Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Blake leaned against the wall of the building, watching the front door of the Blue Note. Chloe was inside the bar, taking photographs of one of New Orleans’ most talented and lusted-over jazz musicians. He wanted to pretend he was here to simply keep an eye on her. After all, one of the men posing for the calendar had apparently tried to manhandle her, and while he knew Chloe was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to be close by…just in case.
Unfortunately, he knew the truth. He was so jealous, he could hardly see straight.
He’d never been a possessive lover with any other woman in his life. The only one to ever evoke that emotion had been Chloe. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a tattered picture. He’d carried the photograph around with him for a decade—clinging to it like a lifeline through some of the darkest times of his life.
The image of Chloe, riding his back, piggyback-style, as the two of them mugged for the camera never failed to help him find his way. Though she wouldn’t believe it, Chloe had helped him become the man he was today. She’d fallen in love with a boy who’d always thought himself unlovable. After all, his father declared him worthless on a daily basis and his mother had split when he was just six months old. From the day he’d been born, no one had ever looked at him the way Chloe had. Like he hung the moon. Like he was a hero. Like his life mattered.
So…whenever he got lost or started down the wrong path, he’d pull out this picture and clean up his act, find a better direction. He wouldn’t be where he was today without her. Until he’d seen her again last week, he’d been content to maintain his distance because that was safer. For both of them.
He had considered looking her up the second his feet hit the pavement of New Orleans almost six years earlier. After he left her, Blake had spent four years on the road, the first couple with his father. Sometimes they traveled alone, other times, they would ride with a motorcycle gang. He’d done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of during that time—petty thievery, vandalism, smoking pot and drinking heavily. He’d even participated in several fight clubs as a means of making money. He’d beaten up a few of his opponents badly, the images of their bloody faces haunting him too many nights.
However, he’d walked away from it all the night his father and a few of his friends cornered a waitress in a bar parking lot where they had all spent hours getting wasted. Blake had sat with them, nursing the same whiskey, fed up with his life. He’d spent hours watching his father as the realization he was turning into his old man dawned hard. Looking at himself in the mirror behind the counter, he saw the same hard eyes, tight lines by his mouth and haggard expression. It was as if someone had dumped a cooler full of ice water over his head, forcing him to wake up, covering him with a freezing cold numbness that almost made his teeth chatter.
When his father threw the struggling waitress onto the hood of a car and started to lift her skirt, the other men holding her down and tearing off her clothes, his dead soul came to life. He didn’t remember grabbing his father or pulling him away from the woman. There were only brief flashes of recollection in his memory. Of him pounding his old man into the asphalt. Of him beating the shit out of the other three men. Of the crying woman running away—her eyes reflecting absolute fear even though he’d just saved her. He didn’t blame her for being afraid. He could only imagine what he’d looked like in that moment. Too many years’ worth of rage had found their way to his fists and he was a man out of control.
In the end, all he recalled was standing in the middle of a dark parking lot with four unconscious men and the sound of sirens in the distance. He’d hopped on his bike and never looked back.
“Blake? What are you doing here?”
Blake blinked, forcing himself to the present, shocked to find Chloe standing in front of him. How the hell had she left the bar and walked all the way across the street without him noticing? So much for this stakeout.
Chloe looked completely annoyed. And a bit nervous.
He grinned. He could work with that. “I just got off duty, so I thought I’d take a little walk.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not much of a walk. I could see you from the front window of the Blue Note. You’ve been holding up this wall for the last twenty minutes. How did you even know I was going to be here?”
“I’m a detective.”
She smirked. “My mother told you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She sighed. “I’m perfectly capable of fending a guy off if he oversteps, despite my failed attempts with you.”
He knew that, but he suspected she’d prefer thinking he was just concerned for her safety rather than the fact he was so jealous he couldn’t see straight, so he let the lie stand. “Are you finished for the day?”
She shrugged. “I’m finished as far as working with Mr. January is concerned. Now I’m heading back to my studio to download the photos, find the best and tweak it.”
