Sweet Talker

by Robin Bielman

  The movie fills the TV screen. The lights magically dim. Ethan grabs a pillow and places it on his lap then motions for me to put my head there.

  I lie on my side with my legs slightly bent at the knees. It’s lucky I’m wearing sash-tied linen trousers and a boxy blouse that makes moving around easy. I tuck my hands under my cheek and burrow a little deeper into the cushion.

  “Comfortable?” Ethan asks.

  “Very.”

  “Me, too.” And then to apparently get more comfortable, he slips his hand under my shirt. For a moment, I lie utterly still.

  Warm palm.

  Long fingers.

  On my bare skin.

  He rubs softly with the tips of his fingers, just the way I like it, and I melt into the couch, my limbs turning to jelly. With each stroke of his hand up and down my back, the worries plaguing me today about what happens next float away. Obviously, I won’t leave him high and dry without a manager. But Ren asked me when I’d be available for my next assignment. Usually I’m ready to start something new as soon as possible, but this time it hurts when I think about leaving Royal.

  With one easy flick, Ethan unhooks my bra. Holy backrub surprise. I suck in a breath—one I hope he doesn’t notice. He’s not making a move on me. It’s simply easier for him to massage my back without the strap interfering. If he’d asked to unhook it, I would have said ‘go right ahead.’ The fact that he didn’t ask is what makes me warm all over. When Ethan takes charge, I can’t resist him.

  He gently rubs between my shoulder blades, down my spine, across my lower back and up my side. My eyelids drift shut. I’m not tired. I just want to enjoy the sensations his touch elicits without the shenanigans on the television screen.

  “Do you remember the morning we were lying in bed and that chicken walked in through the open sliding glass door?” he asks out of the blue.

  “I do. You were worried she was going to lay an egg somewhere.”

  “Like in my shoes.”

  I smile. He’s too cute. “That’s such a random memory.” Not that I haven’t had many myself, but I’ve kept them close.

  “I’m thinking about setting up a coop.”

  “Yourself?”

  He stops rubbing my back for a moment. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “Have you ever had dirt underneath your fingernails, let alone chicken stuff?”

  “Chicken stuff? Is that the technical term for it?” he teases.

  “Yes.”

  He laughs, the sound deep and sexy. It reverberates down my spine. “I think I can handle chicken stuff. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

  “So, you’re not going to hire someone to do the work?”

  “Well…”

  It’s my turn to laugh. I stop and bite my lip, though, when his fingers graze the outside swell of my breast. I don’t know if the skim was intentional, but I feel it between my legs.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t need help with some of the work. And who knows? It could lead to other animals, too.”

  There’s certainly enough land on his property for a barn or two. “I didn’t know you had such a fondness for animals.”

  “It’s a little-known fact,” he says with a cheerful slant.

  I soak up the fact he’s sharing something with me he doesn’t tell everyone else. His family is involved in animal charities so it isn’t a reach for him to like animals, but this feels a little like a secret.

  I tilt my head back to take a quick peek at him. He’s watching the movie. “Fresh eggs every morning would be nice,” I say. His lips twitch in reply before I look back to the television.

  A few minutes later, he slips his hand out from under my blouse and takes the tie out of my hair. The band lands silently on the coffee table and then his hand is on my scalp, his fingers combing through my hair. He massages my head with steady, firm strokes. Tingles fan out from the top of my head to the tops of my shoulders. I think I purr. Whatever sound it is, I can feel him smiling in return.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” he says.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Should I continue here or return to your back?”

  “Shouldn’t you alternate? You know, five minutes on my back. Five minutes on my head.”

  “That’s right. You like things even.”

  “Balance is very important,” I say, closing my eyes again.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He does better than best, if that’s possible, alternating until he decides to spend more time on my back. With perfect pressure, he soothes my skin from my shoulders to the waistband of my pants. I’m in loose-limbed heaven when he dips slightly lower. That’s an accidental overshoot, right? Nope. He does it again, rubbing my butt over the thin material.

  The ache between my legs returns.

  I’m given a slight reprieve when his fingertips skate up to the back of my neck. On the downswing all I can think about is how low will he go?

  Low.

  He goes low.

  He reaches the crease where my bottom meets my thighs, and I fight the urge to lift my hips and spread my legs so he’ll dip to my front. Tingles arrow to that one spot, once again reminding me how flimsy the professional and personal line is that separates us.

  But I’m not his bodyguard anymore so…

  I sit up. With my eyes on his, I slide my bra strap down my left arm. Repeat the motion with my right. Then I pull the lingerie out from under my blouse and toss it over my shoulder. Ethan doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t blink.

  The pillow on his lap is in my way so I toss it next. Straddle him.

  “Hello there,” he says, his deep voice sexy and inviting. Do to me what you will is definitely insinuated.

  “Hi.” God, there’s so much I want to do to him. With him.

  “I hope this is the part where you kiss me.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I think I’ve proven to you that we both like it.”

  “True.”

  “Is there a reason why you’re taking your sweet time?”

  “To torture you?”

  “Consider me tortured.” He palms the side of my neck and applies slight pressure to bring me closer.

