What's in a Name? (25 page)

“
Enjoy your
afternoon,” Griffith said. His eyes halted at her chest.

The way Blake’s hand pressed tighter,
drawing her closer against him, answered her question.

Waiting in the restaurant entry for
their cab, she could still feel Griffith’s eyes on them. She turned
and he smiled, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell
phone.

In the cab at last, she had a pretty
good idea what Blake wanted. She had a damn good idea of what she
wanted. But was it right? Yet when his hand found hers, she didn’t
let go.

“
The
hostess—Melina—seemed to know you. Are you—?”

“
Am I what?
Hollingsworth Industries owns the restaurant. I negotiated the
deal. Dwight doesn’t meddle—they had a good product but didn’t know
how to market it. They were proud but we convinced them it was to
everyone’s benefit to sell. A bank wasn’t going to loan them any
more money. So, they run the place, we offer guidance and Dwight
takes a share of the profits.”

“
So—you and
Melina—?”

He looked at her, confused, then
understanding swept over his face. “You thought—? Melina?
Sweetheart, she’s married, has three kids. She belly dances there
on Friday nights and I’ll admit I enjoyed the show once or twice,
but—”

She had to be blushing furiously now.
Not soon enough, the cab pulled up to the front of Blake’s
building. With effort, she met his gaze. “If you’ll give me the
key, I’ll take the food up and you can get back to the office.”

“
Is that what you
want?”

“
No,” she
whispered.

Blake handed the cabbie two twenties,
which was as much tip as fare, but he didn’t have anything smaller,
and no way he was going to waste a second waiting for change. He
wasn’t sure if the cabbie’s snaggle-toothed grin was a “thank you”
or a “way to go.”

Strategically holding the doggie bag in
front of him with one hand, Blake held Kelli’s with the other.
Small, with slender fingers, it almost disappeared inside his
larger one. He’d seen the way those fingers whirled over a keyboard
and the thought of them touching him— Stop. If he thought of it any
longer, this might be the shortest encounter of his life.

“
Great day,” Lamonte,
the doorman said as they walked past the door he held for them.
“Makes you want to be outside enjoying the sunshine.”

Good grief, was there sarcasm in that
comment? He gave a polite nod in agreement and hurried Kelli toward
the elevators, which, of course, were both on the top floors. Hell
and damn. Why didn’t he live on three instead of sixteen so they
could walk up? He heard the clacking of tiny toenails on the tile
behind him and smelled a cloud of rosewater. Great. Mrs. Feldman
and her poodle. Barely topping five feet and almost as wide, Mrs.
Feldman wheezed into place beside him, her curly blue hair taking a
moment longer to come to a halt. And she lived on twelve, so she’d
be with them almost all the way.

“
Good afternoon, Mr.
Windsor.” She made no pretenses about giving Kelli the once-over
from behind her round spectacles.

“
Hi, Mrs. Feldman.
How’s Skeeter?”

“
Fine. She just got
back from the groomer.”

That would explain the pink toenails
and matching ribbon on the dog’s topknot.

Kelli let go of his hand and crouched
by the dog, making kissing noises. “Hello, there, cutie.” She
looked at Mrs. Feldman. “I’m Emily, Blake’s cousin.”

“
Pleastameetcha.”

Skeeter, who had never regarded him
with anything more than a bored sniff of his ankles, writhed with
pleasure under Kelli’s touch and flopped down on her back for a
belly rub. He curbed the temptation to join the dog.

By the time the elevator arrived, so
had four more tenants, including old Mr. Norris from eighteen.
Although Blake’s frustration level had escalated, his arousal
hadn’t diminished in the least. He pulled Kelli to the corner of
the car and turned her so she stood in front of him, her backside
against him. Fire surged through the fabric of his trousers. She
leaned into his erection and he slipped a hand around her middle
and pulled her tighter. He glued his eyes to the lighted floor
indicator over the door.

