Beneath the Surface (13 page)

“Didn’t you want me to?”

“No…no I didn’t.”

He stared at her, and she could see the unspoken accusation in his eyes, could hear it in her own mind.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. You wanted it so badly you were close to begging for it.

Eric palmed her cheek with one hand as he leaned in for another kiss, this one a light brush of his lips against hers, but no less potent or intimate than his last one. “Yes, you did.”

“Arrogant bastard!” Tabitha jerked down her skirt, pulled up her panties and hose, and smoothed her clothes back into as much a semblance of order as she could before stomping out of the dressing room.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” one of
Mikail’s
salesmen asked, brows raised when he paused in front of her as she took a seat outside the fitting room.

She’d just insulted a man who’d gone down on her and given her an earth shattering orgasm—one like she’d never experienced before—and stalked out on him for no other reason than to
show him.
What she should have done was gotten down on her knees to thank him for showing
her
the incredible lightness of coming.

No, everything is not all right.
“Everything’s fine.”

* * * *

“Your version of honest leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Version? There’s only one version and that’s the one that tells me you want the same thing I do.”

“Will you just get off of it already!”

“I could, if I was on it.”

68

Beneath the Surface

Tabitha cursed and folded her arms across her breasts as she sat in the passenger seat of his Jeep, staring straight ahead. “Would you mind driving me home? Otherwise, I can call a cab.”

He glanced at her, arched a brow. “I was going to offer, but I figured you didn’t want to be anywhere near me for as long as it took me to get you home.”

“Park Slope isn’t that far from here,” Tabitha said, and when he didn’t respond, she turned to him and huffed. “If it’s too far for you, I can call a cab, like I said.”

“Calm down will you. I’ll drive you.” Eric put his key in the ignition and started the Jeep.

Tabitha sat beside him seething and determined to enjoy the ride in silence and gather her strength for the tussling match that would surely come once they arrived at her brownstone.

Christ, she wanted to strangle the man!

No one else in all her twenty-eight years had managed to arouse her dander more strongly than Eric did. Not her mother during one of her really bad binges, not her friends who fixed her up on blind dates against her wishes, and not Evelyn for introducing her to her brother in the first place.

She closed her eyes as if to escape the powerful emotions Eric inspired, and only succeeded in replaying her climax in the fitting room over again and again—his mouth on her, her pussy open and weeping beneath his indecent assault on her senses.

Tabitha shivered beside him, clutching her arms firmer, as if she could ward off her desire, as if she could stop her nipples from painfully tightening against her blouse.

He turned to her. “Are you cold? I could put on the heater.”

She was cold and hot, and no heater or air conditioner could help her when the source of her mood swings and temperature changes was sitting right beside her weaving in and out of Monday evening traffic with the skill of an Indy 500 driver. “I’m fine.”

Tabitha felt his eyes on her though he was wise enough not to comment on her lie.

She wasn’t fine, and didn’t think she’d ever be fine again if this man stayed in her life for longer than it took her to help him purchase a new fall and winter wardrobe.

God, what would happen if he wanted to continue employing her services for spring and summer? Could she really turn down his business? Sure, she wasn’t hurting for clients, but any business needed satisfied customers, repeat business, and word of mouth to grow and thrive. And Eric was a legitimate client, when he wasn’t acting in totally and sexually illicit ways. He could bring in new clients with a referral, he could keep her busy for years with his own wardrobe if his book did as well as she thought it would and his tour was as successful.

That was it!

He would be going on a book signing tour soon. He wouldn’t be around to harass her and proposition her at every turn. He’d be too busy trying to please and ingratiate 69

Gracie C. McKeever

himself with the fickle book-buying public. He wouldn’t have time to think about getting into her panties, wouldn’t have time to think about sex.

Yeah, and if she believed that, there was a bridge in Brooklyn she should look into purchasing.

His writing hadn’t suffered much since they’d met if the two articles she’d peeked in his glove compartment in a rare moment of nosiness were any indication. Which only told her that there was no correlation between his productivity or lack thereof, and his libido. When he was writing he wanted sex, and when he wasn’t writing he wanted sex.

