Playing Dirty Page 9

  “Let me be the big sister.” Meg nudged her toward the back door. “Go.”

  Enjoying the freshness of the crisp air outside, Beth hauled herself up into Meg’s van. Not quite Ford’s Turbo, she thought wryly as she buckled herself in, but it would do.

  “Have fun.” Meg smiled at her when they pulled up in front of Mamacita’s. Beth smirked, about to tell her just how much fun she intended to have, but the seriousness of Meg’s expression made her stop. “I’m serious, Beth. You deserve this.”

  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small cardboard box and pressed it into Beth’s hand.

  “Ribbed for her pleasure.” She snorted out a laugh. “Always looking out for me.”

  “Damn straight.” Meg stepped on the gas, causing the van to roar and everyone within a half-block radius to stare. “There. Now you can make an entrance. Go!”

  “Going!” Beth was still laughing when she entered the restaurant. It was small, dingy and packed with blue-collar types, but Mamacita herself made the best Mexican food on the South End.

  The small size made it easy to spot Ford. Hell, she would have zeroed right in on him even if the place had been huge. Part of it was that she seemed to be connected to him with an invisible string whenever he was here, and part of it was that even in his jeans and plain black T-shirt, he would never blend in with the rough crowd.

  He moved like a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted it. And as she moved through the room, he was the only one she could see.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Through the crowd, she slid into the booth across from him. His appreciative stare made the extra effort she’d put into her appearance worth it.

  “I’d say you were worth the wait.” He grinned at her. “I ordered you a margarita. I figured that’s what you’d want here.”

  “What if I don’t want what you have to offer?” Her voice was teasing, but she needed something to ease the tension before she combusted.

  “You want it.” The grin slipped from his face, replaced with pure heat. “You wouldn’t have made the choice to come here otherwise.”

  “Touché,” she conceded, leaning back in her seat. “However, in all fairness, I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

  He cocked his head slightly, and she knew he was wondering why, but he didn’t ask. Instead he signaled the waitress and ordered two glasses of Coke.

  Beth didn’t drink soda anymore, either, the sip of Ford’s she’d had earlier not counting in her books. But tonight was a celebration of starts—a new beginning—so she decided to just go with it.

  She expected him to cut straight to the heart of the matter—that they still wanted to be in each other’s beds. To seduce her toward what she already knew they would be doing after they left here.

  Instead, after they ordered, he led her into conversation. Date-type conversation. Bemused, she let him.

  “So you really don’t know what kind of business you’re going to start up this time?” Her tortilla soup arrived, and she dipped her head to fan a breath over the fragrant steam. “And...wow. You seem so okay with being forced out of your own business. Are you really? Last time I saw you, you were all my work is my life.”

  She grinned sheepishly when he winced. “Sorry. Foot in mouth. Am I poking at a sore subject?”

  “No.” He spooned steak, grilled peppers and cotija cheese into a tortilla to make one of the fajitas that he’d ordered. She found that she liked watching his hands. “The wince was because of what I sounded like back then. All work, no play makes Ford a dull boy.”

  “I wouldn’t say there was no play.”

  Beneath the table, his knees brushed against hers. She held her breath, waiting—hoping—for him to place a hand on her bare knee. He caught her expression and, reaching under the table, grazed his hand lightly over the sensitive skin beside her kneecap.

  Who knew that the knee could be an erogenous zone?

  “Don’t get me wrong. I raged for a while. Drank my way through half the bars in Los Angeles. Shoved money I no longer had at my lawyers to find a loophole.” Reaching for his Coke, he took a sip and shrugged. “At the end of the day, it truly was out of my hands. I’d made some mistakes and had to live with the consequences. And after I finished cursing the world, I realized how much happier I was. I started following that path, and here I am.”

  “That’s admirable.” She wished she’d reached the same level of peace.

  One day at a time.

  “And what about you?” He took a bite of his fajita. “You were famous for a while there. I’m afraid I couldn’t name one of your songs, but I know you were making some headway. How come you landed back here?”

  Beth felt her smile freeze. She reached for her drink to cover it, sipping until she felt calm again. Getting sick certainly wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. But everyone she’d known before getting sick looked at her just a little differently now.

  Ford saw her as a woman—a healthy, sexual woman. She didn’t want that to change, at least not tonight, so she shook her head to gloss over it. “I had some health problems. Once I stopped to take care of them, I realized that I didn’t really miss it.”

  “Didn’t miss touring? Or didn’t miss music?” He fastened his gaze on her face. “I remember hearing you play. Watching you. Your whole body got into it.”

  “I didn’t miss touring. Music is part of me. I still play.” She poked her fork into her salad. “Now I just upload my songs to YouTube instead of playing them live. I’m happier this way.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Still, she didn’t add that touring would never be a good decision for her again. The constant travel and stress was hard on the body, and though she’d been healthy for a year now, she knew that could change in the blink of an eye.

  She could tell that he knew there was something more, that he wanted to push, and she was grateful when he didn’t.

  “What about your sisters? Amy was a tattoo artist, right?”

