The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  Eric swore.

  "Don't worry, I'll buy you another one," she said.

  "That's not—"

  She captured his mouth, not interested in words. Tonight her curiosity would be satisfied. Who was Eric? What was he about? Even if it was the worst sex in the world, she had to know the answer. She let her hands trail the expanse of his chest, awed by the muscles there. Hills and valleys of masculine strength painted the color of earth. Hot like clay from a furnace.

  "When did you find the time to develop these?" she asked.

  He didn't answer. He grabbed the rest of his cheesecake and smeared it on her chest in a smooth S pattern. "Now I'm an artist with you as my canvas."

  Adriana arched toward him as he licked his way around her chest. A moan escaped her as she felt the creamy, cool sensation of cheesecake followed by a hot tongue. She could feel herself melting beneath him.

  He lifted his head. His dark eyes smoldering yet distant. "Let's go."

  "Go?" Her voice cracked. "You want to stop now?"

  "No. I want to go to the bedroom."

  "Why?" Her hand snaked to the bulge in his pants. "We're doing perfectly fine here."

  "I'm a traditionalist."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Don't give me that. You just ate cheesecake off my chest."

  "I want you," he whispered against her mouth.

  She let her tongue touch his lower lip. "You have me."

  "In the bedroom."

  She sighed, feeling the moment passing. Did she really want to find out what a bore he was? He was a great kisser, but perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. "Eric—"

  "Save my name for the bedroom." He lifted her and headed there. He tossed her on the bed.

  She glared at him. She gathered her shirt together. "I should be outraged."

  He undid his trousers. "Whatever makes you happy."

  "You are—"

  "Compliments later." He took off his trousers and threw them aside. They landed on the door handle. "Don't worry, you'll enjoy this."

  She swallowed, gripping her shirt, unsure of his mood. "But I—"

  He climbed onto the bed. "We'll do it on the couch another time, but tonight I have my supplies here." He reached over her into his bag and pulled out a box of condoms.

  Her mouth fell open. "That's what you bought?"

  He loosened her grip on the shirt. "No need to thank me."

  "I won't. I feel insulted."

  He pushed the shirt from her shoulders and kissed the bare skin. "You find it insulting to be wanted by a man?"

  She closed her eyes as he inched up her neck. "You think I'm easy, don't you?"

  "Let me show you what I think of you." He tugged off her skirt, her panties followed. He held them up and frowned. "Now this is a disappointment."

  "They're comfortable."

  He raised a brow. "Fruit of the Loom?"

  "They could be support hose."

  He tossed it aside. "Oh well."

  He rolled on a condom. Soon his body covered hers with passion she'd never known. A fervor of desire that brought forth a sheen of sweat, his body eloquent and well versed in lovemaking. She was speechless, her body an eager, selfish form taking all that he offered. Outside, morning pushed in, slowly gathering the shadows. Their bodies moved to the rhythm of one.

  In the distance the clock struck twelve.

  * * *

  Her body hummed like a finely tuned violin. It had never hummed before with such awe-inspiring pleasure, such self-satisfaction. Her lover had been a masterful player and the music created would echo through many memories. She glanced at the sleeping form beside her. She lifted the covers to stare at his naked body. She was used to guys with piercings and tattoos—his skin was as smooth and clean as the day he was born. Not even a nick from a knife or a bruise from a childhood accident marred the surface.

  She dropped the blanket and looked at his face. Not even sleep could alter his grave expression. Short black lashes jutted from his lids and nothing could soften that granite jaw. She traced it with her fingers. It felt like stone, the metal edge of a robot. Suddenly, reality crashed into her fantasy.

  She had slept with Eric! Dull, ordinary, irritating Eric! Eric Henson—her best friend's brother-in-law. Her financial adviser. Had she been drunk? She delicately shook her head, but there was no sign of a hangover. She had been perfectly sober the entire night. Every thought and emotion came rushing back. How had she let this happen? Was this how far her sense of pity had taken her?

