26
Beneath the Surface
She glanced at him, saw the grin as he eyed her outfit—a sensible gray tweed pantsuit and a black turtleneck beneath—and knew she wasn’t going to like the next words out of his mouth unless she stopped him from saying them first. “We’re not here to analyze my fashion choices, Eric. We’re here to analyze yours.”
His eyebrows shot up, a mischievous gleam lighting his eyes as he bowed at the waist and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Analyze away, ma’am. My closet awaits.”
She followed him, passing the green leather sectional and entertainment center towards a large bedroom to their left, paused on the threshold immediately engulfed by the scent of him—a combination of sandalwood, citrus aftershave, shower gel and shampoo all blending into the potent masculine cocktail that was Eric.
She glanced around and took in the full effect of the color scheme, could feel him in every bold stroke of paint, versatile traditional wood furniture, the walls and fixtures a comfy combination of blues and browns. “I like it,” she stated.
“Glad to hear it.” He sidled past her and opened up the door to what she thought was another room, but was actually a walk-in closet. “It’s all yours.”
She wandered closer, not knowing what to expect where Eric was concerned, still surprised by the scarcity she found.
Wow, Adonis had an Achilles’ heel!
Tabitha had never met anyone with so little fashion sense. The man had a Hawaiian shirt hanging in his closet, always a fashion faux pas in Tabitha’s book, unless you were in Hawaii.
Rows of jeans, a few pairs of khakis, a couple of pairs of dress slacks, not one suit in sight, everything in monochromatic shades of brown, blue, and black, except for the Hawaiian shirt, of course. And he had the nerve to make fun of her outfit? Maybe
he
was like Freud and kept his wardrobe simple so that he could concentrate on more important things, like his writing. Who was she to argue with the logic when the man had walked with a seven-figure advance? He must have been doing something right.
Tabitha tapped her chin with her index finger, contemplating. She hated to gut his wardrobe; this was devastating for most people. Maybe she could update the pieces, take in a shirt, remove cuffs from the pants, work with the functional pieces already occupying a hanger and add on from there. This would take some time. “Are you color blind?” she blurted.
“As a matter of fact…”
“Oh! I didn’t mean to…”
“I’m not.”
Tabitha stared at him, felt heat rising to her cheeks and knew they were suffused with color. “That was not funny.”
He chuckled. “It’s not my fault you didn’t give me a chance to finish and jumped to conclusions. Which you seem to do quite a bit, right?”
27
Gracie C. McKeever
“I do not!”
He gave her a knowing smile but said nothing and Tabitha silently fumed.
The arrogance of the man. How dare he presume to know her!
Jump to conclusions? The only thing she wanted to jump was his lovely bones, but damned if she would let him know it any time soo…
Tabitha turned to him as he moved closer, her gaze straying down to the bulge in his pants, the looseness of the sweats doing precious little to hide the solid evidence of his arousal. Her nipples tightened at the sight, painfully erect and hard against the ribbed lamb’s wool material of her turtleneck, fingers itching to cup him and make him gasp at her audacity, show him that he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.
God, what was it about the man that made her want to do shocking things?
Whatever it was, she was sure she could do without it, could do without him and those generous luscious lips that were slowly making their way towards her as he leaned forward.
Her eyes drifted to his, noticed the glimmer in the dark indigo depths.
She closed her eyes against the light, looking directly into his eyes was like looking into the sun, discombobulating and dangerous. She tilted her head to one side, felt him do the same, felt his mouth against hers, a brief touch, just a hint of a kiss, butterfly wings brushing her lips as his hand came up to collar the back of her neck and press her closer.
A buzzer sounded somewhere in the distance and Tabitha tried to pull away.
He held her in place though, stroked the base of her neck with his tongue, licked his way up her throat until he reached her earlobe, firmly took the small kernel of flesh between his teeth, then kissed it as if to soothe his bite. Or make a promise. “I’ll be right back.”
