by Lynn LaFleur
“The phones have calmed down and we haven’t had a walk-in in nearly twenty minutes,” she announced to the design team. “Think it’s safe to order dinner?”
“Hey, I don’t care if the Tooth Fairy knocks on that door.” Judy pointed to the door next to the loading dock. “No one’s coming between me and my dinner.”
On cue, they heard a truck roll to a stop at the loading dock, the engine cut off, and seconds later, a loud pounding on the metal door.
“Nooooo,” Judy moaned.
Ronn Richardson, one of the top staff designers who sat thorning a rose stem, added, “If that’s the Tooth Fairy, hon, she’s not waving a wand, she’s waving a tree.”
“You.” Judy pointed to the intern nearest the door. “See who’s there and tell them to go away.”
The intern opened the door only inches before the fragrances of something wonderful with garlic wafted in.
“If I had a dinner bell, I’d ring it,” Brett Kincade announced from the doorway while a crew of caterers scurried around him. Two carried a portable steam table and placed it alongside the first worktable. The stainless steel containers bubbled with a variety of Chinese entrees and barbecued chicken, links and brisket. Behind him, the regular deliveryman from Mario’s down the street arrived with a half dozen pizzas in several combinations. Following him, two more of the catering crew carried a wrought iron bistro table, two chairs, two candles, and a garish plastic bouquet.
“Set up the table and chairs in the showroom,” Brett directed. “Everyone else, dig in!”
The crew quickly complied, oohing and ahhing about all the choices they had. Abby still stood with her pad and pencil, shaking her head at Brett’s latest move, and loving every second of it.
He walked up beside her with two plates piled high and offered his arm. “Miz Horton,” he whispered. “I think it’s time we got to know each other better.”
In the quiet of the showroom, with the lights dimmed and flames flickering from the candles, Brett seated Abby across from him. He plopped into his chair and slid his hand across the table until his fingers covered hers.
“I want to apologize for this afternoon,” he began. “My mama didn’t raise a fool, but I acted like one.”
Too surprised to answer, Abby said nothing.
“I’m very drawn to you, Miz Abby Horton. I’d very much like to get to know you better.”
There’s that Rhett-Butler-sweet-potato-pie-smoothness again, she thought, but didn’t fight it this time. “I’d like that too, Brett.”
“Then tell me about yourself.” He opened her napkin and handed it to her, then opened his and spread it across his lap.
“My life certainly wasn’t as exciting as yours.” She picked up her fork. “My dad was career military, so we lived in a lot of places. I even spent a few weeks here with my aunt while he and my mom set up our house in Germany.”
“I knew we’d met before.”
“Oh, I doubt you’d remember my visit—unless you were into ‘metal mouths’ with unruly orange hair.”
His gaze passed over her before he smiled. “No way I’d ever forget anything about you, Abby.”
Oh my, he is good. Probably had a lot of practice saying that to other women too.
Abby hoped he didn’t see her shiver. With a deep breath, she continued, “I graduated from Ohio State and moved to Manhattan. Been there ever since.”
“Doing what?”
Did she dare tell him? Would he laugh? She took a deep breath. “I’m a playwright.” And in a rush of words, added, “I also manage a business office.”
He looked surprised yet approving. “A playwright? That’s wonderful. Have you had anything produced?”
She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t laughed. “One. Off-Off Broadway of course— miles off.”
“Do you know how many people only dream of writing plays or novels? They never even try. You ought to be so proud.”
Heat crawled up Abby’s neck and into her cheeks.
“Tell me about yours.”
“You’ll probably laugh.”
“Why? Is it a comedy?”
“Part satire, part romantic comedy.” She loved talking about writing. Why did telling him about it embarrass her so? “I called it Once Upon a Slipper.”
He looked properly confused.
“It’s the story of a dancer in search of magic shoes for an audition. She knows if she lands the role, it will lead to stardom. In a quaint little costume shop near the theatre, she finds the perfect pair. When she gets home she discovers that instead of the pair she thought she’d bought, the box contained a single glass slipper.”
“Let me guess. She goes in search of Prince Charming?”
“Not exactly. She rubs the shoe, like a magic lamp, and out pops the Prince. Except he’s less than princely. He’s spoiled and whiny and can’t believe what he sees out the window. Once she introduces him to contemporary Manhattan, he decides to become an actor and is never seen or heard from again.” She laughed. “Art imitating life.” She jabbed her fork into a piece of sesame chicken. “We extended the run three times. Unfortunately, everything we earned went to cover salaries and expenses.”
How tempting to pour out her soul to someone who seemed to care.
“The opening was the best night of my life.”
“Better than your wedding night?”
Abby lost her fork and her appetite along with it. “I wrote the play for the lead actor. Perhaps you’ve heard of him, Pierce Horton. He sings, dances and possesses incredible comic timing. He’s also my ex.”
“So you played the dancer, and Pierce Prince Charming?”
“Heavens no. My acting skill fits nicely on the head of a pin.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, in an unconscious, defensive gesture. “Pierce and I met at a tango club. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
“You wrote the play about him?”
“Not about him, for him.”
“Were you married by then?”
“He proposed on opening night. How romantic was that?”
