by Linda Grimes
I gobbled the rest. There was a crisp Pinot Grigio in the fridge, which I sipped while I flipped through cable channels until I found something suitably mindless on the Food Network. While I can’t cook worth beans myself (I seem to have inherited the wrong half of my mother’s skill in the kitchen), I am strangely fascinated by watching other people do it. And at least it might keep my brain occupied enough not to dwell on Laura.
Or on where Billy went.
Or on Mark, and whether I was being a total idiot not to try to fan his ember of interest into something more substantial. I mean, I’d been crushing on him for years. Years. And here I was, about to throw that opportunity away for my cousin?
I sighed. My really hot, not-real cousin, whom I’d loved and hated platonically since toddlerhood, who’d now walloped my stupid hormones with a two-by-four. And I couldn’t even talk myself out of it on the grounds of it being pervy, since it wasn’t pervy because we weren’t related. Right?
Geez, the timing in my life sucked.
The Julia Child retrospective wasn’t doing it for me. I turned off the TV and dragged my confused ass back to James’s bedroom. He wouldn’t be needing it tonight, and he had a supremely comfortable bed. I knew this because when I still lived with our parents, I stayed with him as often as I could. Being the considerate older brother he was, he always insisted I take his bedroom while he slept on the futon in his guest room-slash-study. When I got old enough, I realized it was probably more because he didn’t want me pawing through his desk than out of concern for my comfort. As if I would have.
(Okay, I totally would have. But I would have felt guilty about it afterward. What I lack in impulse control I make up for in remorse.)
James has since acquired both a desk and a file cabinet with locks. Hard-to-pick locks. (No need to go into how I know that.) But he can’t relegate me to the futon now without admitting he was only ever worried about me snooping, so I still get the good bed whenever I stay over.
And apparently so did Billy.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, feeling my eyes widen at the sight of his naked chest and legs. A creamy yellow cotton jersey sheet covered his midsection, thank goodness, or I wouldn’t have been able to talk at all.
He opened his eyes halfway and looked at me from beneath ebony lashes. “Waiting for you.”
My heart stopped for a second, then resumed, maybe a little faster.
“But how did you know I’d come here?”
“Why would you sleep on that god-awful futon when James will be at the lab all night?”
“Don’t be obtuse. I meant here, James’s apartment, not here, James’s bedroom. And what are you doing here in the first place, not what are you doing right this second.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t know you’d come to the apartment. I’m here trying to grab a few hours of sleep before I head out. Your showing up is a bonus. Thank goodness my luck hasn’t totally deserted me—I was starting to worry.” He smiled in a way that made me acutely aware we were alone, with real time on our hands, for the first time since our relationship had morphed into something beyond cousinly.
So of course I deflected. “Thomas wants to talk to you. He isn’t very happy.”
If anything, his grin widened. “I’ll bet he’s not. Did he get Brian out?”
“No, I got Brian out. Thomas got me out.”
“What? You twit. What did you do?”
“I marched myself—well, Thomas’s self—down to the precinct and made Brian switch with me.”
He looked shocked, and maybe a little impressed. “Why the hell would you do that? Brian is a perfectly adequate me.”
“I figured I was better equipped to deal with the situation than he was. What were you thinking? You know Brian can’t handle jail.”
“Brian can handle a lot more than the family gives him credit for. Besides, I knew he wouldn’t be in for long, not with Thomas in town.”
“Then why didn’t you just wait for Thomas to get you out?”
“Because this way I got Thomas off my back at the same time. So, what did you think of Bruno?”
“Nice guy. Killer poker player.”
“No shit. I owe him three packs of cigarettes and a box of Krispy Kremes. Now, come here.”
Fine. Enough about the Brian thing for now—he could take that up with Thomas at the next family function. But I wasn’t letting him off the hook entirely. “We have to talk about what happened to Laura.”
