Love Around the Corner

by Amanda Weaver

  She was saved from confessing that uncomfortable truth to Brendan, though, by the arrival of one of the vet techs from in back.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Romano?”

  Gemma shot to her feet. “Oh, we’re not...he’s not...it’s just me, Gemma Romano.” Although for the past hour, she hadn’t been alone. Brendan had been beside her. She’d consider how she felt about that later. “How’s Spudge?”

  “He’s still sedated, but you can come back and see him now.”

  “He’s not going to...die?”

  The tech, a young woman with a sweet face and a wide, comforting smile, shook her head. “No, he’s not going to die. The vet will come talk to you in a few minutes.”

  The relief left her nearly weak kneed. “Oh, thank you.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I was so scared.”

  “He’s going to be okay,” the tech told her reassuringly. “Come on, he’s just back here.”

  Gemma was halfway to the door when she remembered Brendan and turned back. He was standing where she’d left him, hands in his pockets. “Go on. I’ll be right here.”

  “It’s okay. Dad will be here any minute. You don’t need to wait.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Let me know how he’s doing, okay?” He turned to go but stopped when Gemma called out to him.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.”

  “Of course I came,” he said simply. “Take care, Gem.”

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  The vet’s diagnosis was canine diabetes. After a couple of days at the vet, Spudge came home none the worse for wear, although he was deeply unhappy about his new diet dog food and the complete ban on table scraps. There were daily insulin injections to deal with, too, but Gemma didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay to have Spudge back home and good as new.

  She hadn’t seen Brendan since that night. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, after she’d sobbed into his shoulder and confessed all her deepest insecurities. He’d been so...supportive, kind... Frankly, he’d been the Brendan she’d fallen in love with, that sensitive, gentle boy who’d taken the time to reach out to her in her grief when no one else had. She’d thought that boy had died when Brendan left for Chicago, or that maybe he’d never really existed at all. But he was still in there—that boy she’d fallen in love with—hiding under Brendan’s glossy new surface, and she didn’t know what to do with that information.

  So she hadn’t called him when she probably should have, and she hadn’t shown up for any more late-night booty calls. She’d texted to let him know Spudge was okay, and they’d had a brief exchange, all about the dog. That was cowardly on Gemma’s part, she knew, but she felt like she was picking her way through a field of landmines where Brendan was concerned and rushing headlong into it seemed like a recipe to get herself blown to bits.

  He hadn’t been into the bar either. Maybe her weepy breakdown over a dog had scared him off. He was into her, but maybe not that into her.

  Whatever. She had too many other things to worry about. Like how they were going to pay for the renovations to the apartment upstairs. Tony Santini had found a few more things that needed to be done, and the estimate had steadily climbed northward, until once again, she had no idea how they were going to come up with the money.

  It was a Tuesday night, and the bar was dead—again—so Dad had sent her home early. She didn’t argue. At least at home she could cook something to distract herself. She was absolutely not going over to Brendan’s.

  She was mounting the steps to the house, fishing her keys out of her bag, when her phone buzzed. Brendan. Calling her. She thought about ignoring it. Chatting on the phone was one more intimacy she shouldn’t be allowing. But she was still feeling guilty over ghosting him after he’d been so nice about Spudge, so after another moment’s hesitation, she took the call.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey. Spudge is fine,” she said hurriedly. “He hates his new dog food, but—”

  “Glad to hear it, but I didn’t call about Spudge.”

  Her stomach tightened with desire. She could hear the lust in his voice. “What are you calling for?”

  “You. Me. Here.”

  She had to lean against the door, pressing her thighs together against the rush of heat. “Um... I’m cooking.” Lame excuse. She hadn’t even made it inside yet, never mind started prepping anything.

  “Come cook it here. Just come.”

  She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t...

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  He probably shouldn’t have called her.

  The sex had definitely been going well, and then there’d been the emergency with Spudge, when she’d actually leaned on him, accepted his help. He’d thought maybe things would be different after that, but instead, she’d pulled further away than ever. All that intimacy and sharing had scared the hell out of her. He probably should have let her be and waited until desire brought her back to his door on her own.

  But it had been a long, shitty day. First another prickly visit to his mother, and then some colossally bad news from the attorney making the offer on what was supposed to be his next property acquisition. He’d been summarily outbid, the deal done with cash before he could even come back with a counteroffer, and he had a sneaking suspicion who was behind it all. Fucking Jimmy Walsh.

  He’d prowled around for a couple of hours, drinking scotch and generally being miserable, until he’d broken down and called Gemma. If this was just sex, then fine. Tonight he wanted sex. He wanted her. However he could have her.

  And now she was here, coming when he’d called. After he buzzed her in downstairs, he went to open the front door for her and found her climbing the last steps weighed down with shopping bags.

  He hurried to relieve her of the bags. “What’s all this?”

  “I didn’t know what you had in your kitchen so I brought everything.”

  “Smart move, because I have nothing in my kitchen.”

  “I kinda figured.”

  “I’m glad you came. This is the only good thing that’s happened to me today.”

