Last Call for Love (6 page)

She stood before him wearing only lace panties. His hungry gaze traveled down her body. While he continued to stroke her nipple, the fingers of his other hand slid beneath the lace of her panties and between her folds.

She gasped. She was hungry for the release that his fingertips stroking her clit would provide. The sound that flew from her mouth was unfamiliar. 

“I want you,” he said. “I haven’t wanted anyone in a very long time, and I want you.” His head bent forward, and his lips grasped her nipple. He pulled the flesh into his hot, wet mouth. His teeth teased her tender flesh, causing spirals of want to thrum through her body.

“Oh my God,” she said.

He walked her to the bed and pressed her back onto the mattress. She pulled up his shirt and her eyes feasted on his glorious body. His lips met hers, and he pulled at her bottom lip, his fingertip still gently massaging her clit, stroking her in a slow and teasing circle. His touch sparking a fierce lust.

Her hands trailed over the fine hairs of his chest and along the hard muscles of his abs. She pulled at his jeans, taking them over his hips. His bare ass hard and muscled in her hand. Yes, oh God, yes. Her entire body thrilled with a molten heat, seeking relief.

He lifted each of her thighs and placed each on one of his shoulders.

Anticipation at the pleasure of his mouth on her sex curled taut in her belly. Slowly, he bent forward. His mouth teased along the edge of her sex with small kisses, not yet parting her folds.

Then his tongue stroked her open, down the center of her, through the rich heat of her wetness. She could not control the motion of her hips and they rolled upward.

Pleasure throbbed through her. She reached between her legs, and wove her fingers through his hair. Oh my God. Oh my God. The rhythm of his movements caused her to dance along the edge of orgasm. His mouth sucked and teased her clit. His tongue stroked over her nub. Her body trembled and caught the edge of the brilliant wave. Pleasure sliced through her as he grasped her hips tight and sucked hard on her clit, pulling her
deep, deep, deep over the edge.

*

She tasted of stars and ocean and sky and beauty. Her scent clung to his mouth as she trembled beneath him. He’d pulled her over the edge into her climax two maybe three times. Her body was beautiful. The taste of her, oh God, the taste of her. He wanted to feast between her legs again and again and again. And yet his cock throbbed, ached, needed relief. He held himself above her now. Her eyes were half-lidded with lust. She was satisfied by her orgasms. She grasped the base of his cock and stroked up. Her fingertips slid along the drops of pre-come at the tip of his cock.

She pressed her fingertips, slicked with his pre-come, to her lips.  His lower back tightened. Fuck. To thrust deep inside her. She was so wet, so swollen, so ready for him and yet … He wouldn’t last. He could barely last now.

“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

Damn. He reached for his jeans on the floor, but she was faster. She drew out the top drawer of her nightstand, and he heard the foil. She ripped it open with her teeth. She sat before him and sheathed him. His balls tightened close to his body. 

Fear sliced through him. He hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. No time to think. No time to worry. She placed her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. That beautiful mouth with those full lips. Yes. Yes. He wanted to press inside her with a deep carnal need that stoked a fire deep within him. A primitive lust. The head of his cock paused at her entrance. Her muscles clenched. He pushed forward and nudged himself into her. The heat consumed him. Her body slowly opened to him. She clasped his ass with her hands and pressed him deep, deep inside her. He thrust forward.

“Yes,” she whispered in his ear. “Please, please.”

With those words he lost himself. The throbbing of his cock. The heat pulsed in his balls. He pushed in and out, and quickly lost his steady rhythm. Release. He needed release. She held him tight and clung to his body. Her body vibrated around his cock.

Oh God yes, yes,” she yelled, her body tensed and her head pressed against her pillow. A tremble ripped through her. She’d come again for him. He pushed harder, deeper, now ready to satisfy his own want. Damn. How long had he been without a woman? Too long. He thrust and thrust and thrust. The muscles tightened across his back and a deep tingling pulsed in his balls. Come ripped through him, hot and fast. He tensed. He paused. He trembled.

Clear. A buzzing in his mind. An emptiness, nothingness, other than the sense that all was right. In this infinitesimal moment all was good in the world. And this perfect, beautiful woman was his and just exactly the woman he needed.

