by Cathryn Cade
It was going to storm, all right, and it would be a doozy. Part of her wanted to stand on the highest hilltop around while the rain pelted and the wind blew, throw her head back and scream into the belly of the storm. But since she did not want to get struck by lightning, this was probably not a good idea.
However, she needed…something.
First things first. She pulled over into a half-empty store parking lot, whipped out her phone, opened her e-mail, scrolled to a saved message, checked the address, took a deep breath and hit Send.
There. She’d finally done it. She’d applied to Club 3 for membership. And, irony of ironies, her own mother had driven her to join a sex club now, instead of later.
She’d meant to send the e-mail earlier, as she’d promised Daisy, but she kept hesitating with her mouse on the Send icon. Chickening out, more like it. Had Jake really meant that he wanted her to come to the club? Did he really want her to be with him? Attacked by uncertainty, she’d saved the form in the Drafts folder of her e-mail.
Well, now it was done. And she was through with trying to be the “good girl”. The heck with that, and the heck with her mother. She, Carlie Milton, was going to break free and have some wild, crazy, outrageous fun.
She slowed at the turn to her apartment, then put her foot down on the gas pedal and sped on down the boulevard. A salad was not enough dinner. She was hungry. No, she was ravenous. Black Magic Donuts might be closed, but Zellaby’s was open.
Jake had just finished showing a flustered, fifty-ish woman how to use the leg press. He watched as she executed five presses, making sure she kept the angle of her knee between one-eighty and ninety degrees. Then he nodded.
“Okay, Barbara, you got it. Do the other leg exactly the same way. For your second week here, you’re lookin’ like a real pro. But any questions, you come find me or Troy, okay?”
She nodded back, gave him a shy smile, her already red face going another shade darker.
Jake gave her a little salute and turned away.
Outside, he could see the shadows gathering, a gloomy cast to the early evening. Seven fifteen. Damn, he was ready to get out of here. He usually left at five or five thirty, but his newest hire, Asha, had a sick baby, couldn’t take him to daycare, so she was home instead of here for the evening shift, and Jake was trapped.
Although maybe rescue was at hand. Trace was just walking in, still clad in a stylish dress shirt and slacks, a silk tie hanging loose around his neck. He carried a designer gym bag in one hand. He stopped by the corner of the hallway to the locker rooms, giving Jake a chin jerk, his eyes alight with some secret that he was clearly dying to share.
“What?” Jake asked with the caution of long, close acquaintance. Trace had a wicked sense of humor and loved to mess with people, even his closest friends.
Trace leaned forward, speaking very quietly. “Guess whose membership papers just came through online for the club?”
Jake’s skin rippled as if someone had brushed soft fingers over it. There was only one person about whom he would care enough for Trace to make a special announcement—Carlie. “Yeah?”
Trace nodded. “Yeah. She wants in.”
“Hot damn.” Jake’s weariness fell away, anticipation heating his gut. Then his stomach growled, and he put a hand on his middle, rubbing it. “Thanks for the good news.”
Trace grinned. “Just promise me I get a sight of her when she’s strapped to the wall, naked. That is a lot of woman, all of it fine.”
Jake ignored the question and the surge of possessiveness in his chest. “Do me one more favor and spot me while I go get some supper? Asha’s out with a sick kid.”
“Sure. Take your time. Just let Brian know on your way out.”
“Will do.”
Jake strode out of the gym into the purplish light of evening. The air was warm and humid, wind beginning to lash at the tops of the trees. It was gonna storm.
Wouldn’t bother him a bit. He liked a good thunderstorm, and if the weather cut loose, maybe it would take the edge off the storm of anticipation and need building inside him.
Zellaby’s was busy, but since Jake was alone, he didn’t wait for a table, instead heading into the bar. In the center of the restaurant, the area was divided from the restaurant by a chest-high railing with ferns hanging above. He was headed for an empty bar stool when he stopped short. The woman about whom he’d just been fantasizing sat alone at one of the small, high tables.
