by Cari Quinn
“We’re going to be late.”
“I don’t care.” He took off his coat and set it aside to prove how serious he was. “Talk to me.”
She shook her head so hard he worried she’d dislodge something. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. It’s just me, Vic.”
Then she was in his arms, and hell if he knew how she’d gotten there. But God, it felt good. Right.
So fucking right.
It was only when she eased back that he realized she was crying. “I’m sorry. We don’t have…this.” She waved between them while he shut the door. “You’re not my boyfriend. Not my any—”
He gathered her up and carried her into the living room, then settled her on his lap. “Shh. Stop.”
“Look at you carrying me. All romance hero-y.”
Her sniffle cut off his laugh. “Just call me Swashbuckling Manflesh and be done with it.”
“What is it with you and pirates?”
“After that castrating statement, I am now behooved to say something dickish to get back my romance hero cred. I hereby demand you get on your knees and suck me off.” He nudged her shoulder. “Now, wench.”
She peeked up at him from under tear-starred lashes. “Can I give you an IOU?”
He ran a fingertip down her nose. “I’ll collect.”
“Good.”
She gave a watery laugh and tucked her wet face into his throat. “I’m sorry. I know we should get going, but…I need you tonight.”
He half expected a choking sensation to seize his throat at the mere implication of her needing him for more than sex. Instead, contentment washed over him as surely as her soft body draping over his.
He took a steadying breath and forced the words out. “I need you, too.”
They sat for a long time in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Holding her like this felt as natural as breathing. He only wondered why he hadn’t made a move on her before, back before they’d had the drama of a fake relationship and too many lies between them.
Oh yeah, because they were complete polar opposites—who somehow found a way to meet in the middle when it mattered most.
“I went to see my mother today,” she finally said.
He remembered Victoria had said she’d seen her mother after she’d left the family, but he didn’t know how often. “She’s nearby?”
“Yes. She’s in Rillings.”
Rillings. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Okay.” She trembled and he drew her closer, willing some of his warmth to transfer to her. Times like this, he realized how delicate she was.
She lifted her gaze to his. “It’s a group facility for people with mental problems.”
And then she reminded him of her strength. More than he’d ever guessed.
“She’s got severe bipolar disorder and suicidal tendencies, among other issues. When she’s not in a phase, she’s fine. The life of every party, the center of every crowd. But when she crashes…” She shut her eyes. “It’s a chemical imbalance, often inherited.”
She conveyed her fear about that with merely a long, steady glance. “Have you been evaluated?”
“I’ve talked to a psychologist. He thinks I’m stable enough.” She laughed weakly. “She’d been fine for years and she thought she was ‘cured.’ Then after she left us, everything started piling up. She couldn’t find steady work, and she felt guilty—”
“As she should have,” he interjected, his hold on her tightening. “She abandoned her goddamn family.”
He knew all too well what it felt like to be left behind, and he’d had people to fill the void. From the sounds of things, she hadn’t. Not nearly enough.
“She knows she made mistakes,” she whispered, looking down as if those mistakes were somehow hers. As if they were her fault.
“Melinda and Bryan aren’t bipolar, are they?”
“They haven’t been evaluated. They don’t even know she is.”
“Do they know you see her?”
Again she shook her head. “No one knows, except you.”
He ran his fingertips down the side of her face, lifting it gently. “How long, Vic? How long have you been shouldering this alone?”
“For years,” she said, and he had to shut his eyes at the pain in her voice. God. What she’d gone through, all on her own. And he’d been griping at her about window treatments and magazine layouts while she’d been trying so hard to take care of the people she cared about. Her mother, Bryan, Melly, Jill.
Even him. Why else had she agreed to be his fake girlfriend when he knew down to the ground that it went against everything she stood for? She’d had her own reputation to think about after the gazebo incident, but that had been a relatively small concern. Talk would die down. But she’d wanted to help him. Lord knows why.
He wanted to beg her to give them a chance. A real one. He didn’t have the first idea how to make a relationship work, but maybe she could give him time to learn.
So many maybes. With every risk grew the likelihood of failure. And he didn’t fail. Ever.
She swiped moisture off her chin. “It hasn’t all been bad. She gets better, and those times are really good.”
“But it’s bad now,” he said gently, wiping away her fresh flood of tears. Each one twisted his stomach.
“Yes.” She rested her head on his shoulder and let out a shuddery breath. “I didn’t hear from her until several years ago. It was only when she went in the hospital the first time that she wrote to me as part of her therapy. She called the same day I received the letter. I was the closest one to her, her baby, and she told me she’d always loved me best. It sounds horrible, but God, I needed to hear that. Bryan and Melly got everyone else’s attention, and I wanted her all to myself. I’d missed her so much.”
“She manipulated you, because she knew you had a soft heart.” Though he’d done the same damn thing, so how was he any better?
