by Rin Daniels
“Mm.” Laughter, husky and a shade ragged, filled the dark alcove. “Neither did I.”
She didn’t know what he intended when he withdrew his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open, she took a breath to suggest they leave, go somewhere else—stop by a corner store for all the condoms they had in stock—but then he sank to his knees in front of the table, closed his hands over her hips, and dragged her to the edge. Kat startled, legs splaying to balance her weight.
He clamped both hands around her thighs, imprisoned them over his shoulders.
He looked up at her with eyes like molten gold.
Her whole body burst into flames, and that was even before he pulled her skirt aside. “Hang on,” he ordered, but before she could decide what to hang on to, his mouth closed over the fabric covering her sex.
Kat groaned, caught herself before it escaped into the dark corner and clenched her teeth around it. One hand curled into his collar, the other wrapped around his head, fingers buried into his hair, as her body opened up for him like it never had for anyone else.
It had always been Adam Laramie for her. Even if he wasn’t her first lover, he’d been her first real orgasm. A hell of a prize at seventeen.
Hell, for her, he’d been that kind of blind crush that confused lust with love and never really went away.
She didn’t know much of that held up, but as he nuzzled between her legs, his tongue dragging across the wet silk, it became abruptly obvious that an orgasm would be the least of her concerns.
She hissed out a breath, barely muffled against clenched teeth, hunching as it built in her belly. Her spine. Flowed up to her head, her heart.
Never in a million years would she have expected this kind of welcome.
The fingers at her thighs bit hard. His tongue lingered over her clit. His breath was hot, his shoulders taut beneath her knees. Some part of her warned her to give this up, to end it before it got messy—before someone came in to see her legs hiked over his shoulders, her butt on the table, and his face buried between her thighs—but Kat didn’t care.
Somehow, they’d skipped kissing and gone right to oral, and she was more than a little okay with it.
He jerked her hips closer to the edge, at the same time pressed against her sex with lips and tongue, and even her mental faculties lost it.
Her orgasm surged from a place she didn’t think she’d ever find again—all-consuming, all-devouring. It flooded her body, her mind, her voice, shuddering out of her on a gasping rasp she couldn’t stop.
Adam licked and laved and pushed her farther than she’d ever have thought possible in public.
Thought possible for her in public. Or anywhere.
His tongue pressed against her, lips taut against her sex as she trembled in his grip.
She climaxed hard and fast and tingling from head to toe.
“Yes,” he whispered. “That’s beautiful.”
“Ha.” A shaky rejoinder. When the sparks cleared from her vision, Kat didn’t know if she was supposed to be reasonably embarrassed or unreasonably happy.
Was there a middle ground?
Reasonably happy and not even a little embarrassed?
A burst of cheering from the other side of the tightly woven trellis jarred her senses solidly back to earth. Based on the location, she’d guess somebody was getting down on the dance floor—much to the amusement of everyone else.
At least it kept everyone else occupied. The kind of going down happening in this corner wouldn’t be half as funny if they were caught.
Not that she currently cared.
She blew out a steadying breath. “So,” she managed, going for light and barely achieving intelligible.
Adam reached around her to disengage her hands from his head. His eyes lit with his smile. It contrasted the taut color in his cheeks, with the arousal thick in his voice. “So.” He stood, and Kat’s gaze went to the fastening of his slacks. The hard-on beneath the tailored fit looked painful.
Maybe she could help with that. Would he let her? A little tit for tat?
Okay, maybe a little more than that?
She opened her mouth to offer, reached out to hook a finger into his waistband, but before she could, Adam dragged a thumb down the side of his mouth and asked, “Before I invite you to my place, I think we should get something straight.”
No nonsense now, huh?
Her heart kicked, but not in anticipation—what was the opposite of that? Oh, right. Fear. Wary resignation.
She shifted, easing her feet back to the floor, and tugged her dress back into place. “Right,” she murmured. “I guess it had to be sooner or later.”
