His eyebrows climb when he sees me.
“That all sounds good to me, Bill. I have to go. I just had something important come into my office. I’ll be in touch next week.”
I dump my purse in his visitor’s chair, walk around his desk, and climb in his lap as he finishes his call.
“This is a nice surprise,” he murmurs, and kisses me softly. My hands travel up the sleeves of his white shirt and wrap around his neck. I tangle his hair in my fingers and hold on as he takes the kiss deeper and then softens it again.
“I’m here to treat you to lunch.”
“Oh, I wish you’d called.” He plants his lips on my forehead and takes a deep breath. “I have an appointment in five minutes.”
“I know.” I grin up at him and feel my cheeks flush as I admit, “It’s me.”
He lifts his cell phone off his desk and checks his calendar. “You’re Jenny Fisher?”
“Yeah. That’s one of my characters’ names.”
He’s grinning at me like I just told him I won a Pulitzer. “Where are we going to lunch?”
“Right here. It’s being delivered in”—I check the time on his computer—“a half hour.”
“What are we going to do for the next thirty minutes?” He buries his face in my neck, nibbling my skin softly and sending shivers through me.
“Well, I have this fantasy.”
“Oh?” He leans back to look me in the eyes. “Do tell.”
“Last night”—I slide off his lap and to my knees—“I told you that I wanted to kiss you here.” I pull my index finger down the seam of his zipper and feel the hard ridge of his erection beneath his black slacks.
He pulls in a deep breath and watches me with narrowed, heated gray eyes. “You did.”
“I want to do it here.”
“In my office.” It’s not a question.
I nod and pull his belt open, then unfasten his slacks. His lips curl into a half smile as he watches me open his pants, reach into his boxers, and uncover his hard-as-hell cock.
“You have a beautiful dick.”
“I don’t know if a guy wants his dick to be referred to as beautiful.” He laughs.
“But it is.” My hands slide up and down his length in long, easy motions. “It’s big and smooth.” I lean in and lap my tongue over the sensitive underside of the head and around the crown. “Delicious, just like I thought.”
“God, baby.” He leans his head back for just a moment, then continues to watch me. “Your hands are so fucking amazing.”
He lifts his hips so I can shimmy his pants down his hips to his thighs, giving me better access to his hard cock and tight balls.
I cup his sack in my hand, massaging gently, and wrap my mouth over his dick, pulling him into my mouth and pushing down until he reaches the back of my throat. I grip him with my lips and pull all the way back up before sucking on the head while brushing my tongue over the tip.
“Damn, you’re good at that.” He’s panting now; his voice is rough and his hands clench and unclench into fists where he rests them on his armrests.
I grip the shaft in my hand and work him firmly as I suck and lick on his gorgeous cock, reveling in how his hips gently thrust against me, pushing deeper inside my mouth.
Finally, one of his hands grips the back of my neck and he sets the pace, fucking my mouth in a steady rhythm.
“Lo, I’m gonna come soon, so if you don’t want me to do it in your mouth, you need to stop now.”
I moan and increase the pace, suck harder, pump my fist faster. His balls tighten and lift as he steadies my head, pulses into me, and erupts inside my mouth. I swallow quickly, massaging the head of his cock with my mouth as he shudders and convulses around me.
He gentles his grip and combs my hair in his fingers as I tuck him away, help him shimmy his pants back up his hips, refasten his pants, and sit back on my heels, smiling up at him smugly.
“That was fun.”
“I would have to agree.” He chuckles and pulls me back up onto his lap. “You’re good at that.”
“I haven’t had much practice.” I shrug, still smiling. “I like it.”
He chuckles and kisses me deeply. “I can taste myself. You taste better.”
His phone rings and I make a dive for it. “This is Ty Sullivan’s office.”
He cocks his head to the side, watching me with curiosity.
“Good, I’ll meet her at the door.” I hang up the phone and scramble off Ty’s lap and around his desk toward the door. “She’s a little early.”
“What are you up to?”
“Lunch.” I grin back at him and open his office door. “Did you get the extras I asked for?” I grin at Mrs. Blakely, who hands me a bag full of goodies from her deli, along with an armful of flowers and a bottle of wine.
“Good luck, dear.” She smiles wide, winks, and walks away.
I take a deep breath before turning and carrying our lunch back to Ty’s desk.
“Can you please move your laptop?”
He complies and stands to help me, but I stop him with a shake of my head. “Just relax. I got this.”
“Lo, what did you do?”
“Well”—I spread a tablecloth over his desk—“you do a lot for me. Probably more than anyone besides my parents.”
I pull boxes out of the bag, but rather than eating out of them, I plate our food on the nice plastic plates that Mrs. Blakely sent along.
“So, I thought it would be nice to do something for you.”
I set the bag and boxes aside and open the wine, pour us each half a glass, and sit down opposite him, finally meeting his eyes to see what his reaction is.
“How did you know that pastrami on rye is my favorite?”
“I asked.”
I can’t read him. His eyes are warm, but they look kind of scared too, and I can’t figure out if he’s happy or if this was all a bit too much on a Monday afternoon.