The elevator stopped at five and the
doors opened to let out a woman with a toddler. Kelli started to
step aside and he tightened his grip to keep her in front of him.
He had no doubt Mrs. Feldman suspected Kelli was hardly a cousin,
but there was no need for him to stand on display at full
attention. When the car stopped at eight, Kelli wriggled her hips
and he almost dropped the doggie bag. “Stop that,” he hissed in her
ear.

She craned her neck around and grinned.
“Stop what? This?” She ground her buttocks against him some more.
He glanced at Mrs. Feldman and Mr. Norris, who quickly averted
their eyes and stared at the floor display.

When they stopped at twelve, Mrs.
Feldman, cradling Skeeter, gave a wink to Kelli as she exited the
elevator. “Enjoy your visit, Emily.”

“
Thanks,” Kelli
said.

The doors closed before either could
say anything else. Mr. Norris moved to the other corner of the car,
Kelli resumed her grinding, and he thought he might die. “You have
any idea what you’re doing to me?” he whispered.

“
Hmm. You mean this?”
She pressed harder. “Maybe.”

“
Well, stop it, or
there’s not going to be anything else happening when we get
home.”

Finally, the car stopped and after what
seemed like an hour, the doors separated at a snail’s pace on his
floor. He could swear he heard Mr. Norris choking with laughter as
Kelli yanked on Blake’s arm, pulling him out of the elevator and
down the hall.

At the door, she had her hand in his
pocket, fishing for his keys. Somehow, her fingers ignored the
keys, finding something else to occupy them. He stopped breathing.
Her touch was butterfly gentle, teasing and tormenting. He twisted
her to face him and slanted his lips over hers, dropping the
leftovers at their feet. With one hand, he caressed her face. With
the other he took her wrist and removed her hand from his pocket.
His keys were hooked around her finger and without breaking the
kiss, he slipped them off and somehow got them into the lock.

One foot found the bag of food and slid
it inside the door. She pushed it shut behind them and he leaned
against it, cupping her buttocks and lifting her to his waist.
Their tongues explored, danced, entwined. She tasted exotic, faint
hints of garlic and spices.

He slid his hands under her blazer,
seeking her waist where her sweater tucked into her slacks. “Too
many clothes.” He lowered her to the floor and worked her blazer
off her shoulders while she did the same with his suit coat.

Her green eyes glistened, darkened by
her enlarged pupils. Her tongue ran across her lips. Her chest rose
and fell with her accelerated breathing. His fingers found her
nipples, straining against her sweater through her bra. When he
tried to pull her sweater out from her slacks, she stiffened.
Pulled his hands away.

He gave himself a mental kick. He was a
jerk. Slow down. How many days ago had Scumbag hovered over her? He
tried not to think of Robert. Deep breath. Gently, he took her
hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” Fingers locked, they strolled
through his apartment, around the glass bricks to the space he
always thought of as his bedroom, although it was more accurately a
bedroom area.

That’s right. Slow down. Keep thinking
about mundane things. Don’t think about what it’s going to feel
like to lie on that bed with her.

At the edge of the bed, Kelli kicked
off her shoes. When the hell had she painted her toenails bright
red? That was
not
slowing things down. He toed off his own
shoes and stood beside her. Kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her
nose, her cheeks. Her lips parted, and he accepted the invitation,
brushing her lips, nibbling. Not until her tongue met his did he
deepen the kiss.

He took her hands and placed them on
his chest. Covering her hands with his, he could feel his own heart
beating through them. She fingered his shirt buttons. He shifted
his hands to her shoulders and watched her unfasten each one,
toying with the hair on his chest as she progressed from one to the
next. Each hair sent its own electrical current coursing to his
groin. She traced the red line on his chest where Scumbag’s knife
had done its damage. The butterfly strips she’d applied were still
there. His breath hitched, but he resisted the urge to touch her.
“I’m fine.”

She kept her eyes on his as she tugged
the shirt from his trousers and loosed the final buttons. He
slipped the shirt off and it fluttered to the floor.

He touched her sweater. “May I?”

She nodded. He worked it over her head
and she maneuvered her arms free. “Not as sexy as buttons,” she
said.

