Hooked Read online

  “I know a great Italian place.”

  “Do you want to go back and change first?” I asked, indicating the streaks of paint that had made it onto our clothes and skin.

  “First thing you have to learn about me is that I’m never going to change. You get what you see,” she said, indicating herself. She was wearing all black, her hair had been tied back haphazardly so she could paint, and there were slashes and drops of color spattered across her tanned skin and clothing. She was stunning and it had nothing to do with fancy clothes or expensive makeup and hair. It was everything else about her—the stuff that money couldn’t buy—that had my fingers twitching and my blood thundering through my veins. I didn’t want her to change. I just wanted her, in every way conceivable.

  “Besides,” she continued, as if I wasn’t imagining fifty different ways to have my way with her right there on the sand. “Ado doesn’t have a dress policy. As long as we’re wearing shirts and shoes, we’re good.”

  “If you skip wearing your shirt, I’ll skip dinner,” I offered.

  Instead of being offended she laughed. “Settle down, Pretty Boy. Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”

  I didn’t need the reminder. I remembered all too well just how sweet she’d tasted.

  ***

  Ado’s had a small, unique menu, but an impressive wine collection.

  “What are you ordering?” I asked, wanting to choose a wine that would go well with her dinner. I needed a drink to calm me down. The day had been fantastic, but the anticipation of not knowing what I was doing from minute to minute had my nerves rubbed raw. Not to mention the fact that Cat’s shirt was so tight I didn’t have to do much imagining to fuel my fantasies from earlier.

  “Spaghetti alla Chitarra con Melanzane Fritte,” she said, completely butchering the name of the dish. She may have been good at a lot of things, but speaking Italian wasn’t one of them. The dish she wanted was some kind of home-made square spaghetti with eggplant.

  I waved the server over. “Can we get a bottle of Flaccianello 2007 please?” I asked.

  “A water with lemon for me,” Cat added on.

  The server came back with the bottle, poured two glasses of wine, and then took our order. Cat grabbed her water and sipped at it, smiling at me. “So. Today. What do you think?” she asked.

  “It was full of firsts.”

  She nodded her head happily as if that was the perfect answer.

  “Are you going to try the wine?” I asked.

  “Oh . . . no. Sorry. I don’t drink.”

  “Wine?” I asked, bewildered.

  “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Another first,” I mused. “Do you mind me asking why not?” I’d never met a woman who didn’t drink. Especially one who didn’t drink wine. I thought wine was one of the five food groups for the female population. Most women I knew would already be two glasses deep by now.

  “Alcoholic father,” she said simply and then flinched as she realized she’d ventured into the banned topic of family. She was quiet as she folded her napkin into small squares, pressing lines into the fabric with her fingernail. “Did you know there are fourteen types of drunks?” she finally asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  She looked up from the table to meet my gaze and there was no shred of her usual humor anywhere to be seen. “You’ve got your stupid drunk, angry drunk, fun drunk, chatty drunk, depressed drunk, delusional drunk, loud drunk, quiet drunk, slutty drunk, whiney drunk, sleepy drunk, deep meaningful drunk, puking drunk, and forgetful drunk,” she listed in rapid-fired succession. “I know because I’ve seen every single kind.”

  “What kind is your father?”

  “Was. He’s dead.”

  “What kind was your father, Cat?” I asked gently.

  “Forgetful. The worst kind.”

  She didn’t elaborate and I let the subject drop because I didn’t want our night to be tainted by the actions of a man who could no longer fix the problems he must have created. She didn’t seem to want to either. It was the first time we’d strayed into the cliché conversation topics and we were only too happy to quickly move on to something else. I could see why she preferred to avoid it.

  Eager to talk about something else, Cat asked me what concerts I’d been to and that conversation filled the time before our food came. Dinner was soon served and as I drank my wine, we abandoned forgetful, drunk fathers to the past. We talked about painting and photography and about some of the more interesting street performers on the Venice Beach boardwalk. All too soon, I noticed that the candle on our table had burned down significantly.

  “So,” Cat said, balling up her napkin and tossing it on the table. “We’re getting close to the end of the date.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” I pointed out.

  “Do you have a long trip home?”

  “No longer than yours.”

  “You live nearby? Where?”

  I laughed. “Right across the water.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What water exactly?”

  “I live in the Esprit at Marina del Rey.”

  “Are you shitting me? You live in the condos in the building next to mine? That’s . . . that’s . . .”

  “Fate? Destiny?” I offered.

  “I was going to say creepy.” She crossed her arms. “Damn. You really take being a stalker to a whole new level. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier that you were my neighbor.”

  “You didn’t ask earlier.”

  Cat pursed her lips. “Well, clearly there’s only one thing to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “We share a cab back to Marina del Rey and you show me how a stalker lives.” She stood, tossing some money on the bill. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

  “Not that I know of. But if I was, I probably wouldn’t admit it,” I answered, grinning.

  “Good point. Just warning you, if I walk in and the place is plastered with photos of me from the last three years and you have my panties hidden away in your fridge, I’m making a break for it.”