“Sounds like something out of a play.”
They both laughed at that. Then Abby sighed and continued, “Unfortunately, the curtain dropped too soon on both the play and our marriage. A few weeks after we eloped I discovered his real love, cocaine.”
Brett winced. “I knew a lot of guys who messed up great careers with coke.”
She licked her lips. “Pierce insisted he didn’t have a problem.” She looked down at her hands and her laced fingers. “I wanted so badly to believe him, to make our marriage work.”
“Kids?”
She looked up at him. “No, thank God. I love kids, but it would have been wrong to drag them into a situation like that. Maybe someday.”
“Pets?”
“Love them too, just not in Manhattan.” She gestured toward the street. “If I lived in a place like Seaside, in a house like my aunt’s with a big backyard, I’d not only have six kids, I’d keep a dozen dogs and cats, maybe more. It’s unfair to keep an animal locked in a small flat all day.”
Brett squeezed her hand. “And what about Abby? Did your time with Pierce make you give up on love?”
Her pulse raced at the thought of it. A year ago, she would have sent a brick flying at anyone who suggested she might love or trust again. Suddenly, sitting here with Brett’s warm hand covering hers, loving and trusting didn’t seem as much a fairy tale anymore.
“I suppose I’m too much of an optimist and a romantic at heart.” She sat forward and picked up her fork again. “I know this will make me sound like a nut, but at fifteen I met my soul mate. Even the day I married Pierce, I thought about him, wondered where he was and what he was doing. And if he’d ever thought of me as his soul mate.”
“What happened?”
She smiled and cut into an egg roll. “Remember that skinny little metal-mouthed kid? He was leaving for college in a couple of weeks. We held hands, nothing more.”
She looked him squarely in the eyes. “Absolutely.”
Brett’s gaze intensified. She saw something in his eyes she could not quite read. It thrilled her yet made her uncomfortable too.
“What about you, Brett? We all know your public persona. Who’s the real Brett Kincade?”
He shrugged and held out his hands, palms up. “What you see is what you get.”
And god, I like what I see. “According to the tabs, you never married. Is that true?”
“True.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Ever been in love?”
He opened bottles of water for each of them. “I was thirteen…” He hesitated. “When I…ah, became a man, shall we say.”
“Ooh, an early achiever.”
“I was sure I was in love then, and probably a hundred times since.”
“But no one special?”
She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, and a touch of sadness in his eyes. “One very special someone. Like you, the timing was all wrong.”
This time, Abby rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “Don’t be. At ten o’clock this morning, I met a fabulous lady whom I intend to sweep off her feet in the next few weeks. You never know what might happen.”
She laughed. “If you’re talking about me, you’ll have to work a bit faster. I promised Aunt Rose I’d see Love In Bloom through Valentine’s Day. Come Monday, I’m outta here.”
He started to say something when Judy interrupted them. “Okay, you two, break time’s over. Abby, walk Brett to his car, then come back. We still have a hundred dozen roses that need to be thorned by midnight.” She clapped her hands. “Move!”
Chapter Four
Once they stepped outside, Brett noticed that the wind off the ocean had blown the afternoon fog farther inland. With the temperature holding steady in the sixties, the air felt crisp and fresh.
The caterers had already loaded what they were taking back tonight. They waved as they drove past and turned into the street. Only Brett’s car remained in the parking lot.
He and Abby had started out walking several feet apart. They moved closer to each other with each step. It seemed perfectly natural now for him to slide his arm around her shoulders and draw her close.
Brett noticed that Abby still wore the spike-heeled boots she’d had on earlier. They added about three inches to her height. If she leaned against him, the top of her head would brush against his shoulder.
She must be about five-nine barefoot, he thought. He liked that. At six-five, he was tired of always leaning over, bending or twisting to make eye contact with short girls. Tiny and petite was fine, but he preferred his ladies slender, with legs up to here.
Unlike most guys, he also liked small breasts. For his money, there was just so much you could hold in your hand at one time, or put your lips around. Give him quality, not quantity. Abby had everything he looked for in a woman. They’d fit perfectly making love.
At that moment, she looked up and smiled. His breath caught in his chest. If she were a mind reader, she’d probably slap him next. Brett smiled back at her and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist. He took that as a good sign, a very good sign.
“You were so nice to bring food for everyone,” she said. “There’s still enough for lunch and dinner tomorrow too.”
“My pleasure.” With a little pressure on her shoulder, he steered her toward the left and his new car, a silver Porsche 911 convertible. God, he loved that car, even though Abby probably considered it the classic babe magnet.
She ran her hand along the smooth sleek ridge running from the door to the rear engine compartment. He watched her brown eyes widen with appreciation. She had lovely hands, long thin fingers, graceful and delicate. He couldn’t stop his imagination from leaping ahead, seeing one of those fingertips, painted bright scarlet, running the length of his cock, then tripping back to tease the head.
Would her fingers feel soft and warm when she wrapped her hand around his shaft? Would she lick her lips before tasting him, take the full length of him in her mouth and suck until she drove him to the point he couldn’t stop himself from coming?
