Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  Tom reached over and took the glass out of her hands, gently, setting it on the trunk in front of her. “Listen to me. The only one who’s responsible for Craig Dempsey being an asshole is Craig Dempsey. You didn’t force him to steal your ideas. You didn’t tell your father to believe in him. It sounds like you got stuck in between a couple of men who weren’t paying any attention to anything except what they wanted themselves. That’s not your fault.”

  “No, but…” She paused. All of a sudden what he was saying made a lot of sense. “Damn. You know…that’s true. And I came up here to get away from that. Good for me.”

  “You got that right. Good for you.”

  His slow grin started a tightening somewhere around her stomach. Come on, Deirdre, that’s definitely not your stomach! She took a breath, trying to calm her fluttering nerves. Just sex. No big deal.

  Oh yeah. And you really believe that, right?

  He reached for her, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his index finger. She tried to think of something to say, something bright and sophisticated, something that would maybe make the butterflies in her stomach stop fighting each other. “You…have a nice house.”

  Deirdre closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see him grin. Such an idiot!

  “You have a nice mouth. It’s been driving me crazy all night.”

  His hand moved to cup her cheek pulling her gently toward him. His mouth against hers felt soft and warm. She opened to him, tasting him, smelling the mixed scents of sweat and soap that marked him.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god. We’re going to do this. And I’m so not ready!

  He could taste the wine on her lips, faintly woody and dark. Her body seemed to vibrate with nerves under his palms as he moved closer. He had a feeling if he made one wrong move, she’d be out the door and down the walk.

  Of course, that meant he had to figure out what a wrong move was and then manage not to make it.

  He slipped his hand along her side, feeling the stretched cotton of her T-shirt. The T-shirt he’d given her earlier in the evening. The T-shirt he planned to remove within the next five minutes or so. Carefully, he slid his tongue deeper into her mouth, tasting her again, that faint sense of spice and heat that seemed to go along with her.

  He pulled back for a moment, resting his forehead on hers. “Deirdre…”

  Her hands moved lightly across his chest, sliding up toward his shoulders, leaving smooth trails of heat where they touched. Then she tilted her head, bringing her lips against his again.

  A pulse began to beat at the back of his brain. Now, now, now. So easy. Move forward, push down, find the edge of the shirt, pull up, taste, touch, have.

  Something dry and scratchy pressed against his elbow.

  Tom jerked upright. “What the hell?”

  Doris gazed up at him from the floor beside the couch, black eyes alight. Well, hi there!

  Beneath him on the couch, Deirdre gasped and then scrunched as far away from Doris as she could.

  Tom closed his eyes. Clearly the fates had it in for him. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to do this on his couch anyway. He slipped to the floor, then crouched down beside Doris, sliding both hands underneath her body, careful not to come down from above, which might frighten her. The iguana’s tongue flicked out and back and he tried to remember if that was one of the warning signs of an incipient bite. He didn’t think getting sutured in the emergency room would be a romantic highlight of the evening.

  He lifted Doris carefully, then carried her back to the cage. The door was slightly ajar, no doubt his fault because he’d been concentrating on herding Deirdre toward the couch rather than seeing that the cage door was shut securely. He placed Doris inside and clicked the latch closed.

  Deirdre gazed after him. Her dark hair was tousled around her face in waves, her indigo eyes were wide, her full lips swollen with his kisses. Even with Doris’s untimely interruption, he still felt luckier than he’d ever been before, even when he’d had a winning night at the casinos. The billionaire’s daughter hooking up with the vagabond gambler. Yeah, that’s real likely.

  He blew out a breath. Likely or not, it was going to happen. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  Deirdre grinned at him, her lips moving lazily. “Maybe Doris thinks it’s mating season.”

  “Maybe she does. But I don’t necessarily want to share the experience with her right now.” He extended his hand. After a moment, she reached up and took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet and then lead her toward the bedroom.

