Heart Signs

by Cari Quinn

  This would be okay.

  His heart was pounding so fast that eventually he had to break their kiss to breathe. Then he came back for the next round, using his thumb to stroke her lower lip while he licked the upper. Again that whimper in the back of her throat. His hard-on grew, straining against his well-worn jeans. If he hadn’t been afraid of scaring her, he would’ve tugged down the zipper to give himself room.

  Then she did it for him.

  Without the slightest hesitation, Rory went to her knees. She flipped the button of his jeans, yanked down the zipper and slid her hand into his briefs. He was so hard that his erection clung to his stomach but she drew him away, making that sound of appreciation again as she licked her lips. Damn, he liked that she made noise. Some women didn’t. At least he knew that Rory was enjoying herself, that he hadn’t screwed anything up yet. He widened his stance and let his head drop back, a low rumble leaving his throat when her wet mouth met the head of his cock in an erotic kiss.

  She edged away and flashed him a provocative look. He went to stone, even harder than he’d been before. “Anything you don’t like, just let me know.”

  Luckily she didn’t seem to expect an answer since speech had become a fantasy. She returned and trailed more kisses up and down his length. Her tongue joined in the action, moving in serpentine flicks, drawing forth the moisture she couldn’t seem to get enough of. He groaned again and fisted a hand in her hair, pushing her gently, wanting her so much that he feared he’d make her gag. But God, she felt good and it had been so long. His muscles tightened, ready to spring. His cock leaked freely into her throat, his excitement a liquid promise. The way he was feeling he could come like this and come inside her later—

  And then his fingers tangled. A sharp tug and they would be loose. But he made the mistake of opening his eyes and glimpsed the glint of gold against her spiky black hair.

  Christ, his ring was stuck. His wedding ring.

  He inhaled, flexing his hips to prolong the pretense while he fought to shove his emotions back in line. Rory continued sucking him, her tongue sliding all over his flesh. But he couldn’t hold on to her hair and he couldn’t keep fucking her mouth, not when Dani was in his head.

  It wasn’t fair to her. To either of them. He obviously wasn’t in the place to do this yet. And when he was—if he ever was—he’d take off his damn ring first.

  “Rory.”

  She didn’t hear him. No doubt she was redoubling her efforts to try to coax him out of his turtle-like shell, adding the extra impetus of a tight palm around his sac. Air hissed out between his teeth. It still felt incredible. Beyond. But he wouldn’t use her like this.

  “Rory, stop.” This time when he muttered her name, her head snapped up, smoky eyes connecting with his.

  “Enough?” Though she drew away and smiled, he didn’t miss the hurt that scrolled across her face.

  Jesus, he felt lower than the lowest. Why had he started this again? He could’ve just gone to lunch with her. Or better yet, he could’ve accepted her sympathy call as what it was and hung up before he’d caused her to doubt herself for even an instant.

  “Guess it wasn’t working for you.” She popped to her feet and pushed back a strand of hair that dipped into her eyes. “Sorry, rushed things. I should’ve taken it slow, but slow’s not really my forte.”

  “It was working for me. Completely. And you went at the speed everything’s gone so far.” He tried to smile for her sake though he was reasonably sure he grimaced instead. Couldn’t be helped.

  “Oh well then. My technique—”

  “C’mere,” he said, softly gripping her forearm and leading her to the mattress. On the floor. Shit.

  But she sat without so much as a flicker of indecision, looking up at him in that same open, earnest way that had nudged his lust from an inkling to overwhelming. Such a pure expression. So honest.

  Which meant he owed her just as much honesty in return. Even if he had to extract it from his gut with a butter knife.

  He dropped down beside her, scooting backward until his spine hit the wall. She crawled over to him, sitting against his side with her knees parted and her heels dangling off the edge. He hadn’t even touched her clothes. Had barely even touched her.

  Yet.

