Somebody to Love
Page 15
At least he didn’t deny it. She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were brown. She’d never noticed that before. There was a warm, tugging sensation down in Lady Land. Thing One had nice brown eyes. He’d brought her a present and a martini. And had she mentioned the tux?
“What’s your name, Thing One?” It was James. She knew that. She just didn’t want him to know she knew it.
“James.”
“James what?”
“James Francis Xavier Cahill.” He smiled as he spoke, and she felt the tug harder this time, her stomach tightening, knees tingling.
“Thank you for the beautiful pen, James Francis Xavier Cahill.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
That was a good smile, vodka goggles or not. A great smile. That was a smile involving his whole face. Yep. With vodka goggles—quite possibly without, she’d never really let herself dwell—Thing One was smokin’ hot. Really thick, dark brown hair. It would be hard to check for deer ticks in hair like that. Okay, that was the mother part of her speaking…also maybe the vodka part. Let’s shift gears, shall we? Parker asked herself. No need to waste a perfectly satisfactory ogle thinking about ticks. Hair that would look excellent if it were all tousled and rumpled. There. Much better. His eyes were, shoot, she couldn’t think of the word for them, but they were smiley. Smiley eyes with very nice crinkles around them. One of his incisors was a little bit crooked, and for some reason, that made his smile even better.
“How old are you, James Francis Xavier Cahill?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Five years younger than she was. She could’ve babysat for him. She wouldn’t have minded babysitting him, now that she thought about it…when he was around eighteen, let’s say, and she was twenty-three. Weren’t there p**n o movies about that kind of thing?
He seemed to read her dirty mind, because he smiled again, just a little. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth. Heck yeah! So he was having kissing thoughts, too. And from the looks of it, his mouth would be excellent for kissing, full and generous.
Kind. That was the word she was looking for. He had kind eyes.
He reached out, slowly, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and without further thought, Parker leaned in and kissed him.
She was right. His lips were smooth and warm and it was so, so nice, simply having her lips against someone else’s, someone not her child—crikey, it had been a very long time. And James let her kiss him, the gentle pressure of his mouth just enough to let her know he didn’t mind. A lovely kiss. Perfect. Made Lady Land feel kind of wriggly and warm, and oh, hey, look at this, she was frenching him, and that wriggly feeling leaped and twirled and surged.
He didn’t mind at all, apparently, because the next minute, he was kissing her back. She could taste whiskey on him, and oh, God, he was good at this, kissing was so underrated, there should be kissing apps for phones or something. Her fingers slid through his thick, wavy hair, and his arms slipped around her and pulled her closer. The heat and the gentle scrape of his five-o’clock shadow, and oh, man, that mouth against hers…this guy would graduate top of his kissing class, no doubt.
Her heart was thudding, lust thick and hot in her veins, drowning out rational thought. Parker ran her hands down his neck, his shoulders thick with muscle—nice, Thing One!—then slid her hands under his tuxedo jacket and felt the heat of his skin under the thin cotton of his shirt.
From down below came the sound of someone laughing.
“Know what?” she said, tearing her mouth off his and standing unsteadily. “Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up the rest of the stairs, shoved aside the velvet rope and towed James down the hallway, opened the third door on the right, and bingo. A bedroom, thank you very much.
James pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, and it was so welcome, so wonderful, being kissed like that, as if the building could burn down around them and it would be more important to keep kissing, hard and hot and fierce. His hands slid down her sides, to her ass, pulling her against him, and damn if her legs weren’t already shaking.
His mouth had moved to her neck, his dark hair brushing her cheek, and Parker felt such a wave of…longing and tenderness and gratitude and a melting sweetness. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that, and she turned her head and kissed his jaw, just under his ear, making him groan a little.
Then he straightened up and looked at her, leaning his forehead against hers. “You really want this to happen?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t quite steady, and that sealed the deal.
“Yes,” she said. Then she pulled him close and pulled his shirt from out of his pants and slid her hands up his hot skin.