“Yeah, we do.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position and patted the mattress. I hesitated, but if he really meant to talk …
After I sat myself, cross-legged, next to him, he took my hand and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. “But later, okay?” he said.
“Billy—”
“Laura is going to be fine, I promise. Harvey will see to it. That is all I know for sure right now—I’m as in the dark about the rest of it as you are. When I find out more, I’ll tell you.” He looked beyond me to the bedroom door. “Where’s the munchkin? I didn’t hear her with you.”
“She’s asleep at the lab. James said he’d watch her while he worked—he might actually have something that will help her by morning.” I tried to pull my hand away from his. It was starting to feel almost as good as one of his foot massages, and I didn’t need a distraction like that when I was trying to get info out of him. But he held on and brought his other hand into play, gently kneading the muscle between my thumb and index finger.
“That’s great,” he said, his voice soft. Soothing. “If anyone can fix her, it’s James.”
I swallowed. Nodded. Told myself to get off the bed, but somehow didn’t do it. “Yeah. He’s brilliant.”
Billy took my other hand, applying varying degrees of pressure from my wrist to the tips of my fingers. “You’re nervous,” he said after a time.
Geez, ya think? “No, I’m not.”
His hands circled my wrists, thumbs pressing on the undersides. “Ciel, your pulse is going like a jackhammer. You’re terrified.”
“Am not.” Shit. Were my hands trembling?
“Are too,” he said with a hint of challenge.
I yanked my hands away. “Am not. I just wasn’t expecting to see you here, is all. You surprised me.”
Then, thinking a little space between us might be a good thing, I scooted to the edge of the bed.
Aaaand … he clucked at me. Clucked!
I glared murder at him. “I am not chicken.”
He stuck his thumbs under his armpits and flapped his elbows. I grabbed the nearest pillow and took aim at his head, swinging for all I was worth. He ducked. I missed. The momentum carried me too far around, leaving me vulnerable to attack from behind. His arms circled mine, holding tight. Leaning in close to my ear, he whispered, “Fraidy cat.”
Garnering my strength, I elbowed him in the gut, surprising him into a fast release. Spun on him and shoved him backward. Climbed on top of him and pinned his arms to the bed with my knees on his biceps, the only way someone of my size can hope to hold down someone of his height and strength.
“I am not afraid of you,” I ground out. “I have never been afraid of you, and I never will be afraid of you. Got that?” I punctuated it with a stiff-fingered, stubby-nailed poke to his chest.
His dimples appeared. “I am so glad to hear you say that”—he heaved himself up in spite of my knees, and I was on my back before I could suck in a breath with him hovering over me, still positioned between my legs—“because I could never take advantage of someone who was afraid of me. But since you’re not…” His mouth came down on the side of my neck.
“Whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” Damn, he had soft lips. I bit my tongue against a whimper, but I’m pretty sure he heard it anyway.
His mouth found its way to the other side of my neck. “Having my wicked way with you, just like I told you I would.”
I laughed. “You’re an idiot. You know that, don’t you? Isn’t this supposed to be romantic?�
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He pushed up on his elbows and looked down at me with soft eyes. “You’re not scared anymore, are you?”
“I wasn’t—”
He raised one eyebrow. Damn him and his stupid understanding of what made me tick. There are disadvantages to getting involved with someone who’s known you forever.
“Okay, so maybe I was a little bit nervous. Sue me.”
“Ciel, you never—never—have to be afraid of me.” He kissed each of my eyebrows so gently I had to blink back tears.
“I’m not afraid of you, you nitwit. I’m afraid for you. You’re in trouble, and I don’t know how to help. You won’t even tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ve told you everything I’m certain about. Ciel, don’t worry, okay? I’ve been in way hairier spots than this, and lived to tell the tale.”
“Yeah, well, what if you don’t this time? What if I get all attached and something happens to you?”
“Come on. You’re already attached—it’s true, don’t deny it—so how much worse could it be? Sex will just give you a much better memory of me.”
