Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (12 page)

“Whoa, somebody is
not
a morning person.” Her gaze dropped to hip-level—and his ready-to-go cock. “Except for that part. That’s one hell of a morning salute, actually.”

His anger deflated. His cock did the opposite. “You went out in public that way?”
That way
consisted of his white dress shirt hanging loose over a pair of his black boxers, her tiny purse hanging from one shoulder. The sexy-as-fuck high heels completed her outfit—if you could call it that.

“I couldn’t wear the dress, now could I?” She resumed walking toward him, her hips swaying with each slow, calculated step. “And I looked through your stuff, but you didn’t have anything my size.”

“You were looking in the wrong place.” He palmed the hard-on that felt as if it’d grown two inches since she walked through the door. “Because I have something that’ll fit you perfectly.”

“Perfectly? Quite the claim.”

“Come over here and I’ll show you how true it is.”

She set the takeout cups on the dresser, let her purse fall to the floor. She reached under the shirt and hooked her fingers over the waistband of his shorts, then wiggled them down those shapely legs. One by one, she pushed the white buttons free of their holes, until the front edges of his shirt hung open.

He groaned. No point in hiding his appreciation, not with eight thick, very obvious inches of it jutting in Sara’s direction. He pushed the white material aside and slid his palms over her skin—waist, hips, then higher, to those amazing tits. “You should’ve stayed in bed.”

“I don’t sleep much. And never late.”

He dipped down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, flicked the silver piercing with his tongue. Caught it between his teeth and tugged before letting it slide free. “Who said anything about sleeping?” A feminine gasp rewarded him when he banded her hips with his arms and lifted her off the ground. A couple of strides and he had her where she belonged—on her back and under him.

“My phone,” she said on a moan as
I Got You, Babe
played from inside her purse while his tongue played its own brand of music between her legs. Her hands cradled the top of his head, but instead of pulling him in, she pushed him away. “I’m expecting a call from Nia.”

“You can call her back.” He nudged past the blockade of her fingers and helped himself to another taste of heaven.

“I have to answer it.” A few seconds’ worth of soft moaning and fruitless wriggling later she said, “Curtis…I have to answer it.”

The use of his name cut through the thick fog of
must have this woman now
swirling in his head and groin. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her silky thigh. Then stretched, grabbed the strap of her purse and reeled it in. “Make it a quick call.”

*

They were en route to her parents’ house when Curtis asked, “So, how did you like driving it?”

“That’s a first. None of the guys I’ve been with have ever referred to sex that way.”

For a couple beats, Curtis just stared at her. Then his deep, husky laugh filled the car’s interior. “The Mustang. Not my cock.” He winked. “I know how much you enjoyed driving that.”

She gave him a shove—and yes, a smile. “I’d tell you not to let it go to your head, but I can see it’s way too late for that.”

He rewarded her with one of his wide, sexy grins that sent sparks racing through her body. “Hey, I’m entitled. I
am
the new record holder.”

Yes, he certainly was. She’d essentially passed out in his arms around five o’clock, after he’d given her an eighth orgasm.
Eighth.
She’d been so physically drained from their night together, she hadn’t thought she could come again, and she’d told him as much when he started stroking her.

He’d silenced her protest with a long, deep kiss. Then he’d drawn her close, spoon-style, and made love to her. Not fucking, that last time—lovemaking. Slowly and sweetly, with his cock, with his fingers, drawing one last, slow-burning climax from her body. Thank god he hadn’t been in a position to see her face, because she’d almost cried at the intense intimacy of it.

“As for the Mustang,” his voice pulled her back to the present, “how’d you like it, compared to your Trans Am?”

“I didn’t drive your car.”

He turned his attention from the road to look at her. “I’m not angry you used my car to go get coffee—though I was pissed when I woke up alone and thought you’d just plain taken off in it.”

She turned sideways on the passenger seat. “And why did you think that?”

“You were gone. So were my keys.”

“So you assumed I’d helped myself to your vintage Mustang.” The silence between them said more than any words. Heat coursed through her body, and this time, it had nothing to do with his sexiness. “Of course that’s what you thought. Because this is me we’re talking about, and I’m a troublemaker with a criminal record. The type of person who’d steal your car while you slept.”

