Frisk Me (17 page)

T
aking her stilettos off when she got home every evening was the highlight of Ava’s day.

Taking her stilettos off at the end of a
Friday
, signaling the start of two whole days of flip-flops, sweatpants, and damp ponytails, makeup optional?

That was the highlight of her
week
.

Ava had this routine down pat.

The high heels were off before she even made it through the door.

She stopped in the kitchen just long enough to drop her bag on the counter, pour herself a hefty glass of wine, and then head to the closet for a moment that was
almost
as good as kicking her work shoes…

Yoga pants.

It was always tempting to leave her work clothes in a messy pile on the bedroom floor. Maybe to teach them a lesson about being binding and damned uncomfortable.

But since dry-cleaning bills were expensive as heck in the city, for the most part she tried to keep things looking nice for as long as possible.

“Look at you, being all boring and shit,” she said to her charcoal wool pants as she carefully folded them along the crease and looped them over the hanger. “I bet you have no friends.”

She picked the sleeveless white blouse off the floor and pulled another hanger off the rack. “Well, I guess
this
guy could be your friend. Just look at all these stupid ruffles.”

She didn’t even bother speaking to her bra as she undid the front clasp. It deserved the silent treatment.

Left in only her panties, Ava sighed in relief as she pulled on gray, cropped yoga pants and a pink sleeveless tank that she’d gotten at a Las Vegas gift shop after she’d forgotten her pajamas on a bachelorette party trip.

Then it was to the bathroom to swap out her contacts for her black-rimmed glasses, before piling her hair into a messy ponytail.

Life was good.

Plucking her wineglass off the dresser she padded back into the kitchen to survey the contents of her fridge.

She closed it two seconds later.

Sushi takeout it was.

When Ava had first moved to the city and was learning her way around the world of tiny Manhattan kitchens and a reliance on takeout, she’d had her favorite places on speed dial.

But nowadays there was something more magical:

A website and phone app that had an ungodly number of takeout options just a Checkout button away. There were the standards, of course. Chinese. Pizza. Thai.

But this was New York, and food options didn’t stop there. You could also get Ethiopian and bagels and Philly cheese steak sandwiches delivered within half an hour.

It. Was.
Glorious
.

Sushi was her Friday-night go-to, though. It drove Beth and her other friends crazy, but unless it was a special occasion, Ava kept her Friday nights pretty sacred. Saturday she could go dancing, have a martini or four, maybe go on a date (although not so much these days), but Friday nights were Ava nights.

Just her, her comfy clothes, and whatever TV show she was currently binging on. Lately, it had been
Lost
. She’d completely dismissed it when it first aired, but at Beth’s insistence she was finally giving it a shot.

It was weird as hell.

And she couldn’t get enough.

“What are we feeling today, Honky Tonk?” she asked as her fat orange cat chased his toy mouse around the floor. “Spicy tuna or dragon roll?”

The cat pounced. “Right. Both it is.”

But a knock at the door delayed her sushi purchase. Honky Tonk went shooting under the couch, and she wished she could join him.

It was probably her creepy landlord who’d left, like, a half dozen “notice of entry” letters over the past week. Something about checking the screens on the windows. Naturally he would wait until seven o’clock on a Friday night.

“Better make it quick, Don,” she said, setting her phone aside and checking the peephole.

It wasn’t her landlord.

Luc.

Ava’s stomach gave a little flip as she remembered the last time he’d stood on the other side of her door.

She didn’t want a repeat of that kiss.

Did she?

“Sims, as a cop, I commend your safety precaution, but think you could open up now that you know it’s me?” he said to the peephole.

Right.

She opened the door.

He gave a little blink of surprise as he looked her over. “This is a new look.”

Too late, she remembered that she was in Friday Frumpy mode. Luc, on the other hand, looked delicious. His cargo shorts were a nod to the unseasonably hot day, and the white T-shirt stretched perfectly across his shoulders.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said, resisting the urge to smooth her lumpy ponytail.

He held up his right hand, which was holding a small red binder.

“Ah!” she said in delight. “My planner. I’ve been looking everywhere for it! Why do you have it?”

“Found it on my coffee table,” he said, handing it to her.

She frowned. “But I didn’t take it out of my bag when we were filming at your place yesterday.”

He tilted his head slightly and gave her a look.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “Nonna.”

“Yup. Gotta give her credit for matchmaking balls, if not originality.”

“You didn’t have to bring it all the way over here,” she said, leaning against the door. “I could have gotten it at the precinct on Monday.”

He shrugged. “Gave me a chance to get out of the house. Anthony has female company. This one’s lasted a whole week, and she’s um, noisy.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him in but he was already taking a step backward, and she doubted a night of sushi and TV appealed to him.

“Well thanks again for bringing it by,” she said, setting the planner on the console table by the door.

“Any time, Sims.”

Neither of them moved.

Common sense was demanding that she close the door. Hormones were demanding something very different.

“You know, the last time we were in this position, things were a lot more interesting,” she said.

Common sense: 0.

Hormones: 1.

The flare of heat in his eyes showed he didn’t mistake her meaning, but instead of a repeat performance of The Kiss, he tensed up, his face losing its easy expression.

Oh.
Shit
.

He was about to reject her. Not that she could blame him. She wasn’t exactly in sex-kitten getup, and the man had to spend most of his workdays with her.

Why would he want to spend his days off with her as well?

“Sorry,” she said, rushing to give him an easy out. “You don’t have to say anything, I just—”

“Sims.”

She broke off at the gruffness in his voice. “Yeah?”

Wordlessly he reached out a hand, grabbing a fistful of her tank top and yanking her forward. Hard.

