by Avery Flynn
Tension held Sylvie’s muscles so tightly it felt like her tendons were going to snap off her bones. She sympathized, and admired his loyalty. But there wasn’t a chance in hell— “Do you still think my fathers were involved?”
“My gut says no, but I can’t scratch them off the list yet. Not until I solve the case. Someone at BC Designs knew what was going on.” He looked at her, and agony, raw and uncensored, shone from his eyes.
“Is that everything? Nothing left out?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “That’s it.”
“There is no way my fathers had anything to do with Keith’s death. You know it here.” She laid her palm on his chest, feeling the hard beat of his heart. “It had to be someone else. And I’ll help you prove it.”
She went to the desk, flipped open his laptop, and clicked on the document labeled BC Designs. It listed every company employee at the time of Keith’s death. She scrolled down the list, trying to remember when that little shit with two-toned magenta hair had quit in a huff. The cursor blinked over the name she was looking for, and her pulse pounded in her ears.
“Anders was working for my fathers then. BC Designs was his last job before he started his own line. And after what Ivy said today… Are you thinking—”
“Theories and feeling aren’t the same as proof. And without proof your fathers stay on the suspect list.” He rubbed his temples with his thumbs and groaned. “But hell, no, I don’t like Henry or Anton for this. Not anymore.”
Relief soaked into Sylvie’s bones. “If Anders was dealing, it would explain how he got financial backing for his line. And how he manages to keep it going despite the shit he produces. So what do we do now?”
“Eat.” Tony stood and held out a hand to her.
“But we—”
“Can’t go off half-cocked.” He tucked her hand into his bigger one, pulling her out of the chair as electricity zapped up her arm. “Come on. Let’s eat and figure out a plan.”
Chapter Ten
“If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.”
—Dorothy Parker
Flames crackled in the screened fire pit built into the slate patio. The earlier wind had died down to the occasional rustle of leaves across Tony’s expansive backyard surrounded by a six-foot-tall privacy fence. Growing up in the city, she’d never had a yard of her own to play in. However, sitting on a teakwood lounge chair wide enough for two and watching the stars begin to twinkle, she could imagine how nice it would be for a kid to have this kind of space to run around and play in.
Tony closed the grill, hanging a ridiculously huge spatula on a hook on its side. He took a pull off his beer and settled onto the lounge chair next to her. Their forearms brushed against each other, his heat seeping through the thin cotton of her sweater and pooling in the pit of her belly. The relaxed ease brought on by their earlier steak-and-potato dinner fled her limbs, and her skin buzzed with anticipation.
The breeze ruffled her skirt, inching it higher up her thighs. An image flashed through her mind of Tony’s firm hands spreading her legs wide and his warm lips making their way north from her knees until he reached her core, vibrating with want.
“You keep sucking on your lip like that and I’m going to forget I’m only pretending to be your boyfriend.” Under his light tone, something darker reverberated. Something heated and daring.
She practically spit her lip out of her mouth—if that was even possible—but it was too late. A wanton flush reddened her olive skin, and everything from the waist down melted. Keeping her gaze locked on the last pink hues of the sunset, she prayed he would assume the chilly wind had hardened her nipples.
Or not…
He’d forget he was pretending…
“Would that be so wrong?” Oh God. Where did that breathy voice come from, and why in hell was she sitting here talking instead of fleeing to her room?
“Very wrong.” He sprang up from the lounge chair and strode over to the railing. “There are rules.”
To Sylvie, playing by the rules wasn’t just a cliché; it had become her life’s mantra. Somewhere along the line she’d become so petrified of disappointing her fathers and nearly everyone else in her life that she’d regularly scuttled or adjusted her plans in order to maintain the façade. The silver lining of having a stalker might turn out to be having to face reality…
It seemed so clear to her now. She was the only one who gave a damn about that false image of perfection. Tony had been right at Anya’s wedding—some people are good at hiding things.
Especially from themselves.
Sylvie hadn’t created the High-Heeled Wonder persona to protect her fathers. She’d done it so she wouldn’t have to take a chance and risk public failure.
That ended now. This second.
With this man.
Tony stood with his back to her, his broad shoulders outlined by the day’s last dying rays. Her fingers itched to trail across the strong muscles of his back, sneak underneath the hem of his lightweight black sweater, and explore his abs as they flexed to her touch.
In his tux at Anya’s wedding, Tony had been a stranger who looked like an Italian James Bond—a hot guy to take her mind off her public humiliation by Daniel. Tonight, she knew him, knew what kind of man he was—intelligent, determined, sexy as hell. She didn’t just want a hot guy any more.
She wanted Tony. And he wanted her.
And they were supposed to forget about the sparks lighting up the very air between them just because of some self-imposed rules? Fuck the rules. It was high time she stopping hiding behind an avatar and started living in the real world.
She pressed her palms against the wooden chair hard enough that the grain would probably leave an imprint. Her instincts screamed for her to sink back into her comfort zone. She refused.
