"Some things don't change, I see," she said as she slipped her phone into a purse slung over her shoulder. "You've not become a sparkling conversationalist in the intervening years, Beck."
"We never needed to talk, princesa."
Man, how she used to hate that endearment, though in days past, using it had sparked some of their most pleasurable moments together. He would goad her until her cheeks flushed and his cock swelled and relief could only come from sinking his fingers in her hair, her mouth, her slick-for-him sex.
Now, on a razor's edge, the moment lived, then deflated when she gave him a nervy smile. She looked unsure, vulnerable, not at all like the girl he knew.
"What are you up to these days?" he asked.
Thoughts ran circles over her face as she geared up to . . . huh. Lie her sweet ass off.
"This and that. Mostly helping with Grams's recovery and organizing the charity fund-raiser for the homeless she hosts each year. Big party in a couple of weeks."
Maybe this was a boyfriend or that was a husband.
"How's Preston Collins III?"
Her composure took another hit, but on the beat of three she picked herself right back up and smoothed her expression to a cool slate.
"I've no idea."
"So your marriage didn't work out?"
"I never got married. That was something my father wanted, not me."
There was no time to enjoy the sweet balm of relief those words created in his chest. Something else was going on here, a restlessness about her that matched his own edgy mood. The tell in her eyes piqued his interest. Time to double down.
"So how mad at me are you right now?"
She sucked in a breath. "Mad? At you? Why would I be mad at you?"
"Oh, I dunno." Because he had dropped her like a bad habit. "You seem uncomfortable at seeing me again. Pissy."
"Beck," she said in the tone of one about to explain something to a dimwit. "When I was eighteen years old, you broke my heart. Stomped on it. Pulverized it into a mess I thought would be irreparable. I cried for two months, cut my hair and dyed it a really awful blond, let it grow out, made friends in college. I even had a boyfriend, a hot linebacker who was excellent in bed. But every day since, I've wished I was here with a guy who voluntarily runs into burning buildings. I wanted to be waiting at home with my heart stuck to the roof of my mouth, hoping he'd text me whenever a warehouse fire was splashed all over the local news. I longed to be getting into arguments about whether it was okay to use my family's money to get us a better apartment because my man was so proud he insisted on supporting us on his city salary."
"So, still mad."
She angled her head, taking him in like he was a bug not worthy of her attention. And then she gave him a huge-ass smile.
Fuckin' A! Hell, fuckin' B, C, D, and E. He felt like he'd been pumped with a triple dose of tropical sunshine.
"Sorry, just needed to get it out," she said. "You dumped me a month after we had sex for the first time and that kind of thing is enough to give a girl a complex. I had it in my head that I must have been god-awful in the sack."
Mierda. Surely she had not been living with that?
She stayed the tip-of-his-tongue protest with a hand, and that she still had the imperious thing going on put his groin on serious notice.
"But I realized fairly quickly that it was for the best. We were from different worlds, Beck. I don't harbor any grudges."
Listening to her mature and measured assessment should have put him at ease. Should have. But his body did not feel loose. His mind did not accept this.
"It's okay to be a little ticked off," he said, strangely ticked off himself at her self-possession. "I treated you pretty shabbily."
She arched a dark eyebrow, its delicate upward curve a message in itself. "After all this time, you'd rather I was angry. You'd rather I kept you in here"--she touched a clenched fist to the soft swell of her breast--"because it would mean I still care and you still have some power over me."
Yes, a million times, yes. He hooked her pearls to bring her closer and then, very deliberately, placed one palm against the hallway's wall inches from her heat-stained cheek.
"I'd rather you were mad because then I could make it better. Remember what I used to do to calm you down? Your dad would piss you off and then I would piss you off more and before you knew it, you were coming apart, screaming my name."
A muscle ticked at the corner of her mouth, begging for his thumb to soothe it.
So he did.
"Kissing you, touching you, every hurried fumble in my car, every time we explored each other's bodies--it was all amazing. And when after months, years of waiting, I finally drove deep inside you where I belonged, that was also amazing, Darcy. Sex had nothing to do with why we didn't work out."
