She swallowed hard, struggling to catch her breath, then sighed, relaxing when I latched onto one of her nipples and gave it a long gentle suck.
“Is that okay?” I moved higher, planting soft little kisses on her chest, easing toward her neck while she watched.
“What?”
“If I make love to you,” I whispered, my lips pressed against her ear.
“If I say no?” she responded, using my own words from earlier.
“What are you afraid of?”
Her eyes drifted closed. “You can’t change my mind, D.”
Standing, I finished undressing. “I’m not trying to change your mind.” I was a liar. I hadn’t planned this to change her mind. I’d planned this to show her there was more to us than that damned bar and her sexual escapades. I wanted us to find a middle ground. It might be too late, but I’d take what I could get.
By the time I was done, there wasn’t an inch of her that hadn’t been licked, kissed, and touched. I buried myself deep inside her, so deep it felt like we were fused together.
She moaned, her eyes squeezed shut, and she seemed to pull herself together. I focused on her, on the feel of her lush body against every inch of me. On the legs wrapped around me, on the sweet, tight pussy contracting with every stroke. On her sighs and her nails digging into my back. I’d be damned if I’d come until she had again. She tightened her grip, her nails biting deeper into my back as she screamed and milked my cock until I couldn’t hold back either.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I panted.
She licked her lips and looked at me, and I realized just how vulnerable we both were when she spoke. “Do you really want to talk about this right now?” she asked hoarsely, as if she were fighting her own tears.
I kissed her temple, then let my lips softly drift across her cheek to her ear. The lump in my throat grew until it was so large I thought I might choke. “I can’t make you stay, but I don’t want you to leave.”
9
I knew it the minute I woke up. Cherise was gone. Her side of the bed was cold. The apartment was silent, and I didn’t smell coffee. I lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the previous night, how I’d asked her to stay and how she’d never answered me.
After a shower and some coffee, I tried Cherise’s home number, but it had been disconnected.
I had two choices. Sit and mope like a whiny punk or make it business as usual. I chose the latter, forcing myself to get out and run my normal Saturday morning errands—laundry, the dry cleaners, groceries, then collapsed on a bar stool at the counter when I was done. My fingers rapped a tattoo against the granite countertop before I grabbed my keys, finally giving into the urge I’d been fighting all morning and heading across town to the salon.
Inside, the chemical smell brought me up short, as did the crowd of women in the reception area, waiting their turn. The admiring looks made me uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as the overwarm salon. All the barber chairs were full, the dryers were full, all the nail stations too—except Cherise’s, which looked like it’d been emptied.
Sighing, I crossed to where Aunt Glo was combing out an elaborate hairdo. “Can I talk to you?” I murmured.
The exasperated look she gave me made me almost regret coming. “Can you see how busy I am, boy?”
“I know, Aunt Glo. It won’t take a minute. I promise.”
“I’ll be right back.” Her happy cordial expression changed the minute we hit the break room. She turned to face me, grim and thin-lipped and tired-looking.
“Where’s Cherise?” I asked softly. Not that anyone would hear me over all the hairdryers and such.
“She quit…Wednesday.” Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Why are you looking for Cherise?”
“I uh…” I was still stuck back on “she quit Wednesday.” “We’ve been seeing each other,” I said, even as the bottom fell out of my stomach.
She pinned me down with a steady gaze that eventually softened. “Well, she and Vivi had World War Three up in here Wednesday afternoon.”
Nodding slowly, I wandered to the break room door and snuck a look at Vivi. Sure as shit, she was sporting a black eye and probably deserved it. “Cherise mentioned a month or so ago that they were having problems,” I confirmed with a small nod.
“This is the third or fourth time…. So, this has been going on all summer? D’Angelo! Do you know your daddy and mama have been worried sick about you? They thought you were using drugs or something!”
My face was so hot from embarrassment it was almost painful, and I couldn’t look her in the eye. “I know.”
