Tough Enough (Tough Love Book 3)

by Trixie More

  Unlike the alley, there was no sense of urgency, no fear of being discovered. Even so, there would never be time enough, so Doug kept at her, feeling her plush lip slip between his, tracing the seam of her mouth with the lightest touch of his tongue the way he wanted to run his index finger along the seam between her legs. Doug wrapped his arms around her waist and she slid her arms beside his neck, languid and sensuous, her wrists crossing lightly behind him. Sophia kissed him when he kissed her. She closed her eyes and let him worship at her neck. The lady was enjoying it. That much he knew, but she held herself apart, soaking in what he gave, giving only the little it took to keep him at it. As the thoughts came to him, a feeling all too familiar came with them. He stepped back from her and let her go.

  This cool and perfect creature slid her arms off his shoulders and let them fall beside her. Doug turned, picked up the glass of scotch, and walked to the kitchen, getting out plates, turning on the lighting at the counter. “Do you want a soft drink?” he called over his shoulder. There was no need to start up with another beautiful woman who was just there to take from him. He had a hand and he knew how to use it.

  A light touch settled on his arm. Sophia was behind him.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  He stood still, a roll of paper towels in his hand.

  Then she leaned past him and took the bottle of scotch. The warmth of her faded.

  “I like this,” she said.

  Doug turned toward her.

  “Look, Sophia, I don’t know what to say. What you did...” he began.

  “Was the right thing to do,” she said. “That’s all.”

  Doug looked at her. She wasn’t looking at him. She was busy finding herself an ice cube for her whiskey.

  “I just want to say thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Anytime you’re innocent, I’m happy to help.”

  “Why don’t you just take that bottle with you,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Why are you here?” Doug asked.

  She looked away from him.

  “Sophia, sweetheart, I’m grateful for what you’ve done, you can’t know,” he said, stepping away. She was either everything he could never have, or she was everything that had almost killed him.

  He was trying to send her away, thank her and send her home.

  No, she didn’t want his gratitude. She wanted his rough hands on her skin, his erection against her stomach, his mouth, and his eyes on her.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  Doug remained where he was. “I don’t want half measures.”

  “Half measures?”

  “I don’t want a watered-down version of you, Sophia. No matter how much I owe you, I won’t pimp myself for you.”

  “Pimp yourself?” She was shocked. “I should slap you.”

  He shrugged. “Or punch me,” he said. “But it won’t matter. I’m not going to compromise. I want you. I’m not the deal of the century, but I’m not chopped liver either.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Doug began putting pizza onto their plates. “I’ve had a woman who loved my money, my home, but not me.”

  “Why you—” Sophia began, but he turned and raised a finger to stop her.

  “I’m not saying that you have to love me, but you have to at least like me.”

  The words were lightly spoken, a certain amount of wry humor in them, but they struck her hard just the same. Like him? Of course. Did she? Did she like this man?

  The memory of their lunch together came to her.

  He’d held the door to the diner for her. He’d said she was ten feet tall and wearing the only ivory raincoat in the west end. He’d acknowledged her position, and she’d felt known, seen. At that moment, she’d liked him. She’d told him that and everything had changed. The walk to Mastrelo’s, the alley, everything.

  “Doug?”

  In the kitchen of his barren and dusty condo, he sat on a stool and looked at her, one knee bent, his foot on the rung of the seat, large hands loose on his broad, muscular thighs.

  “What?”

  “I told you the day of the subway that I liked you.”

  He twisted his mouth, discounting her words. “Things change.”

  She walked toward him and took his face in her hands. Did she like him? She looked into his blue eyes. “I like your smile,” she whispered. Doug turned his face away. Beneath her hands, the rough beard rubbed across her palms.

  Taking her time, she studied his face, the way his mouth turned down, the upper lip sat forward, the lower lip, slight. “I like your face.”

  His expression was flat. He wasn’t going to stop her; he wasn’t responding to her either.

