Sweet Backlash (12 page)

"Then you're going to sleep with me on
the sleeper sofa? That seems odd." His scowl deepened.

"Why do you assume I'm going to sleep
with you?" Arrogant ass.

"After this morning, I
assumed—"

"Don't assume with me. It'll get you
in trouble." She pushed her half-eaten lunch aside and took a drink
from the can.

"Apparently," he said, his hackles up.
"Now we have a new problem."

She stared into the living room,
preferring to look anywhere but at him. "What's that?" She realized
her mistake the moment her gaze landed on the mussed bed and
discarded ropes. Their morning session hit her like a slap in the
face. Images of him wracked with pleasure flashed through her mind.
Memories of her own ecstasy revived twinges of pleasure between her
legs.

"I've got a lot of
clothes."

Moving her stare to the cold
fireplace, she asked, "What do you mean by a lot?"

"Eighteen suits. A whole suitcase of
nothing but shirts and ties. Seven pairs of shoes. All my casual
clothes and unmentionables."

"Unmentionables?" she squeaked,
holding in a giggle. "Men call their underwear
'unmentionables?'"

He grimaced. "I was raised with a mom
and three sisters. What do you expect?"

"You're a man. What are you doing with
all those clothes? Eighteen suits? A whole suitcase of nothing but
shirts and ties? Are you one of those metrosexual guys?" She
covered her mouth to hide her smile.

"No." He sat straight. "They were
graduation gifts from my family. I guess they didn't consult with
each other, and they all got me power clothes for my appearances in
court. What was I supposed to do? Take some back and risk hurting
somebody's feelings?"

"That wouldn't have been nice," she
admitted, a giggle escaping between her fingers.

He looked at the crumbs on his plate.
"Exactly." Gathering the tiny tidbits of bread with the pad of his
index finger, he mumbled, "Haven't even worn half the
stuff."

Despite her efforts, she let loose a
guffaw and gave up trying to hide her entertainment behind a hand.
As peals of laughter rendered her helpless and wilting on the
table, Chip got busy clearing dishes. When she regained control,
she said, "You sure do make yourself handy."

He forked the last of the chicken
salad from the bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. "It wasn't
that funny." He took the bite, dropped the fork in, and shut the
door. "Okay, maybe it's funny. The fact remains, I've got a supply
of clothes headed this way that would make a men's department store
proud. Where do you want me to put it? I'm going to be here a
month."

"I don't know," she admitted. She went
to the living room, picked up the red rope and coiled it with care.
"I really don't want your suitcases and clothes all over the
place."

"Well, what's in here?" he asked,
going to a narrow door where the living room wall turned to form
the entryway.

"I think it's supposed to be a coat
closet, but I use it for storage. Why?" Draping the russet bond on
an armchair, she plucked the brown one from the floor.

"Maybe I can hang my suits in here."
He opened the door and perused the space. "If you don't mind
putting these boxes somewhere else for a few weeks, I think it'll
work. I can get all my shoes in here, too. And all my suitcases
will fit on this shelf above the rod if I stack them long
ways."

"Just make yourself at home, why don't
you?" she teased, carrying the coiled ropes to the playroom. "What
about your shirts and ties, the casual clothes, and your
unmentionables?" Her voice rose in laughter on the last
word.

He sent her a wry look. "I have a
trunk being delivered to work with my books and pictures and
things. It's a nice one. I was going to use it to decorate the
office, but we could bring it here and I can use it for my other
clothes. There's room behind the couch, right?"

Closing the playroom door on her way
back, she nodded. "That's fine." The sight of his wide, bare back
made the stirring between her legs more pronounced. Suddenly, her
jeans felt too tight.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"
he asked, taking a sideways step and closing the closet
door.

"I'm hungry." She licked her lips and
the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"You should've eaten more lunch," he
said, his voice dropping low and his lids drooping a
bit.

"Not that kind of hungry." Hoping to
tempt him to the bed, she ran a finger along the V of her
shirt.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked,
a bulge in the towel telling her he knew exactly what she had in
mind.

"Chocolate body paint," she purred and
hooked her fingers under the hem of her T-shirt, ready to lift it
off.

His lips parted, and he took a step
forward as the doorbell rang.

Frustration punched Chip in the gut,
robbing him of his hard-on. Damn it. He really wanted to see what
that chocolate body paint was all about. "Is your apartment always
this busy?" he asked, unable to keep irritation from his
voice.

"Only since I met you," Melony
muttered, scowling at the door. "Probably Frank with your things.
Though that was really fast. He must know someone at the hotel to
get into your room so fast." Looking through the peephole, she
cringed. "It's Kathy."

Her friend? "Greaaat," he drawled. And
him in a towel.

Melony opened the door but didn't get
to say a single word before Kathy marched in, babbling, "I heard
you took a new partner. Some new guy. I thought you weren't going
to take on another inductee right away. Is he in the play—" She
turned and stopped.

Chip smiled and gave a slight wave.
Kathy had black hair, black eye make-up, black lipstick, and black
nail polish. A nose ring sparkled at the crease of her nostril,
tiny hoops crisscrossed along the curve of her ear, and a multitude
of rings encrusted her fingers. Cute, but not his type. Certainly
didn't appear to be a natural beauty like Melony under all that
goth get up.

Kathy's eyes widened. "Daaamn, he's
hot."

He really hated when people talked
about him in the third person when he stood right there. "Thanks,"
he said, going to her and extending his hand.

