Come On (Coming Together Book 2)

by Poppy Dunne

  “Didn’t you do that for English class once?” I can see the coffee shop up ahead, a trendy-looking little place with large windows and plenty of exposed brick inside. It wouldn’t be Brooklyn without exposed brick.

  “Yeah, and I still don’t know which letter was the Scarlet Letter. I’m winning at life,” Becca deadpans. Giggling, I hug her around the shoulder while we wind our path through so many Brooklyn hipsters and tired-looking yoga moms. We’re one block from the courthouse, but a whole other world as far as Warby Parker glasses and way-too-tight jeans are concerned. I scan the front of the café until—there! A red-haired man with glasses and a conservative suit flags us down. He truly looks like a man from another planet around here, a clean-cut 1950s insurance salesman type. Hopefully he doesn’t mind that I brought my big sister and nephew to a top-secret meeting. Getting a babysitter is so hard these days.

  “Tessa? I’m John.” He shakes my hand, then pulls open the door and gestures us inside. Chivalry ain’t dead, kids. No wonder Rafe described him as “the only decent McCarthy.” I unwind my scarf and help Becca with Gabe and her bags as John guides us to a table. He even pulls chairs for us. Total gentleman, this one. He’s also lucky: while he’s got the McCarthy family red hair, he’s much, much better looking than Brad. Square-jawed and broad-shouldered, his appearance recalls the kind of nerdy intellectual they hire for big action movies. You know, the guy who can wield a shotgun as well as plan the bank heist.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” I say. John smiles as his gaze turns to Becca…and is it my imagination, or does he linger?

  “Sorry, how rude of me.” Yep, he’s lingering. Hell, he’s mesmerized as he sticks out his hand. “John McCarthy. You are?”

  There is lots of eye contact going on here. Becca takes his hand, looking a little entranced.

  “Mom,” she replies. Oh, dear. She blinks fast, shaking herself from her stupor. “I mean, that’s my other name. Like, my mother name.” She winces. “Sorry, I don’t get out much. My name’s Rebecca. Or Becca. Or Beck. You know, keep slicing off letters until you hit B. It’s fine.” She swallows, and red creeps into her cheeks. I’ve never seen Becca this nervous around any guy before, not even Ramon.

  If you went back in time and told Rebecca “Buzz cuts and tattoos are hot” Snowe that she’d one day go googly-eyed for a bespectacled lawyer, she’d have laughed in your face. Then she’d have probably twisted your nipple until you coughed up the secret to time travel.

  To John’s infinite credit, he just laughs. “I get it. Who’s this guy?” He smiles at Gabriel, who’s currently sticking half a red crayon up his nose. Children really are our future.

  While they introduce the toddler and patiently listen as he launches into “Do You Want To Build A Snowman?” I take the zip drive out of my purse and place it on the table. John discreetly palms it. Ah, he’s also been to the Rafe McCarthy school of “Seamlessly exchanging information in public places.” Amazing that they’re not technically related.

  “What’re you going to do with it?” I ask John.

  “Assuming there’s something to find? And knowing my uncle, there undoubtedly will be.” He smirks. “I can start running things up the ladder. Making inquiries.”

  “Secret lawyer ninja spy stuff.”

  “I always thought of myself more as a samurai, but yes.” John returns his attention to Becca, who’s being a good sport considering she has no earthly idea what’s going on. “Have you both eaten yet? This place makes a mean panini. Unless your husband…” He trails off, as smooth as a piece of sandpaper that’s just had a rough day at the office. Holy God, I think he’s blushing. This is adorable. Becca twirls a piece of her hair. Hair twirling! I haven’t seen her deploy that flirt bomb since 2013.

  “My husband doesn’t exist, but paninis sound great.” She grabs a laminated menu, making eyes at John over the top of it. Meanwhile, Gabe decides this is the perfect moment to crawl onto John’s lap and try shoving crayons up his nose. The man still appears charmed by all this. In fact, he bounces Gabe on his knee effortlessly, calming my nephew at once. “You’re good with him,” Becca squeaks. Pretty sure she’s waiting for this all to have been a dream.

