Vanilla On Top (6 page)

“May I?” he asks while looking up at me through his thick lashes.

I nod, a lump in my throat. He’s handsome. Not as good looking as Tony, but not shabby by a long shot. Or as Carla would say,
Damn,
I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers
.

Gently he raises my foot, angles the pumps over the toes and slides the red leather onto my foot. A shiver steals up my back as I watch each sensual movement of his hands. Wow. I must be shopping at the wrong stores. I’ve never been turned on while buying footwear before.

You’ve never been turned on by much before. Embrace it, don’t analyze it to death!

He repeats the process with my other foot, then rises and waits for me to stand. The warmth from his hands lingers on my skin, reminding me of Tony’s hands on my backside last night. Recalling his attention, the heat in my middle spreads to my panties. I stand, experiencing a slight head rush from moving too quickly.

I must look unbalanced because the young man reaches out a hand in offer if I need it. “How do they feel?”

I ignore his hand and take stock of my feet, placing my weight firmly in the shoe and getting a sense of my balance. “So far, so good. They don’t hurt, but the real test will be walking in them.”

I pace the length of the store, moving my hips a little more than I normally would. I like the way I feel in them. Sleek and powerful. Turning around, I catch the man’s eyes at butt level, not near the floor on my shoes. I march back to my chair, feeling like a lioness going after prey. By the look on his face, I bet he’d be eager to be caught.

“You look good,” he says. His face freezes once he realizes what he said. “I mean the shoes, they look good on you.”

I smile and stand near the chair, testing my weight on each foot to check for pinches. “I like them, too.” I lower to the seat, offering my ankle for him to assist. “Let’s try the next pair.”

A familiar voice comes from the doorway. “I agree.” I whip around to see Tony moving straight for me, a dark look of desire and anger mixed in his expression. “You should get those.”

Chapter Six

Tony

White hot rage coursed through me when I saw that punk sales guy kneeling at Heather’s feet with a hand on her leg. Her sexy stroll across the room had me ready to run in and sucker punch the look of interest off his face.

Every fiber of my being wants to claim this woman as my own, but common sense stops me before I do anything rash.

“Tony,” her voice comes out low and breathless. “What are you doing here?” She looks down at her wrist, checking the time.

I stare at the kneeling man, letting my displeasure show. He jerks his hand off her ankle likes he’s been burned. “Just walking by,” I say, trying to calm the jealousy swimming through my system. The salesman scrambles to his feet and steps back, wisely putting distance between me and my intended target—Heather. I stalk forward. “Happened to see your familiar profile.” I smile while lowering to one knee, hoping the expression on my face is more seductive than
scary-jealous-guy
.

I stare into her surprised face and curve a hand possessively around her exposed calf, trailing it slowly down to her ankle. “Your hair looks great
,
” I say softly, resisting the urge to touch the soft curls.
I want to run my hand through them and grab a big fistful while driving into you over and over again.
Her eyes widen when my hand reaches the red shoe on her foot. “May I help you with the next pair?”

She shifts in the chair, an answering light of heat sparking in her eyes. “Y-yes.”

I love that I’ve flustered her, and I’m going to enjoy touching her in public even more. Let that young idiot paw someone else. “What else did you pick?” I open the next box, larger than the first, to reveal a pair of black leather boots, a shiny metal zipper running down the back. The spiked heels are silver, just like the first red pair she tried.

My eyebrows creep up my forehead over the bold choice. “Nice.” I glance at the price tag on the box. “Fifteen hundred?” I let out a low whistle. “You ladies and your shoes.” I smile to soften the comment, desperate to make this a lighthearted moment where I can tease.

“I didn’t cho…er…,” she blushes and looks away.

My earlier anger, at seeing him touching her drains out completely at her reaction. She’s so fresh and innocent, like she’s trying on shoes she’d never normally buy.

I lift the first boot and unzip the back. The metal rasps as it descends, sparking little jolts of arousal through me. Heat flushes my face as I touch her ankle and calf a little more than necessary to slide in her foot. The material folds over her cropped jeans, eventually lying flat against the faded fabric, two inches above her knee.

I reach behind the heel and tug the zipper slowly, reveling in my closeness to Heather. Shifting to grasp the pull-tab better, my mouth hovers over her thigh and I stifle the urge to place a kiss on the supple material covering her flesh. The zipper snags behind the curve of her bent knee. “I’ll pull it up the rest of the way when you stand.”

She nods, a flush creeping up her neckline. I suppress a smile, pleased she’s as affected by me as I am by her. I start the intense process again with the other boot, this time more blatant in running my hands down her calf, dragging out my movements, feeling the soft smoothness of her skin before I slide the next boot heel in place.