"Hold your tongue, slave!" she snapped
and turned angry green eyes toward Melony. "Honestly, Mel, your
training is seriously lacking. Didn't you learn your lesson with
George?"

"This is different. He's not an
inductee."

"I'm standing right here. I can hear
you both," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kathy crossed her arms, too, and
cocked a hip. "If you're not an inductee then you're new to the
area? Where've you been practicing?"

She knew he was an attorney? "I
practiced in Boston and did some volunteer public work in
Hartford."

Screwing up half her face, she asked
Melony, "What's he talking about?"

"Maybe this isn't the best time. I'll
take you to lunch Monday and we'll talk then." She ushered her dark
friend to the door.

"But now's a good time for me," Kathy
argued.

"Frank's due any time. It's probably
best if you're not here or I won't be able to get rid of
him."

Chip rolled his eyes at the idea of
Frank hanging out in the apartment all afternoon.

Melony opened the door and Kathy
stopped in the opening, asking, "Frank? Why's he coming
over?"

"Monday. We'll talk Monday. I
promise." Melony gave her friend a gentle push and closed the
door.

Chip planted a hand on his waist.
"What was that all about? Why'd she ask me about my legal
experience then pretend not to know what I was talking
about?"

Melony grinned. "She was asking about
your practice of bondage and sadomasochism."

He was such an idiot. "Oh." He looked
at the bed. "What was that about chocolate body paint? I could go
for some dessert."

She shook her head. "Probably not a
good idea. I was right. Frank could show up any minute, and he'd
get upset if he knew he interrupted us and we didn't let him watch
us finish."

"Let him watch? That's not cool. What
makes him think he can do that?"

She gave him a sheepish squint. "He's
been asking all year and I've never come right out and said
no."

"Why not?" Was she asking for
trouble?

With a meaningful expression, she
said, "He's Frank. Is he someone you'd be in a hurry to
deny?"

She had a point. "Fine. So what do you
think about my using the closet?"

"Okay. We can put my boxes in the
playroom."

He pulled one out and realized they
were all document boxes. The one in his hands weighed at least
forty pounds. Setting it down, he reached to lift the
lid.

"No!" she screamed. She took a deep
breath. "Don't."

What in the world? "What's in
here?"

"Just papers and pictures and stuff."
Melony stood trembling, appearing close to tears.

He went to her. "Hey, it's okay. I
won't look if you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to," she said with a
nod. "Let's get them out of sight. I can't even look at
them."

Wow. Whatever filled these boxes had a
great deal of importance to her, something bad and very private.
Respecting her wishes, he wouldn't snoop. He stacked them in a
corner of the torture chamber—six boxes altogether. It bothered him
that the contents seemed to haunt her. She cast fearful glances at
the containers every time he passed.

By the time he finished, she shook. He
couldn't stand to see her like this. Taking her hand, he led her to
the living room. He adjusted the towel around his hips then sat in
the armchair and pulled her down on his lap. "Why don't you rent a
storage space for them?"

She seemed to take comfort from his
embrace and lay her head on his shoulder. "Because I'm going to
destroy them. As soon as I can face going through it all one more
time."

"You want to talk about
it?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Okay." He settled his head against
the back of the chair and slowly stroked a hand up and down her
back. Pretty soon he became drowsy and he closed his eyes. She felt
so good against him, smelled like flowers, warm…

* * * *

His breathing grew steady and deep and
his hand slid off her back to the armrest. Melony carefully climbed
off his lap and sat on the edge of the sofa bed to study him. He
looked so boyish in his sleep, like when he grinned, and she
wondered how old he was. She guessed around thirty, though with his
timeless features, he could be anywhere between twenty-five and
forty.

His dark hair, only an inch long,
stood in stylish wavy spikes above his forehead but laid down
everywhere else. With his head back, the cords of his neck stood
out thick and hard. She wanted to touch them, kiss them. His broad
shoulders and chest filled the chair's width, and his shapely arms
led to hands with long, strong fingers that could easily have
belonged to a surgeon. Those arms had made her feel safe and cared
for, and those fingers had made her cry out with
pleasure.

Damn him. What was he doing to her?
She wanted to hate him. She had wanted to hurt him, make him pay
for her pain the way she punished all her partners. But now… He
stirred, shifted a little, and rolled his head to the side as he
continued to sleep.

He made her smile. At the same time,
he made her regret—regret her past, regret her pain, regret all the
things that made her unworthy of him and the healthy, loving
relationship he deserved. He was so handsome.

She watched him sleep for a while then
changed the sheets on the sofa bed and cleaned dust out of the coat
closet. She located the easy-latch collar and leash and hung them
from a hook on the coat rack. When the doorbell rang and he bolted
upright, rubbing his eyes, she smiled. He looked
adorable.

"How long did I sleep?" he
asked.

"A couple hours. You had a good nap."
She went to the door and saw Frank through the hole.

"I didn't sleep very well last night,"
he said.

"Understandable," she agreed. Opening
the door, she couldn't stop her mouth from gaping.

Frank stood with three suitcases on
each side and a stuffed suit bag thrown over one shoulder. "Your
slave's got more clothes than a damned woman," he grumbled, picking
up all six cases with his meaty fists.

Melony stepped out of the way so he
could enter. "He warned me."

"Oh, yeah? He didn't warm me." He
glowered toward the living room.

Chip stood and scratched the side of
his head. "It's not like you gave me much of a chance."

Frank's face relaxed at that bit of
truth. "Well, you're checked out." He set the cases in a line next
to the coat rack.