The ringing phone yanked Charla from sleep, jerking her back to reality. She slammed upward. Her mind was foggy. Her bed was empty. Ryan was gone. Two more short rings. She stumbled out of bed, pulling the top sheet with her. She wrapped it around her naked body. She shivered. The air was cold in her room. She grabbed for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Miss Duvall, this is Susan, just letting you know that you’re confirmed for the nine a.m. flight.”

Charla squinted and pressed her hand to her forehead. Nine a.m. flight? Right, she’d been fired, sacked. Unemployed and homeless. She looked toward her bed. And apparently ditched by another man. Hmm. Guess Ryan had an agenda that wasn’t nearly as transparent as she’d thought.

“Nine a.m.? What time is it now?”

“Six forty-five,” Susan said.

“What?” Charla glanced about her room. She’d not packed. Not a bit of anything.  “Okay. Bye. Have to go.” She slammed the phone back into its cradle. No shower, no toothbrush. No nothing.

She lunged for the closet and yanked her suitcase from the top. She didn’t have much, but what she did have seemed horribly strung out across her room. How would she make her flight? How?  She would, she simply would. She didn’t have a choice.

She glanced around the room. Maybe Ryan had left her a good-bye note with the name and number of his friend in L.A. But no. Nothing. She couldn’t worry about Ryan … shit, she didn’t even know his last name. She’d slept with him, and
didn’t even know his last name
? That was right. Great. She was making pretty bad choices. She scurried about, dumping clothes into first her suitcase and then her duffel bag. She grabbed a pair of jeans and yanked them up over her hips. Fine, she was nearly packed and whatever Charla forgot, Poppy could have.

She zipped her bag and then grabbed the giant duffel and threw it over her shoulder. Seven forty-five. She might make the nine a.m. if she hurried. She had one stop to make. She had to say goodbye to Poppy.

*

Charla stood outside Trevor’s room.

“Yo!” Trevor yanked open the door. He had a sheet around his hips.

“I’m on the morning flight and I wanted to say goodbye to Poppy.” Charla tried to keep her voice even. She’d miss Poppy. Would she ever see her again? Maybe? Maybe not. Poppy was a rolling stone and not one to plan. So quite possibly Charla wouldn’t ever see her roommate again.

“Oh, Charla!” Poppy said. She came to the door wearing one of Trevor’s T-shirts. Poppy wrapped her arms around Charla’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to go.”

Charla nodded and wiped beneath her eyes. Why was she crying? Because she liked Poppy, and Trevor, and Liam, and she’d thought she even liked Ryan.

“Is Ryan with you?” Poppy looked past Charla and down the hall. “I assumed he stayed with you last night.”

“He did. But he wasn’t there this morning.” Charla glanced past Poppy to where Trevor stood. “Did Ryan happen to leave the phone numbers for his friends in Los Angeles?” Charla was hopeful. Hopeful that he hadn’t been entirely full of shit and only trying to get into her pants with his promise of somewhere she could couch surf.

“He hasn’t been back,” Trevor looked out the slider toward the balcony. “His wetsuit is still here, so he’s not catching any waves.” Trevor shrugged like he had no idea where his roommate could be found, and he probably didn’t.

“When he gets back, I’ll have him call you with the numbers …” Poppy leaned closer to Charla, “… or I’ll skin his hide. Seriously? He just left?” She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. She appeared as surprised as Charla felt. Perhaps Ryan had been an actor in Los Angeles, because she had certainly fallen for his good-guy, helpful act. She wouldn’t have guessed that he’d take off without a good-bye before she awoke. No. She hadn’t pegged him for that kind of lout. Her senses about men were definitely off. Terribly so.

“Nope. He’s gone.” Charla shook her head, as though Ryan’s absence from her bed this morning didn’t matter, and in the grand scheme of things it didn’t. She was still fired. She was still leaving Mesquale. She still didn’t have enough money for her own place in Los Angeles. And she still didn’t have a place to stay when she arrived.

“Okay. I’ve got to go. I need to grab the shuttle. I don’t want to miss the morning flight, or I’ll be stuck in that damn airport all day.”

“Bye, lovey. Please call. Or write. Or email and text and I’ll get it all in three months when my six months is up.” Poppy wrapped her arms around Charla and squeezed.

