PosterBoyForAverage (13 page)

He pulled her yoga pants down so fast and hard she heard the
sharp sound of ripping fabric. “Buy you new ones,” he mumbled gruffly and threw
them across the room. Beneath her pants she was bare and he pushed her thighs
wide, running his large calloused hand up and down her inner thighs until her
hips bucked up with urgency.

She had hours before she had to board a plane to Key West
but all that flew out of her head as he put his mouth on her. He simply put his
mouth over her mound and breathed—hot, humid breath invaded her folds and she
begged, pleaded and prayed to all deities in her mind that he’d move his
ever-loving tongue.

Instead he just stayed that way, pinning her hips with his
big forearms.

“God, Jesus, fuck, Mike!” she finally groaned.

His tongue snaked out and touched her. Gently at first. Just
a searing lick that sent her mind into a stark white place where nothing but
sensation lived.

He unpinned her hips, parted her thighs, pushed them
tight—nearly too tight—to the sofa and his mouth invaded her. His tongue slid
along her nether lips, parting and baring them to his breath and when he moved
the cooler air of the room. His teeth found her clitoris, so gently it stole
her breath, then he nipped it. Just enough for her to jerk beneath him and
moan.

That was that. The moan triggered him. He righted himself,
yanked her hips until her ass was flush with the edge of his sofa. A light
cotton blanket was crumpled beneath her.

“You slept on the sofa,” she panted.

Mike paused, gave her a brisk nod. “I had romance-movie
fantasies of you coming over to talk to me.” He ran the head of his cock along
the split of her. She was so wet, so ready for him, they both let out a little
sound of desperation.

“You did? Men do that?” He tipped himself forward so very
slowly it was maddening. When just the head was in, he took her wrists again,
brought them down by her hips and held them to the sofa tight.

When he did that, trapped her, bound her, kept her where he
wanted her and she surrendered to it, something in her body grew warm and
peaceful. She curled her fingers up just to come in contact with his strong
hands.

“Men do that. Yes. When it comes to women like you, Aubrey.”

Finally, once the words had sunk in, so did he. He drove
into her so fast her toes curled in his pale-green carpeting. She said his
name—just that and nothing more—and tilted her hips up to take him.

Mike lowered his upper body, but kept her wrists pinned. He
kissed her, his fingers encircling her wrists a bit harder. Hard enough that
she could feel her pulse trapped beneath his grip. She wondered wildly as she
drove up and he thrust deep and they both tried to breathe if she would wear
his fingerprints on her skin while she was away. If she’d see pale-purple-moon
bruises from him holding her while she adjusted her camera settings or posed
her models.

“God, I hope so,” she said aloud without thinking.

“What?” His lips moved down her throat. He kissed the sweet
spot where her neck met her shoulder and Aubrey felt her skin prickle with
sensation. Her nipples were tight and insanely sensitive against his chest. She
lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist as he continued to pound into
her.

“Nothing. I was thinking. It was just in my head,” she said,
driving up to take him. Every thrust pounded his body against her clitoris.
Every kiss of his pelvic bone pushed her closer to orgasm.

“Good. I want to be in your head. I want to be in your head
while you’re gone. I don’t want you to be able to shake me loose.” He paused
and began to drag his hips from side to side. Side to side. And again, until
Aubrey was fighting his grip on her wrists and biting her lip and coming.
Coming so hard she saw tiny little fairy lights in her vision.

“That’s what I like.” He kissed her shoulder, moving his
mouth to suck at her nipple.

“I’m rather partial to it myself,” she whispered.

“Turn over for me, Aubrey.”

She moved so that her belly rested against the sofa seat
cushion and spread her legs. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled as he
moved in behind her. The big energy that was Mike invaded her space and she
welcomed it. He made her feel alive. Electric. And when they were together the
fact that things were sticky and complicated fell by the wayside. They didn’t
matter so much at all.

