GirlMostLikelyTo (12 page)

He grabbed hold of Adam’s butt and tugged until they were
tight together, their cocks fighting to get out of their pants, and he tried to
ignore the throbbing in his ribs. Their mouths grew harder, wilder, greedier,
and Tomas yanked Adam’s sweater up, pulling his shirt from his pants so he
could touch his back. Hot, smooth muscles rippled under his palms.

Adam pulled back, breathing heavily, and ran a finger along
an edge of the leather harness before he snagged the empty ring at the bottom.
“What’s this for?”

“Hanging up picture.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

A long second and then Adam’s face darkened. “Where’s the
other part?”

“Bedroom. Looked complicated. Not sure which bit went
where.”

He laughed and brushed his lips over Tomas’. “Liar.”

Tomas didn’t think he could be more turned-on, but he was
wrong. And the weird thing was that a few hours ago, he’d have rather died than
wear the other half of that harness, now he almost wished he had it on. Adam
bent and sucked his nipple. Tomas shuddered with pleasure. He could feel Adam’s
fingers working between their bodies, pulling at the zippers on his pants, and
then his cock was in Adam’s hand and Tomas sucked in a breath. Fiery flashes
ran up his spine like lights coming on in a city street, overwhelming his aches
and pains and setting him ablaze.

A tug by teeth on his nipple and his back arched as he
gasped. His hands rose to clutch Adam’s head.

“Like that?” Adam whispered against him.

Tomas suspected there was nothing this guy could do that he
wouldn’t like. And when Adam slid down to kneel on the floor in front of him,
he didn’t have any doubt at all. He tried to control his jerky respiration, not
wanting to appear too eager, too desperate, but it was like trying to stop
coming when he’d already started to spurt.

He gave a loud sigh as strong, firm fingers wrapped around
his cock. Tomas rocked his hips into Adam’s touch, pushing his dick through the
tight, hot fist stroking him. He wished they were both naked but he was too far
gone to do anything about it. All he could do was sit here and let this happen
and hopefully get blown away, so he stopped thinking altogether.

Adam maintained the pressure on Tomas’ dick as he licked his
way up his body. He ran his tongue along the edges of the harness until he
reached his throat. When Adam nibbled the fragile skin, Tomas gasped at the
sharp sensation. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that, but he had. Pain tinged with
pleasure, just the right amount to wind him higher and not bring him crashing
down.

He wanted Adam to say something.
He
wanted to say
something but he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, letting Adam think this
meant
anything. Adam lifted his head, gave him a shit-eating grin and then nipped and
sucked his way to Tomas’ crotch, avoiding the bruise, down to where the open flap
on the pants left him in full display.

A hot mouth
and
Adam’s hand on his cock had Tomas
praying he didn’t come faster than a randy teenager. Adam fondled Tomas’ balls,
rolling them in his palm before he put his mouth there and laved the soft skin
in long, slow swipes. Tomas could feel his legs shaking as his nerve endings
caught fire. Adam slid a hand under his backside as he pulled one and then the
other ball into his mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Tomas kept swallowing and
swallowing, but the lump in his throat stayed right where it was. Adam sucked
and released, sucked and released, and Tomas’ dick wept more and more pre-cum,
the silky threads trickling over Adam’s hand.

As lips played with the delicate sac of his balls, Tomas’
fingers carded Adam’s hair. His hips rocked up no matter how hard he tried to
keep them down. He wanted to sink his cock deep into Adam’s mouth. He wanted
him to suck hard and fast. He grunted as Adam licked a wet path up his shaft.
But all noises stopped when Adam licked the crest, his tongue delving into the
slit.

OhGodohGodohGodohGod.
Fast sucks at the head and
Tomas’ body began to race. Too fast, too soon, but he no longer cared. All he
wanted was to come. His fingers tightened in Adam’s hair, his hips bucked
harder trying to push the guy to take more and then he was running free,
sprinting for the finish, white lights flickering in his vision while every
cell in his body trembled with anticipation.

Like a blow to the back of his skull, pleasure-pain flared
in his brain and shot down his spine to detonate his balls. He cried out at the
first wrenching spasm gripping his cock and then he was blasting into the sweet
heat of Adam’s mouth while the sound of glass shattering grew louder and
louder.

As Adam lifted his head in confusion and Tomas came back to
his senses, he realized what the noise was and checked his watch.
Fuck.

“Sorry. I have to get that,” Tomas blurted and wriggled out
from beneath him.

He yanked up his pants and hurried into the bedroom. His
phone was tucked under his pillow.