“Have time for lunch?”
She hesitated, but didn’t instantly refuse. Blake took that as a sign of progress. Before she could answer one way or the other, he pointed down Bourbon Street. “What do you say we grab some crawfish beignets at Bayou Burger?”
Chloe crinkled her nose. “Please tell me you don’t still eat those.”
Blake wrapped his arm around her shoulder, gently directing her toward the restaurant. Chloe fell into step easily beside him.
“Gotta say, Chloe, I’m sorry to hear you’re still a finicky eater.”
She scoffed. “The fact that I don’t cover every meal in hot sauce does not mean I’m picky. Quite the opposite, actually. It means I prefer to taste my food. You should try it some time.”
He laughed, the two of them trading barbs about their eating habits all the way to Bayou Burger. It wasn’t until they were seated and their drinks ordered that Blake could lean back and relax without worrying she’d change her mind and run.
“It was good to see your family again on Sunday, but I’m not sure who Zac is.”
Chloe took a sip from her water glass. “He’s my foster brother. You wouldn’t have met him. He came to live with us the summer after you…” She paused.
There was no point pretending. “After I left,” he finished for her.
She nodded. “He and his younger brother, Noah, were removed from their home when their mother was arrested for prostitution and drugs. Zac was fifteen and Noah was only twelve. Before they came to stay with us, they’d been living in a house with no running water and eating whatever they could steal from dumpsters behind restaurants.”
The story sounded familiar. Blake had done a bit of fine garbage dining himself when he was younger, but Chloe didn’t know that. He’d never told her anything about his childhood because at the time, Blake had worried she would either dump him or worse, pity him. There were times he wished he could go back and kick his nineteen-year-old self’s ass for being such a prideful idiot.
Listening to her tell Zac’s story, he didn’t hear sympathy as much as anger toward the boys’ mother.
“How long did they stay with you?”
Chloe sighed. “Two years the first time. Then the court—in its less-than-infinite wisdom—gave them back to their mother. Their lives returned to more of the same, only worse. Their mother kept smoking crack and sleeping with men for drug money. One of the guys—a customer—beat Zac up one night. It was really bad. Noah was scared so he ran to a neighbor’s house and called my mom. She phoned the police, then all three of my brothers. They got to the house just before the cops and found Zac in a bloody heap on the floor.”
“Jesus.” Blake couldn’t imagine how hard it would have been for those young boys to spend two years in the loving, safe Lewis home, only to have to give that up to return to the slum. Then he recalled the few times he’d found security in his young life. Every single time, he’d willingly given it up and gone back to the hell that was life with his dad.
“Mama said she’d never been so scared in her life. She thought Zac was dead. Anyway, Caliph stayed with Zac, while Jett and Justin helped Mama and Noah pack up all their belongings.”
“What about Zac and Noah’s mother?”
“She’d been passed out in her bedroom. Didn’t even realize anything had happened to Zac. She came out in the hall and started screaming at my mother because she thought she was stealing her sons. She told them to get out, to leave her boys alone. Justin said Mama looked that woman straight in the eye and told her she should be ashamed of herself.”
Blake fiddled with his fork, chuckling. “Did it work?”
Chloe grinned. “What do you think? Mama’s good at guilt trips. It’s pretty much the way I was raised. She only had to look at me with that I’m so disappointed face and I’d crumble like a house of cards.”
Blake laughed. “I remember that. She used that look on me a couple times. It’s powerful.”
“Justin said the lectures we’d gotten as kids were small potatoes compared to the speech she gave Zac and Noah’s mom. He said he was nearly in tears and begging for forgiveness himself and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Their mom fell apart when she saw Zac lying on the floor and she asked my mother to take her boys, to give them a chance to grow up safe and healthy. They’ve been ours ever since.”
“What happened to their mom? Did she straighten her act out?”
