by Julie Kenner
A raw carnality seared his eyes, the intensity echoing her own desire. “Claire,” he said, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “Come on.”
They moved through the thinning crowd with purpose, then stopped in front of the elevator to the parking garage. The doors slid open, and they entered a blissfully empty elevator car. And when the door slid closed and started descending, he pulled her in close, pressing her body to his. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait to get my hands on you.”
Claire was pretty sure the heat they were generating had melted her bones, because she had no choice but to cling to him or else fall to the ground. She could feel him against her, hard and ready, and she knew it was because of her. Her.
The thought made her tremble. Made her wet.
His palms grazed her nipples, and she moaned, then silently cursed as the elevator dinged, and they broke apart as the doors slid open on the first parking level. Another couple stepped on, a respectable distance between them, one complaining to the other that he should have paid more attention to where he’d left the car.
Ty eased back, leaning against the wall behind her. The couple was in front of them, watching the door, and Claire almost jumped when she felt Ty’s hand on the back of her thigh. Then sneaking up under the back of her dress. His fingers stroking, so soft and gentle, and she was getting wet, so very very wet. Already her panties were soaked, a fact he soon realized as his naughty fingers climbed higher, then slipped inside.
She squealed, the covered the sound with a cough when the man shifted quickly, turning to cast a glance at her.
She tried to smile casually, which was hard to do, as Ty’s finger had found its way to her clit, and now he was stroking in long, wet strokes, the feeling of the building climax contrasting with the dangerous naughtiness of public elevator sex, the pleasure so intense that she was pretty sure she was going to have to have the coughing fit to beat all, simply so that she could disguise a raging, blinding orgasm.
The elevator stopped and the couple got off.
She twirled around, hitting the emergency stop button before pinning Ty against the wall, and taking the hand that had been teasing her so desperately and sliding it back inside her panties, shimmying a little as her body urged him on. No other man had ever made her feel like this. Wild and wanton and desperate for his touch. To be consumed. As if she wouldn’t be satisfied until she was nothing more than a pile of blazing embers, burnt up by his touch.
“You cannot,” she moaned, forcing the words out, “cannot tease me like that and then not follow through.”
“Anything you say,” he said, his voice pure heat.
She was close, so damn close, and so incredibly turned on. When he bent his mouth to her breast and pushed the flimsy material aside to suckle on her taut, tender nipple, she really and truly thought she was going to lose it right then.
“Now. Please. Just now.” Her fingers were on his fly, and she was tugging his zipper down, then urging his pants down over his hips. His cock sprang free, completely comfortable with the now plan. He turned her around, pressing her hands up against the wall of the elevator, then flipping the back of her skirt up over her ass. He ripped her panties off, and she couldn’t have cared less. Anything to get him inside her faster before she died simply from the need of him.
One hand cupped her breast and she heard him slip on a condom, then felt the tip of his cock rubbing against her sex, making them both slick and ready.
“Now,” she repeated, because she couldn’t stand not having him again. Touching her. Inside her. Thrusting and moaning as she stretched around him, taking him in deeper and deeper as they moved in perfect unison.
He kept one hand on her breast and the other he slipped down to cup her crotch, the tip of his finger finding her clit. And as his cock ravaged her, his finger teased her, until she found herself crying out his name and floating through the air, the orgasm taking her to places she really hadn’t gone before. As she went limp, he stiffened, his own orgasm sending a few more red-hot sparks of curling, swirling pleasure dancing through her.
They collapsed together, and only when they were still did they hear the voices that seemed to be surrounding them. They caught each other’s eyes, both fighting not to laugh as Ty shoved her panties into his pocket and then stood up, holding out a hand to help her do the same.
“Somehow, you always get me out of my panties.”
“It’s one of my favorite pastimes,” he retorted, then switched the elevator back to run as Claire smoothed her dress. The car cranked back to life, finally opening on their floor, where four people were gathered.
“This really is the world’s slowest elevator,” one of them commented.
Claire just shrugged, fighting a smile. “Really? It sure seemed fast to me.”
7
THEY’D FOLLOWED UP mind-blowing elevator sex with sweet bedroom sex, and now Ty was leaning back against Claire’s matching pillow shams, wondering what the hell he was going to do about this. Because she’d gotten under his skin in a big way. A big way. And right then the only thing he could think to do about it was enjoy the flow and see where they were in two months. Because as much as he wanted the hell out of Dallas, leaving the city meant leaving the woman, and that reality was barreling down on him like a huge express train that he was doing his best to ignore.
Ideally, he’d take her with him. Show her Paris. London. See the world.
And, yeah, he’d suggest it.
But he already knew her well enough to know that she’d turn him down. Women who matched their pillow shams to their curtains to the prints hanging on the walls didn’t want to live out of a suitcase for nine months. That much, he accepted as a truism.
“You look lost,” she said, coming back into the room with two glasses of wine. “And I feel very decadent. Hanging out in bed in the middle of the afternoon, drinking wine.”
