Shopping for an Heir (15 page)

His body language was so clear, the eagerness making her heart quicken, the hunger to touch stronger than the need for decency. He broke the kiss first with a breathless hitch, then blinked, breathing hard.

“Come back to my place,” they said at the same time, with the same weight of a decade pulling their words down, into a register where desire had waited to be unleashed.

“You choose,” he insisted, deferring to her in an unnatural way. “It’s only fair.”

“How is that fair?” she challenged.

“Because I never gave you a choice ten years ago.”

She didn’t argue, because really, why?

“My place, then,” she said, pulling his hand toward the T. “I want you to meet someone.”

* * *

“
G
erald
, meet Smoochy. Smoochy, this is Gerald,” Suzanne said as she pulled her keys out of the lock, the half-opened front door to her condo letting the hot air from the non-air-conditioned hall into her living room.

“You have a dog?
You?
You hate dogs!” Gerald said, his rumbling laughter making his chest shake as the little white puffball sniffed his feet, making him step back and sit down on Suzanne’s couch.

“I do not!” She handed him a beer.

“You did when I knew you. Said we could never have one,” he argued. The little bichon frise climbed into his lap, settled down with her chin on his thigh, and closed her eyes.

“She likes you,” Suzanne noted with a smile. “Smoochy doesn’t like everyone.”

“She has good taste. What made you get a dog?”

“I needed a wingman.”

He was taking a swig of the beer when her words sank in. He damn near choked.

“And I guess I wanted somebody to be here when I got home. I don’t know. I hit the seven-year mark at work and was made partner. My hours lightened slightly.”

“You were lonely.”

“I was lonely. Yes.”

“I keep fighting the urge to apologize. How about I tattoo
I’m sorry
on my ass?” From another man, that would sound sarcastic.

But she could tell he meant it sincerely.

“That would be fun. You’d moon me constantly.”

He grinned.

“My loneliness is funny?” Her tone made it clear she was inquiring about his grin.

He shook his head. “No.”

She didn’t pry.

“Your loneliness makes me wish I had more clarity back then.” He patted Smoochy’s head. “But this old girl seems to be a good companion. Did you get her as a puppy?”

“Actually, she’s a rescue. Had her for less than a year. Her owner had to go into a nursing home.”

The look he gave her was touching. “That’s really nice of you. To rescue her.”

“You know what they say. Not sure who rescued whom.”

Smoochy sighed again, her body going limp against Gerald.

“I’ll leave you two alone for your intimate moment,” Suzanne said with a laugh. “I think
someone
has established herself as the alpha female here.”

“My lap’s big enough for two,” he said, patting his free thigh.

Skin shouldn’t warm so quickly, and not from just a few words, a look, a gesture.

But it did.

Her pulse faded, receding, taking with it the steady beat that helped her to know where his body ended and the air began. He met her gaze and they stared. It wasn’t that she was uncertain. She wanted him. He wanted her.

What held them back?

Civilian life had never been part of them. Suzanne and Gerald had known each other for two years, with snippets back home. A trip to meet his mom and dad. A trip back home when his dad had died of a sudden stroke. Their visit to see her mom in Minnesota. Snatches of time out of war zones.

He’d never seen her apartment, nor she his.

Because they hadn’t had one.

“This is so strange,” he said.

She was relieved he took the lead. She sat down next to him.

“I know.” A thousand questions radiated from her, heat seeking his body, drawing him in.

“You’re not in a uniform. I’m not in a uniform. And I’m sitting on your couch in your very nice condo in a great Charlestown neighborhood with your dog drooling on my leg.”

“It’s surreal.”

His voice went rough with emotion. “It’s everything I’ve wanted for years, Suz.”

He leaned in, kissing her softly. Smoochy stirred, sat up, and toddled off, jumping off a very distracted Gerald’s lap.

“Let’s take this,” she said, breathless between kisses, “one step at a time.”

“Define ‘step.’”

“Spend the night with me.”

“I like that step.”

“Make me breakfast in the morning.”

“Is that step two?”

“Sure.”

“I always respond well to a clearly defined set of procedures.”

“How about a map?”

“Even better.”

Neither one moved. The offer, once accepted, was almost enough. Acting on it felt so big. So was he, though. As she crawled into his lap, connected to him by their eager mouths, she pulled her skirt up so she could straddle him, his arms wrapping around her waist. The heat of sinking into him, the intimacy of having his body so close, made her mind rest.