  She leaned in and whispered, “Would you accuse me of assault? Really?”

  Doug’s eyes closed, his face placid still. The pace of her heart picked up. She wanted to kiss him, and the feeling was rare to her. The way his shoulder felt under her hand was a new story, a book she’d never read, and deep inside, some new desire stretched. She licked the shell of his ear and his brows drew together, his hands gripping his own thighs.

  “I can’t explain it.” The words came out softly. With her palms, she urged Doug’s face toward her, and he allowed it.

  Sophia kissed his mouth. “I like you,” she said. She ran her lips over his throat, felt the roughness of his skin, smelled the soap. It was Irish Spring. It smelled familiar and male. “I like you,” she said.

  Doug pulled her into the vee of his legs.

  She ran her nails over his scalp while she pressed open mouth kisses to his jaw. “I like you.”

  The rasping sound of his sharp inhale egged her on.

  “I like you.” His earlobe was warm between her teeth. “I like you.” She pressed the heels of her hands into the meat of his thighs and pushed her hands forward, arching her back, reveling in the sensations, every nerve waiting breathlessly for what she would do next.

  Doug stood, hands on her waist, lifting her like she was made of air, turned, and sat her on his counter.

  It was his turn to stand between her legs. He gripped her legs, his thumbs on the insides of her knees, and slid them up to the top of her thighs. His thumbs rested so very close to there.

  “Like’s not the word,” Doug said.

  “It’s the one I’m going with,” she said. She was distracted by his smell, pressing her face to his neck.

  “No, I mean, it’s not what I feel for you,” he said. At his words of more, suspicion began to creep its way around her heart.

  “What is it then?” she asked, leaning back, the magic slipping away. Could it be conjured again?

  “I don’t know,” he said. The tight grip of disbelief eased up. “I don’t know, but I want to find out.” He brought his mouth to hers, eating at her, and running his thumbs back and forth, never quite getting to the place she wanted him most.

  “I can feel you getting plump and wet,” he said. The words created their own truth as his mouth made its way past her ear, to that place behind her lobe. He sucked at her while she clutched at his neck. His fingers were in the game now, stroking just to the sides of her, only a fraction off from where she wanted him, needed him. “You want me, don’t you?” he asked.

  Sophia pulled him into her. She’d said the words he wanted; why couldn’t he let it be?

  “Sophia.” His voice held a warning. “I should turn you over and spank you.”

  “The hell you will,” she said back, and she pushed off of the counter. She pushed against his chest and he stepped back.

  Satisfying. Who knew?

  “Nobody is ever going to spank me,” she said, and he fell back another step. Power pulsed in her veins. She ran her hands over his temples, just as he’d done to her, ending with his jaw between her hands. She couldn’t look away from his mouth, the parentheses of muscle to each side of his narrow lips, the faint cleft below. She looked up just a bit and into his blue eyes.

  Lust t
here and something else. Something dangerous. It was exhilarating. Sophia pushed him, and this time he stood his ground. She lunged at him, and he stepped back, out of her reach. She leaped forward and he laughed, low and short as he dodged her, but she turned and came behind him, grappling him around the waist. He lost his balance and sidestepped twice until he regained it. She came around him again.

  “Stand still,” she ordered, and he froze, his chest heaving, his eyes dancing with alert intensity, the fierce attention she craved flashing in them. “On your knees.”

  His eyes flashed, but he didn’t yield.

  “On your knees.”

  “After you,” he said.

  She didn’t know who moved first. They were at each other in a moment, lips bruising, one of his hands clasping her breast, the other between her legs, hard, pressing up and into her; she palmed his erection and the other hand went to work undoing his jeans.

  Doug grunted and rubbed her; she felt his fingers slide between her legs, his wrist turning and then his fingers were curved up toward her ass, and his thumb was pressing and rubbing at her. She arched and curled her spine, her face scrunched in concentration as she struggled to get the ache inside her to move, to change.

