Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

“Hi, Fabio.” Lacy knelt down to give her canine the customary greeting scratch behind the ears. Then she gave one more for good measure. In truth, she would have loved to sit down in the entryway and scratch Fabio behind his big ears until he was bald. Anything so she wouldn’t have to face Chase.

  She heard the grandfather clock chime ten times, and each swish of the clock’s pendulum heightened her angst. Never in all her life had her feelings felt this complicated. Needs, desires and wants struggled with wisdom, reality, and logic. She stared at Fabio, then heard footsteps. He appeared in the doorway, tall and sexy. And irresistible. The perfect bad boy.

  Fabio darted into the other room. Lacy remained kneeling in the middle of her terrazzo floor, staring up at Chase and feeling overwhelmed. Her calf muscles began to pinch, but she didn’t move.

  “Have a good night?” he asked.

  She listened, thinking she’d hear resentment or sarcasm in his tone, but none tightened his voice. “It was fine.” The need to explain filled her throat. “We meet every Friday. If I hadn’t gone, they would have shown up here.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He walked over and extended his hand to help her up.

  She looked at the outstretched palm, knowing that even the least physical contact could be dangerous. And wonderful. Oh, how she wanted the wonderful. Trembling, she placed her hand in his.

  He pulled her up, lacing his fingers through hers, and moved toward the living room. His hip brushed against her as they walked. Suddenly she became aware of the smell of burning wood. He’d lit a fire in the fireplace. It draped the room in softly flickering shadows. Then other smells, the hearty scents of food, teased her senses.

  “You cooked?” she asked.

  “Chicken and pasta with wine sauce. I didn’t know how long you were going to be gone.”

  “I ate. I’m sorry,” she said. His hand fit so comfortably, pressed tightly against hers. So warm, so right. Oh, Lordie, what was she going to do? Take a chance, an internal voice seemed to scream.

  “I’ve already packed it up. We can have it tomorrow.”

  Her gaze went to the television. Splashed on the sixty-inch screen was an image of her at eighteen months old, her diaper down around her ankles and Sunshine, her first cat, in her arms. She recognized the shot from the tape her mother had given her for Christmas a few years ago. “You . . . you watched my family movies?” she asked.

  “You told me I could watch any of your tapes. I hope you don’t mind.”

  A strange feeling came with knowing he’d witnessed parts of her life. “I don’t mind. I just don’t see why it interested you.”

  “You interest me. And that tape is about you.” He placed his other hand on her shoulder and his gaze flickered to the screen behind her. His lips spread into a smile. “That shot is priceless.”

  She met his green eyes and in the corner of her gaze she caught the bedding on the sofa. Questions started to form. And with them came an emotion that resembled disappointment. Had he already lost interest in her and decided to sleep on the sofa? Was she such a vanilla wafer that he’d decided just a little more effort to seduce her wasn’t worth it? The emotion couldn’t be disappointment. She was relieved. And devastated! Okay, she was bitterly disappointed.

  The old saying, He made his bed, now he has to sleep in it, echoed in her mind.

  Chase’s hand moved beneath her chin and he turned her to face him. “We have to talk.”

  She shook her head and took a step back. “No. It’s late. Your bed is . . . I’m going to just—”

  “No!” He reached for her, wrapping one arm around her waist “I know what you’re thinking, and you’ve never been so wrong about anything in your entire life.” He moved her to the sofa, pushed her down and then settled beside her. The sofa sighed. The firelight flickered.

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she said.

  “I—”

  He kissed her then, as if he meant it to be a quick kiss to shut her up. But the quickness got lost somewhere between his hand moving to her neck and his tongue stroking her bottom lip. She leaned into him and noted a sweet flavor on his tongue. He pulled back, as if it took some effort.

  ‘‘Lacy.” His breath came out with her name. “I made up the couch because I didn’t want you to feel pressured. You ran out of here this afternoon like a cat with its tail on fire. More than anything in this world, I want to take you into that bedroom and make love to you twenty-four different ways. But I can’t be the only one wanting it.”

  This was it, she thought, the moment of decision. “I’m scared.” The truth slipped out unintentionally

  “Why?” He ran a finger over her cheek.

  “Reasons,” she said, and noted the open box of vanilla wafers on the coffee table. He really did like vanilla wafers.

  “Give me a chance to put those fears to bed. Let me love you.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers again. His hand moved down to the edge of her cotton sweater and then under and up to touch her bare abdomen. “Tell me you want this.”

