Pool Man (9 page)

I wanted to rip off her panties—they seemed flimsy enough to do so—but didn’t even have patience for that. I slipped beneath the band and touched her nub. It was hard and swollen and slick. She whimpered, so I stroked her again.

“Do you like that, baby?” I whispered into her ear. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, God, yes.”

Without hesitation I found her entrance and plunged in. Deep. The sensation nearly unmanned me. Hell. Like velvet, hot, wet velvet, she clutched at me. I growled, unable to maintain any brand of civility. Or gentility. Or gentlemanly seduction.

Not here.

Not now.

Now there was only need.

Her fingers fluttered over the snap to my jeans; a question flickered in her eyes.

“Fuck, yes.” A snarl.

As she scrambled to unsnap and unzip me, I yanked her panties down. Our limbs tangled, working at cross-purposes, but we were both far too determined to fail. And as soon as I was free—didn’t even bother to kick off my shoes or remove my jeans or anything, just tugged them down along with my briefs, and my cock sprang free—I yanked up her leg once more and entered her.

She came around me. God. She came around me. One thrust and she came. The glory of that thought, of how much she wanted me, needed me, the bliss of knowing her passion, her yearning matched mine, was mind-blowing. I nearly erupted right then and there. But I held back. At great cost, I held back and dedicated myself to making her come again and, perhaps, again.

It was wild. It was savage. It was a frantic possession borne of too many days, too many nights, apart. I wanted her. Needed her. Loved her.

Loved the way she clenched me. Loved the way she climbed up me to get more, lifting her other leg and locking it around me. I accommodated her, grasping her ass in both hands and hanging on for dear life as I pummeled into her.

Nothing slow or sweet, nothing gentle in the slightest. Just pure passion. Absolute pleasure.

She clenched around me in a grip that caused me to lose my footing. I slammed her harder against the wall and shifted and found new leverage, sluicing in and out of her from this angle and that until I found it again, that special spot she had for me deep inside.

“Oh God!” she wailed, grasping at my hair. Yanking at it actually. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t care.

I took advantage of her position and zeroed in on that long, lush column of her neck, ravaging the silky skin, nipping and laving and scraping her with my teeth.

She shuddered again, and again. Her body closed in on itself, on me, making my withdrawals more and more deadly. I shivered with each retreat, quaked with each new advance.

Tighter and tighter, harder and harder, closer and closer. Together, we climbed.

The room was wreathed with our gasps, cries, pleas. The sounds of our bodies slamming together circled us, enrobing us in a shared bubble of existence. The universe narrowed down to that point where we joined.

“Please, please,” she gasped. And then she said it. She said my name, on an impassioned cry as she came apart in my arms.

The sound of it, my name, slipping past her lips, for the first time, released me.

I came like I’d never come before. Erupting, exploding, filling her. Giving her everything. Body and soul.

Blind and breathless, buried in bliss. Enslaved by the clasp of her heat.

I came.

I clung to him as he pressed me there into the wall of his foyer, holding me up, on him, impaling me with his hot shaft. I hadn’t intended for something like this to happen so quickly, right out of the gate.

Well, maybe I had.

I’d hoped, dreamed, prayed I’d made some kind of an impact on this man. That I’d been as unforgettable to him as he’d been to me.

Seeing him again, so unexpectedly, had shattered my calm, but on the quick drive to his place, I knew. I just knew.

I had to do whatever I could to lock him in my life.

If nothing else, I needed to touch him, taste him, have him again.

And this… This undeniable evidence that he’d felt the same, that he wanted the same…

It humbled me.

It made me want to cry.

But I swore I wouldn’t cry.

He tipped up my chin and kissed me and then frowned. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

He thumbed my cheeks and came back damp. “Paige…?”

I wiggled and he let me loose, guiding me to the floor. I wobbled and realized I was still wearing my heels. But then, he was still wearing his jeans. And his shoes. “I’m fine,” I sniffled, raking back my hair, which had somehow come undone.

But then, if I was being honest, all of me had come undone. And I liked it. I liked the wildness he released in me. The savage beast.