  God, it’s been so long, please, let it happen. She was barely aware she was literally praying for an orgasm.

  Doug’s hand stilled.

  What?

  He was panting into her neck and staying quite still. She struggled to understand, and then, realized she was holding him by the arms, gripping hard. She forced herself to release him, ran her hands over his chest, became engrossed in the feel of him and his thumb began its work again. This time, she didn’t return to her own headspace. She stayed with him, raising her eyes to look at him in wonder only to find him smiling, that slow smile at her. Her heart thumped, thumped again and began to beat with a living rhythm of lovemaking, her focus all on her hands, on his breathing, the sounds he made when she rubbed the length of him, when she put her fingers into his pockets and ran the tip of her fingernail down the side of his penis, the thin cotton barely protecting him. He loved it, she could tell. The understanding urged her on to more exploring, opening his zipper, pressing the sides away, discovering the way he dressed, the kind of fabric that he chose to cover his package with: navy, tight, cotton. So intimate. She slipped down, pressing the flat of her tongue against him right through the fabric. Not wanting to unwrap him, not needing to, just understanding him.

  His large hands, she loved his hands, grabbed her beneath her armpits and he lifted her back up, but she was boneless now, drunk on him, on his body, she curled against his chest and just kissed him there, working his T-shirt upward, exploring each ripple of muscle, discovering the distinct parts of him, each as fascinating as the next.

  He moaned as she covered the areas, re-sculpted him with her fingertips, unearthed the V of muscle from his waistband, bypassing it all, and pushing his jeans down, investigating the wide, pale thighs with their light covering of red hair. He knelt for her now, but she was beyond all that, she just moved with him, kissing his mouth, wrapping her arms over his shoulders and bending at the elbows, she put the palms of her hands on the top of his skull, her fingers pointing back at herself.

  Doug grunted and surged over her, laying her flat on the wood floor, kicking his pants free, and settling himself against her. He brushed the hair from her face and looked down into her eyes.

  She whispered her secret to him.

  He kissed her.

  She whispered again, her voice sounding strange, slow, and blissful. “I like you.”

  He grunted and pressed hard into her with his hips. In the kitchen, a cell phone rang.

  “I like you too, Sophia. More than I should,” he said. He pushed her shirt up.

  The phone rang again.

  “I think...”

  The phone rang again.

  “Is that yours?” she asked.

  It must have been the wrong question, because he rolled off of her, getting to his feet with grace, his shirt falling down, covering all of that impressive musculature.

  “Hello,” he said. “Tommy. Yeah. Yeah. No. It’ll be fine. They can come tomorrow. I’ll get the place cleaned up by then. Yeah. Fine. No, it’s fine.” He was pacing in his kitchen now, his brows tight and furrowed. “That’s fine. Sure. Okay, I’ll call you in the morning. Okay. Good night.”

  Sophia sat up. “Tommy?”

  Doug sat at his counter, his face unhappy.

  “What’s going on?” Sophia stood up.

  “He’s got a buyer coming to see this place in the morning.”

  They both looked around. The floor was dusty, scuff marks showing where they had just been rolling in the dirt. The windows were sparkling clean. The man had a recliner with a cardboard box for a side table, and that was it.

  “I should go,” she said, suddenly embarrassed by the carnality of their behavior. Doug looked vulnerable there in just his briefs and his shirt, and she found it unnerving. Was she that shallow?

  He ran his hand over his scalp, veins crossing his biceps as his T-shirt sleeve rode up. “Yeah. It’s late.”

  For his part, Doug didn’t seem to notice his half-dressed state. He stood, walked over and tugged her shirt down. He kissed her lightly on the mouth and got her coat for her, holding it for her to put on.

  As they passed the counter, he grabbed the bottle of scotch, almost full, and handed it to her. “You might want this.”

  She looked at it, then shook her head.

  “Save it for the next time.”

