by J. Kenner
"Oh, please." Hannah rolled her eyes. "One, nothing embarrasses Nolan. Have you listened to his show? And two, who orders porn through the mail anymore? That's why we have the internet."
"That means it's bad, right?" Shel asked, looking between the two of them.
"It means he's ordering things," Celia said. "That's all it means."
"What else?" Hannah demanded.
"The rest is less concrete. A feeling, you know? Like we'll be watching TV or sitting together reading, and I look over and it's so clear that his mind is somewhere else entirely." She heard the hitch in her voice and felt like a fool, but in the moment, all she ever wanted to do was crawl into his head and see what he was thinking. She felt so insecure, so unbalanced. Because she'd given him her love, and that meant he had the power to hurt her. A power no one else held.
She wanted to believe he understood that; she wanted to trust him. But her fear just kept growing.
And as much as she hoped it was all her imagination, she hated the thought of being that girl. The whiney, bitchy girlfriend who saw deceit and cheating around every corner.
Surely he wasn't cheating?
She drew in a deep breath and told herself to calm down. "I don't know," she said after Tiffany arrived with the drinks and then slipped away again. "Maybe it's all in my head."
Celia plucked up the plastic toothpick with the bleu cheese stuffed olive on it and pointed it at Shelby. "Take it from the newly married woman. It's never just in your head. If you think something's going on, it is."
"Oh, God..."
"Jeez, Celia." Hannah glared at Celia across the table.
"But," Celia continued, her voice full of purpose, "that doesn't mean the something is bad. Maybe he's having a shitty week at work. Maybe you're just misreading the signs." She popped the olive into her mouth, chewed, then swallowed. "There's only one way to know."
"Yeah?" Shel asked, when Celia didn't go on.
"Oh, come on, Shel. For a woman as smart as you are, you're kind of missing the obvious, aren't you?"
Shelby pushed her glasses up on her nose, then looked between both of her friends, frowning.
Hannah and Celia exchanged glances, and then each took one of her hands and squeezed. "Ask him," Hannah said.
Celia nodded. "Sorry, Shel. But you're never going to know until you ask."
Nolan Wood checked his watch as he glanced around the house. Shelby's house. Or it had started out that way anyway. Now it was his, too. Just as much as she was his.
With a shake of his head, he realized he was smiling. Not that he wasn't usually--on the whole, he was a pretty laid-back, happy kinda guy. But since he met Shel, it took a rock solid effort to wipe the smile off his face. His Shelby. His paradox. The buttoned-up woman who'd let a loose cannon like him into her life--and in the process had changed him completely.
They'd been together for months now, but he'd known right away that she was special. And that feeling just kept getting stronger, until sometimes when he was around her he thought he might burst if he couldn't release the pressure.
Then again, that's one reason why he loved his radio show; that was one hell of a pressure release, after all.
Although it wasn't quite as good as sex...
The thought seemed to shove him around, and he turned to face the suitcase he'd left by the door. For a second, he frowned. Afraid that maybe he was doing this all wrong.
But it was too late now. He'd already made his decision, his plans, and he was diving in.
He pulled the old-fashioned tape recorder out of his backpack. He'd thought it had a fun vintage flair when he'd found it in the station's dusty storeroom along with a pack of unused cassettes. He'd snagged the device and the tapes, then recorded the message. Now, he put the cued-up cassette into the recorder, checked that the batteries were good, and added a Post-it note to the top. He left the whole thing on her coffee table. All things considered, much better than a printed note.
Then he drew in a nervous breath, grabbed his suitcase, and gave the inside of the house one last, long look.
This was it, he thought as he headed for the door. For better or for worse, everything was about to change.
"Ask him," Shelby said as she walked up the steps to her front porch. "Because that's what a sane, rational, reasonable woman would do. An organized woman. A detail-oriented woman. The kind of woman who gets things done and knows how to handle herself."
Too bad that's not you anymore.
