by Julie Kenner
“Aah, my tale is one of woe and strife,” she said, then added, “Just kidding,” when he raised his brows. “Seriously, though, I’ve been on my own for a while. My parents are awesome, don’t get me wrong, but they live in Austin. I went to boarding school here for high school, and then college, too. SMU, as well,” she added, with a smile. “See, we’ve got something in common.”
“Why boarding school?”
“My dad’s a Texas state senator, and my mom’s a consultant with an international consortium. She travels all the time, and so it just made sense. They’re in Paris right now. Or maybe Kenya.” She frowned, then shook her head. “Honestly, I just keep their schedule in my PDA. It’s too hard to keep in my head. At any rate, they’ve always traveled like that. Together when Daddy can get away, or Mom by herself when he can’t. So I was shipped here. I loved it, though. And I ended up loving Dallas, too, which is why I’ve stayed. Well, that and the fact that I wanted to make it on my own. When you have parents like mine, it’s almost inevitable that nepotism will be involved. I didn’t want it to be. And I am completely rambling on.” She took a deep breath. “So you really don’t like Dallas?”
“My parents are here,” he said. “And they aren’t awesome.”
She nodded, thinking better of pressing him for details. “That’s a shame, about your parents and the bad taste rubbing off on Dallas. It’s home for me, and I love it.”
“Couldn’t home be anywhere? Maybe not Austin, but New York, Chicago. Los Angeles.”
She frowned, trying to seriously consider the question. Because the truth was, she’d had job offers from firms in all of those towns, each offering significantly more money than she was going to be making when she went into private practice in July. But she’d turned them all down. “When a place is home, you just know.” She glanced sideways at him, caught his expression and grinned. “Or maybe you don’t. Isn’t Los Angeles home for you?”
He shook his head. “Like George Carlin said, it’s a place for my stuff.”
“Really?” The thought made her incredibly sad. “But you have a house out there, right?”
He nodded. “I’ll probably be selling it, actually. No point in hanging on to it if I’m not going to be there.”
“Where will you be?” She already knew he wasn’t going to be here, in Dallas, with her.
“Overseas,” he said, and the excitement in his voice was unmistakeable.
“Wanderlust?” Alyssa’s boyfriend, Chris, was a travel writer, and Alyssa was currently in the process of rearranging her life to make it easier to travel with him. For Alyssa, that was great. Not so for Claire. She’d traveled enough as a child with her parents before high school finally grounded her. Now, she wanted to be settled. She wanted to slide into a community and really feel as if she was part of it. So far, she thought, she was off to a good start.
“Not so much wanderlust as chasing opportunity,” he said. “I’ve had a dream for a while to open international locations of my clubs. Same name, exotic locations.”
“And you’re starting in Dallas?”
He laughed. “Kind of. My very first club was called Heaven, and I’m getting ready to launch the Dallas location in about a month.”
“That’s the one Joe wants to help you with.”
“Right.”
“Not to be obvious, but why did you pick Dallas?”
“I didn’t. I pitched my plan to an investor, who liked the idea, but wanted me to prove myself. He owns Decadent, which was in the red when I arrived, and is now firmly in the black. And he did own the location where we’re putting Heaven, though we’re co-owners now. I pull that one off and show a solid revenue stream the first month, and he’s willing to throw his weight behind me on the international front.”
“That’s so exciting.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”
The GPS beeped to signal their arrival on her street, and she looked out with pride at the manicured lawn she’d taken such care with. The inside of the house still needed work, but she’d wanted curb appeal right off the bat. She and her friends had spent an entire Saturday prepping the house for painting, and then she’d spent the next five weekends plotting out a landscape design and then following up with all the planting. Now, in January, it was less impressive than it had been in the summer, but the house still looked charming and cheery, especially with the white Christmas lights twinkling against the blue trim.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess inside,” she said, leading him up the porch. “I’m doing the house in stages, and the first stage is the great room. So there’s no floor at the moment, just a concrete slab. I’m trying to decide between hardwood, laminate or tile.”
“You could stain the concrete,” he said. “We did that at Heaven, and it looks great.”
“Really? I hadn’t thought of that.” She’d thought stained concrete had to be done when the house was built, not after the fact, and she made a mental note to search the subject on Google.
“I could give you a hand,” he said, the words making her hand pause on the way to putting the key in the lock and tilt her head up to look at him. His expression was perfectly bland, as if he didn’t realize the import of what he’d said. And maybe he didn’t. But to her, it was huge. To her, he’d just de facto told her that she was more than a one-night stand. And damned if that wasn’t as much of a turn-on as anything else he’d said or done that evening.
“Thanks,” she said, turning back to the key. “I’d like that a lot.”
She led him in, then locked the door behind them, and when they were standing on her concrete floor with her garage-sale furniture that she’d replace after the room was complete, awkwardness started up again. He was in her home. He was going to help her with her floors. How had she gone from dateless and miserable to having this amazing man by her side? Had she won the sexual lottery and no one had bothered to tell her?
“So here we are,” she said, dropping her tiny purse on the table.