The rest of the store melts away while I’m lost in the sensual moment, with my black-haired vixen at the center. Once the second zipper reaches the bend, I offer Heather my hand to stand. She does, staring down at me with an expression I can’t read. I reach behind her thigh to finish zipping both boots, then quickly roll to my feet and step back.

Some of the coyness I witnessed earlier is missing from her as she struts back and forth on the carpet, testing out the sexy boots. The heels shape her calves and raise her firm butt, forcing her onto her toes. My eyes trail from the glint of metal on the zipper, up the snug fitting jeans, to linger on the overall enticing image she makes in the boots. I’m buying them for her even if she doesn’t want them. I’d love to see her wearing them out for an evening, or staying in with nothing else on.

“They feel fine,” she says while lowering herself once again to the chair. “But I don’t think I’ll wear them much.”

A naughty flash singes my mind: her on my bed wearing these boots, legs in the air, spread wide, while I thrust into her…a chill courses down my back. “You never know.” I smile at her while she reaches to unzip them. “You may wear them more than you think.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Let me buy them.”

She looks up from her task, surprise etching her features. “What?”

“And the first pair, too.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to buy shoes for me, Tony. I’m perfectly capable of purchasing them myself.”

Crap, this isn
’
t going as I
’
d intended. What woman wouldn’t let a man she’s dating buy something for her? “But I want to,” I say, looking toward the salesman for assistance.

Sensing an imminent sale, he rushes forward to claim both pairs before she can utter another word.

“Tony, no.” She stands, motioning for the man to put the boxes down. I pull out my wallet and he ignores her. “It’s inappropriate. They cost too much.”

“Nonsense. They aren’t too much.” I think back to what I’ve spent on Vegas weekends with past girlfriends. This purchase wouldn’t have even covered the rooms. I stride to the counter while she slips her regular shoes back on.

A tingle buzzes through me as I picture how she can thank me for the shoes…maybe I can convince her to wear a pair today. I smile at the young salesman, no longer angry from his earlier behavior. I should cut the guy a break. She is sexy as hell, and he’s only trying to make a living.

We complete the transaction and he hands me a big shopping bag with both pairs inside. I turn to Heather, a smug look on my face…to see the store lies empty. “Heather?”

I look back at the salesman who shrugs. “Sorry. I didn’t see her leave.”

I rush to the doorway and scan the crowd. She’s well and truly gone.

Fuck. What did I do wrong?

I dig in my pocket for my cell phone, scrolling through my call list until I come to her number from Friday. I try it and wait while it rings and then goes to voicemail.

I text her.
Where are you?

I stare at the screen for a minute, hoping she’ll answer. Nope. Nothing.

Did I do something wrong?

Maybe she was flustered and went ahead to the coffee shop? My heart tells me
yes
while my head hammers
no
. I hurry the block to the café, hoping she’s sitting at a table waiting for me. The small place is packed with people, no sign of her shiny black curls among them.

I debate taking a cab to her building, but foot the many blocks in silence, checking my cell phone every few minutes. Dammit! What did I do? Buying her expensive shoes isn
’
t a crime. I
’
ve never had a woman react like this to a gift before.

I arrive at her building, the warmth of the sun not helping to dispel the chill settling in me over how I’ve royally messed up my afternoon with Heather. The doorman assures me she hasn’t returned yet. I scrawl a hasty note at his podium, asking him to hand it to her with the bag when she returns.

I cross the street and sit on a bench facing the entrance.
Good one, idiot. She has no idea what you earn or who you work for. Maybe the implication of an expensive gift threw her for a loop.

That could be it. I rub my jaw, debating on calling her again. My phone rings and I scramble to answer it, hoping it’s her. It’s Marcus. Damn.

I suppress a sigh and answer his call.

“Hey, man. Whatcha doing?”

Stark reality hits me. “Nothing.” Bitterness creeps into my tone. “I’m doing absolutely nothing.”

“I’m heading over to Mikey’s. Want to meet me?”

The sports bar is eight blocks back the way I just came. “Sure. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The long walk to the bar cools me off. I have no idea what the hell happened at the store, but we’ll work it out. Of that I have no doubt. I won
’
t let her go over some stupid shoe misunderstanding, that
’
s for sure.

Marcus gives me a nod from across the darkened sports pub. I slide onto the empty stool next to him and signal the bartender.

“What are you having?” I ask my friend.

“Miller Lite.” He raises the bottle. “It’s still pretty early in the day.”

