He cleared his throat. “Are you ogling me, Aysia?”
“Definitely.”
“Does that mean I can ogle you?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Am I stopping you?”
His eyes perused the length of my body, starting with the toes and working their way up. When he hit my chest, my nipples were already on high alert. And by the time he reached my face with his scorching gaze, my aches were forgotten.
“How’s that ogle going?” I teased a little breathlessly.
He didn’t take his eyes off mine, and his grin widened into the slightly predatory one. “Well. Let’s see. I feel a bit like I got run over by a very pretty, very sweet-smelling Mack Truck. I’m starving. And desperately want a cup of coffee. But if you keep standing there like that, I’m going to have come down there and fuck you on the back of the sofa.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“I have an awfully expensive sofa.”
“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?”
“I don’t usually allow animals on my furniture.”
“Aysia…” My name was a light growl on his lips.
“Marc.” I tapped a finger on my lower lip, loving the way his eyes were suddenly glued to my mouth. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. If you can get down here and catch me before I get the coffee brewing, I’ll let you do whatever you like to me.”
“On the sofa?”
“On the sofa.”
He took a slow step. A warning.
“Aren’t you going to run?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You sure? ’Cause I’m pretty fast and there’s about fifteen feet between you and that coffee pot over there.”
“I’m sure.”
He took another step. I stayed put.
“If you want me to catch you,” he said, “it’s not much of a challenge.”
“I never lose, remember? And I’m not going to now.”
Because I had trick up my sleeve. Each morning, I set up the pot ahead of time. And I had a magical—yes, I was sure it was otherworldly—app on my phone that connected to the machine. All I had to do was press a button. So I waited until his feet landed on the final step before I turned to snag my phone from its spot in my purse, which always hung over the back of one of my high-backed stools.
And then I remembered.
Oh, shit.
I’d left my purse behind at the pub. And now Marc was on the floor in front of me.
“Shit!”
I leaped backwards just as his hands snapped forward. I backed up and out of reach, stumbling over the edge of my area rug and just about landing on my ass in the process. I recovered quickly, though, and eyed the coffee pot over his shoulder.
“Wanna admit defeat?” Marc asked.
“Nope.”
I feinted to the left, then ducked to the right as he tried to catch me. Laughing, I darted past him, then past the kitchen island. My arm got as far as extending toward the manual brew button. I even brushed the plastic with my index finger. Then Marc’s hands were on me. With no sign of effort, he grabbed me by the knees, spun me around, and tossed me over his shoulder. I tried to wriggle free. His grip just tightened.
“Caveman,” I grumbled into his back as I gave up fighting.
“Cavemen drag women around by their hair,” he corrected. “They don’t escort them nicely to the couch like this.”
“Nicely?” I tried to sound stern, but I couldn’t hold in a laugh.
“Yep. Special and nice. Just like my mom says.”
“Mama’s boy.”
“You’ve got a lot of hostility this morning.”
“I’m cranky when I don’t get my coffee.”
“It’s got another five minutes before it finishes brewing,” he said. “I’m sure I can find a way to placate you until then. On the sofa, of course. Because I won.”
He turned toward the living room—carefully, I noted, so that he didn’t bang my head on anything—then moved lightly over the floor. We only made it a couple of feet, though, before a startled gasp cut the journey short.
I stifled a groan. I knew without looking who was standing inside my door. The one person who wouldn’t think twice about paying me an unannounced visit. And who would’ve grabbed my purse, and therefore currently had all of the key cards for my apartment.
Marc’s greeting confirmed it. “Morning, Liv.”
“Um. Hi. Um. Aysia?”
Chuckling under his breath, Marc turned so that I was facing her and I peeked out—still upside down—from beside his hip. Liv had my purse in one hand and a tray with two coffees in the other.
“Yeah. It’s me.” I gave her a little wave, then tapped Marc’s lower back. “You can put me down.”
He flipped me up, holding me tightly until I was stable on my feet, then leaned down to kiss a spot right under my ear.
“I’ll give you a second,” he said.
“Thanks.”
I forced myself not to stare as he slipped back up the stairs. Just a prolonged glance. And maybe a lusty sigh. God, he was stupidly hot. But when I turned back to Liv, her eyes were narrowed.
“Well,” she said. “At least I know you used the gift card I bought you for that waxing place.”
“What?”
She tossed a nod at the hem of my T-shirt. “Ahem.”
“Ew. Shut up. You could not see that well.”
“Maybe I could.”
“I used that gift card for a pedicure, thank you very much.”
“Sure.”
I tugged my shirt down, then wiggled my toes at her. “I did.”
“Uh-huh.”
I stuck my tongue out. “I would’ve put pants on if you’d called.”
“I would’ve called if you hadn’t risked your life by taking off with some guy and leaving your cell phone behind. You’re lucky I didn’t show up last night. But I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Thanks.”