  I take his hand and lean back, holding his gaze as I place the tip of my tongue on the webbed part of his palm at the base of his thumb. I lick slowly up the side of his finger all the way to the end then take the tip inside my mouth.

  He shivers.

  Ethan Auprince shivers.

  That I do that to him is glorious and gratifying and so hot. I suck his finger s-l-o-w-l-y before releasing his hand to lean in and put my mouth at his ear. I gently blow a breath then take his earlobe between my lips and tug.

  He makes a deep, gravelly sound of approval.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how’s the torture level now?” I whisper.

  “Just remember turnabout is fair play.” His husky voice indicates a score of at least nine. Being the competitive person that I am, I continue the onslaught.

  I graze my lips across his forehead, curve slowly over his temple and then down toward his mouth. Trust me, I want this kiss as much as he does, but I love the tension rolling off him, too. Foreplay like this is rare. At least for me it is.

  When I reach the corner of his mouth, I pull back. He groans. His hands grip my hips in a silent message of enough. I smile because I’m not through torturing him yet. I lightly pull a few strands of hair at the nape of his neck and tilt his head to the side, exposing the tendon that runs from his ear to his shoulder. I am fully aware he’s indulging me here. Out of curiosity or respect, I’m not sure. Probably a combination of the two.

  From the heated look in his dancing blue eyes, though, his patience is running thin. I softly brush my lips under his ear then work my way down the ridge of the tendon, alternating between gentle nibbles and tiny kisses.

  “Pascale,” he grumbles, as if finally deciding he’s really had e
nough. “I need your lips on mine now or I’m going to lose my mind.”

  I don’t get a chance to offer a witty comeback. He takes my mouth a split second later. The kiss is the whole shebang. Ethan kisses with passion and possession and his focus narrows down time to this moment and this moment only. Everything around me ceases to exist except for this gorgeous man and the enthusiasm with which he steals my breath.

  We make out like teenagers, hands roaming above the waist, sounds of pleasure slipping through our sealed lips. Straddled like I am, though, I can feel how hard he is. I grind against him, unable to stop undulating when it feels so good to have our bodies pressed together.

  The kiss is everything our last one was and more. It’s our past, our present. Maybe our future. I have no idea what that looks like yet, but this kind of connection is special and I don’t want to give it up anytime soon.

  We kiss and touch through more moans and sighs until the movie ends. Parting takes superhuman effort. I’d like to keep kissing all the way to his bedroom.

  “Stay the night,” he says and I nod, excited to see where this leads. But then he adds, “It’s late.” And something tells me we won’t be getting naked tonight.

  “I’m doing things differently this time,” he says as he helps me to my feet. “I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it.”

  I can’t really argue with that. Well I can, but no one has ever wanted to savor me before. The sentiment fills my head with butterflies.

  We walk upstairs where he shows me to a guestroom with a king-sized bed and classic dark wood furniture. The bedding and walls are in shades of blue and gray. The thick crown molding is white. The room gives off a relaxing beach vibe, and I’m instantly comfortable. A clear glass door leads to a balcony.

  “There are T-shirts in the top drawer of the dresser and new toothbrushes and toothpaste in the bathroom there.” He nods toward a closed door.

  My heart sinks at how ordinary he makes this, like women are here on a regular basis. “I guess you have a lot of houseguests.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, Callie. It’s one of the things that draws me to you.”

  “Oh.” Okay, then.

  “My family occasionally stays here. Usually Finn or Drew, although now that Finn’s married, just Drew. Once in a while a cousin. My housekeeper keeps everything stocked so last-minute sleepovers are easy.”

  “Got it.” I cover a yawn with my hand. I guess I am tired.

  “Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning.” He kisses me on the cheek. It’s soft and too quick, but I like it.

  I like wondering about what tomorrow will bring.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Little Thing Called Dating

  Ethan

  The kiss with Callie, the backrub, the conversation, all play through my mind this morning. It took all my willpower not to sleep with her last night. She gave off all the signals to keep going, but like I told her, this time is different. She and I are different.

  I put the crepe batter in the fridge to keep until she wakes up and comes downstairs. I thought about bringing her breakfast in bed, but it’s best if we’re not near a bed this morning. Not that my imagination hasn’t moved us through every room and piece of furniture in this house. Me buried deep inside her while she says my name over and over.

  My dick twitches. Truth be told, any time I’m around her my pants grow tight. But at thirty-two, I can damn well control myself. Just knowing she’s under my roof is enough to make me happy.

  For now.

  The sound of the front door opening reaches my ears, crashing into my good mood. It’s Saturday so it’s got to be Drew. How do I know this for sure? One, he hates to cook. Even a piece of toast is too much for him. And two, my phone is sitting on the counter and just lit up with a text. Bro. I’m walking through your front door. He seriously needs to get himself a girlfriend so he stops showing up here unannounced.

  “In the kitchen,” I call out. It’s like he has a sixth sense and knows exactly when I’m making breakfast.

  He rounds the corner with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did you know there’s a bra hanging off the lamp in your family room?”

