by Aleah Barley
“I don’t want you to miss out on the fun,” she said.
“Honey, I have fun every time you smile. Baby—” He groaned.
Honey liked that. She’d never been someone’s baby before.
She leaned forward, licking the taut skin. A tiny droplet escaped from the head, and her tongue darted out to catch it. The salty tang made her lips turn upward into a smile.
All of her boyfriends had asked her to do this, and she’d always said no. There was something about the way they asked that was too commanding. Giving in would mean letting them know they’d won, that they were in charge. But Jack hadn’t asked.
That, more than anything, warmed her heart.
His fingers ran through her hair, pushing her head down closer to him. She licked her lips, moistening them carefully, then dropped her hands to her side and took him inside her mouth until he hit the back of her throat.
For a moment, it was too much. He was too large, and she was too inexperienced. Then he began to pump—once, twice—and she lost herself in his momentum. Time dragged on around them, but for Honey it was all happening so fast.
A low groan. He was almost there.
Honey couldn’t stand it anymore. She pulled away.
“Was—” Jack swallowed, struggling to control his breathing. “Was I being too rough?”
“You were just right.” Her voice wavered slightly. She stood until she faced him straight on, her eyes level with his muscular chest. Another moment, and she’d lose her nerve. “I need you inside me.”
“Honey—”
“Don’t talk. I’m clean. I’m on birth control. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I am. So, just—”
What? Have sex with her, ignoring all the possible consequences?
Yes.
“Never mind.”
“I’m clean, too.” His mouth met hers, and she could taste her earlier orgasm on his lips.
Jack pushed her back against the wall, lifting her slightly and entering her slowly. One hard inch at a time. She raised her feet off the ground, the force of his body against hers giving her the support she needed as she wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him deeper.
Every move Jack made was slow, purposeful. His hands moving across her body. His fingers digging into her skin. Her eyes widened. Then she was looking straight ahead into his face. Seeing his gaze locked on hers.
She kissed him hard, desperate to feel his body moving against hers, harder, deeper—
“Faster,” Honey said.
“No.”
“Faster,” she begged.
“Not a chance,” he promised. “We’re going to take this slow.”
He moved against her, friction taking him deeper. Making her feel every inch of him at once.
“Damn,” she swore as flesh on flesh caused another orgasm to rock her body. Was she imagining things, or could she actually feel the pulse of him inside her?
“Shh.” Jack kissed her again, silencing her for a long moment.
He kept moving, faster now, in time to the music. A hand reached up, the callused pads on his fingers rough against her tender skin. He circled her nipple once, twice, before tweaking the hard nub. For a brief moment, pain made her cry out. Then she gasped as pleasure took over.
No, no more crying out, she told herself. He was right. She was being too loud. She leaned into him, biting down on the top of his shoulder when he slammed forward again and she could feel the entire length of him pushing against her.
It was Jack’s turn to moan. Sweat dripped down his back.
“You are so fucking beautiful. You know that, right?”
Jack thought she was beautiful? Her cheeks burned. He was having sex with her, but it took his words to make her blush.
“Tell me.”
“Your butt is gorgeous. Your breasts—” Another tweak made her squeal. “Your breasts are enough to make me lose my mind. Then there’s your hair.”
“My hair?”
“It’s so damn bright. And your lips. I love your lips. I could eat them up.”
He pressed his lips against hers, his teeth nicking her tongue and proving his point. “I don’t know if I can last any longer.”
He wasn’t the only one. She could feel her body convulsing, his motions filling a need inside of her that she hadn’t known existed. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Don’t fight it.” An order, harsh and grating. “I like to hear you scream when you come.”
She opened her mouth, calling out as a tsunami of pleasure engulfed her. Jack’s yelp was just as loud. Together, they made enough noise to block out almost anything—the music from the stereo, the sound of birds in the trees, and the air conditioning unit outside his window.
But not the bang of the bedroom door opening.
“Jack Ogden, what are you doing?” Amelia Ogden’s patrician tones were the equivalent of a bucket of ice water.
“Dear lord!”
The bang of the door closing.
There was a long pause, then a call through the door. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I assume that your friend will be attending?”
Chapter Ten
“So, this is awkward.” Sitting at the end of the table, picking at his salmon, Jack tried to think of something to say next. Anything to fill the silence.
His mother wasn’t talking to him, his father never said more than a dozen words to anyone, and Honey’s mile-a-minute mouth was closed.
The things she could do with that mouth. His fork slipped in his hand, the heavy metal clanging against crisp porcelain.
After a very tense introduction, Honey had been directed to a seat at the far end of the table. She was a beautiful, smart, vivacious woman, but perched on the edge of her chair, she looked like a scared kid who knew she’d done something wrong.
Reassuring her was the first thing on his to-do list, but somehow he couldn’t find the words.
Dinner at the Ogden house was a formal affair. The housekeeper had strict instructions to put a crisp white linen cloth on the table every night. The silverware gleamed brightly underneath the leaded-glass lamp.
