She stared at him. “When I was…twelve?”
“Dude,” Martell said with disapproval.
“Not that one,” Ric said. “The one when all your friends had the flu. Everyone but what’s-his-name. Sandy Something. The kid you didn’t like. Bruce and I went, too, so you wouldn’t have to be alone with him.”
“Sandy Beebe,” Annie said. “The mouth breather. I was sixteen. You and Bruce made barf jokes all night long.”
“That’s the one,” Ric said.
“It was oddly fun,” Annie remembered. “Sandy turned out to be nice, and you…You were really sweet.”
“Sweet,” Ric scoffed. “Right. I wanted to do you, and it totally freaked me out.” He turned to Martell. “This was more than ten years before she put on the makeup.” He turned back to Annie. “You owe me an apology.”
She laughed scornfully. “What?”
“You accused me of being extremely shallow. You put on a dress and makeup and suddenly I want to screw you—your words,” Ric said. “I want you to apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said, “that I got it wrong, and that you apparently wanted to screw me back when I was sixteen.”
“Sixteen’s jailbait,” Martell said.
Ric looked at him. “No shit.” He turned back to Annie. “For the record, I also thought you were outstanding at the shooting range. You totally kicked my ass—”
“So…what?” She crossed her arms. “You had to run away and pout about it?”
Ric’s mad was starting to restructure itself, with a heavy dose of frustration and insanity as its foundation. “No! I had to run away because I’ve always run away! I ran away when you were sixteen. And I ran away again when Bruce told me I had no chance with you. I’m still running, because now you’re back, scaring me out of my mother-loving mind. I couldn’t talk to you at the range, okay, because all I wanted to do was kiss the shit out of you. If I got too close, it was all over. Kind of like the way it was when I kissed you tonight.”
Martell cleared his throat, breaking the stunned silence. “Should I leave now?” he asked. No one answered.
“Why is that such a bad thing?” Annie asked Ric, her voice just a whisper.
“Because it is!”
“Why?”
“Because for one thing, sex ends friendships, all right? Christ, Annie, it was easier when you were off-limits, because I can live without the sex, but I can’t live without you as my friend.”
Martell didn’t move, waiting for Annie to laugh in Ric’s face, and then kick his ass up into the bedroom. She didn’t disappoint.
“You can live without the sex?” she asked, with, yes, disbelieving laughter in her voice.
“Yes,” Ric lied, heavy on the s, as if more sibilance would make him more believable, despite the fact that he was already shaking his head in a very solid no.
“Because I can’t,” she said. “Just the thought of you walking around all night with my panties in your pocket…”
“And it is time for me to go.” Martell grabbed Pierre’s leash. “Come on, dog-thing. Sleep over at Uncle Marty’s.”
“You can really live without the sex?” Annie asked Ric again.
This time he answered honestly. “No.”
“Then just…shut up and kiss me,” Annie said as Martell closed and locked the door behind him.
Ric was still angry with her.
Or maybe it wasn’t still. Maybe he was angry all over again. Either way, Annie could taste it in his kisses, feel it in the way he held her, touched her, his body taut, his hands slightly rough.
“I thought we agreed this was a mistake,” he all but snarled before kissing her again, longer, deeper, harder.
Just like at Burns Point, he had her pressed against the wall. Just like at Burns Point, she clung to him, opening her mouth to him, kissing him back just as forcefully.
She could feel him solid against her, and she opened her body to him, too, wrapping her leg around him, shifting her hips so that he was now pressed exactly where she wanted him.
“Oh God,” he breathed, his hands hot and rough against her thighs, pushing her skirt up indecently high, all the way to her waist, but she didn’t care. She wanted…
“Please,” Annie said, but it came out as just a muffled moan, because his tongue was in her mouth again. She could feel him unfastening his pants, heard the jingle of his belt buckle, the sound of something spilling onto the floor.
It was his credit cards, falling out of his wallet. And then it was his wallet, hitting the tile with a slap, tossed aside as he covered himself with a condom that he must’ve kept in there.
And then he made a sound that may in fact have been her name, but she wasn’t sure because she stopped listening, stopped thinking, stopped breathing.
Because there was only Ric—hard and hot and pressed unbelievably deeply inside of her.
She may have cried out, or maybe it was Ric. Again, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want this moment ever to stop. She wanted to stay right here, in this particular now, until the end of time.
But then he started to move—slowly, languorously—an excruciatingly delicious sensation. It felt so good she started to laugh, and she discarded that other now for this new one, and the next, and the next, and the next.
“You think…this is…funny?” Ric’s voice came in gasps, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with heat, but not just from anger, from desire, too. He was feeling the same thing she was. She knew it.
“Is sex always this great?” she asked him, her own voice breathy and oddly high-pitched. “I mean, for you. With you. Because, for me, this is…incredible.” He pushed himself even more deeply inside of her, and she groaned. “Don’t ever stop, okay? I just want to keep doing this forever.”
Maybe it was the fact that he was laughing now, too. Or maybe it was the hot satisfaction that flared in his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she was looking into those eyes, Ric’s eyes, losing herself in their rich darkness, surrounding herself with his palpable heat.
