SweetlyBad

by Anya Breton

  “Anything I can help with?”

  She jolted upright at the voice mere inches away. Drew stood at the end of the counter, smiling far too brightly. How had he gotten up without her hearing it?

  Erica started forward and hoped he’d move. “Just the pizza crus—”

  He leaned in, blocking her path. The scents of fresh cotton, costly fabric and male sweat mingled in her nose along with the tang of tomato sauce. His head lowered as though he meant to kiss her. She stared, incredulous and disgusted.

  For a split second she considered punching him for his presumption. Curiosity won out. But when his soggy lips slopped over hers, tongue jabbing at her mouth with the mastery of a pubescent boy, Erica wished she’d gone with her gut. No wonder none of the women he’d called were willing to help him out.

  One night. He could sleep on her cot for one night and then he had to go. One way or another.

  “Where did you learn to kiss? On a blow-up doll?”

  Drew opened his eyes, finding hers already watching him. One of her mocha brows lifted mockingly—a match to her biting tone. He stared uncomprehendingly because he’d expected her to quiver not quibble.

  Before he could work out what had happened, Erica burst into laughter, doubling over the counter in her mirth. She cast him several glances beneath long, sooty lashes. Each new look sent her into a renewed peal.

  “Oh my god,” she hooted breathlessly. “You called like…a dozen women today. And that is how you kiss?” She smacked the counter. Another set of chuckles shook out of her chest. Then she drew upright, wiping at moisture beneath her eyes. “Oh, honey. They were with you for your money.”

  Drew bit down on his tongue. Erica did the entirely condescending gesture of patting him on the back as she made her way around him. Several reactions played out in his mind, all of them ending with her naked. Too quickly she was at the door.

  “Ah, don’t look so glum, chum.” Mischief curved her lips as she gripped the doorknob. “Even if you’d given me the best kiss I’d ever had, nothing could have happened. I have to babysit tonight.” She brought a purse strap over her shoulder. “Please don’t destroy my garage because I teased you. You’re better than that.”

  Drew rolled onto his heels, startled that she’d think he was good at all.

  Erica gestured toward the garage. “There’s a closet in the backroom with a few pillows and blankets. My sister Tina’s phone number is by the phone.”

  “And your phone number?”

  She stared blankly for two seconds. “Um. That’s not over there but I don’t think I want you putting me in your phone.”

  “Don’t worry. I only put women I plan to fuck in there,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

  A full smile spread across her lips. “Perfect.” She hurried back to the counter. She grabbed a pen, scribbling what he assumed was her number. Too soon she strode across the office again.

  “Call me if anything else catches fire.” Erica was out the door before he could respond.

  Drew fetched the sticky note with her number.

  And then he fed it into his phone.

  * * * * *

  The kids had finally fallen asleep. Six times, they’d gotten up, asking Auntie Erica for a glass of water, a bedtime story or a foot rub. A foot rub for crying out loud. Erica had done it simply to shut them up.

  She sank into Tina’s microsuede sofa, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. A Sex and the City marathon was in full swing on the satellite. Perfect. Finally a little relaxation time.

  Lights flashed behind her. Erica quietly groaned.

  Tina bounced in minutes later, wearing a chef’s hat and giggling like a teenager. “You have to see what I got.”

  Erica pasted on a smile while her sister dug around in a shoulder bag.

  Tina proudly displayed a package of parchment paper. “The host gave this stuff away free. It’s supposed to improve baking and make cleanup easier.”

  Erica feigned ignorance. “Ah, cool.”

  “I can’t wait to make chocolate chip cookies on it.” Tina patted the cardboard box. “The kids are going to flip.” She paused at the edge nearest the kitchen, turning back as if she’d only just recalled Erica was there. “How were they?”

  “A little hyper. I had some trouble getting them to bed.”

  Tina nodded knowingly. “It’s Brad’s fault. He’s been letting them stay up to watch this one show.”

  “I’m beat.” Erica let a yawn rip, standing and stretching as she did. “I need to head out so I can get some sleep.”

