Tasting Fear (29 page)

Meetings, conference calls. Seconds ticked by, heavily, laboriously. His employees were acting strange. Whispering conversations, cut off when he walked by. Smothered bursts of laughter. Bruce had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

At ten to five p.m., he gave in to it. It was an hour early, but he wasn’t getting diddly-shit done here. He might as well go to the Sunset, park his ass, and make damn sure she didn’t leave the place alone.

She was scheduled to work three hours on the game texts with Bruce, from six until nine. Too much, with a long shift of waitressing behind her. She pushed herself too hard. He might insist that she cut out early. They could get dinner before they met her sisters at that pub.

He found a good parking spot not far from the Grill and went in, heart thudding. There she was, swathed in her orange apron, hair twisted up and corkscrewing around her face. She looked tired, harassed.

And freaking drop-dead beautiful.

She glanced over and ran into a table. He was with her in two steps, steadying her tray. She pulled back, spilling half a bowl of French onion soup. “Thanks, I can manage. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a restaurant, right? Don’t I have the right to come in here?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry,” she said, biting her lower lip. “The tables are full. You can wait fifteen minutes, or you can sit at the counter.”

Duncan seated himself at the counter. The place was hopping with late lunchers and early diners. Nell and a redheaded girl were the only waitresses, both running frantically. He watched Nell serve people, gracing them with her luminous smile, carrying trays that looked far too heavy for her. She sneaked an occasional glance at him. Some minutes later she made it back to him with the coffeepot. “Stop staring. It’s making me nervous,” she hissed into his ear, pouring him a cup.

“What’s with you tonight?” he asked. “You’re tense.”

“Oh, nothing. Business as usual. Money problems. Credit card debt. A bugged apartment. Armed kidnappers shoving me into a car. Nights of wild monkey sex with a man who’s practically a stranger to me. Then I get to work and discover that not only does Kendra have one of her weird illnesses, but Lee broke his toe, so we’re short-staffed. And now you’re here, staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Other than that, I’m fine. Let me take your order. Strip steak, I presume.”

“Actually, I ordered out for lunch,” he said.

Her eyebrow lifted. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

She swallowed, a blush warming her cheeks. “We have a three-dollar minimum at night.”

“More coffee,” he said. “And bring my usual dessert.”

She looked disapproving. “You should try something new.” She marched away, chin high.

“So. You’re the one, eh?” a gravelly female voice said.

He looked across the counter, into the clear gray eyes of a strong-jawed, wide-hipped lady of about sixty. “Excuse me?” he said.

The woman smartly dressed a tray of salads and passed it across the counter to the redheaded waitress. The waitress hung over Duncan’s shoulder from behind, popped fragrant strawbery gum in his ear, and studied him as if he were some strange species of mold in a petri dish. “Not bad,” she commented, her voice judicious.

“I’m Norma,” the older woman said, examining him over the lenses of her glasses. “I own this joint. And you’re Strip Steak.”

Being defined and labeled in terms of his lunch choices was a new experience for him. “Duncan Burke, at your service,” he said.

“So you’re the one,” Norma said again, wrapping silverware in napkins and stacking them on a tray with machinelike efficiency.

He sipped his coffee. “What one am I?” he asked guardedly.

“The one who’s taking away my right-hand woman.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there,” he said.

“Don’t I know it,” Norma replied, her gray eyes steely. “In fact, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you what a prize you’ve got in her.”

Duncan’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth.

Norma went on. “I heard about that kerfuffle last night. You, saving her from those guys on the street. That’s good. Bravo. I like it that you can handle yourself in a tight situation. That’s a good quality in a man. Useful. But that’s not enough.”

Duncan blinked. “It’s not?”

“No. Not for Nell. She’s special. Very sensitive, very romantic. She has more to give than you could imagine.”

He started to feel hunted. “How do you know what I can imagine?”

“Any guy who orders the same lunch for six weeks in a row has imagination issues,” Norma informed him, not without sympathy.

The redheaded waitress swooped by and leaned over his shoulder again. “But don’t despair,” she said, popping her gum in his ear again. “You can make up for a lot of that egghead intellectual imagination stuff in bed, if you treat her good. And I mean, like, good, buddy boy.”

“Exactly my point,” Norma agreed. “If you don’t treat her like a goddess, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Duncan forced himself to close his slack, dangling mouth. He coughed to clear his throat. “Just what are you implying, ma’am?”

“That depends on you,” Norma said crisply. “You see, unfortunately, our Nell is an orphan. There aren’t any parents around to judge you and break your balls.” She pointed at her chest. “But here’s me, Strip Steak. Ready and willing to pick up the slack. Worse than the very worst mother-in-law could ever be. Just be aware.”

“There’s me, too. And Monica. And don’t forget her sisters,” the redhead piped in from behind as she swept by. “Mess with Nell, and Nancy and Vivi will rip you open and toss your entrails into the gutter.”

