“Hello?” Susan called.
“Kitchen.” Mercy’s reply carried through the house.
Andrew followed Susan toward the noise. Mercy’s back was to them when they entered the room. “How’s Olivia?” she asked, fiddling with the coffee maker.
It was about ten, the day after Christmas. The night before, Susan sent Mercy a generic staying with a friend text, to keep her from worrying, but this relationship wasn’t something Susan or Andrew wanted to hide.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her,” Susan said.
Mercy turned their way. “I thought...” She trailed off when she met Andrew’s gaze. She looked at their clasped hands, then back at their faces. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“There’s something we need to tell you.” Susan squeezed his hand again.
If she did that too many more times, she’d cut off the circulation. Andrew might prefer that to this awkwardness.
Mercy didn’t look at her sister. “Can we talk alone, Andrew?”
“No,” Susan said. “This is about him and me, and we’re both going to be here for this conversation.”
“Exactly,” Andrew said. They’d agreed this was what they wanted to do, and he was glad to hear her stick to the resolution.
“You’re lucky Ian’s out getting coffee. He might not be as generous as me.” Mercy crossed her arms. “But I’m listening.”
Andrew wanted to point out she probably wasn’t. Not with a posture like that. However, he preferred not to aggravate her more than was necessary. “I’ve given Susan my apologies, and I’m lucky she heard me out. I’m sorry I promised you something I wasn’t capable of doing, but I can’t keep my distance from her. I have no interest in doing so. I love your sister.”
Mercy laughed bitterly. “Do you even know what that means?”
He couldn’t ignore the sting her words caused. “Love? Not in a tangible, put-it-in-a-box kind of way, but I’m figuring it out in all its various flavors.”
“Don’t pull a Dad.” Warning filled Susan’s voice.
Mercy looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t walk into this, thinking you know what’s best for me because of your preconceived notions. Don’t project your feelings on me because you never dealt with the way you and he left things.”
That wasn’t the way Andrew wanted this to go.
Mercy straightened, lines creasing her brow. “You don’t know anything about that.”
“I know what you told me.”
Andrew wasn’t going to let this conversation deteriorate into bickering, and he would do everything in his power to keep from driving Mercy and Susan apart. He stepped forward, watching Mercy. “I’ve never said this, and I always wish I had. What happened with you and me? It was a mistake.”
A shadow crossed Mercy’s face.
He pushed forward before he could talk himself out of it. “Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“Back then, I never should have pushed you into a romance. But you shouldn’t have told me you were okay with an open relationship when you weren’t. We both fucked up, and it wasn’t meant to be.” The words had been in his thoughts for so long, it felt odd to hear them spoken aloud. It lifted a weight from him.
Mercy chewed the inside of her lip. “You knew I wasn’t all right with it, and you plowed ahead anyway.”
“True. That’s kind of a cop-out, though. Don’t you think? Shifting all the blame to me?” They’d never had this conversation. She refused to hear his apology back then, and the next time they spoke was when he was in the hospital. Talking about their failed romance seemed inconsequential, compared to his recovering from third degree burns. “I’ll admit I had a hand in it. Hence the we both fucked up.”
“I don’t want to see the same thing happen to Susan,” Mercy said. “Whatever you’ve told her, at least someone can benefit from my mistake.”
“Do you really think it was a mistake?” Susan’s question startled Andrew.
Mercy sighed. “No. It hurt, and I hated everything that came after, but I wouldn’t do it differently.”
“He never lied to you.”
“No.” Mercy shook her head. “But he did know better.”
“We’ve established that. Here’s the thing—I’m not you.” Susan spoke with a simple kindness that defied the situation. “I’d like to think I’m walking into this eyes wide open. Maybe that’s not true. It could be that a month or more down the line, Andrew and I realize this isn’t working. But I don’t expect that. Either way, you got to live your life. Allow me the same.”
Andrew let go of Susan’s hand, to step around the kitchen counter and approach Mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you back then. I would have done anything to take that back and make things right between us. That’s still pretty much true now, with one exception. If you make me choose you or Susan... You’re my best friend, but I love her completely.”
Mercy’s laugh caught him off-guard.
“What?” he asked.
“The day you texted me, after my honeymoon, and I picked Susan up from your hotel, I asked her not to make me choose between the two of you. I didn’t expect to have it turned back on me.”
“How’s it feel?” Susan teased.
Some of the tension in the room evaporated. Mercy studied Susan and then Andrew. “You look really happy. Like, genuinely.”
“We are, but I’ll be happier if you don’t have any complaints about the situation. They won’t change anything, but I’d rather not lose you.” Andrew held his arms open.
Mercy hugged him tight. “Me too. But”—she hovered her mouth near his ear—“I’ll still skin you alive if you make my baby sister cry.”
“No, you won’t.” Susan’s voice was firm. “I can take care of that myself.”
Andrew backed up, mock horror on his face. “Whoa. No one’s making me-skin rugs.”