Charla pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and fought the tears that threatened to drop from her eyes. She would not cry. Her bottom lip quivered. She pulled away from Poppy and waved toward Trevor, then turned and walked down the hall.

*

“I need to see Mr. Antigua.” Ryan stood in front of Antoine’s assistant’s desk. He wore his clothes from last night. They were rumpled and smelled of smoke. He hadn’t showered, and he guessed he looked a wreck.

Antoine’s assistant, Mary, looked at Ryan, her eyes judging him. “What is your name again?”

“Ryan.”

“Yes, Ryan. I’m sorry, but Mr. Antigua isn’t in the office yet this morning.”

“When do you expect him?”

Mary raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Excuse me? I believe Mr. Antigua’s calendar is a private matter. Is he expecting you? Do you have an appointment?”

Ryan shook his head and pulled at his messy hair. Damn. Damn damn damn. He’d meant to contact Antoine last night and let him know of the situation. He’d meant to drop Charla at her room, go back to his, and phone Antoine. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d slept with Charla. Damn, he was glad he’d slept with Charla. But then he’d fallen asleep and awakened just before six a.m. and knew that she was scheduled for the first flight off the island. He hadn’t been able to phone Antoine from her room, because what if she woke up? What would he say? How would he tell her that he wasn’t the person she thought he was? That he was also one of those louts, those powerful men, and he’d slept with her. Without telling her the truth.

Then he hadn’t been able to go back to his room to call because Poppy was with Trevor. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. How could he accomplish what he needed to accomplish and do this fast enough?

“May I use your phone?”

Mary eyed him as though she was uncertain whether she should say yes or no, and in that moment, for the first time in nine months, he almost told Mary who he was. Just so he could get to Antoine and have him fire Orso and reinstate Charla. Instead he peered at Mary and tried to let the knowledge seep into her skull that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He was going to use her phone no matter what she said.

“Keep it short,” she said. 

He dialed. He’d committed Antoine’s number to memory. None of the staff needed to find a scrap of paper in his pocket that said Antoine Antigua and had Antoine’s personal phone number. The phone rang and rang and rang. The downside of working at a resort that had no cell service—no cell tower. Once you left the airport, unless you were in Parpetai, there was no cellular or WiFi, aside from the Internet service on this floor of the building. Ryan hung up the phone.

“Email him please.”

“Email who?” Mary asked. Her tone was sharp, as though her patience with the man she believed to be a new bartender at Mesquale ran thin.

“Mr. Antigua. Please email him in case he’s on his computer. Please tell him that Ryan is standing here and he needs to speak to him. That it’s imperative.”

She shook her head. “Are you sure you want to get yourself fired? You just started a few weeks ago.”

Ryan leaned forward and placed a hand on Mary’s desk. He attempted to exude authority, as much authority as a man who wore rumpled clothes from the night before and smelled like a beach bonfire could exude.

“Mary, I do appreciate your concern, but I can guarantee you that when I tell Mr. Antigua what I need to tell him, he won’t be firing me.”

Again Mary locked her gaze with Ryan. “Fine.” She typed. “Done.” She watched her email. Her eyes widened. “He’ll be here in five minutes. He says to have you wait in his office. And for me to ask …” She looked up at Ryan unable to hid her surprise. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast? Anything at all?”

“No,” Although he wanted to tell Mary to call Orso and have him head this way with his bags packed because that man wouldn’t be working at Mesquale another day. Ryan glanced at the clock on Mary’s desk. There wasn’t much time. He was certain Charla would be awake and on her way to the airport. She’d think he was a giant jerk. Justifiably so. He’d hurried out of her room without so much as a good-bye, knowing he had to get to Antigua to prevent Charla from getting on that plane. He’d done none of the gentlemanly things he’d wanted to do. He scrubbed his hand across his face. Nope. He’d merely slid from her bed and bolted here in hopes that he might prevent her from getting on the plane without having to blow his cover.

“Ryan,” Antoine’s voice called from the hall. “Please, come into my office. Let’s discuss what happened yesterday. It’s very important to Mesquale.”

“Thank you, Mr. Antigua,” Ryan tried to appear subservient enough to pass as a bartender instead of the guy who owned the resort. He followed Antoine into his office and avoided Mary’s gaze.