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  “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

  Ellen nods slowly but her gaze remains affixed to my chest. I don’t get the sense that my words registered with her brain. She moves toward me, but the dresser at my back prevents me from retreating. Her warm breath along my bare chest sends an instant message to my dick. Not even rats can compete with the nearness of her body to mine.

  “I think your mom is a great cook. It smells delicious downstairs.”

  There’s nothing I love more than having my mom’s cooking mentioned at the same time I’m imagining my cock in Ellen’s mouth because she won’t stop wetting her lips.

  Rats. She owns rats. My dick needs to get that unsavory message.

  Nope. Not even that thought can make this erection disappear.

  “I’m evicting you,” I whisper.

  She steps back and nods, redirecting her gaze from my chest to her feet. I’m not trying to be a dick about it, I’m just trying to go to dinner without a hard-on. The reality of our professional relationship and her reaction to it is enough to abate the situation in my pants.

  She looks up. “I signed a new lease this morning.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say.

  “See you downstairs.” She smiles.

  *

  “NICE OF YOU to take a break and join us for dinner.” My mom nods to the lone chair opposite Harrison and Ellen.

  “Ellen was just telling us her father lives in Cape Cod.”

  I lay my napkin over one leg while inspecting the woman who is really still a mystery to me. “I didn’t know that. I thought you were from California.”

  She dabs her mouth and swallows. “I moved here from California, but that’s not where I grew up.”

  “And you think it’s cold here?” I narrow my eyes.

  “College in Florida and my first job in Southern California spoiled me.” She shrugs.

  “I’d never live in California. You’d have to be stupid to live near the San Andres fault. Eventually everyone will die.” My uncensored son pipes up.

  “Harrison—”

  “It’s fine.” She chuckles. “Good thing I moved here.”

  “It’s not safe anywhere. My mom died because it was raining.”

  Your mom died because I was drunk. More penance. I deserve this more than the oxygen in my lungs. It should have been me. This boy I love beyond all words is a walking reminder of who I am—a murderer.

  “My mom died too. Life’s not fair. Fate doesn’t show favoritism.” Ellen shrugs.

  Harrison nods like he understands her, like he connects with her.

  “I wonder what it would feel like to be on a boat in the Pacific if there were an earthquake in California.”

  I grin. Harrison is always three topics behind the conversation—fixating, obsessing over one thing.

  My parents ask Ellen a million questions about her job. I hear a few of her answers, but my thoughts war between court tomorrow and the needy woman I brought to orgasm in a dark alley.

  “Dinner was great, Mom. Thank you. But I have a few things left to do before morning.” I wipe my mouth and push my chair back. “Help with the dishes, Harrison, and then get to bed. Okay?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me. No surprise.

  “We’ll make sure he pitches in.” My dad gives me a reassuring nod.

  “Goodnight.” I give Ellen a brief glance before retreating to my office.

  For the next hour, I block out the chatter and clanking in the kitchen, giving my full attention to preparing for court tomorrow. As I shut off my computer and rub my tired eyes, the voices get closer.

  “He won’t mind if you say goodbye one more time,” my dad says just outside of my office before knocking twice on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “Ellen’s leaving. She wanted to say goodbye,” he says.

  I nod.

  “Harrison went to bed and your mom and I are turning in too. Be a gentleman and see her out. Okay?” He winks before stepping back to let her into my office.

  “Thank you. Goodnight,” she whispers to him before turning toward me.

  I wait to hear him climbing the stairs, the third and eighth ones creak.

  “Nice office.”

  I watch her like a wolf closing in on a lost sheep. After a long day, I’m not in the mood for idle chitchat.

  “Dinner was exceptionally good. Your mom is a wonderful cook.”

  I nod slowly, my finger tracing my bottom lip—the same finger that rubbed circles on her clit in the alley.

  She walks around my office, inspecting shelves filled with boring law books, making the occasional glance in my direction. I strip her without touching her, slowly fucking her with every look.

  “Where do these stairs lead?” She grips the railing, blue eyes curious.

