Jessica shook her head. Worse than any lecture was the disappointment from Chrissy. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay. I just…I can’t.”
They were interrupted by the two men walking into the kitchen.
“I’m gonna head out. Thanks for dinner, guys,” Slade said, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek.
“Guess I’m going to go too,” Jessica said. She hugged Chrissy and then waved to Jack. “Thanks, you two.”
Outside the house, Slade walked Jessica to her car. “You want to come over for a drink?” He gestured toward his house.
Jessica let out a deep breath. Yes, she did. She wanted to come over for a drink and never leave. She wanted Slade so much, but she still felt the phantom sting from Dennis’s fingers around her throat as he warned her against further contact with Slade. As it was, she’d been spending too much time with Slade, but she hoped that since she wasn’t ever alone with him, Dennis wouldn’t react.
“Don’t worry about it. Forget I asked,” Slade said before Jessica had a chance to respond. As if he could read her mind, he touched her neck gently. Then he skimmed his finger up her to jaw, finally placing his palm against her cheek. “You seem so tormented. I haven’t seen you this way before. Even when you were dating Dennis you didn’t seem this sad. I just want you to be happy, Jessica. I think I can be the person to make you happy. I want to be that person. But I don’t know what else to do.” He leaned in and placed a feather-like kiss on her lips before letting her go and walking away.
She wanted to scream, Don’t give up on us. But all she could do was watch him leave.
Chapter 13
It was Jessica’s last day at the Pier, and a frequent patron of the bar, Melinda DeBoit, who had been relentless about wanting to set Jessica up with her brother, Miles, had shown up with him that day to introduce him to Jess. But Jess had heard too many rumors about how creepy Miles was and how he’d hit on anything with a vagina. Besides, it had been two days since she’d last seen Slade and already she missed him fiercely. Melinda showing up with Miles in tow was just the icing on her crappy mood.
Miles seemed about ten years older than Jessica. He was wearing Dockers and a lime green polo shirt that looked as slimy as he did. He sat at the bar next to his sister and ordered a Sex on the Beach, winking at her. She rolled her eyes, but the bar was too empty to avoid the man and his sister. She had no choice but to politely make small talk. In the span of ten minutes, Jessica learned that he was divorced because his ex-wife was a money-grubbing bitch, he was a doctor (which she later realized meant he was a chiropractor), he dated a lot, and he thought she had great legs that would look better wrapped around him. Yes, all of that in ten minutes in front of his sister. Gross!
As luck would have it, just then a man sitting at the other end of the bar cleared his throat and addressed Jessica. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m passing through town and I was wondering if you could help me figure out directions to here.” He held out a map.
“Certainly.” Jessica smiled and excused herself. Before she could turn away, though, Miles spoke. “I have a hot date. Guess I better move out. If you want to see me again, I left my card there for you on top of the monster tip.” He winked.
“Thanks for that,” she said to the other man after Miles and Melinda had left.
The man smiled. “You looked like you were about to slap him.”
“More like throw up,” Jessica said wryly. “What can I get you? Drink’s on me.”
“How ’bout a beer?”
“Sure thing. I’m Jessica Cross, by the way.” She reached forward to shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Jessica Cross. I’m Roger Stevens.” They shook hands and she went to get him a beer. For the next hour, in between customers, Jessica chatted with Roger, who was passing through town on his way to visit his family in Jacksonville. After his third beer, and before the bar was about to close, he said, “I think you owe me a date. I mean, I did save you from Miles.”
She smiled but shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m actually leaving town in a few days.”
“Well, I’m leaving tomorrow. Seems perfect. How ’bout dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on. You gotta eat, don’t ya? It’ll be fun. You look like you could use some fun. Don’t make me eat alone.”
She did. She needed fun. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating well. The sadness pressing against her heart was making it hard to breathe. “Okay. I guess one meal won’t hurt. I owe you that much.” She gave him her number before he left. He was nice, charming, and handsome, and the prospect of seeing him later that evening cheered her up a little.
Back at her house, though, she once again found herself looking at her own reflection and dreading yet another first date.
There was a knock on her door, and she gave herself one final check in the mirror. She wore a white pencil skirt, a very flattering strapless blue top that clung to her body, and silver-heeled platform sandals that wrapped around her ankles. She hustled to the front door, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Here goes nothing.
“Hi, Roge—” She stopped dead in her track. “Slade? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Were you expecting someone else?” He walked right in. No waiting for a welcome.
“Um, actually…”
“You look great. I mean, really great.” He stood so close to her, she could smell his sexy, musky scent. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were going on a date, friend.” He snickered.
The ringing of the doorbell saved her from responding. Slade stepped back, startled.
Oh. My. God. Awkward!
“If there’s a guy on the other side of that door, so help me God, Jess. I’m going to be royally pissed.”
Jessica hesitated for a moment, at a loss for words. Why was she on a date when all she really wanted was to be with Slade? Oh, yeah…because being with Slade was bad for Slade. Why didn’t he understand? The man should be able to read her mind, damn it! “I—um—”
The doorbell rang again.
