“I don’t have any big breakup stories. It was mostly a lot of dating. A couple of dumps by text, that sort of thing.”
“That’s something I’ve avoided,” Lauren chimed in. “There’s a distinct advantage to dating Wyoming men in their forties. They don’t text much. I am trying to introduce Jake to the joys of sexting, though. He’s at the firehouse quite a few evenings. Sometimes I need a little jerk material.” She nudged Veronica. “Maybe I’ll write to you to ask how I can convince him to do it. He’s worried he’ll send a text to one of his guys.”
Veronica nodded. “Now, that would be a good letter. Make sure he writes to me if that happens.”
“Dear Veronica,” Lauren intoned in a deep voice, “I’m the captain of a small-town fire department...”
Isabelle continued. “And I never thought something like this would happen to me.”
Veronica looked a little confused by the Penthouse reference, but she was the youngest of the group. Jill, on the other hand, guffawed and slapped the arm of her chair.
Lauren held up the fork she’d been using to spear fruit from her sangria. “We should all start sending Veronica fake letters asking for advice and see if she can ferret them out.”
“Please don’t,” Veronica said. “It’s hard enough to try to filter out the fictional ones.”
“How do you do it?” Lauren asked.
“Well, mostly I have to take them at face value. Because in all honesty, the ones I think are probably fake are often the ones that get the most follow-ups from real people. Sometimes from the letter-writers themselves, and sometimes from readers saying, ‘It meant a lot to know someone else has gone through this.’ People have crazy lives.”
Sophie shook her head. “Tell me about it. My mom disappeared when I was five, and that was just the start of that screwed-up story.”
The sangria was making Isabelle too sensitive. She knew it was. But she still reached out and wrapped her arm around Sophie. “I’m so sorry.”
She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for a little girl. To live without a mom, wondering if she’d just walked away from her family. She’d lost her own father like that but as an adult, and it had still been devastating. Isabelle couldn’t say that, so she swallowed her tears and said, “My mom died in a car crash when I was sixteen. With how hard that was, I can’t imagine being five and not even knowing what happened.”
Sophie squeezed her back. “I’m so sorry. As a teenage girl, that must have been awful.”
“It was. I missed her so much. We were a lot alike. Back then, anyway. And I needed her.”
Sophie hugged her hard and then pushed her away. “Shit, Isabelle, don’t make me cry.”
“You made me cry first.”
Jill stood up. “Nope. It is too early in the night to get maudlin. You women are supposed to be cheering me up. So let’s get off this subject and party. Turn up the music. I’ll get the pie.”
CHAPTER TEN
TOM SHRUGGED ON his coat as his breath turned into a cloud in the cold. The temperatures were dropping like crazy tonight. Mary’s boots squeaked against the dry snow. “They’re starting to wrap up,” he said, tipping his head toward the cabin porch.
“Thank God. I’m ready for bed.”
“If you want to walk Jill home, I can drive Veronica back and then swing by and pick you up. Jill can come back for her car tomorrow.”
Mary’s scornful look said it all. “Why would I want to walk Jill home?”
He shrugged. “Fine. I wanted you to meet her. She’s kick-ass and single.”
“From what I heard from the porch, she’s on the rebound.”
“We’re not in our twenties anymore, Mary. You’re capable of negotiating a rebound.”
She rolled her eyes. “I tell you what. We’ll both drive Veronica home and drop Jill off on the way.”
“Right,” he said. “Okay.” But he didn’t move.
“Or you could stay here and chitchat with Isabelle and leave later. Isn’t that what you’re here for anyway?”
Yes. It was. Beyond that, he liked listening to her talk with her friends. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t want to leave just because Jill and Veronica were dead tired. It was only ten thirty. “Deal. I’d rather walk anyway. It clears my head.”
“Mmm-hmm. Just be careful, Tom.”
He met her eyes and nodded. He’d be careful. He had to be. “Call me if anything comes up.”
He walked Jill down the stairs and promised to load all the plates and pans into her car for the morning. “I could just drive it over now,” he offered for the second time, but she shook her head.
“I’ve had that car for twenty years. I won’t have some man sliding it off into the trees for me. You’re no mountain man, Tom. It’ll wait until morning.”
“I’m seriously offended.”
“I don’t care.”
He helped Veronica into the front seat and waved them away. Tom should be heading back to answer emails. He knew that. But Isabelle had loosened up enough to mention her mother. And there was no mistaking her Chicago accent at this point. It wasn’t strong, but it was definitely there.
If he got her to talk for a few more minutes, maybe this would no longer be sneaking around. Maybe she’d just tell him, and then he could forget his suspicions and concentrate on her.
The living room was empty when he walked back in, but he could hear the women talking in one of the bedrooms. Tom started picking up dishes and carrying them to the kitchen to load into the dishwasher. Their laughter echoed down the hallway and made him smile as he took off his gun and set it on the counter.
So her mother had died in a car crash twenty years before. He felt like shit for being thankful for a detail that would be easy to research. He should just be feeling sorry for Isabelle. Sympathetic. He shouldn’t be sitting here waiting to mine her for more details.