  For one of the few times in his life, Tom felt like thanking the US Army for turning him into a compulsive bed maker. One less thing to worry about. He didn’t bother flicking on the light. Instead, he pulled Deirdre into his arms again, reaching behind her to shut the door.

  Her lips ran a quick whispering line down the side of his throat. Her tongue flicked across his collarbone, and he was instantly hard—no, harder—his chest clenching tight. He grabbed the edge of her T-shirt to avoid grabbing her, pulling it up and over her shoulders.

  She wore a white cotton bra. Not exactly rich-girl variety. He might have expected satin and lace, but cotton seemed more like Deirdre’s style. He leaned down to take her nipple in his mouth, sucking through the thin fabric to feel the areole dimple. She moaned faintly, her fingers twisting in his hair. He slid his hands underneath the fabric, pushing the bra up until he cupped her breasts, feeling their perfect weight against his palms. He sucked the other nipple, blowing slightly against the puckered surface until she pulled at his hair again. Then he unfastened her bra and threw it beside the bed.

  Her eyes were pools, wide, dark, shining in the depths. She leaned forward, pressing her mouth desperately to his, her hands cradling his face, her tongue thrusting deep.

  Tom moved against her, his fingers searching for the button on her jeans. In another minute he’d be tearing them off, regardless of niceties like unzipping, which might be fun for the moment but might piss her off in the long run. Not that he thought Deirdre would notice right now.

  She was pulling desperately at his zipper. He moved her hands away, a little afraid of the damage the zipper could do if it came down as quickly as she wanted it to. “Slow down, babe,” he whispered. “Just a little.” He pushed her jeans off her hips, then pulled her down beside him on the bed, kicking his own jeans off at the side.

  “The spread,” Deirdre whispered. “Shouldn’t we take it off?”

  Tom hoped she couldn’t see his shit-eating grin too clearly. “I’m not worried about laundry right now.” He pulled back to look at her.

  She wore a single strip of white at her crotch, maybe cotton but gratifyingly brief. Her body was a slender thread of darkness against his bed, her contours caught by the moonlight. Long legs, curving torso, breasts… Tom closed his eyes for a moment. Perfect breasts, perfect girl. Maybe too perfect for him. Definitely lucky.

  Deirdre stretched her arms toward him, her lips curving in a slow, sensuous smile that set his lower body on fire. Good thing he wasn’t expected to do any major thinking right now, given that no blood remained in his brain.

  He slid his hands down her sides again, feeling the warm silk of her skin beneath his palms, then he lowered his mouth to her throat, running his tongue along a line to her earlobe and pulling it between his teeth as she sucked in a breath. Her hips rubbed against him urgently, as she moaned again.

  “Tom,” she gasped. “Ah, Tom.”

  He pulled back to look at her again, still smelling the faint scent of jasmine that cloaked her hair. Dark eyes, dark hair, full lips opened for a quick glimpse of white teeth. “Tom,” she murmured again.

  “What?”

  White teeth flashed again in the darkness. “You really need to get naked.”

  Deirdre wondered how she could possibly feel so excited and so terrified at the same time. Surely one emotion should cancel out the other. She was trying very hard not to think about how limited her experience
was, how likely she was to disappoint him.

  Tom jerked off his jockey shorts and she marveled once again at his wonderful rightness. Shoulders broad but not too broad. Hard, sculpted muscles on his chest, not blown up to something out of a body-building magazine. The swath of golden hair over the dark brown disks of his nipples. So perfect. So…right. The jut of his arousal from the dark nest of hair between his legs made her feel weak, then warm. Then aching.

  He knelt again over her body, running his hands along her flanks, then parting her legs gently. His lips grazed her inner thigh and she almost came off the bed. “Oh, god.”

  “Okay?”

  She nodded quickly. She couldn’t have said anything to save her soul.

  He bent over her again, his fingers tightening on her thighs, his tongue sliding along the delicate skin at the top.

