I swung around to ask Max what his problem was, but before I could ask, I stumbled again, forgetting that the heel on my shoe was broken.
Max caught me by the elbow, steadying me.
“I broke my shoe,” I said, then wondered why I was stating the obvious.
“I see.” The corner of his mouth picked up.
We looked at one another for long seconds before he released me to push the door open again. “I’ll wait while you change them.”
Inside the apartment, I took a steadying breath. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me tonight. I was so jumpy and scared.
Of course, that isn’t what bothered me most, because those things could be explained away after last night.
What bothered me more than anything was my reaction every single time Max touched me.
I didn’t want to admit it.
But I couldn’t ignore what my body was blatantly saying. In the entire year Max and I were a couple, his touch never, not one time, erupted such a flurry of butterflies within me.
Until now.
The lawyer in me was perplexed by this. My inner logic told me it wasn’t possible. Yet the evidence was swirling around inside me with every erratic beat of my heart.
It left me with one resounding question.
Why?
9
Tucker
Consciousness came to me slowly, like the way a roasting fire spread warmth on a cold winter’s day. It creeped over my skin, bringing awareness to my sleep-induced world.
The first thing I noticed was the weight against my side, the feel of something wrapped around me. Automatically, I shifted closer; the feeling of her skin was just so damn appealing.
I felt like my body was supporting her weight, like she had wrapped herself around me and I was her mattress. She was still and warm. The length of her arm wound around my middle with the tips of her fingers tucked between me and the sheets, as if her fingers didn’t want me to touch anything but her.
Her cheek was pressed against my pec, her breath fanned out over my T-shirt, and for a fleeting minute I wished my chest were bare so I could feel the full effect of her against me.
My fingers twitched, and it was then that I realized my arm was wrapped around her middle, my hand was draped across her belly, and her belly was bare.
My fingers twitched again.
My already hard cock jerked beneath the sheets with anticipation. I never did morning sex with one-night stands… but I could make an exception just this once.
My cock jumped again and I groaned. The need to bury myself in something moist and warm was slightly overwhelming. Damn, last night hadn’t sated me at all.
She shifted in her sleep, her thigh hooking over my legs and resting there. I began to draw slow, deliberate circles over the bare skin of her waist. Inching closer as I moved to the waistband of her pajamas…
My eyes snapped open.
Pajamas.
I was not in bed with some one-night stand.
I was in bed with Charlotte.
I froze, wondering what the hell I had been thinking. My God, if I hadn’t realized what I was doing, I likely would have started fingering her!
What the hell was she doing draped all over me like a blanket? When we went to bed last night, I made sure to stay way over on my side of the bed. Away from her. At first, I was worried she might think that was odd, but she didn’t seem to think it was strange at all. ‘Course, I should have realized that her and my brother probably didn’t get it on every night when she came to bed wearing those ridiculous satin pajamas.
Pants and a shirt.
Did she really sleep like that all the time?
Yep. And judging from the inside of Max’s drawers, so did he. What the hell was this, Leave it to Beaver?
The thought of wearing a long-sleeved satin shirt to bed made me want to turn in my man card to the first man I saw, so I compromised by wearing the pants (Thank God they were blue; I would have drawn the line at some damn girly color) and a white T-shirt.
If Charlotte noticed the change in my nightwear, she hadn’t said. Which means she probably hadn’t noticed. She didn’t miss anything.
And she was definitely a lawyer.
I learned that at dinner last night… along with a bunch of other useless information.
Some of the things I learned are as follows:
1) Max drank red wine with dinner. (I was having beer withdrawals.)
2) Max and Charlotte hadn’t been out to dinner together in months.
3) They were both workaholics.
4) Her hair looked stupid in a bun
5) She didn’t know where the flash drive was.
So much for using last night’s meal as my first round of investigation.
As far as I could tell, she knew nothing about a flash drive. She didn’t even seem to realize Max was having trouble at work (Trouble being his co-workers wanted to kill him).
Frankly, I was ready to write her off as no one useful at all, but something held me back from that.
Because amid all the useless information and boring dinner conversation, I picked up on something. Something that had me interested.
Charlotte was jumpy. The way her eyes would scan the restaurant, the street, the hallways in the apartment building… it told me that she was afraid of something.
But what?
I thought about coming right out and asking her, but I wasn’t sure if I should.
She kind of acted like she didn’t want me to see her fear.
Oh, Charlotte, what is going on in that pretty head of yours? My hand moved with the thought, gently brushing over her hair, my fingers tangling a little in the soft strands.
I froze.
I didn’t stroke women’s hair.
Ever.
The action must have seemed foreign to her as well because she woke immediately and, judging from the way her body tensed, our little sleeping position was not a regular kind of thing.
Was she frigid or something?
Wearing her hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck, a black suit, and pumps to dinner and a pajama set to bed… maybe she was lousy in bed. Maybe she was one of those women who hated sex. Maybe my brother had been miserable in this relationship and was looking for a way out.
