Shameless

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I ease her into her release, licking and stroking until she calms, falling forward and catching herself on my shoulders. I stand up and cup her face, forcing her to look at me, that vulnerability back in her eyes, etched in her beautiful face. “This is what I want from you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were willing to be naked physically while I was fully dressed, but not emotionally, not at first. You are always willing to give me control of your body, Faith, even from the first night we met, but you aren’t willing to give me the ultimate control I’ve given you.”

  “I’m naked. You’re not. One of us gave the other control. And it wasn’t you.”

  “I can be naked and fuck a million women and they wouldn’t have anything but my cock, Faith. But you Faith, are the one who is one hell of a drug.” And I don’t plan to say it, but suddenly the words are on my tongue, and I know I have to say them. I know she needs to hear them, “I’m falling in love with you, Faith.”

  She gasps. “What?”

  “I’m falling in love with you,” I say, my thumb stroking her cheek. “I’ve never said that to anyone. I’ve never felt it with anyone.”

  “I’m pretty sure lust and hate have evolved into something that I’m not sure I want to feel.”

  “Why, Faith?”

  “You could hurt me, Nick.”

  “Sweetheart, you have pieces of me no one was supposed to ever have, and the many ways you could shatter them should have me running for the hills. But all I want to do is kiss you again. Hold you. Watch you paint.” I brush my lips over hers. “Which you should do now. You have a show.”

  “Watch me naked,” she says. “I need you inside me right now.”

  “As much as I like that invitation,” I say, stepping back and pressing her knees together. “This was about you, Faith. Not me. I don’t want it to be about me.”

  Faith is on her feet in an instant, her naked body pressed to mine, her fingers curling in my shirt all over again. “Let’s be clear, Nick Rogers. That wasn’t just for me. That was for you. That was about control.”

  “Not this time.”

  “Maybe you believe that, but I don’t. And I could drop to my knees and take it from you the way you just took it from me. We both know I can. But I won’t because I now realize what I didn’t before. You don’t just want it. You need it. It’s your way, your wall. It’s how you keep people at a distance, me at a distance.”

  “I just told you I’m falling in love with you, woman.”

  “And you made sure I was vulnerable when you did because you were vulnerable. And I let you. I’ll let you, but not forever, because I can’t be as vulnerable as you just made me, alone.” She releases my shirt and tries to move away, but there is no way in hell I’m letting her get away. Not now. And not ever.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nick

  I cup the back of Faith’s head, dragging her mouth to mine. “Sweetheart, you aren’t alone and if I have my way, you won’t ever be alone again.”

  “That’s a long time, Nick,” she whispers, but I’m already kissing her by the time she finishes speaking my name, and as for that control she claims I am playing with, I let it go. I let her feel my unbridled need for her, and between the two of us, we are kissing, touching, all but crawling under each other’s skin. That word I never meant to say— love—is now between us, and it’s like freedom, a new kind of drug that stirs hunger in me for this woman, so fucking intense it damn near hurts.

  My shirt comes off, my pants down, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s against the wall, and I’m pressing inside her, lifting her, pulling her back off the wall. Holding both our weights the way I’m willing to hold us both up every moment of every day, if she’ll give me that chance. If she’ll forgive me for the way we first met. It kills me right now not to tell her. Guts me and I have never wanted her trust so much. I urge her backward, and not just because I can now watch her breasts bounce as I pull her down on my cock and thrust it inside her, they are beautiful and fucking hot as hell, but she now has to trust me to hold her up. She has to trust me.

  On some level, I know this is a fruitless endeavor. I can’t force her to trust me, not and have that trust be real. And real is what she wants. Real is what I want. My hand flattens at her back, between her shoulder blades, and I drag her back to me, her head buried in my shoulder, our bodies melded together. I drive harder into her, wanting out of my own head. Wanting more of her. So fucking much of her.

  “Nick,” she pants out. “Nick.”

  Her voice, the grip of her sex, the rush of blood in my ears and in my cock, and a deep pull in my balls, says that I am here, in that place of no fucking return, only moments after she is. I quake, my thighs burning with the force of my release and our weight. I lose reality with the force of my eruption, and come back to the present to discover I’m leaning against the wall, holding Faith against me in a bear hug. And I don’t want to let her go.

  My legs have another idea and I shove off the wall, carrying her to the table next to her work station and ease her sideways to allow her to grab a tissue. “Ready?” I ask, before I set her down.

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  I ease her down my body, and set her on her feet, righting my pants as she tries to put her tissue to use, only to stumble. She laughs even as she’s about to go down, which makes me laugh, but I catch her arms, preventing her fall. “I’ve got you,” I promise.

  Our eyes lock, the mood darkening, the pull between us fiercely present. “I know, Nick. Just don’t let go, okay?”

  “Sweetheart. I’m not going to let go. That’s a promise, but don’t forget you said that and how I replied.”

