37. Acting Out

Chapter 37

Acting Out

Charlie stepped into a shower the size of his living room and tried to figure out how to coax water from the complicated spray system—which should have been a cakewalk for a contractor.

On his way back from Joy's office, he had ducked into a pub to escape the crowds. Now his belly was full as he scrubbed off the city's grit and the pub's grease.

When he finished cleaning up, he noticed a text from her blinking on his screen. She apologized, saying she was going to be later than she had originally planned. Ignoring the unsettling feeling evoked by her being out with Calloway and a bunch of drunk leches, he stretched out on her butter-soft leather couch and puzzled out a drop-down TV with a dizzying array of remotes.

He must have dozed because he went from a baseball game to soft, silky hair brushing his face. He blinked and looked up at Joy's bright red lips thinned into a firm line.

"Hey. There you are." He pulled her down on top of him, but she pulled away, and he ended up kissing the top of her ear .

She untangled herself from his grasp. "That was quite the trick you pulled in my office today. Was that a caveman claim kind of act? Were you beating your chest?"

"Well, hello to you too." He wasn't sure why he'd behaved the way he had. Primal shit, apparently. "I don't recall doing anything to my chest, but I do recall doing a few things to yours . Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

She glared at him, but he couldn't tell if it was real. "I didn't. Not with Sterling and everyone else in the office on the other side of the door."

"Liar. I've read your books."

Her lips curved in a half-smile, and relief sped through him. "Let me take off this makeup so I don't get it all over your nice white T-shirt. Mmm, you smell good."

"So do you." He sat up. "Anything else you need to take off? I'm pretty handy that way."

"Handsy, you mean. No, I'm good." She sashayed down her long hallway to the master. The TV was still on, but the ball game wasn't. He checked his phone: 10:22 p.m.

Unsure what to do, he sat on the couch and played with his phone for fifteen minutes until she returned, sans makeup, in faded jeans and a dark long-sleeved T-shirt that did a crisscross peekaboo thing over her chest. Modest, but the flash of bare skin made it sexy. She sat sideways on his lap, looped her arms around his neck, and kissed him stupid.

"I missed you," she purred when they came up for air.

"Yeah, I missed you too. I kinda forgot what that was like this past week. How about another refresh?"

She lowered her mouth to his and refreshed the hell out of him. Then she slid off his lap and motioned toward a butler's pantry while he adjusted himself. There she poured him a double Jameson and filled a wineglass for herself.

Next, she crooked a finger and led him to the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"No, I had a big juicy steak sandwich down at the local pub. How about you? How was your business dinner?"

She crinkled her nose. "Ugh. Long and boring. A lot of blah, blah, blah. I'm sorry I was so late."

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're here now." He sidled up beside her and slid an arm around her shoulders .

She stiffened. "Could you please do me a favor and not call me ‘sweetheart'?"

He let his arm drop. "Uh, sure. Any particular reason why?"

"Because you call everyone ‘sweetheart'?"

He sipped his whiskey, hoping to chase away the overabundance of awkward that had suddenly sprouted between them. "So no ‘sweetheart.' What about ‘princess'? I will point out I don't call anyone else that." She shook her head. "I take it ‘Joy' is still okay. What about ‘baby'?"

She set down her wineglass and faced him, running her hands up his chest. "Yes, especially when we're, you know." Her moist pink lips twitched with a crafty smile that sent a jolt straight to his dick.

He lifted her hand and nipped a finger. "No, I don't know. Why don't you explain it to me?"

She laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. She was on edge, probably nervous like he was, which didn't make sense, considering how down and dirty they'd been mere hours ago. Maybe she hadn't enjoyed him mauling her in her office. Yeah, not exactly a good look for a high-powered professional. A tendril of guilt snaked its way through him.

Deciding on a different tactic, he backed away. "Tell me about your week. How was it coming back?"

She started talking, her posture easing as she did so. During a lull in the conversation, he retrieved her wine and topped off her glass.

She raised it to him. "Thank you. Now what about you? How's everyone doing? How's the project coming? You said you had news that had to be delivered in person?"

He took her rapid-fire questions one at a time, filling her in while skirting around the topic of the Haven. He would drop that news on her tomorrow, and who knew? Maybe Shane would have a name for him by then.

When he finished telling her about the Silver Summit meeting, she flew at him and hugged him tight. He drew in that almond-flower fragrance he had missed so much and remained still, simply breathing her in.

Still in his arms, she leaned back. "Oh. My. God! Reviving a spur ? Brilliant! I knew you would find a way to dazzle them."

"Well, that makes one of us. Seriously, though, thank you."

She dipped her head. "You're welcome. "

They lingered, talking and drinking, and Charlie's muscles loosened. A glance at the microwave clock told him it was almost midnight. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"Nope, I'm all yours. I thought we could play tourist. There's so much I want to show you. The Riverwalk, Wrigley Field, Willis Tower. Oh! And there's this walking tour of buildings from the Golden Age. You know, historic buildings?" She wiggled her eyebrows obscenely, and he burst out with a laugh.

