She pointed at the floor. “That’s wool carpeting,” she said. “What if it reminds him of grass?”
“I’ll wash it.” He walked over to her and reached for the leash. He still couldn’t take a proper breath. Her fingers felt cold and tense under his touch. “Please. Stay. I was just about to put the pizza in the oven. You can’t leave now.”
At their feet sat Stool, rock-still except for his quivering nose, his gaze locked on Zack’s face.
“One sausage and he’s yours for life,” she said.
Zack tried to swallow his laugh, but she must’ve heard the strangled sound come out of his throat because she flushed pink and swatted him on the arm. “I’m not so easy,” she said.
Finally giving in to temptation, he swept her up into his arms. “Not even pepperoni?”
Her body remained stiff, so he released her slowly, claimed the leash, and brought Stool with him into the kitchen. A hostage.
“You’re courting disaster, letting him in there,” April said.
“The worst has already happened.”
He heard her groan. “Send me a bill for your suit. I’ll pay you back.”
“Right.”
“I will!”
Hopeful she was getting comfortable, he dropped Stool’s leash and washed his hands before putting the pizza together. He’d already rolled out the dough and baked it halfway. “I mean, I’m not sending you a bill.” The sauce pooled in the center of the pie before he spread it around.
She reached past him and stole a sliced mushroom. “You should.”
He slapped the pizza together and shoved it into the oven. “There. Not long now.”
“My companion animal and I will wait in the other room.” She’d retrieved Stool’s leash and held him against her side. “I don’t want him doing any more damage.”
Zack watched her walk away, struck by how deprived he felt just from her move into another room.
This is dangerous.
He’d invited her over with one goal—a sober but enthusiastic replay of the night before—but hadn’t thought ahead to the moment after that, when she got up and went home. Because as soon as she left, he’d have to get right to work getting her back again, sweet and wet and frisky again, such as tomorrow night and the night after, and possibly, it would certainly cross his mind, during lunch one day.
Leaning against the counter, he stared at his hands. What was he doing?
Last night, he’d offended the client he hoped would be his ticket to a new phase of his career, and he hadn’t given it a second thought. He could’ve called or made an appointment for tomorrow, or looked for another client, like that friend of Mark’s. But he hadn’t bothered. Getting April to his condo had consumed him utterly.
That morning, he’d woken with a smile on his face, feeling like he could fly. But he wasn’t flying, he was falling. He’d jumped out of an airplane without a parachute, and the hard earth was down there waiting for him.
He’d assumed he could be like other men, and have sex with a cute girl without overreacting. For God’s sake, he was thirty-two, a widower, a successful businessman, not a seventh-grader who proposed to the first girl who’d agreed to go to the movies with him.
In a daze, he checked on the pizza. The heat from the oven blasted some sense into him.
It was his upbringing. What he felt when April walked ten feet away was good old-fashioned lust, same as it was for other men, but the firm morals drilled into him as a child couldn’t let him admit it.
Sex and guilt were miserable companions. If anyone could help him separate the two, it was a woman like April.
He mixed up another nonalcoholic cocktail for her and plated the salads. After they ate, he’d get her back into bed. He’d just come out of a few long, lonely years, and didn’t want to begin any more.
Proud of his pizzas—he liked to serve it on the pan, like at a restaurant—he carried it directly from the oven out into the living room.
It was empty.
At that moment, the earth rose up to meet him. He felt the blow deep in his guts. She’d left, she’d actually left, and she wasn’t coming back.
He closed his eyes and let the hot pan burn through the dish towel and singe his fingers.
She didn’t really want him, not enough. Last night had changed his life, but for her it was just—
“Hey,” she said. She came in from the balcony with Stool and a roll of newspaper. “I let him pee on your Sunday paper, is that all right? Don’t worry—it was the Chronicle, not the New York Times.” She laughed. “I didn’t want to go all the way downstairs, especially since they don’t allow dogs in most of the complex.” She walked past him into the kitchen.
He heard a cabinet shut and the water come on. Heart pounding in his throat, he set the pizza down on the bistro table.
She returned, drying her hands, and stood beside him. “That does look good. You were—”
He drew her into his arms and kissed her. She hadn’t left. He stroked her hair away from her cheek and kissed his way to her ear, dizzy with wanting her so much. “I thought you’d gone.”
She tilted her head, offering her neck. “I…” She let out a little groan. “Thought about it.”
“Bad idea.” He ran a hand down her arm and entwined his fingers in hers, nuzzling her neck and breathing in the warm, delicate sweetness of her skin. “You’re staying.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m going to make love to you.” He was going to have her beneath him, push against her silky thighs, drive into her until she cried out, scratched at him and demanded more. “Right now.”
Her body sagged against his. “I knew this was going to happen.”
He lifted her sweatshirt and palmed her warm, smooth stomach. His fingers moved up to her bra, pulled down the lace, freeing the rounded flesh and finding the sensitive peak at its center. Enjoying her gasp, he said roughly, “I wish I had.”