  “It was this,” he said, lifting his hand and rubbing his ring. “Got it stuck in your hair and everything scrambled.”

  Her swift intake of breath somehow made him feel better, as if she didn’t think his reaction seemed odd. Like the rest of this damn day. “I’m sorry. I should’ve looked for that first and I didn’t think to. Can’t believe I didn’t check.”

  He stared at the gold band, his stomach and head churning in concert. “It’s not your fault. It’s just a ring.”

  Not even close, but maybe he could someday convince himself.

  “We’re not going to be having sex, are we?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, me either.” But instead of looking depressed by that fact, she shot him what could only be described as a sly grin. “So about that sandwich…”

  Sam laughed and stretched out a hand to her. She intertwined her fingers with his, her palm like satin in his rough grip. He liked the feel of her. Small, giving. So warm. Holding hands was old school—and probably lame considering all their combustible heat and how it hadn’t bubbled over—but he couldn’t remember ever enjoying it this much. “Think I only have turkey and mayo. No bread. Haven’t gone shopping this week.”

  “Been spending the time reading?” She inclined her chin toward the novel on his nightstand. “I love Koontz.”

  “Yeah?” She liked sports and horror. And gave amazing blowjobs. “What’s your favorite?”

  “I have six.”

  He laughed again, pleased that at least one of his emotional responses seemed to be loosening up. How long had it been since he’d laughed this much? Too long. “Which ones?”

  They talked for a while, about books and music and why ’71 Chevelles were one of the best cars ever made. Soon she started taking surreptitious glances at her watch. Just because he’d blown off that afternoon’s work didn’t mean she had. Strangely enough he didn’t want her to go. Apparently his wounded pride didn’t care if she’d seen him lose his shit.

  Hell, she’d seen a lot of the rest of him, hadn’t she? Not even his cock. She’d seen his words, his emotions, his heart spilling out on the page. And she hadn’t laughed. Far from it.

  “You never made fun of my billboards,” he said quietly.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Because I’m a client?”

  “Well, that matters, yeah. But why would I make fun of something so beautiful? I was so jealous of her.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance, sure he must’ve misheard. “Why?”

  She gave a jerky shrug. “I can’t imagine being loved like that.”

  The lump that formed in his throat was both annoying and unexpected. “It wasn’t enough.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “I’m so sorry. That’s why I called. Just to tell you that. I didn’t call because now you might be available and I might be able to talk you into letting me come over for a lunchtime blowjob.”

  Now he stared. She’d turned pink during her litany. “Of course you didn’t. You really wanted to hit Bertha and piss me off. The blowjob was just a bonus.”

  Laughing weakly, she pressed her free hand against her cheek. “God, I’m blushing.”

  “Yes, you are,” he confirmed. “I like it. Makes you look even softer.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, that’s me, the queen of all that’s delicate. That’s why I regularly win the belching contests at Loki’s.”

  “Loki’s? You like it there?”

  “It’s my favorite place. Best wings in town.”

  “So why’d you suggest Carmen’s?”

  Rory shrugged, not looking at him. “I thought it would be more appropriate.”

  “For a man in mourning. Righ
t?”

  “Maybe.”

  He gripped her chin and turned her face toward him, moving forward to capture her lips. The salty flavor of them revived his interest all over again. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “You’re, uh, welcome.”

  He tipped his head to study her. Rory Fowler was a woman he’d happily study all day long. Even the sudden hint of wariness in her expression intrigued him. For once he’d prodded her off balance instead of the other way around. “You’re late for work, aren’t you?”

  “Just a bit.” But she didn’t make a move to leave.

  Once she did, he had no idea what would happen next. He’d slotted this misadventure into something that would happen only once, but nothing had gone as planned. He couldn’t pass up a chance to find out more about her, especially if the chance might not come again.

  “Open your legs.”

