by Tina Donahue
“Only my chest. I’m breathing.”
And doing a fine job of it, each slow intake of air making her boobs wiggle.
After climbing back on the bed, he pulled the pastries out of the bag and lined them up on her belly. Once he’d taken out the plastic container of chocolate sauce, Gabe upended the bag, sprinkling the beignets and her curls with powdered sugar.
She made an appreciative sound. “Pretty.”
“There’s more.” He opened the sauce, ran it around her nipples—loving how they constricted at his touch—then leaned back. “Now we’re ready to eat.”
“Not so fast.” She pushed his face away from her boob. With the chocolate sauce in one hand and his cock in the other, she dipped his crown into the container. “Now we’re ready.”
Hmm. Another standoff, with both of them winning. “Whatever you say.”
Constance licked him clean while he moaned gratefully. Straightening at last, she smiled. “Are you always this easy?”
“Only with you.” He tongued one of her nipples clean and lapped powdered sugar from her curls. “You should see me with my perps.”
She stiffened slightly. When Gabe looked up, she gave him a smile, though not before he saw a flicker of uncertainty and possibly heartache. Again, he considered what might be going on at her office, with Constance involved in it because of group loyalty or friendship. “You all right?”
“Hungry.” She took a huge bite of one of the pastries, no doubt so she wouldn’t have to answer any personal questions.
They ate in silence, finishing the treats, brushing crumbs from the bed and themselves. Gabe had wanted to suggest they eat the stuff off each other but sensed Constance wasn’t in the mood for it any longer.
Gathering her in his arms, he murmured, “Let’s take a nap. I don’t know about you, but I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Being fifty isn’t so bad.”
He lifted his head and stared at her. She smiled wickedly. “Sorry. Forty-five?”
Again, he slapped her ass playfully and, on a whim, turned her over and paddled her.
She squealed, laughed, and squealed again. “Stop.”
Gabe’s hand stilled in midair. “Seriously?”
Constance buried her face in the sheets. “No.” She lifted her ass, offering it to him.
He spanked and tickled her until she couldn’t pull in enough air to make any sound.
Happy, he pulled her to him and rested against the headboard again. “Just so you know, I’m thirty-two. I’d ask your age, but I know with women it’s a sacred number, like their weight, never to be divulged to anyone even on threat of death, imprisonment, or—”
“I just turned thirty and I weigh one-thirty-eight.” She paused and shrugged. “Probably one thirty-nine after the beignets.”
He hugged her close, loving every one of her curves. “Well worth it, along with the breakfast we’re going to have. Right now though, we both need to rest.”
Before she could protest his plan, Gabe kissed and held her to him as he slipped effortlessly into a dreamless sleep.
Given her worry, Constance didn’t expect to conk out, but she did. When she awakened, she dressed Gabe’s rod in a new rubber, straddled his body, and ran the tip of his sheathed cock against her cunt.
He rose to the occasion—literally and quickly—driving into her pussy with the expertise of a man who knew exactly what to do with a woman.
Precisely what she didn’t need, since she was falling too fast and hard. Did it stop her? Hell, no. After riding him for minutes and hoping it would never end, she came and so did he, both thrashing, gasping, grinning like fools. The second he regained his strength, he took her from behind. Once he peeled off the condom and washed, Gabe turned out the lamps. Neither of them spoke. It wasn’t necessary. There was comfort in their silence. The next thing Constance knew, she’d fallen back asleep, until this moment.
She curled her upper lip at the light bleeding past the blinds.
Gabe rolled toward her, his mouth on her ear. “What’s the matter?”
How did he know her mood, and so easily too? Were they already entwined emotionally as well as physically?
Constance called herself a fool for thinking so. She was stiff as a corpse, and he’d probably noticed, being a cop and all. He also had those troubling memories she had to get rid of as soon as she planted the fake ones. By this time next week, his moments with her would be well over, with him no worse for the wear.
Go on. Do it now. Quit putting this off. She turned to him, lifting her hand to touch his scalp.
Smiling, Gabe caught her wrist and kissed the inside of it.
Her breath poured out on a helpless sigh.
“You sound hungry.” He rubbed the curls between her legs.
He had no idea the extent of her hunger. Constance would like to devour him for years on end. “Don’t you have to go to work today?”
“In a couple of hours. What time can I come by your office this afternoon…if Becca allows it?”
He knew she’d have to say yes or have the priest hounding them forever with other cops, possibly the FBI, if Constance didn’t take care of the situation now. Do it, do it, do it!
Just as she was about to touch his head to screw with his memories, Constance couldn’t move her hand any farther, powerless against what was happening between them, reluctant to fuck it up with more lies. Not that she had much of a choice. Torn, confused, and scared, she rested her fingers on his chest and finally answered him. “Four? Five?”
“Five sounds good.”
For a mortal. For her, it was the doomsday clock ticking loudly.
“We can catch an early dinner afterward, along with some jazz,” he said. “If you’re willing to play hooky with me.”
He was killing her with his enticing proposals. She had to put a stop to this now. “Okay.”
