The Stand-In (18 page)

Winn walked up to her and touched her arm. “You have to stop this. Your lies are destroying Patrick. He’s lost more than you know and he doesn’t deserve it. Tell the truth.”

Gloria burst into tears and her sobs caught the attention of anyone who wasn’t already gawking. “Jason, stop!”

“Why the hell should I?”

“Because it wasn’t Patrick. I never slept with him. I slept with someone else.”

A collective gasp traveled around the hall. Winn looked at Patrick. He didn’t move a muscle, but she saw the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed in.

Jason turned to his wife. “Then who was it?”

“Richard.”

His jaw dropped. His voice finally dropped to a whisper. “My
brother,
Richard?”

She nodded. “It’s been going on for months. You stopped paying attention to me and Richard always cared. It just happened…but then it happened again and again.” She glanced at Patrick. “As for Patrick, he was just a friend to me. He saw I was hurting and we had a couple of drinks. He gave me some advice. He told me I needed to talk to you, my husband. He was kind, kinder than you ever cared to be. And when you accused me, I was so scared of you finding out about Richard, and Patrick’s name popped out of my mouth instead. I thought maybe you’d handle it better, but you blackballed him.” She cringed. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. I never meant it to go this far.”

He offered her a curt nod. “Thank you for telling the truth.” He looked toward his father.

Dr. Lincoln frowned and walked away.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Jason murmured.

“You did the same thing to me for years,” she replied, her sobs turning into growls of indignation. “You made a fool of me for years, and I’m tired of it. Richard loves me and I want a fucking divorce. Your brother has already connected me with the best lawyer in town, so say good-bye to half your earnings, you piece of shit.” With that, she turned and marched toward the coatroom.

Jason opened and closed his mouth a few times and then chased after her. “Gloria, wait!”

Sierra chose that moment to race into that part of the hall, her pretty face lit up with resentment. “I will not have this crap at my wedding, do you hear me? Everyone go back to what you were doing.” She pointed at the bartender and the DJ in turn. “You! Pour more drinks. You. Start the music.” She then flounced away, shouting for her groom. “Conrad! It’s a disaster.”

As normality resumed, Patrick pulled Winn into a corner of the large room. The color had returned to his face but his mouth still hung open. “Winn. You know you’re my hero, right?”

Heat scored her cheeks. Surely she blushed like a teenager at her first dance. “She needed to come clean, for her and for you.”

“It’s not just that. I could have endured Gloria’s lies, but what you said back there to my father, when you defended me. It meant the world.”

“You’re a good man, Patrick. I might have bought into the hype when we first met, but after spending time with you, I couldn’t believe you cheated with that woman. You’re better than that.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, lowering his head to kiss her. “Because yours is the only opinion that matters.”

No one interrupted them this time. As his lips touched hers with impatience and hunger, Winn stopped noticing the hubbub around them. She no longer heard the clinking of glasses around the bar, didn’t note the voices gossiping around the hall.

All she knew was Patrick.

He held her close and warmed her with his eager touch. Exploring her mouth, tasting her tongue, he brought all her senses to life. His quick breaths sounded in her ear, making her remember how hard he panted when he fucked her. His cologne teased, making her want to strip his clothes off so she could determine exactly where he’d applied it. His hands danced down her back, tickling a path between her shoulders, teasing their way to her hips. Clutching her there, his grip tightened and she felt his fingernails through the fabric of her dress. Needy. Greedy. Forceful.

And she wanted him so much she forgot how to breathe.

Her last vestige of common sense fled. Her walls crumbled at his kiss. Nothing made sense but everything suddenly seemed clear.

She was falling in love with him. Expecting to feel dread, she felt the opposite. Joy made her chest expand. Her heart took flight, just like the fifty confused doves Sierra and Conrad had released earlier in the evening.

He ended their kiss the way every woman wanted a kiss to end, his lips straying back to hers several times. He moaned in reluctance. “I’m done with this wedding. I hope you don’t mind missing the smoked-salmon bites.”

She let out a crazed laugh. “Screw the salmon.”

With one more kiss, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the hall.

