TOO HOT TO HANDLE Page 18

  Annabelle's phone buzzed, interrupting her work on the plans for the next big show. "Annabelle, you have a visitor."

  She checked the clock and wondered where the time had gone. It was as if she'd lost at least an hour. She gave the sketches and plans a once-over and took one last sip of her cold coffee before buzzing her assistant back. "Kerri, could you please send him up?"

  She thunked her way over to the mirror, checked her makeup, and as she finished with her lipstick, she turned and caught Mike standing in the doorway, a huge smile on his face. "What happened? Did you win the lottery?"

  He kicked the door shut and walked toward her with a lightness about him she'd never seen. "How do you know something happened?"

  "I don't know. I just do."

  He kissed her, picked her up, and spun her around.

  After she stopped screaming and clinging to him, she found her feet back on the floor and kissed him again. "Now tell me the good news."

  "I was going to tell you over dinner."

  "Why wait?"

  "Because I thought we'd get a bottle of wine or champagne."

  "We still can, but I want to hear it now."

  "Anyone ever tell you you're impatient?"

  "Yeah. Come on, spill."

  He walked around the desk and checked behind the screens she'd set up to hide the supplies. "I was just offered an interview with one of the top cardiology practices in the country."

  "But you're a pulmonologist. What would you be doing in a cardiology practice?"

  "Cardiologists and pulmonologists work closely together, especially since I'm board certified in both critical care and pulmonology."

  She'd followed and threw her arms around him. "Wow, I didn't know you were board certified. This is great! I'm so happy for you."

  "Thanks. The interview isn't for a couple more weeks, but they said I had been highly recommended, and they've already called asking about my performance. Millie, one of the nurses I work with, mentioned it. Thank God they spoke to the one person who still likes me. The head of HR already had references from outside the practice. Since I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get good references from them, it's a stroke of luck."

  "Have you told your mother yet?"

  "No, I barely had time to call you. I'll tell her tomorrow."

  Annabelle stepped out of his arms. "She called me today and said she wants to come by the gallery next week to look around, have lunch, and get to know each other."

  "Why do you sound as if you're preparing to be tortured?"

  She turned and looked out the window. "I've never had a boyfriend whose parents liked me. They either hated me or barely tolerated me."

  He took her in his arms. "I love you, and my mother will love you, too."

  "I'd be happy with like. I think love is too much to hope for." She rested her head on his shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her. It had been so long since he'd held her. She'd missed him so much that it scared her.

  "Annabelle?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What's up with the screens?"

  "Nothing. I was just sick of looking at all the art supplies."

  "But you're an artist."

  "No, I was an artist. I'm not anymore. Ben put all the supplies up here to bother me, but I took care of that. So, where do you want to celebrate? My place or yours?"

  Mike pulled away a little and looked into her eyes in that way he had that made her feel as if he could read her mind. "I thought you'd want to go out."

  She loosened his tie and slid open the top two buttons of his shirt while nibbling on his ear. "I think we should pick up a bottle of champagne and takeout on the way home and celebrate in bed. Sound good to you?"

  Mike's kiss answered the question.

  He kissed her gently, wanting the slow, steady build of desire, but Annabelle wasn't having any of that. It seemed as if it had been ages since he'd held her, touched her, and tasted her. The frantic way her hands slid down the front of his pants, squeezing his erection through the fabric, had him locking his knees to keep from falling down. She touched him as if she couldn't get enough of him, driving him higher because he couldn't get enough of her either. Sometimes you had to go at it hot, hard, and fast—the first time at least. He had all night to make love to her, right now, though, there was nothing gentle about what she wanted, and that was just fine with him.

  He'd been hard ever since he walked through the door and saw Annabelle wearing her short-sleeved, double-breasted coatdress made of a noisy material in an iridescent navy blue that matched her eyes. Since that moment, all he could think of was taking it off her. Mike's fingers itched to unhook the wide belt at her waist and unbutton the four buttons holding the dress closed to see what she wore beneath. He'd love to fulfill that fantasy of her showing up in nothing but a trench coat and this was close enough.

