Lime Ricky (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

  She just blinked at him, then opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but it didn't make it out. With one hand, she reached behind her back and tried to push herself up. Maybe it was the weight of her snow-soaked jacket, but when she pushed up, her palm suddenly slid, sending her backward again.

  "Here. Jesus," Rick muttered, leaning down to take her arm himself. As he pulled her up, he said, "What are you, the world's biggest klutz? I keep having to rescue you."

  Her mouth pursed at that and she tried to jerk her arm away from him, but his grip was firm; he wasn't letting go until he was sure she was solidly on her feet. "I just slipped. I'm fine," she said and pulled her arm free just as he released it. The force of it made her wobble and nearly slip again. "Here—stop trying to do it yourself," Rick snapped. "Boy, I can't leave you alone for one second."

  "Okaaay already," she said, frustrated and annoyed, plus her head was starting to spin. "Look. I know you're having a tough time of things lately, but you don't have to take it out on me," she insisted, even as she brought her free hand up to clutch at his jacket to steady herself.

  "Tough time?" Rick repeated, confused. "What do you mean...

  "And just because you're hot," she added sloppily, "doesn't mean it's been ordained by the Oracle of Delphi that you also be an asshole."

  "Huh?"

  "Oh, forget it," she yelped, wrinkling her forehead in frustration, struggling to get her breath. Her butt was soaked. And what time was it, anyway?

  "The Orajel of wha—?" Rick said, as his mouth quirked up.

  "I said forget it!" Gretchen snapped, pulling away from him. But he reached for her again, and she'd taken only one step before she hit a slippery patch, and it happened fast: She slid and took Rick down with her.

  Omf!

  The wind was knocked out of her—worse than the first time she'd fallen, because this time Rick was on top of her. With her heart pounding hard in her ears, she struggled to breathe, to think, as Rick shifted above her. He brought his hands alongside her shoulders and pushed himself up just enough to look into her face. Gretchen wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes. Not to face him or his scrutiny or his mocking, but instead she slid her gaze to his. She couldn't seem to help herself, and she bit her lip before she tried to speak. "Um..."

  "God, you're clumsy," he said softly. His words were little more than a rough whisper, and whatever she was going to say drifted away before it got started. But their gazes held. His expression went from playful to serious as his eyes zeroed in on her mouth.

  A moment stretched between them, charged with sexual tension, anticipation. Up this close, Rick smelled clean and fresh with faint traces of pine; he was masculine and sexy and Gretchen was afraid of making a fool of herself again. "And you're heavy," she finally whispered back. "You must weigh a ton."

  With a husky laugh, he nodded, then shifted his body so the weight was more evenly distributed. Mmm...

  Weight distribution, that was one way to put it. Another was: He'd aligned their bodies so she could feel him against her—intimately. Had he done that on purpose?

  "So I'm hot, huh?" he said now, his voice still low.

  Yes, her mind chanted. She sucked in a breath as she squirmed a little underneath him. It felt too good. Against her better judgment (if she'd been using any judgment at all), she shifted her hips, trying to rub against him. Fluidly his hands skidded up her coat and gently squeezed the sides of her breasts. The heel of his hand seemed to rock purposefully against her thick jacket, his fingers fanning inward toward her nipples as his caresses became even bolder, more determined. Gretchen bit her lip and tried to catch her breath; she couldn't believe she was letting him touch her like this. But she couldn't seem to say anything to stop him or to question him. Her mouth was dry and her throat tight with desire. Her heart pounded like a frantic drum in her ears as her crotch inflamed with heat. To ease the burning, the ache, she shifted her hips again, this time gently rolling her body against his, feeling the his cock between her legs, and then Rick's blue eyes darkened. A gruff, smothered sound rumbled from his throat and he pushed back, pressing down as she lifted up. Barely holding back a moan, Gretchen let her eyes slide shut for just a moment. When she opened them, she saw Rick's mouth mere inches from her own. Her heart lurched into her throat as she realized then, without question, that he was going to kiss her. His warm breath mingled with hers as he came closer; she managed to lick her lips, waiting, anticipating the moment when he would—

  Suddenly, he stopped moving closer. Seemed to hesitate. To pause. Then started inching back. Huh? What about my kiss? she wondered hazily as Rick pulled away and climbed off of her. Wait a second—where the hell was he going?

