by Kris Jayne
"Fuck me. Now," Micky demanded, pressing her backside wantonly against him.
He laughed, breathless, and drove into her, fast and to the hilt. He slid out, and then rammed in again. His thrusts were hard and complete. She felt full and then empty every time he withdrew nearly completely, but then he came right back to her. Micky braced her arms firmly into the mattress to stay up as momentum pushed her forward, nearly knocking her flat into the pillows.
Nick put his hand in front of her, keeping them coupled while he stroked his fingers over her clit. His fingers picked up speed. Her desire felt like a taut string tying them together and he strummed it over and over until it snapped. A release of tension rolled from her core to her limbs. Her entire body buzzed. The sweet convulsions around him brought Nick along with her. He thrust deep inside her once more before crying out with a curse, gripping her hips.
Tomorrow, she might have bruises, but Micky couldn't make herself think about tomorrow.
They collapsed in a tangle of bodies and bed sheets as mixed together as their clothes on the floor. Slowly, Nick rolled to her side.
"I feel like I'm going to smother you," he said.
"You feel good."
He fell onto his back and drew her next to him. Micky ran her fingers down Nick's chest. She closed her eyes and settled into the feel of being pressed against his body with her leg thrown over his. She shivered, and Nick pulled the sheet and blanket up over her shoulders. Neither said anything else. Her hand slid back up from his belly, coming to rest over his heart. The thunder of his heartbeat slowed under her palm. Then, Micky's stomach emitted a Serengeti-level growl. Her face heated. Nick laughed.
"The pizza should be here any minute. I can call and see if they're on their way," he said, running his hand through her hair.
"That's okay. If I can survive how embarrassing that was, I can survive another ten minutes without the pizza."
Micky flipped over onto her elbows and buried her face into the pillow next to Nick. He got up and went into the master bathroom, which Micky had yet to see. She stretched back into a yoga child's pose before sitting up and scanning the floor in the dark for her underwear. Was there anything so immaculately lascivious as rolling around on a pile of sweaty sheets looking for your panties?
Chapter Thirty-One
When the security desk called him to let him know the pizza was on it's way up, Nick threw on a shirt and shorts and checked himself in the bathroom mirror. There was no fixing himself up at this point. He looked like he'd taken a tumble in the sack, and he had. It had been a tumble like none he'd ever had before.
The doorbell rang, and he bolted out of the bedroom for the door.
The chemistry he felt with Micky unnerved him. He remembered some sizzle with women before Vivienne. He certainly hadn't felt that with Vivienne. None of it compared to the last hour of his life.
What the hell had he been thinking? He'd been planning to marry a woman when the best rating he could give for sex with her was "satisfactory." He could feel the way Micky craved him when he turned her on. He could see the shimmer that turned her hazel eyes amber when he played with her nipples. The tight, squeezing grip on his dick when she came. Nick started to sweat and looked down at the tent in his shorts. That would have to wait. Micky was hungry.
Nick popped the cork on a bottle of wine and quickly checked his phone, which had rung earlier. Rick had called and then texted. He had an update. Nick considered texting back just as Micky walked in from the bedroom. Never mind Rick. His date for the evening wore a pair of hip-hugging yoga pants and a form-fitting T-shirt, outlining full and perfect breasts. He had intended offer her one of his T-shirts to wear, but it seemed she'd come prepared.
"Did you bring clothes from home?"
Micky blushed. "I figured they might come in handy."
"You must think I'm easy," he said, walking to his living room where Micky had settled on the couch. He set the glasses on the coffee table next to the pizza and sat down.
"Pretty much," she said. "I don't mind. Since I'm leaving for France next week, a little sexual adventure will get me en mode."
Nick frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. I'll be here slaving away at the office."
"I know. I must admit that does suck," she said and hesitated to continue. "I wish you could come with me. Instead, I'll be third-wheeling it with Taryn and Jeff."
Her words delighted him, and Nick smiled. "Nice to know I will be missed."
"Don't get too confident. I hear the French are very romantic. You better stay on your toes. I've learned not to let my men get too comfortable."
Amusement danced in her eyes even though some hurt from her past clearly still haunted her. That was something Nick needed to fix. Keeping her around was suddenly top priority. He wanted her to be as open as she was right now. She'd swooped her hair up into a loose, lopsided ponytail and washed her face. No makeup or stylish outfit. Just Micky. He instantly decided he liked this Micky even better than the pulled together one. She grabbed a sausage slice of the extra-large pizza and handed it to him.
"Thank you."
He watched as she bit into her slice and pulled it away from her mouth. A strand of cheese snapped back and clung to the corner of her mouth. She swiped it away with the tip of her tongue, and his groin pulled at him again. Really? He was getting horny watching her eat a piece of pizza. If he weren't in trouble before, he certainly was now. Something within him—not just his nether regions—wanted this comfort and companionship with this woman for more than a night.
Even when he'd had delicious encounters with women in the past, the only thing he'd wanted after was to rinse and repeat—with that woman or some other. At the time, it hadn't mattered which. Maybe Vivienne had tamed him, but that thought felt like he wasn't giving Micky enough credit. No, it was the woman sitting in front of him. He wanted to do this again, and again, and with her.
