NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2)

by Christ Ridgway

  Only then did he look at her. “Sorry,” he said, sincere. “I know I promised to ignore it.”

  She glanced at him, then back at her plate, and picked up her fork. “Would it be terrible if I admitted I’d be a little insulted if you could?”

  The waiting food and alert-eared Paige precluded him having to answer. Then he realized that Baby Sally had joined the dinner table, sitting across from him where another plate might go, wrapped in some kind of lemon-yellow lacy garment. After that first glance, he avoided looking at her, but damn, her disdainful stare was an excellent lust-exterminator.

  In the next minutes he even managed passable dinner conversation, asking Paige about her day at childcare and Sloane about her afternoon. It had begun raining again, so the discussion of the weather filled some time.

  “Do you think this is really going to work?” Sloane finally asked, in a pocket of quiet.

  “Sure,” he said, hearty.

  “I’m still uncertain about why you’re insisting,” she ventured. “Helping out a virtual stranger, I mean.”

  “Not a stranger.” He sipped at the beer she’d put before him. “I run a small business, in a smallish community, despite our local vineyards, resident tech businesses, and thriving tourist industry. Nobody’s a stranger.”

  She smiled. “We’re all potential customers, you mean?”

  “Something like that.” Eli sat in his father’s place at the table, and had for a long time. Not immediately upon his parents’ death, but within the first year, because he thought his sisters would subconsciously understand it was his way of assuring them their family bond continued, unbreakable. Other things, ideals, beliefs, continued on too, passed from parents to son.

  “You didn’t grow up here, right?” he asked.

  “San Luis Obispo.”

  He nodded. The biggest city around was twenty miles away. “It happened fifteen years ago.”

  “What?”

  “The Great May Surprise Storm, or as some other voices call it the, uh,” he shot a glance at Paige, “Bleeping Flood.

  “The nursery was threatened by a very heavy, very dangerous runoff. Word got out and people from the surrounding area showed up, bodies and heavy equipment moving plants and trees, overnight managing to save most of our inventory. I was fourteen and working my ass off, every second counting, but my dad made time to pull me aside in order to point out the power of community and to remember that the Kings owed a big debt to ours.”

  Her wide eyes took him in, her fork paused between her plate and her mouth.

  “So call this paying it forward,” he continued, “or backward or sideways, it doesn’t matter. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what this family does. If it makes you feel any better, we help other individuals and businesses in need when we can.”

  Silence fell over the table then, which he thought indicated progress. It wasn’t broken until Paige asked if she could take Baby Sally upstairs. “Go ahead,” Sloane told her daughter. “We’ll run your bath in a little while.”

  Eli rose, but before he could help her from her chair, the little girl jumped down from the improvised booster seat. “Bye,” she said, smiling at him, displaying a full set of baby teeth.

  He smiled back, pleased by this new friendliness, and it was still on his face when she snatched up the doll.

  Its yellow lacy covering slipped off the toy and was left on the table, but Paige didn’t seem to notice as she scampered for the stairs.

  Eli, however, couldn’t look away from it. Without Baby Sally, it became clear that the yellow lace wasn’t a doll garment after all, but instead a sexy stretch of fabric made to cover…breasts.

  There was a moment of charged silence, then Sloane snatched it up and brought it to her lap.

  Eli looked to her for a cue…could they laugh about it?

  But no, Sloane’s face had turned pink and her focus had returned to her fork and her plate. With care, she scooped up another bite of food.

  Great, back to her discomfort.

  “We should talk about the kinds of things you like to eat,” she said, obviously latching on to a neutral subject.

  “I’m not picky,” he repeated, with a dark thought for Baby Sally whom he now blamed for his house guest’s renewed unease. “Whatever you like to cook.”

  “I was thinking about tomorrow’s dinner…” she began.

  And there it was, an opportunity to make a statement. A chance to show that their mutual attraction wasn’t a hindrance to him…nor was her presence in his home.

  “I won’t be here for dinner tomorrow night,” he said.

  Her head came up. “Oh?”

