If She Dares (Contemporary Romance) (12 page)

Jack laughed at the memory. He and his mom had gone home to celebrate their victory with king-size candy bars. It had been the best Halloween of his childhood. How had he forgotten about it? He had a sea of memories depicting times Cyndi Reed hadn’t stood up for herself, but that night, in her own unique, chainsaw-wielding way, she’d stood up for her son.

Riley was chuckling, too. But her smile faded as she asked, “Did those boys give you trouble about it later?”

“Surprisingly, no. My theory is that they were too embarrassed.”

“Ms. Kendrick?” The secretary of the tenant board, sporting a Bride of Frankenstein wig that had to be at least two feet tall, waved to them from the side of the dance floor. “
Psst
, Ms. Kendrick!”

Jack steered them that way.

Looking around as if checking to see who was within earshot, the woman whispered, “I just wanted to say I think it’s wonderful you’re running for the board.” It was a very loud whisper. Jack doubted the margarita in her hand was her first of the night.

“Fresh perspectives are always a welcome change,” the woman added. “In fact, if someone wanted my position, I’d be willing to step down.” She peered at Jack. “Any chance you’re interested?”

“No, ma’am. But, ah, thank you for offering?”

With a sigh, she turned back to Riley. “I also wanted to tell you I’ll speak with Patrick, our treasurer. If he’s willing to approve your new petition to own a dog, I’ll vote with him. Without a majority, my hands were tied, but...”

Jack didn’t hear the rest of her sentence.

He was too busy remembering the last time his hands had been tied. He surreptitiously glanced down at Riley. What he wouldn’t give to have her in the same position, her incredible body his to explore. He wanted to find all the secret places that brought her pleasure, wanted to touch and taste and savor. On the other hand, based on what she’d said Wednesday about being able to enjoy sex without worrying about triggers, he doubted being in such a vulnerable situation was one of her fantasies.

So he’d simply have to find out what her fantasies were. And do everything in his power to bring them to life.

When the board secretary tottered away, Jack tugged Riley into a dark corner before anyone else could buy her a drink or promise her a vote. He traced her mouth with his finger. “Please tell me you’ve done enough socializing for one evening.”

“Lord, yes. As someone who works from home, I never realized how draining it is to talk to people. I’m
exhausted
.”

His heart plummeted. Too exhausted?

Then she gave him her Evil Riley smile, and he realized she was messing with him. “Take me home and put me to bed?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Inside the elevator she tugged off the cape. “After the cool air outside, it feels stifling in here.”

He agreed—he’d already discarded his own jacket, which was slung over his arm with the goggles jammed into the pocket—but he didn’t plan to let her remove any of the rest of her clothes without help. “I’ve been dreaming of peeling that costume off of you since the day you tried it on.”

She met his eyes, a lazy smile curving her lips. “I know.”

In the history of the world, Jack didn’t think it had ever taken anyone as long to unlock a door. He felt as if every nanosecond took its own eternity, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything impatient.

He wasn’t the only eager one, though. The second they’d shut the door behind them, Riley tunneled her fingers through his hair and tugged him down for a hot, demanding kiss. He was so hard for her, he half wanted to take her up against the door and bury himself deep. But the last time they’d had sex, he hadn’t had the chance to touch her nearly enough. He planned to rectify that now.

He stepped behind her, his hands moving to the column of hooks on the back of her top. While his fingers were busy with those, he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the nape of her neck, tracing her spine downward. Each creamy inch of flesh he exposed made him greedier for her. When he was finished unfastening the bustier, he unzipped the skirt-shorts combo and tugged. She was left in just the boots and a pair of lacy white panties so insubstantial they somehow made her seem more bare than if she hadn’t been wearing any. He took a moment to savor the picture she made, knowing the image would be seared onto his brain forever.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the couch. He set her down and removed the scrubs he wore with record-breaking speed. Then he knelt on the floor between her legs and unzipped one boot, sliding it off her leg with kisses dotted along her firm calf. He caught her foot in his hand, massaging the arch. “I like your toes,” he said, smiling at the in-your-face shade of red. “I don’t know if I remembered to tell you that last night.”