  I like curious. In fact, I’m pretty damn curious right now too. Easing out of my chair, I walk up behind her. She glances up at me over her shoulder. I cock my head a fraction, twisting my mouth, waiting for her to do exactly what I want her to do without having to say one. Single. Fucking. Word.

  Keeping her gaze locked to mine, she takes a cautious step and then another. My feet shadow hers; my body presses to the back of hers, heat radiating between us. As she circles the last part of the spiral staircase, my hands mold to her hips, causing her breath to hitch, halting her forward motion.

  Every curve so perfect. My hands slide under her black sheer blouse, fingertips tracing the taut, silky skin and forging on until her bra is shoved up and out of my way.

  A moan vibrates her sternum when my hands claim her breasts, kneading and teasing her nipples before pressing the pads of my fingers to her stomach, navigating my way back to her hips and along her outer thighs to the hem of her soft knitted skirt.

  She wore this for me, just like she chose tall schoolgirl socks and boots instead of making me rip her hosiery. I ease her skirt up her legs. Tiny staccato breaths fall from her parted lips. It’s the only sound in the room. The pad of my middle finger slides over the wet cotton and lace between her legs before gripping the waist of her panties and easing them down her toned, soft, and oh-so-sexy legs and over her boots before landing on the stair behind me.

  My lips start at the skin just above the top of her right boot and ghost their way up the back of her leg.

  “Flint …”

  “Shhh …” I nip at the skin right below the perfect curve of her ass, warning her to be quiet. She smells like the forbidden and tastes like my newest addiction. My hands work her skirt up her torso and over her head. With a firm yank it releases her arms, taking her shirt with it. I discard them behind me as well.

  She turns. I take a step up, putting my face level with her perky tits. Glancing up to meet her drunken gaze and parted lips, I grin, unfastening her bra and tossing it over my shoulder.

  Fucking perfect.

  Long auburn hair flowing down her back and over the top of her breasts makes her look like a goddess, something an artist would spend months sculpting to perfection. I don’t want to sculpt her. I want to feel her beneath me, writhing, moaning, completely falling into a million tiny pieces of ecstasy.

  “Sit,” I command before shrugging off my shirt.

  I swear I can hear her heart pounding against her chest. Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip as she grips the metal railing and sits on the edge of the narrow step.

  I drop to my knees several steps down from the one she’s sitting on. Our gazes lock for a long moment before I bring my index finger to my lips in a shhh warning. Her hands grip the railing tighter until her knuckles blanch. She bites her lips together when I lean forward and drape her right leg over my left shoulder and her left leg over my right one.

  She gasps, stomach muscles contracting, followed by a throaty groan when my tongue makes its first swipe. One of her hands releases the railing and clenches my hair as her pelvis jerks, legs trembling a little more with every move I make. Some depraved part of me has wan
ted to do this since the first day she arrived for the interview.

  When her hand tugs harder at my hair and her hips grind frantically, I pull back, letting my eyes drink up every inch of her flushed skin before dipping my head down. Trapping one nipple between my teeth, I give it a firm tug, flick my tongue over it twice, and pinch the hell out of her other nipple.

  “Jesu—”

  My hand covers her mouth as her body jerks, knees clamping my torso. Releasing her nipple, I lift my head and grin, keeping my hand over her mouth as she convulses, eyes rolling back for a few seconds before widening again to meet my gaze.

  When I’m confident she can control her volume, I slide my hand from her mouth, hug her body to mine, and carry her the rest of the way up the stairs to my bed.

  “How the hell did you make me com—”

  I silence her with my mouth on hers while removing my pants and briefs. “I need you to be silent,” I whisper next to her ear before retrieving a condom from the drawer, rolling it on, and pinning her to my bed with my cock buried inside of her.

  Harrison is across the hall and my parents are in the room next to mine. We don’t need to talk. I wasn’t really in the mood for it anyway.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ellen

  I WAS FINE having sex with the same man for my whole life, but circumstances landed me in Flint Hopkins’ bed, and now I feel guilty for feeling so grateful for this opportunity. Thank you, Alex, for literally kicking all of my belongings to the curb. It’s possible I still have some residual anger.