  “You’re beat?” Tina made a show of checking the wall clock. “It’s like…not even twelve. You need to get out more, girl.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’re so uptight these days. You really do need to get laid.”

  Uptight? Out of the past month she’d given up three Fridays and two Saturdays so Tina could have some fun. Erica wasn’t uptight, she was exhausted.

  And bored.

  “Brad knows a chubby chaser,” Tina said. “I could set you up.”

  A chubby chaser? Tina was a size twelve. Erica was a size sixteen. They weren’t that different. Why did Tina insist on fixating on Erica’s weight as the reason for her supposed unhappiness?

  Erica ground her teeth rather than hiss what she really wanted to say. Calmly she replied, “I’ll handle my love life myself. Thanks.”

  Maybe it was time to get back on the wagon, she mused on the walk to the car. Maybe Tina was right. Erica’s sex life had been nonexistent since she dumped Jared. She suspected her ex had something to do with that. The two dates she’d made since had canceled on her at the last minute. Jared had gloated over her failure to attract anyone—curiously the very next day.

  Her thoughts floated to the garage, where a certain hot blond even now slept on her cot. Or maybe Drew was spray-painting obscenities on the wall because she’d said he sucked at kissing.

  He really did suck at it. Maybe he was an expert at oral. The guy had to have something going for him other than wealth to amass a contact list that long.

  An idea formed in her wicked little mind. Would it be considered taking advantage of him if she offered to pay him for sex? Erica pursed her lips to keep from grinning. She rather enjoyed the thought of taking advantage of the hot, arrogant, newly poor yuppie.

  This could work.

  But just in case these were the feverish ramblings of a tired mind, she’d sleep on it and see how she felt in the morning.

  * * * * *

  Drew stared up at the stained ceiling tiles in the storage room behind Erica’s office. The cot was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever slept on. But that wasn’t what kept him awake. It wasn’t that his mother had marked him as a rogue witch and canceled his credit—though that did contribute to his insomnia. The primary issue keeping Drew from slumber was the knowledge that his life was a lie.

  More than one woman had accused him of being shit in bed when he called for assistance. Sure, several had failed to orgasm over the years but he’d chalked it up to their problem. What if that wasn’t the case?

  Erica had complained about his kiss. That could have been her method of getting back at him for insulting her. But he didn’t think so. There was something sincere about her.

  So Drew sucked in bed and couldn’t kiss. How could he be an affluent, playboy Air witch if he had no money, couldn’t kiss and was currently marked as a rogue witch?

  He couldn’t.

  Everything that defined him had been stripped away in a single day.

  Drew rolled onto his side. Tomorrow he would start anew. He’d find a way to get the seven hundred dollars Erica needed for a tow.

  Most of all, he’d show everyone how wrong they were about him.

  Chapter Four

  Erica stood, silently seething, in the office at quarter to seven. The pizza crusts hadn’t been touched. Three Coke cans lay discarded on the counter beside the computer. And a stained paper towel was draped over the keyboard. Luckily
the stain was from red sauce rather than what it could have been.

  Clearly Drew’s idea of cleaning up and hers differed greatly.

  A sleepless night following the frustrating day and evening meant Erica was in no mood to babysit a grown adult at her day job. She stomped through the garage, past the slightly charred Ferrari and burst into the backroom with the intention of starting a scene.

  Drew lay sprawled on the cot, nude except for a gray blanket. The thin fabric coiled around one golden thigh, provocatively hiding what he’d no doubt consider his pride and joy. Her protests lodged in her suddenly dry throat.

  He’d been gorgeous in his seersucker suit. Without it… He was so out of her league.

  Erica slowly backed toward the door and hoped against hope he hadn’t heard her smacking the metal or the subsequent doorknob crashing into the wall. His next breath was uncharacteristically long. And then his head came up. She froze with her hand on the wall.

  “Whu?” he mumbled in a way that shouldn’t have been endearing but somehow was. Drew rubbed at his eyes with his fists. A yawn elongated his mouth.