He just plain wanted sex.

“I want
you
,” Eric said, made Tabitha sit up straight in her seat and turn to gawk at him. “It’s not just sex, Tabitha. I just wanted you to know that.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” she demanded.

“It’s not hard to guess after what happened between us. I’m thinking about it too.

Thinking about what I could have done differently, thinking about what would have made you more comfortable, feel more pleasure, come harder…”

Tabitha put up a hand in a stop sign. “Please, you don’t have to elaborate.”

“But I think I do. I think you think that this is just about me getting into your panties, wham-bam-thank-ma’am and nothing else.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, of course not.”

“So what, after you get some we’re going to be this perfect inseparable couple? Is that what you’re saying?”
Please don’t profess your undying love and make me hate you
for lying, Eric. I couldn’t take that. Just be honest like you’ve been being. Tell me it’s just
sex. Tell me you want me to tie you down and eat you up and I’ll believe it. Just don’t tell
me you care.

Eric shook his head, hands tight on the steering wheel as he made a right turn to exit the thruway and enter onto the road leading to the residential tree-lined streets of her neighborhood. “Nothing in life is perfect. I’d be a fool to predict a perfect future for either of us. And in case you’re not keeping count, I’m the only one in your scenario who
hasn’t
gotten some.”

Tabitha covered her mouth and coughed as she felt herself blush. He would have to remind her of that, wouldn’t he?

“All I’m saying is for you to relax and—”

“Let it happen. Yeah, I got your hippie philosophy back in the fitting room.

Unfortunately, I’m not in the habit of just
letting
things happen. I like a plan, a strategy, I like to know where and how I’m going.”

“You want to steer your emotions with a road map?”

“There’s nothing wrong with using some sort of diagram. I’d rather follow a guide than just blindly run willy-nilly into a situation without a thought to the repercussions.”

70

Beneath the Surface

“Want to know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me regardless.”

He smirked, pulled over to the curb beneath the shelter of a low-hanging tree a couple of blocks from her brownstone and turned off the ignition as he turned in his seat to face her full. “I think you just don’t like giving up control. You want to put everything in a convenient category, put neat little labels on things. Your life, your job, your relationship with me.”

“There
is
no relationship.”

“My point exactly. There is. You just want to label it something other than what it is about, business between client and personal shopper, when you know damn well it’s more than that, something you can’t categorize, something you can’t control.” He shook his head, gritting his teeth as he firmly cupped her face between his hands. “A client wouldn’t kiss you like this.” He stroked the seam of her lips until she parted them, thrust his tongue into her mouth, drawing her closer, deepening the kiss as her heart pounded in her ears until she thought she’d go deaf.

Tabitha pulled away to stare at him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Eric. I can control this.” She opened her door and put one foot on the sidewalk. “I can get out of this car and walk away from you just as nice as you please.”

Eric got out of the Jeep on his side and ran around the back to catch up with her as she stalked up the block. He caught her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “Can you walk away from me that easily?”

“I can, yes.”

He shook his head, laughing as he stared at her. “Just to prove a point? That you’re a control freak who doesn’t want to let nature take its course?”

“You’re not ingratiating yourself with me right now.”

“I’m not trying to, and you wouldn’t respect me if I did.”

“How do you know what I respect and don’t respect?”

“I know you, Tabitha.”

She glared at him, knees weakening at the dark gleam in his eyes, pussy clenching with lust. God, she wanted him. She wanted him to take her. Take her fast and hard, but knew that she’d fight him every step of the way, and only serve to prove his point, damn it.

You’re a control freak.

“Let go of me.” She tried to jerk her arm free, but he held fast, backed her against a nearby oak, dragged her hands up and over her head and held them there. “What do you think you’re doing?” She felt her body trembling harder than her voice when she spoke, hot with desire and need, inflamed from his body heat.

