Lipstick on His Collar (5 page)

Behind her, Bram cleared his throat. Her eyes slid closed and she drew in a slow, empowering breath before turning. Both his arms were crossed and one thick ebony brow quirked at an inquisitive angle. “Well, that was interesting. Ex boyfriend or husband?”

“Boyfriend. Bram—” Pushing a stray hair off her forehead, she blew the breath away. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“Just break up?”

Her braid must be too tight. And the broken ventilation system had baked her brain. And maybe the bagel she’d had for lunch was past its due date. That was why her head was throbbing. It had nothing to do with the Jerry Springer-esque turn of her life.

“No. I left him back before we…in June. I broke up with him in June. He just doesn’t get the message. He always comes in about this time and I didn’t want…when you came… I never expected…I just… Seeing you again knocked me off-kilter. Sorry. I didn’t want you involved with something so…ugly.”

A twitch along his upper lip warned her of his gentle smile before it appeared. He relaxed his stance, leaning back on the counter and crossing his ankles. “It’s okay. I didn’t think I’d see you again either. But I’m glad I found you.”

She couldn’t breathe. He’d found her, they’d found each other again. It had to be a great big cosmic joke, right? Stuff like that doesn’t just happen in real life. Life didn’t hand out dreams and wishes like candy. Yet, there he stood.

Damn, he was fine. Half the time, she convinced herself that she’d prettied him up, made him more attractive in her memories, but staring at him now, she knew that mental picture was Kodak-clear. For one night, she’d been the center of his world. They’d shared more than sex; he’d listened, focused on her and heard what she had said. Being his lady, even for a brief moment, had been a precious gift. It had almost been too hard to slide from his bed the next morning. She’d learned to be careful what you wished for because letting the wish go once you’d held it sucked.

“How
did
you find me?”

“I needed clean socks.” His smile should be listed on the CDC website because it sent her stomach into shivers and set her skin to tingling. “I’m working on the new 911 center over in Millerton. I didn’t know you’d be here. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I saw you.”

Feather? Yeah, that is not the force that slammed into her when he’d walked in the door. More like she got whapped with a horny stick. His china-blue gaze fringed with coal-black lashes caressed her from toe to nose and her nipples tightened. A warm pulse formed between her legs. How many sex acts had they done that night? She’d lost count and was sure that shower thing was a new position he’d dreamed up. God knows, he’d filled her dreams nightly for five months. She woke every morning sweaty, empty, and with a gnawing hunger only he had ever satisfied. Her libido growled, demanding to be fed, but she slid around him, waving goodbye to two customers.

He caught her just in front of him, his arm halting her path and drawing her closer to his frame. “So what
is
your name?”

The sultry purr in his tone drew her gaze up and vivid sexual longing sizzled between them. Oh yeah, he was hungry too. His eyes dropped to watch her tongue slick across her lip. Her mouth watered at memories and the buffet she saw unfolding in front of her now. No one said she couldn’t she go back for seconds. She licked her lips again just to feel his chest rise with a deep inhale. Feminine power filled her, and she returned his purr, gliding her fingers along his biceps.

“Now, where’s the fun in telling you that? I like being mysterious.”

“Mysterious? You are that.” Deep, dark and thick with desire, his voice melted like chocolate and a craving gripped her. Bram in the throes of orgasm was a luscious, intoxicating sound. God, he was delicious and she wanted more. He angled closer, until his warm breath whispered on her cheek. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.” If she leaned two inches in, she could kiss him.

“That’s not fair.” Bram shifted one inch closer.

“All’s fair in…whatever.”

“It wouldn’t take me three seconds to find out your name. All I’d have to do is go next door to the”—he turned his head and read through the window—“Flower Power Florist and ask.”

She poked his ribs. “That’d be cheating. Play my game, Bram.”

“Come on, you owe me. You stole my shirt.”

A smile curved her mouth. “Fair exchange. You ripped my dress.”

“So I did.” His low chuckle was tinged with sinful temptation. “Should I apologize?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want to.”

She could plant her lips right on his and dip her tongue into his mouth. If she moved. One inch. A scant distance. He smelled of coffee, brisk wind and pure male. Her heart galloped in her chest, echoing a sudden pulse in her pussy. He oozed sex appeal like an over-wet sponge and she wanted to suck every drop. One damn inch was all she needed. She closed the gap.

