A French Whipping (6 page)

Blake’s throat tightened, but she nodded. “But I can learn from it. I can change.”

“Damn right,” Rosa replied.

Blake wished she felt quite as confident as she sounded.

6

BY THE TIME
Nick arrived at the Hairy Lemon, the after-work crowd had thinned out to a small crowd of locals who lived in the neighborhood. It took him a few seconds to scan the small collection of hipsters gathered at a table near the bar to realize that Blake wasn’t working.

“Kevin.” Nick lifted his chin when the man looked up from behind the bar. “Where’s Blake?”

Kevin gestured him closer. Nick approached the bar impatiently, gripping the polished wood with both hands. On the other side, Kevin mimicked his posture and leaned closer. “She left. Talked to your friend Roland for a bit and then said she had to take care of something.”

“Take care of what?”

Kevin pressed his lips together and blew air out of his mouth. “She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.”

Nick glared at the bartender for a moment, gritting his teeth, but then he nodded, turning away from the bar impatiently.

Muttering to himself, he pulled out his phone and tapped on her name in his contact list. The phone rang several times before she picked it up.

“Nick.” Her voice was breathy, like she’d been running.

“Blake.” Maybe she hadn’t been running. Maybe she’d already picked someone else to
help
her. “Is this a bad time?”

“A bad time? No.” She sounded confused. “Did you talk to Roland?”

“Briefly.”

“Okay.”

Nick scowled. “What the hell are we talking about?”

“You called me, asshole.” Her husky voice sounded exasperated, but not truly angry.

“Why aren’t you at the bar?”

“Are you checking up on me?”

And here they had it, the reason he wasn’t cut out for relationships. He paced several steps down the street. “I came to the bar to see you and you aren’t here. Kevin said you left and I was worried.” He enunciated every word carefully.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?”

“I—” He stopped himself before he said something he’d regret. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I went to talk to someone from my support group.”

“Oh.” He wondered what they’d talked about. Had she talked about her desire to have sex again? Had they encouraged her?

An awkward silence fell between them. Nick could hear the sound of people talking and someone playing a fiddle. He realized he could hear the fiddle through her phone but also somewhere nearby. He looked up just as she said, “I’m on my way back to my apartment now. I see you.”

Nick looked up and there she was, walking toward him, wearing her black uniform, a tan-colored trench coat, and those ridiculous motorcycle boots that she said made her feel like a badass. He’d bought them for her after she’d broken up with Carlos, when she’d dragged him shopping. Her blond hair was loose, falling around her shoulders. Passersby wove around her, some turning to look at her again, some looking around for cameras—she was that beautiful. Nearby, heat lamps warmed diners enjoying their dinner at high tables at the popular oyster bar, while a pushcart seller packed away jewelry and scarves. Cobblestone pavement gleamed blue-black and yellow in the lights, and the air was wet, so wet that small droplets seemed to hang in the air, coalescing onto his coat and the strands of her hair.

She stopped when she was fifty feet away, still holding her cell phone, her eyes widening as she met his gaze.

When she didn’t say anything, he took a step closer, and then another. She wet her lips and slid her phone into the pocket of her coat.

“What made you change your mind?” Her low, scratchy voice was nearly inaudible amid the noise of the crowd, even as he came within arm’s length of her.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Change my mind about what?” he asked gruffly.

“Coming out to the bar. I thought you were avoiding me.”

Nick nodded. “I was. Chickenshit thing to do, really.”

A faint smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. “At least you admit it.”

Nick held out his elbow for her to take. “Have a drink with me.” He nodded to the oyster bar.

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“You don’t like seafood.”

“Since when has that stopped you from taking me to every fish place in town?”

She shrugged and looked around, a line gathering between her brows. Wondering why she seemed worried, Nick looked around as well. There was one guy watching them, or Blake, rather, but he looked away when Nick gave him a hard stare.

“All right,” she said and took his elbow. The smell of lemon and flowers drifted to his nose—a new perfume—and he inhaled involuntarily, letting the scent fill and surround him. It didn’t quite suit her. It was too light and lacking in complexity. He thought about the box sitting in his top dresser drawer. It had been there since he, Roland, and Milton had gone to New York to sell their first encryption software nine years ago, still tucked inside the Bergdorf’s bag. He’d nearly given it to her a dozen times, knowing that she’d love it, that the smell would make her green eyes light up and that dazzling smile break out on her face.

“You’re staring.”

He was. She made him feel like a nineteen-year-old idiot again.

“Yeah, I know.” He started toward the door to the bar, tightening his arm against his side, trapping and pulling her with him.

She fell into step at his side, her long legs matching his stride. He wanted them wrapped around him, wanted to smell her hair as he slid inside her.

He opened the heavy wooden door to the bar with his free hand and stepped to the side to allow her to precede him. The hostess, a dark-haired woman with a beauty mark, smiled politely when she saw them.

“Table for two?”

“We’ll just take a seat at the bar,” Nick told her.

Blake preceded him inside, leading the way to an empty stool and taking a seat. Nick stood next to her since there wasn’t another empty stool, but was glad of it when he realized that he had a direct line of sight to her impressive cleavage in the V-neck of her T-shirt.

“Blake, what can I get you?” The bartender, a young black man with hazel eyes, smiled at her with a mouthful of straight white teeth.

“Hey, Romeo, I’ll have a dirty Grey Goose martini with three olives.”

“You got it, honey.” He set a coaster down in front of her and Nick. “What can I get you, sir?”

