“Oh God,” she says. “Your deposition. Please, just put this aside until it’s over. I’ve made it this long. I can make it another week.”
I don’t tell her the bank might try to pull a dirty trick I’m not going to give them a chance to pull. “I have my work in the car. I’ll sit down at your kitchen table, and we’ll call Frank after I finish up with North,” I say, walking around the island, and pulling all her soft, tempting, fuckable curves to me. And when her hand settles on my chest, that morning wood, is back. I’m hard. I’m hot. And I want her. “But I’m going to need something to eat other than ice cream,” I add, “and a cold shower, since I don’t have time to fuck you properly right now, and I really want to fuck you right now.”
“You know,” she says, her hand flattening on my naked stomach, her eyes lighting with mischief, the worry and anger of the past few minutes, at least momentarily lost, if not gone. “I considered telling you we should cool things down. But your pants are open and your cock is right,” her fingers touch the head of my shaft, “here. And you really need the edge off if you’re going to do a good job for you and me. I feel obligated to help.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes,” she says, and holy fuck, she is going down on to her knees, and she already has my cock out of my pants and wrapped in her hand. “And I feel that this is the way to it.” She strokes the head of my cock with her tongue and smiles up at me. “Salty. You really did need this, didn’t you? And just in case you’re wondering. Don’t hold back. I intend to swallow.” And with that evil, seductive comment, she draws me into her mouth. And damn, Faith is good. She suckles. She licks. And when my hand goes to her hair, my body pumping into her, she makes these hot little sounds, like she needs this as much as I do, which has my balls tight, my body burning in all the right ways.
She wraps her hand around my thigh for leverage, and I’m close. So damn close. “That’s right, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice low, gravelly. “That’s good.” My hand twines into her hair, urgency surging through me. I pump harder, pushing my cock deeper into her throat and she takes me, sucks me harder even, and that does it for me. She does it for me. I’m there, a hoarse moan sliding from my lips with the release that follows. My shaft spasms in her mouth and she does exactly what she said she would. She swallows, but she is in no rush to end this. She drags her tongue and lips up and down me, slowly easing me to the completion of the best damn blow job of my life.
Only when my chin lowers, my eyes finding hers, does she slide her mouth from my body. She pushes to her feet, and I drag her to me. “You know that wasn’t—”
“Payment for services? Damn straight it wasn’t. Free will, Nick. And now, I’m going to shower, and go pick up food so you can get your work done.” She pushes away from me and takes off walking. Damn that woman rocks my world. I hope like hell she’s innocent because I’m in deep now. And about to be deeper, because she’s about to be naked in that shower and so am I.
IT’S NEARLY ELEVEN BY THE time Faith is ready to leave to pick up food, and I walk her to my BMW outside her house, while her car waits for the tow truck we called a few minutes ago. Both of us are in faded jeans and boots, me in a black t-shirt with the classic royal blue BMW logo on it and her in some sort of pink, long sleeved lace t-shirt that hugs her breasts just right. Which I notice, because unlike my hair that is knotted at the back of my head, her long blond hair is not only free and smelling like vanilla and amber again, it’s resting over her nipples, which I just had in my mouth fifteen minutes ago.
She dangles my keys between us. “I’m nervous about driving your car.”
“Don’t wreck it and everything will be fine.”
“Thanks for that comforting thought and vote of confidence.”
“That’s what people like about me,” I say. “I’m warm and fuzzy all the damn time.”
Her sexy mouth curves, and damn, I’m thinking about it on my cock again. “Like I said, Nick Rogers,” she says, as if she’s just heard my thoughts. “There’s nothing sweet about you.”
I pull her to me and give her a long, drugging kiss and I swear I can taste that amber and vanilla scent from her hair on her lips. “How’s that for sweet?” I demand.
“Your kisses aren’t sweet, any more than you’re a nice guy,” she says. “But you’re right. Nice is overrated and so is sweet.”
I give her pink painted lips a glance. “Why the fuck does your lipstick never come off?”
She laughs. “Such fierceness over lipstick. It’s not supposed to. They make it that way.”
“Hmmm. Good. I think I like a challenge.”
“Your challenge is your deposition next week. Let me get to the grocery store and pick up that Italian food I promised, so you can get your job done.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman scold me about my work,” I say. “It’s surprisingly arousing. But I’m pushing my call back to one.” I release her and open the car door. “But go now before I need to push this call back to noon.”
She starts to climb inside but pauses. “Make yourself at home. Just don’t burn down the place and everything will be fine.”
Laughing at her play on my warning, aware that she manages to keep the playing field even at all times, I watch as she disappears into the BMW. I shut her inside, backing up to watch her depart, and as she puts the car into gear, I decide there’s something very wrong, and yet right at the same time, about a woman I’m fucking in my pride and joy, my custom BMW Hurricane. But then, there is something about Faith that’s both wrong and right, all the way around. She disappears around a curve and I sigh. All I can do is hope like hell she’s as good at driving it as she is riding me.
I cross the drive and march up the stairs. Entering the house, I shut the door and prepare to start a search. But damn it, it’s impossible not to feel the betrayal of Faith’s trust in that act, which feeds my need to prove her innocence and not her guilt, which I’ve already established as a problem. At this point, I’ll take innocence any way I can frame it, and she’s logical and smart. It will be a blow to find out why I sought her out, but she’ll understand. Forgiving me might be another story, but right now, I just need to find a murderer that isn’t her. I glance at my watch: 11:15. I need time to review the material North has certainly already emailed me, but by the time I do this search and eat with Faith, that’s not going to happen. Not willing to compromise the prep for the deposition or my management of North, I snag my cellphone from my pocket, and text him: Move to two o’clock.
He responds so damn fast I don’t know how he has time to type: Copy that, boss.