His head tilted. “Sooner, I think.”
“Yeah.”
He offered a hand to help her stand. She took it, afraid if she didn’t, her wobbly knees would give out on the sky-high heels. Wouldn’t that just be perfect, she thought glumly.
Need to avoid a tough conversation? Just fall over, ass in the air, and let embarrassment do the rest.
As a con, it’d fly.
As a precursor to the relationship she wanted with Adam Laramie, it wouldn’t.
“First,” he said, and her stomach clenched. “What’s your name?”
She froze, her fingers stiff in his. “What?”
“Your name, sweetheart.” The half-smile he gave her had always been ridiculously sexy. Even now. “I’d like to know who I’m going to be sleeping with, for my protection if not yours.”
Protection. His own?
After the moment they’d just shared?
Kat didn’t think. As the remainders of her orgasm popped and fizzled in her system, as temper lit the last of her fuse, she grabbed the whiskey glass on the table and flicked her wrist.
The golden liquid twinkled as it soared through the air. Adam’s smile vanished an instant before the alcohol splashed over his chest, splattered up his cheek and turned the fabric of his suit to cloudy gray.
He cursed long and hard as she strode away from the scene of her crime. She didn’t stop to talk. Didn’t know what she could say—how to say it. Anger and disappointment and—and...
And fury. So much of it.
She’d banked on not being recognized. Well, good for her. She got what she wanted.
Was she angry at herself or at Adam more?
Both. Equally. Herself for falling into that stupid fairy tale headspace that kept thinking she’d ever have a Cinderella moment, and him for... for...
For having that kind of sizzling connection with anyone. A perfect stranger.
Somebody he didn’t know was her.
She left the party without looking for Nadine. She’d apologize later—would probably have to apologize a lot, if Adam found out she’d come with Nadine and dragged her friend into it.
Regret kindled under her anger.
Kat had always been good at showy. Whatever else she had going for her, she knew just how to make an exit.
Hit it and quit it, huh?
Well, she’d done that.
* * *
Two hours later, Kat’s phone vibrated. She stabbed her spoon into the carton of rum raisin ice cream and checked the screen, her stomach knotting. A quarter of a carton had helped take the edges off her nerves—and her temper—but she didn’t for a minute think Adam Laramie would let this go.
What if he suddenly remembered who she was?
Bad enough he’d seduced her in public without knowing her identity. Would he blame her for lying to him? For targeting him?
Hell. She would, if she were in his ridiculously overpriced shoes.
Kat sighed at the text on her screen.
What happened?
What was she supposed to tell Nadine?
Before she could decide anything, the phone in her hand buzzed again. She flopped back against the couch, carton cradled between the bare feet she’d drawn up onto the cushions, and accepted the call.
“Okay, so,” she began, only to wince when Nadine interrupted fiercely, “Are y
ou all right?”
Nadine’s concern, the obvious edge to her voice that said she was ready to go to bat for her friends, was still new enough that Kat didn’t know how to respond to it. She wasn’t used to friendship without strings.
Or without her dad’s parameters.
“I’m fine,” she replied firmly. She muted the TV, though it wasn’t all that loud to begin with. She didn’t want to wake up her mom. “I’m totally okay. I just”—she thought fast—“started to feel queasy after that weird pink drink.” Her conscience twinged at the lie.
What were her options? Confess that she ran into Adam Laramie, an old boyfriend from a part of her life she’d never talked to Nadine about? Oh, and by the way, up until a few months ago, I was a con artist and my dad’s in jail for scamming people like you.
Never. She’d ice cream herself to death first.
“Ohmigod.” Nadine’s voice softened in relief. “Girl. Let me know, at least.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, miserable—at the lie and at the fact she’d made Nadine worry. “But I’m fine now.” She’d gone home, stripped out of the dress and kicked it into her closet, put on her rattiest pajamas, and settled down with ice cream and a reality TV hate-binge.