“We are,” he repeated, stepping close to her and making perfectly clear that whatever had sparked between them was still fizzling and popping.
Her body tingled, and her stomach tightened. Only not from desire, she realized. From hunger.
She slid her hand into his. “So, I know I promised you a specific kind of meal to follow the lovely appetizer we had in the break room, but now I’m wondering if I can tempt you with another kind of delicacy. The kind you actually eat.”
He looked her up and down. “Oh, there was definitely eating on the agenda.” His brows lifted as if he’d just figured something out. “Or did you mean food. Nutritional substances.”
She bit back a smile. “For what you have in mind, I think we both need fuel. Why don’t we see what I’ve got?”
Not much, as it turned out, as she hadn’t been to the grocery store in ages. Some Ritz crackers and peanut butter. Some white wine. Apples. Strawberries. A mostly empty container of vanilla ice cream. And a bottle of chocolate sauce. A few other odds and ends, but nothing that made up a meal, that was for sure.
She sighed. “There’s probably something in the freezer or the pantry I can whip up,” she said. “Take-out would take too long.”
“Actually,” he said, “is there anyplace that will deliver pizza this late?”
“Yup.” The local pizza place had made it a point of leaving flyers on everyone’s door announcing their intention to stay open until four on New Year’s Eve, and of hiring extra drivers to cover the inevitable pizza emergencies.
“Why don’t you order us whatever you want? In the meantime, I’ll whip together a more traditional appetizer.”
She shot a glance at the near-empty refrigerator, wondering if he had superhuman powers of food regeneration, then moved back to the hallway for her phone. When she returned, she found him washing strawberries, a bowl of chocolate with a spoon already on the counter.
“I microwaved it. You might want to make sure it’s warm enough.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Here.” He dipped a strawberry, then brought it to her lips. She bit down, sending a dribble of chocolate spilling down her chin. She scooted backward, not wanting to get it on her dress, and he reached to steady her.
“Hang on,” he said, moving in close and, apparently, pushing all of the air in the room out in the process. Because suddenly, she really couldn’t breath. Especially not when he moved in even closer. When he drew his finger over her lip and offered the chocolate-tipped digit to her. And when she drew it in and sucked, oh, dear Lord, she was hot and wet and wondering how he could do that to her, so fast and so often.
“Missed a spot,” he said, then slid his tongue over her lip. “Delicious. But you’re right,” he whispered, his hands reaching up to untie the halter of her dress. “This is too pretty to get covered with chocolate.” Before she could protest—before she even realized what he was doing—he’d found the zipper on the skirt, as well. One flick down and the dress tumbled off her to pool around her ankles, leaving her standing naked in her kitchen, a fully clothed man in front of her with a very definitive gleam in his eye. “Beautiful,” he said.
“Why do I have the feeling I’m the appetizer?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Clever girl. Come here.” He tugged her toward him, then bent down and moved her dress out of the way. Then he dipped another strawberry, bringing it close to her, then teasing by pulling it away.
“Now you’re being mean.”
“Never.”
A drop of chocolate flicked off, landing on the curve of her breast. She met his eyes, saw the intention there, and gasped as heat and pleasure coursed through her even before he closed his mouth to her skin. And when his tongue flicked over the chocolate—oh, sweet succulent strawberries—it was all she could do to keep from sliding her hand down between her legs and making herself come once again, this time in his arms.
“Let’s try that again,” he said, this time managing to get the strawberry to her mouth, but leaving her lips surrounded by chocolate which he very purposefully and slowly licked off. Somehow, throughout it all, her knees continued to support. That was, she thought, a miracle.
“Oops,” he said, as another bit dribbled down, this time into her cleavage. He licked it off, and she almost screamed with the pleasure of it.
She reached for a strawberry herself, dipped it in chocolate, and brought it to her mouth.
“No fair,” he said. “I’m supposed to be feeding you.”
“Probably should,” she said, trying very hard not to grin. “I’m making such a mess.” She dabbed the strawberry to her chin, then closed her eyes as he leaned in and licked it off.
“I see the problem,” he said in a voice that promised so much.
She tried again, this time managing to miss her mouth by at least a foot, the chocolate brushing over her nipple instead. “Wow. I’m really a klutz.”
“Happy to help you out,” he said, then closed his mouth and suckled, sending electric heat coursing through her to pool between her thighs, burning and throbbing with desperate need. So desperate that she took another strawberry, then traced it down her middle, over her bellybutton, then down, down, down.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, then lowered himself to his knees, his hands at her waist holding her steady, his tongue flicking over her belly, setting her body on fire until she was nothing more than a giant ball of sexual heat and need.
Lower and lower he went, his tongue leading the way, dipping down, laving her skin clean and coming closer—so much closer—to where she wanted to feel him, the press of his lips upon her, his tongue caressing her, taking her higher and higher and—
He was there, and she gasped from the sensation, the feel of his mouth upon her so much more enticing than her fantasy could ever be. She curled her fingers in his hair silently urging him not to stop. She was close, her body already primed, and he played her with sweet intensity, taking her to the brink, then pulling back until she really and truly thought that she would go crazy. And then—right as the doorbell sounded to announce the arrival of pizza—he found her sweet spot and the world—and Claire—exploded.