  Her gaze swung to his but she didn’t protest. Or ask questions. If she had, he might’ve chickened out. He ran his hand up the seam of her pants, learning how her flesh warmed with the slightest pressure. How she audibly sucked in air even when she wasn’t making those purring moans he found himself anticipating. The way her thighs opened for him as he drew his knuckles over the heat she couldn’t hide.

  Her lips quivered apart, a sigh escaping them at his increased force. Was she wet for him? Though he didn’t trust his fingers not to shake, he had to know. He undid her pants and took his own unsteady breath at the sight of her lace-topped white cotton panties. Not built to seduce, just quietly pretty. Covering the heart of her that he ached to uncover, to explore.

  He waited for her to say something. Anything. But she only watched him watching her, their equally ragged breathing fighting for dominance. With a flick of his fingers, he slipped beneath the cotton and absorbed the feel of her delicate skin, now way past warm. Past even hot. She burned for him. Skating lower, he brushed her thatch of damp curls. His heartbeat kicked up and that lightheaded sensation overtook him again, stealing his attention from her face for as long as it took him to get control. Then he met her eyes once more before he slid into the steam.

  Her gasp exploded in his mind like a light bulb going brighter before it went out. She closed her eyes and rocked against his hand, encouraging him to continue.

  So far so good.

  He nudged her cleft—her very wet, very swollen cleft—with his middle finger, delving deeper to circle the knot of nerves. Another gasp reached his ears, but by then he’d turned his face into her neck to drink in her scent. She still smelled like a summer night, wild and untamed. Sweet and sexy and unforgettable.

  His fingers moved in clumsy tandem, faster and faster, suddenly unable to go slow. He wanted her arousal pouring over his palm and he wanted it now.

  Sliding lower, deeper, he dipped his thumb inside her tight slit and registered her shudder. Her head bounced once against the wall, rolling sideways as her lips opened on a whimper. Her flush spread from her cheeks to her neck and all the way down to the scalloped edge of the top she wore beneath her suit. She breathed out as he pumped deeper, forcing her cleavage against her jacket. Her nipples had to be hard, berries ripe for the plucking.

  “Gotta see them,” he muttered, too low for her even to hear probably.

  With his other hand he fumbled open the button, succeeding after the second try. The jacket fell open, revealing the silky royal purple of her top and the rounded peaks of her full breasts. Though he couldn’t see the color of her nipples, their distended shape made him swallow thickly. He wanted to suck on them almost as much as he longed to feel her come around his fingers.

  Without thinking he glided two fingers into her clenching sheath and celebrated her groan with a treat of his own. He latched his lips around one hard tip, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth while he kept up the rhythm between her legs. She writhed under him, around him, her hand lifting to the back of his neck to hold him still.

  As if he ever intended to stop.

  “Sam.” She drew out his name until it was a sigh, an expelled breath of pure longing. He jerked up his head, his own breathing short, just in time to see pleasure mist her eyes. They focused on his face, pupils widening, her hips arching as he gave one final thrust and her body erupted.

  Wetness drenched his fingers, her slick heat coating his palm. How he wanted to taste her, feel it run directly from the source over his lips and into his mouth.

  She shook against him, digging her nails into the back of his neck. But her eyes never left his, making her orgasm something they both shared.

  Sam sagged against her, equal feelings of victory and gratitude surging through him. He’d both won and lost, because he’d made her climax and he’d loved every damn second—and would relive every nuance over and over again—but his cock once more stretched tight against his jeans. And he knew with certainty she wouldn’t be helping him out with that.

  But hell, maybe he’d finally be able to help himself again.

  Rory lowered her lids to half-mast and gave him another one of her patented looks. If he hadn’t already been stiff and aching, she would’ve gotten him there in two seconds flat. “Thank you.”

  “I think you have that wrong.” He laid his lips on hers, not closing his eyes. Staring into those misty gray irises had become a whole new preoccupation. “You’re the one who gave me something. So thank you.”

  She cast a pointed glance toward his groin. “Didn’t have its intended effect.”