“Sorry,” he blurted to Julia.

“You moron. Are you okay?”

“Yep. I’m fine,” he whispered.

“Give me the word.”

“Archangel.”

“Ten past five, Tomas. What were you supposed to do?”

“Call you. I’m sorry. I got…caught up in something and lost
track of the time. Thanks for the backup.”

“You know this guy—Sanjay?”

“No. I’ve never seen him before tonight.”

“Be careful. If anything happens to you, I’m going to drown
in paperwork.”

He laughed quietly. “And I love you too.”

“Arsehole.”

As Tomas ended the call, he turned to see Adam staring at
him from the doorway, his face expressionless.
Oh Christ, what have I done?

“Interesting accent,” Adam said and walked off.

Fuck.

Tomas couldn’t believe how careless he’d been to let Adam
hear him speak in his normal voice. When he heard his apartment door slam, he
didn’t follow. What could he say? He couldn’t tell Adam the truth.

He let his pants fall and stepped out of them, then
unfastened the harness and yanked it off. Under the shower, he rested his
forehead against the wall. He didn’t have a clue what he could do to fix this
without endangering Adam. Maybe it was best he was pissed off with him, but
regardless, he’d still want answers. The guy was a complication he didn’t need
in more ways than one.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Twelve

Wren walked up the road toward Ezispeke, determined to keep
the smile on her face. She might feel like shit but no way would she show it.
Coloring her hair had been exactly the right thing to do, though it had taken
her ages to heat enough water with the electric kettle. Now when she looked in
the mirror, she saw someone different. Her light-brown hair shone all-over
silver, and after she’d hacked at it around her ears with scissors, it was even
more pixie-like.

Though she wasn’t stupid. She might have made herself
look
different, not so easy to change the way she felt. The heavy weight in her
chest remained, insecurity still churned her gut. But this was the start of the
rest of her life and she wouldn’t waste it regretting a thing.

Except maybe the scissors.

She pulled at her hair.
Oh yeah, that’s going to work.

Adam had what he wanted and no matter what she might
think
she’d seen in his eyes or heard in his voice, in less than three weeks he’d be
nowhere near Leeds. And if she had her way, she’d be nowhere near Leeds either.
During today’s break, she’d use one of Ezispeke’s computers to hunt for another
job. What did it matter if she was caught?

She wasn’t angry with Adam, more disappointed with herself.
Last night, she’d been as up for it as him, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t
enjoyed what they’d done. But it ended now. The bottom of the slope beckoned
and Wren didn’t want to end up there as a blubbering heap. Much as she might
like the idea of being some cool chick who could walk away from a sexual encounter
without a backward glance, in real life that wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to
have sex with a guy without opening her heart. She’d already blabbed too much
to Adam, but she felt as if she’d known him forever.

Wren sighed. She wasn’t naïve enough to think this would end
like a romance novel. No happy-ever-after here and she really needed a happy
ending. But her life wouldn’t get better unless
she
did something about
it and she had to stop telling herself that and
make it happen
.

No more Adam.
Fin. El final. Koniec. Einde.
The end
in every language.

Oh God.
The thought alone was enough to make her
smile slip. She dragged it into place as she walked through the doors of
Ezispeke. Well, she probably wouldn’t see him today. No Italian conversation
until tomorrow. On her way to the staffroom, she checked the list for the
following evening’s cookery class. Tomas’ name was scrawled below Adam’s.

Bloody hell.
When had they signed up? Were they
playing with her? She clenched her teeth. Forget the risotto she’d planned, she
knew just what to get them to cook.

Once she was in the staffroom, she took out the sheet she’d
photocopied with the extra names and went round those she’d not spoken to
yesterday to see if any remembered the students. None did, but she had a lot of
compliments about her hair. Though how likely was it someone would say, “Your
hair’s awful”?

“My God, what the hell have you done to your hair?” Leo
blurted behind her.

Ah, she’d forgotten about Mr. Tactful.

“Seen a ghost?” He sniggered.

God, what did I ever see in him?

She showed him the list of names. “Any of those last four
ring a bell?”

He scanned it and handed it back. “Nope.”

Wren stuffed the list in her pocket. She could let this go,
but she didn’t want to.

“You had it cut as well?” Leo asked. “Actually, it suits
you.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Belinda heading their
way and smiled brightly at Leo. “Thanks for noticing I had it cut. No one else
has.”

“Of course he noticed your hair.” Belinda tucked her arm in
Leo’s. “You look like you’ve stuck your head in a bag of flour.” She giggled.

