Bigger Rock

by Lauren Blakely

  “Ooh. The one,” she teases, with a big wink.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” she says, shooting me a knowing look.

  “It’s only temporary.”

  She rubs her hand over her basketball belly. “That’s what I once claimed about Jared,” she says, mentioning her husband. “Now look how permanent we are.”

  “Powerhouse couple, and you’re ready to pop,” I say, since her husband works in the TV business, too, at a broadcast network.

  “So you never know about these temporary flings.”

  But I can’t let myself entertain those thoughts. If I do, then butterflies will get in my head and mess with it. Before I know it, Mister Orgasm will have turned into a love-struck fool by the end of the TV season.

  A little after six, just as I’m stepping into the elevator, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  “Hold the elevator,” Gino shouts from down the hall.

  I swear the dude has a homing device installed to track me down, which is all kinds of creepy. He flashes a massive grin when he joins me, clapping me on the back.

  “Nick Hammer. Just the man I was thinking of.”

  Words I never want to hear coming out of his mouth.

  “That so?”

  He nods vigorously and rubs his hands together as the elevator begins its downward trek. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to our chat last week about the show. And I think I’ve got just the recipe to tone it down a notch.”

  Tension coils in me. “Okay.” I wait for him to say more.

  He rocks back on his heels. “But you know what? I’ll just wait until I see Tyler Nichols next Monday, and I’ll give him the down and dirty. Make it a surprise for him, and for you, too.” He raises his eyebrows in an evil glint. “I do love surprises, don’t you?”

  “Like when a woman wears a red teddy under a trench coat? That kind of surprise?” I deadpan.

  He clasps a hand to his belly and laughs as the car slows at his floor. “And that’s what we pay you the big bucks for.” He steps out, wraps his hand over the door, and pokes his head in. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah. For red teddy jokes,” I mutter as he walks off.

  As soon as I reach the lobby, I dial Tyler and give him the down low. “What surprise is he talking about?”

  “I’m meeting him a week from today,” my lawyer says in a reassuring tone. “I have no doubt he’s just posturing as we head to negotiations. This is his style. He’s like a cat who likes to play with his food before he eats it.”

  I cringe. “Did you just compare me to cat food?”

  Tyler laughs. “That came out wrong. But listen, man, we’ve got your back. Just go to the cocktail party in a few days, keep smiling, and we’ll take care of the show when I see him in a week.”

  Easier said than done.

  Because the show takes care of me. The show has given me this life in New York, the home that I own, even the shirt I’m wearing. It’s given me everything, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

  It’s who I am. It’s a part of me.

  But when Harper sends me the location for our date, the last thing on my mind is the show. It’s why the fuck are we meeting a block away from Spencer and Charlotte’s home?

  23

  Harper waits for me on the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue South, wearing black heels, a light-pink jacket cinched tightly at the waist, a gray skirt, and black stockings. Immediately, I decide they have bows where the garters attach. Because of course she’s wearing garters. Of course I’m going to be aroused the entire night. And of course I don’t want to go to Spencer’s apartment on our date.

  I march up to her and park a hand on her shoulder. “Remember that time I said I liked everything? I’m going to amend that. The one kink I don’t like is messing around at your brother’s place.”

  She scoffs. “Relax. I just have to feed Fido. Spencer’s house is right near where I’ve planned our date, so I figured we could do it on the way.”

  She spins around and starts walking to his house. I join her, covering the familiar block to my best friend’s abode with growing unease as we pass the hip coffee shop, the shoe store, and the neighboring brick brownstone.

  At his front door, that latent kernel of guilt shoves its way to the front of the line. As we enter the elevator, it lodges in my chest. “Harper, I feel like shit going into your brother’s home like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know. Since we’re doing this thing.” I gesture from her to me.

  “He’s gone for the week on his honeymoon, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “I know, but you’re his sister. And I’m his friend. And I’m crossing lines.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Do you want to stop?” she asks, worry in her voice.

