The Last Guy

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  “You know, you’re very sexy standing there in only my dress shirt.” He’s grinning, and the appreciative smile on his lips is like hot liquid in my veins.

  His eyes cut away, and he exhales, sitting forward to collect our paper wrappers and stuff them into the white bag.

  “I can help with that.” I step forward and kneel in front of him, placing our uneaten tacos on the glass coffee table beside our beers.

  “My mom asked me to take Sissy out,” he says, not lifting his eyes. “She’s a friend of the family, just moved to Houston. Doesn’t know anybody.”

  I sit back on my feet and look up at him. “Chas thought I should date some random guy so I’d have a rebound . . . that wasn’t you.”

  Cade’s gaze is level, not smiling. “Were you planning to sleep with him?”

  “No!” I whisper-shout. “I didn’t even want to go out with him, really. We were just looking at this silly dating site, and Chas clicked something that apparently meant ‘Let’s date right now!’ and then she said I had to go or I’d be blackballed and he didn’t even look like his picture and then he started talking like a Klingon and—”

  Cade’s warm hands cup my cheeks, and he pulls me in for a rough kiss. Full lips capture mine, pushing them apart and allowing his tongue to curl inside, wiping my brain. A little noise comes from my throat, and if my body was on fire before, it’s molten-hot lava now. Holding his shoulders, I scoot onto his lap in a straddle. My eyes are closed against the heat blazing in my brain, and I swear to God I ignite when his large hands grip my ass.

  “Oh, Cade,” I gasp as his mouth moves to my ear.

  “I want to be inside you again. Right now.”

  “Yes . . .”

  The man is strong as Hercules. His hands go under my butt, holding my body against his torso as he stands in one fluid movement. My arms are around his shoulders, my mouth on his cheek, his ear, his neck, kissing, touching my tongue to his salty skin, giving him a tiny bite as he carries me to his bedroom.

  “Fuck, Stone.” The way he growls my name when we fall back onto his enormous bed nearly gives me an orgasm right then and there.

  I’m on my back in the gray, soft-as-silk sheets, and I watch with heavy eyes as he quickly discards those boxer briefs, freeing that huge muscle with which I’m obsessed. Condom quickly on, he grips the bottom of his dress shirt I’m wearing and rips it open, causing my breasts to bounce out.

  “Oh!” I sigh at the sensation.

  Cade’s eyes are navy with hunger, and he’s on me in a lunge, sliding inside so fast, I let out another loud moan of pleasure. God, this never gets old. Large hands are on the sides of my breasts, pushing them together as he devours me, pulling my nipples between his lips and teasing them with his teeth. I’m squirming and flying when he grips my ass again and flips us, positioning me on top.

  “Do that thing with your hips.” His voice is thick. “That hula thing.”

  Warm satisfaction floods my lower pelvis. The only thing hotter than looking at this amazing man is hearing that tone in his voice, knowing I’m driving him wild. I sit back and for the first time in a long time, I feel sexy. It’s the most amazing feeling. The raw need in his eyes sends currents of pleasure rushing up my thighs straight to my core, and I rotate my hips in a circular motion.

  “Yes,” he groans, thrusting up with his hips.

  “That feels so good,” I gasp, throwing my hair back. I am a wild sex goddess.

  He grips my ass, his hips still thrusting, and I only get in two more twists before I’m breaking apart, crying out loud, and riding his rigid cock like there’s no tomorrow. Another loud groan from him, and I feel Cade break apart, holding me steady as he pulses deep inside, filling that condom.

  I collapse forward onto his chest, and our lips meet in a sensual, after-glowey kiss. I hold his face as my hair falls around us, and our lips touch again and again. His hands are on my waist, and I’m so deeply contented. We come down together, kissing, bonding, meshing in every way. Sliding a hand between us to hold the condom, he pulls out. It’s quickly disposed of, and we’re together again. He puts my back to his chest and holds me firmly around the waist. It’s the most amazing spooning position I’ve been in since . . . well, since he spent the night in my apartment.

