Beyond Bliss (21 page)

Her responding smile dazzled him, and he felt that nameless feeling in his chest tighten. “Yeah, but you’ll die with a smile on your face.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I can just see my epithet now. Lucas Sinclair, CEO, brother, and son. Fucked to death by a naughty angel. Died in the throes of orgasm.”

She burst out laughing, and he grinned. She was gorgeous, but when she lit up like that, she was otherworldly. She was a sight to behold, bright eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, gloriously naked save for the white sheet casually draped over her breasts.

She was it. No, fuck that, she was
everything.

“I lo-“ he broke off sharply as he realized the words that nearly tumbled out of his mouth. Words that he’d never said to another woman, save his mother, sister, and grandmother.

She looked at him curiously. “You were about to say something?”

Her question was artless, her stare innocent and he realized gratefully that it had gone over her head.

His wry grin felt forced. “I love that you’re completely unapologetic about keeping me in a suspended state of orgasm.”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” she winked, trailing her fingers along his bicep.

His skin prickled in the wake of her touch, and he groaned. He bent his head to hers, as his tongue sought entry in between her soft, pliant lips. The kiss was unhurried, deep and drugging, leaving his brain in a happy fog. Every time they fused together, whether in a simple kiss or sex, it felt like he was handing over a piece of his soul.

And the fact that he was completely unbothered by it bothered the hell out of him.

The thought gave him pause, and he regretfully broke away from her, but not before he pressed another soft, lingering kiss against the corner of her mouth. He tried to drown out her sigh of contentment as he glanced at his watch.

“Shit.”

Her nose scrunched up.

Cute.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have a dinner meeting at seven. As much as I’d like an encore performance, I need to get going,” he groaned. “Stay in the room as long as you like, though. Do you want to come over to my place later?”

“What? What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.” He rolled off the bed and snagged his boxers from the floor.

She shrieked and jumped out of the bed, her naked form no longer covered by the sheet.

He froze, his mouth watered at the vision of her beautiful body.

Down boy.

Unfortunately, his cock had a mind of his own, and he turned away, groaning slightly. She really was going to be the death of him.

“What’s the matter? What’s your rush?”

“I’m supposed to meet Liz for drinks at seven,” she muttered, as she wrestled her clothes on. “It’s going to take me forever to get down to the financial district.”

“So meet her here,” he suggested, buttoning his shirt.

The silence that followed was thoughtful. “Good idea.”

Chapter Nineteen

She fiddled with the thin stem of the champagne glass and stared as bubbles shot upward in a strait steady stream. Every inch of her body, external and internal still hummed from his touch.

True to his word, he’d tortured her in like fashion.

But oh, the finale had been well worth the anticipation.

It was a shame they hadn’t had the time for another session, and she’d been tempted to say to hell with Liz and his dinner as she’d stared at the hard, masculine planes of his body as he’d dressed.

He was addictive.

And as soon as she’d thought the words, she’d shaken out of her reverie and focused on getting dressed and out of the hotel room.

Away from the bed and the sheets that smelled like them coming together.

Dangerous.

“Bitch.”

She rolled her eyes and turned around in the barstool. Liz stood behind her, an eyebrow raised imperiously.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get here? What’s with changing the plans at the last minute? Not cool, Harlow, not cool.”

She shrugged, and Liz slid into the stool next to her.

The bartender appeared out of nowhere, and Liz gave her drink order. “Club soda and lime please.”

“No alcohol?” Sophie questioned.

“Stop trying to change the subject. Why are we in this stuffy-ass hotel bar?”

“I was in the area, and I just thought it made sense. It would have taken me longer to get to the Perfect Martini than for you to get here from work.”

The bartender slid Liz’s drink in front of her, and she took a sip before she turned knowing eyes to Sophie.

“And your bedhead, swollen lips, and freshly fucked look has nothing to do with it?” she asked wryly, oblivious to the bartender’s ears perking up.

“Shit, Liz, can you please lower your voice?” Sophie whispered furiously, her face flaming red.

Liz rolled her eyes. “Sugarlips, spare me. I’m pretty sure he’s had the birds and the bees talk.”

Sophie face-planted into her hands and let out a pained groan. 

“You need to have the words ‘Caution, proceed with care,’ tattooed on your forehead,” she muttered. 

Liz smiled evilly. “You don’t want me any other way and you know it. Who else is going to keep you honest?”

Sophie lifted her head and her hand reached automatically for her glass. Two healthy sips of Prosecco later, she faced Liz. 

“Okay, grasshopper. Let’s start with the reason for your phone call this morning. ‘This is a disaster,’ and ‘I’m in big trouble’ were the exact words you used, if I recall correctly.”

Sophie nodded and sipped once more. The bubbles tingled on her tongue and slid deliciously down her throat only to warm her belly, and the tart liquid seemed to hit her all at once. Her head felt pleasantly light, and the tension left her muscles. She smiled broadly at Liz.

In return, she received a narrowed glance from her best friend. “Just how many glasses of Prosecco did you have?” Liz asked slowly, her words tinged with suspicion.

Sophie held up her hand and counted three fingers, pushed one finger down, and then frowned. She lifted the third finger once more and screwed up her mouth tight in concentration before pushing it down once more. Two fingers waved cheerfully at Liz. “I’m on my third glass,” she admitted happily.

“Oh Jesus Henry Christ, Sophie!”

“I was stressed!” she cried defensively.

“Well you just tipped over the ledge from stressed into lush.”

She giggled. “You’re so funny, Liz.”

Liz’s lips twitched, but she kept herself from a full-blown smile. “Did you at least eat before you decided to get sloshed?”