Watching total strangers make complete asses of themselves helped distract her from the fact she’d done just that—and more.
“How’d the rest of the event go?” Kat asked hopefully. “Did you have fun?”
“Nah.” Her friend muffled a yawn. “Kira and her gang kicked off around ten, probably hit up the clubs. I didn’t feel like it. But hey, I’ll text you her info.”
Warmth filled her. “Thanks, Nadine. You’re a peach.”
Nadine made a gagging sound.
“Smothered in chocolate,” Kat added, digging her spoon into the softening ice cream. “With cherries on top.”
“Better.” In the background, a door closed. “The next big thing isn’t for a while. I’ll keep chatting you up to everyone.”
“Thanks.” Kat didn’t know how else to phrase it—how else to say that she’d never had a friend like this to lean on. To rely on. She picked a raisin off her spoon and stared at it blankly, trying to put it into words.
Her friend laughed. “Whatever. Get your salon up and give me a killer rate.”
“Deal.”
“You ever decide what to name it?” she asked, effortlessly changing the subject. “I like the Looking Glass Salon.”
“Too wicked stepmother,” Kat replied. “I’m afraid it’ll subconsciously irritate the older crowd.”
Nadine snorted. “Mirror, mirror, in Kat’s store, who’s the creakiest frigid who—”
“Stop,” Kat said, horrified laughter filling her. “Oh, God, don’t, I’ll never get it out of my head.”
“Serves some of these old hags right,” her friend replied primly. Then softened. “Okay, well, I’ve got a party tomorrow and then Mikaila’s folks are having a beachfront bash, so I’ll keep working them. You want to come to the beach?”
Visions of Adam Laramie danced in front of her eyes. So did the sparking remnants of the pleasure he’d coaxed from her. Kat stabbed the spoon into the ice cream like it might psychically deflect some of that aggression onto Adam. She wished. “I’ll pass,” she said tightly. And then, aware her friend had gone quiet, added, “I have a lot of work to catch up on. I need to make sure the contractors are on budget, and I still need to find an artist to fill the salon.”
“Seems fair.” Nadine smothered another yawn. “Let’s do lunch at the Rooster in a couple days. I’ll share my notes.”
The Copper Rooster was Nadine’s favorite lunch spot, with a menu that wouldn’t break Kat’s bank too badly. And their fry baskets were killer. Kat brightened. “Deal,” she said again. “Around one?”
“Okay. Night, girl.” Nadine’s voice softened. “You looked great tonight. Good job.”
Yeah. If only Kat had the nerve to explain exactly how bad a job she’d really managed. “Night,” she replied. When the phone went dark, she stared at the screen, at the blurred images reflected off the TV, and wished like hell she had the courage to tell Nadine the truth.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she had that client list, until she had a working salon.
Until she was sure Nadine wouldn’t hate her.
Which was, Kat realized glumly, the kind of thing her dad would say. Set it up just right, and a mark will forgive almost anything.
Except she wasn’t trying to use Nadine.
Wasn’t trying, but somehow it felt like she was using her friend anyway.
For two days, Kat tried not to let it bother her. Nadine texted her the occasional selfie, a greeting from Mikaila’s beach party and some cheerful encouragement. Kat sent back photos of art she found around town, and the occasional shot of a bowl of ice cream. Now, as she sat in the shabby kitchen and stared at her silent phone, she wondered if she’d ever run out of breezy messages that didn’t say anything at all.
There was so much she wanted to say. To Nadine.
To Adam.
But he’d gone and ruined her opportunity, hadn’t he?
But oh, wow, was it hot to watch him do it.
Her forehead thunked against the fold-out kitchen table. The small stack of business books—marketed for dummies like her—tilted over.
“Don’t slump, sweetie, it’ll ruin your posture.” Her mother sashayed into the kitchen, empty mug in hand. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Mom, it’s after noon.” Kat straightened by habit, rubbed at the throbbing spot on her forehead. The irritable glance she gave her mom earned her a lifted eyebrow.
