HotText

by Cari Quinn

  Again that long silence. She should have found it creepy. Odd silences, probing stares and strange meeting circumstances added up to bad news. Especially when they all originated from a guy who claimed to be her husband’s friend but seemed to know little about their personal situation.

  “He left it behind.”

  “Behind where?”

  “Why are you divorcing?” he asked, shifting only a fraction when a couple entered the shop and attempted to sidestep him.

  “Here, why don’t we sit down.” She returned to the table behind her, hoping he’d follow.

  He did, but only after what seemed to be great deliberation. He pulled a chair out and dropped into it, spreading his long jean-clad legs wide without any thought to her personal space. A new scent drifted over her as he settled, one more intimate than coffee or peppermint or the wet smell of drying wool.

  Him. Hot, male, potent. No aftershave or cologne, just skin and sweat. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her nose twitched.

  She’d clearly gone too long without male companionship if any brute who walked her way made her sit up and take notice. Even one with pretty eyes and scowling lips.

  And firm thighs snugly encased in nearly threadbare denim. She’d noticed that too.

  “You asked why we’re divorcing,” she said, reaching for her empty cup. She stretched her fingers around the leftover warmth and wished she hadn’t drunk it so fast. She would’ve appreciated the diversion. “You’d probably be better off asking him, though I have my opinions. He wanted children. I didn’t produce any. Then when he decided to make up for the lack by changing our lifestyle, he became bored with me. I’m a homebody. Perfectly happy staying in with my movies and my paints. He wasn’t satisfied, in any number of ways.” She smiled faintly. “Preschool teachers aren’t exactly wild.”

  Jeff’s jaw slackened for an instant before he recovered. Had she shocked him? Good. She liked having the power to do that to someone. It had been a very long time since she’d said or done anything unexpected.

  Her husband of ten years had asked for a divorce and she’d agreed. She hadn’t fought or screamed or even pondered it too much. She’d known they were sliding apart for a long time, tectonic plates that had developed the mother of all faults between them.

  They hadn’t been lovers for months before Lon had told her he was leaving and she hadn’t minded that either. When necessary, she could take care of herself. She’d refrained from saying that maybe his technique was the problem and not her libido.

  He wouldn’t have believed her, probably. After all, he didn’t do anything differently now than he did early in their relationship, and everything had been fine back then. Or maybe the difference in her feelings accounted for the change in their sex life. How could she know for sure?

  Along the way, she lost interest in trying to make things work. Instead of speaking up, she stayed silent. As usual. Anything not to make waves. Why create havoc when she truly didn’t know what she wanted anymore? She hadn’t fought for him because she’d fallen out of love with him years ago, just as she suspected he had with her. He’d taken other lovers toward the end but she hadn’t cared. At least he wasn’t bothering her when he spent time in another woman’s bed.

  All she wanted was peace. And she’d succeeded at having a completely quiet, drama-free life. A hollow triumph to be sure.

  “You don’t want him back,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? It’s possible you’ve just hit a rough patch. That happens in marriages. You could try to work through it”

  “Mr. Maddox,” she interrupted, lifting a brow. “I appreciate your concern, but you should save your breath. Lon and I are not reconciling.”

  “But if you’d just—”

  “Do you know how many orgasms I’ve had with him in the last three years?”

  Again Jeff appeared stunned, his pupils widening as he opened and closed his mouth like a guppy. Then he shook his head.

  “Less than a handful. Lucky for him I have minimal needs or I might have divorced him a long time ago.”

  She wouldn’t have but Jeff didn’t need to know that. For a little while, she could pretend to be a different person. She could become a woman who loved ’em and left ’em rather than being the one left.

  “They have vibrators, you know,” he muttered, his jaw cracking as he flung his gaze toward the window.