After hugging and kissing her fiercely, Gabe pushed to a sitting position. “No,” he said when she was about to get up. “Don’t move. I’ll call you when breakfast is done.”
“You know how to cook? Since when? At Pasquets you said you couldn’t.”
“Oysters and beignets, not eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast—simple food.”
Ohmygod, he was beyond perfect. When he left the room, Constance buried her face in the sheets, wallowing in his scent, her stomach twisted in worry over what she could possibly do to fix this.
Like the fool she was, Constance fell asleep. Gabe awakened her with an impassioned kiss, carried her to the table, and settled her on his lap.
She couldn’t allow it and pushed to her feet.
He didn’t look pleased. “What are you doing?”
Constance turned and showed him, straddling his body. “This is better.”
“No shit.”
They fed each other here as they had at the restaurant, though this was an X-rated version. With one end of a bacon strip in her mouth, she offered the other end to Gabe. He ate it until their lips touched. They chewed, swallowed quickly, and made out for minutes.
Sated for the moment, he smeared butter and jelly on her nipples rather than on the toast and licked it off her. She slipped a forkful of egg into his mouth and tongued the yolk from his bottom lip.
So it went until they had to haul ass—him to his job, Constance to her apartment.
“No,” she said when he offered to drive her. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Why? I can easily swing by your place before I go in.”
She didn’t want him knowing where she lived, especially since she’d given him a fake last name. “Go on and shower. I’ll call for a ride while you do. By the time you’re finished, the cab will be here.”
“We’re not showering together?”
He sounded like a child crushed to find out there was no Santa Claus.
<
br /> “Not this morning,” she said, cupping his face in her palm, somehow making it sound as if there would be other times when they’d be soaping each other.
As he went into the bathroom, she called a cab, dressed hurriedly, paced, and troubled over what to do next, not having a clue what to do.
They kissed goodbye in front of his condo and again after he opened the rear door of the cab for her. When Gabe insisted on paying with his credit card, Constance nearly broke into tears. He was too good for her, while she’d have to keep fucking around with his memories in order to protect her friends.
“See you at five,” he said.
Constance forced herself to nod.
As the cab pulled away, she turned to the back window and watched Gabe get smaller and smaller until she couldn’t see him anymore.
This is what it’s going to be like when he’s totally out of your life.
The thought made Constance queasy and lonelier than she’d ever been.
All the way to her apartment, she struggled over the right thing to do for Gabe and the others, not bothering to put herself in the equation. Sure, she had an endless need of him, but was it right? Could it ever be practical? Was there a way to make it endure?
Constance didn’t think so, but it didn’t change her hopeful heart.
By the time the driver pulled up to her unit, she was busy texting Becca, Zoe, Heather, and MJ with a message she hoped would keep the inevitable at bay a while longer.
Chapter Seven
When Constance arrived at From Crud to Stud, everyone was waiting for her in Becca’s office.
Heather sat on the sofa, hands clasped tightly, expression pained. After shutting the door, Zoe stood in front of it, puffs of smoke rising from the ends of her hair. MJ looked vaguely amused, as if she couldn’t wait for the shit to hit the fan.
Becca leaned against the lip of her desk, arms crossed, expression hard as she regarded Constance’s hair, no longer hidden beneath a turban.
So sue her. Gabe liked to touch and smell it.
Becca spoke first. “I read your text.”
Obviously.
“You told him he could do what?” Becca asked.
“Wait a sec,” MJ said. She turned to Constance and grinned. “You actually saw him again, huh?”
Did she ever. Constance gave MJ a wan smile and focused on Becca. “I had to tell him it was okay for him to come here and check us out. He’s not going to give up. Neither is the priest.”
Zoe made a sound a rabid pit bull would have found intimidating.
Becca’s frown deepened as she stared at Constance. “Do you hear that?”
How could she have avoided it? Zoe was less than a yard away and still growling. “I know she’s upset, but—”
“I’m not talking about her.” Becca uncrossed her arms and gestured to the door. “Don’t you hear what’s going on in the hall?”
Right. Constance had grown so used to oaths flying and the guys manhandling clients, it had become background noise. The heavy grunts sounded like Stefin’s as he dragged a reluctant reaper down the hall. Those poor jerks might sign up for the service, but they always had second thoughts when it came to doing the work.
Becca continued, “Although vamps don’t show up until evening, we have clients all day long, remember?”
Constance did now. “Can’t we cancel the ones for today, at least until Gabe is gone? If you’re worried about losing the fees, I’ll pay you back for them.”
“Thank you,” Heather said, her shoulders sagging with obvious relief. “I’m running a little short since I covered those two no-shows earlier in the week.”
“You need to quit doing that,” Becca said to her and turned to Constance. “Have you forgotten the claw marks on the treatment room walls? What do you think he’s going to say about them?”
Constance sank to the arm of the sofa, ready to share the rest of the plan she’d failed to mention in her text. “I thought MJ could redecorate this place before he gets here. A makeover, like she did with Zoe.”
