Wine, Tarts & Sex Read online

  Liv looked at Jake.

  He grimaced.

  Roman shrugged.

  Shelly said, “I love charades, too!”

  And three out of five adults inwardly groaned.

  Nineteen

  “You were unbelievably polite,” Liv murmured as she walked toward her bed and Jake shut the bedroom door behind him. “Thanks.”

  “How long could charades last? I figured. Who knew,” he said with a scowl. “But-hey-it’s over, and you’re my prize.”

  “At least Shelly and Janie had fun,” Liv murmured, dropping backward onto her bed in free fall.

  “That’s because Janie loves to be center stage. I don’t know about Shelly. What’s her problem?”

  “She’s a frustrated drama queen. She used to perform in local theater before her job began to consume her. But she makes tons of money, so there’s compensation for her long hours.”

  “She was up here pretty early tonight.”

  “And we both know why.”

  He smiled. “Just checking.”

  “You can’t blame her. I haven’t been in seclusion like this before.”

  His brows rose. “Ever?”

  “I should say no, but I lie so poorly, so yes. I do not as a rule engage in unending, unremitting, till-the-cows-come-home sex. I have no explanation.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Her brows rose.

  “All of the above, okay?”

  “I shouldn’t be pleased, but I am. I thought perhaps you were just referring to not having an explanation.”

  “I have a busy life, babe. Fucking nonstop isn’t part of my normal schedule. Not when I have to get out three hundred meals in two restaurants every night.”

  “That’s nice,” she murmured, smiling.

  He’d never seen such a sexy smile. Correction: all her smiles were sexy, which meant he was obviously crazed. And liable to walk over the edge if he wasn’t careful. Shit, shit, shit.

  Striding to a chair across the room, he dropped into it. He needed to distance himself from the object of his obsession, try to arrive at some rational explanation for what the hell was going on, and-mostly-talk himself into leaving.

  “What are you doing over there? You’re too far away,” Liv murmured soft as silk, ignoring his sulky gaze, slowly unzipping her shorts.

  “Fucking witch,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

  “If we’re talking witchcraft, I empathize completely. And I don’t even believe in that hocus-pocus. But whatever ’s going on here is unreal.”

  “No shit. I’m gonna wear myself out fucking you.”

  "While I have to think about actually going to work again someday.”

  “This is crazy,” he said with a sigh.

  “I agree.”

  But she’d slipped her shorts down her legs as she’d spoken, and her little white lace panties with the purple bows were fully engaging his attention. He lifted his chin the merest distance. “Take them off,” he said, gruffly.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “You’re going to make me?” she whispered.

  “No doubt in my mind.”

  “I’m getting really wet from you talking like that.”

  “Good. It’ll make it easier to slide my cock into your tight little cunt.” He reached for the zipper on his jeans. “Come here.”

  She should have at least hesitated, but he’d pulled out his erection that was swelling before her eyes and her addictive senses wouldn’t allow her to equivocate.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said with a tight-lipped smile as she slipped off her panties and rose from the bed, his mood further darkening as he wondered if she was equally obliging to every guy who showed up in her bedroom. “Bring that ripe, juicy cunt over here where it’ll do me some good.”

  “Or where you’ll do me some good.” His taunting tone struck a raw nerve.

  “That’s a given. You can’t ever get enough, can you?”

  She could have explained that he was the exception, that not getting enough was unique to him. But she didn’t feel like explaining when he was appraising her like she was a commodity or a means to an end. Or a convenience for his present lecherous appetites. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said sulkily, stopping before she reached him.

  “Don’t tell me don’t,” he said, lunging forward, grabbing her wrist, and jerking her forward.

  She struggled against his hold. “I’ll scream and embarrass you or-” Her words died in her throat. He’d jammed two fingers palm-deep up her vagina.