  Before she knew it, he let out a heavy sigh and came to his feet, extending his arm down to lift her up. Confused and stunned, she took the hand he was offering and let him help her to her feet. Why had he pulled back like that? She'd been sure he was about to kiss her. Mortification suffused her cheeks like scalding fire, and she swallowed a lump of anger. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't been practically puckering up, sliding her eyes shut, waiting for his kiss. And that was to say nothing of letting him fondle her breasts and start grinding against her. God, how humiliating!

  How many times would she let him mess with her head? This time she was steaming mad, more at herself than at him, but plenty at him still.

  "Listen, are you gonna be okay?" he asked, his voice husky even though he'd decidedly broken the close, intimate moment they'd just been having.

  "I'm fiiiine," she said, dragging out the word, sounding snotty even to herself. She hated her own immaturity right now, but she couldn't seem to stop it. "And I don't need you to rescue me. In fact, I would really prefer if you would just leave me the hell alone."

  Once she was back inside the house, she went searching for a bathroom so she could dry off. She walked through the open room where the party had been before everyone had gone outside, then crept down a quiet hallway near the top of the stairs, and sure enough, at the end of the hall, through a door cracked halfway open, she spotted a sink and a mirror. When she pressed the door open, though, she quickly discovered that the bathroom was already occupied. By the light streaming in from the hall, she could see a man and woman wrapped in a passionate embrace, kissing. Startled, she gasped, but they were so into what they were doing, they didn't even notice. It took only a second for Gretchen to process the image before her. The woman was Ellie Galistette—the long springy orange curls identified her instantly—and the man was Abe.

  Quickly, Gretchen ducked away before they spotted her, but froze when she heard Ellie moan, "Oh, Abe, was it like this with Misty?"

  Morbidly curious, Gretchen loitered against the wall of the hallway, waiting to hear his answer. With a soft groan, he just kept kissing her, but then Ellie asked him again. Abe's voice was gentle and caring when he finally spoke. "No—sweetheart, you have absolutely nothing to feel insecure about. I'm crazy about you. Can't you see that?"

  "Oh, Abe," Ellie murmured through kisses. "Yes, oh, yes. I don't know why I get so crazy sometimes..." At that point, groaning and suction noises took over for both of them.

  Retracing her steps through the second floor, Gretchen found a short corridor that led to a stairwell. The guest rooms were supposed to be on the third floor. Forget the bathroom, she just wanted to strip her clothes and collapse into bed, under a swimming heap of covers, and sleep it off, not to mention push the latest unnerving exchange with Rick Pellucci out of her mind.

  As she climbed the carpeted steps, she thought about Abe and Ellie and their clandestine rendezvous in the bathroom. So they were an item... interesting. Especially considering that Ellie worked for Misty Allbright—whom, according to Susanna, Abe had dumped a couple of months back. Whether her affair with Abe had started before or after the breakup, it was no wonder that they would keep the relationship low profile. It certainly couldn't be public knowledge or Susanna would've mentioned it. But d
id Misty have any idea? If Misty's ego was as fragile as Susanna had implied, Gretchen doubted she would allow someone who was sleeping with her ex to continue working for her.

  Once Gretchen found her room—in fact there was a cream—colored card with her name in calligraphy on it hanging on a chain around the doorknob—she went inside, and under normal circumstances, would've been struck by what a beautiful, luxurious room it was. Would've stopped to appreciate the embroidered drapery and the lovely lace canopy above the bed. But these weren't normal circumstances. She was suddenly bone tired and her head was pounding. She stripped down to her underwear, climbed under the covers, hit the lights, and sent her mind into darkness.

  It felt like days had passed when, several hours later, her eyes flapped open. She'd heard a thud that awakened her, but now, lay there hazy and confused as to what the noise was, and whether it had come from outside of the house or the hallway. Another clunk. Then nothing—until eventually the wind picked up and began blowing the trees around. As leaves swished loudly and branches swatted against the shutters, Gretchen fell back asleep.

