When It Hooks You (It #1) (11 page)

“I know you said it was best to not get physical,” she said, noting the faint press of new stubble against her palm. “But I hope kisses don’t count because I’m going to kiss you, Mr. Helms. If that goes well, I don’t plan to stop until your face turns purple and you’re gasping for air.”

He didn’t move or say anything to dissuade her, but a terrified flash raced across his eyes—now made coppery under the scorched heavens. Trish plastered her mouth against his. She’d take away his fear. She’d pull him up to the surface of his melancholy sea and breathe lightness into him.

His mouth was stiff, but she touched her coaxing lips to his again and again until he relented. He was gentle, almost timid, but at the first graze of her tongue against his, he lunged into her. One of his hands splayed across her bare back and the other claimed the base of her spine, pulling her against him. His kiss became ravenous, nearly desperate.

Tasting his need fueled Trish’s desire to satisfy him. Their frenzied mouths moved against each other. Only half aware of what the rest of her body was doing, she raked her fingers through the back of his sculpted hair and coiled a leg around him.

The muted sound of the latch engaging at the rooftop entrance recalled them to reality. She lowered her thigh, and they pulled their mouths apart but continued to hold each other close. His heavy breath cooled the wetness coating her lips.

“Is my face purple enough for you?” he murmured as a boisterous group emerged onto the roof.

Trish laughed, leaning in to rest the side of her face against his. “I’m not through with you, Mr. Helms,” she whispered, giving his earlobe a soft bite before stepping back. She slid her arms down his sides to grasp onto his hands. “Ever been to a blues club?”

“A few.”

“Would you like to go to one with me?” She tilted her head and gave him an innocent smile.

“Tonight?”

“Uh huh.” She bit her bottom lip to complete the shy schoolgirl effect.

“No man in this entire world could resist such an enticing invitation.” He leaned in to touch a peck onto her ready lips. Dropping his lashes to look down at his white polo shirt and long shorts, he asked. “Am I dressed for it?”

She arched her back, keeping hold of his hands for support, and scanned his athletically lean physique from topsiders to collar. “To be honest, you’re more dressed for going back to my place and getting naked, but since we’re trying to be good…” She arched an eyebrow as if checking with him to make sure that was still the rule. He arched an eyebrow back to indicate that, yes, indeed, it was. “We should arrive early enough to snag a discreet back table. Nobody’ll even notice us. Except the waiter, I hope.”

“Lead the way.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and pressed a soft, warm kiss onto it.

“Mind if I stop in the lobby bathroom on the way out? It’s been a while since I’ve looked into a mirror.”

“It’s not necessary. But that’s fine.”

In the downstairs restroom, Trish did what she could with lip gloss, concealer, eyeliner, and a comb. When she rejoined Adam and led him out of the building, she didn’t give Kurt a thought. They walked to the blues club, filling the few blocks with happy talk of how lucky they were to have had such a nice day, how beautiful the sunset had been, and how lovely the evening air felt.

At the small, dark club, they claimed a rounded booth against the wall. An efficient waiter set them up with dirty martinis. The band hadn’t come on stage yet, so recorded tunes played in the background. Trish and Adam clinked glasses and toasted a successful second date. The liquor and the spell cast by the sunset fused within Trish to create a warm glow.

They were on their next round of drinks when the lights dimmed even further. The thrumming twang of a blues guitar riff throbbed throughout the room. Brass instruments and percussions joined in to set the rhythm by which Trish’s heart beat. The lead singer stepped to the microphone, sending his aching lamentations straight through her. She and Adam sat in silence, her back toward him as she faced the stage, sipping her drink and letting the atmospheric performance soak in.

She was ever so grateful she’d left her hair twisted up when Adam’s thumb tickled back and forth over the curve at the base of her neck. His fingers rested on the flesh of her shoulder, and she swore she felt him touch a feather-light kiss to her bare back. Closing her eyes, she took a generous sip from her glass, barely managing to set it gracefully back onto the table without spilling. The sensations pulsing through her were nearly overwhelming. When his fingertips trailed across her throat and up to her jaw, inching her face around to his, she was done for.

