by Cari Quinn
They ate in silence during the walk, their gait slow and easy. The sun would be setting in not too long, and already its last rays glinted along the tops of buildings. Tonight’s view would be spectacular. A shiver went through her. The company would make it even better.
“Cold?” He pulled her closer. “Where’s your jacket?”
With Sawyer’s rangy body tucked against hers, she barely felt the wind that shook the partially bare tree limbs above them. “I hoped you might be open to keeping me warm,” she said, immediately chastising herself. Did that sound flirty or desperate?
“How about hot? ’Cause I’m halfway there.”
Okay, must be flirty, since his molten gaze definitely sent a message of his own. “Only halfway? I’m slipping.”
She finished off her bagel and lifted her fingers to her lips, but he grabbed her hand and drew her cream-cheesy fingers into his mouth. The memory of the last time he’d done that caused another shiver, and this time she didn’t even try to fight it.
“Strawberry tastes good on you.”
Though she tried to speak while he sucked lightly, nothing came out. Except maybe, “unh,” which made him laugh.
God, she’d missed his laugh.
They walked faster as the Manhattan skyline came into view. The view of the weakening rays of the sun bouncing off the high-rises never failed to quicken her breath, especially when the East River rippled from the breeze. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, reverent, as they found a space to stand by the black railing closest to the water.
“You’re beautiful.”
She pushed her wayward hair out of her eyes—so much for her hasty braid—and glanced up at Sawyer. His focus was squarely on her face. He knew just how to look at her to make her feel weak all over, except the places where her pulse thundered from his gaze. In her chest. Between her legs.
He brushed his fingers over her cheek, and she didn’t even care that they were sticky from the cream cheese. Everything inside her yearned toward him, pulled by an inexorable force. How could she slide slowly into this, when all she wanted was to dive in headfirst?
“I’ve missed you.” She wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. “So much.”
“Not as much as I missed you.”
“I think we could debate that.”
“Lots of things we could debate.”
“Like why you think I should be your agent?” she teased.
He didn’t rise to the challenge. Instead he shook his head. “You’re the only one I want.”
She tilted her head and hoped her misty eyes didn’t give her away. “You’re going to have to buy Con a bottle of really good champagne, you know.”
“I’ll buy him a damn magnum of Cristal if it means I get you.” He tugged her in front of him at the rail and set his chin on her hair. Instead of holding her waist as she expected, he slid his arms under hers and gripped her shoulders, restraining her in a subtle show of dominance she once wouldn’t have expected from him.
Now she knew better.
He could give her his sweet side, or he could tie her up and hold her down. The playful and the intense seemed to come together with Sawyer, and she craved them both.
They stood just like that, not speaking, while the sun lowered in the sky and people bustled around them. Traffic passed beneath them on the BQE, and conversations rose and fell. The wind whipped leaves around their ankles, but she felt cocooned in his warmth. Tonight he smelled of motor oil and strawberry cream cheese, a strangely erotic combination. She loved that he never smelled the same twice. It made her wonder how he’d spent his day, and all the days since they’d been together last.
The buildings turned from gleaming silver to shimmering bronze. The Chrysler Building twinkled in the twilight, a gem among the spears that reached for the sky. Cool air drifted over her skin, but she was as toasty as if she’d never known cold before. As if she’d never be cold again.
“Sun’s almost gone,” he said against her temple.
“It is.”
“That’s how it’s been for me since you’ve been out of my life. I breathed and walked and talked, but everything was gray.” He brushed his lips over her hair. “Then I heard your voice on the phone and saw you coming toward me up the street, and all the color returned.”
She shut her eyes and sealed this moment in her mind. So much for taking their time. The crazy feelings spinning inside her, the ones she saw reflected back when she gazed into his eyes, demanded they move quickly. Even if she was scared. Even if the timing could’ve been better. She’d just left one relationship, and the last thing she wanted to do was jump into another. But none of those concerns seemed valid when she considered how right it felt in his arms.
“It’s never been just us before. How do you know how we’ll be now? When there’s no Aidan between us and nothing standing in our way?”
He turned her and cupped her face in his hands. “I know,” he said, voice thick.
Those two words might as well have a torch set directly to the millions of nerve endings in her already overtaxed body. “How can you be so certain?”
His exhale gusted over her mouth and made her wish he’d kissed her. Soon. God, it had to be soon. “Let me prove to you exactly how amazing we are together.”
“It’s just so fast,” she said, certain she was facing a losing battle. She wanted him too much. And her excuses were just that. If she managed to hold him off now—and herself—it was only a matter of time.
“I know, baby.” He tugged on the end of her braid. “If you need space, I’ll give it to you. Whatever it takes.”
The compassion in his expression confirmed that he did get it. He wasn’t just spouting platitudes. But he also knew, just as she did, that there could be no backing away from something so strong. His certainty quelled her anxiety and fanned the excitement already leaping in her belly.
If he was wrong, if the magic wasn’t there any longer without Aidan’s dominating presence driving them together, then at least she would know. They could both move on.
And if it was… Nothing would ever be the same again. For either of them.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Come with me,” she murmured.
