Chapter Eight
Seven Years Ago . . .
“Queen Adele?” I asked, brows raised.
“What? You don’t like it? I made it myself. I even drew little stars on there, see?” Pete wrapped one solid arm around me, lowering the embarrassing cardboard sign he had been holding up. Thank God. “Good to see you, kid.”
“Good to see you too.”
“Happy belated eighteenth.” He smacked a kiss on my cheek. I’d have preferred some on-the-mouth action, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Thanks.” I smiled. “Dad’s at work?”
“Ah, yeah. He got tied up with something, so I said I’d pick you up. That okay?”
“Of course.”
People pushed past us, the arrivals lounge at the airport busy as hell, what with universities and schools all going on summer break. I tugged at the bottom of my T-shirt self-consciously, covering my small belly. So my first year at university had involved a small-to-medium amount of partying with the occasional bout of overeating. It was a pretty damn common circumstance. Didn’t keep me from being annoyingly overly self-conscious in front of him, however. At least now I could fill out a bikini. There had to be a bright spot to everything, even thigh dimples.
A woman walked by, checking out Pete and then some. Kind of amazed she didn’t give herself whiplash. Sheesh. I linked my arm with his, gave him my warmest smile. Hopefully we looked like lovers reunited. Like the man was all mine. I could dream.
“Let’s go get your bag,” he said, leading me through the crowd toward the luggage carousels. “How much did you pack this year? I hope you don’t break my back.”
“You look sturdy to me.”
The show pony flexed his biceps with a grin. “What, these guns? Do I pass muster?”
“Oh God, don’t call them guns.”
“Not cool?”
“Not even a little.”
He laughed.
“So,” I cuddled up to him. “I’m eighteen now. Legal. You can’t dump me on Saturday nights when you go out drinking anymore.”
His eyes widened. “Yes I can.”
“Nope. I’m coming with.”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “Forget it.”
“Why not?”
“Because your father would kill me, for starters.” He ran his gaze over me from head to toe. My chest area got a definite frown, followed by a shake of his head. “It’s not happening. I’d have to spend the whole damn night stopping idiots from cracking onto you.”
Oh, please. “You would not.”
“I would,” he said. “You stay home, spend time with your dad. That’s what you’re here for.”
“Oh, come on. You know he works twenty-four seven.”
“Answer’s still no.”
“Fight it all you want, Pete.” I grinned. “But things are going to be different this year.”
Saturday Night . . . Now
Dad and Shanti’s place was alive with light and music when I got back at around midnight. Guess the restaurant eventually kicked them out. Meanwhile, I was not only mostly broke, but dead tired. Leona lived in some fancy high-rise in Noosa, nearly an hour up the coast. What a not-so-delightful surprise that had been. The wait for a cab on a Saturday night had been long. Followed by probably the most expensive car ride of my life.
I’d done my penance. Any residual guilt I had over telling Pete about her snooping was long gone, eroded minute by minute on the cab ride back with every uptick in the meter’s fare.
Pete had to be across the road with the wedding party, because his house sat in darkness. Suited me just fine. I could go to bed without having to see him and set my alarm for bright and early, before he’d be awake. Surely even he’d want to sleep-in the day after a wedding. With a little luck, we could go another seven years without seeing each other. An ideal situation for everyone involved. I’d sent Dad a message apologizing for missing the end of the night, saying I had a headache and was going to bed. They were leaving on their honeymoon in the morning. Now that we’d reconnected, hopefully we’d be better at keeping in touch in the future.
On the off-chance Pete was home, I kept the lights off and removed my shoes at the door. As pretty as the heels were, my feet were about ready for a massage or at least a good soak. Sadly for them, and the rest of me, there’d be neither. Just me in my lonely bed with an aching heart.
Inside, there was enough ambient light with the moon shining in through the kitchen windows. Enough to get me to the guest room without walking into anything. Especially if I used the kitchen counter as a guide.
“Look at you creeping in,” said a voice out of the darkness.
I actually jumped, almost dropping my shoes and purse in the process. “Shit. I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously.” He sat at the dining table, the good old glass and bottle of scotch in front of him. The white of his dress shirt stood out, the rest of him little more than a shadow. “Did you get Leona home okay?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Saw you walking her out. I would have looked after her, but it’s probably better this way.”
