"Don't worry about it. You do fine." He sounded amused. Smug. Aroused. "And right now I'd rather be inside you."
"Okay."
"I'm pretty turned on. It could get rough."
"You're my own personal sex god. Do whatever you want."
He kissed her, tasting like the wind off the ocean. "I believe I'll take you up on that, beautiful."
He pried her hands off the drawer pulls-she'd forgotten she had arms-and turned her, guiding her onto her hands and knees as he slid his own between hers from behind. Her fatigued arms trembled. She felt her breasts sway, felt the prickle of his hairy, sweaty thighs between hers. Felt the weight of him against her buttocks, his arm wrapping around her hip so he could reach to explore the slippery territory between her thighs, penetrating gently.
"Oh."
"Okay?" he murmured.
"Yes. That feels really good." All that time he'd been driving her wild he hadn't penetrated her at all. She hadn't realized how badly she needed the completion of the act.
"There's a mirror on the dresser. I can see you biting your lip." A mirror? The man was absolutely depraved. "If you're too sensitive, I'll try to take it slow."
"Actually I want you to shut up and fuck me. Hard."
He pushed in and held himself there. Deep. His splayed fingers bit into her hips. "Okay."
"Yes," she groaned, clenching her fists in the quilt, trusting him to make it good.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sterling was yanked out of his sex-induced coma when Paige sat up. She slid her feet off the edge of the bed, baring his shoulders with the drag of the blankets and caused a rush of cold air down his front where her warmth had been spooned against his chest and thighs.
"S'up?" he asked, reaching out, wanting her against him so he could sink back into unconsciousness.
"I fell asleep. Why did you let me fall asleep? It's getting light out." She stood, pulling the covers even more askew. "Where are my clothes?"
Coming up onto his elbow, he tried to activate his brain enough to think of an argument that would keep her here. He wondered why it felt necessary. He wasn't looking for sex. After last night, he'd about used up his lifetime allotment of sexual energy and would be lucky to get a hard-on before he died. No, it was just her warmth and softness he was after.
Oh, hell. He'd turned into a cuddler.
"I can't find my clothes." She stood, her torso backlit by the gloomy half-light of an overcast morning, her nipples peaked with the chill.
"That's a shame." One or two nerve endings had some juice left in them. Points below his waist were coming back to life. "Come back to bed." He wanted to make love to her.
"They're in the living room, aren't they? Why did you let me fall asleep?"
He didn't like that blaming tone, almost let her go padding down the hall without responding, but was awake enough, and irritated enough, to climb from the bed, drag on his jeans and follow her.
"I came out here to blow out the candles and bank the fire," he said catching up to her. "When I got back, you were flatlined. I was talking to you, took off the blindfold, gave you a shake, but you were out. I tucked you in and went to sleep. I guess I should have dressed you and carried you home?"
She tsk'd, and looked beneath the sofa cushions. "I can't find my bra." She was already in her jeans and pulled on her T-shirt. "Can I trust you to return it without doing something like hanging it off my antennae in the parking lot at work?"
"I'll leave it in the lost and found." Hello. Sex god over here. Do whatever I want, remember? He folded his arms against the chill of the parlor.
"That'd be great, thanks," she said, deeply sarcastic. "God, my eyes feel like sandpaper. I shouldn't sleep in contacts. I didn't wear a jacket, did I?" She hugged her arms and headed for the back door.
This was why a man hated to let a woman get under his skin. Every cell in his body wanted to go back to bed with her. Instead he was turning into the faithful dog that couldn't bear to have her out of his sight, had to make sure she got home all right. At this rate, he'd be sitting by the window, waiting for her return.
Like he wasn't doing that already.
He snagged his Harvard jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and caught up to her as she straightened from tying her shoes. He draped it over her shoulders, caught the collar in both fists and held her for a kiss that searched for something of last night in it.
He almost got it, but then she pulled back, bouncing on her toes. "I have to go."
"I'll walk you."
"I'll be fine." Her tone told him this wasn't about inconveniencing him.
He was insulted. "We are so past this. Consenting, unattached adults are allowed to have overnighters."
"I know."
"And if I were anyone else, you wouldn't care who knew, right? I thought I was the one supposed to be ashamed of being seen with you." He regretted it as soon as he'd said it. Felt like his skin was being removed as she pushed his jacket off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor then slipped out the back door without looking at him.
"Paige."
She must have run the minute she got outside because she had already disappeared around the fence when he got to the porch.
Damn, she moved quietly. He couldn't see her. He listened hard, as he stood on the raised porch. After a few seconds, he saw her come out from behind the trees, approaching her basement door.
He saw the glow of the cigarette at the same time she did. She halted, her pale silhouette facing a shadowed one.
"Little sister's been out past curfew," Lyle said, his voice clear in the morning air.
~ * ~
Paige was still turning over Sterling's remark about how he was supposed to be ashamed of her. Maybe the comment had been nastier than necessary, but there had been some truth in it. He wasn't embarrassed to be seen with her and she hadn't looked at it from his point of view, hadn't realized it might sting his ego.
And then, here she was. Busted.
"I'm proud of you, Paige. Finally showing Fogarty colors."
And there it was. It took a dozen women to turn a Fogarty man into a womanizer, but it only took one man to turn her into a whore.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Breakfast." He showed her the cigarette, took a long pull and exhaled a cloud. "Going to work. Gotta be on time so Golden Boy won't fire me, hey Boss?" he said, turning his head.
She followed his gaze, saw Sterling standing at the end of the fence.
"Are you going to be a jerk about this?" she asked Lyle.
"How do you mean?"
She didn't want to ask if he was going to spread gossip at work. She knew with the honed instincts of a taunted little sister that the one way to have hell fall upon you was to tell Big Brother what you most feared.
"You want to take shots at me, you take shots at me," Sterling said, his voice low, but carrying easily across the yard. "Leave Paige out of it."
"He is such a fucking white knight. I can see the attraction, I really can, but you know, when it comes down to it, he's not going to stick with a Fogarty. You can take that to the bank, Pidge."
She ignored the blister of pain, wanted to defend their relationship, but wasn't confident enough to do it.
"We need to talk," she said instead, keeping her voice low.
"About?"
She glanced toward Sterling, still at the fence, and murmured, "Invoices for car parts."
Lyle snorted. "I wondered if you'd come across those. They don't have anything to do with anything. Ignore them."
She hugged herself, wishing she'd kept Sterling's jacket. "I can't."
"You'd better. You won't like what happens if you don't." He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. "See you at work. I'll let them know you're sleeping late."
~ * ~
Lyle got out of the driveway before she could catch him. His disregard for the invoices had shocked her. She was even more infuriated that he hadn't just gone inside, but through the house and out again, driving away.
Unable to fall back asleep, she went in to work early, still gritty-eyed even though she had switched to her glasses, hungry because her churning stomach wouldn't accept food, and still in agony because Lyle had basically admitted he was guilty of stealing from the company.
Stupid invoices. Something had to be done. Sitting on them had been just plain wrong, but if she brought them to light now, Lyle was going to accuse her of choosing her libido over family. And if he hadn't broadcasted her affair with Sterling already, which she was pretty sure he hadn't because he would think they had an unspoken deal to keep each other's secrets, he would definitely open up on the subject once she accused him of embezzling.
At which point Sterling would distance himself from both of them, not that she would blame him.