Polished Slick (Natural Beauty) Page 13

  Trinity thought Jerry wanted a woman who could take care of him, and she could hardly take care of herself.

  She sighed, and tried to focus her eyes on the blurring lines of her novel once more. “Friggin’ Jerry.”

  Damn it, why’d he have to be so good-looking? And why did she have to notice after all that time? If he’d just been smart or just been athletic, she might have been able to resist him as she had for much of the past two years. But to be gorgeous, to have a body like that and be one of the most intelligent people she’d ever met? It hardly seemed fair. He was perfect.

  “He probably needs someone closer to his age,” she mumbled, turning the page although she hadn’t even managed to read the previous one.

  The non-reading went on for another half hour. She mostly stared at the people frolicking in the waves, unseeing. Then she decided to pack it in and head back to the beach house, hardly noticing by then the beach was mostly deserted—unusual for midday.

  She planned a cool shower, and then perhaps she’d lie on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon watching ’80s movies. There was also the sherbet behind the mini party quiches in the freezer. Ginger had done a bad job of hiding it. Trinity made the sherbet a priority.

  She’d just managed to get the beach gear into the little shed out back when her phone rang from the folds of her sarong.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, pixie, where are you?” It was Jerry. His voice sounded clipped, but concerned.

  “I’m in Corolla. Why?”

  He sighed his relief. “Nothing that can’t wait until Monday. It’s good you’re not in town.”

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  “Uh, I got my tires slashed, and someone broke into my trailer. Totally tossed the place. They didn’t get much because I’ve been sleeping at my parents’ house, but it definitely seemed like they were looking for something.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I know who it was. Don’t worry. I’m working on it. I did manage to connect that guy Preston to Becky, so it looks like we’ve got a straight case of revenge here.”

  “Becky? You mean, Gabby’s mother Becky?”

  “Yeah, she’s a real special case. Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, you want to stay where you are and I’ll come there? I don’t know how much information Becky and Preston have access to. I mean, I’m easy to find. So is Nikki. I just don’t feel comfortable with you being there alone. They probably wouldn’t physically hurt you, but they might try to break in to see what they could grab that’s related to the business.”

  “There’s nothing like that here. It’s just a beach house. I left all my work at home. I don’t even have a computer here. I’ll be fine. There’s an alarm system and…” Why am I dissuading him? I want to see him. She clamped her lips.

  “Trinity, don’t argue with me on this, okay? Either I come, or I’ll send Juan to drag you back in his minivan.”

  Trinity cringed. She’d smelled the inside of that thing. Sour milk came to mind. “Jerry, I think you’re overreacting. I’m fine here, but if it makes you feel better…”

  “Look, I care about you, so yes, it makes me feel better. I’ll be there in a few hours. Waiting on one more tire.”

  He cares about me? What does that even mean?

  She shrugged it off.

  At first, she was fine. She’d showered, dressed, and made herself a sandwich for lunch. That comprised the first hour of her wait. The second hour, she tried watching one of those “How did they make that?” shows on an educational channel, but she kept jumping every time someone down the street slammed a car door. During the third hour, she was damn near frantic. It was barely three o’clock when she resorted to yanking the blender out of the pantry and dumping about half a bottle of tequila into some frozen daiquiri mix. She’d only managed to swallow one serving when a knock shook the door. She almost pissed herself.

  She approached the door warily, and pulled back the curtain to see Jerry’s pale blond ponytail, and his back to her as he scanned the street. She opened the door and beckoned him in.

  He walked across the threshold, tossed a black nylon duffel bag onto the wooden rocker, and left his sandy flip-flops on the mat.

  “What’s in the bag?” She retreated to the counter to refill her drink. His arrival hadn’t quelled her nerves. If anything, it reminded her of why he was there in the first place. “Ammunition, maybe? Tasers?”

  “No, pixie, a change of clothes and some underwear. And my computer, of course.”