“Why are you crying?” He yanked up his briefs and his jeans as though they were armor. I sensed a hesitancy, a worry in him. I didn’t like it.

I cupped his cheek and made him look at me, though he seemed reluctant to do so. “It was beautiful,” I said with a shrug. “Absolutely perfect. And I missed you.”

“You missed me?” He perked up like a little boy offered a cookie.

“I did.”

“Ah, Paige.” He yanked me into his arms. “I missed you too. I almost went crazy thinking I might never see you again.” His brow darkened. “Do you know I even burned my risotto?”

“No.”

“I was thinking about you…” He paused and studied me through one narrowed eye. “So obviously it’s your fault.”

“Obviously.”

“I should have known you’d have this effect on my cooking that first night.” This he mumbled, almost to himself.

“That first night?”

“You made me forget the paprika.”

I gaped at him, then burbled, through a laugh, “What does paprika have to do with anything?”

“I never forget the paprika in my risotto. It’s like my secret ingredient.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Paprika is hardly a secret. Everyone knows about it. Lots of people probably use it in risotto.”

“Not the way I do.” Those words, that tone, sent a shiver through me. No doubt, he was right. No one did anything quite the way Danny James did it.

No one certainly made love like him. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, his fantastic looks—which were…fantastic—or his laugh, or his smile or his sense of humor. Or the way the scent of him drove me wild. Or his clever quips, which always seemed to meet, if not top mine. Or his talent in the kitchen or simply…him.

I loved him. I loved him and wanted him and needed him in my life forever.

I was so glad I’d found him again.

Or he’d found me.

Whatever.

“Speaking of risotto… Are you hungry?” he asked.

Yeah. A perfect man.

I ignored his question—though I was hungry—and wrapped my arms around him and kissed his face. “I owe Marlee big time.”

“Do you?” He kissed me back.

“If it weren’t for her, we’d never have met.”

He shuddered. “Don’t even think about it. How about rolled lamb loin with mint?”

My stomach growled. “That will take too long. Do you have any peanut butter?”

I did
not
make her peanut butter.

For God’s sake.

One of the world’s most renowned chefs at her fingertips and she asks for peanut butter?

We settled on beef Wellington, and only because I had leftovers in the fridge. I cringed to warm it in the microwave, but once I mentioned food, Paige realized how famished she was and refused to wait for any “fancy-schmancy food.” And, did I mention, I was
not
giving her peanut butter?

Our first meal at my place—and I was determined there would be a lifetime more—was wonderful. We sat on the patio and stared out at the city, drinking wine and eating leftovers and talking. And then we watched the sun go down.

As the evening progressed, I knew, with deeper conviction, we were meant to be together.

Even when she told me the truth about Jimmy and Marlee and the way she came to arrive at my house. I couldn’t help laughing.

“You thought I was a gigolo?”

“I thought you were a
pool boy
.”

I struggled with a response, not sure how to take this blow to my masculine ego. “Do I look like a pool boy?”

She studied me. For far too long. “No. I suppose not.” She selected a truffle—the chocolate kind, the ones I’d bought for her, just in case I found her, in case she came here, in case we could be together again—and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as she sucked it. “But the way Marlee described him, tall, dark irresistibly handsome, that all seemed to fit. And I thought I was in the right house—”

“When you stripped naked.”

She flushed. “Don’t remind me of that. Don’t even think about that. How mortifying.”

“I can’t help thinking about that. In fact, I am picturing it now.” Long, limbs, heavy full breasts, magnificent rampant curls… My cock pinged in response.

I was contemplating taking her into my arms and kissing her and proposing perhaps, when all of a sudden she went pale. She flicked a horrified look at me, one that sent chills down my spine.

“What?” I asked, though part of me didn’t want to know.

Her lips quivered as she forced the words out. “Do you remember our rules?”

I nodded. Of course I did.

“We broke them.”

A laugh erupted from my throat. “I’m not the one who brought up Marlee…”

She shook her head. Those curls bobbled. I wondered what my cock would feel like, buried in that silken mass. “Not that rule…” She glanced back at the door and I, perforce, followed her gaze. Recalled the wild passionate
taking
there a short hour ago. I wanted her again.

