Cooking up a Storm (23 page)

‘I ache,’ she mouthed, and guided his hand down between their bodies.

Her back arched as he stroked her, slowly at first and then with real speed and pressure. He couldn’t wait for her. She had to hurry. The afternoon caught up to him in a rush and he was ready to burst from the accumulated tension. He needed to pour it into her. He needed to let go so badly his bones hurt.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, her thighs shifting and gripping on his hips. ‘Oh, yes.’

He came before the ‘s’ finished hissing — couldn’t stop it if he tried. His head jerked back. His hips snapped forwards. A delicious flare of pleasure licked through his groin and then the seed burst from him so hard it felt as if it were being suctioned free. The glow spread down his thighs and up his torso, warming him as he sagged helplessly down. His arms were shaking too badly to hold his weight.

‘Shh,’ she said, stroking his back. His cock slipped free by itself, completely spent.

‘But you didn’t–’ He touched her swollen clit.

‘No.’ Shyly, she shook her head. ‘Take me home. I’ll come for you there.’

‘As many times as I want?’

She grinned and shoved his sweaty chest. ‘As many times as you can handle, big boy.’

With that promise, Storm felt a measure of strength return.

*   *   *

Abby returned to the bedroom to dress. Storm could have gone with her but some formless urge held him back, something unsettled, unanswered. He looked around the empty studio, smelling dust and sex and books. Marissa had wandered outside. Satisfied that Abby was safe, he pulled on his jeans and followed the old man into the kitchen. There he leant back on the counter by the sink, watching him pull the makings of a sandwich from the cabinets: rye bread, mustard, a tin of smoked ham. Bachelor’s fare.

‘You’re in love with Abby, aren’t you?’ Storm said. He didn’t know when the knowledge had come to him, but once uttered the statement had a ring of truth. Jack set the bread knife down and smiled his cocky, old man smile. Storm wasn’t fooled. ‘You are. I say the words and tears come to your eyes.’

As though Storm’s accusation required a change of strategy, Jack turned and took two beers from the refrigerator. He cracked one open and handed it to Storm. Any other man would have been embarrassed; Jack merely looked amused.

‘My fondness for Abby goes way back. For a while, I thought my sexual feelings had died with my wife. And if you think it’s easy to discover that’s not the case, you’ve never been in love.’ He opened his own beer and watched a curl of vapour rise from the dark brown mouth. ‘I went through hell wanting Abby so, yeah, I’m in love with her. But I also love her. I watched her grow up. She’ll never lose me, no matter who she sleeps with.’

Storm lifted his beer and realised his hands were shaking. This man had a history with Abby, a long history that he could never duplicate. He’d shared Abby’s home, Abby’s holidays, Abby’s family. Storm could hardly comprehend what those things meant. ‘Are you going to fight me for her?’ he said.

Jack laughed, but stopped when he saw the anger in the younger man’s face. ‘I had one big love in my life, son. A woman like Abby shouldn’t have to settle for second place.’

‘Are you so sure that’s where she is?’

Jack cocked his head at him. ‘I have to wonder why you’d ask a question like that, considering the stake you might have in the answer.’

‘Why did you…’ Storm rested the bottom of his beer on his waistband. A drop of condensation rolled off the chilled bottle and past his navel. ‘Why did you want me to suck you off?’

‘Rather worry about that, would you?’ Jack returned to his sandwich making. Storm saw that he was constructing two. With great deliberation, he smoothed a swath of mustard across the bread. ‘I guess I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t want one thing anymore. Not one woman. Not one sex. A lot of people have the potential to be that way, but they don’t let themselves.’ He cut two thick slices of ham, laid a square of Swiss cheese on top of each, then a leaf of romaine, and then closed each sandwich off with a second slice of bread. He handed one to Storm.

Storm couldn’t help thinking how few meals anyone had prepared for him. He took a bite. It wasn’t what he would have made for himself, but it tasted good.

‘Abby cooked for me,’ he said, out of the blue. ‘The first night I got here.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jack, and turned his smile towards his own sandwich.

I could end up like him, Storm thought. It would hardly take any work at all. He’d be an old, randy guy who loved women and knew a lot about what made them tick. Maybe he’d even be happy like Jack — contented.

And maybe, like Jack, he’d have one big love in his past that all the rest would have to measure up to.