  Mike had closed the door when he came in, but for what he wanted to do, he needed it locked. Straightening to his full height, he pulled her closer, the imprint of her body hot and soft against his. Slowly, he backed her into the door. With one hand, he engaged the lock, as the other slid up her thigh, raising the hem of the short dress until he hit the soft skin of her bottom. When he slid his hand up her to her hip, he discovered the lace of a thong. He swallowed hard, raised her leg to his hip, and pressed his erection against her. The scent of orange, vanilla, and Annabelle became stronger as her body heated. Breaking the kiss, he moved lower, kissing her neck as he took care of the top two buttons and wide belt. The dress slid down, and she freed her arms so it hung at her hips. A sheer white demi bra offered her breasts to him like a gift. Her dusky nipples showed through the sheer fabric. He opened his mouth over it and sucked her hard nipple deep into his mouth.

  Annabelle released his belt, slid open his trousers, and shoved her hand beneath the waistband of his jockeys. A groan ripped from deep in his throat when her hand wrapped around his dick.

  "No." He was in grave danger of losing it before he got inside her, and that was out of the question. He extracted her hand from his pants, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and drugged him with a long, hot kiss that almost made him change his mind. Almost.

  "Mike, I don't think I can wait any longer. Please. Now."

  He turned her around, drew her back to his front, and as he pulled her long hair to the side and feasted on her neck, he took the few steps to the first flat surface he saw. Her desk. Not taking the time to move the mess of papers, he leaned her over, yanked his wallet out of his pants, and removed the condom before sliding her thong down. He freed himself from his briefs, pushing them out of his way, and sheathed himself as his slacks slid down his legs. The belt buckle hit the wood floor with a thunk. She pulled her dress up as he slid his hands over her bottom and around, his fingers brushing over her clitoris, parting her, and teasing the hot, wet folds. She moaned as he parted her legs to accommodate him and arched her back. He slid in and, grasping her hips, held her still. She was tight, wet, hot, and gripping him with her body. The phone rang. "Shit."

  "It's Ben. I have to answer it. He knows I'm here."

  She looked over her shoulder, and he nodded, took a deep breath, and held it as she picked up the phone.

  "Yes?"

  Mike leaned forward, moving deeper within her, and heard Ben's voice. "Are you leaving now? Or do you want me to lock up?"

  "No. I'm in the middle of something. I'm going to be a while, so lock up."

  "All work and no play makes Annabelle a dull girl. Why don't you join me?"

  "No, thanks. I'm in the middle of something, and I'm waiting for Mike to come. Once he does, we'll take off."

  "Do you want me to come and keep you company until he gets here?"

  Mike took advantage of the fact she was leaning on her elbows to slip his hands up and snap open the front clasp of her bra. She coughed when he moved the cups aside and palmed her breasts.

  "No … um, no thanks. I'm good."

  "Is everything okay? You sound f
unny."

  "I'm fine. Just a little … distracted. I'm, um, in the middle of something, like I said."

  "Okay. If you're sure you don't need me to come. I can help with whatever you're doing. The two of us can make fast work of it. Then you'll be ready for Mike when he comes. Are you sure you don't want my help?"

  Mike whispered in her ear. "Over my dead body."

  "Yes, I mean, no, thanks. I've got it under control. See you tomorrow. Bye." She hit the end button, tossed the phone away, and groaned as Mike pulled almost all the way out and sank back in. His arms banded around her, and she pushed back against him.

  "More."

  Mike's opened mouth slid up the side of her throat to her ear. "This might take a while. I hope you don't expect me to come anytime soon."

  "No … no rush. Just don't stop."

