Windstar (11 page)

She arched her hips against him and he hooked his hands under her rump to lift her up to his sultry invasion. He worked her like an expert--sliding his tongue along her folds, thrusting it quickly and with heat into her cunt, suckling upon her clit--until she was writhing beneath him, aching for something more solid than his flashing tongue stabbing into her moistness.

“God, you taste so good,” he breathed against her core and she held his head in a tight grip as he licked her from top to bottom and then up again.

“Seannie, please!” she begged him and felt the tip of his finger probing lightly at her entrance.

“This what you want, doll?” he asked and slowly pushed inside.

“Yes!” she cried out and wriggled against him, striving to bring him all the way into her channel. She heard him laugh wickedly and then felt another finger being inserted inside her. Her eyelids fluttered, her head whipped to and fro on the pillow.

Her lover was adept at what he did and as his fingers worked her, eliciting honeyed juices that coated his flesh so he might draw them out of her to lick away the sweetness, she drew up her knees and allowed her legs to splay apart, giving him all the room and encouragement he needed.

“Love me, Seannie,” she demanded, her voice husky. “I want to feel you on me and in me and ….”

She got no further for he withdrew his fingers and slid over her, putting a hand to his cock to guide it firmly inside her, pushing deep, going all the way in, filling her to the brim, stretching her, pushing against her very womb.

He laughed again as her legs came around his waist and she pulled him closer to her, seating his rod as far inside her as it would go. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his hair, and his lips moved to her breast as he drew upon her flesh, rocking his shaft in and out of her velvety warmth. She squeezed her eyes shut to better experience the pleasure he was giving her.

Lightning forked through her loins to singe her and she cried out as the first wave of spasms rippled through her lower body and pulsed around her lover’s cock.

“Maeve!” he groaned and increased the strength and speed and thrust of his rod.

When he came, she felt intensely the jerking sensation that heralded the spilling of his seed. Her womb opened and welcomed him and in that moment she knew he had given her something very special and very dear, something that would be a part of them both.

* * * *

Waking to the sound of her friend getting sick in the bathroom, Angela flung the covers aside and padded quietly into the room. She took a washcloth from the rack and wet it, moved to Sharon’s side and held the rag to the ill woman’s forehead, crooning gently to her.

“Bet you wish you were with your sexy boss, huh?” Sharon gasped in between bouts of nausea.

“I’m right where I want to be,” Angela said but realized her heart had stayed behind in New York.

Chapter Five

Rory glared at the answering machine. Though he’d been thrilled to hear her voice when he’d come home from a quick trip to the deli, he was annoyed that she hadn’t told him where she would be spending the night. The disappointment ate at him like acid. Though common sense told him she would not call again, he kept listening for the phone to ring until the wee hours of the morning when he’d become so sleepy he’d curled up on the sofa and dozed off. Twice he’d sat bolt upright after experiencing carnal dreams of her so intense one had turned into a wet dream.

By morning, he was as grumpy as an old bear with a rotten tooth and he prowled around the loft poking at things like a spoiled brat, feeling trapped. When the phone rang, he didn’t think just pounced on it.

“Where the hell are you?” he demanded, eyes flashing.

“In the lobby so buzz me up, lover,” came a sultry voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, silently cursing, shaking his head from side to side in anger.

“Rory? Are you there?”

It was Audrey LeVane and she was the last person he wanted to talk too much less see in person. He made a fist of his free hand and pressed it to his mouth to keep from bellowing with rage.

“Rory?”

“Yeah,” he managed to get out. “Hey, look. I’m on my way down and ….”

“Good, then we can get breakfast,” said the actress who the world’s press called the most beautiful woman on the planet. “See you in five.”

Before he could respond, she’d hung up and he threw the cell phone across the room, hissing like a wounded wolverine.

“God damn it!” he snarled. “God
damn
it!”