His hands on her hips were just as unforgiving as they’d
been on her wrists. But under that she could sense the awe and the reverence he
felt when he touched her. That, more than anything, was what made her so wet
when he touched her. So ready to surrender herself to him, even if things were
a nightmare logically. Even if he was pushing her away and it hurt.

Aubrey angled her hips back so he could get deeper. She felt
her heartbeat beneath where he held her. Her head thudded with blood and small,
frantic noises escaped her. His breathing was labored and at first she thought
he was simply muttering nonsense sounds, but when he leaned his body over her
back and thrust so deeply her hips hit the lip of the sofa cushion, she
realized he was saying her name. “Aubrey, Aubrey, Aubrey,” over and over again
like a prayer.

Her forehead hit the sofa, her body prone before him. She
let herself be the most willing, pleasured receptacle for him. He grunted.
“Touch yourself, Aubrey. Get yourself off. Come with me. I’m pretty,” a long,
low moan slipped out of him and she felt the wash of his breath across her bare
back, “far gone,” he managed.

Her hands were shaking. Adrenaline, endorphins, lust…it was
a heady cocktail. Her fingers were difficult to work at first with the hard
tremor that had taken up residence, but once she touched her slick, thumping
clitoris, the shakes disappeared. She was harsh with herself, hard and fast
circles, because she could feel the urgency building in him. The rough thrust
of his hips and the rough sound of his breath. He was so fucking close and she
wanted to fall down that rabbit hole with him. She wanted to be swept under by
that particular wave.

Where he went, she wanted to go.

“Aubrey,” he said again. And the way he said it told her.
One more brutal nudge of her clit and she squeezed her pussy tight around him
and she came, just as he did. They went taut and silent together and then it
was nothing but moans and breathing and unfurling ribbons of pleasure deep
inside her.

Her body went limp and she sank herself against his beaten-up,
pleasantly comfortable sofa. His mouth came down on the back of her neck and he
licked the salt off her skin. “You leaving wasn’t how I thought this scenario
would go. And here I had a soap-opera reunion for us.”

He withdrew and she rolled so that she was sitting on his
floor, her back against the sofa. “Watch a lot of soap operas, do you?”

He grinned. “I grew up with a mother and three sisters.
Every day after school that’s all that was on for hours. The soaps. And then…”

“And then?” she laughed.

“Oprah came on!” he groaned.

“You poor thing.”

She frowned then, the rush from their lovemaking leaving
her. “But if you’re honest, our soap-opera moment didn’t change anything, did
it? You still think you’re bad for me. That giving this a shot, whatever the
fuck this is, would be a mistake.”

He didn’t have to answer. His expression said it all.

She stood, found her pants even as she wrestled her giant
sweatshirt over her head. Her hair tickled along her jaw and irritated her.
“Right. Well, I have to get going. Plane to catch and all that jazz. I just
wanted you to know I’d be gone about four days so if you see any strange
people—”

“Aubrey.”

She held her hand up to silence him. “If anyone’s coming out
of my house with my shit, then you know to call the cops, please. The only people
you might see are Bradlee and Laura. Beyond that, call the cops.”

“Aubrey—” He reached out to snag her wrist but she was ready
for him and dodged it.

“Thanks for keeping an eye out. Take care. I’ll talk to you
about the December thing when I get back.

She was out the door before he could say anything else. Her
eyes were blurred with tears as she got ready. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to
get on that plane and get the fuck out of Baltimore.

Part of the itinerary Gail had e-mailed her included the
airport shuttle service. Two hours before her flight was due to leave, the
airport shuttle showed up.

“Shuttle my ass,” Aubrey said, grabbing her two bags. She’d
already kissed Bruce, given him a bone and assured him that Bradlee would be
along to get him soon. “That’s a minivan.”

She felt as if Mike was watching her as she loaded her
stuff. But then again, she was pretty sure she wished he were watching. Chances
were good that he just thought she was crazy. And she knew
he
was.

“So we’re even.”

“Pardon?” her driver said. He glanced at her in the rearview
mirror, bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows raised.

