Monday, April 29, 2013

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 5

Wow, I was so busy last week, I don't think I saw a single game. Caught the end of yesterday's loss on the radio. The Brave's still have single-digit losses, and for now, still rest at the top of the NL East, but we have a long way to go.

Soft Sounds of Pleasure, compete with new cover art and a few hundred words lighter, should be available on Amazon again by May 1. All other outlets to follow in due time. I sometimes wonder if the people at iTunes read every word before they put something up. Still waiting on a couple of books to go live there. (sigh)

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she replied. “He’s harmless, but irritating. I hate it when guys just think it’s okay to—”  She cut off the sentence, staring at him.
“Touch you without an invitation?” he guessed.  She swallowed hard before nodding.  “Sure, I’d like a beer, thanks.”
He stared at her hungrily as she pulled the tap, lingering over the lush curves of her full breasts, and her waist beneath the form-fitting corset. The pants hugged her ass, showing off more curves he longed to touch.  He’d seen her without the pants, after all, seen her stretched out completely naked except for sinful lace panties. He knew long legs were hidden under that leather and he wanted them wrapped around him.  Stop, he scolded himself.  The last thing she wanted was some other asshole touching her without her consent.
She placed a coaster in front of him before sitting the glass down.
“So, it’s Vee, right? I’m Mike,” he added helpfully. “Thane introduced us.”
“I remember,” she said. “And yes, it’s Vee.”
“What’s that short for?”
He picked up the beer, still looking at her. “So, Verity, what are we doing on this break of yours?  How about a dance?”
She laughed, polishing the expanse of bar to his right. “It’s okay. I was just getting rid of Reno.  I usually hide out in my car. Staff’s not supposed to dance, or mingle with the guests.”
“You always do what you’re supposed to do?  That sounds kind of…lightweight to me.”  Damn, those eyes were fantastic.  He’d always hoped they’d turn out to be real.
She cut him a glance that made his heart stop in his chest. “So, a dance with you is supposedly worth getting fired?”
“Probably not. I don’t claim to be the best dancer in the world.  But, we could go somewhere and you could let me see that tat.”
She darted a look around and put one finger over her lips. “Shh, I haven’t come out about that yet, and I have relatives who work here.  The staff gossips like crazy.  It’s seriously a secret.”
“So, I get to see it, or I rat you out.”
“Blackmail’s not very nice.  I think I’d rather risk getting fired and see how badly you dance.”
“Vee, sorry we forgot about you back here. Go take your break, make it a long one.”
They both looked at the woman who appeared behind the bar.
“Thanks, Angie,” Vee replied. “Where’s Sage?”
“In her office, I think.  Do you need her?”
Vee laughed again, a sound he already loved. She glanced toward him, mischief in her eyes. “No, my customer here wants to dance with me.  I just wanted to know if the coast was clear.” 
“Like she’d fire you.” This new woman gave him an appraising look. “Besides, it’s packed out there. How would she see you in the midst of all that insanity?  Go. Take your time.  I got this.” 
The two women bent their heads over the register. Mike downed the beer before tossing a twenty on the bar.  He waited for her to approach him, and felt his heart start to pound as she rounded the bar and held out her hand. He took it, feeling the adrenaline of attraction speed through his veins.
As soon as they reached the crowded main room, the crush of bodies slowed their progress. She wound her way determinedly toward the center of the big dance floor. Talking was out of the question.  The music vibrated through him. She finally reached the place she wanted to be, smiling seductively before turning and beginning to move in time with the music.  She’d selected a place under one of the club’s spotlights, and she danced as if she knew that was where she belonged.
He could hardly tear his eyes away. He watched her hips move in time with the music.  She wasn’t looking at him.  Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back.  He stopped bothering to pretend he was dancing, only watched her. The crowd pulled back a bit, everyone around them watched her, too.  The way she danced was primal, slightly sinful in her complete lack of self-consciousness.  He saw her glance over her shoulders, caught the taunt in her eyes as she spun around, then moved closer to him, beginning a slow torture.
He felt her breasts touch his chest, saw her lean away, only to feel her hip nudge the erection her dance provoked.  He moved with her, but refused to give in to his desire to touch her, mindful of her comment in the bar.  Her hand slipped down his arm, hitting bare skin after skimming over the short sleeve of his t-shirt, tracing an electrifying trail down his arm.  Reaching his hand, her eyes never left his. She brought his fingers to her lips, pressed them to his index finger, just before she flicked her tongue over the rough pad.
