Still Hot For You (4 page)

Her head dropped back. A light moan slipped from her throat. His hands went to her breasts and grasped them with firm possession. She groaned and murmured. “They missed you too.”

Dylan's gaze burned her. “What else missed me?” He boldly cupped his hand between her legs. “Oh shit,” he said, with a shocked look on his face. “You're not wearing any panties.” His hands slid to her backside where he molded her flesh. Shay felt his dick grow harder. She tilted her pelvis so he would touch her again. Right there. Where he knew she liked it.

He read her mind. Only this time, he slipped his hand under her dress and lifted it up so he could see her body. With a severe look he took her in like she was naked for the first time. “Thank you, God,” he said, grinding his lower lip. His hand went up her thigh and those long fingers of his slid between her legs. She died and went to heaven.

His chin pushed down the front of her dress and his mouth clamped on a nipple. He suckled it, making her gasp out loud. His delicious tongue mimicked everything his experienced hand did down below. Spreading her fluids, he dipped his middle finger into her. Shay screamed out. So did the chime on the front door.

“Shit!” Dylan grunted. He gave her a crazed look. “Expecting someone?”

“No.” With her barely audible reply, she continued to ride his hand.

The door chimed two more annoying times. Whoever was on the other side wasn't going away. A clearly agitated Dylan slipped out his finger. “Don't go anywhere.”

Like she could move. Reluctantly, she slid her dress down. When Dylan stepped out of sight, she let out a string of expletives. Two more seconds. That's all it would've taken.

* * * *

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dylan chastised his uninvited guest. “Your timing really sucks, man.”

“I'm sorry, bro.” His baby brother tried to peek inside the house. “Let me in for a minute.”

“Now?”

“You'll kick my ass tomorrow if I don't.”

Dylan dragged a hand through his hair. Annoying as Christian could be, he didn't intrude without good reason. “
One
minute,” he barked, holding up a finger.

He cringed when Chris meandered into the house. Sexy music. Dylan's perturbed demeanor. Obviously, his brother could figure out what was going on. “Where's Shay?” Christian asked with a cocked, suspicious brow. He looked a lot like Dylan—tall and fit—only Christian's eyes were deep brown, almost black.

He wanted to knock that smirk right off Christian's face. “She's busy. What do you want?”

“The Barbaritos are leaving town. They moved our meeting up to tomorrow morning.”

“What?” Dylan started to pace. “The meeting was scheduled for next week. We're not ready.”

“We're ready.” Grinning, Chris handed him a file. “When you get a chance, check it out. Make sure I got everything.”

Dylan took the file and propped himself on a stool. He crossed his ankle over his knee and set the folder in his lap. Flipping through pages, he carefully scanned the contents. Whoa. They were in great shape, which was of monumental importance. The Barbaritos were discerning clients whose renovation project would propel Dylan's company into the luxury arena. Restoring old mansions was Dylan's vision and dream. He looked up from the file and smiled. The bugger had it in him after all. “This is good work. When'd you get it done?”

“I've been doing some stuff from home.” Chris glowed.

“No shit?” He hadn't thought Chris had the time, or interest. Young and single, he partied every night.

“No big deal,” Chris said. “Listen, I obviously walked in on something.” He let out an obnoxious chuckle. “Real quick. You have all the plans. We're on for ten, their place. Go over everything. Any questions, call me on my cell. I've got a quick meeting at Building and Zoning, so let's just hook up at the Barbaritos'. Cool?”

Under his tutelage and watchful eye, Christian had come a long way. “Trying to take over my business?”

“No. But partners would be nice.”

Dylan laughed out loud. “We'll talk about
that
later.” He set the file down on the counter. “Now get out of here. I'm busy.”

“I'm out,” Chris said. He punched him on the arm. “Tell my sexy sister-in-law I said hey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”

“And tell her that—”

“Bye!” He snapped the door shut on Chris's ass. And practically ran to the living room. Business could wait. Sex could not. He turned the corner and saw Shay passed out on the long leather sofa. “Fuck!” He stared at his wife. “Honey, you awake?” He came closer. “Shay?” He moved hair from her face. Her head fell to the side; eyes remained shut.

