Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (24 page)

“Oh. Okay.” She started revising her mental list. “What can I do?”

He glanced over at her, then his head jerked back. Setting the bottle of water aside, he stalked in her direction.

Nerves made Honey’s stomach muscles twitch. She glanced down, but didn’t see anything special or amiss. Today she wore her taupe pantsuit, though she’d teamed it with a blue silk V-neck blouse that Lucy and Jeb had given to her for Christmas. Even she realized the color matched her eyes.

Walsh came close enough to touch.

“I’ve missed you…looking like this,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “Aren’t you going to welcome me home?”

Both his low voice and his body heat brushed against her exposed skin and even infiltrated her clothes. He looked tired, but no less attractive, all the elegant bone structure of his face roughened by the dark whiskers. Honey swallowed and then flinched as one of his fingers reached out to trace the arch of her brow.

A shiver rolled down her spine and she yearned to lean into his body, bury her face in his neck to breathe him in, put her arms around him to keep him close. Dangerous urges, she realized, that were here to stay. They’d remain when she was in his house, at her desk, sitting across the conference table at MadSci. Everywhere.

No business tasks or to-do lists would divert or disrupt or squelch the overwhelming feelings she had for him. How could she continue on as his assistant?

Walsh watched Honey step back. He should have appreciated the distance, but of course he didn’t appreciate it at all. He hadn’t seen her since he’d given her that brotherly goodbye kiss in their villa. Then, she’d been dressed in a bright, skin-baring dress. Now she was in Admin Honey-wear, and with the curls bouncing around her face it was the best of all possible worlds.

He saw both his efficient administrative assistant and the sweetly wild lover—the one who’d said,
I’m not sure I could be…like that with anyone but you
—rolled into one.

Her eyes went round as saucers as if she recalled the same things as he. “I think I should go.”

Not. Quite. Yet.

After long days in D.C., putting together a business plan with a brand-new partner in record time, he was sick of his own reflection in the mirror and was desperate for a different focus.

“Another minute,” he said, moving away from the temptation of her and back to his bottle of water. He wanted her company, but he wouldn’t touch her again. He’d made a promise about that in Mexico. “Give me an update on MadSci.”

“You know everything that’s going on. I’ve kept you apprised.”

She toyed with a button on her suit jacket, then glanced up at him. The blue of her blouse only made her eyes look more like jewels.

“I know all the dull details. But I’ve missed out on everything else. What’s the current score in the Nerf wars? How is the office janitor’s sciatica? Did Melody our favorite coffee barista find the perfect birthday gift for her husband Mark?”

Her eyes widened again. “You listen when I talk to you about those things?”

“Wasn’t I the one to suggest you contact Payne about that race car experience?”

“And I did.” Honey smiled. “It’s all arranged. Melody will tell Mark about it at his birthday dinner next week.”

“Good.” Though his admin didn’t constantly chatter―nothing close―during the course of their work days she would drop pieces of information about the people who surrounded them. Those little things…they rounded out his life, he realized. They made Brody’s caution bullshit.
Your workaholic ways are sucking the humanity out of you.

Honey ensured that didn’t happen. She kept him…real.

“How are Lucy and Jeb?” he asked.

His admin stilled. “They’re fine.” Then she shrugged one shoulder, and her eyes cut away.

Without thinking, he moved toward her again. “Honey…what is it?’

Another shoulder shrug. “The usual.”

It seemed like something more than the usual. His hand reached out to her, but then he forced it back down and into his pocket. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thank you for asking…but no.” She moved out of his reach and looked around her. “I left my purse in the kitchen. I’ll just grab it and go.”

He followed her path, wishing he could make her stay, as wrong as that might be—and as dangerous as it was to his assurances that their relationship could return to normal. Her heels clicked on the kitchen’s tile floor, then she scooped up her purse as if it was a lifeline. The long strap caught on a cabinet knob, and she made a frustrated noise. Her abrupt jerk to free it caused the strap’s metal attachment to break from the purse’s body, and it tumbled from her hand, spilling its contents.