She lifted her hands to the back of his head and pulled him closer. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, sending bolts of desire shooting through him.
He wanted her. He didn’t know what the future held and he didn’t care. He clasped her hand and led her to his bedroom, where he locked the door, quite willing to let Stool enjoy the pizza on the table if it earned him a few minutes with this woman with big gray eyes and a laugh that shattered his icy heart.
As her hand slipped under the waistband of his pants, all he could think about was tasting and holding and taking her until he’d forgotten there was anyone else in the world but the two of them.
* * *
She liked the feel of him, hard and velvety-warm, and would’ve laughed at the stunned look on his face if she weren’t so aroused herself.
“You like that?” she asked.
His eyes darkened, staring at her. “I like.”
His husky voice knocked the smile off her face. Shivering a little, she stroked him, felt him get harder and bigger under her hand.
Clenching his jaw, he put his hand over hers, holding it still. “My turn.” He pulled her hand out of his pants, clasped both wrists, and lifted them both over her head as he pressed her against the closed door. Heart thudding, she gazed up into his serious face and tried to breathe.
“Don’t move,” he said.
She didn’t move.
A small smile curved in the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said, licking his lips. He took a step back and looked her up and down before shaking his head, taking the hem of her sweatshirt in his fists, and sweeping it up and over her head.
She started to lower her arms, but he seized her wrists again, pinning her against the door. “I just want to look at you.” He raked his gaze downward. “Okay?”
She stretched up, hitching her hip to one side, and nodded.
He released her and stepped back. “You didn’t really look like yourself last night. This is more like how I imagined it.”
“How you imagined… what?”
“Undressing y
ou.” He reached for the waistband of her jeans, heat in his eyes. “You were wearing these jeans at dinner at your house that night.”
“I was?”
He popped the button. His fingernail felt rough against her stomach. “When you kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”
“Not as long as I would’ve liked,” he said, unzipping the fly.
“I thought you didn’t want me.”
His palm stroked her belly, slid around her waist to her back, under her panties, over her bottom. The jeans gaped open and moved down her hips.
“I wanted you,” he said roughly. Her jeans fell to the floor, and his gaze followed them down. “Jesus. You’re so beautiful.”
She felt heat rush into her veins, flaring wherever he looked—breasts, thighs, toes. Then he stepped forward and took her in his arms, his mouth slanting over hers, wet tongue sliding inside, making her so weak she had to cling to him.
The night before at the wedding, she hadn’t had a chance to see him clearly. In their formal clothes, away from their normal lives, the lovemaking had felt like a fantasy. But this was real.
She put her hands on his chest and put a few inches between them to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Not so buttoned-up now, are you?” She licked the hollow of his throat.
“I’m not really that uptight.” Breathing hard, he reached around and unfastened her bra, then palmed her freed breasts. “I’m the rebel in the family, remember?”
As his thumbs raked across her nipples, she sucked in a breath. “Sure.” Her fingers got back to work. Each unfastened button exposed another few inches of his chest. His hair was dark, the smell of him intoxicating. She took one nipple into her mouth and teased it, smiling as he groaned.
“I’m not,” he said roughly. “It’s just a facade.”
“Mm.” His hair tickled her nose. Wrapping her arms around him under the open shirt, she cuddled up against him, just enjoying for a moment how warm and safe it felt to be together, part of her afraid of how intense it had gotten so fast.
He ground his hips into her pelvis, reminding her they were just getting started, and she felt the heat fill her up again, felt her mouth go dry, every inch of her aware of every inch of him.
Their gazes locked. Talk stopped. He shrugged off his shirt and watched her with dark, serious eyes as she unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down over his hips. He was hard and ready, pushing at his boxers, and she swallowed over the dryness in her throat before hooking her fingers under the waistband and jerking them down.
She had to take a moment to drink in the sight of his erect maleness, the broad shoulders, the thick hair darkening his chest, his strong, muscled thighs. No more business casual. God. Her knees wavered.
He hooked an arm around her and pulled her to him, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. “Do you like it fast or slow?” His breath was warm and moist on her skin.
She couldn’t breathe. “Fast,” she whispered. “I like it really, really fast.”
Before she knew what was happening, his hands were roughly claiming her bottom, shoving her panties down her legs to the floor. Then he was driving her to the bed, tumbling her onto her back, climbing on top of her, kissing her mouth, her ears, her neck, her breasts, her belly, then pushing her thighs apart and burying his face deep inside her. His hair on the soft skin of her inner thighs was almost as delicious as his tongue everywhere else. She heard a scream, realizing with a gasp as she clutched the sheets that it was her, arched her back and, laughing, gave herself up to the pleasure, the gentleness and the roughness, the blinding delight.
And then he was inside her, thrusting hard, calling her name, and she was gasping his, digging her nails into his back, crazy with him, crazy for him, and they lost themselves in the frenzy and came together in a silent shout, and then collapsed: damp, entwined, spent.
Later, through a distant, sleepy fog, she felt his lips brush her temple, soft as a breath.