An image of her red toenails flashed into my mind.
Frigid women didn’t pain their toes red.
Did they?
She tilted her head back, her cheek brushing over my pectoral muscle, causing my nipple to harden into a firm pebble. There was a little bit of surprise in her eyes. “Morning,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.
“Hey,” I murmured, my fingers spasming on her waist. She bit back a gasp.
It gave me an idea. A fun one.
I was going to find out if women with red-painted toes could be frigid or not.
I stroked the area of her waist that was bare, just below where her shirt had ridden up. Her skin was smooth and warm, soft to the touch, and I stroked it again. She watched me with a wide stare, not looking away, as I grew bolder, dipping my fingers downward, brushing over the hip bone that jutted out softly and down, caressing over the soft flesh of her belly and drawing a circle around her belly button.
I heard her swallow, a thick movement, along with a soft intake of breath.
I was affecting her.
Inching just a little farther south, I played with the waistband of her satin pants, slipping just beneath them, like I was thinking—like I was planning… on going lower.
I felt the beat of her heart against my side. It was racing, thumping heavily in her chest. Leaving my fingers just inside her pants, I glanced at her. I caught her hazel stare with mine and a small wave of tenderness filled me.
It was a feeling I wasn’t really used to and I shut my eyes against it. But even as they closed, I could still feel her. I could feel the satin of her skin, the pounding of her heart. Without thought, I leaned down, placing my lips against her hairline, breathing in
that fresh and calming scent.
I allowed my mouth to linger, to graze her forehead as I pulled back. Her hand tightened on my waist and then began to move, sliding upward toward my chest and settling right above my heart. Her fingers twisted in the soft cotton of the shirt, and I swear it was like an open invitation to her waiting lips.
I RSVP’d to that invitation instantly.
Moving swiftly, I rolled over her, pinning her body into the mattress, and swooped down, claiming her mouth with mine.
An electric jolt of satisfaction cracked through me like a lightning bolt in a storm. I increased the pressure, pushing us together even closer, taking in the feel of that heart-shaped mouth, rubbing my lips over hers, creating a delicious friction between us.
She groaned lightly and I swept my tongue insider her mouth, slipping past her teeth and brushing against the roof of her mouth. The palm of her hand flattened against my shoulder, pulling me even closer.
I kissed her, our lips melding together, and I didn’t break contact—not even for a second. It was as if our lips were two magnets that couldn’t stand the pull another second.
My hips moved of their own accord, surging forward, rocking against her core. I was so hard that it was almost painful. My body cried out for release, and in that moment, I could only think of one thing: burying myself so deep in her body and pounding away until I poured every last ounce of desire out of me and into her.
Below me, Charlotte gasped, breaking our lips apart and staring up into my eyes. Her breathing was heavy and with every indrawn breath, her chest would push against mine. The desire in her eyes was undeniable. All thoughts of this woman being frigid completely vanished and raw hunger took over.
On my way to capture her lips, a loud beeping broke through the moment.
“Oh!” she said, wiggling out from beneath me to roll over and hit a button on the alarm clock beside the bed.
I collapsed on the sheets and shoved my head into a pillow.
Sleeping with Charlotte was not in the plan.
Being turned on by Charlotte was not in the plan.
For once, I was going to have to keep it in my pants. How the hell was I going to keep it in my pants when it was straining to get out?
“Max?” a voice to my left asked softly. I felt her timid touch on my shoulder.
I flipped over, staring up at the ceiling. “What?” I asked gruffly.
“Never mind,” she replied, withdrawing from me and the bed. Just before she slipped out completely, I rolled and caught her wrist.
“I’m not mad at you. It’s the alarm I’m mad at.” I was an ass before. Usually I wouldn’t care, but I had to live with her for a little while longer and she didn’t know it, but she’d been through enough already. Finding out my brother was dead was going to be enough for her to deal with.
I didn’t want her to think she had done something wrong, something that made me not want her. The truth was if that alarm hadn’t gone off, I would likely be deep in her right this moment. The realization made my teeth slam together. I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted a woman so badly.
She glanced over her shoulder. Some of her hair had fallen out of that ridiculous bun she put it in yesterday and framed her face. “It’s okay.”
I thought about brushing the blond strands away so I could see her eyes better. I didn’t. I didn’t trust myself to touch her at all right now.
She got out of the bed and I watched her as she went to the wooden dresser and pulled out what looked like black pants and a spandex top. Definitely not clothes to go be a lawyer in. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was just six a.m.
I remembered the gym I saw on the first floor when I came in yesterday.
A workout sounded like a pretty good idea right now. If I couldn’t have sex, I could run my tension off on the treadmill.
My thoughts stalled when she began unbuttoning her top. I should look away.
I should look away right now.
To hell with that. I wasn’t looking away.
