NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2)

by Christ Ridgway

  String-less sex was what he’d offered, what she’d agreed to, all that he’d recall when he cast his mind back to those hours in his dimly lit bedroom, when he’d touched and kissed and tasted her everywhere. When she’d responded with a gratifying delight and embarked on her own fair share of exploration of his body with a sweet enthusiasm.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then gripped the keys, the slight pain of the sharp edges yanking him back to the present.

  To his real life, the rambling house that would soon be much too big for a carefree bachelor, to the business that he sweated over because it was the King legacy and also work that he very much enjoyed, to the future waiting in the near-distance that promised him a new and very welcome independence.

  The drive to King’s took little time at this early hour and he eschewed taking a seat behind his desk to walk about the grounds, pitching in where he saw that a pair of extra hands could prove useful. He slung bags of brown mulch for the weekend special display, unboxed pump bottles of indoor plant food, and swept up shards of a large earthenware pot taken out by a too-sharp turn of a forklift.

  Once he’d used raw muscle power to rearrange two-dozen ten-gallon potted shrubs, he decided he deserved a coffee break and made himself a cup in the break room. Then he dropped into his desk chair, the activities of the night before pushed to the farther reaches of his mind.

  He was entering numbers in a spreadsheet on his computer screen when a knock on his doorjamb made him glance up.

  “Hey, Boone.” The big man lingered in the doorway. “What’s up?”

  “You busy?”

  “It’s my day off, so I shouldn’t even be here.”

  Boone dropped into one of the visitors’ chairs. “I was in the area, so I thought I’d take a chance on finding you. Though I wondered if you might be too worn out to make it into work today.”

  Eli steeled himself against reacting to his friend’s assessing gaze. “Here I am,” he said, holding his hands out to his sides. “What did you need?”

  “It’s what you missed by leaving poker early last night,” he said, and lifted onto one hip to withdraw something from his back pocket. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

  Though Eli’s eyebrows rose, he automatically reached into his own pocket for his wallet. “What is it I purchased?”

  “Raffle tickets. Maddox is selling them. Some fund-raiser being sponsored by the local police department.”

  Eli handed over a twenty-dollar bill and received four tickets in return. He glanced at them. “And I’ll win…”

  “There are lots of possibilities, little to big. But don’t hold your breath for the grand prize. You know who’s going to take that.”

  “Cooper,” they said together. Though the man didn’t generally clean up on poker night, at any other contest, especially those that required luck over skill, their friend came out on top more than his fair share of the time. He was the guy who found a fifty in the gutter. The one who pulled into the last available parking spot in their favorite beachside lot.

  Boone shook his head. “One of these days he’s going to lose out on something he really wants.”

  “It’ll knock him on his ass.”

  Speaking of which…” Boone narrowed his eyes. “You look like you’re dragging.”

  A second mention of his obvious fatigue. Eli scraped his hand through his hair and downed more coffee.

  Boone wasn’t put off. “Successful night?”

  “Maybe we can go out for margaritas or sangria after our next hair appointments and dish.”

  “Don’t try going sexist on me, asshole,” his friend said, scowling. “As a brother of four young women you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Eli ignored the swipe, but felt guilty all the same. And Christ, he’d brought the question on himself, after all, by bellyaching about his needs to the poker crew.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m pleasantly worn out from my exertions last night. Is that enough to get you off my back?”

  “Only if you give me a little hint about the identity of the fortunate woman.” At Eli’s stare, Boone shrugged. “Okay, I admit I made a little side bet with myself. Do I owe me ten bucks because you bumped uglies with your neighbor-now-roomie?”

  “Shut. Up,” Eli said. “Nothing about Sloane is ugly.”

  Boone started to laugh. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” Then he made a big show of drawing out his wallet again, taking a ten from it, then slipping the bill back inside.

  Watching the performance, Eli sighed. “Keep it to yourself, okay?”

  “Not another word…except, is this a one and done or are you two started something more serious?”