There was no fear in her eyes. No
hesitation. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Before she
could shrug it off, he touched one thin strap. “Let me.
Please?”

Another nod. He ran his finger along
the satin strap from her shoulder to the lace trim that topped each
of her warm, round breasts. He saw her nipples peak even harder
beneath the satin, but he kept his fingers on the lace. Her eyes
closed and her breathing quickened. With the pad of his thumb, he
circled her areola, still avoiding that straining nubbin. She
wiggled, trying to get herself positioned under his teasing
thumb.

“
You like that?” he
whispered into her neck. She smelled delicious—a new scent that had
arrived with Emily.

He reached for the straps, lifting them
from her shoulders. She extended her arms, letting the garment
slide down. He tossed it on top of his shirt and she took his hand
and cupped it under her breast. With half a step they were against
the bed and he sat down, pulling her across him onto his lap. One
hand moved up and down her back, the other traced lazy circles
around her nipples. Not the rosy pink he was used to. Darker, latte
colored.

With a start, he remembered she’d had a
child. Had been married. He wondered who he’d be with once they lay
together. The cautious Kelli? A compassionate Casey? Or a refined
Emily? Maybe a combination of all three.

He lowered his head to her breast and
took one of those gorgeous nipples into his mouth. Laved it with
his tongue. Felt her squirm on his lap. Her fingers tangled through
his hair, pressing him tighter against her. He reached for her
waistband. How did those damn pants open? He felt no button.
Releasing his head, her hands pushed his away, fumbled with a side
fastener. He heard a zipper release and his fingers felt the sleek
satin of her panties. Her hips lifted enough for him to slide her
slacks down her legs and she kicked them the rest of the way off.
Somehow, she got her hands between them and worked at his belt
buckle.

“
Wait,” he said. He
lifted her from his lap and stood. “Better?”

She reached forward, unfastened his
belt, unbuttoned his trousers and had his zipper lowered before
he’d taken two breaths. And then she stopped. He held his breath,
waiting. Slowly, she inched his trousers down his legs, kisses
following them past his knees, to his ankles. Struggling to keep
his balance, he lifted each foot and kicked his pants away. She
smiled.

“
What?”

“
Nothing. It’s—well,
guys look funny wearing socks without pants.”

“
I can fix that.” He
sat down again and tugged them off.

“
I like the silk
boxers. Sexy. So’s your friend. But he seems to want to get
out.”

“
Why don’t you take
care of it?”

“
Eventually.”

“
Sweetheart, I have to
be honest with you. I haven’t had sex in over six weeks and I’ve
wanted you since my fever broke. Eventually might be a little
optimistic on your part.”

“
More like six years
for me. I’ll keep up.” She reached for him, got a finger under the
elastic of his shorts and released him. Kissed him.

“
Wait.” At least
that’s what he thought he said. He sped to the bathroom and dug a
handful of condoms from his leather kit. Hurrying back, he dropped
them on the night table. Kelli had pulled the bedcovers down and
she waited for him in the center of the bed.

They knelt facing each other, and he
nuzzled her breasts again, fingers circling one nipple, teeth
scraping the other. She moaned with pleasure and reached between
his thighs, fondling him with a touch so light he thought he’d
scream. He cupped her through her panties, feeling the heat and
dampness through the thin fabric. She lifted her hips, granting him
more access. His finger teased the soft curls, then slipped inside.
She rubbed herself along his finger, and he stroked deeper. Her
breath came in shallow pants—he wasn’t sure he was breathing at
all, except he could hear it intermixed with gasps and groans. He
reached behind him, his fingers desperately seeking one of the foil
packets he’d set out. Found it, ripped it open with his teeth and
covered himself.

She’d removed her panties. He shifted
Kelli to her back and straddled her. Her eyes squinted shut and he
felt her tense, despite her obvious desire. Crap. Of course. He
flipped to his back and pulled her atop him.

“
Open your eyes. Look
at me. It’s Blake. Say my name.” He took his hands and clasped them
on the pillow above his head. “You’re in charge.”