  “Sleep now,” he says, kissing the top of my shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

  A smile curls my lips as I close my eyes, drifting away in a fizzy haze of bliss, two strong arms my only anchor to this world.

  The low drone of voices pulls me from my pink cloud of happiness. I blink several times, trying to place the sound. It’s so familiar . . .

  “Another Houstonian was attacked last night by what police are now calling the GreenStreet Grabber . . . or Grabbers.” I sit up in bed, holding the sheet under my arms. It’s Matt on the enormous TV hanging on the opposite wall, and he’s reading KHOT’s Sunday recap of the news. “It’s as yet unclear if the muggings are the work of one person or a gang of thieves.”

  Cade enters the room carrying a dark wooden tray. “I brought you coffee. How do you take it?”

  “One sugar, two creams,” I say, melting back against the smoky suede headboard as I watch him. The black robe is draped over his shoulders again, a newspaper is tucked under his arm, and he is so damn yummy.

  “Matt is working seven days a week . . .” He passes me a steaming mug. “They’ve got to fill that weekend anchor position soon.”

  My chest rises at the thought. “It’s what I’ve been working toward.”

  “I know.”

  Matt is still talking, and Cade scoots into the bed beside me. I barely feel the movement, and I realize he must have one of those memory foam mattresses. With that and his strong arms around me most of the time, it’s no wonder I slept so well.

  “Another mugging.” He drops the paper between us, and I glance up to see the muscle in his jaw tighten. “An elderly woman this time. They sneaked up behind her and pushed her down. Sprained her ankle and stole her purse. Assholes.”

  “Oh my God!” I set my coffee aside and pick up the paper, looking from the front page up to the footage of the gray-haired granny with bloody scuffmarks on her knees and palms. “Do they have any leads on who’s doing it?”

  “None.” Cade is clearly pissed. “No fingerprints. No evidence. These guys move fast, and they hit when nobody’s around.”

  My eyes scan the story. “Parking garage, early evening, after rush hour. It’s like something out of a movie. Classic mugger behavior.”

  I can’t help feeling a little sick reading the story. The GreenStreet shopping area is one of Houston’s newer developments and not too far from my apartment.

  “You need to be sure you’re with Kevin or Chas . . . or me . . . if you’re going out anywhere after dark.”

  His protectiveness is adorable, and I lean my head against my hand. “I’ll be careful.” While this rash of robberies is troubling, I don’t want to focus on that right now. “Should we go out for brunch or something?”

  He turns to face me as well. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  That answer is completely unexpected. “I thought that was my line.”

  “Well, you’re the famous Rebecca Fieldstone.” He reaches out and wraps the end of my hair around his finger. “We’re bound to draw attention.”

  “Don’t remind me!”

  “Only one thing is as hot as your right breast . . .” I groan, covering my face with my hand, but he continues, “your left breast.”

  I start to laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Stupid wardrobe malfunction.”

  “I wanted to punch every person who saw you in the face. I guess I’m selfish. I want to be the only one seeing your body.” He smiles, and those irresistible dimples appear.

  A flush creeps up my neck. “Are you saying you’re holding me hostage?”

  “I wish.” It makes me laugh more, but his smile dims. “I was just thinking about how much you want that anchor spot . . . and how
much of a dick Marv can be. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t get everything you want.”

  The meeting in Marv’s office after the Planetary Princess story fills my mind. I remember Cade being there while Marv said those things about my appearance, and all my feelings from last night of being a sex goddess disappear.

  My chin drops. “I’m not sure how I got on his bad side. Marv used to be very supportive and encouraging . . .” Until Savannah showed up.

  “Hey,” Cade’s voice is soft, and he lifts my chin. “I’m happy to say fuck him. I want everybody to see you on my arm.” I confess, hearing Cade Hill say these words makes it a little better. “I just don’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”

  “You want to order in again?”

  “Nope.” He hops out of bed. “We can walk down to the park. It’s a pretty day, and they have a little farmer’s market there. I’ll buy you breakfast, and if anyone sees us, we can say we’re working on our story.”