Her body took over.

“You taste so good,” he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding up her spine in tandem, then moving across her shoulders in synchronized perfection to remove her suit jacket. The shiver she gave came less from the temperature change and more from the delicious feel of how he touched her. With Gerald, a touch wasn’t just the stroke of a finger, the brush of a palm, the flick of a tongue, or the thrust into her. Never one to waste movement, he reveled in it, living fully in dimensions she couldn’t even see.

He pulled her shirt out from her waistband just as she returned the favor, seeking the raw warmth of his skin. Her hands flattened against his thick shoulders, the connection grounding, her body moving in a slow, involuntary rhythm against him as he kissed her hard.

So hard.

As he cupped her breasts over her bra, her nipples tightened, the ache spinning down in a spiral, tearing through years of pain and craving. Her breath hitched and his kiss became more urgent, his intent clear. It was so good to kiss a man who knew how to hold her just so, who used a feather light touch where she wanted it, and who pressed where a tighter squeeze made a difference.

Gerald had been joyfully unrestrained in bed, hours of pleasure unending, as if there were no events marking time—no final orgasm, no steps in a schematic—but only the undefined fuzzy logic of imperfect art played out in moans and sighs, in the light stroke of a fingertip against responsive flesh, in the wave of tongue against arched hips and the push and pull of love cried out in ecstasy.

In minutes, they would be back in that dimension.

She shivered with anticipation.

“What are we doing?” she whispered, the tone playful, his hands sinking into her long waves.

“Whatever it is, it’s been a while,” he rasped. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed
this
.” His hand left her breast and traveled up, thumb moving from her chest to her chin, her lips closing over his finger with a warm, wet welcome.

“Like riding a bicycle,” she whispered, letting him go. “Except no fish.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shut herself up by kissing him, and within seconds, he was the one doing the kissing, her breath quickening, her blood racing through her, moved by the proximity to him. He was here, in her arms, and she was in his. They were together, finally.

Finally.

He pushed up against her, his erection an invitation, wild heat pooling between her legs, the need for climax rising up in her like a plea. She didn’t just want the release that came from any orgasm.

Joining with
him
, coming with
him
was what she wanted desperately.

Him.

“Take me to bed,” she murmured against his ear. He kissed her neck, letting a low growl fill the back of his throat, her body primed for the sound. Unbuttoning his shirt, she rushed, the hurried ache too keen, too great, to wait one minute more.

She needed him, needed to feel him inside her, over her, to have him everywhere at once so she could remember what it felt like to be wanted so badly, to be understood so thoroughly, to let yourself go with abandon and trust until you obliterated the boundaries between one body and another.

He moved her gently off him and stood.

She reached for him, lacing her fingers through his.

And led him to the one place where they could put the past where it belonged.

And where the future could roll out before them, naked and vulnerable, completely fresh and stunningly real.

“
Y
ou totally slept with him
,” Kari said as she pulled Suzanne into a hug, the mixture of Kari’s perfume, ground coffee, and delivery truck exhaust combining to make Suzanne hold back a tickling sneeze.

They were in Kari’s favorite new coffee shop, a place whose only redeeming quality seemed to be the baristas, all extremely hot men who looked like male models.

“I did,” Suzanne admitted. “How can you tell?” It had been three days since Gerald had spent the night in her apartment, and while they’d both had work issues interfere, a steady stream of texts made it clear that their night together had not been an anomaly.

“Because you look like you finally unclenched.”

“Hey!”

“You asked.”

Ignoring her, Suzanne peered at the coffee menu. An Americano sounded good. Black coffee on an empty stomach was great fuel. Given her ten a.m. meeting with Phelps, she needed all the reinforcements she could muster.

“How’s the coffee here?”

Kari was tracking a guy who looked like a lumberjack, minus the beard. Tailored flannel clung to his abs, so tight Suzanne could see the eight-pack under the tartan.

“Who cares?”

“I do!” She started to take out her wallet and approach the counter. Kari put her hand on her wrist.

“I got this.”

Reluctantly, Suzanne put away her money. That was code for
This is a mystery shop
.

“They are all so young,” Suzanne said, nearly clucking her tongue. When did she turn into one of the church ladies from her small town back home in Minnesota? Years of military life left her with a fine appreciation for the muscled male form. No need to get shameful about it.

