She flung her head back on the bed, shaking with desire and need and fear, and forced her muscles to relax. “Do it,” she whispered. She’d had sex, lots of it, she’d had quick times and fast times and hard times, but none of them felt like she’d been dipped in hot chocolate and set on fire and shot into space, none of them had been like this.
“Not yet.” He stretched out along her, skin to skin, his long limbs pressing down on hers. His voice was husky. “I want to feel you.” His feet stroked her calves, his knees caressed her inner thighs, and his belly, rough with hair, slid against hers until she cried out and begged him to just do it.
He paused, chest heaving. She watched him close his eyes. Then he was in motion, tearing open the condom, sliding his palms over her inner thighs, between her legs, exploring her with his fingers. Her thoughts splintered again, her awareness narrowed to the hot burning spiral in the center of her universe. And then his mouth found the pulse in her neck, and the slight pressure of his teeth ignited her like an explosive, his hands were in and out of her, everywhere. She let him take over, let herself sigh and moan and smile and gasp, let the pleasure rise up and arc higher until she was blinded, obliterated.
When he entered her with a well-timed thrust, she rose up to meet him, shocked to realize how much she wanted him, how much she didn’t want it to ever end.
* * *
He slept the sleep of the erotically sated: joyful but turbulent. Wild dreams galloped through his mind, breasts and smiles and soft hands, the smell of sex, the taste of a woman’s skin.
He dreamed of April’s dark eyelashes, her pink nipples, how it had felt to be sunk deep within her. To want her and to have her, again and again.
But then she was gone, and Meg was there wearing nothing but his T-shirt and a pair of white cotton panties. He was stretched out on a leather couch at IKEA, trying to decide if they should buy it or wait for the wedding registry, when she climbed on top of him. Her lips found his.
“I love you,” she whispered.
With a breathless jolt, he woke up. April’s silky shoulder was under his mouth, her sweet perfume filling his nose.
Heart pounding, he flung out a hand to the nightstand, feeling for his glasses to read the green numbers on the clock radio.
1:34 a.m.
I should go.
He wiped the sweat off his brow, trying to clear his head. Why? a voice inside him said. She’s right there, soft and round and warm…
He sat up, kicked his feet free of the sheets, watching April’s form in the bed next to him, glowing from the faint bathroom light. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow. Suddenly she sighed and reached out a hand, curving it around his upper thigh. His body sprang to life, wanting her again.
She could seduce him in her sleep.
He watched her, saw her flushed cheeks, her tousled hair, and felt cold at the thought of leaving her. But he shouldn’t stay. The family would gather for breakfast in the morning, and not even he would have the self-control to disguise the erotic charge that was humming unhindered between them right now. He needed a little time to recover before he could attempt that.
He bent to kiss her shoulder, just a light touch, but when she rolled onto her back and the sheet slid away, exposing the swell of her breast, he couldn’t stop himself from taking her nipple into his mouth and feeling it harden under his tongue.
Her eyes flickered open, her warm arms reaching around him, pulling him close, caressing the flexing muscles of his back. He moved up to her mouth, kissed her hard, slipped his hand over her hair to tilt her head, kiss her more deeply, disappear into the feel of her.
He noticed her hair was damp. He dropped kisses along her forehead, dipping his nose into the curls. “Did you take a shower?”
She nodded. “You were out to the world.”
“I’m like that.”
“You worked hard,” she said.
“Didn’t feel like work.”
Her hands slipped down to his butt and squeezed. “Good.”
He propped himself up on one elbow and brushed a curl away from her cheek, wondering how she did it, what it was about her. He stroked the peach fuzz at her temple with his knuckles, wishing they weren’t in a hotel surrounded by her family, his clients, so many people.
The pain from his dream about Meg was fading to the shadows, but thoughts that he’d buried were now rushing to the surface. He remembered making love to her on a camping mattress of their first apartment, before they’d bought a real bed; the first time he’d proposed to her and she’d said no; the devastating moment the doctors told them the chemo would make her sterile.
April had no idea what baggage he was hauling around with him. He was too serious for her. The first time he’d seen her with her niece at her mother’s house, he’d felt a bone-deep longing for her to have his children—immediately. It was nuts. She was young, fun-loving, lighthearted. She hadn’t been shuttered up, half-alive for the past few years. She wasn’t going to overreact to a single night together.
“I’m having a really nice time.” She gave him an impish smile, tickling the hair on his chest. “How about you?”
He brought himself back to the moment. April’s touch soothed, pleased, aroused him more than he would’ve thought possible. He wanted to close his eyes and drink in the sensation forever. “Very, very nice.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “But I think I should go, don’t you?”
She leaned away from him on the pillow. “Why?”
“The morning would be awkward.”
She dragged her fingernails across his nipple. “My mom would ask Mark to reserve the place for another night.” She rolled her eyes. “For you and me.”
“For—” He lost his breath. She was joking about getting married.
She kissed him. “Ha-ha. You don’t think we could hide the afterglow?”
