Gabe’s eyes glittered hard hate and his breathing roughened. “I’m going to kill him.”
I smiled. “No time for murder, Gabe. You have to go chase down a cheater with Dee.” He wouldn’t be thinking about Dee now.
Gabe’s expression eased. He slid his hand behind my head. “There’s always time for murder and sex.” His kiss seared right through my jealousy.
Wallbanger sounded good to me. I kissed him back and went to work on the buttons of his shirt. A fast rush of pure lust wiped out my fatigue. I needed Gabe. The pool of sizzling heat spread deep in my belly, and lower, increasing my urgency. I spread his shirt open, touching his hard, warm chest.
And felt the pounding of his heart beneath my fingers.
He broke the kiss to pull my T-shirt off. Sweeping aside a bra cup, he freed my breast and played his thumb over my nipple. I reached for his pants, undoing the buttons and pulling him free. Wrapping my hand around his penis, I felt the hard throb of his need. I softened my touch, running a finger along the heavy underside and looked up into Gabe’s face.
His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as he thrust deeper into my hand.
The phone rang. This time it was my phone.
Gabe spanned his hands around my waist. “Ignore it. I want you naked. No distractions.”
Sharp regret cut through my lust. “I have to answer it. It might be the school about the boys.”
Gabe groaned and stepped back. I took a last look at him—his shirt hung open, revealing a hard chest covered in warm olive skin. His pants lay open, revealing a throbbing erection.
But I was a mother, too.
I went to the phone on my nightstand. “Hello.”
“Sam? You sound breathless.”
“Linda?” Cripes, what timing! I wished I hadn’t answered the stupid phone! And just what did the PTA president want? My volunteering days were over. I immediately started making a mental list of excuses, then jumped a foot when I felt Gabe slide his arms around my naked waist.
In my ear, Linda said, “I just wondered what was going on with Angel? I heard she was missing, then she’s back. And she looked sort of mad at the casino over the weekend. Is she all right?”
What? Did she say something about Angel? It was hard to concentrate. Gabe undid the snap of my jeans. I heard the hiss of the zipper sliding down. Then he tugged the jeans down my hips.
“Sam?”
Linda! On the phone. About Angel. “Angel’s fine, Linda.” The cool air hit my naked butt. I started babbling. “She was just away on business. And you know how it is, since Angel and Hugh are divorced, they don’t like talking about each other.” My jeans and panties were pooled at my ankles. Gabe leaned around me. I could feel his heated skin, and his engorged penis pressing into me. He was naked. He slid one hand into the cup of my bra and the other hand between my legs. “Linda, I have to—”
She cut me off. “I’m glad Angel’s all right. Uh, Sam, you know the Harvest Festival is coming up at the school. What booth can I put you down for?”
“Harvest Festival?” I didn’t even know what I was saying. My entire being focused in on the feel of Gabe’s body behind me. The touch of his lips on the back of my neck. My breasts pulling tight as he teased my nipples. And lower, where he parted me and stroked me, making me wet and ready to beg. He brought me to the edge. He slid a finger inside of me, lifted his mouth off my neck to whisper into my ear, “Hang up.”
I said into the phone, “What? Linda, you are breaking up. I can’t h—” I hung up and tried to turn.
He held me in place. “I want you like this. Now. Like I saw you over the car.”
I should have felt awkward, but I didn’t. Not with Gabe. He took his hands from pleasuring me to take hold of my hands and put them on the nightstand.
He slid into me, filling up the ache he created.
The phone rang.
I didn’t care. I rocked back against Gabe, ripping a groan from him. He reacted by grabbing my hips and thrusting into me. The thing between us, the heat, the needs, grew and stoked the flames into a firestorm. I lost track of everything but the two of us. “Gabe . . .”
He leaned over me, surrounding me, and slid his hand down my belly to touch me into an orgasm. “Mine, Sam.” His words were as deep and consuming as the orgasm that followed them.
5
I came out of the bathroom to find Gabe on his cell phone. “I’m on my way, Dee.” He ended the call.