“She was pretty drunk. And I don’t think anybody wanted a scene.”
“Hm.” He said nothing more.
Now was my chance. “Well, it’s been a long night . . .”
“Been thinking about what you said earlier.”
“Oh?”
The scotch bottle clinked against the glass as he poured. “I still think you’re wrong.”
“Of course you do.”
The bottle went down on the table, and he stood, scooping up the glass and walking toward me. The closer he came, the more I could see. Like the disarray of his hair and the top three or so buttons undone on his shirt, offering a glimpse of his gorgeous chest. How he’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and taken off his shoes and socks. It did something to me, seeing him a little undone. I started breathing a bit faster, my thighs tensing. My heart and loins were nothing if not predictable. Even after all of tonight’s resolutions regarding leaving posthaste, avoiding him, moving on with my life, meeting Prince Charming, and all the other stuff I had resolved as the taxi meter ticked off the last of my savings.
“Did you enjoy the wedding?” he asked.
“W-what?”
The man stood much closer than necessary. “The wedding. It was nice, right?”
“Sure.”
Faint strains of music carried from across the road. It seemed worlds away. He downed a mouthful of scotch, gaze never leaving my face. All I could smell was the single malt, his cologne, and the slight scent of salt on his skin. After all, it’d been a hot night and he’d been dancing in the suit. He wasn’t happy; I knew the signs well enough. The tension in his jawline and the look in his eyes. All heated and intense.
“So you’ve been sitting in the dark, drinking and brooding, huh?” I asked. “That sounds constructive.”
“What did Leona have to say?”
I laughed. “Oh, hell no. I’m not getting caught in the middle of you two again. Why don’t you try settling your issues like normal people and actually talk to one another?”
“You have such a clever mouth, Adele.” He cocked his head. “Always got an answer, don’t you?”
“Enjoy your scotch, Pete.” I turned away. “I’m going to bed.”
“What’s the rush?” Strong fingers wrapped around my arm, not gripping me hard, just enough to hold me in place.
“I’ve spent enough time tonight in the company of a drunken asshole, thank you.” I smiled.
His return smile was lopsided. “You’re angry.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re angry and tired. Me too,” he said. “Less so on the tired, though. Actually, I’m wide the fuck awake.”
“Good for you.”
He finished off his drink, then reached past me, setting the empty glass on the kitchen counter. “Keep me company.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asked, expression full of false interest. “Thought you’d love the chance to tell me off some more.”
I looked away. “We’re done here.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp. “We’re finished, Pete. Our friendship or whatever the hell it is these days . . . It’s over, kaput, the end. Took me seven years, but tonight I finally wised up.”
“That so?”
“Yep,” I said. “I refuse to keep feeling this way about you. It’s such a stupid waste.”
His gaze narrowed.
“You know, I even have a plan.”
“What might that be?”
“In the morning, I’m going to go home and fuck every available man I meet until one of them does it for me.” My smile felt jagged and horrible. It couldn’t have been pretty so see. “And then I won’t think about you anymore.”
His fingers curled into tight fists. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one affected. I put my hand on his chest, getting up in his face. Two could play the invading-personal-space game, for fun and intimidation. As if I would back down.
“It works for you, right?” I asked. Maybe I should have been a little wary of the hard set of his face, the fury in his eyes. But I couldn’t stop now. “Why shouldn’t it work for me?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
“I’ll be heading out early. Doubt we’ll be seeing each other again anytime soon.” Leaning into him, I went up on tippy-toes. This was it, the end. Later, it would hurt. Right now, though, I couldn’t even say I was sorry. He’d been a storm inside me for so long, messing with my head and my heart. Unrequited love was a bitch. “’Bye, Pete.”
It was meant to be a soft kiss. A chaste one, even.
The minute my lips touched his, however, everything changed. Callused hands grabbed the sides of my face and my mouth opened on a gasp. His tongue swept inside, taking me over. Holy hell. Shoes and purse hit the floor, forgotten. Nothing about this kiss was slow or easy. The man devoured me. Every ounce of emotion poured into that kiss, all of the anger and frustration between us. His tongue was teasing and tasting, driving me wild. Then he drew back to suck and nip at my bottom lip. One hand slid around the back of my neck, the other over my hip to grab at my ass. His hold was firm, a little rough even. He treated my body like it belonged to him and I wasn’t gentle either.