Clearly dismayed, Honey stared down at the items at her feet then at the dangling end of leather. “Oh,
no
.”

That such a minor event upset his usually unflappable admin spoke volumes. Her past few days hadn’t been easy ones, either. It drove him to follow his first impulse and pull her into his arms, but
Don’t Touch
flashed like a neon sign in his brain. He crouched at the same time she did, and together they scooped her things back into the purse.

“Wintergreen breath mints and peppermint gum,” he said, hoping to lighten her mood. “And here I had you pegged as 100 percent cinnamon girl.”

To reach the last wanderer—a lipstick—she shifted nearer Walsh. He froze, something familiar tickling his nose. Inciting his libido. It had been masked by the scent of a newly cleaned house before, but now there was no mistaking it.

He took a deliberate breath. “You’re wearing that perfume.”

“I…” She dumped the tube back in her purse and made a little helpless shrug. “I didn’t know I’d be seeing you today.”

“We talked about that.”

Her gaze jerked to his. They stared at each other, and it was crystal clear that the attraction running between them remained in full, potent force. It had not been left behind at that beach in Mexico.

She rose slowly to her feet, and he followed suit, then took the purse from her unresisting hand and set it on the counter.

The air was heating up and so was her skin, it seemed. A pink flush flagged her cheeks, and her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

“This isn’t sensible, Walsh.”

Fuck sensible. And yet…maybe it did make sense.

“This way, I won’t be tortured every night imagining what it would be like to have you in my bed. We’ll have been there.” Studying her face, he reached for her hand. It rested in his, small and trusting. “Together.”

She drew in an unsteady breath, and he tugged her closer to rest his cheek on her curls. Her arms came around him, and he felt her sigh. A different kind of warmth waved through him.

“You know, this could be enough,” he said, meaning it. “Maybe I only need you resting in my arms.”

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

“Not been sleeping?”

At her nod, he held her tighter. “Me, either.” Then he pushed her a little away. “Shall we lie down for a little while and not think about anything?”

A faint smile crossed her face. “You can do that?”

“Let’s try it and find out.”

In his room he pulled the drapes against the waning light of day. Honey hovered by the bed, and he went back to her, sliding her jacket off her shoulders. Then he pushed her gently to the mattress and slipped off her shoes. His went next, then he positioned himself against the pillows and Honey followed suit. A light throw was rolled in the cubby below his bedside table and he snagged it, then whipped it over them.

On the other side of the bed, Honey had curled up like a child, her hands beneath her cheek on the pillow. An almost painful tenderness rolled through him, something deep and previously unknown to him. He thought she was already asleep.

As gently as he could, he drew her in to his body. She made a drowsy noise, and he smiled as she settled against his shoulder. His bones felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and he sank into the softness beneath him, drifting away as he breathed in Honey’s scent.

Sometime later, he awoke, coming to an awareness of where he was by slow degrees. He opened his eyes to find Honey watching him in the very dim light. Her body was still tangled with his, but she’d moved enough away to get a good view of his face.

“What?” he whispered.

She ran a fingertip along his jaw. “I’ve never seen you so whiskered.”

Without thinking, he moved his head so he could kiss her hand. “Prickly, huh?”

“Different.” She hesitated. “It’s all different now.”

Because he’d touched her like he’d known he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t curse himself, not now, when he felt warm and content and not so fucking exhausted as he’d been for days. He stroked her hair off her forehead with his palm.

She cleared her throat. “We should have a talk…”

“God, no,” he said. “I’ve been in meetings for days.”

“Walsh—”

“Have mercy.” Couldn’t they just have a little more peace and quiet?

“This isn’t—”

He swooped in to kiss the conversation right out of her. She gave a little helpless jerk when his mouth met hers, and then she was kissing him back, a full meeting of lips and tongues. But it didn’t have the desperate edge of Mexico. Instead it was almost lazy, as if they had all the time in the world.