  “Or what, sweetheart?” he whispered, gently moving his fingers inside her. “Maybe come in the next few seconds?” She was wetter than wet, her clit engorged and rampant, her breathing labored: all the signs of an approaching orgasm so familiar to him right there under his fingertips. He could have stopped what he was doing and leveled the playing field. And if he hadn’t been slave to his own ungovernable desires, he might have. But he didn’t want to give her a chance to resist. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. Without restraint or limits. Persistently, unremittingly. Now.

  He reached for a condom even before the last quivering flutters of her climax quieted. Ripping the packet open with his teeth, he lifted her unresisting body and seated her on his knees. As she drifted in that half world of postcoital enchantment, he sheathed his cock with record speed, swept her up once again, and deposited her on his throbbing dick in one fell swoop.

  There was no question about leisurely sex this time. He raised and lowered her on his erection at breakneck speed, his biceps and pecs flexing and contracting with brute power, her pliant, yielding flesh engulfing him in snug, blissful welcome. Toward the end, she was beginning to pick up the pace on her own, but he didn’t feel like waiting. His demons wouldn’t allow it. He came in a selfish, pissed-off, jet-propelled, slam-bang orgasm.

  Seconds later, nostrils flaring, they confronted each other at close range.

  “Thanks for nothing,” she spat, her face only inches away.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, insolently. “The night’s still young.”

  “What makes you think you’re staying the night?”

  “This,” he said, shoving his hand down between them and brushing her clit with a featherlight touch. “This little baby wants more.”

  She shut her eyes against the feverish rapture, calling herself every name in the book for not having any sense of propriety or self-discipline when it came to Jake Chambers. Damn him! Try as she might, she couldn’t resist; worse, she could feel tears welling in her eyes because she wanted him and didn’t want to want him this dreadfully. Great-now she was going to cry like a baby over sex!

  She tried to think of something else in an effort to quell her tears.

  But considering her current position, it was hard to think of anything but the fact that his cock was still inside her. She wanted it there. And she was an idiot.

  He saw the tears when she opened her eyes and felt instant remorse.

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing away the wetness spilling down her cheeks. “You’re driving me crazy, and I’m taking it out on you.” Holding her close, he gently kissed her eyelids and nose and lips. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it all go away. I promise.”

  She sniffled and tried to smile and eventually slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back because she could no more subdue her screwy, fanatical feelings than he.

  “Tell me you forgive me,” he murmured sometime later, tracing the pale curve of her brow with his fingertip.

  She nodded and blew out a small breath. “You should go, but I don’t want you to go, and I don’t have a clue why. Maybe we could just agree this is beyond reason and leave it at that.”

  “Agreed.” He would have agreed that the world was flat if she’d smile again.

  “Okay.” She smiled-a weather-permitting smile, but nevertheless a smile. “Would it
be my turn again, then?”

  “It’s your turn all night if you wish.” He suddenly felt unburdened, swept away by an unalloyed sense of well-being and good cheer. “Consider me at your disposal.”

  “Oh my God. Did you feel that?” Her vagina had done a quick little tango step at that remark about him being at her disposal.

  “Yep.” How could he not with the strength of that vaginal flourish moving up his cock. “Give me a few seconds to clean up,” he said, lifting her off his lap, “and then we’ll see about sweet-talking your little pussy into an orgasm or two.”

  He was a master of sweet talk as it turned out.

  Although darling Livvi had a certain competence when it came to sexual address, too.

  And the remainder of the night was given over to a particularly endearing and affectionate form of communication.

  Twenty

  The knock on the door was loud.

  And early.

  Liv glanced at the bedside clock. Seven. Jeez-who was knocking on her door at this time of the morning?

  “Don’t answer it,” Jake mumbled, his face buried in his pillow. “They’ll go away.”

  But Liv was already reaching for her robe hanging on the bedpost. “I can see a car in the drive from the window. Maybe it’s someone I know.”

  Reaching the window, she surveyed the expanse of gravel fronting her backyard. “Holy shit.” Two county police cars were parked there.

