R Is for Rebel (9 page)

Abigail burst out laughing and Eliot watched her as he took a sip of his beer. They all settled down and Abigail thought they were going to move into less perilous territory.

“So…” Abigail tried, hoping to redirect the conversation.

“So,” Eliot said. “Should we do an experiment?” He turned from Mike to Abby. “Just to give you the opportunity to prove that something like that wouldn't turn you on at all.”

She stared at Eliot, his sparkling eyes, his lips, then leaned a little farther forward to get a better look at Mike. From a purely aesthetic point of view, he was gorgeous: almost as tall as Eliot, lean, all sharp angles and full lips. Mike was a professional dancer and traveled all over the country; he was in perfect physical condition. Abigail had to be tipsy to even come up for it. She swallowed. “What kind of experiment?” she asked Eliot.

“How 'bout a kiss?” He moved his strong hand in the air between himself and Mike.

Just like that. Flat out.

She gulped too much beer.
Feck
. Because,
feck, yes
, she totally did want to see them kiss. When he asked it like that, she felt her insides curl into some supplicating quivering mass:
yes-yes-yes-YES
, her body screamed.

But. What did it mean? Was he toying with her? Was she toying with him? Was he trying to teach her a lesson? Were they just a bit slewed and having fun? She tried to remind herself that
fun
was her primary objective. She was going to go with fun. Fun was the opposite of that terrifying I'm-going-to-make-you-mine-forever thing she sometimes saw flash across Eliot's face when he looked at her. He didn't look deep and meaningful just now. He looked mischievous and adorable.

“Quit thinking so hard, Abigail.” Eliot with his bossy man voice. And that turned her on too. “Yes or no?”

Her breasts tightened in her bra and she decided not to be a liar. “Yes.” She felt her cheeks burn and looked at Eliot then at Mike. “I mean, only if you want to, of course…”

Mike's laugh was low. “Oh, no need to twist my arm.”

Eliot smiled. “Let's go out back so we don't frighten old man Smithers at the end of the bar with all of this man-on-man craziness.” He pulled Abigail from her stool and she stumbled a bit. He held her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tight as they followed Mike to the back door behind the pool table and into the darker area by the restrooms.

The cold air slammed into them and made Abigail give a quick gasp. Eliot pulled her closer to his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm great.” She smiled up at him, her teeth chattering. “Are you?”

His smile was all the answer she needed. Eliot set down his beer on the edge of the Dumpster and Mike did the same. The two guys looked at each other, then Eliot looked at Abigail again. “You sure you're okay with this? I don't want you to get all grossed out or anything.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. She was so obviously turned on by the mere idea of the two of them kissing and it was perfectly obvious. “I think I'll be able to endure it, Eliot.”

Mike laughed. “I'm freezing. Let's get this show on the road.”

Eliot smiled at Abigail one more time, then leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek, barely touching his lips to her skin. She felt like a gasping fish, the way she went after him to take more.

“Oh god.” Abby's eyes slid shut as she pulled his face to hers and kissed him with a ferocity she didn't know she possessed. She pressed her hips against the side of Eliot's hard thigh. When she opened her eyes again, Eliot was breathing hard and staring at her, looking into her eyes, then at her moist lips. Then his eyes darted to her hair, then back into her eyes.

Mike chuckled as he picked up the beer he had just set down. “You two have fun being
just
friends, you hear?” And he turned back into the bar.

They stood in the silent, biting cold for a few seconds before Eliot spoke. “Satisfied?”

“Not even close.” She kissed him again, not for a cheap thrill, but because she had to have him. And then his lips were responding to hers and he tasted of Jack Daniels and beer and Eliot. Abigail felt her legs dissolve beneath her and he pushed her up against the rough brick of the old bar and kissed her senseless. His hand was rough at the nape of her neck, grabbing a chunk of her hair and pulling her head back so he could take her mouth more forcefully.