Chloe shook her head sadly. “She’s still alive. I know Zac goes to see her every now and then, takes her some food and medicine, but no. There wasn’t a happy ending. She’s still addicted. You know how that goes.”
Blake knew only too well. “Yeah, I do.”
“Did you really arrest your dad?”
He nodded. He’d been expecting the question ever since he stupidly made that comment at Sunday dinner. “I did.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
Blake shrugged as he recalled the near-rape in the bar parking lot. In some ways, putting his dad in prison had been a hell of a lot simpler than he would have thought. “My dad and I had parted ways several years before the arrest. He’d been a criminal, on some level, for my entire life. Stealing, drunk driving arrests, drugs—selling and using—assault, you name it, it was on his rap sheet.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that when we were dating?”
Blake wasn’t pleased with his answer, but it was the only one he had. “Pride.”
She frowned. “What?”
He released a long breath. “You weren’t like any other girl I’d ever dated, Chloe. You didn’t come from the same place I did. When I was with you, I could pretend I wasn’t that guy.”
“What guy?”
“My life wasn’t all that different from Zac and Noah’s. Only I was dealing with a drunk dad instead of a strung-out mother.”
“I wish…”
Chloe’s whisper faded away, leaving Blake to fill in the blank. What did she wish? That she’d known? That Mama Lewis had shown up in the middle of the night and dragged him out of hell? That he hadn’t been such a prideful, puffed-up idiot?
He smiled. “There are a lot of things I wish too. But none of that matters. I’ve done a lot of things I regret, Chloe, but I can’t let my mind linger on that too long. Everything that’s happened has made me the man I am today.”
She studied his face in silence, glancing away briefly. Then her eyes lifted to his once more. They were shuttered, closed and he knew she was finished with this conversation.
The waiter brought their meals and they allowed the conversation to drift to safer realms. Chloe talked about her experiences putting together her book and he shared some of his more humorous arrest stories just so he could hear Chloe’s laughter.
Once he’d paid the bill, he took her hand, offering to walk her back to her place. She didn’t refuse.
When they arrived, she invited him inside, giving him a tour. The studio apartment was a large, wide-open space, filled with sunlight and color. It suited Chloe perfectly. Near the front door, she’d set up her portrait area with lighting and backdrops, tripods and cameras. Then, they walked farther into the room to her living area. A plush couch and ottoman flanked by two recliners all faced the large-screen television.
Blake whistled. “Damn. Man cave.”
She laughed. “Yeah. My brothers and I are huge hockey fans and I was tired of all of us trying to cram ourselves into Jett’s shoebox apartment on game nights.”
“Why not go to Justin’s? Didn’t he mention something on Sunday about his house?”
Chloe nodded. “Yeah, but he lives too far out of town. The trek there and back in a cab is a pain. And Caliph’s work schedule changes all the time.”
“So you put a hockey haven in your apartment.”
She grinned. “Yep. Between October and April, you can find at least a couple Lewises here almost every night, depending on the match-ups.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m a Maple Leaf fan myself.”
Chloe looked horrified. “Dear God. I didn’t think anyone rooted for Toronto unless they were forced to because they lived there. You must be a glutton for punishment.”
He narrowed his eyes. “They aren’t that bad.”
She shuddered, clearly enjoying the opportunity to push his buttons. “Yeah, well, they aren’t that good, either.”
“You and I are going to make a wager once the season starts back up.”
“What makes you think you’re still going to be around come October?”
Blake reached for her before she could read his intent. He tugged her body flush against his until he could feel her hot breath on his face. “I’m going to be here.”
She opened her mouth to chastise him, but there was only one way he’d accept her tongue-lashing and that was literally. He kissed her, holding tightly—partly out of fear she’d try to stop him and partly because there was no way he could resist the feeling of her body pressed against his. The last decade melted away—all the pain, anger and loneliness fading until there was nothing left, but this moment. And them.
Chloe wrapped her hands around his neck, the action lifting her breasts higher against his chest, capturing his attention. Keeping one arm around her waist, he brought his left hand up to cup her breast.