He unzipped her dress and didn’t ask any more questions.
No, sir. No indeedy.
* * *
AS PARKER WOKE UP—holy halos, she’d fallen asleep with a near stranger—her first thought, aside from “Parker, you slut,” was “Dear Lord, don’t let me be pregnant.” Yes, they’d used a condom. And she was on the Pill, not that she’d needed it for contraception; her gynecologist recommended it as prevention for ovarian cancer. Whatever. Chances were, she wasn’t preggers.
Next thought was “Please don’t let him wake up.”
James Francis Xavier Cahill was beautiful. His cheeks were flushed, giving him a boyish look, and one arm was up over his head. How had she not noticed how delicious he was before this day? He looked like a fallen angel. He looked beautiful. He looked…eesh…young.
If she could get out of here without talking to him, that would be fantastic, because what the heck do you say after you, the somewhat inebriated older woman, drag a man, the hot young stud, into a bedroom, basically tear off his clothes and shag him silly? She barely let him speak. May as well have commanded him to do her.
Not that he seemed to mind.
Her dress, his shirt, her shoes, his tie, were all strewn around the room. So classy. Parker grabbed her panties and dress and slunk into the bathroom attached to the bedroom—excellent for trysts, these mansions—and looked at her reflection. Her mascara was smudged, her lips pink and bee-stung, her cheeks pink. Eyes were dreamy.
We’re so disappointed, said the Holy Rollers.
We’re not, said Lady Land. Thank you! That was rather spectacular, yes?
Yes.
Nevertheless, this was a huge mistake! Thing One? For God’s sake! What was she thinking? She was thinking Stoli Elit, that’s what she was thinking. Stoli Elit, a bad case of poor little rich girl and James Cahill’s smile. Bad, bad combo. So bad. So naughty. Dirty, even.
The thought of what they’d done…what he’d done to her…and the noises it evoked…the feelings that had practically— Okay! Stop! Let’s get moving here, shall we? Before the Coven finds us?
She dressed and ran a wet facecloth under her eyes, dampened her fingers and slicked her hair back into its twist once more. There. She looked normal—for a woman who’d spent the past hour against the wall, on the bed and yes, on the floor. With her father’s attorney.
Oh, this was bad.
She’d slip out of the room and call her driver and get out of Dodge. James could wake up and do whatever he wanted, but a face-to-face encounter? Bad idea.
She opened the door and jumped. There he was, right in the doorway.
“Sneaking out?” he said.
“Oh, no, no,” she stammered. “Nope. No. Just…freshening. Freshening up, that is.”
He had his pants on, and his shirt, though it was unbuttoned. Oh, Mommy.
“Are you going back to the reception, or making a run for the border?” he asked, giving her a quick once-over.
Border. “The reception. Esme’s my cousin. I’m a bridesmaid.”
“And will you acknowledge me down there?”
The question caught her off guard. Parker found she was pinching her pinkie. Hard. “Um, of course.”
“Really?”
There was something a little…dubious in his eyes. “Yes, James.”
He grinned, and once again, it hit her, the force of that incredible smile. “Is there any chance you’ll sit with me during dinner? Because as much as I love the Welles family…”
“They’re piranhas,” she said.
“They’re piranhas,” he agreed. “So?”
Wow. When she’d imagined the reception, she’d pictured a few painful hours with the Coven; James of the beautiful smile was much, much more appealing. “Sure. I’d love to.” Her ears felt hot. This was almost like a date.
“Great.” He was looking at her mouth again, and Parker felt her knees wobble. “Any chance I can drive you home?”
“There’s always a chance,” she murmured.
“I’ll take it,” he said. God, he was darling! How had she missed this? “Want me to go out first? So your evil cousins don’t bust you?”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
Five minutes later, James was once again impeccably dressed. He stood in front of her, looked at her for a long minute. “See you down there,” he said, and there it was again, that smile.
“Okay.” She bit her lip, then, on impulse, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
His smile grew. Then he winked at her and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Parker sank down on the bed and let out a long breath.