  Eli recoiled. “You know I’ve been serious for the last eleven years. That’s not what I want now.”

  “One and done, then.” Boone sat back in his chair.

  “Yes. We talked about it last night. Before.”

  But after, meaning after the three times he’d come and the four times for her, had they talked at all? No, they’d passed out in each other’s arms until she’d slipped from the bed at dawn. Later, he’d used her absence from the house to escape to work and who knew what she was thinking now…or what she was thinking he was thinking now.

  Crap.

  He put his elbow on his desk and propped his forehead on the heel of his hand. “I should have left a note,” he muttered. “Or flowers. Should I have sent flowers?”

  “Nope,” Boone said, adamant. “You said you discussed it beforehand. One and done. You’re covered, bro. Flowers would only confuse things.”

  Eli looked up. “Somehow this seems wrong. I’m relying on you for romantic advice?”

  The big man stood, and that had to be a smirk on his face. “Romantic? Who used that word?”

  Then he left, his whistle loud in the hallway.

  His words loud in Eli’s head. Right. Nothing about last night had been romantic. It wasn’t supposed to be. But he could have been more considerate this morning. At the very least made sure he set his eyes on the woman.

  Scooping his phone off the desk, he rose and headed for the exit, driven by a new urge. He needed to check on Sloane. In person.

  The car ride took longer than he liked, as he had to travel through the Sawyer Beach downtown with its Friday noontime traffic. It gave him time to replay the night before and now it wasn’t the sexual parts that rolled through his head. He remembered Sloane sharing the particulars about her marriage.

  I wanted to belong to somebody.

  He hated how alone she’d been. How vulnerable that had made her when she was so young.

  He didn’t see me as fun anymore.

  And then to be betrayed by the person who’d promised her a place in the world by his side. Dead or not, Eli wanted to punch the guy in the face. Paige’s father hadn’t deserved his daughter or his wife.

  As he pulled into the garage, he was glad that he still lived in the old place at the moment. It was there to provide a roof over the head of his neighbor and her child. Pushing through the door from the garage into the kitchen, he met the gaze of the woman in question. “Hey,” he said, taking in her rumpled curls and the flannel shirt she wore, the tails hanging down to her knees and revealing bare legs and bare feet covered by slouchy socks. She could wear a burlap sack and he’d find her sexy as hell. He put one hand on the wall to steady himself as he recalled the sweet, molten heat of her kiss. “Sloane—”

  “Eli,” she said, her voice urgent. “Go away.”

  “What?” He rocked back on one heel, wondering if he’d been clumsy in bed the night before in some way he hadn’t perceived. Had he hurt her physically? But no, he didn’t believe that. Yeah, she’d been tight because it had been a long period of abstinence for her. And yeah, he’d not been the gentlest of lovers 100 percent of the time. But she’d arched her back as he’d nipped the tight crests of her breasts and her heels had dug into his ass with every rough thrust into her body. Perhaps she’d been a little sore upon awake
ning, but her moans and clutching hands while in the throes of climax were evidence she’d thoroughly enjoyed the source of any aches and pains.

  Then had his absence that morning offended her?

  He grimaced. “Look, Sloane, I’m sorry if—”

  The wail of a child interrupted his apology and Sloane spun and dashed for the stairs. He followed, galvanized by the cry.

  In the doorway to Paige’s room, Sloane turned to face him again and stretched her arms from jamb to jamb. “You don’t want to catch this. Stomach flu.”

  Ah. He hovered in the hall as she sprinted toward her daughter. Then he moved back as she rushed the child to the bathroom, the dog at her heels.

  Familiar sounds confirmed the situation.

  Glancing into the room, he saw a jumble of linens on the floor and Baby Sally, facedown and wearing a hand towel like a toga. He gathered up the discarded material and retrieved the doll, propping her up on a pillow.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” he said to the toy’s accusing stare, and took the bundle of cloth in the direction of the stairs. He met Sloane coming out of the bathroom with Paige curled in her arms, the child’s wan face pressed to her mother’s chest. “What do you need?” he asked, unable to help himself from running a gentle hand over the little girl’s silky blonde hair. “I’m here now.”