  I smile, but I feel squirmy inside. “I guess that’s how it has to be for now, sneaking around and lying.”

  “We’re not sneaking, and we’re definitely not lying.” I watch as he steps into a pair of faded jeans that hug his ass absolutely perfectly. “We are working on our story.”

  He gives me a little wink, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to take that. Is it possible Cade Hill is actually serious about me? He pulls a navy tee over his head and steps into the bathroom. I hear the sound of brushing teeth, and I hop out of bed, skipping to the living room where I retrieve my panties and my dress . . . It’s red silk. Clearly, a dinner outfit, not brunch. I’m frowning at my reflection when he returns to the bedroom.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This dress.” I lift the sides. “It’s too fancy for a farmer’s market. I’ve clearly spent the night with you.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Walk of shame much?”

  He shakes his head and goes to his dresser, opening drawers. “You could wear one of my shirts. I don’t know about the bottoms . . .”

  “One wardrobe malfunction is enough for me, thanks.”

  “What if you put my dress shirt over it and here . . .” He pulls a new white shirt over my arms and twists the ends into a knot at my waist. “Now you look even more fuckable.”

  “Cade!”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Come on.” I catch his arm, and we make our way to the first floor and out into the brilliant sunshine.

  It’s another perfect fall day, with low humidity and a light breeze. Cade pulls my hand into the crook of his arm, and I’m pretty certain we look nothing like coworkers meeting for brunch. We look like a couple out for a stroll after the most amazing night of fucking in the history of ever. The park is a brilliant blend of autumn colors along with purple and gold Halloween decorations. Tables are arranged under large white tents, and we stop at one where a lady is working with several of her kids, whipping up the most delicious-smelling breakfast foods.

  Cade stops and orders us both huevos rancheros wrapped in soft tacos with coffee, and we carry them to a nearby bench to eat.

  “Did you grow up here in Houston?” I ask around a bite of breakfast.

  He nods, swallowing quickly. “Born here, went to private school here . . . I went to college in Austin, but my first real move was to Atlanta to play for the Falcons.” I’m nodding, devouring the luscious Tex-Mex as I listen. “You?”

  “I was actually born in Galveston.” His eyebrows rise at this revelation. “My parents loved being near the coast, but they wanted more crystal-blue waters. It’s why they moved to Key West as soon as I left for college.”

  He shakes his head. “My family is not like that. Mom claims she cried every day I lived in Atlanta.”

  “That’s really sweet.” I have the sudden desire to meet his mom, but I keep it to myself. “And Trent?”

  His brow lowers, and he takes a sip of coffee. “He didn’t cry . . . as far as I know. Still, he’s part of the reason I came back.”

  I remember the things Cade has told me about his dad. I remember his anger. “Was your dad also glad you came back?”

  “Yeah, but for completely different reasons.”

  We’ve ventured into unhappy territory again, and I want to steer us back to the light. Cade’s eyebrows quirk, and I can tell he’s with me on changing the subject. “What else, besides that cute little nose, made you pick TV news, Stone? Over law?”

  I grin at him. “Hmm . . .” I look around at the people strolling by, holding hands, walking dogs, carrying children. “I like getting outside, meeting people, talking to leaders in the community . . . or even just regular people making a difference.”

  “That’ll change if you become an anchor.”

  “It’s true,” I nod. “But as an anchor, I can be more involved in story selection, and I can still get out and do interviews occasionally.”

  Cade stands and takes our breakfast trash, tossing it in the can before coming back to hold out his hand to me. I take it and we follow the walking path around the small park. I’m preoccupied with another reason for why I love my job, one I’ve only ever told Nancy.

  “You look like there’s more,” he says.

  “Well . . .”

  Cade steps in front of me, stopping our progress and looking straight into my eyes. “What is it?”

  My chin drops, and I let out a little laugh. “It’s silly.”

  “Now you have to tell me.”

  Shaking my head, I look up at him. “You know that nervous feeling . . . that flutter in the stomach . . . like right before you pick up a newborn baby for the first time?”

  “Yes.” He answers so fast, I laugh more.

