Long Time Coming Read online

  "Hey! I didn’t think we were that bad!" Looking around his loft apartment, I had the feeling if I raised my voice any more it would’ve echoed under the near cathedral height ceiling.

  Whitewash covered three walls which made the room even more cavernous. The fourth wall had been painted in a pale blue shade while its chimney breast was the same color, but painted in a thicker stain, not watered down.

  A freestanding birdcage stood between two South-facing windows overlooking the river. Light flooded in, showing up the cleanliness of each surface. No dust motes on the highly polished coffee table in front of the fire built into the chimney breast, no coffee mug rings either.

  Letting my gaze flicker over to the marble worktops in a far corner of the room, I wondered if his kitchen had been taken care of with as much time and effort as his living quarters.

  He probably has a cleaner. If he can afford a place like this, there’s little doubt he’d forego the pleasures of household chores and splash out on a ‘woman who does’.

  "We," Leo said, whispering into my shoulder, "were perfect."

  I tried not to inhale his scent and let my eyes close while I breathed him in. Barely succeeded. I didn’t have much self-control where Leo Carson was concerned.

  "Then... what...?" I breathed, frowning, wondering if he’d been about to say something.

  "Compatibility’s very important, don’t you think?" he asked in an upbeat tone, straightening and shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "In bed as well as out."

  "Yes, but..."

  "Come on. I’ll give you the guided tour." He beamed, looking for all the world like a cheeky little boy showing off his latest toys.

  "Not much to show off, is there? It’s all one room. I can see everything."

  "Hey, play along while I’m showing off! And you can’t see everything; the bathroom’s through that door there. Certain rooms need a little privacy."

  "Including the bedroom?" There was no bed in sight and I assumed it was up the flight of stairs running up one wall. The door to which Leo had pointed seconds before was under these stairs.

  "That’s what the mezzanine’s for," he said, pointing up. "We’ll start there. Who wouldn’t want to show off the most important room? Right, come on."

  "Um... where should I leave my bag? In fact, should I take my shoes off?"

  "What the hell for?" He looked me up and down. Mostly down, focusing on my legs.

  "You know, visiting someone else’s place. Polite to take your shoes off and all that jazz."

  "Good God woman, I’m not that house proud. Besides, I happen to like those legs in stilettos."

  "Not house proud? This place is immaculate!" In truth, the thought of my own home humbled me. It was nowhere near as glamorous as this. Clean and tidy, yes, but...not in this league. Leo Carson lived in a different kind of home and a different world.

  "You can dump your bag on the bed," he said. "And walk up the stairs in front of me, I want to get an eyeful of your arse."

  "Good." I swallowed. "Uh, I mean good about the stilettos. Not my arse. I never get the chance to wear heels at work so I choose to mangle my feet as much as possible in my spare time." Carrying my bag, I led the way up the stairs and just before turning away I caught an expression of approval as his gaze swept over my legs. Again.

  "What do you do? For work I mean?" he asked and when I looked over my shoulder I caught the same look on his face. "If you don’t wear heels at work I’m assuming you’re not a lap dancer?"

  "Do I look like a lap dancer to you?" Pause, while he chuckled. "Don’t answer that. I’m..."

  I reached the top of the stairs and swallowed a gasp, not wanting to make my admiration manifest. I was twenty-four; too old to be a fan girl or groupie.

  Not that I’d expected a four-poster but this bed was grand enough. King size, it faced the mezzanine’s balcony and the ceiling-height windows in the main room beyond. Bracketed by narrow bedside tables, it nestled—if such a large bed could nestle—below an uncovered skylight in the sloping roof.

  "You’re...?" His hand on the small of my back and I jumped. Startled, something inside me skipped, speeding up when he spoke again. "What are you?"

  To give myself more thinking time I took a deep breath and released it slowly, hoping it sounded more like a sigh than a groan. Such grandeur in these surroundings in comparison to my own, and the knowledge that whatever he did for a living it had to be higher up the career ladder than my humble job title of—

  "Waitress." I couldn’t keep the groan in any longer. "I’m..."