“I know.” Was Kari licking her lips? “Eye candy.”

“You’re objectifying them. You claim to be a feminist.”

“I can honor the beauty of the male form and still uphold women’s rights.”

“You’re a horndog.”

Kari’s silence spoke volumes.

One Americano and one mocha frappuccino abomination later, they sat at a long slab of heavily-varnished oak, precariously teetering on tall aluminum stools that were clearly designed by someone with a torso like taffy. Or Gandalf.

Even Suzanne, a relatively tall woman at 5’10”, couldn’t find balance.

“I think they designed these to be so uncomfortable that you drink your coffee quickly and leave.”

“Who would want to do that?” Kari asked, her eyes on one of the workers watering plants, reaching up with a watering can, his shirt pulling out of his waistband and exposing tanned joy in skin form.

“Cut it out! We’re here to talk about my sex life for once.”

“That’s right! You had sex! How was it?”

Suzanne blushed.

“You—you’re blushing! Suz, I didn’t know you could do that! He unlocked some blood source inside you, like a spell in a paranormal television series. Ian Somerhalder is about to come walking through the door.”

“How romantic. Thinking about Gerald made me blush.”

“He made you human! No more ice queen.”

“I am not an ice queen!”

“Not to me. But to guys, you sure are. Remember my brother?”

Suzanne felt all the blood drain out of her face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. I mean, he was nice and all, but he wanted me to talk about being a submissive wife.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not judging. He’s a little nutso. But,” Kari added, perking up. “He’s really doing well selling probiotics through multi-level marketing, and he and Junie are about to have their fourth child!”

In four years.

“Great! There’s someone out there for everyone.”

“I sure hope so.” Kari eyed Mr. Tartan.

“And for some of us, there are someones.”

“Mmm hmmm.” Kari was in Scottish lumberjack land.

“Quit drooling,” Suzanne ordered.

“It’s my
job
to watch them!” Kari smirked.

“Mmm hmmm. So, I spent time with Andrew McCormick yesterday,” she announced.

Carrot dangled.

“What?” Kari gave her full attention. “Was Amanda there?”

Carrot bitten.

“What is with you and your Amanda fascination? What the hell did she ever do to you to make you hate her so much?” Suzanne had never understood this. Then again, Suzanne didn’t take business personally the way Kari did.

“She sniped a bunch of accounts from Fokused Shop-rite.”

“Sniped?”

“You know.”

“You mean her company presented their proposal and they won?”

“Yes.”

“That’s called competition, Kari. Not sniping.”

Kari bared her teeth.

“You are unhinged about this woman.”

“And now Consolidated Evalu-Shop got bought out by Anterdec. They’re going to be a formidable force.” Kari leaned in and whispered, “Are the floor mats at the entrance clean? I can’t see from here and I have to answer that question on my app.”

“Stand up and look!”

“If I do that I lose visual on Mr. Washboard Abs.”

“Mr—oooooh.” Suzanne’s voice trailed off to a hush as the employee who had been watering plants out front now changed lettering on a tall sign.

“I could rub my clothes all over that and get nice and wet.”

“KARI!”

“Don’t blow my cover!”

“I’m going to blow
chunks
if you keep talking like that.” Suzanne gulped down half her now-warm Americano.

“What are you going to do with Gerald?”

Suzanne gave her the stink eye.

“I don’t mean it that way. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Get yours back on your job. You’re not timing the intervals between customers,” Suzanne pointed out. “Or measuring the curtains or whatever you’re supposed to evaluate.”

“I wish they’d ask me to see how easy it is to get an employee’s phone number.” Kari sighed. “You want a cinnamon bun? I have to buy one for the shop.”

“I’ll eat a few bites.” Suzanne patted her stomach. “But not much.”

Kari looked down at the swell of her hips, compared herself visually to Suzanne, and sighed.

“How do you live with so few carbs?”

“How do you live with so few morals?”

Kari cracked up, but her eyes tracked a guy walking past the big windows in the cafe. He wore a kilt, soccer cleats, and a tuxedo jacket.

No shirt.

“I love this neighborhood,” she said with a sigh, looking away when the guy was gone.

“You love men.”

“Guilty. So do you.”

“Man. I lo—am attracted to one man. Not
men
.”