“Thank y—” Her voice caught as he turned his head and placed a kiss behind the sensitive hollow of her knee. After he removed the second boot, he stood, but didn’t join her on the couch. He leaned down to kiss her, wanting to make her entire body come alive with sensation, wanting to make her feel the same blistering need he experienced every time she looked at him. He traced his lips down the line of her throat, sucking and biting gently.

When he reached her breasts, capturing one peak between his teeth, she moaned and squirmed as if trying to press their bodies together, which wasn’t possible in their current position.

Her sounds of arousal were tinged with impatience. “You should...
oh
.” Her head fell back as he sucked hard. “You should join me on the couch.”

“I don’t think so.” He sank to his knees again, put his hands on her waist and tugged her toward the edge. “I like the view right here.” He circled his tongue around her belly button while his fingers shoved aside the wisp of lace covering her to stroke the plump, wet folds beneath. Her musky, aroused scent was making him crazy, and he couldn’t wait to discover the taste of her.

When he lowered his head between her legs, her hands dropped to his shoulders. “Jack, I...” She sounded as if she didn’t know whether to beg him to continue or tell him he didn’t have to do this.

Hoping to make the decision easy for her, he spread her thighs wider and licked her clit. She gasped, her nails digging into his back. Knowing he’d be wearing scratches from Riley tomorrow made him smile against her. When he flicked the hard bud with his tongue, she pressed a hand to her mouth. It wasn’t enough to stifle her cry of pleasure.

After the other night, she was making a concerted effort to be quiet this time.
You can try, gorgeous
. But Riley was an extremely responsive woman, on the verge of losing control. He eased one finger inside her, then two, pumping them in the same rhythm as his mouth against her.

She went wild, her fingers tangled in his hair, whimpering in rapturous desperation. Then her back bowed, and she shouted his name. He could feel her pulsing beneath his tongue and didn’t stop until she collapsed back against the couch. He scrambled to put on a condom and laid her across the leather cushions, thrusting into her lush heat. She was unbelievably wet; he could feel the last, clenching pulls of her climax, as if she was trying to pull him even farther inside her. He grabbed a small round throw pillow and slid it beneath her hips, tilting her up toward him so he could penetrate deeper.

Coherent thought became impossible. There was only Riley and the urgent need to drive into her. When her second orgasm began building, he took her mouth with his, absorbing her cries. Her inner muscles squeezed around him, and he came in a blinding rush.

They collapsed in a slick, sweaty jumble of limbs, Riley flattened beneath him.
I should probably move
. There was no way in hell he could move.

“Am I crushing you?”

“Yes.” She sighed happily, locking her arms around him. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Oh, good. If she’d told him he was too heavy, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to do anything about it—although he would have given her permission to shove him onto the floor. Because he was a gentleman.

His mind was blank, his thoughts scattered and carefree like leaves riding the breeze. But in a moment of passing lucidity, it occurred to him that if that Halloween pranking Freddie Grimmelstone was the best of his childhood, this was definitely the best Halloween of his adult life. And it was going to be damn hard to top.

9

A
S
SHE
CLIMBED
out of her car Sunday afternoon, Riley tried to remember the last time she and both her sisters had done something together. They’d let too long pass since their last fun outing or girls’ night. Maybe part of the problem was trying to line up three schedules, but there had also been months when she’d avoided them, avoided the pity and worry in their expressions.

Or, perhaps, Riley reconsidered as she caught sight of her sisters, she’d avoided them because of the constant bickering. The two of them hadn’t even made it into the art gallery before they’d started arguing. They stood just outside the entrance, an almost comical study in similarities and contrasts. Rochelle was wearing an ivory blouse and navy pencil skirt as sleek and smooth as her chin-length bob while Wren, her hair a crazy halo of curls, had a fringe vest on over a maxi dress made out of five or six patterns stitched together. Yet they both had their arms crossed over their chests and wore nearly identical expressions of stubborn exasperation.