The last button slid free and the white satin of her top slid downward, over her arms. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She was completely bare.
Her breasts were full and high. Creamy globes that rounded heavily off her small frame with dark-pink nipples that were currently puckered into little pebbles. When she bent slightly to pick up her top, they shifted forward, hanging just a bit, and I had the vision of capturing one of those perfect globes in my mouth and teasing that little pink rock with my tongue.
Oh, the sounds that I could make her moan.
Yeah, I needed a run. A very long run followed by an icy-cold shower.
She lifted her arms and pulled the gray top over her head and for a few moments I gaped at her naked torso without holding back. Her face was lost in the top and all I could see was all that creamy, perfect skin…
“Mind if I join you at the gym?” I said, hoping out of bed and forcing my eyes away from her.
She paused. “You’re not going to work out at the office gym today?”
Shit. I made a face at the wall. Max usually worked out at the office. He slept at the office. Did he ever come home?
“I need to work through lunch.” I lied. “Busy day.”
“Oh. Sounds good, then.”
After adjusting my junk (I swear that’s all I do around here), I headed toward the closet. I made it two steps.
There at the end of the bed she was bent over, pulling off her pajamas and thrusting her panty-clad ass in my face.
Did this woman think I was a saint?
Didn’t she know she had to keep the goods put away if she didn’t want me to jump her?
She bent down a little farther, tugging the leggings over her feet. Her ass was heart-shaped like her mouth…
I cleared my throat and changed course and went into the bathroom. Only after I heard her out in the kitchen did I go back in the bedroom to find a pair of sweats to work out in.
She met me at the front door and extended a bottle of water to me, which I took. “Thanks.”
I followed her down to the gym on the first floor, alternating my stare between her ass and that god-awful bun. Why would she punish her hair that way?
She had a nice body. It was clearly visible in the workout clothes and not hidden under some nun suit or baggy pajamas. As I watched her step on the stair climber, I realized that what I was seeing right now was likely the most dressed “down” she ever got.
Charlotte Rose Carter was a tense, no-nonsense workaholic. If my theory was right, she was probably a stickler for routine, never had any fun (which she proved at last night’s snooze-worthy dinner), and never had sex.
No wonder my brother slept at work.
I glanced at her ass bouncing around as she worked out. Tearing my eyes away, I turned on the treadmill and began to warm up. When my eyes started to stray in her direction again, I cranked up the speed and started to run.
She sure acted like she never got any sex, and while I pitied my brother, I couldn’t help but remember the way she reacted to my touch this morning when she was pinned beneath me. There was a fire inside Charlotte. It was buried beneath her stuffy clothes, lesbian-style hair, and proper demeanor.
It made me wonder if Max ever bothered to dig deep enough to find it.
10
Charlotte
I couldn’t concentrate. It didn’t matter how many coffees I consumed or how many ice waters I drank. I opened the window in my office to let in the brisk air. I played annoying, fast-paced rock music in the background while I went over depositions.
Nothing worked.
My mind replayed this morning over and over again.
My body relived the sensation of Max’s fingertips against my skin. The sensation of goose bumps rising across my flesh when his lips brushed my hairline was a reoccurring echo across my body.
My clothes felt tight. My skin too warm. And I was hungry. But nothing I ate or tried to eat was appetizing.
Never h
ad he ever made me feel this way. No one had ever made me feel this way.
Was this desire?
Was this what all the girls in the office stood around the water cooler on Monday morning’s giggling about?
I thought I knew desire. I thought I understood the pull between a man and a woman.
I didn’t know anything.
Before packing up the documents I would need later this evening, I reconfirmed with my clients the dinner meeting was still on. It was and so I gathered everything I would need and started walking home.
My office was several blocks away from our apartment, but it was still a manageable walk. When the weather was bad, I usually just took a cab, but otherwise, I liked to walk, even if it was cold.
A lot of days my walk to and from work was my quiet time. My time to decompress between work, social obligations, exercise… It was my time to just be.
I wasn’t sure what it said about me that my “quiet” time took place on the crowded and loud streets of New York City, and it was the one thing I didn’t try to analyze. Probably because I was afraid of the answer I might conclude.
Today my quiet time was intruded upon.
Not by thoughts of my work meeting tonight.
Not by memories of my time in bed with Max this morning.
I was intruded upon by a feeling. A creepy feeling of being watched. This wasn’t like that overused feeling from books and movies. This wasn’t the hair rising on the back of my neck, the stop and look behind you to see nothing at all feeling.
It was an awareness. The kind of awareness that felt like a cold wind brushing over your skin. A pit of dread that settled in your gut and left you waiting. Waiting for something bad to happen.
I didn’t bother to look behind me. Like I said, no one would be there. For all I knew, this was just another side effect from the other night.
Was it possible to have PTSD from attempted kidnapping? That seemed rather dramatic and I was not a dramatic type of person.
Tricks Page 6