Or maybe it was reality giving her a shove. Nothing lasted forever. It was crazy of her even to think the word, let alone utter it aloud.
But she came in a shaking, shuddering rush, and Ric caught her mouth with his and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her until he gasped his own release.
And there they were. Both breathing hard, Ric with his forehead against the very wall where she rested the back of her own head.
His arms and shoulders were still tensed—he was, after all, supporting her full weight. Her feet were off the ground, legs locked around his waist.
This was, without a doubt, one of those times Ric had called her on—where she’d acted on impulse, without much thought as to what would follow.
Someone had to say something. And it was going to have to be her. She started with the obvious. “You should let me down.”
He did, lifting his head and opening his eyes, his muscles straining as he made sure her landing was gentle.
And there she was, with her boobs and her ass hanging out. Ric was just as disheveled, his pants down around his ankles, but of course, on him, it all looked unbelievably sexy.
At least it did until he spoke. “Remember how I said that when I’m with you, I usually end up doing something completely insane? This is one of those times.”
“Wow, thanks. It was good for me, too.” Annie was trying to wrestle her skirt back down, but sweat and spandex were not a good combination. She turned away, embarrassed, glad she was still covered by his jacket.
“I’m talking about the fact that I completely forgot you hurt yourself climbing up to that deck,” Ric told her. “You were right—I’m an asshole. Did I hurt you?”
He’d kicked off his shoes and his pants and was standing there wearing only his socks and shirt and tie, with such concern in his eyes, that Annie started to laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he said.
“Actually,” she said, “it kind of is.”
He looked down at himself, and almost before she could say, “I’m okay. I’m just scraped up a little—believe me, you didn’t hurt me.” He’d discarded the condom, peeled off his socks, and tossed away his tie. He took longer with his shirt, holding her gaze as he unbuttoned it. But it, too, soon joined his other clothes on the floor.
“Better?” he asked.
Oh yeah. Some men looked hotter with their clothes securely on—Ric didn’t fall into that subcategory. He was all tan skin and well-defined muscles and thick, dark body hair, and…She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Definitely not as funny now,” Annie told him.
He held out his hand. “Let’s go upstairs and get your scrapes cleaned up.”
She didn’t move. “You seem…okay,” she said.
“You mean, as opposed to being in a panic because I just nailed Bruce’s little sister to the wall?”
“Will you please forget Bruce?” Annie said in exasperation.
“Okay,” Ric said. “Bruce is forgotten. You mean, as opposed to being in a panic because I just nailed a really good friend of mine to the wall?”
“The world didn’t end,” Annie pointed out. “Look at us. We’re still talking. We’re still friends.”
He laughed. “Friends?”
“Yeah, well, you’re now my naked friend, but that really works for me. Look at you—you’re my own personal hot-naked-guy fantasy come true.”
“Is that really what you think?” Ric was starting to get mad again. “Because there’s nothing easy in what we just started. You want a fantasy? Find someone else.”
“What we just started…?” Annie couldn’t believe it. “I’m leaving tomorrow, remember?”
He’d forgotten—she could see it in his eyes, on his face. He’d forgotten, and he didn’t want her to go.
And oh, the way that made her heart swell with hope—which was a dangerous way to feel. This was Ric Alvarado. What did she think? He was going to marry her?
“Maybe the message that Peggy Ryan left,” Ric said. “Maybe it’ll be enough to end this for good.”
And then she could stay for another week or two—a month if she was lucky. It would, however, be one hell of a month.
“Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up,” Ric repeated. But then he kissed her. “And after that I’m going to make you come again. Only it’s going to be in my bed this time, with plenty of pillows and candlelight, okay? If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.”
Damn, skippy, when he put it that way…Annie took his hand and let him lead her upstairs.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Jules had fallen asleep.
Right there, in Robin’s arms, no doubt lulled both by the movement of the limo, and Robin’s fingers running gently through the softness of his hair.
Robin had turned down the volume of the radio and gotten on the intercom to the driver, telling him they were having a business meeting back here—instructing him to just drive. Anywhere. Nowhere.
It didn’t matter, as long as he could stay right here, right like this, holding Jules for as long as possible.
There was a scar on Jules’s side, just above his hip, that he hadn’t had the last time Robin had seen him without his shirt. The last time? The only time, before tonight.
Before wonderful, amazing, fantastic tonight.
And okay. There were a couple of blips that marred the total perfection of the evening. The fact that Jules had this new scar from what was obviously a bullet wound.
Was the fact that he’d gotten shot once in the past two years good news or bad? As in, had Jules only gotten shot once, as opposed to the average FBI agent, who’d gotten shot twice? Somehow Robin suspected the true average was zero times. And this new scar, combined with all the others Jules permanently wore, created a certain amount of anxiety for him.
And yeah—another blip on his happiness index was the fact that Jules hadn’t responded with much more than a “Gah,” when Robin had uttered the most important words he’d ever spoken in his entire life.
I love you.
He’d never said it before and meant it. Not this way, with every cell in his body aching with both joy and hope. And terror.
