“Deeper,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you to stop until I hear you come.”
The vibrations pulsed through her, reverberating throughout her belly and backside, bobbing her back and forth toward the tantalizing waves of climax without fully sweeping her into their shores. Could she endure them without pulling away? Like a dismissive reflex, she shook her head. She did not want to disappoint him, but she couldn’t do it alone.
“I can’t…” she finally confessed.
“Yes, you can,” he commanded her with militant certainty. “And you will because I’m not getting off this line until I hear you shriek.”
She groaned with an exhale, knowing that she was at his mercy.
“Louder,” he insisted.
“Yes,” she moaned louder as the ebbing and flowing undercurrent of arousal increased in frequency.
“Fast and deep, fast and deep,” he commanded her, tight and controlled.
“Yes, yes, yes…” She throttled her pace, enduring the sting of friction from the speed before she fully opened and seized with a shuddering ache, signaling the start of her first orgasm in over a year.
“Now, bear down and imagine my throbbing cock exploding its warm cum inside you.”
Whatever expectations Alma had before their phone call, whatever she thought she knew about herself or their arrangement, was suddenly transformed in an instant when her body abandoned all its inhibitions and surrendered itself to a fluttering soprano scream—a scream of liberation that had eluded her in every other relationship with every other man.
Except one.
Now, that had all changed. Sighing in relief, she concentrated on how her entire body relaxed against the mattress and resonated with low, harmonious hums of satisfaction.
Cradling the phone to her ear, she listened to his own panting breaths withering into lulls, comforted by the fact that he had released himself only after he had released her.
After a long pause between them, he finally broke their smoldering connection of silence.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes…” she sinfully acknowledged, admitting what her body craved, despite her pride being too ashamed to confess it.
“Good,” he said, rough and raspy. “Because I want you to know that the next time we do this, it’s going to be in-person and it’s going to be more than once.”
Click.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, when Alma arrived to the train depot on Harvey’s riverfront parcel, she caught herself humming.
Yes, literally humming.
It wasn’t a specific song or recognizable tune, just a whimsical melody that signaled she wasn’t worried about any of the challenges that lay ahead of her that day. And she certainly wasn’t fazed by the one contentious person who posed the biggest challenge, despite the fact that she knew he would be there.
But her carefree humming quickly trailed off when she approached the front entrance of the dilapidated building and realized that the overgrowth of weeds and prairie grass had been cleared into a tidy, storybook pathway, luring her into his treacherous lair. She passed through the heavy wooden entrance, strangely free and clear of all the wild vegetation that had entangled it yesterday, and moved into the center of the lobby, noting the unobstructed swath of rainbow light shining over her.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Harvey’s familiar booming voice rained down over the balcony. “You’re just in time.”
“For what?” she called back, squinting upwards and catching a glimpse of his bare chest, backlit against the patterned stained-glass window. The kaleidoscope of colors glinted off his pecs and tapered waist, making it obvious that he was shirtless.
“For the grand finale.”
“Oh brother,” she muttered to herself, half-expecting to witness his jeans and underwear being tossed over the balcony’s railing. Despite being separated for more than a year, Alma was reminded of how the contours of his lean, naked body were not easily forgotten. Seriously annoying.
Then she remembered another annoying thing about him—he never wore underwear.
Replacing his safety goggles and adjusting his gloves, he revved the chainsaw twice before slicing it back and forth across the final tree branch.
“Aren’t you coming up to have a better look?” he hollered at her.
“I think I prefer the view down here.”
After several minutes of Texas Chainsaw massacre of helpless vegetation, Harvey finally stopped his destruction and descended the spiral staircase.
Alma wasn’t prepared for his entrance and she caught herself—staring. Bare. Buff. Hulking. Sweat-glazed. And those were just impressions of his exposed, muscular chest that seemed to greet her before anything else. His denim jeans and the cowboy boots said “hello” next, even before he flashed her his typical “get-me-if-you-can” smile—all mood, attitude, and…sex. Intentionally brushing past her to retrieve the soda can on the side bench, she felt like she was in a commercial for men’s low-rise jeans in which the leading man dusted off his backside with his leather gloves before offering her a taste from his own frosted and phallic Coca Cola bottle. Removing a glove with his teeth, he ran his hand through his dark slick hair, rebelliously sending it ten different directions of switchblade.
He always did the same thing whenever he exited the shower, she thought, trying hard not to remember all the times she had seen him flick off his towel and rub it across his muscular body. He deliberately advanced his looming height into her personal space, reminding her of what it was like to smell his raw masculinity.
“You need a shower,” she stated, attempting to remind him.
“I was waiting until you arrived,” he quipped.
“I’m surprised you even waited to destroy the building. I half-expected you to go back on your word.”
His pectoral muscle involuntarily twitched. “I considered it. But I wanted an excuse to have another conversation with you that didn’t start with you screaming at me. Besides, my dearest ex…you might think the worst of me, but I made a promise and despite all my faults, I’m still a man of my word. Which is more than I can say about you.”
