by Kate Kisset
She squeezed his ass. “It isn’t a skirt, it’s a skort. Wait. You saw me?”
“Yes, I saw you. You and that skort almost made me come in my pants.”
Her hand came around from his ass and she squeezed him over his jeans.
He kept his voice low. “You keep doing that and I’m going to come right now. God, I want you. I’m going to take you right here on this dance floor.”
“I want to kiss you so badly,” she moaned. “Let’s do our own private dance.”
“I love the way you think,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist.
Colt ushered her off the dance floor. “I know just the place.” He clutched her hand, leading her to the small dressing room Boone and Harlan used whenever they played there. “In here,” he said, opening the door for her and following her into the dark, closet-sized space.
He closed the door behind him. The scent of musk and lily of the valley filled his senses, and thoughts of her luscious lips and hot, tight, slippery places filled his mind.
“Do you want me to turn the light on?” he asked, brushing his lips against her warm, smooth cheek.
“No,” she whispered.
“Whatever you want. I want to see you, Mariah, but whatever you want, beauty.” After watching her ride that fucking bull, he had to force himself to kiss her tenderly and not come down hard, crush her lips, and rip off her clothes the way he wanted to.
He kissed her succulent, sweet lips slowly, savoring her warm sugary taste, and in seconds they were a tangle of tongues and moans. “You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against her cheek.
“God, Colt, I’ve been thinking about this, you, for so long.” She pulled him closer, pasting herself against him. There wasn’t anywhere to go in the tiny space, so she bumped up against the counter. He reached around and lifted her, propping her up on it without breaking the kiss.
With her back against the mirror on the wall over the counter, she adjusted herself, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, raking her fingers through his hair. “More,” she said, kissing him. “More.” She spread her legs, pressing herself against his hard cock, and rocked against him.
Fuck. They were at the perfect angle. “How much more do you want, Mariah?” he husked, reaching around and cupping her ass, pulling her closer.
“Everything.” She ran her lips from his cheek to his earlobe. “I like this part of you.” She nibbled, licked, and sucked.
He groaned, closing his eyes, and slipped his hands under her shirt, feeling her hardened nipples under her lacy bra. “Do you have any idea how luscious you are?” he said, dropping to her breasts and sucking her nipple through the lace.
She let out a moan and arched her back. “Tell me,” she whispered huskily, tugging him back up to her lips. And he kissed her the way he should’ve the second he saw her in the lobby. He parted her lips with his tongue and danced with hers, around and in and out, just like he’d fuck her. Skimming his hand down over her abdomen, he glided over her skirt and down until he reached her silky-smooth legs.
“Stop me now. If this isn’t what you want, stop me now, Mariah,” he said between kisses and breaths.
She slid her hands down from his neck over his shoulders and chest, to his abdomen and unbuttoned his jeans.
In seconds, his pants were off, her skort was on the floor, and a condom was at the ready on the counter next to Mariah’s hip. “Kiss me more,” she said, intertwining her hands around his neck and drawing him to her lips.
“So demanding.” He cradled her face in his hands, kissing her deeply, and soon they were locked in a spell nothing on earth could break.
Without the clothes, the sensation of her wet heat rocking against him, bumping up against his hard cock, was almost too much. Her breaths quickened and her body tensed, as her long legs clamped around him. He held her steady, wishing the lights were on so he could see her face when she came. If this moment was all he’d ever have of her, he wanted to see her.
“Please, Colt, now,” she panted, shifting back on the counter, but he was too busy discovering her right nipple again. She leaned to grab the condom, and he gently tugged on her with his teeth and then sucked.
She cried out in pleasure. “Now, Colt,” she demanded. “Put the condom on.”
“Not yet.” He kissed her breasts again and dropped to his knees between her legs. How many nights had he gone to bed thinking of the way she tasted? He ran his hands over the silky insides of her thighs, easing her legs open, and went right for the sweetest spot on her body and licked.
