Her Silver Fox

by Koko Brown

  “Four of everything? Really?”

  “I didn’t have time for breakfast,” he said, sliding a hand beneath his t-shirt and lifting it just enough to catch a glimpse of his happy trail. Like a match to charcoal, memories of his last fitting fueled images of him taking her draped over the bar, against the door or maybe that lush rug.

  “I better go change. Don’t want to get mustard on the suit.”

  “Good idea,” she said, somewhat breathless.

  He’d excused himself but he hadn’t moved an inch. He continued to stare down

  at her, unabashedly, returning her gaze and causing the room to become five degrees hotter with each passing second.

  “You’re going to take off the suit,” she prompted with a remarkably straight face.

  “I am…”

  “…but,” she said, feeling there was one in there somewhere.

  To her amazement, he glanced bashfully at his feet. When he peeked up at her through a lush sweep of inky eyelashes, the loveliest shade of pink washed over his chiseled cheekbones. If her heart could speak it would scream, “I’m melting…I’m melting!”

  “What?” she pressed

  “I’m afraid the minute I turn my back you’re running out of here. And I want you here when I come out.”

  Shoshana felt her toes curl. This beautiful man, who could have any woman he wanted, was afraid she was going to walk out on him. Even if she’d seriously considered leaving, his confession brought about a reversal of her initial plans.

  Nearly giddy with self-awareness, she finally gave in, “I’ll stay.”

  “Was it the brat and sauerkraut?”

  Smiling, she grabbed his shoulders and walked him about. “It was the stadium pretzel,” she professed as the most delicious jolt of warmth flowed from her hands to the juncture of her thighs. “Now take off the suit. If you get mustard—”

  Hearing the whisper of a zipper, her words faltered.

  “Y-y-you are so not getting undressed here,” she sputtered eventually finding her tongue. And to her relief, he followed her orders even winking at her one last time before retreating to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Chest heaving, Shoshana rounded the bar and poured herself another orange lager. Sipping what amounted to the closest thing to a cold shower, she finally took notice of her surroundings. Whenever Patrick Kelly was around, the world seemed to melt into the background.

  Floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors overlooked the stadium. Several couches and matching lounge chairs sat grouped into two distinct seating areas. Several pub tables and chairs provided guests with an enhanced view of the ball field, and a sleek bar boasting only top-shelf liquor beckoned.

  Giving in, she topped her beer off one last time then ambled over to one of pub tables and took a seat. Surprised by the number of filled seats, and ballplayers already on the field, she glanced at the scoreboard. It was already the bottom of the second inning! She’d been so wrapped into Patrick Kelly and her licentious designs she’d failed to notice the game had already begun.

  “Better late than watching it on TV,” she pointed out, easily picking up the flow of the game. No runs scored, and the home team up to bat, the Mets held the Yankees stymied with two outs and no men on base.

  “Come on METS!” she hollered, rallying the troops.

  “What did I miss?”

  The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine and caused all the hairs on her arm to stand on end. Frazzled, she kept her eyes on the game while he took one of the two remaining chairs and moved it closer to hers.

  “Nothing,” she snorted. “This is a baseball game remember.”

  She took a sip of beer while stealing a peek at him. Hair slightly askew, sporting a now-wrinkled t-shirt, he’d somehow managed to remain sexy as hell. And with each passing second, her interest in the game faded while her awareness of him grew in stature. So did her curiosity. “Are you a Yankee?”

  As if affronted by the question, he seemed to sit up straighter. “I’m from Boston.”

  She screwed up her nose like any good Mets fan. “Ewww…a stinky sawx.”

  “But we share something in common.” He leaned in so close their shoulders collided.

  She sucked in a breath as her pulse jumped and her brain scrambled, rechanneling her focus from baseball and on him. “And. What’s. That?” she murmured, barely able to form more than a three-word sentence. If he mentioned bumping uglies, big schlongs, wet vajays, or panty-dropping kisses she was going to melt at his feet.

  “I hate the Yankees as much as you do.” He leaned in and clanked his glass against hers. A completely casual gesture but for some reason the act bordered on nasty. Then with his eyes still on her, he took a long swig. Gulping, Shoshana turned her attention to the field.

  “That’s pretty cool you and your father attended games together. You two must be pretty close.”

  Something in his voice made her turn and look at him. A noncommittal smile curled his lips but his eyes conveyed something altogether different. “We’re like the dynamic duo. What about you? Attend any Sox games.”

  His smile faltered. “Even if my father had the inclination to take us, he couldn’t afford it.”

  Shoshana didn’t miss the bitterness lacing his response.

  “Us?”

  “I have three younger brothers. And you?”

  “Only child.”

  “I’d say lucky you but I wouldn’t trade ‘em.”

  “You say that like a father.”

  “I raised them, so…”

  He left the details hanging between them but Shoshana wasn’t put off from

  digging deeper. “Deadbeat dad?”

  “No. Mom was the deadbeat. Eamonn essentially checked out when she left.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He waved away her apology. “It happened years ago. And all of us turned out fine. Liam’s a firefighter. Shawn owns a body shop. August—the baby—just graduated from art school down in Savannah.”