“Sara—”

She issued him
the hand
. “Don’t bother. I left my purse in your car last night, and I needed it to buy the coffees, which I walked to get. But whatever. It’s done, but so were we before this conversation even started, so none of it matters.”

The laneway to her parents’ house had never been such a welcome sight. She stared straight ahead as the Mustang’s tires crunched over the long stretch of gravel.

Curtis pulled up to the garage. Smart man that he was, he kept the engine running.

Meeting his agitated gaze sucked in the worst way, but she did it, paying him back with a glare of her own. “Thanks for everything, lawman. Saving my ass yesterday, fucking it last night, kicking it just now. Oh wait, that part was more of a kick in the
teeth
, but whatever.” She pushed the car door open and stepped out, onto the driveway. The urge to slam the door roared inside her. She resisted. The Mustang wasn’t to blame for its owner’s assholish opinions. Instead she closed the door carefully and walked away.

The engine thundered behind her, followed by more of the tires-on-gravel sound. No goodbye kiss. Just an abrupt ending, the perfect balance to their rocky beginning less than forty-eight hours ago. It was better this way. Her head knew that, even if her heart didn’t want to believe it.

*

Another round of job searching down, once again with zero to show for it. Sara stroked a black line through the last classified ad in the Saturday-morning paper.

After months of pounding the pavement, filling out applications and attending job interviews, all of which died a swift death when she had to answer the “have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense” question, she’d gone an easier route. Now she called first. No point in wasting time and resources if the employer wouldn’t consider hiring somebody with a little misdemeanor to their credit.

The whole thing was ridiculous. It was a public mischief conviction, not fraud or theft. She’d used her employee access code to gain afterhours entry into a furniture store where she’d once worked. And yes, she and her boy-toy of the night had broken a few small items in their slightly intoxicated sexual romp through the showroom—all of which had been caught on security video. Honestly, though, it was the store manager’s fault. Halfway, at least. Anybody with a brain would change the access code after terminating an employee.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t played out that way. The store manager could have settled for a reparation payment, but the uptight bitch had insisted on pressing charges. With a two-thousand-dollar fine and a conviction behind her, Sara couldn’t even land a job running the fryer at a fast-food joint.

She folded the newspaper, tossed it in the recycling box and sighed. Time to get ready for the job she
did
have.

She crossed her shoebox-sized bachelor apartment in five strides. What would it be tonight—slutty-whore red or bad-girl black? She pulled two skimpy tops from her dresser drawer and did the eenie-meenie-miney-mo thing. Black won. Or lost, depending on the point of view.

Saturday nights were the worst night of the week at Lucky’s. Lots of intoxicated idiots with alcohol-induced bravery and demands. That sucked for the girls on several levels. The shit they had to do to disgusting men was bad on the best of days, but even worse when the men either couldn’t get hard or couldn’t get off. Sara shuddered at the thought.

She fastened the last hook on the black corset-style top. Her tightest jeans, highest heels and a swipe of glossy pink lipstick later, she was ready to do her time. Maybe this would be the last Saturday she had to serve at Lucky’s.

Look at that, optimism in the face of debasement. Must be the pink lipstick—a bit of Nia rubbing off on her. Well. She couldn’t tell Nia about this fleeting moment of hope, now could she? Not without divulging the dirty details of her current employment situation. And that was never going to happen. She hadn’t outright lied to her sister about her job, but she’d done some creative truth-telling.

Nia had been so proud when Sara told her she’d found a job at a
health club
. She’d even made comments about Sara “working her way up in the company.” Yeah, there were opportunities for advancement at Lucky’s, but not in any way Sara wanted to progress. God, Nia would flip out if she knew what that meant in a massage-parlor environment.

Sara had to find a better job. And soon. Before her sister returned home from the honeymoon and decided she needed to join Sara’s “health club” to work off two weeks’ worth of indulgences. One of the few sins Sara hadn’t committed was lying. She’d hate to start now, but the bills kept coming, and only one thing was getting any of them paid. On the subject of
coming
, she’d better get to work.

