Floor Time (7 page)

When she'd gotten embarrassed again after they were done, he'd had to move away from her, or risk acting like a sap. She had looked devastating -- her hair disheveled in the back, her color high, and her lips swollen from his kisses. It was one of his favorite looks on a woman -- the "Well Fucked by Jack Gordon" face. He knew it well. He would gladly have picked her up and plunked her down on the floor and given it to her again and again to get that connected feeling back. It warred inside him, the need to possess and please, to control and satisfy, all at once.

He shook his head once again as he pulled into the parking lot outside the restaurant.
Get hold of yourself man. She's just another pussy -- a pretty sweet one at that. You've managed to break that office in, enjoy the afterglow!
He smiled as she pulled in behind him and eased out of her car, long, sexy legs leading the way.
Damn, the woman was hot
. He held out an arm, she took it with a skeptical look and they walked into the restaurant together.

"Here," Jack held the dark ring of a jalapeño to Sara's lips.

"I can feed myself, thanks." She grabbed one from her plate to pop into her mouth. He shrugged and ate the hot pepper he'd been holding, without taking his eyes from hers.

She was no lightweight, but after only two beers felt tipsy.
Drunk on Jack -- his proximity, his voice, and the lips that he kept brushing against her neck.
The fact that he'd ordered for them without even asking her what she wanted didn't have its usual effect on her either. She loved it.

He'd ordered exactly what she was craving -- a dark Mexican beer and the hottest possible burrito smothered in rich tomato sauce. He regaled her with stories from his recent string of real estate failures while they ate. At one point she had laughed so hard she'd let out a snort which made him laugh even harder.

At that moment he put an arm around her and pulled her close, so close she could smell him and she had to close her eyes to battle her desire to climb up on his lap. He soothed, felt familiar but dangerous and elusive at the same time. She knew he couldn't, or wouldn't, be into her any more than any other woman. He had to be the absolute worst man she could get attached to -- a self-centered, man-whore, intent on his own satisfaction every minute of the day.

He didn't let go of her and she tilted her face up to his to receive his lips. His kiss made the room disappear, then spin. She couldn't resist the temptation to grab his thigh, pressed against hers. He grinned against her lips as she ran her hand up near his swelling zipper.

"I think I'm going to like this new Sara," He broke away and whispered, not stopping her hand's journey.

She stared at him, her mission towards his crotch forgotten. How in the hell could he know that she felt herself splitting in two -- becoming an Old and a New Sara. Old Sara would have never fucked him like that, but this new creature loved how he made her feel, and wanted it again. Her life would forever be divided in her mind between "before Jack" and "after Jack." The concept that he had so much control over her already pissed her off immensely.

"Yeah, well, New Sara needs some sleep," she insisted, and glanced at her watch. "Busy day tomorrow and all." He threw enough cash down for the bill and tip and held out his hand to ease her out of their booth. She took it, loving the already familiar heat of his flesh.

It took everything she had not to invite him back to her place. He didn't seem inclined once their meal was complete anyway. Instead, she adopted his breezy manner, gave him a peck on the check and climbed into her car. Jack shut her door, motioned for her to roll down the window. She knew she should escape, but did not want to leave. He leaned into her open window, grabbed her by the back of the neck and guided her lips to his for a better good night kiss. New Sara made promises with her mouth. Beer, and a slight echo of salsa, ghosted across her taste buds. He broke away, touched her on the nose.

"See you soon, yes?"

"See you soon, Jack, yes." She started up her car. The throaty motor of the Beemer gave her a thrill.

"Oh, and stop buying these foreign cars, will ya?" he grinned. "This is Michigan you know -- buy American!"

He turned and disappeared into the night.

Jack had used every bit of his resolve not to invite her back to his house. He would have given anything to lower her down onto his king-sized bed and make her sing with pleasure, to cry out for him again and again. His cock stirred at the thought of it. He made a mental note to dig some of his toys out of the wooden chest buried in the back of his closet. Strips of worn leather, a blindfold and a few other choice items danced around in his brain. Thinking he'd never use them again after the last woman had nearly screamed with shock when he suggested it, he'd hidden them, and his darker urges, away.

With Sara, they had come surging back, nearly suffocating him with need. White knuckling the wheel with one hand, he cranked the stereo with the other, hoping to drive some of the clamor in his head out. Dear God but he wanted more from her. More than she might be bargaining for.

Something told him to wait, to save that for another time. Let her sleep on the office quickie; see how much more she could take. He had a feeling she'd be back. He sensed himself settling back into a familiar place. A place where he knew his heart would be safe and his body satisfied. He had to maintain control of the situation, and he would. Something in him remained unable to shake the uncertainty. She would not be just another woman, and that kept him up all night, pondering the possibilities of Sara.

Sara didn't hear from Jack for nearly ten days. Since the tough part of their deal had essentially ended, she had assumed he'd moved on to other deals, other clients, and other agents. She tried not to let that disappoint her, but it did. Tried not to admit how she awoke nearly every single night with his name on her lips and moisture dripping down her thighs. She was not about to reach out to him -- no way. New Sara was not happy about it, but that was too bad. Control had to be maintained with a guy like him.

