by Tilly Pope
“Good morning, Sage.”
“Good morning?” Her outrage is palpable and I bite down on the inside of my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret, or worse, something I might not. “That’s what you have to say after…everything?”
“What the hell should I say? Would you like me to thank you for a great fuck?”
She growls and struggles, scrambling with the all the fabrics covering her body until she’s on her feet with her hands on her hips, big blue eyes glaring at me like I’ve done something to her. Sage casts a long look at her naked body and then mine, clad only in boxers, and growls again. “I can’t believe this.”
“Can we please put a lid on the morning after outrage? You were a willing participant last night. Every. Damn. Time.” The look of outrage on her face fills me with twisted satisfaction. Maybe that makes me a sick bastard, but this innocent dove act is ruining my morning after glow.
“You’re sick.”
“And you’re a drama queen, Sage. We had sex. Damn good sex and we did it a few times. Both of us.” I move closer to her and enjoy the way her blue eyes widen and she takes a cautious step back. “In fact, I seem to recall quite vividly, an image of you on top of me, riding my cock while those magnificent tits bounced around.” I close my eyes and smile, ignoring the outrage she does a good job of faking.
“You, Finn Byrne, are a fucking pig!”
I blink. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sage.” It doesn’t surprise me at all that her gaze darts around the room, landing first on the torn panties on my desk, but I sit back and enjoy the view anyway.
“This was a mistake,” she grumbles mostly to herself as she snatches each item of clothing and yanks it on her body.
“I guess that means we won’t be enjoying a morning after breakfast together?”
Her response is another growl before she grabs her briefcase and storms out of my office. A few seconds later the elevator dings and I know that closes the book on my night with Sage.
The smile on my face is no reflection of the anger I feel in this moment for Sage. She wouldn’t be the first woman to wake up with morning after regrets but the way she screamed, like it was all a surprise to her.
What a crock of shit.
But as pissed off as I am, I am not at all surprised by her behavior. She is queen of the dramatic exit, even in the courtroom. It leaves quite an impression, much like the woman herself. It’s a good thing I don’t have time to dwell on the way Sage stormed out of here, or all the ways I made her scream my name. Or the way she felt coming apart around my cock. Four times.
Fuck yeah. Four fucking times.
I have plans that don’t include spending another day inside this empty office and they certainly don’t include moping about a hot night of sex with an even hotter woman.
Since I didn’t make it home last night because of the hot as hell woman, I have a full schedule before my flight to Kansas City this afternoon. It’s been two years since I’ve been home for Christmas because the low prosecutor on the totem pole gets to stay in town to get a jump start on any high profile holiday crimes.
This year, I’m surprising my mom which means I need to hurry and clean up my office. An official cleaning crew will come through once more this week and then again the weekend before the courthouse reopens. It’ll be the same day I’ll see Sage again.
January second.
By then last night will be nothing but a distant memory and I’ll be prepared to battle her where I know I can win. In court.
Thirty minutes later I stroll out of the courthouse with a smile on my face and Sage’s purple panties in my pocket. I look up at the gray and white sky. The worst of the blizzard passed in the night but the weather is still foreboding. Snow continues to fall, those fat soft flakes threatening to stick at any moment as I make my way to the curb, flagging down the first cab I see when the wind picks up.
This is the first time since I moved to New York that there hasn’t been wall to wall traffic on the streets. Few cabs were brave enough to take to the streets before the plows came through and fewer people were willing to brave the cold or the wind. At least not until Christmas Eve. If the weather doesn’t change by then, the city will swell with last minute shoppers and I smile to myself, happy I won’t be here to witness the mayhem.
“You are happy to spend the holiday in the city?”
I look up at the cab driver, a middle-aged man with a wide smile. Even in this weather. “No sir. I’m headed out in just a few hours. There’s no place like New York at Christmas, I’ll tell you that.” Nothing in Kansas City can compare.
It isn’t just the snow or the skyscraper size trees expertly decorated every single year, it’s the whole vibe of the city. The way it comes alive at this time of the year, despite all the dirt and grime, the crime, and all the other bad shit.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sir, but you’re stuck in this city you love for the holidays. Heard it myself just a few minutes ago.” He taps a spot near his ear, wearing an apologetic smile that puts me on edge immediately.
“I hope you heard wrong,” I tell him as my fingers fly to the airline website to check the flight status. The flight is in about six hours which means there’s plenty of time for the weather to clear up. If there are any lingering weather problems.
“I hope I am too. Enjoy your holiday, man.”
At the driver’s words, I look up from my screen to find we’re already at my place. I pay him and head inside, kicking off my shoes and making my way to the living room that doubles as my office. Not because I don’t have an office, I do, but most of my time is spent in this room. Eating and working, watching TV, video chatting with my parents, my brother and sister too. Some nights I even fall asleep here.
I open my laptop and start surfing, happy that it takes me just a few minutes to find the weather. The last remnants of the blizzard will be gone in the morning, but they expect another storm tomorrow night. My gut clenches but I keep going, hoping the airline has better news.
They don’t.