  “Kids are great.” He fumbles for something to add to that. “So are their parents. Mothers in particular. Everyone should have one.” He looks like he simultaneously wants to die and to kiss my sister. Let’s hope he picks the latter option. “I’m more articulate than this, normally.” He clears his throat, attempting to sound all business-like. “I’m a lawyer.”

  Becca beams. “I like…the law,” she says. John grins.

  Well, I delivered the information; about time I let these two crazy kids get better acquainted.

  “You know, I should probably go collect Gramps from the Happiness House.” It’s an adult daycare two blocks from his apartment. We can only afford to send him there once a week, but it does help him. “Why don’t you two get dinner?”

  “That’s my favorite color,” Becca says absently.

  “Mine too,” John murmurs. They could not be paying less attention to me right now. It’s all meet cutes and paninis in this establishment.

  John at least has the presence of mind to say goodbye to me as I wind my scarf around my neck and leave. Strings of red and green Christmas lights brilliantly light the night, mingling with the soft haze of street lamps. I shiver as the wind whips past me, snow eddying around my boots. It’s going to be a long train ride to Flushing, then an even longer one back home. But it’s worth it, both to see Becca having an actual life for once, and to get one step closer to putting Rafe where he belongs: positioned at the head of the company.

  If only I could get him into a few more fun positions tonight. With a wistful sigh, I turn the corner and head for the subway.

  Don’t get greedy, Tessa. You can’t have wild, mind-blowing sex every night of your life.

  “Hello there.”

  I nearly slip on a patch of ice as Rafe gets out of his parked car, right ahead of me. He saunters towards me, my shock clearly giving him too much pleasure.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can have all the sex on demand. If they ever get an app for that, I’m downloading the hell out of it.

  “What’re you doing here?” is a better opening line than “Take me while half of Brooklyn Heights is watching.” Good thing option A is the one I go for.

  “Checking to see John took the delivery.” He arches a brow. “Also, I’m continuing my favorite new hobby of stalking you with erotic intent.”

  I pretend to be offended. “Women only like that kind of behavior when their stalker is a vampire or a billionaire, you know.”

  “Well I am a billionaire, sort of. If it makes that much of a difference, I can buy some of those plastic vampire fangs.”

  “A true billionaire would spend millions unlocking the secret to eternal life.”

  “Rich people are the cheapest bastards alive.” He opens the car door. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

  Maybe some of Rafe’s paranoia is rubbing off on me, because I keep checking the sights around us when I’m safely buckled up. Are there any suspicious faces? Any men with twirling mustaches and monocles? Hell, I’m even wary of the Santas as we pull away from the curb and into traffic. Those guys are all so jolly.

  “I’m afraid we need to go to Flushing, actually.”

  “Having a reunion with M at the bodega?” He tsks. “And you didn’t invite me.”

  “Girls’ night, I’m afraid.” I watch Rafe in the neon wash of traffic. I swear, the way the light plays on his face makes me think of old-school, dramatic pieces of art. You know, oil paintings of light and shadow. Men wearing expressions so perfect they seem to have been chiseled from stone. Men with jaws like boulders and cheekbones for days. My life is indescribably perfect. “Actually, I need to get my grandpa from daycare and take him home.”

  “Are we running late?” He sounds very interested in the answer.

  “No. If we’re drivi
ng, we’ll have plenty of time.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.”

  We’re passing on the edge of a park, and Rafe takes a left hand turn. We leave the immediate bustle and honking of the city streets behind and drive around a twisting lane, passing by a dead fountain. I’m both erotically on edge at the possibilities this presents and also watchful of a car’s headlights right behind us. Is it tailing us? Have I lost my mind?

  Let’s go with the second option. Rafe pulls onto a side road, hiding his car in a copse of trees, and parks. The other car zooms past us, weaving its way into the night. We’re all alone now.

  Oh dear. What are we going to do in a darkened luxury vehicle with no one around to watch us? Before I can ask, Rafe unbuckles my belt and growls, “Get in the back seat.”

  “What’s the magic word?” I whisper in his ear.

  “Abraxin.” Huh. He was quick on the draw with that. He leans over me, the crackling light in his eyes dominant. I think my panties are already ruined. “Now go.”

