Hugo is my friend. He’s single and as loyal to Isaac as me. This is a perfect solution. . . if I could just get my fucked up heart to agree.
“Regan. . .”
Hugo’s warning snarl trails off when I pop a loaded spoon of frosting into my mouth and suck down so hard, the spoon launches into the back of my throat. Apparently, it wasn’t just my heart that went bye-bye twelve months ago; so did my ability to flirt. I’d die of embarrassment if my gag didn’t increase the temperature bristling between Hugo and me. It’s hotter now, as sticky and as out-of-control as my twisted heart.
Not willing to back down without a fight, I say, “Your turn.” My words are throatier than usual, the clump of icing gliding down to my gut making them huskier.Or perhaps it’s betrayal?
When Hugo attempts to remove the spoon from my grasp, I shake my head. “You’ll never appreciate the high you get from frosting until you’ve sampled it off someone’s skin.”
I scoop a generous serving of chocolate icing onto my finger before raising it to Hugo’s mouth. Moisture teems in regions of my body I never anticipated as I wait for him to make his decision. I wish I were referring to the area between my legs that refuses to drum out a tune unless it’s in Alex’s presence, but I’m not.
The only big blobs of moisture threatening to spill right now are the ones welling in my eyes. I’m on the verge of crying, equally in devastation and annoyance. I hate what Alex did to me, but more than anything, I hate that I can’t hate him for it.
With a groan, Hugo snatches the spoon and nearly empty can of frosting out of my hand, dumps them in the sink, then spins me around to face the kitchen entrance. His stomps across the tile mimic the brutal stabs his rejection is causing my ego. It’s only one tenth of the hurt I’m feeling, though.
My ego stops being battered senseless when Hugo murmurs, “You should be grateful you played this trick on me, Regan, because if it were any other man, you’d be on your knees by now.”
He guides me down the hallway, throws open my bedroom door, then heads for my king-sized bed in the middle of the room. He tosses me onto the mattress as if I’m weightless before stomping to my bedside table. I should be embarrassed when he dumps a drawer full of sex toys next to my quivering thighs, but even with my heart being shattered twice in under a decade, I still haven’t learned the word “timid.”
Hugo gathers a tube of lube out of the main bathroom and my phone from the kitchen before plunking them on top of an assortment of vibrators, dildos, and butterfly clips. After dipping his chin, pleased with his effort, he pivots on his heels and stalks out of my room.
“Where are you going?” I ask, shocked and somewhat amused from the strain crossing his handsome face.
“Anywhere with enough noise I can pretend you aren’t moaning the moans I think you’re going to be moaning.”
His reply riddles me with confusion, but it also makes me smile. “And my phone? What’s that for?”
“So you can call the man you really want licking the frosting from your finger.”
My spine snaps straight. “I can’t call him!”
Hugo spins around to face me. “Why not?”
A million thoughts trickle through my tipsy brain, but since none of them are appropriate for an attorney to say about the man prosecuting her client, I remain quiet.
With a smug grin, Hugo turns back around and continues with his brisk departure.
His long strides stop when I shout, “Hey, Hugo?”
He takes his time replying, like he’s worried he’ll succumb to the tension in the air if he doesn’t leave this instant. “Yeah?”
I want to saythanks for being my friend, but since I’d hate for him to think he has one on me, I settle on, “Why do you have lube in your bathroom?”
He doesn’t answer me, unless you count a groan as a reply.
* * *
It’s been over three hours since Hugo left. I returned my sex toys to their rightful spot—untouched—folded a basket of clean clothes, and flipped through two dozen TV channels. With my request to have Isabelle’s preliminary hearing brought forward finally granted, her paperwork was filed late this afternoon, meaning I’ve got nothing left to do but wait. Even Callie’s case is out of my hands. Isaac paid the funds; now we’re just waiting for the transfer to be scheduled. It’s a lonely and boring Saturday night.
I can’t even visit Axel since he and Raquel are testing out a new nanny. With Raquel’s first year residency starting in February, she wants to settle Axel into a new routine. I offered to watch him while she worked, but she said my inflexible hours with Isaac made it unfeasible. Even though I agreed with her, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. I hate the idea of Axel being watched by a stranger. His nanny is nice, but nothing can replicate the care he’d get from someone with the same blood as him.
As my mind shifts to a man with the same cut jaw as Axel and equally blue eyes, my eyes stray to my drawer of sex toys. Only eighteen months ago, I thought I’d never need anything but an endless supply of batteries and my very vivid imagination.
How wrong was I?
The sensation, thrill, and quickening of my pulse remain the same, but nothing can replace the scent of a hot, virile man on the hunt. Sweat is sweat; skin is skin, but when it’s mixed with an aftershave that inspires images of hard fucks with beastly, Viking-like men. . .my god. Pure heaven.
My pulse speeds up when, in the corner of my eye, I spot a bottle of cologne I dumped on my dresser weeks ago. I don’t know why I packed Alex’s aftershave when I flew across the country at Isaac’s request. It just landed in my bag without a thought crossing my mind.