  After Sophia left, Doug fiddled around a bit, eating his pizza, cleaning up the food, washing their glasses, unable to shake a residual sadness. Then he sat in his recliner, turned to face the big windows, a bottle of water sitting on his cardboard side table. There were very few nights left to look out on this view. Tomorrow, he had to try to sell his home.

  He put his cell phone on speaker and laid it in his lap, pressing the little circular picture of Alice.

  Four rings, and she answered. “Doug?”

  “Hey.” Just like that, things were a little better. No matter who else left him, he always had his sister. “Where are you?”

  “Guess,” Alice said.

  Doug listened carefully, closing his eyes briefly, and heard a soft slapping and the faint clang that no one could mistake.

  “Sailing.”

  “Down by the Everglades,” she corrected. “I’m petting a manatee.

  He flicked his phone to see the little GPS app.

  “You are not. You’re just a bit out from the marina.”

  She laughed.

  “You hooked it up.” This small act of Alice’s felt like a gift. He held his breath. Alice allowing him to care for her, was the gift to be cherished, more than her loving him back. He was deeply grateful that his sister let him love her.

  Doug sighed. “Tell me.”

  Alice’s voice was soft, and he imagined he heard her feelings for him when she spoke, and he clutched at the idea like it was the last shred of freedom for him.

  “The sky is...kinda peachy, down by the horizon. There’s some brilliant yellow-orange along the bottoms of the clouds, but they’re mostly gathered over in the west. Above my head, I can see the mast going straight up, it looks so tall, and then, a dark denim blue sky. Oh, look! There’s a lot of stars out. If I look back toward land, I can see the skyline, all the tourist hotels and the big fat mansions look so clean, but above them, the moon is already coming up. It’s silvery-white and really bright tonight. Now you tell me.”

  “I’m in my recliner, it’s pleather, the living area is empty, and the dust is starting to build up. I haven’t had a chance to sweep.” Alice sighed, small and sad, but he didn’t get into it. After two years of beatings by the mop sink, he might have a slight issue going on. “The windows are clean though, I did that last week, and I’m turned so I can see out. I’m looking southwest so the sun went down behind the buildings in New Jersey.
Hoboken is lit up in orange, but there are only a few purplish clouds way up high. There must be a lot of traffic heading into the tunnel; I see the headlights laid out like a diamond necklace.”

  “I want to come visit,” she said.

  “Probably not a good time,” he said, now focused on his own reflection, ghostly in the glass.

  “Then you come down here.”

  “A condition of my bail is that I stay here.”

  She cursed then. “Why can’t they leave you alone? You have to figure out who killed that guy so you can get your life back!”

  He felt stunned. Why hadn’t he seen that before?

  “Doug? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Alice. I’ve been so focused on the money I guess I just thought solving the murder was just something I waited for.”

  “Doug, you don’t wait for anything! Why would you wait for this?” He could hear the churn of an engine all the way from Florida and the slap of waves on the hull. “Woo! I love it when the wake hits.”

  He smiled at Alice’s exclamation. “As soon as I get free, I’m coming down there, and you can take me out on the boat.”

  “You’re going to find me in my bathtub, soused, with a martini glass on the floor and three dogs in there with me. Mom and Mary are driving me to drink.”

  “As long as you’re breathing when I find you, I can deal with it.” He washed the comment down with a swig of water. “Did you say three dogs?”

  Alice laughed, and the sound delighted him, but he kept his voice dry.

  “What did we agree?”

  “Ha! You agreed that I should have no more than two dogs. I put the question to the committee here, and you were overruled. The consensus was that three is perfect.”

  “You really needed one more living thing to take care of?”

  “Doug, I needed one more living thing to love me. Maybe if you moved down here, that would solve it for me.”

  He was silent. They both knew their mother and sisters loved them; they just weren’t very good at it.

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” he said. The words finally, finally clawing their way up from his belly and releasing themselves. He should have told her long ago.