Girl Gear 6: Indiscreet (4 page)

Or so she worked to convince herself as she leaned forward to grab a condom from the bedside table. Patrick opened his mouth over her breast, but she pulled back before he could do more than wet her skin with his tongue.

Tearing open the condom packet, she moved from straddling Patrick’s thighs to kneeling between them, caught by the fire that stirred in her belly simply by looking at him. Yet it was nothing compared to the fire of taking him into her mouth.

Leaning forward, she parted her lips over the head of his cock and sucked him between her lips, holding him there while running her tongue along the sensitive underside seam. Her mouth burned from his heat; her pulse raced in response to the visceral sounds he made.

He thrust upward. She took him to the back of her throat before drawing her lips firmly from the base of his shaft back to the head. Once there, she teased him again, her tongue circling and swirling around his glans until, in a sharp panting breath, he begged her to stop.

She did stop, but she didn’t remove her mouth. She left her lips pressed beneath the ridge of the head and slipped a hand between his legs to fondle his balls. Then the soft skin of his sac, the weight of his testicles, the swollen extension of his erection that formed a ridge all the way back to his anal opening.

She loved all of it, loved the feel, loved learning where to press, where to stroke, where to tickle, where to squeeze. He was an incredible canvas of tactile sensation, and he aroused her beyond belief simply by being.

When he drew up his knees and opened his legs wider, she knew he was ready, just as she knew she could no longer wait. Their accord as lovers couldn’t possibly be more perfect, and she wondered over it yet again while rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she crawled up his body, lifting onto her knees, then lowering herself over his erection. For as long as she was able to manage, she remained unmoving, staring into Patrick’s eyes,
which glittered with all that he felt, and with a promise to give her exactly what she wanted.

It was that unspoken vow that choked her up, that way he had of telling her he would always be there, would never let her down. That he was the real deal, as real as it got. Not the polished perfect product of wistful fantasy.

And that was when she closed her eyes and began to move. The sex she could count on. Counting on anything else, anything more, would be simple stupidity. No matter what his eyes said. She knew better.

She knew…knew…knew nothing any longer but the surge of desire, the purely physical lust that consumed her, that seemed to take away her mind and leave nothing but her body.

Sensation surrounded her as she lifted and lowered her hips, selfishly setting the rhythm that would bring her relief. Patrick held her, his fingers digging into the muscles of her buttocks and urging her to increase her speed.

The tendons and veins on his neck stood out in sharp relief as he strained to match the pace she set. He thrust upward to each of her downward strokes, and she braced her hands on his shoulders, loving the way his muscles bunched as he grasped her hips to direct her movements.

It was too much—the combination of looking into his eyes, seeing the way he wanted her, watching his struggle to hold his own completion in check.

She tossed back her head, riding his body as the swell of orgasm became the center of her world. Shuddering, she cried out, digging her fingers into his shoulders as the heat of his release filled her.

Still shivering, she glanced down, caught defenseless by the emotion brimming in his eyes and the arm he brought up and hooked behind her neck.

He pulled her down for his kiss, grinding his mouth
to hers even as he ground their bodies together. His tongue swept into her mouth, branding her, claiming her, marking her as his possession.

For once in her life, she didn’t pull free from such a demanding kiss.

Or back away from the idea of belonging to only one man.

“C
HLOE WILL BE HERE
in ten minutes to go over the details of our Christmas Eve dinner. Are you thinking of dressing today?”

Patrick glanced from the omelette pan to Annabel’s face, then down to his gray jersey athletic shorts, which were threadbare and lacking support. The absence of a jockstrap or briefs didn’t improve matters any. Especially since his thoughts had been wandering to the bedroom, and his cock was of a mind to head back that way.

“A T-shirt ought to do me. Maybe a bucket of ice water. But you’ll have to watch the omelette.” He lifted a brow, indicating the eggs, cheese, tomatoes, cilantro and chorizo simmering on the stovetop.