  “No more than I want to pound a five-inch nail into my head.”

  She winces as the elevator slows at his floor and the doors open. “Ouch. That hurts just thinking about it. But I’m curious—would a four-inch nail make a difference?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Then why are we discussing it?”

  She makes a good point. A great point, actually. Besides, this is a temporary arrangement. One week only. Still, as we walk down the hall I picture myself as a man heading into a courtroom, ready to be judged. “Because you know how he is. He’s protective of you.”

  She nods and shoots me a small smile as she reaches his door and grabs the key from her purse. “I do know, and I love him. But he’s not the boss of my body. I’m in charge of who gets to touch me. Not him. Not anyone. Besides, you and I agreed this was just between us way back at Speakeasy,” she says, reminding me of the nature of this relationship—to help her learn the ins and outs of sex and dating, and to never tell a soul.

  “But more than that,” she adds, running her hand down her chest to the top button of her jacket and undoing it to reveal a sliver of creamy skin. “I’m a grown woman, and I feel completely confident that I can make my own decisions about who I want to wear black stockings and a new lacy lingerie set for.”

  Just like that, I’m hypnotized. I’m under her spell, a cartoon character with glassy eyes, following the piece of steak he finds at the end of a string. No way can I resist her with that image planted in my head. I’ll follow her and her lingerie and her kick-ass attitude wherever she goes. She’s so fucking strong in her beliefs, in who she is, and it’s a huge part of the allure.

  She unlocks the door to Spencer’s home, and we step inside. Fido scampers over to her.

  “What kind of lingerie?”

  “It’s a surprise for you for later. But suffice to say, it’s all part of my thorough preparation for your coursework, as you requested . . . Professor Hammer,” she says, lingering on my new nickname in a thoroughly seductive tone as she bends to pick up the cat.

  Her skirt rides up, giving me the sweetest, naughtiest peek of the top of her stockings, right where they meet her garters. Hello, hard-on.

  “You darling boy,” she coos to the cat as she stands. “Did you miss me?”

  Fido meows at Harper in greeting, and offers her his chin for petting. “Aww. You little honey bear. I told you I’d be here to feed you your special tiger diet. I would never forget you.”

  He rubs his furry cheek against her breast, and I whimper. The lucky bastard. Then he has the audacity to stretch out his paw and rest it on the exposed flesh of her chest.

  “I think Fido is trying to feel you up.”

  Harper laughs and scratches his chin. He snuggles even closer to her. Man, this cat has it bad.

  “Come pet him. He’s sweet,” she says.

  I move closer and rub his ears. As I stroke him, Harper absently touches my hair. The cat stops purring. He stares at us, at her hand on me, as if he’s cataloguing every move we make. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I swear he narrows his beady eyes.

 
; Harper puts him down, fills his food bowl, and sets it on the floor. As he eats, she changes the litter, and then washes her hands. After she dries them, she runs a hand down the cat’s back. He arches into her as he chows down on the rest of his dinner.

  “See? Fido won’t tell our secret. He has a little crush on me, and all he wants is for me to come back tomorrow.”

  We head to the door, but when I glance back at him, he’s no longer eating. He trots to Harper, meowing loudly and rubbing his side against her.

  “I’ll come back soon, handsome,” she tells him as he turns around and rubs his other side on her calf, his tail swishing high in the air.

  My eyes pop out. That cat is marking her with his scent. “Back off,” I say to him. “She’s mine.”

  Harper laughs. “You two having a swordfight?”

  “Yeah, and I’m going to win.”

  We leave, and once we’re in the elevator and safely away from the pervy cat, I press a kiss to her chest where his paw was.

  “Are you actually jealous of a cat?” she asks.

  Jealous of Simon. Jealous of a feline. Evidently, I’m the territorial one when it comes to this woman, and my possessiveness knows no bounds. “I would be if I wasn’t completely confident that I’ll be stripping you down to your bows and garters, and having my paws all over you tonight,” I say, low and husky.