  Chapter 14

  The next day, several people were enjoying brunch on the first floor, in the spacious area in the back of the house that opened up into a bright, airy sunroom. A buffet table extended along the wall, and Gretchen—mildly hung-over and starving—made a beeline for it. She filled her plate with French toast, smoked bacon, and spaghetti omelet. Juggling that with a glass of orange juice, she also managed to snag an almond-ricotta muffin and balance it under her chin as she made her way over to join Susanna at a table by the windows. Susanna was sitting beside Cady, eagerly waving Gretchen over. "Hi, guys," Gretchen said, smiling as she took her seat. "How did you sleep?"

  Susanna made a so-so motion with her hand, then said, "I never sleep well without my husband beside me."

  "I slept great," Cady said cheerfully.

  "Well, of course. Because you're not married, so you can't relate," Susanna remarked casually, breaking into her brioche roll and spreading it with marmalade.

  Okay, awkward.

  "Cady, that's a pretty top," Gretchen lied, just to change directions.

  "Thanks," Cady replied, running a chubby finger over the white bib that was passing for the shirt's collar (but looked more like either a Puritan costume or a napkin tucked in), "it's new. I actually bought it for this weekend."

  Gretchen tamped down her incredulity, and repressed the genuine impulse to say: "Dear God—really?"

  "So Cady, how did you like the Brass Lion Inn?" Susanna interjected.

  "It's really nice!" Cady replied. "The bed is so comfortable. What did you guys think?"

  "Oh, we wouldn't know," Susanna explained. "We were invited to stay here."

  At that, Cady's face seemed to fall. And even after she resurrected a shell of a smile, Gretchen felt an inexplicable stab of guilt. Poor Cady was probably thinking: Who the hell is Gretchen to be getting a guest room? And it was a fair question. If only Gretchen could simply explain to her about Susanna's influence. How she'd asked Brett ahead of time if her "assist—um, set supervisor" could have an adjacent room. How the woman was a dichotomous mix of self-importance and paranoid insecurity, which was why she wanted Gretchen there in the first place. How Susanna spoke up a lot more than Cady, which was probably how she got the things she wanted. But Gretchen could hardly say any of this, and instead, just smiled generically and focused on her food.

  "Susanna, I didn't notice you out on the slopes too much," Cady remarked.

  "Oh, sure, I was out there, zipping all around," Susanna insisted. "Gretchen, you went to bed early."

  "Uh... yeah, I was tired." And drunk... and annoyed... and sexually frustrated. Though not necessarily in that order.

  "I'm surprised more people aren't up and about by now," Susanna said, glancing around the sparsely filled sunroom. She shrugged. "I guess most of them are still down at the inn but will be back to ski early this afternoon. Cady, where's Marjorie?"

  "She didn't stay overnight," Cady said, and Susanna snapped her fingers with recognition.

  "Yes, that's right. I remember. Abe said that he was giving Marjorie and that cameraman, Tom, a ride back to the city last night." At the mention of Abe, a memory of his bathroom make-out session with Ellie Galistette came into Gretchen's mind. "I forgot that Marjorie wasn't staying for the weekend. It's too bad, because I wanted to ask her something."

  "What?" Cady asked—looking wary. Understandably, Cady was probably as possessive of her own producer as Susanna was of hers. With a shrug Susanna replied, "It's nothing really. I just wanted to talk to her about possibly guest hosting your show sometime in the next couple of months."

  "What do you mean?" Cady blurted, seeming upset. "W-why would you want to do that?"

  Susanna waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I just thought it might be cute. You know, we'd have fun making some little desserts together—and it would probably boost your ratings a bit." She paused to chew, before adding, "And hey, technically a little extra exposure with the nighttime audience wouldn't hurt me. Since I'll have that new prime-time show of my own this summer." Even though she'd tried to downplay that last part as merely an afterthought, clearly tapping into Cady's audience was her true motivation.

  "But my show airs at noon," Cady protested mildly. "My audience isn't prime-time."

  "I know, but they air reruns on Wednesday and Friday just to fill dead air." More subtlety, Susanna style. Gretchen felt the need to bury herself in her meal, anything to disassociate herself from this conversation. "Speaking of dead air," Susanna continued, "I wonder who will replace Ray's show."