“Is this too weird?”
“You bought me flowers.”
Now I feel ridiculous. I simply nod and glance over at the pretty bouquet of lilies. “They brighten up your office.”
“Come here.”
I stand and walk around his desk to where he’s sitting in his chair. He holds a hand out for mine and pulls me onto his lap, wraps his arms around me, and kisses me ferociously, deeply.
Finally, his lips slip over my cheek to my ear. “You brighten up my office. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
He hugs me close and then pushes me abruptly to my feet. “I’m hungry.”
We munch happily on our sandwiches and chips and sip our wine as I look around his office, taking in the walls of books and the diplomas on the wall by his desk.
“So, why law school?”
“Why not.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine, watching me.
“You know, you never tell me much about you. You know all there is to know about me.” I push my half-eaten sandwich aside, finished with it.
“Do I?” He raises a brow.
“Pretty much. So talk. Why law school?”
He sighs, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and tosses the wadded paper on his empty plate before sitting back and watching me from across the desk, his gray eyes troubled.
“Jill and I had a shitty childhood.”
That shocks the hell out of me. I had no idea.
“Our mom is doing better now. She’s down in Florida with Cara’s parents, and she’s happy. But our dad was a scary son of a bitch.” Ty shakes his head and takes a sip of wine. “He typically beat on Mom; sometimes he’d beat on me. It didn’t really matter once he was drunk and pissed enough, as long as he got to smack someone around.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just sit and let Ty talk.
“Do you really want to hear this story?” he asks quietly.
“Keep going,” I murmur softly.
He rubs his lips with his fingers and shifts in his chair. “I didn’t want to go away to co
llege because then there wouldn’t be anyone here to make sure that Mom and Jilly were okay. But I got some scholarships, and Mom insisted I go. She swore that she and Jill would be fine. Dad had sobered up some and hadn’t pulled anything in about two years, so I went.”
Dread fills my stomach at the look of guilt and anger on Ty’s face.
“I came home for Thanksgiving my freshman year to find my mom’s face covered in bruises and Jill hiding in a closet.” He raises his eyes to me. “I almost killed him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I beat the fuck out of him. I discovered that he hadn’t knocked Mom around my last few years of high school because I’d gotten bigger than him, and he was a pussy. He knew he couldn’t take me anymore.”
Ty laughs humorlessly and fiddles with an unused plastic knife. “He came at me, drunk and pissed, yelling and throwing things and managed to land a few punches, and then I saw red. I beat him unconscious.”
“Did your mom file charges against him?” I’m sitting on the edge of my seat. How did I never hear about this?
“No, she filed them against me at the time because she was too afraid of what Dad would do to her if she put him in jail.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” I gape at him, sure that I’ve just heard him wrong.
“Nope. Put me in jail. Of course, I got off. It was purely self-defense. But the public defender said something to me that changed my life.”
“What did he say?”
“She said, ‘Take a long, hard look at your life. You can either become your father, or you can do better. It’s up to you.’ ” Ty’s gaze finds mine. “I chose to be better.”
“And your mom?”
He shakes his head and sighs. “She was with him until the day he died five years ago. There was nothing anyone could do to make her see that she could leave him. But I took Jill out of there. She lived with Cara and her family until she graduated from high school.”
I just sit and watch him, so unbelievably proud.
“You’re not saying anything. Rethinking this whole being-with-a-guy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks thing?”
“Don’t piss me off when I’m sitting here thinking how proud of you I am.”
He smiles halfheartedly, and I come around the desk to sit in his lap again. Cupping his face in my hands, I kiss him softly and deeply. “I think you’re pretty cool.”
He chuckles and pulls his knuckles down my cheek. “I’m nothing special, Lo.” His eyes turn sad as he watches me. “I couldn’t even save my mom from the bastard who beat her.”
“That wasn’t your job,” I insist. “Ty, I know I was lucky to have parents who loved each other and were respectful of each other, but I was married to a man who loved nothing more than making me miserable.” I shake my head and try to come up with the words to help him understand. “He didn’t hit me, not until the very end. But taking verbal jabs at me, beating down my self-esteem, made him very happy. And I knew that what he was doing was abusive, and I didn’t leave.”
“You didn’t—” he begins with a shake of his head, but I interrupt.
“I did have my parents and friends that I could have turned to, but I didn’t leave, Ty. You need to understand, when a woman is being abused, no one can save her but herself. She has to be the one to decide that she won’t live that way anymore. It was shitty of your mom to choose to stay with your dad rather than take you and Jill out of there. But it was her choice.”
He exhales deeply and closes his eyes, then leans his forehead against mine. “Thank you for that,” he whispers.
“I can’t bear the thought of you blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault.”
“I always felt like protecting Mom and Jilly was my job. I know my dad was a pitiful excuse for a man, but Jill and I spent more time at Zack and Josh’s house than we did at home. Jeff King showed me what it was to be a real man, and he never would have stood for anyone treating his wife like that.”
“I’m glad you had a place to go.”