  I slide into the back and he follows. Thank God this car is roomy, because otherwise this could become the sexiest Three Stooges sketch in history. Rafe slides out of his jacket and kneels before me, parting my legs with his hands. The callused tips of his fingers skate up the sensitive skin of my thighs. I bite my lip and hiss in a breath as he hooks my panties and slides them down. In the dimly lit interior of the car, I can’t see his exact expression. However, the light from outside glints in his eyes, and he is fully, hungrily attentive to what he’s doing to me now.

  “You dressed like this to get attention, didn’t you?” His finger slides inside of me. I’m so wet that it’s easy for him. While he works his hand inside and against me, he leans up, sealing my mouth in a rough kiss. “You wanted to tease me. Make me think about this all day long.”

  “I’m glad it worked,” I murmur against his mouth. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, kissing down my neck. Gasping, I watch him work his way along my body. He parts my thighs wider and kisses a trail down my stomach, until he hikes my dress up higher and arrives…yes.

  I cry out as Rafe licks up my pussy in one sweet, clean line. His breath is hot against my clit as his fingers return to pump inside of me. Moaning, I twine my hands through his hair while he begins to trace his tongue in slow, torturous circles around that swollen bud between my thighs. Blood thunders in my ears. There’s only the sound of my rapid breathing and the wet, erotic noises as he claims my cunt.

  Rafe sucks my clit into his mouth, then removes his fingers and slides his tongue inside me as deep as it will go. Bucking, I give out a startled cry.

  “Rafe,” I moan.

  He hushes me, kissing up my leg. He trails his tongue on the juncture between my thigh and stomach; all my nerves are sparking as he kisses down to my pussy once more, as he flicks his tongue across the engorged nub of my clit again…and again.

  “You taste so fucking good.” His hands part my thighs wider, and he continues to suck me even harder than before. “Tessa,” he breathes against my sex. Whimpering, I dig my fingernails into the leather seats. The building climax between my thighs makes me shudder. My senses are heightened, my heartbeat rapid.

  “Yes. Please, more. Rafe,” I moan as he licks and sucks me, as his fingers slide deep into me. As his hands rove my body, as his tongue claims me again, and once more, and yet again…

  I slap the window as I come, releasing a breathless, high-pitched croon. My entire body shakes to its core as Rafe stills his thrusting hand and his tongue. He kisses along my thigh again, then comes to claim my mouth. I can taste myself on his lips, and sigh in pleasure.

  “I think I’m addicted to you, Ms. Snowe.” He nibbles at my neck while I bask in the post-orgasm glow. I’m pretty sure every bone in my body has melted. Yes, that’s physically possible, I swear.

  “You’re not the first addict who’s been in this park, I’ll wager.” We both pause at that. “Man, that sounded really insensitive.”

  “Speaking of, we should probably get out of here before a guy with a gun shows up. It’s Brooklyn, after all. All those late-night hipsters looking to swap kombucha recipes, getting into knife fights over who wears more plaid.” Rafe helps me back into my underwear, like a gentleman. My legs wobble as I open the door to get out and back into the passenger’s seat. I grin when I find my handprint emblazoned in the condensation on the car window. It’s sort of like that scene from Titanic, only the girl’s poor and the boy’s rich and we have no budget for special effects.

  Other than that, just like it.

  “What would you say if I called you Rose from now on?” I ask as Rafe starts the car and we make a U-turn, heading for the park’s exit.

  “If this is a Titanic reference, I’d laugh. If it’s not, I’d say you need to get out and find your own way to Flushing.” He grins at me, the teasing bastard. I lean back against the seat, watching Brooklyn flash by my windows and feeling perfectly content.

  There’s one second where I swear the car that was following us earlier passes by…but that’s got to be my imagination.

  “That was the nicest bus I’ve ever taken,” Gramps says conversationally as we load him out of Rafe’s car. I hook my arm through his and help him up the porch steps. I swear, the trip was no time at all. Between the heated seats and the, er, hot happenings in the back, I’m tempted to get a car.

  I’ll never get a BMW. I acknowledge that. At the financial rate I’m going, a Flintstones car with no wheels is probably more my speed.