Eventually, he kissed the edges of her lips, then along her jaw and neck until he was near her ear. His voice was warm and thick. “Don't you see? I don't care what either of us did before we met. I don't care who we were with or why. I want you, who you are right now. The woman here in my arms.” He kissed her again, farther down her neck, where the fabric of her polo neck rested lightly against her collarbone. “You and these goddamned turtlenecks.” He pulled the fabric down so the frigid air slid across her warm skin. A tingle of anticipatory desire trilled down her spine. Her shiver was almost convulsive. She wanted more of those hot, pressing kisses. She reached her hands around his powerful neck and urged his head back, trying to pull his lips back to hers.

“Not so bossy, miss.” He pulled her hands gently away from his neck and guided them down to the front of his pants, his lips and tongue continuing their slow meandering path across her neck and ear, getting nowhere near to satisfying her need. He pushed her hands against the straining, hard proof of his desire. His cock reacted immediately to the light pressure of her hands, finally, her hands, so close to being on him. “Touch me, Abigail.”

He was doing things with his tongue—sucking her, tasting her, teasing her—until she was warm and dizzy. And what had she been worrying about? It was fun. Glorious fun. She felt like she was floating.

“Abigail!” His voice was a brittle, demanding, desperate, forceful thing.

She tentatively stroked the fabric over his hard shaft, lightly outlining the shape and contour of him. She shivered at the heat that came off him, wanting more. Abby pressed harder with her fingers, wanting to feel him and see him and taste him. She wasn't going to last much longer in the freezing back alley behind the bar.

Eliot groaned into the skin of her neck and then bit the edge of her ear. She cried out and his mouth swooped down on hers again. She gasped. He kissed her tenderly at first then pulled her flush against him, wedging her hand even tighter against his erection, his hands pressed into the small of her back. A second later, he slid his hands lower, grasping the curve of her ass.

Finally
, he thought with a moan. He pulled her closer still.

“Eliot…” Her teeth were chattering. “Please don't stop… but can we go somewhere warmer.”

“I won't stop.”
I'll never stop
, he wanted to add. “Let's go home to my parents' place.”

“Okay.”

They walked back into the bar and Abby felt like the two of them might as well have a bright neon arrow above their heads that said,
Just
back
from
a
snog.

They got a taxi back, leaving Eliot's family wagon parked in front of the bar, rather than risk driving after all the whiskey shots and bottles of Bud. They made it as far as the living room. Eliot hoisted Abigail up by her shoulders and tossed her onto the large down sofa. His parents had gone to bed hours ago, but their room was only a few yards away.

“The light of the fireplace makes you look so beautiful, Abigail.” Eliot was trying to pull off her turtleneck while he focused on her face.

“Eliot! What if your mom walks in?” But she was breathy and laughing through the hoarse whisper of her voice. She was sure he could tell she wouldn't care if every detective in Scotland Yard happened upon them.

“They're dead asleep by now,” he whispered. “Don't even worry about it.” He was tugging her turtleneck up over her head as he spoke, and only got as far as removing it from her arms and letting it bunch at her neck.

Beneath, she had on one of her bog-standard white cotton Marks & Spencer bras.

“Oh dear,” he grumbled. “We are going lingerie shopping as soon as we get back to Europe. If you have plans for next weekend, cancel them.”

Abby arched her back and could see quite clearly that, despite his critique of her smalls, Eliot certainly did not appear discouraged. “Well, Mister Bossy,” she said as she wriggled around under his assessing look, “turns out, I already have plans for next weekend.”

He leaned over her and started kissing his way down her chest, then unhooked the front clasp of the serviceable bra as he whispered, “Change your plans.” Without looking up, he began to lavish all of his attention on her breasts.

“Oh dear god. Eliot.” She felt it everywhere. Not just where he was touching her and sucking and—“Jesus, Eliot!” He scraped the edge of his teeth along her nipples and then he covered her mouth with his, before her cry of delight could escape and wake the neighborhood.

