When It Hooks You Page 18

  “Something doesn’t sound quite right,” Cliff said. “If he was only sleazebagging, wouldn’t he have been banging you from the first moment you gave him a chance? Didn’t you say he was the one always cooling things down before they went too far?”

  “He’s obviously got a sick, drawn-out form of seduction.”

  “Or sex wasn’t all he was after.”

  “What else could he have been after? He’s married. It’s not like he actually believed we could form something together.”

  “You never know what might be going on in someone’s life unless you’re living it. He could be in a shitty marriage. Maybe he’s lonely and going through a tough separation or divorce. From what you told me, it doesn’t sound like you gave him a chance to explain anything before you stormed out of the hotel.”

  “I gave him a chance! He didn’t offer any explanation. What was I supposed to do—stand there staring at him for another half hour to give him time to concoct his next lie? If he was separated or getting a divorce, why wouldn’t he have told me that immediately?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like I said, you never really know what might be going on in someone’s life. But it sounds to me like he really did care for you. Why else would he have taken you to meet his friends and see his business? Why wouldn’t he have taken you to some random location to have his way with you? That place means something to him and so do you.”

  “What the hell, Cliff? The man freaking lied to me about being married! Why are you trying to stir up compassion for him?”

  “I honestly don’t give a rat’s furry bunghole about him, but I don’t like you berating yourself for not seeing clues that were probably never there.”

  “Well…” She paused, not willing to see Adam as anything but a manipulative, cheating, son of a thousand rabid bitches. “It all ends up in the same place. He lied to me, and no matter what his motivation, he’s married and off limits. I need to move on and be a lot more careful next time.”

  “Are you going back to your three-date max?”

  “Yep.”

  “Resetting the ol’ hymen too?”

  “Nope. The plan needs an overhaul in that area. I thought revirgination would keep me from getting attached too soon, but in reality, it built up the importance of sex too much. That’s why I lost my head with the first guy I let in. I think it’s wiser to have sex more frequently and with more people, thereby lessening its importance and helping me keep things in perspective. I’m too hung over for any activity today, but what are you doing next weekend?”

  “You better be careful with your wording, toots. The way you said that makes it sound as if you’re propositioning me.”

  “I am propositioning you.” She sat up straight, surprised by her own words. Warm tea sloshed over the rim of her mug, rolling onto her fingers. She’d had no idea this was where the conversation would lead, but now that she’d said it, it made perfect sense.

  Cliff didn’t appear quite as convinced. Her proposal was met with silence.

  “Think about it, Cliffy. We trust each other one hundred percent, right? And we’re firmly in the friend zone, so there’s no chance of a misunderstanding. I need another man on me and in me to override my latest nightmare. Won’t you do that for me?” More silence told Trish she’d gone too far. “Or we can forget I said anything.”

  “No! No, don’t rescind yet. I’m still processing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, why not? We’d be going into it with forthright expectations…”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What about the no-dating-coworkers policy?”

  “We won’t be dating and we’ll be discreet.”

  Cliff’s long pause was followed by, “This is nuts.”

  “Absolutely insane.”

  “But brilliant in its simplicity.”

  “You in?”

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter 20

  TORTURING CLIFFY WITH SEXUAL INNUENDO proved to be an entertaining distraction. It started with Trish innocently nibbling on the end of her pen. Cliff had returned from a client meeting and asked her to check on an appointment for him. While waiting for the calendar to load, she noticed the overly curious way he studied her lips as they pulsed on the pen. She slipped the tip of her tongue into the action, dragging it along the shaft. His pale complexion went pink, and he made an instant move toward his office, stuttering something about having his assistant pull up the information later. The next day, Trish brought in a banana.

  Cliff and a couple of paralegals emerged from the elevator that morning. Trish greeted them, letting her eyes linger on Cliff while a secret, seductive smile twitched one corner of her mouth. She lifted the elongated fruit, but before she could peel the first yellow strip, he averted his gaze, bolting ahead of the group to get past her.