“Look at me. I’m radioactive.” He sank against her, mouth taking hers, tongue teasing her lips apart. He had to be gone before morning, not necessarily right now. He found her earlobe and sucked it into his mouth.
She arched her back and spoke through a long, throaty sigh. “You want to have sex again?”
He circled his thumb over her nipple, felt it pucker. “Mm.”
“Will you stay if we do?” she asked.
It took all his energy not to roll her onto her back and take her without another word, a sudden thrust, hard and demanding and unforgiving, just take what he wanted after months, years, of deprivation.
“Yes,” he mumbled into her hair, forgetting everything, just wanting her.
She pulled him down to her mouth, and they kissed for a long, inspiring minute until she broke away and put her hand on his chest.
“No, you’re right. You should go.”
He ran a hand over his mouth and told his body to settle down. It wasn’t listening. “What?”
“I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” She slid a hand down his chest and grabbed him between the legs. “See?”
He clenched his teeth with a groan. “You’d do that… at breakfast?”
“I might.”
“You think that’ll get me to leave?”
She released him and patted his shoulder. “Dismount, tiger. We’d better stop this now before we really get going.”
“I could go afterward.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said. “I can tell. One of has to show some restraint.”
He couldn’t bring himself to move. What if he never felt like this again?
“You can do it.” She gave him a push, rolled out from under him. “Liam wouldn’t understand. It’ll be a lot better for you if he doesn’t find out while you’re still working at Fite.”
She was right. But he still couldn’t bring himself to climb out of the bed where he’d had her.
She pulled a sheet around herself, a vulnerable look coming into her eyes. “I was just trying to make it easier for you to go. Don’t be angry.”
He managed a smile
, shook his head. “That’s not the feeling.” He was finally able to turn away and get to his feet. Finding his boxers on the floor, he pulled them on and hoped his body would get the message. Then he lingered for a moment, staring at nothing, fighting an anxious sensation that he’d gone too far and might not make it back.
April’s quiet voice snapped him out of it. “Are you thinking about Meg?”
He turned and stared at her over his shoulder.
She put up a hand. “Sorry, it just came out. Forget it.” She walked over to a table and poured a glass of water, shaking her head. “Sorry.”
The sound of Meg’s name on her lips, right after having sex, was strange, even painful, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to get back into bed. He was even pretty sure he could do a better job than he had the first time.
“I’m thinking about you,” he said. “About how you give the hottest striptease I’ve ever seen in my life.”
She smiled around the glass. “Thanks. I’ve got to admit, I’ve had a lot of practice.”
The way she said it made him wonder if she wanted him to ask how many times or say it didn’t matter. “Professionally?”
She set the glass down with a thud. “No.” Then she laughed. “Thanks.”
“Thanks?”
She put a hand on her hip, smiling at him. “How many B cup strippers do you know?”
“Offhand?” He walked over to her. “I’d have to check my notebook.” He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in one long, thirsty go.
He looked around the room. The rest of his clothes—including his tux, which he’d treated like a baby until last night—were in a pile near the TV.
Not last night. Still tonight.
He made himself get dressed. It wasn’t nearly as much fun putting them back on as it had been ripping them off. He had to crawl around on the floor to find his socks and shoes before moving his unwilling legs to the door. She followed him, flushed and tousle-haired, wrapped in the sheet.
He stroked her cheek. “I’ll call you.”
“You don’t have my number.”
“Of course I do.” He collected names, numbers, and email addresses like tickets. You never knew when you might want to talk to somebody. He even had Trixie’s.
He opened the door, checking his pockets for his wallet and keys, and was surprised to find her at his elbow, smiling slyly up at him. “You were awesome, by the way.”
She did something to him. He didn’t know how or why, but she did.
“Thanks.” He stole a kiss. “I aim to please.”
As he nurtured the glow of their last words, hoping the hope of a man who’d seen heaven and wanted to die and see it again, he turned from the closing door and saw Liam Johnson standing two feet away, a baby in his arms, staring right at him.
And the hope died.
Chapter 21
ZACK LET THE DOOR SLAM shut at his back, although he knew it was too late. Liam had seen—and heard—his sister in the doorway.
He felt his neck redden. Was his fly up? He couldn’t look now, or he’d be asking for Liam to look, too.
Of all the bad luck. What could he say? Liam was standing there like a stern father in a ’60s TV show. And it got worse: he was holding Merry, who wasn’t at all merry, unless she screamed and arched her back when she was feeling good.
Which reminded him of April…
What timing. Shit. Was his fly really open? He had to look.
No. He had to keep his head up and hold Liam’s laser-eyeball gaze. “Evening.”
Liam adjusted Merry in his arms, teeth so tightly clenched his jaw muscles were rippling. There was a moment of silence as Merry inhaled, during which Zack realized just how loud she was screaming, but as soon as she’d refilled her lungs, she cranked it up again.
Maybe Liam was upset because of the baby’s crying, not because of him sleeping with his sister.
Zack gestured to Merry. “Anything I can do?”
“Anything you can do?” Liam’s voice was acid.