  “I have a date.”

  “Oh.” She settled back in her chair, her pose now relaxed. Comfortable. Her expression communicated pleasure in the thought of him going out with some other woman.

  Too bad it gave him none.

  * * *

  Sloane tramped halfway up the staircase. “Paige!” she called. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  Unsurprised by the ensuing silence, she continued up the steps. The playroom held a lure that completely captivated her daughter. The toys, dress-up clothes, and books were new to her and combined with the ones brought from the house across the street, they caused Paige to deeply immerse in imaginative play.

  The floral pattern of the hallway runner under her feet muffled her footsteps, so she called out again so as not to startle the child. “Paige, it’s your favorite. Macaroni and cheese.”

  “That’s my favorite too,” a man said, his voice filtering from two doors down. It was one of his sister’s rooms, Sloane noted. Paige had the one across the hall from it, with the attached playroom. Only three of the five upstairs bedrooms were claimed—the twins shared one—so the night before Sloane had taken the very small fifth bedroom, leaving Paige and her restless thrashing during sleep to the double mattress found in room four.

  Last night, Sloane had slept fine on the narrow single, not more than four or five times replaying Eli’s “Bleeping Flood” story, which served as his reason to take in her and her daughter. Only six or seven times had there been a replay of that charged interlude when she’d been caged by his arms and wanted nothing more than to find herself against his strong body, breasts to chest, with their mouths fused and tongues tangling.

  The embarrassing, bralette-landing-on-the-table moment she’d banished completely from her mind.

  Now she turned into her daughter’s room and paced the few feet to stand at the threshold to the play space. Half the dress-up clothes were tumbled out of their trunk and onto the floor, while Paige faced away from her, on her knees, booty in the air, as she rooted around for something under the bookshelf. “Time to eat, sweet pea. Mackie cheez,” she said, using the little girl’s old baby talk name for the dish.

  “I’m serious.” Eli came up behind Sloane, his presence causing her silly pulse to beat a little faster. “Macaroni and cheese is the one food I’d want with me on a deserted tropical island.”

  She forced herself to stay in place and not immediately turn, allowing some time to become adjusted to that now-familiar, but still-beguiling subtle scent of him—spicy soap and a hint of lime aftershave. “Not such a wise selection,” she said, “considering a deserted island’s lack of refrigeration and those high daytime temperatures.”

  “Such a level head,” he murmured. “Do you always ruin daydreams with practical matters?”

  “It’s a gift,” she said, meaning it. Under her circumstances she rarely had the luxury to ruminate about an intriguing and personal “what if” when ignoring what was meant she and her daughter might go without food and shelter. Indulging in imagination was fine for Paige, but was not something available to her mother unless it was part of her little girl’s fun.

  “It’s sad,” Eli said.

  She spun to face him, to tell him he had no idea how dangerous dreaming might be, but the words stuck on her tongue. Staring, she brought her hand to her mouth, trying
to hold back either a giggle or a gasp.

  “What?” Eli said, then, “Oh.” His hand found the sapphire-colored feathery boa wound around his neck, paired strangely with a plaid, newspaper boy-style cap covering his head. “I was playing with Paige.”

  Sloane blinked, then repeated his words, sounding stupid to even her own ears. “You were playing with Paige?”

  “I came upstairs looking for the shoe shine sponge that Nora borrows for her boots and Paige asked me to join her.”

  Sloane barely heard the explanation, still processing the earlier statement. No one played with Paige except Sloane. Her boss and landlady, Alice, had bought the little girl her favorite foods and the occasional toy, but she’d never ventured into the world of make-believe with the little girl. Diana and Jeffrey, Paige’s grandparents, only watched her at play from afar, from a chair or sofa or park bench, Diana with the air of a child psychologist assessing her granddaughter for potential aberrant behavior.

  “He’s the man,” Paige said now, and Sloane glanced over to see her daughter had a purse slung across her chest and a chunky bracelet of plastic “gems” wrapped around her wrist. A turban perched on her head, crookedly. “I’m the mommy.” Then she pointed at Boo, who lay curled nearby, his eyes closed. “And I have to brush the dog because we’re all going to a party.”

