Her Troika (32 page)

It didn't matter that he'd dreamed of her each night since he'd been back — facts were facts. She was his friend's wife. Maybe what happened on the farm was just a one time thing, a transient, precious, singular event that wouldn't,
couldn't
, be allowed to happen again? He knew he was almost mourning that, feeling the sinking wistfulness that comes when one realizes a special event may never occur again.

Then he'd received the call from Kurt. He'd wanted to meet, said he needed to talk about what happened next. He asked Derek to be at the restaurant at four. So he'd left work early, stopping by Kurt's cube to see if he was there. Nothing. Probably already down there. Better not to have this kind of conversation at work anyway.

“You're not Kurt, though you're almost as good looking."

Derek looked up, startled to hear the soft, feminine voice. She was dressed in a cream suit with a tight, mid length skirt. Her breasts were held close by the snug suit coat, the top two buttons open, just giving a glimpse of the deep cleavage. Her hair was up, the tasteful style of business. There was so much of it, yet she managed to keep it compact while still emphasizing her femininity, the volume of that hair calling to his fingers to brush through it. She towered in thin, strappy heels that left most of her feet bare to his gaze. He loved that she wasn't afraid of her height, that she owned it. Somehow, her stature lent even more allure to her — especially when she knelt at his feet.

Holy shit. Slow down, moron.

"Breanna?" He stood, waving her over. He reached for her hand, but she hesitated. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Her scent washed over him, a loose lock of that gorgeous blonde hair tickling his cheek.

“I take it Kurt is … ?” She took a chair, laying her phone and black tablet on the tabletop.

“Was hoping you knew the answer to that.” Derek sat down, trying not to let his gaze drop to the swells of her breasts.

Her long, slender fingers played with the browning pages of the drink menu, a lock of her hair catching in the breeze. “Well, this is … interesting.” She inhaled, looking up at him. “How have you been? Jesus, did I just say that?”

Derek laughed, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen just the slightest bit. It made zero sense for him to be this nervous … yet he was.

You’re not on a blind date, dude. Relax.

The last time he’d seen her she’d been bundled into Kurt’s truck. Her clothes had been returned to her, but her husband had made her take the ride home with her hands cuffed in front of her. He’d watched as Kurt leaned in to say something to her then closed the door, Derek making some crack about what might happen should the state patrol pull over a truck with a cuffed woman inside.

Before heading out, he’d taken one last long look at her, peering out at him from the passenger seat of Kurt’s truck, lust still clouding the bright, blue depths of her hooded gaze.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess here and assume Kurt’s not planning on showing up.” Derek flipped open a menu, not hungry in the least. “What’s good in this dive, anyway?”

“Everything.” Her mouth curled in a half-smile. “Never been here before?”

“I didn’t know this was even here.” He glanced over at the slips crowded with sail boats, runabouts, and big cabin cruisers. “Driven by here plenty of times, but had no clue. I don’t really—”

Her phone buzzed, coasting over the nicked wood of the tabletop as it vibrated. She picked it up for a moment, her thumb moving over the screen. She pursed her lips, laying down the phone again. He could see the tremble in her fingers.

“If he said he’s caught in traffic, I’m gonna punch him in the mouth.”

She met his gaze. “Can we … talk?”

“What are we doing here?” He felt like an idiot just blurting it out, but he went with it anyway. “I mean — how are we supposed to do this? Little weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s a lot weird.”

“So then — maybe this is just something we need to . . . forget?” She glanced away, a pinched look on her face. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes, highlighted by the fading sun, only enhanced her beauty. He felt his groin tighten.

You need to just break this off right here. Right now. Do it before it’s too late, Derek.

He could see how uncomfortable this was for her. In a way that made this easier though. She had to know this wasn’t going to work either. This had all just been a dream, no matter how sweet.

“You and Kurt have probably talked by now, right? I’m sure he’s told you the same thing. What the hell are we doing, Breanna?”

Her blue eyes leveled with his, her mouth a tight line. Only her flared nostrils betrayed what she might be thinking.

“I think—” he stood up, running fingers through his hair “—we had a good time. An incredible time. Fuck, I’m never going to forget it. I mean how can a man ever—”

“Do you think you could ever do what you did — again?”

What?

Her steady azure gaze bored into him, and one gorgeous eyebrow lifted.

He sat down, his back ramrod straight, his heart suddenly at full gallop. “I don’t … understand. You mean, what we did back there?”

She nodded, her long fingers swiping a loose lock of blonde hair from her eyes.

“How am I supposed to answer that, Breanna? We had you pulling us in a fucking
cart
, for God’s sake.”

“I liked that,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You — you
did
?”

“Yes. And I want to do it again.” She swallowed, the slim line of her throat working. “I — I think about it all the time.”

“I don’t …”

“You thought I just did that because of Kurt?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

In the back of his mind, he’d always suspected that. A woman doing the bidding of the husband she adored. Sacrificing her pleasure for his. But this … was something else.

She gave him a little nervous laugh. “And here I was worried you’d think I was some slut. You apparently think I’m a martyr instead.”

“Shit, that’s not what I think.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “I don’t know what the fuck I think anymore.”

The server arrived and took their drink orders, Breanna’s eyes darting to Derek several times as she ordered her drink.

Derek gave the food menus to the server, giving him a little shake of the head. “Not today, it looks like.”

The server nodded, heading back inside with the lift of an eyebrow.