There. He'd said it. As for the reasons for their split--the real reasons--now was neither the time nor the place. Might never be, but she needed to know she was not to blame.
The soft thud of a closing door signaled that someone was exiting the restroom around the corner. A guy weaved by on his way back to the bar, and with each passing second, Beck's heart thundered in his ears.
He turned back to Darcy in time to catch her blinking away an intrusive thought. "Thank you for setting the record straight and letting me know my sexual inexperience was not a contributing factor."
Uh-oh. Sarcastic, if his snark-o-meter was calibrated right. "You said you had a complex."
"I said it was enough to give a girl a complex." She rubbed a tuft of his coarse beard between her finger and thumb, like she was testing the quality of fabric in a high-end store. "But I figured out quickly that I'm rather awesome, both in and out of the bedroom. Lots of hot college guys helped with my sexual awakening."
"Your what?"
"My sexual awakening. Those first few months of school, I jumped right in with all the zeal of a frat boy at a kegger. Discovered what I like." She tugged on his beard and it felt surprisingly good, despite the fact he was half-past pissed at the words spilling from her pert, kissable mouth. "What I don't like."
A tight band of steel squeezed around his chest, and the pounding in his ears grew louder. He had been the one to nurture her sex-starved body, not some Dockers-wearing college boy. Beck's nineteenth year had been one of the most painful of his life. A year of stiff sheets and balled-up tissues, every cock-stroking fantasy filled with sweet, sexy Darcy begging him to touch her, take her.
Own her.
Denying his raging needs for months, he made sure to take care of hers until finally he surrendered to her tight, virginal body the night of the funeral, in the boxing ring at the gym where he had made Sean and Logan proud so many times. Not how he had planned it at all. It was too rough, too raw, too damn visceral. But he had needed her desperately, the only drug that could numb his soul-splitting pain.
He scrubbed a hand across the scruff on his jaw. "You like the beard, princesa."
"It disgusts me," she deadpanned, but there was no missing the wisp of a smile on her lips. Teenage Darcy was a fiery creature, spoiled and perpetually indignant, and the ability to laugh at herself was not part of her makeup. Somewhere along the way, she had developed a sense of humor, and damn if that wasn't sexier than every one of her soft, womanly curves.
"What else about me disgusts you?"
"How long have you got?"
"Ten good inches."
She snorted. "See? Dirty mouth."
Covering her body with his, he nuzzled his raggedy jaw against her cheek and absorbed her shiver into his own. "You used to like my dirty mouth and all the magical things I could do with it."
"Teenage hormones have a lot to answer for."
"Adult ones, too." Though it killed him a little, he put a few painful inches between them and trailed a finger along her jaw, noting with satisfaction that she trembled under his touch. "It was good to see you again. Have a nice holiday."
Her expressive brow told him she liked what he'd done
there. "When did you get funny, Beck Rivera?"
"Around about the time you got a sense of humor, querida."
There it was, that fire-bright smile. He felt like he'd swallowed the sun.
"Your shtick needs work."
"Then show me how it's done. Besame." Kiss me.
She laughed, right in his face. "Besame el culo."
Kiss my ass? Oh, it was on. Leaning in, he caged her with palms on the wall. The air around them shook with sex and need. Her lush body damn near vibrated with it.
"So demanding, princesa. How about I start with your mouth, then work down to your breasts, your belly, your thighs? Plenty of country to rediscover before I get to your sweet culo."
But before he could kiss her, she kissed him. Unexpectedly, like the Darcy of old, and expertly, like this new Darcy he liked very, very much. Her lips claimed one corner of his mouth, then the other, and he parted to let her in. An invitation she accepted with joy. He'd always loved how she approached kissing, like she approached everything--with a single-mindedness that bordered on pathological. Over the years, she had probably honed her technique with a ton of guys. He hated every fucking one of them.