  “Yes. She still is. Meg works for a catering company, and Jo ghostwrites. Books, magazines, whatever comes her way.”

  “And you all still live at home?”

  “We do.” She sensed his curiosity. It wasn’t unfounded—four grown women still living with their mother was, well, weird. “It works for us. It’s our family home, and it’s an old house. It eats up a lot of cash in upkeep, but we love it. If one of us moved out, though, the others wouldn’t be able to afford it anymore. They’d have to sell. So we stay.”

  She had no idea what they’d do if any of her sisters got married. The husband to be might protest at moving into a house full of women.

  “We get along well,” she offered. Still, she saw the question on his face, and she guessed that he wanted to ask what had happened to the money she’d made on her albums and her touring.

  Telling him it had all barely made a dent in her hospital bills was a story for another time.

  He didn’t press. Instead, they ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. She enjoyed having the time to just watch him. He looked a little older, but that leonine power was still there, and this time it was more potent.

  He was more confident in who he was. And it was freaking hot.

  As they finished their meal and Ford paid the bill, she felt a clutch of excitement in her stomach. After lunch today, she’d gone back to her shop and mechanically worked her way through her afternoon’s jobs. With busy hands, she’d had a lot of time to think about this.

  Five years ago, they’d been careless with one another. With a second chance, she wondered if they were ready now.

  She couldn’t wait to find out.

  “After you.” He placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her from the restaurant—which, she was forced to concede, he hadn’t blinked an eye at. His fingers were on skin bared by the deep vee of the back of her dress, and her senses hummed from the con
tact.

  Following him outside, she stopped short when she saw the Turbo parked at the curb.

  “Risky business, driving that thing in this neighborhood.” Reaching out, she ran a hand over the sleek silver finish. Behind her Ford growled low in his throat, and she looked back over her shoulder to see heat painted over his features.

  “I thought it was worth it,” he said, closing the thin ribbon of space between them. His chest brushed her partially bare back, and she shivered. “I have some really good memories of this car. And you.”

  “I remember.” As if she could forget. She touched herself to that memory more often than she cared to admit, the feeling of being trapped between the cool metal and Ford’s hard thrusts a permanent part of her dreams.

  One of his hands settled on her waist as he reached around her to open the passenger-side door. Without meaning to, she pressed back against him, and for a moment they just stayed like that, pressed together, absorbing each other’s heat.

  Hand still on her waist, he urged her to turn around. She gasped when he trapped her against the car with his lean hips, but he did nothing more than open her door for her.

  “My place is close.” His voice was raw with need, and she thrilled to it.

  “Drive fast.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE DROVE AS fast as he dared. Beside him in the car Beth was quiet, but he felt so much intensity, so much need, that there was no way she didn’t feel it, too.

  Pulling into his driveway, he contemplated getting out to wrench open that damn garage door so he could park the Turbo inside.

  It would take too long, time that could be spent with his hands on Beth’s soft skin. He’d risk it.

  “Welcome to my palace.” He held out his hand to help her from the low-slung vehicle. When she swung herself out, he caught a glimpse of the little black spandex boy shorts she was wearing.

  Fuck.

  He remembered those little shorts. He wanted to have those little shorts in his teeth.

  “It’s a dump,” he warned her as he opened the creaky front door. She laughed, brushing his comment aside.

  “My bedroom threatens to turn into a swimming pool every time it rains. I wouldn’t be worried about impressing me.”

  He shut the door behind them, and the only reason he didn’t press her right up against it was because she’d kicked off her shoes and padded forward into his living room.

  “Not too shabby, Ford.” Bending to flick on a lamp, she treated him to another view of the shorts, this time hugging the sweet, heart-shaped ass from his fantasies. His cock had been at half-mast since he’d pressed her against the car back at the restaurant, and now all the blood in his head rushed to his swollen shaft.

  “No need to try to impress me, either. The place is a wreck.” Kicking off his own shoes, he followed her into the living room. His cock was straining at the zipper of his fly, but he liked the ache. The anticipation.

  “Au contraire, my friend.” Beth finished circling the room, stopping in front of a chair upholstered in a geometric print. She pointed to it. “This is a vintage Italian armchair. Midcentury. You could sell it for a few thousand dollars.”

  “That thing?” He cocked his head. He didn’t see it.

  “Yes, this thing.” Sinking into it, she settled back with a happy sigh. “Don’t listen to him. I know what a beauty you are.”

  “The beauty isn’t the chair.” And it wasn’t. Even against the hideous print, she was stunning. The lamp cast a soft glow over her features, the reddish tint of her hair. He liked that she’d kept a natural look for tonight. As natural as a woman with tattoos sleeving her arms could look.

  Opening her eyes, she peered up at him. He stepped farther into the room, standing in front of her. Bending, he placed his hands on her knees, then slowly urged his hands up, up beneath the silky fabric of her dress. He stopped midthigh, and her muscles tensed beneath his hands as he dipped his head to kiss her.

  “Mmm.” She sighed softly into his mouth, reaching up to work her hands through his hair. “Still got some moves, Sir Lassiter.”