Lust exploded. Her ears popped with the force of the attraction, and a low sigh heated her mouth before he deepened the kiss to indecent levels. She could distinctly recall three kisses in her life—Bobby Allegro behind the gym in fifth grade, Cliff Meyers on prom night and Bram, on a makeshift fire-department parking-lot dance floor.

In the long months they’d been apart, she hadn’t forgotten his kiss. She was so screwed.

Chapter Three

“He’s still watching,” Bram grumbled, stabbing his chopsticks into the takeout container of General Tso’s chicken. His glower lasered out the window.

She didn’t even bother turning her head. Shrugging, she dipped her wonton in duck sauce. “He will until I leave. Then he’ll drive home and call me. If I don’t answer, he fills my voice mail and bugs the ever-lovin’ shit out of me. So I’ll pick up, tell him I’m taking a shower, studying then going to bed. Same routine, every night.”

The harsh fluorescent lighting shimmered off Bram’s midnight hair as he shook his head. A few scattered silvered strands picked up the light and reflected like stars in the night sky. Mr. Mancos, the tightwad Laundromat owner, refused to have the ancient ventilation system fixed and wouldn’t allow her to turn on the air conditioning until spring, so the heated air registered near tropical even as bits of snow twirled in the wind gusts outside. Bram had pulled his dark brown sweatshirt off and now sat in a thin gray tee shirt with an unfamiliar sports logo blazoned across his chest. The swirled lettering stretched taut and she forgot all about her garlic shrimp.

“He’s a stalker. You need to go to the police.”

“I have.” Wiping her mouth on a rough paper napkin, she pushed her takeout box back on the counter and leaned against the window. The wide windowsill base made the perfect low seat and prevented Jason from seeing her face. “He isn’t breaking any laws yet. Technically, his car is parked in front of his office so he can sit there until rigor mortis sets in if he wants. Everything he does has an alternative, logical explanation to the police. Even if you write it all down on paper, it reads like a courting ritual rather than a stalker-mess. The cops believe me, but they can’t make him stop. Jason has to do something to… Well, I don’t want to think about that.”

The wheels of the chair squeaked as Bram rolled closer to her perch on the window ledge. He set his carton beside hers and glanced at her elbow. “That’s bruising already, lady. I’d say he did something and you need to press charges before you end up a statistic.”

“Another month and I’ll be hundreds of miles away from here…and him.”

She was normally alone as she tallied the day out. Jason had kept her company a few times, but now she made sure the door was locked and that she kept her back to the window. Sitting here in the over-bright lights, with the cold, black night shining through the glass, made her too aware of how vulnerable she usually was. Jason was always out there watching her. But she didn’t feel that way tonight, not with Bram here.

Two industrial dryers still hummed, his late-started laundry tumbling in a soft drone. Heat baked them both, glistening in a fine sheen across Bram’s forehead and upper arms. One hot July night bloomed in her mind and the junction of her thighs grew damper. Sweat was sticky and disgusting…unless it was with Bram and came from the flushed glow of multiple orgasms. If she couldn’t convince Bram to come upstairs after this, she was going to end up a puddle of frustrated goo. Again.

He sipped his soda, the thick Styrofoam cup pale against his dark skin, and her sight fastened on his lips, locked around the straw. The memory of her aching nipples in his mouth blazed across her mind. He’d tightened his lips and sucked the entire areola. She’d bucked and fisted her hands in his hair and he’d just kept sucking, nearly making her come just from that. She’d marked his back with her nails when he’d finally stroked her clit and brought her to a mind-blowing climax. He hadn’t stopped until she was wringing wet with sweat and limp from orgasms. Damn, she loved a man on a mission.

Wonder if he’s up for a repeat performance?
“It’s a long drive back to your hotel in the dark.”

The knowing grin sliced an ornery dimple into his cheek. “It takes less than ten minutes.”

“Yeah but…my apartment’s just upstairs.”

“You live above the Laundromat?”

“Part of the deal. I live rent-free if I manage this place. It fit in well with school so, yeah, I live upstairs.”