“Which means what?” She crossed her arms and studied his devilish smile.
“You know…” he eyed her, taking a swig from his soda bottle. “Little Miss Bluffette.”
She flopped down her backpack and adjusted her glasses. “How did you know?”
“Because your eyebrow twitches whenever you’re bluffing, and you were twitching all over the place yesterday. Unless, of course, it was just because you were happy to see me.”
She rolled her eyes—excessively.
“I’m pretty sure you believed me long enough to realize one thing—”
“That I’m still attracted to women who are smarter than me?”
“That feeling is going to go away fast when I tell you that I still think these could be valuable Tiffany windows hidden for some reason in this run-down train depot.”
“Well, your father doesn’t even believe that’s what it is. And he’s smarter than both you and me combined.”
“Is that why you’re still involved in a bromance with him, despite being my ex?”
“Baseball fandom transcends divorce. It’s man code.”
“Well, you and your man code will be happy to know he’s more on your side than on mine. He thinks it’s your right to do whatever you want with this building because it’s your own private property.”
“Your father is an honorable man. But he’s not the antique glass expert of the family. So that leaves me to rely on the opinion of my ex-wife. And in that situation, the man code states that I’m nothing short of being royally fucked.”
“This man code of yours sounds pretty dismal.”
“It’s never failed me before.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You don’t know when you’re failing it r when it’s failing you.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “So let’s test it. “How about d
inner with me tonight?”
She squared off and crossed her arms, daring him. “Not a chance.”
“See?” he countered. “Exactly as I expected.”
“Failure?”
“Man code 154: never expect your ex to cooperate with you unless you give her a very good reason.”
“Like…?” she prodded him.
“Like…giving you more time to convince me that I should give you what you want…over dinner.”
Alma narrowed her eyes, searching out his own agenda. “Just dinner? That sounds too…”
“Easy?” he offered.
“Innocent,” she corrected him. “Especially for you.”
“What’s not innocent about McDonalds drive-thru?”
“Oh, I see. You’re willing to splurge.”
“I just know how much you hate those fancy five-star, five course restaurants. Especially the ones that I own.”
“Yes, especially since I’ve heard you’re serving a cocktail that’s named after me.”
“Rumors can be ugly things unless you consider the source.”
“My sister. She said you drank five ‘ballbusters’ in her presence.”
“Hmm,” he paused before giving in like a guilty schoolboy. “It seems your sister is a reliable informant. I did almost go with ‘nutcrusher’ instead,” he offered, as if it was an acceptable alternative. “But ballbuster just rolls right off the tongue.”
“How about a name that had nothing to do with the destruction of your anatomy?”
“Ex-wives don’t get that privilege. Sorry.”
“But we get McDonalds drive-thru?”
“Man code!” he rejoiced through cupped hands. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a mandatory event a year after a divorce.”
“You mean like a divorce anniversary?” She was unconvinced.
“Exactly. A divorcary,” he quipped. “We can even skip dinner and go straight to your favorite—dessert. Two apple pies and one sundae. Two spoons.”
“I’m not sure if that sounds fun or depressing.”
“Neither. Just for old times’ sake,” he answered, catching her hand and holding it as long as she would allow him, as if his genuine need to reclaim their past outweighed the present conflict between them. “It’s been a long time and I know you clean up well.”
Reaching out, he removed her glasses and wiped the lenses with his pocket handkerchief before sliding them back over the bridge of her nose. Brazen bastard, she thought, turning away from his smug smile. It was an intentional gesture of both intimacy and defiance. He had once known everything about her. Just because the law said they were no longer man and wife didn’t change that fact.
“So do you,” she tossed back, pushing forward and swiping away a cobweb off his broad shoulder.
He closed his eyes and dissolved into a shiver. “Please tell me you’re bluffing again.”
“No, I just suddenly remembered how much you hate spiders,” she said, muting her smile while brushing him clean.
“Hate,” he punctuated.
She nodded and circled around him, checking for their presence. He was such a fearless, confident man in every other way—except for his aversion to spiders. His pecs twitched again as her nails grazed the curve of his waistline.
When she circled back to face him, he unexpectedly ensnared her into his arms, pulling her against his hard, firm body.
“It’s just dinner. And all you need to say is yes.”
“Not true, Harvey. According to your man code, you’re supposed to give me a good reason. And part of me fears that you’re not going to be happy for long when I tell you what I want.”
“I know what you want. You want me to save your precious window.” He glanced up at the fully illuminated stained-glass window, casting raindrops of pink, lavender, turquoise, and emerald down upon them.
“But what about the other dozen smaller stained-glass windows along the perimeter of the main floor?”
“Are they Tiffany?” he pressed her.
She hedged. “Well…it’s a possibility. Probably not priceless, but still important and highly valuable.”
Their eyes locked. Highly valuable. He seemed to chew on her words, carefully considering her meaning. If nothing else, she knew he would care about their monetary worth, and she suddenly resented him for it.