  Her breath caught. But breathing seemed unimportant right now. She wanted this. His hands on her naked skin, his lips on her body, everywhere. Him. She wanted him on top of her, inside of her. She just couldn’t want him forever. But so what if she did? If she couldn’t control the forever desire, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, because Chase wasn’t the marrying type; he played the field, offering pleasure but never commitment.

  She pulled back enough to mouth her question: “You’re a bad boy, right?”

  • • •

  Chase heard the question. It wasn’t Lacy’s words that gave him pause, but the way she asked them.

  “Do you want me to be a bad boy?” He brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth, tasting whiskey and Lacy. The combination was intoxicating.

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice wispy with desire.

  “Then I’m bad through and through,” he whispered. Slipping his hand around her back, he unhooked her bra. “I’ll show you how bad.”

  He leaned her back on the sofa and pulled up her shirt. Pushing her bra away, he took the sweet flesh of her nipple into his mouth. Her hips rose off the sofa and he moved a hand between her legs to cup her through her jeans. Moving against him, she pulled at the bottom of his T-shirt, and ran her hands over his abdomen. Her soft fingers trailed up to his chest, taking his breath away, then she hesitated.

  “Have you been taking the antibiotics?” she asked.

  He drew back from her breasts, grinned, and looked at her face, the orange firelight casting a soft glow over her features. Damn, she was beautiful.

  “Yes, Doctor.” Sitting up, he removed his shirt, then he unsnapped his jeans and unzipped them so when it came time to remove them, it would be easy work.

  She lay perfectly still, her sweater bunched around her shoulders. He reached down and pulled it over her head. Her bra came off too, and he feasted on the sight of her, naked from the waist up. Her nipples were puckered tight.

  He rolled the peak of pink flesh between his thumb and forefinger and watched her face. She sucked on that bottom lip and he moved his free hand to the snap of her jeans. “I want you naked,” he said.

  Her zipper moved down easily enough. He stopped toying with her nipple long enough to push down her pants. She raised her hips and her jeans slipped down her thighs, exposing the white silk panties covering that soft patch of dark brown hair. When he got the jeans to her calves, she tried to kick loose her shoes.

  “No,” he said, stilling her legs with one hand. “I’m going to get to them.” He lowered himself briefly to kiss her breast, then kissed his way down her abdomen. Lingering a second around her belly button, he dipped his tongue into that cute little dimple. She let out a whoosh of breath. “You like that, do you? What about here?”

  Slowly, he trailed his hand downward, running a finger under the band of her panties. She hissed and her hips shifted upward. He edged himself down a bit, so that his tongue cou
ld follow the path his fingers had just taken.

  “Oh, that feels . . .”

  “Feels what, Lacy?” he asked. “Tell me what it feels like.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “Just good?” He lowered himself again, moving his tongue over the silk-covered center of her sex. “Just good?”

  “Wonderful,” she moaned.

  “I need more than wonderful, Lacy. I need details. What does it do to you? Tell me.”

  “It . . . it . . . I can’t think now. Just do it!”

  He chuckled. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

  “Please.” She shifted upward, pressing herself to his mouth.

  “Tell me,” he insisted, and ran his tongue over her again. “Tell me, Lacy, and I’ll give you what you want.”

  “It makes me wet and ache to feel more. It makes me ready for you. For anything. Now, please. Do it.”

  “Much better words,” he said, and pulled the silk back, rewarding her with two strokes of his tongue. She was already wet and ready, and her taste filled his mouth. She released a long breath. He scooted down and slipped her sandals from her feet. Raising one foot, he ran a finger over the arch. Then, lowering her leg, he slipped her jeans the rest of the way off.

  She reached down and started pushing down her panties. Reaching out, he caught her hand. “No. That’s my job. Your job is to enjoy and be patient.”

  “I can’t be patient. I want you so bad I’m going crazy.” She sat up and crawled into his lap, straddling him, and pressed her lips to his. He dropped back on the sofa and let himself enjoy.

  As the kiss deepened, she snuggled closer to the ache between his legs. She shifted herself up and down, purring the whole time. Her hands moved over his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples. Then her touch lowered. She slipped her hand into his open pants and wrapped her hand around him.

  His response was automatic; he rotated his hips. His hard shaft slipped inside her soft palm. “Sweet heaven,” he hissed, and pulled her hand away. “You’re gonna make me explode before I ever get my pants off. I haven’t done that since I was fifteen.” He pushed her back on the sofa.

  “Take me now,” she pleaded.