  “Oh yes it did.” He kissed her once more, lingering until he pulled his hand free of her panties. They both sighed a little. “You’re going back to work.”

  “Yeah. But I can…” She gave another glance at his obvious discomfort.

  “I’m all right.” Was he ever. She had no idea.

  He didn’t have any illusions that close to thirty months of pain, then grief, had been healed in an afternoon. Or more accurately, a couple hours. He’d probably still wake up tomorrow as the same morose mess he’d been, but at least now he’d had something to distract him for a while.

  He’d had Rory. Not all of her, but enough to fill his fantasies. She’d given him someone to hold in his mind who wasn’t dead. Who hadn’t rejected him for being who he was. Screwups and all.

  “If you, ah, have performance issues, that’s not a problem. I can still do stuff. I can still make you feel good if you’ll let me.”

  “You already made me feel good, Fowl ’Er.”

  She grinned at the use of the name on her license plate. “How do you figure?”

  He couldn’t explain it, not verbally. Maybe not at all. But if he could, he’d write it down. If his words made any sense, perhaps he’d send them to her. Or else they’d join the collection of letters and journal entries hidden in his top dresser drawer.

  For once, that thought almost made him grin. He didn’t hide alcohol in his room. No, his stash of choice was a fancy pen and leather-bound journal he’d picked up at a bookstore. And a stack of letters he’d never get to send, but kept just the same.

  “Not going to tell me?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not won’t,” he tried to explain. “Just can’t. I suck at words. Speaking them especially.”

  “You might suck, but not at words.” She lifted her brows and meaningfully drew her fingertip around the wet spot on her top, coaxing forth the rest of his grin. “Trust me on that, Sam. I’d happily read anything you wrote.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Before he could stop himself, he lumbered to his feet and crossed the room to his dresser. He tugged open the drawer, careful to pull just so to avoid the creak, and withdrew the pile of letters wrapped in a rubber band. His life lived in those pages, and here he was handing them over to a stranger.

  Except she wasn’t. She was the first person who didn’t seem strange to him in so long. The first person he wanted to get to know better. She might as well learn what she was d
ealing with. If she dealt with him at all.

  He came back over to her, unsurprised to see the curious tilt of her lips. “Read at your own risk,” he said, holding them out to her.

  As usual she didn’t hesitate. “Thanks. I’ll get them back to you soon.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The sight of his letters in her steady grip unnerved him so he made a show of looking at his watch. “I’m not rushing you out, but it’s almost four.”

  “Yeah. I’m about to get my ass handed to me.” She scrambled to her feet and turned toward the door. Then she looked back with a shy smile. “Best lunch I’ve ever not had.”

  He wanted to smile and almost managed it. But she held his faded papers in her hands so tightly, possessing a part of him he hadn’t realized he hadn’t been ready to share. After all the silly billboards he’d done, apparently he still had thoughts that weren’t suitable for public consumption.

  She’s not the public. She’s Rory.

  Why that comforted him, he didn’t know. But the smile finally came once she shut the door behind her.

  “Me too,” he murmured.

  Chapter Four

  Dani,

  In the beginning, I figured we’d find our way back to each other. After how we’d met, how could a stupid misunderstanding cost us everything? But careless words wound as often as careful ones heal. By the time I realized that, it was too late. For us and for you.

  ~ Sam

  Rory sat down on her sofa and gulped a mouthful of wine. It wasn’t fancy stuff, just a liquor store special, but she didn’t have anything stronger. She only drank now and then, usually when she shared a pitcher with the guys at Loki’s during games, but she’d never needed something to take the edge off her nerves more.

  She hadn’t had sex with him. That knowledge had soothed her throughout the long afternoon at work, though it had been only two hours. Especially when she’d faced down her eagle-eyed aunt upon returning. She was surprised Pam hadn’t sniffed her clothing for traces of cologne.

  Shit, if she had, Rory would’ve been screwed.