Beneath the Surface (12 page)
“C’mon now. You know there’s more to us than that.”
She nodded as if agreeing, then she opened her mouth to dispute. “That was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened, and I intend to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
His cock twitched at the challenge in her voice, blood pumping through his veins like lava as he picked up the gauntlet. “Why?”
“Why?”
“You heard me. Why? Why shouldn’t it have happened?”
She leaned across the table and said through her teeth, “You know perfectly well why.”
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Gracie C. McKeever
“Because you’re my personal shopper? What rule book are you working from?”
“The rule book of business: never screw the client.”
He knew the book well, used to live by it in advertising, just didn’t think that it applied to their relationship. It wasn’t like major multi-million-dollar deals were riding on whether or not they slept together. They weren’t rivals, or business associates. Just client and personal shopper.
What possible repercussions could come from them sleeping together?
EJ thought about it for a moment, couldn’t come up with anything and decided to attack her from a different angle. “You know it’s not fair, you’re knowing everything about me and my knowing nothing about you.”
“Not everything.”
“What do you want to know that you don’t know already?”
Tabitha shrugged then licked her lips, and EJ had to restrain himself from leaping across the table to take her mouth with his. He settled for staring at the glossy effect her tongue had given to her full lips, imagined what his penis would look like sliding in and out of that giving and firm orifice.
He stopped his train of thoughts dead in their tracks when he glanced into her almond-shaped whiskey colored eyes, thought she looked incredibly young and vulnerable right then pushing a leaf of her spinach salad back and forth across her plate.
EJ felt her sadness, saw the mass hovering around and clouding her aura, but he could not read her and he’d been trying all afternoon against his better judgment. Because something told him this woman wasn’t what she seemed and preferred that no one, especially him, got past her cool untouchable façade.
Somewhere along the line, he knew he was going to have to tell her about himself, his own personal credo about respecting privacy demanding it but not now. He was too much of a coward and procrastinator, enjoying the pure simplicity of her ignorance. No fear. No disbelief or judgments. No accusations. No Salem-witch-hunt-questions.
And he’d gotten enough of the latter in his life as a child to welcome the absence of all the above, had learned to hide what he could do, even from his family, Angela the one person who knew and then only because she was like him.
EJ remembered the first time his oldest sister had realized he was gifted, the way she’d gawked when he’d correctly predicted everyone’s cards when he’d done his magic act at his oldest nephews’ fifth birthday party
The rest of the family had thought nothing of it, only that he was a well-trained magician who had studied his craft well enough to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, even the adults. But Angela’d known there was more to EJ’s act than just slight of hand or well-executed tricks.
She’d taken him aside to ask him how he’d done it, how he’d guessed with such accuracy though she already knew. When he confirmed her suspicions, there was no 62
Beneath the Surface
shock or askance look, only acceptance and…pleasure. As if she was glad she wasn’t alone in the world, wasn’t alone in the family with her gifts.
Just coming into her own with New Age religion, Angela took him under her wing, helping EJ to identify the scope of his own power, learn its limits; helping him hone his talent.
Before Angela’s training, monster migraines plagued him. He had learned to live with the pain, the disjointed voices in his head, hadn’t known their source until his sister explained he was hearing other peoples’ thoughts. Once she identified the cause, and given him several survival tips that involved meditation and erecting psychic walls to maintain his sanity, EJ was able to curb the attacks, and block out the voices unless he was purposely scanning and wanted to hear an individual’s thoughts.
Before Angela, he hid his mind-reading abilities beneath a veneer of good instincts, people skills and excellent intuition., but with Angela he was free to explore, free to strengthen his innate talents, no longer needed to lie.
It took his sister to make EJ see even had he been stronger, practicing his skills all along and with a purpose, he couldn’t have saved Sinclair Donatelli.
