Too Hot to Handle (12 page)

Yes.

“Never mind.”

“I’m clean, too.” His mouth met hers, and she could taste her earlier orgasm on his lips.

Jack pushed her back against the wall, lifting her slightly and entering her slowly. One hard inch at a time. She raised her feet off the ground, the force of his body against hers giving her the support she needed as she wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him deeper.

Every move Jack made was slow, purposeful. His hands moving across her body. His fingers digging into her skin. Her eyes widened. Then she was looking straight ahead into his face. Seeing his gaze locked on hers.

She kissed him hard, desperate to feel his body moving against hers, harder, deeper—

“Faster,” Honey said.

“No.”

“Faster,” she begged.

“Not a chance,” he promised. “We’re going to take this slow.”

He moved against her, friction taking him deeper. Making her feel every inch of him at once.

“Damn,” she swore as flesh on flesh caused another orgasm to rock her body. Was she imagining things, or could she actually feel the pulse of him inside her?

“Shh.” Jack kissed her again, silencing her for a long moment.

He kept moving, faster now, in time to the music. A hand reached up, the callused pads on his fingers rough against her tender skin. He circled her nipple once, twice, before tweaking the hard nub. For a brief moment, pain made her cry out. Then she gasped as pleasure took over.

No, no more crying out
, she told herself. He was right. She was being too loud. She leaned into him, biting down on the top of his shoulder when he slammed forward again and she could feel the entire length of him pushing against her.

It was Jack’s turn to moan. Sweat dripped down his back.

“You are so fucking beautiful. You know that, right?”

Jack thought she was beautiful? Her cheeks burned. He was having sex with her, but it took his words to make her blush.

“Tell me.”

“Your butt is gorgeous. Your breasts—” Another tweak made her squeal. “Your breasts are enough to make me lose my mind. Then there’s your hair.”

“My hair?”

“It’s so damn bright. And your lips. I love your lips. I could eat them up.”

He pressed his lips against hers, his teeth nicking her tongue and proving his point. “I don’t know if I can last any longer.”

He wasn’t the only one. She could feel her body convulsing, his motions filling a need inside of her that she hadn’t known existed. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Don’t fight it.” An order, harsh and grating. “I like to hear you scream when you come.”

She opened her mouth, calling out as a tsunami of pleasure engulfed her. Jack’s yelp was just as loud. Together, they made enough noise to block out almost anything—the music from the stereo, the sound of birds in the trees, and the air conditioning unit outside his window.

But not the bang of the bedroom door opening.

“Jack Ogden, what are you doing?” Amelia Ogden’s patrician tones were the equivalent of a bucket of ice water.

“Dear lord!”

The bang of the door closing.

There was a long pause, then a call through the door. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I assume that your friend will be attending?”

Dinner at the Ogden house was a formal affair. The housekeeper had strict instructions to put a crisp white linen cloth on the table every night. The silverware gleamed brightly underneath the leaded-glass lamp.

The food was exceptional, but that was to be expected. Everything in the house was exceptional—nothing else would do. As a child, Jack had longed for the kind of family where dinner consisted of a pizza delivered in a greasy box and devoured around a battered kitchen table.

It had never happened.

Now that he was an adult, he could appreciate the fact that he’d always had a healthy, balanced meal, but he still savored the nights when he could pick up a burrito on the way home from work and eat it balanced over his knees while watching the news.

He had to say something. He couldn’t let the silence go on. Honey was important to him. If they were going to spend any real amount of time together, she would have to get along with his parents. And they
were
going to spend time together. When this horrible dinner was over, he would ask Honey to stay with him while she was rebuilding her house.

It made sense. She needed a roof over her head, and he needed her warm in his bed.

“Someone told me you were fighting with Carlos,” his mother remarked. “Of course, it’s not true.”

“He deserved it,” Jack said.

“A common brawl.” A quick shake of her head did nothing to dislodge her impeccably styled curls. “You really must apologize, Jack, otherwise things will be ever so awkward at the hospital fund-raiser next week.”

It would be a cold day in hell before Jack apologized to Carlos, but he didn’t bother telling his mother that. Arguing with Amelia Ogden was like trying to drink the sea dry. It couldn’t be done, and the attempt would leave him with a nasty stomachache.

Anyway, Carlos wouldn’t dare show his face at the fund-raiser. If the man tried to ruin Jessica’s big night, Jack would arrest him for assaulting an officer.

“Your friend looks familiar.” Eric Ogden was a smart man, a named partner at one of Los Angeles’s most powerful law firms. People paid almost two thousand dollars an hour to hear him talk, but he’d never been one for polite conversation.

“Doesn’t she look familiar, Amelia?” He didn’t wait for his wife’s reply. “You, girl, what did you say your name was?”

“Honey.” Her voice was small, slight, scared. Her hands crossed defensively in front of her chest like she was bracing herself for whatever came next. “Honey Moore.”

“I don’t know anyone named Moore. Where are your people from, Honey?”

“I…” Honey’s face blanched white. Her teeth dug into her upper lip. “I’m from the Valley.”