  “I expect you to pay me back with orgasms,” she said, slipping past him into the kitchen.

  “Whatever, Romano. You know I’m good for it.” He heard the snap in his voice, but he was hours past trying to rein it in.

  Gemma stopped unpacking her bags and raised an eyebrow at him. “You seem pissed tonight.”

  There was no way to explain without going into a whole lot of backstory she didn’t know yet. And tonight didn’t seem like the right time. She wasn’t ready for that kind of sharing from him. “Just a shit day. A deal gone bad. That’s all.”

  She shrugged and started browning meat in a heavy pot she must have brought in with her, because he’d never seen it before.

  “Plenty of those to go around,” she said.

  Brendan opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and joined her in the kitchen. He handed her a glass of wine and moved to lean on the counter, far enough to be out of her way but close enough to watch her while she worked. He watched her work, wondering if he should press her to explain. But she was here, and they had their clothes on, so maybe this was a chance to push a little further. “Anything specific?”

  She shrugged, keeping her eyes down as she transferred browned beef out of the pot and added some vegetables. “We need to renovate Mr. Mosco’s apartment before we put it back on the market and it’s going to cost a lot.”

  “Was Mr. Mosco your tenant?”

  “Yeah. He’d lived there for decades, so we didn’t really upgrade anything. It needs so much. New kitchen wiring at a minimum, but really it needs new windows, new floors... It’s just a lot.”

  “Well, if t
here’s anything I can do to help...”

  She flashed a grim smile at him. “Nope. I got it under control.”

  “Okay. Just know...you can talk to me about, well...anything. I’m happy to listen.”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes on the pot. Her jaw was tight with tension and her eyebrows furrowed. It was weighing on her more than she’d admit, but the fact that she’d shared it with him at all had to count as progress, so he’d leave it alone for now.

  Setting his wine down on the counter, he moved forward until he could settle his hands on her hips. She didn’t want to share yet, but he knew exactly what to do to relax her again.

  “Tell me about this magic you’re making in my kitchen. It smells amazing.”

  “Just beef bourguignon.”

  “That sounds French, Miss Romano.”

  “My skills extend beyond pasta and red sauce, you know.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m well aware of just how far your skills extend.” He slid an arm around her waist and with his other hand, moved her hair aside so he could kiss the side of her neck. “You’re extremely talented in many ways.”

  “It’s just food,” she protested, stiffening slightly.

  Any hint of affection that didn’t involve taking her clothes off made her start for the door. But he persisted, pulling her back against his chest. “Tell me what you’re doing now,” he murmured against the silky skin behind her ear.

  He felt her soften, arousal warring with her fear. He kissed her behind her ear, flicking her slightly with his tongue. She let out a low sigh, her head tipping to the side in surrender. “Um...sautéing the vegetables.”

  “It smells fantastic. So do you.”

  “That’s just the beef.” She emptied a small bowl of minced garlic into the pot, her hands less steady than they’d been a moment ago, and the fragrance blossomed around them. “And the garlic.”

  “Mmm, this spot right here is all you.” He nipped at her and her breath hitched.

  She reached for a bottle of cognac that must have come in with her and poured a healthy splash into the pan, which sizzled and hissed, steam swirling around her.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Building the sauce. The liquid deglazes the pan—”

  “Deglazes?” His hand slid under the hem of her T-shirt, coming to rest on the warm smooth skin of her stomach. “What’s that?”

  Her voice went soft and a little unsteady. “When you add alcohol or another liquid to pull up all this browned stuff from the bottom of the pan. It’s called the fond. That’s where the flavor is.”

  He kissed her neck again, tracing a line down to the edge of her T-shirt with his tongue. “If you say so.” She shivered under him then pulled away enough to retrieve the bottle of wine he’d opened.

  “Wine too?”

  “The cognac was just for deglazing. It’ll simmer in the wine.”

  She added the meat back to the pot, then poured the rest of the bottle over it.

  “That’s a lot of wine.”

  “It’ll thicken up.”

  Something else was about to start thickening up, but he didn’t want to distract her while she worked. Well, any more than he already had.

  She dropped a few more things in—a spoonful of sugar, a few pinches of salt, a couple of twists of the pepper grinder, some sprigs of herbs, and beef broth—then stirred, staring down into the pot.

  He couldn’t see anything past the sexy slope of her neck, the shadow between her breasts as he peered over her shoulder. She dipped a finger in and tasted it. His groin tightened as he watched her suck on her finger in contemplation.

  “Looks fantastic.”

  She reached for a spoon, dipped it into the pot, then twisted in his arms, holding it up to his mouth. “Here, taste. More salt?”

  Eyes on hers, he opened his mouth for her and let her slide the spoon inside. It wasn’t even done yet and it tasted perfect, rich and meaty and velvety. She was perfect, staring up at him with her dark, expectant gaze, lips parted as she waited for his verdict.

  “It’s good.” Swallowing, he licked his lips. “Will it keep?”

  “What?”

  “If it sits here while I take your clothes off, drag you to bed, and fuck you, will it be ruined?”