  “I can promise none of your panties are in my condo . . . yet,” I added. I picked her money up off the bill, stuffed it into her graffiti bag, and replaced it with my own money.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, rooting around in her bag for her cash.

  “Paying for dinner. You treated me to lunch, remember?”

  “But I . . .”

  “Just let me pay, Cat. It’s the least I can do considering that you’re risking your life by visiting the home of a possible serial killer.”

  She laughed and stopped the search for her money, but I could tell she was still a little uncomfortable with the situation. I could respect that, but I still wasn’t letting her pay for dinner.

  “Let’s go,” she said, with one last look at the bill and my money before she turned to nail me with her gaze. “I can’t wait to see how pretty boy stalkers live.”

  As I followed her out of the restaurant, I placed my hand on the small of her back to guide her out. She’d made it very clear all day that she didn’t need my help, but I’d spent the last few hours not touching her and I was going to take any chance I could to get my hands on her.

  When we got into the cab, Cat set her bag of paints on the left side of the seat and sat in the middle, close to me. She leaned forward to tell the cabbie where to go, placing her hand on my knee for support. When she leaned back into her seat, she let her hand stay where it was. I put my arm across the back of the seat and let my fingers tease along the skin of her bare shoulder, tracing lazy circles with my fingertips. I could feel the energy between us building as if we’d been on slow boil all day. I couldn’t wait to be alone with her and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep my hands off her once she was in my condo.

  Thankfully, the drive was short and I was soon guiding her up the stairs to my front door.

&nbs
p; “Typical bachelor pad,” she accused as I let her in. It was a three-bedroom, three-floor unit with a roof top deck and panoramic views—which meant that the place had a lot of fucking windows. I’d gotten lucky to find such a great place. I knew I didn’t necessarily need all of the extra room, but the view was amazing and so was the location.

  The main floor housed the kitchen and a living room. The living room boasted a wall of windows with a phenomenal view of the sunset in the evenings. It was dominated by dark brown leather couches and a large flat screen television. There were walnut end tables and a matching coffee table as well, but there was nothing but various remotes to the electronics decorating their tops. No pictures or magazines—nothing that hinted at any sort of personality. Giving the room a quick once-over, Cat proceeded to give herself a tour of the rest of the condo before I had a chance to offer. An open floor plan gave her easy access to the kitchen which she spared only a brief look. Another quick peek down the hallway and she found a half-bath and laundry room. She barely paused at those rooms. Cat took the staircase at the end of the hall and made her way to the roof top deck.

  When I came up the steps behind her, she was standing against the railing, the top half of her body leaning over the edge as the ocean breeze tossed her hair around her face. The sun had already ducked behind the horizon, but the lights of the marina below gave the night a false sense of twilight.

  “There’s my apartment there,” she said, pointing to the building just across the rows of boat slips below us. “Isn’t it weird we live so close to each other?”

  I didn’t answer, I couldn’t find the strength to use words when every cell in my body was pulling me toward her. She turned around just as I came up behind her and when I put my hands on the railing on either side of her hips, her eyelids seemed heavy as her gaze found my lips.

  “The date is almost over,” she pointed out.

  “It is,” I answered, dipping my head low so that our breaths tangled together.

  “You haven’t shown me the rest of the condo yet. I can’t go without seeing all of it,” she taunted.

  Her words were referring to more than just my condo and we both knew it. She licked her bottom lip and I leaned in to copy her, allowing my tongue to follow the same path along the wet skin of her lower lip. Cat purred in satisfaction and it took all my control to pull back so she could lead the way back down the stairs. She took a deep breath and stepped away from the railing toward the staircase. I could have sworn her footsteps were wobbly, but it had to be my imagination because nothing flustered Cat. Especially nothing as simple as a half-kiss.

  Cat passed back down through the main floor and then to the next level where the two larger bedrooms were located. The bottom floor was just a small bedroom that I used for storage. She peeked into the first room that was set up as my office before she abandoned it and made her way into my bedroom. In contrast to her colorful, creatively-decorated room, mine was the exact opposite. The furniture was dark and masculine, the walls were bare and white, and the bed was massive. A white comforter stretched across the top of it and was pressed flat and immaculate against the mattress.

  “You need to get Jay in here pronto.”

  “No offense, but I’d rather have you in here.”

  “I mean you need some design help. This condo is nice, but it has zero personality.”

  “Maybe I’ll give him a call.” I followed her slow, searching steps, but she seemed oblivious to me.

  She turned and I was right there, not even a foot from her. She didn’t even flinch.

  “There’s a lot of room in that bed,” she pointed out.

  “I’m very good at sharing.” I stepped toward her, something predatory in me waking and wanting.

  She smiled and spun away from me, continuing to walk around my room, looking for personal items that were nowhere to be found.

  “No pictures.” She frowned, hopping up onto the bare top of the dresser, gazing around the room as if she expected all of my secrets to spill out the vents and drawers.

  “I just moved in.” I was in front of her now, my hands on her knees, spreading her legs so I could step between them and close the distance between us.

  “You should break this place in,” she suggested. “It looks too new.” She wrapped her feet around my thighs, pulling me in with her heels until I was trapped against the dresser and in the embrace of her legs.