Annabel tightened the belt of her silky robe, the creamy white-and-blue-green swirly patterns reminding him suddenly of Caribbean waters beneath endless skies. A reminder that took his thoughts back to the cigarette butt he’d picked up from the sidewalk outside the loft at dawn.

He tensed but refused to glance at the evidence of his suspicions lying on the countertop. He’d been planning to deliver breakfast in bed to Annabel. If he’d known she’d be up and dressed before he finished cooking, he’d never have left the butt in plain sight.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Annabel walked closer and pinched a square of diced
tomato from the cutting board next to the stove. Her mouth gave a little twist as she considered his suggestion. “Why don’t I get you the clothes, and you finish fixing my food?”

“Hungry woman,” he growled, hooking an arm around her neck and pulling her away from the counter into a kiss.

It was a fiery kiss, full of tongues and warmth and a satisfaction that their mouths fit so well together. Yet the kiss was a distracting ruse as much as anything, and he kept his eyes open.

With his arm still around her neck and his face nuzzling the skin beneath her ear, he used his free hand to slide the omelette from pan to plate. He then set the pan on the counter, covering the cigarette butt, before turning his full attention to the woman in his arms.

Dodging his affections, she grabbed another bite of tomato, this one out of the omelette, complete with a dangling string of cheese. She reeled in the cheese with her tongue, chewed and swallowed, afflicting him with that smart-ass smirk that never failed to tie his gut in knots.

Thought she was going to get the better of him, did she? She’d better be thinking again. This time when he grabbed her, he didn’t let her squirm free, but delivered another hard, teasing, drive-by sweep of his tongue through her mouth.

“You taste like tomatoes,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her close for a kiss that was leisurely and lingering, that swept him away with possibilities and promises—until fear came crashing in, the fear that she would drown his ability to scent danger.

Still he kissed her, pushing his hips against her so that
his erection found and settled into the softness of her belly. He pulsed there, throbbing, aching, and he backed her into the edge of the counter for a more secure hold.

She wound her arms around his neck, one hand at his nape, the other pulling his head down with forceful insistence. Her hunger matched his own. Her tongue tangled with his, and her taste set him on fire.

For all her sass, she tendered a sweetness that stole his breath, reminding him that he was a man and that he had survived. She was a huge reason he was finally grateful for the latter; he’d gone so long not giving a damn.

While the idea of remaining a part of her life kicked his self-preservation instincts awake, the idea of leaving triggered something more compelling—the need to protect what was his and no other’s. In a matter of weeks, Annabel had become an addiction his sworn enemy wouldn’t fail to exploit.

The thought gave him pause. Maybe he
should
run as far away from this woman as time allowed before the inevitable happened, before he lost the edge that had kept him alive, and Annabel paid the price.

He started to break the kiss. With a sound of distress, she cupped his jaw so tenderly he couldn’t pretend that all she felt was lust.

That all
he
felt was lust.

He growled into her mouth, seeking more of what she was always so ready to give…then perversely grinding away every trace of gentleness until only raw passion remained. He didn’t even release her when the bell rang and the loft’s private elevator whirred in the shaft, signaling Chloe’s arrival.

Annabel moved her hands from his neck to push against his chest, and tore her mouth free with a gasp. Then she glared at him. “I hate it when you do that.”

He feigned an indifferent shrug, reached for the omelette plate and cast a pointed glance at the front of her robe, where her nipples had risen to the occasion. “Yeah. I can tell.”

“Arrgh!” She balled her hands into fists, turned and stomped toward the door, but not before glancing down and adjusting the folds of her robe.

Patrick peeked around the floor-to-ceiling lava lamp sculptures that divided the kitchen from the main room of the loft and watched her very fine ass swish away. Sending her off with a long, low wolf whistle, he tossed the pan into the sink and snagged up the omelette and the cigarette butt.

