An orgy.
On the other side of the door, a line of similar mannequins with their backs to the street wore pale panties accented with bows at the ass crack and appeared to be linked together by a long shimmery scarf loosely looped around their bodies.
Holy hell. In the past the place hadn’t been permitted to flaunt X-rated images within street view. In an effort to be fair, Burke supposed the window displays weren’t straight-up X-rated, but they were suggestive if not deliberately sexual. He had a mind as deep in the gutter as the next man’s, but he wasn’t so perverted that he walked around seeing orgies where there were none.
Sofia had done this? The possibility was like a woman’s tongue down his body—hot, naughty, unbelievably sexy.
And something he had no business thinking about. His truck was angle parked at the end of the block and if he had a sudden attack of nice guy’s remorse he could leave the groceries in front of the door, knock, and take off.
The thing about that was he hadn’t driven to the grocery store and brought the food here to be nice. Guilt over the way he’d left things with her the night of the funeral was wearing him down, and he wanted to know why she was back and filling her aunt’s store windows with mannequins that’d put the town council in a panic.
The fading sunlight drew slanting shadows on his T-shirt as he tucked a loaded paper bag to one side, spun his baseball cap backward, and then knocked on the door.
Through the door he watched her appear from the rear of the store and navigate around product displays and clothing racks. Only when she was directly on the other side of the door did she recognize him behind his sunglasses.
“Burke.” He liked that, the shape her lips took on when she said his name.
She opened the door. “What—Um, why are you here?”
“I brought you something to eat.”
“Why?”
“Can I come in and tell you all about it?”
Her face twisted in a frown. “Tell me now, because the way you talked to me the last time we were together is still fresh and I’m not sure I want you to come in.”
“I was at the fish-and-chips place. Couldn’t see any point in letting you wait another hour for a sandwich, so I canceled my order and yours.”
“Oh? How very high-handed of you.”
He put out his hand so she could read his watch. “See that? Food to your door a half hour early.”
“It wasn’t as if I was sitting in this boutique twiddling my thumbs. I’m meeting one of Luz’s employees later and then I’ll be up all night reviewing the books. So you’re not coming to my rescue, Burke.”
“That wasn’t my intent. I can turn around and give this bag to the next person who walks by, if that’s what you want.”
Sofia appeared to waffle, drawing back to shut the door before she flung it wide and reached for him. “Wait, Burke. Can we not do this? Can we not be like this?”
“I don’t know how to be anything else, Sofia.”
A resigned sigh gusted from that pink, glossy mouth. He wanted to swallow that sigh, breathe her air, surround himself with the miracle it was that she was alive to stand in front of him glaring cautiously.
“No arguing tonight,” she said. “Let’s agree on that, and you can come in. I want food.”
“Your call.”
“It’s not, though, is it?” Once he stepped inside she shut the door and engaged the locks. “You kicked addiction by being persistent, and you were going to manipulate me into letting you in by the same means.”
He came to a stop. “Want me out? Say ‘Get the hell out’ and I’m gone.”
She raised her eyebrows, as though he’d called her out on a dare. She advanced on him, her chin tipped up. “Get the—” Drifting toward him, she all but stuck her nose in his neck, sniffed around, and then sighed. “You can stay.”
If she came any closer, they’d be touching and he’d have to drop the grocery bag and fill his arms with her. “What changed your mind, Sofia?”
“You. You smell so fucking good.”
Neither expected that. Her eyes turned into saucers and she awkwardly wrested the bag from him. “Um…Anyway. C’mon in back. There’s a kitchenette. Small space, but I don’t want to go upstairs and rile up Tish.”
So they weren’t going to examine that You smell so fucking good?
Burke didn’t press, just hooked his sunglasses onto his shirt and followed—more than a little intrigued. He’d never breached Blush’s entrance. His father and his cronies had laughed and leered about the place, but Burke’s block would’ve been knocked clean off his shoulders if he’d been caught sneaking in underage. By the time he was old enough to legally enter Luz Azcárraga’s “porn palace,” he hadn’t wanted to buy his rubbers there because it would hurt Sofia to know what he was doing with someone else. He hadn’t wanted to break what was left of her heart.
Now he let her lead him past racks of lingerie and tables of stripper shoes to a separate section of the store. They were no longer in the land of pink wallpaper, oversize chairs, aphrodisiacs, and a fancy hotel-esque atmosphere.
All around them were windowless walls, gray with a silver damask pattern. There was shelf after shelf of pornography DVDs and books, vibrators, strap-ons, lube, bondage accessories, dolls, games, costumes, novelty items—
“Candles categorized under kink?” he asked, picking up a taper.
“For wax play.”
What?
“You know, melting a candle down and pouring it on someone’s body. People tend to assume it’s a Dom/sub interest, but anyone can enjoy it. These candles are paraffin, so they’re quite safe and don’t contain irritants that you’d encounter with dyed or fragranced ones.” She shook her head at his continued dismay. “Wax play’s a powerful stimulant, really wakes up the nerves, and it can create some amazing art. You were an artist. So imagine if it were you and me. We’d get a few candles in different colors, and as the artist you could stay dressed as you are or however you felt most comfortable, and I’d take everything off because I’d be your canvas.”