  "A waitress?" His eyebrows lifted as he circled me before stopping directly in front and looking me in the eye.

  Discomfited by his scrutiny, I wanted to cross my arms across my chest and I would have, had I been unencumbered by my overnight bag. Instead, I settled for dangling it from my clasped hands behind my back, leaving my chest vulnerable to him. "Uh... yes."

  "Is there something embarrassing about being a waitress?"

  Why yes, now you come to mention it. The fact I’m living in a one-bedroom rented flat on my own and probably earn in a year a tenth of what you pull in, in a month, doing whatever it is that you do, oh and by the way, I don’t have a car so I walk or bus to work and I don’t have a bed like that or a settee suite or a television...

  "No."

  "No." Even though I couldn’t bear to look at him for longer than a millisecond at a time I still detected an unmistakable smirk in his voice. As much as I didn’t want to look him in the eye, I did want to look at him. "Hmm." He too held his hands behind his back and this mirror image of me lessened my discomfort. "You’re blushing."

  "I am not."

  "How the hell would you know? I’m the one who’s looking at you, Piper." He stepped forward and I barely resisted the urge to step back, knowing that I wouldn’t get away from him. Not if his mind was set on making me jittery and his proximity did that. His arms snaked around my waist under the twist of my own and his breath warmed my forehead as he spoke. This I could handle. Words spoken against my skin, rather than underlined by his intense stare. Physical intimacy was far preferable to him taking a step back but still being there, studying me with eyes full of intent.

  "You can’t say I’m the only waitress you know."

  "It’s not so strange an occupation is it?"

  "It’s...common, isn’t it?"

  His Adam’s apple rippled his throat when he swallowed. "That’s what concerns you." A statement, not an enquiry. No point arguing with it or trying to punch line my way out of it. "Why?"

  What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

  To admit I was reluctant to discuss my relatively low status in the job market would be tantamount to admitting yes, I’d compared myself to him. I’d weighed myself in the balance and found my side wanting. Money was a crude thing to talk about and he obviously had more than me, but despite this being obvious, I wasn’t sure if acknowledging what I’d noticed was a step too far.

  A shrug, to buy myself another moment. "No reason. It’s just one of those things. I’m a waitress. It’s my job. Not... not very glamorous is it?"

  He made a moue with his lips as if caught somewhere between a smile and a desire to kiss me. "Do you have a uniform in that bag of yours?"

  He hadn’t been in the room with me when I’d shoved a few overnight things into the holdall and I’d been grateful that he hadn’t seen my work tunic; a button-up, knee-length affair made of the ghastliest material. But he might have been pleased with the design. All black, with a scalloped collar in white and an accompanying white apron. Very French maid. Leo Carson was the type to see something dirty in that, and love it. "Yes, I do have a uniform in there—"

  "Can I—"

  "No, you can’t see it."

  "What! Jesus, you’re a hard woman, Piper Holt."

  "And you’re a hard man, Leo Carson."

  "Well. I wouldn’t say I’m priapic by any means, but I like to think I’m always up for actio
n. What color's the uniform?"

  "Black."

  "And does it have—"

  "Yes. It has a little white apron and a lacy white collar."

  "Do you have to wear a—"

  "No, we don’t have to wear a French maid’s cap although we do have to wear our hair up."

  "Damn it. But how did you know what I was going to ask?"

  "I might only have known you a short time, overnight if we’re talking knowing someone in the Biblical sense, but I’ve got a feel for the way your mind works."

  "I think you’re accusing me of being a pervert."

  "I may very well be."

  "So you’re telling me as your work uniform you have to dress up as a French maid and take orders—" At this he snorted with laughter. "—from members of the public?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

  "Bloody hell. I think you might be my ideal woman. This is even better than you being a lap dancer."

  "I never was a lap dancer."

  "You seemed to do pretty well in my lap last n—"

  "Leo. Where should I leave my bag?"

  "Oh, just dump it by the bed. We can play dress up later."