“So…”
“So…” I repeated. “I brought Marc home.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he’s still here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stop that. Is one of those coffees for me?”
She lifted one out of the tray and handed both it and my purse to me. “I’m guessing he doesn’t have a cocktail wienie under that towel?”
I snorted a laugh and slung the bag over my shoulder. “Shh. He can probably hear you. And no. Definitely not a cocktail wienie.”
“Bratwurst?”
“Seriously. Shut. Up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She grabbed her own coffee and sipped it, a thoughtful look on her face.
“What?” I asked.
“I dunno. You have a weird glow. Did his super sperm get you pregnant?”
This time my laugh was a sputter. “Liv!”
“It’s a valid question. I’ve never seen you so shiny.”
I opened my mouth to tell her we’d used enough condoms to stop anything short of an alien probe from impregnating me, but the sound of Marc’s feet on the stairs stopped me. I settled for shooting her a silent death-glare instead. But it was hard for me to maintain my exaggerated irritation when Marc slung an arm across my waist and pulled me in for a sideways squeeze. He made my coconut oil body wash smell even better than usual. And even though he’d put on his pants and socks—which were probably a bitch to find in the tangled mess upstairs—I was still hyperaware of his body.
“I should probably get going. You wanna sacrifice that coffee to help me along?” he asked as he pulled away.
“Not really.”
“Hmm. How about if I offer to leave your sofa alone in exchange?”
“Maybe I really want
ed to buy new furniture.”
“Please?”
Liv rolled her eyes. “Give him the damned coffee.”
“Give him yours,” I countered.
“I’ve sipped mine.”
“Fine.” I held out the cup.
Marc took it with a grin. “Thanks, honey. If I don’t start unpacking my stuff, I’ll have to steal coffee every morning.”
“Unpacking?” I repeated.
“Mm-hmm.” He sipped the coffee, then set it down to grab his shirt from the floor. “Just moved to the city last week.”
“Oh, good,” said Liv. “Glad Aysia got to act as your own personal welcoming committee.”
Marc laughed. “Me, too.”
He finished buttoning his shirt, then moved on to retrieving his suit jacket, tie, and shoes. I couldn’t quell a stab of disappointment at seeing him get ready to leave.
But I felt a little better when he sent a crooked smile Liv’s way and said, “You might want to turn away.”
Then he tipped up my chin with his fingers, dropped his lips to mine, and delivered a toe-curling kiss to my needy mouth. It ended far too quickly.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “That was the best damned welcome I’ve ever received.”
“You’re welcome.” It sounded lamely redundant, but I didn’t care.
“I need to go.”
“All right.”
He kissed me once more, then dropped his hands down to snag his coffee. “See ya, honey.”
“Bye, Marc.”
True regret flooded through me as he slipped out the door. But I just kind of stood there, watching as the handle clicked into its automatic locked position.
Liv cleared her throat. “You gonna run after him?”
I shot her a dirty look. “Do I look desperate to you?”
“No. You look well-fucked and lust-struck. And you let him take your coffee.”
“It was just sex. Good sex.”
“Good?”
“Great sex. Which is why I let him have the coffee.”
“Uh-huh.”
I rolled my eyes. “Back to that again?”
She sat down on one of the tall stools. “No. But I do want to hear every detail of every Bratwurst inch. And then we can go shopping to help you drown your sorrows about being dumb enough to not demand his number.”
“It was just—”
“Sex. Yeah. I heard you. But I’ll let you in on little secret, oh BFF of mine.” She looked around as though someone might be listening, then dropped her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Some of us like to do it more than once.”
“Shut up,” I said for what felt like the twentieth time. “Wasn’t it you who insisted I walk on the wild side?”
“Yeah. But who knew you’d take it so seriously?” Then her face softened. “You know that I’m just worried about you, right?”
I sighed. “Yes. But you don’t need to be. I’m totally fine. The shit with Carl didn’t scar me for life. It was just a little glitch.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes glittered gleefully. “Good. Then spill it.”
“Fine,” I said. “Do you want a play-by-play? Or just the highlights?”
“Every rock-hard detail,” she replied.
“Give me a second then.”
And as I poured myself a coffee from the finally ready pot, I couldn’t quite stop myself from sneaking at glance at my own front door. Was it stupid of me to just let him walk out? I shook off the question and focused on adding enough hazelnut creamer to my cup. It was just sex.
Mind-blowing, heart-stopping, multiple-orgasm sex that’s left you with a post-coital hangover, pointed out a little voice in my head.
But nothing a new pair of Louboutin heels wouldn’t cure.
Just sex. Seriously.
Chapter 5
Marcelo
I smiled to myself as I walked out of the compact building and into the street, tapping my pocket as I strode to the corner, then crossed. I was pretty damned pleased with the quick switch I’d done. In fact, I was convinced it was downright genius. Neither of the girls had noticed as I dropped my own phone into Aysia’s purse while grabbing hers in exchange. Yes, it was thievery. Yes, it was probably an unnecessary little ruse.
