Games People Play (20 page)

Hers?
His brows went up. He didn’t belong to anyone, not even to himself.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you, Colm,” she continued with a sigh, as though she’d heard his rejoinder. “Maybe you’ve never realized that in this world we all belong to somebody. Our hearts, our bodies, our time. Think about it. I’m only one of many who own you. Sydney Warren is apparently the latest, and the most dangerous. Whether I fire you or you resign, she could cost you your job, and then I may not own you anymore, but you’ll wish I did.”

They stared at each other, the air crackling between them.

And just like that, her granite expression vanished in favor of a catlike smile. “Enough mothering, hmm? I only do it because I love you. Kiss me, darling. I can’t bear a week without you.”

He leaned to brush his lips against her cheek, the exotic scent of her filling his senses, cloying, too rich. At the last minute she turned her lips into his and swept her tongue inside his mouth, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck, nails digging in. When he jerked back, she hissed out, “Come back to me, Colm. Don’t forget your responsibilities.”

She knew too much. About his life. About Amelia, and now Sydney.

It was time to tell Sydney the truth.

Chapter Twenty-one

W
aking to an empty bed was nothing new to Sydney. She shouldn’t have cared that Colm was gone when she awoke.

She hated it.

His note was on the kitchen counter, her clothes from last night neatly folded beside it, the rug they’d scooted all over the floor back in place, as though two people hadn’t found excruciating pleasure in that exact spot.

I want more of you,
he’d written. She carried the note around the loft with her, laying it on the bedside table when she changed the sheets and then atop the dryer as she did laundry. She tried to picture where he was—he hadn’t left any indication. Was he modeling for some artist? What secret, mysterious world swallowed him when he left her presence?

It was ten o’clock when the buzzer sounded. Her heels clicked briskly on the wood floor as she hurried to answer it. “Yes?”

“It’s Colm.”

“Come up.”

His knock sounded so quickly, he must have sprinted up the stairs. When she opened the door, he stood there, smelling of leather and the cold night.

The smile on her face faded with the dark purpose on his. “I need you,” he murmured, and leaned to catch her lips with his.

It wasn’t enough. She drew back to look into his eyes, found them heavy-lidded and oh-so-green, and said, “I missed you. Make love to me.”

He shucked his jacket, grabbed a condom from his wallet, and then drew her against him, spinning her to trap her between his body and the wall as she’d once envisioned. They didn’t bother to undress, just unfastened strategic garments, and he dropped to his knees and put his mouth on her, his tongue inside her, soft flickers on her aroused flesh like the slow drift of butterfly wings.

Too much pleasure to bear. When she came, she bucked in his hands. There was little time to recover before he tore into the packet, sheathed himself, then lifted and entered her right there beside the door. They forgot the locks. They forgot the sounds they made, which might float into the hallway for anyone to hear. Everything except his flesh inside her, hers around him and drawing him deep, his hands on her backside, hers on his, so muscled and smooth.

It only took a moment before she climaxed again. His mouth was soft, sinuous against her arched throat when she cried out, and still he kept the rhythm, clutching the backs of her thighs as he buried his face against her breasts and thrust, and thrust, so she slid against the wall, its plaster cool and hard, rucking up her thin sweater.

“Sydney,” he groaned, breathing heat through its knit to warm her nipple. “Sydney!”

She buried her fingers in his hair, held his lips to her breast. Held him through paroxysms of pleasure too great to silence.

Slowly she slid down his body and found her footing. He kissed her, easy and sweet, and said with a rueful smile, “That could have been more romantic. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She watched with avid eyes as he kicked off his shoes and stripped, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door.

“Take a shower with me,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers, “and this time I’ll show you romantic.”

* * *

I
n the late, languid morning, they lay entwined, her body fitted just right against his. Her nose found the warm curve of his neck, his hand stroked her back. In return she let her fingers play the hard muscles of his abdomen and marveled at his physique.

“Your body is so hard,” Sydney said. “All over.”

Colm’s cheek brushed hers, and their mouths slid together as naturally as if they had always kissed like this, lay like this, reveled in one another’s company like this.

When his lips found her earlobe, he traced its curve with his tongue and then lightly sucked it between his lips. Sydney sank her fingers into his shoulders and released a shuddering sigh.

“We need to talk,” he murmured.

It sounded serious. She didn’t want serious. “Hmm. Okay. Can I go first?”