  Later that afternoon, he sauntered over to her desk, perching at his usual spot. He pressed a hand flat on the surface and leaned forward, giving Trish what she suspected was supposed to be an inviting leer. The look had more of a creepy-drunk-uncle feel to it. “I presume you’ll stay away from gyros this time,” he drawled.

  Is he trying to play the fluster game? Trish wondered. If he was, he rather sucked at it. “To the contrary,” she replied in a smooth, silky voice. “We’ll have plenty of hot, spicy meat. I’ll even let you lick the tzatziki right off me.”

  His elbow buckled, sending the heel of his hand skidding across her desk to knock into the keyboard, setting off a chain reaction of spilled paperclips and toppled Post-it pads. Trish grabbed her half-filled travel mug before it, too, fell victim.

  “Sorry,” Cliff said, straightening to stand. His forehead pinched and his lips tightened.

  “It’s my fault.” Trish worried he was about to back out of their deal. She couldn’t let that happen. She was counting on the upcoming tryst with Cliff to get her over the final hump of the Adam breakup. “Don’t worry—I’ll stop teasing.”

  Cliff frowned, keeping his voice low. “I’m not sure I’ll be advanced enough for you. I have experience, obviously, but I’ve never really…gotten freaky.”

  Trish bit her lips to stop from laughing. She was pretty sure her activities had never fallen into the freaky category, either. “I’ll go easy on you. Promise.”

  At her suggestion, they went for a quick lunch together off premises to talk over guidelines. Managing expectations was the key to preserving their friendship. They decided on Friday as the big night since that would allow two days to shift back into platonic mode before seeing each other again at the office. They didn’t want the rendezvous to resemble an actual date, so they agreed to each do their own separate thing Friday evening, and then meet at Cliff’s apartment at ten.

  “Do you see this as a onetime thing or recurring?” Cliff asked.

  Trish hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I guess we’ll see how it goes and then decide.”

  On Friday evening, Trish’s “thing” had been laundry and a few glasses of wine. With her head pleasantly buzzing, she felt like calling Lyssa to share a giggle over what she was about to do. But she wasn’t yet ready to have a conversation with that particular friend. Earlier in the week she’d returned one of Lyssa’s texts, telling her not to worry, she was fine, just very busy and would call her soon.

  Trish truly was fine. She’d managed to relegate Adam to a small corner of her mind, which she studiously ignored. Every once in a while, a random thought of him pushed its way out of the holding cell, causing a dull ache. She had high hopes her evening with Cliff would subdue the ache altogether.

  Before heading out the door, she grabbed a full bottle of Cabernet to bring to Cliff’s. The more she drank, the less awkward it would be to get it on with her friend. She couldn’t ignore the possibility of the evening turning into a prolonged version of that awful kiss they’d shared in college. But Cliff was a mature, caring, nurturing man now, she reflected. There was no way he’d be anything but tender and wonderful.

 
She took a cab to his contemporary building on Ohio Street. He buzzed her in after she called him from the lobby. When Trish stepped out of the elevator onto his floor, she was greeted by a melody of brass instruments and somebody crooning. She glanced down the hall to see Cliff leaning on the open door frame of his apartment, a nearly empty cocktail glass in his hand. Like the Pied Piper’s flute, the big band music lured her toward him.

  Cliff wore a dressy pair of jeans and a dark button-down shirt with two buttons tastefully undone. His thick, nearly black hair was sculpted in purposeful disarray, and his deep brown eyes carried a mischievous glint. He had an air of cocky confidence that was perhaps inspired by what he’d already downed of his caramel-colored beverage.

  He rolled a hand toward her. When she took it, he stepped gracefully back into the apartment, letting the door swing shut. He swigged what was left of his drink and took the bottle of wine from her, setting it and his glass on a high, granite countertop. Guiding Trish past the kitchen into the main room, he spun her once and then pulled her close, his hips swaying to the sultry, old-school rhythm.

