Hmm, well that would explain—
“I, uh, I…I forgot I’m supposed to meet Eve,” Becky announced from the back of the line.
“What’d you say, sis?” Bill asked as the group stopped to turn and look at her.
“Yeah, I…I’ll just pop in to visit Frank later. But, uh…but until then, you all give him my best. Tell him I’m glad everything turned out.” She smiled, her face white as a sheet, before spinning around and marching in the opposite direction, her hands fisted at her sides, her back straight.
What in the world was wrong with her? Was she coming down with something?
“Where are you going?” he demanded, not liking the idea of her and Eve traipsing all over the city by themselves, especially with that damn pirate still on the loose. Of course, he comforted himself with the knowledge that the Somali making it onto U.S. soil when the entire international community was hunting him was slim to nil.
“I’m meeting Eve for drinks at Delilah’s,” she called over her shoulder, repeatedly pushing the button for the elevator. The doors opened with a ding, and she jumped inside like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
He shook his head, glancing around at the perplexed faces of the Knights. “What’s gotten into her?” he asked and was met by a series of shrugs.
***
“Delilah! Uno más!” Becky crowed, smiling crookedly and holding one wobbly finger up for the lush, redheaded woman working behind the bar. The last word came out sounding more like mosh, and Eve stifled a giggle.
After a small hesitation, the bartender refilled their shot glasses, the brown liquor sparkling like agate under the bar’s low lights.
Becky lifted the glass and Eve wondered what they’d drink to this time. They’d already run through health, happiness, prosperity, world peace, and all the other usual toasts. “To your suber—suter—” Becky made a face causing Eve to snort a laugh, “super cute leggings.”
“Cheers.” Eve clinked her glass against Becky’s, threw the liquor t
o the back of her throat and swallowed, hissing as the hard burn hit her belly.
Slamming the shot glass down on the bar, she woozily turned to her friend. “My knees are still a mess. I can’t stand the way they look, so skirts are out. And jeans hurt too much which means…” She made a rolling motion with her hand. “…it’s leggings or nudity. I’ve been choosing leggings.”
Becky gave her a sympathetic look before leaning one elbow on the bar, cupping her cheek in her hand. “Can you believe we were held hostage by pirates? It all seems kinda like a dream.”
“A nightmare, you mean. And speaking of…”
“Say no more.” Becky lifted a hand. “I had a doozie the other night. Ran out into the hall with my pistol loaded.”
“I wish I had a pistol,” Eve declared hotly. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so scared all the time. Maybe then she’d be able to scrub out the images of those six terrible days from her sleep-deprived brain. “I also want to start taking self-defense classes.”
“I’ll drink to that. Delilah!” Becky grinned sloppily, holding up that finger again, “Uno mosh!”
“No way.” Eve shook her head, actually feeling the last four shots of rot-gut whiskey sloshing around in her belly as she hopped from the barstool. “I can’t take another shot, or I’m going to barf.”
“Hehehe. The über ch…chic,” Becky hiccupped, “and oh-so-classy Eve Edens just said barf.”
“It’s a word, isn’t it?” She looked around blearily, surprised to see so much leather and so many tattoos and so much facial hair…
Where in the world am I?
Oh yes. A biker bar on the east side of the city.
She, Eve Edens, queen of Bergdorf’s, was getting hammered on cheap whiskey in the diviest of dive bars, filled with the scariest of scary types, and listening to the crappiest of crappy Def Leppard songs. Every time she heard this one, all she could think about was hot, sticky sweet feet.
Ew!
Something had to be done. Immediately.
In Rides Trouble: Black Knights Inc. Page 21