“I remember one time, Zack told his mom to shut up, and Jeff had Z up against the wall by his collar so fast, he didn’t see what was coming.”
“Good for him.” I grin.
“Yeah, he never made that mistake again.” Ty sighs again. “That’s why it was so hard for me to watch my dad with Mom. I’d tell her over and over again to leave the bastard, and she would just shake her head and walk on eggshells around the bastard.”
“It’s not your fault.” I hold his face in my palms, making him look at me. “You got Jill away from there and you did the best you could.”
“It’s always been in my mind, you know? What if I’m more like him than I think I am?”
“You are nothing like that, Ty.”
“I take care of the women in my life, and I know I’m sometimes overprotective, but I just need to know that they’re safe. And now that I have you, that includes you. No one will ever touch you in anger again, Lauren. Never.” His arms tighten around me, pulling me into the safety of his embrace, and I know that no matter what kind of shit Jack throws my way, I can stand up to him. Ty will be right there by my side.
And for the first time since my parents died, I feel . . . safe.
I bury my face in his neck and pull in a deep breath. God, he smells so good.
Finally, I check the time and sigh in resignation. “My hour is up.” I clean up our mess and walk to the door.
Ty is right behind me. “Wait.” He stops me before I open his door and instead of kissing me like I expect, he drops a soft kiss on my forehead. “Thank you, sweetness.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“Have a good day, dear.” I wave and wink, then saunter out of his office to the sound of his laughter.
“I’m way behind deadline,” I moan into the phone. “I have to have this draft to the editor by next week.”
“Okay,” Emily replies. “What’s the problem?”
“I’ve been a little distracted,” I reply dryly. “Between sexy lawyers and psychotic ex-husbands, I’ve been a tad busy.”
“Well, you’re not busy right now and you’re talking to me rather than writing.”
“You’re not helping!” I laugh and twirl in my office chair. “Seriously, I’m worried.”
“Ask for an extension.”
I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Because you’re the only author in the history of the world to ask for a deadline extension.”
“Shut up,” I grumble. “I seriously can’t ask for the extension. The publishing date on this book has been moved up because of the movie release, so I don’t have any wriggle room.”
“Okay, do you need any help?”
“Yes. Why are my characters determined to fight in almost every chapter? They are supposed to be falling in love and having lots of sex, and instead they fight like cats and dogs.”
“Makeup sex?” Em asks with a smile in her voice.
“Oh, there’s been plenty of that.” I worry my lip between my teeth and rock back and forth in my chair. “Maybe they should go on vacation and loosen up a bit.”
“I know! Send them to Tahiti! Lots of sun and water sex and they’re not required to wear much clothing, so your heroine can ogle the guy’s hot body a lot.”
“You might be onto something.” I nod and smile. “Maybe he has a private jet.”
“Plane sex!” Emily laughs, and I can hear her clapping. “I bet he has his own jet. He’s rich as fuck.”
“Yeah.” The idea is taking shape in my head and I grin. “I like it. I like it a lot.”
“Okay, you go write the fun plane sex. I have to write a murder scene.”
“I like mine better.”
She laughs and says good-bye and I dive back into my story, spending a few hours with my characters. The plane sex and sunshine are good for them, softening the mood of the story, making it fun and sexy.
&nbs
p; I decide to stop at the end of the chapter, and when I glance at the clock, I’m relieved that I haven’t missed my weekly date with Mr. Darcy at the hospital.
I’ve gone to read to Mr. Darcy every Monday afternoon for the past year. He is eighty-five, and blind, but he once wrote amazing political and mystery novels. He was our neighbor when I was growing up and was a friend of my father’s. As an only child, I found things to keep me busy, and sometimes that included walking over to his house when he was doing yard work to talk his ear off or to listen to his stories. He used to tell me all about the books he was writing, and I never tired of listening to his ideas.
When my parents died, he was one of the few people who continued to check in with me, to make sure that the house didn’t need to be repaired, or that the yard work was getting done.
He was widowed young and never remarried. His children all live on the West Coast and don’t visit often, which is why when his eyesight finally failed due to his diabetes, they put him in convalescent care at the hospital, rather than take him home with them.
I wave at the nurses as I walk past to his room and knock gently on the door, in case he’s napping.
“Come in, darlin’.”
I push inside and grin at him. He’s seated in his favorite La-Z-Boy chair by the window, in a University of Montana sweatshirt with a blanket covering his lap, the newest James Patterson book resting in his lap, waiting for me.
“What if it wasn’t me?” I kiss his cheek.
“I know your knock by now, girl.” His voice is rough, but he’s smiling. His hand clasps mine firmly. “How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Aren’t you under deadline?” Until I met Ty and his friends, Mr. Darcy was the only one who knew about the books, although he doesn’t know just how racy they are or how popular they’ve become.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t miss our date for the world.”
“You should be raising a family. Making babies. Writing books. Not wasting your time on an old man like me.”
“Stop that.” I take the book from his hands and sit in the wooden rocker across from him. “I like wasting my time on you.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Sassy as ever.”
“So I take it this is the new book we’re reading?” I flip the book open and turn to chapter one.