by Maggie Wells
But here she was, airing her dirty linen on a litter-strewn street corner in a strange city, and rocking it, if she did say so herself. For the first time in forever, she felt free. Natural. Right.
As a matter of fact, the only time she’d felt better was when she woke up that morning wearing nothing but Will’s tangled sheet and a satisfied smile.
Maybe Will had this life thing nailed all along. Perhaps it was time she let go of the shoulds, stopped fretting over coulds, and started in on living some woulds. She would march right back to that office and reclaim both her job and her lover. Because she wanted them. Her mother might have wanted her to be the flower of delicate southern femininity—and Lord knows she tried—but she was tougher than that. She was woman enough to handle anything any man wanted to throw her way. Even one who cut as wide a swath through the female population as Will Tarrant.
Perhaps she should just say ‘screw it’ and offer herself up to that fickle bitch, Fate. Will seemed to have a surprising amount of trust in her whims. And while choosing to be with a fickle guy driven by whim was almost guaranteed to hurt her, it didn’t really matter. If there was one thing she’d learned from her miserable wreck of a marriage and travesty of a family, it was that hearts never really broke, they only bruised.
The thought was just rebellious enough to tickle her. She laughed, and Donnie’s blank expression collapsed into a frown of perplexed worry. Mrs. Westlake gave her head a dismayed shake as she carted an armload of her husband’s shirts into the dry cleaners. A man wearing three layers of windbreakers, cargo shorts, and mismatched tennis shoes scuttled past, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. A lifetime of walking the straight and narrow, and in one week’s time she had taken a lover, started guzzling Australian wine by the bottle, and was out-crazying the crazies.
It might have taken nearly half her life, but at last she’d discovered her hidden talents. And all that talent seemed to have been inspired by one man. One dangerous man armed with devilish smiles and tender touches. One who said he’d still be there when she got back.
Dialing her laughter back to a semi-giddy smile, she took a quick step forward and planted a kiss on Donnie’s cheek. “I’ve got no money to give you and a second-hand sofa for a guest room, but if you need a place to crash this weekend so you can figure out your next move, you can stay with me.”
He hesitated only a moment then nodded mutely. Pulling away, she ran her hand over that semi-tamed cowlick again, then gave his cheek a little pat.
“I have to finish some things up at work. I’ll meet you back here at five.”
When she turned to walk away this time, she shed no tears. Instead, she turned the corner and added a little extra sass to her step. She needed all the swagger she could muster. She had to take back what she wanted without letting Will think he’d somehow won the upper hand.
She burst into the office, out of breath and flushed with determination. “Will?”
A thud from the back room told her he’d heard her call. She took two steps then turned back to lock the outer door. Hooking a left to head through the kitchen to his office, she ran smack into a solid wall of man.
* * * *
“Oof!” Will staggered a bit but caught an arm around Betty’s waist and hauled her hard against him. He pushed down the surge of joy that rose in him the second he heard her voice, clenching his jaw tight, wanting to hang onto a little of his anger. He deserved to be ticked.
Betty braced her hands on his arms and tipped her head back to look up at him. “I can’t see you this weekend.”
“I thought you didn’t want to see me at all.”
She gave his biceps a squeeze then began to stroke them. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“I can’t help it. I’m just a hard hat kind of guy, remember?”
“Pfft.” She gave him a shove, but he refused to budge. “You forget, I’ve seen your credentials, Mr. Tarrant.”
“More than seen ’em,” he said with a leer.
“Not those credentials.” She slid a hand down to cover his fly, and he bit back the not-so-manly moan that threatened to burst free. The tip of one fingernail teased the outline of his erection, and he gave up all pretense of playing it cool.
“You’re so much more than a hard…hat.”
“You’re just toying with me.”
“You love it when I toy with you.”
“Damn right I do.”
Her bright eyes sparkled with mischief and the barest hint of a smug smile tweaked her lips. Before she even spoke, he knew he was in for it. “I want you.”
His sweet southern lady was learning the joys of the direct approach. Thank God. Holding both hands high, he surrendered without a qualm. “Yours for the taking.”
That pretty pink tongue darted out to wet pinker lips. His mouth ran dry as she reached for the bow at her waist and drew on one of the strings. The panels of her dress swung open, the fabric skimming across her breasts. His gaze dropped faster than an elevator with a busted cable, jerking to a stop when he caught sight of her freshly waxed and trimmed pussy.
Betty ran a teasing fingertip over the pinkened flesh. “I’m feeling a little tender,” she said in a husky voice. The dress slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She stroked the neat strip of dark blond hair that marked the spot. “Kiss it and make it better?”
The words were barely out when he swept her off her feet. His mouth was on hers. He had two handfuls of sweet soft thigh and gripped tight. Her breath hissed from between clenched teeth as her bare ass touched the counter top. He caught her protest and fed it back to her in a deep, searching kiss.
“For me?” he asked, his voice gruff with gratitude.
“Just for you.”
He spread her legs open wide, thumbs stroking the freshly-bared crease between her thigh and pussy with all the reverence of a true believer. Then he dropped to his knees.