She lay sprawled across the couch, with no panties underneath that dress. Damn, he wanted to crawl inside her body, but he didn't have the heart to wake her. Instead, he went around the house and blew out all the candles. He straightened up a bit, secured their home, then returned to Shay and lifted her off the sofa. After carrying her to their bedroom, he set her on the bed.

Snoring a tad louder than her usual light wheeze, Shay curled into a ball. He readjusted her frame. And took off her dress.
Jesus.
Her naked body was a work of art. He slowly drank her in. Spike heels. Velvet legs. Brazilian wax. Yep. What a lucky man. His gaze traveled to her breasts, to her sweet, sensitive nipples. “Shay?” He tried again. Just in case. Shay grumbled and turned on her back. She spread out one leg, torturing him worse than a terrorist prison camp. Her pink flesh glistened and called out to him. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Even in her sleep, she drove him totally insane.

It took every ounce of will to tear his eyes away from her. He grabbed a clean tee from his drawer, and deftly pulled the white cotton over his wife's sinful body. Her hairstyle had already fallen apart. He slipped out the clip that barely held it together, letting it fall loosely around her pillow. Tugging off her heels, he covered her with the silky ecru sheet. He took in Shay's angelic face. Guess he could wait one more day. She wasn't going anywhere. They lived in the same house. They slept in the same bed.

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Chapter 4

Wash away our troubles in a slippery shower.

Lack of sex didn't dampen Dylan's spirits. He picked up a fabulous bottle of wine because there was so much to celebrate. Shay was speaking to him again. Okay, maybe they were more than talking—a gift in itself and enough of a reason to celebrate. But he had more good news. His company had landed a huge deal, the kind of deal that put a visionary real close to his dream. Tonight, he had it covered. Yep. His turn to take the reins, help smooth out their waves.

“Where's my woman?” Dylan called out from the foyer. Whistling to the last tune on his car stereo, he ambled around the house. He found Shay in the kitchen, still in her work clothes, chugging a bottle of water.

“Hey.” She tossed the empty into a recycling bin and rolled her shoulders a few times, leaning her hip against the island counter. “How are you?”

“I'm great!” he said, holding out his arms for emphasis. Flashing a bright grin, he eyed his wife up and down. He had to admit, corporate attire worked for him. She looked intelligent and authoritative, yet feminine and sexy.

He pulled his gaze away and searched for a corkscrew. “You just get home?”

“Ten minutes ago.” She sighed and kneaded the back of her neck. “I woke up this morning with a killer headache.”

He gave her a careful once-over. From where he stood, she looked pretty damn good. Dirty thoughts flooded his brain. He got images of lifting her skirt and doing her doggie-style over the counter. “You didn't drink that much last night.” Hot blood rushed his veins and he swore his ears were bright red because that's how much they burned.

“I know,” she said. She looked pointedly at the side of his head. See? He
was
on fire.

“Sorry I missed you this morning.” He flicked at his ear. There were no flames, just his imagination getting the best of him. “I had to get in early.”

“I'm the one who's sorry.”

He perked back to attention. A little pity never hurt anyone. He smiled inside. “For?”

“Leaving you hanging last night.”

“I believe I left
you
hanging.” He wouldn't leave her hanging tonight.

Shay cocked her head. She watched him with a blank stare on her face. “I don't remember going to bed.”

“You didn't.”

“No?”

“I put you there.”

Her lips pressed together. “And you took off my dress?”

“Couldn't let you mess it up.”

“Right,” she said with a laugh, while he skillfully worked the wine cork.
Pop
. No match for his strength. “I don't know what to make for dinner.” She put her hand to her forehead and stared at the stainless-steel fridge.

“Tell you what.” He poured wine into two long-stem glasses, the ones Shay used for very special occasions, like this one. Not expensive crystal, but the sparkly glasses had been around for every celebration, success, milestone, and achievement. “Take a load off and I'll fix us a sandwich.”

Shay groaned with appreciation, then kicked off her shoes and dropped into a stool. “Thank you.”

“No prob.” He opened the refrigerator and rummaged through it, whistled the same tune he'd been whistling earlier. Arms full, he spread out a variety of cold cuts and condiments. “How's your headache? Can you handle the wine?” he asked between verses.