"Maybe you used to be sane and organized and on the ball, but you, Shelby
Drake, have completely lost it. How do I know? Because you're talking to yourself."
Argh.
She rolled her eyes at her own mental meltdown, then paused in front of her door. The motion sensor lights that Nolan had insisted on installing clearly illuminated the high security keypad lock, and looking at both made her heart twist a little. He took such good care of her. Surely he wasn't--
She shook her head violently, not even allowing negative thoughts in. Her friends were right--she needed to just ask.
She punched in the code, then slipped into the house. She'd caught an Uber from the bar, and she was still punchy enough that coffee was on the agenda, so she aimed herself toward the kitchen, then stopped short when she passed her couch and her coffee table. A cassette player?
Why on earth would Nolan be using a cassette player? He dictated all the time, but he recorded everything electronically so he could upload it as one of his show's effects or as part of one of his riffs.
Then she got a closer look, saw the sticky note, and felt her guts shrivel.
Shel-
Push me, play me.
N
She froze. Part of her wanted to play the tape. Another part wanted to run and hide. But that was stupid. If anything was wrong--if he was, God forbid, leaving her--then he wouldn't tell her by cassette. Would he?
Of course he wouldn't, and she knew she was being stupid. But somehow she couldn't shut off her paranoid brain.
She drew in a deep breath, bent to the table, and jammed her finger on the button marked play.
"Goooooood evening, Shelby!" Nolan's radio voice blasted from the speaker, the sound tinny but clear. "It's sometime after work on a Friday evening, and how late it is depends on how many cocktails you had with the girls."
He was mimicking his drive-time schtick--Mornings with Wood--and now he lowered his voice as the Twilight Show theme song played in the background. "Shelby Drake entered her home late one night, a little tipsy, a little off kilter. She expected a lazy evening at home, but that's not what she got. No, because when she crossed that threshold, Shelby entered a new dimension. A dimension of sex. A dimension of pampering. A dimension filled with orgasms beyond belief. That's right, Shelby. I'm your man, baby, and tonight is An Evening With Wood."
The background song changed to Rock You All Night Long, and it wasn't until the music faded and Nolan's voice returned that she realized she was on the floor, her legs having gone weak with relief.
Yup, the jury was in--she truly was an idiot.
"So go change for the evening--wear a skirt for me, okay?--and then step outside. There'll be a car in the driveway, and your driver knows just where to take you. I'll see you soon. Until then, just use your imagination. But I promise it won't be as good as our reality. Happy anniversary, sweetheart. It's been eight months since our very first night."
Eight months.
Anniversary.
She felt like the biggest fool ever.
Shelby stood, her body already on fire, and her head full of guilt. He'd been quiet and weird, all right. All because he'd been planning this. A special night to celebrate eight months. And wasn't that just like Nolan to pick eight months instead of one year? Anything to stand out.
Guilt that she'd so sadly misjudged him weighed her down, but she pushed it aside. There'd be time for self-recrimination later. Now, she hurried to get ready.
It was January, so she put o
n boots and an ankle length knit skirt that she coupled with a tank top and a cable knit sweater. A couple of strokes of the brush to her hair, a swish of mouthwash, then a quick touch-up of her make-up. Ready.
She grabbed her purse and coat, yanked open the front door, then gasped when she saw the limo parked in her driveway.
As soon as she stepped onto the porch the driver came around to meet her. He nodded in greeting, then opened the door. She entered, expecting to find Nolan in there, despite the fact that his message had suggested she'd be riding alone. But alone in a limo? Where was the fun in that?
Apparently, the fun was in the bar, because before he shut the door, the driver offered her a drink--then poured her a tall Pinot Punch--the very drink from The Fix that she'd been wasted on the night she'd met Nolan.
A wine, Schnapps, and frozen peach concoction, Shelby had discovered the drink after Cam--one of the bartenders at The Fix--recommended it. Considering it was now on her favorite drinks list and had indirectly led her to the man she loved, Shelby guessed that she really owed Cam a thank you.
