"Is there something preventing you from interacting with all humans, or just me in particular?" Sam asked.
I glanced at him before refocusing my attention over his shoulder to where Andy leaned next to Shannon's dining room table. She was talking with Tom, offering bright smiles and nodding eagerly, and he seemed to be describing something she found fascinating. Probably his willingness to grow a wiry beard and go to music festivals.
In the two hours since her arrival at Shannon's apartment, she spent all of her time close enough for me to see her yet far enough away that I couldn't eavesdrop. She also spent her time talking with every unattached guy at the party, starting with Nick, who seemed to have substantially more time outside the operating room these days, a few lawyer friends of Shannon's, a skinny marathon friend of Matt's, and now Tom.
It was fucking excruciating.
"All humans," I said, gulping the Newcastle in my hand.
"Right," Sam murmured. "That is splendid news, Patrick. I'm not sure where you get the idea that it's appropriate to be an asshole to people. Running around the office like an angry bear isn't kosher. If possible, I'd recommend you pry your head from your ass this weekend. This is getting old."
Sam stepped away and joined a conversation about an upcoming trip to Arizona to see some spring training games, and I continued my covert study of Andy.
I was tired from a week of sleepless nights, wrung out from the morning at Wellesley, and teetering on the edge of sanity after watching a handful of guys hit on Andy, but I wasn't leaving until she was. If she decided to leave with one of them, I wanted to see it.
Shannon edged next to me on the window seat and wordlessly watched the party. I knew she was reaching out for a truce, and she was waiting for me to make the first peace offering.
That was how it worked: one of us fucked up, the other spent an irrational amount of time pissed off about it, and then we talked around the original fuck-up. The Walshes weren't especially familiar with the words "I'm sorry."
"Wellesley was in good shape," I started, receiving a quick nod from Shannon. "No dogs, either, but let's get real. Andy probably would have whipped them into shape within five minutes while I hid in the backseat. She's working on the proposal."
"I like her a lot. She's good for you, really good. She's good for us," Shannon said, her eyes still focused on her guests. "Is there anything left?"
Tilting my beer back, I drank it down in slow sips. She already knew the answer; she was hoping to hear something different. "No. Some furniture. His closet. Everything else…"
"Yeah," she sighed, swallowing loudly. "Let's not bring that up to anyone else for the time being. Or maybe we don't say anything at all, and they figure it out."
I knew she wanted a thread of redemption for Angus. As much as I wanted it too, redemption never interested Angus, and it never mattered to him that he destroyed our history when he purged the house. With the exception of a few closely guarded snapshots, there were no pictures of us as kids and no evidence of my mother.
Minutes passed before Shannon turned to look at me. "Okay, so now that the heavy shit is out of the way, what the hell happened to you this week? Marisa? Office space? Monday's meeting? Do you actually doubt my investment strategy, or are you a massive dickhead?"
"Massive dickhead." I studied Andy's movements as she spoke to Tom, following her precise gestures and eager nods that encouraged him to continue speaking. He was definitely growing a beard for her, and chances were high that he'd be Instragramming photos of oddly shaped radishes at Whole Foods by Monday.
"I'd rather not hire another assistant, considering the past five have walked out claiming PTSD. I mean, seriously, dude. I don't have time for that shit. Do you think I sit around all day looking for combat-tested personal assistants?"
"I know, I know," I sighed. Andy was sipping a mixed drink, and the desire to find out what it was and hear all about the factors leading to that decision struck me. "Maybe I don't need an assistant. Andy's running a lot of projects now. I need someone to handle my calls and calendar. And manage my expenses."
"Maybe Tom can—"
"No," I interrupted. By my watch, Tom had five minutes before I was firing him and his beard. "I…I think Tom's busy enough with you. Maybe Theresa can help."
"Sure," Shannon said. "She handled Angus, after all, and Matt's a field of daisies in comparison. But you have to know—she doesn't take any shit."