  She laughed and tilted her head, enjoying the opportunity to study him while he was looking anywhere but at her. “I have two but thanks for the tip. It’s not only about sex,” she said into the awkward silence. “We fell out of love, plain and simple. The saddest thing is we won’t even be friends after. I always told myself I’d be friends with my exes. That everything would be so civil and lovely.” She sighed. “Not so much.”

  “Really? I can’t stand the sight of mine. If everything was so hunky-damn-dory, they wouldn’t be your ex.”

  “Well, that is true. Ex-wife?” she asked. At her best guess, he was around her age of thirty, maybe a few years older. Certainly old enough to be married and divorced, maybe multiple times.

  “Yeah. Two of them.” His frown dug lines around his mouth. “Honestly? Marriage fucking sucks. But it would really help me out if you’d stay in yours.”

  Curiosity piqued, Karyn leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. His attention shifted to her hands. Or more specifically, her rings. They were all silver except for her wedding band, which stood out like a beacon from the rest. She wore them on her thumbs and every finger but her pinkies, her only concession to personal adornment. She had no tattoos and no piercings, not even pierced ears. But her rings, each polished to a high sheen and intricately carved, always grabbed notice.

  Sometimes people asked her why she wore silver with gold. The silver had been her choice. She hadn’t picked the dull gold band but Lon had wanted something traditional.

  More irony.

  “Why?” she asked, curling her thumb into her palm. Still he continued to stare. Maybe he really liked baby-blue nail polish.

  He started to answer then cut himself off and shook his head. “Look, I’ll just give you your husband’s phone. Return it to him when you want.”

  “Wait,” she said as he set the familiar navy cell on the table. “You’re not going to tell me any more than that? Why do you care if I stay married?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is he sleeping with someone important to you? One of those ex-wives? A girlfriend?”

  Jeff didn’t answer. She didn’t really expect him to.

  “I know about his affairs. I’m okay with them,” she added.

  “Lady, with all due respect, you seem way too okay with way too much.”

  A laugh tore from her chest and she covered her mouth to try to hold it in. Talk about a lost cause. She doubled over and let the hysteria overtake her until tears blurred her vision.

  Tears. Real, honest-to-god tears. From mirth, but still. They counted.

  He reached across the table and awkwardly patted her back as one might a potentially dangerous, wounded animal. Only his palm made contact with her spine, not his fingers. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

  “Yeah? I’m sitting here discussing my non-sex life with a total stranger and you think that’s okay? A stranger who wants me to stay with a guy who wouldn’t eat my cooking and refused to come to Christmas dinners at my parents’ house? I’d say none of this is okay, Mr. Maddox.”

  “You can call me Jeff.”

  “Thanks so much.” The hint of sarcasm in her voice surprised her as much as she could tell it did him.

  “He’s sleeping with my little sister.”

  “Oh.” Then as it sank in, she said again, “Oh. Sorry about that.”

  Much to her shock—and pleasure—he started to laugh. “Yeah, it fucking sucks.”

  “Do you always swear so much?”

  His laughter subsided but the glow in his truly amazing eyes didn’t. “You really
sound like a preschool teacher, you know that? So calm and well-mannered.”

  She shrugged. “I’m good at my job. I must admit, I wonder what yours is. Because of the swearing and…lack of vocabulary, I’m thinking maybe truck driver?”

  Again he laughed, long and loud. “Hardly. I edit. Books,” he added at her blank look.

  “What kind of books?”

  “Ones with a lot of pages.” He got up and fished a ratty wallet out of his back pocket. “Want another coffee?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t—”

  “Go for it.” He gave her a half-smile. “Go wild.”

  Karyn huffed out a breath and nodded. “Tall peppermint latte please. Extra whip.”

  His smile went from merely interesting to striking enough to knock the socks she wasn’t wearing right off. “Now we’re talking. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him stroll up to the checkout, her gaze centered on the gray thermal shirt sticking out from under his sweatshirt. It landed mid-butt cheek, hiding just enough of the good stuff to tease her imagination.

  She smiled. An ordinary guy, huh?