Blowing out a breath, Derek scrubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t suppose that was from Kurt, was it?” He lifted his chin toward the phone.

“It was.”

“We doing twenty questions now?”

“What would you like to do instead, Derek?”

He laughed, shaking his head. Looking at her beautiful face, at those full lips, was deadly right this minute. One look and he’d imagine her before him once more, her mouth worshiping his cock, the dirt of the day mixing with the sweat on her skin, the heavy weight of her sodden hair twisted into his clenched fist.

Stop. This.

“I can’t do this, Breanna.” He gazed out at the water, the sun so low the surface of the Sound was a shimmering, molten yellow. “Tell him I … I can’t risk it.”

“What are you risking, Derek? Happiness?”

He met her gaze then. “Risking fucking up your
marriage
, for one. That’s not all either.” He looked away again. “I don’t want to deal with this. Too soon. I’m probably just not cut out for a relationship anyway.”

“There are other … arrangements.” She drew in a deep breath. “Could just play things by ear, see where it leads.”

“How exactly would we do that?”

“You’re in charge, Derek. You tell me.”

She was goading him now — and it was working. It was time to nip this shit in the bud. Show her he wasn’t playing here.

“I’m
not
in charge, Breanna. You’re fucking married. To Kurt. I’m not into swinging, or wife swapping, or whatever the fuck you two want to call this.” He rubbed his chin. “I need more than that. And it’s more than you two — or me, for that matter — can give. This is crazy, and stupid. And it’s got to stop.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and her eyes flashed. He’d hit the mark, all right. “Do you want to know what he said?”

The server came back then, leaving the Mai Tai for Breanna, and as an astute server does, made himself scarce rather than interrupt an obviously tense conversation.

“Hopefully he told you the same thing I did.”

She slid the phone across the table, her long, cool fingers folding his over the screen. She held him there for a moment, looking down at their intertwined fingers. Then her eyes raised to his, a fierce intensity in her gaze. “If you read that, and still think this is hopeless, then I want you to call me a cab.” She squeezed his hand so hard his knuckle cracked. “Otherwise, I’ll be inside the restaurant waiting for the man who showed me who he
really
was this weekend. I’ll be in there hoping you’ll stop being a fucking pussy, and take what’s yours.”

He watched her round ass sway in the tight skirt as she made her way to the doors. She took one last look back at him, her brows knit together, then disappeared inside.

Picking up her phone, he held his breath, and read Kurt’s message:

Now, be a good girl, and show him what he’s missing.>

Derek stood up, jamming the phone into his pocket, his jaw clenched so tight he wondered if his teeth would break. Every muscle in his body felt rigid, vibrating with tension. His blood roared in his ears, even as his cock began to stir.

This is your last chance to not do something stupid, Derek.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered, kicking in his chair and stalking across the deck.

Then he walked into the restaurant.

Chapter Twenty Five

T
he alcohol burned its way down her throat, the frigid ice cooling her lips. She’d picked vodka rocks, a feeble attempt to bolster her courage. She stood, shoulder to shoulder, with the happy hour patrons packing the bar, the Mariners up on the big screen being murdered as usual.

She watched the game, but wasn’t seeing a thing.

Would he take that next step? Did she
want
him to?

It was one thing to have an encounter at the remote farm, a weekend of fantasy fulfilled. But here in Seattle, back in reality, this was an entirely different proposition.

Of course, she wanted him — even more than she’d been prepared for. His casual ease, so comfortable in his own skin, the understated sandalwood scent of his cologne, those dark brown eyes, at once so unlike the slate gray of Kurt’s gaze, yet sharing that same intimidating intensity. Kurt’s message was both a green light, and a terrifying moment of freedom — of choice, and of the dilemma of the road not taken.

Did she have the courage? Did he?

A big hand plucked the cold glass from her fingers, setting it neatly down on the bar. A folded twenty joined it on the dark wood.

“We’re leaving,” Derek said, taking her hand, leading her through the throng like a recalcitrant little girl. She rather liked that imagery, truth be told.

There weren’t many men who could make her feel that way, and until that moment, she’d thought Kurt was the only one who could.

Now her husband had company in that select club of men who could make her melt.

“What are you doing, Derek?” She pulled at his hand, finding his grip as implacable as steel manacles. Despite that, her nipples tightened traitorously. “Let me go.”

“No.”

He led her outside, the warm evening air washing over her as they left the air-conditioned restaurant. His phone was at his ear, his rumbling voice calling a cab. Then he hung up and turned to her.

“You think you know what you’re doing here, don’t you?”

Breanna tilted her head. “What am I doing? I thought I was having dinner with you.”

“He thinks he knows what he’s doing, too.” Derek dug her phone from his pocket, holding it up. “But I’m telling you, this shit is not going to work.”

“Why not?” She closed her eyes a moment against a gust of breeze off the Sound. “I think it worked pretty well at the farm. You can’t deny that.”

“No, I don’t — but this isn’t the farm. This is real.”

Of course, he was right. But being right wasn’t what counted here — it was what she wanted, what she yearned for, that really mattered. The question now was whether they both had the courage to set aside what was “right” and take a chance at what they
desired
.

Derek slipped the phone back into his pocket, her eye drawn to the generous curve of his genitals, so perfectly highlighted by the snug, faded jeans. “I’m sending you home and I’m going to talk to Kurt. Tonight. I can’t let this go on any longer, Breanna.”