He liked that idea, that there was no rush, no deadlines to meet, no clocks measuring what had passed between them and what was left for them to share. Later, he might wish he’d made it more of a game, but now he could only be serious about tasting her mouth and caressing her skin. She moved restlessly beneath his touch, and he soothed her with trailing kisses down her neck and toward her breasts.

He aroused her with his lips and obeyed her when she began to tug at his clothes. When they were both naked, there was the sweetness of her soft moans and the sleek skin of her hip against his cock. Placing her belly-down, he ran his mouth over her shoulders and her spine, indulged himself by palming her round ass and then teasing between her legs to find her copious wetness. She moved into his hand, silently asking for more, and remembering an unquenched desire, he reached for a condom.

His hands shook as he rolled it on, but steadied as he pulled back on her hips, encouraging her to kneel. Then he covered her, his body her shield, as he slipped inside her. Her back arched, her legs widened, and the sound she made provoked him more than any touch. He surged into her, one hand planted on the mattress, the other on her hip, and she rocked back, their bodies slapping against each other in an increasing tempo. His fingers tightened on her.

“Oooh,” she moaned. “This is so good. But…help me.”

He shoved into her harder. She shuddered and released another low, keening sound. All gentleness fled, and he let desire take the lead. It was fevered and demanding and it was taking them both so damn close so damn fast.

His cock slid from her body, the latex shining with her slippery juices, and then he slowly fed it back to her, both of them groaning with the change in pace. He pressed his mouth to her ear.

“Hard and fast? Or hard and slow?”

“J-just…just hard you.”

And it was such a Honey thing to say that he felt that weird roll of emotion through his chest again. “I need to see your face,” he said, turning her.

Then he surged inside her again, and it was so good that when he took her mouth and found her clit with his fingers, he knew this couldn’t last.

It didn’t. In moments she shook, clenching down on him, and he let her muscles milk him into his own explosive release.

After they climaxed, they fell asleep again. Walsh awoke while Honey continued to breathe evenly, lost in dreams. As quiet as he could, he climbed from the bed and donned a pair of black pajama bottoms. Then he left the room, shutting the door so he wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

In the kitchen he found a can of some nectar stuff that he stocked for Honey. The sweetness of it hit his belly and made him think about eating—it had to be around dinner time—but nothing seemed as if it would hit the spot.

A different kind of hunger was eating a hole inside him. While physically satiated, a new restlessness kept him prowling around the penthouse. He looked at the books on his shelves, he sifted through a pile of old mail, he stood at the windows and stared out at the L.A. evening lights. On another pass around the living area, he carelessly let a finger trail over the piano keys.

The quiet ripple of sound riveted him.

It had been a lifetime since he’d sat before a piano, but he found himself pulling out the bench and sliding onto it. One breath, and then his fingers operated without his conscious direction. They began playing a piece from muscle memory, the notes and rhythms and rests coming back without effort. His brain switched off, and some other part of himself took over, something low in his belly. Primal. His hands moved faster and faster as the tempo he could hear in his soul sped up, and he closed his eyes, just…just…
feeling
.

The last chord was a deep crescendo of sound and it still pulsed in the room when he opened his eyes.

Honey stood in his line of sight, shoeless, but wearing her pants and blouse.

“I’m sorry,” he said appalled. He’d lost himself for a time and forgotten she was sleeping in the other room. “I woke you.”

She moved forward, and he could see that she had her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other. Her jacket was tucked under an arm.

“That bad?” He tried on a smile. “You’re leaving because I’m a lousy tickler of the keys?”

Ignoring his questions, she came to a stop on the other side of the piano. “Would you have ever played that for me?”

He frowned. “Uh…”

“Would you ever intentionally have let me see all that—that sound that’s inside you?”

Narrowing his eyes, he came to his feet. “Honey—”

“Don’t bother answering. You wouldn’t.” She hesitated a moment then gave a brisk little nod, as if she’d reached a decision. “Well. It was always going to come to this.”

A new noise sounded in his ears, discordant and ugly. “What are you talking about?”