Sheltering His Desire (11 page)

She nodded behind her, but didn’t break his
grip. “I’ll be in the living room, watching TV.”

“Do we have the new landing page?” Jared
asked.

Alyssia shook her head, and stepped out of
Tate’s reach. “Good luck.”

Tate wanted to chase her. He forced himself
to unmute his phone instead. “Yeah. ETA to deploy, five minutes.”
He dove back into the grind, picking at his food, even after it
went cold. The light outside faded, and computer clock told him it
was after ten when they finally declared the day a success.

“This saved my project, and my ass today,”
Tate said, as he and Jared wrapped everything up.

“You’re welcome. You owe me.”

“Bullshit. This is you paying me back for
that all-nighter in Vegas.” The weekend Jared and Mikki met had led
to a major crisis for the company as well. All of them had pulled
an all-nighter to bring things back under control.

“Fine.” Jared laughed. “You okay to make it
home? Sleep in your
own
bed?”

Tate forced himself to ignore the emphasized
word. “It’s only ten. I’m not an old man. But now that you mention
it… the couch here looks pretty comfy.” A twinge in his neck
reminded him he’d spent last night there, and that might not
actually be true. Then again, he’d only slept a few hours, and he’d
been hunched over a computer all day.

“I’m glad we got this sorted,” Jared said.
“And at least as glad you’re not serious.”

Tate ignored the lack of conviction in his
best friend’s voice. “Totally. Night, man.” He disconnected, and
leaned back in the chair. Exhaustion, combined with Jared’s
half-joke, summoned a doubt Tate had managed to suppress since last
night. What was he doing? Carrying on like this wasn’t helping
either of them. He should have gone home this morning. Or last
night. Whatever he was doing with Alyssia wasn’t going anywhere.
How had he justified it to himself?

So why did knowing that ache in his joints,
and rattle uncomfortably in his head?

“How’d it go?” Lys’s soft question startled
him. “Sorry to interrupt. I heard you hang up.”

He whirled to find her standing in the door.
The way she leaned against the frame accentuated her lithe figure,
and he let his gaze trip over her curves. “It’s fixed. We’ll put
more permanent measures in place on Tuesday.”

She hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of
her shorts, pulling just low enough to tease. “So what now?”

She wasn’t talking about work. He didn’t need
to clarify with her. That didn’t make his answer come any easier,
though. He needed to tell her he was leaving. Thank her for
everything. Walk out the front door, and dial all the flirting back
to zero. The words repeated in his thoughts on fast-forward until
they were a scrambled mess of squeals. He was exhausted, still
wearing the same clothes he’d been in yesterday, and hadn’t had
more than four hours of sleep any given night in the last
several.

But watching Lys’s chest rise and fall with
each breath. The way she chewed her bottom lip. The tick of her
thumbs against her bare stomach. It sent a new rush of energy
through him, and the reminder they had unfinished business from
this morning. He crossed the room, and rested a hand at the back of
her neck. Lilacs teased him, and her warm skin against his palm
jerked his senses to life. He brushed his lips over hers. “I was
thinking this time, you join me in the shower.”

Tomorrow. He’d walk away tomorrow.

They shed their clothes quickly between
Alyssia’s office, and the bathroom. When she bent over to turn on
the water, Tate glided a hand up her thigh, and over her ass,
cupping the cheek.

She sighed and leaned into him, pressing her
bare back against his chest. She wouldn’t linger on how right this
all felt, just on how good. He drew his palm up her stomach, and
between her breasts, though he never touched them. He rested his
hand at the base of her neck, and held her tight. Every touch was
another claim staked on her skin. Another searing mark holding them
together.

He drew back the shower curtain and nudged
her into the tub. Seconds later, he stood behind her again, as the
hot water sluiced over them. She reached behind her to grab the
hard length pressing into her butt.

He grabbed her wrist with a, “Tsk,” and then
kissed up the side of her neck, lips vibrating against her skin.
“Patience.”

She ground against him, satisfied when his
erection jerked in response. “I’ll try.”

