Lipstick on His Collar (3 page)

Her laugh died away, the humor fading from her eyes, rampant desire flooding to fill the space. Tongue to her lip, she stepped close. Her ragged and expectant breath warmed the second button on his shirt. Her chin lifted as he bent. Wet kisses, heated by flesh and served with hunger became his new favorite food, and he gorged on her mouth until he grew lightheaded.

“This is crazy,” he murmured, his thumb wiping the raindrops from the apple of her cheek. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

A teasing laugh crinkled little lines around her eyes. “Of course not. You’ve never met a goddess.”

His chuckle widened her smile. “True. Come on, goddess, let’s go.”

Fingers laced tightly together, they ran toward the motel. The summer downpour did not let up for one second, and his shirt plastered to his back. Rainwater dripped from his hair into his eyes and he wiped the blur away. Dull light spilled from the vacancy sign, shimmering off the parking lot in pale yellow puddles. The rooftop extended over the skinny walkway from the office to the end of the tiny motel. Once under cover, Bram tried to be gallant and not look as she wrung out the hem of her skirt, but a brilliant flash of her bare ass shone bright against the gloomy shade. Each dismal motel room faced the secluded lot. Very few cars lined the sidewalk. Shadows haunted the narrow concrete. Milky-backed curtained windows hid silent rooms.

Bram fished in his pocket for the Day-Glo orange ring bearing the number six and a lone key.

“Need help?”

Before he could answer, her hand slipped beside his in his pocket, only she wasn’t reaching for a key. Her palm circled his cock through fabric and he gasped, skyrocketing to rigid with a single squeeze. She had taunted and flirted, teased and tempted all night. His boiling point approached with shocking velocity.

He gripped her hand tightly and dropped a brief hard kiss to her mouth. “If you don’t stop, we’re never going to make it inside.”

Damn her, she moved her hand, massaging him. His libido shot past the red zone. Maybe he pulled her, maybe she leapt but somehow, she ended up in his arms. The plastic key ring dangled in her grip and she shoved it into his, never breaking contact with his mouth. He never knew how they made it past four other doorways with their tongues in each other’s mouth, their hands already peeling wet clothing from flushed skin.

Blindly, he stabbed the key at the lock until it finally sank deep, turning with a soft snick. The drone of the air-conditioner hummed loudly. It still wasn’t cool but Bram was too hot to care. Kicking the door shut, he slid his hand under her dress and grabbed her ass. He tugged her closer, higher into his kiss. She yanked the last button on his shirt free, and he mouthed her neck, her collarbone, sinking lower with each nip. Her hand shot to the light switch and a lamp flickered to life beside the queen-size bed. The dull green-and-brown-swirled spread screamed
motel
like a banshee. Too far away. It was only three steps but it was three steps too many when her fingers dug into his shoulders and her thigh inched high on his.

A long, highly glossed and atrociously fake wood dresser was closer. His duffle bag sat on one end and that, and her, were all he needed right now. He pushed a plastic folder of local information to the threadbare carpet. His cell and pager hit the ground with a muted bump. Once on the edge of the dresser, she wrapped her legs around him, rocking into him. His tongue sliding down her neck, he lapped the hollow above her collarbone, and she moaned softly. Damp, warm skin intoxicated him, drugging him until his vision tinted a fiery red.

In a futile attempt to slow down, to temper the violent sexual storm, Bram tilted her head back, drinking all she offered from her lips. One hand in her wet hair, one stretching to the open bag, everything vanished from his mind when she yanked his zipper down. Her hand sank deep, cupping and stroking his tingling balls. His teeth clamped shut to hold back his growl.

With his pulse pounding a thunderous beat, Bram lunged left just enough to grab a foil packet and drop it beside her on the dresser. He had other plans for his hands at this second. A voracious, unfed hunger bellowed deep inside him. Nibbling along the top swell of her breasts, he cupped the heaviness from underneath, bringing the flesh closer to his mouth. Her nipples tightened, thrusting into his palms, urging his fingers to touch, stroke, pluck and circle. He tugged the top down, too forceful and too hard. The spaghetti strap along her right shoulder snapped, exposing white lace under the slick red fabric. A shudder worked through him as the lace scraped roughly along his bottom lip. Snagging the strapless bra in his teeth, he eased it down.