She assumed they were going downtown, so she drank her glass quickly, wanting to finish it during the short drive. But then the limo turned and they ended up heading south out of the city. By the time they'd pulled up in front of a stunning stone house on what seemed like endless acres of property, almost forty-five minutes and half the pitcher had gone by the wayside.
If Nolan's plan was to get her drunk, he'd succeeded admirably. And considering how drunk she'd been that first night, they were definitely re-creating their first date. Except then, she'd had to prove she was sober before he'd sleep with her. She'd recited prime numbers, she recalled. And she really, really hoped he didn't care about her sobriety today, because at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure what a prime number even was. So much for all those years studying advanced mathematics.
All she wanted--all she could think about--was his mouth on hers, his hands touching her. She wanted to be naked and stretched out beneath him. Most of all, she wanted to feel him moving inside her.
Naturally, that was the moment the driver opened the door, and she squeaked a little, certain that her thoughts were all over her face, whatever natural filter she might normally rely on having been completely obliterated by the mass quantities of alcohol.
She let the driver help her out, then stood a bit at the end of the stone sidewalk. For a moment, she was unsure what to do. Above her, a giant moon provided enough light to reveal the path to the house. Past the wash of light, a blanket of stars hung in the velvet sky that seemed to stretch forever and ever. And suddenly, strangely, Shelby felt very small and very alone.
She almost took a step back toward the limo--but then the front door of the house opened and Nolan stepped onto the porch, and just as quickly as everything had tilted sideways, the world righted itself again. He was there; right there. And everything was fine.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, and she basked in the glow of his love. God, she adored him. He had an athletic build, tall and lean, with muscled arms that could hold her tight. His dark hair accented his pale gray eyes, and he had the kind of long lashes that women envied. He was, in a word, delicious. But at the end of the day, it wasn't Nolan's appearance that had won her heart; instead it was the way he looked at the world. And at her.
Like he was looking at her now. A tiger stalking its prey, and she was so very ready to be devoured.
He didn't say a word as his long strides ate up the sidewalk between them, and he didn't say a word when he reached her. He simply kissed her. Although, honestly, there was nothing simple about that kiss. It burned hot and wild, the kind of kiss that she felt more in her core than on her lips. A full-body kiss that fired her senses and left her gasping and grateful he'd hooked his arm around her waist, otherwise she would have melted onto the ground.
"Hey," he said, sliding his hands inside her coat to cup her ass. "You taste good."
"I taste like Pinot Punch."
"Yes, you do."
"I think you were trying to get me drunk."
"Might have been," he said. "Did you already have a head start with the girls?" She nodded, the guilt from her fears washing over her again. "I'm sorry."
His eyes widened. "For what?"
"For--for going out with them. Otherwise, I could have been here sooner."
"You're here now." His hands on her rear tightened, and he tugged her close to him until she could feel his erection hard beneath his jeans. She drew in a shuttered breath, wanting to touch him, to feel his hands on hers. She wanted him to take away the chill of her fears and of the cold evening air. And when she met his eyes, she saw that same desire on his face. That same raw, wonderful need.
"Inside," he said, his voice ragged with desire.
"What is this place?"
"Just a little fantasy I whipped up."
She laughed, delighted. But the laughter stopped when they stepped through the front door. The entrance hall opened into a wide living area, and the entire area was flooded in candlelight. Faux LED candles, yes, but the effect was the same. They lined the floor of the entrance hall leading in, and then in the living area they covered every conceivable surface.
"I wanted real candles," he said, "but the rental agreement says no open flame. So I bought boxes and boxes of the LED kind." He swallowed, looking suddenly unsure. "Do you like it?"
"Are you kidding? It's lovely, but why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "I wanted to give you a romantic weekend. Well, romantic and... you know, there might be... sex... going on, too." He said the latter in a shocked stage whisper, making her laugh.
"I won't tell if you won't."
He led her to the bedroom, which had even more LED candles surrounding a huge, four-poster bed. An open bottle of wine sat on the side table. And black cords were tied to each post.