* * * *
He’d kissed women before, hell, a lot of women. But he’d never had his world turned so thoroughly upside down by the simple contact of lips to lips. Shit, not even lips to penis had ever made him feel as vulnerable and excited as Tabitha’s full mouth on his, had ever made him anticipate that live-wire tingle through his body when he caught her neck.
He could still see the colors, a vivid display of light bursting bright in front of his eyes in an exhibition to put a Macy’s Fourth of July celebration to shame, colors intermittently pinwheeling and sparkling like a variegated ring of fire before he was able to see normally again.
He remembered his reaction to her handshake, but not even that memory had been able to stop his touching her. Like a cat he was nervous, yet too curious not to tempt fate again. He wanted to feel that excruciating energy that was too enticing to resist.
28
Beneath the Surface
EJ finger combed his hair, forking both hands from forehead to nape several times before hitting the downstairs buzzer in the kitchen and sauntering to the front door in the living room. He was not surprised when he opened it to find Evelyn trudging up the last several steps.
“Hey baby brother.”
He frowned but accepted the kiss she planted on a cheek, and distractedly returned it as she pushed by him to stand in the foyer.
“Is Tabitha here?”
“She’s in the bedroom,” he said, then quickly added, “surveying my closet.”
Evelyn raised her brows, skimming her sharp hazel eyes over his half-dressed state, thankfully letting the rest go unsaid. He didn’t think he could take his sister’s ribbing, however good-natured it might be, yet too shaken by the touch of Tabitha’s lips.
Just a kiss.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a lousy host?”
“Especially when my guests pop up unannounced.”
She pouted, looking suitably chagrined for about two seconds before she pasted a bright smile on her face and hooked both of her arms through one of his. “So, tell me how it’s going.”
“Is that what you came here for?”
“I had a few free moments after a late lunch meeting, was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by and see if you guys needed an impartial point of view.”
“Impartial? From you? Not likely.”
She playfully punched his arm just as Tabitha came in from the bedroom.
“Hi, Evelyn. How are you?”
“I thought you might need me to run a little interference for you with my brother.
He can be a bit of a rapscallion at times.”
“More like interfere,” EJ mumbled.
“Don’t be such a grouch.”
“I can handle him okay.”
Damn, she said that so quickly EJ almost snapped his neck to stare at her and see the serious look on her face.
Did she know how perfectly fuckable she looked right then? So prissy and sure of herself, he wanted nothing more than to throw her down on the rug, and plunge his cock into her wet depths until he brought tears to those whiskey colored eyes.
He wanted to mess up her hair, run his fingers through those glistening chestnut waves and see if they were as soft as they looked. He wanted to grab her by those long 29
Gracie C. McKeever
tresses, tilt back her head so that she would see who was going to be kissing her senseless, fucking her blind.
Shit, he was getting hard again. Well, he hadn’t actually been soft since Tabitha’s arrival, and doubted that he’d ever be soft again with her in the immediate vicinity. EJ
shifted his weight from one leg to the other trying to surreptitiously adjust himself.
He was sure his sister knew what he was doing, but noticed Tabitha glancing around the living room as if she hadn’t gotten the full treatment when she’d first arrived.
She seemed so absorbed in her examination that a troop of naked Chippendale dancers could have marched into the room and she probably wouldn’t have batted an eye.
Why the idea of her batting an eye and noticing a bunch of half-clothed men sparked his jealousy was beyond him. EJ barely knew the woman, and couldn’t understand this sudden and unfamiliar spate of possessiveness, but there it was.
“I’ll meet you back in the bedroom. I’m going to finish my examination of your wardrobe.” Tabitha excused herself and left the room.
Evelyn stared after her, then looked at EJ. “So, you two seem to be getting along okay.”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“No reason.” Evelyn shrugged. “Guess I’ll leave you guys to it then and be on my way.”
EJ was of two minds as he walked her to the door: eager to pick up where he’d left off with Tabitha, and half-afraid of her overwhelming effect on his libido and psyche.