The food was exceptional, but that was to be expected. Everything in the house was exceptional—nothing else would do. As a child, Jack had longed for the kind of family where dinner consisted of a pizza delivered in a greasy box and devoured around a battered kitchen table.
It had never happened.
Now that he was an adult, he could appreciate the fact that he’d always had a healthy, balanced meal, but he still savored the nights when he could pick up a burrito on the way home from work and eat it balanced over his knees while watching the news.
He had to say something. He couldn’t let the silence go on. Honey was important to him. If they were going to spend any real amount of time together, she would have to get along with his parents. And they were going to spend time together. When this horrible dinner was over, he would ask Honey to stay with him while she was rebuilding her house.
It made sense. She needed a roof over her head, and he needed her warm in his bed.
“Someone told me you were fighting with Carlos,” his mother remarked. “Of course, it’s not true.”
“He deserved it,” Jack said.
“A common brawl.” A quick shake of her head did nothing to dislodge her impeccably styled curls. “You really must apologize, Jack, otherwise things will be ever so awkward at the hospital fund-raiser next week.”
It would be a cold day in hell before Jack apologized to Carlos, but he didn’t bother telling his mother that. Arguing with Amelia Ogden was like trying to drink the sea dry. It couldn’t be done, and the attempt would leave him with a nasty stomachache.
Anyway, Carlos wouldn’t dare show his face at the fund-raiser. If the man tried to ruin Jessica’s big night, Jack would arrest him for assaulting an officer.
“Your friend looks familiar.” Eric Ogden was a smart man, a named partner at one of Los Angeles’s most power
ful law firms. People paid almost two thousand dollars an hour to hear him talk, but he’d never been one for polite conversation.
“Doesn’t she look familiar, Amelia?” He didn’t wait for his wife’s reply. “You, girl, what did you say your name was?”
“Honey.” Her voice was small, slight, scared. Her hands crossed defensively in front of her chest like she was bracing herself for whatever came next. “Honey Moore.”
“I don’t know anyone named Moore. Where are your people from, Honey?”
“I…” Honey’s face blanched white. Her teeth dug into her upper lip. “I’m from the Valley.”
“Where?” Eric asked.
Jack knew his father wasn’t being purposefully obtuse. The older man didn’t inhabit the same world as Honey.
“She went to the academy, Dad. We overlapped for two years. You probably saw her there.” Not that Eric Ogden had ever attended many school functions, but he’d shown up for the big ones.
“I’m sorry, young lady. I’m getting forgetful in my old age.” He had been an older father. Now, he was rapidly approaching his eightieth birthday, and the years were beginning to show on his face.
Staring at Honey, his normally harsh features softened slightly. His hands shook as he removed a pair of slender gold-rimmed glasses from his jacket pocket and balanced them on the tip of his nose.
“Cherry Jubilee.” Eric nodded firmly, as if that explained everything. He took his glasses off and returned them to his pocket. “She looks like Cherry Jubilee.”
“It’s the hair,” Amelia Ogden snapped at her husband. “You think all women with red hair look like Cherry Jubilee.”
“It’s not only the hair. They have very similar features. The nose, the eyes, the lips—”
“Eric!” Amelia raised one hand, running nervous fingers over her own hair. “This is not appropriate dinner conversation.”
Jack leaned forward, suddenly paying full attention. “Who’s Cherry Jubilee? Isn’t that the name of a desert?”
His father nodded. “Sweet and frothy, with just the right amount of tang.”
“Cherry Burrows,” his mother said. “You must remember her. Logan’s wife. She died while you were in high school.”
Jack couldn’t summon up more than a vague memory of a petite woman in a witch’s costume handing out Halloween candy when he was younger. There’d been a hat, he remembered that much. A traditional black witch’s hat with a wide brim and a pointed tip. The damn thing had scared him silly. After that, his memory was blank, only whispered rumors and quiet condolences. The death of Logan Burrows’s wife had thrown him into a deep depression.
“Wasn’t she sick?”
“A weak heart,” Eric said. “She was bedridden near the end, but when she was younger… Cherry was a gorgeous woman, so vibrant and energetic.”
Maybe Honey looked like Logan Burrows’s dead wife, but that was where the similarities ended. Honey was a singular creation, with her bright hair, curvy body, and spicy personality. In a city full of interchangeable women built in factories by plastic surgeons looking to earn their next luxury car, Honey was an original.
The idea that there could be two women like her in the world was laughable, but he couldn’t tell his father that.
“Cherry danced beautifully.” Eric emitted a heartfelt sigh. “Can you dance, young lady?”
It took a moment for Honey to realize the question had been meant for her. “Not really. I can move around to music, but I’ve never taken any ballet lessons.”
“Oh, Cherry wasn’t a ballerina.” Eric laughed. “She was a—”
“That’s enough.” Amelia cleared her throat. “This entire conversation is absurd. Cherry was a lovely woman. She was nothing like this—this—this girl.”
Jack’s jaw dropped. “Mother!”