Die, Dee, Die. I was more raw than usual where Gabe was concerned. Sex with Gabe forced up the feelings I struggled to control. There were a couple of reasons I hadn’t committed to Gabe about getting my PI license. First, I loved Heart Mates. I wasn’t giving up my dating service.
The incredible thing was that Gabe understood that. Even more incredible, he believed I could do it all, have Heart Mates and get my PI license. He knew that getting my license would represent a kind of power that I’d never had in my life—the power to try to find out who my biological dad was, for instance.
The second reason I couldn’t commit was that the lines between our lives keep blurring, and that scared the hell out of me. I had worked so hard to grow into a strong woman; what if I relied on him too much?
What if he left me?
If Gabe left me that day, I’d be OK. It would hurt, but I’d survive it. But—
Stop it. He had accepted my nonanswer about working with him, and moved on. Hadn’t I just heard him planning to meet Dee to chase a cheater? He wasn’t worrying over his feelings for me.
It was just sex.
Shutting down my thoughts, I went to my purse and the clothes that I had dropped on the floor and gathered them up. “I have to go, too. See you whenever you’re done.” I stood and walked purposefully out my bedroom door. I had a life, too, and it was time to get on with it.
I got halfway down the hallway when Gabe caught one of my shoulders, turning me to face him. He fixed his dark eyes on me. “When I’m done with this case, I’m going to find you and drag you to my house, into my room, and handcuff you to my bed. No more hit-and-run sex, babe.”
My mouth went dry. Sure, people say stuff like that. Gabe meant it. “You can’t—”
“Yes, I can. And in between making you scream, we’re going to talk.” He let go of me and reached into his front pocket. He came out with a silver key. “Here’s my house key.”
I blinked, trying to get the image of being at Gabe’s sexual mercy out of my head. “What am I supposed to do with this? Handcuff myself to your bed?”
“I could work with that.” He flashed a wicked grin. “But I was thinking that Angel might be in more trouble than you realize. If she needs a safe place while I’m gone, she can use my house. You know the alarm codes.” He kissed me and left.
I stood in the hallway with his house key in my hand. Handcuffs. He couldn’t be serious, but Gabe was . . . well . . . Gabe.
Thinking of handcuffs reminded me I had a sex-toy kit tucked away in my oversize purse.
Wonder what Gabe would do if he knew that.
Blaine and I worked for two solid hours moving furniture and cleaning at Heart Mates. Paint fumes aside, the place looked better. The pale cinnamon rag-painted design warmed up the office and hopefully would keep the customers’ eyes off the aforementioned wafer-thin steel gray carpet beneath their feet and the yellowed, water-stained ceiling tiles overhead.
It felt good to make some solid progress. Things were looking up. Angel was home safe. Heart Mates had a small but growing client list, and the open house would help spread our name.
Best of all, I had an interview with a potential client in one hour.
“Boss, I’ll go pick up some lunch.” Blaine finished putting the old folding chairs back in the reception area since Angel’s brown leather sofa was ruined. He looked up at me. “You might want to clean up and change before the new client comes in.”
I didn’t have to look at my dirt-stained T-shirt or jeans to agree. Even more depressing was h
ow tight my jeans felt. “I brought a change of clothes. Can you bring me a salad or something like that?” This time I did look down. “These jeans are kind of tight.”
Blaine headed around his desk to pick up the blue work shirt he’d left draped over his chair. Putting that on over his undershirt, he eyed me. “All your clothes are tight. I thought that was your intention.”
“Ha ha.” That probably came out a little sarcastic. “I don’t see you losing any weight.”
Blaine walked past me to the door and said, “Don’t have to. With all the money you are paying me, I can get all the women I want.” At the door he turned around. “OK if I take your T-bird?”
I went into my office and got my purse out of my desk. Walking back out to the reception area, I dug my keys out and tossed them to Blaine, along with the comment, “What’s the matter—that early 90s, primer-painted Hyundai not quite the chick magnet you thought it was?”
He snatched them out of the air. “I just didn’t want to spill anything in my car,” he said, and left.