Their mouths pressed together, hot but moving more languidly over each other than they had on the rooftop. With the sultry rhythm floating all around them, they were in no hurry. They had nothing to do but taste and explore each other. The safety of the crowded room would keep them within the confines of their self-imposed rules.

Chapter 10

“I S
WEAR
M
Y
J
AW
W
AS
S
ORE
for two days straight,” Trish told Lyssa. She’d arrived in Boston the night before. The girls had stayed up late talking, slept in, and were having a lazy morning around the apartment, staying in their jammies and drinking coffee while they talked some more. Trish was in the midst of relaying her marathon date with Adam.

Lyssa held up a hand to stop her. “Please leave out the details that caused said soreness.”

Trish hurled a throw pillow at her friend, who sat on the rug. “I only meant from kissing.”

Lyssa’s eyes went wide when the pillow knocked into her shoulder, jostling her half-filled mug. “Hey! Don’t make me spill in Hayden’s pristine beige and white palace.” Her boyfriend had left early that morning for work. It was a Thursday, but Lyssa wouldn’t start classes until the following month.

Trish leaned against the low arm of the sleek, blond sofa that had served as her bed. Hugging a white pillow to her chest, she gazed out the long, eleventh floor windows at several tall buildings in Boston’s financial district. “This is a great pad—even if its elegant sheers let in an abundance of sunlight at an ungodly hour.”

“Sorry about that. I guess we’re not quite guest-ready.”

Trish’s eyes roved over the bright, polished space. “I don’t see any of your stuff here.”

“That shelf of books is mine.” Lyssa pointed at the bookcase between two windows. “And I’ve got a lot of junk in the bedroom. Hayden had the place fully decked out by the time I got here, and my garage-sale chic clashes with his urban minimalistic.”

“It’s your place, too. You should be allowed to redecorate if you want.”

Lyssa shrugged. “The bones of the place are more in line with his style, anyhow.”

Trish regarded her friend with more scrutinizing eyes. “As much as I like it, it’s missing the coziness of your apartment in Lincoln Park. Are you comfortable here?”

Lyssa’s shoulders rose sharply and slowly lowered as she let out a long sigh. “It’s not home yet. I still feel like a visitor.”

“Well, that’s the problem—this place was Hayden’s for a year before you moved in. You two should find a new place you pick out together so it’ll feel like it belongs to both of you.”

Lyssa wagged her head back and forth. “The thought crossed my mind, but this is close to his work, and it
is
his place. I’m freeloading until I get through my two-year program, so I’m not going to suggest he give up this apartment that he loves so much.”

Trish didn’t pursue it. If her friend was willing to sacrifice her own sense of home to be with a man, that was her decision. “What’ll the commute to campus be like?”

“Not bad. I can catch a couple of trains that’ll get me there in about thirty minutes. I was thinking I could show you around BU tomorrow.”

“That’d be great. Speaking of college, I haven’t told you my major discovery about our ol’ buddy from Iowa—Cliff’s not gay.”

Lyssa lowered her mug to a coaster on the glass-topped coffee table. “Who said he was?”

Trish’s forehead pinched. “Didn’t you think he was?”

“No. Were you really that oblivious? He had a thing for
you
back then.”

“What? No, he didn’t.”

“Whatever. Even if he wasn’t crushing on you, he and JoAnne got it on in very heterosexual ways.”

“When?”

“I don’t know…junior or senior year. Maybe both.”

“Where was I for all of that?”

“Probably off with your boyfriend du jour. It wasn’t as if JoJo and Cliff were dating or anything. It was just a couple of random hookups. I actually had the impression that unless they were making out, they couldn’t even stand each other.”

Trish laid her pillow on the sofa and gathered her sheets into a ball. “I sure wish someone would’ve enlightened me before I set him up on a blind date with James from the gym.”

“You didn’t!”

Trish laughed. “I totally did.” She went on to tell the whole story.

While she listened, Lyssa grabbed the sheet and folded it into a neat, drill sergeant-approved square. Then she moved to the small kitchen to clean up their breakfast things.

Trish followed her over. When she finished her tale, she leaned a hip against the counter and folded her arms. Fixing her friend with a curious stare, she said, “I don’t remember you being such a clutter-phobe. Would it kill you to leave a dirty dish on the counter?”