  There was no chance of that. He kept a leisurely pace, while his hands teased, tempted, and tantalized. He loved this position. It gave his hands the freedom to caress his favorite parts of her body. He kept one hand brushing her clitoris, one hand teasing her breasts, and his mouth on her neck, ear, and shoulder, nibbling, sucking, or just telling her how much he loved making love to her. His hands kept her on the edge without allowing her to go over. She was trapped beneath him, surrounded by him, controlled by him, and pleased by him.

  "Mine." A wave of possessiveness so strong exploded in his mind and flew out his mouth before he could stop it, shocking him.

  "Yes."

  Her assent broke the tight rein of control he held on his more primitive side, a side that, until now, had never reared its head.

  "Please. Now." She moaned, her breathing choppy, her movement frantic, until she was straining for release and begging. "Please."

  He lost the battle for control entirely as he thrust hard and fast, holding her, driving her and himself to the brink. His blood pounded through his ears with every beat of his heart, his breathing hot and heavy against her neck. When the first wave of her orgasm pulsed, he bit her bare shoulder as her body drew him in, milking him. She reared up, gasping, changing the angle, increasing the depth, and he thrust in again and again. He plunged hard and deep, pistoning his hips while she screamed his name. His vision grayed as his release was dragged from the pit of his stomach, the pit of his soul. He thrust again and again until she'd milked him dry. He collapsed against her, his legs shaking, unable to move as aftershocks from her orgasm pulsed around him.

  As soon as his ears stopped ringing, he took a deep breath in and slowly slid out from within her, kissing his way down her back to her waist where her beautiful dress was bunched. "Are you okay?"

  "Hmmm." She sounded half asleep.

  He brushed her hair back off her face, struck again by her beauty, her delicacy.

  "I don't think he knew."

  "That's not what I'm talking about. Did I hurt you?"

  "Hurt me? No." She laughed and looked over her shoulder at him. Eyes sparkling from her flushed face.

  "I got carried away at the end. I was a little rough. I'm sorry."

  She stood the best she could, holding her dress with one hand, turned, and melted against him. He pulled her hair back to see her face. She held him, kissed his neck, and said something.

  "What?"

  "I like it a little bit rough. I've never done anything like this before, in my office, on my desk, with my boss on the phone. It was so … hot … exciting. I really liked it."

  He lifted her to sit on her desk. Her thong hung from around her stabilization boot, her bra hung from the hand holding her dress up, her hair was a mess, and she looked thoroughly ravished. "I'm just glad you didn't invite Ben to come, too. I would have had a real problem with that."

  "I'm tellin' you girl. You need a new bathing suit."

  Annabelle threw herself on the bed beside the less than half-packed suitcase. Allowing Wayne to "help" her pack for the weekend in the Hamptons proved to be a big mistake. "My ankle feels better, but it's still not up for a shopping spree."

  He sat beside her with a smile that reminded her of a shark circling his prey before he strikes. "We'll get you a wheelchair. I'll push you around myself."

  "No. I can see you pushing me right down the escalator at Macy's. It's not going to happen."

  "Pshaw, where's your sense of adventure? Though I guess you must have one to buy this bathing suit." He held up her little leopard print bikini.

  She pushed herself into a sitting position. "What's wrong with that? I've been known to stop traffic in that suit."

  He folded his arms, tapped his toe, raised his head, and sniffed. "The point is not to get everyone's attention. The point is to get Mike's attention. Do you really think Mike's going to want every straight man on the beach drooling over his girlfriend?"

  "I don't know. I'm not a man."

  "Well, I am, and let me tell you, real men don't want every other man undressing their significant other in front of them. That's exactly what will happen if you wear this thing out in public." He threw the bikini back in her drawer. "Mike is not the type to need arm candy to make him feel manly. He's the kind of man who will want to unwrap you like a present. In private. Now let's go get him something delectable to take off you. I promise we can hit all the shops on my list in under two hours. I'm a power shopper. Ask Henry. He absolutely hates to shop."

  "Two hours?"

  He held up his hand "Scout's honor."

  "Don't tell me you were a Boy Scout."

