MoreThanWords (12 page)

“In sexy lingerie,” he said, standing and taking a step
toward her.

“No, not always.” Oh god, he was right behind her. His jeans
brushed her hamstrings. Such a fleeting touch. Not enough, not nearly enough.

“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning…that was the jerk
version of me I told you about last night. I wish he hadn’t come out with you.”

She straightened and faced him, wallet in hand. “And I wish
I wasn’t the irrational, neurotic woman I told you about last night, but I am.”

One of them should say something else. Travis took the
wallet, tucked it in his back pocket. She transferred her weight foot to foot
and back again. They looked at one another but said nothing. A standoff—until
Charming barked up at them. The moment had a distinctly domestic feeling, as if
the little dog was telling them to kiss, make up and move on. Would that it was
so simple.

“I should take him out for a minute and get back to the
store before Caitlyn has a shit fit.”

“I’ll follow you out, I’ve got to get some test pages to a
client before he joins your sister in shit fit land. Once people decide they’re
ready for a new website, they want it done yesterday.”

Normal conversation. This, she could do. “So, if I told you
I want my online store redesigned, when could I expect to have it done?
Yesterday?”

She gasped as he cupped her waist, dragging her tight and
close to his body. “You’d be my first priority, sweetheart, but I wouldn’t rush
it. I’d take the time to do it right, to make it perfect for you.”

“You’re really passionate about metadata,” she sucked in a
breath as his hands ran over her ass, down to the bottom of her skirt, “and
hyperlinks.”

Travis’ nails lightly scraped the heated skin above her stockings.
He pulled the twill fabric up for better access. His fingers slid easily across
her arousal-moistened thighs, his lips curling upward at the discovery.

Her cheeks burned. Still, she opened wider. Shamelessly
wanting more.

His fingers snaked beneath the edge of her lacy bikini
panties. Stroked her wet slit, back and forth without breaching her. She rocked
against his hand—an involuntary reaction—but he maintained the control, denying
her the pressure and penetration she craved. Needed. One night with him and
she’d turned into an addict, and only his personally delivered orgasms would
do.

She grabbed fistfuls of his jacket. Opened her mouth to beg,
demand, something. All that came out was a gurgled squeak.

“Can I come over later—I promise to leave my idiot side at
home.”

The only word she registered from his request was
come
.
“I’d like that.” A whole big lot.

“Around six good?”

She managed an “Uh-huh” between breaths. Real speech was
impossible with his fingers teasing her to the point of desperation. Her heavy
breathing turned into a whimper when he withdrew.

“I’ll bring dinner.” He put the glistening fingers in his
mouth. Sucked them clean, clearly savoring every second of it. “You can be
dessert.”

“Calli. Quit whatever you’re doing and get down here.”
Caitlyn wouldn’t be able to see them from the bottom of the stairs, but with
the apartment door open at the top, and from the tone of her voice, she’d
obviously heard them. “I have a mani-pedi appointment to keep. If I’m late,
those women at Lucky Nails will start charging me for the extra topcoat.”

“Five minutes,” Calli called down.

An annoyed
hmph
floated up the stairs, followed by
clacking heels.

“Your sister seems like…an interesting girl.”

“She’s really great, she’s just not used to…” Nerves crowded
her throat. Anything she said would sound cocky and presumptuous.

“To what?”

“Losing. Especially when it comes to men. Or competing with
me.”

Travis hugged her tight. His lips brushed hers with the
softest kiss. “It was no competition. You’re the woman I want.”

Chapter Eight

Avoiding his computer wouldn’t make the workload disappear.
Neither would spending every free minute at Calli’s place. Didn’t see that
changing, though. He was completely into her, no question about it. Talking for
hours, playing Scrabble—even when it wasn’t the dirty version. Watching her eat
strawberries—her favorite fruit—the way her lips wrapped around the red orb,
sucking it into her mouth. That little appreciative moan she made while sucking
the juice. His cock twitched thinking about it. She never tried to be sexy, yet
everything she did was erotic. He’d had four straight nights of kissing,
licking and fucking her. Plus mornings, since he’d stayed over. Still wasn’t
enough.