Here we go again.

Rochelle was saying something, her tone too discreet for Riley to hear her words.

Then Wren fired back, “I’m twenty-two! It’s the sweet spot between legal drinking age and actually having any responsibilities, the perfect time for me to have a little fun, make some risky decisions.”

Riley waved weakly. “Hey. I see we’re having a spirited—”

“I’m only twenty-five,” Rochelle pointed out, “and you don’t see
me
drunkenly making out with whoever looks good at the time.”

“That’s because you are a freaky robot-person who married the first real boyfriend you ever had and has not done a single spontaneous thing since you were fourteen. That isn’t normal!” Wren turned, seeking an ally. “Back me up on this, Ry.”

Covering her face with her hands, Riley made a mental note. Next time her sisters suggested they all get together, she would express her regret that she couldn’t make it because she was busy. “Nobody’s a
freaky robot-person
. Now, if you—”

Rochelle reached for Riley’s hand, as if the physical contact made them a united front. “Please tell our little sister she should treat her body with more respect.”

“I’m an adult, which means I don’t need you to approve my choices.”

“You don’t make
choices
. That implies some kind of deliberate selection of options, maybe even a little forethought. You just act on blind whim.” She tossed her hands in the air. “
That’s
what they should have named you. Whim Kendrick, who quits her job out of the blue and doesn’t think through the consequences of getting in bed with her roommate until the morning after.”

“The guy roommate or the girl?” Riley asked with mild curiosity.

Both her sisters gaped at her.

“Guy,” Wren clarified after a brief pause. “And I didn’t go to bed with him. Well, technically, I did, but we didn’t...you know.”

Rochelle rolled her eyes. “What a mature way to put it.”

“Hey, I was trying to spare your delicate ears.”

“Let me save you the trouble.” Rochelle spun on her heel and stalked inside the gallery.

Wren sighed. “How did two cool chicks like you and me end up with such an uptight sister?”

“Why do you always go out of your way to provoke her?” Riley countered. It was true that Rochelle could be meticulous and high-strung, but her unwanted lectures stemmed from genuine concern.

“It wasn’t intentional. She asked me about my night, so I told her. We had a party. There was drinking and canoodling.” She shrugged. “But based on Sam’s big puppy-dog eyes this morning, I think he might have read more into it than he should have. It’s a little creepy to have a guy mooning over you while you’re trying to eat your cereal. If he’s in love with me now, I’m gonna come bunk on your couch.”

Riley laughed grimly. “The hell you are. You were right when you told Rochelle that you don’t have to justify your choices to her. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to deal with the consequences like an adult. If you made things weird with Sam, fix them.”

Wren grunted. “You just don’t want me underfoot in case you finally decide to make a move on your sexy neighbor.”

Heat rushed to Riley’s face as she recalled the extremely enjoyable moves she and Jack had already made.

Wren’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap, you slept with him!”

“I... That’s not the kind of thing you need to be yelling at an art show,” she hissed.

Her sister grinned. “I have to tell Rochelle. She’s not going to
believe
this.” She disappeared inside, practically skipping.

Oh, great. Their planned afternoon of looking at sculptures, paintings and handmade jewelry had just morphed into an interrogation.
Busy next time
, she reminded herself. So very busy.

* * *

T
HE
FUNNY
THING
about an interrogation from Wren was that she never gave a person a chance to actually answer the questions she fired at them. A minute of conversation with her went like this, “So who made the first move—you or him? Was he good? He must have been great. You’re practically
glowing
. You look like you just came back from a week at some kind of spa retreat. How many times have you— Oh, look at the earrings that woman is selling. I bet she can answer some of my questions about wire-work. Be right back!”