Apparently, experience mattered. Because all I could do was try to keep up.
I held on tight to his open shirt, straining against him, needing to get closer. I’d have crawled inside the man if I could. Turned out that under certain circumstances, the taste of scotch worked for me in a big way. Against my hip, his cock hardened, digging into me. And oh my God, I’d done that to him. Me. How amazing! Meanwhile, my body felt liquid, core aching and empty. I needed him inside of me and it seemed like I’d already been waiting forever.
“Pete. Please.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, breath hot against my ear.
I fumbled at the remaining buttons on his shirt. My damn fingers didn’t seem to be working. Easier to just push the whole thing upward. Luckily, the man decided to help, tearing the shirt off over his head. More skin was good. And he was so hot and smooth, a thrill to the touch. The solid flesh of his pecs and the flat plane of his stomach.
He tore at the zipper on the back of my dress, dragging fabric down over my shoulders. A growl came from deep in his throat, a noise of frustration, impatience. I’m reasonably certain I heard the silk rip. I didn’t care. His hands and mouth seemed to cover every bit of skin revealed, touching and tasting me everywhere. The dress got stuck on my hips. Out of the way enough for now.
He didn’t even bother undoing my bra, simply peeling down one of the lace cups to free my flesh. My breast filled his hot palm as it took the weight. Fingers plumped me, his thumb flicking over my hard nipple. The sting of pain followed by the heat of his kiss made my head spin and my body ache. There was no room for thought as he fed me deep, wet kisses. Slowly, he took us to the floor. No time for anything else. Just the urgent need to have him inside me.
The hardness of the polished wood was cool against my back. My legs were spread, his body between them. And with his broad chest above me, his weight taken on one arm, he was all I could see. I swear even the insides of my thighs were wet, I was so ready. It would have been embarrassing with anybody else. But this man, he had to know, he had to understand. It had always been him.
“Pete, I need—”
“I know,” he said, voice harsh and low.
His absolute focus on me, right here, right now, made me weak. So many times, I’d imagined him like this, I’d dreamed about it. Now here he was, gaze stark with need. His skin seemed to be stretched tight over his sharp cheekbones and striking face. As if he was every bit as out of control and overexcited as I was. Like I wasn’t alone in feeling all this.
His hands bunched up my dress before going to his belt buckle, then the button and zip below. “Hard and fast.”
I nodded.
In one quick move, his pants and boxer briefs were shoved down. Immediately, I got an elbow beneath me because like hell I’d be missing this.
Holy shit, the sight of his cock. The size of his cock.
If need hadn’t been beating through me with such a beat, dark and heavy, I might have hesitated for a moment. But his fingers wrapped around the thick length, squeezing. My mouth watered, everything low in my belly tightening. Both of us were panting, desperate. But he took a breath, seeming to try and calm himself. To slow for a moment.
With one hand, he drew a line from my belly button, down through the small tangle of pubic hair to my sex. The pad of his thumb lightly circled my clit, getting me wetter, making me even more swollen. Fingers slid inside of me, pushing in deep, pumping slowly in and out of me. First two and then three. His gaze never shifted from between my legs. Everything there felt swollen and hypersensitive. Better than ever before and we’d barely gotten started.
“You’re very wet.” Then he took hold of himself again, dragging the wide crown between my labia. “And so damn beautiful.”
My insides clenched, so damn empty. His mouth covered mine, hungry and demanding, forcing me down, flat on my back. Then he pulled my underwear aside and pushed in, hard and fast as promised. My breath stuck in my throat, my heart seizing. Christ, the feel of his cock stretching me, the thick length buried deep. One hand lay beside my head, the other keeping a punishing grip on my hip, holding my body in place to receive him. There’d be bruises tomorrow. Evidence of this moment. I wanted that so badly, for him to bite me and fuck me. To take me hard and leave me hurting.