* * * *

It took every ounce of Patrick’s fortitude not to maul her on the ride to her apartment building. It took even more willpower not to unzip her dress in the elevator. He would have if an old lady hadn’t been riding with them, her accusatory gaze pinned on him. He’d spied her before, the last time he was there, peering out of the unit next to Winn’s. Now the biddy glared at him, as if somehow knowing they were about to get naked and do very dirty things.

“Mrs. Bobek,” Winn said, her chest quivering with stifled laughter. “This is my friend Patrick. Patrick, this is my neighbor Mrs. Bobek.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Bobek merely grunted.

When the elevator door finally opened on Winn’s floor, they had to wait for Mrs. Bobek to slowly make her way out, pushing her walker ahead of her. She moved at a snail’s pace down the hall and they followed, his cock throbbing harder with each step.

Winn turned to him and smiled, fighting laughter.

He would so spank her for that.

Damn
. The thought of her bare, upturned ass on his lap only made him harder. If Mrs. Bobek didn’t pick up the pace, he’d have a freaking heart attack.

When the woman reached her unit door, they slid past her, hand in hand.

Winn called out, “Good-night, Mrs. Bobek.”

They didn’t stick around for her reply. Patrick grabbed her keys, opened the door as if it was the lid on a chest of gold doubloons, and ushered her inside. She broke into laughter and he glared at her as he locked the door. “I swear to God, Busby. Next time I’m taking you in the elevator, even if Mrs. Bobek is watching.”

“Well, you can relax now. We made it.” She walked backward with a sultry wiggle and leaned against the living room wall. “So. Wanna
use the space
with me?”

He flew to her and pinned her there. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea the thoughts running through my head right now.”

Their mouths came together in a crushing kiss, velvet desperation. She opened for him and he took what belonged to him, curling his hand around the back of her head so he could hold her still. She tasted so good. A hint of wine and the memory of the gum she’d chewed in the car ride. Her perfume, light and flowery, made his head swim in the best way. When she curled one leg around his, making her dress ride up, he almost fell to his knees.

Fucking rapture.

He grabbed her leg, massaging her thigh, moving slowly upward. When he touched lacy edging and realized her nylons were stockings, he almost shot his load. “Jesus, Busby. Thigh highs? Are you trying to kill me?”

A coquettish blush lit up her cheeks. “Do you like them?”

“I need a better look.”

He tore off his tux jacket and tossed it to the floor. He then dropped to his knees and eased the dress up her legs, keeping his gaze pinned on her face. Her lips, moist and open, offered silent encouragement. Once he had the hem at hip level, he allowed his gaze to meet with her thighs. Black stockings, trimmed in lace. The tease of pale thigh above them was just about the most mouthwatering thing he’d ever seen. So unbelievably sexy. And when he spotted the scrap of silk, a flimsy excuse for panties if he’d ever seen one, he struggled not to tear the whole shebang off her.

Instead, moving with difficulty, Patrick stood and held her in his arms, intent on kissing her silly. He wanted her warm and wet and wild. When she came, and he fully planned on making her come a multitude of times, she wouldn’t know what hit her.

She began to work on his shirt buttons, but he moved her hands away. Turning her around to face the wall, he pinned them over her head with his left hand. “Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear.

“I won’t.”

Leaning in to capture her earlobe in his mouth, he unzipped her with her free hand. As her dress fell open, exposing her soft back, he muttered a curse. Letting go of her wrists, he finished with the gown, sliding it off her body and letting it puddle on the floor.

Jesus Christ. No panties here. She wore a thong.

What had he done to deserve such happiness?

For a moment, he just stared at her. At the way the sensuous lines of her back gave way to the supple curves of her bottom. For the first time in his life, he wished he could paint, that he could capture the beauty of her body and the sweet smile as she glanced over her shoulder. He palmed one of her cheeks, loving its weight and fullness, and a lump formed in his throat. Like an art student, head bowed before an old master’s work, he wanted to cry at her beauty. She unmanned him and made him feel powerful, all at once. He turned her around so he could face her, wanting to say something. Needing to say something profound and memorable, but his lips wouldn’t move.

“Patrick,” she whispered.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece, Winn. I don’t deserve you.”