“D’Angelo, honey, I have no right to get in your business—”
“So don’t.”
“You’re grown,” she continued after frowning at me for interrupting her, “but this nonsense you’ve been pulling with your parents is unacceptable. And besides, she’s not the settling-down kind. You need to let her go.”
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I forced myself to look her square in the eye. “I know…I better let you get back to work.”
I turned toward the door, then stopped at the sound of her voice. “If you need me, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
Although I knew what I’d find even before I got there, I drove the few blocks to Cherise’s apartment. Nothing. I peeked through the miniblinds, my hands cupped on either side of my face to diminish the glare of the late-afternoon sun. All her shoes were missing from under the stairs. So was the photo I’d given her, her few pieces of furniture, and her lone ivy plant. Her Mustang was gone too.
I looked around the run-down little complex, trying to hone in on a Plan B when my phone rang. At the sound of my mother’s voice, guilt and resignation convinced me that maybe having dinner with Mom and Dad wasn’t such a bad idea.
It took everything I had to make it through the evening before I could escape and head home. My cell phone hadn’t rung the rest of the day, except for a call from Kevin trying to get me to go out.
When I got home, my last thought before I drifted off to sleep was that I’d have to track down Lanie. If that didn’t pan out, there wasn’t much I could do to find Cherise.
For the life of me, I couldn’t remember Carlotta’s last name, and information had no listing for a Lanie Daniels. It was just after eight in the morning, way too early to go to her house. Patience had never been one of my strong suits, but I didn’t have much choice. I spent the entire morning cleaning the loft.
I was in the middle of scrubbing down the bathtub when the phone rang. I rinsed my hands and ran for the bar, where I’d left my phone. “Hello.”
“Hi, sweetie pie.”
I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of Cherise’s voice. At least it sounded like Cherise’s voice. She’d never called me anything like baby or honey or…sweetie pie. I crossed to the couch and sank down in the cushions. “Wh-where…what?” I wasn’t even sure what to ask. “Why did you just fucking walk out?” I finally demanded. “I would have helped you move or pack or something.”
“No, you would have tried to talk me out of it.”
“Did I try to talk you out of it the other night? No. I told you I didn’t want you to leave, but I didn’t beg. I didn’t pick a fight or rant, did I?” I wanted to kick the coffee table.
“No,” she said, sounding contrite.
“What do you want?” I demanded. “You quit your job; your apartment is empty. Where are you? Fucking California?”
“Why don’t you come over? I’ll cook and we’ll talk.”
“I thought you left town.”
“I changed my mind…. Please say yes, D’Angelo…please.” She was practically begging.
What else was I going to do with an empty Sunday afternoon? “Where the hell are you?”
“Carlotta’s.”
I scrambled for a pen and wrote down the directions, promising to be there as soon as I’d cleaned up.
I hated that sucked-in feeling that crept up on me,
growing with every mile that took me closer to Cherise.
I could see why she’d moved. The condo was a world away from her tiny apartment. I stood at the door, waiting for her to answer. Here on the back side of the complex, there wasn’t much to see, but the cars were nicer, the grass was neater, and I could hear kids laughing. They rode past on their bikes. It was almost too ordinary for Cherise.
She answered the door dressed in cutoff shorts and a faded tank top. Good thing I hadn’t bothered to dress up.
“Come on in,” she said, swinging the door wide so I could pass. She looked…good. Relaxed, happy even. “Hope you like roast chicken.”
I silently followed her through the living room to the kitchen. Her ratty couch looked sad on the almost-new Berber carpet, but she’d added a few more plants, and the photo I’d given her sat on the mantle with some new black candle holders.
“Table new?” I asked, indicating the black oak kitchen table.
“Carlotta sold it to me. Want a beer?”
“Got tea?” We could have been having a conversation anywhere about anything, not about the fact that she’d fallen off the face of the planet, moved, and quit without even bothering to tell me. Not that I hadn’t expected it, but her abrupt departure still stung.