Chloe’s lips left his as she released a sharp, excited breath. Blake increased the pressure of this touch, squeezing, kneading. Neither of them sought to continue the kiss. Instead, Blake placed his lips to her forehead as Chloe panted softly, her quiet mews encouraging him. He ran his hands under her shirt, savoring the softness of her skin. He stroked his way around her waist, up her sides until he found the breast he’d just left. He smiled when he felt her lacy bra, the texture reminding him of the first time he’d ventured under Chloe’s shirt. Her breasts were slightly smaller then.
However, Chloe’s response was just the same. Her breathing was heavy, her body so hot, he wondered how she wasn’t burning his fingers. Her hips—now, like then—ground against his, taunting his cock, driving him insane with need.
When he was younger, he’d insisted they were made for each other. Chloe would laugh and tease him, claiming it was the girl’s job to be the silly romantic, not the guy’s. However, after years spent trying to find warmth in the arms of too many women, he realized it hadn’t been a foolish dream. It was the truth.
Blake ran his hands along the top of her bra, enjoying the slight shudder his touch provoked. Then he dipped his fingers beneath the lace, delving deeper until he found what he was searching for.
“God!” Chloe jerked when he lightly pinched her nipple, but his arm was still wrapped around her back and it kept her from escaping. Not that she was trying to. She plunged her hands into his hair, gripping it so tightly it stung. He didn’t care. He relished the pain, loved feeling her passion, her need. It made him feel less alone.
He pinched her nipple again, firmer this time. Chloe’s hips thrust against his and he wished there weren’t so many damn clothes between them.
That thought prompted action. He reached for the button on her jeans, delighted when Chloe mimicked the motion on his pants.
“I want you, Chloe,” he whispered, needing to make sure she understood. If they took their pants off, he was lying her down on the couch and taking her.
“Hurry up.”
Her words hit him like the loud bang of a starter pistol. The only sounds in the room were those of the rushed flurry of hands as they unzipped and tugged down their jeans, of shoes hitting the floor, of a foil condom wrapper crinkling and Chloe’s soft cry when Blake lay her down on the couch and came over her. He pushed his cock deep inside her with one hard thrust.
It wasn’t until he was completely buried that they paused, both of them panting, air being sucked in and blown out loudly. Blake rested on his elbows above her, studying her flushed face, her closed eyes.
“Chloe. Look at me.”
Her eyelids flittered open, her vision clearly fuzzy. He waited until her focus returned. He saw the moment it happened because a crease formed in her brow. They’d acted on impulse, neither of them considering the consequences of what they were doing until now.
Blake’s heart raced and his jaw clenched as he resisted the overwhelming need to thrust, to pound, to fuck.
“I won’t be another regret.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I know you regret what happened between us all those years ago and I wish there was some way I could go back in time and change what I did, but I can’t. I can’t undo the hurt, Chloe. Can’t fix the mistakes.”
“Blake—”
“But I’m telling you right now, I can’t be another regret in your life. If that’s what this is going to be, say so and I’ll stop.”
She didn’t speak for several tense moments. Blake held his tongue, gave her time to decide while silently praying he’d have the strength to leave her if that was what she asked.
Finally, she cupped his cheek in her hand. “I don’t want you to stop.”
It was all he needed to hear. He lifted his hips until his cock was just barely inside her, then slid in again. She wrapped her legs around his hips as his thrusts grew harder, went deeper. Chloe worked free the buttons on his shirt, not bothering to remove it. She simply slid her hands beneath the cotton, her nails scratching their way along the muscles of his shoulders and back. She’d left her mark the first time he’d taken her too.
Chloe may have been the virgin when they succumbed to this passion ten years earlier, but she’d been the one to teach him. About burning, heart-pounding lust. About craving. About giving and taking and what it truly meant to be hungry. He may have spent too many nights with an empty belly as a child, but until Chloe, he’d never suffered genuine hunger.