  The phone rang, jarring her out of her panicked thoughts. Before she could reach it, Eric's arm slipped from under the blanket and picked up the phone. His husky voice, heavy with sleep, triggered memories of the voice that had wooed her in the darkness.

  "Hello? Hi, Cassie. Just wait a minute."

  She kept her eyes closed, knowing he would be able to read her if he saw them. She felt his rough cheek against hers as he gently kissed her good morning. "Cassie's on the phone."

  She muttered something unintelligible and took the receiver. He disappeared into the bathroom.

  "Adriana, are you there?" Cassie asked.

  There in body, not in mind. She lifted the phone to her ear and opened her eyes. "Yes, I'm here," she croaked.

  "Was that Eric?"

  She bit her lip. "Yes, I—"

  Cassie groaned, dismayed. "I am so sorry. Did he keep you up all night going over your budget? He has a hard time stopping once he's gotten started with something."

  Uh-huh. "Yes, I know."

  "He keeps going and going until he's satisfied."

  Adriana pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's about right."

  "He tries really hard to make sure you're satisfied too, of course. He wants to make sure you're both happy with the results. He's very thorough. Adriana?"

  "I'm still here."

  "So did you get a lot accomplished?"

  Adriana heard the shower turn on. "It matters what you mean by accomplished."

  "Did he help you with a budget or were you two at each other like wild dogs?"

  Wild dogs, cats, horses. "Close."

  Cassie sighed. "Why can't you two get along?"

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "Cassie, I have made a terrible mistake."

  "Never mind. You'll get another financial adviser."

  "No, you don't understand." Adriana lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think I seduced him."

  "Stop whispering. You're not making any sense. You sounded like you said you seduced him."

  "Yes, that's right. I seduced him."

  "Adriana, that's ridiculous."

  "I know and it scares me. Sure, I'm used to being impulsive. It's never really gotten me in this much trouble before. Well, perhaps a few times, but not like this. This is horrible. I don't know what to do."

  "What happened?"

  "I slept with him."

  "Is that all? Stop making it sound worse than it is. So you fell asleep together and probably woke up with your arm around him or something. A few awkward moments followed, but that doesn't mean you're attracted to him on some unconscious level. He was just a warm body. I know you can barely stand the sight of him, but you'll live."

  "Cassie, I mean I slept with him." She paused. "I guess sleeping is the wrong word. We... had sex."

  Her friend sounded as though she were choking. "That's impossible."

  "Not anymore."

  Cassie burst into laughter.

  "Cassie," Adriana warned. "I know where you live."

  "I'm sorry, it's just the thought of you two..." She laughed harder.

  "I'm going to hang up."

  "No, wait! I'm sorry. Talk to me. How did that happen? How could you two of all people..." She coughed before a fit of giggles escaped her. "Start from the beginning."

  Adriana heard the shower cut off. "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I'll call you back later." She hung up on Cassie's protests.

  She brought her legs
to her chest and covered her face. How could she look at him? She'd seen him naked. Now it would be like having X-ray vision. She would look at his shirt and see through to his chest; she would look at his trousers and see through to his... She had to relax. It was no big deal. Who cared that he'd given her an orgasm so wonderful it would vibrate in memory? It was over. Done. Many people had one-night stands and lived to tell about them, even brag about them. She would survive this, but she wouldn't brag about it. Last night would be relegated to her Wall of Shame.

  "Do you have a headache?" Eric asked.

  She peered between her fingers and nodded. She felt the mattress sink as he sat on the bed. She nearly jumped when he placed his hands on her shoulders. He smelt like lavender from her soap, the heat from the shower slipping into the room. "It's probably the phone waking you out of a deep sleep. You know—"

  Oh God! Eight in the morning and he was giving her a lecture. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling her heart pound. Perhaps someone could die of shame. Although right now only her mind felt shame, her body felt something else. His hands were turning it into Jell-O. "I'm okay now."