“No, it’s not all on her. It’s my fault it’s gone on this long. I tried to tell Bry once, and he just shut me down. He’s had so many issues himself with his injury and God knows Mom’s not the way he remembers her. I didn’t want to add this to all he’s dealing with already. So when he asked me not to talk about her, I gave in. Same thing with Melly. They both think I just want to drive down memory lane and I didn’t push hard enough. I should’ve made them listen to me.”
“How do you make someone listen if they don’t want to?”
She had no answer for that, just a soft sniffle that clenched his gut. “I visited her in secret all these years, hoping she’d get better for good. And then she’d come home and I would be the hero, because I reunited our family.” She laughed harshly and stabbed her fingers against her eyes. “But she hasn’t, and now she has no one else but me, and there’s nothing left inside me for her. I turned my back on my own father when he was struggling because she convinced me he’d driven her away, when all along I knew it was her illness talking. Now I’m the guilty one, because I need a break.”
“And that makes you feel guilty because you think you’re like her. That you could leave someone you love. But you’re not.” He gripped her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. “I know you like I know myself and you’ll never be that cruel or selfish. You don’t have it in you, Vic. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”
She huddled against him as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin. “I like when you call me Vic.”
“Vic,” he breathed, pressing his lips to each damp cheek. “Vic.” Her forehead. Each closed eye. “Vic.” Her chin. And finally her mouth, salty with her tears.
She swallowed, her amber eyes as bright as the tears that gathered beneath them. “Will you stay? I want a night where it’s just us.”
He wanted many more nights like that, and time was running short. His parents’ going-away party was next weekend at the same place they’d held the Value Hardware gala three-plus weeks ago. If he didn’t work fast, their fake relati
onship would dissolve for real.
“I think that can be arranged.” Forcing his dark thoughts away, he grinned and rubbed his palm over her hip. “Prepare yourself, little lady. I’m about to do one of those romance moves again.”
“Wait.” She pressed her hand to his cheek, drawing his eyes to hers. “You told me there were things you want to do to me.”
Her hesitant voice fired his blood like a blowtorch to gasoline. “Tonight’s not the night for that. Let me love you.”
“No. You don’t understand. I need it. I need to feel that much, and you’re the only one who can take me there. Please,” she whispered, her eyes filling again.
Cory nodded, needing a second before he could speak. Her willingness to be vulnerable humbled him. Every time she trusted him with more of her, he craved the rest. He couldn’t ever get enough, and that scared him senseless.
He might not have gone through what she had with her mother, but he’d lost his own father too young not to bear some scars. Even though his stepfather’s presence had helped heal his family, there would always be an ache inside him for his birth father. A small, very real one.
For so long, he’d used work to plug all the holes that he didn’t know if he could do anything else. That was who he was. Except it wasn’t, when he was with her. She made him want more. So much more. He was good at taking care of people, at least materially. Perhaps he could figure out the rest if he tried.
If he fought hard enough.
He swept her up in his arms. “I need a table.”
…
Vicky frowned. That was not what she’d expected him to say. “What?” she asked as he carted her into the dining room—the dining room?—and flipped the light switch.
“Hard of hearing all of a sudden?” A smile played around his cocky mouth as he set her down.
She propped her hands on her hips. “Isn’t a bed good enough for you?”
“A bed is fine. I’ll just have more control in here.”
The word control singed all her nerve endings. “Oh, really. Want a safe word in case it gets too intense for you, CEO?”
Slowly, he licked the inside of his lower lip. “You know about safe words?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t flush and ruin her casual routine. She’d heard of them before Cory had revealed some of his bedroom proclivities, but she’d done more research the last couple of weeks. If she was anything, she was a good student.
“For me, submissive only applies in the bedroom, and only when the mood’s right. I have no need for a submissive beyond those walls.” His lips twisted. “And if I did, you wouldn’t be my first choice.”
Though she suspected he was just teasing her, his words hit her where she was most susceptible. Suddenly she was more interested in her candy-pink-tipped toes than in meeting his gaze. “Do I need a safe word tonight?” she asked quietly.
“Do I?”
She grinned. Just a few minutes ago, she’d been in tears. Already the gloom was lifting. “Yes. Absolutely. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He didn’t grin back. His sober expression caused a tingle in her belly that matched the pulse between her thighs. “My word will be orgasm. Yours?”
His delivery was so smooth she barely noted his choice. Then she rolled her eyes. “Nice pick. I’ll choose…” She settled on a word that would never be a joke to her. “Love.” She expected him to argue with her word, but he didn’t.
He came up to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I know you’ve had a difficult day. Doing this tonight might not be the wisest move. It could bring up things you’d rather leave buried.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she merely met his stare. “I can handle it. I want this, Cory. Every bit of it.” She covered his hands with hers on her cheeks. “Every bit of you.”
His Adam’s apple jerked, a sure sign she’d overwhelmed him. “If you change your mind, tell me right away. I’ll stop. No matter what we’re doing or how far we’ve gone. I’ll stop, I promise.”
“I won’t ask you to stop.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “I have a few things I need before we get started.” He walked to the sideboard and grabbed three of her chunky white votive candles. He moved to the adjacent kitchen and started playing with the CD player beneath the counter. “Don’t you have anything besides hip-hop?”