  Big-eyed, Sloane mutely shook her head, and sidestepped him for the bedroom.

  But this wasn’t Eli’s first rodeo. He filled and started the washing machine, then carted a tray upstairs that held a mug of tea of for Sloane, a cup of cool water for Paige, a sleeve of soda crackers, and a short, cold bottle of cola. “When you think she can keep it down,” he told the girl’s mother as he set it on the dresser. “Just call if you need anything else.”

  She merely shook her head at him again, but did murmur “thank you” when he handed her the ignominiously named “Barf Bowl” that he’d unearthed from a back cupboard.

  Paige looked at him through listless eyes. “You’ll feel better,” he promised. “And when you do, we’ll set up Camp Movies downstairs. We show only the best there.”

  He prepared for the eventuality by hooking up an old DVD player he’d never got around to throwing out to the very new, very big flat-screen TV in the family room. It took some head-scratching to realize what inputs he had to use, but he got it working. The DVDs of his sisters’ favorite movies were still stored in a lower cupboard. He studied the hoard in some dismay, realizing it was indicative of every nook and cranny of the old house—stashed with years upon years of King flotsam and jetsam.

  It was going to be a hell of a chore to clear out before selling.

  But when mother, daughter, and dog came down the stairs a couple of hours later, he was glad that he still had the movies and the player around. He and Sloane made a bed for Paige on the couch and she snuggled into one corner, with Baby Sally and a doll-size hairbrush and a tiny bucket of mini hair accessories. Sloane took to the other corner once the little girl had made her first movie selection.

  To act as technical support, he sat on the floor with Boo, his back propped by the couch near Paige’s corner. Soon she was entranced by the under-the-sea antics of the characters on the screen and Eli was in a semi-doze as well, barely noticing as little fingers began playing with his hair, the lack of sleep catching up with him.

  “Uh, Eli…”

  He twitched, jolting into alertness and turned his head to look at Sloane.

  Her big blue eyes were filled with gentle amusement and he realized Paige had adorned the long strands of his hair with some of her accessory collection. He glanced at the child and saw that her color had returned and that she looked contented, hairbrush in hand, attention on the big screen.

  His gaze returned to Sloane and she smiled at him. He took it like a punch to the chest as he remembered her looking that same way the night before, between Rounds one and two, with her hands stacked on his chest and her chin on her hands. She’d been rattling on about her plans for Paige’s upcoming birthday party—apparently orgasming revved the woman—and he’d been trying to believe his cock hadn’t been permanently incapacitated after his last explosive climax.

  Oh, but what a way to go, he’d thought, and then had gotten it up again in less than an hour.

  “Eli,” she said now, nodding toward him. “Shall I get her to take those out—”

  “No. It’s nothing that’s not happened before,” he said, reaching up to touch the little pieces of plastic dangling from the ends of his hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Being used as a hair model was indeed something he’d experienced in the past. But one thing was new, he realized as his housemate continued to gaze upon him with that soft light in her eyes.

  He’d assumed he and Sloane could go back to their previous non-relationship after last night. But seeing that smile on her face and that expression in her eyes meant she couldn’t be some anonymous hookup to him. Not after spending time in his bed and not after she’d seen him at his most vulnerable—with glitter clips hanging in his hair.

  At best he might manage to label her an intimate stranger.

  And even that seemed like a worry worthy of some future sleepless nights.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Eli arrived home from work in the early afternoon. Sloane expressed surprise—spring, weekend, a beautiful day that would turn people’s thoughts to their landscaping needs—and though he waved off her comment, telling her the nursery ran like clockwork without him, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d returned to check on how she and Paige were faring.