"Yeah, that's because she knows what she's doing. She wouldn't have let that copier jam for four days, and she wouldn't have let me try to take it apart. She's the only reason Angus wasn't a homeless bum."
"All right," Shannon said, indicating the conversation was over. "I'll handle it Monday. But if anyone else walks out because you're a massive dickhead, I cannot be held accountable for my reactions, and my reactions will involve taking off my shoes and beating you with them."
She nodded and walked away from the window seat, leaving me to continue watching Andy. After fetching a fresh beer from the refrigerator, I returned to see Tom leaving the apartment alone. The thrill of getting him out of the picture was short lived when I realized I didn't see Andy, and without much consideration for what I intended to do, I went looking for her. Shannon's home office and guest bedroom were both dark and vacant.
Back in the hall, I stared at the closed door to Shannon's bedroom. She didn't like me going in her space as a kid, and I sincerely doubted she would be happy to find me there now. As I weighed my desire to locate Andy against my fear of Shannon and her sharp heels, a hand shot out from the bathroom, hooked my elbow, and dragged me inside.
"You've been staring at me for two hours." Andy crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the sink. It was an observation delivered with the same tenor she used to order an iced green tea. Lemon, no sweeteners.
God, I wanted her. I wanted all of her, and I knew at that moment I'd give up most anything to get out of my Bermuda Triangle and have her.
"Yeah, I was wondering…did you decide if you have room in your weekend for fried clams?"
"I don't know yet."
"When will you know?" I asked.
"When you tell me why you have me under surveillance."
I glanced at the expanse of bare skin from the plunging neckline of her sweater up to her jaw, and I remembered the way her body reacted to my teeth on her ear. Setting my beer bottle down, I pushed away from the wall and approached Andy until we were a breath apart.
I shrugged. "I stare because you don't give me much else." My knuckles grazed her upper arm and I waited for her to push me away or tell me to stop.
"You walked away from me," she said hotly, her head cocked.
That was how she saw it? Fantastic.
I lifted my hands to her face and kissed her, pouring all of my frustration and misery and desire into the tangle of our lips. I tasted the tart cherriness of Andy. My hands went to her hair, angling her head to take more, taste more, tell more. I needed her to know everything I wasn't able to put into words, all the things I couldn't explain or understand myself.
It wasn't enough to weave my fingers through her hair and consume her mouth. I wanted her skin in my hands. Her waist was slim and silken where my fingers kneaded her beneath her sweater. She must have craved the same contact because her fingers slipped between my sweater and shirt. As she pried open the buttons of my shirt, her touch was a searing reminder of what I missed this past week.
Breaking our connection, I gazed into Andy's heated eyes and smiled when I saw her beautiful and flustered. She was different, at once dark and light, and a warm flush hinted at her cheeks.
"There you are," I whispered, my hands framing her face, my thumbs stroking her delicate cheekbones.
"I've been here the whole time."
"No," I murmured. "No, you don't let me see you."
Andy's lips pulled into that tiny smile, and she wrapped her hand around the nape of my neck, drawing me to her and capturing my mouth in a hun
gry kiss. Her lips communicated more in one kiss than any combination of words. She wanted this.
She wanted me.
My hips pinned her against the sink, but it wasn't enough. I needed her to know how much I wanted her. I palmed her ass and Andy roped her arms around my neck when I lifted her off the ground and backed her against the wall. Her legs coiled around my waist and she flexed against my erection, and we groaned at the sensation sparking between us. Her nails bit into my neck, unleashing a fine tremor of pleasure over my nerves when our lips met again.
"Patrick," she sighed, her fingers scraping over my scalp.
"I want you making that sound while I'm fucking you. When you're coming for me. When you're begging for more, for me."
I kissed down her throat and over the rise of her chest, licking the valley between her breasts and savoring her concentrated flavor. It still wasn't enough, and I nipped and sucked at her skin, leaving angry welts in my wake. Setting her feet on the ground, I dropped to my knees and stroked my hands up the back of her legs. She was solid and strong, and lean like a ballerina.