I watched Blaine walk out the door and to my car. The truth was that Blaine took care of my fully restored classic T-bird. He could drive it anytime he wanted to. As a highly skilled mechanic, Blaine could work anywhere. He chose to stay with Heart Mates and me. We were a good team.
I hurried to the door of my office to get the clothes that I had hung there. I headed through the newly cleaned interview room, into the storage area that led to the alley. Turning on the overhead light, I spotted all the paint cans and supplies. I had to get rid of that stuff. Ignoring it for the moment, I turned right, into the cramped little bathroom.
A single glance in the mirror revealed bags under my eyes and dust on my face. Quickly, I stripped out of my jeans and T-shirt. I used a washcloth to get rid of most of the dust and grime before stepping into my short black skirt with the sheer flowered overlay. After that, I put on my white camisole, then the sheer white, sleeveless romantic shirt.
So far, so good.
I put my purse on the closed toilet, moved aside the velvet box holding the sample sex-toy kit, and found my makeup bag. Lots of concealer, then a little color, to make me look alive. Not much I could do with my frizzy hair. But hey, that natural wave added to the romance of my outfit.
And the shoes! Cool shoes always made me feel better. These were ultracool knockoffs, with wedge platforms and romantic lace straps that tied around my ankles.
I didn’t have a full-length mirror, so I put my purse on the ground and stepped up on the closed lid of the toilet. An act of supreme balance in four-inch wedge heels!
The woman in the medicine cabinet mirror wasn’t bad. Maybe a little thick in the thighs, but the wedge shoes helped.
Not bad for a dating expert and mother of two!
“Hello? Anyone here?” A deep voice called out.
Startled, I jerked and lost my balance. Teetering on top of the toilet, I grabbed the shelf over the toilet with my right hand.
For a second, everything sort of stopped. I thought I was OK.
Then the shelf pulled out of the wall.
I overbalanced and the shelf flew out of my hand.
“Oh!” I fell and slammed my left thigh into the counter. “Ouch! Shit!”
The shelf clattered to the floor, spilling toilet paper rolls, a can of air freshener, and a bottle of hand soap.
I managed to grab the edges of the counter and slide my butt onto the two-inch space between the edge of the counter and the sink. My heart pounded from that panicked falling feeling. I was OK, even though it felt like a sledgehammer had hit my left thigh.
I took a second to catch my breath and—
The bathroom door burst open.
I screamed.
“It’s OK, ma’am, I’m a fireman.”
Huh? A fireman? I swung my legs around to see who was breaking into my bathroom. My legs stopped, but one shoe flew off my foot and slammed into the intruder’s forehead. All I saw was a pair of shocked green eyes before a large man sank to the ground.
The remaining shoe hung by the strap tied around my ankle. Guess I hadn’t tied the one that flew off my foot tight enough. I reached down, untied the shoe and tossed it to the ground. Then I slid off the counter and tested my weight on my legs. Yep, the left thigh hurt, but I could stand. So I stood there, staring down at the heap of man in my bathroom doorway.
Who was he? Why had he crashed into my bathroom? Should I call 911 while he was out on the floor? I wasn’t expecting anyone—
Cripes! The new client.
I definitely had a headache coming on.
“Boss? What the hell happened?” Blaine stood behind the unconscious man, holding a fast-food bag. He looked up at me.
“You know the appointment that was coming in today—did he say what his job happened to be?”
Blaine looked down at the unconscious man, who groaned and moved his hand to his forehead. Then Blaine answered, “Fireman.”
“Damn. I just knocked out our potential client. Guess I’d better call 911.”
I took a careful step over the body.
A hand grabbed my right calf. “Ma’am, don’t call 911. I’m OK.”
Those green eyes were looking up at me. “Good, you’re awake.” Really, I didn’t quite know what to say. My left thigh throbbed. I could almost feel the bruise forming. I glanced over at the bathroom door. It appeared fine. I figured he had just opened it with the knob rather than breaking it down. Looking back at the man on the floor, I had to admit that he had a nice set of shoulders to force open a door with.