His arms snaked around her involuntarily; his body had always known what it wanted where she was concerned. By the time his mind caught up, he was a goner. He gathered her closer, perversely pleased that she didn't soften immediately. He deserved to suffer. As their tongues tangled, realization shocked him stupid: no one else affected him like this, sent his heart soaring into the stratosphere and his cock punching against his zipper. A kiss, that's all it took with Darcy who had once been his fantasy girl, and was fast becoming his fantasy woman. It was like someone had opened a bottle of good lovin' wine. Vintage, seven years ago.
She had closed her eyes and the fact that she still did that during a kiss made his heart ache so sweetly. Slowly, she opened them as if waking from a dream.
"Te necesito, Darcy," he murmured. So strange, only with her did his first language--one he barely spoke anymore--come out. She unlocked that primal part of him.
Their lips met again in a rush of heat and desire, and this time he abandoned his misguided attempt at coolness. It had never been a game with her. She clutched his shoulders, digging into his skin, and he couldn't get enough of the bite of her. Her soft mouth, her clawing fingers, the fight in her body. She let loose a groan he felt all the way to his balls.
Crowd noise filtered through from the bar, reminding him that they were in far too public a place. Lifting her, he headed a few short feet to the back office and pushed his way through, kicking the door shut behind him. Too small for anything, it was perfect for this. He sat her on the desk, on top of a pile of invoices. Her purse hit the floor. She was breathing heavily, the swells of her breasts lifting her pearls.
"Is there someone else?" he asked, needing to know for a million reasons, none of them good for his sanity.
"Not at the moment." She reached for his belt and undid the buckle while he pushed her skirt up her thighs. Thick woolen tights covered her legs, and the memory of her peaches-and-cream skin made his mouth water.
"Hurry," she said, her eyes wild. "Please."
This was moving at lightning speed, but she'd get no complaints from him. Next time--and yes, there would be a next time--he'd take it slow. Right now, he needed to be inside her, feel the clutch of her silken folds around his cock, find the pleasure he craved after a shitty couple of months. After far too long without her.
Quickly, he produced a condom and rolled it on while she watched approvingly. His hands shot up her skirt, seeking out the top of her tights so he could yank them south, but the snugness of the fabric over her hips made it difficult to get purchase.
"I think we need to--"
"Rip it, Beck," she whispered.
"What?"
"Rip it." She dragged his hand between her thighs, and he could feel her pulsing with want right there. A throaty moan escaped her lips as he applied more pressure. "Please. Now."
Rip it. Get inside her. No waiting, no seduction, no fucking games. Just Darcy with that hot brew of pleading and ordering that destroyed him every time. He pulled the thick wool away from her body and, after a couple of tries, tore it down the seam. Slipping his fingers inside, he pushed aside her panties and found her soaked.
"Jesus, Darcy. You're--"
"Yes, yes, I am," she said, grinding her pliant heat on his hand. She hooked a finger in his jeans pocket and drew him toward her. "Do something about it."
Yes, ma'am.
His mouth crushed hers, and then it was all hot hands and slick tongues. His on her, hers on him. Stroking with velvet licks inside her demanding mouth. Taking timeouts to watch as her pale hands pumped his cock, dark and pulsing even while sheathed. Memories he'd locked down broke through and added an indescribably sweet edge. Darcy giving her body to him the night he buried the two men he loved the most. Darcy making it better before he made it worse.
She felt it, too, he could tell. Remembrance flickered through her green eyes and he entered her just then, like that one action could seal the bond between past and present. He held still for untold heartbeats, ostensibly letting her adjust to his expanding size, but really because he needed to grasp onto this for a few seconds longer before the tethers of his waning control snapped.
One, two, ah . . . He cupped her jaw, enjoying immensely the delicate feel of her bones and how the softness of her skin churned something inside him. He plundered her mouth and mapped it with his tongue, giving her what she wanted, taking what he needed. A wave of clenching pleasure slammed into his midsection. Only then did he withdraw and plunge deep.
So damn good.
With his hands on her wool-covered ass, he urged her closer, tighter, the claustrophobic binding of their clothing adding another layer to the pleasure. It wasn't enough. He jerked at the hem of her sweater, anxious to see the changes time had wrought on her body, only to be met with resistance. She pushed his hand away.