Pushing her sweater up, I kissed every inch of skin I could reach. I pressed my lips to her body and inhaled her scent. I wanted to consume her and I would flatten anything that stood in my way, though I was keenly aware this didn't change anything in her book.
Shoving Andy's jeans down, I held my breath in anticipation of her panties. I was an expert on her ass. I studied it while she was kneeling at jobsites and each time her shirt rode up her back, I expected to catch a glimpse of her underwear. Each time, I was disappointed. I was also half-convinced she didn't wear any.
When the string bikini came into view, I exhaled, and stopped abruptly to tilt my head and study the tattoo centered on the rise of her right hipbone. My urgent desire to explore Andy warred with my fascination at her tattoo. I hooked a finger around the black bikini strings to better visualize the tattoo, and I blinked at the thin circle circumscribed by a square, with smaller shapes circumscribed within the circle. Of all the things Andy could have imprinted on her body, it shouldn't have surprised me to see rational geometry.
Andy was watching me, smiling when I met her gaze. "Is this Lauweriks's compositional theory?"
"You're quick."
"You're strange," I muttered, and she laughed. "And such a geek."
"If I'm geek for having it, you're a geek for knowing it."
The scent of her arousal hit my senses, redirecting my attention away from Andy's ink and back toward Andy's panties. I wanted to rip them off and keep them like a secret trophy, and I knew a psychologist would have a field day unpacking those urges. I instead focused on her narrow triangle, catching my tongue between my teeth as the fabric gave way and revealed her flesh.
I saw the wheels turning in her mind, her eyes clouding with uncertainty. "What," she started, her voice shaking with need, "why are you doing this?"
"Because it's Valentine's Day and you deserve something special," I replied, our eyes meeting with blistering heat. "And because you want me to. That's why you brought me in here. This is what you're getting. Deal with it."
With her jeans and panties finally pushed to her knees, Andy was bared to me and I wasted no time running my nose through the tight thatch of curls above her glistening slit. My hands snaked around her thighs and cradled her ass, opening her stance for me. She was breathing hard while her hand gripped the towel bar, her knuckles white.
"Hold on," I ordered with a smirk, and dragged my tongue through her slit.
A soft wail when my tongue circled her swollen nub was my reward, her cries intensifying as I increased the pressure and slipped two fingers inside. Her free hand fisted in my hair, her nails scratching and biting into my scalp until I groaned against her. Arching against my mouth, Andy moaned and hesitantly shifted her hips.
"That's right, kitten," I said. I twisted my wrist, my fingers thrusting deeper, harder while I sucked her clit. I wanted to see her unravel. It wasn't enough for the aloof veneer to dissolve; I wanted her flushed, panting, and begging me to let her come.
Tightening her grip on my hair, her hips undulated against my face and I was drowning in her. Pleas and whispers slipped from her lips between breathy moans. She begged and swore and sighed my name while she tried to find the rhythm that would bring her to release. She faltered, and I increased the tempo of my fingers as they shuttled through her slippery center. I drew her folds between my teeth, biting gently before returning pressure to her clit.
I wanted her remembering every last moment of this tomorrow, and thinking about me. Hopefully she wouldn't also be thinking about resigning or filing a restraining order. Or both.
"Come on, kitten. Get it," I growled, renewing my assault on her clit. I licked and lapped, feeling new rushes of arousal dripping down my wrist as my fingers pushed her higher.
"Oh fuck, Patrick," she moaned. I was thankful the music coming from Shannon's speakers would muffle Andy's sounds. But I also wanted her screams. "Please. Please. Please, Patrick, please."
I thought about dropping my pants and sliding into her right then, knowing I could get us both there within minutes. But this wasn't about me. This was about seeing Andy raw and primal, and begging for my attention as much as I begged for hers. It was about proving to her that she wanted me, and I could give her what she wanted.
"What do you need?"