  "No. We won’t be playing dress up." I swear his face fell when I said that and I had to explain it wasn’t my lack of desire or my personal morality which forbade dressing up. "I work in a foodie environment. I take my uniform home to wash it but can only get changed when I go back there, so I don’t pick up any germs outside the workplace and carry them in."

  "Or any untoward stains?" he teased and the twinkle in his eyes gave him an irresistibly mischievous look.

  "Only you could say something so disgusting and make it sound..."

  "Sexy?" he prompted. "Admit it. You’re turned on."

  "By you threatening to leave stains all over my work uniform? Sure. You’d get me the sack."

  "I do have a washing machine, you know. Any untoward marks could easily be washed out overnight. In fact, why don’t you take everything off; we can stick your clothes in the washing machine. Freshen them up."

  "Are you saying between my shower this morning and the ten minute taxi drive over here, my clothes have become so dirty you have to tear them off me?"

  "Definitely. You’re a very dirty girl. Okay, I admit. It’s just an excuse to see you naked again."

  "As if Leo Carson needs an excuse."

  "You’re learning, girl. I like you. I like the way you think."

  "And I’m thinking..." I extricated myself from his arms and his aura by moving over to the bed, dropping my bag on the floor and tossing my denim jacket on top of it.

  He didn’t make a move towards me; just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at me. Waiting for me to open up. "Yes...? Tell me what you’re thinking. Unless you expect me to read your filthy little mind?"

  "How do you know I’m thinking something dirty?"

  "It bloody better be or I’m disappointed in you, Piper Holt."

  "I was just thinking...you’re the one who’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. You’ve..." My voice trailed away as a vision flashed before my eyes. You’re the one who fucked me up against my front door in that shirt. "You’re the one who needs to..."

  "I need to...?"

  Though nervous, I couldn’t help but smile. Or maybe my smile was because of my nerves. "You ought to drop ‘em, Carson."

  He gave a sharp bark of laughter, throwing his head back. "You have such a way with words." He shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on the floor where he stood. "Well, you’ve taken your coat off so it’s only fair I should remove mine. Your turn."

  "I don’t think so."

  "What—?" He cocked his head, widening his eyes as he did so and I swear he looked impressed by my answering back. As if he was more than willing to rise to the challenge. "Tit for tat. Come on. I’ve taken something off. Now it’s your turn."

  "I’m wearing clean clothes. It’s you who should strip and put everything in the machine. I mean, Leo, think of what you’ve done while wearing those clothes."

  "I am. Oh believe you me, honey, I am." He held his hands in front of him, palm to palm, as if praying... or plotting. "But if you want me to take any of this lot off, you’re going to have to come over here and make me."

  "I’m the one nearest the bed, so it seems more sensible that you—" I pointed. "—should come over here to me." I crooked my pointing finger and beckoned. As if magnetically drawn, he obeyed and a shiver, not even a shiver, but a fizz of electricity, a spark, ran up my spine at my apparent power. I let out a quiet laugh, a single "Ha," when he stopped right in front of me, close enough to touch. Or kiss. "If I can make you come with my finger imagine what I could do with my tongue."

  His lips twitched but he didn’t smile, merely closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing in my scent and the world froze. "You know." He breathed against my face and I swallowed back a clotted twist of desire and nervousness. "I really, really don’t like it when you don’t do what you’re told."

  "I thought you liked the way I think?"

  "I like it when you understand that I have an insane need to screw the living daylights out of you, not when you think you can decide when, or where, or in which position."

  I half turned my back but his arm shot out so fast and clamped me against him that he drove the air out of my body in a breathless whoosh, a grunt of surprise on my part.

  "Sometimes you act like a coy little girl and sometimes you..." He gulped. "Sometimes you make me want to put you over my knee."

  "You’re into spanking too?" I smiled over my shoulder and when his hand pulled up the hem of the skirt I’d deliberately chosen to wear that day for its shortness and ran over my buttock beneath the cotton of my briefs, my breath stopped. And that breath hovered, fed on my desire and expanded, pushing my breasts out, straining against my nipples, scratched against my bra, made my ribcage ache.