Then his mouth was on hers, and her body responded instantly, arching against him as her hands fisted in his hair.

She sought his tongue with her own, smiling in gratification when he groaned and tightened his grip on her shirt. He held her still for long moments as his mouth explored hers, both of them oblivious to the fact that they were standing in her apartment hallway.

Ava lifted to her toes to get closer, and his other hand moved to her back, pressing her against him as their lips melded, their tongues exploring.

When they were both out of breath, he pulled back slightly as he stared at her mouth. “Damn.”

She kissed him again, but instead of holding her still, this time he backed her up until they were in her apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Ava launched herself at him, using her body weight to push him back against the door, her mouth fused to his. He let her control the kiss for about ten seconds before he spun around, pinning her to the door.

His hands found her butt, lifting her legs around his waist as her arms wound more firmly around his neck.

Yes.

Luc’s mouth trailed over her cheek before nudging her chin up to get at her neck. Ava’s head fell back as he ran hot kisses down the column of her throat, and she gasped as his teeth nipped softly at her shoulder.

His fingers dug into her ass possessively before he slowly released her, sliding her down his body, supporting her ribs with his big hands as he placed her back on her feet.

For one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to suggest they stop, but he merely smiled and righted her glasses, which had gone askew. “Much as I’m tempted to take you against this door, this has been a long time coming. I want to see you.”

She swallowed.

“All of you,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her collarbone.

“And I want to touch you,” he said, his lips finding hers again. “And taste—”

Ava groaned, pulling him in for a tongue-tangling kiss before pushing him back and grabbing his hand.

Wordlessly she led him to the bedroom, although once there she felt strangely awkward.

How long had it been since a man occupied her bed?

Months, definitely. A year? God, did her parts even still work?

Seeming to sense her uneasiness, Luc moved slowly, coming toward her until there was no space between them. No room to think about anyone or anything but him.

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs skimming beneath the rim of her glasses.

“I like this Ava,” he whispered.

She looked at him skeptically.

“These”—he touched the outside corner of her glasses with one finger—“are sexy as hell. And these pants”—his hands slid down to her yoga-pants butt—“make your ass look amazing.”

“It’s my Friday Frumpy,” she whispered, her voice catching a little as his lips nuzzled her neck.

He smiled against her throat. “I like it. Very much. It’s like my own private Ava. The one nobody gets to see but me.”

Her eyes closed at the sweet possessiveness in his tone, and she felt him slide off the glasses and set them carefully on top of the dresser.

“Much as I love the sexy librarian look, things are going to get a little bit rough,” he said in a low growl.

Her eyes flew open.

Rough?

And then she was on her back on the bed, her hands pinned above her head with one of his hands as he used the weight of his body to hold the rest of her in place.

He devoured her mouth with urgent kisses as his other hand roamed along her sides, over her hips, never quite touching where she needed.

Finally she was able to maneuver her lower body so that he was between her thighs, and when she arched up to him he groaned, relaxing just enough for her to free her hands to explore.

His body was hard and perfect. Just like she’d imagined.

Longed for.

Luc let her touch for several moments, but when her greedy fingers found the hem of his shirt, he gently recaptured her hands, placing them once more above her head and holding them immobile.

His eyes skimmed her face as though to see if she was okay with the lack of control. She answered his silent question with the only words that came to mind.

“Touch me.”

His lips tilted in a smile as the hand not holding hers slowly slid up her side, his fingers sliding against each rib, one by one.

His eyes followed the motion of his hands, but Ava never took her gaze off his face.

She loved the way he looked at her.

His eyes came back to hers, their usual bright blue had gone the color of midnight, and when he slid his hand over her breast she called his name.

“No bra,” he said huskily as his fingers explored the shape of her over the thin fabric of her tank top.

“No,” she said helplessly as his fingers plucked her nipple into aching response.

“I like,” he said. She moaned when his hand left her, only to purr in satisfaction when his hand snaked under her shirt, touching bare skin before his hand claimed her breast once more.

The man knew his way around. He refused to hurry even as he teased her to an almost breathless state, alternating between using the palm of his hand to grind against her before trailing torturous fingers along the undersides of her breast. He switched to the other, then did it all over again.

And when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he took her to the next level, his lips closing around a nipple, his tongue lapping gently at the tight peak until she was helplessly whimpering his name, unsure of what she was even asking for.

But Luc knew. His free hand had been roaming careless circles along her bare stomach, but they inched downward now, his palm finding her over the top of her pants, the heel of his hand grinding against her as she bucked, wanting more.

Always more.

She wanted everything from him.

Then his hand was gone, his fingers back to tracing lazy patterns over her belly.

“Luc.”

“Sims,” he said, his tongue wickedly stabbing at her nipple.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“You know what.”

He glanced up at her. “Ask for it.”

She wanted to be stubborn. She wanted to be in control. But when he pulled her nipple into his mouth once more and suckled, hard, she gave up.

“Touch me.”

“Here?”

His hand slid up to her breast.

It was good. But not enough. She squirmed, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and moving his hand downward.

“Ah,
here
,” he said, his fingers dipping just slightly under the waistband, touching the edge of her thong but not going any farther.

She moaned a little laugh as his thumb brushed her just lightly over the fabric of her thong. “I’m very close to hating you right now, Moretti.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice husky as he lifted himself just enough to watch his hand as it teased between her legs. “So I should stop this?”

“Don’t you dare.” She gasped as a finger slipped under the elastic.

“You’re a liar, Sims,” he said on a groan as he found her silky wetness. “You don’t hate me at all.”

Her thighs fell open on a gasp. It was almost painfully erotic, the sight of his hand moving beneath the tight fabric of her yoga pants as he fingered her.