Dirty Trick (16 page)

He bent low and sank his teeth into one curve.

“Oof!” she squealed against the pillow.

He pulled away, but she wiggled her hips and thrust her bottom back toward him.

Her low voice drifted from above. “Just startled,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

Catman had bitten her too, and she’d liked it, so it was no surprise. What was surprising was the massive jolt of possessiveness that slammed through him and the need to obliterate all thoughts of the masked stranger from both their minds that raged through him. It had been great between them, but good old Catman had served his purpose. Now it was time for him to bury the bastard.

He bent low and let his warm breath wash over the back of her knees, and she shivered lightly.

“Nice,” he whispered before cupping her thigh and leaning in to flick his tongue against the tender skin, reveling in the scent of lavender that teased his senses. She had been a rabid collector of lotions since he’d known her, and was notorious for holding her arm up and making him smell her. Little did she know that every one of those occasions was an exercise in self-control for him. One he hoped would help him now because she smelled good enough to eat.

She shifted restlessly beneath his hand, and he pressed his mouth to the spot that was still damp from his tongue. This time, she stiffened and gasped.

“It’s just a knee, for crying out loud,” she mumbled. “Why does that feel so good?”

He shook his head slowly, letting the rasp of his five o’clock shadow scrape the soft flesh, and she groaned.

“I’m hoping it’s all going to feel good, Gracie.” He nibbled his way up, taking his sweetass time, using his hands to massage her legs, dipping his thumbs inward as he went. By the time he reached the apex of her thighs, he could feel the heat pouring from her core, and the musky scent of feminine arousal obliterated the lavender. His already swollen cock grew thicker and more insistent. He ground his hips into the mattress with a silent prayer for control.

Slow. Take it slow.

“Touch me, Trick. Please.” Her voice was a dream he’d dreamt a thousand times. Husky. Needy. Catching a little when she said his name.

He growled and roughly jerked her legs apart, letting his thumbs slick along her waiting heat. “You’re on fire.”

She twisted her head on the pillow and tried to look down at him, but gave up on a moan. “You have no idea.”

He let out a pained laugh. “I think I might.” But the rush of wetness against his hand told him that she was as ready as he was. He sent two fingers deep, and her pliant flesh opened to accept them.

“Yes,” she hissed, her head tossing against the pillow.

He pressed in and retreated, his hips pulsing against the mattress in time with thrusts, the ache in his balls increasing with every move. She rocked back against his hand, her slender back bowing as she did.

He didn’t stop the pressure, working her faster and harder, taking note of the signs her body was giving him. Short of breath, muscles straining, the tight column of her sex flexing. She was close. “Can you come like this? If I take you from behind?” he bit out through gritted teeth.

“I’m not sure,” she gasped, arching back faster, bearing down on his hand. “But if you don’t help me find out right now, I’m going to scream.”

She’d scream. He’d make damn sure of it.

He slid his hand away from her, and she whimpered at the loss. Rising to his knees, he made short work of his underwear before urging her to lift her bottom up. He almost lost it then as he looked down in the moonlight, seeing his hands cupping the beautiful, round, white cheeks. The anticipation of watching his cock slide in and out, slick with her juices until they both exploded and he came deep inside—

Fuck. Condom.

He froze and took a long, shuddering breath. Before he could speak to tell her he needed to take a quick timeout, she said the four sweetest words he’d ever heard.

“I’m on the Pill.”

Elation rushed through him. She hadn’t told Catman that. He’d covered it up that night in the sauna and she hadn’t mentioned the Pill at all. His smart Gracie. His true love, Gracie. This meant something different to her. Something more special…the most special, and he wanted to roar with satisfaction.

“Are you sure? I know you consider me a player, but I’ve always—”

“Shh,” she murmured, shimmying her butt against him. “Enough talking. I already know you’d never do anything to hurt me, and I trust you. But if you don’t get inside me this—ahh!”

Molten, wet heat closed over him, and blood pounded in his ears. She’d had him at “Shh,” and he’d only taken enough time to get in position before sliding home. God, she was tight.
Trust,
a little voice whispered.
What had she just said about trust?