  A feathery gasp escapes her throat. “I like your paws.”

  When we reach the street, I crane my neck to check out the sixth floor. Who’s there but Fido, in the window, staring at us.

  Probably preparing a report for his master. I swear, I’ll quit when Spencer returns in a week. I will, I really will.

  24

  Harper spins around, walking backward on the sidewalk, mischief tap-dancing in her blue eyes. A bus rumbles by, spewing exhaust, and a cab honks its horn as it swerves into the next lane. We’re on the edge of the Village.

  “Any idea where I’m taking you?” she asks, taunting, toying, playing.

  I bring a finger to my lips. “Hmm. Did you plan a date at the drugstore?” I ask, gesturing to the Duane Reade on the corner. “Shopping for household goods, perhaps?”

  She makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong. Guess again.”

  I check out the options across the street. There’s a movie theater, so that’s a possibility. But Harper’s I’ve-got-something-up-my-sleeve attitude tells me she’s not going for conventional. I cross off the sushi restaurant on the corner for that reason, too.

  Then I spot it. A few stores away. I can’t believe I missed it. Eden, a sex-toy shop. This is so very Harper.

  “This might be my favorite date ever,” I say as we near the entrance. “I don’t know how I’m not going to buy one of everything.”

  She grabs my hand and laces her fingers through mine. “It’s going to be impossible for you to resist.”

  “I’m game to try though,” I say and turn into the doorway.

  Like a dog on a leash, I’m jerked back. I nearly stumble into her. “What? Aren’t we going here?” I hook a thumb in the direction of the shop.

  “Oh God,” she says, clasping her hand over her mouth. “I forgot that was here.”

  “Then where are we going?” I ask, since two and two isn’t equaling four right now.

  She points across the street to what looks like a huge bathroom store. “I didn’t want to take you to the movies, or dinner, or bowling, or trapeze lessons, or a museum, even though I know we’d have the best time doing any or all of those things. I wanted to take you someplace you’d never been. Someplace that’s very you,” she says as we cross the street and reach the entrance to the Whiteman showroom. “And since the only thing you love more than drawing is showers, I thought you might enjoy checking out some of the coolest showers in the world.”

  For several seconds, I’m too surprised to react. This wasn’t on my radar screen at all. I wouldn’t even have guessed it, but as I gaze into the pristine windows at the displays of model bathtubs and showers with gleaming fixtures and earthy tiles, my heart thumps against my chest.

  I don’t think it’s beating this hard because I love showers.

  It’s because I’m floored by her. Her lips are parted slightly, and her eyes are full of anticipation, as if she’s waiting for my approval. I can tell she’s the tiniest bit worried that I might think this is silly, or strange, or too different.

  I don’t. I think it’s awesome. “I’ve never been on a date to a shower showroom,” I say as I open the door for her, and we head into a paradise for the shower junkie.

  “It’s like shower porn,” she says as we wander past the first setup with a waterfall theme and smooth stone tiles.

  “I could spend a whole day in there,” I say, sighing happily as I take it in.

  “You could start taking shower naps.”

  “Trust me, I’ve tried that.”

  She laughs and squeezes my arm. I look at her hand and flash back to all the times she’s touched my arm. She was always doing it before, a friendly little pat, or a punch now and then. Sometimes playful. Now, it’s sweetly affectionate. Funny how she has all these different ways of touching me.

  The next one bills itself as a spa shower, and the display is complete with low lights, dark tiles, and mood music. “Is this where they hose you down after you’re all oiled up at the spa?”

  “Just like this,” she says, and steps inside and pretends she’s soaping up under the showerhead.

  “May I help you?”

  Harper snaps to attention and meets the gaze of a sharp-dressed saleswoman in a navy pantsuit. Her sleek black hair is twisted in a bun.

