Body of Work (10 page)

He found the bottom of her skirt and yanked it up. A tiny triangle of black lace disappeared between her legs. He shoved it to one side and curled his hand over her smooth mound, sinking two fingers inside her body.

She wiggled against his hand. Seared him with her eyes. “Make me.” The words demanded, contradicting her whispered, begging tone.

“Make you what, move?” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Make you come?”

“Yes.”

A request he was more than happy to oblige. He caught her earlobe between his teeth. Bit it, making her gasp, then sucked it hard. The metal post from her earring dragged across his tongue, delivering a sting of pleasure. Like her teeth had given his cock last night.

He broke their contact with a half step backward. “Go sit on the bench.”

“But—”

One finger pressed to her lips silenced her. He narrowed his eyes—his best shot at not cracking a grin at her adorable fucking poutiness—and tilted his head at the bench between two banks of lockers. Goddamn, if she didn’t stomp over and plunk her cute, bare ass on the shellacked wood. How far would she let him take this?

He stepped between her legs, knocking them wider. Time to give her what she wanted. “Touch yourself.”

Both hands moved to her pussy—one spreading her lips to expose her clit, the other rubbing it in small, firm circles. Fucking heaven and hell. Her head rolled to her shoulder, a deep-pink glow staining her cheeks.

“Do you want me to come, or…?”

Not quite asking permission, but damn close. “Yeah, but not yet.” He slid his fist up and down his cock, getting harder every second her eyes devoured him.

The movements between her legs got jerky. She rubbed faster, harder. Her mouth fell open, filling the room and his head with her sounds. She was almost there. But he wasn’t done with her.

He forfeited the view and moved closer. “Suck me. I want to feel your sexy moan around my cock when you come.”

She didn’t just open for him, let him slide his cock in her mouth—she took him in greedily, gorging on his cock as if he’d given her the most delicious fucking treat of her life. Her eyebrows pinched together and her mouth clamped down on him, surrounding him with humming vibrations. Fuck. The tightening in his balls. The pressure building at the base of his cock. So close. Not yet. Not fucking yet.

Somehow, she took him deeper. Swallowed around him, the quick clutch of her throat pushing him over. “Fuck…so fucking good…” He gripped the back of her head and gave up control.

“Hey, Bri, you in here? Holy shit—sorry, man.” As fast as Craig had opened the door behind them, he left, clicking it shut.

Fuck. Brian locked his knees to keep them from buckling. Cassie stared up at him, her perfect mouth still milking the last pulses of his cock, nothing but pure desire in those beautiful eyes. Caught in the act yet she didn’t miss a beat. How’d he gotten so damn lucky?

“Come here.” He pulled her to a stand. Squatted in front of her and took his time straightening her clothes, prolonging the incredible sensation of her delicate fingers in his hair.

“Are you going to get in trouble—oh god, you’re not going to get fired because of me, are you?”

Of all the things she could have said, that was her question? He had to laugh. “No, not here, not for that.” She looked away, but he’d already seen the frown. “Hey,” he reached up and turned her face back to his, “Craig didn’t see you.” Whether that was totally true or not, he had no idea.

“I don’t care if he did, it’s—forget it.” She shook her head, deked around him before he could stand.

Here, this time, he had options. He wouldn’t let her slip through some door with things left unsaid. He snagged her by the waist and hauled her against his chest.

“You need to get back to work.”

“The hell I do. It’s what?”

“It was stupid. Nothing.”

Call him a perverted bastard, he liked the way she twisted in his arms. “Look at me. I’m not letting you go until you tell me.” And after that, he still didn’t plan to, not in a big-picture way.

She gave in with a huff, staring up with stormy eyes. “Jealousy, okay? To which I have no right, but there it is. Now let me go.”

Not a chance. The more she tried to break free, the more blood returned to his cock. “I want to talk to you, but you keep fighting me and I’m going to end up fucking you instead, so hard you’ll feel like I’m still inside you two days from now.”