“I was lost in thoughts of you,” he said, “and right now, there’s no where I’d rather be than in bed.” He shifted, taking the wine from her, then scooting over to make room. She sat close, the tank top she wore thin enough the he could see the outline of her nipples, and despite the fact that he’d just tasted that particular fruit, his body hardened again with need. Down, boy. This wasn’t all about sex. Not with Claire. Not anymore.
Hell, maybe it never was. But the sex was damn sure a solid perk of whatever was growing between them.
“You still haven’t told me how you fared. Did you charm every lawyer in the city?”
“Of course. How could I not?” She laughed, then took a sip of wine. “Seriously, it was good. I met a lot of people, got some great leads, and also MJ had a terrific idea for this charity function we’re organizing for next month. Actually, I could use your help.”
“Me? What do you need?”
“You, actually,” she said with a wicked grin. “And maybe a friend.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Spit it out.”
“A bachelor auction. And if you could ask one of the actresses you know in L.A. to come out here for a ‘Lunch With the Star’ thing, we could let people bid and have a whole group. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really think it would bring in the money, and it’s for a good cause.”
“Literacy.”
“Right.”
“And I’d be the bachelor.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Would you bid?”
“Of course,” she said. “But if this works out the way we want, I’ll be out of the running pretty early on. Government attorney here, remember? That means government salary.”
“And it won’t kill you to watch me auctioned off to another woman?” He’d been teasing, but from the shadow that crossed her face, he realized that it really would bug her. And knowing that brought a serious smile to his face. “Hey,” he said. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
“You read me too easily,” she countered, then drew in a breath. “I’m just selfish and don
’t want to share. But of course I want you to do it. The cause is important to me.”
“Me, too. And since you want me to, I will.”
“Thanks. So why is it important to you?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry, and don’t feel like you have to tell me, but you looked…I don’t know…distant when I first mentioned it at the party.”
It wasn’t something he talked about. It wasn’t even something he liked thinking about. But it was part of him, part of who he was. And, yeah, he wanted to share it with her. “I’m dyslexic,” he said. “Reading and numbers…absolute hell for me.”
She shifted so that she was facing him, her expression both serious and compassionate. But not pitying, and for that he was grateful. “Were you diagnosed as a child? I was under the impression that if you’re diagnosed young you could learn coping mechanisms so that reading isn’t as much of a chore.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t. And by the time I did have a school counselor who saw a kid with a learning disability instead of a cutup, well, by that time everyone, my parents included, had pegged me as subpar. Someone who better make sure he knew how to work the fryer at a fast-food joint, because that was going to be the best that kid could do.”
As much as he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, he could still hear his parents telling him not to apply to college because they knew he wouldn’t be accepted. They were more astounded than he was when he actually got in, but he’d become a self-fulfilling prophecy when he’d dropped out, his challenges with words and numbers making it far too difficult to keep up in classes.
Claire was holding his hand, and now she squeezed. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry your parents were so—”
“That’s just who they are,” he said. “I’ve accepted it. And I’m fine. I listen to a lot of audio books, rely on spellcheck on the computer like you wouldn’t believe and hired an accountant my first day in Los Angeles. I’m doing fine.”
“Yeah,” she said, “you are.” She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I think you’re amazing. And I think that what you’ve told me makes you even more perfect for our bachelor auction. Can we use your story? Not the bit about your parents, but just the challenges?”
He considered the question, because the truth wasn’t something that he particularly wanted broadcast. He’d lived his life in the public eye, but that was a facade, not the real Ty. But at the same time…
“Do you think it matters?”
“Are you kidding? Look at what you’ve accomplished. You’re a role model. And the fact that you own the hottest clubs in L.A. and have starlets on your arm is only going to make some kids want to emulate you even more. You’re perfect,” she added, with a quick kiss to his cheek. “And I mean that in so very many ways.”
He pulled her close, just wanting to feel her next to him.
“How about you?” she asked, snuggling closer. “Anything fabulous and new on the PR front?”
“Actually it sounds good,” he said. “Joe’s got some excellent ideas. More innovative than the group I’ve been using. Honestly, I was impressed. I’m going to meet with him and his team, but unless I’ve missed something big, I think I’m going to go with him. I need Heaven to launch with a huge splash, so I need the best on the job.”
“Great.” She wanted to be thrilled he had a plan in place, and for Ty, she was. But…
Without thinking about it, she sat up, frustrated and a little disturbed.
His fingers stroked her back, the simple touch calming. “Claire? What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m—Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.”
“Seriously. It’s just something that’s bugging me.” Ty had already told her not to tell Bonita about Joe’s pass at Claire, and since Joe’s storeroom tryst had nothing to do with his PR skills, she imagined that Ty would simply think she was making a mountain out of molehill.
“Claire.”
“Fine. Bonita caught him in a closet. With another woman.”
His face registered shock. “She’s sure? No misunderstanding?”
“No,” Claire said, thinking about the image she’d seen on Bonita’s phone. “I’d say she got it right.”
“Well, forget it then. I’ll keep working with the folks I already have on board.”