He should let this go. Or let her go. One or the other.
But then she walked into the kitchen, wide mouth smiling, and he couldn’t do either.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He rinsed off a plate and slid it into the dishwasher rack. “Getting ready to leave.”
“By washing dishes? You are fucking dreamy, you know that?” She leaned against the counter and looked him up and down. “And you look good with your crisp little dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves.”
She was going to make him blush again. Tom cleared his throat and grabbed a serving tray. “Thanks.”
“I like your hands.”
He washed those hands and dried them off, trying to buy a little relief from the heat in his face. “Where are your friends?”
“In bed.”
“It’s not even eleven.”
“I know! Can you believe it? Lightweights. You want a drink now? I think you’ve earned it.”
He glanced at the last pitcher. “It was a pretty trying night.”
She pulled a clean glass from the cupboard. “The first girls’ night isn’t easy for anyone. It’s a lot to take in.”
He laughed and poured himself a glass then refilled hers when she held it out. When she walked toward the living room, he followed. “I have to admit, it was a lot more fun than any night out with the guys. I’m not sure my brain will recover from all the new things I learned, though. You girls are filthy. Like, really filthy.”
“I know. It’s because we have to save it up. We can’t be honest about stuff in front of men because so many of them are creeps. When it’s just us and we don’t have to be on guard against men bothering us... God. It’s so much fun.”
“Should I be insulted that I don’t count as a man?”
“No.” She dropped onto the couch and patted the seat beside her. “You should be flattered that all of us felt comfortable around you.”
He smiled. “I honestly am. I deal with a lot of creeps. I’m thrilled not to be counted among them.”
“So you won’t use anything I said tonight against
me?”
Tom felt punched in the gut. He couldn’t even hide the way her words went through him, so he had no choice but to roll with it. “I overheard what you said about your mother. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her drink for a few seconds before she looked at him again. “That was a long time ago.”
“I know, but—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
All right. That was as clear as it got. “You’d rather talk about the roofer?”
She giggled and covered her eyes. “You heard that?”
“I tried not to.”
She laughed, looking only the tiniest bit chagrined. “It was a long time ago,” she said. Then added, “Too long.”
His heart skipped at that, partly because of her implication and partly because she was looking him dead in the eyes when she said it. “You were out all night this weekend,” he said carefully.
“At Lauren’s,” she returned. “What about you? Do you and Mary still have a thing going?”
“Mary?” He felt his eyes go comically wide but couldn’t stop them.
“She didn’t seem pleased that you and I were friendly.”
“Mary and I have never had a thing. And there are no feelings on either side, I promise.”
“Okay.” Isabelle’s gaze drifted down to his mouth. “Maybe she was just being protective, then.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But she was irritated earlier. She thought I chose her for this assignment because it was a girls’ night.”
“Did you?”
He shook his head. She was still looking at his mouth, and he didn’t want to distract her. And now he was thinking about the painting. About the peaks of her dark nipples. The curve of her hips.
“I should go,” he said, meaning it. He should go. Yes. But her eyes flicked up to his, and she smiled. And God, that smile got him like it always did. Small and secret and downright mischievous.
“You should go,” she agreed, but she leaned a little closer. Her hand sneaked to his knee, his thigh. His nerves sent thousands of excited messages to his brain. “Go home and think about me.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said immediately, her fingers stroking up his thigh. “I want you to do that.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Her hand stroked higher, grazing over his hard cock. Tom had to bite back a groan. She made a sympathetic noise. “It feels like you’re completely capable.”
He had to stifle another groan when her fingers stroked down to his thigh again. “There’s no privacy there,” he explained, focusing his mind to see if he could make her do it again. Touch him again.
“And no privacy here,” she said sadly. She touched him again, finally. Yes. He wanted more. Her fingers stroked up, and his cock strained, trying to get closer.
He needed to leave. He needed to get up and walk away and not do this, not yet, but instead of doing the right thing, he eased back a little in the couch, hoping she’d keep touching him if he made it easier.
Her chuckle told him she’d noticed, and her hand told him she didn’t mind. She stroked up and down his cock. Slowly.
“Are you trying to drive me crazy again?” he asked past clenched teeth.
“No. I’m trying to touch your cock.”
All thoughts of leaving fled his mind. He reached for her as she dragged her nails over the thin fabric of his pants, tormenting him with a dull feeling that should have been much sharper.
He pulled her down to him, wanting her kiss, but refusing to give up her touch. She was laughing against his mouth again, just like the first time they’d kissed. He loved it. Loved that she was delighted by it all. He tasted her until she stopped laughing and gave him her mouth.
Her tongue slid against his as her hand tried to curl around his shaft. There were too many clothes in the way, but it felt good all the same. It felt even better when she stroked him again. But God, just imagining what it would feel like if she unfastened his pants and slid her hand in and touched his bare flesh... Now her touch was torture. He wanted to torture her, too.
Tom slid his hand along her bare shoulder then traced that necklace down just like he’d done earlier. But this time his fingers found the soft fabric of her shirt and he slipped his hand over the curve of her breast.