After the kiss, he pulled away slowly, panting and dragging one hand through his messed up hair, the other making slow circles on Abigail's flat belly. “I feel like I'm in high school. And not in a good way. I want you in a huge hotel suite in Paris. In a huge bed. With me. And you. And no parents sleeping within earshot. I want to do things to you… all sorts of things… with you… Abigail.”

He had a raw desire about him that was exhilarating; it was still intense and emotional and laced with all the feelings that terrified Abigail, but his impatience was also naughty and hot as hell. Who would have thought upstanding Eliot Cranbrook would be the one to give
fun
a whole new meaning?

“I might be able to help you with that particular fantasy,” Abby whispered.

“Really?” His hand paused, then he started to trace the edge of her jeans, fiddling with the button and the zipper without actually undoing anything, then lazily trailing back up to circle her breasts. “How so?”

“Mmmm… um…” She licked her lips and reveled in the feel of his light exploration of her sensitive skin. “I'll be in Paris next weekend. At the Plaza Athénée. Why don't we meet there?”

“Done.” He seemed to consider that a very joyful turn of events. “Excellent.” He smiled and stood up taller. “Up,” he commanded, ordering her to lift her bottom so he could pull her into his arms and carry her up the stairs.

“How romantic!” she joked as she snaked her arms around his neck to hold on to him.

He looked down into her eyes and smiled, but she could tell he wasn't joking. “It is, isn't it?”

He took her into the guest room where she was staying, setting her gently onto the bed then closing the door carefully behind him. He crawled onto the narrow antique double bed and caged her beneath him. “This whole house was built for people half my size. It's a nightmare. There's no way we're having sex for the first time in this shoebox. Plus, I want to hear you scream.”

“Eliot!” She pretended to be taken aback by his sudden straightforwardness. Then she smiled and said, “Well, I'm sure we can think of a few things to do until you get me into one of the soundproof rooms in Paris, don't you?”

His smile was delicious. “Maybe something like this…” He kneeled back onto his heels and the bed creaked under the strain of his bulk. He rolled his eyes at the sound. “Honestly.” He undid the button and zipper of her jeans, then pulled them down around her knees. A second later, her white underwear were stretched across her knees as well. “These panties are going in the fire, just so you know.”

He rubbed the length of her thighs as he stared at the apex of her legs. “Dear, dear Abigail. Aren't you a little vixen?”

She lifted her chin enough to look down at her disheveled self: bra half off, turtleneck half off, pants… half off. Her head flopped back on the pillow and she shut her eyes in a show of listless defeat. “I seem to be all at sixes and sevens, Eliot darling. What ever will you do with me?”

Then he leaned in and kissed her between her legs and taunted her with his tongue and prodded her until he once again had to cover her mouth to prevent her cries of ecstasy from rousing not just his parents, but half the neighborhood. A few seconds after her release, she was murmuring his name and falling quickly asleep.

“How typical,” Eliot commented, slowly pulling off her socks and her jeans and her underwear, then her turtleneck. He stared down at her supple, perfect curves, her pale, immaculate skin. He pulled the sheets and blankets up over her, and she snuggled deeper into sleep.

“Sweet Eliot,” she mumbled through her burgeoning dreams.

I'm not going to be sweet when we get to Paris, I can tell you that
, he swore to himself and quietly let himself out of her room.

Abigail awoke Sunday morning in the bed in the guest room, naked and alone. The scent of bacon and eggs and coffee wafted up from the kitchen, and she could hear the cadences, if not the exact words, of Eliot conversing with his parents. Abby pulled on her red pajamas and the guest robe and tried to act casual.

“There you are!” Penny cried when Abby turned the corner into the kitchen.

Eliot chose that moment to take a sip of coffee, but he winked over the rim of his mug and Abby blushed up to the tips of her ears.

“I hope you're not coming down with something. You look a little flushed,” Will Cranbrook observed.

“Oh. No. I'm fine!” Abby put her palms up to her face. “Just woke up, pillow against the cheeks, and all that.”