“Really?” The announcement surprised her, especially the force with which it was rendered. “I thought you were all about freedom until she had a ring on her finger.”
“As a general rule, sure. A guy shouldn’t have to call a woman he’s not committed to and tell her he’s going out on a date with another girl. But come on. Once you claim someone as your girlfriend—even without a ring—screwing another girl in a closet at a party you’re both at takes a particular brand of asshole.”
He leaned over, reaching for his phone, even as Claire soaked in the statement, wondering where exactly she stood. Girlfriend material? Or on the Do Not Need To Call List.
“Hey, Lucy. I’ve got a guy named Joe set to call you for an appointment. Don’t give him one. Tell him I’m sticking with the plan we’ve got in place. Thanks.”
He clicked off and turned back to her. “Done,” he said, that simple word making her think that she could fall in love with this guy.
“But you liked his ideas.”
“I did. But I’m particular about the people I work with.”
Yeah. Definitely a danger-to-the-heart scenario happening here.
She shifted, uneasy. Fearing she was falling too fast and didn’t have anything to hold on to. “Are you hungry?” She slid toward the edge of the bed, only to be stopped by his arm on her hand.
“Claire?”
“I’m good,” she said. “I’m great. I just never expected—I mean I know you didn’t do it for me, but…I don’t know. You just make my head spin.”
“I know what you mean,” he said, leaning in close for a kiss. “You make me spin, too.”
She ran her fingers through her hair and finished sliding off the bed. She wanted it, this closeness, but Ty was a short-timer, and she needed to protect her heart. “You hungry?”
“Starved,” he said.
“Then we really should have gotten take-out. I’ll go check and see if the food fairies filled up the fridge while we were gone.”
She padded toward the kitchen in bare feet, Hermione curling around her ankles as she walked, doing her feline best to trip Claire up. In truth, she was grateful for the cat, because concentrating on where she was walking meant she could ignore the noise in her head. A noise that said this could be the guy. That if they could get their lives to gel right, then this really could be the guy for her.
Just the thought scared her to death, because she’d never felt her heart move so fast before. And the truth was she barely knew Ty. And yet in some ways she already felt as if she knew him better than she knew any of her friends, including Joe, who’d been her only serious long-term relationship. Certainly she clicked with Ty better. They simply fit. Two peas in a pod, two pieces of a puzzle. Ham and cheese, biscuits and gravy.
And now, she thought, she really was getting hungry. “So, I’m looking in my fridge,” she called, “and I have nothing and nothing.”
He came into the kitchen and picked up the cat. “I’m in the mood for nothing,” he said. “Maybe with a nice pesto sauce?”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” She closed the fridge and moved to the pantry. “Seriously, the cupboard is bare, and I need real food this time. Not that the strawberries and chocolate weren’t exceptional.”
As she watched, he gently untangled himself from the cat, then came into the kitchen and stood beside her as she peered helplessly into the void that was her pantry. “You’ve got a can of tomato-basil sauce,” he said. “Any chicken?”
She made a noncommittal noise and opened the freezer. She started poking around, but he found the bag of frozen chicken breasts before she did. “Yes,” she said, as he pulled the bag out. “I h
ave chicken.”
He grinned. “Go. Sit. Brush Hermione. But leave dinner to me.”
“Seriously?” He’d managed to microwave chocolate, so she knew he had some culinary skill, but still…
“Two of my clubs have full restaurants,” he said. “I’m not a chef, but I’m not clueless in the kitchen.”
“You don’t want any help?” Guilt at having her guest cook for her was warring with a little voice yelling score! simply from the reality that there was a man in her kitchen who knew how to cook.
“You can if you want. Or I can wait on you hand and foot.”
“Put it that way,” Claire said, then eased back toward the table. “I’ll just watch.”
“If you’re going to play voyeur, you at least have to open another bottle of wine.”
“That I can do,” she said, and as he began rummaging in her kitchen, pulling out a box of spiral pasta, a can of salmon and some too-squishy tomatoes, Claire poked around in her wine rack until she found a nice bottle of pinot noir she’d been saving for a special occasion. She opened the wine and poured them both a glass, then sat back to watch the show as he moved around in her kitchen with practiced efficiency.
“Where’d you learn to cook?”
“My mom,” he said. “It was part of her plan to make sure I could at least earn an income even if I’d never make it as a doctor or a lawyer.” He shot her a grin that made her stomach do flip-flops. “I only enjoyed it because I got to play with knives.”
“She took the time to teach you to cook, but didn’t sit down and try to figure out why you couldn’t read better?”
“That’s my mom for you. Both my parents. Very involved in their own lives. Rather tunnel-visioned about everything else.”
“What do they do?”
“My mom works in a bank, my dad owns a car dealership, and their hobby is sniping at each other.”
“So how come you opened a club first and not a restaurant?”
He shrugged, looking completely comfortable in her kitchen as he found her barely used food processor and plugged it in, then tossed in the tomatoes, some basil, and a handful of nuts he’d found.