And he’d never experienced sex mixed with love until her. Hell, he hadn’t felt it since.
Not until now.
Chloe’s hips lifted to meet his and her soft groans told him exactly how close she was. He reached down, intent on drawing more than just one orgasm from her. He’d spent years dreaming of having her under him once again. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
He pressed her clit firmly, loving the wild, unrestrained response it provoked. Chloe’s back arched as she released a loud cry. He thought he’d loved the sound of her laughter, but that music was a far second place. Blake waited a few seconds as Chloe trembled, her climax running its course. Then he fired the trigger again. He stroked her clit as he increased the speed of his thrusts.
Chloe gasped, shaking her head. “I can’t. Not again. Too much.”
He kissed her roughly, cutting off her refusal. He knew her too well to be fooled by such a lie. They’d spent a summer in each other’s arms. He remembered exactly how many times she could come in a night and they weren’t even close to that number yet.
His kiss combined with his finger on her clit and his cock pounding inside her hot pussy pushed her over the edge a second time. This time, he didn’t stop moving, working instead to draw the sensations out, prolonging the pleasure for her.
As the orgasm subsided, Chloe’s arms left his shoulders, dropping heavily to the couch cushions beside her. Her eyes were closed—her face the perfect blend of exhaustion and bliss.
“We’re not finished.”
She blinked rapidly, forcing her gaze to his. “I’m out of shape. It’s been a few months since…”
Blake laughed. “It’s been almost two years for me. So get your second wind. There’s no way I’m letting this end so fast.”
“Years?” Her skeptical expression was flattering…and slightly insulting.
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Just so we’re clear on this, I’m not some sex-craved pervert sleeping in a different bed every night. I do have standards.”
Chloe shook her head in mock disappointment, laughing softly. “Damn. Such a shame. What happened to the horny, gets-hard-when-a-strong-wind-blows bad boy I fell in love with all those years ago?”
He knew she meant her words as a joke, but all he could focus on was the reminder that she used to love him. He’d thrown that away because of pride and stubbornness. “A week ago, I would have said he was gone, but now…”
Blake punctuated the pause with a quick, hard thrust. Chloe gasped, her arousal firing hot once more.
She tightened her legs around his waist. “Do that again.”
He tilted his head, considering. He’d never taken the submissive role in the bedroom and he didn’t intend to now. He held still as Chloe worked hard, trying to force him to move. She lifted her hips as much as her position underneath him would allow. When that failed, she dug her heels into his back, trying to push him as low as she could.
When all her attempts proved fruitless, she stopped moving and gave him a dirty look. “You joined the police force and yet, you still suck at following commands.”
He chuckled, kissing her lightly on the cheek. A decade apart hadn’t changed one thing. It still felt as if Chloe knew him better than he knew himself. “I’m a model detective. But doing my job there and doing it here are two entirely different things. Put your hands above your head.”
“Why?”
He lifted one eyebrow, letting his impatient look answer the question. She lifted her arms, resting her hands in a position of surrender. It turned him on. A fact that wasn’t lost on Chloe as his cock twitched and grew even harder.
She sighed. “Liar.” The word wasn’t spoken with malice or accusation, but he was confused by the name. Then she added, “You are still a very bad boy.”
He grinned, pleased, then bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. They hadn’t shed a damn piece of clothing besides their pants—something he would rectify the next time—so he added extra pressure, sucking harder, making sure she felt his touch through her blouse and bra.
Her back arched as she attempted to keep his mouth there. He added his teeth to the game, nipping lightly at first, then digging deeper.
She cried out, not in pain, but in true pleasure.
He lifted his head. “And you’re still trying to pretend you’re a good girl.”
She cupped his face with one of her hands, intent on pushing him back to her breast. Blake gripped her wrist firmly, pressing it against the couch cushion above her head. “Don’t move your hands or I’ll tie you up. I have my handcuffs with me.”