When she scampered away, Rochelle and Riley exchanged wry glances.

“I keep thinking,” Rochelle said, “that I’ll get used to her eventually. But it’s been more than two decades, and I still don’t understand her.”

“Maybe we don’t have to understand, we just have to love her. And see if her roommates can secretly switch her to decaf without her noticing.”

Rochelle’s peal of laughter echoed in the high-ceiling space, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“All seriousness, though,” Riley said, “I wish you and Mom wouldn’t give her a hard time about changing jobs. Personally, I’m sort of relieved she isn’t driving home in the wee hours anymore after the bar closes at two in the morning. I’ve been to the lingerie store a couple of times now, and she seems in her element. She’s good with the customers, her boss speaks highly of her. Where’s the bad?”

“I guess you’re right,” Rochelle said, looking abashed. “I was more bothered by the jewelry idea. Not that she doesn’t make beautiful pieces,” she said, holding up her wrist and showing off a bracelet Riley assumed their sister had created. “But you know how her attention span is. Do you know how much money she spent on supplies back when she started oil painting? She’s doing the same thing now. What happens when she shoves hundreds of dollars of materials into her closet and moves on to the next thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s her closet. Not mine. Everyone needs hobbies. Let’s just be glad she hasn’t taken up high-stakes poker.”

Rochelle made a noncommittal noise and strolled farther into the gallery, studying a gorgeous glass sculpture. Just when she’d lulled Riley into a false sense of security, making her think that they’d finished with any uncomfortable topics, she blurted, “So this neighbor of yours—is he a hobby?”

“What? That’s a horrible way to categorize someone.”

“How would you categorize him? Because I’m confused. You and I have always talked about relationships, and you’ve never mentioned him to me before today. Not once. But Wren, the person who’s always supported your wilder, irresponsible ideas, knew about him. You’ve been in her store buying sexy lingerie.”

“Body wash, candles and a robe,” she corrected. Her sister did not need to know how she’d used the belt from that robe.

“When Wren bolted in here to tell me you were getting busy with someone—she has such an eloquent turn of phrase—all you said was ‘It’s nothing serious.’ Said it more than once, actually.”

“I wanted to make sure I was getting through to you guys.” The last thing she wanted was either of her sisters telling their parents she had a boyfriend. “What Jack and I have... It’s not like when you and Perry started dating. There’s no future for us, and we’re both okay with that.”

“But you’re sleeping with him?”

Riley sighed. “I’m starting to see why you frustrate the hell out of Wren. How is my sex life your business?”

“It’s not,” she said quietly. “But Wren was right about one thing—you do have a glow. Even when we were arguing outside and you were annoyed with us, you looked more relaxed than I can remember seeing you in months. Maybe years. Does he make you happy?”

“Yes.” Riley could feel her smile—not just in the muscles on her face, but in the warmth that went through her, like a sunbeam.

“Say it’s none of my business if you want, but I know you, Ry. Whoever this guy is, you’re invested in him. And if he’s not serious about you, you’re going to get hurt,” Rochelle cautioned.

“I went into this with open eyes.” She wasn’t some lovesick person who was naively ignoring her own limitations or Jack’s.

“You can fall down a flight of stairs with your eyes open, too. Still hurts.”

“Oh, look,” Riley chirped. “There’s a lovely painting on the far wall. I think I’ll go look at it now.” Making an effort not to stomp like a preschooler having a tantrum, Riley put significant distance between herself and her know-it-all younger sister.

Well-meaning though she might be, Rochelle didn’t have a lot of experience with male-female relationships. She’d only been with one man, and they were happily married. Riley wished them many decades of nuptial bliss, but not everyone was lucky enough to find their perfect match right out of the gate. There were many kinds of affairs and relationships, and not all of them were about True Love. She and Jack were enjoying each other, and she needed that in her life right now. What she
didn’t
need was a judgy sister chastising her over a fling that was about sex and not—

It’s more than sex
.