Isabelle arched into his hand, wanting more, just as much as he did. He slid his thumb over her nipple and she kissed him harder, so he did it again. He meant to torment her. Meant to give her just enough pleasure that she’d need more, more, but he only circled her nipple once with his thumb, and then he forgot his intent and slipped his hand underneath her bra.
Her skin was so hot, and her hard nipple so eager against his touch. He caught it between his fingers and stroked lightly at first, but she arched impatiently into him, so he tightened his hold, squeezing her until she moaned in pleasure and thrust her tongue deeper into his mouth.
He wanted to see her. Wanted to pull her shirt down and her bra off and see how dark and hard her nipples were for him. He wanted to taste her, lick her, bite her. But he couldn’t. Not here.
But maybe just a little.
He raised his head and angled his hand so that her clothing was pushed farther to the side, and he could watch as he rolled her between his fingers. And then she was right there, still leaning toward him, her fingers squeezing his cock now, squeezing harder, and he needed to taste her.
He ducked his head and closed his mouth over her nipple.
“Oh, fuck,” she gasped.
When he sucked, her hand gave up its hold on him and went to his head to pull him tighter to her. Now he was the one chuckling, feeling pure joy at the soft sounds that vibrated through her throat as he worked her nipple with his tongue. But he still wrapped his fingers into hers and moved her hand back down to his cock.
“Yes,” she said, stroking him again, her left hand still clutching his head. “Yes,” she gasped when he pressed his teeth into her.
Her fingers fumbled, leaving him for a moment, and then he realized she was sliding his zipper down.
Oh, God. He needed that so much. Their current state of undress was nothing a quick flick of his hand couldn’t correct, but if it proceeded any further, they wouldn’t have time to recover at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Her hand would feel so good, though. Squeezing him. Pumping him. And they probably wouldn’t get caught. Unless one of her friends needed to use the bathroom. Or wanted a drink of water. Or remembered she’d left her purse by the table.
Isabelle’s fingertips slid along his open zipper, stroking him through just his underwear now. His hips pushed toward the feeling. She hummed her pleasure. His cock throbbed.
And Tom did the impossible. He took her hand off his dick and raised it back up to his neck.
“Tom,” she whispered.
“We can’t,” he growled against her wet nipple. “Not here.”
“My bedroom,” she urged.
That hadn’t been what he’d meant. He’d meant not here in her house tonight, with people only a few feet away, but now that she’d mentioned her bedroom, it seemed absurd to say no. Cruel and stupid and absurd.
He shook his head, but then he sat back and got a look at her, and she was stunning. Eyes dark with lust. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted to let her breath free. And her top pushed to one side to expose part of one breast, her nipple wet and tight and wanting.
“Your bedroom,” he said, and he was lost.
* * *
ISABELLE LIKED THE way he looked when he was aroused. There was none of the helpful law-enforcement officer left in his expression. He looked dangerous and beautiful.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said as she hit the button lock on her bedroom door. But when she whipped her top off, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
“We’ll be quiet,” she assured him.
He nodded, but still looked a little troubled as he reached the third button. S
he stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Even though the motion seemed to pain him, he nodded and dropped his hands. Silly boy. He thought she was telling him to stop, but she only wanted to do it herself.
His lips parted when she reached for the next button of his shirt, as if he meant to say something, but his objection died when she slipped the button free and smoothed her hands down to the next one. He stayed silent and watched as she tugged the tail of his shirt from his pants and finished unbuttoning.
His flat stomach was the first thing she saw when she parted the cotton. Then the sprinkling of hair over his chest. Then the muscles of his pecs and his flat nipples, and oh, she wanted to touch all of it. She pushed the shirt all the way down his arms and pressed her mouth to his shoulder.
She tasted his skin, licked it, put her teeth to the taut muscle. His hands were at her back, and she felt her bra loosen and let it fall to the floor.
Not bothering to turn off the light, she backed toward the bed, pulling him along with her. She wanted to see him. Wanted to be seen. No hiding behind darkness tonight. If she had to be quiet, she didn’t want to be blind.
Under her fingers, his belt slipped free with a satisfying sound. His hands hovered for a minute, as if he were unused to giving up control, but in the end, he stood with his hands at his sides, letting her undress him. Watching. So she took her time, smoothing her hands down his belly, feeling the muscles jump at her touch.
She sat down on her bed, and now her mouth was even with his navel. She kissed his stomach, letting him feel the heat of her tongue as she reached for the button of his pants.
When she inhaled, the scent of his skin filled her. It was all she could taste and smell. She liked being filled with him, so she breathed in again and lowered the zipper he’d so hurriedly pulled up only minutes before. She tugged down his briefs, and then he was free. And big. And hard. Now the scent of him was stronger, and her mouth watered, some animal part of her let loose as sure as she’d freed his cock.
When she wrapped her fist around him, he grunted as if he were shocked. And God, he felt nice. Thick and solid. His skin sliding over his shaft as she stroked him. She wanted that inside her. Needed it.
Flirting with Disaster & Fanning the Flames Page 11