So. Okay, it wasn’t as if this was her first time, obviously, not with a three-year-old son. But the whole earth-moving experience…she hadn’t had a whole lot of that. Sex had always been nice. Very nice. Fun. And sure, it had been a while. She hadn’t had a—oh, hell, a lover, though her mind cringed away from the word—since Ethan.
That had been four years ago.
Holy halos.
So maybe it was just a long abstinence with only the pulsating showerhead for company on nights she couldn’t sleep, but holy heck, sex with James Francis Xavier Cahill had been unbelievable. Heck yeah!
Parker realized she was smiling. Apparently, the best sex of a woman’s life did that to her. James the Cutie-Pie, Purveyor of Said Experience, did that to her, and the thought of that smile, that slightly crooked tooth, the way his eyes looked so happy when he smiled…her knees were feeling wriggly again.
She sighed. Dreamily, for heaven’s sake.
But for one second, she let herself feel dreamy. Moony. Dopey. Meltish. It was kind of wonderful.
Guess she’d misjudged Thing One. Strike that. James. James was nice. Wasn’t he? He was hot, sure, but he also seemed kind of… And he’d made sure she’d… Maybe they’d…well. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself.
“Okay, team,” she said aloud. “Time to rejoin the masses.”
She took another look at herself, hoped that while she definitely had a certain glow, no one would be able to tell she’d been done—the inhabitants of Lady Land gave a hot squeeze—and left the bedroom. There were the stairs—hello, stairs, thank you so much—and she started down.
And there, in the foyer, was her father, laughing with James.
Parker stopped, squeezing her pinkie hard. Harder, even, till the tip was numb. For some reason, her heart was sinking, and fast.
“Harry,” she said, her voice pleasant. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Parker,” he said. “Hello.”
James glanced at her with a little smile, then murmured something to her father, and for one horrible second, she thought he was telling Harry that they’d done the deed, and Harry would clap James on the back and congratulate him or something.
“Happy birthday, by the way,” Harry said.
Oh. Maybe that was worse, having James need to tell her father when she was born.
“What’s your name, Thing One?” It was James. She knew that. She just didn’t want him to know she knew it.
“James.”
“James what?”
“James Francis Xavier Cahill.” He smiled as he spoke, and she felt the tug harder this time, her stomach tightening, knees tingling.
“Thank you for the beautiful pen, James Francis Xavier Cahill.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
That was a good smile, vodka goggles or not. A great smile. That was a smile involving his whole face. Yep. With vodka goggles—quite possibly without, she’d never really let herself dwell—Thing One was smokin’ hot. Really thick, dark brown hair. It would be hard to check for deer ticks in hair like that. Okay, that was the mother part of her speaking…also maybe the vodka part. Let’s shift gears, shall we? Parker asked herself. No need to waste a perfectly satisfactory ogle thinking about ticks. Hair that would look excellent if it were all tousled and rumpled. There. Much better. His eyes were, shoot, she couldn’t think of the word for them, but they were smiley. Smiley eyes with very nice crinkles around them. One of his incisors was a little bit crooked, and for some reason, that made his smile even better.
“How old are you, James Francis Xavier Cahill?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Five years younger than she was. She could’ve babysat for him. She wouldn’t have minded babysitting him, now that she thought about it…when he was around eighteen, let’s say, and she was twenty-three. Weren’t there p**n o movies about that kind of thing?
He seemed to read her dirty mind, because he smiled again, just a little. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth. Heck yeah! So he was having kissing thoughts, too. And from the looks of it, his mouth would be excellent for kissing, full and generous.
Kind. That was the word she was looking for. He had kind eyes.
He reached out, slowly, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and without further thought, Parker leaned in and kissed him.
She was right. His lips were smooth and warm and it was so, so nice, simply having her lips against someone else’s, someone not her child—crikey, it had been a very long time. And James let her kiss him, the gentle pressure of his mouth just enough to let her know he didn’t mind. A lovely kiss. Perfect. Made Lady Land feel kind of wriggly and warm, and oh, hey, look at this, she was frenching him, and that wriggly feeling leaped and twirled and surged.