He groaned as need throbbed in his cock. With a naughty look, she sunk her teeth into the place her tongue had laved. Shock waves of desire hit his groin. He fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder and find somewhere they could be alone.  He curled his free hand around her waist, underneath her hair, caressing the soft flesh above the low waistband of her pants and slowly drew her body to his.
Time, and even the music, disappeared as she melted against him. They barely moved, yet were never still. Her breath fanned his chest. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and reveled in the way her curves felt, pressed against him. Her head fit neatly just under his chin. Her nails raked the fabric of his shirt, up and over the muscles of his back, then down again.  He groaned again, and tightened his grip on her waist, pressing her less gently into his erection.
He felt her move, looked down to see her face tilted up to his, lost himself in those jewel-like eyes before allowing his gaze to settle on the soft, full lips.  He bent his head to kiss her.  Their lips touched, sending another ripple of need through his veins. Her lips parted, and damn, he wasn't going to miss this opportunity. She’d been seducing him for an hour. Time to give her what she’d been asking for.
And she didn’t simply kiss him back.  Oh, no, her silky tongue drove him to new heights of desire.  She tasted like sweet fruit, felt like wet silk.
He felt her stiffen and start to pull away. He let her go, regret singing in his veins. She turned, but not before giving the front of his shirt a tug. Again, she worked her way through the crush of bodies, but he saw several men look at him with envy. No doubt, they’d watched her dance.  His zipper was probably imprinted on his cock for life. He surreptitiously tried to adjust matters before they got off the dance floor.
She walked straight to the closest bar, signaling him to wait. Slipping behind the glossy black length,  pulled two sleek bottles—also black, everything in this joint was black—out of a cooler with a nod to the bartender.
“Let’s go outside.” She rose on tiptoe and spoke into his ear, placing one of the bottles in his hand.
“Been following you all night.”  More like looking for her all his life. Too bad his dreams never showed him what happened next. Guess that's up to me.
He followed her again. This time, she passed the table where his teammates were seated.  Victor gave him the thumbs up as they walked by. Mike grinned, giving them a cocky wave.
Once through the door, he gazed around, taking in the sight. The center of the glassed-in patio held mostly empty tables, each with a flickering candle at the center.  He saw Vee turn to her left, and realized she was talking to a man dressed in black, who stood behind some sort of podium.  He supposed she was getting them a table.  Looking around while the guy consulted a book in front of him, Mike realized the boundaries of the patio were defined by black curtains about seven feet high, draped from red-lacquered poles, above which he could see the lights of the city.  It was oddly disconcerting, that black fabric. She turned towards him, beckoning him again.
He followed, wondering where the hell she was going. Does she want to push back the curtains and look out at the view? Obsidian was on top floor of a building at the edge of downtown Atlanta. He supposed the view was worth looking at, but the scenery wasn't as interesting as the woman he was following. He glanced at his watch, wondering how much time they had before she had to go back to work. She stopped and pulled back the curtain to reveal piles of red and black cushions in front of small ledge set in front of a massive pane of plate glass. He felt his jaw drop.
He stepped inside. She followed, allowing the heavy curtain to swing closed behind her. She evaded his grasp and shoved aside some of the pillows, revealing an upholstered bench running the length of the counter. No fucking wonder his buddies had been grinning, assuming they knew what was out here. The music was muted, a faint throb in the background, allowing him to hear the sounds of lovemaking coming from the curtained hideaways on either side.

To be continued 5/6. Like the story? You can catch up on Chapters 1-4 here.

Kathleen's on vacation this week, but be sure to check in on Jennifer Simpkins. I have to admit, the Yankees are getting the job done, even with some pretty big holes in their lineup. Dang, I really wanted to yank Jennifer's chain this week...but it's early yet. And I'm the patient sort. :p

Thanks for dropping in! Have a great week.

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