“Ah.” He pondered that memorable image for a moment. “You want me to declare that my intentions are honorable, you mean?”

Norma smiled approvingly. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Nell appeared with a plate. “Here’s your dessert. Carla, table five needs a slice of Black Forest and a Key Lime. They’re in a rush, okay?”

Carla gave her gum a final loud pop, and sashayed away, ass twitching back and forth. Nell set down the dessert. It was not apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was a fluffy confection. Lots of whipped cream.

“I decided you needed a change of pace,” she said, a note of challenge in her voice. “This is a house specialty. Banana cream pie.”

She stared at him, her soft mouth pressed flat. Norma stared, too, from behind the counter, her large, chubby arms crossed across her voluminous bosom. Seconds ticked by.

It irritated him, being jerked around, but this was not about pie. This was some sort of subtle test that he could not afford to fail.

Ah, what the fuck. It was only pie, after all. He forked up a bite.

“It’s good,” he said, automatically. Then he took another bite, and realized that it was true. It really was good. In fact, it was damn good.

Nell’s face relaxed. Norma raised an eyebrow, harrumphed, and stumped away to serve a customer at the other end of the counter.

Nell leaned down. “What did they say?” she hissed in his ear.

Duncan felt an unexpected smile tug at his mouth, swiftly followed by a desire to laugh. “I was just informed that I should declare my intentions. And if I don’t treat you like a goddess, I’ll be sliced wide open, and my steaming viscera tossed out into the street.”

“Oh, my God.” Nell turned a delicate pink. “I’m going to kill them.”

“No need.” Suddenly, with no warning, he was laughing. Out loud. In public. People were looking. He didn’t care.

It felt great.

H
e kept catching her eye, giving her that wicked grin that scrambled her brain. The grin with the dimples that carved sexy lines into his cheeks. He’d done it in the restaurant and made her screw up the orders. He’d done it on the drive to his building. He was doing it now, from behind his desk in his office. She crossed her legs and tried to catch her breath. Bastard. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.

“Nell? Earth to Nell? Do you have any of those finished?”

She jerked her gaze back to Bruce. “Uh, do I have what finished?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “The manuscripts for the goblin caves! Did you get those done? I need to submit them to the graphic artists.”

“Ah…um…” She winced. What with attackers and protracted bouts of incredible sex, she hadn’t had a second to work on the game. In fact, she’d forgotten about its existence. “I’m so sorry, Bruce, but I—”

“She’s been busy,” Duncan said curtly, from behind his desk.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Duncan to Nell. “Busy?”

Nell began to blush. “My life’s been kind of crazy. If you want, I’ll try to whip something up right now.”

“Okay, fine, but I was hoping to brainstorm about the octagonal tower and the magic mirrors tonight. And how about the prophesies for the cursed tomb of the lost kings? Haven’t done those, either, huh?”

She resisted the urge to excuse herself for slacking off. “Not yet, but I have some ideas,” she said. “They’ll need to be encrypted.”

“I roughed out a Rosetta stone last night. Looks like we’re going to be here till midnight if we want to have a chance in hell of finishing—”

“No,” Duncan said. “She’s been waitressing all day. She needs dinner, and a rest. Plus she has an appointment, in Queens, at nine.”

Bruce stared at them, and started to grin. “Ah. I see. Does she need her beauty rest, then? So that’s the way the wind blows.”

“Shut up, Bruce,” Duncan growled.

“Tired or not, we gotta get that material churned out by Monday,” Bruce fretted. “I don’t know how you expect us to—”

“Do it tomorrow,” Duncan said.

Bruce slanted him a glance. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Dunc.”

“So? Work doesn’t care what day it gets done.”

“I’m free tomorrow,” Nell said quickly.

Duncan looked at his brother. “See? Problem solved. Get lost.”

Bruce got up and backed toward the door. “I’ll just go on home and slave away on my Rosetta stone while you two lovebirds—”

“Out, Bruce!” Duncan’s voice was like the lash of a whip.

“I’ll just, ah, engage this lock for you.” Bruce flicked the lever, grinning, and ducked out the door. It snicked shut behind him.

“That was unnecessary!” Nell hissed. “I promised him that I’d get those goblin cave manuscripts—oh!” She squeaked as he pulled her up to her feet and dragged her around his desk. He yanked her onto his lap, so that she was straddling him. “Are you nuts?”

He stifled her protest with a hot, persuasive kiss. She grasped his wrists for balance. Wow. But this was his office, for God’s sake.

“Just a kiss,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “Every time I passed the conference room, my dick got hard. Don’t worry. Door’s locked.”

“That makes it worse!” she protested. “Everyone is speculating!”