He didn’t mind at all, apparently, because the next minute, he was kissing her back. She could taste whiskey on him, and oh, God, he was good at this, kissing was so underrated, there should be kissing apps for phones or something. Her fingers slid through his thick, wavy hair, and his arms slipped around her and pulled her closer. The heat and the gentle scrape of his five-o’clock shadow, and oh, man, that mouth against hers…this guy would graduate top of his kissing class, no doubt.
Her heart was thudding, lust thick and hot in her veins, drowning out rational thought. Parker ran her hands down his neck, his shoulders thick with muscle—nice, Thing One!—then slid her hands under his tuxedo jacket and felt the heat of his skin under the thin cotton of his shirt.
From down below came the sound of someone laughing.
“Know what?” she said, tearing her mouth off his and standing unsteadily. “Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up the rest of the stairs, shoved aside the velvet rope and towed James down the hallway, opened the third door on the right, and bingo. A bedroom, thank you very much.
James pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, and it was so welcome, so wonderful, being kissed like that, as if the building could burn down around them and it would be more important to keep kissing, hard and hot and fierce. His hands slid down her sides, to her ass, pulling her against him, and damn if her legs weren’t already shaking.
His mouth had moved to her neck, his dark hair brushing her cheek, and Parker felt such a wave of…longing and tenderness and gratitude and a melting sweetness. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that, and she turned her head and kissed his jaw, just under his ear, making him groan a little.
Then he straightened up and looked at her, leaning his forehead against hers. “You really want this to happen?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t quite steady, and that sealed the deal.
“Yes,” she said. Then she pulled him close and pulled his shirt from out of his pants and slid her hands up his hot skin.
He unzipped her dress and didn’t ask any more questions.
No, sir. No indeedy.
* * *
AS PARKER WOKE UP—holy halos, she’d fallen asleep with a near stranger—her first thought, aside from “Parker, you slut,” was “Dear Lord, don’t let me be pregnant.” Yes, they’d used a condom. And she was on the Pill, not that she’d needed it for contraception; her gynecologist recommended it as prevention for ovarian cancer. Whatever. Chances were, she wasn’t preggers.
Next thought was “Please don’t let him wake up.”
James Francis Xavier Cahill was beautiful. His cheeks were flushed, giving him a boyish look, and one arm was up over his head. How had she not noticed how delicious he was before this day? He looked like a fallen angel. He looked beautiful. He looked…eesh…young.
If she could get out of here without talking to him, that would be fantastic, because what the heck do you say after you, the somewhat inebriated older woman, drag a man, the hot young stud, into a bedroom, basically tear off his clothes and shag him silly? She barely let him speak. May as well have commanded him to do her.
Not that he seemed to mind.
Her dress, his shirt, her shoes, his tie, were all strewn around the room. So classy. Parker grabbed her panties and dress and slunk into the bathroom attached to the bedroom—excellent for trysts, these mansions—and looked at her reflection. Her mascara was smudged, her lips pink and bee-stung, her cheeks pink. Eyes were dreamy.
We’re so disappointed, said the Holy Rollers.
We’re not, said Lady Land. Thank you! That was rather spectacular, yes?
Yes.
Nevertheless, this was a huge mistake! Thing One? For God’s sake! What was she thinking? She was thinking Stoli Elit, that’s what she was thinking. Stoli Elit, a bad case of poor little rich girl and James Cahill’s smile. Bad, bad combo. So bad. So naughty. Dirty, even.
The thought of what they’d done…what he’d done to her…and the noises it evoked…the feelings that had practically— Okay! Stop! Let’s get moving here, shall we? Before the Coven finds us?
She dressed and ran a wet facecloth under her eyes, dampened her fingers and slicked her hair back into its twist once more. There. She looked normal—for a woman who’d spent the past hour against the wall, on the bed and yes, on the floor. With her father’s attorney.