Cancelled. Every flight out of the city.
Cancelled. For the next two days. At least.
Cancelled. Just like my holiday.
My vacation.
My week away from the city before the trial starts.
I could get angry, like Sage probably would. Or I could go stock my fridge and get a jump on case notes. Maybe tomorrow I’ll grab my skates, buy a cup of hot cocoa spiked with rum and enjoy having the city to myself.
9
Sage
When life gives me lemons, sweet and sassy orgasm flavored lemons, I run away like a scared little virgin. And lose every ounce of credibility I’ve built up over the past five years. That’s what my childish schoolgirl act this morning did in my eyes. It set me back about a million years where Finn Byrne is concerned.
Finn make my fucking toes curl Byrne.
Damn him.
Who knew the uptight Eagle Scout has more moves than a stripper and enough heat to keep all of New York warm until Spring? I sure as hell didn’t and even if I did, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I am now a believer.
The pain burning in my thighs helps me believe. The way my belly clenches at the thought of how those hazel eyes shone up at me like golden orbs as he licked me to orgasm twice, all while I rode his face like my own personal pony ride. “Stop it!”
I can’t take another daydream about the gorgeous prosecutor with the giant stick up his finely toned ass, or the way his ass bunches and flexes under my heels when he drove into me. Hard and fast. No man has ever made me feel so out of control, so desperate for him. No man has ever forced these lips to beg for more. Ever.
And of course it has to be the Boy Scout who does it for me, right? That’s how the universe works. I stay away from Finn Byrne types. Guys with silver spoons, boy next door good looks and political ambitions. Guys like that are in search of trophy wives. Accessories. And that’s something I can’t ev
er be. For anyone.
Ever.
“If I have one more Finn Byrne related thought, I’m checking myself into the nuthouse.” I spend the morning organizing my own files and thoughts for the upcoming trial because I have plenty to do. Too much, in fact, to obsess over a night of good sex.
No, it was great sex.
Okay fine, it was incredible sex.
So incredible I keep my thighs clenched tight to stop the pulsing. I mean, the guy is hung like a horse. And those moves? Incredible.
I don’t have time to act like some lust stricken teeny bopper. Those years are long gone. I’m a professional woman, more than capable of enjoying a night of carnal pleasure without weaving in fantasies like a child.
But to be sure, I set aside the case files and take a shower until all hints of sandalwood and leather with a hint of lemon are removed from my skin, replaced with coconuts and vanilla in my attempt to pretend the world outside isn’t a cold, deserted icy wasteland. I need to get out of my apartment and a quick look at the falling snow tells me exactly where I want to be.
Dressing carefully, I find my favorite pair of jeans, slightly stretchy with a small hole at the knee, which gives me the perfect excuse to slide on the cable knit stockings one of the paralegals bought as my secret Santa gift last year.
Growing up in New York, I have a process for getting dressed on days like this. Layers. A thin cotton camisole over my bra, then a lightweight cotton t-shirt—preferably long sleeved—and a hooded sweater that would be the final layer before I add my hot pink vest. The look caps off with bright white gloves and a matching hat, okay a beret because it’s too cute to pass up.
Reaching for my skates, I hesitate on the photo of my family from last Christmas. Mom and Dad had gone to visit my kid sister Sierra who’d been expecting her first child. This year she gave birth to twins and they were in Santa Fe again.
I don’t know why it bothers me this year; it hasn’t bothered me for the past ten years because I have a life of my own. A busy career that takes up a lot of time. At least that’s what I tell myself because I’m not ready to examine or accept any other explanation.
My breath catches as I come face to face with the iconic tree, shining bright and proud in the dark, chilly night. Another year has passed where I missed the lighting of the tree because I was preparing for a trial, in the middle of a trial and just finishing one up. It’s the story of my life. My really great and super satisfying life.
Yeah.
Right.
I hit the ice before my thoughts swirl out of control, letting the way my blades glide on the ice rink soothe me as they always do. One foot in front of the other, I push down and forward, moving around the rink in a blur of pink and white. Faster and faster I go, pushing my muscles to the point of exhaustion until my muscles feel warm and flexible. With a smile on my face I slow down and weave left and right and push into a single turn.
Every time my skates connect with the ice, a weight lifts from my shoulders. No worries about the trial I’m going to win. No worries about missing every family event for the sake of my career. No worries about the fact that I had sex with my archenemy. And I liked it.
And I want to do it again. And again. And dammit, again.
The only thing to stop that line of thought is a twirl. A slow spin that makes me feel like I’m flying through the air. Everything is a blur, just a flash of laughter and colors, nothing is in focus. It feels wild but also contained. My smile grows with every turn and I keep going and going, spinning and grinning like a fool as all my troubles fall away.
At least for a moment.
Slowly my turn loses momentum but my smile never fades, not even when my skate catches and both of my feet flail under me. I’m going down, no matter how many times I tell myself to remain calm, not to flail, and I brace myself to hit the ice.
Only the ice never comes, just a pair of strong arms attached to a wide chest and a dangerously masculine scent. “Whoa, careful there, Sage.”
