This Changes Everything

by Gretchen Galway

  “I’ll give you Bella’s number,” Hugo said. “Let her know whenever you’re settled, and she’ll bring him by.”

  Trixie threw her arms around Cleo. “Thank you. I was going to invite you both to breakfast, but I think you’d rather get back into bed. To sleep this time.” She released Cleo, pinched Sly’s cheek, and returned to Hugo’s side.

  Dragging Trixie with him, Hugo shook their hands and thanked them a few more times. “Viva Las Vegas,” he said finally, offering a lopsided grin, and soon they were climbing into the rental car, then smiling out the window as they drove away.

  “Congratulations!” Cleo shouted, waving at the taillights. Too bad they hadn’t had time to put on any streamers. She waved again. What a crazy weekend.

  Sly put an arm around her shoulders and turned her around. “Our ride’s here too.”

  They climbed into a taxi, and Cleo removed a piece of stiff paper from her pocket that was digging into her thigh. Reminded of what it was, she smiled and started to put it into her purse.

  “What’s that?” Sly asked.

  Cleo waved the postcard. “It’s Elvis’s card. He was really good. Much better than I expected.”

  “You took his card? For the wedding chapel?”

  “I didn’t want to forget his name.”

  “Just in case you needed an Elvis impersonator to marry you?”

  “You never know,” she said with a laugh. When he didn’t join in, her humor drained out of her. “What’s the matter?”

  He looked away and traced the door handle with a long, lean index finger. Reminded of last night, sexual awareness shivered through her.

  “They’re really married,” he said. “Now we’re the ones who have to face the music while they avoid reality for a week.”

  “No problem. I’m a musician,” she said, smiling again. “I love facing music.”

  “It might be OK for you—you’re not close to any of them. I’ve got my parents and sisters and cousins to answer to, not to mention Mark and her other kids.”

  “Then I’ll stay there by myself. I’m the one who volunteered.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, then put a hand on her thigh. Another shiver rippled over her. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” he said, drawing a circle on her flesh with his thumb. Finally a smile curved the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything more.

  “I didn’t expect you to give up a week of your life for Trixie’s dogs,” she said.

  “I’m not.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’m giving it up for you.”

  Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch, trying not to think about anything but how wonderful the tip of his nose felt against her pulse point. Nothing was the same and the future was unknown, but they couldn’t figure everything out now.

  When they got to the hotel, Sly began taking off her clothes as soon as the door closed behind them. But when they fell onto the bed, the feel of the expensive sheets against her bare skin reminded her of how tired she was, of how little sleep she’d had the night before, and she yawned like a cat. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not up for anything right now. I need to sleep for a little bit.”

  Kissing her neck, he ran a hand down her belly and stroked her inner thighs. “Your skin is so soft. I had no idea skin could be so soft.”

  His matter-of-fact tone sent shivers down her spine. “Really, Sly, I’m warning you. I’m too tired to do anything but just lie here.”

  She felt his hand capture her breast. Intense pleasure-pain struck her as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. After a long moment, he lifted his head and murmured, “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  Her body melted under him, tingling and limp, apparently more than happy to passively accept his attentions.

  “Guess there are some advantages to sleeping with a workaholic,” she said sleepily.

  “Glad you’re finally catching on.” He grabbed her hips and abruptly rolled her over.

  Jolted by his strength—she wasn’t easily flipped—she lifted her head. “What are you—?”

  Climbing on top of her, he brushed her hair aside and nibbled on her ear. “I noticed you like to sleep on your stomach,” he said in a low voice. His erection brushed her back, then her exposed bottom.

  “I’m not sure I’m up for—”

  “I’m up so you don’t have to be.” He reached between her legs and stroked her wet heat. “But this might feel better. Lift your hips.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Pillow.” His teeth gently bit down on her earlobe. Then he spanked her ass. “Up.”

  “Sly—”

  Somehow he hooked an arm under her and lifted her hips off the bed a few inches. Warming to the idea—burning up, actually—she braced her weight on her forearms and arched her back, high enough for him to shove a pillow beneath her pelvis. “Up,” she said.

  He stroked her bottom with large, strong hands. “God, Cleo,” he said, his voice strained. “Your ass is unbelievable.”

  She’d thought the same thing for years, but not quite with the same admiration. “Shopping for jeans is a bitch.”

  He slid his erection between the cleft of her bottom, each of his hands caressing the flesh to either side. Then he moved one hand around her hips and lifted her again while the other slipped between her legs and spread her apart. He entered her with a single thrust.

  She let out a strangled groan. The sensation of him filling her was more intense than the night before, so intense she wasn’t sure she could take all of him. He drew back slowly, then thrust again. Deep inside, her body began to sing, ache, and beg for more.

  She was wide-awake now.

  His weight came down on her, pressing what little air she had left out of her lungs. In spite of being pinned beneath his body, she was able to tilt her hips up to meet him in a position that gave her the most pleasure. Almost too much pleasure. It was almost too much. She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “You’re so sexy,” he said, his lips against her temple. “I want you, Cleo. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  She arched her back, inviting him deeper. “Take me, take me,” she gasped.