“Sinclair was mentally ill, a drug user. Two strikes you couldn’t have overcome, EJ,” Angela told him after the funeral. “You couldn’t have known what she was planning. She didn’t want you to know.”
A long time past before he could admit his sister was right, and even then, he couldn’t absolve himself of all blame.
Sinclair had been his best friend, his lover, and even without the gifts EJ thought he should have known that she was in pain, too much pain to face another day.
* * * *
He didn’t think her sadness was anywhere near as complete and far-reaching as had been Sinclair’s, but he didn’t know.
He knew he was rationalizing, of course, giving himself a reason to invade her privacy guilt-free.
EJ reached across the table and caught her free hand in his, knew that he was stepping over her imaginary, do-not-cross line, but couldn’t help it. Something in her called to him—her sadness, her mysterious past, her mental walls—made him want to know more. “I’m serious, Tabitha. What is it you want to know about me?” He knew he was taking a chance—that she might ask him something he wasn’t prepared to answer—
but decided it was a chance worth taking, if it meant she’d open up. A little, just a piece was all he was asking for.
“I think I know more than enough about you, Eric,” Tabitha said. “More than enough to do the best job that I can for you.”
“What if I’m not talking about job related?”
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Gracie C. McKeever
“I’m sorry, but that’s all I have to offer.”
Liar, he thought, and would prove it if it were the last thing he did.
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Beneath the Surface
Tabitha was proud of herself.
She had managed to not jump his bones all afternoon, and considering the level of lust that had been building up inside her from the time he’d tapped her shoulder until now, that was saying something. Just sitting here outside the fitting room, imagining his tall broad frame without any clothes on was driving her crazy.
Tabitha shifted in her big comfy velvet seat, crossing one thigh over the other just as the curtains rustled and Eric stepped out of the fitting room sporting a mint green dress shirt, purple silk tie and purple dress slacks.
He looked great. Okay, reality check. The man looked great in anything. He’d looked great in all seven suits he’d tried on at Macy’s though he’d only bought two. And he’d looked great in the several outfits he’d tried on here at
Mikail’s
boutique. Especially the dark gray polo shirt and gray pleated and cuffed chinos that flatteringly fell on his slim hips, hugged his hard butt just so, and displayed what looked to be an impressive package to its fullest advantage.
God, she wanted to touch him! She wanted to slide her hands under his clothes and fondle those firm muscles, feel them twitch beneath her fingers, feel his warm pliant skin beneath her palms and know that she affected him the way he affected her.
“You like?” Eric raised his arms from his sides, repeating the motions he had executed at least twenty times today, grinning as he did a 360 and stopped to face her.
Tabitha licked her lips, vagina moist and tense from just looking at him.
She more than liked. She loved, and if she had to sit idly by and watch this man take off and put on another outfit without showing her new true sensual colors, she’d scream. “I like.”
He glanced at himself in the mirror again, smoothing down the tie. “I have to tell you, I didn’t think this green and purple would work, especially the pants, but now that I see it on me, I kind of dig it.”
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Gracie C. McKeever
“You dig it, Moon Beam?” She smiled, thought her earlier image of him at Woodstock hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“Yeah. I dig it.” He came closer, leaned down and before she could react, chastely pecked her on the nose.
Tabitha sputtered, stood and pushed him back towards the fitting room. “You’re wasting time, and you’ve got several more outfits to try on.”
He caught her wrist and pulled her into the room with him, laughing as she fell against his chest and he pulled the curtain closed behind them. “I’d rather try on you.”
“This is totally inappropriate, Eric.”
“Who says?”
“I d—”
He bent his head and captured her mouth with his.
Tabitha tilted her head, let him explore every warm moist crevice, his tongue brushing hers as she buried her hands in his hair, reveling in the silken texture and pulling him closer.
His hands glided over her body, from the back of her short flouncy skirt, to the front of her silk blouse in one fell swoop, heating up her skin through her clothes.
Tabitha pulled away, breathless, one hand firmly planted in the center of his chest.