  He walked around the house proprietarily, checking window latches, and returned with a blank look on his face. He was serious.

  “Why the clothes? Going swimming?”

  “No, if you’re spending the night here, so am I.” He didn’t look like he gave a shit if she minded.

  “Well, Aunt Ginger might find it to be a bit improper…if she ever found out, that is.” Ginger wouldn’t give a hot damn, and Trinity knew it.

  “Oh, well, it’s a good thing this is all very chaste. I’ll be right there on that sofa.” He hooked a thumb toward the convertible hunk of furniture in question.

  Trinity cringed. God, that thing was uncomfortable. She’d slept on it a couple of times when they’d brought guests to the beach. She probably would have been equally comfortable sleeping on a park bench.

  “You don’t have to do that. You can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep in Aunt Ginger’s.”

  He shrugged. “So, are you going to offer me a drink? Maybe something that’s not cloyingly sweet and fruity.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” We’ve got beer, wine, lemon-lime soda, and water.”

  “Water’s fine, pixie.”

  She handed him the bottle, and he stood there for a moment massaging the cap beneath his palm, and staring at her with a smirk.

  That damned blush again. She’d probably pass out soon if she kept it up. There was only so much blood to go around. She grabbed her giant daiquiri cup and slipped around him, the hem of her flowing skirt curling around his leg as she passed. She felt absolutely humiliated—like some girl in the locker room on the first day of gym class who didn’t develop over the summer like the rest of her peers. It was silly and she knew it. He’d seen her naked, for fuck’s sake, and at the time he seemed to like it. Now she was fully dressed, yet felt far more exposed.

  Get a grip on yourself, girl. It’s just Jerry.

  Right. Just Jerry.

  She curled up into one end of the sofa and turned the volume on the television up. She didn’t even know what the show was. She just stared and sipped. Stared and sipped. After a while, she heard the sound of a zipper being unfastened. Her eyes went wide and things low down in her body clenched. She held her breath thinking, He doesn’t beat around the bush, huh?

  Then Jerry appeared in her periphery with his laptop.

  She turned her head to watch the fully-dressed gentleman lower himself into the cushion at the far end. “I want to show you something,” he said, waiting for his operating system to boot up. “Found this in my inbox this morning. Nikki was so stoked. Nothing better than free publicity.”

  Trinity put her drink on the coffee table and leaned over the middle cushion to look. “What is it?”

  “Newspaper caught wind of the new website additions, I think due to a nudge from Beth, and they called Nikki last night to do a little write-up about the new campaign. Since the magazine ads weren’t going to be out for six weeks, we’re getting a little early buzz. Here.” He handed the laptop over and scrolled down past the masthead and banner ads.

  Not your momma’s nail polish. Trinity scanned the article, then her eyes focused on the photos below. There were all the staff candid shots from the color testings, each one with the person’s role in the company in white font at the bottoms of the pictures. Even Gramma Stacy appeared in one, squinting at a plum shade. Her title read Resident Nana. The studio shots came next.

  The ed
ited shots of Dom and Cole were diptychs with their impersonator selves on one side, and their polished slick tuxedo shots on the other. Beneath those was a shot of Nikki that must have been taken before the rest of the staff arrived at Beth’s dance studio. She had her dark hair pulled back in a bun and wore a loose-fitting, sky blue dress. Her hands rested comfortably atop her full belly, nails painted a shimmery shade of pink. Her little title caption read:

  Nicolette Stacy-Mitchell, President. Former principal of the Corrina Stevens Dance Company. Wearing N-by-N polish in Spotlight.

  “Sneaky little wench!” Trinity said, her voice tinged with admiration. She was always surprised at how good Nikki was at keeping secrets.

  “I know. She’s always got something up her sleeves. Keep scrolling. I like the next one.”

