by Cari Quinn
“Tight pants are a weakness of many women,” Chrissy continued, patting his hand. “Drop down half a size, and you’ll get the same response.”
“I’ll remember that.” He had to grin as he risked life and limb by trying her drink. “Wow.” His eyebrows rose. “That’s --”
“Yummy?”
“I was going to say putrid.”
She shrugged. “Did the job of helping me get trashed. They had sex on my desk.”
He didn’t need clarification of who she was talking about and was immensely grateful she’d changed topics from his own love life. Err, sex life because, Lord knew, love hadn’t yet entered Rachel’s equation.
“I’m sorry.”
Her weary blue gaze lowered to the table as she smudged away the water ring around her glass. “I didn’t want to see the signs because it hurt too much. I wanted to be wrong, to be the paranoid bitch he accused me of being. You know?”
Did he ever. “Yes.”
“So I got what I deserved.”
“No. You didn’t,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “You loved him, and you trusted him. Or you tried to trust him, even when your gut told you not to.”
“That’s it exactly.” Chrissy gazed at him steadily. “What’s your gut telling you?”
His stomach knotted at the question. “Don’t ask.”
“Uh-oh.” Chrissy’s mouth rounded. “There she is again…”
Though Shawn didn’t release her hand, his back braced at the sudden zap of awareness. When he turned his head and saw Rachel watching him from the doorway, her eyes as dark as the shadow of the moon, he thought he’d prepared himself for the requisite jolt.
He hadn’t.
“You should go to her,” Chrissy said quietly, withdrawing her hand from his as the moment lengthened.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need her to come to me.” As he rose, he again offered Chrissy his hand, not so Rachel would see it, but not caring if she did. “You ready to blow this pop stand?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” Keeping her hand lightly in his, Shawn ushered her past Spidey and Marilyn. He squeezed her fingers when he heard her take a slow breath, then opened the door for her and shot a glance toward where Rachel had stood.
But she was gone.
Rachel left without speaking to anyone, including Ryan. She owed him an explanation for her disappearing act, but until she could speak without annoying drops leaking out of her eyes, he’d just have to deal with wondering what had happened.
Earlier, the cab ride from her hotel to the gala hadn’t intruded on her buzz of anticipation, but now, the twelve-block ride back to the Meridian seemed to take hours. She stared out the window at the garish lights of Times Square with her throat raw from pity tears and her eyes swollen and grainy. Added to that, her body throbbed as if someone had pulverized her with a mallet.
Or their very enthusiastic hips.
Rubbing her sore eyes, Rachel shook her head at her behavior. She’d been bumped against a stone wall repeatedly and was too dazed by her multiple orgasms to remember her body-slamming would hurt like a bitch later. So here she was, weepy and lonely, and she couldn’t even whine to --
She struggled to swallow. To no one. Her supposed best friend had proved he now only wanted one thing from her, and he didn’t even want that enough to stick around while she pulled up her panties.
After the cabbie swung up over the curb at her hotel, she shoved a twenty into his outstretched hand and stumbled out of the car. Without acknowledging the concerned looks she received from the other guests, she rushed across the lobby to the elevator and stabbed the button for her floor.
Great. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get worse, now total strangers were on the verge of offering her tissues. Keeping her head down, she hurried from the elevator and down the hall to her suite.
She’d so had enough. Screw Shawn Griffin.
A smile ghosted around her mouth as she shoved her key card into her door and pushed it open. “Already did, Rach,” she mumbled, flinging the door shut.
Crying wouldn’t help. What she needed was a good, long soak. And since she couldn’t get Ben & Jerry’s from room service, half the bar of imported Swiss chocolate she’d stashed in her travel first-aid kit.
She didn’t even look at her reflection before shedding her clothes and slipping into the shower. Thankfully, the warm spray managed to drum most of the stress out of her temples. Soon her headache diminished to a nagging reminder of why having sex with your best friend was a big honking mistake.
After scrubbing every last hint of Shawn’s ridiculously pricey cologne off her skin, she stepped out, bundled herself in a towel, and went to work with her makeup remover. But when she finally faced her squinty-eyed reflection, her head began to pound again.
With fury.
How dare he? Did he really believe he could treat her as if she were some toss-away sex buddy? Did he think she’d let him?
Rachel shoved the remover into the cabinet above the sink. Like hell.
She blew her hair partially dry, then worked her fingers through her curls as she contemplated her closet. She shoved aside hangers, smiling at the slinky black halter dress that all but jumped into her hand.
If any dress would slay him, that was it.
After using mascara, shadow, and lots of red lipstick to repair the damage crying had wreaked, she checked her watch. It was nearly eleven thirty, meaning she’d be arriving at Shawn’s at just about midnight.
Her lips curved. Fitting she’d timed her arrival to the witching hour. Shawn Griffin was about to realize he’d never tangled with one quite the likes of her.
Shawn took Chrissy out for a burger with onion rings and, knowing well how women wallowed, followed it up with an ice cream float. At least she’d been laughing by the time he dropped her off at her tiny Brooklyn walk-up, he remembered as he reviewed his latest sketches of the new Cooper office tower.