Oh, this was bad.
She’d slip out of the room and call her driver and get out of Dodge. James could wake up and do whatever he wanted, but a face-to-face encounter? Bad idea.
She opened the door and jumped. There he was, right in the doorway.
“Sneaking out?” he said.
“Oh, no, no,” she stammered. “Nope. No. Just…freshening. Freshening up, that is.”
He had his pants on, and his shirt, though it was unbuttoned. Oh, Mommy.
“Are you going back to the reception, or making a run for the border?” he asked, giving her a quick once-over.
Border. “The reception. Esme’s my cousin. I’m a bridesmaid.”
“And will you acknowledge me down there?”
The question caught her off guard. Parker found she was pinching her pinkie. Hard. “Um, of course.”
“Really?”
There was something a little…dubious in his eyes. “Yes, James.”
He grinned, and once again, it hit her, the force of that incredible smile. “Is there any chance you’ll sit with me during dinner? Because as much as I love the Welles family…”
“They’re piranhas,” she said.
“They’re piranhas,” he agreed. “So?”
Wow. When she’d imagined the reception, she’d pictured a few painful hours with the Coven; James of the beautiful smile was much, much more appealing. “Sure. I’d love to.” Her ears felt hot. This was almost like a date.
“Great.” He was looking at her mouth again, and Parker felt her knees wobble. “Any chance I can drive you home?”
“There’s always a chance,” she murmured.
“I’ll take it,” he said. God, he was darling! How had she missed this? “Want me to go out first? So your evil cousins don’t bust you?”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
Five minutes later, James was once again impeccably dressed. He stood in front of her, looked at her for a long minute. “See you down there,” he said, and there it was again, that smile.
“Okay.” She bit her lip, then, on impulse, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
His smile grew. Then he winked at her and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Parker sank down on the bed and let out a long breath.
So. Okay, it wasn’t as if this was her first time, obviously, not with a three-year-old son. But the whole earth-moving experience…she hadn’t had a whole lot of that. Sex had always been nice. Very nice. Fun. And sure, it had been a while. She hadn’t had a—oh, hell, a lover, though her mind cringed away from the word—since Ethan.
That had been four years ago.
Holy halos.
So maybe it was just a long abstinence with only the pulsating showerhead for company on nights she couldn’t sleep, but holy heck, sex with James Francis Xavier Cahill had been unbelievable. Heck yeah!
Parker realized she was smiling. Apparently, the best sex of a woman’s life did that to her. James the Cutie-Pie, Purveyor of Said Experience, did that to her, and the thought of that smile, that slightly crooked tooth, the way his eyes looked so happy when he smiled…her knees were feeling wriggly again.
She sighed. Dreamily, for heaven’s sake.
But for one second, she let herself feel dreamy. Moony. Dopey. Meltish. It was kind of wonderful.
Guess she’d misjudged Thing One. Strike that. James. James was nice. Wasn’t he? He was hot, sure, but he also seemed kind of… And he’d made sure she’d… Maybe they’d…well. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself.
“Okay, team,” she said aloud. “Time to rejoin the masses.”
She took another look at herself, hoped that while she definitely had a certain glow, no one would be able to tell she’d been done—the inhabitants of Lady Land gave a hot squeeze—and left the bedroom. There were the stairs—hello, stairs, thank you so much—and she started down.
And there, in the foyer, was her father, laughing with James.
Parker stopped, squeezing her pinkie hard. Harder, even, till the tip was numb. For some reason, her heart was sinking, and fast.
“Harry,” she said, her voice pleasant. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Parker,” he said. “Hello.”
James glanced at her with a little smile, then murmured something to her father, and for one horrible second, she thought he was telling Harry that they’d done the deed, and Harry would clap James on the back and congratulate him or something.
“Happy birthday, by the way,” Harry said.
Oh. Maybe that was worse, having James need to tell her father when she was born.