“But fuck if I feel guilty,” I said aloud to myself, making some guy selling Rastafarian hats jump.
I grinned even wider. The dark rain clouds of the night before had tapered off, and nothing but sunshine and white clouds filled the sky. The weather suited my rainbows-and-unicorns mood perfectly, so I took my time exploring the city as I worked my way to my new-to-me condo. As much as I liked L.A.—and I’d spent the last ten years there, so at the very least it had felt like home—the change of scenery was good. Vancouver was green everywhere. Tall trees stuck in between every second building. Patches of grass where I’d usually expect to find rock. I paused on a corner to admire some overgrown shrubs, inhaling the piney scent. Hell. Even the air was fresher.
I continued in my slow perusal of everything Vancouver had to offer for a few solitary hours on a sunny Saturday. I grabbed some brunch at a café, then took another coffee to go. I even stopped and picked up a few things for my place. Veggies from a market. A weird piece of abstract wooden art that just felt good in my hands. Though admittedly, everything felt good at the moment.
Could be because you’re just riding a high from spending the whole night locked up and sweaty with a clever-tongued, sassy-mouthed, fine-assed woman.
Which was far from shameful. Nothing better to take my mind off a shitty introduction to my new job than the company of a girl like Aysia. What was shameful, though, was that I’d blocked out the fact that the shitty introduction in question was the thing that had drawn my attention to her in the first place.
“Shit,” I muttered, this time startling a dreadlocked girl—who was busking with a pan flute—so badly that she just about dropped her instrument. “Sorry.”
She nodded her acceptance, but I was already turning away. It wasn’t her I really owed an apology to. It was Aysia. I ran my hand over my chin, scratching at the day-old stubble. It wasn’t fair that I hadn’t told her about the video. It was a lie of omission to leave out the fact that I knew what a douchebag Carl was before I ever saw him talking to her in the bar.
Pretty fucking terrible way to start a relationship. At the thought, I just about tripped over my own shoes.
A relationship?
Okay, I wasn’t anywhere near that yet. But if we did keep going, even to something reasonably casual, it would sure as shit eat at my conscience. The longer I kept it from her, the worse it’d be. Especially once I walked into the office and fired our mutual friend.
“Dammit,” I swore, then clamped my lips shut and looked around for the victim of my latest accidental outburst.
This time, though, the street was empty. Really empty.
I stopped walking, looked up again and realized I’d gotten myself stuck on some residential cul-de-sac. My only choice was to turn around and go back out the same way I’d come in. I sighed, thinking that it had to be some kind of metaphor. I just didn’t have my head on straight enough to figure out what it was.
I swung around and headed back in the direction I’d just come, my mood a little sourer. For all I knew, the phone exchange would fail. Aysia might even be pissed off. Maybe she had important calls to make to important people, and I was wrecking it like a true asshole. For a second, I questioned my sanity. Yeah, my ploy would force another meeting, but there was also a very real possibility that it wouldn’t lead anywhere at all. We’d make the exchange and that would be it. She hadn’t even asked for my number, after all.
Why the hell hadn’t she asked for it?
Struck by an unusual sensation that felt suspiciously like inse
curity, I pulled the phone from my pocket and glared down at it, irritated at myself. The red plastic case glittered back at me. Like a matador egging on a bull.
As I moved to shove it back into my pocket, it abruptly came to life in my hands. The screen flashed an incoming text message from my own number. No words. Just four digits. 9512. I tapped the notification, but instead of expanding, the phone demanded a password.
I frowned for a second before clueing in. “Ah.”
I tapped in the numbers, and the device’s screen unlocked completely.
Hello, Aysia, I typed back.
The reply was almost instantaneous. Sneaky bastard, aren’t u?
I thought we agreed on slick, I replied.
Phone theft is a step above slick, I’m pretty sure.
Maybe it was an accident.
I could picture her disbelieving expression as she typed her extra-long answer, Yeah. U just accidentally mixed up ur army-grade case with my pretty little red one. Which was in my PURSE. U should really set a password on here, btw.
New phone.
Right.
Why r u so worried about it? Did you find my porn collection? ;)
If I had…I’d be watching it instead of talking to u.
A lick of desire made me shift in place. Is that what ur into?
I’m more of a live action girl.
Ah. Strippers, then? ’Cause I can take you if you like.
Ha. Ha. Funny.
I grinned. Oh. Did u mean something else?
Guess u’ll never find out.
Damn.
There was a short pause before she said back, Do u always give up so easily?
I stole ur phone, I pointed out. Is that giving up?
Aha! Now I have it in writing.
:)
U shouldn’t be smiling about ur petty theft habits.
I’m smiling because I’m imagining u all mad and riled up.
:P
Don’t put it out there unless ur gonna use it.
Pervert.
Yep.
Are you home now? she asked.
After Hours Page 6