  Deirdre concentrated on breathing. She wasn’t sure she’d remember to do it if she didn’t.

  She felt warm breath on her sensitive skin, and then his mouth, rubbing the soft cotton of her panties against her mons. Oh damn! Why hadn’t she taken them off when she’d had the chance?

  His tongue pressed insistently against her, rubbing hard. She felt the moist heat of his mouth, the fine texture of the cotton burning her skin. “Please,” she whispered, straining toward the elastic at the top. “Please, let me…”

  He paid no attention, his tongue repeating the relentless pressure, lapping against her. She could feel the tension building, spreading, her thighs beginning to tremble. “Please,” she whispered one more time, but she wasn’t sure what she was asking for anymore.

  She felt lips and teeth again, and then she was breaking, shattering, her body jerking against him. Her breath whooshed from her lungs, and she clutched at his arms. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh my god.”

  He leaned away from her for a moment and she heard the sound of a drawer opening. She reached down and jerked off her panties, her fingers shaking, then reached for the foil packet in his fingers. “Let me. Please.”

  In the darkness, his eyes were icy fire, his lips turning up again in a slow grin. “Have at it, babe.”

  She took the packet from him, then ran her hands down his shaft, feeling the smooth skin over hard muscle, her hands tightening as she slid up, then down again. Above her she heard him catch his breath in a gasp.

  “You’re supposed to be putting that thing on,” he gasped.

  “I am,” she whispered. “Just very slowly.”

  She shook the condom loose, unrolling it over him, listening to his sharp intake of breath. She cupped him with one hand, while the other ran up and down again, tightening at the head. His eyes narrowed while he sucked in another breath. She leaned upward, cupping him with both hands, running her tongue in a line down his abdomen.

  And then his hands were on her shoulders, pushing her flat. He balanced above her for a moment, his fingers spreading her, testing her wetness, sliding in for a moment. She felt him pressing against her, entering her, opening her wide. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist as he began to move. Her eyes closed as her head fell back.

  “Stay with me,” he rasped. “Don’t you dare go away.”

  Deirdre’s eyes popped open, and she stared up at him. “I won’t,” she breathed, moving her body against his. “I can’t.”

  “Good.”

  The rhythm of his thrusts increased, pushing her again and again, higher and higher. She felt the heat growing in her abdomen, the tension spiraling through her, driving her. “Oh, Tom,” she cried, and then came undone, her body moving in ways that seemed completely out of her control.

  Everything was out of control. Not that she minded.

  Above her, Tom reached his own climax, his body jerking spasmodically against her, thrusting deep inside in a way that set off a new round of rolling climaxes in her core. By now, she was beyond saying anything, even moaning. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hung on, waiting for the moment she’d touch earth again.

  She heard his breath sighing against her ear, his lips running almost absently up the length of her throat. “Oh, babe,” he whispered. “Babe. So good”

  Deirdre closed her eyes now, holding him tight against her. The world spun away again, and she let her legs fall back against the sheet, her muscles gone now to mush. One last thought flitted through her brain before she shut down completely.

  If I ever see Craig Dempsey again, I am so flipping him the bird!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tom awoke to cool air against his back. He squinted at the other side of the bed, but he already knew what he’d find. Deirdre wasn’t next to him, where she should have been. He’d been having a very enjoyable dream, featuring her, strawberries, and some unique ways of eating dessert. Then he heard a woman humming, and although it wasn’t part of his dream, reality suddenly seemed to have a lot going for it.

  He grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on, zipping as he walked. With any luck he could catch her before she left. With really good luck, he could convince her to come back to bed for a couple of hours or so. That dream had given him some really interesting ideas he wanted to explore.

  He followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen, then stopped. Deirdre was, unfortunately, fully dressed and busily slicing toast. She was also…dazzling. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, still slightly damp from her shower. The blue T-shirt from yesterday clung lovingly to her curves. Even her everyday loose jeans seemed to emphasize the slim roundness of her hips and the length of her legs.