Hell, that any of them had managed to laugh tonight was a minor victory in a night of bloody battles.
At a quarter to twelve, he e-mailed his father the rough ideas he’d drafted for the auxiliary wings of the complex, then rose to take a hot shower. Since the air conditioning was going full blast in his suite, he figured using the tried-and-true warm water trick to send himself into blissful unconsciousness just might work.
If not, he’d spend the night watching movies on pay-per-view. Could be worse.
After his shower, he donned a pair of brushed-silk pajama bottoms and stopped beside the sleek music system in the armoire. Music might help him sleep too.
He took the CD of piano concertos Rachel had given him for his birthday a few years ago out of his suitcase, slid in the disc in the semi-old school stereo setup, and lay down on the bed. Probably wasn’t the best choice for a peaceful send-off to la-la land, not when the first poignant notes of Moonlight Sonata brought back the softness of her breasts in his hands.
With his eyes closed and the room nice and cold -- and his damp skin nice and hot -- he pictured her sitting at the piano in the apartment she shared with her sister, completely immersed in her music. She’d chosen to share her talent with children, both because she loved their excitement for learning and because her parents had expected Julliard and Carnegie Hall, so she’d felt honor bound to select another path.
Whenever her parents nudged her, gently or otherwise, she did a one-eighty to avoid their wishes. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. She just needed to be her own woman, making her own money and her own choices about the way she lived her life.
If that need hadn’t so diametrically opposed his own, Shawn would’ve applauded her for it. But he had trouble seeing the value in Rachel’s stubbornness when his high ranking on her parents’ approval meter meant she’d never think of him as anything but pal material.
Until last night anyway.
Shawn grinned and set aside the brochures h
e’d picked up at the restaurant he and Chrissy had visited for dinner. Unless he was very mistaken, after the last twenty-four hours, Rachel wouldn’t be able to easily push him back into the slot she’d assigned him in her organized life.
Tomorrow, he intended to take her out on their first official date, heavy on the sightseeing. She just didn’t know it yet.
He glanced at the cell phone he’d tossed carelessly onto the nightstand. Barring a night of sex with Tight Pants, she’d be asleep by now. Rachel had a thing about waking early and had usually completed a brutal workout before he’d even surfaced from REM sleep.
He wouldn’t call, even on the off chance she might still be awake. Better to let her stew about his newly rakish behavior. The behavior he’d already decided she wouldn’t be getting a repeat performance of anytime soon.
He didn’t doubt his father’s plan might get him results. But walking away from her tonight after he’d been inside her --
Not again. He’d break his own arm first.
The knock on his door stirred him just as he started to doze. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed himself to his feet. “Who is it?”
No answer. Odd, especially when a knock sounded again, louder and more persistent than the last.
Shawn turned on the lights and swung the door open, his jaw practically dropping to his knees. There she was, his own personal temptress in sultry black. “Rach?”
Eyes slitted, she stared him down. “Don’t you Rach me.” Throwing out a hand, she pushed him back into his suite. “You better start talking.” She kicked the door shut and advanced on him with a determination he found mind-bendingly sexy. “I don’t have all night.”
He smiled even as the spit evaporated in his mouth. Oh, yes, darling, you do. “Got plans?”
“None of your concern.” Her voice lashed at him. “I’m not your whore.”
Okay, now that he hadn’t expected. He cleared his throat. “I never said I believed otherwise.”
“No, but you treated me that way tonight. Do you think you can just fu --”
“Don’t.” He grabbed her forearm, the one she’d lifted in preparation to knock him flat on his ass. “Don’t say things you can’t take back. And don’t raise your hand to me again, unless you want to get into another sort of wrestling match altogether.”
Just when he’d thought her eyes couldn’t flame any darker, her gaze landed on his rumpled sheets. “So where is she? Did she leave early? Or did your” -- her lips twisted -- “performance suffer because you went a round with me?”
Temper balled in his gut, stoking the simmering fire of anticipation already beginning to kindle. “Funny you should mention that.” Deliberately, he lowered her arm so the knuckles of her fist skimmed his erection. When she shrank back, he sat on the bed. Last thing he wanted to do was crowd her, but she made it difficult. “Seems to be in working order, huh?”
“Goddammit, this isn’t about sex.”
“No, it’s not. Chrissy was never here. No one’s been here but you.” He reached for her hand, tightening his grip when she tried to yank her fingers free. “I shouldn’t have left earlier, but we both know you’re not here for an apology.”
Since she couldn’t break his hold, she skewered her nails into his palm. She also edged a little closer. “How do you know what I’m here for?”
“Because I know you.” Barely conscious of his stinging hand, he rose, slowly enough that his body brushed hers all the way up. “I know how that beautiful, convoluted brain works. I know you need more than pretty words.”
“I told you this isn’t about sex.”
As she started to whirl away, he stroked the springy dark curl cleaving to her cheek. “And I agreed with you.” Though the effort took all his will, he managed to keep his tone light. “It’s about a hell of a lot more than that.”