  "What did you expect, the Fireside Girls? Even though they were more my speed, I didn't have the right equipment."

  By the time Annabelle's two hours of torture were up, Wayne held a scary amount of shopping bags. She had bathing suits for public and bathing suits for private, sexy kicking-around-the-house clothes, and to add to her collection, a few barely there nighties and teddies, which would undoubtedly spend more time on the floor than on her body. Wayne referred to them as gift wrap. She shook her head. He even talked her into buying an incredibly sexy getup that he called "dessert" to wear under a nondescript little black dress. The thought of going out to dinner wearing something so hot under something so not had her squirming in her seat. She couldn't wait. But mostly, she couldn't wait to see Mike.

  Becca lifted a box and made her way up the narrow staircase from the brownstone's basement to Annabelle's apartment, Dave trailing in her wake. The dog had shadowed her since she'd arrived. As if he thought she were going to swipe something.

  When she'd called to schedule a visit, Annabelle had jumped at the chance for them to spend time together. Mike's work schedule had become insane because of the extra shifts he'd promised to cover in order to get the Memorial Day weekend off, and since Ben was still in town, Annabelle had no problem taking time off.

  Becca had spent the past few days preparing to beg forgiveness and somehow break the news of Mike's parentage without losing her best friend or ripping Annabelle and Mike's relationship apart.

  Apparently, Annabelle had a different agenda in mind.

  Becca set the box in the living room and returned for another with Dave drooling behind. On her way down, she tried with little success to dust off her clothes.

  "I really shouldn't complain, because I've been bugging you for two years to go through everything you packed after Chip's death, but if you were going to use me as a pack mule, you could have clued me in. I would have brought work clothes."

  Annabelle sat on an ancient stool resting her ankle on the dusty rung and smiled. "Sorry, it didn't occur to me. I was thinking of the emotional support, but I'm really liking the pack mule image."

  "I could have given you emotional support two years ago. Instead of dealing with Chip's death, you'd packed up the pain as surely as you packed up all evidence of your life together. You've done everything but deal with the fallout."

  "I wasn't ready to deal with it then."

  "No, you were too busy letting your mother run your life and pick out a pig of a fiancé for you. I can't really blame her for fixing
you up with someone since she never even knew Chip had existed, no less died. But I do blame her for fixing you up with a weasel."

  "I don't want to talk about this."

  "You better talk about this to someone. You can talk to me or find a good shrink. You spent two years living your life on autopilot. You smiled on cue and acted like everyone expected you to, but I saw the difference. Your spirit was missing."

  Annabelle let out an exasperated sound that was a mixture of a groan and a growl. "I thought you were going to help me go through this … stuff. I didn't expect psychoanalysis."

  "I don't have to be Sigmund Freud to know you did whatever it took to avoid dealing with Chip's death. Including allowing your parents to make decisions about your future. You were so numb and detached, you didn't care. You condemned yourself to a life without feelings—until the day you woke up with Mike."

  Mike had been the only one to reach Annabelle, and now Becca's news may spell the end of that relationship, too. Becca turned her back on Annabelle, pretending to look at something while she pushed aside the guilt. It wouldn't help either of them right now.

  She grabbed the top box and dropped it, waiting for Annabelle to look at her. Sure she'd create a streak of dirt worthy of a Hollywood makeup artist. She wiped her brow. Annabelle looked at everything but her. Becca was pushy. She knew it, but damn it, Annabelle needed to get past this.

  "Okay, I'll stop the psychoanalysis, not that you don't need it. Just do me a favor. While we're going through this, think about why you've waited two years to do it."

  "I was busy with … stuff."

  "Stuff … as in a fiasco of a relationship with Johnny DePalma?"

  "Stuff like breathing, eating, finding a job, and somehow getting through every day. The relationship with Johnny was—"

  "Easier than doing what you should have done. Come on, you packed away your past and refused to acknowledge it ever happened. You didn't begin working through it until Rosalie's wedding."