He just had to take it easy. For whatever reason, he could see Micky holding back sometimes. It probably had to do with that asshole ex-boyfriend. He'd have to wade into these waters carefully with her and get to know each other—like she'd said.
"Who was your best friend in high school?" Nick asked.
Micky crinkled her brow in confusion at the sudden shift in topic.
"Ummm, that's a hard question. I went to two different high schools. One in California. One here. Well, one in Houston. My mother got divorced from her husband in California, so we moved back to her hometown. I finished high school there. In California, my best friend was a girl named Rebecca. We kept in touch for a while, but I haven't talked to her in years. In Texas, that would be Shawnee."
"Shawnee."
"Like the Native Americans. Like Shawnee, Oklahoma. I think she might have been born there."
"And do you still talk to Shawnee?"
"I do. We're friends on Facebook. I went off to Texas Tech, and she went to OU. We stayed in touch, but aren't good friends now. You know how it goes."
Nick nodded, but he was still friends with his best friend from high school. Andrew had gone off to Columbia for college and still lived in New York. They didn't see each other much, but the traded emails and talked regularly. But then, Nick had been friends with Andrew since the fifth grade. He was born and raised in Dallas. He only left to go to college at the University of Texas.
"How many times did you move as a kid?"
"Six. I was born in Houston, and then, it was Midland. That's where my parents got divorced. My dad was in the oil business. Sort of. My grandfather was in the oil business, and my dad worked for him every once in a while. Then, I moved with my mother to Atlanta, Minneapolis, San Diego, and back to Houston." Micky rattled off the information as if she'd practiced it. "Plus, I'd spend summers with my dad wherever he was at the time, including Cabo San Lucas once in high school. That was actually pretty fun."
"I always lived here growing up. Born and raised. My mom still lives in the house where we grew up. Over in east Dallas. I'm ho
ping to get her to move. The neighborhood isn't what it used to be. Even growing up, it wasn't the best."
"What's stopping her?"
"My mom worries about biting off more than she can chew financially. My sister and I have told her we'll help. She's stubborn."
"She sounds independent. I can respect that."
"Yeah, and she likes living in the same place. It's comfortable."
"That must be nice. Switching schools all the time is no fun, and moving away from my brother was hard."
"It's nice to have some close family, I think."
Nick couldn't imagine the chaos of bouncing around like she had. As a kid, Nick would have loved the excitement of the idea, but as an adult, he knew better. Kids like normalcy. "So, new question. When did you have your first kiss?"
"Is this twenty questions?" Micky asked.
"You said you wanted us to get to know each other. That's what this is." He traced a lazy circle on her knee with his index finger.
"You're a very focused person, aren't you?"
"I am when I know what I want," he replied.
Micky chuckled and a light flush of color rose in her cheeks. He loved making her blush.
"I was fourteen."
"What?" Nick had forgotten his question.
"My first kiss."
"Oh. What was his name?"
"Corey. He had flaming red hair and freckles. He played on the football team. I'd come back to Midland for the summer. My dad was still living there. Playing football was a very big deal as you know."
Nick felt the urge to track down this Corey and punch him. "I know. I did not play football. I played basketball."
"Still a jock though?"
"Stellar athlete. I can impress you sometime with my jump shot."
"I'm past the jock thing. I need a brainiac. Impress me with something else. Like reciting the periodic table or the Gettysburg address."
"How about the Texas rules of Civil Procedure? Give me a number, and I'll see if I can tell you the rule. Or I can explain the rule of perpetuity. That's all I got."
"I have no idea what that is, but I'm suitably impressed," she said, batting her eyelashes at Nick. "Who was your first kiss?"
"You," he said and leaned over to brush her lips with his.
"Liar. You had a fiancée."
"Yes, but since I've kissed you, it's like none of those others ever existed." Nick meant to be hyperbolic and funny, but part of him recognized his words as truth. He loved chasing Micky, but none of that compared to catching her. He kissed her again.
"Kelly," he said.
"What?" Micky's eyes were clouded with desire.
"My first kiss. Kelly. I was eleven."
"Young. You are easy," Micky quipped, playfully smacking his chest with the back of her hand. "Now stop. I'm still scarfing down pizza. You should watch this and make sure you still find me attractive."
"I don't think there's any danger of my not finding you attractive. So, scarf away."
Micky grabbed another slice of pizza and closed her lips around the tip of it. Nick laughed to himself. No danger at all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
By the time Micky went home Sunday morning, they'd christened nearly every surface of his apartment. Closing the door behind her left Nick momentarily bereft and drunk with the memory of her. Chasing her to Paris had never seemed like a better idea.
Unfortunately, flying off to Europe would have to wait. He needed to return Rick's phone call. The PI's message on Friday indicated that he had something new, and he'd called again on Saturday. Nick had ignored him, perturbed that this business with Vivienne inserted itself into his satisfying weekend.
Still, he promised to help, so he picked up the phone.
"Finally. I thought maybe you'd fallen of the edge of the earth," Rick chided.