“Nothing. Sorry. Thinking out loud. Talking to myself,” she
said to Don. That’s what his tag and information posted on the dashboard said.
Don Tennyson.

“You know what my mother used to say,” he said, taking a
left onto Belair Road. “As long as you don’t answer yourself.”

“Well, hell,” she laughed. “I do that too.”

Don shrugged. “Me too. Where you off to?”

“Key West.”

“Business or pleasure?” He took a left to get to the beltway
exit and then they were on the cloverleaf. The constant turning to get from
exit to beltway always turned Aubrey’s stomach upside down.

“Business.”

“Too bad.” Finally the car was leveled straight down 695.
“But you can always find a way to wedge some pleasure in there,” he said good-naturedly.

“I can try.”

She thought of Mike. Bare and warm and hard beneath her
fingertips. She remembered the feel of his breath on her skin, his lips on her
lips, his cock parting and then filling her. Aubrey felt the heat bloom in her
cheeks. When her eyes refocused she found Don, who was roughly the age of her
father, watching her with an amused expression on his face.

“Yes, you can try,” he said. Aubrey could tell he was trying
not to laugh and that made her blush harder.

They made little to no small talk after that. Him asking
about her photographs, her asking about his family prominently displayed on the
dashboard. She found out he had a wife of thirty years named Millie, a son her
age named Dave, a daughter a bit older named Mary and a dog named Duke. Which
reminded Aubrey that she hadn’t checked in with
her
Duke in ages. He’d
love to know about the drama and steam that seemed to be her and Mike Sykes.

She let her mind check out a bit once he dropped her at BWI.
Easier-to-handle lines, issues and TSA agents with her mind half on a rumpled
sofa with a handsome, sexy man, the other half in the sun in Key West shooting
pictures of young studs. Before she knew it, she and her faraway mind were
settled in a cramped business-class seat next to an older woman reading a
romance novel.

Aubrey glanced at the cover, realized it was hers but said
nothing. In her mind she couldn’t help but realize it would look better with
Mike on it.

When the plane took off she gripped the seat arms so tight
her knuckles went white. The woman never looked up from her book but she patted
Aubrey’s hand. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll be fine.”

Aubrey smiled. “I never do well with takeoffs and landings.
In the air, I’m aces. So don’t worry.”

The woman licked her finger and turned the page. One eyebrow
went up, her mouth twisted in a smile. Then as an afterthought she said, “Oh
I’m not worried. We’re up now. You can relax.”

Aubrey shut her eyes and tried to do just that. Her eyes
flew open just as she was about to come. At least in her dream she was. She
gasped but luckily they were landing, the plane’s wheels hitting the runway
with a bump and a skitter. Her seatmate assumed her gasp was due to her
skittish landing syndrome. Only Aubrey knew that it was due to a particularly
filthy dream featuring the man she’d just flown away from.

She ran a shaking hand through her hair. The woman saw the
tremor and patted her. She rummaged in her gigantic purse, pulled out a roll of
chewy fruit candies and put them in Aubrey’s hand. “Some sugar will reboot you just
fine, honey.”

Aubrey was still eating them when she took her carry-on to
the luggage area to find her other bag. She found it with no issue and then
went to find out about her rental car. If she could find her way to the hotel,
she’d be golden. She’d drop herself into a hot bath, order room service—some
wine even—and then sit on the deck to take in the evening sky. She wasn’t
supposed to meet with her first group of models until the morning. Some R and R
was just what she needed.

* * * * *

She groped around to find the thing to make the noise stop.
Aubrey groaned loudly and even that hurt her head. What the fuck had she had to
drink the night before? Oh yeah, the entire bottle of wine she’d walked down to
the corner liquor store to purchase.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered even as she blindly
hit the screen to accept the call.

“Are you calling me that or yourself?” said the voice.

“I…what?” Aubrey’s mind scrambled to try to supply the name
of the person calling. It was right on the tip of her tongue. And for a very
good reason. A reason she couldn’t quite recall even though it was on the tip
of her brain.

“Aubrey, where are you?” The voice was whispering now.
Urgently.