  “Why, yes,” Harper says, adopting a businesswoman tone. “I’m in the market for the absolute best, state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line luxurious shower for the true shower aficionado. What would you recommend?”

  “What price range are you considering?”

  Harper laughs like that’s the silliest question she’s ever heard. “Money is no object when it comes to one’s predilections.”

  I raise an eyebrow approvingly at Harper for her word choice.

  “Then you’ll want a wet room,” the woman says, and gestures for us to follow her.

  “Wet room,” she whispers, nudging me. “Told you it was better than Eden.”

  I loop my arm around her shoulders. “Yes, so much better.”

  We weave through floor displays of glassless showers, and jets with more modes than Harper’s fifty-speed wand, and claw foot tubs, too, until we arrive at the centerpiece.

  “This is the Rolls Royce of showers,” the pantsuit woman says and presents a shower that’s bigger than my bedroom, and boasts a dozen showerheads, two on each wall, and four on the ceiling. She waxes on about the rainfall settings, the steam options, and the quality of the tile, harvested in South America somewhere. I couldn’t care less about these details, because Harper runs her hand through my hair and asks, “Do you love it?”

  I know she means the wet room. But when I answer her I mean something else entirely, and I want her to know that. “Yes. This is the coolest date I’ve ever been on.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “Really?”

  This is Harper and all her quirks. This is the way she listens to everything I say, how she soaks up all the details, how she pays attention to every nuance, and then finds a way to be playful and fun.

  “Don’t ever change your quirks,” I say, then I brush a kiss to her lips. She shivers against me, and the shower showroom portion of the date needs to end very soon.

  The saleswoman holds up her finger. “Excuse me. There’s something I need to take care of.” She scurries off.

  “Me, too,” I say, but I’m talking to Harper. Looking at Harper. Wanting Harper. “Let’s order in Chinese at my place.”

  She runs her thumb over my jawline. “Does that mean you want to get out of here now?”

  “Yes.”

  25

  We stumble into my apartment, our hands all over each other. He
r lips are bruised from how I kissed her in the cab, and her jacket is undone.

  My fingers find their way to the hem of her V-neck sweater. I want to tear off all her clothes. “Can I see my gift now? I’ve been soooo good.”

  “You’ve been very good,” she says, arching into me.

  My hands freeze. I stop my travels, remembering my mission and why I’m lucky enough to have my hands on her body right now—to teach her. “We almost forgot your lesson tonight.”

  She pulls back and shakes her head briefly, as if she’s clearing her thoughts. “Lesson. Right. Lesson.”

  It doesn’t take long for me to devise one. Call it an easy lesson plan. Call it my own selfish desire to watch Harper bare all. Giving her an assignment is the easiest thing in the world, because I want her so much.

  “Strip for me.” Tossing my jacket on a chair, I park myself on the couch and lace my hands behind my head. “Do it nice and slow.”

  She nods, reaching for her jacket. “Everything, Professor Hammer?”

  I shake my head as I rake my eyes over her. “Take off the jacket, sweater, and skirt. Leave everything else on. That’s the lesson. How you can drive a man wild when you’re half-naked.”

  “Do I drive you wild?” she asks, as she joins me in the living room and shimmies off the coat.

  “So much,” I say, my voice husky and my eyes never straying from her as I nod to her skirt.

  She unzips it. She takes her time, pushing down one side of the skirt, then the other. I groan as a hint of the soft flesh above her panties is exposed.

  “More?” she asks seductively.

  “Take it off, Harper,” I say, like a command. “Take off the fucking skirt so I can see you.”

  “Since that’s what you want,” she says letting her voice trail off as she pushes the fabric past her thighs. She lets it fall to the floor and all the breath flees my body.

  Her stockings are sheer black, and the garter belt hooks into them with little bows on the snaps. Her panties are black lace with a tiny pink butterfly pattern. I drag my hand over my face. I’m an inferno. No, wait. I’m lava. Molten. I take a huge breath and rasp out, “Jesus fucking Christ.”