If he’d felt trapped before, he felt it even more constricted now. His fiery, vengeful Celtic temper was fast approaching the boiling point. Stomping into his bedroom, he snatched a pair of dirty jeans from the hamper, rummaged until he found a sweaty t-shirt, stripped out of his lounging pajamas and pulled the smelly clothing on, grimly smiling to himself, for he knew Audrey would be dressed to the nines in her designer duds. Slipping his feet into a pair of rundown loafers, he grabbed his wallet, keys, and cell phone and slammed the apartment door behind him as he stalked to the elevator with a muscle grinding in his cheek.

Audrey’s back was to the elevator when it opened and as she turned with that killer smile she flashed her potential conquests, he saw her eyes flare in shock.

“Hey, babe,” he said, sauntering over to her with his hands thrust into the pockets of his rumpled jeans. “What’s up?”

Apparently she was too shocked to move back and when he leaned in to give her a kiss on her porcelain cheek, he saw her crinkle her nose with disgust and remembered he hadn’t brushed his teeth nor combed his hair before he’d ventured out. A grim sense of satisfaction rippled through him.

“So, where are we going?” he asked, breathing heavily on her.

“I … ah … I ….” Audrey looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I just remembered I have a meeting with my agent.” She stepped back from him, a pained look almost overriding the Botox to show the creases in her otherwise smooth forehead. “Let’s take a rain check!”

He said nothing as she air-kissed him and spun around, hurrying out of his building so quickly the doorman barely had time to open the door for her. Rory laughed, caught the doorman shaking his head at him, and knew the guy was trying not to laugh, as well.

“All’s well that ends well, eh mate?” Rory asked him before turning and getting back into the elevator. As the doors closed, he hooted with laughter. “Bad, Rory. Bad, bad Rory,” he chuckled.

After taking a long shower and putting on fresh jeans, he went out on the balcony and started working on his lines. In a few days he’d be leaving for the movie set and the western he’d been looking forward to doing, having planned to take Angela with him. Now, he’d be going alone and that took some of the excitement and pleasure out of it.

* * * *

“Your Scots god might have been right,” Sharon said from the passenger seat of the rental car. “There may not be enough to see in Rhode Island to spend an entire day here.”

“Sure there is. We’ll tour the state capitol,” Angela said as she looked over the information they’d gotten at the welcome center. “Then we’ll explore Narragansett Bay, Blackstone Valley, spend the night in Newport, and gorge ourselves on seafood. There’s quite a bit of exciting things to do.”

Sharon yawned. “I guess.” She leaned her head on the back of the car seat. “So long as it doesn’t involve hiking, biking, and flying kites.”

Angela was worried about her friend. Sharon seemed to fall asleep at the drop of a hat and she’d barely touched her breakfast that morning. She didn’t want to do anything to wear Sharon out so was planning things that weren’t particularly stressful.

Re-folding the area map, Angela stuffed it between her seat and the center console and cranked the car. Pulling into traffic, she wondered what Rory was doing and sighed.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Sharon asked.

Angela glanced at her friend. “Is it that obvious?”

Sharon smiled. “You get this look and I know,” she answered. “Hell, more than ninety percent of the women on Earth get that look when they think about that Scottish hunk.” She twisted around to face Angela. “You love him, don’t you, Ang?”

“Is that obvious, too?” Angela inquired.

“Oh, yeah. Who can blame you?”

Angela propped her left arm on the edge of the car door and ran her knuckles back and forth over the glass. She tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “I think he loves me.”

“I’d say that was a good bet. Any man who would insist on his housekeeper calling him every night to let him know she’s okay has more than a passing interest in her,” Sharon commented. “I’d say jump his bones and be done with it.”

“But Sharon, he’s younger than my Tim!” Angela protested. “I’d feel like I was robbing the cradle.”

“Oh, shit,” Sharon said, making a rude sound with her lips. “That’s a load of horse poopie and you know it. You’re just afraid to tell him you are lusting after his tight little butt because you think people will laugh at you.”

Angela shot her friend an accusing look. “And you don’t think they wouldn’t?” When Sharon just blinked at her, Angela asked her if she’d taken a good look at her lately.

“What am I supposed to be seeing when I look at you?” Sharon inquired.

“Wrinkles and graying hair and sagging skin and cellulite and red moles and drooping boobs and liver spots and baggy eyes and jowls heading south toward a double chin and ….”