Chapter Thirteen
“So what do you think so far?” Layla’s tone conveyed her nervousness as they walked down the hall to her apartment.
“I like the building.”
“It’s not like the townhouse in Park Slope, but I like it. It’s right in the middle of everything, and Con’s upstairs if I need him. There’s something wrong with the window in the kitchen, and he’s going to come fix it. No need to wait for the super.”
Sawyer swung their linked hands between them in an effort to get her to relax. Or was she nervous for other reasons? Like the one that had made them book back to her place from the Promenade as if their asses—or other things—were on fire. “He owns this building?”
“Yeah.” She flashed him a smile. “Handy thi—”
She broke off so suddenly that he followed her gaze down the hall. Aidan stood next to a wicker plant stand, his posture rigid. Before he could stop himself, Sawyer clutched her hand.
Suave. Next he’d be dragging her under his arm and putting a Mine sign on her forehead.
“It’s okay,” she said under her breath before she lifted her other hand in a wave. “Hey. You brought it.”
“I did. You’ll need more plants.” Aidan gave Sawyer what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Sawyer. It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” Sawyer shook Aidan’s extended hand and then looked at Layla, wondering if he should give them a moment alone.
As if she could read his mind, she almost imperceptibly shook her head and turned her smile on Aidan. “You know me and plants. Not hard for me to collect them.”
“True enough,” Aidan agreed as she fumbled out the key and unlocked her door. She led them inside and flipped on the lights, illuminating a surprisingly roomy studio
that already had touches of Layla throughout. Jewel-toned pillows, a long oval mirror on a stand, a love seat in a soothing green print. Her grapefruit fragrance carried across the threshold, mixed with what might’ve been candle smoke and vanilla, judging from the trio of votives on the coffee table. All scents of the woman he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside.
“I’ll just leave this here,” Aidan said, setting the plant stand just inside the door. “You can put it wherever you want.”
“Thanks.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Layla leaned out into the hall and nearly bumped her head into Con’s chest. “Oops.”
“Yeah, oops. You have a tendency toward running into me, Red.”
“I’m habitually clumsy. What can I say?” She peered up at him, not seeming to notice that Con’s attention had centered on her ex-fiancé. “You’re here to fix the window?”
“Not here to do laundry. You gonna introduce me to your guest, or what?”
“Sure.” She moved back and affixed a smile to her face as she gestured between Aidan and Con. “Aidan McMurray, Con Becker.”
“Nice to meet you,” Aidan said, offering a hand. Amazing his wrist didn’t droop from that shiny Rolex around it, Sawyer mused.
Con shook his hand and cocked his head as if fascinated by Aidan’s long wool coat and stiffly creased charcoal pants. “Same here. I’ve heard lots about you. You definitely clean up like a doc.”
“I’m no longer working as a doctor. Now I teach.”
“Ah, dealing with the great unwashed masses in higher education. I salute you.”
Aidan’s lips quirked. “That’s me. Always working for the greater good. As do you, I’ve heard.”
Con grinned. “A different sort of good, but yes.”
Con glanced back at Sawyer and did a double take as if noticing him for the first time. He’d seemed entirely preoccupied by Aidan, which Sawyer supposed wasn’t unusual. Aidan made an imposing figure with his assessing eyes and impervious expression.
An expression that softened when he looked at Layla. And, interestingly enough, when he’d made eye contact with Con.
“Sawyer Blake,” Con drawled. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Since when are you southern?” Sawyer asked with a grin and a quick fist bump.
“Since I was Georgia born and bred.” He grinned back. “It slips out at strange times.”
“Georgia’s a beautiful place,” Aidan offered. “Layla and I have family there.” Catching himself, he cleared his throat. “She has family there.”
The easy mood in the room vanished.
“I should be going.” Aidan stepped around them. He brushed a kiss over Layla’s forehead and aimed a pointed look at Sawyer. “Take care of her.”
“Shush.” Layla lightly shoved Aidan away. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Sawyer waited for the usual jealousy to seize him, especially since Aidan and Layla were clearly so close. It didn’t happen.
“Or the next day.” Aidan grinned at her and again shook Sawyer’s hand. “See you, Sawyer. Con,” he added over his shoulder.
“What? I don’t get the obligatory good-bye handshake?”
Though Con’s eyes twinkled, Sawyer didn’t miss the subtle energy that seemed to pass between the two men as Aidan took Con up on his offer. The handshake was as quick as the first, but something was there.
Sawyer quirked a brow at Layla, but she was fiddling with her new plant stand. Hmm.
“Have a good night, all.”
After Aidan left, Layla led Con toward the kitchen doorway. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Sawyer.
He sat on the love seat and stretched out his legs. “Take your time.”
Layla’s and Con’s voices carried from the small kitchen off the living room, Layla’s pitched higher than normal. Had she noticed the vibe between Aidan and Con? Or was his imagination overactive as usual?
They returned within a few minutes. Con flashed a triumphant grin, and Layla still looked über cheerful. Almost unnaturally so. “All fixed,” he said to Sawyer on his way to the door.
“He’s a genius,” she proclaimed.
“All in a day’s work. Speaking of work”—Con turned a beady eye on Sawyer—“you gone AWOL permanently?”