My eyes close at the way he says my name, slow and seductive like it’s the name of a sexy French runway model. Then I realize he knows my name. And then I realize that I know his voice. And why. “Finn? What are you doing here?”
His hazel eyes are smiling down at me and honestly, it’s a welcome sight. Like I hadn’t run out on him earlier like a fool. “The same as you, I imagine. Skating. It’s a perfect night for it too, there are what, maybe fifty people here tonight?”
Finn lifts me up so we’re chest to chest and for a second, I can’t look away from his eyes. Up close like this I can see the spectacular rainbow that gives his eyes a heavenly glow, as the papers refer to it. Often. “Well, uh, thanks for the assist.” My voice comes out breathless and I feel the heat creeping up on my cheeks.
“My pleasure.” The smile on his face, the insinuation in his voice tells me he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to Kansas?” I snark. When all else fails, bitchery works like a charm.
He laughs and shakes his head, his hand still low on my back which I’m secretly grateful for because his proximity is bad for my knees. “Kansas City, which is in Missouri. A fact I’m sure you already know.”
“It’s all the same anyway, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so,” he says and grabs my hand so we are palm-to-palm, fingers tangling together happily. “Then again, I am more open-minded than you are.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort before I realize he’s leading me around the rink. I’m skating around Rockefeller Center with Finn Byrne. No, with Finn Byrne’s hand in mine. “I am plenty open minded. I think I’ve already proven that.”
His face splits into an irresistible grin and I find myself leaning forward as his hand wraps around my waist. “Adventurous, in the pursuits of the flesh, sure. But open-minded? I’m not convinced.”
He’s goading me and I know it but when he releases my hand, I skate faster to catch up with him. “It’s a good thing I’m not trying to convince you then, isn’t it?”
“Aren’t you?” We round the curve of the rink together and he pulls me in front of him, so we’re face to face, almost dancing.
“Nope.”
“Too bad.” He reaches for my arm and spins me perfectly, pulling a loud, boisterous laugh from me. I spin and laugh, feeling like a kid. Light and free, carefree, even. I spin and spin, grinning wildly until the world comes into focus again. Until Finn’s face comes into focus. He pulls me against his chest with a dark, seductive grin. “Because I have to tell you, I’m pretty damn impressed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grins, leaning in, reading the moment absolutely correctly.
Almost. He hesitates with his lips a breath away from mine and I lean in, taking his lips because I can’t resist. Because I don’t want to resist. Not anymore. Isn’t twenty-four hours enough for one woman to resist?
Even there, dead smack in the center of an almost blizzard, I kiss him, the most eligible man in the city.
And for this moment, for this kiss, he’s all mine.
10
Finn
“Of course you have a tree.” Sage grumbles the words under her breath but she’s a terrible whisperer and sound travels in my semi-open plan apartment.
“What’s wrong with having a tree? “Tis the season, after all.” That earns me another of those scowls I’m slowly becoming addicted to, but not as much as her laughter. Watching, hell, listening to the sound of her laughter as I twirl her on the ice, was unforgettable. Not to mention hot as hell, the way she moves, graceful and easy, like an athlete.
“Trees are for people with families. With presents to put under the tree.”
“There are presents under the tree, maybe you should wear those glasses you try to hide all the time.” The glasses give her a distinctive sexy librarian look but telling her as much, might have her storming from my apartment prematurely.
“I do not wear glasses.”
/> “Not in front of people, anyway. Too bad, you look crazy fucking hot in them.”
She opens her mouth and I brace myself for another one of her insults, but instead she smiles. “Thanks. But I don’t have them. Don’t need them for skating, do I?”
“No, but I would love to see you in nothing but glasses. Maybe those sky high heels you wear,” I tell her honestly. If Sage wants to run, she will. Nothing I say will change that, so I decide to enjoy it. However long it lasts.
She swallows. Hard. Licking her lips slowly, heat pouring from her eyes.
Fuck. Me.
“I was promised a hot beverage.”
“And you will have one. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Oh, I plan to.” Her words are ominous but I shrug and head to the kitchen, whipping up my favorite post-skate drink. “This place looks nothing like I pictured it.”
I can only imagine how she pictured my place. “More tasteful?”
“Homier than I would have imagined.”
“Thanks. My mom and sister helped me decorate the place. My brother tried to shove a designer on me but she suggested black leather and white pillows. Who has time for that?”
Her laugh is sweet. Amused. “You’re close with your sister?”
“Yeah, we’re only two years apart and my brother is six years older than me so we’re not as close. You have any siblings?”
“My sister Sierra just had twins this year and my parents are in New Mexico with her and her family. She had a baby last year too.”
“Wow.” I whistle and share my own siblings procreational habits. “It’s like they do it just to make us look bad.”
Sage laughs and joins me in the kitchen. “I’m glad you said it, Golden Boy, and not me.”
“Golden? Hardly.” I work hard, probably harder than most simply because I come from a background of privilege. “Everyone assumes because I don’t need the money, I don’t work hard.”