When he finally called, she ignored him. He didn't leave a message or call back. At night, alone in bed, she spent many hours reliving that hot night in the hallway, and tried to use her own fingers to recreate what he did, to bring herself to such a shuddering, earth-shaking climax. It never worked.

Being pissed off at the man had become a full-time job, which made her even madder at herself. Trying to focus, to channel some of that energy into work, did help. When she realized she could credit him for that too, it made her want to throw something heavy through a window.

Sara got to Sunday and did the usual prep for her Open House. One of her white elephant listings, it was a funky, sixties-built, raised ranch, in a premium location overlooking the Huron River. It boasted an amazing one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the river and park below from the wall of windows across the back. A screened-in porch on the side of the house afforded an even more panoramic vista.

She had it listed for eight hundred thousand, insanity, she knew, but it came with three acres and it would make an incredible building lot if the new owners couldn't tolerate its current choppy floor plan. The sellers were friends of hers; a couple she went to college with, who'd gotten married right away and launched into a whirlwind of reproduction with two kids nearly within a year of each other and were now expecting a third. Sometimes she did wonder what it would be like to actually care about someone so much you'd want to carry his child and raise it together. As usual, Jack's striking face shot through her brain before she banished it.

Open houses sucked, generally. They rarely yielded anything more useful than a good nap but she got the place ready. Brochures, business cards and fresh flowers strategically arranged on tables. Anger rose, nearly choking her, as irrational images of Jack kissing another woman passed in front of her vision.

Snap out of it! Focus. Sell this damn house today or at least snag a new buyer who can afford it.

The temperamental alarm system got a final once-over to make sure it would not go blasting off when a potential buyer entered the house from the side door instead of the front, Something that had happened the last time she held this one open. Sara caught her image in the front hall mirror. Ralph Lauren tan trousers, bright teal linen top, high-heeled open-toed Ferragamos, freshly pedicured feet, light makeup and lipstick -- check -- ready to roll.

Two o'clock became two forty-five with no guests. No big surprise. She made it through half of her water and a few chapters of the latest hot vampire novel she'd brought with her to pass the time. Bored, she got up to walk around, stretching her legs, when she saw a car pull into the long gravel drive.

She watched as Jack unfolded his tall frame out of the corvette, and walked around to reach into the passenger's seat. It struck her that she had never seen him in anything but a suit, or at least dress pants, shirt and tie, as she admired his ass in the dark jeans. He looked good enough to eat
.
Sara pressed her thighs together in anticipation.

Panic replaced her blooming desire. Surely, he didn't think she would leave her open house an hour early.

What was he doing at her open house?
Was there a problem with their deal?

She glimpsed a shopping bag from Whole Foods in one hand. He grinned at her, lighting up his arresting eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

Shit
.

She had made a vow to herself she would not get caught up in the Jack Gordon whirlwind. However, here she was, high and mighty, and yet about to explode with need for his lips on hers.

Double shit.
She sighed.

"I thought you might be lonely all the way out here and we should have a picnic, what do you say?" He made his way to the front door. He wore a plain burgundy T-shirt, those jeans that hugged his front as nicely as his rear, and driving shoes. Momentarily blinded by lust, she fought the impulse to pull him into the foyer and make him fuck her until she was spent.

Nice, very nice. The guy brings you a picnic and you want to skip right to the after-play?

Turning on her heel, she headed back into the house without even responding to his suggestion, assuming he would follow her. Sara realized she had to get control of herself before talking or her voice would surely betray her blatant desire. She glanced at her watch. Three p.m.; she had to focus on her job for one more hour. Let him wait.

"Don't you have an open house of your own?" She sounded a tad more irritable than she intended.

"Nope." He walked right into her personal space, brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her. His firm lips remained noncommittal. She shivered, and he kept his hand on her neck, under her hair. He caressed her almost absentmindedly as he looked around at the house.

"Well, the view is great," he admitted, as he strode into the front bedroom suite. Sara watched as he strolled out of that room, looking at the high cathedral ceilings made of light ash wood. He whistled, picked up his grocery bag and walked into the kitchen. His quick eyes took in the skylights, the new gleaming stainless steel appliances and tile floor.

"Nice, but it's sort of cold in here, isn't it? Maybe some color, some flowers or something would help?"

"Fuck off Jack; I don't need your help. Why are you here anyway?"

"Easy, tiger, easy," he leaned on the counter top. "I know you know what to do. I can't help it. It's second nature for me to say something about the house first." Sara caught herself clenching and unclenching her fists, and stopped
. Damn the man anyway
. She couldn't even stay mad at him. She slumped against the doorframe.

"It's a shit listing. I don't get any showings and hardly any new buyers from these open houses. The sellers could care less that it sits here and gets stale," she sighed. She relaxed, only to have her desire for him rush over her like a tidal wave, so she moved away hoping that would help. He attended to his grocery bag, and began setting stuff on the counter.

"What the hell am I going to do when a guest shows up, Jack? Put that crap away."

"It's okay babe, we'll just say we rolled out the red carpet for your potential buyers with these nice strawberries, with cream. He pulled the last container from the bag with a flourish.