"There's other stuff I'd rather see." He matched her eyebrow waggle. "Right now."

She rested her empty wineglass on the counter, and it wobbled. "Someone's sounding kind of bossy." Her twinkling eyes held a challenge.

Her body language signaled they were back on track to some much-needed intimacy.

"Oh, you haven't begun to see bossy, sweet—uh, prin—um, baby." Yeah, that sounded smooth as hell. Any minute now, she'd be tearing off her clothes for him because she was so turned on. Not.

Hitting his internal reset button, he leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, roaming his gaze from her bare toes to the lustrous locks on top of her head. "There's something I'd like you to do for me."

A knowing smile curved her full mouth. She moved in, arched an eyebrow, and popped the button of her jeans.

"Not that. Well, okay, that. But I had something else in mind."

Her hands left her fly to perch on her hips. She shot him a quizzical look.

Fuck, just thinking about what he was about to ask for made his dick swell to granite hardness. "I want you to pick your favorite sex scene—whether it's in one of your journals or in one of the books you've already published—and I want us to act it out together."

Her eyes popped wide.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I want that." Arms still locked in place, he leaned forward and licked a trail from one side of her exposed chest to the other, darting his tongue into the valley between her breasts. He straightened and offered up a dauntless smile. "And you're going to give it to me."

"Am I, now?"

"Oh yeah. "

"You do realize that's just made-up stuff, right?"

"That's why they call it fantasy. And fantasies are hot. Wanna know one of my favorite scenes?"

"Um, maybe?" She suddenly looked flustered, which only emboldened him. He loved when she let her vulnerable side show.

"It's in book two, and they're at a party, and she's wearing this tight white skirt and heels up to here, and he takes her out onto this tiny balcony. They're thirty stories up, people are drinking and yakking behind them with only a wall of glass separating them, and he leans her over the rail, unbuttons the top of her blouse, and somehow pushes her bra out of the way so he can feel her up while he lifts her skirt and yanks off her panties. Like, he rips them off her and tosses them over the rail to the street below. Who does that? And imagine the person's surprise who's out walking their dog and finds them on the ground—or has them land on his head.

"Anyway, our main character proceeds to unzip himself and starts driving into her from behind, hands on her bare tits, while she's bent over this rail with only air below her, and people all around. The partiers might be watching from inside. Or they might even step out onto the same balcony for a breath of fresh air—not to mention an eyeful—while bystanders are sneaking peeks from surrounding balconies and buildings with their binocs and telescopes." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Our boy might be a smooth operator—he's definitely a litterbug, which loses him points in my book—but I'm not sure how he manages all that logistically, which is why I'd like to try it out. Experiment. The part I'm especially interested in is whether he can really make her come with three—or was it four?—Michael Jackson thrusts."

"You're ridiculous!"

"I'm not the one who wrote it. And I'd like to add that you have an intriguingly dirty mind. Know what else? We're only twenty stories up here, but I checked out your balconies, and I think we have ourselves an opportunity. Got a tight white skirt in one of those closets? You can skip the panties."

"Writing is one thing, but doing—" Her face flushed an alluring shade of pink, and his mind clicked into one solitary track. "You think my writing's ridiculous, don't you? Go on, let's get it over with."

Oh hell no . "Would you stop trying to read my mind already? You're really bad at it. "

Her brows drew so close together they left no daylight. "Then what do you think? Not that I really want to know." She murmured the last part so low he barely heard.

He reached out and caressed her upper arm. "What I think is that it's really … How do I put this? Fucking hot. Really fucking hot . My first impression of you was officially dismantled the first time I peeked at your journal in the bar."

"So you did peek. And that's not an answer to my question."

He held up his hand. "I confess, I peeked. But seriously, I'm a little humbled, a lot awed. You're very creative, Joy Holiday. And I'm not talking about the sexy stuff. I mean the whole story. How do you spin that? I don't know where you come up with the pictures in your mind or how you're able to translate them so other people can see them, but it blows me away."

Her blush deepened. She wasn't good with compliments, which was a shame. She was a woman who should hear compliments every hour of every day.

"You mean the same way you take a picture in your mind and draw it on a menu? Or create a logo?"

"Nah, that's different. And again, I'm not talking strictly about your erotic stuff. Although now that we're back on that subject—"

"I think you're back on that subject all by yourself."

"Because it's one of my favorites." He flashed her what he hoped was a disarming grin. "How's this? If we can't do the scene from book two—which I admit presents more danger than two people under the influence should indulge in, plus I'm not in favor of the voyeurs because this is private stuff—then I want to re-enact that scene in the fourth book where your characters—"

"You know that's not from my own experiences, right? Though since you and I have gotten together, I have excellent real-life material to work with."

He smirked. "I don't know, don't care where your ideas spring from, baby. I just want to find out if it's as hot as it sounds. And after that scene, there's another one we need to try—where she's naked and bent over the barstool with her wrists and ankles tied to the legs with velvet curtain ties. God, I'm hard just saying that out loud." He made an exaggerated appraisal of her barstools. "Yeah, they'll hold."