  “My thoughts exactly. Maybe I should start with this room.” My palms slid up her thighs and over her hips as my fingertips slipped under the hem of her shirt. She sat on the edge of the dresser, reclining back on her hands, watching me.

  “Take your shirt off,” she ordered. The blue of her eyes was dark and full of desire.

  I moved my hands from the bottom of her shirt to mine. She didn’t ask. She didn’t beg. She merely ordered me to take it off, and I was surprised to find that my hands were willing soldiers in her service. I noticed other parts of my body were quick to stand at attention as well. The fabric of my t-shirt was up and over my head and tossed to the floor without hesitation.

  “Holy fuck,” she exhaled, leaning forward to run her hands from my chest down to the waistband of my pants and back up again. Her fingers followed every ridge and contour as if recording them to memory. “I knew there’d be a lot of muscle, but you’re hard all over.”

  If she only knew.

  Her fingers traced along my sides, following the lines of my abs and hip bones that dipped into my waistband. She made a pleased sound in the back of her throat as edges of her mouth tilted up into a smile. Why did girls like that part of the male body so much? I had no idea why, but I was glad she was exploring mine.

  Cat bent her knees, pulling me closer to her until she scooted to the edge of the dresser and I was nestled against the heat between her legs. Her mouth was on me, her lips and tongue pressing a slow, sensual promise against mine as her fingers continued to dance along the naked skin of my stomach.

  “Take off my shirt,” she ordered, speaking against my lips.

  My only answer was to slide my hands into the bottom of her shirt and trace her skin with my palms from her hips to her ribs. She shivered slightly at the touch and moaned into my mouth before capturing my lip lightly in her teeth. My roaming hands lifted the fabric higher. With my hands still under her shirt and my fingertips venturing under the edges of her bra, I felt like a teenager again, stealing touches and exploring places I had no right to be. Today was our first date, but I was rounding the bases quickly. She was the third base coach, waving me on.

  I grazed the top of her breasts with the tips of my fingers, sneaking past the lacy bra to explore the skin it covered. I was just barely inside before I pulled out, allowing my hands to palm her breasts around the outside of the delicate fabric.

  She groaned and spoke against my mouth again, unwilling to free me for even a second. “Enough already. Take it off. We’ve been doing foreplay all fucking day.”

  As much as I liked being ordered around by Cat, I liked pushing her to her limits just a little more.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” I lied.

  “Too bad. I want to take advantage of you,” she countered. “You’re the one that started this with all your creepy staring night after night. Now pony up, Pretty Boy.”

  In response, my hands explored the boundaries of her body, but never crossed them. My fingers caressed the waistband of her pants, slipping inside just enough to make her purr the word “lower” before withdrawing again. I kissed the edges of her mouth and sucked the tip of her tongue, but only a little and I pulled back whenever she began to kiss more feverishly. My hands cupped her breasts, pulling the fabric of her bra away slightly in a tease before letting it lie flat again. I wanted to rip her clothes off and toss her on the bed, but the frustrated sounds that came out of her with each teasing withdrawal was worth the painful pleasure of the anticipation. And maybe it was a little payback for what she did to me earlier on the ugly chair. Pl
easurable payback.

  “You like to play dirty, do you?” she asked as my hand made another attempt to get in her pants before retreating to tease another part of her body.

  Cat’s hands were suddenly at the fly of my pants, yanking so hard that the button ripped off and flew into the corner of the room somewhere. I nearly lost it and mounted her on the dresser right there. The zipper was roughly lowered and her hand, warm and firm, was inside my pants and wrapped around me. I wanted to say something to taunt her, but with each stroke of her fingers, I found words unnecessary. Or rather, unavailable.

  “No boxers. Thank God you were telling the truth last night.” Cat’s legs shifted and soon I found my shorts being pushed to the floor by her feet. “I’m going to make you beg for what you’ve put me through for the last ten minutes, Pretty Boy.”

  — CAT —

  7. BEST LAID PLANS

  I had never wanted anything in my life as badly as I wanted Huck. Thanks to my destruction of his pants and his lack of boxers of any kind, he was now standing in front of me, magnificently naked. And ready. There was a little bit of satisfaction in knowing that he’d been teasing himself just as much as he’d been teasing me, but not enough to stop me from speeding things up. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist and my arms around his neck, grinding myself into his now naked body.

  “Christ,” he growled. “What’s wrong with taking it slow, Cat?” he managed to say, gripping my waist and trying to push me back as I rocked my hips into his again.

  “Huck.” His name was a raspy breath. “If you don’t take me to your bed right now, I’m going to finish myself off right here in front of you,” I threatened.

  He leaned back, the gold in his eyes glinting in challenge. “I dare you.”

  My legs released him and he stepped back to look at me. God he was beautiful—tan, muscular, and completely naked. I let my thighs spread wide and I leaned back on his dresser, allowing my head to rest against the mirror as I stared at him. I unbuttoned my pants and slipped a hand inside, stroking myself. His gaze never left my hand and I watched the muscles in his arms and legs tense as the movement of my fingers became faster and firmer. Soft sighs and moans escaped from me as my hand moved feverishly inside my pants. I saw Huck swallow tightly.