DeeperThanInk (9 page)

“Thanks, guys,” Chad said. “You can go ahead and put your
shirts down.”

Becca patted the woman’s shoulder. “All done, Gretchen. You
did great. You all did but listen up. I want to review how to take care of
these. You can help each other. You’re going to have to if you don’t want to
end up with an infection. Understand?” In unison, she received a chorus of “Yes
Mistress”.

Two days ago, hearing that response would have made him
laugh. But not anymore.

Becca turned and placed a hand on his forearm. “Can you wait
for me in the break room? I’ll only be a minute.”

He should say yes. He wanted to talk to her about later
tonight. About how he wanted the evening to end. But he was worried that she
wouldn’t react the way he thought. Or more so, that she’d tell him it had been
just sex.

“I have to get back to work, Becca. The mayor’s going to be
at his table in about fifteen. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking
about you.”

Another giggle. Was it coming from the dude this time?

Chad took her elbow and steered her to the doorway, standing
with his back to their audience. He reached into his breast pocket of his suit
jacket and pulled out a small white envelope. He leaned closer to her ear and
spoke in a hushed voice.

“I’ll text you the gate code. The key will open the condo. I
know you’re getting ready to argue but don’t. I want to see you tonight.
Whether you’re stark naked or in your favorite pajamas and those nutty Horton
slippers you can’t live without. I want to come home and find you waiting.”

She didn’t hesitate and his heart started beating double
time.

“You don’t want to find me on my knees, palms turned upward,
resting on my thighs?

“Like that’s an option.” He brushed an errant strand of her
newly reddened hair behind her ear. He thought of her naked in the position she
described and his balls tingled. But in his mind, when she rose upward, those
Horton slippers were still on her feet. He chuckled, giving her shoulders a
quick squeeze. He would have preferred to kiss her, but her stance on PDA was
one thing they hadn’t covered.

“Just let me know when you’re inside, okay? I’ll text you
when I’m on my way.” That didn’t sound too demanding. Did it? He held his
breath. Waited.

“It’s a plan, wine man,” she replied, rising up on her
tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “See you later. Now go kick some
mayoral ass.”

“Kick? Or kiss?” He walked backward toward the door.

“Whichever gets you home quicker,” she replied.

Assuming there’d be no dinner talk, Becca went over the
post-tattoo instructions while the four of them devoured the pizza. Keep them
covered ‘til the oozing stopped. Wash daily with antibacterial soap. Stay out
of the sun, which shouldn’t be an issue considering the darkness of the club.
And the secret weapon—Lubriderm the hell out of them.

Becca asked them stop eating once, making sure each of them
understood what to look for if the unlikelihood of infection should occur.
Nobody questioned her and when they finished she gave them each a card with her
cell number on it and told them not to hesitate to call. When she was done,
Franco pulled a cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number and told someone
they were ready to be picked up. Less than five minutes they were gone.

She cleaned up the room, getting it ready for the platinum
blonde’s intricate collar tattoo. The woman must have been with Herzog a long
time to obtain what must be considered a place of honor. Becca thought of
Shawna, imagining how the woman would have no problem issuing decrees men would
obey. Or maybe it would be women. She hadn’t considered that.

Becca picked up the envelope Chad had given her and fished
out the key. She’d been to his place a hundred times but this was different.
This key and alarm code thing.

She wanted to see him too, but she didn’t want to read
something into his words that might not be there. There hadn’t been any
weirdness this morning. Other than him refusing to have sex with her. He hadn’t
believed her when she said she wasn’t sore, which she was. A teensy bit. But
she knew if he hadn’t allowed her to do so, she’d have never been able to push
him back against the mattress and torment his cock with her mouth. She loved
the way he looked down his body at her, the way his breathing changed when she
reached up and cupped his balls. She’d been intent on sucking him to orgasm until
he eased her head away and wrapped his fist around his saliva-soaked cock.