I pulled her clit between my lips and sucked hard while my fingers continued rocking into her center. Releasing her tender nub, I glanced up and regretted not stripping her before starting this wicked game. I wanted to see her flushed with heat, her breasts swaying in time with her hips. I wanted more of her. I wanted everything I could get, even if it changed nothing. Even if I hated that.
Her head lolled against the wall with a low moan. "How…how did you know…?"
"How did I know you wanted this?" Andy bit down on her lip while her eyes closed and she nodded. She was beautiful, and completely at my mercy. "The sweater, for one. You wanted me staring at your tits, thinking about tasting them."
My tongue teased over her and I felt her walls spasm around my fingers.
"The flirting, for two. You let me watch you with all those guys, knowing you'd torture me until you got me alone. You're evil like that, kitten."
Gently biting at her folds, I twisted my wrist and increased the rhythm.
"The drink, for three. You knew I'd want to know what and why. And finally—"
My tongue circled her clit, and I felt her pulsing against me.
"You wanted me staring. You like keeping this dirty little secret from them." I smiled against her wet center. My tongue swirled over her clit again and I was rewarded with a shuddering moan. "But what you really want is me taking you back to my place and tying you to the bed. You really want me fucking you all night."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she groaned, her hand pulling at my hair. I was on board with a bald spot if it meant feeling Andy come on my fingers. "Don't stop, Patrick."
I wanted to respond to her demand, and insist a flaming asteroid slamming through the building wasn't stopping me, but her hand held me in place as the tremors rippled in her core. Latching onto her clit, I sucked greedily when the spasms rolled through her body and she chanted unintelligibly, mumbled pleas and curses mingling with my name. Andy's fingers twisted in my hair when her release finally arrived, her inner walls surging and contracting for minutes while my tongue traced her clit and she panted my name.
I wanted to hear my name, just like that, for the rest of my life.
Andy's knees threatened to give out, and I reluctantly pulled my fingers away. I stood, anchoring her to the wall. After half an hour of worshipping Andy, my belt was strangling my cock, and the rush of blood to my brain dulled my senses. A wide, lazy grin spread across her face when our eyes met, hers slightly unfocused and soft. Exactly as I wanted her.
Andy's plump lips brushed against my neck and jaw, finally reaching my mouth for a slow kiss. I always knew she had a
filthy side. I just needed to invite it out to play.
"That was…incredibly thorough," she sighed against my mouth, and I was ready to respond with an offer to spend the night at my place but she shook her head, pressing a finger against my lips. "But we shouldn't. This is such a bad idea. No more of this. We have to stop."
Her voice trailed off and I released her from my hold. It hit me while she was righting her jeans and fluffing her hair into place: she was politely dismissing me.
Drinking in one last look at Andy, the emptiness blindsided me. Her rejection, my day reliving family bullshit, my agonizing week. It all slammed into my chest, and I couldn't get out of that bathroom quickly enough.
The Space Between is available now!
An Excerpt from Preservation
Alexandra
He pointed at the plate between us. "These are my favorite pretzel bites in the city. Try some."
I shot him a sharp look. "Are you just trying to get me in a good mood?" I asked. "I did eat lunch today."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, dipping two pretzels in the accompanying sauce. "What did you have? Based on you yelling at me about noticing your shoes, I'd say it was an iced venti skinny latte."
"Almonds," I replied. And an iced venti skinny latte but I wasn't copping to that just yet.
Riley tried to fight a laugh, failed. "Almonds?" he repeated.
"Chocolate-covered almonds, yes." I folded my arms across my chest. "It was an appropriate amount of calories, fat, protein, and carbs."
He shook his head and ate another pretzel. "I don't want to live in a world where a few almonds—chocolate or otherwise—are lunch." He pointed to the plate and pushed his beer toward me. "Eat. Drink. Please."
I glared at the pilsner and pretzels. I hated being told what to do. Just fucking hated it. But then my stomach growled—goddamn digestive muscles—and Riley shot me a pointed glance.
The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating Page 25