  She followed his lead, stepping in time to the beat—back, then forward, spinning out, around, and again to him. His fingers spread wide at the small of her back, effortlessly directing her moves. If his dexterity during the dance was any indication, this was going to be one hell of a night. Trish’s lips spread wide, enjoying this side of Cliff she’d not seen before.

  The song ended and another began. The two of them moved together for a few more beats before Cliff touched a small kiss to the side of her neck and slowed his steps. “Can I get you a drink, m’lady?”

  “I’ll have whatever you’re drinking. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  “All kinds of nerdy things go on at law school.” He broke away from her and headed to the kitchen.

  “There’s not one nerdy thing about your dancing, sir. That console and tower of video games in the corner, however…”

  “Hey, don’t knock RPGs until you’ve tried one.”

  “RPGs?” Trish asked, joining him at the counter.

  He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You seriously don’t know what that is? I’ll have you know that gaming is an area in which I do get freaky, so maybe if you stick around after, I can teach you a few things.” He filled his glass plus another with ice and poured from an expensive-looking bottle of scotch.

  Trish felt oh-so-sophisticated sipping scotch on the rocks while classy tunes played in the background. She lost several levels of hoity-toity when her face puckered in reaction to the taste of the thick, combustible liquid. Setting the glass onto the countertop, she slid it toward Cliff.

  “What’s this?” He feigned shock, his eyes opening wide. “You’re offering me your shitty drink? And you’re calling my best scotch shitty?”

  She nodded as she swallowed, recalling the scene with Kurt and his new girlfriend. My love life’s one laugh riot after another.

  As the last drop burned down her throat, Cliff swept forward, curving an arm around her back to pull her against him. He took her hand, and they were dancing again. This time to a slow, moody melody. Cliff’s cheek brushed against the side of her face. He bent his head, placing his lips next to her ear. Quietly, he sang to her in a surprisingly smooth, almost mesmerizing voice. Trish closed her eyes, shutting off her brain and immersing herself in the sensations surrounding her—his gentle baritone, the sensuous blend of instruments, the masculine spice of his cologne.

  A soft purr of satisfaction bubbled up her throat at the final chords of the song. Only a few precious vibrations into the next tune, Cliff dropped her hand, touching his fingertips to her chin and lifting it. She kept her tranquil eyelids closed as his full lips pressed onto her mouth. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. It was deliberate, strong. Determined.

  Threading her fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head, Trish went with the flow, parting her lips enough for him to swipe a taste of her. Emboldened by the encouragement, he cupped one hand at her jaw and the other over the curve of her hip. His mouth swiveled against hers, prying it all the way open to more fully take command.

  Without realizing they’d moved, Trish felt the sofa push into her calves and bent at the knees. Cliff’s hands swiftly repositioned to support her downward motion. Within milliseconds they’d be lying down, writhing against each other. An image flashed across Trish’s mind—of Adam on the porch of the treehouse…falling off the hammock…abandoning themselves to each other.

  Before her butt could touch down, she launched upward, shoving Cliff away. Her breath came in rapid huffs. “I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry.”

  He pressed his lips into a tight line, his breath gusting out through his nose as his eyes flashed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It was happening so fast. Guess I need a moment to catch my breath.” In demonstration, she took a deep inhale, and let it out slowly. “There, that’s better.”

  “You sure?”

  “Mhmm. Are we…were you planning on doing the deed out here?”

  “Seeing as this is a studio apartment, yeah. Would you like me to pull out the bed?”

  “Now? Oh, duh, of course now. Yes, sure. Bed.”

  Cliff went to the couch and lifted the cushions. While he worked on the pullout, Trish returned to the kitchen and took a gulp of her leftover scotch, plugging her nose as she swallowed. There was no way she’d bail on Cliff, though she wondered if she’d been off on the timing. Maybe it was too soon.