5
“HERMIONE!” Claire called as her fuzzy orange cat batted playfully at Ty’s earlobe. “Leave him alone.”
She looked utterly sexy in baggy shorts and a T-shirt, and they were on the couch now, eating pizza out of the box, as Ty scrolled through the onscreen television guide. Claire had wanted control of the remote, but he’d jumped for it, determined not to have her landing on E! or TMZ or one of the other entertainment news channels that might be running some file footage of him. Or, God forbid, of her.
He tamped the thought down, realizing for the first time that there was a very real possibility that someone had posted a few pictures of the two of them together. He’d been less in the spotlight since coming to Dallas, but his picture still showed up at least five or six times each week, snapped by someone in the club eager to earn a fast buck selling to the networks and papers.
He really hoped everyone had been too busy celebrating their own New Year’s to bother with him and Claire. Unlike most of the women he saw, he was certain Claire wouldn’t be keen on being in the limelight.
Hopefully, he hadn’t just firmly shoved her into it.
Behind him, Hermione sniffed at the pizza, then stepped tentatively on his shoulder as she headed toward the box.
“She’s a smart thing,” Claire said. “Very inquisitive.”
“Thus the name,” he said.
“Absolutely.” She leaned across Ty’s chest to scratch the cat behind the ears, and he breathed deep of her scent, now heavy on the chocolate and strawberries. “She’s a rescue cat. I found her at the shelter. Poor thing was scheduled for the thing of which we do not speak.” She pressed her finger to her lips. “Not in front of the cat, anyway.”
He laughed. “Right.” He pulled a glop of cheese off his pizza and held it up for the cat.
“Now you’ve done it,” she said. “A friend for life.”
“Not too bad,” he said. “I can always use more furry orange friends.”
“Can’t we all.”
She snuggled up against him, and he hooked his arm around her shoulder, stopping the television on an old Bogart movie, then muting the sound so that they were watching Bogie and Bacall in silence, the tension between the two obvious even without sound.
“You can tell they were together in real life,” Claire said. “It’s that zing. You don’t even need to hear them talk to know it’s there. Bang and pop,” she said, and then blushed.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just…chemistry.”
“Right,” he said, feeling at the moment as overwhelmed by chemistry as he had in high school when all the symbols and numbers for the various elements had flipped and turned and basically did a war dance just for his benefit. That had been the bad kind of overwhelmed. But this…
Well, who knew chemistry could be such a damn good thing?
Beside him, Claire yawned, and he realized that it was pushing 4:00 a.m. He was often up at that hour, working with the staff after closing, but he doubted that Claire was. “You look tired,” he whispered, noting the way her eyes were drooping, as if it was all she could do not to succumb to sleep.
“Just what every girl wants to hear.”
“You look tired,” he repeated. “And beautiful.”
She smiled at that. “I am,” she admitted. “Tired, that is.”
He stood and carried the pizza box to her kitchen, easily finding room for it in her fridge. “So tomorrow we’re going to the party? Do we know what time or where?”
She reached out and tapped her phone on the coffee table, then tucked a pillow under her head and leaned it against the arm rest. “Checked it when
the pizza arrived. Got a text from Joe. One o’clock. The Starr Resort.”
“Nice,” he said.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “I’m fading here.” She licked her lips, her eyes catching his. “Do you want to stay the night?”
Hell yes. “I can’t go like this tomorrow.”
“Oh. Right. Well, that’s okay. If you—”
“No, no,” he rushed to clarify, the disappointment on her face about doing him in. “I just meant we’ll have to swing by my place tomorrow so I can change. If that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Her sleepy smile lit up her face. “That’s no problem at all.”
“Good,” he said, going to her. “Great.” With any luck, none of his roommates would be up. He hardly wanted to walk Claire into his personal version of Animal House.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then slid his arms underneath her, a soft, protective feeling gripping him as she curled up close. “I’m feeling like our score card is uneven,” she said. “I’m two Big O’s ahead of you.”
He chuckled. “Trust me. That’s one debt I’m going to collect.” He was tempted to even the score right then. But she needed sleep, and the truth was, so did he.
She was already dozing by the time he pushed back her covers and slid her between the sheets, and watching her drove home how tired he was, too. He might be used to late nights, but he’d been cutting his sleep schedule short to get ready for the New Year’s parties across his various establishments, and the lack of it was catching up to him.
He moved to the opposite side of the bed and climbed in, leaving his shoes and jeans on a chair nearby. He got settled on the pillow, then felt the heat of a warm steady glow when she rolled over and curled up against him. It wasn’t anything real, he knew. Nothing serious. Only sleep. But there was something soft and sweet and gently wonderful about the press of the woman against him as the night hung heavy around them. He tried to remember the last time he’d truly wanted a woman in his bed—for sleeping that is—and no time sprang to mind.