He reached over her shoulder, grabbed the
body wash, and poured a generous dollop into his hand before
setting the bottle back on its shelf. A shock of cold raced over
her when he rested his hand on her stomach again, and she
squeaked.

“Sorry.” He sounded anything but. “I guess we
need to warm it up.” He drew his palms over her skin. Up her chest,
down her thighs, everywhere but the bits of her aching to be
touched. She gasped when he trailed along the back of her legs,
behind the knees, and groaned when he slipped over the insides of
her wrists. With her entire body begging to be touched, new
erogenous zones spread everywhere. She cried out when he finally
cupped her breasts, and a new spark of pleasure filled her.

“God, I love your tits.” His grip slid over
her skin. “Gorgeous, pink nipples. Perky.” He squeezed, and she
squirmed in pleasure. “Sensitive.” He kept one hand on her chest,
and the other slipped lower. “But this.” He pushed between her
folds. “What do you sound like when you’re not worried about
someone hearing you scream when you come?”

She swayed her hips against his touch.
“You’re welcome to find out.”

He pulled away from her clit. “I was hoping
you’d say that.” He moved both hands to cup her ass, and slid a
finger between her thighs. Soap slithered down her skin, pooled at
her feet, and then washed down the drain.

He reached over her, and grabbed the shower
head. “I’ve always wondered, if you get the full enjoyment out of
this.”

Embarrassment and a new level of arousal
pulsed between her legs. She fought the desire to confess he was
frequently the focus of those fantasies. “I might.”

He moved the head along her skin, letting the
water flow over her, and rinse away the soap. He nudged one of her
legs forward with his knee, and brought the shower head to rest
between her thighs. “God, I’d like to watch that sometime.”

The idea of putting on a show for Tate pooled
in her belly, tugging at some of her more vivid fantasies of him
walking in on her. With the water pounding against her clit, his
other hand still sliding between her legs from behind, and the
vivid pictures in her mind, orgasm threatened her senses.

He pulled away before she climaxed. “Not
yet.” He whispered.

She liked this teasing. She took the
showerhead from him, replaced it, and filled her own palm with
soap. “Your turn.” She whirled to face him.

He raised his brows. “What did you have in
mind?”

“It’s a shower. So, getting clean.” She tried
to repeat what he’d done just a few moments ago. Soaping over his
chest, up his legs, everywhere but his stiff shaft.

He leaned a hand on the tile, and lowered his
head until his forehead met hers. “You’re killing me, Lys. I need
your hands wrapped around my cock.”

His groan when she obliged tickled all her
senses. She kept her grip loose, stroking slowly, deliberately,
sliding over every inch of his member. He lifted her chin, and
crushed his lips to hers, devouring her. Driving the kiss through
her. He broke away, and held her gaze. “Turn around.”

“I don’t—”

“Turn around.” He emphasized each word.

A pleasant shudder filled her at the command
in his voice, and she spun away from him. He placed his hand
between her shoulder blades, and pushed. She took the hint, bending
at the waist, and pressed her hand against the edge of the tub for
support.

“I can’t behave around you.” The head of his
cock slid down the crack of her ass, then nudged her pussy. She let
out a loud cry when he thrust inside without any further fanfare.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. So slippery.” His words were punctuated by
groans.

He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the
skin, leaving more invisible marks. Each time he pounded against
her, he hit something inside. Striking the pleasure spot hard,
fast, and frantic. The orgasm she’d been drawn back from rushed
forward again, and she teetered on the edge.

His other hand reached around her. When he
bumped her clit, climax washed away her thoughts. It rushed over
her, and penetrated every inch of her mind and body. She lost
herself in the hard grinding from behind, and was only vaguely
aware of him coming. Grunting and filling her.

Her senses slowly drifted back in, and her
legs wobbled. He helped her stand, and pulled her back into him
again.

He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed
her neck. “Dirtiest shower I’ve ever had.”

She chuckled, and pulled his arms tighter,
sinking into the embrace. Burning the moment into her memories.

When they caught their breath, they finished
showering. This time Tate was tender as he rinsed her off, and she
returned the favor. They toweled off, and she led him back into the
bedroom.