“Uh-oh,” he said under his breath, and she laughed.

“Truth or dare, Colm?”

He was quiet, and when she raised her head to look at him, his features seemed dark with an emotion she couldn’t identify.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brows lowering.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb sweeping her bottom lip while he searched her eyes, deep, so deep, she thought he would turn her inside out.

And just like that, the darkness lifted. “Dare.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’re brave.”

“Dare me something dirty,” he added, sliding a hand up her thigh and between her legs.

Sydney arched into his touch, but quickly grabbed his fingers and drew them to a safer place. “Truth.”

“I don’t get to choose?”

“No. I want to know more about your life.”

His throat moved when he swallowed, and she wondered at the sudden tension in his body beneath her arm, but she plunged onward.

“How did you meet Azure Elan?”

“At a party.” He responded too quickly, as if it was a question he was used to answering.

“Do you date her sometimes?” She already knew the answer. If he lied, she would call him on it.

He smiled down at her. “Nowadays that would be a solid ‘Hell, no.’”

“But you did before?”

He shrugged. “Once or twice. It didn’t last. You saw what she was like.”

“Yes.” She angled her head to look at him. “You’re too honest for a woman like Azure.”

Beneath her cheek, his chest vibrated with silent laughter.

“Stop laughing.” She lifted her head. “Why did you go out with her?”

“To help my career.”

“And not because she’s incredibly hot?”

“I thought she was at first,” he admitted. “But not now. Not after this. Not after you.”

She laid her cheek on his chest again.

For a moment they lay in silence, hands drifting over each other in languid strokes, then he spoke. “There’s more, isn’t there? I can hear the wheels turning between your ears.”

“Tell me about Jill.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced. Maybe Jill was the last person he wanted to discuss.

But he merely smoothed back the mess of her hair and gave her a curious smile. “You remember her name.”

“I remember everything.”

He thought for a long time. “She was a force,” he said finally.

Curiosity mixed with a pang of something like envy jolted through her. “How did you meet?”

“In college. She was studying interior design, I was finishing my masters in architecture. We acted on young idiocy and hormones. We didn’t really consider the reality of marriage and the real world past graduate school.”

Sydney listened, gently stroking the spot over his heart as he spoke, her gaze reading every nuance of expression that crossed his features, from humor to tension to sadness.

“So we got married, and it was rough. Always. We fought like the kids we were. My sister used to say—” He cut himself off.

“Your sister used to say what?”

“That Jill and I were the best and worst thing that had ever happened to each other. I think she was right. But at the end . . .” His jaw flexed, his hands holding her a little too tight. “We were fighting, even seconds before the accident. It was pouring rain. I hydroplaned on a slick bridge and skidded sideways into a concrete barrier. Her side of the car took the brunt.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sydney said softly.

She watched his eyes, but they were shuttered.

“It’s the past,” he said quietly. “Mine. And one of many secrets.”

When she pressed a kiss to the sharp line of his jaw and said, “Tell me another secret,” he stirred and looked down at her.

“You,” he said. “You are my secret.”

Sydney smiled. “From whom?”

“From the ugly world. I want to know more about you, too, Syd.”

As the sun poured through the vast windows and then rose higher over the city, Colm gently drew Sydney’s stories from the dark recesses where she’d tucked them away. They talked about her growing up, her mother, and at last her relationship with Greg Brantley, the man who seduced her so early in her life.

“I still have enormous shame,” she murmured, her fingers drawing swirls on the smooth skin of his chest. “I’ve been through a handful of therapists who tried to help me work through it, but it’s the kid in me, I guess, who won’t let go of it. The one who was hurt.”

“And your mom?” he asked, caressing her hair. “What does she say to you now, after all this time?”

“I haven’t talked to her since I left Nebraska. When I got to Washington, I promised myself I’d never live another lie. Yet I stayed with Max, and it was . . .” Her gaze locked on his. “I shouldn’t bring him up, Colm.”

“Yes, you should, Syd. You loved him once.”

“But I think he stopped letting me, months ago, and the distance between us became insurmountable. Maybe it always was, long before his accident, and I just couldn’t see it.”

She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. “People might think I was cruel to leave him, but I wouldn’t stay with him just because he’s a paraplegic. I wouldn’t disrespect him by feeling sorry for him. I wanted to marry him once, to have as normal a life with him as we could manage, and for a while, it worked. But then he changed, and I couldn’t abide it anymore.”