Nick refrained from glaring at the kid.
Romeo, my ass
. “I’ll have a Talisker, neat.”

“You got it.”

The bartender stepped away to pour the drinks, and Blake looked up at Nick from beneath lowered lashes, her lips slightly parted. He wanted to part them farther. He wanted to draw her lower lip through his teeth the way she’d done to his.

“Nick?” she said softly. “I thought you weren’t—”

“Here you go.” Romeo set the drinks down in front of them. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“Thanks,” Blake replied and picked up her drink, taking a sip of the icy vodka.

Nick ignored his drink for the moment. “You were about to ask me something.”

Blake plucked the skewer holding three olives from her drink and drew the first one off with her teeth, watching him as she slowly chewed. His gaze fixed on her mouth and stayed there.

“Was I?” she said finally, her voice breathless.

Impatient, Nick picked up his own glass and took a healthy sip, glad for the distracting burn. “I’m willing, if you’re still interested.”

“Hmmm . . .” she said, lifting one eyebrow and closing her lips around another olive.

“Blake,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes and dropped the skewer with the remaining olive back in her drink. “Sorry. That just wasn’t exactly flattering, you know. You’re ‘willing.’ It sounds like I asked you to help me move, or start an organic grocery business.”

Nick scowled. She’d presented it like a damn service, but he was the one who made it sound unflattering. “You were right. I want you.” He glared down at her. “But just for a little while, and we make sure things don’t get messy. Sex and that’s it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

She softened, her eyes wandering over his face. “I don’t want that, either. In fact”—she shifted in her seat—“after you left the other night, I realized you were right to turn me down.”

Nick had never thought the words “you were right” could sound so damn miserable. “Was I?”

Looking away from him, she nodded and took another sip of her drink.

Nick studied her, studied the set of her jaw and the way she fiddled with the scarf she wore to cover the worst of the scars around her neck. He hated the way she tried to hide them, as if she was ashamed. She had nothing to be ashamed of, was beautiful regardless of the damage, but when she was nervous, or lying about something, she always touched her neck. “You’re lying.” He frowned. “Why would you be lying to me?”

She straightened. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She rarely lied about anything important, but she did lie, and usually to aggravate him. “My ass.”

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “Fine. The truth is that I met someone else.”

She did better this time, meeting his eyes, but he still wasn’t buying it. “Blake.” He leaned closer. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She leaned closer as well, until they were staring into each other’s eyes. She was breathing too fast, and so was he. “Make me,” she said slowly, enunciating each word, and Nick felt his control snap like fishing line under high tension.

He slid his hand into her hair, holding her still while he took her mouth. She tasted like olives and vodka, but her tongue was silky and sweet as it tangled with his. He bit her bottom lip gently, sliding it through his teeth before plundering again, drawing her closer and closer. She turned, angling her body more fully toward his, and he slid his thigh between her legs, drawing her against him.

He’d always imagined it would be like this: Blake writhing in his arms, all long limbs and soft curves, her mouth lush and eager against his. Sliding his hand from her hair, he slid it down her back to grip the curve of her hip, urging her against him.

She tugged her head away. “Nick—” She licked her lips. He couldn’t help it; he seized the back of her head again and took her mouth, letting the taste of her burn him far more than the whiskey.

He didn’t notice the hand she pressed against his chest at first, but when she slid it between them to take his package in a grip that was just shy of too firm, he gasped and pulled his mouth from hers.

She released him as soon as he stepped back a little—much to his disappointment.

“Wow,” she gasped and picked up her martini, downing the contents in a long swallow. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Nick waited tensely, knowing that she hadn’t missed the rock-hard cock pressing against the fly of his jeans. He’d known exactly what it would be like if he ever let himself touch Blake the way he wanted to.

When he didn’t say anything, she picked up his scotch and finished it off as well, coughing a little at the burn. She straightened, standing and leaning close enough that her full breasts brushed against his chest. He closed his eyes as she leaned close and kissed the underside of his jaw.

“Let’s go to your apartment,” she said into his ear, and he fought the urge to seize her again.

Incapable of speech, he fished his wallet out of his pocket and dropped three twenties on the bar. She grinned at him when he looked pointedly at the door.

With a graceful toss of her head, she walked ahead of him toward the door, the bottom of her trench coat flaring behind her. Nick followed her, his eyes on the sway of her bottom as she strode ahead of him.

Outside, a light mist had begun to fall. She turned to him as she stepped onto the sidewalk, light from a nearby streetlamp shining on her golden hair.

“Did you walk or drive?” Her voice was breathless. She didn’t wait for him to answer, but gripped both of his hands and pulled him toward her for another kiss.

Nick was more than happy to oblige, sliding his hands into her hair and planting kiss after kiss on those plump, willing lips, his desire unraveling inside him with every touch of her mouth, every gasp that he wrung from her quivering, eager body. She did want him, even if it was only to get laid.

He drew her close and held her tightly, whispering against her ear. “I walked,” he said wickedly, knowing that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He’d actually run, eager to find her once he’d changed his mind.

She reached up and grabbed his hand. “Of course you did. Asshole. Well, come on,” she urged, tugging him in the direction of his apartment, which was several blocks east toward the water.

He resisted. “Why don’t we just go to your place? It’s closer.”

She stepped forward until she was nearly touching him again. “Yeah, but you’ve got that fireplace . . . and all that rope.”

Nick swallowed, picturing her naked and tied in front of his fireplace. Oh, fuck, yeah. Now he was the one dragging her, her laughing gasps sounding sweet to his ears as he pulled her along.