Good In Bed

by Bromberg, K

  She pulls back from the embrace to stare at me, searching my eyes, like she can find an answer there. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

  “And you’ve done so much for me.” As the words emerge, I realize how true they are. We’ve only spent a few nights together, and they’ve not only been insanely sexy, but fun and tender too. More than I expected. “I intend to pay.”

  She softens. “You’re so chivalrous.”

  It comes out the same way she said I was lovely earlier, and it does funny things to my chest. “That’s me. Chivalrous Graham.”

  “That means I’m paying for birthday brunch this year. No arguments.” Her arms go around my waist as her cheek rests on my chest, sending a wave of pure contentment washing through me. This night certainly isn’t proceeding the way I thought it would—I was sure I’d be dreaming dirty dreams while she dozed in my arms—but somehow, it’s okay. It feels like about anything would be okay, or at least survivable, as long as I get to hug CJ after it’s over. She just feels so good, so right.

  “I guess we should get hunting for this wayward kitty,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head because I can’t help but touch her. “Any idea where he might have gone?”

  CJ tips her head back, gazing up at me with a crooked smile. “I have a few ideas, but you’re not going to like them. When he freaks out, he tends to hide in the darkest, dustiest places he can find. Once, I found him behind the furnace. Another time, he wedged himself behind the toilet.”

  I frown. “Are you implying that I’m a squeamish man who won’t brave the elements on a rescue mission?”

  She laughs. “No, you’re a very manly man who knows how to turn off water and has a tile guy on speed dial. But you’re also wearing very expensive pants.”

  “Forget my pants. Let’s get that cat and get out of here. I would like to get you back in bed sometime before midnight, Miss Murphy. I was enjoying spooning you very much, but I also think I’ll enjoy sliding my hand between your legs in the middle of the night.”

  Heat flashes in her eyes. “I would like that too.”

  “Maybe even a refresher on lesson one or two?”

  Her eyes darken, a hint of desire flickering in them. “Extra credit is good.”

  I chuckle and smack her rear, hauling her close for a hot second and planting a kiss on those soft, delicious lips. “You’ll get lots of homework, I promise.”

  Then I let her go because it’s kitty-cat time. “Let’s go kitty hunting.”

  We start with her apartment, but unsurprisingly, there’s no sign of Steve. But with the amount of screaming that went on in here tonight, I wouldn’t have expected an anxious animal to stick around. A thorough search of the hallways and common areas comes next. We scour the stroller storage and the janitor’s closet on the first floor, where snow shovels and mildew-scented mops crowd in the darkness, but there are no signs of fuzzy feet or a twitching tail.

  Down in the basement, we pace every inch of the boiler room, using our phones for light as we poke into windowless rooms that clearly haven’t been touched—or cleaned—in the past century.

  “If there isn’t black mold down here, I’ll eat my own hand,” I mutter as we finish another horror-movie-worthy exploration.

  “Don’t eat your hand,” CJ says, with a yawn. “I like your hand. Your hand does nice things to me. Maybe even in the middle of the night.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist with a sigh, knowing the chances of getting my hands back on her later are diminishing with every passing minute. “Where to next?”

  “The courtyard, I guess.” She starts up the stairs in front of me, granting me a killer view of the hem of her dress swishing temptingly against the backs of her thighs. Lord have mercy . . .

  “Have I mentioned how much I love this dress?”

  She reaches the top of the stairs and turns to smile at me, her wild hair backlit by the orange glow of the lobby light. “No, you haven’t. But thank you.”

  I shake my head, too struck by the beauty of that smile to reply. Damn, she’s pretty. And sweet. And so much fun to be with that I’m actually enjoying this stupid cat hunt. At least a little bit.

  Though by the time we search the courtyard—crawling on our hands and knees to peek under every bit of decorative stonework large enough to hide Stevie—my pants are ruined, my bones are starting to ache, and I’m so tired all I want to do is curl up in the pink playhouse by the playground equipment and go to sleep.