  "Omigod, did you see Ray last night?" Cady asked then, her volume lowered and her tone changed to bubbly-gossipy. "He was so drunk! In fact, has he come down yet...?" She rose from her seat and glanced around but didn't see him. She continued on a whisper, "When I saw him last night, he was stumbling around and knocking things over."

  "Yes, Cady's right. Ray really did make a spectacle of himself," Susanna said. "You missed it, Gretchen. But from what I gathered, Ray was too drunk to make it to the Brass Lion, so after he passed out here, Brett and his brother carried him upstairs to a spare room."

  With a laugh, Gretchen said, "Wow, I can't believe I missed that!"

  "You'd gone to bed already and left without telling me," Susanna explained. Gretchen ignored the passive-aggressive remark and sipped her juice, as the words "Brett and his brother" rolled through her mind. Speaking of spectacle-making, she hadn't exactly shunned the art form last night with her whole splat moment in the snow, and the ludicrous conversation that had followed. As fragments of the night came back to her, she cringed. Oracle of Delphi, God, had she actually said that?

  "I guess Ray's still sleeping it off," Cady said with a giggle.

  "As if his life weren't already in the pits, as it is," Susanna added, and shook her head. "Poor guy. I feel so bad for him. For his sake, let's hope it's not too awkward when Misty gets here today. Word is, she dropped Ray as a client as hard and fast as she could."

  If by "word," Susanna meant the word that she was spreading, then Gretchen definitely believed her.

  "Yes, unfortunately, Misty couldn't make it to the party last night," Susanna went on, "but she told me she would definitely drive up today. I knew she wouldn't want to miss it. She has said that Brett's cooking—and mine—are her weaknesses. I'm sure you all know the story of how she signed Brett?" Cady and Gretchen shook their heads. "Well, Misty had been dining at Brett's restaurant on Fifty-third, and the moment she tasted the lemon chicken and garlic soufflé, she asked to see the chef. When Brett got wind of the request, he went to her table himself. She ended up getting him a television show, and the rest is history."

  The subject of Misty brought to Gretchen's mind Abe Santasierra, and what Susanna had just said about Abe giving Marjorie Bass a ride back to the city last night. Obviously that had been after his clandestine makeout session with Ellie Galistette. Interestingly,
Susanna still hadn't mentioned anything about Abe and Ellie dating, so Gretchen had to assume that her boss didn't know.

  The doorbell rang then. Low-pitched chimes ricocheted through the walls of the house. In a way, it was a foreshadowing. Fate was delivering a dirge—a message—but of course no one knew it at the time.

  * * *

  When they got to the foyer, they found Misty exchanging ebullient pleasantries with Brett, who was in flirt mode—which Gretchen was starting to recognize as his main mode, but jeez, even with his agent? The guy was just too much.

  Misty looked sharp in a straight-cut leather jacket, black cashmere sweater, black pants, and absurdly high heels. Her inky hair sprung just above her shoulders, coiled to frame her rather pale face. Though her complexion was clear, some color in her cheeks wouldn't be a bad thing. And maybe a few more pounds on her too-thin frame (and no, that was not sour grapes because Gretchen had just put away three pieces of French toast, two strips of bacon, a mound of spaghetti omelet, and an almond-ricotta muffin—really).

  Now Susanna flitted right over to encircle Misty in a bear hug, the petite girl nearly getting lost in Susanna's long, loose-fitting ensemble. Reluctantly, Gretchen came closer. "Hi," she said with a smile when Misty made eye contact with her. "We met briefly on the set the other day," she added by way of reintroduction. "I'm Gretchen."

  Misty was no warmer the second time around. "Okay..." she replied with a brief, breathy little laugh, as if to say, And you're telling me because...?

  "Yes, Gretchen's my—" Susanna paused for a second, before finishing, "All-around dynamo." Hey, she'd take it. "We bonded instantly!" Susanna added. At that, Gretchen couldn't help but smile. The comment was oddly touching.

  Clearly Misty wasn't concerned with the technicalities of Gretchen's position. She smiled kindly at Susanna before turning to Brett and saying, "Can you show me where my room is? I want to lie down and take a quick nap before I hit the slopes. I've had so much work this past week. I barely got any sleep last night and I'm exhausted after the drive."