  “It’s the feeling I get when I’m right there, on the edge, capturing a great story for everyone to see. Like when I interviewed Petal, or . . .” I stop myself before I say or like the first time I saw you.

  “Or?”

  Shaking my head, I say instead, “It’s the most amazing thing. It’s exciting and electric, and I love to share it.”

  Without a word or a moment’s hesitation, he steps forward and kisses me, warm lips on mine, no tongue, all feeling—that feeling. The one I never want to lose.

  Cade

  I’M IN A fantastic mood when I drop Stone off at her apartment around five and head to my next destination, the River Oaks Theatre, a cinematic Houston landmark. I’m meeting Mom and Trent for our Sunday date. Last week we’d hit a local art gallery where one of Mom’s friends had a photography exhibit. It’s a new place each week, usually Trent’s choice.

  I walk in the majestic entrance of the smallish theatre. Built in the thirties, the interior’s been refurbished but still has the original Art Deco feel with black marble sculptures, triangular-shaped lighting fixtures, and modern lounging areas with clean lines and straight edges. Grinning, I take it in. I know this “artsy” stuff because Trent tells me.

  My mood plummets as I get a gander at who’s here. My father is standing next to my mom at the concession stand.

  I’m going to need a stiff drink with my movie.

  Trent waves and strides over, seeming fairly cool for a guy who hasn’t seen Dad since Mom’s birthday party about three months ago. Sure we get together as a family periodically, but only for holidays and funerals. Even then, the tension between Dad and Trent is thick.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” I hiss.

  “I invited him,” Trent murmurs.

  I rear back. “Why?”

  He lifts his hands up and shrugs. “He called me last week—and the week before. I didn’t answer because I never answer my phone unless you’ve texted me first. But get this . . . yesterday he sent me a text: Please call me. I need to talk to you.”

  “Dad texted?” My voice is incredulous.

  He nods. “Yep. I thought about it and called him. He just wanted to say that he’d been thinking about me and could we get together.” He pauses. “
He also wished me happy birthday. Is it possible he’s dying and hasn’t told us?”

  I shake my head. “He just had a physical for the company’s insurance.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to get Mom back,” Trent replies.

  Narrowing my eyes, I sweep them over my father who’s currently purchasing a combo for my mom and smiling down at her. No matter their differences—mostly dealing with Trent—I never doubted he loves her. I’d seen the pure joy on his face the day she’d told him she was in remission. He’d dated periodically in the years they’d been divorced. So had she. But neither of them had formed long-term attachments.

  Still . . . I’m suspicious.

  Tonight my dad has left the suit and tie at home for khaki slacks and a maroon V-neck sweater. At sixty, his hair is snow-white and thick, combed back in a slick style he’s worn for as long as I can remember. Still broad-shouldered with a tapered waistline, he’s aged with class.

  It’s his stubborn heart that pisses me off.

  “What’s his game?” I say.

  “Regrets about the past?”

  I scratch at the scruff on my jaw. “But why would you invite him?”

  He thinks about it, a serious expression flitting across his normally carefree visage. “He’s my dad. I still love him.”

  He takes a sip from the Diet Coke he’s holding. “Part of me feels sorry for him. He’s ignorant—and is it stupid that I still crave his approval? Me. A twenty-six-year-old man.” He shakes his head as if bemused.

  Trent loves hard and forgives quickly. Impulsively, I give him a shoulder squeeze. “I just don’t want you to be hurt by him again.”

  I’d been there to pick up the pieces when he’d moved out of the house, and I never wanted to see him go through that again.

  They turn and make their way toward us, and Mom rushes up to me with a big smile, glowing. I nod at my father then hug her. She smells like lemon shampoo and I ruffle her hair.

  “I swear it gets longer every day.”

  “You just saw me yesterday!” She laughs and fingers the small gray curls on her head.

  Classy and elegant as usual, she looks radiant in a black flowy dress that fits the theatre style. A white beaded cardigan is thrown over her shoulders, and I smile; she never goes anywhere without a sweater.