*   *   *

Marissa sat on the end of the pier, swinging her legs over the water. Crickets chirped loudly in the dark and insects dive-bombed the grease-spattered lantern that hung from the piling to her right. Moths and flames — there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but she really didn’t care.

She wondered why she wasn’t crying her eyes out.

She played the moment back in her mind, the moment Storm turned to Abby and everyone else in the room disappeared. Her finger had frozen on the camera shutter. Even she knew that to press it again would have meant violating something very, very private. They’d looked so beautiful under the blanket, graceful, as if they were dancing instead of fucking.

Maybe that was what being in love did to a person.

Marissa sighed and pulled a thread from the bottom of her cutoffs. She’d given it her best shot, but nothing she’d done had come close to putting that look of adoration on Abby’s face. As far as she could tell, Abby hadn’t even come for Storm.

Go figure, she thought.

The creaking of a plank warned her of Jack’s approach.

‘Hey,’ he said, and lowered a warm pizza box on to her lap.

‘You better have brought beer with that,’ she warned.

He chuckled and set a frosty Sam Adams by her hip. She noticed he wasn’t eating. He didn’t like pizza as she recalled, though he knew she did. This was probably his version of giving a girl flowers.

He let her wolf down two slices of pepperoni with extra cheese before he spoke. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m peachy.’ She fished out another piece and bit off the end. ‘You knew this would happen, didn’t you?’

He tilted back his beer and took a long swallow. ‘I notice you’re not crying.’

She shrugged. ‘Can’t fight true love.’

That comment earned her another silence. A fish splashed invisibly in the bay. ‘You’ll find it,’ he said.

I might, she thought, too ornery to say so out loud. She almost believed it, too, though God alone knew why. Maybe because her heart felt free again. She’d lost the last of her hope, and had lived to tell the tale.

‘What about you?’ she said, survival making her cocky.

Jack stopped with his beer an inch from his mouth. ‘I’m too old for that nonsense.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘That’s why you’re still carrying a torch for your wife.’ This time he set the bottle on the pier. Marissa faced down his stare. ‘Why else would you be screwing every half-likely prospect who crosses your path? My guess is as long as you don’t settle down, you feel like you’re being true to her memory. I mean, you feel guilty about wanting Abby, don’t you? That’s why you won’t fight Storm for her.’

Jack broke their locked gaze first. He looked down at his beer and scratched a corner of the label from the neck. ‘Not everyone was meant to settle down.’

‘Not everyone has the balls to try,’ she sauced back.

He laughed loudly as if her remark had broken through some barrier. ‘You’ve got that right, sweetie. Settling down takes balls and then some.’

*   *   *

Abby’s hand fell limply to the mattress, a casualty of her latest orgasm. ‘I’ll give you one thing,’ she panted. ‘You’ve sure got balls.’

Storm lifted his head from her pussy and crawled up to pillow level. She didn’t sound angry, but with all he had at stake it didn’t hurt to be careful. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean what you did with Jack tonight. That was very brave.’

‘Oh, that.’ He tucked her head into his shoulder. ‘It wasn’t bad.’

She nuzzled his chest. ‘Even so, I’m sorry I pushed you into it.’

‘I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it. There’s been a time or two when I’ve been curious.’

‘But you wouldn’t want to do it every night.’

‘No,’ he said, then considered his answer. Would he want to do it again? He’d hardly satisfied all his curiosity. Of course, trying it again might mean letting Abby satisfy her curiosity, too. She seemed to have plenty of that. He frowned at the ceiling. The clock ticked on the bedside table. He counted to twenty, willing his annoyance to recede.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Would you want to do it every night?’

‘No,’ she said.

His shoulders gave up their tension with an audible pop. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘because I like having you to myself.’

She hugged him closer, hardly a resounding endorsement of his position, but one that gave him hope.

*   *   *

His words played through Abby’s mind: I like having you to myself. I like having you to myself. She ground her teeth together to force them from her consciousness. Those words didn’t mean ‘I love you.’ They didn’t mean ‘be mine forever.’ All they meant was that Storm had a possessive streak — which she’d guessed from the start.

He’s not in love, she told herself. Don’t you believe he’s in love.

And that was the pleasant mantra to which she fell asleep.

‘I’d like to double-check the trim colour with you,’ the crew foreman said.