  She blinked then turned back to the stove, turning down the heat and dropping a lid on the pot. “Lucky for you, it’s got to simmer for at least an hour.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered, working her shirt up over her head before she’d even turned around. She lifted her arms, letting him whip it up and off, and her long dark hair tumbled back down the smooth expanse of her back. She started to turn, but he crowded her in from behind, pinning her to the counter, sweeping his hands up her rib cage to cup her breasts.

  She groaned, throwing her head back against his shoulder and pushing her hips back into his. He ground his dick against her, reveling in the perfect friction, the burst of mind-numbing pleasure, and he did his best to convince himself that this was exactly what he’d wanted when he called her—that it was all he wanted.

  Gemma succeeded in twisting around to face him, her arms twining around his neck and one leg coming up to hook over his hip. Their lips crashed together inelegantly, hungry to taste. Her tongue plunged into his mouth and her teeth nipped at his bottom lip as her fingers fisted in his hair hard enough to hurt.

  Hooking an arm around her waist, he swung her away from the counter and they staggered ungracefully through the kitchen and out into the living room. When Gemma slid a hand between their bodies and cupped him through his jeans, he had to stop moving, dropping his forehead on her shoulder.

  “I hope you have a condom in your wallet,” she said into his ear. “Because we’re not gonna make it to the bed.”

  As if he needed another reminder that she was only here for one reason. Still, that reason was better than nothing, and if it was the only part of her he could have, he’d take it. For now.

  He tightened his grip on her, walking her backwards until she collided with the back of his couch. “I do.”

  Gemma sucked in a breath. “You get that while I get this.” She began to unbutton the fly of his jeans, and with clumsy hands, he retrieved the condom from his wallet in his back pocket.

  “Give me this,” she whispered, swiping it from his hands and tearing the foil packet open with her teeth. While she rolled it onto his dick, he unzipped her jeans and started working them down her hips. But they were tight and she was wearing fucking boots and there was no way he’d survive long enough to strip her out of all these clothes.

  “I need you inside of me,” she hissed in frustration.

  So he spun her around and bent her over the back of the couch. Gemma gasped, her hands splaying across the pristine white leather as he tugged her jeans down over her ass. “I hope you meant that,” he muttered, lining himself up.

  “I did.”

  “Good.” And he rammed home, sheathing himself in her to the hilt. She gasped again. He groaned. It was so tight and hot and perfect. “God, Gemma.” He wanted this feeling to last forever. But he was greedy enough to want more. He wanted all of her, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever have it.

  “Hard,” she murmured, fingers curling into the back of the couch.

  It was pressing in on him from all sides—the long, frustrating day, this maddening woman who would only give him crumbs of herself—until he felt like he was drowning in it.

  “Don’t think I can do it any other way right now,” he muttered as he drew almost all the way out before ramming home again.

  She made a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, that trickled down his spine like electricity, and it was the last coherent thought he had. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he pounded himself into her, letting everything out.

  Gemma took it, bowing her
head and hanging on as he satisfied himself with her body. But as he could feel his release start to tingle in the base of his spine and his balls, he needed more from her. He wanted to feel her shake to pieces around him, helpless and trembling. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her.

  Sliding a hand around her hip, he slid his fingers into the tight cleft between her thighs, still bound together by her jeans. When he found her clit, she let out a low moan.

  “Come on, baby,” he said, working her over as he pounded himself nearer and nearer to release. He needed this, needed to feel her fall apart as he did.

  “Brendan,” she said, her voice little more than a whimper.

  “Give it to me, Gem.”

  And then she did, letting out a cry that was nearly a scream, almost as cathartic for him as it was for her. Her thighs began to shake around him, her hips bucking back against his as much as they could in her restricted position. The added pressure was all that it took to send him over the edge. His entire world whited out with pleasure. There was only Gemma’s body under his, sheathing him in unimaginable bliss.

  He came slowly back to himself as the last tremors of his release eased through his body. He was curled over Gemma, his chest pressed to her back, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades. His hand was still between her thighs, cupping her. She was shaking underneath him, her breath coming in soft pants.

  “Holy shit,” she rasped. “I take it back. I fucking love this couch.”

  “That was good.”

  She chuckled and he could feel it through his entire body, a warm aftershock that left him tingling. “You always were the master of understatement, Flaherty.”

  He pressed a weary kiss to the soft skin of her shoulder.

  “You’re going to have to help me out here because I’m not sure my legs work anymore.”

  With a pat to her hip, he eased himself out of her body. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  After quickly disposing of the condom, he hurried back to her. She was just pushing herself upright, hands braced against the back of the couch. Turning her around, he lifted her until she was sitting on it. Then he went to his knees, unzipping first one tall suede boot then the other. When he’d worked those off, he peeled her jeans the rest of the way down her legs, getting her naked at last. Usually at this point, she’d be pushing him away, uncomfortable with any show of tenderness or caring on his part. But tonight she let him undress her, and made no protest as he ran his hands gently down her thighs, up her back, through her hair.