  He sounded unconvinced. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. Let me get showered." She raced into the bathroom and rested against the door. She slid to the floor, realizing she was still naked when her bum hit the tile floor. She quickly stood and took a deep breath. She was acting like an idiot. She had to get a hold of herself. He didn't appear shocked and neither would she.

  She took a shower, lathering herself until her skin felt numb. She went to her room, relieved to see it empty. She frantically searched through her closet for a good after-sex outfit—one that wasn't enticing (miniskirt with cashmere blouse), but not too ashamed (a sweatsuit). One that reflected a nonchalant attitude. She chose a maroon sweater and wool skirt.

  When she walked into the kitchen, she was greeted by the smell of eggs and sausage. Eric was dressed in his clothes from yesterday. They were so pressed they looked like new. She frowned at the feat since he had no buttons on his shirt. She had stepped on one on her way to the kitchen.

  "Safety pins," he said, reading her thoughts.

  She set the table and then they sat down to eat. She tucked into her eggs as if they were in danger of scurrying off her plate. She couldn't look at the man in front of her who silently ate his breakfast. Soon the silence became unbearable. She would have to face him, face what they had done. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes.

  His were closed. He was asleep with his fork piercing a sausage. She nudged him with her foot. "Eric."

  He opened his eyes halfway. "Hmm?"

  "Didn't your mother teach you not to fall asleep at the table?"

  He scratched the night growth on his cheek. "Sorry. I usually don't do well if I don't get six hours of sleep."

  "I'm sorry to have kept you up," she said dryly.

  His sleep-heavy gaze cut across the table. "Trust me, I wasn't complaining."

  He didn't exactly smile, but he had the pleased expression of a buccaneer who'd succeeded in stealing his share of treasure. In the morning light he even looked as dangerous with his lazy, dark gaze and stubbled jaw. His shirt wasn't completely buttoned, slipping to the V of his chest. She let her eyes fall. What was wrong with her? The evening was over; when would her overactive imagination cease?

  She pushed herself away from the table. "Let me make some coffee."

  She put on the coffeemaker, willing herself to stay in one place so she wouldn't pace. She wished she could think of something witty to say, since he was too busy trying to eat and keep his eyes open. The October morning was mellow with the soft rustling of leaves and the city beginning the morning rush. At last the sound of coffee drizzling into a pot filled the room. She handed him the coffee and watched him pour five spoonfuls of sugar in his mug.

  "That's coffee, not lemonade," she said.

  He stirred his drink. "Another weakness, I have a terrible sweet tooth." He took a sip, added a little more sugar, then took a long swallow. "Thanks, I think this might do it."

  "Add some carbonated water, and you've made your own soda."

  "Hmm."

  She shifted in her seat, determined to eat in silence. She soon changed her mind. "Uh, Eric—"

  "Yes, I know the eggs are bland, but I couldn't find any of your hot spices. Not even Tabasco."

  "That's because I can't eat hot spices. They burn my gums."

  He looked at her with pity. As if she had a debilitating affliction. A Caribbean American that couldn't eat hot spices? "Really?"

  "Really."

  He shook his head, amazed. "That's like a European allergic to beer, an Asian allergic to rice, a—"

  "That's enough, Eric."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Not as much as me," she mumbled. "Aren't you going to say anything about last night?"

  A wicked grin of pleasure spread on his face. "Best birthday I've had ever."

  She frowned. A man with glasses shouldn't look so sexy in the morning. "That's not what I meant."

  "Do you want me to expand on that?"

  Good heaven, he could even lecture on sex. "No, I don't." She set her fork down. "Where between trigonometry and the economics of public issues did you learn to..." She waved her hand, unable to articulate it.

  He shook his head. "A man never tells." He began typing in numbers on his watch. "Will you be free for dinner next week?"

  "Yes." She shook her head, frustrated. "No. I—we can't see each other again."

  He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on top. "Why not?"

  "Because what happened last night shouldn't have."

  He blinked.