  Her brow furrows, and I turn away, hunting down our clothes, and kicking myself over the coded doom and gloom message I’ve just given her. I gather her clothes and set them on the stool, when my phone rings in my pocket. Assuming it’s Beck, who’s already called me with dead end leads today, I almost ignore it, but think better. I snake it out of my pocket, and glance at caller ID. “It’s Chris Merit,” I say, glancing at Faith, who is tugging her pants over her hips.

  “Answer it,” she urges quickly.

  “Too late,” I say. “He hung up.”

  “Call him back,” she says, pulling her shirt over her head, sans the bra she seems to have forgotten.

  I snag the bra she’s not wearing and hold it up. “I sure as hell hope you get this eager when I call,” I tease.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I only get this excited for Chris Merit.” She snatches her bra up. “But you’re the only one I take my underwear off for.”

  “I can live with that answer,” I say, as my phone rings again and I glance at the screen again. “It’s him again,” I say, hitting the “answer” button. “Chris.”

  “Sara, actually,” I hear instead. “I was wondering,” she says. “Is Faith with you? I seem to have written her number down wrong.” I glance at Faith. “She is. Hold on.” I cover the phone. “Sara for you.” I offer her the phone. She doesn’t take it.

  “Oh no. What’s wrong. I wonder if my work got returned? What if—”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I promise, stroking her hair. “I’d sense it and I don’t.”

  “God,” she breathes out. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am,” I say, handing her the phone.

  She places it to her ear. “Sara. Hi.” She listens a moment. “Yes, actually I’m still here in the city.” She looks at me. “I’m staying with Nick all week.” She listens again and those beautiful green eyes of hers light up. “I’d love to. Yes. Terrific. What time? Yes. I’ll see you in the morning.” She ends the call and now her entire face is glowing. “She wants me to help her set up the show. Her right-hand person had a family emergency. This is such an opportunity to learn another side of the business. Oh, Nick.” She closes the space between us, her hands settling on my still bare chest. “Me being here opened that door. Once again, my love of art takes o
n a new life because of you.”

  My hand settles at her waist. “This had nothing to do with me. This is all you. All you. I’m just along for the ride and enjoying every fucking minute.”

  She pushes to her toes, kisses me. “I am too. The ride and you being on it with me.” She smiles, this sweet, happy smile, and then moves away to finish dressing. I grab my shirt and present Faith with my back, pulling it over my head as I endure my own conflicting reactions to what just happened. On one note, I’m happy as hell that Faith not only has another reason to embrace her art, but to be here, with me, where I not only want her, but I can ensure she is safe. On the other note, she’s embracing that art with Sara Merit, who knows I own the club, and whose husband used to be a member. The ticking clock gets faster and the balls I’m juggling multiply.

  Inhaling, I turn around to find Faith perched back on the stool, staring at me with expectancy on her face, her mood back to sober. “We never finished talking about money. I don’t want it to divide us again. I really would like to finish that conversation.”

  And the bullets just keep coming.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Faith

  Nick’s response to my request to talk about money again is slow to follow, his expression unreadable, his energy dark. The wisps of his dark brown hair around his face, torn from the clasp at his nape, the aftermath of our turbulent encounter. Certain we’re about to have a repeat, I stand from where I’ve perched on the edge of the stool. But as surely as I’m prepared for another battle over the topic, yet again, his mood seems to lighten, and he steps in front of me, his hands settling on my neck, under my hair. “We do need to finish talking. Let’s go back down to the kitchen to talk, but bring your paperwork from Abel. I want to go over it with you.”

  “I’d actually really like your thoughts before I form my own.”

  He kisses me and I hurry to the bedroom, and then to the bathroom, where I’ve left my purse, which now holds the documents I planned to read on the plane. Finding it on the counter, I reach for the paperwork, when my hand hits the money clip I’d found in my yard Friday night. Still puzzled by finding it, Nick’s footsteps sound. I set the paperwork on the counter, and rotate to find him leaning on the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom. “Is this yours?” I ask, holding up the gold clip with the imprint of an American flag on its side. “I mean, it looks like it’s souvenir shop quality, and under your pay scale, but I thought it might be a sentimental thing.” He pushes off the door frame and I close the space between us, stopping in front of him. “Then again,” I add, offering him the clip, “you’re actually not exactly sentimental. It’s not yours, is it?”

  “No,” he confirms, taking it from me to give it a quick inspection. “Where did you find it?”

  “My front yard as I was leaving for the airport. It must have been the delivery person who brought the package you sent me.”

  “Right,” Nick says, the look on his face oddly serious, but he says little more. “A delivery person makes sense.” He pockets the money clip. “I’ll have my assistant call the delivery service. Do you have your paperwork?”

  I grab the documents on the counter and hold them up. “All set.”

  “Well then,” he says, “let’s go have that talk.” He backs out of the doorway, giving me space to exit. The idea that we’re going to sit down and have a formal chat is a positive signal to me that he plans to take my concerns seriously.

  Once I exit to the hallway, Nick steps to my side, and side by side, we start down the stairs, my curiosity piqued. “I just realized that I don’t know much about your work life. I haven’t even thought about you having an assistant, which of course, you do. And where is your office? How many staff members do you have?”