Lyssa looked around at the gleaming kitchen. “We like it neat, and if I don’t do it now, Hayden’ll do it before he lets himself sit down to relax. That hardly seems fair after he’s been at work all day.”

“Okay, nineteen-fifties housewife.”

“Shut it, nineteen-seventies independent, hear-me-roar woman.” Lyssa’s eyes trailed over to the microwave. “Yikes. It’s already almost one. I told Hayden we’d meet him for happy hour by five thirty. Our dinner reservation is at eight so we’ll be there for sunset over the harbor. Or as they say around here, the
haahbah.
”

Trish only half heard anything after
sunset
. Her mind was back on the Chicago rooftop with Adam.

“He was that good, huh?”

Trish’s eyes snapped to Lyssa. “What?”

“You have the same look on your face that you did when you told me about your date. How big is this guy’s mouth if he’s giving you lockjaw from kisses?”

“Sweetie pie, don’t you know by now? It’s not the size that counts. It’s what he does with it. Oh, mama, did he do all the right things.”

“He must’ve to get you all googly like this. How many times have you gone out with him?”

“That was the second date. On the first we had a drink at a quiet bar and talked.”

“Only one more left, then?” Lyssa followed her question with a challenging slant of her pursed mouth.

Trish shrugged. “If that.”

Lyssa blew out a derisive breath. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. That night ended so…so wretchedly perfect that the only direction things can go with him is down. Why sully the memory by going out with him again?”

Lyssa opened her mouth and shut it, giving her head a shake. “You’re going through such a weird phase. We better get ready. I want to show you around the neighborhood before we have to meet Hayden. We can grab sandwiches while we’re out.”

The two of them took showers and got dressed. As they headed out the door, Trish said, “Hold on a sec. I forgot something.” She skipped over to the couch and grabbed an edge of the tightly folded sheet, pulling it and tossing it kitty corner over the cushion. She was curious to see how many milliseconds it would take Hayden to fold it tight again after walking through the front door.

Lyssa showed Trish around the financial district, retelling as much history as she could recall of pre-Revolutionary buildings like Faneuil Hall and King’s Chapel. She also pointed out her favorite places to shop, eat, and otherwise spend her days off until classes started. They ended the tour by wandering along the wide walkways of the Wharf District Parks—strips of manicured greenery and pavement sandwiched between two multi-lane roads.

They arrived at the bar early. After all the walking, Trish was glad to spot an available high table with two stools on the tiny patio. Like everywhere else the girls had been that day, people bustled along the sidewalk. Most were dressed for the office, but the occasional pair of cutoffs and flip-flops
thwapped
by. Lyssa and Trish were dressed somewhere in-between, comfortable enough for daytime gallivanting but dressy enough for their dinner reservations.

Lyssa read a text on her phone. “Hayden says a couple of the guys from his office will join him—but they’re both married, so hands off.”

“Would asking one of them to rub my feet be inappropriate?” Trish asked.

Lyssa shook her head. “I told you to pack a pair of sensible shoes.”

“I did! They’re in my suitcase. I’ll show you when we get back.” She slipped off one of her less sensible shoes and kneaded the ball of her foot with her fingertips. Over Lyssa’s shoulder, three attractive men in suits caught her attention. They veered off the sidewalk to step within the chained boundary of the patio bar. Trish wasn’t used to Hayden’s cleanly shaven face, so she didn’t recognize him until he put a finger to his lips while he snuck up behind his girlfriend.

Lyssa squeaked and jumped in her tall chair when his wiggling fingertips plunged into her sides. The second she turned and saw who it was, she pulled his face to hers for a sweet kiss. Hayden rubbed his nose over hers, staying close and asking how her day was in what Trish could only classify as a baby-talk. It was only with great effort that she refrained from teasing them with a faux retching sound. She did, however, let out an
ahem
.

Lyssa’s head swiveled toward her. “Sorry. Len, Craig, this is Trish, my best friend from Chicago.”

“Hi,” Trish said, extending her hand to shake with each man in turn. They remained standing around the high table. “Which is which?” she asked.

“I’m Len,” said the tall, curly-haired brunet. “This guy’s Craig.” He pointed a thumb at the stocky strawberry blond.