  Tom leaned back against the doorway to keep from pulling her into his arms. Maybe he should get a sense of how she was feeling about him before he starting talking about encores. “Morning.”

  She turned toward him, glowing. No makeup. Didn’t matter. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman, certainly not in his own kitchen.

  “Good morning. I made coffee—I hope that’s okay.”

  He nodded, trying to pull his thoughts together. “Sure. Help yourself.”

  “You don’t have much in the way of food, but I found some bread for toast.”

  Tom shrugged. “I mostly eat at the Faro. Clem cooks better than I can.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Don’t eat it, usually. Just coffee.”

  Deirdre wrinkled her nose slightly. “Your coffee needs some help, too. I think it’s stale.”

  “Stale?” Tom frowned. “I didn’t know coffee could get stale.”

  “How long have you had this bag?”

  He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember when he’d bought the thing. “A few months? I know I got it after the Fourth of July.”

  She shook her head. “If you’re going to keep it for a while, you need to put it in a cool place. And you’d be better off with beans instead of ground—they keep longer because they don’t lose their essential oils so quickly.”

  “I don’t have a coffee grinder.”

  She gave him another heart-stopping smile. “I’ll sell you one as soon as I get my stock for the shop. In fact, I’ll give you one as a thank-you gift.”

  His mouth edged into a grin. “Thanking me for what?”

  He watched her face turn a delectable shade of pink. Even embarrassed she looked better than most people did normally.

  “To thank you for all you’ve done. Giving me the shop on spec, springing for the paint, giving me a job, keeping Craig from buying me out. That kind of thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He was grinning more widely now. He couldn’t help it—something about her just made him want to grin whenever he saw her.

  “Would you like some toast?”

  He pushed himself away from the doorway, moving toward her carefully. She had a certain flight-risk look. “I’d like you. Preferably in bed, but we can try it on the kitchen table if you want.”

  She stared down at the piece of bread in her hand. “Oh.”

  “Is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.

 
She looked up at him again, her mouth moving into a slow grin of her own. “Can you guarantee we’ll get some food somewhere along the way?”

  He’d have guaranteed her anything at that point, including a gem-encrusted coffeepot if she wanted one. “Absolutely.”

  “Then lead the way.”

  For a moment, he almost considered the kitchen table. All he’d have to do would be to clear off the stack of Konigsburg Herald-Zeitung’s at the side. But it looked a little hard, and maybe a little cold. And besides, his dream hadn’t included dodging salt and pepper shakers. He extended his hand to her. “Come on, babe. I don’t think the boss will mind if you’re a couple of hours late this morning.”

  For the next few days, Deirdre kept expecting Craig to show up again. She wasn’t sure what she’d say, when and if he did. She was fairly sure that thumbing her nose and singing “Nyah, nyah, nyah” wasn’t an adult thing to do, so she’d just keep it to herself.

  It didn’t matter anyway because Craig didn’t appear. Deirdre didn’t know if that was bad or good, but she’d opt for good, given her choice. Thinking about Craig wasn’t high on her to-do list at the moment anyway.

  Tom was.

  He didn’t seem to care whether people found out about them or not, but Deirdre discovered that she did. She figured Sylvia wouldn’t be happy, and Chico and Bobby Sue might not be all that pleased either. She didn’t want to throw off the smooth working relationship they all had.

  Well, her working relationship with Sylvia wasn’t exactly smooth, but Deirdre could sort of work around her if she had to.

  But keeping her connection with Tom quiet wasn’t easy. Even the brush of his shoulder against hers when she leaned back against the bar was enough to start a mild bonfire low down in her body.

  She did her best not to be obvious about the way he made her feel, but her best wasn’t good enough for Clem.

  “You did it!” she crowed when Deirdre walked into the kitchen on Monday afternoon. “You and Tom. Together. Hot damn!”

  Deirdre made a damping motion with her hand. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know what you mean, anyway.”