  The way his eyes lit up when describing his family gave her pause. Before this moment she’d categorized him as a self-centered one percenter who gave her back-to-back orgasms. Seeing his love for his brothers added a whole other dimension. If she weren’t careful she could fall for him. Still, she threw caution to the wind. Wiggling her fingers, she said, “Let me see.”

  “See what?”

  “A picture of you guys. I know you have one on your cell,” she coaxed. “All proud parents do.”

  Chuckling, he reached in his back pocket. “Old or new?”

  “Both.” Buzzing with anticipation, she shoved her hands beneath her thighs and waited while he scrolled through his data cloud.

  “Christmas ’89,” he said, handing her his phone. Four little boys dressed in red and green fleece onesies fawned over a neon green BMX bike. Behind them drooped the most pathetic Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

  “The bike looks like a hit.”

  He nodded. “It was used but you would’ve thought I got it from Gambles.”

  Shoshana looked at him. “You got it?”

  “Earlier in the year, I found the frame in the trash. I took it to the neighborhood bike man and made a deal. I help him around his shop and salvage parts for him. In exchange, he’d fix up the bike in time for Christmas.”

  Feeling like she was melting from the inside out, she glanced back at the picture.

  “This one you?” she pointed to a dark-haired little boy a good head taller than the others who were all gingers.

  ”The one and only.”

  “You had dark brown hair,” she remarked with wonder. Dark hair or gray, a little boy or full grown man, Patrick Kelly had always been good-looking.

  “Not for very long. I started going gray in college.”

  He ran his long fingers through his hair, jogging her memory of its silky weight and instigating a disturbing yet unsurprising craving to reach out and touch him. To make sure sh
e didn’t get herself in trouble, she kept her hands tucked beneath her thighs.

  Unaware of her dilemma, he continued, “I thought about coloring it.”

  “Don’t. You. Dare,” she balked a little too strongly, and then with less exuberance, “I ah…I think that would be a bad idea. The gray hair thing it’s a cool look.”

  One of his eyebrows shot to his hairline. “First time I’ve heard premature grayness called cool.”

  Hating being misunderstood, she rushed to explain, “When I first saw you your back was turned toward the street. I took in your suit and gray hair and assumed you were closing in on retirement or a trophy wife. But when you turned around, I saw this young handsome face. The effect was unsettling.”

  His brow knitted. “Unsettling?”

  “In a good way,” she clarified, thinking she’d dug herself a hole.

  “How handsome exactly?”

  A quick study, her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing. And I’m not going there.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  But you are. Hanging with him didn’t come off like a chore or some teen riddled angst. This felt organic and remarkably easy like they could actually become friends.

  She stole a glance at him. Could she and this beautiful man who made her insides tangle into knots, have something more than phenomenal orgasms? Could she actually keep his interest beyond a transitory fling?

  Keep on dreaming, sister! She neither had the time or beauty of youth to chase after one of his ilk. And this beautiful man would require far too much energy which would be better spent on her father and the family business. Plus, his interest could simply be a novelty. Didn’t most men want what they couldn’t have?

  “Order’s up!” Alysa announced, sliding a tray filled with concession food between them and averting her attention from boarding the crazy What If train.

  Shoshana eyed the smorgasbord he’d ordered and decided to channel all her desires into food. The only risk of extra calories would be a day or two of water weight. Anxiousness turning into hunger, she snatched up a hot dog and bit into it. Grilled, sweet onions and tangy mustard exploded on her tongue. Eyes fluttering shut, she moaned in delight.

  “Want another beer?”

  “That would be perfect,” she mumbled around her second bite. Secretly, she hoped the booze—like the food—would calm this vibrating anxiousness so she could think properly.

  “Good?”

  Shoshana swallowed before answering him, “Better than good. Helps that I’m starving.”

  “So staying was a good idea.”

  His look bordered on gloating. She could be caustic and blow it to smithereens but why be childish when what he said was the truth. So instead she bit into her dog and silently prayed he would keep things between them impersonal.

  She remained on edge for a whole five minutes. Who can think about sexual tension when your pinch hitter delivers a home run and drives in two runs in the process? The next two hours followed in the same vein with them bonding over food, cheering on the Mets during a rally and booing the refs over a bad call or sitting in complacent silence when the Yankees scored. Peppered in were inconspicuous checks at the time and mentally calculating what she had left of it. Even so, she was caught off guard when the game ended with a walk-off steal of home at the bottom of the ninth.

  Legs filled with lead, she slid from her seat. “Thank you for the game.”

  “No need to rush,” he coaxed, rising to his feet as well. “I have the suite for another hour. You can wait out the rush here.”

  She didn’t want to leave but it would be selfish to stay. Plus, another hour without a game to distract them would only lead to trouble.

  “I really need to be getting back to the factory and my father,” she said already in motion.

  “It’s always that little corner of the world for you isn’t it?”

  “Excuse me,” she said bristling, his jab hitting much too close to home.

  Sporting a ghost of a smile, he raised his hands as if in self- defense. “All I’m saying there’s more than just 9th and 35th.”