  Sloane checked her watch. “Well, the brushing will have to wait because it’s time for the mommy’s dinner. And the man has a different party to attend.”

  Eli grimaced and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I almost forgot.”

  Sloane hadn’t. Yesterday she’d been delighted at the mention of his upcoming social engagement. His date. Because that’s what he wanted and what she wanted wasn’t, as a temporary guest, to hinder him in his goals.

  Not to mention harbor any further ideas about the two of them kissing again.

  A sudden thought made her pause. Did that date with this unknown woman come with sex as dessert?

  She ignored the question as well as a sudden burning sensation in her chest. How he ended his evening was none of her business. “You don’t want to be late, Eli.”

  They tromped down the stairs as a group, Eli unwinding the boa as they descended. In the kitchen, he dropped it over Paige’s head and almost made it out the door with the cap covering his hair before Sloane stopped him with a word. He swiped it off then held it between his hands seeming to study the pattern. “Sloane…”

  “You don’t want to keep the lady waiting,” she said, again reminding him of the lateness of the hour. With every passing moment she felt a deeper need to get him away from her. Out of the house where he wouldn’t threaten her status quo, the one in which she didn’t let her imagination have any sort of sway.

  But as the evening progressed, she couldn’t ignore the reality that her world had changed—at least for a short while. This new place of theirs came with a man, and she’d never thought of sharing her life with a one…not since JJ ran off, telling her sorry, but he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood after all.

  Since then, it had been Sloane and Paige, a team of two, with their mascot, Boo. It had been enough…and busy as she was keeping things running smoothly, she’d never considered finding someone willing to take on a woman with a child. Finding someone to give Sloane more.

  Following a bath, they snuggled into Paige’s bed for story time. She wanted her mom to read her the “princess book” found on the nearby bookshelves and pressed it into her mother’s hands.

  Sloane hesitated, unwilling to fill her daughter’s active mind with the idea that being royal was a state to covet or that she could depend upon someone else for rescue. Though her daughter had dolls and enjoyed playing with them, Paige also had building toys and art supplies and a fleet of heavy-duty die-cast trucks and muscle cars. To Sloane’s mind, it was important the little girl learn she could do anything and be anything.

  “Now, Mommy,” Paige said, turning to the first page. “Read me this book.”

  By the end, Sloane found herself pleased. In the pages of The Paper Bag Princess, the main character Elizabeth showed she was no damsel in distress and was instead the hero of her own story. “I love it,” she told Paige, and turning to the flyleaf, saw that Eli had given it to his twin sisters on their fifth birthday.

  It would have been the first without their parents.

  “The princess doesn’t have a daddy,” Paige observed as Sloane closed the book and set it on the bedside table. “Like I don’t have a daddy.”

  They’d gone over this before, and she’d been prepared for questions since learning of JJ’s death.

  “That’s right, Paige,” Sloane said matter-of-factly. “You only have a mommy. But as you know, some children only have a daddy. Others have both. One of your friends at Cozy’s has two mommies and one has two daddies. What’s important is that children have people who love them and who will kiss them good night.” Her lips pressed warmly to her daughter’s forehead, and she tried to imprint everything she felt for her in that brief caress.

  “I want Baby Sally,” Paige said, scooting down in her covers and grabbing Bun the stuffed bunny, her usual sole favorite.

  Sloane discovered the doll, now thankfully dressed in actual doll clothes, and inserted her beneath the sheets. Her daughter drew the toy closer. “E says he’s scared of Baby Sally.”

  “E?”

  “That’s what I call him,” Paige said on a huge yawn.

  Now was not the time to wrangle over it, Sloane decided. She addressed the other issue instead. “Well, it’s true that some people don’t like babies.”

  “I don’t know.” Paige sounded drowsy. “He says I must have been a cute baby because I’m so cute now…”

  “You were a cute baby,” Sloane said with a sudden pang. Wasn’t she still a baby?

