Something's Come Up (8 page)

“Jesus, Steph,” I was as out of breath as I ever was at the gym as she slyly sat up with a self-satisfied grin on her face, “your mouth could cause a ten-car pileup.”

Steph pressed the button for the window, moving it all the way down as I zipped and buttoned my pants. She twisted in her seat, sticking her feet out of the window, crossing her ankles as she leaned back and put her head on my lap.

My hands froze for a moment, unsure where to go. It was hard to tell with Steph what she would interpret as too intimate, but I brought a hand to her face and glided my thumb across her bottom lip. When it hit the center of her mouth, she parted her lips and sucked on the tip of my thumb, repeating some of the same movements she’d performed on me only minutes before. It felt just as intense, and I closed my eyes, taking a slow, deep breath.

A moment later I felt Steph’s hand move to the stereo, and the lyrics of Jay-Z’s
Empire State of Mind
filled the car.

“Feeling nostalgic?” I looked down at her and smiled, running the edge of my hand along her cheek.

She shrugged, her expression conflicted. “I don’t have nostalgia.”

“Bullshit,” I challenged. “That’s exactly what led you to my door and damn it if I’m not glad it did.”

For the remainder of the song, Steph and I sang along softly and I coasted through memories of some of the best months of my time in the city. Silently, of course, since Steph would kick me in the balls and walk back to Boston if I regaled her with tangible memories.

As the song ended, Steph smiled, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, the smile reached her soulful eyes.

“You’ve got an excellent mouth, Red.”

“I’d ask you how I did,” she licked her lips, all romance gone from her voice, “but it seems like a rhetorical question.”

I playfully tweaked her chin as she sat back up, drawing her feet back into the car but leaving the window down.

“Let’s get to Barnstable.” I put the car in drive and directed us back onto the highway.

As we coasted in silence, we passed through several towns just starting their fireworks shows. Instinctively, each time there was a green flare, I let my eyes wander to Steph, whose skin and hair came to life under that light.

Get your shit together, Pace. She’s just here for one night.

I intended to make the rest of tonight count for all it could. And more.

 

I
woke grudgingly, alone in my California King bed. Stretching with a deeply satisfied sigh, my hands pressed against the padded headboard. I grinned and bit my swollen lips as I recalled the faces she made as her head bounced against the padding the night before. Feeling the threat of a morning erection, I tried to think about the Red Sox. I wasn’t in the mood to take a cold shower. Baseball wasn’t working, so I squelched it with thoughts of other heinous things, but it wasn’t easy. For the past two weeks, Red and I had been getting to know one another in every conceivable position, and even some quite inconceivable. A self-satisfied smile overtook me. Though, to her credit, it wasn’t all
self
-satisfied. That woman knew her game. And mine, it seemed. Seeing her all trussed up from time to time made it all worth it. Especially when she trussed me in return.

I had never been more comfortable with a give-and-take than I was with her. Probably because she gave with the same intensity she took. I’d never found anyone like her before, and while I was certain I wouldn’t again, I was careful not to let myself feel too needy about it. I had school to get through and a fuck of a court case on my hands if I played my cards right.

CNN. Court TV. A book deal if I won, which I fully intended to. All of it. The last thing I’d need would be a needy girl on the side. Someone like Red would be perfect, but keeping her around for a few years seemed unlikely. That girl was a hurricane and I was a volcano. We couldn’t exist in the same space for long without major damage on all sides. No matter how spectacular the collision seemed.

Assuming Red had snuck out in her typical pre-dawn fashion, I rolled over and sprawled out so that I lay diagonally across the mattress. This was my favorite way to sleep—alone and unconventionally, stretching each muscle I’d worked the night before and every other one she worked into the early hours.

As I skated the edge of sleep, I felt wandering fingers trailing down my sacrum and sliding under the sheets to stroke the flesh of my ass.

“I thought you were gone.” I tried to hide all nuance of pleasure from my voice. Inside, I was shocked. It was the first morning since I’d been in to her place at The Dakota that she’d still been around at sunrise.

“I was hungry,” she replied, crunching on something. I rolled over and couldn’t contain my amusement saw her wearing nothing but my favorite Red Sox t-shirt. It was a green one that offset her hair in a way that brought my mediocre morning erection to full salute. She looked innocent swallowed up in soft cotton. Even more juvenile was the one pound bag of Peanut M&M’s clutched in her tiny hand.

“Ah, chocolate. The breakfast of champions. I’m kinda surprised it’s not shortcake,” I mused, and the corner of her mouth twitched as she popped another in her mouth. “Every time I eat it I think of you, ya know—round, creamy, juicy and
tart.
”

I reached out and grabbed the tail of the t-shirt, tugging her toward me. She gamely jumped onto my bed and crawled up to my pillow to meet me. She held out and one of the candies—a red one; I let her feed it to me.

“These Peanut M&M’s remind me of you,” she replied, sounding far too saccharine to be believed.

“Is that so?” I asked, waiting for the punch line.

“Yep. Hard and shiny on the outside...rich on the inside…
and
melts in my mouth.” She kissed me delicately, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Then
oh so hard
again…underneath….”

I laughed deep in my throat. She was astute, I’d give her that. But, I’d learned several things about the mysterious Stephanie Brier since I’d had my frat brother, Jay, check into her. Jay had been the editor of the school paper at Princeton and was now a fact checker for the
New York Times
, so he was the perfect contact. I hadn’t been able to get Stephanie out of my mind since that first night after The Rack; the way she responded with nothing more than an erotic sigh when I open hand smacked her ass, the way she clenched enthusiastically around me when my hand wrapped around her throat. I found that I got a raging hard-on every time saw a woman with red hair, and I knew I
had
to have her again. But after her detached disinterest, I’d been hesitant to approach her a second time without more ammunition.