But all Jules had said, after several long minutes spent catching his breath, was “God, that was great. That was…stupid, but great.” He’d softened his words by kissing Robin before they shifted to a more comfortable position on the bench seat, with Jules, who was shorter, spooned back against Robin, who wrapped him tightly in his arms. “It was significantly better than the fantasy version.”
Robin had laughed, playing with Jules’s hair. “Yeah, you’ve spent a lot of time with me in my shower, too, babe.”
“Every day,” Jules agreed, “since you flirted with me out on your driveway in L.A. I remember seeing you and thinking…” He laughed.
“What?” Robin asked, his heart in his throat.
“This one’s going to rip my heart to shreds.”
Not the words he’d been hoping to hear. “I won’t,” Robin said. “I promise.”
“Sweetie,” Jules had told him, his voice already fading. “You already have.”
“Tell me about Betsy Bouvette.”
Ric lifted his head from the damp tangle of sheets to look at Annie. “Isn’t this the part where we sleep?”
She smiled at him, her eyes as warm as the candlelight that flickered across her bare skin.
Annie Dugan was naked and in his bed.
It shouldn’t have been that big a surprise, considering what they’d just spent the last hour doing, but the realization was still new enough to send a shock wave of disbelief through him. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but probably not to everyone, Ric knew that—not in this day and age of rail-thin supermodels and anorexic TV actresses. But to him, Annie was the embodiment of everything he loved best about the female form. With her generous curves and smooth skin, she was warm and sweet and unbelievably soft.
As he looked at her now, he felt his body stir, which made him smile. What was he, seventeen? This was crazy, but damn, he couldn’t get enough of her.
“She was a year ahead of you in school, right?” Annie asked, reaching out to touch his tattoo, her fingers tickling him as she traced the ocean-wave pattern encircling his upper arm.
“Two,” he told her, catching her hand in his and interlacing their fingers. “Why the interest in Betsy?”
“I’m just curious.” She propped her head up on her other hand. “Do you think if she hadn’t dumped you, you would’ve married her?”
“Betsy?” Ric laughed. “No. We were kids. I mean, yes, she was special—she was the first girl I ever…cared about, but…”
“You said you loved her,” Annie reminded him.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted. “But that was back when…I don’t know…love was this…It was this strange, new thing. It was all mixed up with sex and being fifteen and horny all the time.” As if being thirty-five had changed anything. “Betsy was smart and funny—I really liked her. A lot. And she liked sex as much as I did. But did I love her because she wanted to get with me, or did she want to get with me because I loved her? Or maybe she just wanted to piss off her father. I honestly don’t know.”
“You went out with her for a really long time.”
“Year and a half,” he agreed. In high school years, that was a lifetime. “Although part of that half year was really just me waiting for her to come home from college for Thanksgiving—which was when she broke up with me.”
“Oh, no.” Annie made a face. “A turkey drop?”
“Pretty classic,” he agreed. “At least we had sex first—before she broke the news.”
“You were really…monogamous all that time?” she asked.
Ric just looked at her, but she didn’t back down. She barely blinked. “Where do you see this going?” he asked her, instead of answering her question
. “You and me.”
That caught her off guard. And the change in her body language was immediate. She withdrew, taking her hand back, pulling the sheet around herself. Hiding.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m pretty confused. About everything except the sex. The sex is…”
“Yeah,” he said. “For me, too.”
She smiled into his eyes, and there it was—that electricity between them that never seemed to stop flowing. Jesus God, just like that, he was hot for her again.
But Annie looked away. “But I guess…I didn’t realize just how big a mistake this was going to be.”
It was stupid. He was stupid. He’d used the word mistake himself, but somehow it stung, hearing it from her lips.
“I mean, everything’s changed, hasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah, well, I warned you.” His tone was far more snarky than he’d intended.
“I know.” She, too, got a little sharp. “But it wasn’t just me that got us here. You were a very active participant.” She reached down and wrapped her fingers around him. “Look at you—you’re ready for more. Or is this another warning?”
“Yeah, keep touching me like that.” Was that a warning or was he begging her not to stop what she was doing? He wasn’t sure. Mother of God…
“Do you just walk around like this all day?” she asked, her hands not a lot more gentle than her voice. “Just in case a willing woman passes by?”
“You,” he told her. “In case you walk by. You do this to me.”
She let go of him, flopping back on the bed. “God, you’re good. I almost believe you.”
Almost? He sat up. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because I don’t,” she said. “Maybe that’s the problem with being friends with, you know, benefits.”
Was that really what she thought this was?
“Maybe we just know too much about each other,” Annie told him.
“What do you know about me?” Ric lit into her. Friends with benefits? “When have you ever asked me what I’m feeling or what I believe in? You’re so ready to make assumptions—that I have a problem with you risking your life, that I want to protect you because you’re a woman? That’s bullshit—that was your word the other night, and it was the right one. But the bullshit was yours—it was you, jumping to conclusions. I don’t believe that women are any less capable than men, but you’re ready to think I do because you think you know me. Ask Lora Newsom what it’s like to work with me, Annie, if you don’t trust me to tell you the truth.”
Force of Nature Page 27
