“So…you gave him a bogus number?”
The woman pushes fully back to her feet and yanks at the beret, which is indeed attached to her short dark hair—which proves to be naught but a wig. Beneath that, her hair is still contained, held in place by a matching black net of some sort. “Let’s just say the guy will be in luck if he wants a to-go order from La Barca.”
The woman at my side spurts out a giggle. “Ohhh, excellent pick—kind of what you need for that wig too, sweetie.”
“Are you kidding?” She rocks her head back, regarding the frayed black mess. “It’s been in the bottom of my satchel for a week and got there by being crusted with too much stage blood. I’m just glad the beret was down there too. Hopefully it helps Dick Gorgeous to remember me fondly.”
“Excuse me?” exclaims my redhead. “Dick what?”
“Oh, come on. That fine, fine male… He was better than a large malt in a heat wave.” She adds a fanning motion with her hand. “Sweet frosting on my cookie, Tigger. I must really love you.”
“Oh, you do.” They hug with palpable affection, which has me forgetting the new emptiness in my hand. “And I’m so grateful, honey. Honestly and truly.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can repay me with Crémant and croissants some other time.”
A hungry groan leaves my lips before I can help it. “I like her,” I say in time to their laughter. As she yanks off the black head net, revealing her actual hair in its cobalt and turquoise splendor, I emphasize, “Especially now.”
She chuckles again, the droll sound a perfect complement for her dazzling locks. “Well, props back to you too, Pompeii.”
“Huh?” The woman between us blurts. “And what part of your backside did that come from, Drusilla Daphne Kidman?”
“The obvious part.” She drags a hand through her long, bright plumage. “If you IMDB Pompeii—”
My magnifique rolls up a hand with a new laugh. “Why don’t I take your word for it?”
“On that note, why don’t you two find some shadows to hang in while I get moving? Because no way are we going to be to transport him anywhere with these still on display.”
I cannot control the smirk that teases my lips as D illustrates her words with fast pokes at my chest and arms. I nearly let my lips take on a chuckle of their own as my woman—at least for now—responds with a defined verbal simmer.
“Settle down, Raegan,” her friend admonishes. “We don’t have time for a bestie showdown.”
“All right,” my redhead grumbles. “So what is your plan?”
“That cute consignment place is still open around the corner. Matter of fact, it’s where I got these.” She raises a foot, showing off one of her impressive boots. “Let me duck in there real fast and grab something that won’t scream ‘hunky but horribly doomed’ so loudly.”
At once, the female at my side is giving up a new smirk. While any expression is alluring on her, this is my preference to her open stress.
“Lovely little Lautrec, I officially love you.”
“Of course you do, Diva Degas.”
Before any more witticisms can be traded, D and her cobalt locks have vanished out the door, leaving me alone in here with a woman too close to ignore anymore—and too mesmerizing not to resist. Not anymore.
As if I have finished a confrontation of mortal consequences and finally arrived at safe shelter, all the resilience leaves my limbs—yet never have I felt so strong, so vital, so alive.
So aroused.
I cannot hide it from her anymore. Nor do I wish to.
I pull at her elbow to draw her closer to my frame. My effort is so adamant, the momentum has me stepping back until my spine is flush with the big noisy machine. The big quivering machine…
And sometimes, one finds surprises in the oddest places. Like a different century.
I am tempted to ask Diva Degas exactly what this modern wonder is, but why waste our precious, private minutes on trivialities? Or so they seem now, when compared to how her body feels as soon as I reposition her. Spreading her legs from the back, ensuring the warm triangle at her center settles upon the surging length of mine. Squandering not another second to work her up and down my bulge, making it necessary for us to bury our moans in each other’s necks.
“Oh my,” she rasps. “Oh, Desperado…”
At once, I spread a smile along her silken skin. And then breathe out with one word.
“Raegan.”
“Ummm?” Her sultry moan vibrates along the length of my collar bone. “Yesss?”
“Raegan,” I echo in a seductive murmur. “That is…your real name.”
This time, her lips tilt up in equal measure. “Wow. How have we not gotten to that part yet?”
“Because, during many of those parts, I was behaving like an ass?”
“Ah. Yeah. All those parts.” Her soft laugh is a gentle bounce of sound around the sterile room—but most beautifully along the lips I dip closer to hers once more. By the Almighty, her lips. The mere sight of them stirs me to fresh madness. A spell that combines with her flowery scent and supple body to enrapture me in such new and stunning ways.
She is not Magique.
I do not require my mind’s reverberation to be certain of it now. I still know the fact without a single doubt. But this change across her countenance, from the inside out… This is a new creature, separate and fascinating. I am dazzled, wondering what new, wonderous thing I will discover next about her.
Such as how she likes to be kissed when danger is a thing to be enjoyed.
As soon as the decision stamps my mind, it coils through my actions. Flexes down my arm and into my hand, twisting through the ends of her thick curls. Invades my libido like wildfire, until I am pulling her head back. Rumbles up my throat as I kiss my way along hers, up then down and back again.
So delicious…
It commands my other hand to roam lower, not stopping until I am squeezing her flesh with brutal demand.
So succulent…
Until I am working her harder against me, grinding her trembling crotch along my urgent ridge. Until I am ready to yank down my breeches and hers and then impale myself in her soaking wet channel. And oui, she will be wet. She already is. I hear it in every note of her husky gasps. I feel it in her tightening hold around my neck.
And at last, I receive it in all the passion of her kiss.
So. Perfect.
Our mouths meet and mate. Despite the brief pain because of the cut I endured in my lower lip, I welcome her inside. So fully. So openly. We spread each other wider, wrestling for access to the intimate pocket of where our voices live. Using this fusion to speak instead, with stabbing tongues and swirling wetness. Learning each other…despite all the ways in which we already know each other.
My heart forgets a beat. Another.
I know her. I know her.
Despite all the here and now, there is so much of the then and before. The woman that was there too. Not just the scar I peek down at now, still there at the center of her chest. It is because of other things. Little but not-so-little things. The tiny pink spot at her nape, slightly bruised because she grabs it when she’s nervous. The way she clutches me, curling fingers into my hair until I feel the sweet sting in my scalp. The way she does it again and again, knowing how much I like it.