Abby stared at the faded patches on either side of his denim zip. He must have big balls, she thought, big everything — or maybe he was half-hard. Maybe he was as desperate for distraction as she was. Storm was driving her insane. Every time she turned around he was doing something sweet: opening a door for her, giving her a neck rub. The day before he’d replaced a broken hinge on her closet door. He was not a handyman. He had bruises on his bruises by the time he finished, but he didn’t let her hear a single curse.

She felt as if she were under siege, as if, having won her heart — whether he knew it or not — he now wished to permanently chain her affections.

Yes, chain me, she wanted to say. But she was certain the moment she even looked as though she might request such a thing he’d head for the hills. What was he trying to do to her?

‘Miss Coates?’

Abby’s head snapped up. ‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’

The foreman’s gaze fastened on hers. He had pretty amber-green eyes. He was tanned and handsome with short curly hair that was almost the same colour as his skin. His cutoffs stopped midway down thighs in which every thick muscle was delineated. His chest strained the buttons of his stained blue shirt. She doubted she’d be able to encompass his neck in her hands. He was a bull, a hot-eyed, cocky bull. Or was she just imagining that he looked at her as if he wanted to hump her in the east pasture? Her eyes slid to his groin again. Yes, indeed. The faded denim was stretched to its limit now, pushed out by a truly gargantuan erection. It looked to her as if his love tool was primed for action. She fought a snicker as a pulse of interest flickered between her legs. Perhaps this was the distraction she’d been hoping for.

As though he sensed her thoughts, the foreman propped his hands on the front of her desk and leant towards her. Beneath the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt, his forearms were corded with muscle. The smell of his sweat was almost as heavy as his aftershave. He wore Old Spice: not subtle, but effective.

‘You are so damn hot,’ he said in a low, hoarse voice that sent heat spiralling through her nipples. ‘You’re like one of those desserts that crazy chef of yours is always setting on fire, all sugar and flame.’

‘Really?’ she said, charmed by his metaphor. Had she found a diamond in the rough? Was this the start of another rewarding adventure? She leant back in her chair and folded her hands over her belly. ‘How fascinating.’

Her outwardly cool tone snapped some restraint within the man. She supposed he wasn’t used to having to ask for anything, or denying himself something he wanted. He rounded her desk in three strides, grabbed the arms of her chair and shoved it back against the window. ‘You want to fuck or what?’

His words drew a hot surge of fluid from her sex. With an effort, she clung to her pose of indifference. ‘Not quite housebroken, are we?’ she said, amazed at her own daring. She didn’t know this man; had no idea what he might do. But after so many years of doubting herself, she’d grown drunk on her new power — too drunk to rein herself in.

The foreman’s jaw worked, anger and lust sparking in his pretty green eyes. He was so close she could see the stubble growing on his chin and the sweat beading his upper lip. What a gorgeous Greek face he had; so arrogant, so manly. Abby was going to enjoy this.

‘No, I’m not housebroken,’ he said. ‘I’ll fuck you hard and I’ll fuck you deep and, believe me, you’ll thank me when it’s over.’

She smiled mockingly.

‘Bitch,’ he said, and kissed the smile from her face. His hands went straight for her breasts, reaching up under her silk blouse and swallowing them in his big, calloused palms. He squeezed them hard and moaned, his face softening with pleasure. What children men were, what wonderful, predictable children.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pushed her tongue into his mouth. For an instant, he stiffened, then took over the kiss with a vengeance, just as she’d known he would. He yanked her out of the chair, cupped her buttocks in one hand and ground her pussy over his bulging groin. She clung to his shoulders and wrapped one thigh around his hip, which gave him even better access to her softness. He pushed his cock at her in hard, sensation-hungry jerks, obviously frustrated by the barriers between their pleasure zones. Abby enjoyed his struggle immensely — he was so enthusiastic, and so flatteringly hard — but thirty seconds were enough to convince him they needed a change of strategy.

‘You’re a hot fucking bitch, aren’t you?’ he panted, his vocabulary limited, but effective. ‘Lucky for you, I’m man enough to handle it.’