Barbara Harris had always been striking, with a statuesque figure and a wealth of blonde hair she now maintained with highlights—which Kat did for her. Age had been kind to her, but then, so had a rigorous moisturizing routine.
Kat looked more like her father, with her heart-shaped face, dark brown hair and green eyes, but she’d inherited her mother’s allergy to the sun. Their pale skin burned on a mild day. Self-tanners were a Harris family staple.
As was coffee. Despite it being bad for her mother’s nerves. And temperament.
Wrapped in a long silk kimono, Barbara looked like she’d stepped out of a trailer for a Hitchcock movie—elegant, perfectly put together, and charmingly neurotic. She wore the role like it was tailor made for her. It was one of her more harmless quirks.
Barbara plucked the coffee pot from the burner it rested on, swirled the dregs and peered through the glass. Just like the first time she’d done it, less than an hour ago, she made a face and put the coffee pot back on the burner.
She did it with juice containers and wine, too. The garbage can was, after all, an entire three steps away.
Leaving her empty mug by the machine—where it’d be ready when Kat got up to make more coffee, she supposed—her mother strolled to the table. A cloud of fragrance rolled up with her. “What has you so grumpy, Katherine?”
She fought the urge to cover her list with a hand. “Agendas.” Her nose twitched. “Are you wearing perfume?”
“You like it?” Barbara waved a manicured hand. The full force of something too strong and probably expensive hit Kat in the face. Like overpriced soap and a shot of vanilla.
Kat didn’t like perfume. It smelled like chemicals to her.
A view her mother failed to understand. “It’s from the new collection of that designer I like.”
“Which one?”
“Oh, whichever.” Barbara smiled indulgently. “I can’t remember her name.”
Kat narrowed her eyes. “How much was it?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” Barbara waved again, but this time, Kat recognized the intent.
She flattened a hand on her list. “Mom—”
“Enough, Katherine.” Her smile faded, replaced by a sharp line. “It’s the last of the money your father gifted me, I’m being very careful with it.” She crossed her arms, s
houlders rounded. “I just wanted something nice. God knows we’ve given up everything else.”
Kat braced her forehead against her palm, closing her eyes. “I told you, it’s only temporary. Once the salon takes off—”
“Yes, yes.” Her mother sighed, abandoning her sullen posture for a brief, one-armed hug. “If only your father was here.”
And that stung, too. Kat stood abruptly enough that the second-hand chair scraped against the battered linoleum. Her mother’s arm dropped to her side. “He’s not,” she said sharply. She dropped her pen to the half-finished list. “Dad’s not here. Jackie isn’t here. Nobody else is here, Mom.”
Barbara angled a silk-clad hip against the table. “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. I’m well aware of where your father and brother are.”
No, you aren’t. Kat sealed her lips around the rejoinder, turning away to snag the coffee pot. She dragged it under the faucet, focused on loosening the sludge gathered at the bottom.
Barbara was a lot of things, but accepting of her current predicament wasn’t one. Kat had already run herself in circles trying.
Her mom hadn’t exactly turned a blind eye to her family’s behaviors. While she wasn’t a career con like her husband, she’d never been what anyone would call morally upstanding. She liked money. She liked what it got her, what she could do with it. What she could pay for with it.
If it meant that she uprooted her life at any moment to follow her husband somewhere else, then that was a small price to pay.
She didn’t understand Kat’s need for roots. For a business of her own, a way to make real money and real friends. She didn’t see the salon as anything other than an anchor.
She wouldn’t until shown just how much good came with a real life.
Kat sighed as she cleaned the pot. “I’m meeting Nadine today to go over some potential clients,” she said over her shoulder. “Will you be okay here?”
Barbara twitched aside one of the lists, studying the bulleted points with a skeptical eye. “Is there any wine left?”