“We didn’t use protection.”

And it hit me, what I’d been trying to remember before when she reached down and grabbed my dick and made me stupid. “That was hardly the first time we broke that rule.” Yeah. The two of us. On the sofa. Her foot in my mouth. My passion way out of control. I’d made love to her there, then, with no condom as well.

“Oh dear.” She nibbled her lip and peeped up at me.

“I’m clean,” I assured her. “And you’re on birth control.”

She paled. Looked away.

“You’re…not on birth control?”

“My doctor took me off, just before my vacation. Some stupid thing about my stupid blood pressure being too high. But I do have a clean bill of health…other than that.”

Well, that was good to know.

“Oh Danny…” She stared at me, her blue eyes wide. “What if…?”

I took her hand, a sudden thrill snaking through my veins. A little Paige with wide blue eyes and tumbling curls and that sweet crooked smile?

“What if?” I asked.

My smile snagged her attention. She stared at me for a long moment and then her lips, her sweet, luscious lips, lifted.

Part Three: Danny & Paige & Jimmy

Epilogue

He made me fat.

I always suspected that was his secret plan, what with all the truffles and the pastries and the rich béarnaise. Though there hadn’t been much of that lately. Lately I was eating little other than crackers and peanut butter. And pickles.

It drove Danny crazy, the vagaries of my appetite, but hey, when a woman has cravings, her man had better deliver what she wants. And—as Ethan would say—
stat
.

I waddled into the kitchen and peered over the marble island to see what he was cooking. A delicious aroma teased my nostrils and my tummy growled.

He looked sexy, as usual, in his jeans, tee shirt and
Stud Chef
apron. The absolute concentration on his face was adorable, the way he nibbled his lip and all.

I was jealous.
I
wanted to nibble his lip.

But I couldn’t do that. That would distract him. And when I distracted him, he tended to burn the risotto. And
that
would be a disaster. I’d developed a hankering for Danny’s risotto.

He glanced up and shot me a smile. “Hey, baby. Did you have a nice nap?” I napped a lot these days.

“It was awesome.”

“Totally?”

I laughed at his Valley girl patois. “Totally.” I leaned closer. Took a whiff. “What’cha makin’?”

“Risotto.” He scooped some up on the wooden spoon and held it out to me, his other hand beneath to catch any drips. “Taste.”

I complied with his command. I always did. Heaven exploded on my tongue. “Umm,” I moaned.

He quirked a dark brow. God, I loved his face. I loved
him
. “Good?”

“Yes, but it’s different than last time.”

“Someone’s growing a palate.” His grin was wicked. “What tastes different?”

“Is that a hint of tarragon?”

His grin widened. He looked so pleased, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I could see the clearly labeled package of fresh tarragon on the counter. “Must be the influence of my son growing in your belly,” he chortled.

Yeah. He chortled a lot lately. Especially when he talked about the son he’d planted in my—now enormous—belly.

He gave the risotto another stir, tapped the spoon and set it on the trivet before lowering the heat. Then he came around to hug me. I loved the feel of his arms around me. I always had, but never more than now, when they barely fit.

He stroked my tummy. “How’s our boy doing?”

“Kicking.” I wrinkled my nose. “I think he wants out.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled my neck. “Soon. Soon.”

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Names?”

Danny groaned. “Not this again.”

“We will have to name him.”

“Not
that
.”

I put out a lip. It usually got me what I wanted. In fact, Danny went out of his way to give me everything I wanted. Or needed. Or might potentially someday desire.

It didn’t work this time. “We are
not
naming him Jimmy,” he growled.

“Why not?”

“Seriously? Jimmy James?
James James
?” He snorted. “Besides, Jimmy was a
gigolo
.”

“Jimmy was a pool boy.”

“And we don’t have a pool.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that—”

Oh, but there wouldn’t be time.

Because, just then, my water broke.

Needless to say, the risotto burned to a crisp.