  Noticing the seductive saxophone in the smooth jazz music that now played, Trish asked, “Is this a sex mix?”

  “What? No. It’s mood music.”

  “To encourage a sexy mood.”

  “If that’s what it inspires, I generally don’t complain. It seems to be having the opposite effect on you, however.” Cliff’s lips pinched into what started as a smirk but ended up as a lopsided pout.

  “No boo-boo face.” Trish swigged one last mouthful of the scotch, finally inebriated enough to hardly shudder at the taste. She danced her way across the apartment toward Cliff, hoping her swaying hips and suggestive eyebrow raises came off as flirtatious rather than mentally disturbed. His small, reluctant smile told her she’d succeeded.

  She pulled his hands to settle aside her swiveling hips. Resting her forearms on his shoulders, her fingertips played with the ends of his hair. Their gazes knotted together as she pressed ever closer. All traces of humor slipped from the atmosphere, giving way to something weightier. They rocked gently together, both of them seeming to know better than to say anything and risk breaking the newly charged trance.

  He leaned in, his lips brushing against her cheek before he rested the side of his face there. His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck. She slid her hands down from his shoulders to his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt. Cheek-to-cheek, they continued to sway with the provocative pulse of the music. His hands dropped to the hem of her short dress, inching it up. A sharp gasp caught in Trish’s throat when he ducked his fingers under the fabric to sink into the bare flesh of her hips.

  Rather than let herself be scared away again, she ground into him, peeling his button-down out of her way and running her fingers under his T-shirt into the abundant thicket of hair on his chest. So different from the smooth, firm flatness of Adam’s.

  Jerking her mind back to Cliff, she tugged at his T-shirt. He pulled his hands off of her and stepped back to shrug out of his button-down and help her pull off his T-shirt. She dove into work at his belt buckle and unfastened his jeans, unzipping them to give a teasing stroke to the stiffening shaft under his boxer briefs. Lowering her eyelids, she peered seductively through her lashes and moved slowly backward, away from him.

  Watching him watch her, she swept her hands up her thighs, raising the bottom of her dress to expose her subtly gyrating hips as she moved with the music. His entranced eyes roved over her body. Slowly turning while she continu
ed her striptease, she lifted the dress higher and higher until it was up, over her shoulders, and off of her. She rotated to face him again, taking in his reaction to her bared form in only the pink and black panties and push-up bra she’d bought for the occasion.

  “God, Trish,” he breathed in a shaky voice. He stepped out of his jeans and reached for her.

  She came into his arms and they fell onto the bed, kissing, licking, and stroking. He unfastened her bra, sliding his hand underneath to cup and pinch her stiff nipples. Pushing the garment out of the way, he suckled at her breasts. She wrapped her long legs around him, closing her eyes and tossing her head back. Reveling in the tender sensations, she lost herself. She wasn’t on a pullout couch in her good friend’s apartment. She was floating in a dreamland…in a secluded booth at a blues club…on a boat underneath an exploding sky.

  Giving Cliff a nudge and then shoving him onto his back, she attacked his neck with her teeth, lips, and tongue, determined to keep blues clubs and fireworks out of her head. Kissing her way down to his hairy chest, she reached into his boxers and grasped him, pumping until he was as hard as a thick, steel pole. She wouldn’t confuse him with Adam, anymore. Everything about Cliff was so different. His smell, the shape of him, the noises that rumbled deep within his throat. Her heart lurched, yearning for Adam’s scent. His voice. For everything Adam.

  She clamped her eyes shut and halted all motion. With her forehead pressed against Cliff’s wildly thumping chest, she had a choice to make. She could either give in to the ache or charge onward. It took her only a few brief seconds to resume her way down Cliff’s torso. She’d take his aroused organ into her mouth and do something for him she’d never done for Adam. Her friend deserved that much. By now she realized she couldn’t take things all the way with Cliff—because as much as she didn’t want to be, she was still in love with Adam.