  Erica took another step back.

  He dropped his arms to his sides. The motion threatened to drag the blanket aside. She forced herself to make it the rest of the way out before she saw any more.

  “Oh. Mornin’, babe.”

  Erica halted midstride.

  Babe? Babe? He’d called each and every one of the women he’d phoned yesterday babe. And now he was calling her that.

  She stomped back into the room, no longer affected by his sleep-tousled hair and sloppy smile. “I’m not your babe. I asked you to do one damn thing in exchange for sleeping on my cot—to clean up the pizza crusts. You made the mess bigger!”

  Drew stared at her uncomprehendingly for several seconds. When his mute reaction continued, Erica’s disappointment turned inward.

  What had she been thinking last night? Thank god she’d gone home instead of coming here like she’d considered every time she tossed alone on her bed.

  “I didn’t expect you yet,” he said with a boyish crack of his voice. “I would have cleaned it after I woke up.”

  She opened her mouth to shout about business hours and the responsibilities of real people but ultimately clamped her lips tight. He was a grown man who shouldn’t need the basic lesson in common courtesy. But he did.

  Drew was a lost cause.

  Erica stomped out without another word. Perhaps she should tow his car down to Boston simply to be rid of him. Then her shop would go back to normal. She’d only be out the gas and the mileage.

  But it was the principle of the thing. He’d probably had everything handed to him since he’d been born—including the Ferrari she’d never be able to afford.

  “I’ll get it,” he called after.

  She quickened her pace so she could beat him into the office. “Don’t bother.”

  “Erica, I’m sorry. Really. I had a rough night. All I could think about was how my own mother refuses to help me. Ae—er, hell, she’s made the situation even worse.”

  Erica’s frustration deflated at his gloomy answer. Drew was having a rough time. His day had been much worse than her night babysitting kids who needed a little discipline. Maybe she should go easier on him.

  She turned once she reached the counter and promptly forgot what she’d been about to do. Drew stood at the door wearing only a pair of navy silk boxer shorts, looking like one of those mysterious perfume advertisements with the smoking-hot foreign hunk. The vision of all those toned muscles coated in golden skin made her mouth go cottony.

  He strode forward, heedless of the effect he’d had on her. She remained motionless in her spot while he gathered up the plates of half-gnawed pizza crusts. Strangely, Drew used the trashcan across the room.

  Was he trying to get her going by bending toward the can when he could have easily dropped the paper plates in? And did he know the silk left little to the imagination when he folded in half like that?

  Torment seemed to be his goal when he slipped behind her and fetched the discarded Coke cans. He brushed against her thigh on the trip, sparking awareness up her body. Again he showcased a perfectly plump ass when he tossed away the cans. Erica swallowed a wistful sigh.

  She hadn’t actually let it out, had she?

  Drew returned to the counter, for what, Erica couldn’t guess. His torment resumed when he sidled up to it—the surface hiding his lower half. Posed like this she could imagine he was nude behind the furniture. All that smooth…nearly perfect flesh. She focused on the two-inch wavy scar just above his left pec. How had he gotten that?

  He exhaled softly through his nose. Erica’s attention snapped upward. Her cheeks warmed at the knowing smile he’d adopted when he caught her staring at his naked chest.

  Had he been awake in the other room while she stood gaping like a teenager?

  “What can I do to make it up to you?” His velvety voice lowered. “Erica?”

  Several suggestions graphically inserted themselves into her thoughts, complete with limbs bending in impossible directions. Her neck seared with embarrassment. Criminy, what was she doing?

  She cleared her throat. “You took care of it before any customers came.”

  The left corner of his lip twitched.

  Erica’s vision dipped to the six-pack etched in his abdomen. She’d never seen one in person. Not even Jared was this physically fit.

  Stop, she silently hissed, forcing her attention up.

  Drew’s gaze made an attentive sweep over her chest, much as she’d done to him. “I gotta say, you’re looking…fresh this morning.”