“Well, just in case you're coming down with something, I'm making you a big breakfast to stick to your ribs for the trip back to England.” Penny sighed. “I hate that your visits are so short, Eliot. It's not fair.” She tapped the edge of the frying pan with the spatula to show her irritation.

“I'll see you in Geneva in a couple weeks, Mom. It's not like we don't get to spend time together.”

“I know, but I just imagine a time when we can all spend days and days eating ribs and watching football and just, you know, relaxing and being together.” She turned toward Abigail. “You know what I mean, Abigail, just being with your family on the weekends. You must all get together all the time, don't you?”

“Not always. And not all of us, no. My older sister has been living in northern Scotland for years and years, so we hardly ever see her. And my eldest brother, Max, lives at Dunlear Castle with his wife and their adorable baby. And Sarah and Devon are living in Mayfair. I stay at my mother's when I'm in town, but… we were never really the all-hang-out-on-Sunday-afternoon type of family to begin with.”

“Oh. That's a shame.”

“Not really. It's just… the way it is. Not bad at all, really.” But Abigail knew she sounded a bit too carefree about the whole thing, because she was overcompensating for how much she wanted to spend weekends hanging out with Eliot, doing nothing at all (except ensuring that they would have their hands on one another at all times).

“I have an idea!” Penny enthused. “You should come to Geneva when we're there, Abigail! Wouldn't that be fun, Will? Wouldn't it, Eliot?”

Eliot smiled into his coffee again. “Of course it would be fun, Mom. But let's not scare Abigail with visions of our inappropriately adoring family dynamics, all right?”

“Hrmph. I don't think there is anything inappropriate about affection, Eliot. That's just silly.” She wagged her spatula at him.

“I know, Mom,” Eliot said. “The world is a strange and terrible place. As difficult as it is for you to grasp, I'm a thirty-eight-year-old man and I might not want to spend
all
my free time with my mother. As much as I'd love to—”

“Cut it out!” Penny laughed. “I'm not as bad as all that! Am I, Will?” Her husband lived to please her, so he wasn't about to contradict her, but his noncommittal shrug was answer enough. “Oh, no! I am
that
type of mother!” She laughed again. “Okay, fine. I won't ask Abigail to come to Geneva and I guess I won't try to convince you two to stay over a few extra days.”

“Impossible. I'm sorry, Mom. It's been a wonderful weekend.” He looked at Abigail with that conspiratorial look again. “But I have to get back to Milan right away. The Ramazzotti family is finally ready to come to terms and negotiate with us, and I have to be at their offices, in person, first thing tomorrow morning. And it's already nighttime there.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you in a couple of weeks, okay?”

“Okay. Fine.” Penny turned off the stove and set the pieces of bacon onto the paper towel on a plate. “Eat your breakfast then go get on your fancy airplane.”

“Oh stop with that,” Eliot said.

An hour later, Abigail and Eliot had said their good-byes and were taking off from the private landing strip on the outskirts of town. In the shower that morning, Abigail had started envisioning all sorts of consummation scenarios that involved that pristine beige leather sofa in the back of Eliot's private jet, but he wasn't having any of it.

Abigail was trying to distract him from his work as the plane was making its ascent. He had already opened up his computer and was going over some of the revised spreadsheets that his mergers and acquisitions team had sent him that morning. He smiled without looking up from the screen.

“I'm so sorry, Abigail, but I just can't be distracted right now.” She was running her fingers along the edges of his sandy brown hair, where it curled ever so slightly near the turn of his collar.

She might have whimpered. “Not even a tiny distraction?”

He looked away from the computer and into her eyes, then set the laptop on the small tabletop to his right. “I would love a million tiny distractions, and I want you to be thinking of every single one and have them stockpiled for next weekend, when we can take our time…” His thumbs were caressing her cheekbones and she felt her whole body melting at his small attention. This was so potentially terrifying… how easily he turned her to mush.