  "I’m into lots of things," Leo said. He slid both hands into the narrow waistband of my briefs and inched them down, giving my backside a squeeze as he did so. "You stay where you are," he ordered when I tried to twist round at the waist. I couldn’t do anything; he had me trapped.

  Behind me, he knelt; hot breath on the back of my thighs and thumbs caressing the backs of my knees.

  "Fuck."

  "What?"

  "I never knew—" My breath snagged against my ribcage again and I had to pause before retrying, a near impossible task when his thumbs moved back and forth over my skin. "I never knew the backs of my knees could be an erogenous zone before."

  "You like it?"

  "Yes, I..." Of course I do. I can’t see straight. I’d fall over if you weren’t right behind me.

  A sly chuckle and his hands moved down again. "You’re keeping your heels on," he said as I stepped out of my briefs, my shoes clacking on the floor once, twice, as I did so. His hands slid back up my legs and he stood, grabbing a hold of my backside, squeezing it gently and pulling me against him, his erection pressing through the fabric of his clothing. "The rest of it you can keep on—"

  "Oh can I?" I interrupted, stung by the resultant slap on my buttock.

  "Jesus woman, what do I have to do to make you shut up?" His hands around my waist, thumbs pressing into the small of my back right on my sweet spot, and my legs nearly buckled beneath me. He must have felt the swaying because he held on even tighter for a second then told me, "Move." Beat. "Over." Another beat. "Bend over." He gave me a gentle shove and I did, let myself topple, managing to keep my arms locked so there wasn’t far to move before I broke my fall with my hands outstretched. I screwed my eyes shut when I heard a zipper. A drawer. The tear of foil. The quiet, "Fuck. This damn thing."

  Probably only a second later, he sighed, letting out a quiet, "Thank Christ," and took hold of my hip with one hand. I could only guess at what the other was doing. I tried to push back onto him but wearing heels and propping myself up over his mattress I had no room for manoeuvre; my centre of gravity was thrown too far
forward.

  His other hand kneaded my buttock, his thumb trailing lightly over my pussy lips.

  Again I tried to push back. Again I couldn’t. "Leo."

  "Ssh." I’d expected his voice to be more forceful. I’d expected his hands to be so, too. And his cock. But he still wasn’t inside me. And his voice was no more than a gentle hiss.

  "Leo."

  "Ssh. Don’t say it."

  "I want..." I wasn’t even looking at him; why couldn’t I tell him what I wanted?

  "I know, baby. I know exactly what you want. But just wait. I’m enjoying looking at you first."

  "Just..." I could only finish off the sentence in my head. Just do it. Now. Don’t make me wait. Just put it in me, for the love of— "Leo, just—"

  "Don’t say it. Don’t say my name."

  "What? I—"

  "Not like this. You’re not to say my name until you come when I’m looking you in the eye."

  "Oh—!" Supporting my weight on one hand, I punched the mattress with the other in frustration. I wasn’t allowed to say his name, he wasn’t inside me yet—how much more did he expect me to endure?

  He laughed under his breath, said louder, "I want to look you in the eyes when you come." The tip of his cock grazed my pussy lips and my hips did their best to angle back onto him.

  "Does that mean..." Jesus, Piper, why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep starting to say something and then bottling out?

  "Does that mean what?" He pushed inside me just an inch, just enough to make me want to pull him in deeper, not enough to hit my G-spot. "Come on, I’ll stop if you don’t tell me. You want me to carry on, then you have to as well."

  "Does that mean I’m not allowed to come now?"

  "Oh come on, Piper—do you think I’d be that cruel? Do you think I’d be crazy enough to push my cock into you this slowly and not let you come?"

  "You’re..." Breathe. "Capable of anything."

  "All I said was you’re not supposed to say my name like that, as if you’re begging me to make you come, until I’m railing you a different way. Because the next time I make you come with my name on your lips, I want to be able to look you in the eye when you say it."