Jeez. How did these things happen to me? Focus! I told myself. I had an injured almost-was-a-client on the floor of my bathroom. “Are you sure? How many fingers am I holding up?” I made a fist and stuck out my first two fingers.
He squinted, then grinned. “I think two. And I believe your panties are black lace.”
He was looking up my skirt! I yanked my calf from his hand, and then yelped as my left thigh reminded me of how I had hit the counter. I caught hold of Blaine’s thick arm and looked up into his face.
He was laughing!
“I can’t believe you are laughing!”
Blaine leaned over the prone fireman and set the food bag on the counter just inside the bathroom. Then he took hold of my arm. “You can’t blame the guy, boss. You were standing over him like Marilyn Monroe over a vent. A guy’s gonna look.”
At least I had clean panties on. They were from Angel’s lingerie line. Sort of like modified boxer shorts, very chic. But still, I hadn’t planned to model them for a potential client. Fixing my mom-stare on my face, I glared at the man on the floor. “Get up.”
He rolled up to his feet, then shook his head like a big shaggy dog. “What hit me?”
“My shoe.” The answer came out automatically, while I sized up this guy. He stood about five to seven inches taller than my five foot five; OK, maybe five foot four in bare feet. Still, the guy was tall, broad through the shoulders in his white-with-green-palm trees button-down shirt. The short sleeves revealed tanned muscular arms.
A closer look at his eyes revealed just enough yellowish brown to make their color hazel. His curly brown hair was tamed by a good cut and styling products.
What did this guy need a dating service for? I couldn’t believe my good luck. I could sell tickets for this guy’s dates!
Unless he took offense to me knocking him out cold with my shoe and refused to sign up. OK, time to turn on my businesswoman charm.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Samantha Shaw. I’m so sorry about this little incident.”
His hand enveloped mine in strong warmth. “A pleasure, Samantha. I’m Bob Lovett. Usually I get a lady’s name before I look up her skirt.”
His grin crinkled his eyes and made him appear like he didn’t take himself too seriously. “Do you always barge in to bathrooms like that?”
His smile widened, making his eyes crinkle. “Only when I hear a scream and swearing.” He let go of my
hand, leaned over and picked up my big purse, and—
Uh-oh.
“Here’s your purse, and uh . . . makeup kit?” He looked doubtfully at the blue velvet box in his hand.
Oh boy! My purse must have been knocked over and spilled out the sample sex-toy kit. Thank God it hadn’t broken open. While not exactly a makeup kit, it sure brought color to my cheeks. “Thanks.” I snatched the velvet box first, then took my purse. “Blaine, can you get Bob settled filling out the forms? I’ll be right back!” Without looking, I dashed into the interview room, hoping to make a clean break for my office and get rid of the sample sex-toy kit.
“Samantha!”
Damn. I turned and looked back at Bob. Now what?
He grinned. “Your shoes.” He held up my platform shoes.
Bob and I finished the interview in half an hour. He was new in town and worked a lot of hours as a fireman, so it was hard for him to find time to date. He had seen the flyer for the open house that I’d left at Smash Coffee and thought it would be fun to join the dating service. He signed the forms for Gabe to do a background check.
Blaine was taking some still shots for our albums while I ate my salad in my office. I’d had exactly two bites, when Angel walked in. She’d kept her black pants on but had changed her long-sleeved shirt for a light green see-through shirt over a darker green lacy camisole that came from her lingerie collection. “Where’s Blaine?”
I put down my fork. “He’s taking pictures of my newest client. A fireman!” I was so excited about Fireman Bob. “And you know what? He seems normal.”
Angel dropped into the chair across from my desk. “Cute?”
I reached down into my desk drawer and used two hands to heft out my purse. “Why?” Bob was going to be my most popular single male, as long as there really wasn’t anything wrong with him. I wondered if Gabe would dig up something horrible when he did the background check.
“Because if he’s cute, he’ll attract a lot of women to Heart Mates.”
Jennifer Apodaca - Samantha Shaw 04 - Batteries Required Page 6
