Sweet (5 page)

“No,” came out in a gasp, even though, of course he had. Of course.

“Which would have been my out. I could have gone upstairs and showed them my black eye, and the guy would most likely have been bumped as a client. At the very least, I wouldn’t have had to work with him anymore.”

“Instead?”

“I punched him back.”

A groan escaped me, even though I knew the story had a happy ending. I’d certainly never seen the two ever bicker, much less fight.

“Not my finest moment, getting caught in a full-out brawl in my office by a senior partner. I got fired, and Philip’s case got reassigned to another junior attorney at the firm. And he lost. The guy fucked it up, even though we should have won, and everyone knew it.”

What a disaster. Yeah, Philip had left all this out when he’d told me he’d hired a lawyer. “What did you do?”

“I was more pissed about losing the case than anything. And your brother hates to lose even more than I do.”

“A match made in heaven.”

“So that was his pitch. He approached me a few weeks later. Neither of us mentioned the fight. He said, ‘Let’s beat the bastards next time.’ I told him to triple his offer, and here we are.”

“And you’ve never gotten into a fight again,” I said wonderingly.

“Not yet, although if there was ever a reason, I’m sure calling his sister in the dead of night to convince her to take off her panties counts.”

Before I could respond to
that
, he continued.

“The first day I came to work, he asked me what I thought my job was. I said to keep his business safe from the people who wanted to bring it down. He said no. My job was the same as his, to keep his family safe. You and Colin. I may have been stupid and hot-tempered then, but I took that seriously.”

My chest seemed too small, my heart overfull. He
had
kept us safe all this time. He wasn’t the one installing the alarm system, but the work he did for Philip was designed to keep the businesses running smoothly and the family secure.

We took for granted that if something needed to be done, Drew would help. Hell, he was part of the family. He was the only one unrelated to us who had Philip’s implicit trust—and mine.

And if that trust were shattered?
a voice whispered in my head. It would be my fault.

“I don’t want to mess things up between you and him.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but my thoughts lingered on the promising legal career he’d given up. “Does it bother you, doing illegal things?”

“I don’t really.”

Snorting, I said, “Save it for someone who believes that.”

“Fair enough, but my old firm was far more concerned about winning cases and making bank than following the law. It was about appearances. With Philip, everyone already assumes we’re doing the worst. In reality, most of it’s just ordinary business stuff. Pretty boring, typical things.”

“Like calling out competitors’ hiring practices.” My tone said I had no doubt that the information had been obtained through questionable means.

“For the good of the nation, Rose. We’re philanthropists, really.”

I laughed softly, then sobered. “Is everything okay there? Philip seems more stressed out than ever.”

“Yeah, he has more business than he knows what to do with, now that he’s picked up the contracts they dropped. But he’ll figure it out and come out stronger than ever, I’m sure. As for the other company, their assets will be tied up in legal proceedings for years.”

A strange shiver of foreboding ran down my spine. “Guess they’re pretty pissed.”

“They’re shitting bricks,” he agreed. “But they should’ve thought of that before they started trading on corporate secrets.”

Again the fear dug in its claws. “What if they try to retaliate?”

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Your brother can take care of himself. And really, if there’s any industry that should be safe and straightforward, it’s janitorial services.”

“Right,” I said, the word ringing hollow.

“Really.” His voice lowered. “I don’t want to talk about your brother anymore tonight.”

The deep promise in his voice distracted me. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Are you still wearing your dance clothes?”

“No, I showered after you left. I’m wearing a tank top.”

“Like the one I saw through the window?”

“Yes.”

“Take it off.”

I smiled at the arrogantly spoken command, sliding deeper under the covers. Sliding deeper into that drunk-on-lust headspace that he inspired whenever he was near me. Or whenever he was miles away, connected to me only by unseen airwaves. “That doesn’t sound like a strong argument, counselor.”

“The lawyer bit is the game. This one’s me.”

“Demanding?”

“Usually,” he answered evenly.

“Sex-obsessed?”

“Around you, yes.”