She let out a cry and held on to his head as she rocked against his tongue. Over and over he licked and sucked, delighting in her sweet musky smell and sugar-syrup taste. He could live with his face between her legs.
The music throbbed through the doors, with the thud, thud, thud from the bass.
“Please,” she panted, “I want you inside.” She tugged on his head, and he reluctantly let her drag him away from his favorite place on the planet.
“Here.” She ripped the condom packet open.
He must’ve died and gone to heaven. How did he ever get lucky enough to know this goddess, never mind have her treat him like he was everything she wanted?
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. There was just enough light coming in through the crack around the door frame to watch Mariah help slip the condom over his rigid cock. Her hair was strewn over her face, clinging to perspiration as she scooted back on the counter, angling her hips to meet him. But they couldn’t stay away from each other’s mouths. Lips locked again, she guided him into her, and he sank inside.
“You feel so good.”
“I don’t think I’m going to last long,” she whimpered, arching her back. He plunged deeper inside, making sure to stroke her sweet spot with his thumb with every thrust. Faster and faster they rocked, her legs wrapped around him, both hands holding the counter. He had one hand on her lower back, holding her steady, the other hand between them.
Like a tornado, out of control, they clung on to each other as they rode the storm, cresting and peaking together, until the fire whipped through them. The counter rattled and banged, but Colt couldn’t hear a sound outside the closet door, lost in the thunder of their grunts and moans.
“Colt!” Mariah cried out, gripping his shoulders, clinging tightly. He held her steady, wanting to give her every drop of pleasure, while desperately holding himself back. “Colt!” She moaned, trembling, coming undone, and that was all his tornado needed to spin out into the clouds.
“God, Mariah,” he rasped, coming down from wherever she’d taken him. He let his forehead rest on her shoulder. The waves washed over him as he held her in place, still inside her, never wanting to leave.
Slowly his heartbeat began to normalize, and her pants slowed to quiet, soft breaths.
“I wish we could spend the night together,” he whispered into her neck.
“What did you say?” The words floated next to his ear into the room.
“You heard me,” he confessed, not believing he said what he was thinking out loud. “It’s wrong, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”
Mariah didn’t move, only whispered, “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Fun is putting it mildly. Spending the whole night with you in my arms would probably be the death of me.” He came up from her shoulders and neck and felt her breath against his lips. “I can barely think straight around you as it is. What about breakfast?”
She let out a throaty laugh. “I’d love to, but I need to be at Dad’s pretty early. He’s planned a little dinner shindig, and I need to help him set up.”
“Sounds important. Is it?”
She shook her head and kissed his cheek. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”
Chapter Eleven
“SHOULD WE USE YOUR mother’s china?” Jamison opened the china cabinet’s drawer and started rifling through the monogramed white linen napkins.
Mariah propped her hand on
her hips. Since when did he even know about that drawer? “If we use the good dishes . . .” she said, glancing at the chandelier, the dark taupe walls, and the artificial plants. Nothing in the room had changed since her mom passed. “Does that mean you want to eat in here? I thought we were keeping it casual tonight. Isn’t Wyatt picking up takeout?”
“Of course it’s casual,” Jamison snapped, forcefully closing the drawer. “You pick the napkins. There are too many options in there.” He swung to her, nodding, seeming as stressed as he was confounded. “Don’t you want to make a good impression on our guests?”
She eyed her father’s dress pants and light-blue collared shirt. He usually saved the outfit for Sundays. “Well yes, but Bob and Thomas have been over many times. Bob practically lives on our couch. And if he’s not here, you’re over at his place.” She crossed her arms, set on staying perturbed. “It’s really just one more dinner.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You promised me you would keep an open mind, and you sure aren’t acting like you are. Tell me you’re not going to wear those jeans.”
“What’s wrong with my jeans?” She frowned, peering down at her favorite dark-washed denims with butt-lifting and tummy-sucking-in capabilities. “I paid two hundred dollars for these.” Mariah met her father’s eyes. “And this?” She plucked the orange hem of her blouse. “Is silk. This is me getting dressed up, and I don’t want to change.”
