"You've got really bad timing, man," Mark admits wryly, catching a sympathetic smile from Heath.
"I'd say my timing is damn near perfect under the circumstances." Turning his hand over from under mine, he lifts it, kissing the back of my hand in such an old-world, courtly gesture that I'm charmed all over again.
Mark turns away with a sharp grunt, heading back into the kitchen.
"You want a strip or porterhouse? If we're going to talk, you might as well eat."
"A strip would be great. I'm starving." Turning my way again, Heath gestures to the cheese and dessert plate in front of me, signaling Salvatore to drop another glass of Zinfandel in front of me.
"Well? Which are you going to eat first?"
Staring at both plates, Mark's original question echoes in my mind. Savory or sweet? Why do I think that we're talking about more than how I want to end my meal?
* * *
Companionable silence reigns until it suddenly occurs to me that no one else has been at the tasting counter all night. Mark and I have been in our own bubble, and I find myself wondering if that was deliberate. It's late enough that the restaurant is emptying, and I try to remember how packed it was when I came in with Heath earlier.
There was at least one other couple at the counter originally. At what point did they leave? Hopefully, it wasn't because Mark paid them absolutely no attention as we played our game. Speaking of which…
"Hey, I won." Straightening in my chair, I pull my hand from where it rests in Heath's to point at Mark. "You owe me my prize."
The smell of sizzling meat perfumes the air once more, accompanied by a rumble of hunger from Heath's stomach as he attacks the plate with abandon. I'm a bit jealous of his focus, until Mark finally exits the kitchen to join us on our side of the counter, dropping into the chair next to me, his hand on my knee as he swivels my chair toward him.
"Nah uh." Heath waves his fork at us as he swallows. "Rules first."
"Whatever." Mark runs his hands through his hair instead, clutching a bit at the scalp before dropping them back to his lap. "Ok, rules. Whose? Yours? Hers? Because I'm happy to make up my own."
"What kind of rules?" I ask suspiciously. "Just what are we talking about here?"
"Timeshare." Heath throws his napkin to the table, nothing left of his steak but a bloody streak on the stark white plate. "Or rather, sharing time, with you."
"What am I, a vacation condo?" I ask ironically. "Do I have a say in this? Because there's no way I'm letting the two of you create the rules. I'm not even certain what we're talking about."
"We're talking about the fact that I found you, but Mark wants to move in on my advantage by forcing himself into the mix. Apparently, you've made as big an impression on him as you have me."
"You got that right," Mark murmurs from the other side as I swivel my head between them.
"You have to be joking. What is this, The Hunger Games? Men don't challenge one another in real life for a woman. Hell, I've never met a guy who didn't place me last in line behind his job, his car, his friends, and his dog. Oh, and his mother! Let's not forget that unsurmountable pillar of all that's perfect that I will never, ever live up to, so help me God."
Realizing that I'm sounding a bit salty, I lapse into uncomfortable silence as they laugh at my tirade.
"Jesus, Josie, someone really did a job on you," Heath says sympathetically, then Mark adds, "Tell me who. I can arrange an accident."
It's impossible not to smile.
"You're both completely absurd." Absurdly charming, but they don't need to know that part. I'm struggling enough with the attraction I feel for both of them.
"Here." Mark pushes the dessert plates toward me again. "Sweet," he gestures to Heath, "or savory?" he says, pointing to himself. "Choose."
"What if I don't know how to choose? What if I like both?" Mark's eyes meet Heath's over my head, until Heath shakes his head with a frown.
"Then I guess we start with what you're hungry for right now." Indecision tugs at me as I realize how stupid this all is.
"It's not fair," I whisper, pushing away both plates. "I think maybe I need to go on a diet."
"Oh no you don't." Grabbing a fork, Mark breaks off a slight edge of the flan, lifting it to my lips until I open and swallow the rich custard.
"Here, try the manchego. It takes the edge off all the sweetness." Popping a bit of cheese in my mouth, he watches me chew and swallow contentedly.
"Nothing to be afraid of here. We're all just hanging out, enjoying each other's company, and getting to know one another. We can determine the playing field later. Besides, you didn't tell me what you want as a prize."
