The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

I dig my fingers into her perfect bun, and she fights to keep her eyes open. “We had a deal,” she murmurs. “One night.”

“And then we had a second night. Now we’ll have a third.”

“I don’t know, Andrew . . .”

I remove bobby pins and an elastic band from her hair. It falls around her shoulders in waves, a nice change from her normally pin-straight style. I touch the corner of her red mouth, smearing the tiniest bit of lipstick onto my thumb. “I like you put together,” I say gruffly. “So I can undo you.”

She bites into her bottom lip, drawing my eyes to her mouth. “Undo me?” she asks. “Or just do me?”

I nearly growl. “Right here in the stairwell?” I crook my finger into the waistband of her skirt and pull her even closer. “Because I should warn you. I’m a man on edge. I have been ever since the hotel.”

I watch her delicate throat as she swallows, as redness creeps up from under her collar. “Then you shouldn’t have left me there all alone.”

“No. I shouldn’t have.” I mean it even more now that I know what she’d been through earlier that night. “I don’t want him near you.”

“Who?” she asks breathlessly.

“Reggie.”

Her lips part as she pulls back a little. “Reggie?”

“How’d he take it when you said no to getting back together?”

She frowns and looks away. “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s personal.”

“Too bad. I want personal right now. What was his reaction?”

Her shoulders slouch a little, and I slip my hand under her hair, to her neck, to comfort her. “He didn’t like it,” she says. “He isn’t good with rejection. He promises this time will be different.”

Different? I open my mouth to tell her it won’t be, but she cuts me off.

“It won’t be. I know that. He just won’t hear me.”

“Maybe it’d clear out his ears if I kicked his ass.”

She laughs softly. “Where’d you come from? A mob movie?”

I grin. “That’s how we handle things in my part of Jersey.”

She looks hard at me a few seconds, absentmindedly rubbing her collarbone, turning her skin pink. “Maybe I should skip dinner.”

“It’s five on a Friday,” I say. “What could you possibly have to do that’s so important?”

“It’s . . . not about work.”

I know right away what she means, since it’s the first place my mind went when Sadie mentioned inviting Amelia. “Bell,” I say. I sigh up at the ceiling. “I admit, it’s weird. But you and I aren’t dating. So it wouldn’t be like I’m introducing you to her as a . . . it’s not like you’re—”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not trying to be anyone’s mommy.”

I look down my nose at her, my interest piqued hearing that once-familiar word. I haven’t referred to anyone as mommy since Shana left. “Don’t underestimate mommies and daddies,” I say. “That stuff about the birds and the bees has to come from somewhere.”

She touches the hem of my t-shirt. I nearly shudder when her knuckles graze my stomach. “Speaking of roleplaying, I thought you were kidding about dressing up as a garbage man.”

I check my clothing again. “This is what I work in.”

“Oh.” She looks me up and down, her eyes twinkling. She’s giving me shit and enjoying it. “Good thing I find it sexy.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “That was risky, sending me that photo in the bath. I almost came back to the hotel room for you.”

She purses her lips. “I wouldn’t have let you in.”

“No?”

She presses her body to mine, rises onto the balls of her feet, and kisses me on the mouth. The way her soft lips mush into mine makes my dick come alive. I’ve wanted this sweet taste, these red lips, since I stepped into this building. And before that. Since I left her and her sexy dress in that hotel room. I go to wrap my arms around her waist, but she pulls away. She gives me the cigarette before glancing at my crotch. “Better do something about that, handyman,” she says and walks around me to return to the office. “We have a whole meal to get through.”

EIGHTEEN

AMELIA

Andrew’s daughter holds his hand as we walk to the restaurant, but she won’t stop turning around and looking at me. It’s as if she suspects something. But how could she at her age? She wears a miniature pink backpack, which is funny because miniature backpacks are all the rage right now.

To my left, Sadie fills me in on the latest feature she secured some client on some website. Bell is a beautiful little girl, a spitting image of her dark, mysterious father. She seems well behaved, but in my experience, most kids are until they aren’t.

