Page 51 of Present Tense

My body responds instantly. This is going to be a painful hour and a half.

I sit up with a start as my belt is removed. It’s dark out. I must have fallen asleep. She’s leaning over me, her gorgeous hair a curtain hiding her face.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Shh.” She turns her head while still working my zipper. She pulls back and puts her fingers on my lips. I grab her anyway and kiss her lightly. She straddles me with her knees on either side of me, her skirt gathering around her waist. We’re face to face. I pull her hair behind her ears, and her eyes fill.

“Bella, what’s that about?”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says. No one’s ever been this excited to see me, but I feel the same. Her lips are a whisper away and I feel static electricity. The slight prickle of anticipation. I feather my lips over hers, and she smiles while kissing me. I love when she does that. I pull her head to mine, knowing she can feel my cock harden under her. Then the kiss moves to a better and feverish place.

I open and try to swallow her whole. But she gives as good as I can dish out. Her tongue finds mine, and they tangle together. She pulls back, and I grin and rub my thumb along her delicate cheek. “Bella.”

33

LIAM

“No. Not at home. I’m in Chicago for the week.”

“No kidding. The class action we just contracted you for has office setups in Boston, Atlanta, and Chicago. You’re sure you want to work out of the Boston office? Chicago could use you.”

I’m starting a legal consulting contract with a new firm. I’ve agreed to be in Boston one week a month because of the money and flexibility t0 be at the Martha’s Vineyard house in the off-season. I won’t try the case, but I’ll prep and prepare it. I didn’t know part of the suit was in Chicago. This all seems too easy.

“Let me think about it.”

“You’re a hell of a litigator, and they all have their heads up their asses. I’ll be back in touch.”

“Thanks, Brent. And Happy New Year.”

“You too.”

I stare at my phone way too long before I put it back on the table. Shit. Did he offer to pay me to be in Chicago? I’ll hold that in my back pocket for now.

I’ve been researching at her dining table and listening to headphones. It’s where and how I like to work. Heavy metal and a table to spread out. Other than needing cats, her house is almost perfect. Today she works until two, then we’re sightseeing. Not sure what we’ll see as it’s, like, two degrees outside, but at least she promises me one of the best burgers in the world. She’s hoping there’s no wait at Au Cheval at three thirty in the afternoon. I hope not; no burger is worth permafrost. But her enthusiasm is hard to say no to.

This morning I tried to keep her snuggled into me. But she’s so committed to being everything to everyone she made sure to get to work on time. If I don’t freeze to death, I’ll shop and cook her dinner tomorrow night. She’s off all day tomorrow. And I don’t intend to get out of bed. I can’t get enough. I’ve been dreaming of all the ways I’m going to have her throughout the house. Although last night was athletic, tonight might be a little more adventurous. Every time I think she’ll balk at something I command, I’m stunned when she asks for more. Jesus. I need to stop thinking about her epic pussy and mouth.

I listen to my Jillien playlist while I scribble notes. I’m lost to the world for a good thirty minutes as I concentrate.

I open my eyes and there’s a kid holding a baseball bat. I stand up quickly and forget about my headphones. They pull me back and when I yank them off, he’s staring at me.

His voice cracks while he yells, “Who the fuck are you? Why the fuck are you in my house?” I put my hands up. He smashes the chair in front of him with the bat. Then knocks my empty glass to the floor, missing my coffee cup. The chair cracks but doesn’t splinter, but the glass is fucking toast. Then he raises the bat again.

“Answer me, muthafucker.”

My eyes are wide, and I’m still in my fucking plaid pajama pants. I put my hands out to try and calm him. People do that to terrorists and kidnappers. It might work. I say, “Language, Ethan. She wouldn’t like that.”

“Don’t tell me what the fuck she likes and doesn’t like. Who are you? Get out.”

“Ethan. I’m a friend of your mom’s. Put the baseball bat down and I’ll answer any question you have. I swear. My name is Liam Fletcher. My wallet is on your side of the table.”

“That doesn’t mean shit to me.” He shifts his weight. Flips open my wallet. “Fucking Philly.” He’s about five foot five with messy brown hair. He’s lanky, but it could be his age. He looks like the rest of him hasn’t caught up to his latest growth spurt. His sporadic facial hair tells me no one’s shown him how to shave. And his eyes slay me. They’re hers. Identical shape, color, intensity, and fire.

I take a sterner tone. “Language.” I put my hands on my hips instinctively. He nods. “Now put the bat down and sit.”

He rights the chair he just cracked and slides his backpack off. My tone of voice was calm but commanding. I can’t believe that worked. Then he sheepishly sets down the bat and sits on the edge of the chair as if he’s ready to jump up and defend himself at any moment. City kid. I know the instinct.

“Ok, kid. I’m not here to kill you. Calm it down and wipe off the scowl.”