“Thank you.” He pressed fervent kisses to the insides of her thighs as he draped her legs over his shoulders. “Oh, thank you.”
He took her up fast and furious, each thrust of his tongue punishment for making him think he’d lost her. Every lick a caress of unadulterated relief. The tickle of her fingers slipping through his hair was salve for his battered emotions. Each gentle tug on her clit was a reminder that he could wreck her just as she might destroy him.
He nuzzled the curling strip of hair and teased her with nothing more than the heat of his breath. Then he licked and lapped and swirled until she squirmed, inching closer to the edge of the counter, desperate for release. Her hands tightened in his hair. He paused with the tip of his talented tongue to her perineum and breathed against her, holding her teetering on the brink.
“Please.”
She’d walked out on him. He’d be damned if he gave her everything without making her work for it first. He smiled as he took her over, reveling in the helpless laugh that bubbled from her as he slid one patently inadequate finger into her pussy. It turned into a gasp when he pressed his tongue to her anus. The gasp morphed into pants as he fucked her until his name bounced off the walls.
He brought her down with slow, deliberate caresses, each kiss a clear warning that he wasn’t nearly through with her yet. But when she tried to pull him up, he slipped from her grasp and sat back on his heels, thoroughly enjoying the view.
She stared down at him, sleepy-eyed but focused. “Come here. I want you.”
His eyes locked on hers as he raised his finger to his lips and sucked it into his mouth, devouring the evidence of what he’d done to her. He released it with a soft pop, swept her with another appreciative once-over as he rose, then reached for the loosened fabric of her dress.
“I want you here Monday morning at nine, Ms. Asher,” he said, pulling the panels together over her breasts. He saw her jaw drop and smothered a smile as he turned on his heel and headed for the rear door. “Have a nice weekend,” he tossed over his shoulder then closed it behi
nd him.
She was high on her newfound sexual prowess, and that was all well and good, but sometimes nice girls had to learn life’s lessons the hard way. She was sexy as sin, but his sweet Betty had a long way to go before she could truly play a player.
Chapter 13
It proved to be the longest weekend of Will’s life.
After he’d left the office, Betty sent a text explaining the reason she couldn’t see him that weekend was that her deadbeat jerk of a son was crashing on her couch for a couple days. The couch he’d never seen because she’d never once invited him to her apartment.
Adding that to his list of grievances, he hadn’t replied. But that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about her for one damn second. Nor had he stopped kicking himself for walking away from her Friday afternoon, but getting dumped for no good reason tended to piss him off. The fact that she thought she could jerk him back like a fish on a hook galled him almost as much as the knowledge that he’d literally dropped to his knees in front of her.
So he refused to call her. Or text. Or send an e-mail, letter, telegram, or smoke signal. He’d been utterly and completely radio silent for over sixty hours. Unfortunately, that little exercise in restraint was probably more of a punishment for him than her. She had her precious Donnie-boy to keep her company. He had a bed that smelled like her.
“What time does this Betty come in?” Greg asked, interrupting what was shaping up to be an epic sulk.
This Betty. Like there were a dozen Bettys lined up to answer scan permits and do their filing. Will gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and focused on the line of traffic inching along ahead of him.
My Betty. Or not my Betty, but Betty.
Just Betty.
He glanced at the time on the dash, then shrugged, even though he knew his partner couldn’t see him. “I told her nine.”
“Nine? Really?”
They hadn’t rolled out of his bed before eight even one day the previous week, but Greg didn’t need to know that. Greg was usually up and out the door by dawn. Obviously, sharing a bed with the lovely Josie hadn’t altered his buddy’s early-to-rise habit one bit.
“That’s what time most normal people start office hours.”
“Huh.”
The genuine bewilderment in his friend’s grunt made Will smile. The sun inched over the horizon and parked in the sweet spot no windshield visor could block. Drivers on the East-West Expressway slowed to a crawl. Will caught himself wishing back the cold gray mornings. “I thought maybe marriage might curb your workaholic ways.”
“Look who’s talking. Which site you hitting first?”
“I’m running down the East side, so I’ll go by the Bayfield development first.”
“On schedule?”
“So far,” Will confirmed.
“Budget?”
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he craned his neck to check the other lanes of traffic. “A little over, but I have ideas to recoup a bit.”
“You hit on our office manager already or do we have a chance of keeping this one?”
He should have been expecting the question, but his foot still slipped off the brake. The truck started to roll before he stomped down on the pedal again, bringing the loaded pickup to a rocking halt inches from the glossy bumper of the Mercedes in front of him. The breath whooshed from him. He gripped the wheel a little tighter and nodded to show the angrily gesturing driver that he was indeed aware of what an idiot he was.
He was the biggest idiot on Earth.
“When have I ever hit on our office manager?”
“You haven’t had opportunity before.”
Opportunity, motive, an itch at the back of his neck, and a gnawing ache in his belly. Caught red-handed. Quite literally, given his morning shower activities. But the ache hadn’t gone down the drain. If anything, it grew sharper. Deeper. He missed her. Missed every damn thing about her. And he’d denied himself even the pleasure of her voice because he was too twisted up in knots to give in.