My pupils widen as I realize what I really need to leave with tonight—a commitment to save my ass.
"So, have you ever heard of RBF?"
* * *
By the end of my recitation, both Mark and Heath are clutching their sides, laughing helplessly at my story of woe.
"Guys, it's not really that funny," I insist, trying to bring their attention back where I need it. "Mark, I swear if you don't stop laughing, I will fill every table here with Hello Pussy dinnerware."
Chuckles escape them both again as I sit and sip yet another glass of wine. Just how much have I had now? I have no clue. Salvatore and the rest of the staff cleaned up and left over an hour ago, plopping two bottles on the table between us, and my glass magically refilled every time it got below a certain level.
"Seriously, it's not. Patsy is peeved with me, and the GM is threatening to send me to the suburbs. I can't take the financial hit." I look at Mark pleadingly, "This is where you come in."
"You want money?" His frown focuses on me. At least I think it is. The room is beginning to look a little fuzzy around the edges, and I'm suddenly exhausted.
"I'm not looking for a Sugar Daddy if that's what you're implying. God, don't be so insulting." Trying to sit up straighter in my chair, I list slightly to the left before righting myself again.
"I am a compfit—coptitet…competent, independent woman. Just because you guys are sweet and savory doesn't mean I want anything more from you."
Heath laughs as he takes my glass.
"Come on Josie, I think it's time I take you home. You're sounding a little less coherent with every passing moment. Time to get you to bed."
"No. Mark owes me!" I say stubbornly as they both stop and stare in surprise, waiting for me to continue.
"You're right. I owe you. What's the damage?"
"I need money." As Mark opens his mouth to respond I lay one finger quickly over his lips, shushing him. "Shhh. Just listen. I need a revenue generator for the store. I need you. I want you to do a culinary class one night at the store." His quick frown just increases my desperation. "It won't be too bad. You can pick any night you want," I plead. "Any menu. Just give me the ability to fill the room and get some decent publicity. Please." I'm not above groveling. "I'll be forever grateful." My eyelids flutter enticingly, or maybe that's just the wine making my eye twitch.
"I hate speaking in public." Mark looks toward Heath for reinforcement before realizing it's in his best interest to say yes.
"By all means, say no to her." Heath grins. "I'll be happy to dry her tears and give her a shoulder to cry on."
"Fine," Mark concedes as I squeal and throw my arms around his neck, my full breasts crushed against the solid wall of his chest, until he pulls back slightly to look into my face. Slowly leaning in, my eyes cross as I watch him angling toward me until my own finally flutter shut. The kiss is soft but brief as he pulls away, and my eyes flip open to find Heath staring at my lips. Luckily, I'm already flushed from all the wine, as I run a restless hand up the back of my neck, realizing once more how quiet it is now with just the three of us.
Running my tongue over my dry lips, I try to act nonchalant.
"What time is it?"
"Almost one." Heath turns his wrist to glance at his watch before grabbing my purse from the chair. "I think it's
time I get you home to bed."
"I can put myself to bed," I state indignantly. "Besides, you haven't passed the Daisy test yet."
"What is she talking about?" Mark is mystified.
"I think she's talking about her cat. I'll let you know. Ready, Josie? Tell Mark goodnight."
Smiling softly, I sigh in relief. I did it. Mark is coming to my store.
"Goodnight, Mark. Thanks for dinner. And for saving my job. You're a good man. I promise I won't ask for any other favors."
"Good." Mark pulls me in for a hug, his nose buried in my hair as he inhales before whispering in my ear, "I'll ask for some favors of my own then."
"Okeydokey." My smile wobbles as I look up at him. Them. When did Mark develop a twin? Squinting, I concentrate until Mark's doppelgänger disappears, and Heath slings an arm around my shoulder to usher me toward the door. How odd.
"Get her home safely." The hollow thump of Mark punching Heath on the back makes me giggle, a hand pressed against my mouth to stifle the laughter.
"This should be fun." Heath smiles at my giggles, shaking his head. "She'll be cursing us both come morning."
"Hey, you get to take her home. Stop your bitching. Let me know if you pass the Daisy test."