Every hour he was here, away from her, was a chore. Focusing
on work or music didn’t keep his eyes off the clock, counting the minutes until
she’d be done in the store. Not that she was going anywhere if he was late or
didn’t show. A lot of guys would kill to be in his situation. Hot girlfriend
who was always available and eager to suck his cock, fuck him however he liked,
but made no demands of him…score. He could pick up at the club tonight and
she’d never know. She’d never catch him misbehaving because she never left her
room—literally.

Wasn’t going to happen though. In one week, being with other
women had become the furthest thing from his mind. Now all he wanted was more
time with one woman—Calli. Not just for the sex, it was more than that. Better.
The sound of her laughter, the light in her eyes when she smiled. Knowing that
he’d been the one to put it there did a number on him. He was addicted. Spent
hours thinking of ways he could make her happy. And her contented sigh when she
leaned against his chest, the way her heartbeat settled into a steady, relaxed
rhythm as she slept, safe and secure in his arms… Instead of bolting, he wanted
those things. Wanted to be the man she counted on and trusted. A real
connection. A future with somebody who stimulated his mind and soul, as well as
his body. His gut said this was it,
she
was it. No way he’d fuck it up
like he had the first night.

Exclusively hanging at her place was no big deal right now.
Eventually, though, he wanted to take her out. To dinner and movies, on the
road when they played out of town. Thinking about leaving her to go to the club
tonight had made him realize that last part. He wanted her at his shows. Down
in front or waiting behind the curtain, he didn’t care. He wanted her there.
That was a first that’d hit him hard. He’d fallen for Calli, and it wasn’t just
his cock doing the wanting.

He glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. Two
o’clock. All he needed was a plan, a time management budget for the rest of the
day. No problem. Work on this song for another hour. If he got back to the
website project by three, he’d get two solid hours in before heading over to
Calli’s. Have a quick bite and possibly a quick something else with her, then
be at the club by eight. Without her. Fuck.

Christmas, that was the target. One month to lure her out of
that damn apartment and into the real world. Fully into his life. The band was
booked for New Year’s Eve—a popular venue in downtown Toronto. It would be a
long, crazy night. No way he’d break away before midnight. On top of that was
the hour drive, possibly in shit weather. He’d be lucky to make it to her place
by the middle of the night at the earliest. Not good enough. When the calendar
rolled over to a new year, he wanted Calli’s body pressed tight against him,
those gorgeous eyes looking up into his.

Shit, if he didn’t get his ass in gear and quit daydreaming
like a teenager, it’d be time to swap his guitar for the computer keyboard. He
cracked his neck side to side and slid his fingers up the fretboard of his
Taylor acoustic. The steel strings hummed beneath his skin, the sensation as
intrinsic as it was physical. Nothing beat holding a guitar. Almost nothing.

He closed his eyes and strummed the chords that’d been
haunting his mind. Not the song he was supposed to be writing—a rock song with
a catchy chorus for Black Box. This bit had floated up from somewhere else. And
it’d come with lyrics.

I was drifting, full of empty space

Wishing for someone who didn’t care about my face

A man with everything shouldn’t complain, but that’s
exactly what I did

Until I read your words, looked in your eyes, kissed your
lips

Yeah, this song wouldn’t be on Black Box’s playlist. And
yeah, he had it bad for the woman inspiring it.

* * * * *

“Hi.” Calli’s eyes dropped to the case in his hand. “You
brought your guitar.”

“I could use an opinion about a song I’m working on, if
you’re willing.”

“Oh—sure, I guess.” She opened the door wider, making room
for him to pass.

Not quite the enthusiasm he’d hoped for. Karmic payback for
the times he’d refused women’s requests to play for them. That novelty had worn
off quickly, around the time he’d become a giant dick toward females in
general. Calli hadn’t asked him to play. Not once, even subtly. The questions
she had about his music or the band were business related, or about his training
and how his interests had developed.