  “Not yet, Lacy. The first time should never be fast.” He stood and pushed his pants down. Her eyes lowered. When her gaze widened at the sight of his hardened sex, a sense of male satisfaction brought a smile to his lips. “Think it’ll do, sweetheart?”

  She raised her eyes and even in the flickering firelight he could see her cheeks tint. “I . . . think so.”

  “You’re not sure?” he asked, loving to tease her.

  “I’m . . . I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t have gotten the extra-large condoms.”

  He laughed; then, leaning down, he scooped her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” She pressed a hand to his chest.

  “Taking you to bed.”

  As he started down the hall, she briefly glanced back. “You don’t want to do it on the sofa?”

  “Not the first time,” he said. “I want you flat on your back and spread wide. I want to be able to get to every lovely inch of you. We can christen the sofa later. Right after the kitchen table, maybe.”

  “The kitchen table,” she echoed, her voice raspy.

  “You got something against table sex?”

  “No!” she squeaked, then shyly asked, “Can we do it on the floor and in the shower, too?”

  “Anywhere you want.” He laid her on the bed, whisking off her panties and letting them flutter to the floor. “I’m yours to please.” The hall light gave him just enough illumination to enjoy the view, but just enough darkness for romance.

  He started by kissing her again, then moved down her body with a slow progression. He tasted every inch of her, from the tips of her fingers to her navel again. When he got to the moist juncture between her legs, he decided to save the best part for last, and he bypassed it.

  She protested with some serious whimpering. Her whines stopped when he entered her with a finger, his mouth moving down to caress her thighs.

  He’d gotten only to her knee when she began to moan, pushing up and down, his finger slipping in and out. He pulled it out of her before she crossed the edge.

  “No,” she cried. “I was—”

  “Not yet. I want to taste you when you come.” He moved between her legs, which she spread wide for him. He’d barely gotten a good start when she screamed out his name and grasped the sheets in tight fists.

  He pulled himself up to her side, curled his arms around her and held on as she trembled. Reaching to the bedside table where he’d tucked away one pack of condoms, he fumbled with the box until he had it open. “You ready for me now?”

  “Yes, but I already—”

  “Oh, you’re going to come again. I’ll see to it!” He pulled his arm from her so he could open the box and tear off a packet. Once he had the foil off, he started to put the condom on, then decided otherwise. He placed the rolled plastic into her hand. “Would you?”

  She raised up and he saw a second of hesitation in her eyes. “I’ve never . . .”

  He guided her hand down and helped her. When the job was done, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she took him in her palm and held tight as if measuring him, feeling him. She saw him watching her and smiled through the touch of embarrassment.

  He remembered. “Is it length or girth? Did you girls figure it out?”

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks brightened. His breath hitched in his throat. “Damn, you’re beautiful!” He kissed her. The words I love you lay on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Instead, he moved over her. Fitting his thighs between her legs, he settled his hips against hers. He pressed another slow kiss to her lips. Her lower body rose to meet him. His shaft, hard and ready, found her moist opening. He pushed deeper, easy, slow, and he gritted his teeth as her tight sex welcomed him inside, wrapped around him with slick feminine muscle.

  “Oh, this is good,” she said breathlessly, jutting out her hips to take more of him.

  Wanting to make it last, he tried to keep the pace slow, but Lacy seemed to have other ideas. He’d barely gotten all the way in when she pulled back and pushed in faster. She moved her hands around his back, lower, to cup his buttocks, her legs parted farther and she wrapped her soft thighs around his waist. He couldn’t have stopped her any more than he could have stopped time. So he went with it, meeting her stride, push for pull, holding on by a sheer, thin thread, determined to hear her cry out before he crossed over his own edge of bliss.

  Just when he’d almost lost it, he heard the sounds coming from deep in her throat. She moved her hands to his back and dug in her nails. Her sex started contracting, pulling him to his own climax, and the noise rising from his chest sounded more animal than human and surprised even him. And just when he thought the ecstasy of the moment had to end, it got even better. Exploding with pleasure, he continued to pump inside her.

  Unable to breathe, he almost let go and dropped on top of her, but then somehow he found the energy to roll over on his side, pulling her with him, refusing to leave her body. This was what making love was supposed to feel like. Damn, how he’d missed it.

  He heard her soft intakes of breath. He pulled her closer, wrapped his arms tighter around her. Then her little gasps grew louder and the realization hit him like a bullet to the gut: Lacy Maguire wasn’t just trying to catch her breath. She was crying—a deep serious type of crying that bordered on sobs.

  Chapter Twenty-one