"I'm a vet. It's in the bag." My giggles increase at the thought of Heath trying to win Daisy over. This should be good.
Chapter 11
Traitor, Thy Name Is Daisy
An internal thumping rocks my head as I squint into the bright flash of headlights.
"You ok over there?"
Swiveling my head on the backrest, I glance to where Heath sits patiently, waiting for me to answer, and try to focus. I finally recognize the stone building with the glass doors outside the window as my building. I must have dozed off, since I don't even remember getting into the car. Fumbling with the seat belt, I still as Heath grabs my hands, reaching over gently to release the latch, and catches my lips unexpectedly with his in the process.
My lips soften as I sigh. I'd almost forgotten how nice it can be to sink into a gentle kiss with only the sense of a promise. Not that I'm averse to the deep burn of a passionate kiss, I'm only human, but there's something about soft kisses with no expectation or aggression. Reaching up, I cup his chin in my hand before running it up his head to sweep over the smooth skin of his scalp, then back down to tickle lightly behind his ears.
"Is that an invitation? Because if so, count me in." I love the husky note in his voice that I haven't heard before.
Was it an invitation? My head is too cloudy to think clearly, but Heath breaks through my thoughts again.
"Hey, stop frowning. If it wasn't that's ok, too. You lead, I'm just a willing follower. But let me walk you to your door because you're not looking too steady on your feet. Does wine always knock you out this way?"
"Hmmm…long day. Patsy pissed… Bad, Josie…bad pussy. I beat Mark, but Heath was sad," I mumble, trying to string words and thoughts together as the car door opens and I'm pulled upright.
Refreshed by the chilly night air, I blink rapidly and realize I'm plastered to Heath's side, my arm around his shoulders, his arm around my waist. Embarrassed, I attempt to pull away unsteadily, only to have Heath grasp me more tightly around the waist as we head toward my building. This is why it doesn't pay to own a car in the city. I can't believe he found street parking that close to my house.
Handing him my keys, he opens the front door, flipping the light switch as I wince at the unexpected glare.
Finally able to pull away, he releases my waist, and I immediately kick off my heels, sinking my tight arches into the carpet in relief, my toes stretching and flexing to relieve the cramped joints. A soft meow greets me from the corner where Daisy gazes suspiciously at Heath, who immediately drops to ground level and reaches a welcoming hand toward her, making purring noises.
"You must be Daisy." The lilt in his voice is distracting, and it's totally different from the voice he uses with me and Mark. "What a magnificent beauty," he croons as she rubs against the wall, preening but not approaching as he tries to coax her to him. I know exactly how she feels, like I want to arch my back and show him my tail, allow him to stroke the edges of my fur yet not get too close.
Rising from his crouch, he turns slowly, glancing around the room as if trying to get a sense of who I am by the furnishings. I wonder what he sees? The faded secondhand couch sunken in on one end because that's where I spend most of my time curled up with my laptop? Or the expensive desk—my one extravagant splurge that I was sure would make me feel like a real writer, until I realized how amazingly uncomfortable it was. Maybe it's the small kitchen with the cluttered countertop, filled with jars of herbs and spices, and a single empty wine glass.
"I like the colorful touches." He smiles as his eyes continue to roam. "They're warm and vibrant, just like you." He slips toward the desk and moves from photo to photo, taking in my family, my childhood, and my many photos with Emma from our various escapades
"Your sister?" He nods toward a funny photo of me and Emma bundled up in layers of outerwear as we lie in the snow, the outlines of snow angels fanning from our bodies. Except for where Emma made horns of branches to stick above her head like the devil. It was the perfect representation of us—angel and devil. Although, I had the devilish grin to her angelic smile. Funnier still that the photo was taken less than ten years ago.
"My cousin. Well, my best friend, but she's also my cousin. She's an acquired taste." I'm sure she'd smack me if she saw my accompanying eye roll, but Heath laughs as he continues to survey the photos.
"Judging by the photos, I'd say if you're that close, she can't be all that bad."
Realizing how closely we're huddled together, I stand abruptly just as Heath bends further, and my head connects with his nose, the hard thump a painful sound.