  “…but he said kind better than cute. Smart and kind best.”

  How long had the pair been conversing? Sloane wondered. “Smart and kind is best.” She pressed another kiss on her daughter, this one to her soft cheek. A third was necessary before she said a final, “Good night.”

  “Maybe E…” Paige murmured something Sloane couldn’t hear.

  “What?”

  “Kiss me,” her daughter said, her lashes sweeping down to lie still against her fair skin. “Maybe he’ll kiss me g’ night when he gets home.”

  Maybe he’ll kiss me g’ night when he gets home played over and over in Sloane’s head as she tidied the downstairs and then arranged pillows so she could stretch out on the couch in the family room. Fooling with the TV remote, she found a show someone in the King household had previously recorded. A couple looking for an urban oasis for themselves and four dogs.

  The program’s dialogue became a soothing drone as sleepiness descended. Sloane breathed deep, tried to rouse herself, but it was too much effort. Her body floated away, her mind leading her into a dream in which she shared a bed with a hard male body. His voice murmured, the low tones striking a chord deep inside her, causing her body to hum and her skin to heat. Her arms circled his neck and her mouth found the skin of his throat, nuzzling to get closer to his scent. She licked him there, because her dream lover didn’t mind.

  He proved it by groaning, his hold on her tightening. Her back landed on a mattress, her head on a pillow, and feeling a space opening up between them, she pulled Dream Lover close again, reluctant to lose this taste of another reality.

  Maybe she hadn’t fantasized in four years, but it was so easy to slide into this spell.

  A mouth was at her ear, teeth nipping so that she arched, wanting more of the pleasurable sting. His weight half-lay on her, a delicious pressure, and she turned her head to catch his lips.

  A dream kiss.

  No. She chafed at the perfunctory nature of it and felt him begin to move away again. Her arms tightened, one leg wrapped around his hip, and she turned on her side to thrust her tongue into his mouth.

  Dream Lover tore his lips away to end the kiss. “God,”
he said, and his hand slid down her back to slide beneath her jeans and panties. His palm cupped one cheek of her behind, and her skin prickled with sudden heat, a strange sensation.

  A new sensation. Sweet. Urgent.

  “Sloane,” he said against her ear, his mouth trailing dampness over her cheek. “You don’t want this.”

  She sank deeper into the pillow, holding his head close. A coworker had told her about volunteering to be hypnotized at a Vegas show. I was outside my body, looking down. I was fully aware of what I was doing, but I’d lost any sense of self-consciousness.

  Her work friend had been told to read aloud a letter she wrote to Santa.

  Sloane was writhing against Dream Lover. From above, she could see herself as she rolled her hips, rubbing the juncture of her thighs against the hard length of his upper leg. Her clit tingled, the pressure enough, with her denim and his denim, to stoke her arousal. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass, taking charge of the rhythm, and he groaned into her mouth as he laid his own searing kiss there.

  They were dry humping like teenagers, like desperate people caught in the same dream, an excuse Sloane was embracing. Just for now. Just for long enough to get to that high place he was urging her toward, her sex-starved body finally acknowledging a hunger it had been denying itself, always so wary about unleashing needs that would make her want things she couldn’t have—excitement, arousal, pleasure at the hands of a man.

  She was having all three now, and she wasn’t going to put a stop to it. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she ran her hand under his shirt, her palm exploring the hot flesh of his taut belly. His deep groan nearly yanked her from the trance into which she had willfully immersed herself and she gave him an aggressive kiss, distracting him from taking her out of the dream with words and truths she didn’t want to hear.

  When all she wanted was to come.

  As if he knew, his hold softened on her bottom and he caressed her there instead, a counterpoint touch to the urgency of her own frantic movements, the ones that rubbed her clit against his muscle. Tearing her mouth from his, she panted, sucking in shallow breaths as her need climbed. Sweat broke out along her hairline and she clutched at his arm with her free hand, trying to communicate how desperate was her desire for release.