She filled two glasses and joined me at the table.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I wrapped my hands around the damp glass and waited.
“I did.”
“That’s bullshit!” Frowning, I sat back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “You didn’t tell me you quit your job on Wednesday or about the fight with Vivi.”
“I know…and you’re right, it is.” She looked contrite with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I’d planned on leaving, really. I even told the girls I was leaving. They weren’t happy either,” she added with a chuckle. “I’m not very good at this.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
She nodded in agreement, then smiled. “I was all set to go. I met the girls Saturday morning, we packed up all my stuff, and then they took me to breakfast. They padlocked the truck and refused to give me the key to the lock until I agreed to sublet Carlotta’s condo.”
The thought of how furious she must have been made me laugh but didn’t make me any less unhappy with her.
“I’ve never had friends like them before. I stayed as much because of them as you. D’Angelo, you can’t change me; you do realize that?” she asked, suddenly serious.
“As often as you’ve said it, how could I not?” As often as she’d said I couldn’t change her, it’d taken me a long time to figure out she was scared of someone changing her. Of someone forcing her to be something she couldn’t or didn’t want to be. I leaned forward and propped my elbows on the table. “You are the only person who can change you, Cherise. I don’t want to change you, but I also don’t want to go through this shit again. All you have to do is fuckin’ talk to me.”
“So where does that leave us? Do you not want to see me anymore?”
“You gonna stick around a while?” I countered, unwilling to give in just yet.
“Did I mention I was leasing with an option to buy?”
Down and Dirty
Jami Alden
1
T aylor pulled her pillow over her head, but the harsh mechanical whine pierced the thick down. She pulled the comforter up, willing to risk overheating if it meant she could get an extra hour of sleep. But it was useless. Why did her neighbor have to decide that this, of all Saturday mornings, was a great day to get up at the crack of dawn to do yard work?
Flinging back the comforter, she staggered to the window and inched aside the shade, recoiling as bright sunshine stabbed at her retinas. Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t precisely the crack of dawn, but close enough. She squinted in the direction of her neighbor’s house, and sure enough, a shirtless man expertly wielded a weed whacker along the other side of the fence that divided their lots. His head was bent, covered by a ball cap, and her annoyance waned momentarily as she admired the sleek muscles moving under acres of smooth, tan skin. The gardener from Desperate Housewives had nothing on this guy.
Still, after working until four A.M. this morning to put the finishing touches on a huge venture financing deal, she was in no mood to tolerate a noisy gardener, even if he did provide grade-A eye candy. Pulling a robe over her camisole and panties, Taylor slipped on a pair of rubber flip-flops and strode purposefully over to her neighbor’s front door. Though the house had sold several months ago, Taylor had been so busy with work she hadn’t met her new neighbors. Unlike most of the houses on her cul-de-sac, no toys littered the beautifully landscaped front yard, so she doubted a family had moved in. She took a moment to admire the pristinely trimmed hedges and planters full of bright flowers that bordered the front steps. Her own yard, she thought guiltily, needed only a car up on blocks to complete its Ma-and-Pa-Kettle, white-trash motif. But she’d barely seen her own house in the daylight for the past six months, so calling a gardener or landscaper was beyond her capability. Hmm. Maybe she’d hire the shirtless wonder working on her neighbor’s yard, since he seemed to know what he was about. But only on weekdays, when Taylor wasn’t desperately trying to put a dent in her perpetual sleep debt.
She rang the doorbell, aware of the warm morning sun penetrating the thin cotton of her robe. She probably should have gotten dressed, but if she had her way, after she spoke to her neighbor, she was crawling right back into bed in blessed silence. Several seconds passed with no answer. She looked around. The only vehicle in the driveway was a large white pickup with TIERNEY’S LANDSCAPING AND OUTDOOR DESIGN printed on the door in big green letters. But then, most people in the neighborhood parked their cars in the garage while they were home. She pressed the doorbell again, following it with several sharp raps.