  “You checked the playhouse?” I ask, fighting to suppress yet another yawn.

  “Yes. Twice.” CJ yawns eloquently before hitting a button on her phone with a sigh. “It’s almost two o’clock. If we don’t find him in the next few minutes, I want you to go back to the hotel, or your place, without me. Get some rest.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’ll stay here and look.” She shrugs, her hands lifting helplessly at her sides. “I mean, I can’t give up. He has to be somewhere. I know he didn’t leave the building. He wouldn’t do that, right? Even if someone held open the door to the outside world? He wouldn’t run off into the city, because if he did, I’d never find him, and he’d definitely get run over.”

  With my heart aching for her, I pull her close, rocking her gently from side to side. “I’m staying. Until the bitter end. Until every soldier is brought in from the field of battle.”

  She hums into my shirt, sagging against me. Then she lifts her head—sharp and sudden. “That’s it.” She steps out of my arms, turning to face the playground equipment. “The field of battle . . .”

  I frown. “The slide?”

  “The kids play knights and dragons out here all the time,” she says, moving toward the swing set. “And they’re always dropping their toys and their snacks. And Steve’s nose still works pretty well, considering the state the rest of him is in . . .” As she reaches the structure, she falls to her knees, scraping the wood chips away until she gets a clear view beneath the blue tunnel running from one section of the equipment to the other.

  Her cry of victory is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve heard tonight. “There you are! Stevie, baby, come here. Oh, poor pumpkin, you must be so scared.”

  When she stands, there’s a giant, fluffy Himalayan with wrinkled whiskers, a freckled nose, and soft blue eyes snuggled into her arms.

  “Stephen King, good to see you again.” I lean down to get a better look at him in the dim glow of the motion-activated lights illuminating the yard. “You’re a handsome old gent, I’ll give you that.”

  The cat meows, as if returning the compliment, and CJ giggles. “He is. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. And a sweet spirit.” She hugs him closer. “Come on, love, off to the vet for you. You can visit with Dr. Miller while we get the house cleaned up.”

  By the time we get Steve into his cat carrier, gather his food, pack CJ’s bags for a week out of her apartment, and deliver the cat to the 24-hour vet, it’s three thirty in the morning.

  A huge yawn escapes me as we stand outside the vet’s office.

  She joins me in the yawn parade. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll go crash at the hotel until morning. Then, since I don’t have a place to stay for the week, I can look for an apartment rental or something tomorrow when I’m not fried.”

  But there’s no need to return to the St. Regis. I have a better idea. “Come home with me. We could both use some sleep, and my bed is sinfully comfortable.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I scoff. “I’m not sending you to the St. Regis solo, and my place is closer. We aren’t done with our non-lesson of cuddling, my butterfly. Besides, we only have a few more nights of classes, and I want to make the most of my time with you. Although, of course, I want you to feel free to stay at my place even after the board meeting, until your apartment is fixed. I have more than enough space, and I’m happy to have you.”

  She stiffens briefly in my arms, and I fear I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “Right? Do y
ou want to make the most of this?” I ask, tucking a finger under her chin and raising her face so she can meet my eyes.

  A flicker of sadness colors her expression—maybe she hates being away from her home base as much as I do—but then it’s gone, replaced by a certainty. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  An Uber ride later, we drag our exhausted bodies into my place and take care of our pre-bed business. I’m the first to collapse onto my king-size mattress. She slides on a T-shirt that says When I think about books I touch my shelf, and the sight of it on her—a naughty little bookworm—makes me laugh. “So very you,” I say, and she curtsies and gets into bed with me.

  As we snuggle under the covers, that “just right” feeling returns.

  When this evening started, I pictured it ending with a departure from the St. Regis before dawn, well before CJ wound up tangled up in my arms.

  But now that I have her here, it’s the perfect end to her stripping.

  Just for me.

  Only for me.