Making his way through the back of the kitchen to the hallway, he headed for Annabel’s bedroom. Shimmying out of his jersey shorts, he kicked them into the corner of the walk-in closet where she let him keep a few things. Standing there bare-ass naked, he scarfed down all of their breakfast while deciding on an action plan.

Clothes first, then down to the street to seek out more clues. There was a massive chance that the Jamaican-made cigarette was a coincidence, even though in the eighteen months since his return he’d never found a store that carried the brand.

And he’d looked, because he’d gotten used to taking an occasional drag to relax.

After setting his empty plate on Annabel’s chest of drawers, he dug into his duffel for a T-shirt, jeans and the knife few people knew he had—a knife he’d taken from one of Dega’s men and kept hidden behind a loose chunk of cinder blocks supporting the barracks.

If Russell Dega was actually here on the hunt, Patrick had damn well better be ready for a showdown.

“S
ORRY TO HAVE DRAGGED
you out of bed,” Chloe Zuniga said as Annabel closed the elevator’s sliding grate behind her. The two women headed for the kitchen, Chloe giving Annabel a thorough once-over. “I thought you’d be expecting me, not still be in bed getting all kinds of lucky.”

“I was expecting you, and I wasn’t in bed. I was in the kitchen. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and Patrick is making me breakfast.” Annabel rounded the corner into the open kitchen area and stopped.

“Or he
was
making you breakfast,” Chloe said.

Annabel took in the omelette pan in the sink and the total lack of anything left to eat. Not even a scrap of the diced tomatoes or shredded cheese. “Hmm. I’m going to send that boy a grocery bill if he’s not careful.”

“Boy?” Chloe pursed her pink lips. “I doubt there’s another woman alive who would call Patrick Coffey a boy. Then again, I imagine you know him better than anyone else.”

There were times Annabel thought so, times she wondered too much about the other women he’d known, when she had no business wondering any such thing. “Honestly? I’m not sure I know him at all, and I plan to maintain that status quo. You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

After casual chitchat while filling their cups, and Annabel’s quick check of the bedroom, where she discovered Patrick’s vanishing act down the fire escape, she led Chloe back into the loft’s main room and settled on the opposite end of the sofa.

“So,” Chloe began. “Would you like to explain that status quo comment?”

Annabel lowered her cup. “About getting to know Patrick? What’s there to explain?”

“A lot.”

Annabel shook her head. “I don’t think so. I simply see no need to know him better than I do when this isn’t a long-term relationship. We’ve had our fun.” And she really had done her best to make him see the truth of his destructive behavior. “But I have a lot of decisions to make that are best made without having Patrick around.”

Chloe’s blond bob swung as she tilted her chin. “If you were a man, I’d accuse you of not being able to think with your big head.”

Smiling privately, Annabel blew over the surface of her hot coffee before she sipped. “I’ll admit to seeing things through sex-colored glasses these days.”

“I’ll bet.” Chloe stared into her own cup. “I’m the same way with Eric.”

“Yes, but you and Eric are involved, committed—” a strange twist of envy caught at Annabel’s midsection “—and in love.”

Chloe nodded as she lifted her coffee, but her tremulous expression—one totally out of character—was more telling than the motion of her head.

Annabel frowned. “Chloe? Are you and Eric having trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Chloe hurriedly insisted. “We’re fine. We’re great.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d believe every word. But your face is telling an entirely different story.” Annabel paused to let that sink in. “You forget how long I’ve known you.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t.” Chloe’s brow lifted sharply. “I was there every step of the way while you were busy stealing my job.”

Annabel huffed. “You weren’t exactly laying down your life to save what you had. Your interest wasn’t
there, and I took full advantage. I remember having this discussion with you then.”

Pulling in a nervous breath, Chloe said in a rush, “I’m afraid that’s what’s happening with Eric. That his interest isn’t there. And that I’m going to lose him.”

“What are you talking about?” Annabel’s chest grew tight with worry. “You adore him. He adores you—”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

“How can you say that? I was at your place Tuesday night. I saw the two of you together. He can’t stand for you to be out of his sight.”