“Abrasive?”

“Never. That’s what the lube is for.”

A surprised laugh burst from me. I liked this side of him, playful. He was so serious at work, and that was the only time I saw him. I wanted more teasing, more sex banter. More fun in the middle of the night, preferably with us in the same bed. “I don’t know if I’m up for all that…you know, kinky stuff.”

“I’m not kinky. I just like to try new things out.”

“Which is different because?”

“Because I don’t need to do any of it. That’s just for fun. All I need to get off is to think about you. Taking your top off.”

“Ah, so we come back to my clothes.”

“You said you wanted persuasion. Is it working?”

I sat up slightly to pull my top off, then burrowed back under the covers with the phone to my ear. The covers felt impossibly rough against my sensitive skin, like sandpaper against velvet. It was an acute sort of pleasure, imagining it was touch, wishing it were the wet heat of his mouth against my puckered nipples instead of cold, dry fabric. “What about you? Take yours off too.”

There was a rustling sound, and then his breath exhaling over the phone. “I’m here. Look down at your breasts. Tell me what you see.”

I lifted the covers enough to let dim light spread across my breasts. They looked just like they always did, and I barely knew how to describe them, much less in a way that was sexy. I bit my lip.
Be brave.
“I must be breathing faster than I realized, because they’re…they’re moving up and down as I’m watching them.”

A strangled sound came over the line. “What color are they, your nipples?”

They flushed darker as I watched them, as arousal flooded me. “I don’t know. Pink, brown? They’re drawing up tight.”

“Suck on your fingers and then touch yourself there.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I put my fingers to my lips. As I put the dampened tips on my nipples, he said, “Squeeze them. Imagine it’s me.”

“I do. Oh, I do.” The cold shock of wetness quickly turned to a burn. Pressure pulled taut before spreading lower in my body, down to my clit. I shifted my legs on the bed.

“The other side,” he demanded.

I sucked my fingers again, tasting the salt of my skin, before wetting the other nipple, pressing and pulling its point until a soft sigh escaped me.

“I want to be there,” he groaned. “I want to put my lips on your breasts, feel your nipples against my tongue.”

My legs squeezed together all on their own. “What else would you do?”

“I would lick and bite my way down your belly, your hips. Do that for me. Walk your fingers down your body and tell me how it feels.”

My skin tingled at his words, the sensation sharpening when I complied. I walked my fingers down my stomach, my nails a small bite in the soft flesh. “It feels…it feels…”

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“It’s fluttering. The muscles here are all shaky. Because I want…”

“Christ, me too. I want that too.”

“Please, touch me.”

“Yes, that’s right. Pull off your pants. Your panties. I want you bare for me.”

In a rush of fabric, I pulled from my constraints. I was completely naked under the covers and burning up. My sex felt swollen and aching—and I knew what would soothe it. Not my touch but his. His words took me outside myself. His eager concern for my pleasure brought me home.

“Run your fingers along the outer lips. I need to—I need to know what you feel.” His words came rougher now, stopping and starting in a jagged rhythm I recognized from within. He was feeling it too, this need to move and rock and do it together, because with him was so much fuller than ever alone.

“I’m wet here. But you knew that.”

“Yes.” A statement. A triumph.

“I’m smooth here.” I took a deep breath. “There’s no hair.”

He sucked in a breath. “You shave it?”

“Wax. It’s just easier…with dancing…to make sure nothing peeks or shows through.” I laughed a little nervously. “I have black hair and wear a pale leotard. No good. So I wax it all off.”

It was quiet a moment.

“What is it? Too much information?”

“No, I’m just…I’m dying to feel you.”

The edge of erotic desperation in his voice lent me courage. It made me want to poke and prod him, to touch him the only way I could—with words.

“So you want to feel me here? Are you sure? It’s very slippery. Warm and wet.”

His groan was raw and beautiful.

“I can’t stay still here, just rubbing and searching out something—” My breath caught as my fingers stumbled upon my clit. “Until there.”

“Rub yourself off. Do it, Rose.”