I shake my head, not caring if it’s thirty minutes before five. I could benefit from letting off a little steam. I place my order for the same and wait for the cute blonde behind the bar to bring my drink. She smiles at me, a look of interest in her gaze. “How have you been, Tony? It’s been a while.”

She tosses back her long ponytail, working what she’s got on every sap in here. I return her greeting with a less enthusiastic smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

She opens her mouth to say more, but another patron flags her from the far end. The young woman scurries away.

Marcus nudges my shoulder. “What happened on Friday, asshat?”

“What?” All I need is for him to be pissed off at me, too. Freakin
’
great.

“You split when we all went out to celebrate after work.”

“It was late. I was tired.”

“Eight o’clock is late? What the hell is going on with you? Normally after calculating your six figure commission on a deal that size, we’d be driving to Atlantic City or going to a strip club and partying all night.”

Heather called me Friday. She was on my mind…all bloody night and all the next day. I shrug and take a long drink of beer. “I had plans on Saturday. Didn’t want to be spent.”

“Working on that damn old building again? What the hell is with you that you’ll work at the office until you’re ready to drop and still putz around over there?”

I don’t think working on a building you own is
putzing
around, but I hold my tongue since I didn’t go to Hoboken either. “I had a date.”

“I lose my wingman on a possible Friday night to end all Friday nights for a
date
?”

“We’ve had some pretty amazing nights, so I doubt that very highly.”

Marcus jerks his head away, glancing at the TV, but I see his sour reflection in the mirror over the bar. “Well? Who was it with? Have I met her?”

His voice doesn’t sound too interested, more like he’s sulking. That
’
s all I need. A clingy best friend who can
’
t be happy I found a nice girl to date for a change. Terrific. I down the rest of my beer and order another.

“I met her at speed dating.”

“Oh, yeah? Is this the one you asked if I’d met? Heather, right?”

I nod.

A hearty laugh rips from Marcus as he slaps me on the back. “Bet you were tapping that Saturday night.” The bartender delivers my new beer, sauntering off when she sees us talking.

I shake my head and refuse to answer. I learned early on that if you want a repeat performance from a lady, you don’t tell anyone what transpired. I take a sip of my beer and watch my friend in the mirror.

“I like this one,” I say. “A lot.”

Marcus chokes on his beer. “‘A lot?’ What the hell is that? One date and you like her
a lot
?” He dismisses me with a jerk of his head. “She must be wild in bed to make
you
say that.”

I shoot him a disapproving sideways glare. “She made me dinner in her apartment.” Marcus swings my way, listening. “On the floor—set up like a picnic. Finger foods and music.”

His face grows hard as he takes a long pull of his drink. He turns away to stare up at the TV, not saying another word.

Images of Heather fill my head: her hips wiggling in circles while she touched herself; her slightly almond-shaped eyes closing during her peak; the calm order when she told me to jerk my shaft.

No way will I tell Marcus any of that.

We drink in silence, then conversation drifts to work, like it always does. The long workweek looms ahead, reminding me of all I have waiting and all the things I long to escape. When did sixty-hour weeks become the norm? The next project is an advertising firm. A small part of me hopes it’s Heather’s we wind up acquiring. Not the best way for her to find out who I work for and what I really do for a living.

I have no idea where I stand with her. Is she seeing anyone else? The image of the salesman’s hands on her calf, sliding down to cup her heel, burns through my brain. Not even a week and I
’
m ready to demand she not see anyone else.
Who else does she order to touch her and jerk off while she watches?
I glance at Marcus. I bet any guy would fall at her feet if they saw her on the patio that night. I squelch the desire to share the experience with him, to see what his reaction would be.

I’ve been with enough women to know you don’t find one bold enough to do that kind of thing very often. I finish my beer and slam down the empty glass in frustration, earning me a raised eyebrow from my friend. I will make her mine.

Two beers turn to many more, and then we order food.

I leave close to ten-thirty, buzzed and out of sorts. To get to the company apartment facing Central Park, I have to pass by Heather’s place. Thinking of her again has me digging in my pocket, searching for my phone. Maybe she returned my texts or called me.

Three missed texts. Dammit! The first one came from Heather around five.
It’s not you. I love the shoes. Thank you.

The next text from seven o’clock causes my cock to stir.
I have the boots on, want to come over?

The third one came in twenty minutes ago and has me ready to chuck my phone across the street.
It’s getting late. I’m going to bed.

Fuck! I didn’t hear the text message signals in my pocket. I should have taken out the phone and left it on the damn bar. Fool. I storm the rest of the way back to my place after sending her a brief text:
Sorry to miss your texts. Will call tomorrow.