Jake hesitated, wondering if she was waiting for someone else, but then she saw him. Their gazes locked with a shock he felt in his chest, as if he’d been zapped with a mild electric charge. Not unpleasant, not at all.
He walked with intent through the bar and stopped by her table. “Waiting for someone?”
She blinked, looked at the empty chair across from her as if surprised to see it, then shook her head. “No. Um—sit down, please.”
“Thanks.” He slid onto the chair across from her, enjoying the way she looked. With her hair tied back in a ponytail with that flowered scarf, she looked younger, more vulnerable somehow. No, it was more than that. She was upset about something. Fuckin’ A, someone had hurt her.
She held a bite of fried chicken tenders in one hand. Her eyes meeting his, she gave him a funny, guilty look and dropped the chicken on her plate. Realizing he was scowling, though not at her, Jake smoothed his expression.
“That chicken looks great,” he said. “Think I’ll have that too. Eat up, don’t wait for me to order.”
She nodded, but instead of picking up the chicken, she wiped her fingers on a napkin in her lap and grasped the frosty glass of beer instead.
He jerked his chin at the drink. “You like beer? Would’ve figured you for a wine girl.”
She frowned, now looking pugnacious in a cute way. “Why? Because wine’s a froufrou drink?”
Jake bit back a grin. Froufrou? What the hell was that? “No, because it’s kind of…elegant. Got style. Like you.”
She looked like she didn’t know what to do with that. “Thanks,” she murmured and took a drink of beer.
The waitress, a perky redhead, stopped, and Jake ordered what Carlie had, with the addition of a big salad and a plate of toasted garlic bread, and a Coke instead of a beer because he had to go back to work. Then he rested his forearms on the table, nodded at a guy he recognized and turned back to Carlie. Time to get to whatever was bothering her.
“Rough day?” he asked.
She snorted, in a feminine way, but it was a snort, and took a long swallow of beer. “Rough evening.”
He said nothing, waiting to see if she’d elaborate. But unlike a lot of women, she didn’t, just took another swig of her beer and then licked her lip, swirling the tip of her pink tongue over her full bottom lip, leaving it wet and soft.
Jake fought the urge to lean forward and suck that lip into his mouth, then fill her mouth with his tongue and taste every bit of her.
She looked at him. “What are you doing here? Do you live nearby?”
“Nah, I’m workin’. One of my gym employees is home with a sick kid.”
She nodded. Then she went back to fiddling with her chicken tenders.
“You’re not gonna eat that, why’d you order it?” he asked.
To his surprise, her cheeks flushed. Then her soft mouth trembled. She pursed her lips to still them, but he’d seen.
“Carlie.” Her gaze snapped up to meet his immediately. He liked that, a whole lot. Oh, she was gonna be a sweet submissive. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Her mouth quivered again. Then she frowned and looked away, her flush deepening. “Just…family stuff. My mom. You know.” She shrugged, her gaze flicking up to his and then away again.
No, he did not know, but he could take a guess. “Have anything to do with why you’re here?”
She shrugged again.
“Baby, look at me.”
Her eyes widened, her gaze meeting his. Shit, he shouldn’t have called her that—
sounded too intimate, like they were together as a couple, not casual dinner companions. Got her attention, though, so he’d roll with it. “What’d your mom do or say that’s got you in here drinking beer by yourself instead of with your girls?”
“I can eat out by myself,” she protested.
“Carlie. Answer my question.”
She swallowed. Licked her lips, her hand tightening on her glass. All small things, but tells, nonetheless. She was hurting and embarrassed.
“It’s stupid. Just…” She spoke quickly in a soft voice, fiddling with her glass. “My brother’s getting married. To a woman who is thin and perfect and so are her friends. I was not invited to stand with them as a bridesmaid, until…one of them pulled out for some reason, so now I’m invited—if I lose weight by the wedding.”
Then she gave him a look from under her long lashes, her mouth primming as if she couldn’t believe she’d spilled this information and took another long drink of her beer.
Heat roared up inside him so fast and hot he felt as if the top of his head would explode.