Slade was in his stance again, arms crossed over his broad chest, legs shoulder-width apart. This time his features conveyed irritation, as if the man on the other side of the door was a bug he couldn’t scrape off his shoe.
Jessica walked to the door and opened it just enough so that she could see Roger but not enough that Roger could see inside. Behind her she heard Slade say something under his breath about not bothering to ask who it was before opening the door.
“Jessica. Wow. You look lovely.”
“Who the fuck says ‘lovely’? What a loser,” Slade muttered from behind the door. She prayed Roger didn’t hear.
“Thank you. You look nice too. Give me a sec, please. I’ll be right out. Meet you at the car.” Roger seemed confused, as if he’d been expecting her to invite him in while she got ready, but she ignored it to deal with the crazy, annoyed man standing behind her. She closed the door and spun around.
“What the hell, Slade?” she whispered.
“ ‘Lovely’?” He walked over and plopped himself on the couch. “You’re going out with a douche who says ‘lovely’? Let me guess, he’s another investment banker or some other lame-ass shit like that.”
“If you must know, he’s an art dealer.”
“Art dealer? Oh, so a pretentious douche, then.”
“Stop that. Anyway, it’s not even a date. It’s just dinner.”
“That’s the definition of dating—getting dressed up and going to dinner with someone you don’t really know that well yet. So you’re obviously dating now, since this is the second fucking time I’ve seen you out. Hell, I might as well throw my hat in the ring,” he said in a cocky tone.
“I don’t want your hat.” Damn it, I so want his hat!
Slade stood and stalked toward her. “Oh, baby. Trust me. You so want my hat.” Wait, did he just read my mind?
He ran a
finger down her collarbone to the swells of her breast. She cleared her throat and prayed her cheeks weren’t reddening. She needed to get things under control ASAP!
“Everyone’s had your hat, Slade. I don’t want to be one in a long line of sluts who wear your hat.”
He pulled his hand away, his face aflame and his jaw set. “Fuck you, Jessica. I’m sick of begging. If that’s what you think of me, you don’t know me. Go out and enjoy your date with Mr. Lovely and don’t come crawling back to me when you’re bored out of your fucking skull.”
“Oh, please! Like you’re soooo entertaining.”
“You…you…” He took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words. Finally he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the breakfast bar a few feet from the front door.
“Let go of me. I have a date. I have to go.”
Slade didn’t say anything. He crouched down, reached for the hem of her skirt, and slid it up, caressing the outside of her thighs on the way. Her breath caught.
“Omigod! Slade, what are you doing?”
He grabbed her by her ass and lifted her on top of the cold marble countertop.
“Entertaining you,” he growled angrily.
The cold marble felt good against her scorching skin. Her mouth was agape and her lips were glistening. He reached for her knees and forced them open. She wanted to fight back and snap her thighs shut like a vise, but for some reason her damn traitorous thighs even spread a little wider on their own volition. Her heart pounded as he bent down and kissed the inside of her right leg all the way down to her stiletto-clad foot. Then he repeated the same slow and torturous assault on her left leg. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.
Then he snapped her thighs shut, gripped her ankles in one hand, and lifted her legs straight up. To stop from falling back (and because her traitorous hands seemed to want to touch him), she instinctively grabbed on to his shirt. Her body and her brain were in no way on the same page. Her head wanted to kick and scream and tell him to get the hell out, but her body—every single damn cell in her body—wanted more touching.
With his free hand, he extricated his shirt from her grip, and before she knew it, she was flat on her back on the marble countertop, her legs closed tight and straight up in the air, her skirt up to her hips and her panty-covered ass exposed to him.
“Slade,” she pleaded, “Roger is wait—”
He bent down and slid a finger under the fabric of her lacy panty, pulling it aside.
“Slade!” she whispered urgently. Her body arched off the counter when she felt the featherlight touch against her skin. His hand still held her ankles together, up in the air. Her sex was now completely exposed.
“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me to stop. But before you reject me again, I’m going to show you what you’re missing—how entertaining I can be—because it seems you forgot. You have a date, so I’ll make this quick.” A split second later his mouth was on her, laving from the top of her slit all the way down until his tongue was inside her.
His saliva dripped down her ass onto the countertop. Her arms dropped to her side and she held on to the edge of the countertop. She was helpless to fight his firm grip. And, really, who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to fight him even if she could.
His tongue retracted for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by a finger. “I’ve missed your taste. You’re delicious.” He ran one finger up and down her pussy as he kissed the back of each thigh.
There was a knock on the door, and her grip on the edge of the countertop tightened. Had he not been holding her legs up as tight as he was, she would’ve rolled right off and to the floor.
“Um…Roger…um…be right out. One second!”
“You okay?” Roger asked from the other side of the door.
“Uh…yeah. Fine. Just—” Slade brought his mouth back over her clit and began to suck hard, over and over, as he slid first one and then a second finger inside. “Omigod!” she yelped.
“Jessica?” Roger asked.
“Ah!” she yelled. “I—uh…Ah! Oh my God!”
“Jessica?” Roger repeated.