Chad had finished himself off with her watching. Learning
what he liked. Fast, shallow strokes that contradicted every deep-throating
technique she’d ever read. Becca couldn’t have imagined anything hotter. Until
he’d forced her naked back against the glass tile of his huge shower and gone
down on her, using his mouth and the handheld pulsating showerhead to drive her
to a screaming orgasm she was sure his upstairs neighbors had to have heard.

She wasn’t sure how she did it but she managed to say
goodbye, wish him a good day, and get the hell out of there with her heart
intact.

Really, Becca? Really?

On a normal night they’d probably be getting off work at
about the same time. It would be perfectly normal for them to go back home
together, like couples did.

Holy fuck. Are we a couple? With just one day and night
of great sex and stellar early morning oral?

Tonight would be an early night for her. Did she really want
to go home alone? Or did she want to experience another night in Chad’s bed? If
she listened to her heart, it was a very simple choice.

Becca finished straightening up and looked at the clock. She
had some time to spare before Andres’ chosen one arrived so she headed for the
break room.

“Hey, sweetie. Any chance you could you have started
screwing the wine snob sooner? This pizza is outta this world.” Tony
Manfradini, whose attitude, politics and accent was quintessential Jersey,
waved a slice at her. He folded it in half and devoured a good portion of it in
a single bite.

“Chad and I are friends. Who I do or do not fornicate with
is none of your concern, Guido,” she said it in her best Southern affronted
voice.

“You two have been hanging out for nearly a year now and he’s
never strolled in here and fed the masses before, now has he?” Brendan asked.

The redhead made an excellent point, although Becca wondered
why he had kept track of something like that. She looked at the rest of the
artists sitting around the table, wishing one of the other women would be there
to have her back. The guys always treated them with respect but today they were
in “brother” mode.

“Yeah. And what was in that envelope he gave you?”

Becca turned back toward Tony and stacked her hands on her
hips.

“So, now you guys are so bored you’re peeking around doors?
I’ll bet Joseph wouldn’t be so thrilled with that,” she said, adding a final
take
that
inflection to her voice.

“Who do you think told us to get a better look? Your
boyfriend brought Joe four mini cannoli. Just for him, not to share.” Tony
crossed his ham-hock arms over his chest and nodded his head. As if that said
it all.

“Becca. Look me in the eye and tell me again the wine dude
isn’t gettin’ lucky with Kentucky?” Brendan leaned back in his chair and
offered her an all-knowing grin.

“I’m from Georgia, you dipshit. Big difference.” She turned
around and stormed out of the break room.

With any luck, the woman would be waiting. She walked past
the work stations and circled around the front counter where Joe was holding
court with several clients who were waiting for their artists. None of them
were her woman. She looked out the window, the afternoon sun bright and
inviting. She could wait outside, catch up on some texts. She stuffed her phone
in her back pocket then made a snap decision. She turned sharply toward the
reception counter and grabbed one of the mascarpone-filled wonders Chad had
given Joe.

“Hey!”

“Don’t even say it,” she warned. But she could tell from the
glint in his eyes he had something he wanted to share and wouldn’t be denied.

She took a big bite, closed her eyes in culinary ecstasy.
“What?” she asked around a mouthful of shell and gooey filling. The customers
looked at her as if she were just a little bit odd and went to sit down to wait
their turns.

“I figured it out, Wiley,” he said in a soft, conspiratorial
tone. “New dude. Change of hair color. Perfectly reasonable for you to worry.
But I’ll let you in on a secret. That whole curtains matching the drapes thing.
When you get right down to it, we don’t give a shit.”

She stared at him.

He didn’t crack a smile. In his strange, weird way her boss
was giving her dating advice. There couldn’t be a better time to get out of
Dodge.

Becca hurried outside and found one of the green, iron bistro
tables, one where she could see the door of the shop and plopped into a chair.
A half hour later she was done checking email and texts and went back inside to
see if the woman had called to cancel. She hadn’t.