Her pussy clenched tightly against his cock. Blake fought to restrain a groan, stars forming behind his eyelids. Chloe had liked it rough; her sexual needs a mirror image of his. At nineteen, he’d chalked it up to her innocence, believing her desires were fueled by genuine curiosity. Now he knew it was more than that. Not all women were created equal.
Blake pushed off his elbows, grasping Chloe’s wrists in his hands, forcing them into the cushion. The power play, the show of strength had Chloe’s eyes drifting closed, her body shuddering with need.
“Please, Blake.” Her voice was soft. He knew what she was asking for.
He withdrew from her body until just the tip of his cock remained and then he shoved in hard, going as deep as their bodies would allow. Chloe didn’t shy away from his almost brutal thrusting. Instead, she added her own fuel to the flames, joining the rhythm, driving her hips up as he came down. The only sound in the room was that of their mingled cries and the slapping noise of skin on skin. Blake’s grip on her wrists slipped a bit as both of them started to perspire, the temperature in the studio rising to rival that of the sun.
Neither of them stopped for air or for rest. Instead they kept fighting for climax, two bodies slamming together in a selfish search for completion. Chloe came first…and second. Two orgasms, one right on the heels of the other. She groaned loudly, trembling, but when Blake refused to give way, to stop, she quickly recovered, rejoining the race.
When he finally approached his end, Blake released one of her wrists, letting his fingers drift along her body to her clit. He wanted to feel her coming around him again as he found his own pleasure.
Chloe jerked when he touched the swollen, sensitive nub. “I can’t,” she cried.
He stroked her clit faster. “Yes, you can. You’re going to come with me, Chloe. You and me. Together.”
She gasped and he felt the familiar fluttering of her pussy. She was almost there. Thank God. Blake was seconds away from falling over the cliff himself. Chloe pushed him off. Her inner muscles clenched, squeezing his cock almost painfully. He dropped to his elbows as he came, jet after jet of come filling the condom.
“God.” The word felt as if it was ripped from his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed in beautiful agony. How much time had passed since he’d been this affected by sex? He knew the answer to that.
Ten years ago.
Chloe lay beneath Blake, refusing to open her eyes. She’d told him she wouldn’t regret it.
But she’d lied. And not for the reasons he might think.
Chloe had done some serious introspection since the conversation with her mother. She’d comprehended the wisdom in her mama’s advice. Chloe needed closure where Blake was concerned.
She’d had her heart broken by him when she was young, inexperienced, foolish. As a result, she’d held on to that pain, harbored it, made it larger than it should have been. She was an adult now, a woman, and she was no stranger to love affairs or casual sex.
Chloe believed if she slept with him just once more, she’d realize she had built him up to some mythological proportions that were inaccurate. A brief, one-time fling with Blake would prove to her that he was a man just like any other and she’d be able to let go of her sex-god beliefs and move the hell on.
So much for that idea.
“Closing your eyes isn’t going to make me disappear.” Blake’s smug voice proved he knew she was trying to hide from the consequences of her actions.
She didn’t open her eyes. “Maybe you’ll think I fell asleep and leave peacefully.”
He kissed her cheek. She wished that friendly, platonic buss didn’t feel so freaking good. “I’m not leaving.”
He was still buried inside her, his body covering hers in such a warm shelter, she found it hard to remember why this was wrong.
Chloe released a long breath, then let her gaze find his. He was more handsome now than he’d been at nineteen. Though he’d never had a boyish look, not even when he was younger, some of the hard lines around his mouth and eyes had softened.
“You don’t look as pissed off at the world as you used to.”
Blake chuckled, unoffended by her remark. “People don’t annoy me as much these days.”
She needed to get away from him—put some distance between them before she said or did something else completely stupid. Chloe lightly pressed on his shoulders, surprised when he gave way easily. He sat, helping her up as well. He made no move to stop her when she rose and began to tug on her jeans. Mercifully, they’d limited the disrobing to just the waist down.