None of what I learned contradicted my first impression of her in the slightest, but it served to make me a lot more apprehensive. Her father, Adam Brier, was the owner and Editor-in-Chief of
The Sound Wave
, one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the United States. Her mother, Moira Wilson Brier, had passed away several years ago, but before her death, she had been one of the most influential rock and roll photographers of the last two decades. Stephanie seemed to slide right in to the family business. It was a decision I could respect, having had to toil over whether or not to follow in my father’s footsteps.

When Red was still in high school, she was already one of the most sought after cover photographers in the music industry. The biography Jay provided was so preposterous I made him produce the links for me. I scrolled through page after page of her portfolio in disbelief. I
owned
several CDs that featured her photographs. I was sleeping with a phenom—in more ways than one. Jay was so good at what he did, he even managed to locate her email address for me. I owed him one.

In the past two weeks since I’d emailed her and we’d met at The Rack, I’d learned a lot more about her sexual tastes, but that was about it. One fact crystallized: she was definitely the least sentimental girl I’d ever known. By appearances, she was
all
woman, but she moved around in the world like a man who had his eye on the prize and didn’t give a fuck who he stepped on to get it. While I initially admired this attribute, as the days passed, I was really starting to despise it. Sure, it meant great things for me between the sheets, most of the time, but, let’s be honest. I’m a man’s man. Born with a quiver full of testosterone, I was depleting my store at an alarming rate with Steph. She was wearing me down. I had to get my head back in the game.

Only I had the feeling this was shaping up to be much more than your Candyland style hookup. This wasn’t going to be short and sweet, by any means. She was going to go all Dungeons and Dragons on me, all chainmail and daggers. I could feel it underneath her fingernails and it excited me.

“So it’s Sunday morning. Shouldn’t you be headed off to church or something?” I teased, preempting her need to make excuses for why we never had breakfast together...or lunch...or dinner...or even coffee.

She always had a reason we couldn’t hang out. She had no interest in meeting for drinks, going to a movie, or any of the various other suggestions I’d made. If I didn't know better, I’d think she was embarrassed to be seen with me, but since Red didn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion, I was pretty sure that wasn’t the issue.

“I haven’t set foot in a church except on Christmas or Easter since I was kicked out of parochial school.” She laughed, spilling half of the M&Ms on my expensive sheets. I’d tossed girls out of my place for much less, but I had no intention of scolding her when she was in such a sharing mood.

“You? Parochial school? No fucking way.” Suddenly interested in much more than the way her hips moved, I sat up, pulling my blanket over my lap, which slid her closer to me.

A snide look crossed her lovely face. “Oh, yeah. Catholic school. I made it as far as freshman year. My confirmation name is Stephanie Bonnie Mary Magdalene Brier.”

I pursed my lips in distaste. “Your parents must have hated you.”

She smiled, seeming to be genuinely amused. “Hey! I got to pick the Mary Magdalene. She was by far the most interesting character in
that
book.”

“So you got bounced by Mother Superior?”

She shrugged as if to say “whatcha ya gonna do?” “I was always on borrowed time at private school. I spent every morning in the office having the length of my skirt measured for appropriateness. The nuns
loved
me. I was their favorite project.”

My eyebrow twitched and I traced the length of her inner thigh with my palm. My lips found her collarbone irresistible. I moved in and planted several wet kisses along its length. “You...in a Catholic school girl outfit. I want to see that.”

Her hand caressed my hair and slid down the back of my neck. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “It’s good to want. It builds character.”

“Will you do it for me?” I reached between her legs and palmed her warmth between them.

“What?” She gasped, arching against my palm.

“Wear the outfit.” My voice sounded like a kid begging for candy. I hated that my need was showing, but it was such a worthy cause.

She placed her hand over mine and moved it rhythmically. “Hell no.”

I yanked my hand away immediately and she objected with a choked groan.
Dungeons and Dragons.

“So why’d you get kicked out?” I expected to be proudly regaled with a tale of her social deviance. Instead, I watched a storm gather behind her blue-green eyes. She wasn’t playing now. I knew I’d struck gold and had a shot at finding out something real about her.

She promptly sat up and retreated to the edge of the bed. Though by now you’d think I’d be used to such swings in temperament, her sudden change in demeanor startled me. “It’s not important.”

“
Tell me
.” People always did what I asked when I used the voice. You know the one, a little lower than necessary, with just enough emotion to draw your eyes to my mouth. Then, compelled, people listened to the words that came from it. And acted. With Red, it was a crapshoot whether it would have the desired effect.

She said nothing, but remained perched on the side of the bed. I inched toward her and brushed her long hair out of the way to get at her alabaster neck, deciding to try sugar in lieu of vinegar.

“Come on, Red. I really want to know. Given that blindfold last night, do you really want my imagination to create the story?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” The frank vulnerability behind the question made me pause.

I pulled back from her neck and she locked eyes with me. I raised my eyebrows. “No.”

She smiled a wry and terrible smile that didn’t reach her eyes and I figured I was going to get a press conference version of events.

“Touché, Carrington. I was expelled for bullying and sexual harassment. Now you know. There were several other accusations and a laundry list of previous offenses, of course.”

I pictured her being marched out of some upper class institution in handcuffs dressed like a Japanese anime school girl, and I dissolved in hearty guffaws. To her credit, she calmly waited it out, her expression both amused and conflicted. It was obvious to me that she was ashamed of this fact for some reason that I may never have enough information to understand.