The thought of calling the club flitted through her head,
but her stomach knotted so quickly she knew that wasn’t the thing to do. Would
the woman be punished for not showing? Maybe she had disobeyed on purpose
because she wanted punished. Or had something horrible happened to her between
yesterday afternoon and now? If it had, wouldn’t the others have known?

Becca realized the questions could be never-ending if she
let them. She went inside, grabbed her purse from her locker and asked Joe to
call her if the woman showed. She took the next hour and walked around the
Galleria. Window-shopping until she reached the French lingerie store. What
were the chances they were having a super-clearance sale? Because that’s what
it would take to snag a pair of matching bra and panties from there. She had a
set of their signature line. Pink and black. Purchased by her ex when money
hadn’t been an object.

Of course, she’d learned a little too late where the
seemingly unending cash flow had come from. It wasn’t investments or Vinnie
running the tables at Vegas. Not according to the state prosecutor.

Becca hadn’t thought about her embezzlement undies in quite
a while.

Chad had said he wanted her waiting for him. Becca
not
being sprawled on his couch in something sexy would break one of the major
tenets of a new relationship. She brought her fingers to her lips, covering the
smile she couldn’t hide. They were definitely in a relationship, not some “we
fell into each other’s arms, had mind-boggling sex, then went our separate
ways” thing. Not unless she wanted it to. He wouldn’t have given her his key if
that’s all it was to him.

Hope wound its way around her heart for the first time in
years. What they had would be solid. How couldn’t it be when they’d laid a
foundation of mutual admiration and trust already. And the communication? That
couldn’t get any better.

There would be blips, no doubt. But she felt as if they had
a better start than most couples she knew. Seriously, he didn’t even mind when
she made him detour through the shoe department on their way to sporting goods.
She glanced down at her feet, at the great pair of Ferragamos she’d had for
years. Classic black suede pumps that complemented her dressier work jeans.
Because, technically, Florida in January
was
still considered winter.

For the first time since her divorce she had the key to a
man’s house in her purse. She looked up at the mannequin in the window once
more. Her trusty Am Ex was calling to her. Telling her nothing went better with
black suede and the brightly inked hues that covered her torso than cobalt-blue
satin.

There was no way in hell Chad was casting a vote to reelect
the mayor. Not after the way the man had dragged out his meal when Chad had so
desperately wanted to get home. Four fucking hours. He’d almost pulled his hair
out when the fat bastard asked him to “elucidate on fortified wines not
produced in Portugal that were errantly being passed off as port”.

Apparently someone had been reading
Wine Enthusiast
.

After Chad had finished that lengthy lesson, the man
proceeded to order a bottle of the true Portuguese spirit and encourage his
guests to drink it as slowly as humanly possible.

Chad yelled goodnight to the chef, saluted the bartenders on
his way past the lounge and headed for the parking garage. The minute he was in
his car he texted Becca that he was on his way. He backed up and hadn’t moved
the gearshift into drive before her simple response arrived.

: )

It had been years since there had been anyone for him to
come home to. Even after she’d taken the key he had worried that he might have
freaked her out. But he was getting too damn old to play games. He never liked
them in the first place. Waking up with her that morning, her back against his
chest, the cleft of her ass cradling his hard-on… Why the hell hadn’t they done
that sooner?

Becca had obviously liked it as well. She had yawned and
stretched and told him she was satisfied to the max. He’d grinned like an
idiot, he was sure. Her pleading green eyes almost persuaded him to spread her
thighs and take her again. But remembering their urgency the night before, how
they’d gone at it as if their lives depended on getting everything in one
night, he had refused. It was the first time that a woman actually pouted when
he’d refused to make love to her.

Love, huh?

He turned onto his street, telling himself it was just a
phrase. Easy enough to think of when the words remained in his head. When
someone wasn’t pressuring him to say them. Asking him over and over again how
much he adored them.

But Becca wasn’t that girl. She was confident, not a raving
bitch who wanted more than he’d be willing to give. After all this time, he’d
have seen that side of her if it was there, hidden under the hot body and
kick-ass attitude.