  His voice had softened and it stirred a sudden uncompromising yearning, a hunger she’d be wise not to satisfy. Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t redirect that appetite elsewhere. She pointed at the last pretzel. “You want that?”

  His gaze was clear and steady. “You can have anything you want.”

  Feeling every single word below the belt, she picked up the pretzel, hand shaking, and bit into it. Hard.

  “I hope you had a good time,” he said, coming to his feet as well.

  Backing toward the door, mouth full of bread, she threw him a thumbs up.

  Tracking her step for step—a hot, predatory glimmer in his blue eyes—he continued, “There’s a ton of good reasons to stay.”

  The low cadence of his voice precipitated a volcanic reaction to her insides. Traitorous nipples! They were so hard she could use them to carve her name in the bar.

  Despite her better judgment, she asked, “Like what?”

  “It’s cold outside.”

  “Don’t let this cape fool you,” she countered, a little too tartly, because she secretly hoped for a different answer. As if it were a barrier between him and her raging hormones, she swung said coat over her shoulders.

  “Traffics got to be a nightmare.”

  Still not the right answer.

  “I took the train.”

  “There’s plenty of food left and the taps still running.”

  “Anymore and I won’t be able to fit in my jeans.” Puffing out her cheeks, she tapped at the slight pooch hidden beneath her black jeans.

  “Then stay, for me.”

  Gulping, Shoshana watched him close the distance between them. When he stopped just inside her personal space, all her vital signs skyrocketed. He looked down at her through a fringe of inky black eyelashes and what felt like a dam burst inside her. It had taken every bit of her willpower to make it through the game. Groaning, she fisted her fingers around the soft material of his t-shirt, flexed her fingers and pulled him close. Pulse racing, she balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. As his hand curled around hers, he leaned toward her. Anticipating the warmth of his lips, she closed her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered near her ear.

  “I…I thought you wanted me to stay,” she babbled not expecting this response.

  “I do but there weren’t any strings attached.”

  “Every time I get in a room with you, I end up objectifying you,” Shoshana whispered. Cheeks aflame, she stepped away.

  “Would you feel any better if I told you the moment you walked in the room, I wanted to strip you naked and drape you over the couch?”

  “Difference is you didn’t act on it,” she snorted. “You went high while I always go in the gutter.” Hands shaking, she attempted to button her coat. The sooner she beat an exit, the better.

  She gasped when he slid his hands around her throat then used his thumbs to tip her face up. He’d put the brakes on her seduction but her body hadn’t received the message. Heat pulsed low in her belly and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his bottom lip. If she pressed up… just a little.

  “Why didn’t I act on it?”

  Shoshana blinked up at him. Obviously, her brain melted the moment he’d touched her. His sexy little smile made another appearance and she felt her pulse everywhere, slamming through her chest and along her skin.

  “You’re better than me,” she finally deduced. “Want a medal?” She couldn’t help the snark. He’d broached this subject before and she’d shut him down easily. This time she didn’t believe it would prove so unproblematic. Their shared history was admittedly scant but something had changed, shifted during their time apart. In his absence, her mood had oscillated wildly between extreme highs and lows. And the prospect of seeing him again had filled her with both trepidation one minute and exhilaration the next.

  “I deserve o
ne for the hell you put me through…but I’ll just take you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want you.” His tone bordered on earnest and despite her best efforts pulled at her heart strings. “I thought I could take whatever you gave me. Keep it casual. Keep it from becoming a thing. And then it did become a thing. A very, very big all-consuming thing I can’t shake—”

  “Shut. Up,” she whispered, attempting to thwart a can of worms.

  He didn’t follow orders too well. “I’ve fallen for you and these feelings…these feelings I have, go beyond just sex.”

  “I’m sure you say this to all the girls,” she peevishly said, irritated by the acute tightness in her chest.

  “Never.”

  Closing one eye, she squinted at him with the other. “Never?”

  “Ninety-nine point eighty-five percent of the time I want women to leave, not linger like a lovesick puppy.”

  That she didn’t find too hard to believe. “You’re more of the get your crap and get kind of guy,” she surmised a smile coming to her lips.

  His cheeks turned a most charming shade of pink. “Not proud of it but I know you’re proving to be an exception--the one that makes me one to do better.”

  Shoshana inched her hand over her belly. Her stomach flipped at the way his deep voice once again grew husky with the same sober gravity he’d used only moments before. With everything inside her clamoring for her to ‘throw caution to the wind’, ‘open up’, ‘put her heart on the line’, she closed her eyes briefly. The moment proved fleeting. Before she could ruminate on white picket fences, bridal registries, and china patterns, she couldn’t get over the niggling feeling that a temporary detour would result in irreparable damage.

  “I really need to get back. I have…responsibilities. People count on me.” Even to her own ears, her excuse sounded half-hearted.

  “If I could inspire such loyalty in you,” he said, stepping back. “I’d be the happiest man in the world.”

  Ignoring the pull of indecision and the temptation of the unknown, she kept her head above the clouds. Wagging her finger at him, she said, “Geez Louise, you’re good.”