He tore off just enough clothes to fuck: his zip, her panties. She wore a sheer georgette skirt with big red peonies on it. The folds flew in the air as he shoved her on to her desk. He was bigger than she was, but she was no ninety-pound weakling. She shoved back and squirmed free. She went to her knees, yanked his zip wider and pulled his jeans over his hips, exposing a swath of skin the sun had never touched. His cock was enormous, brick-red and topped with a glans the size of a baby’s fist. If she hadn’t already encountered Bill’s big piston, the sight would have frightened her. Instead, she blew lightly into his thick, curly thatch of pubic hair. Then she moved closer.

‘Not there,’ he said as she mouthed the loose skin of his scrotum.

Obviously, he wanted to go straight for the kill — slam, bang, pow. She, however, wanted to watch him squirm. Storm had taught her that pleasure and now she didn’t like to forego it. She sucked one plump testicle into her mouth and coddled it with the flat of her tongue.

‘Bitch,’ said the foreman. His hips rocked closer as his hands tried to shift her on to his cock. When his tugs grew more insistent, she threatened him with the edge of her teeth. ‘Bitch,’ he said again, but she was beginning to think it a compliment. She chuckled. His cock was so hard it was bobbing against his belly.

She nuzzled her way from his balls to his root, then worked her way up the pulsing raphe. The silky smoothness of the big, ruddy glans made her moan. She marvelled at how she’d grown to enjoy this act. She licked the head, slow, lapping strokes as if he had an ice cream cone for a cock. She swirled around the ridge and blew lightly into his come-hole.

‘Fuck,’ he said. He took hold of himself, surrendering to the moment, preparing to guide his penis into her mouth.

Instantly, she backed away and hopped on to her desk. He gaped at her, furious, amazed. Before he could advance on her, she opened a drawer and tossed him a condom. ‘Extra large,’ she said with a cocky wink. ‘Reservoir tip.’

He grumbled under his breath but he had it on in seconds flat.

‘Now we’re ready,’ she said, and started inching her frothy skirt up her thighs. He watched her show and licked his thick, sensual lips, red now from their kisses. His cock hardly needed encouragement but he couldn’t keep his hands off it. Slowly, lovingly, he pumped the shaft with his right hand and kneaded his denim-covered thigh with the left. His balls hung outside his cutoffs, thrust higher by the open zip. They were red beneath their hairy flesh, red and full. He was like an animal, she thought, nothing on its mind but the most basic physical pleasure. Indeed, when the first gleaming curls of her mound appeared, he shoved her legs apart, aimed himself, and pressed for his goal.

As big as he was, he took a minute to ease fully in. ‘You’re a tight one, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘If you say so,’ she teased, but she liked the compliment. She liked the way he filled her, too. She kicked off her shoes and planted her heels on the desk to aid his progress. He slid in the final millimetre.

There was no slowing him then. His thrusts came fast and furious, and displayed a good deal more energy than technique. She had to show him how to touch her clitoris; had to threaten to stop if he didn’t. He got the idea then — even seemed to like the way his touch made her clench and squirm around him. Still not satisfied with the arrangement, she wet her finger in her juices and stuck it up his arse.

He froze mid-stroke. ‘Lady, are you crazy?’ he hissed. ‘You think I’m some kind of homo?’

She grinned at his outrage. He could protest all he wanted, but he’d started throbbing like a jet engine the minute she’d breached him.

‘I think you’re a man with nerves in his butt,’ she said, ‘just like anyone else.’ To prove it, she wriggled her finger a little deeper. His sphincter quivered. He cursed and turned red and started dripping sweat.

‘Fine.’ His voice had a funny squeak in it, like a rusty hinge. ‘Do whatever the hell you want.’

She did, oh, she did. She did what she wanted until she came not once, but twice — big, deep, muscle-wrenching orgasms. Her contractions pulled him past the point of no return.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ His face twisted as he began to spasm. She worked her finger deeper and found his joy spot. His eyes widened in shock. He grunted and cursed again, then jerked inside her, a long reverberation of pulses that left him panting for air. He collapsed on top of her before he’d finished coming. His cock twitched in sync with his moans.

Once it was over, her mood dropped like a stone. What was she doing? Why was she lying here under this crude, sweaty man who cared more for his favourite hammer than he did for her? Jack she could understand, even the three musketeers, but this — had she lost her mind?

She couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief when he finally gathered himself and pushed off her. With a grimace of distaste, he twisted the condom shut and chucked it in her waste bin.