  Eyes closed, sated, and relishing the thread count of Flint’s sheets against my naked body, something tickles my leg. I jerk, cracking open my eyes and tipping my chin to my chest.

  “What are you—”

  “Shhh …” I’ve been hushed a million times in the past hour. Flint pulls my panties up my legs. “You have to go,” he whispers.

  Did I black out? I just orgasmed again. When did he get dressed?

  I lift my ass like an obedient child letting someone dress me. He grabs my good arm and pulls me to sitting. Bra. Sweater. Skirt. Socks and boots. Flint Hopkins is an expert at dressing people.

  He takes my hand and pulls me to the back stairs—where it all began tonight.

  “I had three orgasms. That’s—”

  “Shhh …” He hushes me again as we circle down the stairs. “And you’re welcome.”

  “Smug bastard,” I mumble.

  He glances over his shoulder while pulling me to the front door. The smirk on his face confirms my assessment, but it’s replaced with a grimace as one of the stairs squeaks.

  Before I can look back to see who’s coming down the main staircase, Flint pulls me into the coat closet and eases the door shut behind us. His head presses against the wall next to the door so he doesn’t have to duck under the bar of hanging coats. He covers my mouth with his hand.

  Seriously? It’s a little before midnight and we’re hiding in a coat closet. I think I can deduce on my own that we need to be quiet. I nip at his hand until he pulls it away.

  “Shhh …” he whispers.

  “I’m being quiet,” I whisper yell.

  “Shhh …” Cupping the back of my head, he pulls my face to his chest like he wants to suffocate me into silence.

  Jeez he smells good … but, seriously, I need some oxygen. I shove at his chest. “Stop—”

  His strong hands palm my head like it’s a basketball he’s ready to pass, and his lips cover mine. I love the slide of his tongue against mine. It’s a drug that makes my legs feel boneless. My hands grip his biceps the way they did earlier when he moved above me—inside me—naked, intense, and so sexy.

  He’s distracting me. Silencing me with his mouth. It’s rude. And as soon as I get my fill, I will show him how offended I am. We are grown adults in our thirties. There is no reason for us to hide in this closet.

  Flint bites my bottom lip and moves his mouth to my ear. “Stop. Humming.”

  Was I humming? Huh, I had no idea.

  The door to the closet opens. I fist Flint’s T-shirt and freeze.

  “Heard a humming sound.” Gene yawns while scratching his head covered in thick, salt and pepper hair.

  “Sorry.” I cringe, biting my lips together.

  Gene’s gaze moves up a few inches to Flint. “Forgot to take my pills. I just needed some water.”

  “Okay.” I nod, still fisting Flint’s shirt. What’s Flint’s deal? He has nothing to say?

  “Okay.” Gene cracks a tiny smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  And then … He. Shuts. The. Door.

  We stand in the dark, listening to the creaking of one stair and a few seconds later another stair creaks before everything falls silent again.

  Flint opens the door and guides me out of the closet with his hand on my lower back. I retrieve my coat from the coat tree and slide my arms into it as we walk out to my car. I can’t stop smiling.

  “You just can’t stay quiet,” he grumbles.

  I open the car door and turn back to the broad-shouldered man looming above me. “I feel eighteen and so alive right now. Oh my gosh! Your dad caught us in the coat closet.”

  His barely detectable grin fades. “Ellen …”

  I start to speak, start to make up an excuse for tonight before he has to make up his own excuse for why this can’t go beyond tonight. But I stop myself. I’m not his problem. I’ll have a new office space next week. I don’t regret tonight, so if he does, then he’ll have to man up and say it.

  “Harrison can’t find out about this.”

  “Okay.” I draw in a breath to elaborate but decide to let the words die in a silent exhale. Is that code for tonight never happened? Instead of coming across as needy or clingy, I simply smile. “Goodnight.”