  Suddenly ordinary didn’t seem so bad.

  Chapter Two

  What a crazy-ass day.

  He’d had a conversation with his sister’s boyfriend’s wife that lasted two hours. Actually, closer to three. The coffee shop closed at nine and they’d found themselves out on the stoop with nowhere to go.

  Unless they wanted to adjourn to one of their respective places. Which they hadn’t. Or hadn’t admitted to.

  After finishing his supper, Jeff kicked back on his bed. He’d eaten a TV dinner, standing up in the kitchen while he watched the news by the light from the refrigerator. Had she gotten something to eat? She didn’t look like one of those insubstantial types, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she skipped meals when upset.

  Was she still upset about that loser of a husband of hers? She’d seemed happier when they’d parted. Had he managed to make her forget for a little while?

  Duh, of course she was still upset. The woman’s husband had cheated on her and asked for a divorce.

  He shoved his heels against his sheets. What the fuck did that Lonny James have? He’d not only landed his sister but Karyn too. Beautiful, sweet Karyn.

  Who he wanted to fuck. Badly.

  “I’m going to hell,” he muttered, staring miserably at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom. Reason ten million why women and men had trouble being friends. Once attraction flavored the stew, good manners went out the window.

  At least he hadn’t put the moves on her. The moves sounded as if he actually had game. After his last couple mostly dateless years, he probably didn’t. But he did have needs. If he had to guess, Karyn did too. A handful of orgasms in three years? Christ, even he could improve upon that.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he fumbled for his cell. He’d tossed it on the floor, mainly to keep his hands away from it so he wasn’t tempted to do something rash. Like call her and ask if she wanted company.

  He wasn’t a rash guy. If anyone asked his exes, they’d probably say his idea of being impulsive meant watching the hockey game instead of football. He was overdue for a little spontaneity. Even if he’d already used up his yearly quotient by contacting Karyn in the first place.

  Had he really expected to be able to talk her back into her marriage? Or if she hadn’t known Lon was cheating on her, tell her about her husband’s affair?

  He wasn’t that heartless. He hoped.

  Daisy had been in Lonny’s woodworking class, of all things. Woodworking. She’d wanted to make something for one of her exes. Instead she’d ditched the ex and bedded her teacher.

  No way could he have told Karyn cold if she’d been clueless as to her husband’s extracurricular activities. He might be known around the editorial office as a cranky jerk, but even he had his limits.

  Tonight, however, they seemed to have jumped a few paces farther out.

  He turned on his phone and took a long breath. Here goes… Nothing, I’m coming for you.

  Luckily he had a great memory and remembered her number. He punched in the digits and hesitated. Maybe a text would be better. He pushed the button on his watch to illuminate the dial. Almost midnight. What should he say?

  Other than he thought her silver rings were fucking sexy and he longed to see her long dark hair untied from its braid and spread over her shoulders, scraping the hard points of her nipples. Ached to see her light-brown eyes glimmer with humor and interest as they had earlier before the desire he’d felt building between them boiled over and turned to outright lust.

  He spent a lot of time with words. So much time he didn’t prefer speaking too many of them in a row. But he had tonight, though he’d mostly listened.

  She’d seemed so eager to open herself, completely unlike any other almost-divorcée he’d ever met. Guarded? Not hardly.

  Before he could halt the forward progress of his thumbs, they answered the question of what to say for him.

  What r u wring?

  Jeff tossed the phone aside then leaped on it when it buzzed a moment later. Thank God. She didn’t think he was a perverted weirdo. Or if she did at least she’d elected to answer him before she blocked his calls.

  Boxers & my shotgn’s beside me. Who the f r u?

  Hmm, maybe he’d forgotten Karyn’s number after all. She didn’t seem like the type to sit around in boxers while armed. He texted back a quick sorry and then sent his message again, changing the last digit to an 8. That had to be right. If it wasn’t, he’d likely need to get a new number. And possibly police protection.

  This time it took considerably longer to get a response.