  "You're on the rebound and I'm—"

  "A worrier."

  "I'm not worrying." She was more on the verge of a panic attack. "I should have been the responsible party. You and I don't blend. And this is not about sex," she added when he opened his mouth.

  He furrowed his brows. "You've lost me."

  "Last night you asked a woman to marry you. A woman you were prepared to spend the rest of your life with. You were devastated by both her betrayal and rejection. Last night your masculine ego was wounded and I was a diversion for your broken heart and ego."

  "You're not a diversion."

  "You need time to heal."

  He softly swore. "I was afraid of this." He stared into his coffee. "How long do you think it will take for me to heal?"

  She felt herself relax. He wasn't going to argue. "Who knows? People heal at different rates."

  He nodded. "I give myself two days."

  "That's too short."

  His eyes met hers. "Then how long?"

  "I don't know," she stammered. "Don't get upset."

  He leaned back. "Do I look upset?"

  "No."

  "But I should be. The woman I want says I have to wait until my imaginary broken heart has healed."

  "Do you even have a heart to heal?" she asked, annoyed by his flippancy.

  His eyes pierced hers. "I think I lost it when my parents died."

  Shame heated her face. She hadn't fought fair. Yet her question was in earnest. She wondered if his response was too.

  He suddenly stabbed his sausage and took a bite. "How long?"

  "A month."

  He nodded. "So are you free Saturday?"

  "Eric, didn't you hear what I just said?"

  "Yes, but what do you expect me to do? Eat Haagen Daz and watch soaps?"

  "Don't be silly."

  "I'll try not to sleep with you, but I still want to see you. Or is that against the rules too?"

  "There are no rules. This is fact. You're on the rebound."

  "I'm not expecting a relationship."

  She hesitated. "You're not?"

  "Just a nice fun-filled affair. I think we can handle that."

  "I still think you need a month."

  He raised his hands. "Fine, I surrender." He rested a hand on his chest. "I'll try and he
al myself."

  "Good."

  "Next Saturday we'll go to the museum. The Hirshhorn."

  "But that's a modern art museum."

  "Yes, I know. I think I need to get used to being around interesting figures I can't touch."

  Chapter 5

  Nothing could alter his good mood. Not even the cryptic call from his ex-business partner, Carter. No, he was going to enjoy today and the memory of last night. Eric whistled his way through the lunchtime rush at the Blue Mango Restaurant his brother owned. He passed by the waiters, through the low roar of voices, and the sound of clinking utensils that filled the elegant room. He headed toward the manager's office, but halted when he saw his brother smiling at a group enjoying the Blue Mango specialty—chocolate desserts. He shook his head in amazement. Marriage had really changed his brother. Until Cassie had come into Drake's life, Eric hadn't even been certain he knew how to smile.

  "Did two buses stop by?" Eric asked as his brother approached him.

  Drake glanced around the restaurant, satisfied. "It's been a great year. Our name's really getting around." He patted Eric on the back. "So how was your birthday?"

  "Have you seen Jackie?"

  He fought a smile and headed to a far wall out of view of the customers. He ran a hand through his graying hair. "No. What did she send you this time?"

  "A stripper."

  Drake raised a brow. "Not bad."

  "She sent her to my office. I had a client."

  He winced. "Ouch."

  "Yes, that's exactly what she'll say when I'm through with her." Eric glanced around the restaurant again. If Jackie was there he would find her. She was definitely hiding from him. He'd checked his place and hers already. His brows furrowed when he spotted a young waiter with a black ponytail reading a letter.

  Drake followed his gaze and frowned. "Cedric."

  The young man looked up, guilty. The expression made him look younger than his nineteen years. He came toward them. "Yes, Mr. Henson?"

  Drake snatched the note and carefully folded it. "Am I paying you to read?"

  "No. I'm sorry, sir."

  "How's Pamela doing?"

  His face lit up at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "She misses me." He colored violently, a harsh contrast to his olive skin. "I mean she loves New York. She's fine."