“Look,” Zack began, but Merry drowned him out. What could he say, anyway? He lifted his hand and waved vaguely toward the stairs at the end of the hall. “I’m leaving now.”
“You certainly are.”
As the last thought of returning to April’s room vanished, Zack nodded and walked away. He imagined that the baby’s screams mirrored Liam’s opinion of his romp with his sister. He sped up when he reached the stairs, and by the time he was on the ground floor, he was jogging. The remaining wedding guests had moved to the bar, and he heard laughing, shouting, happy voices. He could still hear Merry, too, or maybe that was the electronic pop playing over the speakers.
He almost got into the wrong car three times because every other car was a damn Prius—next time he’d borrow a different type of vehicle from the car share company—and finally he was driving down the narrow, twisting road along the ridge and down through the hills to return to San Francisco, the present and the past an uneasy stew in his mind.
He got a beer out of the fridge as soon as he got home. And then another one soon after. And another. When he was standing at his—Liam’s—bedroom window and finishing off his third, he decided he needed to talk to April right away. It couldn’t wait until the morning—she should know that her big angry brother had seen them together.
What should it matter, really? Zack was thirty-million years old, an old man who got older every day, apparently at twice the rate of normal men. And adorable, sweet, beautiful April wasn’t half as young as she looked, the doll. He wondered if she had gone back to sleep.
She answered on the fifth ring. “Huh?”
“It’s Zack.”
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Look at the clock. You don’t need glasses like I do. It’s right there.”
There was a pause. “Four oh six,” she said. “Fuck.”
“Can’t. I’m too drunk to drive.”
“Is this a new side of you I’m learning about?”
“I’m making up for lost time,” he said.
She let out a long sigh. He heard a bed creak. “You know, I’d just fallen asleep.”
“I know how you feel. I was asleep earlier. Once.” He rested his head on the glass. It fogged up under his boozy breath. “Before you kicked me out.”
“You said you wanted to go.”
“You made me do it,” he said.
“Sorry.” She sounded like she was smiling.
“Yeah. Well. Liam saw me. Which is why I’m calling.”
“Saw you when?” she asked.
“As I was leaving.”
“Wait a minute—he saw you leaving my room?”
“Mm. He was standing in the hall.”
“He doesn’t necessarily know which room is mine,” she said. “Maybe he assumed you slept with somebody else. There were lots of women at the wedding.”
“Were there?”
“Didn’t you notice?” she asked.
“I was only looking at you.”
The phone went silent for a couple of long seconds. “That’s nice.”
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“I’m sure you will.”
“Liam will probably fire me on Monday. How about dinner Monday night?”
“He can’t fire you just because you fooled around with somebody at his brother’s wedding,” she said.
“He knew it was you, April. He didn’t look happy.”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “Hm. He’s going to be annoying.”
“That’s what I thought. He already annoyed me so much I ran down the hallway to get away from him being so annoying.” He went to the kitchen and dropped the empty bottle into the bin with a crash. “He might annoy me all the way back to New York.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she said.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. He wished he knew if they were starting something serious. “How about an early dinner tomorrow night?” He didn’
t need to figure out their relationship. Baby steps. “Well, it’s tomorrow already, so, what I mean is tonight.”
“I don’t know. Now you’ve got me worried about your job.”
“I’ll make pizza from scratch,” he said. “It’s really good, takes a lot of time, and it’s really good.”
“You said that twice.”
“It deserves it,” he said.
“All right. What time?”
“Really?”
She let out a breath. “How drunk are you? Will you forget this and I show up and there’s no pizza?”
“Not that drunk. Come at six while I start the dough. We can talk while I work.”
“You’re always working,” she said, and hung up.
* * *
April didn’t wake up until noon, when the cleaners knocked on the door. She’d missed the checkout time and had to scramble into her jeans and a T-shirt, gather her stuff, and stumble out to her car without a shower or free breakfast.
Anxiety she hadn’t felt the night before bloomed with a vengeance. He’d been drinking when he called her last night, probably trying to drown his fears that he’d ruined his career by sleeping with her.
When he sobered up, he’d probably regret going to bed with her. She could withstand a little horrified recoiling in a double-parked car after a quick kiss, but if he rejected her after last night, after all those kisses, the sweet words, the erotic abandon—
Something had shifted inside her. She’d finally shattered that control of his, but the breaking only made her want him more, or more of him. And it scared her. He might annoy me all the way back to New York, he’d said. She wasn’t in control of him; she wasn’t in control of herself. Just the type of situation she’d sworn to avoid.
She blasted the radio as she drove, her mood sinking and headache growing with each mile. On a whim, instead of taking the road down to the Peninsula and over the bridge to the East Bay, she turned west to drive down to the coast, desperate to get away from people who knew her, breathe in the cold salty air and empty her mind for a little while.
She didn’t know how long she walked along the shore wrapped in the fleece blanket she kept in the car, but it wasn’t long enough for her to figure out if she’d just had the happiest or saddest night of her life. She finally got in her car and drove home.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 19