“Okay.” She froze, but if he read her eyes right, she was agreeing to the latter as much as to talking.

“When you look at me that way, I can barely think straight.” He bowed his neck, pressed their foreheads together. “You have no reason to be jealous.”

“I know, that’s what I said.”

“No, not like that.” He blew out a breath. The staffroom at Blur is the last place he expected to spill his guts. “Cassie, you’re it.”

“Yay me, I beat out the blonde for pick of the night.”

“What blonde?”

“The one hanging all over you, the one you were kissing. Ring a bell?”

The cling-on from earlier. Interesting. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d kept eyes open out there. “She kissed me.”

She aimed an exaggerated eye roll directly at his face. “That’s original.”

Much as he liked Cassie feeling possessive about him, this was some twisted shit. “You’re jealous of some girl hitting on me—a girl who I walked away from, for the record—after what you’ve been doing?”

“I’ve been dancing off the fat grams from a bag of chips and kneeing a creep in the groin. You have a problem with those things?”

“Not those.” Good sense screamed at him to keep his big mouth shut, forget the rest. “I stopped by your house earlier to apologize and explain about that bullshit at the gym. Went around back. You had company—and an open door.”

The blood drained from her face and her eyes nearly burst from the sockets. Her bottom lip dropped and closed, more than once. But defend what he’d heard through that screen—not a word.

His
mouth on the other hand, not so quiet. “Might want to lock up next time, or maybe you don’t care who hears or sees.”

Again, she strained against his arms. This time, with serious determination. “We talked, we’re done here. Now let me go.”

Fuck. Thanks to the hotheadedness he’d inherited with the red hair, they’d jumped tracks. Hell, they weren’t even in the same station anymore. He couldn’t let her go yet, not with things between them on the express train to can’t-be-fixed. “I’m not done.”

“Let. Me. Go.” She wiggled and huffed until steam practically blew from her ears.

So wrong, smiling at her right now. Not his fault she owned the cute-mixed-with-sexy-fury thing. The madder she got, the more his anger seemed to fade. The harder she struggled to get away, the more he enjoyed holding her tight. He was definitely one fucked-up son of a bitch.

“You’re hurting me.”

The one thing in the world he couldn’t handle hearing. He released her fast enough that she staggered to catch her balance. “Sorry.” He dropped his chin, shook his head. Blindly found the doorknob and turned, pausing halfway through the doorframe without looking back at her. How could he? “I didn’t mean to—” This time, he shut his stupid fucking mouth. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just like it hadn’t mattered when he’d unintentionally injured Leanne. “I’m sorry. About all of it.”

* * * * *

“Crap, where is it?” The last time she’d checked her cell for any sign of contact from Brian, it’d been 3:30 a.m. and the darn thing had been tight in her palm. Now its ring tormented her from god-knows-where in the sofa. She sprang off the corduroy, kicking her chenille blanket to the floor in the process, and rooted furiously through cracks between the overstuffed cushions.

Found it, with half a ring to spare before the call redirected to voice mail. “Hello?”

“Morning there, gorgeous.”

“Sam?” Nice guy, hot guy, but not the male voice she wanted to hear. “Um, how did you get this number?”

“Invasion of Brian’s privacy.” A smooth chuckle drifted through the phone. “He called me after his shift at Blur last night, massively pissed off, and ended up punishing himself with rye before passing out on my couch. When he was snoring like an old hound, I looked you up in his cell contacts.”

“I can’t believe he doesn’t have it passcode protected.” She slapped her forehead. Of all the stuff Sam had spilled, she chose to comment on Brian’s phone. Good grief, airhead much?

“Oh, he has a code. I cracked it, pretty easily too. Like I said, invasion of privacy. I’m not above it if it’s for a good cause.”