  I knew there was a bra somewhere, but I’d been zeroed in on Callie’s nipples poking through her thin blouse so had no idea where the lingerie landed. “Callie’s here,” I say. There’s no sense in beating around the bush unless I try to get rid of Drew before she makes an appearance, but that would be like trying to get a hungry dog to leave a pile of bones.

  “Without a bra on. Nice.” He takes a barstool at the kitchen island. “So, this means…”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “She’s still upstairs?”

  “In the guestroom, yes,” I say out of respect for Callie. I don’t kiss and tell, but I also don’t want my brother thinking things that aren’t true.

  Drew makes a face. “Why didn’t you guys—oh wait. She slept there because she took one look at your naked ass and thought, nope, never mind. And then she was too traumatized to drive home.”

  The little shit. “You do realize I hold all the breakfast power, right?”

  He eyes me with skepticism before he gives a slight nod in understanding that I’m not in the mood for jokes right now.

  “Morning.”

  I turn toward the raspy and very sexy voice to find Callie padding into the kitchen in nothing but an extra-large Army-green T-shirt that hangs almost to her knees. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a loose bun and her face looks just washed.

  She’s breathtaking.

  “Good morning,” I say, walking around the counter to pull out a barstool for her. I put her at the opposite end of Drew because… I don’t know why, I just do.

  “Hi, Pascale,” Drew says. “Sorry I crashed your breakfast. If I’d known you were here…”

  “Hi, Drew. No worries.” She sits on the stool. “Thanks,” she tells me.

  “If you’d known she was here, you’d still be sitting in my kitchen,” I counter.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” If you ask him, Drew makes a third wheel fun.

  I don’t bother to ask Callie if she wants coffee. I know she does and I know how she likes it. I place a steaming hot mug in front of her. She sighs her thanks.

  “Hey, what about me?” Drew says innocently. The list of how not-so-innocent he is, is a long one.

  “Don’t you want to go work out in the gym for an hour or so before you eat? You’re looking a little soft there.” I nod toward his biceps. He’s dressed in joggers and an Under Armour T-shirt so he’s probably up to some form of exercise today.

  He lifts his arm Popeye-style to flex his muscle, no doubt to show off for Callie. Drew’s got some serious guns. “This, big brother, is not soft.”

  Callie cants her head down and hides a small smile.

  “That’s not what she said.” Okay, so jokes at my brother’s expense are fine this morning. Especially in front of a pretty girl. The corners of said pretty girl’s mouth inch up.

  “You’re not funny,” Drew answers without any heat.

  “I’m a little funny.”

  “Exactly. Little,” he says with a smirk, like I don’t know I just handed him that. “Pascale, it was lovely to see you.” He stands. “I’m going to work out now so you two can have some privacy. I’m just down the hall if you get bored with this guy.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, humoring him.

  Once he’s gone, I rest against the counter, chin in my hand, and stare at her. I can’t help myself. She takes drinking coffee to a whole new level of appreciation, especially when she blows on it.

  “Yours is going to get cold,” she says.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I let go of my chin and pick up my coffee. The mug is still hot to the touch. I take a sip, then thinking about the torture she put me throu
gh last night, I take her hand and press my warm lips to her inner wrist, kissing slowly up the inside of her arm.

  She shivers. And not because she’s cold.

  I stop when I reach her elbow, pull back. Her tongue darts out to lick across her lower lip. She may as well have licked me because I’m primed to take her atop this counter. Two things stop me: Drew, and needing to know where she and I stand. I’d like to take her on a real date. I’d like to text her I’m thinking dirty thoughts about her. I’d like to take her to Vegas with me next week and show her the plans for the new restaurant.

  “I had a funny dream last night,” she says, breaking into my mental list.

  “Yeah?” I step to the fridge to pull out the crepe batter then turn the burner on the stovetop to medium heat. The pan is already there.

  She wraps her hands around her cup. “I was at Royal and it was a busy night. You were saying hello to a table and I was standing in the middle of the room. All of a sudden, the restaurant shook and giant pasta noodles in different shapes came up out of the floor and started attacking our customers.”

  “Killer pasta, interesting.” The pan hot, I get to work on the first crepe.

  “Weird, right?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went into full-blown Matrix, Terminator, Captain Marvel mode and annihilated every single noodle, saving everyone. Before I took out Mr. Macaroni, the last noodle who was definitely the ring leader, I told him, ‘pasta la vista.’” She smiles around her mug as she takes a sip.

  I laugh. “Do you have dreams like this a lot?”

  “Pasta dreams?” she says, like her dreams have included much sillier adversaries.

  “Vivid,” I clarify.

  “Pretty often, yeah. Sometimes I’ll even pick up where a dream ended the night before. My imagination goes pretty wild when I’m asleep. What about you?”

  “Nothing like yours. I had bad dreams as a kid so try not to remember them.”

  “Like a lion walking down your street or a flying German shepherd with teeth bared chasing after you, kind of bad?”

  I plate the first crepe, start cooking another. The next few will go quickly now that the griddle is hot. “Those are two of yours, I take it?”