Pride go-eth before the call. That’s what Marty had joked when he caught Will checking his phone despite the fact that the hockey game was in sudden-death overtime. But she hadn’t called or texted after that single message, and he’d turned into the saddest semi-stalker the Riverside neighborhood had ever seen.
Like a dog begging for scraps, he’d lapped up every single hint of Betty he could glean from his friends and neighbors at the market, the bakery, and even from Sister Laurent. Apparently, the old nun had run into Betty and her boy dining at Delmondo’s on Saturday night and been invited to join them for her meal. Of course, the wily little woman coerced him into procuring a bowl of ranch dressing to dip her precious pretzels and a second glass of Shiraz prior to giving up any information.
Turns out, Sister Laurent hadn’t liked that weasel of a kid any more than Will had, but for some reason, having his gut instinct validated by the sharp-eyed sister hadn’t made him feel any better. The weekend crept by at a snail’s pace. He couldn’t stop wondering if Betty had spent the nights apart missing having him next to her as much as he missed her. Was her son trying to convince her to go back to Mississippi? Would she go? Would she show up at the office today? How long would it take before he could look at his desk and not see her sprawled across it, panting, flushed, and oh-so perfect?
“Will?”
“Huh?”
“Well, shit,” Greg grumbled. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You know what,” his friend snapped. “You slept with her.” When Will didn’t answer, Greg sighed. “Is she coming back, or do I need to call the agency?”
“She’s coming back,” Will snarled.
“Because, after being gone two weeks, I have a shit-ton of work to do to get caught up—”
“It’s all caught up.”
“Great. Now you’re telling me I have two weeks of your mess to undo.”
Traffic began to creep again, but Will gave the Mercedes he’d nearly rear-ended and his irate best friend a three-second delay, then letting up on the brake. “You don’t have to undo anything.”
“I wish Josie had just agreed to take the job. I don’t understand why she has to be so squirrelly about working with the two of us.”
The rustle of papers being rifled grated on Will’s last nerve. He’d been so careful to leave his partner’s desk neatly ordered. “I don’t understand why she’d be squirrelly enough to marry you.”
“I’m better in bed than you,” Greg answered without missing a beat.
Will winced. His friend looked like a nice guy, but he loved planting these land mines armed with ancient shrapnel. For cripes sake, he and Josie had slept together less than a handful of times more than fifteen years ago. Will hadn’t felt guilty about it then, and didn’t feel a pang when Josie waltzed into Greg’s, and by extension his, life a few months earlier.
He’d smiled and stood beside Greg as he pledged to spend his life loving, honoring, and cherishing Josie, and did so without resenting the fact that one of the women he’d let slip through his fingers had turned out to be The One for his best friend instead. But now…. Now he understood the little digs his friend felt compelled to get in every once in a while. God, the things he’d love to say to Betty’s dead husband and worthless son.
He stared straight ahead, glad to be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. It kept him from swinging by her apartment, scooping her up, and presenting her to his partner like some kind of peace offering. Or penance. He let his eyes slide shut for just a second. As if he could block out all other possibilities. “She’s coming in at nine.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Hey. You okay?”
Will’s eyes popped open wide. Traffic hadn’t moved, but something deep inside him twisted. He bounced his skull off the headrest a couple times to shake any urge to spill his girly guts like they were a couple of chicks discussing their
not-so-fresh moments. The last thing he wanted was to turn into a real-life douche bag. He hadn’t gushed about a female since he’d fallen for Farrah Fawcett and her red swimsuit. He wasn’t about to start now.
“Sorry, I was just trying to remember how big your wife’s tits were. Grapefruit?”
“Honeydew. And eat your heart out.”
“Eat me,” Will replied.
He ended the call with a smile on his face, but it didn’t last long. Betty’s tits weren’t anywhere near as big as Josie’s, but Christ, they were firm and sweet. Apples. Definitely apples. And man, did he like them apples.
More than anything, he wanted to turn that truck around and head to the office. He wanted to be sitting in his resale reject office waiting for her when she walked through the door. He wanted to watch her wrestle coffee from Greg’s machine and listen to her hum and mumble to herself as she did whatever it was she did to make those damn spreadsheets come out halfway readable. Just to make sure she was okay. Find out if her kid was still hanging around. Talk her into crawling back into his bed that night.
His cell phone buzzed in the console. He glanced down at the display and the hole in his gut filled with warmth when he saw her name. The background glowed with a photograph of her bare ankle. The closest she would let him come to having a picture of her naked in his bed. All thoughts of playing it cool flew out the window. He hit the button to activate the speaker.
“Hey.”
“Morning,” she drawled. “Am I still being punished?”
In an instant, his head was filled with images of her sprawled across his lap, bare bottom-up. “Punished?” He managed a chuckle though his mouth had run dry. “Sweetheart, you have no idea the kind of punishment I’d like to dish out.”