Ignoring standard operating procedure, she pushed out of the lounge chair and crossed the deck on shaking legs until she stood hip to hip with him. Heat zapped between them like flashes of lust-induced static electricity.
The vein in his temple went haywire and his thighs locked inside the tight confines of his jeans, giving her a perfect view of the hardness pushing against his zipper. Her mouth turned to cotton and her brain to mush. God, the man was magnificent. There was nothing more in the world she wanted right this second than to slide her hands across his denim-covered cock and feel it jump beneath her touch. Her gut, however, warned against it, so she covered his clenched hand with hers, letting her fingers weave with his.
Showing her only his square-jawed profile, his grip tightened on the deck railing but he didn’t pull away. “You’re my client.”
His strained words did nothing to shake her intentions…or the tingling vibrations building steadily in her core. “And if I wasn’t?”
With a muffled groan he slipped his hand from beneath hers and pivoted so his solid frame faced her. Arms crossed and legs planted wide on the deck, he peered down at her. He had the intimidating look down pat—almost. Nothing short of a miracle could camouflage the desire turning his brown eyes to charcoal, or the growing cock outlined against his jeans. The view took away what little breath she had left.
“Wouldn’t matter.” His deep voice shook. “There are things you don’t know. That I hope you never find out. All you need to know right now is that you are my client, and this is a bad idea.”
“Poor boy.” She stepped close enough for her aching breasts to brush against his chest. Just that touch was enough to send a wave of pleasure through her body that left her knees wobbly. But she needed more. She found the snap of his jeans. The pop of its release echoed in the night. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that sometimes being bad—”she grasped his zipper’s pull tab—“is very, very good?”
With deliberate care she lowered the zipper, watching the expressions fly across his face as duty and desire battled within him. Just as the zipper reached its farthest depth, he locked his gaze on her, and there was no doubting who had won the wa
r. She slipped her hand inside the opening of his boxers, wrapped her hand around his length and pulled him free. His cock lay heavy and firm in her hand.
“Sylvie,” he groaned up to the fast-darkening sky. His arms dropped from his chest and his fingers curled into fists that pressed against his thighs.
Maintaining an unhurried pace, she stroked her hand down to the base of his cock until his balls pressed against the back of her fingers, then reversed the motion. He felt like heated steel in her palm as she continued to rub up and down his thickening length. On her third leisurely trip, her fingers no longer met around his girth and pre-cum wet the wide tip. Too tempting to ignore.
The deck planks bit into her knees when she lowered herself, but the discomfort barely registered. Moving closer to his straining cock, she opened her mouth, hungry for the taste of him. She slid her tongue across his head, licking up the salty pre-cum and lavishing soft attention to his dick’s sensitive underside.
He hadn’t touched her, and yet her body was on fire with an overwhelming sexual need. Her nipples were iron pebbles, pressing against her too-tight lace bra, and the deep ache in her core intensified with each downward stroke on Tony’s cock.
“You’re killing me, woman.” His fingers laced through her hair and he pulled the strands taut, effectively holding her back from engulfing his length as she yearned to do.
“No, I’m enjoying you.” She tightened her grip on his cock and slid her tongue across her lips, leaving the faint taste of salt in its wake. “Are you going to let me get back to my fun?”
“It’s my turn.”
A wicked shiver shook her as she rose to her feet to meet his challenge. “All right. Show me what you’ve got.”
His lips found the hammering pulse point in her neck and he nipped at the spot before moving downward to the dip above her collarbone. Soft kisses in that sensitive spot were balanced out by his tight grip on her hips. Her skirt’s jersey knit material did nothing to mitigate the nuclear-level heat caused by his touch. Need whirled around inside her, blocking out everything except the touch of his fingers and lips.
Unable to be so close and not feel him, too, she grasped his face, his five o’clock shadow prickly against her palms, and pulled upward until his lips were level with hers. This was nothing like their first tentative kiss. They devoured each other, tongues dueling for supremacy.
He inched her skirt higher until the fall breeze scattering the leaves brushed against her bare behind. Her skin came alive with sensation under his touch and he slid a single finger across the cleft of her ass, wrapping it around the thin strap of lace threaded between her cheeks. Anticipation stopped her heart for a moment before he pulled the material tightly back, forcing the front of it to press against her sensitive clit.
Her pulse roared in her ears and she twisted her hips to increase the friction before falling against him. They stumbled. She landed on her back in the chaise lounge, her skirt up around her waist.
Tony dropped to his knees and bent forward, his face inches from the top of her exposed thighs, and his hard shaft temptingly close to her mouth. His fingers pushed her thong aside and plunged into the depths of her silky folds, curling to stroke the bundle of nerves hidden inside. The pleasure of it turned the world behind her eyelids black before it came back into focus in full Technicolor glory.
Bending over her, he lowered his face to her wet center, his tongue circling her clit in the same slow, deliberate pace she’d used on him earlier. The scratch of his five o’clock shadow heightened the tension growing in her belly.