He tugged her into the bed, wrapped himself
around her, and pulled the blanket over them both. He didn’t speak,
and she didn’t dare shatter the moment by saying anything. If she
could only have him for right now, she was going to enjoy the
moment for all it was worth. Tomorrow, when he had to leave, she’d
deal with that. Right now, he was still here.

****

Tate extracted himself from Lys’s sleeping
form. She frowned in her sleep and rolled over. An ache spread
inside him, knowing that he had to walk away. Which was exactly the
reason he needed to leave. He shouldn’t have mixed business with
pleasure. He gave her one last look, resisted the urge to lean in
and kiss her on the forehead, and padded into the other room for
the change of clothes she’d brought him.

His brows rose, and curiosity tickled his
senses when he saw what she’d grabbed. On weekends—those he wasn’t
working anyway—he was a board shorts and T-shirt kind of guy. She’d
grabbed him a pair of jeans, and a black and white button-down
shirt with a dragon wrapped around the back and shoulders. He’d
completely forgotten he had it. Vivian had given it to him as a gag
gift.

And it planted a tiny, rebellious idea in his
head for tomorrow, at his parents’ Memorial Day barbeque. He
finished dressing, left Lys a note thanking her for everything—but
not saying anything else—and locked the door behind him on his way
out.

It was best this way. For her, probably for
him, and for the lucky, future Mister Alyssia Tippins.

*

Alyssia shuffled through her town house,
operating on autopilot. Her brain was spinning to grasp a thought,
a feeling, or something just out of her reach. Waking up alone in
bed left her conflicted. It wasn’t a new thing, or an unexpected
one, but it still drilled an empty pit into her thoughts.

She poured herself a glass of juice,
struggling to make sense of what was going on in her head. This was
who Tate was. For as long as she could remember, even being a girl
and playing house. At the time his actions had just been those of a
stupid boy who thought he was smarter than her because he was
older. He’d always boasted that he was never having a wife, or a
family, and that house was a dumb game for kids who thought
cartoons were real life.

Even though his delivery had changed, his
views hadn’t much. In fact, she’d never seen Tate
date
anyone. He occasionally made a tabloid page, if he hooked up with
the right celebrity, but he didn’t do repeats. He was adamant about
that.

Someone knocked on her front door and hope
surged inside. She beat it back. It wasn’t going to be Tate. What
was wrong with her? She was sucking big time at this staying
detached thing. She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to see
who it was. Despite her mental insistence, disappointment flooded
her when she saw a stranger on the other side of the peephole. She
opened the door.

The guy looked up from his clipboard. “I’m
looking for Lisa Tippins.”

“Alyssia.” She corrected him without thought.
Years ago, the mistake bothered her. She was used to it now.”

He handed her a stack of stapled, folded
papers. “You’re named as the defendant in the case of Bryce
Thompson versus Alyssia Tippins and the Great ‘n’ Small Animal
Shelter. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you…” She trailed off when he turned
away before she finished. His words sank in, and bile rose in her
throat. Thompson was suing her now? Crap. She unfolded the
complaint and scanned it. So much legalese. His lawyers probably
made more writing this letter than she did in a week. Her insides
knotted themselves until she couldn’t breathe. She plopped into the
middle of the floor, and folded her legs underneath herself. Calm
down. She needed to calm down.

When the spots stopped dancing in front of
her eyes, she read the letter again. It was so wordy, but as far as
she could tell, he was suing her for keeping the dog after he’d
brought it in for standard care, and for the slander and harassment
that accompanied her calling the cops on his son.

Fuck, this was so bad. She needed help. The
lawyer she kept on retainer would charge extra for a Sunday call.
What was she going to do? She forced herself to her feet, and found
her phone in the bedroom, on the nightstand. Her fingers were
pulling up a phone number before she registered whose it was. She
paused, thumb hovering over the
Dial
button, then cleared
Tate’s number from the screen. What was he going to do? It didn’t
make sense to call Jared, either. He’d be concerned, but it wasn’t
like he could do any more than tell her to call her attorney.