Fortunately, I’m a cleanup girl myself. And I don’t even have to sit in front of the computer to make it do my bidding. I write the script to keep the sweep going then transfer the data to my phone. I need to monitor the progress, but I don’t want Tomas to know yet what I’m doing.
It’s probably vanity. I want to show off. Or maybe I want him to see what his tuition money purchased. Either way, I want to know who and what he’s dealing with and be confident that I can shut the person down before I mention it to him.
I stand to leave the office, but my phone rings. My mother. My stomach clenches. Fear grips my guts. I answer before I remember Tomas told me not to use the cell.
“Mom?” My voice cracks.
“Sweetheart! Tomas just delivered those plane tickets. You’re such a sweet girl.” I’m also about to pee my pants with relief. She’s fine. And she wouldn’t sound so chipper if Dad wasn’t also okay. “Tomas said you didn’t tell us ahead of time so we couldn’t say no.”
“I, um, I-I—” I’m suddenly a shitty liar. “I, uh, thought you needed some time away.”
“That’s why I love you so much. You’re so in tune with our auras and our spirits.”
I don’t roll my eyes. My mom has been this way my whole life. If I rolled my eyes every time she said something like that, they’d have gotten stuck like that a long time ago and I’d be walking around with a bird’s-eye view of the inside of my head.
“…And Jim at the grocery store was nice as pie when he gave me the time off. Said a trip out west to stay in a Beverly Hills mansion is once in a lifetime.” She sniffs and I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. “But, honey, how did you ever afford it …”
I can’t even imagine my mom’s accent on Rodeo Drive. I bet Rodeo Drive won’t be able to imagine it until they see it, either.
“You guys gave me everything. I’m giving some back where I can.”
The time off work is a bigger miracle than the trip. Jim at the grocery store isn’t known for his kind demeanor. But he isn’t nearly so bad as Brad the foreman, Dad’s boss.
“What about Dad? Is he good to go, too?”
“Oh, yeah. And even he couldn’t believe how nice Brad was about it. Said he could have as much time as he wants.”
I don’t feel guilty for lying. Not anymore than they felt when they told me about the Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy when I was little.
“That’s great, Mom.” I glance out the window next to the desk then stand and walk around the desk to the living room. “Mom, how long ago did Tomas leave?”
“Maybe two hours or so. Why?”
I blow out my fear quietly, so she doesn’t hear. “I just wondered.” My lies are getting weaker.
“He picked up your clothes and we packed up your stuff from the bathroom and he loaded it into his car—did you see that thing? It’s like a plane’s cockpit.” She’s always been like a dog with its bone. Right up to the minute a squirrel skitters by. Then she’s off for a different adventure. Bone forgotten.
“I saw it.”
She chuckles. “That boy did alright for himself. I’d marry him for the car alone.”
I could tell her. I could ruin her illusion of him before she has the chance to criticize my decision to not be with him. But I won’t. Because a part of me thinks there’s a chance I can turn him around. The other part of me is laughing her ass off at that one. But hope is hope.
“I’ll let him know that if something happens to Dad, he’s your backup plan.”
“Or he could be your plan A,” she muses.
My actual plan A brought whips and chains into our hotel suite—but that’s another detail I won’t be sharing with Mom.
“Bye, Mom. Love you and have fun.”
“Love you, too. I’ll call you from Beverly Hills.” She hangs up.
I haven’t stopped looking out the window. Two hours is more than enough time to get from my parents’ place to his house. Plenty of time.
So where is Tomas?
By the time he walks in, fifteen minutes later, arms laden with a box of my stuff from Mom’s, I’ve paced ten miles back and forth across his living room, making intermittent stops to check the window again. I’ve also worked myself into a ball of nervous tension.
I don’t want to throw myself at him and beg him to never leave me alone again, so instead, I cross my arms.
“Where the hell were you?”
He sets the box on the floor, rolls my suitcase inside, kicks the door shut, then crosses to me. He’s standing close enough I can see every fleck of gray and blue in his eyes. I can smell the spice and aqua in his cologne. I can feel the heat from his body.
“Were you worried about me?” There’s that grin again. It’s the kind of adorable that makes my panties melt.
I purse my lips. “No, you big jerk. I’m just hungry.” And because apparently I’m not humiliated enough, I add a whispered, “And I missed you.”
Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.
But if there’s a reward for stupidity, it’s the beauty of his full-on smile. “Good.”
There are about eighty questions I want to ask him—like how he arranged things so quickly, how he managed to get grocery store Jim and site foreman Brad to comply, and whether or not he wants me as bad as I want him. But I can’t form a word because he’s staring at me with those half-lidded bedroom eyes and that bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It’s like he knows just what to do.
But of course he does. He always has.
I can’t resist. I don’t want to. I want him. I don’t know what it means or for how long, but I want him tonight.
“Tommy …”
His gaze flicks down to my lips.
“Just for tonight, okay? It doesn’t mean anything more than tonight.”
He doesn’t answer with more than a smile and his arms around my waist.
“And my way. I’m in charge.” While I’m pushing my luck, I might as well push all the way.
His tongue swipes across his lower lip. “As you wish.” He says it in a way that makes me understand I haven’t been in charge since the moment he burst out of that closet. But it’s a nice fantasy—pretending I still have a handle on things. Even if it’s a bold-faced lie.
I take his hand and pull him to the bathroom. I want this to be slow and sensual, but I can’t wait for him. Now that he’s here and I can see and touch him, there’s no way. This is going to be fast, hot, greedy sex. The first time, anyway.
I reach into the shower and twist the control for the dual shower heads in the ceiling, then the one for the wall jets. When I turn back, he’s watching me. He knows he’s making it hard for me to keep it together enough to watch him strip his shirt off, flick open the button to his pants, slide the zipper down, then yank me against his chest for a kiss as steam billows around us, and my lips part on their own.
“Undress me.” I can barely breathe enough to force the words out because he’s kissed me so damned hard, I don’t have one remaining conscious brain cell. I am running on feeling and nothing else.
His hands slip from my back around so that his fingers are pushing the hem of my shirt up while his thumbs drag along my stomach and end up brushing over my nipples. While he shoves the shirt further out of the way, he bends and swipes his tongue over my nipple through my lace bra. My back arches. I yank the bra out of the way and over my head.