A Gentleman in the Street (7 page)

“I didn’t want it to get wet if it rained.”

She accepted the bag, eyeing the store name. “What is it? Cookie butter and artisanal marmalade?”

“What’s cookie butter?”

Shaking her head, she placed the bag on her desk and reached inside. “Tell me, Jacob, is your life utterly devoid of all joy and pleasu—?” Her fingers brushed against something wooden, and she froze, unable to do anything but stare at the man in front of her. Unable to hope.

He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I didn’t know about it when you came to see me. Mei gave it to Kati.” His lips twisted. “Told her to keep it a secret from me and use what was inside to pay for her education.”

Of course her mother had given the box to Kati. A final
fuck you
to Akira.
You weren’t good. You don’t get what you want.

The worst part was Akira was certain her mother didn’t fancy Kati as the daughter she should have had. The woman had been fond of the Campbell family, that might be true, because of her nostalgic memories of their father and because they were quiet and humble and respectable, but she’d never particularly wanted any children. No, this had been a convenient gesture, a way to screw around with Akira without having to leave her sickbed. All she’d had to do was target the weakest link.

Had her mother handed Kati the contents of her entire safe, Akira wouldn’t have quibbled. Hell, Mei had earned every penny of wealth she had extracted from Hiro Mori as his wife of three years. She reserved the right to leave it, and the larger fortune it had grown into, to whomever she wished.

But this box had been Hana’s. It should have been Akira’s the second Hana passed away, as her grandmother had intended. It would have been hers, if the elderly woman had had a will. If her mother hadn’t snatched the box away and hidden it. If Akira hadn’t been a dumb nineteen-year-old and used a better attorney than her mother’s when she’d tried to get it back from her.

The ifs had run around in her brain far too long. Time to end them.

She pulled out a mahogany box decorated on each side with dozens of narrow, inch-long panels in varying shades of brown. She nudged one panel, and it moved, though stiffly.
The box
was heavy and sturdy, the wood warm, as if it were capable of retaining the heat of those who had previously touched it.

Jacob shifted. “I didn’t open it… I don’t really know how it opens. You can check, if you want, to make sure whatever’s in it is still there.”

“I can’t open it. Not yet,” she said absently. There was something inside. She could hear it when she tilted the box.

I got it, Ba-chan. It’s mine now, finally.

Her grandmother had been dead for fifteen years. She was never going to pat Akira on the back the way she used to, with her soft hands.

However, those hands had curled around this box. They had shown it to a fascinated young Akira, adeptly manipulated the panels on the sides.

Akira ran her fingers lightly over the panels. Two hundred and twenty-six. Two hundred and twenty-six moves until she could get inside. Her eyes stung, and her nostrils flared. She knew it looked weird, but she lifted the box to her nose and inhaled. Surely she imagined a hint of baby powder clung to the item?

“Are you crying?”

What? No, she was not crying.

Don’t do it.
Not in front of Jacob. She would rather the man find her disgusting than pity her.

Distantly, she was aware her legs had weakened, that Jacob was suddenly at her side, his hand lighting on her arm, steadying her none-too-graceful slide to the floor. The softness of her expensive rug cushioned her butt.

“Akira.” Jacob crouched in front of her. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

Yes.
Her mouth moved. She was certain of it. But nothing came out.

A vertical line formed between his dark eyebrows. The hand on her biceps grew more sure, smoothing down her arm to touch her fingers, which were wrapped tight around the wood. He tugged at the box and eased it from her grip, setting it to the side before his much larger digits returned to curl around hers. “You’re like ice. I don’t like this.”

Too bad.

She was like ice. It was in her veins. Ice in her veins. Steel in her…

His arm slipped around her, and he adjusted her with no discernable effort, arranging her so her bottom was now resting against his lap instead of the rug.

He was…hugging her.

Akira didn’t really seek out hugs from anyone, though she didn’t shove away embraces from people she liked.

But Jacob hugging her was a whole other kettle of fish. This was crazy and dumb and fraught with peril.