“Egads, woman!” Sharon exclaimed, eyes wide, mouth open. “You’re falling apart as I watch! Quick, pull over before you turn into a pool of seething pus right before my eyes!”

“Fuck you,” Angela said with a tight purse of her lips.

“No,
you
fuck
him
,” Sharon countered. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to and haven’t fantasized about having your evil way with that delicious bulge I see in his jeans.”

“I weigh as much as he does!” Angela protested.

“Ooh,” Sharon said, pretending to shiver. “Then straddle those taut thighs of his and hurt the poor little booger, but fuck him while you’re doing it!” She pointed a finger at her friend. “At least one of you would get some pleasure out of this docey do-ing you two are doing around one another.”

“I’d squish him,” Angela said with a groan.

“Maybe he’d squish you,” Sharon said. “Ever think of that?”

“Every night of my life,” Angela admitted. “During every shower I take and with every look from those beautiful eyes of his.”

Sharon frowned. “What color
are
his eyes?” she asked.

“Green, actually,” she answered. “A pale, sparkling green you can get lost in.”

“When you call him tonight, be sure to tell him how much you miss him,” Sharon advised. “See what he says.”

Angela thought about that the rest of the day and when they stopped for the evening in Newport, had an early meal so Sharon could go to bed, Angela went down to the lobby and placed her nightly call.

He picked up on the first ring. “Okay, where are you? Give me the name of the hotel first then the town.”

She laughed. “Newport Inn, Newport. Want the telephone number?” When he said he did, she gave it to him. “Room 204, by the way.”

“How’s your friend?”

“Tired, but cheerful. I’m worried about her, Boss Man.”

“Maybe the trip is going to be too much for her, wench,” he said.

She didn’t respond to that but then cleared her throat, her hand on the receiver so tight she was losing feeling in her fingers. “I, ah, I miss you.”

“As much as I miss you?” he asked softly.

“Did you eat something totally unhealthy for supper?” she asked, feeling the heat staining her cheeks.

“I had four ham and cheese samitches with dill pickles and roasted peppers,” he answered. “Followed by a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.”

She groaned. “An entire jar of salsa?”

“It was a small jar,” he replied. “Large bag of chips, though. King-size actually.”

“How small a jar?” she wanted to know.

“Well, it was more like a small bottle.”

“The one from The Club?” she queried. “The one-hundred thirty eight ounce
small
bottle?”

“Ah, might have been. Can’t remember. I got a belly ache right now and really bad gas so it’s hard to think.”

“I imagine you do,” she said with a long exhalation of breath. “Tums are in my bathroom.”

“I’m lying on your bed,” he admitted.

She switched hands, shaking her numb hand to get the circulation started again. “Why?”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t miss a beat. “So I can smell your scent on the sheets.”

“You’re between my sheets?”

“I’m afraid so.” He paused. “As naked as the day I was born, by the way.”

She smiled. “And you’ll be getting crumbs from whatever you’re eating all over me clean sheets, now won’t you, you reckless idjit?”

“I’ll wash ‘em a’fore you come home, lass,” he drawled. “I promise.”

“You’d better.”

They were silent for a moment then she told him she needed to go check on Sharon.

“Give her my best,” Rory said.

“I will and get up and get those Tums as soon as you hang up.”

“Yes, Boss Lady,” he said.

As she was hanging up, she thought she heard him say I love you and gooseflesh popped up all over her arms.

* * * *

For the next three nights she called him right after supper and they’d talk quietly, skirting the real things they wanted to say to one another but continuing their game of playful insults and long moments of poignant silences. When she called the sixth night of the trip, it was to his cell phone and he answered--not in the apartment they shared--but in the plush motor home that would be his home while he was on location in New Mexico.

“By this time tomorrow, we’ll be Nova Scotia,” she told him.

“You’re having a good time, aren’t you?” he asked, looking out the window of the motor coach at the crush of crew setting up for the next day’s production start.

“I wish you were with us,” she said.

“So do I but one of us has to earn a living to keep you in hot water--egads you should wait until you see this month’s water bill, wench!--and then there’s me salsa,” he mumbled. “Can’t live without me salsa.”