Amelia Ogden might not be the nicest woman in the world, but she was never less than civil. It was the way she’d been raised, and it was the way she’d raised her children. He’d be the first to admit that his mother could be strong-willed, manipulative, and controlling, but she only did what she thought was best, and she was never rude.
Not until now.
There was a long pause, the stillness of the room broken only by the sound of Eric chomping on his asparagus.
Amelia’s mouth opened. Her eyes flickered toward Honey. “You’re right. I apologize.” She turned slightly in her seat to face Honey straight on. “My manners must be lacking. After all, I can’t think of a single possible reason why we shouldn’t be friends. Can you?”
Jack glanced and forth between the two of them, confused. What the hell was going on?
“Honey Moore.” Hands that only ever touched the finest things in life slammed down against the dining room table. Long nails painted a vibrant peach to match her favorite cocktail dress trailed across the crisply starched linen. “Arrested at eleven years old, grand theft auto. Arrested at twelve years old, grand theft auto, possession of stolen property, creating a public nuisance. Arrested at thirteen years old, grand theft auto, grand theft auto—”
She stopped short and laughed—light, easygoing, the same sound of polite amusement Amelia used when one of her country club friends made a joke. Only, this wasn’t a joke. This was serious. Very serious.
How the hell did his mother know about Honey’s criminal record?
“Go to hell,” Honey said.
“The last time we talked—” Amelia’s voice wavered slightly. “—I thought I made things clear. I thought we had an understanding.”
Jack didn’t know how he got to his feet, but his chair was flying backward across the room. His hands curled into fists. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it. For a moment, his vision telescoped, so that all he could see was Honey’s face. Pale, shaking. Then he couldn’t see anything. The entire world had gone red.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s talking about me.” Honey’s voice was so quiet, he almost couldn’t make out what she was saying. “She’s talking about us. Last time. Back in high school.” A sharp intake of breath, a sob like something was breaking deep inside of her. “You were meant for something better than this, better than me. Everyone knows it. That’s why it never worked out for us back in high school, because you’re going to be a freaking senator, and I was just a two-bit car thief.”
She stood up slowly, shaking in her short shorts and suggestive T-shirt. “That’s why it can’t work between us now.”
…
Honey almost made it to the door before Jack’s fingers closed around her arm like a steel vise. “Don’t you even think about walking out like that.” His voice was harsh, brutal, but underneath the cruel exterior there was a hint of pain that cut bone deep. Her words had hurt him.
Who even knew that was possible?
“Let me go.” She tried to pull away, jerking against him. “Please let me go.”
For the past twenty-four hours, she’d been running scared, afraid for her life. This was the first time she’d been hurt.
If she stayed, he’d want to talk about things. The truth she’d been trying to hide for all these years would come out, and he’d finally hate her.
His hatred would make things so much simpler.
At least that was what she’d thought in high school.
If he hated her there’d be no risk, no way she could possibly change her mind and take him back. His hatred would make him untouchable, invincible, like the shining armor worn by a virtuous knight to protect him from the world’s barbs.
But the last day had changed things. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d felt more passion and more love than she’d known existed, and if he started hating her now, her heart would shatter into a million pieces.
The most she could hope for was the chance to run away and let her love die a slow, natural death.
“Go to hell,” she said.
“Not without you.” His sexy mouth tipped into a boyish grin, white teeth gleaming again
st tanned skin. Despite everything that had happened, Jack’s sense of humor was still intact. He pulled her tight against him. “Mother, Dad, I’d like you to leave.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Amelia laughed. “We’re still in the middle of dinner. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Amelia,” Eric said. “Get up.” The older man raised himself from his chair carefully. “I don’t even like salmon. We’ll go to the country club and get a nice steak.”
Their marriage had to be better than Honey had given it credit for, because a moment later, both of Jack’s parents were leaving in a cloud of expensive perfume and anger that was almost palpable. Jack’s grip only relaxed when their footsteps could no longer be heard ringing off the hardwood floors.
“Honey Moore.” His use of her full name made her stand up, shoulders back. “What the hell is going on?”
Sixteen years earlier, it had been her grandfather asking that exact same question. Honey Moore, what the hell is going on?
She’d been sprawled across a chair in the backyard, working on her tan in a time before people worried about getting skin cancer while walking to their cars. It had been a perfect day, and she’d been basking in the afterglow from the best date of her young life. Sneaking into the drive-in with Jack had made her feel like a princess. Caviar and champagne couldn’t have tasted better to her than the cherry cola and fresh-cut fries they’d shared while watching the movie on the big screen. Then again they hadn’t been watching the movie, they’d been kissing—and that had been even better.
“You’ve got company,” her grandfather had said. “Waiting for you in the living room.”
Company. A single word that sent a shiver down her spine.
An angry teenager, she’d alienated most of her friends after her father’s death, and her grandfather wouldn’t have bothered to introduce a family member.
That left only one person it could be—Jack. The king of Black Palm Park, a place as foreign to her as another planet. The boy who was going to take all of her troubles away and make her feel whole again.