Her nipples were the shade of strawberry jam—deep rosy pink with a hint of peach. One pebbled tip tightened on his tongue. Her fingers raked through his hair, clutched at his shoulders as she arched into him. Her hand glided from his shoulder to his chest and farther down, delving under his jockeys to curl around his cock. He hissed in hot pleasure as her strokes increased.
Too much.
He pulled away.

Damp and warm, the material of her dress skimmed his mouth as he sank low. He nuzzled her tummy, his hands pushing her hemline up. The darkened vee of her virgin-white panties begged for his mouth. He brushed his lips across them as he hooked a finger in dental-floss-like straps. The silky fabric slipped down her legs with the barest friction and he tossed it aside.

Sweet heaven, have mercy
. A thin strip of burnished curls topped her smooth cleft. Glistening with her arousal, her pussy’s slick folds melted against his touch. He sank one finger deep and her hips rose off the dresser. Scorching lust filled his mouth. She was more than ready for him, but he added another finger just to see her slick lips spread around his skin.

“Fucking beautiful.” His tongue swiped a fast, stolen lick across her clit. Her hips bucked.

“Bram.” His name pleaded in a whisper and her grip tugged at his shoulders.

“Tell me your name,” he whispered, wickedly thrusting his fingers into her. Under the pad of his thumb, the pulse in her clit pounded, and he stroked it, feeling it beat. Her frustrated whimper mewled then turned to a hungry snarl. She snatched his hand away, tugging him up.

“No more games. Fuck me.”

Later, he would feel guilty for not undressing, for leaving his soggy shoes on, for being rough. But not now. Now, want consumed him and her need growled just as loudly. Now, he was going to fuck her and fuck her hard.

Leaping to his feet, he reached for the foil square, but her sharp white teeth were tearing into it. Her kiss swallowed his groan when she sheathed him. He grabbed her ass, tugged her forward and rammed inside her. Soft heat grasped him with a squeeze. A gasp ripped through the room and she tremored around him, burying her face in the curve of his neck.

Bram froze for one split second, absorbing the tight, satin clench. “Fuck, that’s good. Tell me your name,” he begged through gritted teeth.

She bit him and animalistic instinct took hold. Her ankles crossed, locking at the small of his back, and she lifted into his thrusts. His hand shot out to brace against the garishly papered wall, to steady himself through the onslaught, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Hard, deep and fast, he stroked and she ground into each move.

“Yes, do it. Oh shit, you’re tight.”

Diamond-hard nipples dug into his bare chest and her rounded nails clawed frantically at his shoulders. His pants would have slid down his legs except her thighs tightened, holding them in place as she met his every move. The muggy room filled with the scent and sound of their union, a perfume of baser nature.

“Oh God, Bram…don’t stop. So close.”

“Come for me, lady. I need to feel you come.”

Her pussy quaked before she stiffened. Her head fell back, long wet hair clinging to his outstretched arm, as her climax washed over her. A sobbing wordless cry tore from her. It was like holding a wild animal. She thrashed, she bucked, she clung to him all at the same instant. The rhythmic grip pushed him beyond restraint. His tightly drawn balls spasmed, forcing heated waves through his entire body. A brutish grunt flew from his mouth as he exploded deep inside her. White lights popped behind his eyelids and a muscle jumped in his jawline, the force shaking his knees and rippling through every bone. He stilled, letting the sensations sweep through him, heightening the pure bliss of his cock’s pulse.

The aftermath was hushed. Frayed and harsh, their breaths mingled, caressed and touched, desperately trying to slow. The delicate hollow of her throat rose with a swallow and she stared at him for a long moment before smiling. Bram shook his head in amazement.

“Lady, that was…damn.”

One sandal-clad foot jabbed into his spine, drawing him into her kiss. Her words laughed against his mouth. “
That
was for the cotton candy. Now, let’s talk about the funnel cake.”

The too-thin sheet wrapped around his hip as he rolled and reached out. His palm hit cool, vacant space. Bram’s eyes snapped open and he shot upright. The room was empty, bathroom door standing wide to show cracked tile and a flowered shower curtain. Outside the heavy beige drapes, the sun blazed bright and the room echoed with his solitary breath.