Riley pinched the bridge of her nose. She was supposed to be staring at a bizarre abstract painting and wondering what the hell it represented, not arguing with herself and analyzing her relationship with Jack. Not that they even had a relationship. It was just a neighborly fling, dammit.

But if that were true, why had she been so moved when he told her that Halloween story about his mom? Jack freely volunteering a memory about a parent was about as rare as a unicorn sighting. Granted, it had just been a silly family anecdote—she had hundreds of them—but she’d treasured the fact that he’d finally felt comfortable sharing part of his childhood, no matter how small.

And the growing trust between them was a two-way street. As embarrassed as she’d been by her crying jag the first night he kissed her, she’d told him details she hadn’t admitted to any of the people closest to her. It had been cathartic.

Okay, yes, she cared about him. She never could have let herself be so intimate with someone she didn’t respect and like and feel some sort of connection with—but some bonds were only meant to be temporary.
So what’s the plan? Sleep with him indefinitely until one of you decides to wander off in search of someone else? Agree on a mutual expiration date and write it on the calendar?

She balled her hands into fists, nostalgic for her days as a shut-in who dodged her opinionated sisters.

The truth was, she didn’t know how long this affair would last. And, if she was going to be completely blunt with herself, maybe Rochelle was right. Maybe she
would
get hurt, a little. But in this case she deemed the risk worth the reward. Hadn’t she decided to start making braver choices?

Jack had painted himself as a man not interested in romance or lasting commitment. They would end, eventually. But didn’t she deserve to have one hell of a good time until then?

* * *

M
ONDAYS
HAD
A
reputation as being the most sucktastic day of the week; today certainly wasn’t doing anything to change Jack’s mind. This morning had been bad enough, when he’d been working with a witness he suspected was lying about the description of an assailant—maybe out of fear, maybe because he was embarrassed he hadn’t gotten a better look. If Jack’s sketch was inaccurate, then it was useless. But this morning’s frustration was nothing compared to how he was feeling now...

He clenched the mug of bitter station coffee he’d just poured. He didn’t even want it. He’d just needed something to keep his hands busy while a couple of uniformed officers passed through with the burly, ranting man they’d arrested. Even though the man had been cuffed, and was therefore unable to defend himself, Jack had wanted to take a swing at him. Possibly with a two-by-four.

Tony took a slug of his own coffee. “At least he should go away for a good long time.” He’d been confessing his crime to the entire room. Whether he followed through with a cognizant, written confession after he calmed down remained to be seen.

“He should have been put away already,” Jack said dully.

The man had been brought in a couple of weeks ago after a domestic disturbance call, but his wife had claimed the whole thing was a misunderstanding. Now he’d shot her, as well as the man he’d been afraid his wife might leave him for. When the officers had brought him through, the man had been crying, saying that he’d loved her too much to let her go.

Had his late wife protected him out of some misguided notion of love? Maybe Tony was right, and the murderer would be locked up. That wouldn’t bring back the two people who’d died.

Tony changed the subject. “You haven’t forgotten about this Saturday, right?” Like a lot of cops, Tony had learned to compartmentalize. If they dwelled on every crime that happened on their watch, they’d crack.

“Saturday?” Jack tried to push back his own rage and focus. “Your niece’s party? It’s this weekend? Already?” It seemed like only yesterday Tony had been helping him navigate his sofa up the stairs—and complaining about it with very colorful words—yet here it was November.

Tony jabbed his index finger at him. “You are not weaseling out of this. You’re about the most talented person we’ve got lined up. Parker in dispatch told me he could do magic, but turns out he knows exactly two card tricks and is mostly using the so-called magic act as an excuse to talk some girl into being his ‘beautiful assistant.’ My brother is bringing his karaoke machine, so there’s that. Dave’s trying to master the art of balloon animals—”