  “What’s up?” Jake rolled out of bed, his brain’s warning system switching on at her sharp expletive.

  “The county mounties are paying a call.” She tossed her robe aside, figuring clothes were required for this encounter.

  “Here?” He dropped back onto the bed, his sleep-deprived senses overriding his brain’s warning system.

  “No, Siberia.” She pulled a T-shirt from her dresser drawer.

  O-kaaay… that was sarcasm. Coming to his feet in a surge of conciliatory good manners, he reached for his jeans. “Let me go talk to them. I’ll tell them you’re not home. They’ll go away, and we can get back to sleep. Oh, shit.” He felt the adrenaline rush as his brain cells engaged with reality. “This is about Janie and Matt. It’s not about you. Look, stay here. See that no one comes out. I’ll handle this. In my business I deal with security types all the time.”

  Pulling his T-shirt over his head, he was halfway to the door when Liv caught up and grabbed his arm. “Wait. It’ll be better if I go out there. I know the county mounties. You don’t. Also, this isn’t the big city where your expertise with security types matters.”

  “Who cares whether you know these guys or not if Leo sent them? By the way, just how well do you know these guys?” His voice had taken on an edge.

  “Is this where I say, ‘It’s none of your business’?” Her voice was equally sharp.

  “I’d like a better answer.”

  “And I’m not giving you one.”

  Another knock on the door brought them back to the issue at hand.

  “Sorry,” Jake said. “I’m losing it.”

  “I apologize, too.” She smiled. “And I lost it a long time ago.”

  “Since we’re both semirational once again, may I politely point out that I could very easily deal with these deputies. I’ll say you’re on vacation. I’m house-sitting. I’ll tell them to come back in a week.” He figured he might be better with bullshit than she, seeing how he spent his whole life dishing it out to rich customers who all expected personalized service.

  “My car’s out there.”

  “So? You took a plane.”

  “Look, I grew up with these guys. They’re good kids.” She picked up the shorts she’d tossed on the floor last night. “And if this is about Leo, I guarantee you, his reach doesn’t have the same power out here as in New York. This is the hinterland where no one’s ever heard of him,” she added, stepping into the shorts. “So be a dear and warn Janie.” She zipped the zipper. “Then come down and see how I’m doing. ”

  He hesitated for the briefest second. “Okay,” he said, clipped and low. “We’ll do it your way.”

  She lifted her brows. “That sounds as though you don’t normally utter that phrase.”

  “You got that right,” he muttered, still not sure he couldn’t handle the situation better.

  Another round of knocking echoed through the house.

  Jake’s jaw twitched, then he reached out and opened the bedroom door. “Go.”

  They met Roman in the hall.

  “I told Janie to stay in her bedroom,” Roman said, his voice taut. “Matt’s still sleeping.”

  “Liv thinks she might be able to talk these guys into going away,” Jake explained.

  “Could be.” Roman nodded toward the stairs. “Better go before they wake up Matt. We’ll watch your back.”

  “Please, don’t say that. I’ve never in my entire life needed anyone to watch my back. Okay?”

  Roman and Jake exchanged glances.

  “And don’t do that either,” Liv muttered. “You’re creeping me out. It’s only the diaper patrol outside. I’ve known these guys from day one of their deputy jobs. Neither is over twenty-three, and the only reason they have these cushy, do-nothing jobs is because their daddies have money and connections in the county. We have no crime around here unless you count the occasional fight that breaks out at closing time at a local bar. So trust me. I’ll handle this.”

  Quickly running her fingers through her hair, she ran down the stairs.

  When she walked barefoot out onto her back porch a few moments later-like all farmhouses, traffic flowed through the kitchen-she resembled a fresh-faced farmer’s daughter, all rosy-cheeked, pale tousled hair, leggy beauty, and a winning smile.

  Watching from the kitchen window, Jake took note of the dropped jaws and open mouths as Liv came into view. The two deputies almost fell backward down the steps, practically doing a Keystone Kops pratfall before coming to rest on the sidewalk below. An older man in an Italian suit standing on the lawn, however, gave no visible reaction, unless the slight swing of his briefcase indicated a tightening of his grip on the handle.