  It’s so good that I drift off to sleep with the sweet smell of CJ filling my head and dream the nicest dreams I can remember having in ages.

  But the next morning, as so often happens with sweet dreams, there’s a nightmare just around the corner. Waiting in my lobby. Dressed in a hot-pink raincoat and stiletto heels.

  Chapter 14

  CJ

  Best. Sleepover. Ever.

  Spending the night with Graham was never on my sex ed agenda—I figured that belonged in a relationship class rather than a seduction course—but now I can’t imagine my lesson plan being complete without this extra session. Drifting off in his arms, waking up with his lips warm on my neck and his husky voice asking if I want coffee, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he shaved and I swept on a coat of mascara—it was all wonderful. Perfect. A lesson in intimacy and the “morning after” that I won’t soon forget.

  Because I’ll be repeating it tonight.

  And the next night, and the next, and the next.

  Then I’ll be moving into his guest room . . . I guess. Once the seven days of sex-cation are over, and if my apartment is still under construction . . .

  I knew from the start that we had an expiration date, but when Graham said that last night, about me staying past Monday since he has plenty of room, it hurt a little. I didn’t realize how upsetting it would be to imagine a future without his kiss, his touch, or the new closeness that’s growing between us. I’m seeing sides of Graham I never knew were there, and experiencing the pleasure of his company in ways that go beyond the physical.

  Though that’s quite nice too. If “nice” means absolutely toe-curlingly incredible.

  I’m daydreaming about everything we did to each other last night—about the moment when I made him lose control in my hand, and how much I want to do that again—when we step out of the elevator into the lobby. Graham stops dead, cursing softly beneath his breath.

  I follow his mildly horrified gaze to a leggy woman posed near the front desk. Everything from her hot-pink raincoat, skin-tight pink skirt, scandalously low-cut gray blouse, and sky-high stilettos screams, “Look at me!” Add in the bouncy blond hair and expertly made-up blue eyes, and she’s probably one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen in real life.

  But there’s something . . . not right about her smile, something that reminds me of what it feels like to be the last kid picked for volleyball in gym class every single day.

  Anything with balls, I’m bad at. Which reminds me . . .

  Note to self: research how to correctly play with a man’s balls so you have something new to show Graham tonight.

  “Hey, G-man,” the woman purrs, eliminating any doubt that she’s exactly what she looks like—one of Graham’s women. I’ve only met a few of his former girlfriends, usually in passing at a reception or event, and they’ve all been stunning to the point where other women feel like trolls in comparison.

  “Lucy.” Graham’s voice is clipped, brimming with irritation. I glance up at him, my eyes wide.

  So this is the woman Graham said turned stalker on him after their breakup a few months ago.

  Ouch.

  I glance back at her, trying to hide my knowledge of her past misdeeds—who buys an ex-lover a plane ticket to Barbados or takes up running solely for the opportunity of bumping into him on his morning jog, for goodness’ sake? Running is abhorrent. But I school my expression, keeping my face neutral, since I don’t want her to feel embarrassed. I’d be deeply embarrassed if I knew an ex of mine had been talking about me with his new lover.

  “Hey, I know this is kind of out of the blue.” Lucy’s eyes flit from Graham to me and back again with a nervous laugh. “And I’m sorry to, um, interrupt your morning. I just, I think I left my scarf at your place. You know, the black silk I always wear with this outfit?”

  She motions down at her décolletage—which is impressive, borderline inappropriate if she’s on her way to the office, and could definitely benefit from a scarf tied at the neck to help conceal some of the extra boobage going on—but Graham’s eyes remain fixed firmly on her face.

  “I don’t have anything of yours in my apartment, Lucy,” he grinds out through a tight jaw. “It’s all gone, and I would appreciate it if you would honor the boundaries we talked about.”