“Ah! I tore my stockings. Fucking stockings! Fuuuccking stooocckings!” she screamed as her climax began to build. “Just wait in the car. Be right out.”
Slade continued to suck and lick while his fingers worked their way in and out of her right there on top of her kitchen counter with another man waiting in the car for her, until she thought she couldn’t take it a second longer. At that very second Slade drew back, leaving her right on the precipice of what she knew would’ve been the best orgasm of her life.
Slowly Slade bent her legs and released them onto the counter, where she lay panting with her clothes in disarray. He leaned over her. “I think that’s as far as friends go.” He licked his fingers. “Have a good date, lady.” Then he walked out the front door.
There was a knock at her door again. She stumbled off the counter, almost twisting her ankle as she slid her skirt down and ran her fingers through her hair. She opened the door feeling frazzled. “Are you okay?” her date asked.
“Sorry, Roger. I was just—”
“I know. Your brother told me.”
“My brother?”
“Yeah. The guy who just walked out of here. Said you weren’t feeling well. Said it was your time of the month.”
She was mortified. “He what?” Son of a bitch!
“I…uh…it’s cool. I get it. I have a sister. He said to be wary of your bad mood.” Roger chuckled. “I’ve been properly warned. Come on, let’s go.”
Jessica groaned, grabbed her clutch, locked the door, and followed Roger to his BMW sedan. She clenched her thighs together a few times, hoping the friction would alleviate some of the ache. Damn Slade!
Roger drove thirty minutes outside of town to a restaurant called the Steak Place. She’d been to it a few times with Dennis when he’d had to go to his uncle’s fund-raisers or some other family event. It was one of the more elegant restaurants in the area.
Roger was a perfect gentleman. He held the door open for her and led her to a nice table by a window overlooking the ocean. When the waiter came, he ordered for them. “I hope it’s okay. I’ve been told I have great taste.”
“Yes. Of course. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you ordered.” At least she hoped so; she had been too distracted to listen to Roger’s order.
He smiled cockily. “Trust me. I have a sixth sense when it comes to women. And after the time I’ve spent with you at the bar, I think I’ve got you pegged.”
Well, no one had ever ordered for her before. This was nice. A man who took charge, but not aggressively, not on a damn countertop while another man waited outside, not a man who’d bring her right to the cusp and then leave. She had already experienced that kind of take-charge attitude and she wasn’t interested. This was a nice and refined kind of take-charge.
When the appetizers arrived, Roger ate fried calamari glistening with oil while she dove into her watercress salad (dressing on the side), wondering if her own fried calamari would be arriving soon. Pretty soon she realized that the salad was her only appetizer, though her mouth watered for those fried calamari. She swallowed a few more green leaves and took a sip of her way-too-sweet Cosmopolitan. Why did men always assume a woman wanted a Cosmopolitan? Thank you, Sex and the City.
“Good?” Roger asked as he took a sip of his red wine.
She smiled and nodded.
“So, how are you feeling? Any cramps?”
The Cosmo went down the wrong way, and she coughed and her eyes watered. Roger looked around, embarrassed, before standing up and walking behind her to pat her back.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, grabbed a cloth napkin, and wiped her eyes. “Sorry ’bout that. Yeah, I’m okay. You just caught me off guard with that question.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed about. Menstruation is a normal thing. All wome
n experience it.”
Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward and whispered, “I’m fine. No cramping.” She put on her best fake grin. “For Christ’s sake, I beg you not to say the word menstruation again.”
“I won’t. But you don’t have to be shy with me.”
Their entrées came before she had a chance to respond.
The waiter placed a beautifully roasted chicken breast with seasonal vegetables in front of her. It looked good. But, when she looked over to the wonderfully juicy porterhouse steak with truffled potatoes sitting in front of Roger, her mouth watered.
“I hope you like chicken, Jessie.”
She snapped her eyes up. Jessie? She hated that nickname. “Uh—yeah. Chicken. Yes. Yum.”
She ate her chicken quietly. The waiter came by and asked if they wanted another round of drinks, but Roger declined for both of them. Her brow furrowed. She desperately needed a drink—a real drink, not something frilly and fruity.
“Actually, I’ll take another one. Thank you,” Jessica said to the waiter.
Roger looked up from his plate. “Another one?”
“Yep.”
“But don’t you think you’re overdoing it? I mean, two Cosmopolitans? You weigh what? One forty, one forty-five? That’s too much alcohol. You’ll get drunk.”
One twenty-five, asshole!
“I think me and my one hundred and forty-five pounds—maybe even one fifty, since I’m having my period and might be bloated—will be fine with a second drink.”
“Suit yourself.” He took a bite of his steak. “I gotta say, this has been such a lovely first date. Don’t you think?” Lovely. She could hear Slade’s condescending snicker in her head. This was all Slade’s fault. He had ruined the date for her even before it started. She was horny, frustrated, and just overall bitchy—ironically, not all that different from when she did have her period.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Roger went on. “We have so much in common. I see I totally nailed it on the food.” He winked. “I do hope you don’t get sloppy with that second drink, though. That’s a complete turn-off.”
Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) Page 19