His big hand skated up her back, subtly massaging her spine.

His concern slipped over her like liquid warmth, and she closed her eyes, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, swaying into the seductiveness of the moment. In a second. She would pull away in a second.

A second passed. A minute ticked by, and then another, and another. Later, she wouldn’t be able to remember how long they sat there, wrapped in each other and cloaked in silence.

Her eyelashes fluttered open when he shifted, and she stiffened. Jesus. He probably had places to be and things to do. So did she. Yet she was just sitting here like an idiot, wrapped up in his big, solid arms.

“I apologize for this scene,” she whispered.

“A scene is swimming naked in an Italian fountain.”

“I’ve done that.”

“I know.”

She would have called that a dig, but he was speaking softly, his hand still making subtle patterns over her back.

A joke. Was he joking with her? Cranky, scowling Jacob was joking with her?

She was so startled she leaned back, unable to get far due to his hold on her. He looked down at her, his ever-present disapproval gone, replaced by something strange and soft. “Akira.”

He’d never said her name like that.

She licked her lips. “What?”

He frowned, but it was more perplexed than angry. “I have to…” His hand came up and touched her cheek. The fresh calluses on his palm rasped her skin as he clumsily brushed away the damnable wetness. “There,” he said. He spoke so low, she had to duck her head closer to hear him. “Better.”

His task was finished, but he didn’t leave her. His thumb remained, moving an infinitesimal amount. Stroking her flesh.

Her world narrowed to focus on every point of contact they shared, his intent gaze burning a hole into her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose when his index finger grazed her jaw.

Her head turned toward the subtle pressure. Not much. Enough so his thumb could bump the corner of her lips. Dark lust flashed through his gaze, his lids falling to half-mast.

He was the one who twitched, his finger gliding over her lower lip, coming to a rest against the center. Acting on instinct, her tongue flicked out, making contact with his skin. It was a tease, not nearly enough to gain any kind of grasp of his taste. She could retain plausible deniability when he jerked away and dumped her off his lap.

He didn’t chastise her or shove her off for daring to corrupt his offering of platonic comfort. Instead, his thumb remained against the cushion of her lower lip
.

And then exerted the smallest amount of pressure.

His fingers were on her mouth, not her clit, but her thighs clenched, arousal making her wet and squirmy. Her mouth opened, puffs of breaths warming his finger.

He gave a wordless exclamation when she sucked him in. She couldn’t break their gaze. There was too much going on in those expressive eyes: shock, nervousness, heat. Yet…not an ounce of disgust.

She grasped his wrist and sucked his finger like she would suck his cock, hungry for at least this piece of him. Her head bobbed, pulling him in all the way, again and again, until he was shifting beneath her, his face tight and distressed. A hardness had grown against her ass, but her position was too awkward for her to fully experience it.

Disappointment assailed her when he jerked his finger out of her, her suction so tight, there was a pop of noise. She supposed she would never get to explore his cock now. Or really, any of him, because if this didn’t chase him away forever, she’d be stunned. Akira struggled to regain her usual attitude, make it clear she was entirely unaffected. “Don’t you know? You have to kiss it to make it better—”

His lips slammed down on hers and cut off her words.

For a split second, she could only sit, stunned, as his mouth moved on hers. What. The. Fuck.

Had she ever been kissed like this? Had he ever kissed like this? Because he kissed like he hadn’t tasted a woman in forty years, like she was the last woman on earth. He kissed like there would be no beginning or end without her.

He kissed her like he…wanted her.

Fucking. Hot.

All of the stress of the day, of the morning, of the last six months converged until nothing existed except for his big body, his lips and tongue, his calloused hands, and the scent of him wrapped around her.

So long. She’d waited so long for this.

You weren’t good. You don’t get what you want.

She shoved the annoying, smug voice away and concentrated on the moment, twining her arms around his neck and throwing herself into this kiss that was somehow sexier than full-on fucking.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, rubbing against hers, exploring her. His beard was surprisingly soft against her skin. She had imagined he would be gentle and hesitant, but his hands were as greedy and grasping as his mouth as they roved over her back, tugging and coaxing and pulling her until she was straddling him, his palms cradling her ass.