“That’s the thing. I’ve been so busy with the gUIDANCE gIRL program that I’ve neglected him, neglected us. And I readily admit that….” Chloe’s sadness was virtually palpable. “Did you know Macy’s pregnant?”

“No. I didn’t.” But the revelation certainly put Chloe’s funk into perspective. “Do you want to have a baby?”

“Yes. No. Later, maybe.”

“And Eric?”

“I’ve always thought so. It’s just that recently he’s stopped talking about the Little League team of his loins, when he used to tease me about babies all the time.” She tucked her feet beneath her protectively. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Even knowing her girlfriend was hurting and wasn’t trying to be funny, Annabel couldn’t help but chuckle. “One thing you can do is get ready to kiss those perky boobs goodbye.”

Chloe frowned. “That’s not funny.”

So much for trying to lighten the mood. “I know it’s not. But what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t point out the obvious?”

“Well, think of a different obvious, would you? Like the one I keep missing when I try to figure out what’s going on with him.” Chloe’s hands gripped her cup so tightly Annabel feared the china would break.

She’d never seen her girlfriend so emotionally distraught. Chloe usually tossed off problems in a flurry of foulmouthed curses and gutter talk. She was not the type to fret or to stew. Especially not when it came to her relationship with Eric Haydon.

Annabel, unfortunately, was the last person to dispense advice on dealing with men. She was certainly no shining example of sticking with anything long term.

Even so, she was hardly unfeeling enough to change the subject now that Chloe had confided her fears—no matter that those fears struck at the heart of Annabel’s own decision to cut Patrick out of her life.

“Look, Chloe. I’m the least qualified person I know when it comes to relationship issues. All I can say is that from an outsider’s perspective, you don’t have a thing to worry about with Eric.” She went on, nipping Chloe’s objection in the bud. “But maybe you need to discuss this with him instead of me. Does he know how you’ve been feeling?”

Chloe went back to nursing her coffee, refusing to meet Annabel’s gaze. “Every time I get up the nerve to talk about it, he changes the subject. It’s as if he’s totally indifferent. And I can’t help but worry that it’s not just the babies he’s losing interest in.”

“You think it’s you.”

Chloe nodded, looking so miserable and lost, Annabel couldn’t doubt her friend’s sincerity. Which was why it came out of left field when, cup empty, Chloe slid the china across the coffee table and bounced around like a depressive on a manic rebound. “Never mind about me.
I started my period, and I’m moody because I thought an accidental pregnancy might be just the solution.”

She couldn’t be serious. “When is an accidental pregnancy ever a solution to anything?”

“I’m kidding. I’m hormonal, I told you,” Chloe insisted. Though Annabel wasn’t convinced about the kidding part, she watched Chloe dig through her bag for her Day-Timer. “Anyway, let’s go over the rest of your Christmas Eve dinner details. I think we’re set, but with my luck, I’ve totally forgotten something major.”

“Actually,” Annabel began, wondering the best way to make this last-minute request, “I was hoping we could skip discussing Christmas and go straight to New Year’s.”

“Sure,” Chloe said with a shrug. “I’m game, and I’m easy.” She tapped her pen on her calendar page. Then she looked up questioningly. “What I’m not is clairvoyant.”

Annabel released a wry smile. “Newvale’s canceled on me.”

“For Devon’s showing? You’re kidding. What’s the deal?”

“One of their cooks took a walk. Or was asked to take a walk. Whatever.” She set her empty cup on the coffee table, leaned back and cinched her robe tighter. “I’m stuck with sixty RSVPs, a truckload of booze and no servers.”

“Servers, hell.” Chloe’s expression grew wide-eyed. “What about the food? I can’t believe Newvale’s didn’t sell the contract to another caterer.”

“I have the option, but have to let them know by Monday.”

“And something tells me you have an alternative up your sleeve.”

“Patrick’s agreed to cook.”