“Leo spotted it had been cut as well,” Wren said. “Not by
much. He has a really sharp eye to see the difference.” And a sharp tongue.

Even Belinda wasn’t too thick to get the implication of
Wren’s comment, that Leo had been staring at her, and she glared.

On the other side of the room, Sylvie mimed drinking a
coffee. Wren shot her a regretful look and left. She wanted to stop by the
office before her class started.

Jolene was dealing with a tearful teenager when Wren went
in. Her eyes widened when she took in Wren’s hair.

“I need to check some test results,” Wren said.

“Bottom drawer.” Jolene nodded toward the filing cabinet.

She was lucky Jolene was busy. She crouched down and flicked
through the folders until she came to the first name on her list. Ardita Chani.
Five teachers, including Wren, were supposed to have taught her. She’d already
spoken to those other four teachers and they hadn’t recognized the names. She
scribbled down the woman’s contact phone number and stood. The teenager had
stopped crying and Jolene furiously tapped her fingers on her desk while she
listened to a garbled excuse about a payment bouncing.

Hoping Jolene wouldn’t notice, Wren sidled over to the
registers and searched for her folder. The blank sheets she’d signed yesterday
had been filled in. The extra four students were back on the list.
What the
fuck?
There was a loud cough behind her. She twisted round to see Olive,
dressed head to toe in sludge brown.

Do not blush. Do not look guilty.
She went for a
smile. Olive had a matching hat pinned to the side of her head and she
resembled a huge chocolate in the process of melting. Wren smiled harder.

“What are you doing?” Olive asked. “And what on earth have
you done to your hair?”

“Dyed it. I love it.” For once, Wren met Olive’s gaze and
didn’t back down. “As for what I’m doing, I had a sudden worry I might not have
signed off the registers for the previous term.”

“You did. I have those filed.”

“Oh great. That takes a load off my mind.”

Olive glowered. “That all?” She stared straight at her and
Wren forced herself not to wriggle like a worm on a hook.

“Actually no.” She took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“It’s no use asking for more hours. I can barely afford to
run the place as it is. If you can come up with some profitable extracurricular
activities, I’ll think about it.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”
No, I won’t.
But Wren took the
chance to escape and headed for the stairs.

What benefit could there be in making Ezispeke appear as though
it taught more pupils than it actually did? Some tax fiddle? Wouldn’t it be
better to pretend there were
fewer
pupils so you could pocket their fees
without paying tax? Or was she making more of this than she needed to and these
four names had just somehow gotten into the system accidentally?

She tapped Ardita’s number into her phone and listened to a
voice tell her the number was no longer in service.
Damn.

When she entered the classroom, her five English
conversation students were waiting. Tomas lounged right in front of her, his
chair tipped back, a graze across his cheekbone. He crashed the chair back to
the ground when she walked in.

Oh God, had Adam told him about last night?
Her
cheeks flooded with heat. Maybe Sylvie had been right and they’d been competing
over who could bed her first. Bile rose into her throat. Adam wouldn’t have
done that, would he?

“Good morning, everyone,” she said and put her folder on the
desk.

“Good morning,” the class answered. They sounded bored even
before the lesson had started.

Her gaze fell on the ravishing Monique, who could have been
attending a photo shoot. Even though Wren was wearing her best red dress—she
was
not
going to think about why she’d put that on—she instantly felt as
attractive as a dead cow.

“Right, we’ll pick up from yesterday. Things you like to do
in your spare time. Cycling, dancing, reading, cooking. Who’d like to go
first?”

Silence. All eyes but Tomas’ were down and Wren didn’t want
to ask him. She had a horrible feeling his hobby would be finding the G-spot.

“Benoit?” she asked. “What’s your favorite pastime?”

“I collect models of the Eiffel Tower.”

“That’s…er fascinating.”
Not.
“Can anyone think of
something to ask Benoit about his hobby?”

“How many steps you believe?” Georg asked.

“How many steps do you think there are,” Wren corrected.

“I know how many,” Benoit said. “One thousand, six hundred
and fifty-two. But it is not possible to walk all the way to the top.”

“I know one thousand, six hundred and seventy-one.” Georg
spoke very slowly. “Nine steps to ticket office, three hundred and twenty-eight
steps to level one, three hundred and forty steps to level two, eighteen steps
to elevator and then rest to top, but Benoit is correct. Not allowed to walk to
top. Number of stairs changed over years as alternations made to tower.”

Bloody hell.
Duscha and Monique stared at Georg in
amazement.