The position was awkward, her snug skirt constricting her. Jacob was a master problem-solver, breaking their kiss to run his hand down her legs and then back up, forcing the fabric up to her waist. Breathing hard, she took in his saliva-slick lips, his focused concentration, the pants making his chest rise and fall. She had to reassure herself she was indeed kissing
Jacob
, and she hadn’t wandered into some strange wonderland where bearded giants stormed her office to fuck her.

Not that they were fucking.

Yet.

His eyes skated down her body, and she followed his gaze to where her black panties were revealed by her hiked-up skirt. He guided her up, and they both groaned as his jeans-clad dick notched against her pussy. Had she thought he was large before? No, that must have been before he was fully erect.

Jackpot.

Gone. She wanted the barriers between them removed. Nothing was more important at the moment than getting his cock inside her and getting off. She ground down on him, his cock forcing her wet panties against her folds.

“Akira…”

No, she didn’t want them to talk. Talking would bring reality, and she wasn’t prepared for that. She captured his lower lip between her teeth, biting it hard enough to bring a growl from his chest.

Her hands went to his fly, but before she could unbutton him he launched up, spilling her to her back.

She rose on her elbows, ready to fight for what she wanted so badly. Feeling small and delicate was an unusual thing for her, but he was massive as he loomed over her, his arms bracketing her body. His gaze met hers, and the dark, fierce intensity of his arousal stunned her.

Her lips parted. “Don’t stop.” That wasn’t her, surely. She didn’t beg anyone to fuck her.

He shook his head once, but didn’t respond. His fingers went to the neckline of her blouse. She expected him to undo the buttons, opening her slowly to his gaze.

The silk of her blouse disintegrated, ripped off with a few hard tugs. Startled, she let out a squeal and slapped her hand over her mouth.

He didn’t notice. All of his attention was on her breasts. Her bra fared a bit better than her shirt, because he only shoved the material down until her tits were propped on the shelf of her bra.

His head lowered, and he licked a circle around her areola before he sucked the nipple in, drawing on it hard. A cry fell from her lips when he backed off, but it was only to lick his way to her other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

She planted one foot on the floor and twined the other leg around his waist, arching up in a desperate effort to relieve the pressure building inside her.

His hand steadied her hips, holding her still. “Shh.”

“I need…”

“I know what you need. I’ll give it to you.”

She stopped straining, stunned by the way her body instantly responded to the certainty in his voice. His hot mouth traveled over her breasts and down her belly, biting the flesh above her navel when she shifted. Halting, she tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.
What the hell is happening?

Even when she permitted a man to treat her roughly or she played at being submissive, she was in charge, not him. She was the one initiating and directing the action.

She just needed relief so badly. That was all. Everything would go back to normal once she came.

His hand brushed over the gusset of her panties. One thick knuckle pushed inside of her, rasping the silk over her clit, wetting the fabric. She whimpered, spreading her legs wider in an effort to tempt him into touching her deeper. He grasped the waistband of her underwear.

Rip it.

She suppressed a smidgen of disappointment he didn’t go into barbarian mode on the panties, but instead worked them down. The second they cleared her ankles, he tossed them aside before using his grip on her inner thighs to push her legs open farther.

His dark head was level with her cunt, his wet lips so close she could feel every breath he exhaled. His focus was where she needed it to be, on her pussy.

His gaze flashed up to hers, giving her a much-needed reassurance she wasn’t the only one of them who wasn’t acting like themselves. Gone was the controlled, distant man she had known for so long, the man who wouldn’t commit a fleshly sin even if his life depended on it. His eyes were hot, filled with passion and longing and need. Bearded and wild-haired, every trapping of civilization had disappeared.

He slipped two digits over her pussy, finding her as wet as she’d ever been. His fingers widened into a V, opening her up to him. “Don’t let anyone hear you.”