Fear flared in her eyes and pulled at his heart. “Sounds like pretty words to me,” she said, dismissing him with a toss of her hair before shifting toward the door.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked softly.
But he thought -- hoped -- he knew. For so long, he’d lived with the same sense that everything he’d ever wanted was within his reach, if only he was quick enough to seize it before the chance vanished. But he’d understood picking his moment was critical. One misstep and he might never get another opportunity with her, so persnickety was the woman he loved.
He stepped forward. Stopped. “Don’t you know I’d never hurt you?” When her shoulders braced, he tamped down on his self-directed frustration.
Too late. Thanks, Dad.
As much as he would’ve liked to lay the blame at his father’s doorstep, he understood where the majority belonged. Now, he had to be the one to repair the damage.
Shawn cupped her bare shoulders in his hands, closing his eyes when they shook. Her earthy fragrance saturated his senses, filling his mind with images of a sunlit beach, the sea rolling over them as their bodies intertwined on the warm sand. “You smell like home.” He laid his lips on top of her head. “I’d like to make love with you on the beach, at sunrise, tasting the salt on your lips each time I kiss you.”
Rachel turned, her face pinched with tension. “Home’s too far away.”
Had he ever seen her look so guarded? So closed? She’d always shared herself with him freely, both her laughter and her tears. The trust between them had been built layer by layer, year by year.
Until tonight, when he’d fractured it.
He moved closer. Though she didn’t try to evade his touch, each breath she inhaled made her body jerk. “Home’s right here.” He slid his hands into her hair, lifting the silken weight with his wrists as he fumbled to undo the knot at her neck. “If I can get this stupid tie undone.”
Her weak laughter broke over him like ripples in the surf, dissipating his nerves in one calming rush. “Pull up, then down.” She nimbly demonstrated the move. Then she drew the straps down her shoulders and over her bare breasts. Catching his expression, her throat bobbed. “I didn’t pack the right kind of bra --”
“Not complaining.” He encircled her in his arms without attempting to caress her creamy, sun-kissed skin. His already painful erection prodded her stomach, and her nipples rubbed over his chest as she swayed against him.
Did she feel like he did? Already drunk. Already lost.
“You’re everything.” He kissed her temple. “Everything.”
She pressed her soft, cool lips against his neck, the most erotic chaste kiss he’d ever experienced. “Show me.”
Chapter Eight
To Rachel, sex was a physical act. For release, for pleasure, even for fun. Since her relationship with Ryan, she’d been careful to keep her feelings separate.
But Shawn wouldn’t allow that, and neither would the emotions welling up inside her, demanding to be heard. Begging to be recognized.
Finally.
Each brush of his long fingers down her sides had her breath tripping, and each kiss he wrested from her tasted like surrender. She couldn’t resist his onslaught, especially when he swung her into his arms and laid her down on the enormous bed.
He drew her dress off, feasting his eyes upon her body as if the sight dazzled him. She brought her hand to her heart, not to cover herself but to keep it from thundering through her chest. In the silence, she heard “Für Elise,” and the telltale flubbed note that let her know exactly who the pianist was.
“My CD.” Her voice sounded scratchy, as if she’d screamed herself into a frenzy at a concert.
“My CD.” As he eased her thong over her raised hips, the corners of his lips lifted. “You gave it to me.”
“The one and only copy. You were listening to it in bed?”
He gathered her wrists in one hand and pulled them up over her head. “And thinking of you, just like this.” Her body bowed as he flicked his tongue along the underside of her breast, rousing her patiently with nibbles and licks while the tension she’d carried simply melted away.
For an instant, she thought he wouldn’t accede to her wishes. He released her and returned to his task, seemingly intent on ravaging every inch of her skin. His lips blazed a trail over her rib cage as her fingers groped for his hair. One touch of the razor-sharp wet ends had her imagining him in the shower, his muscled, golden body slick with soap. His wide palms smoothing lather on the planes and ridges of his stomach, drifting lower…
When he nipped the sensitive skin along her inner thigh, her knees simply fell open. Caught between her fantasy and the dreamlike reality, she gasped as he licked the quivering flesh at the juncture of her thighs. His tongue lanced into her pussy, driving her up and over so fast she hardly had time to realize she’d been climbing.
“Sweet. God, baby, you taste so…”
As the aftershocks subsided into embarrassment, warmth suffused her face. She’d always felt so comfortable with him, but this new territory felt boggy enough to swallow her whole.
“Don’t stiffen up.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” He continued his ministrations, opening her thighs wider so she could see every movement of his tongue against her clit. “You’re not shy.”
“No.” She moistened her lips, resisting the temptation to squeeze her eyes shut. Not because she didn’t like the view -- on the contrary, seeing Shawn’s dark blond hair between her legs had her toenails digging into the sheets -- but because it just didn’t seem right. This was Shawn. “It’s just…weird.”
“Weird bad?” Though his voice had dipped an octave lower than it normally was, she found his control as he coaxed her body to respond like a well-tuned piano irksome. At least until he slid a finger inside her, and a flutter of explosions lit her from within, zinging from her sex to her nipples and back again.