Or was she more of a tease? A woman who liked to flick and lick, a woman who used her tongue to drive her man right to the edge, then climbed aboard and plunged his cock deeply inside her pussy so they came together?
Jee-zuz, what the hell are you thinking, Kincade? He was glad Abby stood a little ahead of him, unable to see the bulge that pressed against the zipper of his jeans. Glad he’d buttoned his leather jacket against the cool night air.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Nice, very nice.”
He swallowed hard. She’s talking about the car, you idiot!
All afternoon he’d kept remembering the deep V of her sweater and the top of her tiny breasts, pale against a dark lace bra. She wore the pullover with a short denim skirt and leather boots that rose almost to her knees.
She bent over to look inside the car’s window. Her skirt crept up, jolting him with a glimpse of perfectly smooth, rounded cheeks peeking out from the bottom of a pair of silk bikini panties. He liked slender women, but he didn’t like bony asses. He wanted something soft that his fingers could take hold of and knead before he separated them and drove his cock into her ass. Abby’s cheeks were perfect.
Better yet, with the moon shining just right he saw her skin still kept its summer tan, but no tan line. He gulped and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Abby sunbathed nude. A woman secure enough in her body she didn’t need to cover it.
Shit. If his cock got any harder, he’d be able to lift her from a foot away.
Slow down, Kincade. She’s not some roadie who’ll drop to her knees the minute you crook your finger at her.
He chuckled softly. “The view’s pretty tempting from where I’m standing.”
Brett didn’t know what he expected. That she’d shoot bolt upright, maybe tug on the hem of her skirt, act flustered and embarrassed?
He knew what he didn’t expect—and that’s precisely what she did.
With the hem of her skirt still hiked halfway up her ass, Abby didn’t move except to look over her shoulder, her eyes heavy with desire. “I’d be awfully disappointed if it wasn’t.”
At that moment, Brett knew she’d hooked him. He spun Abby around and into his arms. With her face in his hands, he tilted her head back and forced her to look straight into his eyes. “Are you sure? If we start something, I intend to finish it.”
Brett’s knees weakened at the sexy grin Abby didn’t try to hide. She slid her hands along the front of his jacket and curled her fingers around the lapels.
“We’ve already started something. But…” She nodded toward the back door of Love In Bloom. “Judy’s going to give us about two minutes before she comes looking for me. We can keep talking about it, or you can kiss me. I know which I’d prefer.”
It took all of Brett’s willpower not to crush her mouth under his. He’d fantasized about tasting those soft, lush lips all day. He wasn’t going to squander one second of the pleasure he knew they’d give him.
He slowly lowered his head, and with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, he skimmed his lips across hers. He felt Abby shiver. A double dose of desire sizzled through him. He skimmed back the other way. To his delight, she parted her lips enough that he felt her tiny moan, and tasted the hint of ginger and cool peppermint on her breath.
He used that opening to nip at her lower lip.
She shivered again and opened her mouth to him. She boldly ran the tip of her tongue along the sensitive bottom ridge of his, just as she might the underside of his cock. He groaned and pulled her closer. His cock felt like a tree trunk as he drove it into the softness of her mound. Only a swatch of blue silk, denim and zipper kept them from being one.
She didn’t need to say a word for him to know she felt
it too. She moved more deeply into his arms and raked her fingers through his hair, down to the blond waves that fell to the edge of his collar.
“Mmm,” she murmured and arched her back, offering her breast to him. He didn’t take time to think. He happily followed her lead and slid his hand over the firm mound, and the peak that was as hard as a pearl at its center.
He dragged his mouth away from hers. “God, I love your breasts.”
Abby’s heart pounded against his hand. “They’re too small,” she whispered, but when he moved his hand away, she cried, “No, don’t stop.”
Instead of stopping, Brett slipped his hand under her sweater. Not taking time to unlatch her bra, he pushed it up and over the mounds that rose and fell in the moonlight. She had perfect breasts, the areolas light pink haloes surrounding hard little nipples. They cried out for his mouth. Abby moaned and leaned back against the car. She clenched and unclenched her fists as he began massaging one and then the other, plucking at her nipples and rolling the hard pink buds between his fingers.
“Does that feel good?”
“It feels wonderful.”
“Would you like me to suck them?”
“Oh yes, please.”
Her chest was heaving as he circled her tummy with his fingertips then ran his hands, palms flat, along both breasts. He continued to massage one while he licked his way from the outside of the other, around the areola. He held the little mound firm, covered it with his lips and sucked and pulled until it filled his mouth. He and Abby moved together now, to a beat in their hearts and heads. He’d never tasted a breast so sweet, or one that fit his mouth so perfectly. He finished with one and turned to the other.
“If you keep that up, you’re going to make me come.” Her voice sounded husky and breathless.
“D’you want to come?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then let me touch you the way I want to. Let me make you come.”
Abby moved forward, away from the car while Brett hiked the hem of her skirt up to her waist. She locked her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his shoulder.
“Open your legs a little wider for me, babe. That’s right.” With a hand under her knee, he deftly lifted her leg and draped it over his thigh. “Perfect, baby, perfect.” Using his free arm to steady her, Brett ran his fingers along the crotch of her panties.