She chose that moment to groan and slam back against him hard enough that he saw stars, and they incinerated his thoughts.

“I think I will,” she said, her voice breaking when he pulled back and slid deep again.

“You think you will what?” he asked, rolling his hips in a measured rhythm of long strokes that buried him a little more each time.

“Be able to come like this. It’s…Oh, shit. That’s—” She threw her head back and propped herself up on her elbows.

“I can’t tell you what it means to be with you like this. Nothing between us. You’re so fucking sexy, Gracie. So—”

“Now!” She snaked a hand behind her and dug her nails into his ass. “Now, Trick, please.”

Tell her,
the stupid voice whispered.

But she was fucking him in earnest now, her quick little hips moving like pistons as she hurtled toward release, pulling him with her. He could no more stop than he could cut off his arm. Her back arched, and she let out a short scream. The need to come clawed at him as she tightened and released over him, gripping his cock in the sweetest caress. Pressure built to the point of pain, and then he was free-falling.

His last coherent thought was
tomorrow.

He would tell her tomorrow.

Chapter Twelve

Grace sat behind her desk like it was any other day. Only it wasn’t. It was the best day. A day her Gram would have called “a real goddamned chestnut.” Her night with Trick had been something she never would have dreamed of. Not in a million years, but there it was. And it was awesome.

She leaned forward and laid her head on the desk, inhaling deeply. This time it wasn’t for comfort. This time it brought utter joy. Gram would’ve loved Trick. He was charming and sweet and funny. Not to mention he had Gram’s favorite feature in a man, namely a “pile-driving ass.” She found herself grinning at the thought of them talking. He would’ve have had a blast with her.

The clickety-click of high heels had her sitting up and trying to wipe the world’s stupidest grin off her face.

“Hey chickie, how’s it going this morning?”

Grace shuffled some papers around her desk in an effort to look busy and to give herself a second to get her crap together. “Good. Really good.”

She could feel Serena’s eagle-eyed stare on her, and she struggled not to fidget.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re literally an open book? Like, the fact that you got laid again last night couldn’t be clearer.” She leaned in and studied her face more closely. “It’s uncanny, really. You’re a perfect example of an anti-spy. ‘Skip the bamboo shoots and fingernails routine, Sarge, we’ve got a live one here. Just ask her something…anything.’”

Grace’s cheeks flamed hot, but before she could defend herself or, more likely, spill her guts, the chime that signaled someone at the door sounded, and she leapt to her feet.

“Saved by the bell.” she called over her shoulder as she straightened her jacket and gave Serena a grin.

Serena snorted after her. “Live it up because I’m going to grill you when you’re done.”

When Grace walked into the waiting room, Chaz Stanhope stood with a practiced smile on his face.

“Hey there, doll.”

Annnd, so much for spending the day daydreaming about her night with Trick. It was time to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

Sixty interminable minutes later, Grace sat in the conference room finishing up the last of the questionnaire with her latest client and tried not to roll her eyes. After giving her some basic information, and a rather nice, candid talk, he’d spent the last half hour listing the cars that his three story state-of-the-art garage housed, and she’d tuned him out after the first four. He was winding down, finally, and she managed to get a word in.

“Okay! So now that we’ve got that, I think it’s a perfect segue into what not to do on your dates.” His bleached smile wavered, and she patted his hand gently. “You are far more charming when you’re not trying, Chaz. Did you know that?”

He shrugged and his face turned ruddy. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Really? Because when you’re not talking about all the things you have and focus on the things you love, like the vineyard and growing grapes and how much you miss your father now that he’s gone, I feel you. You know? It’s like the real Chaz comes out.”

It was dicey for a minute as he mulled over her words. She knew it was a risk. If it went her way, he’d be open to hearing what she had to say. If it didn’t, she would have just driven away her newest and most affluent client, who could do wonders for the company’s image. The clock ticked loud enough that she could count the seconds. Thirty-six of them went by before he huffed out a sigh and his shoulders slumped.