“What everyone? Everybody’s gone home but Bruce, and he’s already drawn his conclusions.” He gripped her hips, dragging her closer. “I did a crazy thing today,” he said, between ravenous kisses.

“Oh, really?” She laughed, breathlessly. “Crazier than usual?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to convince my sister Ellie to change her major from theater back to economics.” His arms tightened, grinding his erection against the melting sweet spot. She could hardly breathe.

“So I called her,” he continued, his voice silky. “I was about to do my spiel. And then I found your petals.”

“Really?” Nell said. Her panties were a whisper-thin barrier between the scorching heat and hardness of his erection. “And?”

“And I told her to go for it.” He sounded astonished at himself.

Nell was startled into lucidity. “Just like that?”

“There I was, rose petals all over me. I couldn’t bring her down.”

Nell’s heart swelled. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. “Congratulations,” she whispered. “You did a great thing.”

He cupped his hand behind her head and deepened the kiss.

Her long sweater skirt was rucked up high on her thighs, over the same beige gartered stockings she’d worn the day before, and his erection pressed against the gusset of her panties, behind which was a melting, throbbing ache of rising desire. She pulled away, gasping for breath. “I’m going to give you a great big wet spot,” she warned him.

“Only one thing to do about that.” He lifted her up so she stood on her feet, cupping her bottom so she couldn’t wiggle away. He wrenched his belt loose and his pants open. His cock sprang up, empurpled and huge. He slid his finger inside the crotch of her panties and into that hot, liquid well, swirling and stroking. A tug against her hip, fabric ripped, and he pulled her back down, fitting her over himself.

Forcing the thick club of his penis slowly, insistently inside her.

She braced herself against his chest. “Hey! Hold on! I spoiled you this morning, but don’t you dare start to think you can play dangerous games with me without protection whenever you feel like it!”

He slid relentlessly deeper. “I always feel like it with you.”

“You’re not the one who pays the price if there is a mishap!”

He stopped moving, and cupped her cheek, stared into her eyes with fierce intensity. “That’s not true. I always take responsibility for what I do. I would never bail out on you, Nell.”

Um. Nice sentiment, but Nell wasn’t precisely sure of its practical applications, and she was afraid to ask. And her body was betraying her. She could barely speak, swaying on top of him, quivering around his cock, squeezing him convulsively inside herself. She coordinated her shaky voice. “How do you take responsibility for an irresponsible thing? It’s contradictory!”

His fingers bit into her hips, dragging her against him. “That’s way too deep for a guy like me,” he said. “Especially when all the blood in my body’s been diverted to my dick.”

“That’s a cheap excuse,” she shot back, writhing helplessly.

“Just doing what I can,” he said. “Your waitress friend told me I could make up for my intellectual shortcomings by being good in bed.”

Her eyes popped open. “She didn’t!”

“She did,” Duncan said solemnly.

“Oh, my God.” She covered her face with her hands, and began to laugh. “I can’t believe them. I just can’t believe it.”

“I have to admit, I found it kind of comforting,” he mused. “I figured, maybe there’s hope, you know? Even for a meathead like me.”

“Oh, you just shut up!”

“Good thing you like ’em big and stupid, right?”

She swatted at him. “Stop it! You’re making it worse!”

“Oh, no. Not worse. Better,” he said. “I won’t stop. It feels fucking amazing. Those little fluttery clenches around my dick, every time you laugh. Laugh all you want. I’ll keep you laughing as long as I can.”

She pressed her hand to his mouth, chest hitching, eyes watering with shaky giggles. “Shhh. Really. Please, Duncan, damn it. I’m serious. Stop.”

“Fuck, no.” He pulled her hand down, grinning. “So this guy walks into this bar—”

“Shhh!” She stared into his eyes. “Just don’t get me pregnant,” she said. “Do. Not. Get it? I’ve got enough to feel scared about right now. Is that clear?”

He nodded, and kissed her palm. “I won’t come inside you,” he promised. “I won’t even move. I’ll sit like a statue. Your personal life-sized sex toy. You just squeeze me, ride me, do whatever you want with me until you come. Sound good?”

Oh, boy, did it ever. So good, it stole her breath, her voice.

She did as he offered, squeezing him inside her until her lower body flushed with pleasure, shaking with firecracker jolts.

He kept his promise, though she could tell that it cost him. It took a while to get there, with him so motionless. He trembled, holding her arms in a tight grip, staring at her face as she writhed and whimpered, too lost to pleasure to be self-conscious. It was a long, slow climb, but the outcome was inevitable. He caught her as she arched back and launched into free fall, his growl of satisfaction vibrating through her.

She collapsed over his shoulder, breathless and limp. Blushing and damp with sweat as the aftershocks rippled through her. She could feel his heartbeat in his cockhead, throbbing against her womb, he was wedged so deep inside her. A deep, steady, pulsing rhythm. So close.