  “Oh, I will.” He pushed into her. “You’re mine, Cleo. Mine.”

  “God,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

  “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” He slipped his hand beneath her and found the small, hard center of her desire. His voice fell. “Aren’t you?”

  Words failed her. Openmouthed, she clung to the mattress and let go of her mind.

  “Aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, barely able to make a sound.

  He pressed into her from below and behind, and the tightness exploded. She closed her eyes and cried out as the current rippled through her.

  He pounded into her, going deep, hard, fast. Then, with a shout, he shuddered into her, his fingers never letting her go.

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  They slept until they had to pack, check out of both rooms, and go to the airport. There, waiting at the gate for their flight, she lost all her winnings from the day before in the slots. She didn’t care. The shimmering sexual afterglow prevented her from minding anything. And a budding hope for a future she’d never let herself think about. Her and Sly. Not just one night, not just one weekend, but from now on.

  Unwillingly, she wondered what a child of theirs might look like. Fair or dark, round or lean—it would be fun to find out.

  Fun. Sure. Just fun. Not heartbreakingly wonderful.

  They landed in San Francisco around seven thirty that night. Sly drove her to her apartment, then parked and escorted her upstairs to her door. For a moment, Cleo felt uncomfortable. They’d kissed on the plane and indulged in a little groping on the Bay Bridge, but they were entering familiar territory now. Her apartment, where they watched TV and teased each other about bad taste in beer.

  She unlocked her door and pushed it open
.

  “I can’t wait to make out on that couch with you,” Sly said. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Too bad we don’t have time tonight.”

  “Too bad.” He brushed his lips across her cheekbone. “Do you have Trixie’s keys?”

  She took them out of her purse.

  “You don’t have to stay there.” He grabbed the keys and held them against his chest. “Really, if you go back far enough, I’m the one who got you into this. I’ll do it.”

  “We’ll stay there together.” She tried to liberate the keys, but his grip was too strong.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I said I would. I like dogs. It’ll be fun.”

  He nibbled on her earlobe, inhaling deeply. “The nights will be, anyway.”

  “Only the nights?”

  In response, he traced her lips with his fingertip. “Every minute.”

  “Mmm,” she said, sighing.

  He shoved the keys into his pant pocket. “But I’ll get there first. It should be me who talks to Liam. Mark’s brother, next door. He can be difficult. He’s not going to be happy about his mother eloping with a moody veterinarian he’s never met.”

  “No, I should tell him. I’m a stranger. He can’t blame me.”

  With a quick kiss, he broke away and opened the front door. “By the time you get there, it’ll all be settled.” He grinned. “I’ll be waiting with bells on.”

  “But—”

  The door slammed shut. She opened it and saw the back of his dark, handsome head as he ran down the stairs.

  She smiled. The man was too accustomed to getting his own way.

  As she was emptying her suitcase and refreshing its contents for another journey, she reflected that she was grateful she wasn’t going to be the one to tell Trixie’s son about the quickie Vegas nuptials. Nice of Sly to insist.

  Dangerous feelings enveloped her like a warm blanket. She savored the sensation for a moment before digging out a scarlet-red silk nightgown from the depths of her dresser. She shoved it into the suitcase. Whatever their relationship was in the future, right now it was a sexual adventure. She should focus on that.

  It took her more time than she’d expected to load up her car. She had to bring her keyboard—pianos were nice, but they wouldn’t hook up to her laptop—and pack up the perishable items in the fridge. By the time she was parking next to Sly’s car in Trixie’s driveway in Oakland, it was almost eleven.

  She hated to leave her most valuable belongings in the car, but it was the hills, not the flats where she lived, and there probably weren’t robbers crouching in the rosemary.

  The porch light was on, and she heard yappy barking inside. Without ringing the bell, she opened the door and stuck her head in. “Honey, I’m home!”

  24

  Sly was filling the dogs’ water bowls in the kitchen when he heard Cleo arrive. The ugly dog, Zeus, who was only slightly larger than a football, kept trying to climb him like a tree. He lifted and carried him to the front door, surprised by the dog’s enthusiasm.

  “Welcome,” he said to Cleo. He bent over to kiss her but found Zeus’s tongue slipping into his mouth instead.

  She laughed as he sputtered. “Friendly little guy.”

  “A little too friendly.” He pushed Zeus into her arms and walked past her through the doorway. “Need help carrying stuff in?”

  “That would be great. How’d it go with Liam?”

  He smiled at her over his shoulder. “We dodged a bullet tonight. He wasn’t home. The dogs were with the nanny.”

  When the woman next door had told him Liam and Bev were out at the movies, Sly had almost kissed her. He was too tired to argue with Liam tonight.

  “I’m surprised they weren’t lying in wait for us,” Cleo said, joining him at the car. “To hear about how it all happened.” They carried the bags and keyboard into the house. The three little dogs began yapping again.

  “Maybe they don’t know,” he said.

  “But she must’ve told them.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Her blue eyes, no longer adorned with makeup, widened with alarm. “She must have. If just to explain why we’re moving into the house. Was the nanny surprised to see you?”