“School, you’ve mentioned that a couple times. What are you studying?”

“Communications. I’m actually done except presenting my master’s thesis. I’ve been job canvassing for a few months and I’m taking a job managing a radio station after graduation.”

“Communications.” His murmur was layered with irony. “You
do
realize my official title is Communications Specialist, right?”

“You’re service industry. I’m profit-based. Big difference. When I say radio, I mean music and DJs, you mean cops and ambulances.”

“True.” He cocked that sexy left brow again. “Upstairs, huh?”

She’d never been one for the subtler paths in life so she kicked off her clogs and parked her heels on his chair, directly below his crotch. When he didn’t shift away, her toes slid higher, over a bulge that twitched under denim. Her rhythm was slow but firm, molding the arch of her foot along his zipper. Bram scooted forward and cupped her foot, pressed her tighter to his growing erection. His hips rolled and his cock hardened.

Oh yeah, we are in direct communication now. Hot damn!

She nodded her chin toward his bag on the counter. “I don’t suppose that duffle is fully equipped again, is it?”

Please Dear God in Heaven, let him be carrying condoms
. She hadn’t needed any since him and didn’t want him to leave to get some. She had this irrational fear that once he was out of her sights, he would disappear. He dispelled that trepidation with a sly grin and slow, large palm gliding up her bare calf.

“I was a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.”

“Hmm, a Boy Scout?” His hand crept farther up her leg and she leaned back on the window. The outside temperature chilled the glass to an almost painful cold but the air inside was hot. His hands were hotter. The contrast was razor sharp and honed fine. “Don’t they make fire by…rubbing things together?”

“Yeah, but then, I was a firefighter too.”

“Okay, there is a hose joke in there somewhere but I’m not touching it.”

His laugh echoed in the cavernous hall. He dropped her foot from his jeans and stood, walking back toward the dryers lining the walls. He checked the timer and sighed. “They make microwave ovens, why not microwave clothes dryers?”

“Careful, Bram, anyone would think you were in a hurry to get out of here.”

The silent boxes with their round clear bellies stood like a dual row of guards, waiting, watching for a touch to bring them to life. Something pinged in one running dryer, the metal button on a pair of jeans or a zipper on a fleece. The background noises only deepened his low voice and it echoed in the empty Laundromat.

“I never lied to you. I won’t lie now. Hell, yes, I want to hurry into bed with you. But I want more than a fast fuck. I want to know why you left like that.”

The braid on her back was heavy, weighing down her small headshake. How could she explain it to him? He wasn’t supposed to mean anything. He was a rebound guy, a quick tumble after Jason made her feel like shit. She took a side trip after a faraway seminar to a small-town fair with every intention of finding someone, anyone, to make the emptiness go away, if even for one night. She found Bram.

Bram wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a pit stop in her sex life to repair her bruised ego and help her get back on her dating feet. Then, in the midst of oral sex and orgasms, he wormed his way under her defenses by being a decent, nice guy. He’d shaken more than the bed and her mind reeled from the implications.

“I don’t want one night. I want to see you again. I want to let this go wherever it goes with us.”

Dangerous, thrilling words he’d whispered in the early-morning light thundered in her head. Words, temptations that had triggered her flight from his bed, from his life. They’d bargained for one night but he made her think about more. It was too soon on the heels of her breakup with Jason, and she hadn’t trusted her own heart. Her fingers had traced Bram’s slumber-relaxed jaw before she’d quietly slipped out of the bed, but he’d never slipped from her mind.

Bram leaned his back on the counter. Hidden in his deep baritone was a thread of hurt that jabbed at her like a knife. “I want to know why you left, why you won’t tell me your name, and why me? If all you wanted was a quick screw, there were men all over that damn fair. Why me, lady?”

“I don’t know.” She palmed her forehead and sighed. “Yes, I do. You weren’t a redneck. Your shirt was Egyptian cotton, not J.C. Penney’s. You had on tailored dress pants and Italian loafers but you didn’t reek of spoiled little rich boy. You stuck out like a sore thumb yet you were comfortable enough with who you are not to care. You didn’t try some lame pickup line or… I liked you, okay? Isn’t that enough?”

“Maybe. And I like nice clothes for work.”