  Yesterday, he’d been on hand to help alleviate her daughter’s misery. As Sloane deep-cleaned the kitchen, she smiled, remembering the way he’d looked with half a dozen barrettes affixed to the ends of his hair. At one point he’d even been humming along with the movie playing on the TV and with a single look at Paige she’d diagnosed a growing case of hero worship.

  Much better than the stomach flu, she’d decided then. Now it was the reason she allowed the little girl to play nearby while he tackled the chore of uncluttering and organizing his garage.

  He said he didn’t mind and Sloane trusted him.

  But the quiet inside the house gave her too much time with her own thoughts. With a last swipe of the interior of the refrigerator, she put together a tray of lemonade and graham crackers. Rona’s warning about Diane and Jeffrey seeking custody had been lost in the haze of Paige’s sudden attack of stomach distress. But now the concern was bubbling up again, and Sloane felt helpless to control it—as well as helpless to take a positive action against the threat.

  Maybe it was all talk. Maybe Rona had overheard something her mother said and taken the words out of context.

  So Sloane decided against borrowing trouble. As a single parent, working paycheck to paycheck, there were only so many worries she could juggle at one time. Until this one presented itself more credibly, she refused to let it bring down her mood.

  For the moment, her daughter’s health had improved, the sun was shining, and in less than a week her landlords would have returned and they would help her get back into her own home. She shouldered her way out the kitchen door and into the garage.

  Until then, this nice man was sharing his home with them.

  As she stepped onto the concrete floor, and caught a glimpse of Eli, she had to admit that “nice” didn’t cover it.

  Neither did a shirt.

  Wearing work boots, jeans, and nothing else, he was reaching for a box stacked on one of the high shelves running along the walls. The muscles in his back shifted under the surface of his sleek skin. She recalled running her hands over that same living surface as the heat and power of him slid between her thighs. Her body clenched in memory, reigniting the ache he’d left behind. He’d been big, and he’d worked slowly to enter her at first, his voice gentle. Soothing. Relax baby, you can take me. God, how wet you are, how ready for me.

  It was she who’d gone crazy at the s
ensation of being filled with such heat and girth, desire shooting through her bloodstream, need making her clutch and suck and kiss with increasing demand.

  Knees going wobbly, she set down her tray on the work bench just as he hefted the box in his arms and then bent to set it on the floor. As he glanced over at her, Sloane grabbed up a napkin and fanned her face. “Such a warm day,” she said, hoping to excuse her blush.

  Eli gave her a longer look, then redirected his attention to the cardboard flaps, opening them. “Paige,” he called out. “I found the sidewalk chalk.”

  Sloane’s daughter skipped over and bent as well to peer inside the box. Boo joined them, and she had to grin at the three heads so close together. Paige reached inside and brought up two thick pieces of chalk, one pink and one blue.

  “What are you going to draw?” he asked the little girl as they both straightened.

  “You and me,” she said. “Boo too.”

  “I like it.” He smiled. “The driveway is all yours, but stay away from the street, okay?”

  “Okay.” She whirled in that direction, then whirled back. “You smell.”

  “Uh-oh,” With a grimace, he lifted one arm and made an elaborate sniff. “Bad?”

  “Like a daddy,” she said. “My friend Jace has two daddies. I like daddies.”

  “Ah.”

  She started off again, then glanced over her shoulder. “I like you.”

  “Back your way, kid.” Eli took the offering with a coolness Sloane didn’t feel. “And I’m honored.”

  She inhaled a quick breath when he shifted his gaze to her. “Well,” she said, trying conceal the emotion she felt at further proof of her daughter’s first crush. “As you can see, the director of Camp Movies made quite an impression.”

  Turning toward the work bench, she poured a glass of lemonade and held it out. “You must be thirsty.” He ventured nearer, and, like Paige, now she could smell that intoxicating scent of his. Clean soap with just an edge of lime. His robe had smelled of it. His chest. His belly.

  He took the glass and shook his head. “I can’t believe I kept a box of half-used sidewalk chalk.”