  Sir Lassiter. He’d dreamed of hearing that from her lips for years. Hearing it again now was a punch of lust straight to the gut.

  He wanted her. The need had only gotten better with time, and he wanted to drink her up.

  “I could probably be persuaded to like this chair.” Easing back, he settled his weight on an ottoman that sat across from it.

  “Oh?” She smirked. “Do tell.”

  “What would you say if I told you to get naked and get back in it?” He noted her quick shudder of excitement.

  “I’d wonder why you were asking instead of telling.” Her eyes shot blue sparks, and he groaned.

  She was challenging him. Asking if he really was ready to accept everything he’d wanted before but denied them both.

  Leaning forward, he settled his elbows on his knees, watching her. He could never get enough of watching her.

  “Get naked.” His words weren’t a question. “I want to watch.”

  She said nothing, simply pushed up out of the chair. As she turned, his stare feasted on the swirls of colorful ink on her back as she lifted the hem of her dress.

  She tugged it up and over her head, then cast it to the floor. She was still facing away, but he was transfixed by her tattoo.

  “This is new.” He stretched his arm out to drag a single finger down her spine. The ink started at the nape of her neck, lines of music notes that tapered with the shape of her body, ending with a single note at the base of her spine. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “It’s the score to one of my songs.” She wiggled impatiently, drawing his attention to her ass. Pulling the ottoman closer, he cupped the plump cheeks in his hands, his thumbs grazing the insides of her thighs.

  “Fuck,” she hissed when he traced just the outside of her lower lips through the thin fabric of her shorts. “You’re still good at that.”

  “I’m better.” He repeated the move, enjoying the tremble in her thighs. Moisture dampened the tips of his fingers, and he inhaled the musky, salty scent. “Now turn the fuck around. You know what I want to see and you’re hiding it.”

  She laughed breathlessly as she turned, too slowly for his liking. When she again faced him, her hands were covering her breasts.

  “You’re a brat.” Placing his hands on her hips, he tugged her into the vee of his thighs. That close, he could feel the heat of her skin, and he felt wetness leak from the head of his cock. “I want to see those fucking amazing tits of yours. Show me.”

  Gaze glued to his, she slowly, deliberately dropped her hands. Her breasts bounced as they were freed, the jiggling of the plump flesh sending a surge of something almost painful through him.

  Her right nipple was still pierced. But now, instead of the silver bar, the rosy tip was decorated with a delicate gold hoop.

  “Fuck me.” The words tore out of him, and then his hands were at her waist, tugging her to him. She gasped when his mouth closed over her nipple. He caught the ring in his teeth and tugged, just a bit, and she wobbled, her hands landing on his chest.

  Sucking hard, laving the tip of her breast with his tongue, he urged her down until she straddled his lap. This brought her damp cleft into direct contact with his rock-solid shaft, and he thrust against her instinctively.

  She ground down on him when he took her neglected nipple in his fingers, rolling and tugging until it was as swollen as the one in his mouth. He wanted to keep sucking, teasing, grinding—he wanted it all, but it had been five years. He wanted to make it worth the wait.

  He pulled his mouth from her breast with a damp pop. Her nipple was red, engorged, wet from his mouth. Sometime soon he was going to play with those fantastic tits all night long. That was all he would do.

  At the end of it he’d have her hold them to
gether so he could fuck them. The image was so arousing he started to shake.

  “Stand up.” He wasn’t even sure he was speaking English by this point. She whimpered at the order, rubbing her pussy over his erection until he saw stars. “Do it.”

  Chest heaving, and breasts jiggling along with it in a way that made his mouth water, she did. He took a moment to trace his fingers over the flock of birds inked onto her rib cage before pushing the ottoman back a foot.

  “Lose the shorts.” His hands were damp as he settled them on his knees. They were shaking a little.

  What was this?

  He thought she might argue. Instead she hooked her fingers in the waistband on the spandex. With a sensuous little sway, she pulled them down to midthigh, baring a plump, damp pussy that he’d missed for far too long.

  “All the way.” She kicked them off, standing in front of him naked. Her hair was loose and wild around her shoulders, the ink on her skin highlighting the curves of her body.

  How had he ever thought that a woman like her shouldn’t be sexy? She was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

  “Sit down in that chair you love so much.” Slowly, he undid the buckle of his belt. She did as he ordered, but her eyes were fastened on his fingers as he popped the button on his jeans.

  His cock was escaping the confines of his boxer briefs, pressed up flat against his belly. Lifting his hips, he shoved his jeans and underwear down around his hips, freeing his erection fully.

  Her stare was fastened to it.

  “Hook your legs over the arms of the chair.” She did, the crook of her knees settling on the top edge. She was completely naked, open wide to him, and his pulse stuttered.

  “It’s been far too long since I got to see you.” She hissed in a breath when he fisted his erection in his hand. “I want to look my fill, so this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to play with those tits while I look, while I think about what I’m going to do to that tight little body of yours. I’m going to jerk off while I do it. But if you try to touch that pretty little pussy of yours, then I’m going to finish myself, and you won’t get what you want.”