No way was this a real conversation. She had to be screwing with him.
“Sofia—”
“Wait, I didn’t get to the core of this. It’s about respect but especially trust, so if I were to agree to be your canvas, it would mean that I trusted you not to hurt me. You’d test the heat, then hold the candle up high enough so that the wax wouldn’t burn me. By increasing the distance of the drip, you’d increase the time it had to cool before it reached my skin.”
“Wouldn’t it be hell to peel wax off body hair?”
“It would,” she agreed, “on moderately hairy parts of the body. Depending on the person, you’d avoid certain areas. No one’s sensitivity to it is the same.”
“You said imagine if it were you and me.”
“Oh. Okay, well, if I was untied and hadn’t been whipped and I felt safe, then I’d say not on my face, on my scar, or inside me. Other than that, my entire body would be your canvas.” She gestured to the candle display. “So that’s an intro to wax play. Care to buy a bundle of the paraffins?”
Mirrors revealed the effect that being literally locked in a sex shop with Sofia was beginning to have on his body. She had to notice it, too, yet she stood there trying to sell him candles.
“What?” It was the most coherent word he could manage.
“I’m kidding. The boutique’s not up and running, as you can see,” she said in a dramatized whisper. “But you seem to be…as I can see.”
Her gaze stroked his cock, and she might as well have unzipped him and reached right in, because he hardened up and couldn’t disguise it.
As if guided by some silent fascination, she edged closer. She neither retreated nor pushed him away. “What brought that on?”
“Ignore it,” he said. Pleaded.
“I can’t. It means something.” God, was that hope shimmering in her brown eyes? Did she want him this way? Aroused body. Confused mind. Weak
ened control. “Is this because of the merchandise…?”
“None of the tricks you’ve got on the shelf matter when you’re looking at me like that and telling me to imagine getting you naked.”
She searched his eyes, but if she saw the heat there she opted not to trust it. “We lost control of the conversation. It’s my fault—sorry.” She turned and ushered the grocery bag through a pair of swinging doors that almost slapped him backward.
Burke trailed after her to a utilitarian kitchen, saying nothing until she put the bag down and they were facing off with an island between them. “That was one hell of an insincere apology.”
“It’s all I’ve got. It’s all you and your insincere erection deserve.”
Insincere? Did she want him to prop her against this island and show her how sincerely he ached to bury himself inside her?
“Sofia, you’re in my head.” He jabbed his temple. “Playing around in there the way you used to. You’re getting to me again.”
“I got to you before? Refresh my memory, because back then you never had this kind of reaction to me. We didn’t even kiss until…uh, until that day in the apartment.” She glanced upward, swallowed. “So this is different. New.”
“Yeah, it’s different, and it’s going in the wrong direction,” he said, logic prevailing as he grasped for control. Maybe they could reclaim friendship—maybe they wouldn’t get even that far. They could get hot but go nowhere. They’d dead-end or spin out.
“So let’s talk about something else.”
Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets to adjust, he said, “Those mannequins in the window. Did they come from the tripleX room?”
“No, from basement storage.”
“Town hall call you in yet?”
“As a matter of fact, they did. It wasn’t pleasant and someone gave me a card for a psychologist, because clearly my choice to change up a couple of window displays with something that better reflects the boutique means I’m cracking under grief.”
What was she doing, then? Sprucing up Blush to unload it? On a corner lot on Society Street, it was prime real estate. He didn’t doubt the vultures were circling, raining down business cards and pelting her with offers.
“It might not be worth the headache to battle the town all that aggressively, if you want my take,” he advised. “Compromise. Eventually both sides will get what they want.”
“Well, I did compromise. They asked me to repaint the mannequins. Apparently the alabaster color was too explicit, but gold is fine.”
He reached over to assist as she started emptying the bag. “Town hall’s all right with a gold mannequin orgy and bondage?”
“It’s not an orgy. It’s…” She shrugged, and as he watched the heat rush to her cheeks, he felt his own heat rush in the opposite direction. “An awakening.”
There was something strangely private about the way she held that word: awakening.
“The other scene is playful bondage, so you’re not completely inept at interpreting erotic window displays.” She smiled, then for the first time noticed what she’d unpacked. French rolls, lettuce, a plump tomato, mustard, dill pickles, and—
“That turkey’s low sodium,” he said, coming around to her side of the counter. “So’s the cheese.”
She turned those big, luminous brown eyes on him. “These are ingredients for a Sick Pickle Sub.”
“It was your sandwich. You used to like it.”
“I did.” She reached, almost touched him in what could’ve become a hug, but she caught herself. “I do. Thanks.”
“Since old Gordie’s gone—”
“Did he pass away?” she asked, taking knives from a drawer and sheets from a roll of paper towels.
“Nah, his kids grew up and called him out to California, I heard. He didn’t like me enough to name a sandwich after me, but he was all right.” They assembled a matching pair of subs, then she grabbed a couple of waters from the fridge and they sat side by side on the floor in the Erotic Vices section of the shop.
Realization rang through him. “You changed a word on the front window. It used to say erotic treasures, not vices.”