"I, uh, got busy this weekend." The unintended double entendre made Nick grin.
"Well, I solved your case."
"Really?"
"Trevor Sitges is definitely the guy who dropped those packages off at the UPS Store."
"How can you be sure?"
"I cased the area around the Speedy Tech shop and found another business with security cameras. They had footage showing a guy leaving and returning with the company vehicle in the timeframe of the second drop. We get a clear view of the windshield and the driver."
"Huh." Nick considered where to go from here. Should he try to talk to Trevor or have a conversation with Jonah? Vivienne didn't want her family to know anything about the blackmail. Pressing Jonah would certainly make him suspicious. "I need an address for Trevor Sitges."
"It's in the report. The house is in his mother's name Arianna Sitges, but she lives mostly in Atlanta from what I can tell. I'll email you the details now. Anything else I can do?"
"No. Not for now. You've done exactly what I needed. Thanks."
"My invoice is attached to the email. Let me know if your situation changes and you need something, and be careful. The kid doesn't have a criminal record or anything, but you never know what you're getting into."
"Of course. Thanks again."
A few minutes later, Nick had the address he needed and was out the door.
Trevor Sitges lived in a shockingly nice neighborhood southwest of Texas Christian University. Nick had expected a ramshackle house with dogs chained in yards and shady people drinking from bottles in brown paper bags.
Blackmailers are desperate for cash, right? No one on this street of sprawling mid-century homes gave the appearance of struggle, but looks could deceive. A young man fresh out of trade school couldn't possibly afford to live in the neat red brick home matching the address Rick found.
Nick checked the email again. Then, motion from the side of the house caught his eye. A man in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt emerged from the backyard, slamming the wooden gate behind him.
Their eyes met. Nick had only enough time to take note of the mutual recognition before the guy sprinted away. By the time Nick got out of the car, he was several yards behind. He sprinted, closing some distance.
Still, Trevor might have escaped had he not encountered a child's racing buggy, abandoned and obstructing the sidewalk. He extended his leg to hurdle it but caught his foot on the long handle designed for a parent to push. Nick's target sprawled forward, barely bracing himself with his forearm to avoid a full face plant onto the concrete.
"Shit!"
Trevor rolled over onto his back, curled up like an armadillo and holding his right arm. Nick slowed his pace and caught up, looming over the yelping figure.
"What'd you take off for?" Nick questioned, heaving air. "I know where you live. I could just come back."
"I don't know. I panicked," Trevor whimpered. The young man sat up to catch his breath.
Nick evaluated the danger posed by the situation and held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Trevor took it with his good hand and rambled to his feet.
"I take it you know why I'm here."
Trevor gazed up the street. As he mulled his optional answers, Nick took a small step toward him.
"Let's not play games."
The younger man sulked. "Fine. I saw your picture in the paper a few months ago. You're marrying Vivienne Moran."
"Why would a computer tech in Fort Worth care about the love life of a Dallas socialite?"
Trevor dropped his chin and peered up at Nick. "I didn't figure she'd tell anyone. Least of all her fiancé. Maybe you already knew who she is and didn't care. She is rich."
"Regardless of anything else, she's my friend. I care when someone threatens my friends," Nick responded through gritted teeth.
Trevor laughed. "Isn't it embarrassing enough to be marrying a lesbian? Now you're here doing her dirty work. I guess that's how they do it. They have a fleet of flunkies."
"They?"
"Her fucking family."
"What do you know about her family?"
"Enough. They hurt people. Greedy, hypocritical assho
les. That's what they are. All of them.
"You must not know as much as you think. Vivienne is a good person who doesn't deserve this."
"Maybe. Maybe not. But she can afford it."
"I don't get it. You don't seem like the maniacal, greedy type. What do you have against the Morans?"
Trevor's face darkened and his words came spitting out of his mouth. "That's none of your business. Let's just say they owe us."
"Us?"
"Look, fuck off, okay?" Trevor thrust his bad arm toward Nick, then winced. "You go back and tell Vivienne I'll be in touch about payment."
Nick rolled his eyes and dismissed Trevor's statement with a wave of his hand. "You can't expect this blackmail scheme of yours to pay off now that we know who you are. We could turn you over to the police in a heartbeat."
"If you were willing to involve the police, a cop would be standing here instead of you," Trevor argued, his eyes wide. "And if you think you have some other solution to the problem, know that if anything happens to me, those pictures go public."
Apparently, the guy thought he was in a gangster movie.
"You think, what, that you might get killed? That's not their style. You just might wish you were dead."
"They can't do anything more than they already have."
Trevor thrust his jaw forward, eyes firing with rage. He squared his shoulders with little effect. He still looked like a teenager, and Nick towered over him, at least six inches taller.
"I get the feeling, whatever your problem is, money isn't going to solve it."
"Huh. Funny. A Moran lackey who thinks money doesn't solve problems. You don't know anything. Like I said, I'll be in touch."
Trevor brushed past him and walked back toward his house. Nick let him go but followed him.
"Vivienne doesn't have half a million dollars, you know. You picked the wrong Moran to threaten."