“What?” His jaw clenched. “This girl told you—you to lose weight? Said you’re not good enough for her fuckin’ wedding?”
Carlie’s eyes widened over her glass. She nodded.
Jake growled deep in his chest. It was either that or leap off his chair and throw it through the stained-glass light surround over the bar. “Unbelievable. Un-be-fucking-lievable.”
A waiter arrived at that moment, all smiles as he set Jake’s food down, oblivious to the anger crackling around the small table like ozone. “Here you go. Anything else, sir? Another beer for you, miss?”
“I’m good,” Jake said curtly. “You want another?”
“I’ll have a Coke Zero,” Carlie said. Her gaze flicked to Jake’s. “I’m driving.”
He jerked his chin in approval and waited for the waiter to leave. Then he looked at Carlie, holding out his hand, palm up.
She looked at it, then at him. He raised his brows at her, and she frowned slightly, but hesitantly laid her hand in his. Hers was cool and slender in his big paw. He squeezed her hand gently, and stroked his thumb over the back, enjoying their first touch, the silkiness of her skin.
“You listen,” he told her. “And listen good. You are not too fat, for anything or anybody. Anyone says you are is a jealous bitch and should be ignored as such.” He let his gaze drop over her shoulders, her breasts and then back up to her face, which was pink again, but her eyes held such shy pleasure and gratitude he knew his words went deep, as he meant them to.
“You,” he added, “are a gorgeous, bodacious woman. One any man would be thankful to have on his arm.” So thankful he would want to tie her up like a good little sub and wallow in her arms for a good long time, fucking her until he no longer had the strength to move, but that maybe wasn’t restaurant talk, even in the quiet, for-her-ears-only voice he was using now.
“You get me?” he asked.
When she nodded, he gave her hand a final squeeze and reluctantly let go. She smiled at him, biting her bottom lip.
“What?” he asked, his good temper renewed by her acquiescence, her smile and the array of food before him.
“You—you growled,” she said, a giggle incipient in her voice.
He shrugged, picking up a chunk of hot, fragrant garlic bread. “Something pisses me off, it happens. Now you gonna eat that chicken, or do I have to eat all by myself?”
She nodded, looking happier than she had since he arrived. “I’m gonna eat my chicken.”
“Good.” He dug into his dinner, which tasted great. Across from him, her knee brushing his, Carlie ate daintily but with relish, her self-consciousness gone.
They ate the food, drank their Cokes, and he divided his attention between the baseball game on the TV over the bar and making sure she was doing okay while he devoured his dinner. They exchanged a few comments about the game, and Portland’s lack of a pro or even semi-pro baseball team, and he was pleasantly surprised to learn she followed the nearest team, the Seattle Mariners, but preferred football and the Seattle Seahawks. He was a Seahawks fan himself and made a point to get up the coast to a game or two every fall.
When they were finished, he wiped his mouth and nodded at the waiter for the check. When they arrived, he nabbed Carlie’s bill out of the waiter’s hand along with his and handed them back along with his credit card.
“I can pay—” Carlie began.
“You eat with me, you don’t pay.” He gave her a look to let her know this was not open to negotiation.
Her arching brows drew together as if she wanted to protest, but he watched her decide not to make a big deal of it. “Well. Thank you.”
He nodded. “My pleasure.” He closed his mouth, wanting no audience at all for what he wanted to ask next. Instead he stood, and walked over to hold her chair as she slipped down, enjoying the tease of her perfume as she slid past him.
He followed her out, setting a hand lightly in the small of her back to steady her as a group of incoming teenagers jostled past. He left his hand there as they walked outside into the warm, windy evening. He spotted her car, a feminine but ridiculous green Volkswagen Bug, and walked her to it, opening her door for her and waiting until she turned to him, close, the breeze whipping her ponytail across her shoulder to brush his hand on the top of her car. A lock blew into her face, and she reached up to push it back, looking up at him.
“Heard you joined the club,” he said.