“I just thought maybe a dress and some high heels . . .”
“Dad.” She softened her voice. “I think I’m okay in what I’m wearing. Let’s not get weird over this dinner.”
“Um,” Aves piped up. Mariah had forgotten she was in the room. “Do you want me to go outside or something?”
Mariah shook her head.
“No,” her dad said sweetly.
“How ’bout this?” Mariah strolled to the window. “Why don’t we just make it easy and have dinner outside?” She pointed to the table out on the deck. “The weather’s perfect.”
Jamison huffed. “Aves, you’re a guest. What would you rather eat dinner on, china or regular plates?”
“Uh,” Aves mumbled, taking a step back, closer to the wall. “You know what I think? I think I need to go freshen up for a bit. If you wouldn’t mind, please excuse me.” She pursed her lips at Mariah. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Mariah bent, making a sweep with her hand and pointed. “Down the hall. Last door on the right.”
“Thanks,” Aves said, hightailing it out of there.
Her father stared her down, and then turned to the china cabinet, most likely with visions of sterling silver and porcelain dancing in his head.
“Dad, we’re having takeout, for crying out loud.”
“Now that you put it that way . . .” He chuckled. “I think I’m going to splurge and pour myself a whiskey. You want one?” he asked, meandering to the bar tucked in front of the window on the opposite side of the room.
Opting to use the formal bar, as opposed to raiding the fully stocked cabinet in the kitchen, meant one of two things. There was either going to be major drinking at tonight’s get-together, or Jamison was extremely nervous. Whatever the case, Mariah needed to keep her wits about her.
She joined him at the bar, draping an arm around his shoulder as he selected one of his favorite crystal tumblers. “Regular dinner plates, okay?” she asked, giving him an affectionate squeeze.
“Agreed, and would you do me a favor and call your brother? Ask him to pick up two extra chicken meals?”
“Sure, but two?”
“We need one for Aves. And since she was coming, I told Wyatt to invite Colt. Poor man could probably use a home-cooked dinner. He’s been working so hard.”
Mariah gave her dad a double take, trying to ignore the way her heart dropped right through the gleaming cherrywood floors.
His eyes twinkled as he held her stare. “Ha! Now you look worried. I know we’re not technically doing any home cooking tonight, but Peyton’s barbeque is pretty much the same, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She gave him the best fake laugh she could pull out of her pocket. “Absolutely. So it’s Colt, Wyatt, Bob, Thomas, Aves, me, and you?”
Her dad nodded, pouring two fingers of amber liquor into his sparkling glass. “Yeah.”
She exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “So, six plates. I’m going to set the table.” She marched down the hall, silently praying, Please let this shindig go okay tonight and no more surprises.
Mariah stacked the standard blue plates her family used daily on the kitchen counter and started gathering the silverware. Aves entered the room.
“Are you sure your dad wanted me here? I feel like I’m butting in.”
“Of course he wants you here.” Mariah sent her a gentle smile. “Honestly. When I told him you were going to be all alone, stuck in a small dark hotel room, having dinner in front of the TV, he wouldn’t hear of not having you come.”
“Dark hotel room? Alone?” Aves narrowed her eyes. “Kind of a stretch.”
“Yeah, I know. But after everything that happened with Colt last night, I feel awful about this dinner. I mean, my legs are still wobbly.” She laughed. “And now,” she explained in a whisper, shaking her head, “thank God you’re here, because Dad invited him!”
“What?” Aves’s head spun to the door. “When?”
“Just now.” Mariah looked up at the ceiling, rolling her eyes. “Can you believe this? Thomas and Colt at the same table, with Dad trying to set me up?”
“And Wyatt.” Aves grinned. “Don’t forget Wyatt.”
“Ugh.” Mariah pinched the bridge of her nose as her head pounded. “Dinner from hell.”