Her eyes crinkled at his praise and the most beautiful smile wobbled on her face.

Desperate to see her, all of her, he reached around and unlatched her strapless bra, tossing it to the floor. Crouching, he captured one of her nipples in his mouth, relishing the feel of soft skin over stiffness. Delicious. Moving between her breasts, he laved and sucked until her shallow breaths turned into quiet moans.

The sexiest sound in the world.

Harder than concrete, his dick strained against his fly, but he ignored his own needs and catered to hers. He wanted to make her feel special and adored.

Adored. Loved.

Oh, shit
. Loved. It was really happening, wasn’t it? He couldn’t deny it. Since meeting her, he’d done nothing but think of her. Dammit, he hadn’t even written more than a few cursory notes for his
Player
article. Sure, it was early days, but Winn already ruled his heart. He acknowledged they had a ways to go if they were to make their relationship official, but she wasn’t just the stand-in any longer. She was his Winn. Sweet and awkward and fucking glorious. His heart had never been so attached to another.

And he needed to taste her like it was nobody’s business.

He released her breasts and scooped her into his arms. On the way to the bedroom, he spied the small kitchen off to the right. Something about the laminate peninsula called to him. Maybe it was the fact he wanted to see her pretty ass up in the air. Changing direction, he put her down at the edge of the peninsula and urged her to bend over, face down. Oh, yeah. Tiny thong. Silk stockings. And Winn’s amazing ass.

Sometimes in life, he made great decisions.

Only the thong needed to go.

He slid his fingers under the delicate elastic at her hips and pulled the garment off her bottom, down her legs and off her stiletto heels. Kneeling behind her, he let his hands glide up her legs, tracing a path toward her ass. Clutching one globe in each hand, he leaned in and dragged his tongue through her pussy.

She squirmed on the counter. “Jesus, Patrick. Oh!”

He moved one hand up to her back to hold her still and ate his fill. Within seconds, his groans matched hers. Shit, he’d always been the sort of man to grow excited watching a woman come, but Winn’s cries stabbed into him with utter pleasure. She fell apart so beautifully, like no other woman he’d known, and it only made him more intent on making her come. Even as he nibbled her lips, even as he suckled her clit, he tasted her orgasm.

Sweet and hot and all for him.

Not stopping until he’d devoured her last shudder, he stood and helped her up. As he turned her around to face him, he almost sighed. Her hairstyle had fallen apart and strands framed her face. Beauty gone awry. Her chest had gone pink with her orgasm, his stamp on her skin.

Margie Kent hadn’t wanted to call Winn gorgeous. Clearly, old Margie didn’t know her right hand from her left.

He kissed her hard, all too aware he still had his clothes on and she shivered in her stockings and heels. “Let’s get you to the bed.”

She nodded, as if too overcome to speak.

He grabbed her hand and led her into the bedroom. He liked that it was a bit messy in there, with her day clothes strewn across the comforter. She huffed in annoyance and moved to clear away her jeans and tops, but he stopped her and did it for her. Once he’d removed all the clothes and pulled back the comforter and sheets, Patrick turned to her. “Lay down, Winn.”

She did, wiggling in impatience.

At the end of the bed, he began to strip out of his tux. As he worked on his cuff links, he nodded. “Touch yourself, sweetheart.”

She paused only a second and then her fingers slipped between pretty, swollen lips. So sexy he almost forgot to move. However, he forced himself to continue, needing to join her in that bed like a meat lover needs a red, dripping steak. His gaze locked on her sex, he set his cuff links aside and removed his shirt. He toed off his patent shoes, tore off his socks, and disposed of his trousers. His boxer briefs, already feeling so tight, now felt like a bloody instrument of torture, so he ripped them off.

He knelt at the edge of the bed and dragged her closer, needing so badly to drink more of her essence, wanting it all over his goddamned mug. He insinuated his face between her legs.

“Ohmigod,” she cried, clawing at the sheets, forcing it into tight bunches of fabric.

He tormented her with his tongue until she came again, this time screaming his name.

Yes!
Perfection. This was how he wanted her to come for the rest of her life. With a nerve-shattering bang, his name on her lips. Flying toward delicious oblivion.