“So it really had nothing to do with me?” he asked, sounding relieved.

She shook her head. “Even though you were there, you weren’t the reason I finally left. I just couldn’t be the old me anymore for anyone.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I like the new you.”

She rose up on her elbow again to meet his eyes. “You know what? Two months ago we were strangers.”

“And now,” he said softly, “now . . . my God, Sydney.”

That was all. He lifted his head and kissed her.

* * *

B
lue-sky winter sunshine danced off the white walls and rug as Sydney hummed to herself, pouring two glasses of orange juice. The sound of the shower made her feel warm all over, banishing the usual solitude that plagued the loft.

I have a lover,
she thought, and for the first time in four days, it felt real.

Colm finally emerged from the bathroom in last night’s jeans and unbuttoned gray shirt, wet hair combed back from his face. “I used the extra toothbrush in your drawer.”

“That’s fine. It’s for you.”

“I get my own toothbrush?”

“You get more than that.” She met him in the living room and gave his warm, minty mouth a lingering kiss, ending it by nipping his lower lip.

“Just keep that up and watch what happens.” He drew her back to kiss her again, longer this time, hungrier. His hands found her breasts through her pajama tank top; hers slid down his hard body to his fly. She had become some kind of sex monster, partly because of the months of chastity, but mostly because this was Colm, beautiful, loving Colm.

He was backing her toward the bed again when the doorbell rang.

“No one called to be buzzed up,” she said. “Who could it be?”

“Let me answer it.” Colm crossed the floor and said in a none-too-pleasant voice, “Who is it?” His protectiveness made her warm and shivery at the same time. God, she adored him.

She couldn’t hear who was on the other side, but Colm flipped the locks and opened the door, swung it wide, and stepped back.

Max.

For a moment, no one said a word. The three of them lingered there in the booming silence until Sydney finally spoke. “I guess they fixed the elevator.”

“Hennessy,” Max said. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

“You could have called first,” Sydney said from behind Colm, folding her arms over her chest.

“I tried. Your cell phone’s been off for the last two days.”

Colm moved to step between her and Max. “What can we do for you?”

“Button your shirt, to start.”

“Max,” Sydney snapped.

He smiled the smile she used to hate. “I came to tell you I have a buyer for the ménage painting from the show.”

Colm glanced over his shoulder at Sydney, his fingers fastening the buttons on his shirt. “I can wait in the other room while you talk about this.”

“No need.” Max’s flinty gaze shifted to Sydney, skimmed her tank top, her braless state, her low-slung pajama bottoms. “I won’t discuss business when you’re so obviously . . . indisposed. I’ll call you later so we can set up a meeting. The buyer wants to meet with you over dinner.”

She didn’t care about the damned business deal. She just wanted Max to leave.

To her relief, he wheeled backward, his face stony. “I’ll be in touch. Will you answer your phone?” It wasn’t a real question. He smirked at Colm. “Always a pleasure, Hennessy.”

“Wish I could say the same, Max.” Colm waited until the man had wheeled himself in the direction of the elevator before he shut the door and flipped the locks. Then he returned to Sydney.

“Pleasant surprise, huh?” He brushed the hair back from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear until her eyelids slid closed and her head listed to the side.

“I would so much rather have dealt with him over the phone this morning,” she sighed. “You know why it was off, don’t you?”

“We were doing it,” he whispered, slipping his arms around her waist.

“Colm.”

“He came here because he can’t forget you.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Go to dinner with the client and sell that painting. Then come home to me, because I can’t forget you, either.”

“You make me cry, Mr. Hennessy,” she said around a lump in her throat.

“I’ll make you cry with pleasure. Come to bed.”

* * *

T
he first thing Sydney did was staunchly unbutton his shirt in defiance of Max’s contemptuous observations and push it off his broad shoulders. She let her hands skim his bare chest as her lips found the side of his throat and nipped him lightly until an urgent sound vibrated from him. He clutched her hips as her fingers slipped down to unfasten his fly, pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs so that he was naked, naked and shivering, even though his smooth skin was hot all over.

The thought of making love this way, with him bare and her still entirely clothed, sent a surge of searing arousal straight through her. “Do you mind if I don’t undress?” she whispered, bumping against his erection as her hands slid around to cup his buttocks. “I’d like it like this, with you so very naked.”