“I’m in…I’m in Key West,” she managed, confused by the
question but alarmed by the way it was delivered and the fact that she should
know this voice and yet could not place it. She raised her head and pain shot
from scalp to forehead to jaw to neck. She groaned again.

“Aubrey, do you know who this is?” Exasperation.

Panic flared through Aubrey but she couldn’t lie. Instead, a
beleaguered laugh shook her head painfully. “I have to admit, I know I should
know but—”

“It’s Gail,” said the now-annoyed voice. “The Gail from
Checkered Horse who sent you there to work.”

Aubrey sat straight up then, stifling the groan of pain that
wanted to pop out of her mouth. She bit her lip, winced at that fresh kind of
pain. “Oh shit. Oh shit, Gail…what time—”

“You’re late. One of the models called to see if this call
had been a joke or something. I had to tell them your flight had been delayed
and there were snafus and maybe you were under the weather.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Aubrey said. She’d resorted to that, she
saw as she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. “I’ll be there in—” She
froze. “Wait, where are they?”

“They’re down in the lobby of your hotel. We’ve set it up so
that models will be meeting you there every day. So I suggest, if you can
manage it, you get down to the lobby pronto.”

“I will. I will. My God, I’m so sorry, Gail. I’ve never ever
done anything like this before. I just—”

Gail sighed and the sound made Aubrey’s blood run cold. But
instead of more scolding she said, “I understand. You seemed to have a lot on
your mind when you were here. We’re all entitled to a personal life and
personal drama. But just once!”

“Yes! Just once. Lesson learned. I’m going to throw on some
shorts and sandals and get down to the men,” Aubrey said, grateful for a
legitimate excuse to get off the phone.

“I’ll call down and tell them to expect you shortly and to have
a coffee at the hotel’s bar on us.”

“Yes. Thank you, Gail. Thank you. And I am so, so—”

“Save it, Aubrey,” Gail said. “Just take me some fierce
pictures.”

Aubrey chuckled even though it hurt her head. “No worries. I
can do that.”

She twisted her hair up in a messy knot, brushed her teeth,
brushed on some bronzer and lip gloss. The entire time she hunted for clothes
and cameras she muttered, “I’m late, I’m late…” like the March Hare. But she
felt more like the Mad Hatter.

While coffee brewed in the teeny tiny complimentary pot in
her room she scrounged for clothes. Denim shorts, a blousy cool bohemian top,
gold sandals and her camera bag, a hastily doctored cup of joe and she was out
the door, locking up behind her. Her first order after meeting the models was
to grab a damn latte and a whole bottle of aspirin. Her head pounded and she
cursed the lovely red wine she’d been praising the night before.

Aubrey realized that her quiet night of shutting down—no
social media, no e-mails, not texts and no phones—had been more harm than good.
She’d managed to drink a bottle of wine, watch lovers walk along the beach and
feel sorry for herself. Then she’d managed to settle down with a well-worn copy
of
Summer of Night
by Dan Simmons and scare the bejesus out of herself.

Now she stepped out of the elevator, still feeling its weird
rocking sway, and tried to locate her men. Wasn’t too hard considering there
were four young, buff guys in the lobby, clutching coffee cups with facial
expressions that ranged from bored to annoyed.

Aubrey brushed her hair back from her eyes, straightened her
shoulders and took a deep breath. She was in charge. She was the boss. Best to
force herself to look the part. No matter how shitty she felt.

She managed to find the folded-up list she’d printed from
Gail’s e-mail in her leather satchel and cleared her throat. They all continued
to stare at her, looking a bit confused. “Tyler May, Daniel Rice, Cyrus Green
and James Simpson?”

They all stood, looking easily gorgeous despite the
annoyance of having to wait. “Good,” she said. “Now who’s Tyler?”

He raised his hand. Tyler was blond, buff and corn-fed. He
tossed his coffee in the nearby trash bin and shoved his hands in his navy-blue-pinstriped
surfer-boy shorts.