Her eyes widened, and she took a sharp breath, her breasts bouncing enticingly. “Um, yes?” she said, her voice rising as if in a question, which he chose to interpret as wondering if he was pleased and if it mattered to him. Which it did, but he was playing that close to his chest for now.
He merely nodded. “You coming this weekend?”
Her face fell. “I…can’t. Friday evening I have a wedding shower to go to, Saturday evening I have an office thing, and I’m pretty sure you’re—I mean the club is not open on Sundays?”
Damn. Still, it was all normal shit, not a date with some guy, so he could be patient one more week. Although he would have to pump a lot of iron to do so. “We’re open, but it’s usually pretty quiet. See you at the gym, then, huh?”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Okay. Um, thanks for dinner. And…you know, listening.”
“Anytime, baby. Anytime.”
He let that penetrate, saw the way her blue eyes softened and her lips curved up in a sweet smile. A smile that made a man want to do what he had to, to keep it there. Instead, he pushed back and tapped the roof of her car as the first fat drops of rain pelted his shoulders and head. “Better get in, get home,” he said. “See you soon.”
She nodded and ducked into her car.
He watched her drive away before he jogged back across the boulevard to the gym. The fat raindrops were a cooling wash on his skin, tempering the fire deep inside him, but not enough. He was right; it would take a lot of weight lifting to get him through the next twelve days.
Chapter Six
Carlie received a phone call the next day, one which she’d been expecting. Although after her talk with Jake, she no longer felt she needed it quite as much. She put her phone to her ear. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, honey,” her father said. “How’s my best girl?”
As she’d been sitting on a bench in the Big Iron Fitness locker room, staring dreamily into space instead of putting on her sandals, Carlie sat up straight, cheeks burning. “I’m…good.”
Which she was, but she’d been imagining being very, very bad. Since thinking about being bad with Jake made her feel very, very good, she was going with her mood, not her intentions.
“Great,” George said. “Got time to have lunch with your old man this week?”
“Sure. What day’s best for you?”
“How about tomorrow? Meet you at that Mexican place on Pacific?”
“Dad, are you sure you have time to drive clear out to Forest Grove?” Alt
hough her workplace was in Forest Grove, from his office in Beaverton, this would not be a quick journey. Portland-area business people loved to lunch, and as they all hopped in their cars to do so, the highways connecting all the small towns melded into the metro area were crowded. Of course, since Portland was bursting with great restaurants, who could blame them? Carlie had been to La Fortuna before, and it was excellent.
“Business call out that way in the morning. Should be done by noon.”
“Great. I’ll get us a table.”
She’d go in early and get some extra work done, then not feel guilty if she took over an hour for lunch. She didn’t do this often, so no one would say anything except Monica, the receptionist and office bitch. But since Carlie had given up on being friends with Monica after approximately one week of acquaintance, this would not bother her.
“Table for three,” her father said. “Seth is joining us.”
“Oh.” Foreboding jolted her out of her good mood. Although her father always managed to set up a lunch or other time with her after her mother had knocked her down emotionally, these times were just for the two of them. While she loved her brother, she had an uneasy feeling about his presence at this lunch.
“We need Seth in on this one, sweetheart,” George Milton said, his tone firm.
“Okay. Table for three. See you.”
She put away her phone with a frown. Families—yeesh. Maybe she should move to Seattle…or farther. But, unless she did that before noon tomorrow, she couldn’t very well get out of the lunch without being a total bitch.
She’d just have to hope that whatever Seth had to say wasn’t all about how Tiffany was stressed with the wedding plans, and could Carlie just suck it up, smile and agree with whatever Tiffany asked. For a guy who was not afraid to speak his mind with his family and apparently his colleagues, Seth spent a lot of time saying, Okay, honey, whatever you want to his fiancée. Being in love had turned him into a total sap. Carlie sometimes wanted to check to see if Tiffany was slipping Valium into his vitamins.
Seth had graduated from U of O with a degree in business and accounting. He worked for Stark Bros., a firm in downtown Portland that handled the accounting for other businesses. Not an accountant, per se, he managed other accountants.