She was gone. It might have been some wildly erotic dream except that he could still smell her, smell them. The rich fragrance of sex lingered in the air. The folder on the floor vomited brochures, several empty foil packets littered the carpet and two long honey-brown strands of hair graced the pillow.

Panic spiked in his chest, and he leapt from the bed, grabbing his pants from the floor. He jerked them on commando and looked around for his shirt. He couldn’t find it. It was gone too. The frantic look on his face in the smudged mirror stopped him. A small bruise marred the side of his neck, a hickey. He snorted and touched it. He hadn’t had a hickey since he was sixteen. She’d bitten him when he’d asked her name.

Her name. His eyes widened as reality set in and he sank back to the bed. She was gone, had taken his shirt, and he didn’t even know her name.

A forlorn ache began in his gut. Somehow, for some reason, he felt like something precious had just slipped through his fingers. He collapsed back on the bed.

“Shit.”

Chapter Two

December—384 miles away

Bram laid his head back on the pillow, the buzz in his ear deafening him.

“Jack, listen to me. I. Don’t. Care. I don’t. They knew the cost upfront and signed the papers. If McCullen is just now realizing those zeros mean money, it’s not my problem.”

Respontech was expensive, he never sugarcoated that. But sometimes the best cost more. With 911 systems, cheaper cost lives. Emergencies didn’t stop to do a budget check before they happened. People didn’t want to think about tragedy and crisis situations, but they expected to be able to get help fast when they needed it. Someone had to pay for it first.

Actually, paying for it wasn’t the first step. That was Bram’s job. He came in on request, evaluated an area’s geography and equipment, formulated a package of specific communication equipment needed and presented Respontech’s expertise and price. He never underbid, often coming in at one of the higher price tags. He was cocky enough and his company good enough that their numbers had been steadily climbing since he signed on board. It didn’t hurt he could charm a penny out of Scrooge’s purse either.

He thought like a dispatcher, like a firefighter, like a cop—not a politician or a salesman. That was his trick, his ace in the hole. When the front line—those who answered the calls twenty-four seven—had their concerns listened to, heard and actually implemented, lives were saved. He knew. He’d been at the end of that radio, that nozzle, faced that blistering monster until his skin felt tight. He’d been front line. You couldn’t fake that shit and it translated to cold hard sales.

Jack’s barking laugh jerked Bram back to the present and he muttered a vague noise in response. Climbing from the hotel bed, Bram toed off his loafers, pulled at his tie and unzipped his bag. Normally, he could get away with wearing khakis and a polo bearing the company logo, but on days he had to present to county commissions, city councils or emergency boards, he had to break out the business suit. Now all he wanted was downtime clothing. It took some rummaging in the dark canvas depths to come up with a clean shirt.
Shit, I have to do laundry
.

He tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt, his fingers trailing over the collar of his white dress shirt. No lipstick marred the fabric. His mind started to slip into a mental PowerPoint presentation with honey hair but he yanked it back. Those summery images he reserved for late night or in the shower. He’d relived every sweaty, indulgent minute with her a hundred times, created new fantasies that nearly gave him raw palms.

Late at night, alone in his bed—or another mind-numbing series of hotel rooms—he longed to be in a cheap, drab room with her, cocooned away from a sudden summer shower. Strangely, it wasn’t just the sex he thought about. There were the words, the stories, the secrets exposed. It was the promise of something that never had been fulfilled that stung the most. He felt like he was still chasing smoke, still looking for that spark. Was it possible to become a stalker if you didn’t know who you were stalking? The irony twisted his mouth into a grimace. His life sounded like a bad country love song. Now all he needed was a dog that could kick off to make his life complete.

A fast glance through the hotel information in the nightstand proved he was out of luck, no laundry service. Under the listing for local amenities, one lone Laundromat sat with the ultra-creative title of the Greenville Wash-n-Dry. Jack rattled on.

“Hey, Jack, I have to go. I’ve been on the road for two weeks with three more ahead of me. You’ve got Carol to wash your socks. I have to take care of my own.”

Bram tossed the phone on the bed and surveyed his options. Since he wasn’t into nude public dining, he didn’t have any. Blowing out a sigh, he accepted fate. He’d rather eat ground glass with a spoon, but he zipped the duffle closed.
Wash-n-Dry, here I come
.