He bent slightly at the knees, thrust a leg between her thighs, rubbed his knee against her center, slow firm circuits that made her wet just thinking of the way his big 71

Gracie C. McKeever

body blocked her, imprisoned her. This was so much more dangerous than the fitting room; they were out in the open.

She shivered at the thought, wondered if he’d really take her here, against a tree.

Anticipation and fear warred as she closed her eyes against the smoldering look in his eyes.

He leaned close to an ear, lazily drew his tongue around the shell. “Say you want me, Tabitha. Say it just once, and get it out of the way.”

“Let me go.”

“You’ll feel so much better if you say it.” He pressed his knee against her sex more firmly, found her clit, the pressure he exerted and his deep persuasive tone doing strange things to her insides, liquefying them, making her want to melt against him.

“This can’t happen.”

“Ever?”

“Never.”

He kissed her roughly, claiming her mouth, staking his title, branding her with his taste and spirit. “Never’s a long time. Sure you want to wait?”

“I have to.”

He looked at her, released her wrists, knee still pressed against her and making that sexy circular motion that had her panties wet and her clit engorged and pulsing.

Tabitha lowered her arms to her sides, but made no move to leave, just stared back at him as he replaced his knee with a hand, sweeping his fingers up her sensitized slit before sliding a hand into her panties to cup her.

She groaned as he pushed his finger into her like he’d done in his bedroom only they weren’t in his bedroom and he didn’t seem to have a qualm about it. Only stared at her as he drove his finger deeper and wiggled it around until he brushed her G-spot.

She writhed against him, whimpering low in her throat as he sped his thrusts, adding his thumb to the mix, deliberately flicking her clit in concert with his lunges until she arched her body into his, head thrown back against the tree, and violently came in his hand.

God, Oh, God, she’d just come against a tree outside, not two blocks away from her house!

Tabitha buried her flushed face against his chest, felt his hands soft and gentle in her hair as he murmured, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” before he slid a finger under her chin to lift her face.

She met his eyes expecting to find I-told-you-so smugness that would have sent her right over the edge, but instead found him looking at her with this confused expression on his face, as if she had just rocked his world, and not the other way around.

“C’mon.” He grabbed her hand, led her away from the tree. “I’ll take you home.”

72

Beneath the Surface

EJ finished the final edits on
Reaching Out
a couple of weeks later and Fed Ex-ed them over to his editor at Renegade Publishing, before going about the business of finishing a short story and an article that he’d been in the middle of when he’d received the galleys.

He wouldn’t think about Tabitha, wouldn’t remember how sweet and tangy she’d tasted, wouldn’t recall how tight she’d been when he’d slid his fingers inside her and she’d clamped her muscles around them as if her life depended on him pleasing her. He wouldn’t wonder how snug she would feel around his cock when he thrust into her.

Damn it, he had to get over the woman! At least for now, until he could figure out a way to get into her company again without her flinching away from him like a nervous deer at a watering whole when she knows a predator is in the vicinity.

He had plans—and oh, wouldn’t Ms. Lyons be so happy and proud of him to hear that. He knew what he wanted and was ready to go after it. He had patience, and was willing to wait her out for as long as it took, and knowing that maddening woman, it could take a while to make her see things his way and come around.

He’d been trying for the last couple of weeks to hook up with her, appealing to her sense of fun and adventure inviting her to the annual Halloween Parade in the Village; appealing to her obvious competitive nature inviting her out to a friendly game of racquetball. Just plain appealing to her sense of romance and inviting her out to a quiet dinner for two. She’d soundly rejected each and every overture he’d made so far, claiming business and a full schedule.

The one time he had seen her since their first shopping trip hadn’t been worth mentioning, Tabitha stopping by a few days ago to drop off several bags of pre-approved fall and winter purchases she’d made. Black pleated chinos, several polo shirts in varying colors, cotton twill plaid shirts in black watch, red, her favorite gray, holly green, and check in cobalt and plum. For outerwear, she’d bought him a tan chamois suede jacket, and a long navy wool overcoat. And finally for footgear, she’d purchased a pair of 73