Blake stood as well, walking to her kitchenette to throw the condom away before tugging his own pants on. Because of the open floor plan of her apartment, the only area of the place closed off by walls was the bathroom. She had placed a large Chinese screen at the foot of her bed to give the illusion of a bedroom and to hide the fact she had a tendency to leave her dirty clothes lying in a heap on the floor.
She followed him to the kitchen, feeling some of her confidence return now that she was dressed again. Chloe opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles of water. She tossed one to Blake, suddenly aware that he hadn’t bothered to button his jeans or shirt back up. They both hung open in a way that was far too sexy for her peace of mind.
She reached up to her hair. She’d started the day with a loose ponytail, but most of it had escaped the elastic band. She felt around, trying to find the band, intent on repairing the mess.
Blake took a long swig of water then crossed the room, taking her in his arms. He reached up and tugged her hands down. “Leave it. You look tousled and sexy.”
“Blake.” She needed distance.
“What do you say for the encore we take all our clothes off and try to make it to your bed?”
She scowled. Cocky, arrogant asshole. “Actually, you can take the rest of that water to go. I have work to do. Thanks for the trip down memory lane. It was fun.”
Chloe hoped she’d infused just the right amount of dismissal and hell-will-freeze-over-before-we-fuck-again into her tone.
Apparently she had because Blake’s brows furrowed. “You think that was a one-night stand?”
“It might be more accurate to say it was a one-afternoon stand.”
Blake shook his head. “Think again.”
He hadn’t released her. Instead, he’d tightened his grip, letting her feel just how much he wasn’t finished with her yet. How in the hell could he be hard again already? Then she considered the foolishness of her thought. This was Blake. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He’d always been ready to roll when it came to sex.
She wanted to hate his alpha power plays, wanted to be pissed off by them. And in a lot of ways, she was. Unfortunately, they also triggered some latent desire to be completely dominated by him. Not in everyday life—that would drive her nuts and force her to cut his penis off.
But in the bedroom…sexually…God yes.
Before she could respond, the door to her apartment slid open. Justin and Ned walked in. Chloe tried to push Blake away, but he held fast.
“Let go of me,” she muttered when she caught her older brother’s dark look.
“You heard her,” Justin said, his fists clenched. Great. Nothing like adding embarrassment to mistake.
She’d been wrong to think she could open the door a crack for Blake and not expect him to push it wide and walk in.
Justin’s gaze took in her messy hair and Blake’s open shirt, his scowl growing. It was far too obvious what had taken place here.
Time for distraction. She shrugged out of Blake’s arms, flushing hotly when he reached down to zip up his jeans, not bothering to hide the action from her brother and his business partner. “What are you doing here, Justin?”
“You and Ned have an appointment to discuss the calendar, remember? We had a work meeting on this side of town, so I rode with him, figured I’d chill on your couch while the two of you worked out a plan for Ned’s pose.”
Ned grinned, obviously sensing her desire to diffuse the volatile situation. “He was planning to be a pain in the ass, making me regret volunteering to do this damn thing. If it had been anyone other than Mama Lewis asking, I would have said no.”
Chloe smiled gratefully. “I’m sorry. I forgot about the meeting. Give me a second to…” To what? What was she supposed to do now? Blake didn’t look like he was going to go peacefully.
Justin crossed his arms, letting her know he was going to watch her every move. She shot him a dirty look, then turned to Blake.
“I really do need to get back to work.”
“What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”
She rolled her eyes. He was like a dog with a bone. “Listen, Blake. We tried the relationship thing once and it failed…miserably.”
“We were kids, Chloe. That hardly counts as a serious attempt.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean the way things ended hadn’t hurt. A lot. “I’m nothing like the girl I used to be.”
“So we’ll go out for dinner, get reacquainted.”
“Looks like you already did that,” Justin muttered.
She turned around. “Dammit, Justin. Mind your own business.”
Blake buttoned his shirt. He leaned closer, keeping his ultimatum quiet enough only she could hear it. “I’ll go as soon as you agree to dinner.”