“Keeps doing,” MJ said, gesturing to Zoe’s coral pantsuit. “What she’s wearing today is mine too.”
Constance smiled. “Pretty. The cameo’s a nice touch.”
“You don’t think it’s too old for me?” Zoe asked, fingering it.
“Oh, hey, no. It’s elegant and—”
Becca cleared her throat loudly, interrupting. “You want us to redo this place for him?”
“Only to give him an illusion of a regular office with mortal staff,” Constance said. She rubbed Heather’s back. “Sorry, sweetie, but you’re going to have to wear something other than white.”
Heather’s eyes rounded.
“You’ll have to stop smoking,” Constance said to Zoe, then turned to MJ. Today she’d worn a snug tee and jeans rather than her usual Frederick’s of Hollywood attire. “You’ll have to behave yourself. And,” Constance added to Becca, “it wouldn’t hurt for you to ditch the harem pants and top for a regular blouse and pants—just for this afternoon. It wouldn’t hurt for everyone to act normal too.”
Becca had already shoved her bangs off her forehead. A few of the hairs pointed toward the ceiling. “Define normal.”
Anything not usually happening here. Constance gestured to Zoe. “No flames bobbing in her eyes or smoke rising from her hair.”
Zoe lifted her chin. “My guys like me the way I am.”
“You’re fine as you are,” Constance said quickly. “I’m not being critical. Believe me, no one’s more imperfect than I am. I simply want this to go smoothly and get it over with.”
Becca pushed away from the desk and went to Constance. “What happens after we pass his inspection?”
Dinner and jazz if the gods were willing. Given Becca’s scowl, Constance figured they wouldn’t be. Her heart twisted and her spirits fell. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I wouldn’t ordinarily, but I like him.” She looked at all of them. “When you guys were falling in love, I didn’t try to keep you from it, I cheered you on.”
Heather nodded. “It’s true. She kept asking for details about Daemon and me…lots of them.” Her face turned bright red.
Zoe’s had more color than usual too as she glowered. “We weren’t involved with mortals.”
MJ rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. Most of them are so boring. Don’t you think?”
“I never liked them,” Zoe said.
Heather clasped her hands even tighter. “I’m sure some of them are nice.”
Zoe sniffed. “Yeah, right. What about the SOB I sold my soul for? Did you forget about him?”
“Quiet.” Becca held up her hand for silence and turned to Constance. “You’re falling in love with him?”
She was afraid to say or even think about it.
MJ grinned. “I’d say the love train has already left the station.”
“He’s a good man,” Constance said. “So what if he’s mortal?”
Becca lifted her flame-colored eyebrows. “Where can this lead? If it goes on and you guys get deeply involved, you’ll eventually have to tell him the truth.”
“She could always screw with his memories,” Zoe said.
MJ nodded. “Works for me.”
Constance wasn’t sure what to think.
Becca looked worried. “Have you ever played with anyone’s memories repeatedly? Removing them and planting false ones and removing those and —”
“No.” Constance wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold to the bone. “It’s never been necessary before.”
“Then you don’t know if it’s safe,” Becca said.
She hadn’t thought about it. Her entire focus had been on simply getting through today.
“Sweetie.” Becca cradled Constance’s cheek in her palm. “If you want this guy, it’s best he likes you for
who you really are, not an image you’re trying to project.”
“I can’t tell him the truth yet. He’ll freak.”
“But you’ll have to tell him sometime if this is going to work.”
There was the rub. It couldn’t possibly, yet Constance had never wanted anything more. “I don’t know what to do.”
MJ shrugged. “I say keep altering his memories. Could be fun to watch him go around in circles.”
Constance bared her teeth.
Heather piped in. “If anything bad happens, I could try and heal him.”
“With try being the operative word,” Becca said and then spoke to Constance. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”
She held her purse to her chest. “Why? I don’t want to call Gabe and cancel. Not yet. I need a little more time with him. Please. I’m not ready to give him up yet.”
“I’m not asking you to. You need to call your mom and see what will happen to him if you continually fuck with his memories, with no one able to fix what you’ve done.”
Constance couldn’t stop trembling.
“Go on,” Becca said. “It’s best to find out, especially if you don’t want to hurt him.”
Constance frowned. “His name is Gabe. Not him, the mortal or the detective. Gabe.”
Becca nodded agreeably, the same as the others.
Constance wanted to hurl. She pulled her smartphone from her purse and pushed to her feet. “Everyone out. I don’t want you guys to hear this.”
No one moved.
Figures. She turned her back to them and tapped the phone to call her mom, one of the most respected voodoo priestesses in the South, not a teacher as she’d told Gabe. Constance’s father was a complete mystery. As far as she knew, he could be Obama or Michael Jordan.
“Mama?” Constance said when the call connected.
“My sweet baby.” Her mom’s unconditional love poured over the airwaves. “You sound worried. What’s wrong?”
She really needed to do a better job of hiding her feelings. With her fingers pressed to her forehead, Constance put distance between herself and the other ladies. They followed. Heather even pushed off the sofa to join them.