“You’re right.”

She guessed by his dejected tone that he wasn’t thrilled at making the admission, but like they always said, acceptance was the first step to recovery, whether you were overcoming alcohol addiction or suffering from a crippling case of douchery.

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I miss my dad every day. And I make sure I throw these parties and have all these people around me all the time because without them, I just feel fucking lonely.”

She squeezed his hand and willed herself not to get choked up. She knew lonely very well, and it was a hard-won victory when she finally managed an encouraging, if slightly watery, smile.

“My grandma passed away two years ago, and I still feel like there’s a hole in my heart. But filling your life with people who just want to use you for those fancy cars you rattled off to me? That will never replace what you had with your father. And when the party’s over and the music stops and everyone goes home, you’re still alone. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

He met her gaze and lifted his chin in a challenge. “Says you. I’ve never had a girlfriend who would’ve stayed with me if it wasn’t for the money.”

“Then you’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

She pulled her chair in closer and spent the next hour going over a plan of action to help Chaz—who incidentally hated that nickname and wanted to go back to being called plain old Chuck—find a woman who got him. By the time they were done, the slick facade that had coated him was nowhere to be found, and the guy who stood and shook her hand upon leaving without ogling her boobs or making a pass at her wasn’t the same one who’d walked in. It wouldn’t be easy. Once he was around all his “friends” or in public, old habits were bound to resurface, but if she could find him a good woman worth changing for, maybe they’d make it work.

She walked him out and closed the office door, leaning against it with a satisfied sigh.

“Hey!”

She jerked away as a bang on the window startled her. “Get away from the door or it’s going to smack you in the ass when I open it,” Serena called in through the glass.

Grace moved and swung the door open.

“How’d it go with old Chazzy boy?”

“Actually, really well. He doesn’t want to be called that anymore.”

“Reeeally,” Serena drawled. “And what does he want to be called? Big Daddy? Stud Muffin?”

Grace laughed and crossed the room to gather her notes from the conference table. “Nope. Just Chuck.”

“Interesting. But not as interesting as what’s going on with you, sister. Let’s hear it.”

Grace’s face went hot, but suddenly she didn’t want to keep it to herself anymore. She let the smile get as big as it wanted to and whispered. “Me and Trick talked last night, and then we—” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed.

Serena sank into the chair across from her with a sigh and actually held a hand to her heart. “Jesus Christ, thank God. I was sure he was going to chicken out. Shit, Grace, you’re not mad at me, right?” She sat her elbows on the table and took Grace’s hand. “I only did it because I love you. It was so weird, because as soon as I saw the sneakers, I knew it was him. I was going to tell you that night because there was no way I could keep something like that from you for long but then…”

Then?
The room dipped and swayed as she tried to process the words coming from her friend’s mouth. Sneakers…Trick chickening out. She couldn’t mean—

The dawning horror on Serena’s face sent Grace’s stomach into a nosedive. That was exactly what she meant.

Trick was Catman. Catman was Trick.

She clutched the chair arms, head reeling as a thousand images crowded her mind. Catman approaching her at the party, all swag and smiles. Trick grinning at her when she’d hit a bull’s eye. Catman kissing her brainless on the dance floor. Trick, last night…

The blood rushed in her ears and she shook her head furiously, trying to make some sense of what was happening. “I don’t understand.”

“Jesus Christ” Serena’s face fell, her eyes brimming with regret. “He didn’t tell you.”

It wasn’t a question, which was good, because Grace couldn’t have answered to save her life. She felt like she was underwater, adrift, disoriented, just waiting for someone to drag her to shore.

“He promised he was going to tell you last night. I told him if he didn’t, then I would.” Serena’s despair quickly turned to anger, and she slammed a fist on the wood with a thump. “And the prick slept with you on top of it? Did he think I was going to lie for him forever?”

Grace tried to keep up, but her brain was too busy grappling for the clues…the signs that should have led her to this, but she came up empty. Because every time she tried to make sense of it all, one thought bashed its way to the forefront of her mind.