From her old CD collection and the library of MP3s in her
laptop, he knew she listened to a lot of rock, folk and blues. Stuff he liked.
Stuff he’d covered in clubs, like he’d be doing tonight.

“I’m finishing up in the kitchen,” she said as they reached
the door to her apartment. “Can I listen while I get supper on the table, or do
I need to do something special—I’m not exactly qualified to give musical
feedback, you realize.”

Wrong. For this song, she was the most qualified person in
the world. “You listen to what I’ve got and tell me what you think.” He sat in
one of her kitchen chairs and played. No singing, just the instrumental portion
of the intro, verse and chorus, then the bridge. She stood at the counter, arranging
grated cheese on thick-sliced bread. She didn’t look at him while he played,
even though he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Near the end, she tucked her
hair behind one ear, giving him a view of her profile, including half a smile
that made him bungle a chord. Shit.

“You wrote that?” Her normally throaty voice came out with a
soft, silky quality that would’ve taken him down if he weren’t already sitting.

“Except for that last note.”

“It was beautiful. So…emotional. I loved it.”

“Calli, look at me.” He had to see her face, all of it.

She took her time donning oven mitts—purple, of
course—putting the bread in the oven and removing a casserole dish. Then she
turned. She wore a calf-length denim skirt with a slit up one leg and a fitted,
fully buttoned blouse, not unlike the one he’d destroyed during their first
night together. Her dark hair pooled on one shoulder. A pink flush tinged her
ivory skin. Could be the heat from the oven, but he’d bet not.

Every time he looked at her was like the first day—a yank on
his heart, cock, brain and every other cell in his body. “If somebody were to
ask me what it is about you that has me turned inside out, I wouldn’t be able
to answer.”

“Gee, thanks, Travis.”

She had to know what that did to him, hearing his name
wrapped in her vocal caress. He’d certainly told her enough times. Showed her
the effect. He leaned the guitar in the corner and crossed the short room to
stand in front of her, caging her where she leaned on the counter.

“Because it’s everything about you. Every inch of you on the
outside,” he nudged her head to the side to kiss her neck, “your intellect and
sense of humor, your kind heart…the fact that you wear these shirts with a
thousand tiny buttons.” The top ones popped easily. Damn, she had the finest
cleavage he’d ever laid eyes—or hands or tongue—on. And that skin-colored lace
bra…Jesus. “And you drive me crazy with how sexy you are.”

“I’m not sexy.” Her breath hitched as he finished with the
buttons, pushing the fabric aside to lick a line from her cleavage to her
navel. “Other women are sexy. Like Caitlyn. Me, I’m—”

“Not even in the same category as her, sweetheart.”

“I know. That’s my point.”

He looked up at her from his knees. Insecurity had stolen
the blush from her face. “Your sister is attractive, but she works it way too
hard. With you, it’s as natural as breathing. Beauty, charm, sexuality—all
without pretense. You’re a fucking siren, Calli. How do you not know that?”

No answer. She bit her bottom lip and stared down at him.
Fine, he’d show her. Again and again, if that’s what it took. He cupped her
ass. Unzipped her skirt. Tugged it down and tossed it aside. Jesus god. Panties
to match the bra. Nothing but see-through lace. No stockings today, just
smooth, bare legs ending with dark-painted toenails.

He toyed with a braided ankle bracelet made from thin strips
of leather and small beach pebbles. Her design. After she’d told him about her
jewelry-making hobby the other night, he’d coaxed her to show him every piece
she had on hand. They were incredible. Unique in subtle ways. Interesting
enough to stand out without being overdone. Kind of like her. Whenever she
talked about her handiwork or her business, she lit up. Confidence suited her.
She should always be that way.

“This is nice.” He spun the leather around her ankle, then
ran his hands up her legs to the backs of her thighs. “I’d like to have one of
your creations.”

“I didn’t picture you for an anklet kind of guy.”

Funny girl. He shook his head and pressed a kiss to the lace
between her legs. When she leaned into it, he added some tongue. Then her hands
were in his hair. Teasing wouldn’t cut it—not for either of them.