“I just got a CD of Latin music for my workouts—” She didn’t bother finishing, because he’d already found the right CD and turned it up. The sounds of a Spanish guitar coupled with an insidious drumbeat filled the room, and she swallowed thickly. That sounded sexy all right.
He returned to the room and set the candles on the table, lining them up like little soldiers beside the bowl of ice he’d brought back with him, as well. Then he unknotted one of her dining chair cushions and set it at the head of the table before sliding a glance toward her. “Lighter?”
Don’t freak. It’s just Cory. Your longtime frie—frenemy. “Second drawer.”
After withdrawing the slim blue wand and setting it aside, he glanced around. He hadn’t turned on the room light, just the chandelier. It was a small one meant for mood lighting, so it left the corners of the room in shadow. As apparently he wanted. “Oil?”
She said the first thing that entered her addled brain. “Vegetable or peanut?”
“Massage oil, Victoria.” He shook his head, smiling briefly. “Do you have any?”
“Yes. In my room.“ She started to move toward the door, but he held up a hand.
“I’ll get it. Where?”
“Dresser. The tall red bottle. It’s made from Japanese cherries.”
Another fleeting smile. “Perfect. I’ll be right back.”
While she waited, she dug her cell out of her purse and checked her messages. She had two: one from Jill, letting her know that Mrs. Dealey hated their ideas for her new sunroom and demanded she come over ASAP to discuss changes, and one from Cory’s mother. Of the two, the first made her stomach hurt less.
When Cory returned, she was clutching one of the chairs. She tried unknotting her fingers from the frame but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer. Between the situation with her mother, her fake relationship, and whatever delightful perversions Cory had in mind, she needed to engage in some primal scream therapy.
“Don’t worry. I intend to make you scream.”
Had she spoken aloud? Apparently so.
He cast a look down her body. “Take off your clothes.”
“Just like that?” She hated that her voice wobbled a bit, but who could blame her when his hot gaze was scorching her from the inside out?
“Just like that.” His amusement came through loud and clear.
“You first,” she tossed back.
“Definitely not my first choice for a submissive.” He reached for his bow tie and untied it with a decisiveness that made her melt. She’d been so distracted since he’d arrived that she’d barely noticed how he killed his tuxedo. God, he was delicious. And tonight he was hers.
Maybe permanently, if she played her cards right. He was so stubborn he’d only see the possibilities of them as a couple if he reached the conclusion they could be one for real on his own. After this evening, he’d discover one more layer to their compatibility.
She would, too.
He moved on to his shirt and undid the buttons, watching her all the while. “What are you waiting for?”
She crossed her arms over the back of the chair and eyed him as if he were a fine cut of meat. “I’m enjoying the show.”
“It’ll be my turn soon.” He slid off his tuxedo jacket and shirt in one smooth move, then bent to rid himself of his shoes and socks. As he pulled his belt off, he caressed the leather in a blatantly sexual way and she wet her lips, wondering if spanking was part of his repertoire, too.
“Have you ever struck a woman?” His brow winged up and she flushed. Feigning nonchalan
ce, she directed her focus to his ripped torso with its happy trail of dark hair and almost forgot what she’d intended to ask. “In bed, I mean. You know, with your hand or a belt or a paddle.”
He dropped the belt on the pile. It coiled like a snake, poised to strike her eager behind if she sassed its owner. “I’m not against it, but I prefer other forms of pleasurable pain.”
Pleasurable pain. In his cultured voice, those words made her practically drip with longing.
He unzipped his pants and stepped out of them, quickly following suit with his black boxer briefs. Once he’d folded them, he added them to the pile and turned back to her. Not smiling. Not speaking. Just allowing her to look her fill as if he wasn’t the least bit concerned she was examining the contours and angles—and oh my, one incredibly impressible angle in particular—of his body like the shoe collection at Nordstrom.
Except in this case, she’d taken all her favorite pairs home and could wear them over and over until she couldn’t even walk straight. Or walk at all.
“Your turn,” he murmured.
Chapter Twelve
Here goes everything.
Vicky showed him her back and shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’ll have to unlace my dress for me, sir.”
His eyes went molten silver as he stepped forward. “With pleasure.”
He took his time, caressing her with the sides of his fingers. The laces were more for show than anything else since the zipper’s thin panel of fabric hid her skin, but she’d found the concept sexy. When he finished, he walked around to face her.
Clearly he didn’t want to miss a minute of her peep show. Since she’d just played voyeur herself, she couldn’t say she blamed him.
She cupped her loosened dress to her chest before letting it slide down her body and pool at her feet. He didn’t make a sound at the sight of her in just her minuscule see-through bra and skyscraper heels, but his fingers flexed as she reached for the front clasp of her bra. One flick and that, too was on the floor. She’d bent to take off her shoes when his sharp command brought her up short.
“Leave them on.”
“Whatever spins your windmill.” Scooping up her clothes, she dropped them on top of his. Perspiration already sheened her skin, just from their mutual striptease.