Susan and Mercy laughed. Andrew looked between them. For the first time since Mercy left him in Brazil, he didn’t see any obstacles to repairing their friendship.
He studied Susan.
Yup. This was the direction he wanted his life to go.
FOUR DAYS LATER, ANDREW and Susan stopped at a hotel in Indianapolis. Her father never got back to her, after she conveyed her message to Mercy. In a way, it stung, but for the most part, Susan wasn’t surprised.
The drive up from Atlanta was gorgeous. She snapped pictures the entire way. Andrew wanted to know why; she’d seen large parts of this trip before.
This was different. It felt is if she was actually living it, instead of flying into a city, visiting the hot-spots, then leaving—all on a fixed schedule.
He tossed their bags next to the bed, and she moved to take a picture of him with her phone.
“No.” He grabbed her wrist.
She pouted and twisted out of his grip, then snapped a shot anyway.
He snatched the camera. “My turn.” A heavy current ran through his teasing.
“I don’t need pictures of myself.” She laughed and grabbed for the device, but he backed away.
“These, you’ll want. Or I want them.” His meaning sank in, and a tingle raced over her skin.
“And so will everyone else?” she asked playfully.
“No. These are for us alone.”
She liked the possession in his voice and couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “What if I begged you to share?”
“I like the thought of you begging. I really like the idea that you’re an exhibitionist. But I can’t stand the thought of sharing you with anyone. Maybe a way down the road, when we know each other better. Maybe. For now, I’m going to be really fucking selfish and keep you all for me.”
“I’m good with that.”
“Now that we have negotiations out of the way...” He settled a hand on her hip and guided her to stand at the foot of the bed. He stepped back several feet. “Take off your top.”
His command lodged inside her, raising her temperature and making her p
ulse race. He snapped the first picture as she grabbed the hem of her shirt. Part of her said this should stop; it was embarrassing. It was more of a turn-on, though. Her nipples were hard in anticipation. Doing this for the camera, even with him as the photographer, was different than him simply seeing her naked.
She glided her hands up her sides as she stripped off her Tee, then tossed it aside.
“Jeans next.” He clicked the button, and the digital shutter sound filled the room. His attention alternated between the phone screen and her.
She spun and shimmied out of her pants, shaking her butt at him in the process, and kicked them toward the growing pile. She turned back to face him, feeling both self-conscious and completely turned on, in nothing but her bra and panties. She licked her lips. Dampness grew between her legs.
“Play with your tits.”
She reached behind her to unhook her bra.
“No. Through the fabric.”
She liked this game. The lace was rough against her fingertips, and the padding underneath soft against her breasts. She whimpered at the contrasting sensations. Kneaded and massaged, desire tightening in her gut and tingling between her legs.
It felt like ages but was only a few minutes of pictures and the delicious sensation of his gaze, before he said, “Now the bra can come off. Slowly.”
She took her time unhooking the clasps and dragging the straps down her arms. The cool air hit her chest, shocking against the warmth, and she clenched her thighs together.
“Pinch your nipples.”
She obliged, tugging and twisting, sending spikes of pleasure flowing over her. She swayed her hips in time with her touch.
“Fuck. I love watching you.” He dragged out the words. “Are you wet?”
She nodded.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m so wet.” Words that sounded awkward in her head made her mouth dry and her fingers twitch with want when she spoke them.
“Do you play with yourself a lot?”
“Yes.” She liked admitting that. It was wicked, and the way he dragged his gaze over her made her feel wanted.
“Show me. Strip off your panties, lie on the bed, and spread yourself wide. I want to see that gorgeous bald pussy and your fingers sliding over it, while you tell me about how you get off.”
She shed the rest of her clothing and followed his orders. The click of the camera when she opened her legs drove her wild. “The night of the wedding, after you told me that first story, I went home and wore out my vibrator.”
“Mmm.” His groan slid through her. “I fucking love that. Show me.”
She spread herself open, each shutter click pulsing against through her. She stroked slowly, wanting to drag the moment out.
“Don’t hold back. Make yourself come.”
“If you insist.” She zeroed in on the source of her need and traced tiny circles as climax built inside, drawing her closer to the edge. Hurling her over.
She arched her back when she came, gasping and moaning.
ANDREW MEANT TO STAY hands off. Taking the pictures was fun, but he needed to be inside Susan. Her glistening pussy teased and called to him. He set the phone aside, unzipped his jeans, and put on a condom. She was lost in the throes of orgasm when he knelt between her legs and thrust inside her. She cried out and clenched around him.
He didn’t move for a moment, both to let her slide back from the edge of pleasure and to keep from blowing his wad too soon. When she focused on him, eyes bright and clear, he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top to straddle him.
“I like this.” She gave a small giggle. “New position.”
“I’m having too much fun watching you. I want to see you ride me.” He slid his palms up her chest, over her ribs, and to her breasts. When he tweaked her nipples, she groaned.