“I actually believed you that time,” he finally said, studying her face. “But unfortunately, time isn’t on my side, and salvaging historical artifacts isn’t in my wheelhouse anymore.”
Not in his wheelhouse anymore?
“So that means you intend to bulldoze them without even considering rescuing them?”
“Rescuing all the windows?” He swept his eyes around the lobby. “Maybe. But rescuing the whole property? Not a chance. I’ve got a hundred million dollars riding on the sale of this parcel and demolition of this building is part of the deal. I am a businessman, after all, Alma. Not the fairy godfather of architectural antiques.”
She glared at him like she wanted to sear a laser hole through his forehead. “Yes, I know. You made that very clear on the day you gave the greenlight to demolish the old Stock Exchange Building.”
His jawline flinched, like he had just been slapped. He stood his ground and narrowed his eyes in response. “Is that what all this is really about?”
“It’s a very similar situation, don’t you think, Harvey?” she flung back.
“No, not at all, Alma.” He pushed toward her. “A man died in that building. The floor collapsed beneath him.”
“While trying to save the last few historical ornamentations designed by Adler and Sullivan before you destroyed them.”
“He was trespassing inside a building that was condemned as a public safety hazard. Everyone in the city knew it, including you.”
She scoffed. “I did and I tried to do something about it because I was married to the man who owned the property. The man who could have renovated it, or at least helped stabilize the site. Instead, you exploited the tragedy of Richard’s death as a reason to expedite the building’s destruction. Then you sold the property for millions of dollars and never looked back. And you’ll do the same thing with this property because that’s all you care about now. Because that’s all that’s in your wheelhouse.”
Disgusted by her own memories of the past, she turned away from him, but he grabbed her by the wrist. “You’re wrong. I look back every day. Every day. Trust me.”
He searched her eyes for someone who used to be there.
“I don’t trust you, Harvey,” she replied, challenging his unwavering blue gaze. “Not anymore.”
A subtle change crossed his face, as if she had punched him in the gut and he was fighting hard to pretend she hadn’t injured him.
Intimately familiar. The phrase echoed through her mind as he glared at her. Yes, they had once been intimately familiar with each other, which ultimately meant they knew how to hurt each other worse than anyone else.
Stern and controlled, the tenor of his voice revealed how quickly the dynamic had changed between them. “Well, Miss Castillo, you can trust this: I’m not about to let anyone else trespass on my property, especially not scavenging for anything in the name of preservation. So thank you for your time. But now, it’s time to get off my property.”
“Now that’s a plan that I finally can get behind…”
The sharp female voice rang out against the plaster walls like a dissonant bell. Alma turned around and spotted a tall woman wearing flashy chandelier earrings and jangling bracelets strutting through the front entrance in her five-inch platform heels. Her full-length leopard print coat swept by Alma like a queen’s coronation robe. The woman tossed her long black hair over her shoulders and peered at Harvey through distracting fake eyelashes.
“Oh God, Harvey,” she cried out with orgasmic glee, taking in Harvey’s exposed muscles, still glazed with sweat. “I love it when you’ve got your shirt off and your cowboy boots on because it usually means you
’re going to get down and dirty. And nobody does dirty better than Harvey Zale.” The woman grinned and flicked her black eyelashes at him, just to be certain he caught her meaning.
Pretending to gather up her things, Alma glanced away. But she felt her cheeks flush hot and red. In her torn denim overalls, sneakers, and mousy ponytail, it was hard for Alma not to feel inferior around a woman who physically towered over her like an Amazonian goddess. Plus, Alma was already on the defensive. She was the scorned ex-wife. This woman was clearly someone on Harvey’s side—and quite possibly, someone who shared Harvey’s bed.
Harvey retrieved his white undershirt and slipped it on with one suave stroke. Then he replaced his wallet in his back pocket and his gold watch on his wrist, its crystal face glinting in the morning sunlight.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Nicolette,” he said, wiping his face and neck with the edge of his undershirt. “It takes a lot for you to get up by ten in the morning, even if it means seeing me.”
Nicolette threw her head backwards and laughed aloud like he had just tickled her in the naughtiest of ways.
Alma shot him a glance. Only five minutes ago, he had been flirting with her like a lost lover. And now? Now, he seemed as cold and callous as a stranger in a bar, cruising for a one-night stand with the prettiest woman in the room.
“I heard through the grapevine about your temporary insanity,” Nicolette replied. “Stalling the destruction of this property in order to entertain some kind of a request for charity? But it looks like the grapevines are all gone and you’ve come to your senses.”
“It’s not charity,” Alma spat out, unable to contain herself. “It’s a legitimate request for historical preservation of this site.”
Nicolette glanced at her, pretending it was the first time she had noticed someone other than Harvey in the room. “And you are?” she sang out, looking down at Alma from the bridge of her surgically-enhanced rhinoplasty nose.
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