  “Courtney!” The toddler, in a pretty orange and white gingham dress, wore the re-mixed peach nail polish, and cheesed at the camera as if her next meal depended on it. Her title read N-by-N Barn Moppet. Trinity giggled. “Such a cute kid.”

  “Yeah, Macy brought her in after you left. Ron got the picture in one shot. She’s a natural like her dad.”

  “I’m sure Macy is thrilled.”

  “Actually, not. She’s been pretty careful thus far to keep Courtney out of Cole’s publicity stuff, but she wanted to help Nikki. She’s a good friend to have. Keep scrolling, pixie.”

  “Do I really want to?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve already seen that shot. I figured you’d want to read the comments below. Might be good for your self-esteem.”

  “Well, I could use a little boost.” Trinity closed the laptop lid and pressed the machine back to Jerry. “But sum them up for me.”

  “Let’s just say that most had nothing to do with nail polish. As a result, my agent is chewing me out via every means of communication she can track me through, there’s been some buzz about Cole and Dom getting a second season of that limited-run reality show they did last year, and well…the other comments were somewhat, uh, salacious.”

  “Salacious? In what way?”

  “Uh…” Jerry leaned over and set his laptop on the coffee table.

  When he sat back again, he grabbed Trinity’s ankles from beneath her bottom and extended her legs to drop her feet onto his lap. Just like she had imagined he would that night at dinner when he asked her about privacy and reading books.

  He rubbed her arches while he thought. “Um, I don’t know if there’s a way to rephrase any of it tastefully, but let’s just say Nikki won’t have any of us on back-up phone support anytime soon. We might have to start locking the building when we’re at work. I guess this was all a bit short-sighted of her.” He worked his fingers up the gaps between Trinity’s toes and rubbed in the valleys.

  She let out a little whimper before she could stop it. So good. Every time he ran the heels of his palms over her arches, a little snap of nervous electricity traveled up her legs to more erogenous areas.

  She tried to pull her feet back in to better rein in her uncontrollable urge to jump his bones in a manner unbecoming a dignified young woman. Look what happened the first time she’d tried that. She wanted Jerry to make love to her, but she didn’t want it to be only once.

  He held firm and slid his palms up the hem of her skirt to massage her tight calves. “What do you normally do for dinner when you’re on the coast?” he asked, giving her legs a squeeze that forced her to meet his eye contact.

  “Well, I don’t cook, so…”

  “Can’t, don’t, or won’t?”

  That again.

  She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it upon realizing she actually didn’t know the answer. “I haven’t really done much beyond things like grilled cheese and ramen noodles. I guess it’s more that I lack the know-how, so I avoid it.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He moved his hands back down to her feet and up to her calves once more. He didn’t seem repulsed, exactly, merely curious. Her toes curled at his continuing touch.

  “Why?”

  “I like being at home most nights. Going out to eat gets a bit wearying.”

  So says the surfer whom every woman on the beach seems to know.

  “I agree, but what’s that got to do with my cooking abilities?”

  “It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with your cooking abilities.” He turned, resting one foot on the floor, and rolled her skirt up her thighs.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pressed his face into the valley her thighs made, kissing the ticklish insides of her legs. “I don’t care if you can cook. What I want to know is…” He pulled his attention away from her legs only to edge forward a bit more and transfer his lips to her neck. “…are you willing to be at home when I am, or are you the kind of working girl who likes to run around all night for the sake of holding on to your feminist membership card?”

  “I…”

  He silenced her by darting his tongue into her mouth. After that, she couldn’t remember what she wanted to say. Probably wasn’t important.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jerry scooped Trinity up from the sofa and carried her down the hall, not once breaking his lock on her lips. He kissed her with his whole self, pouring the contents of his heart through her mouth so she’d know she was wanted. He didn’t understand her vacillation. She’d been running hot and cold. One moment she seemed she couldn’t be bothered by his presence, the next she was shuddering under his touch like a woman whose lover had finally come home from war. This wasn’t a time to talk, though—it was time for action. They’d shake out everything else later.