“About that,” Layla began, but Sawyer held up a hand.
“My mess. I’ll clean it up.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs. “I signed with Layla, Con. Hope that won’t make things awkward.”
“For me? No. Welcome to the agency.” More smiles and handshakes. Then Con looked between them. “For you two? Maybe. But that’s your lawsuit, not mine.”
“There won’t be any lawsuits, Con. We’re cool.”
“Sure you are.” Con grinned.
She swallowed hard. “You don’t have a problem with our conflict of interest?”
“If Sawyer doesn’t, then I don’t.”
“We’ll be fine,” Sawyer replied, holding Layla’s gaze until her cheeks pinkened.
“Yeah,” she echoed. “I think we will be.”
“Good enough for me.” Con shrugged at her incredulous expression. “Drew suggested, strongly, that I untie my panty strings a bit. So I’m listening.”
“Thank you for trusting me, Con,” she murmured.
Con nodded. “Think this is my cue to go,” he added as the silence extended. “Have a nice night, kids. Congrats again, Sawyer. And you too, Layla.”
“Thanks. And thank you for the window.” She shut the door behind Con and sagged against the wall. “I thought they’d never leave.”
Sawyer laughed, but he didn’t move. Just looking at her gave him so much pleasure he wasn’t in any hurry, despite the insistent pressure below his waist. The mere possibility of being with her again had prodded his dick to life. He hoped that never changed.
She walked toward him, her coy stare making his balls clench. Lifting her arms, she went to work on her braid, separating thick hunks of red curls that fell around her shoulders. She set aside her elastic and picked up the long matches on the coffee table. The rasp of the match against the box roused the hair on the back of his neck, and he nearly shuddered.
Watching him, she touched the flame to each of the candles, then blew it out with a whoosh of breath. A moment later, she plunged the room into darkness, save the dancing candlelight.
As she approached him again, he glimpsed white satiny skin and the dark red lace of her bra and panties. How had she undressed so fast? Then even that was gone, and she pushed him back against the cushions and slanted her lips over his.
He groaned, already lost. It had been so long since she’d been in his arms. He’d tried to convince himself he was getting over her. That maybe one day he wouldn’t see her every time he closed his eyes. Something that had started so quickly couldn’t last for keeps. Then she’d walked back into his world and made him a liar. Or a self-deluder, which was probably worse.
Layla was the heartbeat in his chest, the breath in his lungs. She held not only her life but his in her hands, and she could wreck him so easily.
Especially when she was wrapped around him, as she was now. She explored every crevice of his mouth while she coasted her hands up his torso, taking his shirt with her as she went. “Get naked,” she breathed, reminding him of their first night together all over again.
But tonight, she was his and his alone.
GOD, HE MADE her want.
In the candlelight, she surveyed his body, tight and rippled with all those fascinating dips and shadows. She traced his ribs and his stomach muscles with reverent fingertips while they kissed. He followed her when she eased back, as if he couldn’t bear to part their lips even long enough for her to take off his shoes and socks and undo his jeans. She lingered on the task, smoothing her hands over each patch of his revealed skin. Instead of reaching inside his boxers for the hard reward waiting for her, she drew his underwear down his legs and added it to the pile.
“You’r
e not killing me.”
His gasp made her cock a quizzical brow. “Huh?”
“You may”—he hissed a breath as she scraped her nails up his inner thighs—“maim me a bit, but you won’t get off so easily.”
She grinned. “Oh, I so hope not.”
When he was naked, she climbed up his long, languid body and went to work on his neck, nuzzling and sucking while he filled his palms with her breasts. His thumbs rubbed her nipples, harder and harder until she had to stop to gasp.
“Someday I’m gonna fuck these,” he said, almost to himself, as he lowered his head to one dark pink tip and pulled.
She cried out at the twinge that registered deep in her pussy. Cried out again when he repeated it on her other one and drove a questing finger into her, forgoing her clit entirely to sink in deep. She clenched him inside and buried her hand in his hair, directing his movements as he pleasured her breasts. Not that he needed her help. He had the whole teeth, tongue, suction routine down pat.
Her clit was throbbing before he caressed the swollen nub. He gave it short, focused strokes, the kind designed to make her come fast. When he bit down on her nipple, she abandoned his neck completely in favor of chasing her release. Selfish, maybe, but she’d make it up to him later.
As was his way, he prodded her to the brink of orgasm, sucking and finger-fucking her until she couldn’t even breathe without moaning. Then he drew away and encircled one of her achy breasts. She jolted at the wet trail he left on her puckered areola. Shuddered at the pinch of his fingers and the light stream of air he blew over her skin.
“Do you ever think of me when you touch yourself?” His hypnotic voice barely reached her over the buzz in her ears. “Ever pretend it’s my tongue on you?”
She didn’t answer as he trailed kisses down her chest. He’d bent her backward over his lap, and she was quivering putty in his hands. Hands he used like erotic rolling pins, driving them up her body while she gripped his knees behind her and arched into his touch. She registered the pressure on her clit, the heat of his sac as he rubbed against her, but she only whimpered and widened her thighs.