“April,” he said.
Chapter 23
ON MONDAY MORNING, APRIL WALKED into the art room a minute after eight, sipping her coffee and thinking about how much she liked Zack’s laugh. It came at you all at once, a tsunami of mirth, knocking you over with its sudden force. After the hot sex, he’d made a second pizza—on sliced sourdough bread this time, since the dough was long gone—and they sat in bed listening to her funniest stories about temping in San Francisco over the past five years. At one point he laughed so hard, he flipped off the edge of the mattress and landed on the floor, laughing harder when Stool lunged for his sausage.
It was impossible not to like a guy like that. She was almost ready to give up trying. Or pretending she was trying at all.
As she sat down in her seat, she saw the pile of work she’d left there the Thursday before, not recognizing any of it or what she was supposed to be doing and when. She could’ve blamed her poor memory on the wedding, but that wasn’t it—she was preoccupied with skin, muscle, sexy blue eyes, laughter, and orgasms.
She’d done it again. She’d sacrificed her goals to get laid. She’d cashed out the kids’ college fund and wasted it at Vegas. She’d fallen off the wagon, been kicked out of rehab, violated parole.
She sipped her coffee and turned on her computer, smiling. Being bad always felt so good. The worst part about what she’d done was that she didn’t regret what she’d done, not yet.
An evil voice in her head told her he only wanted sex, that he might look like a nice guy with depth, the kind of man she’d never been with before, but he was really the same: he was just lonely and wanted to get laid. She was fun and easy, a natural candidate, and soon it would be all over and she’d never see him again.
She told the voice to shut up. Even if it was true—and part of her was even more terrified to think it wasn’t, that this was serious—the damage was done. They’d crossed the line. And would do it again soon.
Smiling, she ran a finger over her lips. They had plans scheduled for the following night—dinner and a movie, their first real date. They would’ve gone tonight, but she was babysitting Merry. She’d almost asked Bev if she could find somebody else to sit, but stopped herself because she didn’t want Liam to find out.
She glanced at the clock on the computer, wondering if Zack was in the building.
No. He wasn’t working today; he was preparing something for a previous client, the one he’d had before Fite. He’d told her he usually had two or three jobs going at once, the only way he could reliably make a living.
“Just like me,” she’d said.
He’d pulled her close, spooning her. “Two peas in a pod.”
It was hard thinking about that inevitable future, knowing how soon it was coming. His six months at Fite ended in May. Come June, he’d be starting another job at the other end of the country, over two thousand miles away, his home.
She’d always been reckless, but this was an entirely new level of peril for her. She really liked him. Respected him. She wanted to bring him little presents and see him smile, surprised, and then look at her with appreciation, admiration, desire…
Maybe six weeks was long enough to get him to change his mind about moving back to New York. She’d always worked fast—hell, for her, six weeks with one guy was like six years for somebody else. He could find another job out here. He was interested in high tech, wasn’t he? Why look for software companies on the East Coast when Silicon Valley was right here?
Struggling to get her mind in the present, she launched the drawing program and scrolled through the files. Teegan expected a dozen sketches and a screen print design for the new baby line before a ten o’clock meeting. She had to hurry.
Before she knew what she was doing, she had her cell phone in her hand and was starting a text. She got as far as hi xoxox wassup cutie before she deleted the message, turned off the phone, stuck it into the bottom of her bag, pushed into the back of a drawer, and locked the cabinet shut.
The first step was admitting you
had a problem. Zack was a problem. She had him. She’d had him more than once, actually.
Problem, problem, problem.
Then again, maybe the only problem was wanting him and not having him. Wanting him and having him was no problemo.
Shoving aside the memory of him giggling on the floor with pizza sauce on his chin, she worked on the sketches over the next hour. The tug of the phone in her drawer, her only link to him, was a constant, nagging pressure. If she were a smoker craving a cigarette, she’d have a chance to light up in the alley during break time. She’d stand around with other similarly afflicted coworkers, getting her fix, enjoying a little camaraderie.
She tried to imagine the reaction if she and Zack got their fix there, too.
This was insane. She needed somebody to knock some sense into her. She picked up her desk phone receiver and called Virginia. “Power walk during lunch today?”
“What about the baby?”
“Not until two today. I thought we could walk to the Embarcadero and back.”
“Why?” Virginia asked.
“What do you mean? It’s good exercise.”
“Did something happen at the wedding?”
April rubbed a plastic seam on the phone. “They got married. Is that what you mean?”
“You know it’s not,” Virginia said.
“Look, if you don’t want to walk, just say so.”
“It depends if you’re going to tell me what happened,” Virginia said.
April sighed. “We can stop by the ATM so I can give you your hundred bucks.”
“I knew it.” Virginia’s voice was both eager and wistful.
The light on her phone started flashing. It was almost ten. She still had the baby T-shirt to do. “See you at noon.” She hung up and switched over to phone mail.
Teegan had left a message, wanting to know when the polka dot running pant logo would be in the system for her to make colorways for the meeting.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 21