She rode him, matching his slow pace without pause. She reached behind her and caressed his sack. Her fingers, slick with her juices, slipped over the sensitive skin, and he clenched, trying to keep control. He could return that favor. He pressed his thumb against her clit, and she squirmed away.
“It’s too much.”
“Trust me.” He didn’t ease up.
She screamed when she came the second time, squeezing his cock and rocking against him, face screwed up in ecstasy. Electricity flowed through him, lighting up his senses and drawing out his orgasm until he climaxed hard, pounding inside her.
He hated to extract himself from the tangle of limbs, to clean up. The moment he could, he dropped back to the mattress and pulled her close. It turned out he loved the cuddling after as much as he did the sex itself. Which led to a question he wanted to ask but didn’t know how to broach the subject. Now, with the pleasant glow settling around them and her soft breath falling across his chest, seemed like as good a time as any. “You’ve been putting off your apartment search until you have your first paycheck.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me to look faster, so I’m not living so far away?”
“Yes... and no.” One thing he dreaded about the end of this trip—spending nights alone.
She looked up at him.
“My new place is big. Lots of bedrooms,” he said.
A frown crept onto her face.
“And one is yours if you’re interested.”
Her frown deepened.
“Though, I hope if I earned my keep tonight, it’ll be my room.”
“Then where will you sleep?” Teasing danced on her face.
“If I’m lucky, in the same room as you. I don’t like that you go home to a different place than I do. This trip spoiled me. Move in with me?”
She twisted her mouth. “I don’t know... I might cramp your style. If I’m there, how are you supposed to engage in all that kinky debauchery you’re so famous for?”
“I won’t. I’ll watch you do it. I’m really more of a voyeur.”
“In that case, yes.”
It was amazing how a single word could send so much joy through him. “That’s your qualifier? If there’s no nastiness, the deal is off?”
“If there’s no sex stuff, I know you’ve been replaced by a pod person, and then yes, the deal is off.” She slid from filthy talk back to innocence so easily, it almost made him hard again.
“As long as you’re there, I want to be,” Andrew said.
She cuddled against him, and they turned on the TV, to let a random show play in the background.
Her phone buzzed with a new message, and she ignored it.
He nudged her, hating to break up the mood but knowing it was necessary. “Shouldn’t you make sure your sister knows you’re alive?”
“I messaged her when we got in.” Susan reached for her phone anyway. She sat straight up, scowling as she stared at the screen. “It’s an email from my father. He wants to have lunch with me. Talk. Apologize for what happened in the heat of the moment.”
Every inch of Andrew screamed to tell her don’t do it. He swallowed urge. “How do you want to handle it?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Susan checked her reflection for the fiftieth time in the last few seconds. She’d fought the impulse to dress like she did while working for her father, left the suit and skirt hanging in the closet she shared with Andrew, and opted for nice jeans and a T-shirt instead. The goal was to walk the line between being respectful and not bowing to her father’s whims before she walked through the restaurant door.
She steeled herself and headed into Kandace’s living room. The woman was a saint for letting them crash at her house, but Andrew would close on his soon. They’d only been back from their road trip a couple of days, so Susan hadn’t imposed for too long. Lucas and Andrew were playing a card game. She loved that they were warming up to each other, and the way it made Andrew smile.
She watched for a few moments, letting the normalcy of the scene chase away her apprehension. When the nervous twitching moved back in, she straightened. “We should get going.” They didn�
��t have to be there for an hour, but she didn’t want to be late. That, and there was no way she could sit still anymore.
Andrew didn’t question it. He took her hand as they walked to her car. He’ offered to drive, and she said yes, but the car was symbolic to her. Her father probably wouldn’t see it, but she liked what it meant—that she didn’t owe him anything.
As they headed up the canyon, her stomach tied itself into more and more knots, while she replayed snippets of her last conversation with the man—the things he said, how close she came to giving up her dream. Bile rose in her throat, carried on memories of him sabotaging the job she wanted. One she earned.
They walked into the restaurant, and though they were twenty minutes early, her father already waited at a table. He scowled when he saw Andrew.
Susan was more grateful than she thought possible for the reassuring arm Andrew wrapped around her waist as they approached the table. “Dad.” She didn’t bother to fake a smile. “You already know my boyfriend.” She liked the way that tasted, rolling off her tongue.
Her father gestured to the chairs across from him. “When you said, we’ll be there, I thought you meant yourself and Melissa.”
“If you want to break bread with Mercy, I won’t be your buffer zone.” She sat when Andrew held out her chair, then he took the spot next to her. “We can’t stay long, but it looks like you weren’t waiting for us anyway.” She hid her wince at the passive-aggressive comment. If she was going to do this, she had to be direct. Part of her wished Andrew would step in. Take control of the conversation, rather than offer his support through a string of subtle touches and hand squeezes. She was grateful he kept quiet, though. If he spoke up, she wouldn’t find the resolution she needed.
“How have you been?” Dad asked.
“Fine. I start teaching next week.” It felt good to say that.
“May I ask where?”
The Virgin and the Kingpin Page 19