I pushed at his shoulders. “Argh! You arrogant son of a— Get off me!”
But he was laughing so hard he collapsed over me, and then I was laughing so hard with him I couldn’t push him away, and then his mouth was on mine, and his tongue made me feel delicious things in places nice girls don’t admit having. If he could do that just by kissing me, I would be lost once he got my clothes off. I really should …
Oh, hell. Who cared? I sank into the sensations and didn’t wonder anything except why in the heck hadn’t we done this sooner?
He shifted off me and pulled my T-shirt over my head. Reached behind my back to unhook the lacy Victoria’s Secret bra I was wearing. It was supposed to enhance my curves, but could only do so much with what it had to work with, and once it was gone my hands automatically flew to cover what little there was of my chest.
“Hey, don’t do that.” His voice was understanding, soft. I moved my hands. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me without a top a few notable times before (both involving champagne). But now I felt more vulnerable, and steeled myself for a teasing comment.
He let out a shaky breath. “God, you are so beautiful. If you knew how weak in the knees it makes me just looking at you…” He took a nipple lightly between his lips, brushing it so softly with his tongue I almost jumped off the bed. My arms encircled his head, holding him to me, not sure if I’d go crazier if he kept doing what he was doing or if he stopped.
A low chuckle came from beneath the shiny cap of dark waves I couldn’t seem to let go of. “Mmmm … raspberries for dessert,” he said, and switched to the other one.
Laughter bubbled out of me as I swatted his head.
“Ow. What was that for? I love raspberries.”
“You’re not supposed to bring that up.”
“I only promised I wouldn’t tease you about it in front of other people.”
“Yeah, well, I seem to recall a certain reference at the zoo, in front of your sister, too.”
“Hey, I was talking about sherbet. If you chose to read something else into it, that was your dirty mind at work,” he said, eyes shining with phony innocence. “Anyway, we’re alone now. When we’re alone I get to do anything I want.”
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I promise you’ll like everything I want to do.”
“Huh. Confident much?”
“Have you disliked anything so far?”
He knew damn well I hadn’t. “Let me think a minute…”
“Shall I refresh your memory?” He kissed my lips, my neck, and both my breasts, taking his time, not moving on until he’d elicited a moan or a whimper from me at each location. “Is it coming back to you yet?”
“I’m not sure…”
He sat up and moved to one side of me, the sheet barely covering his, um, essentials. I blinked. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.” He reached for my waist and started unbuttoning. “But if you can’t be sure you liked what I just did, it’s time for something that won’t leave you in doubt.”
While he was talking, he’d peeled my jeans off me in one smooth motion. I tried not to make a connection between the ease of removal and the amount of practice he must have had.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing at my pants. He held them out of reach.
“What? Believe me, they’ll only get in the way.”
“But we can’t … I mean, I’m not…”
“Spit it out.”
“I … I use a patch.” Which the doctor prescribed only to regulate my periods, but no point in boring him with the details. “I lost it during all the ruckus in Sweden. I put another on as soon as I got home, but I’m not sure if it … I mean, I can’t be certain…” Geez, why is it so embarrassing discussing a simple thing like birth control?
He grinned and tossed my jeans across the room. Then he leaned in real close, and whispered, “I’ll take care of it.”
After that, I kind of lost my train of thought. How could a person smell so good? It wasn’t strong. Not overly sweet or musky. It couldn’t be aftershave, because he hadn’t shaved. Whiskers shadowed his cheeks, long enough to be past the sandpaper phase but too short for a beard. Too dark for a five o’clock shadow—more of a midnight shadow. And as sexy as hell.
Guess I was staring, because he took my hand and brought it to his face, rubbing my palm lightly along his jaw. The bristles were as soft as a baby’s brush, not scratchy at all, but a tantalizing contrast to smooth, dry lips and warm, wet tongue as he kissed my wrist.
“Want me to get rid of it?” And the beginnings of the beard were gone, adapted away in a nanosecond, leaving his face as fine as alabaster.