“We can’t do this. Not here.”
His blue eyes glinted as he leered. “Not here implies somewhere else. Have some place in mind? Preferably close. My loft is free.” He wiggled his eyebrows Groucho Marx style, dimples in full effect.
“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”
“What did you mean?”
“I mean, we can’t do this.
At all
.”
“Sure we can. All you have to do is let it happen.” He closed the space between them, reached for her, cupping a breast.
She gasped, not realizing he’d undone the top several buttons of her blouse and unlatched her bra until she glanced down and saw his hand against her naked copper tone flesh. “You’re fast,” she blurted.
“You have no idea.” He pressed her against the wall, lightly pinching and rolling an already hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Tabitha moaned and Eric covered her mouth in a scorching kiss that sent her stomach spiraling in a pool of molten liquid draining straight out of her vagina.
“Is everything all right in there, sir?”
Eric dragged his mouth away from hers long enough to say, “Everything’s fine!”
He stared down at her, licking his lips like a hungry predator. “More than fine,” he murmured, making slow sensual circles with a forefinger around her right nipple.
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Tabitha moved away and slapped at his hand. “You’re absolutely incorrigible.”
“Guilty as charged.”
She stopped herself from smiling. She didn’t want to encourage him, not that he needed much encouragement to be the total scoundrel that he was.
God, when he looked at her like that—indigo eyes smoky and heavy-lidded, plainly proclaiming exactly what he wanted to do to her—Tabitha wanted to give in, give him anything he wanted, do anything to please him.
She had to get away from him before she fell any deeper under his spell.
Tabitha moved to the opposite side of the cramped room—not nearly far enough—warily watching him, didn’t realize she was panting until she saw her breasts heaving from the corner of her eyes. She reached up to latch her bra and button her blouse with shaky hands under Eric’s glittering watchful gaze, couldn’t drag her eyes away from his. “You messed up my clothes.”
“I was actually trying to get them off.”
“You don’t stop, and you’ll mess up those clothes.” She pointed her chin at his outfit.
“If I’m going to buy them anyway, will it make a difference?”
“Yes, it will. They’ll know what we were doing in here.”
He took a couple of steps towards her and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall again. “They already do,” Eric whispered.
“Eric…” Her next words died on a groan as he lifted her skirt and palmed her sex.
He caressed her through the crotch of her pantyhose for several long torturous moments before he slid his hands up to the waistband and pulled down her panties and hose in one rough swift motion.
“Eric, please do—”
He got to his knees, buried his head beneath her skirt and in an instant, Tabitha felt his mouth on her.
Unconsciously, she gyrated her hips, grinding her pelvis against his mouth, felt him open and explore her with his fingers before his tongue penetrated her.
Tabitha gasped and would have tipped over had he not held her steady, gripping and spreading her ass cheeks as he pushed his tongue into her pussy as deep as it would go, burrowing and circling like some piece of earth moving equipment—how freaking appropriate!
She felt his fingers again, thumb and forefinger rhythmically stimulating her clit, zinging hot flashes of sensation straight to kitty town.
God…she was…going to…explode!
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Gracie C. McKeever
Tabitha bit her bottom lip hard to keep from crying out, tasted blood in her mouth as an orgasm crashed down on her sudden as an epileptic seizure. She stiffened, then convulsed as Eric got to his feet and held her close.
She lay her head against his chest—just resting, just catching her breath, she told herself—listened to his speeding heartbeat echoing the pattern of hers, slowly opened her eyes and stepped out of his arms to see him smiling down at her.
“C’mere, I’ll kiss the hurt and make it better,” he said and leaned close, smelling of her juices, tasting of her essence, caressing her lips with his, sliding his tongue into her mouth.
She let him kiss her, kissed him back for several mindless seconds before she got the strength to pull away and ask, “Why did you do that?”
“Kiss you?”
“No. You know what.”