The blissful torture made her want to cry out in joy…or desperation…she had no idea which. Needing to touch something—anything—she wrapped her hand around his hard length. He moaned against her sensitive flesh, causing tremors of pleasure to tighten the need building within her. Stroking his cock in time with the movements of his tongue, she didn’t even try to hold back her quiet gasps of desire. Faster and faster they moved in tandem, taking each other higher on crests of pleasure until they reached the zenith.
Her climax shot through her body, tightening every muscle and arching her upward. A moment later, wetness covered her fingers as Tony orgasmed in her hand.
Slowly, she returned to herself, and the stars overhead came back into focus. There wasn’t a single bone left in her body or thought in her brain. He’d made her come so hard she’d turned into a sex zombie.
His head rested against her inner thigh, his heavy breaths a soft caress against her still-swollen flesh. He kissed her leg with almost reverent care, and when his heavy-lidded gaze met hers something inside her tumbled to her toes and bounced back up to her chest.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.” He nodded toward her sticky hand as he stood and zipped his jeans.
She shrugged. “Messy can be fun. Maybe next time—”
He whipped off his shirt and then clinically and efficiently cleaned off her hand, guilt replacing the postcoital softness in his gaze. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”
What the fuck?
“You can have first dibs on the bathroom.” He backpeddled away from her. “I… I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, he disappeared into the house, leaving her alone on the deck, her skirt and mind askew.
Fuck. What happens now?
Chapter Eleven
“In difficult times, fashion is always outrageous.”
—Elsa Schiaparelli
A migrating flock of geese flew in V formation past the bathroom window. Tony admired their military precision and dedication as he rubbed a towel across his wet hair. Doubtful any of the males in the group broke out of the lineup just to get wild with one of the females. Nope. They followed the order of things.
He dragged the towel across his chest. It was a shitty day when geese had a better sense of self-preservation than he did.
The gray-and-black flyers disappeared from view and the buzzing at the base of his cock started up again. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped the towel around his hips cursing the morning wood that wouldn’t go away—not while Sylvie’s lavender scent wafted under the closed door of the bathroom, filling the traitorous body part with bad ideas.
A soft giggle erupted from the other side, making him all the more tense.
He wouldn’t look at the bathroom door again.
He.
Would.
Not.
He looked at the bathroom door again. The one that led to his bedroom. Where Sylvie had spent the night. In…an oversized T-shirt? Something see-through and lacy? Yoga pants? Nothing at all? The possibilities made his mouth water and his chubby stiffen into a full-on boner.
Walking more bowlegged than normal, he crossed to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. His hand hovered next to the can of Barbasol and disposable razor for a moment before closing the mirrored door and opening the cabinet under the sink instead. He rooted past a stack of towels and three rolls of toilet paper until his hand landed on his leather shaving kit and pulled it out. The fancy shaving cream with a badger-hair shaving brush and aftershave had been a gift last Christmas. Really, it was about time he used it.
He’d whipped up the cream in a cup and was brushing it across his stubble when the door flew open.
“Drea, you are such a dork. I will not walk around the house wrapped in Saran Wrap. Where do you read this shit?” Phone glued to her ear, Sylvie stepped into the bathroom, wearing a green tank top that dipped low between her boobs and the world’s smallest pair of green panties. Her honey-brown hair fell in waves around her face, making it look as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a good time.
If only.
In a heartbeat he understood what those annoying commercials meant about painful erection. Damn, he’d never been this hard.
She stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her luscious mouth and her cheeks blazed. “Not you, Drea. I just walked in on Tony. In the bathroom. No,
he’s not naked—” Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and continued south. “He’s wearing a towel… A, um, small towel,” she squeaked out before slapping her hand over her eyes. “Oh. My. God.” She reeled backward out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of her just-been-fucked hair, muscular thighs, curvy hips, and magnificent tits had seared itself onto the back of his eyelids. He’d be seeing it every time he closed his eyes until he was eighty.
“Fuckin’ A.” He dropped the shaving brush back into the cup and splashed cold water over his face. It did nothing to alleviate the throbbing in his cock.
He was considering an ice-cold shower when Sylvie rapped on the door.
“I’m really sorry about that, Tony,” she said, the door muffling her voice. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up.”
He gritted his teeth. Oh, yeah. He was up, all right.
He reached for the doorknob before he remembered towels did not qualify as proper boner concealment. He yanked his hand away as if the knob was covered in green snot.
“My fault,” he called. “I should have locked the door. Anyway, I have to make a run into Harbor City this morning.”
“Did you get a new lead?” The hopeful note in her voice flicked him in the nads.
“Nah.”
Even though she’d crossed Ivy off her suspect chart, he wasn’t so sure. Sylvie wouldn’t be too pleased to hear that he was taking his IT guy to check out Ivy’s computer, and there was no way he’d take her with him…on the off chance Ivy went batshit crazy.