He pulled back, pushing in even faster this time. Such perfect friction. It was electric. Lighting me up inside. I moaned and the look in his eyes . . . it was hard to describe. I held on to his shoulders, skin slick and slippery. Hot as fire and all so real. His gaze bore into mine and I couldn’t have looked away if I tried. This man had me completely.
Skin slapped against skin with the force of his thrusts, sweat dripping off his body and onto mine. It was brutal, animalistic, the way he grunted every time he slammed into me. The heavy scent of sex and sweat filling the hot night air. I don’t know if he loved me or hated me. Right then, it didn’t even matter.
The tension in me coiled higher and higher. Blood surging, hammering behind my ears. Every muscle in me seemed strung out, my body begging for release. When it hit, it hit hard. A wave of pleasure igniting every nerve ending. My back bowed, pushing against him, my whole body shaking. It just kept rolling through me, dragging me under. I was lost and found, made and undone. Then he shouted, hips bucking against me, driving his cock so deep I thought he was a part of me. I wished he was.
The weight of his body pressed down on me, the heat of his breath against my neck. My hands slid over his back, up into his damp hair. I held on tight in a state of pure bliss.
“I’m crushing you,” he mumbled, pulling out of me.
I tried to demur, but it did no good.
He moved slowly, like he’d been hit. By a car, maybe, or a bolt of lightning. I don’t know. But his big body collapsed on the floor at my side. We both lay there on our backs, staring up at the dark ceiling, trying to catch our breath. Eventually, there came the rustle of fabric as he pulled up his pants and got at least half dressed. The zipper seemed alarmingly loud. Accusing, even. Though that might have just been my imagination.
“You alright?” he asked in the same quiet voice.
“I think you broke me. In a good way.”
He said nothing, climbing to his feet.
I took the opportunity to stick my breast back into the bra. To straighten myself up a little. Pretty sure my dress was ruined. So, that was angry sex. With Pete, it was shockingly good. My insides were still fluttering and quaking. They really needed to settle down, because I had a feeling the good times were over.
“Come on,” he said, offering a hand.
I let him pull me to my feet, not sure if my legs would hold me. Every muscle felt weak and a little wobbly. Support would have been good. But he dropped my hand and awkwardness settled in the space between us.
“I ruined your hair,” he said.
“Never mind.”
He pointed toward his room. “I’m gonna . . .”
And it wasn’t an invitation. More like official notification of his plan to make an escape. I tried to smile but could barely meet his eyes. Not when I knew what I’d see. “I, um . . . shower.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
The thud, thud, thudding woke me at around five. Outside, the world was gray, just coming to life. Birds everywhere were making a racket. But that wasn’t what woke me. Barefoot, I padded out onto the back deck, down toward his end of the house. My hair hung in tangles, thin sleep shorts and a tank top probably insufficient coverage for the cooler morning.
A punching bag hung down the end of the verandah. Dressed in only a pair of joggers, shorts, and some gloves, Pete was pounding his fists into it mercilessly. Sweat gleamed on his skin, dark hair hanging in damp tendrils. God only knew if he’d slept at all.
To think the sex had been angry and intense.
I just watched him in silence, his muscles bunching and straining. The dedicated fury and focus on his face. He was beautiful, a work of art. Irate Man the Morning After Regrettably Incredibly Hot Sex, that’s what they’d call it, the painting or sculpture or whatever. Everyone would rush to see him with his nostrils flaring and thick neck. The hard planes of his back and trim waist.
Eventually, he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eyes. One glove went to the bag, to stop it from swinging. He just looked at me, thick shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His gaze nothing less than tortured. Tormented. It was staggering, the self-loathing in his eyes, the pain.
I felt like I’d been slapped to the point where I almost took a step back. My face was burning, mind reeling. Fuck him for this. I didn’t make him kiss me hard enough to bruise my lips. Nor had I compelled him to have sex with me on the floor. All of that, he’d initiated. Not to say I hadn’t been a willing participant, but I hadn’t forced the man to do shit. And he had the gall to look at me like this. I swallowed hard, holding back the tears. I would not cry. At least, not yet.
“Don’t worry, Pete,” I said. “It can just be our dirty little secret.”
Then I turned and walked away.