“I almost overdosed on Tylenol. Head's all better.”

He looked up from his display. “Good.” He really wanted to continue what Shay had started last night. “What about the rest of you?”

Tapping her fingernails against his workstation, she watched as he slit open a loaf of soft Cuban bread. “What
about
the rest of me?”

“Body's feeling okay?” he asked with hopeful anticipation. He twisted the top off the mayo.

Shay took a small sip of wine. Licking that pretty pout, she drank some more. “It could feel better.”

Yes!
They were on the same page. “Let me take care of your belly first. Then I'll take care of the rest of you.”

Their eyes locked and held for a few seconds. “So tell me,” Shay said. “Why are you so cheery?”

Way to switch topics. Smiling, he went back to the task at hand. That was okay. Tonight, nothing would stop them from making love. Nothing. “We landed a big deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The Barbaritos hired us to restore their mansion.”

“Is that the historic one in Northville?”

“Yep.” He spilled with pride. Talk about a major coup. They'd beat out several top firms, mostly because of his work ethics. He valued his customers’ business, and it showed. Shay had told him long ago—
Make the customer feel important
. Those five words had become his mantra.

“Congratulations, honey.” Beaming with pride, Shay lifted her wineglass to him. “You deserve it.”

Yeah. He did. And this time, Dylan would get his hands dirty. He'd been so focused on growing the business, not that he hadn't done his fair share of physical work. Back in the day, he and Christian were a two-man operation. But then, the jobs were more manageable. Kitchen and bathroom remodels. Flooring. Decks. Today they renovated entire homes. And that required a team. His men were skilled. He'd built his reputation on trust and excellence. He was proud of his progress, but he still missed working with his hands, the smell of sawdust on his jeans. “I'm working this one with the guys.”

“Good for you,” Shay said, with an understanding nod. She knew his feelings on the subject. “Hope your brother's up for it. You're in the big leagues now.”

“Actually, he got us through the meeting today. That interruption last night was Chris dropping off plans and estimates, which he did on his
own
time. You should've seen how smoothly he handled the Barbaritos. That is one tough couple. They grilled us hard. But Chris anticipated every question and objection.”

His wife's eyes were glued to his concoction. She covered the mayo jar when he finished with it. “Christian's not so different from you, huh?” Shay licked her finger.

Her pink tongue snagged his attention, and it took everything to concentrate on dinner. The beautiful woman before him needed to be fed, so he cleared his head and went back to work. Honey mustard. He grabbed it off the counter and squirted a neat line down the length of the bread. Okay, what else? His eyes scanned the ingredients. “I won't take full credit.” He put the final touches on his sandwich. “My dad, on the other hand...”

“Yeah. Your father's pretty amazing. Look what he accomplished.”

“He started out with
nada
.” Dylan wiped his hands on the dishtowel. He reflected on the powerful influence of his father.

“Money-wise maybe, but your father had talent.”

He smiled at Shay. She related more to his father than to her own. They'd hit it off instantly. She had become the daughter his dad had never had. Carving into the thick sandwich, he went into deeper thought.

Far back as he could remember,
Papi
had labored hard for the family. Dylan had done what little he could. By age eighteen, he'd acquired almost as much carpentry skill as his father. He'd recruited Christian's equally gifted hands, and in the process had kept his baby brother off the streets and under surveillance. “I'm glad that I'm in a position to do something for them,” he said. “My parents sacrificed a lot.”

Shay looked from him to the counter. He caught the instant change in her demeanor. Shoulders hunched, she slumped in her stool. “My parents didn't have to sacrifice.”

“Some people are lucky.”

* * * *

Lucky? Shay wouldn't summarize it that way. It's not that she wasn't grateful. She'd had it all. Her father was a pillar in the community, a land and business developer who'd built a mini city in the suburbs. Upscale communities, chic shopping centers, designer office space—he'd had a hand in everything. He was a dry, rigid man, sometimes ruthless, always feared. He'd provided his children with abundant material wealth, but rarely had he given them his time. Neither had her mom. A debutante in her own right, social functions suited her more than being a soccer mom. “They're not so lucky,” Shay said with the sarcasm she felt.