"Unff!" A raw laugh rattles from Heath's chest as his hand cups his nose protectively, and his eyes begin to water.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Geez, sit down and let me look at it." The cushions squeak under the weight of his body as I force him backward and down onto the couch.
"It's fine." Heath's voice is slightly muffled. "If you want me to go, next time just tell me." His fingers gently press around the bridge of his nose as I hover anxiously.
"Are you sure you're ok?" My eyes sweep across his nose, my own only inches away as I look for signs that I could have broken it. "I really am sorry. Damn, that'll wake anybody up." His mouth tilts in a smile, tempting me to lean down and press a kiss on the bridge of his nose, which I do. "There, maybe that will make it better."
Leaning his head back against the couch, his hands shoved into his pockets, a lazy smile crosses his face. "It's a start," he assures me.
Sinking one knee into the cushions next to him, I brace my hand on the couch back next to his head before leaning down and sweeping his lips with mine. Feeling them tilt up at the corners as we make contact, I hesitate another brief moment before swinging my other leg over his lap until I'm straddling him, still raised on my knees.
"Are you going to kiss me or give me a lap dance?" Laughter dances in his eyes as he waits for my cue, until finally, I sink down onto his lap and his hands leave his pockets to settle around my waist, digging slightly into the cushion of my hips.
"Am I squishing you?" I move as if to rise, but his hands quickly anchor me in place.
"No, but feel free to give it your best shot, because I'm more than happy to see how much I can take."
Taking a deep breath I snuggle even closer, my dress around my hips, and the waistband of my tights now exposing the top of my ass, the thin flash of color from my thong exposed to his gaze over my shoulder. My lips drift up the side of his neck to his ear, breathing lightly, before I playfully stick my nose directly in his ear, his laugh transmitting through his body from his chest to my breasts, his hips to my thighs.
"That's what Daisy does to wake me up," I whisper wickedly in his ear, "when she wants something."
"O
h, do you want something?" Grabbing my hips, he settles me even more firmly into his lap, the bulge in his pants rubbing roughly against the nylon encasing my inner thighs. Now I'm just annoyed by the constriction as I try to rise back to my knees, his hands grasping the back of my thighs as if to hold me there. "Woah. Where are you going?"
"Nowhere." I wiggle until he loosens his grasp, allowing me to rise. Reaching below my dress, I grasp the waistband of my tights and begin to draw them down over my hips, when he grabs my hands this time, his eyes flaring as he stares into mine.
"Mine. Don't deny me the pleasure."
Eyes still locked together, I smile faintly, dropping my hands to my thighs for balance. "Ok. Yours."
His fingers curl around the fabric, dragging it roughly over my hips until they reach the middle of my thighs, trapping me in place. Again, I try to rise, only to have strong hands grasp the backs of my now bare thighs, his head shaking, signaling his denial of my request.
"This is perfect."
"But—" My protest is smothered abruptly by his lips now sealing firmly over mine. One hand travels up the back of my thigh, sweeping over the bare globe of my ass to finger the thin strip of my thong, then following the fabric downward before slipping a finger under the fabric right into my center. My thighs buck involuntarily as if to rise, only to be pulled down even more firmly by one hand as the other grasps the edge of my thong, drawing it down to join my tights.
A blast of cool air blows through the cracked window, causing my flesh to pebble, the warmth of his fingers at my core even more pervasive. Moaning into his mouth, my tongue reaches out tentatively to touch his before being drawn into the warmth of his mouth, teeth nipping lightly at my lips.
A wave of pleasure starts to build throughout my body as my thighs shift restlessly around his jeans, my bare thighs and ass the only skin fully exposed between us. His finger slips back into my center, and my legs spasm slightly as I begin to ride the rhythm of his finger slipping wetly in and out of my body. Strong fingers begin to massage my ass as his other hand and fingers anchor me to his rhythm, like a boat riding the waves next to a dock, submissive in its captivity but free to ride the swells that venture that close to shore. More like a pervasive tide rather than a wild tsunami, relentless in its rhythm, because it's held captive rather than being allowed to twist the rhythm to its own need.
Corsets and Quartets Page 9