This was ridiculous! A minute ago he was having caveman fantasies about conquering her full-lipped mouth and plundering her pussy, now he was afraid of being left alone with her?
No way! She was only what? Five-five, maybe five-six tops and at a hundred-and-thirty pounds? A deadly combination of toned muscles and voluptuous curves sure, but smaller than his six-three, almost two hundred pounds by far. He could handle her.
I can handle him okay.
EJ swallowed as Evelyn leaned in at the door to peck him on the cheek.
“You be nice to her.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you fine. It’s your libido that’s suspect.”
“You leave me and my libido alone.”
Evelyn giggled, fidgeting with the strap of her bag for a moment.
EJ peered at her—stomach dipping at the look on her face—and impulsively broke a cardinal rule for him: lowered his shields to scan her thoughts. Just a brief mental touch, lightly brushing the surface of her mind to see what had her uncharacteristically on edge.
30
Beneath the Surface
He’d suspected all along Evelyn had had an ulterior motive behind this whole makeover business, and he was sure Angela, the family’s self-professed matchmaker, was in on the plot too.
Glimpses of them at Angie’s kitchen table, Tabitha’s name coming up in conjunction with his, vague images of a sisterly pact.
Evelyn shifted her weight, her restlessness confirming what he’d just seen, what he’d just felt. Nothing close to guilt—his sister had little self-blame in her, unapologetic for the life she led or the things she did with her family in mind—but he definitely felt her uneasiness.
He wanted to read her but good, almost regretted that he hadn’t probed her when she’d first come to him with her personal shopper suggestion but for the fact that it had brought Tabitha Lyons into his world and into his bedroom.
What was done was done. He couldn’t change it even if he wanted to.
But neither would he let Evelyn completely off the hook for her prying.
“You’ve pulled some elaborate schemes through the years to hook me up, Evie, but this is over the top even for you.”
Evelyn blinked. “What scheme?”
“Tabitha. Me. You and Angela behind the scenes.”
He saw the slight shake of her hand as she clutched her bag, knew he’d hit his mark before his sister rebounded with her usual unmitigated flair.
“Don’t be paranoid. You needed a personal shopper—”
“So
you
said.”
“And I introduced you to one.”
“Hmph.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Evelyn stared at him, her uncertainty clear in the unusual brightness of her hazel eyes. “You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“EJ…”
“I’ll be nice to her. It’s not her fault I’ve got two buddinsky sisters.”
Evelyn sighed with relief. “I’m glad you’re being so reasonable about this.” She leaned in to give him another peck on the cheek as if to secure his assurance before she stepped into the hallway. “Love you.”
“Don’t think I won’t get you two back for this.” EJ grinned and closed the door after her.
31
Gracie C. McKeever
Tabitha stood in front of his closet extracting and examining each piece of clothing, appraising its worth and assessing its salvagability before putting it back to go on to the next piece.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She’d found some gems during her search. Deep in the bowels of the closet, including several vintage Oxford shirts in solid shades of light blue and white, and two double-breasted blazers—one olive, one navy—
designer pieces at that, and apparel she expected to find in the closet of a former Madison Avenue ad man.
Where had all his stuff gone? Surely he’d had more dressy outfits than what was here?
Tabitha put back the last piece, withdrew from the closet and closed the door, feeling momentarily disoriented standing in his large masculine bedroom.
She wandered over to the king size four poster bed, ran a hand over a mahogany knob, surprised to find such a quaint piece of furniture in the house of a comparative playboy, until she remembered his comment in her office about what he could do with a tie.
She paused at the foot of the bed. Visions of herself naked and on her back in its center, spread eagle, arms and legs tied to each post danced in her head only to be replaced with fantasies of Eric in the same position.
She had a hard time deciding which image turned her on the most, her thong getting soaked at just the thought of having his big hard body helpless and at her mercy or the other image of her at his mercy.
God, a girl could go crazy trying to chose a
method of orgasmic torture!