Shelby licked her lips, her already over-aware body kicking into a higher gear.
"I want you at my mercy tonight, baby," he said, sliding the coat off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
"I always am," she whispered as she lifted her arms, letting him pull off her sweater, leaving her only in her skirt, tank top, and boots.
He stood back, looking at her. "You're so beautiful."
She met his eyes, and the rush of desire she felt for this man almost knocked her over. She'd never felt particularly beautiful, but she knew he saw her that way. Just like she saw the man beneath the wacky banter. "I love you, Nolan," she said, and saw the answering adoration in his eyes.
Then the corner of his mouth quirked up. "None of that sappy romantic stuff yet. We're starting with wild, baby. We're starting with me undressing you, then making you come like you've never come before." His hands went to the hem of her tank and he pulled it up over her head, revealing her breasts, now heavy with desire, her nipples as hard as stones. "After I make you shatter, then you can tell me you love me."
"Deal," she said, wanting to laugh, but unable to because his hands were on her breasts, and the way his thumbs were slowly teasing her nipples was making her crazy, stealing her breath and muddling her senses.
"Sit," he said, nodding to the bed, then bending to remove her boots when she complied.
She expected him to stand then, but instead, he took one foot in his hand and gently traced the curve. Thankfully, she wasn't ticklish--or maybe she was too turned on to be ticklish? Either way, the sensation didn't make her squirm. At least not in a bad way. Instead, it sent strands of pleasure coursing up her legs until her sex was throbbing and she was certain her panties were soaked.
She wanted him to slide his hands up, to follow the path of her bare leg until his fingers found her core. She wanted to feel him teasing her, she wanted his mouth on her. She craved his touch, his tongue, his cock. So far, though, he wasn't giving any of that to her. And she was just about to find the words to complain about that little oversight when he lifted her leg higher, then bent his mouth and gently lick
ed the tip of her toe.
Oh, holy hell--electricity danced up her leg, teasing her clit, and when he actually took her toe into his mouth and sucked, she arched back as waves of pleasure crested over her, tightening her nipples, settling at her sex. Ripples of pleasure spread through her, not quite an orgasm, but definitely a preview of coming attractions.
"Someone likes that." He'd tugged his mouth free, and she'd felt the tug deep in her core. Now he was kissing his way up her leg. Her calf. The curve of her knee. Her inner thigh.
She heard a little mewling noise, realized it came from her, and spread her legs as far as the skirt would let her. Pretty far, considering the knit stretched.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "But I want to see more. Scoot back. Lie down."
She did as he ordered, then laughed as he bent over her and kissed her bellybutton, just above the waistband of her skirt. But her laughter changed to a much more needy sound when he grasped the band and tugged it down.
"Up," he murmured, and she lifted her hips as he pulled the skirt and her underwear the rest of the way off. "Oh, baby, yes," he said, then drew his tongue all over her sex, from her clit to her core.
"Nolan, please." She wanted him inside her. Wanted her body to feel as full as her heart. Full of him.
"Patience, baby," he ordered, then slipped off the bed and peeled off his shirt. She watched, practically salivating. He had a gorgeous body, lean and strong. His sculpted abs and muscled arms showed that he worked out but he wasn't a gym rat. As far as she was concerned, that was perfect.
She waited, wanting to see the rest of him, but he foiled her by moving to the foot of the bed, then tying her ankle to the bedpost.
She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to say nothing as he moved to the other leg, then repeated the process.
With a wicked grin, she slid one hand between her legs and stroked herself, her fingers sliding on her wet, slick flesh and the swollen hood of her clit. She kept her eyes on his face, saw the way a muscle twitched in his cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't tie both my wrists," she whispered. "You like to watch, right?"
"I do indeed," he said, then very gently put his hand over hers. Together, they stroked her, touched her, and then he thrust inside her. One finger each, as she arched up, wanting more than just his fingers--or hers.