“No! I—” Love it? Adore it? Geez, Ciel, get hold of yourself. “Uh … it suits you.”
“Okay,” he said, bringing back the stubble. “But if we’re going natural, stop hiding your goose bumps. They’re good for my ego.” He ran his hand down my waist, and I didn’t cover my reaction. The sheet around his hips moved, so I guess he really didn’t mind pebbly skin.
“Wait a second. Back to what I was saying. Are you sure—”
“Don’t worry, I have it covered. Or, rather, I will,” he said with a grin, and shifted his hand.
I would have asked why he was so prepared, only I figured I probably didn’t want to know the answer. He likely hadn’t been unprepared for a chance encounter since he’d hit puberty. Besides, it seemed fingers skimming up and down my inner thighs can trigger my mute button, at least where coherent language is concerned. Every upward turn of his hand brought him a little closer to the lace between him and the tiny piece of real estate he seemed to be avoiding just to torment me. But if he thought I was going to beg … Gaaah! He was right.
“Billy, please…”
He dropped his head to my stomach and kissed my belly button, dipping his tongue into it at the same time as he slipped his hand beneath the silk of my panties. I jerked, gripping his shoulders. His hand kept to its course while his mouth trailed kisses back to mine. He wiggled his fingers as he nipped my lower lip and groaned.
Yes! At least I wasn’t the only one making noise.
“Jesus, Ciel. If you knew how long I’ve been thinking about getting you into bed, you’d be appalled.”
“How long? Tell me.”
“Let’s just say I was advanced for my years with my lustful thoughts about you, and leave it at that.”
“You mean all those times you were rotten to me when we were kids, you really wanted to get in my pants?”
His busy fingers stilled for a second. I sucked in a breath and held it until they started up again. “Guilty. I had more trouble maintaining my ‘dignity’ around you than our good friend Benjamin ever had with a girl. But at least I could usually adapt away my problem when necessary.”
I laughed. “Boner” Benjamin was an aura Billy had inflicted on me when we had to get to
Mark’s sailboat incognito a few weeks prior. The poor boy came by his nickname naturally—he couldn’t get within twenty yards of anything female without his tighty whities jumping to life.
“You’re not adapting anything away now, I notice.” Boy, did I notice.
“Doesn’t always work. Sometimes I have to recite the multiplication table in my head. Got up to the elevens once—you were looking particularly fine that day.”
“How about now?” I asked, running my hand lightly along his chest, enjoying my newfound womanly power over him.
“Now? I don’t think even the twelves would help.” He kissed me again, his tongue lingering beneath my upper lip, before pulling himself away with another groan. “God, your mouth—I get dizzy just thinking about your mouth. Do you know I had my very first wet”—he paused briefly before continuing—“spontaneous nocturnal emission while dreaming about you eating a pickle?”
I laughed again, harder, which somehow had the effect of making the things Billy was doing feel even better. “I know what a wet dream is, Billy. But a pickle?” I gasped.
“Honest to God. We were eleven or twelve—you were knobby-kneed and covered with freckles, but Lord, your mouth—” He sighed heavily, almost more of a pant. “Your mouth did not belong on a child. Mostly I could ignore it, especially since you used to run to your brothers and tell on me if I looked at you cross-eyed—”
“I did not!”
“You did. You were a total brat. You’d stick your tongue out at me from behind their backs while they threatened to pound me if I didn’t leave you alone. Sometimes I hated you—until the day I saw you sucking the juice off that pickle.” Another heavy sigh. “Gave me a whole new perspective on females. And pickles. After that, I never really minded when you stuck your tongue out at me. In fact, I used to try to get you to do it.”
“What do you mean ‘used to’? When did you stop?”
He nibbled my lower lip. “If I pull your hair, will you stick it out for me right now? Pretty please?” And then he did give a tug, a gentle one, where he already had his hand buried.