  His lame attempt at a compliment put her in attack mode. “Yesterday I was fat. Today I’m fresh. What will I be tomorrow? Dapper?” Erica twisted toward the computer, covering up her discomfort. She shouldn’t have mentioned tomorrow. Chances were he’d be long gone by tonight.

  “I didn’t say you were fat. I distinctly recall saying you were attractive.”

  “Whatever. I need to get some things entered—”

  A pair of hands gripped her waist. She’d heard no movement and yet Drew had appeared behind her. How did he do that? More importantly, why had he done that?

  “So attractive that when I wasn’t thinking about my mother last night, I was thinking about you.” Drew’s murmured words, and the intimate waft of his breath, sent shivers against her neck until she worked out what he’d said.

  “Yeah, um, that’s so not sexy. I hope you didn’t mean it to—”

  He dropped a moist kiss to her neck. It was three times hotter than the slopped kiss he’d given her yesterday. That made it half as hard to ignore.

  “You’ve been fucking me with your eyes since I woke up,” he said. “I’m more than game if you are.”

  Erica craned her neck until she could see his face. “Honey, you’re not game.” Sarcasm thickened her tone. “You’re the whole damn tournament.”

  He lifted his head from her shoulder. A blank look glazed over his eyes. “What?”

  She opened her mouth to remind him of the list of women he’d called yesterday. A quiet little voice whispered for her to shut it. He’d offered sex—this down-on-his-luck Ferrari owner who was the hottest thing to ever pass through Stoddard. She’d never get this chance again.

  What would it be like to have him only once without fearing what would happen tomorrow?

  She nearly laughed aloud at the thought. Tina had called her a serial monogamist. That described Erica perfectly. She’d never been with a male for less than a year. But none of those had worked out well in the end. Maybe it was time to loosen up and just have fun. Abysmal kisses aside, Drew looked like the kind of guy who knew how to have fun.

  Erica inhaled a shaky breath. There was only one way this could work—a one-night stand.

  “I’m game. Once,” she placed heavy emphasis on the allotment, “and only once. Tomorrow you leave one way or another, if I have to tow you to Boston myself on credit
. Deal?”

  Rather than answer, Drew spun her to face him. His mouth came down over hers. The sucking motion of his slippery lips was reminiscent of a fish gasping for air on land. Erica shoved at his shoulders. Disgust pinched her nose at the sight of his mouth all puckered and smacking.

  “But first,” she paused, making sure she had his attention, “we have to do something about your kisses.”

  What was wrong with his kisses? Drew had never heard any complaints before.

  Before. When he’d been a wealthy member of a prominent family. Now he was poor and the family’s prominence was in question. Every woman he’d discarded felt free to come clean.

  Two days ago he’d have scoffed at Erica and told her she couldn’t do better than him—bad kisses or not. Having twenty-three witches reject him had a humbling effect on a guy.

  “What’s wrong with my kisses?” Was that his butt-hurt voice?

  “It’s like you’re trying to suck off my face.”

  “I’d think you’d want me to suck you off.”

  Her mouth twitched. “No, you want me to suck you off—”

  “I do.” His dick lengthened as he imagined her sinking to her knees exactly where she was.

  “First, you have to do something about how wet your lips are when you kiss,” she said, ignoring that she had only half of his attention while he was in the throes of a raging fantasy. “I’m no expert at this but maybe you should discreetly wipe your mouth on your sleeve.”

  Drew brought his arm up, pointing out a flaw in her plan. He was nude from the waist up. Yet rather than make a new suggestion, she merely stood waiting.

  Was she pointedly ignoring the erection tenting his silk boxers? Or was she that blind? Whatever the case, Drew wanted her. And she wanted…

  What had she wanted?

  Ah, right, the kissing lesson.

  He tentatively brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. “What if they’re too dry now?”

  “They’ll be fine. Now don’t lick them or you’ll ruin the effort.”

  He took a step forward. His intent was clear—to kiss her. She shut him down with a palm to the nose. Erica’s sober expression was visible between the fingers splayed over his face.