“Not counting antenna, tower is nine hundred and eighty-four
feet tall,” Georg said.

Benoit raised his head. “On cold days it is six inches
shorter.”

“I have that problem too,” Tomas said.

Wren snorted and tried to pretend it was a cough. Failed.
She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“How many models you have?” Georg asked.

“How many models do you have,” Wren corrected.

“Four hundred and forty-six,” Benoit said.

Oh my God.
“That’s amazing, Benoit.” She smiled at
him. “Anyone have any questions?”

“How big is biggest?” Tomas asked.

Benoit gestured with his hand. “Two meter. I blow it up.”

“I inflated it,” Wren said. “And the smallest?”

He brought his thumb and forefinger close together. “Very
small.”

“Miniature,” Wren said.

“Yes.”

“Why did you start collecting them?” she asked.

“My father proposed to my mother at the top of the tower.”

“Oh, that’s lovely, Benoit. How romantic. Do they go back
there on their anniversary?”

“They are now divorced.”

Monique and Duscha sniggered.
Bitches.

“Monique, do you have a hobby?” Wren hoped it was something
weird Benoit would laugh at.

“I like shopping.” She inspected her perfect red nails.

“I too,” Duscha said.

“I do too,” Wren corrected.

“We all go shopping now?” Tomas asked.

Monique perked up. “We can talk and walk, and have coffee.”

Wren checked the clock. This week or next week, what did it
matter?

“Would you all like to do that?” she asked.

Monique was already on her feet, putting on her coat.

The others mumbled agreement and Wren sighed. “I need to
tell the office where we’re going. I’ll meet you outside on the steps.”

“Shopping?” Jolene asked. “You have three guys in your
group.”

Wren gritted her teeth. “I’ll take them to a sports shop.”

“Where’s the profit in that?”

“The students will be learning while they’re doing something
enjoyable. Not everything is about money.”

Jolene narrowed her eyes. “Are you using this as an excuse
to do your errands?”

“No.” Wren bristled.

“Don’t be late back.”

Wren hurried outside. Tomas wore a dark-gray pea coat with
the collar turned up and the buttons undone. With his grazed cheek, he looked
like a character out of a gangster film. Had he been in a fight?

“I’ll chat to each of you as we walk,” she said. “Practice
with each other.” As Tomas headed in her direction, she sidestepped and opted
for the safety of Georg. “What’s your hobby?”

“I am climber.”

“What mountains have you climbed?”

“Not mountains. Stairs. I climb the stairs.”

Wren frowned. “Er…you’ll have to explain, Georg.”

“I belong to club and we climb the stairs all over Europe.
Always arguments about number of floors. I climb seventy-six floors of Moscow
Tower, fifty-four floors Sapphire Tower in Istanbul, fifty-eight floors
Commerzbank in Frankfurt with two below ground, sixty-three floors Messeturm in
Frankfurt, fif—”

“That’s amazing,” Wren said. “So do you race?”

“Race?”

“Run fast. Try to be the first to the top. Is it a
competition?”

“Ah.” He paused. “No.”

“You do it for fun?”

“Yes.”

Oh God.
This was hard work. “What do you do when you
get to the top?”

“Turn around and walk down.” He looked at her as though she
was stupid.

Wren guided them across the road. The bookshop was in sight.
Thank God.

“You don’t linger?” Tomas asked behind them.

“Linger?” Georg repeated.

“Stay for a little while,” Wren said. “Admire the view? Get
your breath back?”
Hold hands? Kiss?

“No. We have schnapps when we finish.”

“I need coffee,” Monique announced. “It’s me who pay for
everyone.”

“That’s very kind,” Wren said. “We’d use the expression ‘my
treat’.”

Monique nodded. “My treat. Where we going?”

“We can go into Waterstones. I have an exercise you can all
do.” Wren had planned this for next week and prepared enough cards for them to
find two books each. With Tomas here, one would have to do. “I want you to find
a book.” She handed them slips of paper from her folder as they stood outside
the store.

“Easy,” said Duscha.

No, it isn’t
, thought Wren. There was something wrong
with either the title or the author. They’d have to ask for help, which was the
whole point.

“There is a café here. You buy coffee and biscotti.” Monique
handed Wren three ten-pound notes. “Cappuccino for me.”

The others told Wren what they wanted and she walked up to
the top floor.

She’d just been served when Tomas came up with his book.
The
Flat-Footed Flies of Europe
by Peter J. Chandler. How the hell had he
managed that so fast? His piece of paper had given the author as Peter J.
Handler.