And yes, so much. I moaned my compliance, my fingers working furiously at my warm, liquid sex. Each flick of my finger sent a thrum of pleasure through my body.

My arousal spiraled higher, drawing up every nerve and tightening every muscle. I felt stretched to the limit and yet unable to break. Held in suspension, I could only tremble senseless fingers against the bundle of pleasure-pain, could only gasp incoherently into the phone.

It was only when I heard those quiet, unmistakable, rhythmic sounds as he stroked himself, as I felt the vibrations of his grunt of release, that I tumbled over, fell apart, and came in a soft gush of wetness against my palm.

“Oh God,” I panted. “Oh
God
.”

“Rose,” he said, more like an exhale.

“We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?”

“Do what?”

Have sex. Start a relationship. Be together. Why did that make hot tears spring to my eyes?

I tried for casual. “Keep this a secret.”

He gave a long and satisfied sigh, a rough-hewn sound of sex-sated invincibility. “Who said we’d keep hiding? Though I hope you aren’t too attached to my nose looking this way, whenever your brother does find out.”

“He won’t punch you. He won’t.” Though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.

“I’m sure hoping he does. The alternative is worse. Don’t stress about that.”

“Oh sure. I might die but don’t worry, he says.”

“Do you trust me?”

Like a gust of fresh autumn wind, the question stole my breath and rendered me compliant all at once. I trusted him. At a base and carnal level, I lusted after his body, his mind. I wanted to spend time with him, to learn everything about him. But overshadowing all of that was a blanket of clouds, the trust in him I took for granted.

Did I trust him? For always. Forever.

“Yeah.” My voice sounded as low and broken as his. “I do.”

His satisfaction swelled in the air through the phone. “I have to stop by to finish some paperwork in a couple days. Maybe I’ll see you.”

Oh hell yes. “Maybe.”

I heard the smile in his voice. “Good night.”

“Night.”

The phone was slick with cooling sweat when I dropped it on the end table. Phone sex. That was new. Not entirely unexpected, though. He was like that. Adventurous and exciting without the undercurrent of danger that I had once been accustomed to.

It was a novel idea, that I could have fun without risk. That I could be with someone and still feel safe.

I’m dying to feel you
, he’d said. I was too, and the plunge felt so sweet.

A
s dawn streamed
in through the window, I heard a car pull across the cobblestone and come to a stop. Drew had texted me last night to let me know he was coming over. At least, that was how I interpreted
eight hours until I see you
.

I stretched in bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. No doubt Philip would commandeer him the second he walked into the house. He was still in the dark about us, and that ticking sound was the countdown to when he would surely find out and explode.

Leisurely, I took a shower and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, wondering how I could sneak a few minutes alone with Drew. I was drying my hair with a damp towel when I heard the sound of an engine starting outside. Oh, shit. Was he leaving already?

At the window I watched Philip’s car roll down the driveway. Perfect.

Tossing the towel on the bed, I hurried downstairs and found the office with the door open. Drew’s sleeves were rolled up, and he was knee deep in work at seven in the morning. He looked up when I came in.

He stood immediately, coming to stand in front of me, reaching out as if to touch me. In the moments before his hands met mine, he pulled back, uncertain or maybe just prolonging the inevitable.

The heat of his body seared me, his breath tickled my forehead. We were both adrift, floundering softly in the sea, slowly drowning. I hazarded a small smile—a soft current to propel me closer.

His face was solemn, intent. “Hi,” he said, his eyes searching mine.

We may not have much time
, I thought.
Now
, I thought. But all I said was, “Hi, I—”

And like a wild chase, an abrupt collision, we crashed. His hand reached for my waist, the other at the back of my neck. He pressed a kiss to my lips, infusing me with heat from the plump of my lips all the way down to my toes.

My body hummed with a satisfaction borne of completeness, of
finally
, of finding the missing piece of myself. He fit against me as if he belonged there, and though I knew it was only physical, I sighed into him, melted into him until I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began, accepting him places deeper than my body.