She burst out with a laugh .

"Okay. No balconies or barstools." He sent her a wink. "How about you take me on a tour of your bed instead?"

Wordlessly, she took his hand in hers, switched off the kitchen lights, and led him down the hallway.

He lost track of time, of the ground beneath him. All he knew was the taste of her skin, the earthy smell of the two of them together infusing her sheets, and the heavenly heat cradling him when he slid in and out of her body. Their coupling hadn't been of the frantic, strenuous sort, but rather a languid lovemaking that was soul-deep and so, so sweet—the kind that connected two people together at the heart. The kind he'd been craving since she'd left Fall River.

He had just returned to her bed after ridding himself of a condom for the second time in as many hours, and he lay back and tucked her against his side. Lacing his fingers with hers, he placed their joined hands on his chest, and with his free hand he sifted his fingers through her hair.

This, right here, was all he wanted. All he needed.

She threw a long leg over his and snuggled against him, using his shoulder as a pillow. "You're not the only one who slew a beast this week." Her voice was thick with sated exhaustion.

"Who's slaying beasts?"

"You did, when you took on the Silver Summit guys."

"Maybe. What monster did you take down?" Sterling Fuckface's smug mug floated in his mind's eye. A desire to kick the guy's ass rose up inside him with primal urgency. Joy belonged to him, and he was determined to make sure she and that asshole knew it.

"Nope. My supposed sister."

He dropped a kiss on her head. "Tell me." She told him how she had confronted her sister on the phone. When she was done, he prodded. "How did you feel afterward? "

"It was a strange mix of emotions. I felt free, like I could give myself permission to let go of her without feeling guilty. But I was also sad. And disappointed."

"Why disappointed?"

"I think that deep down, I was hoping Mary would show some remorse, that she might even want to recast our relationship. We're not biologically related, but we were family once, and we're the only family we have left. Families are important."

He rolled to his side and pillowed his arm under his head so he could level his eyes with hers. "You have a family. Back in Fall River. You're not biologically related to them either, but they're more family than any you've described from your past. Hailey, Neve, Amy … they're your sisters."

She rolled to her side and mirrored his pose. "Did you know they've been texting me?" He could hear a happy little grin in her tone.

"No, but I'm not surprised. They miss you. I miss you. The dogs miss you. They're family too."

She let out a lung-emptying sigh. "I miss them all too … and you. But my life is here."

"Yeah? How's that working out? Are you happier now that you're back?"

The long silent beats that passed were his answer. When she finally spoke, her voice didn't carry any conviction. "I'm still trying to get settled in. I'm sure once everything is back to normal …"

"Is that the normal you want for the rest of your life, Joy?"

"What if you came to Chicago?" Excitement rose in her voice. "There are so many historic buildings here. With all the opportunities around, you could grow a really big business."

"I can't just close down Past Perfect."

"Then don't. Open a second business here."

"I can't even find sober laborers to show up when I'm there full-time. How's that going to work if I'm split between two places that are half a continent apart? I'm one guy." What he didn't say was that he had poured too much of himself into Past Perfect Restorations to walk away from it. And what about his dream of restoring Fall River? Who would carry it on if not him?

Sudden sadness overcame him as he caressed stray strands and tucked them behind her ear. "Besides, you and I know I'd be miserable, which means we'd both be miserable." Walking around the city today had confirmed what he already knew. Chicago was home to almost 2.7 million souls, and he came from a town of six hundred. Hell, the entire county was six hundred! And he liked that about his life.

What they had between them was a case of irreconcilable differences.

"How do you feel about being a kept man?" The quirk of her lips told him she was kidding—mostly.

"Be your sex slave? Tempting … but there's one big flaw with that idea. It works as a fantasy for one of your books, but not so much in real life. Besides, I'm not interested in being someone's toy. Not even yours."

"We both like being in control too much."

"I don't want to control you, Joy. Ever. Unless we're talking about what happens in bed—or the balcony or the kitchen or the conference room or … feel free to throw in any locations I'm missing here." They both laughed, lightening the smothering shroud that had settled over them. A chance to breathe, if even for a moment. "When it comes to sex, wrestling with you for control is way too much fun to give up. I love the give and take.

"But outside of that, I want to see you in charge of you. I want you to be with me because you want to be with me, not because you need to be or because it's convenient or because I say so. And that goes both ways. I don't want someone tugging on my puppet strings. Does that make sense?"

She gave a barely perceptible nod, and he swore he heard a little sniffle. "Can we not talk anymore?" Her voice was tiny, defeated, and it stripped away a piece of his heart. He was a problem-solver, but he didn't know how to solve this one.

Down his body her hand snaked until she reached his cock and began stroking him with sensual slides that sent tingles racing up and down his spine. "Talk is overrated anyway," she whispered in the dim shadows.

He smoothed his hand down her bare flank, over her ass, and pulled her to him. "Yeah, baby, whatever you want. We don't need to talk."

He surrendered himself to the distraction she offered … because their dilemma was insurmountable, and he had no clue what to do besides drink in all of her that he could while he could.