  “Downtown. Twenty staff members. And my assistant is Rita, who is a mother, and has been happily married for decades. She also tolerates my arrogance about as well as you do.”

  I cast him a sideways look and a smile. “So I’ll like her.”

  “Without question,” he says, as we reach the living room, “and I’m fucked ten ways to hell if you two team up on me. That said, I’m brave. Once you know your schedule at the gallery, you should come to my office, meet her, and see the place.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, stopping on this side of the island bar, as Nick rounds it and steps directly across from me.

  “How long do you plan to work with Sara?” he asks.

  “She said this is just for this week, but I’d love to help her get to opening day.”

  “That’s weeks away,” he points out. “And you have a show to prepare for. How much work do you have left to complete?”

  “Two paintings,” I say, pleased that he’s aware of my deadline. “But one is half done and the gallery will inspire me. I should paint today, though. I’d actually really like to get a brush in my hand.”

  “I’m glad to see you embracing your work again. After we talk, just go hide upstairs and do what you need to do. We’ll hang out here and order in dinner later this evening.” He lifts the lid to a pizza box. “For now, we have this. Abel actually left us a few slices.” He walks to the oven behind him and turns it on.

  “You’re hungry?” I ask incredulously. “How can you be hungry? We just ate not that long ago.”

  “Almost two hours ago,” he says, glancing at his industrial-looking watch, with a thick black leather band and silver face that fits well with his black jeans and biker style boots. “That’s a long time with all that fighting and fucking we just did.”

  I laugh, shaking my head, the laughter part, something I’m not sure I did all that often before I met Nick. “The things that come out of your mouth, Nick Rogers.”

  “You get special treatment,” he says, grabbing a pan from the drawer under the stove and setting it on top. “You should hear what I say to those I don’t like. Because I’m not a nice guy, remember?”

  “All too well,” I assure him, joining him on that side of the bar and helping him load the tray with pizza. “I can just imagine what your courtroom must be like,” I say, lowering my voice to imitate him. “Tell me, Mr. Murphy. Right before her death were you fighting with her or fucking her?”

  “First,” he says, grabbing the other two pizza boxes. “My voice is much deeper than that. Second, I usually make those kinds of statements long before we ever get to court, and then we don’t go to court.”

  “How often are you in court?” I ask, setting an empty pizza box on the counter beside me.

  “A lot of my work is done for contracted, long-term clients, which means I negotiate and litigate on their behalf as needed. But overall, only about ten percent of my time is spent in court, while another thirty percent is spent in mediations.” He sticks the pizza in the oven and sets the timer, his mood turning serious. “Let’s sit and have that talk so you can get to painting. And to bed. You now have work tomorrow.”

  It’s then that realization hits me. He starts to move and I grab his arm. He turns back to me, arching a brow, so very tall, broad, and bigger than life in too many ways to count. Bigger in my life than anyone else has ever been. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

  “I just needed to say something.”

  “You have my full attention.” His hand settles at my waist, and I swear I don’t know how it’s possible, but I feel this man everywhere when he touches me in one spot. “You always have my full attention, Faith,” he adds, his voice low, intimate.

  And what’s really amazing to me is that I believe him. I feel his interest, his engagement, and not just now. Always. He is more present in my life than people I have known for years. “It just hit me that I didn’t even consider saying no to Sara and rushing back to Sonoma.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “That’s what I’m trying to decide.”

  He tilts his head toward the table. “Let’s sit and figure it out,” he urges.

  I nod and we both claim our barstools
from earlier, and face each other. “Why don’t you know?” he asks, returning to the point rather than moving past it, his hands bracketing my legs, our knees touching. “Just say whatever comes to mind, and you’ll have your answer.”

  “I’m excited about working with Sara and painting and my show in L.A. and so many things, but the moment that I forgot to worry about the winery because of those things, tells a story.”

  And instead of telling me what I mean, he asks, “And that story is what?”

  “That I’m counting on the winery running without me, and that means that I’m counting on your help.”

  “Good. I want you to. Because you can. I’m not going anywhere, Faith, and clearly, I’m doing my best to make sure that you don’t either. I owe Sara for the assistance on that one.”

  “I’d already decided to stay,” I remind him, wanting him to know that I’m here for him.

  “I know you did,” he says. “But let’s face it. The winery comes with a long history of pulling you there. I have a short one of pulling you to me. I’d like to help you find a way to cut off the drain it has on you.”

  “You mean by paying off the debt and rewarding Kasey for taking charge.”

  “Among other things,” he says, “but before we talk about money. I want to go over the documents with you, and with full disclosure, I drafted them for Abel.”

  I laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. You have to be the driver.”

  He doesn’t laugh with me as he usually does, not this time. “I do,” he agrees, his tone serious. “It’s who I am. You need to know that. My instinct will always be to take control.”

  “Type A personality on caffeine,” I say, “and the truth is that I can pretend to be a type A, but I’m not. But that doesn’t mean that you get to be in charge.”