“Nope.” Sophie drew out the word so that it popped when she pronounced the ‘p’.

“I knew you were going to end up paying me back for being the responsible one at all those drunken frat parties. Why on Earth you decided to indulge your inner rebel at almost thirty is beyond me.”

Sophie shrugged, her eyes wide and innocent as she pondered the same thing herself.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Liz muttered under her breath. She held up a hand to hail the bartender, who sauntered over with a glint in his eye as he eyed Sophie.

Liz snapped her fingers impatiently. “Hey, buddy – check please. Each minute you spend checking out my
taken
friend is a percent off your tip. Not to mention what her man would do to you.”

She looked at him hard, delighting in the dull red flush that crept up his neck.

Less than thirty seconds later, she signed the credit card receipt, and gripped Sophie’s arm. “Come on, kimosabe, time to get some food in you.”

Outside the hotel, Liz kept one hand on Sophie and stuck another out in the street in an attempt to hail a cab. Almost as if on cue, a black town car pulled up in front of them. She tried to wave the cab off, grumbling about gypsy cabs, but to her surprise, a dignified gentleman in a chauffeur’s uniform stepped out and opened the door to the backseat.

“Harry,” Sophie cried happily, throwing her arms around the older man’s neck.
Harry
awkwardly patted her back and attempted to smooth the look of chagrin from his face.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Liz demanded. She knew her tone was nasty even though it appeared Sophie knew him.

To his credit, he looked at her stoically. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when Sophie interrupted excitedly.

“Harry is Lucas’s driver, Liz! Be nice!” She turned away from her friend to Harry. “Lucas sent you to get me?”

Unruffled, Harry simply stated, “Mr. Sinclair asked me to look after you Miss Harlow, after you were done meeting with your friend.”

Liz could have sworn he’d just sneered the word
friend.
“Well, we’re not done
meeting
yet mister. She needs food, and if you’d been
looking
after her, you’d know that she downed three glasses of the bubbly shit with nothing else in her stomach.”

Faint traces of pink stained the older man’s cheek, and Sophie scowled at her friend. “He’ s not my babysitter, Liz. Lighten up.”

Harry kept his face expressionless. “Where would you like to go Miss Harlow?”

Liz could tell by the expression on her face that she was dying to ask about Lucas’s whereabouts, but her friend knew better, tipsy or not. If Sophie ditched her for this dude after changing plans on her already, she’d be staring at her own asshole.

Wisely, Sophie just asked him to take them somewhere simple to eat.

*****

“Will you please stop looking at your freaking phone?” Liz huffed between bites of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

They sat at Rosie’s Tavern in central Mid-town, a drive that literally took Harry four minutes. Sophie was positive he’d taken them somewhere close just to get Liz out of his car, but given her friend’s mood, she kept her mouth shut.

Guiltily, she slipped the phone back into her bag.

“I can’t help it, my mother called earlier, and Lucas picked up. She hasn’t called me back since, and there’s no telling what that crazy woman is up to now.”

The butter knife Liz held clinked against her plate as she held up one hand. “Wait, did you say Lucas picked up your
mother’s
call? And he hasn’t kicked your ass to the curb?” Liz shuddered and ignored the look Sophie gave her.

“You’re supposed to help, you know, not hinder.”

“Well, I can’t help you if you’re too tipsy to remember my advice in the morning,” Liz pointed out.

“I was barely tipsy! And thanks to you, whatever buzz I had is now completely gone.”

“Whatever. The point is—well, I forgot what the darned point was. Crap.”

Sophie shoved her grilled chicken sandwich in her mouth and took a generous bite, chewing slowly to draw out time and avoid snapping at Liz when it suddenly hit her.

The sandwich dropped from her hands and fell into uneven pieces on her plate as she stared at Liz.

“Wait, why aren’t you cursing?”

Liz took an equally healthy bite of her mashed potatoes and stared at Sophie.

“You’re not drinking or cursing,” Sophie said slowly. “And you never eat carbs …. except when you’re— holy shit Liz!”

Liz immediately glared and placed both of her hands protectively against her flat stomach. “Shhh. He or she might hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Sophie breathed.

Liz set her fork down on her plate and ruefully smiled. “Well, this wasn’t how I planned on telling you, but congratulations, you get to be a godmother three times over in six months. You better hope nothing ever happens to me and Mark, or you’re stuck with three demon children on your hands. Although,” she continued thoughtfully, “If you just so happen to marry, oh—let’s say some billionaire business magnate, you won’t be in it alone and you’ll more than have the funds to take care of my offspring.”

Sophie’s mouth was still parted in shock. Liz and Mark had never planned on having more than two kids, especially if they had one of each gender. In fact, Liz claimed to hate children that weren’t of her womb, and she’d said on more than one occasion that even they were lucky that she loved them.

“How?” she whispered.

“After you’ve spent your entire afternoon rolling around in gazillion thread count bed sheets, you want me to school you on how babies are made?” Liz asked dryly.

“Liz, be serious for a minute! I thought you were on the shot.”

“Well, I
am
on the shot. Not my fault or Depro Provera’s that my geeky husband has Olympic worthy swimmers.”

“Oh goodness.”

Liz raised both eyebrows. “Well, this kid is determined to exist. It had zero point three percent chance of even being conceived, can you believe?”

All traces of her lovely bubbly buzz gone, Sophie shook her head in shock.

“Okay, we have six more months to talk about my expanding waistline, bitchy attitude, and crazy cravings. What’s going on with you and your sexy client, and why do you think it’s a big deal if people know?”