  He laid her on her bed, and straddled her hips fully dressed. He was already so damned hard he felt like he’d shatter if she touched him even lightly. Still, he picked up one of her small hands and pressed it flat against the front of his shorts, encouraging her gropes.

  Her lips parted, eyes widened, and a little gasp escaped her throat. He just held her hand still for a long moment, and when Jerry didn’t think she’d draw back, he removed his hand from hers and leaned over her on all fours to tangle their tongues once more.

  She closed her eyes and moaned into his mouth, stroking the length of him through his shorts, eliciting moans from him as well. Then she sat up and slid her hand inside his boxer briefs, tentatively, seeking out the hot, rigid flesh with her fingers then pulling back when she found her target.

  “It’s okay,” he said. His lips were on her neck then, kissing and sucking the fleshy expanse near her shoulder. “Touch me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He laughed and his chuckle against her neck made her gasp. Must have tickled. “Pixie, you could do a lot worse than groping me.”

  She traced one finger down his shaft from the curly hairs at the base down to the head. She lingered there, making little laps around the opening. His gut contracted at her light touch.

  “Does that feel bad?”

  “No, pixie, quite the opposite.” He backed off of her just enough for her to pull her hand free of his waistband, and pulled his shirt off over his head. He studied her face, wanting to be perfectly sure her consent was absolute. He didn’t want to just pet.

  Her cheeks were flushed, but not from embarrassment for once, but instead something else. He hoped it was anticipation, and had his hunch confirmed when she pulled her ribbed tank over her head without being asked.

  He’d seen it all before, but he’d never get tired of the view.

  She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling his tattoos as if they had bulk and mass, and her fingers danced over his nipples briefly as if she needed permission to stay.

  He hated to halt her exploration of him. He liked the intensity of her concentration as she studied his ink, and her fingertips against him felt like some phantom touch in a dream. But his patience was shot. She’d have plenty of time to survey his body modifications later. He wanted to be inside her immediately, and slaking his long-building tension between her thighs.

  He
found the catch of her bra and freed her breasts, taking each one in his mouth in turn, and then dragged his tongue down her midsection, past her navel to her waistband. He watched her face as he tucked his fingers beneath the band.

  Her pupils were dilated, and her lips parted to create a point of escape for her uneven breaths.

  He pulled the skirt and her panties down in one easy yank and let them fall to the floor. He paused there at the foot of the bed, assessing her naked form, admiring the flawlessness of her from the long graceful neck down to her cinched waist, her shapely calves, and her toes which were still painted in mismatched tones from that day at the barn. “You’re perfect, pixie.”

  “You’re a liar, but keep at it.”

  “It’s not a lie. I love everything about you.”

  “Love, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He stepped out of his shorts and underwear and crawled back onto the bed. A little sheen of perspiration had begun to form at her hairline as she stared down at what hung between his legs.

  “It’s all right, pix. If you don’t want to…”

  “Come here.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him toward her body.

  “Well, hold on a sec.” He pushed back onto his knees and revealed a small foil packet he’d hidden in his palm before slipping his shorts off. In seconds, he was sheathed. He lowered himself back onto her body and covered her jaw and neck with kisses.

  The noises escaping her throat were anticipatory, and she put her head back to expose more of her neck, grazing the skin of his back with her fingernails.

  He tested her for readiness by inserting first one, then two fingers into her slit. He rubbed her natural lubrication onto his latex-sheathed self and positioned his head at her entrance. “Are you sure? You don’t get a do-over.” He nipped at the lobe of her ear, pulling it between his teeth as her thighs wrapped around his waist once more.

  “Yes. You. Right now.”

  He distracted her with a long, searching kiss, and when she seemed so hypnotized by the rhythm of his tongue flicking from side to side in her mouth he entered her. He could tell when she noticed, because suddenly she stopped kissing him back and lay very still beneath him.