“Just say you love Gerald, Suz. C’mon.”

She said nothing.

“Are you seeing him tonight?”

“Yes.” The giddy feeling that bubbled up every time she thought about another night, a breakfast, the domesticity of so many hours together in her home, made her feel lighter than air.

“And?”

“And what?”

Kari made an O with her index finger and thumb, and took her other finger and performed a vulgar gesture.

Suzanne smacked her hands down.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m sex-deprived.”

Suzanne finished her coffee and stood, looking at Kari. “I have a client meeting and too many billable hours to log today. Thanks for the coffee.”

“No ‘thank you’ for the advice?”

“What advice?”

Kari started to form that finger circle again.

Suzanne left, shaking her head.

The amusement ended abruptly four blocks away, when she got to the office and found a very pissed Norm Phelps at her desk, scowling.

“He called. He’s donating.”

“He who?”

“Gerald Wright.”

“Already?”

“Called fifteen minutes ago. Asked for the firm’s help in figuring out how to meet international and domestic law to forfeit the relic to a cultural institution.”

Oh, my.

“Did you know about this?” Phelps’ words came with a scorch mark.

“I suspected.”

“You could have warned me.”

“Why are you so invested, Norm? It’s just an inheritance case.”

“We have a buyer for the relic.”

“We have two, technically. James McCormick has thrown his hat into the ring,” she reminded him.

“The other buyer is determined,” he snapped.

She shrugged. “And you think McCormick isn’t? My client will make his own decisions. I can’t sway him.”

“You can make sure he’s well informed.”

“I’ve already done that.” She frowned at him. “Are you implying otherwise?”

“No. But maybe you haven’t spent enough time with him, going through the ins and outs, giving him a detailed sense of what the benefits of selling might entail.”

“Why would I need to do that? It’s cut and dried. Sell, make fifty to sixty million. Donate to a cultural institution. There isn’t an in-between.”

“He’s just a chauffeur! His income is nothing. Why the hell would the guy choose any option but the wealthy one?” Norm ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“Not everyone is motivated by money.”

“You sound like a second-year law student who’s too earnest for her own good. Not a grizzled partner in a major Boston law firm, Suzanne.”

“What bug crawled up your ass and died, Norm?”

“Harrison Kulli’s client. The guy is well connected and he’s making some shady threats.”

“Like?”

“Let’s just say it would behoove us all if Wright sold it to him.”

“If I tell Gerald that, it’s the fastest way to guarantee he
doesn’t
sell to Kulli’s client. You realize neither of us can stand Harrison Kulli.”

“I don’t give a shit whether you like the guy or not, Suz. I’m not asking you to be tennis partners. What I want is for this case to go away. And the easiest step is for Wright to sell the damn thing to Kulli’s client.”

“Or James McCormick.”

Norm looked half dazed. “Shit.”

“McCormick made an offer. Fifty million.” She shrugged.

“Will he go higher?”

“I don’t know.”

Norm’s eyes jumped from object to object in the room.

Her phone buzzed.

Ms. Dayton, this is Randita Murgheesi from the MFA. I can meet you at the Hopewell home to examine the item in question.

Surprised, she held up the phone to Norm. “An MFA staffer is offering to meet me regarding the relic.”

Puzzled, he scowled. “Took them long enough. I thought they told you they’d never heard of it.”

“Maybe they changed their minds? Worth a meeting.”

What time?
she typed back.

9pm
was the reply.
Tonight.

“That’s late,” she muttered.

“Probably a freelancer,” Norm said with a sigh. “Can’t hurt to get more information on it. Especially if Wright is just
donating
it,” he added, sneering.

She texted Randita Murgheesi with a confirmation.

Suzanne then texted Gerald.

MFA called. Meeting at Hopewell place at 9pm with staffer. Kulli’s gunning hard for his client
, she typed, texting Gerald.
Can’t get together tonight until much later.

Come meet me after class. Playing pool with Declan and Vince
, he texted back.

Who is Vince?

Buddy of mine. He’s cool. You’ll like him.

She grinned.

I’m coming
, she wrote back.
If we’re meeting the friends, this must be serious.

It was serious the second you introduced me to Smoochy
, he answered.

It was serious the first time I saw you, she thought.

And then she saw three dots.

...

We’ve been serious since the first time we met, Suz.