  As I unlock the door and let Gramps shuffle inside, I look back at Rafe. He’s leaning against the car, hands in his coat pockets. If I didn’t have a tired old man to take care of, and if I wasn’t sure Becca and Gabe would be home soon, I’d invite him inside. Maybe just for a cup of coffee. Maybe just for a cup of coffee and some sex.

  Or a biscotti.

  No, better send him home. It’s too much to explain to my family otherwise. “Thanks for taking me.”

  “Taking you is always my pleasure.” That wicked light dances in his eyes.

  “Home. Taking me home.” I bite my lip. “I wish you could come inside—and don’t make a joke about that.”

  “Too late. Already happened in my mind.” He comes up the walk and climbs the two steps, but stops. The invisible line remains between us, at least as far as my family is concerned. I sigh; can’t have everything at once. “John’s got the information. Soon, Scott’s going to be gone.” His hand cups my cheek. The light in his eyes is more than turned on; it’s tender. “Then I’m coming in. I promise.”

  Having wild sex with Rafe is one thing; having him in my life would be an entirely new, wonderful level of both excitement and exasperation.

  I can’t wait.

  Sixteen

  Rafe

  As I walk in to work the next day precisely on time, I’m in the best goddamn mood of my life. Last night, John received the information that’s going to take Scott down, and I went down on Tessa. I have a surge of very hot, masculine pride when I remember the way she trembled as she came. Staring at her through the window of my office is going to be hell, but that only has to last a little while longer. My day is perfect, and it just started.

  Which means, of course, Brad is waiting outside my office door to fuck the whole thing up. Tessa’s not at her desk; probably on an errand. That’s one small mercy.

  “Is it time for your morning hate session?” I drawl as I open the door. Brad follows me, glowering and non-responsive. Usually, the little bastard’s got a mouth on him. “Let me start you off: ‘Rafe, I hate how much more intelligent and better endowed you are than I am. As a result, I’m going to glare resentfully at you for several minutes, then piss down my own leg.’”

  “You’re not that funny.” Huh. Brad sounds oddly calm. I guess maturity comes to all of us, sooner or later. That, and the ability to grow a full beard, but Brad still hasn’t hit that milestone.

  “Cutting retort, Bradley.” I sit behind my de
sk while he continues standing in front of me, grinding his teeth. “Do you want something?”

  “You brought this on yourself.” His eyes get a sort of feral gleam, and he grins crookedly. I feel like I’m standing on a shore, watching a ginger tsunami approach in the distance.

  “Speaking in riddles now? Are you the low-rent version of the sphinx?” My shit-eating grin dies completely when Scott sidles into my office and shuts the door behind him. Usually when I’m due an ass-kicking, I get summoned to stand before the big guy’s desk. If he came to see me, he’s either desperate…or very pleased with himself.

  The mirthless grin tells me it’s the latter. Scott places a manila envelope on top of my desk, very neat, like he’s a cat delivering a freshly killed mouse all wrapped up in a bow. I’m not sure how cats tie bows, but that’s not the most pressing concern right now.

  I don’t play coy. Taking the envelope, I rip it open and find myself staring at pictures of Tessa. Specifically, of Tessa kissing me right beneath the hotel awning. Every drop of blood in my body freezes, which is medically unsound. Fuck, these photos were taken yesterday. Someone was following us.

  And here I was convinced my paranoia was unhealthy. Lesson learned: where Scott McCarthy is involved, paranoia is as healthy as a balanced breakfast of codeine and a punch to the goddamn face.

  “Don’t you want to look at the others?” Scott says kindly while I’m sitting here frozen, contemplating how stupid I can possibly be.

  “The others are much more exciting,” Brad concurs with a lascivious little flick of his tongue. I swear to God, blind me before I ever have to witness anything like that again. Hands numb, I uncover pictures of Tessa getting into my car last night. Oh, fuck me. Yes, there are pictures of us in the park. Somehow, even in the darkness, they’ve managed to get decent images of me taking her into the backseat. Of her hand striking the fogged-up window at the moment of climax.

  “That’s a very artistic shot,” I say, because the only other option is to shout fuck at the top of my lungs.