“That’s blackmail,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply. Just gave her that wicked, bad-boy grin that always got her into trouble.
“Fine. But just dinner. Nothing else—not a movie or dancing or coffee at my place afterwards. And I’m meeting you at the restaurant. No riding together.”
Blake looked like he might argue, but she raised her hand to cut him off. “Those are my conditions. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine. I’ll call you later with the details.”
She shook her head. “Just text me.” Until she gathered her wits about her, she wasn’t about to get roped into another conversation with him. Texting was safer.
Blake nodded, then kissed her, the touch too fucking familiar and sexy when his tongue brushed hers.
She half-heartedly pushed at his shoulders. She was about to get the mother of all ass-chewings from her brother. Of course, that was a given. So…she might as well get her money’s worth. She felt Blake’s brief spark of surprise when her tongue entered his mouth and she gave his ass a quick squeeze before she stepped away.
“Goodbye, Blake,” she said, proud of the strength in her voice.
He grinned. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Justin didn’t bother to step out of the way as Blake left. The two men faced each other like adversaries on the battlefield and for a moment, Chloe thought she might have let her guard down prematurely.
Then Blake stepped around her brother, leaving without another word. Chloe released a long breath when Blake slid the door closed behind him.
“Does somebody want to confirm that’s who I think it is?” Ned asked.
Ned Kinnaman had been Justin’s best friend since their freshman year in college. They were assigned as dorm roommates and they’d been inseparable ever since. In truth, Ned had become a member of the family, another damn overprotective brother. Just what Chloe needed.
“My old boyfriend, Blake,” she answered, realizing the simplicity of the answer would never satisfy either man.
“Are you sure he’s not a current one?” Ned asked with a wicked grin.
“What the hell was that, Chloe?” Justin threw his hands up in disbelief. She didn’t blame him. She’d been pretty cold to Blake at Sunday dinner. Now, forty-eight hours later, she was boinking the guy on her couch.
“I don’t know what that was.”
“The guy’s a thief,” Justin added.
“He gave Mama the money back on Sunday.” Chloe wasn’t sure why she was saying that as if it forgave all. She certainly hadn’t felt that way two days ago.
“Oh. Did he tell you why he took it and ran off?”
Chloe shook her head. “No. I didn’t ask.”
“Why not?”
She couldn’t explain why she hadn’t asked Blake. Not even to herself. The question had been on the tip of her tongue every single time she’d seen him since his return, but something always caused the words to get lodged in her throat. “What difference would it make, Justin? We know he did it. Can you think of a good reason why he would steal Mama’s money and disappear without a trace for nearly a decade?”
Justin considered the question briefly, and then shook his head. “No, I can’t. Which is why I don’t understand your reason for playing hide the salami with the guy again.”
She blew out an annoyed breath. “Don’t be such a juvenile.”
Her brother grinned, used to her admonishing him for his colorful, somewhat vulgar nicknames for sex. Justin wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and placing a sweet kiss on her forehead. “Just be careful, pipsqueak. Maybe the guy has changed. But maybe he hasn’t. Keep your eyes open this time. Okay?”
She nodded. Eyes open was her initial intent. Then Blake had fucked her into a state of delicious delirium and she’d allowed it to blind her once more.
“So, tell Ned all about this idea you had for him, a bed, a box of chocolates and no clothes.”
Ned crossed his arms and scowled. “I told you, Justin, I’m not doing that.”
Justin’s face reflected pure mischief as he ignored his friend’s complaint. “And listen, Chloe, don’t waste a bunch of money on the big heart-shaped box. A small sampler will be more than enough to cover his?—”
Justin didn’t get to finish his joke as Ned punched him in the arm.
Chloe laughed, grateful for their timely interruption and the welcome distraction. She spent the next hour plotting with Ned over possible locales and poses, while Justin cracked jokes at both of their expenses and made a general nuisance of himself.
It was exactly what she needed.
For now, it was her turn to escape.