She lifted her head and was startled by the look on his face. It was no longer that taut, tense mask of self-control that he’d worn while she was pleasuring herself with his body. It was soft. Almost wistful.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him.

He touched her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, then her lips. “I was just wondering what a baby of ours might look like.”

The feeling that pierced her was indefinable. Joy, terror, fury. That bastard. How dare he. Playing with her emotions.

“You bastard. Don’t say crazy things like that to me,” she forced out, through shaking lips. “It’s not fair. It’s…irresponsible.”

He shrugged. “You asked.”

So she had. Her hands shook. They stared at each other. Both fully clothed, but she had never felt so naked.

She untangled her legs from his, set her feet on the ground, and lifted herself up. They sucked in air in unison at the sweet slide, the delicious friction as his cock caressed her sensitized inner flesh. The cold air that hit them when they were separated.

She stared down at his cock. It stood high and hopeful against his belly. Rigid, pulsing. Gleaming with her own juices.

She had no intention of sinking to her knees. It just happened. She grabbed his thick, pulsing handle, stroking smooth, hot skin, and licked him, tasting herself. It was a classic thousand-dollar-an-hour call-girl scenario. Riding the boss on his swivel chair in the high-rise corner office. On her knees under the desk giving him a blow job. It looked sordid, squalid. Even pornographic, from the outside.

But she wasn’t on the outside. She was so far inside, she was in a new universe, where the rules had changed. She herself was different. Softer, more joyful, more sensual. Fearless. And shameless. Just this desperate desire to give to him flowing out of her, from her chest, her face, her throat, her crotch. All aglow.

Of course. She was miles in love with him.

She let that thought slide away. She didn’t dare examine it, and besides, it took all her concentration to fellate a man as ridiculously well endowed as Duncan Burke. He was hung like the proverbial horse, and she was far from expert. But oh, so motivated.

She petted and stroked, swirled with her tongue around his cockhead, and tried to draw him deeper. Loving the sounds, the shaking grip of his hands in her hair, the shudders that went through him. She was just getting the hang of it and starting to hit her stride when his fingers tightened, and he let out a choked, desperate shout.

His come spurted into her mouth in hard, rhythmic jets.

She got to her feet after a few silent, shaking minutes, holding on to the desk for balance. She wiped her mouth, too shy to look at him.

He grabbed her and dragged her over between his legs, hugged her tightly around the waist, hid his face against her breasts.

Her chest melted, her shyness evaporated, leaving only tenderness. He felt vulnerable, too. And somehow, that made it okay.

They swayed in that clinch for a long time. Finally he looked up. “There’s a private en suite bathroom with a shower, off my office.”

She widened her eyes. “Holy cow, Burke. How luxurious and elitist of you. What, can’t bear to pee with the hoi polloi?”

His teeth flashed in the deepening twilight. “Every now and then I pamper myself,” he admitted. “I like to run to work. And I like to smell good. I keep fresh clothes here. So we can clean up. If you want.”

“You ripped my panties,” she lectured him. “Beast.”

He gave her an exaggeratedly innocent look. “If I’d stopped to peel them all the way down your legs, you’d have wimped out on me.” He caressed her buttocks through her skirt. “I’ll buy you new ones. If we hurry, we have time for dinner before we meet your sisters in Queens.”

“What about the texts that I have to write for the game? I have to have something ready for Bruce tomorrow!”

He shrugged. “You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and dragged her through a door and into a small but luxurious bathroom.

“Hey! Wait,” she said, laughing. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

He flashed his devilish grin in answer, grabbed a fluffy white towel off a pile on a shelf, and dropped it in her arms. “Everything’s relative.”

He shrugged off his suit jacket, and she froze at the sight of the gun strapped onto his shoulder. “Um, Duncan?” she asked, in a small voice. “What on earth are you doing with that, uh, thing?”

He slanted her an “are you kidding” look. “Being careful,” he said. “Those guys were armed. I wasn’t. It was just blind luck and timing that they didn’t kill me and take you, because I wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they’d been better organized. They weren’t expecting any resistance, but they will be the next time they go for you. Don’t worry. I can handle myself with this thing.” He unbuttoned her blouse, peeled her stretch lace chemise off over her head.

She gazed at him through the disarranged mess of curly hair that fell over her face. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I have absolutely no doubts about your ability to handle, um…just about anything.”

He proceeded to live up to her faith in him. To the fullest.

Duncan looked around Malloy’s. Too many people crowded together. Not safe. Good thing he’d had jeans and a polo to change into at the office, because he’d have felt like a fucking clown in his suit.

He’d never been in an Irish pub, and the loud, noodling melody of the Irish tunes played by the table of musicians made his brain pound.

But whatever. He’d follow Nell D’Onofrio to the bowels of hell. Complaining bitterly all the way, sure. But he’d be there.