“Can I help you?”
Taylor jumped as the speaker’s deep voice sent an electric current down her legs. She turned and faced the gardener, her eyes locking first on his bare chest, then traveling covetously up the muscled expanse to a perfectly delicious-looking neck, and finally settling on a face so gorgeous that Taylor swore she heard angels singing as his ridiculously vivid green eyes crinkled in a smile. Her mouth went dry as she took in the most stunningly perfect man she’d ever seen. She mentally sighed, knowing that under the short, gold-streaked brown hair, his head was no doubt full of landscaping gravel.
“I was hoping to talk to the owners.” Heat crept up her neck and face as his intense gaze raked her from the tips of her pink-painted toenails, up her bare legs, and over the thin cotton robe—the only thing standing between his frankly assessing gaze and her flimsy blue cotton camisole and panty set. She licked her lips and smiled as though it was perfectly proper for her to be standing on her neighbor’s front porch in a robe that left most of her legs bare.
He cocked his head to the side as though confused. “The owners,” she repeated, enunciating every word in case his grasp of English wasn’t optimal. “Do you know when they’ll be home?”
His thick brows furrowed, and his mouth quirked into a puzzled smile. “I am the owner.”
Taylor couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “You are?”
His smile faded a little at her disbelief. “Yeah, I moved in almost six months ago. Joe Tierney.”
Good Lord! All this time she’d assumed a childless couple or, judging from the neatly tended flower beds, a gay man had moved next door. Never in her wildest imaginings did she think that six foot three inches of sweaty male perfection had been living right next door. She was getting distracted by that chest again, which was rippling with muscle, little beads of sweat dampening the soft line of hair bisecting his perfectly chiseled abs. She suddenly realized he was standing there expectantly with his hand out. It was a big, tough-looking hand, with long fingers crisscrossed with tiny scars. A vivid image popped into her brain of her grasping that hand and flinging him to the ground to have her way with him.
Where in t
he world had that come from? Thank God her boyfriend, Steven, was coming home tomorrow. Clearly the lack of sleep—not to mention sex—over the past several months were conspiring to send her heretofore subdued libido into overdrive. All she knew was that if she let this hunk of burning love touch her, she couldn’t be held responsible for the consequences.
Still, it would be rude to refuse to shake his hand. “Taylor Flynn,” she said, and offered just her fingertips. Even that slight brush of her smooth, perfectly manicured fingertips against his callused ones was enough to send a jolt of pure electricity to a spot between her legs that had lain dormant for the past three months.
She snatched her hand back as quickly as possible, rubbing it against the side of her thigh in an effort to force the tingles she had no business feeling into submission.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his businesslike tone snapping her brain back into focus.
Using all her flagging energy, Taylor schooled her face into a polite, beseeching smile, and summoning the sweet, cajoling tone that had convinced many a start-up CEO to hand over a significant percentage of his company to Taylor’s venture capital firm, she said, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind holding off on your yard work until a slightly more civilized hour.”
His smile stayed put, but his eyes were flat as he squinted into the bright morning sun. “It’s ten A.M.”
Her own smile slipped. “Well, that may be, but I had a very late night and—”
“I’m sorry if you can’t be bothered to drag yourself out of bed after a night of partying, but I have a lot to get done today.”
“I was working,” she said, tired frustration melting her smile into a tense glare, “until four A.M. And if you can’t bring yourself to be courteous enough to stop with the heavy machinery, I’m not above calling the police.”
His only reply was a rude snort.
“I’m serious,” she snapped, realizing somewhere in the back of her mind that she should maintain some hold on her temper, which had grown progressively shorter as she’d worked herself nearly to death in recent months. But his rudeness, combined with the unwelcome sexual sparks that were flying between them, sent her headlong over the edge. “I’ll lodge a noise complaint—”
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