“Pretty panties, sweetheart, but they have to go.” A little
tug on the sides and the lace impediment disappeared. “You smell so good.”

“That’s the garlic bread,” her head fell back when he licked
through her folds, “or the pasta…cass…erole…”

The aroma of tonight’s meal had set his stomach to a high
rumble the second he set foot in the apartment. Calli could cook, had spoiled
him the past few days with her culinary skills, but at this moment, all he
wanted to eat was her.

He dipped his tongue inside her, scooped her essence into
his mouth. Calli’s taste went to work on him instantly. Her initial sweetness,
the subtle spiciness that bloomed as she got more turned-on, drove him crazy.
He’d been at perpetual half-mast since the first day he saw her. The slightest
touch gave him a full-on woody. But this—licking her pussy, devouring her like
a starving man with a buffet all to himself—turned him to steel. Having his
face buried between her legs was like being high. Better. Maybe because every
drop of blood in his body raced to his cock. Maybe it was something deeper. He
didn’t care, just wanted more.

Above him, she moaned. Some undecipherable combination of
words and gasps accompanying a tighter grip in his hair as she thrust her mound
forward. Her thighs trembled against his chest. Fuck, he loved when she got
this way. Needy, wanting, uninhibited.

He leaned into her, securing her between his body and the
cupboards. “I fucking love eating you.” He suctioned his mouth over her clit,
alternating between sucking and flicking until her whole body shook—then pulled
back abruptly before she could finish. Jesus, her cry of frustration nearly
made him lose it.

“Say it. Say what you want. Exactly what you want.”

Her head lolled forward, that glorious long hair dangling
above his head, framing her flushed cheeks and eyes that’d gone dark with
desire. “Make me come, Travis.”

His name again. His weakness with her—one of them, anyway. A
growl rumbled deep in his chest. “How?”

“Put your fingers in me and…suck my clit. I want to—” She
bit her lip, then let it slide between her teeth, plump and bruised.

“Tell me.” If she didn’t spit it out in about two seconds,
he’d dive back in there and finish her off, but fuck, he wanted to hear her say
the words. “Anything, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

“I want to…ride your face…while you…fuck me with your
fingers.”

All he needed to hear. He bore into her, suckling, lapping, driving
his tongue against her clit. She moaned again, louder. Clutched at his head,
pulling him closer, grinding against his face. Riding him while she sped toward
her climax. His cock ached. His balls tightened into hot, hard rocks. Forget
easy or slow, he pushed three fingers inside her pussy.

Her sexy voice filled the kitchen, “Travis, oh god…”

He relented only when she semi-collapsed atop his head. The
pounding of her heart echoed in his ear. Her scent—that roses, soap and sex
combo—surrounded him. Stripped his last inch of gentlemanly patience.

He eased out from her hold, grabbed a condom from his pocket
and pushed his jeans and boxers out of the way. “You lick your lips once more
while staring at my cock and I’m going to need you on your knees.” Wicked
woman, she did it again, only slower and more purposefully. Fine by him. He
tossed the packet on the table. Shook his head when she grabbed a cushion from
one of the chairs. “You won’t be down there long enough to need that.”

“In a hurry for dinner?”

“Only if you’re it.”

Sexy as hell in the open blouse and see-through bra, she
knelt before him, her smiling face mere inches from his cock. Her hands skated
up his legs, nails raking the insides of his thighs. Palms splayed across his
groin, she put those made-for-blowjobs lips on the head of his cock and sucked
him inside.

He groaned and leaned into her. Pushed inside her welcoming
mouth. Touched the back of her throat, felt her nose press against his stomach.
God yeah.

Her moan hummed around him. Her eyes were closed, as they
always were when she sucked him. Not his, he had to watch. Take in every
detail. Her eyelashes fluttering against pale skin, eyebrows drawn together in
an intense little crease. Lips plump and shiny sliding up and down his cock.
Cheeks hollowed from sucking him to perfection. So fucking beautiful.