"No--no--we don't have time." A shocking vulnerability shone from her eyes. Was she unsure of being naked? Because he would not allow it. "Just take me there, Beck."
Take me there. The same words she would beg when they were too young to even know their significance. It might have meant simple pleasure or outright oblivion. He had hoped it meant forever.
He did as he was told. Fucked her harder, got lost in the feel of her, took her to that place. Slick suction where their bodies joined fell into a hot rhythm with their fevered pants. Desperate thrusts and pulls ramped up his desire so fast he had to actively slow it down to make sure he lasted. This woman was so hot. And Christ, he wanted to burn.
Her moans got louder, the clench of her silken muscles tighter.
"Come for me, Darcy. Se mia." Be mine.
"Beck," she whispered. Her tight channel clamped around his cock, and in every cell he felt the shatter of her orgasm as it unraveled through her body. It triggered his own release, and he let go with a roar, pumping every last ounce of tension and need into her.
Un-fucking-real.
"Hmm," she hummed after a couple of minutes spent panting their way back to even breathing levels.
"Si," he managed.
She laughed. "That Spanish gets me every time."
How lucky was he to have found her, right here, right now, as if he'd wished for it? Kissing her softly, he worked the condom off and disposed of it. She kissed him back, caressing his mouth with sexy kitten licks that melted his insides and hardened him everywhere else.
"I can't leave the bar now," he said, "but I can see you later."
Keeping her gaze low, she adjusted her skirt to cover the ripped tights, like she could hide the glorious sleaziness of what they had just done. "I . . . I don't think so."
"It wasn't a request, princesa."
Her head snapped back and a flash of the old Darcy sparked in her sea-green eyes. "I don't follow orders anymore. Not my father's, not yours, not any man's." Standing tall, she
gave his dick a gentle tug. "It was great seeing you again, Beck. Feliz Navidad."
And before he could muster an argument or shove his still aching dick in his pants, she was out the door, moving astonishingly fast for someone who had twisted her ankle not half an hour ago.
Five seconds passed in disbelief, another ten in outright awe. He forced himself to swallow this devastating dose of reality: he had just been wham-bammed by Darcy Cochrane and then she had said good-bye with a dick shake.
A dick shake!
The door flapped open and his heart boosted in hope before plummeting to the floor, along with his flagging cock. It was only Luke with that well-worn smirk on his face.
"For fuck's sake, Becky, how about you put your dick back in your pants and come help us out here?"
chapter 4
Something was off here.
Beck strummed the steering wheel of his truck and peered up at the gray, nondescript building on this industrial stretch of Clybourn. A construction site a half block down instilled hope that the area might be up-and-coming, though that claim had been made about this neighborhood before. Not that "neighborhood" really applied--it was no neighbors, all hood.
He checked the torn-off slip of paper in his hand, covered in Gage's loopy writing. The snooty butler at the Cochrane mansion in the Gold Coast said Miss Cochrane was not residing there, which left Beck to tap his usual sources. Marcy at the DMV had turned up mothereffin' zilch, and he still owed her sister a date. Finally Gage had come through with a call to Darcy's drinking buddy--Melissa or Paula or something.
He needed to see her again. Her taste still coated his mouth, honey-sweet, exactly as he remembered it from all those years ago. How could she taste the same and how could his body still react like that? Even now, the memory of her eager lips and that surrendering sigh as she came gave him pleasure he had no right to enjoy. Not after how he had let her down, treated her as no better than something stuck to the bottom of his boots.
But lust makes monsters of us all, and this monster was greedy for more.
Sucking a sharp breath of snow-tinged air, he pressed each label-less button on the intercom panel in turn. The metallic buzz echoed in the quiet, broken only by the intermittent whoosh of traffic behind him. He let a minute tick by. Tried again. Nothing. Looked like the friend had sent him on a wild goose chase, maybe under orders from the princesa herself. Which wouldn't surprise him, given how fast Darcy had bolted from his bar last night.