  Flint nods once as I get in my car. He closes my door and watches me pull out of his driveway. It’s possible I won’t see Flint again after I move in five days. That makes me sad, but I still smile because tonight a man touched me, healed me, and erased a little bit of the hate from my past.

  *

  Flint

  I CAN’T TELL which burns more, my legs or my lungs. Heidi would hate me for allowing a woman into my bed with our son in the room across the hall. Heidi would hate me for thinking I have the right to one second of pleasure. And she would be right.

  “Good morning. How was your run?” my mom asks as I push through the back door and grab a green juice out of the fridge.

  Harrison keeps his head down toward his bowl of fruit, earbuds blocking out the rest of the world, while my dad gives me a knowing smirk over the newspaper framed in his hands.

  “It was good.”

  “Did Ellen ever find her coat?” Dad asks.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I hung her coat up on the coat tree.” Mom offers me a cup of coffee.

  I shake my head at it.

  “That’s what I thought too…” my dad refocuses on the paper but continues to run his mouth “…but she and Flint were focusing their attention on the coat closet.”

  “I sure like her.” My mom sips her coffee.

  “I do too.” Dad folds down the side of the paper to grab his mug of coffee. “What do you think of her, Flint?”

  I think Ellen Rodgers is trouble. “She’s nice enough.”

  He tips his chin and glances at me over the frames of his glasses, coffee mug paused a few inches from his mouth. “On a scale of one to ten, how nice do you think she is?”

  “You’re acting weird, Gene. Did you miscount your pills last night?” Mom eyes him with sincerity.

  “I’m fine, Camilla. Answer the question, Son.”

  I scratch my chin with my middle finger. “A seven.”

  “Just a seven, huh?”

  Tossing the bottle into the recycling bin, I nod. “Seven.”

  “She was more than a seven, sweetie. You just didn’t hang around after dinner to get to know her like we did,” Mom says.

  �
��Exactly.” My dad nods several times. “We saw a side of her you probably didn’t get to see. Maybe you should get to know her better.”

  I want to strangle him.

  “And she’s so pretty, Flint. My goodness … that auburn hair makes her blue eyes pop. She looks like a living doll. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I want to look like her in my next life. She’s stunning.”

  “Stunning.” My dad coughs, hiding his grin behind his fist. Such a smart-ass.

  “I’m going to shower.”

  *

  Ellen

  FRIDAY. TWO DAYS and counting down …

  I’m glad my new landlord is eighty and partially deaf. I don’t have to worry about him hearing the instruments and singing. I also don’t have to worry about having sex with him after being served an eviction notice. I don’t have to explain to his son why I won’t be able to play guitar with him after school anymore.

  “My dad said you’re leaving and I have to give the guitar back.”

  I turn in my desk chair toward the voice I will miss.

  “Hey, Harry. Yes, I’m moving out, but you don’t have to give me back the guitar. I want you to have it.”

  “Okay.”

  I smile at his somber enthusiasm.

  He kneels on the floor to take the guitar out of its case.

  “I’m surprised you’re here. I haven’t seen your dad today. I hope he knows where you are.”

  “My grandpa dropped me off. My dad is on his way. I’ll ride home with him after he does whatever …” He dismissively waves his hand.

  “It was fun having dinner with you.”

  “Yeah.” Harry nods, strumming a few chords. “They were talking about it yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Everyone thinks you’re nice. A seven.”

  “A seven?”

  “Something like that. I don’t know. Just something my grandpa asked my dad.” He continues to play as he mumbles.

  “What did your grandpa ask your dad?”

  “I don’t know. Something about a scale from one to ten. My dad said you’re a seven. Which is weird. Seven’s like seventy percent. That’s a D at my school. Sixty-six to seventy is a D.”

  I hear everything—everything in my profession. It’s part of therapy. But this eats at me. Flint called me a seven. Sure, it’s been a while, but I’d hardly call Tuesday night a seven. What could I have done to up my game? I smile when Harry glances up at me, but it’s a fake gritted-teeth smile. Inside I’m not smiling. I’m ready to tear someone apart.