She nodded, sipping her water. “Yeah. Take a look at the product around us, Burke.” She reached up and plucked an item from a hook above her. It looked like a stout purple dildo. “An ass plug isn’t a treasure. It’s an orgasm enhancer.”
“Plenty of people might treasure something that enhances an orgasm. Isn’t vice considered a negative thing?”
“No, not for me and not for this boutique. I’m rejecting the negative connotations and turning the word on its head, because I can.”
“Getting town hall’s drawers in a twist, tweaking the name of this section, it seems like unnecessary effort for Luz’s place.”
She put the plug back. “Burke, it’s not Aunt Luz’s boutique anymore. It’s mine. She left it to me, along with Tish and all her other possessions.”
Whoa. “You live in New York, so what’re you going to do? Sell it all?”
“I’m selling none of it. It’s mine, Burke, and I’m keeping it. Tish is my dog now. The apartment upstairs is my home. This is my boutique.”
“Hold up, Sofia. Does inheriting something really make it yours?”
“Aunt Luz trusted me to do as I see fit with what she left me. Tish and I are still figuring each other out, but I’m getting used to her lying on me every night. And even though the apartment needs some changes to make it my own, I’m in no hurry to erase Luz.”
“What about New York?”
“I quit my job there and agreed to help cover a few months’ rent until my roommate can replace me.”
He wasn’t buying for a minute that dropping her life there to pick up where her great-aunt had left off here wasn’t scaring her shitless. “Is that all you had going there—a job and rent?”
Now she picked at her sandwich. She’d eaten only half of it, while he’d demolished his and guzzled down the water without ceremony. “It’s all the commitment I had, yeah.”
“What about a man? Who’d you leave high and dry at the drop of Luz’s will?”
“I don’t have a man. But I’m figuring out what I like,” she hastened to tack on. “A couple of weeks ago I went out with a cellist. He had great muscles from carrying around his big instrument.”
Burke snorted. “Sofia, what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours? You comparing my instrument to his when you haven’t even seen mine?”
“I’m saying I have a nice, well-rounded life. Sooner or later I’ll settle down with a guy who’s nice and well rounded and stable.”
“I thought you had that already.” A second floated by before he realized he’d spoken aloud. He found her studying him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Over the years…I, uh, I thought about you once or twice.” A dozen times. Hundreds. Even that might be a conservative guess. It’d been next to impossible to carve her out when she was rooted so deeply in every element of his existence. “I didn’t ask Luz. I put a picture together of you with some good guy.”
“A good guy?”
“Somebody who’d keep you safe. Somebody who didn’t make you cry—who got you to laugh or at least smile. You’ve got a crooked smile. And I, uh, I figured that good guy would get to see your smile every night. I’ve hated him for years.”
“You’ve been hating someone who doesn’t exist.” There was her familiar, sweet smile, peeking out of hiding for him. “I dated. I have exes—lots of exes. But a good guy didn’t come along, Burke.”
“What about your cellist?”
She hesitated, and her smile disappeared. The brightness between them dimmed. It was as if a jealous cloud had obscured the sun. “He’s nice. Uncomplicated. He took my mind off you.”
“Were you thinking about him when you told me to imagine pouring wax on your naked body?”
She started to get up and he thought she might stomp off in a fit. But she put her sandwich on a paper
towel and set it aside, then crawled in front of him. “He kissed me, after our date.”
“Okay. Did you want more?”
“What?”
“When he kissed you, did you want more?”
Defiance slid across her eyes, then uncertainty and regret in quick succession. “I don’t remember.”
“Then he didn’t do it right. He didn’t kiss you right. If he had, you’d remember what you felt and what you wanted, and for damn sure you wouldn’t be alone in this place with me.” And the dumbass that he was, Burke spread out his legs and folded his hands on her arms to draw her closer. “C’mere and let me show you.”
“You’re not going to kiss me.”
“You already know what to say to get me to back off. Don’t forget, though, the last time you thought about telling me to leave, you said I smell so fucking good.” He barely touched her now. “But if you want me to walk, I will.”
Sofia’s tempting lips slid against each other like two lush, slick bodies. “I taste like mustard.”
“So do I. It was a good sandwich.” He leaned forward, not kissing her but coasting his hand down the line of her back to grab her ass. “Put your hands on me, baby.”
“I’m not your baby. I’m not yours.”
“You will be.” It was neither a request nor a threat. It was fact—naked, bold, and yet vulnerable. “When I touch you and all you care about is how my mouth and hands are making you feel? You’re mine.”
A squeeze of his hand and she planted her palms on his shoulders and seemed to collapse into him, her mouth settling on his.
Finding Sofia’s flavor beneath the spice of mustard and the tang of dill was a game for his tongue. They were tangled, with her kneeling between his thighs and his hands working into the silk of her hair.
“If I’m kissing you right, you should want me to lift your hair and lick down your neck,” he said. “You want that?”
“Yeah.”
He complied, stopping at the high collar of her tank top. “If I’m still doing this right, you should want me to taste these goose bumps on your arms. Do you?”
Meant to Be Mine Page 11