“Hey.” Aves reached out and rubbed Mariah’s arm. “We’ll eat, make nice, and then we’re out of here, okay? Two, three hours of this, and then we soak in the hot tub at Dream Maker. Deal?”
Mariah threw an arm around her friend in relief. “Yeah, deal. And thanks so much for being here.”
“Are you kidding? A thousand mosquito bites couldn’t keep me away from seeing how this cozy gathering goes down.”
Chapter Twelve
COLT STRAIGHTENED THE button-down shirt he’d changed into before coming. He needed to thank his designer for insisting they build a closet in his office.
“So this ought to be awkward as hell.” Wyatt shifted two large takeout bags from The Owl in his arms.
“Here, let me take one of those.”
Wyatt passed him a bag, and they kept walking.
“Bob and Dad are trying to play matchmaker with Mariah and Thomas,” Wyatt commented on the way up the same stairs they’d taken hundreds of times before.
Shit. Colt stopped in his tracks. “Why didn’t you tell me this was some kind of set-up dinner?”
Wyatt frowned. “Because why the hell would you care?” He tipped his chin toward the door, nudging Colt to follow.
The paper bag crunched and crinkled as Colt quickly straightened his shirt again. He cautiously headed up the steps. Thomas aside, what was he about to walk into? The prospect of seeing Mariah thrilled him. Being in her father’s presence the day after . . .
Was another story.
Facing her father after the first time, five years ago, hadn’t been an issue. Because Mariah left the country almost immediately after they’d slept together, he hadn’t had to be in a room with both of them at the same time. After avoiding the whole family like the plague for a few weeks, he’d eventually talked himself into facing Mr. Walker.
And after their first face-to-face went smoothly, and Colt didn’t buckle under the guilt, months passed, and life got back to normal. As normal as it could be without Mariah home.
Wyatt opened the stately front door. “You remember Thomas, right?”
“Yeah.” Colt steeled himself, wishing he could turn around and drive back to Dream Maker. This was obviously the non-important little shindig Mariah was referring to last night. It seemed
pretty important to him. Why hadn’t she told him? If she had, he wouldn’t have accepted the invitation.
“After you.” Wyatt gestured, and Colt entered the Walkers’ great room, gloom welling in his stomach.
He glanced around the space, acclimating himself, trying to get a bead on the situation. It would be easier if he hated Thomas Bishop. But Thomas was a good man. Around his age, and a straight shooter. They’d gone to different schools and didn’t know each other well. But Colt had run into him through the years at various Walker family functions. And Thomas’s father, Bob, had been a fixture in the Walker household for as long as Colt could remember.
They crossed the hall, and he saw the group through the window. They were all seated around the big table on the deck.
Colt looked down at his jeans and boots. “I think I’m underdressed.”
“No you’re not,” Wyatt scorned. “Since when is there a dress code at my house?”
“Thomas is wearing a tie.” Colt pointed.
“Who cares what Thomas is wearing?”
“Your dad is dressed for church, and for, I don’t know, maybe the third time in my life, I’m looking at Mr. Bishop in a suit. What the hell kind of dinner is this?”
Wyatt shook the bag. “Chicken.” He opened the glass door leading outside. The group seemed to be having a good time, deep in conversation.
“Dinner has arrived,” Wyatt called out dramatically and everyone turned to them. “Want me to bring it to the kitchen or out here?”
Mr. Walker waved them over. “Out here. Come, we were just having drinks.”
“Hey, Dad.” Wyatt gave his father a hug and placed the bag on the table. Colt set his down next to it as Wyatt made the rounds, greeting everyone.
“Mr. Beckett, pleasure to see you tonight,” Mr. Walker greeted, motioning to the empty chairs around the table. “Please, please, have a seat, make yourself at home. Can I get you a drink?” Mr. Walker shifted to a tea cart to the right of him. “Mariah set this up. There’s everything here you can think of. Would you like a beer? Can I make you a cocktail?”