‘I’ll give you this,’ he said as he tucked himself back in his jeans. ‘You’re a much better lay than your sister.’

Abby blinked and shook her head. ‘Excuse me?’

The foreman yanked up his zip. ‘I said you’re a better lay than your sister. Bit of a whiner, isn’t she?’

Abby clenched her fists. ‘You had better be talking about my sister, Sandra.’

‘Right,’ he said with a cocky grin. ‘Two down and one to go.’

Abby’s body went cold. Good Lord, she thought. He planned to screw me all along. He probably made a hobby of fucking complete sets of sisters. Some diamond in the rough. She pressed her hand over her clenching stomach. ‘If you go anywhere near Francine…’ she began, but couldn’t finish. Exactly how did a five-foot-two-inch, law-abiding woman threaten a two hundred pound man with no scruples?

The foreman raked his meaty hand back through his curls. ‘Yeah, I know she’s married,’ he said. ‘But hey, people make their own decisions.’ While Abby spluttered, he patted his back pockets as if looking for something. He pulled out a crumpled envelope. ‘I meant to give this to you before. It’s from my boss.’

Given the circumstances, Abby had to read the letter twice before she took in its meaning.

‘Shit,’ she said, and didn’t feel the least compulsion to apologise for her language. ‘Your boss and I agreed I’d pay these charges as I went along.’

‘You should have got it in writing.’

‘But why is he asking for more money up front?’

The foreman examined his thumbnail. ‘Guess he heard you’re having financial difficulties.’

‘Shit,’ she said again. The pieces fell together. ‘Sandra told you something, didn’t she?’

The foreman grinned. ‘She has got a big mouth, though she doesn’t use it nearly as well as you do.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered, wishing she could take back every twinge of pleasure she’d given him. The bastard. He must have run straight to his boss with the tale.

‘Hey,’ he said, with a shadow of what might have been remorse. ‘It’s not personal. It’s business.’

Abby forced herself not to spit in his face. Cape Cod was a small place. She might end up hiring another construction firm, but for now it was best not to burn any bridges. ‘I understand,’ she said with a clenched smile — the best she could manage. ‘I’ll just have to work this out with your boss.’

The foreman nodded approvingly and glanced at his watch. ‘So, we’ll, uh, do this again sometime.’

‘When hell freezes over,’ she snapped.

Luckily, the foreman laughed.

She guessed he’d heard that kind of thing before.

*   *   *

She stormed into the kitchen smelling of sex. Storm set the shrimp he’d been cleaning on a bed of ice. Schooling his face to hide his dismay, he washed his hands, dried them on his apron and turned.

She was flapping a piece of paper in his direction. ‘Would you look at this. Would you
look
at this!’

He looked at her. Her top, a scoop-necked silk shell, was a bright poppy red. He couldn’t remember her wearing anything so vibrant before. Sweat dampened the neckline. Both her shirt and skirt were creased as though someone had been lying on top of them.

His heart sank. The clothes might have made him suspicious, but the creases told their own sordid story. She’d been fooling around again. He’d done everything he could think of to keep her satisfied. He’d loved her till the sun came up. He’d brought her breakfast in bed. He’d fixed the blasted hinge on her closet door, and she still couldn’t be faithful to him. Never mind he hadn’t asked her to be faithful. She ought to want to be.

Mon Dieu
, he thought, covering his face with his hands. Why doesn’t she want to?

‘Storm?’ She took a step closer. ‘Are you all right? Do you need help with the prep work?’

He dropped his hands. To hell with it, he thought. I give up. ‘I’m fine,’ he said out loud. ‘Let me see what you have here.’

He took the letter.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said as he ploughed through the business-speak. ‘Sandra was sleeping with the foreman and blabbed to him about our money problems. I swear, the woman needs a muzzle.’

He folded the letter and gave it back to her. ‘How do you know it was Sandra?’

Abby blushed to the roots of her dishevelled hair. Had she heard it from the foreman? Was he the bastard who’d left her looking so rumpled? Jesus. Storm had seen the man. Jack he could understand. The three musketeers genuinely seemed to care for her. Marissa he chalked up to curiosity. But the fact that she’d screw that musclebound, chauvinistic dolt made him want to smash something. Clearly, her taste was degenerating. Rapidly.