Cassie squinted until the clock across the room came into focus. If Brian landed on Sam’s doorstep after the bar closed, then drank until he passed out, Sam had to have been up at least as late as she had. How the heck did he sound so alert?

“I’m operating on five hours’ sleep and no coffee, Sam. To be honest, I’m not even sure if this call is real, or part of some crazy dream.”

“Grab a pen and paper, it’s real.”

She made her way to the kitchen. “Still not sure I believe you, but I’m ready. Go.”

“Brian’s fitness boot camp. Nine thirty at Victoria Park, near the pavilion. Damn Scot has one hell of a constitution, putting away so much booze, then getting up with the sun to train the masses.”

“I’m way too tired…” From staring out the window half the night, hoping that damn Scot, as Sam referred to him, would appear. “Plus, I don’t think he’d appreciate my presence.”

“After what he said about you last night, Cass, especially after the rye kicked in, I can’t think of much he’d appreciate more.”

Things had gone from hot to disastrous in the locker room at Brian’s second job. She’d obviously pissed him off by behaving like an immature, jealous girlfriend, and he’d retaliated by dropping the bomb that he’d seen her shooting Paulo and Beth having kinda kinky sex. Then he’d pushed her away—literally—and left.

She pressed the phone tighter to her head while tiptoeing down the hall. “What did he say?” After a few beats of dead air, she tapped the receiver and tried again. “Sam, are you still there—what did he tell you?”

“Sorry, had a beep. Our idiot boss looking for somebody to cover a shift since he can’t call his favorite go-to guy on Sundays. As if it would kill Trevor Ritchie to work a few hours. Anyway. Let’s just say Brian regretted some stuff. About you. And him.”

Seriously, that’s all he had to say? “Geez, Sam, don’t tell me everything all at once.”

“You know I can’t tell you details, it goes against the code.”

“Do guys actually call it that—the code?”

“Yeah, there’s a handshake too. Look, get your cute little butt down there and make up with the giant dumbass.”

“There’s no making up, we’re not…together.”

“You sure about that? Like I said, he talked. A lot. Sounded to me like you’re a great match—when one or both of you aren’t being stupid.”

Is that what Brian wanted—to be a couple? After what he’d happened upon via her back door, and how much it had obviously bothered him, was a relationship even possible? Maybe, since he already knew about the under-the-radar, between-the-sheets side of her business, he’d get used to what she did. Maybe he wouldn’t ask questions she couldn’t ethically answer and he’d understand when she told him to steer clear of her house at certain times. Or maybe he’d end up like Lance, burning her because she’d trusted him.

“Is that a toilet?” Yet another laugh, this one totally amused. “Are we like girlfriends now, going to the can together?”

Oh crap, she’d hit the flusher. Stupid, distracted brain. She needed a save, and fast. “Women only do that at bars, Sam. I was grabbing a bathrobe and…my cat did it. One of his favorite tricks, the brat.”

“Sounds like a cool cat. Catch him on video sometime and show it to me at the gym.”

Great. Now she had to get a cat. A cat that knew how to flush toilets, no less. Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

“Shit, another beep from my boss. Wonder what he’ll offer me this time so he can avoid a few hours’ honest work. So, you’re going to the boot camp, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think, Cass, do. See you around.”

“Sure. Hey wait, why do you keep calling me that?” Nobody in her life had ever called her Cass, and she’d be happy to keep it that way.

Sam slid one last chuckle into her ear. “Passcode.”

Driving through the city took longer than expected. She reached the park at nine thirty-five, instead of twenty past, as she’d planned. Being late would make it difficult to slip into Brian’s little band of boot-campers unnoticed. She found a spot on one of the side streets, grabbed her water bottle and hustled along the path, breaking into a jog until she reached the pavilion—and the fitness boot camp.

“Holy crap…”

Directly ahead, Brian’s back. Beyond that had to be thirty or more women and a sprinkling of men, every one of them doing jumping jacks while Brian barked out a count—and he was already at ninety-three.