*

“And then all four chicks got naked and took turns blowing me.”

“Yeah, okay. Wait, what?” Curtis abandoned his visual scan of the intersection to look at his partner, currently sporting a smug smile from the passenger side of the cruiser.

“Which was the buzzword that got your attention—naked, or blowing? You know, in case I need to lure you back from la-la land again.”

“Go to hell, Campbell.”

“Since I’m stuck in here with you while you stare out the window like a lost fucking puppy, I’d say I’m already there.”

Curtis grunted. He couldn’t dispute Jake’s observation. He’d been glued to the window since spotting a woman he could’ve sworn was Sara get off a city bus. Only that made no sense. First of all, Sara had a car to get her from A to B. Secondly, there was nothing in this part of the city to attract a single woman on a Saturday night. No residential units, no restaurants or coffee shops, no night clubs. Mostly industrial-type businesses and the like.

Mostly.

“Been to
Rip It
lately?” Curtis posed the question as casually as possible.

“That you even have to ask makes me question our bond. Have you had a change of heart about strip clubs? Suddenly paying to watch tits bounce and asses shake isn’t so lame?”

There was no good way to answer. Jake was a buddy as well as a damn good cop. He’d know if Curtis fed him a load of bull, and he’d have far too much fun with the info if Curtis told him the whole truth. Best he could do was shoot for the middle and hope a partial version floated like shit from a high-fiber diet.

“I thought I recognized a woman who got off the bus a few minutes ago. Sara Robinson, Conn’s new sister-in-law. This area isn’t exactly geared to female foot traffic, and she has a history of making less-than-stellar choices.” Such as committing unlawful entry and destruction of property, and that was just one occurrence—on the record.

“Nothing wrong with choosing to be a stripper.”

“Says the region’s foremost connoisseur on the subject.”

Jake grinned. “You know it. So, got a picture? Preferably one with her clothes off. Make it easier for me to recognize her that way.”

“You wish, man.” Curtis pulled up his email on his cell and clicked one from Nia. “But my sister-in-law did send me a couple candid shots from the weekend that might help.” He passed the phone to Jake as the images loaded on the screen.

“Be still my heart and other parts. Sadly, I have not seen your almost-sister peeling at
Rip It
. But maybe this is my lucky day and she was on her way to a job interview there.” Jake double-tapped the screen to zoom in on Sara’s cleavage. “Yeah, she can just empty my wallet and spend the night on my lap.”

“She’s
not
almost my sister.” He snagged his phone from Jake’s greedy hand and even greedier eyes. “Not even remotely close to that, Campbell, so suck the drool back into that gaping hole in your face.”

A laugh roared from Jake’s mouth. “Your interest in smokin’ hot Sara’s possible employment at
Rip It
is obviously more than casual, my friend.”

Shit. Recovery required. “Yeah, because I know news like that would upset her sister, who
is
part of my family now.”

“That’s all it is, some wholesome, familial concern?”

“Yeah.” That’s all it could be, though not by his choice.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I called her.”

Curtis shrugged. “Go for it, man.” There, test passed.

“Cool.” Jake took out his phone, tapped at the screen a few times, then put the thing to his ear. “Hey, Conn. Jake Campbell here. Give me a call back when you get a chance. I’m looking for a phone number for Sara Robinson, and your brother said I could get it from you. Thanks. Oh, and congratulations, by the way. Talk to you soon.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“Just following through.” The blond hair and blue eyes might fool the ladies, but Jake was far from innocent. “As I will do in much greater depth once I’ve secured that number.”

Baiting him, had to be. Well, Curtis wasn’t biting. He knew a few things his buddy didn’t, including the fact that Conn wouldn’t check his cell while on his honeymoon. “Good luck,” he said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

His partner laughed again, the chuckle of a man aware that he’d lost this round. The trouble was, with Jake’s competitive nature, he was probably already planning how to one-up Curtis. Unless Jake wanted to try picking up women with a toothless grin, that plan better not include getting close to Sara.