  Jeff? No, I’m not wrong.

  He groaned. So much for texting. She’d totally misinterpreted his question. He could take it as a way out or he could see this ill-conceived mission through. It was dark and he was horny. He hadn’t done nearly enough in his life to regret. Tonight seemed like a fine time to start.

  Beyond that, he liked her. Genuinely. And he wished like hell he hadn’t let her go home alone to an empty house.

  His thumbs moved over the buttons.

  R u naked?

  Jeff?

  Yeah. R u naked?

  He’d keep asking until he got an answer, even if it was fuck off. Or fuk off.

  No. I’m painting. Not naked.

  Do u want to b?

  Not rly. 2 cold.

  Time for a new tactic.

  Can I call u?

  Sure. Gimme a few 2 clean up.

  He waited fifteen minutes and then called, already anticipating her voice. Soft as a waterfall, lilting with her easy laughter. He liked making her laugh.

  “Karyn?” he asked when she picked up.

  “Yes. What’s with the naked stuff?”

  “I was trying to set a mood.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m oblivious.”

  “No kidding.” But he grinned as he rolled over on his side and propped his head on his hand. “What are you painting?”

  “That same picture I told you about.”

  “The one with all the splashes of color?”

  “Mmm hmm.” Her voice sounded a little distracted. He imagined her studying her picture, head cocked, eyes narrowed. “It’ll probably look like a mess to anyone else, but I like it. Love it actually. It’s like an exploding sunburst.”

  The sheer delight trickling through her voice made him sit up. “I want to see it.”

  “Whenever you’d like. I think I need more blue paint—”

  “Blue for an exploding sunburst?”

  “Like the center of a flame.” At his silence, she added, “It’s my painting.”

  “I know.” He chuckled and got to his feet, already searching around for his jeans on the floor. So he wasn’t the best of housekeepers. “You don’t think it’s weird I called?”

  “I was wondering when you would.”

  “Oh.” Okay then. “Can I come over?”
>
  She hesitated. “Now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s past midnight.”

  “You busy?”

  “No, just painting. But I was going to go to bed soon.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  She laughed and the sound loosened something inside his gut, unwinding snakes of need that wrapped around his cock in a viselike grip. Had he ever met another woman so natural, so completely without artifice?

  Had he ever been so fucking hard?

  “I think this is my first booty call,” she said thoughtfully.

  He tripped in the dark and choked out a laugh. “My sister was singing about bootys today. That’s a word I don’t use.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “I’m coming over to look at your etchings. Then, if you feel so inclined, you can show me your bedroom. Or your recliner. Even the living room floor. I’m not all that choosy.”

  “Guys usually aren’t.” She hesitated again then murmured, “Sixteen Slate Avenue. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I’m upstairs in my studio…first room on the left on the second floor.”

  “All right. You good with wine?”

  “Sure, if you have some.”

  He didn’t, but he’d lie. And hope to God there was a liquor store still open at this hour. “What connoisseur of fine food and drink doesn’t keep a few bottles of wine on hand?”

  “You don’t have any, do you?”

  “No.” He hopped into his jeans. “But I’ll find some, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I’d rather you just bring you.”

  He eased a hip on the bed, his discarded T-shirt hanging limply in his hand. Funny how she could make the most simple thing sound so sweet. “I’ll find wine,” he said, depressing the end button.

  Depending how this night went, he owed Lonny James a debt. He owed him for being goddamned stupid enough to throw away a woman like Karyn.

  * * * * *

  Karyn didn’t change her clothes. Above all, she didn’t want to be obvious. Although remaining in what she wore to paint sent a pretty distinct message too.

  Her usual painting attire consisted of leggings and a smock. Just leggings and a smock. No shirt, no underwear or bra. She liked to feel unencumbered and this way her arms remained free. She also got a secret thrill from the rough material of the smock rubbing against her nipples. So secret she’d never admitted it to herself before this very moment.