  “She seemed glad to get rid of the dogs. They kept eating the baby’s toys, she said.”

  Cleo looked down at the three animals. “They’re cute. I wonder where they sleep.”

  “Not with us.” He caught her hand and pulled her against him.

  “So, we’re really doing this then?”

  “You’d rather go home?”

  “No, I mean us.” She leaned away from him. “This.”

  He slid his hands down over her round bottom and stroked. His voice lowered to a growl. “I sure hope so.”

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  That night, the dogs expressed some anxiety with the new living arrangements. During the frenzied lovemaking Sly and Cleo began the moment they got upstairs, they were able to ignore the dogs’ pitiful cries, far too engaged in their own feelings. But afterward, when the two tired humans curled up together in the guest room’s bed, the whimpering became unbearable. And so when they woke up the next morning, three little animals stretched out between them on the quilt, lined up tail to tail like a furry chastity belt.

  Sly reached across them and stroked the soft curve of Cleo’s exposed breast. Her skin felt chilled. “Are you cold?”

  “Mmm,” she mumbled, wriggling under the sheet. The dog’s weight pinned the quilt down at her waist.

  As much as he enjoyed the view, he dislodged Zeus, who was nestled under her breasts, lucky dog, and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She smiled, not opening her eyes, and burrowed into her pillow.

  Something softened inside him. They’d been nice to each other in the past—they were good friends—but now he was compelled to be a different kind of nice. Macho protector nice. He couldn’t fight off any wild boar, but he could deal with the family before the shit hit the fan. It was Monday morning, just past eight. Liam had never come by the night before; Mark hadn’t called. This had to mean Trixie hadn’t told them about the wedding.

  Quietly, watching Cleo, he climbed out of bed. Her lips were parted, slack with sleep. He fought the urge to kiss her. She needed her rest. And he had that morning-after feeling that maybe they’d gone too far, too fast. As she’d said, he was only the second man she’d ever slept with. Had he considered how much power that gave him to hurt her?

  While he was pouring kibble into the dogs’ bowls in the kitchen, he decided to call Mark. As soon as that unpleasant task was accomplished, he’d call his father. Or not. Maybe he’d lie low on that one, at least for a few days. He never knew how his father, a chronically logical, serious man, was going to react to things. Family could bring out the hidden passions in him.

  Cursing under his breath at the spot he was in, Sly made coffee, relieved to find some fresh beans and a grinder. As cheap as he could be, he didn’t skimp on his java.

  Mark could also be a mystery. The famous introvert wouldn’t express his unhappiness verbally but would probably withdraw into himself, avoiding social conflict until he’d calmed down or it had blown over.

  Deciding he could deal with that, Sly picked up the phone and called him. Mark didn’t answer the phone right away, and when he did, he sounded short of breath.

  “If this isn’t an emergency,” Mark said, “call me later.”

  Sly heard Rose’s voice in the background. “I have to go to work anyway.”

  “No, don’t go. It’s only Sylly,” Mark said, his voice muffled.

  Sly heard her shout hello from a greater distance than she had been a moment earlier.

  “Damn it,” Mark said into the phone. “This better be good.”

  “Sorry to interrupt the married bliss.”

  “She has this crazy idea she has to go to work and leave me here alone all day.” Mark had not only written software for WellyNelly, the
health website they’d started up together, but also other software, some of it far more profitable than WellyNelly. Mark was sitting on millions.

  “Your wife doesn’t want a sugar daddy?” Sly asked.

  “I understand she wants a career. But can’t it start after noon? So she can stay in bed with me a little longer?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to,” Sly said. “Your personal hygiene used to be a bit sloppy. Have you fallen into old habits?”

  “The only old habit I’ve fallen into is answering your calls. You’re not my boss anymore.” Mark had worked briefly recently as an engineer at WellyNelly before marrying Rose, who still worked at the company. “Why are you bothering me so early?”

  Here it came. Sly walked over to the back door and let the dogs out to do their business. “Guess where I am?”

  “You were in Las Vegas this weekend, weren’t you? That’s what my mom said.”

  Suddenly, telling his old friend about witnessing his widowed mother’s wedding to his lovesick uncle at the Taco Chapel wasn’t so easy. Standing in the man’s childhood home, Sly couldn’t make himself say it over the phone.

  “Are you busy this morning? We need to talk,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you lost all your money and you need your job back,” Mark said, “because I already hired Poppy. Thanks to you.”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Look, I’ll explain when you get here. I’m at your mother’s.”

  Mark’s voice sharpened. “What happened? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Sly said quickly. “You haven’t heard from her?”

  “Why would I hear from her? Let me talk to her.”

  “She’s not here. She extended her trip.” This wasn’t going the way he’d intended. “I agreed to housesit. Watch the dogs. Since I’m a bum these days. But you should come by and I’ll tell you the rest of it.”

  “You’re sure she’s all right?”

  “She’s very happy.” That was true enough. “Come over, all right? Oh, by the way, Cleo is here with me. You’ve met her a few times. The musician.”