“Turn left at the corner,” Sadie tells Andrew. “It’s the place with the red-and-white checkered tables out front. They have a kid’s menu.” She turns back to me. “Anyway, what do you think? Is it time to make a play?”

“For who?” I ask.

“Jo Keller—of What Jo Wore? The breakout fashion blogger I’ve been watching for months?”

Hot, new, promising up-and-comers are my thing. It’s partly how I made a name for myself in the industry—carefully researching clients in order to create my dream roster and then ruthlessly going after them, no matter if they were looking for representation or not. But my gut reaction isn’t excitement. Taking on a new client means presentations, lunches, dinners and drinks, numbers, negotiation. It costs money. And time—which is another way of saying money. Considering my business is currently up in the air, I don’t know that I can afford to bring on anyone new. At least when I was starting out, I had enough energy to make up for lack of money. Since I missed winning the award last week and confessed my hesitations about avec to Andrew, my focus has been waning. And the more it wanes, the harder I have to work to keep up.

“Let’s hold off,” I say.

“Why?” Sadie asks. “She’s got staying power, Amelia. Someone’ll scoop her up if they aren’t wooing her already.”

I scratch my eyebrow, glancing at the back of Andrew’s head. Strangely, he knows more about my situation with Reggie than anyone in my office. “I trust your instinct,” I tell Sadie. “But just keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll revisit in a few weeks.”

“Okay . . .”

Andrew opens the door to the restaurant. Bell and Sadie walk through, and as I follow, he taps my ass. I haven’t forgotten that it only took one kiss earlier to make him twitch against me. Or that he came all this way to see me. I might’ve been able to say no if I’d forgotten about him this week like I’d planned. When he suddenly left the hotel after I’d worked up the nerve to spend a second night with him, I remembered why we had an arrangement in the first place. But seeing him unexpectedly in the office just now made me realize how gray my week had been until that moment. And I didn’t want to forget. Time with Andrew—our baths, conversations, sex—has been the most at peace I’ve felt in months. Maybe even since Reggie left.

The hostess greets us. It’s early for dinner, so the restaurant is nearly empty. She leads us to a four-top table with two chairs on each side.

“Do you want to sit by me or Aunt Sadie?” Andrew’s deep voice carries over all our heads, like something I could reach up and touch.

“Aunt Sadie,” Bell says. She and Sadie claim one side of the table, which leaves Andrew and me standing. I look back at him for direction. I’m not used to being around children, and I’ve never dated a man with one. Does he need to be across from her? Will he need to cut her food or distract her when she gets bored and starts acting up?

He grins, almost as if he finds my discomfort amusing, then gestures to the chair facing Bell. He sits next to me.

Almost immediately, a waiter drops off a basket of bread and a paper menu with crayons for Bell. “Evening, folks. Something to drink?”

I open my mouth to order a white wine, but Sadie interrupts me. “Just water for us.”

; I shut my mouth and frown. Does one child at the table seriously mean all three adults need to remain sober? Directly across from me, Bell tilts her head, studying me as if she’s reading my thoughts. For a split second, I’m worried she can. “You work with Aunt Sadie?”

I glance over at Sadie, who answers for me. “Yes.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I say, lacing my hands in front of me and leaning in. “I’m your aunt’s boss. I get to tell her what to do.”

Bell smiles. “Like my dad. He’s the boss of Randy and Pico and all the guys at the shop. Except Burt.”

“Who’s Burt?” Sadie asks.

Andrew clears his throat. “Burt is Bell’s imaginary friend.”

“No he isn’t,” Bell says, nearly giggling. “He’s the man who fixes Daddy’s motorcycle when Daddy doesn’t know how.”

He rolls his eyes. “Daddy doesn’t need help. Maybe in your imaginary world.”

Sadie and I narrow our eyes on Andrew at the same moment, but he focuses on his menu. “Even experts need help sometimes,” he mutters, then coughs into his fist. I swear he says “traitor.”

“So do you get to wear a lot of makeup and expensive clothes too?” Bell asks me.

I turn back to her. “All the time.”

Her eyes light up. “Cool. I can’t wait until I get to wear makeup.”

“Which will be never,” Andrew says, turning a page of the menu.