  Her brows pinch. “I know you said I shouldn’t come over,” Lucy says, her voice creeping half an octave higher. “But I was just a couple blocks away and I thought—”

  “Think again next time,” Graham says. “You should know by now I don’t say things I don’t mean. So I would appreciate it if you would take me at my word. Like when I texted you the other day, and asked you to stop contacting me. I meant it.”

  Hurt flashes across Lucy’s features, her emotional pain so obvious, I can’t help but flinch in empathy. God, this poor woman. She’s a wreck. Like a very beautiful, well-put-together addict hunting for a fix she’s never going to be able to lay her hands on again, no matter how finely she dresses or how hard she tries.

  The thought sweeps through my head followed by an eerily clear mental image of me standing where Lucy is now, clutching my suitcase and thanking Graham for a great seven days, when all I really want to do is cling to his leg and beg him to let me stay a little longer.

  Maybe a lot longer.

  My stomach churns at the thought. This is precisely what I promised myself I’d avoid. This is what I’ve been determined to keep at bay.

  Lucy apologizes softly, her eyes shining with tears, and as she hurries toward the door, I realize how easy it would be to get hooked on Graham. Hooked just as hard. I already crave his touch, ache for his laughter, yearn to be wrapped up in his arms at the end of the night and wake there in the morning.

  “Sorry about that,” Graham murmurs, lifting a hand to the man behind the lobby desk as we move toward the revolving doors. “She doesn’t seem to be getting the message that it’s over.”

  I force a sympathetic smile. “Well, hopefully she will now. You were pretty firm.”

  He grunts. “I have to be firm. I was pretty damn clear the other day too. We moved past the let-her-down-easy phase a long time ago.”

  “I get it,” I say, though of course I don’t. I’ve never had that kind of relationship before, the kind that leaves you so desperate you’ll keep rolling over and showing your vulnerable underbelly, no matter how many times you’re kicked to the curb. I cringe at the thought, and the stark realization that I don’t want to experience that kind of devastation. I don’t want to become Lucy. “See you tonight?”

  “Tonight.” Graham leans down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll be home by six thirty. I’m going to skip the run today.”

  “Same here. I’m too beat for biking. I’ll probably be back around six thirty as well. Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “Letting you stay.” He chuckles as we emerge into the cool spring morning and he starts toward the town car parked at the corner. “You say that as if it’s some sacrifice on m
y part. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder as his brow furrows. “Do you need a ride? We can swing by your office first. It’s no trouble at all.”

  I wave a hand and continue backing toward Chelsea, buttoning my jacket. “No, it’s fine. I want to walk. It’s not far, and I do my best brainstorming while walking.”

  “Are you sure?” He narrows his eyes with a smile, looking so handsome, so tempting, that I almost reverse direction and hurry into the car beside him.

  But in the end, I shake my head and wave. “I’m sure. Have a great day.”

  I need to walk, to think about the work ahead and what to tackle on my agenda. The cool air usually helps clear my head. But by the time I reach the door to the space Love Cycle shares with several other up-and-coming designers, I’ve barely been able to think about sample shots or inventory. All I can think about is Graham, and how deep into the water I’ve waded with him already, so deep I can barely keep my head above the surface.

  Needing advice I can trust, I whip out my phone from my purse. It’s early on the West Coast, but luckily the California branch of my family gets up insanely early. Comes with raising hops for a living.

  Dylan answers on the second ring. “What’s up, Trouble?”

  “I am in trouble. How did you know?” I murmur, stepping into the stairwell for privacy. “You got a second?”

  “I’ve got as long as you need. You okay?”

  My breath rushes out. “No, I’m not. I told you I was seeing someone, right? But that we absolutely had to keep it casual? Well, I think I suck at casual. So what now?”

  “You give me this guy’s number, and I call him and tell him to treat you right or I’ll fly out there and break his face.”

  I roll my eyes, but the alpha male thing is deeply ingrained in all the Hunter boys, and Dylan is no exception. “I don’t want his face broken. I like his face. I just need tips. Tricks. How do I take an emotional step back while still enjoying…you know?”