“I’m Tyler.” He spoke strongly.
So a bit alpha. Good.

“You’re my Mr. January. Can you come stand by me, please?”
Aubrey was impressed with the steel in her voice. She really wanted to whisper
and then lie down on the lobby sofa and curl up and wait to die. Instead she
said, “Where’s Daniel?”

Daniel raised a finger and waggled it at her. He even
managed a small unsure smile. Oh he was a beauty, Aubrey thought. Sun-kissed
skin, sharp blue eyes surrounded by a fringe of dark, dark lashes. His hair
bordered on black, but not quite. His body was lean, muscles built from time
outdoors, not a regular workout routine. His pale-blue swim trunks hovered low
on lean hips and the t-shirt he wore looked as if he’d had it forever. Overall,
the effect was beach perfection.

“Right. Hello, Mr. February. Come stand over here. I’m
Aubrey, I’m your photographer.”

She swigged her coffee and willed it to give her a caffeine
boost. She just needed to make it through the next few hours and then she could
crawl back into the hotel’s comfy bed and cover her head.

“Now…Cyrus.” She turned her eyes to her two remaining men
and the one with bottomless brown eyes and a nice dusting of stubble on his
chin stepped forward. The way he carried himself said military to her.

“Yes ma’am.”

Oh yeah. Military.

“Marine?” she asked. Her brother-in-law was a Marine. She
knew a jarhead when she saw one.

“Yes ma’am. How did you know?”

“My sister’s husband,” she said.

She studied his still-close-cut hair and smiled. “You are
Mr. March. Wow, that’s appropriate, eh? Bet you know your way around a march.”

He chuckled. “Yes ma’am.” He stepped into line and she
turned her eyes to James Simpson. His pale hair was so blond it looked almost
white, his eyes the sharp crystalline color of polished emeralds. How fucking
cliché. But it was true, so she simply smiled at him.

“That leaves you, James, as Mr. April. How do you feel about
a bunny tail?”

He made a startled sound and she couldn’t help but laugh at
him good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry. I’m only kidding. None of that shtick around
here. No worries.”

Aubrey downed some more coffee and said, “I have a rental
van. Anyone know where this is?” She handed them a paper with an address on it.

“I do,” Cyrus the Marine said.

“Good. You drive. I’ll ride shotgun. That will give me time
to shake this off,” she muttered.

“A bit of a hangover, ma’am?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, yes. And don’t call
me ma’am. Please. It makes me feel old. And being on the cusp of death makes me
feel old enough as it is.”

He grinned at her. “Yes ma—” Then he cocked his head.

“Aubrey,” she supplied. “Aubrey is fine.”

“Yes, Aubrey,” he amended.

Together they went out to find her van.

She figured she must look like the world’s strangest day-care
provider. She and four buff young men climbing into the silver minivan that practically
screamed soccer mom. She snorted, covered her face and then even though she
could feel all four of them staring at her, took a swig of her coffee.

“You know you have a GPS,” Cyrus said helpfully.

“I do now,” she said as Cyrus put the van into gear. “I
don’t have one at home. Never had. So I really don’t know what I have in this
van. Other than Misters January through April. Off we go.”

Cyrus backed out of the assigned hotel spot and followed
directions. Before Aubrey knew it—despite the distraction of pastel houses and
all kinds of human wildlife—he’d found the location.

“Oh my,” Aubrey said.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Cyrus said.

“Beyond. I’m not really a heat and sand and waves kind of
girl. Not much anyway. But even I could get used to this.”

“Do we have props?” Mr. April asked.

“Just you, beauties,” she said, smiling. “We have the beach
and the sun and the trees and whatever else we can scrounge around here. There
will be no makeup and no fussing and no hairdos.” She grinned in the rearview
mirror at the young man. “This isn’t
Sports Illustrated
, James. This is
Checkered Horse. Which means no budget but good experience. And hopefully some
fun.”

Her phone burbled just as they were all climbing out. She
shielded the screen and saw Bradlee’s icon—a small witch. The text said
Are
you with buff men?