“Where?” Eric asked.

Jack knew his father wasn’t being purposefully obtuse. The older man didn’t inhabit the same world as Honey.

“She went to the academy, Dad. We overlapped for two years. You probably saw her there.” Not that Eric Ogden had ever attended many school functions, but he’d shown up for the big ones.

“I’m sorry, young lady. I’m getting forgetful in my old age.” He had been an older father. Now, he was rapidly approaching his eightieth birthday, and the years were beginning to show on his face.

Staring at Honey, his normally harsh features softened slightly. His hands shook as he removed a pair of slender gold-rimmed glasses from his jacket pocket and balanced them on the tip of his nose.

“Cherry Jubilee.” Eric nodded firmly, as if that explained everything. He took his glasses off and returned them to his pocket. “She looks like Cherry Jubilee.”

“It’s the hair,” Amelia Ogden snapped at her husband. “You think all women with red hair look like Cherry Jubilee.”

“It’s not only the hair. They have very similar features. The nose, the eyes, the lips—”

“Eric!” Amelia raised one hand, running nervous fingers over her own hair. “This is not appropriate dinner conversation.”

Jack leaned forward, suddenly paying full attention. “Who’s Cherry Jubilee? Isn’t that the name of a desert?”

His father nodded. “Sweet and frothy, with just the right amount of tang.”

“Cherry Burrows,” his mother said. “You must remember her. Logan’s wife. She died while you were in high school.”

Jack couldn’t summon up more than a vague memory of a petite woman in a witch’s costume handing out Halloween candy when he was younger. There’d been a hat, he remembered that much. A traditional black witch’s hat with a wide brim and a pointed tip. The damn thing had scared him silly. After that, his memory was blank, only whispered rumors and quiet condolences. The death of Logan Burrows’s wife had thrown him into a deep depression.

“Wasn’t she sick?”

“A weak heart,” Eric said. “She was bedridden near the end, but when she was younger… Cherry was a gorgeous woman, so vibrant and energetic.”

Maybe Honey looked like Logan Burrows’s dead wife, but that was where the similarities ended. Honey was a singular creation, with her bright hair, curvy body, and spicy personality. In a city full of interchangeable women built in factories by plastic surgeons looking to earn their next luxury car, Honey was an original.

The idea that there could be two women like her in the world was laughable, but he couldn’t tell his father that.

“Cherry danced beautifully.” Eric emitted a heartfelt sigh. “Can you dance, young lady?”

It took a moment for Honey to realize the question had been meant for her. “Not really. I can move around to music, but I’ve never taken any ballet lessons.”

“Oh, Cherry wasn’t a ballerina.” Eric laughed. “She was a—”

“That’s enough.” Amelia cleared her throat. “This entire conversation is absurd. Cherry was a lovely woman. She was nothing like this—this—this
girl
.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “Mother!”

Amelia Ogden might not be the nicest woman in the world, but she was never less than civil. It was the way she’d been raised, and it was the way she’d raised her children. He’d be the first to admit that his mother could be strong-willed, manipulative, and controlling, but she only did what she thought was best, and she was never rude.

Not until now.

There was a long pause, the stillness of the room broken only by the sound of Eric chomping on his asparagus.

Amelia’s mouth opened. Her eyes flickered toward Honey. “You’re right. I apologize.” She turned slightly in her seat to face Honey straight on. “My manners must be lacking. After all, I can’t think of a single possible reason why we shouldn’t be friends. Can you?”

Jack glanced and forth between the two of them, confused. What the hell was going on?

“Honey Moore.” Hands that only ever touched the finest things in life slammed down against the dining room table. Long nails painted a vibrant peach to match her favorite cocktail dress trailed across the crisply starched linen. “Arrested at eleven years old, grand theft auto. Arrested at twelve years old, grand theft auto, possession of stolen property, creating a public nuisance. Arrested at thirteen years old, grand theft auto, grand theft auto—”

She stopped short and laughed—light, easygoing, the same sound of polite amusement Amelia used when one of her country club friends made a joke. Only, this wasn’t a joke. This was serious. Very serious.

How the hell did his mother know about Honey’s criminal record?

“Go to hell,” Honey said.

“The last time we talked—” Amelia’s voice wavered slightly. “—I thought I made things clear. I thought we had an understanding.”

Jack didn’t know how he got to his feet, but his chair was flying backward across the room. His hands curled into fists. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it. For a moment, his vision telescoped, so that all he could see was Honey’s face. Pale, shaking. Then he couldn’t see anything. The entire world had gone red.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s talking about me.” Honey’s voice was so quiet, he almost couldn’t make out what she was saying. “She’s talking about us. Last time. Back in high school.” A sharp intake of breath, a sob like something was breaking deep inside of her. “You were meant for something better than this, better than me. Everyone knows it. That’s why it never worked out for us back in high school, because you’re going to be a freaking senator, and I was just a two-bit car thief.”

She stood up slowly, shaking in her short shorts and suggestive T-shirt. “That’s why it can’t work between us now.”

…