  The suit must be Leo’s man.

  And that guy didn’t look as though he could be talked out of much of anything. His face was expressionless, his thinning hair cut short, his skin tanned to an acceptable, not-too-dark, PC shade. He was middle height, middle-aged, and toned. A white-shoe lawyer from the look of it rather than a goon, but obviously a man willing to do whatever it took to please his client if this crack-of-dawn visit was any indication.

  “Morning, Wayne, Arlen,” Liv said, her smile in place as she descended the back steps. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry about the early hour,” Wayne Stensberg said, his round face flushing red. Hitching up his belt, he shifted from foot to foot and looked as though he wished he were somewhere else.

  Liv shrugged faintly. “It’s not a problem. I’m always up early.”

  “The thing is,” Arlen Christensen muttered, touching his holstered firearm as though to remind himself that he was a lawman, “this lawyer from New York wants us to deliver a summons.”

  Liv offered them a wide-eyed look. “A summons for me? Whatever for?”

  “Nah, it ain’t for you, Liv. This guy says you have a lady visitor here.”

  She shook her head. “He’s wrong. I’m here alone.” Her mouth lifted in the faintest of smiles. “Well, not precisely alone.” She nodded toward Jake’s BMW, Roman’s car fortunately somewhere else. She’d never seen it. “A boyfriend stayed over last night.”

  Both deputies turned red, their imaginations running wild after Liv’s remark about her boyfriend sleeping over.

  Arlen regained his composure first, although he had to clear his throat a couple times before any words came out. “I’d say we’re pretty much done here, then.” He nudged his partner with his elbow. “Let’s go.” Drawing himself up to his full five-foot-ten-inch height as though to add significance to his decision, he add
ed politely, “Real sorry to bother you so early in the morning.”

  “Whose shoes are those?”

  Everyone turned at the sharp question.

  The thin-lipped lawyer was pointing his right index finger at a spot on the lawn.

  Liv’s heart sank. There were Matt’s red sandals, a vivid splash of color against the green grass. He must have left them there when he’d swung on the basswood tree’s rope swing.

  “Those must be my neighbor’s boy’s,” she said, nervously watching the well-dressed man walk over to the sandals and pick them up. “Gracie brought Ryan over the other day,” she went on, smiling at the deputies who knew Gracie as well as she did.

  “Prada.”

  The cool voice was in contrast to the triumph in the man’s eyes as he held up the sandals and nailed Liv with a victorious look.

  “We have Prada in Minnesota.” She forced her voice to a calmness she didn’t in the least feel.

  “The boy’s here. I know it,” Leo’s lawyer rapped out. He nodded at the deputies. “Serve the papers.”

  “Are the papers for me?” Liv was relatively sure they couldn’t serve Leo’s papers to just anyone.

  Wayne lifted the sheaf of papers he held and, gazing at them, read, “Janie Tabor Rolf. Some custody papers, I think,” he added. Giving the lawyer, who had treated them like hired help from the moment he’d walked into their small office, a resentful look, Wayne jabbed his finger toward Liv. “This here ain’t Janie Tabor,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry across the lawn. “New York,” he muttered under his breath. “Cranky fuck. Beg pardon, Liv,” he murmured, his gaze apologetic. “But we had to at least drive him over here. The idiot was screamin’ something fierce.”

  “I understand. It’s not your fault. And if there was anyone here besides me and my-ah-friend,” she murmured, “I’d be the first to cooperate.”

  “We know that,” Arlen replied, clearly sympathetic. “The guy’s a nutcase,” he added, careful to keep his voice down. “Threatening and carrying on like he owns the world. Hey, Mr. New York-you want a ride back?” he shouted, indicating his car with a jerk of his thumb. “Or you can walk back to town if you want. Wayne and me are leavin’.”