Agatha Page 11

  Chuckling, he leans back in his chair while placing his hand on my lower back. Chills again, damn it. “I’m here until you’re ready to go.”

  What? “Why?” I hiss.

  Before he can answer, an older woman sitting on the other side of Ian interrupts. “Oh, Ian. Is this your young lady?”

  I want to laugh. Young lady? But I don’t get the chance because his hand wraps further around my waist, pulling me into him. “Yes, ma’am. This is my Agatha.”

  My Agatha!? What the heck? I know I looked shocked. I know it because my mouth is open so wide, I feel air at the back of my teeth.

  “Call me Calliope, son.”

  “Calliope, meet my girlfriend, Agatha. Agatha, meet Calliope Fredrickson.”

  I reach my hand out to shake her outstretched one. She’s a tiny woman, probably in her eighties. Her small hand is shaking slightly until I take it in mine. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So formal.” When a smile crosses her lips, I smile back.

  “Isn’t he a wonderful boyfriend? To stay here to keep an eye on you and make sure you get home safely?” Patting Ian’s hand, she continues, “I’m so glad to hear chivalry isn’t dead.” Turning back to me she says curtly, “I hope you appreciate what you have here, my dear. He’s special.”

  “Oh, I do, ma’am. I sure do.” I say as sweetly as I can. “Okay, sugar-plum.” I pat Ian’s hand. “I’ve got to get back to work. I can’t get fired. Who’d support us then?”

  When I turn to walk away, I hear his rumbling laughter. “Good one, babe.”

  Babe? Oh, my lord. My life is officially in the Twilight Zone.

  By two in the morning, we’re finally done, and I can barely walk. “I’m broken,” I whine to myself as I trudge to my car. I’m going to fall asleep at the wheel. I know it.

  “You’re not broken.”

  I scream. Literally. “What the hell, Ian? You scared the crap out of me.” He’s leaning on my car, arms crossed in front of his wide chest, legs extended and crossed at his ankles. He looks casual, like it’s his favorite thing to do, you know, hang out in the parking lot behind the Ramada Inn.

  Pushing himself up to standing, he gets close to me. “You’re too tired to drive.”

  I know. “No, I’m not.”

  Ignoring my response, he holds up two fingers and says, “You have two choices.”

  I’d roll my eyes but I’m too exhausted and I’m pretty sure it’ll hurt. “Uh, huh.”

  “We can either stay in the room I reserved here at the hotel or…”

  I start to sputter, but when he uses his long finger to move my bangs out of my eyes, I stop.

  “Or I can drive you home in your car.”

  “That’s not necessary. What about your car? I…”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow. Jason would love the chance to get out of the office for a while.”

  “I don’t want to stay here.” I can’t afford it.

  Holding out his palm he says, “Keys?”

  I dig through my purse until I find them. “Fine. Whatever. I’m too tired to argue.” I’m even too tired to question him about tonight. Well, almost too tired. After he unlocks the car, I slide into the passenger seat and moan. “Catering is not for the weak,” I mumble.

  “I bet. You were working your ass off in there.”

  I give him some side eye. “What in the heck did you tell the bride and groom? I saw you talking to them.”

  “I told them I was Calliope’s date.”

  I snort with laughter. “And they believed you?”

  “Sure.” He shrugs. “Apparently, to them, she’s eccentric Aunt Calliope. Of course she’d bring a young stud as her date.”

  That makes me giggle. “Young stud.”

  Whispering in my ear he says, “Oh, sweet Agatha. If you only knew.”

  Ignoring the innuendo and the sexy shiver that just ran down my spine, I ask, “What’d you tell Calliope? I mean, no way she’d fall for that.”

  “The truth.”

  I laugh again. “That you were stalking your ‘girlfriend’,” I say with air quotes, “like a creeper?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  When he reaches out and sets his hand on my leg, right above my knee, I tense.

  “Initially, when I first decided to follow you, I was trying to determine if you were going on a date.”

  “A date?” And why would that matter? Not that I’d go on a date. It’s been so long, I wouldn’t know what to do on a date.

  “You said you had plans.”

  “You thought I was going on a date? What? Were you worried I was meeting up with a serial killer?”

  He winces at that.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” I say softly.

  “I know.” He looks over at me, giving me a soft smile. “Truth?”

  “Always.”

  “I was jealous.”

  I’m blinking furiously. “Jealous?”

  He gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “Jealous.”

  Well, I’ll be damned. Who-da-thunk? “You? B-b-but yo-you’re…” I want to say he’s way out of my league, that he’s a 9.5 and I’m a 5, tops, but the words won’t come out. Instead I blurt, “Old.” Oh, yeah. Great save, Agatha.

  Chuckling again, his palm slides up my leg, about three or four inches. “I know.” Turning his head, he looks at me with a heated stare. “I think you’ll learn to appreciate the fact that age has its benefits.”

  Melted. I just melted. Well, okay, my panties melted and that’s saying something. I was pretty sure those parts stopped working a long time ago. Apparently not. “Oh. Okay,” I say breathlessly, giving myself away like an amateur.

  When his hand slides up one more inch, then squeezes, I know that he knows. He’s got me.

  Chapter 20

  Ian

  She’s asleep before we leave the Flagstaff city limits. I knew she was exhausted. I watched her throughout the night. Every hour that passed, she worked slower and slower. I observed her attempting to stretch out her back and shoulders a time or two. When she leaned against the wall to rub her feet, I knew she was going to be hurting. Calliope was right—chivalry isn’t dead, at least not as it relates to me and Agatha Palmer. I’ve accepted that I like her. A lot. Not only that, I need to protect her. Keep her safe. I’m not sure she isn’t in danger, to be honest. Whoever framed her isn’t going to appreciate getting caught.

  After pulling into her driveway, I walk around the car, open her door, and place one palm under her legs and the other around her back. Lifting her, I watch her eyes flutter open. “Ian?”

  “I’m here.” Right where I want to be.

  “Okay.”

  Taking three steps up to her front porch and the door, I juggle her until I’m able to put the house key into the lock. With the door open, I step into her living room and place her on the sofa. Turning back to the door, I shut and lock it. Next, I turn on the lamp next to the couch and watch as her eyes open.

  “Thanks, Ian,” she says sleepily. “I’d probably be parked at a rest stop right now.”

  “You fell asleep before we left Flagstaff.”

  She stands and approaches me. “I appreciate it, stalker.” She laughs in a tired, husky voice. Patting my arm, she says, “I’m going to bed. Feel free to crash on the couch. I’ll drive you wherever tomorrow.”

  I reach out to touch her arm. She stops, turning to me. Tugging her closer to me, I slide my hand into her hair that’s no longer pulled into a neat bun. Some of her blondish hair has come out of the knot so now it’s messy in a very sexy way. “Agatha,” I whisper. With my hand behind her head, I lean down and kiss her lips softly. “Night, beautiful.”

  “Night, Ian.”

  I watch her walk away. She’s unbuttoning her blouse as she walks. By the time she’s crossed into her bedroom, it’s slipping from her shoulders.

  This is the most uncomfortable couch ever built. It could be because I’m over six feet
tall and the couch is less than five feet long. I’m curled into a ball using a sofa pillow under my head and her small throw over my bare legs. I’d stripped down to my boxers before laying down because it’s hot. Ordinarily, I sleep in the buff. I didn’t think that would fly here at Chez Agatha.

  Throwing back the thin blanket in frustration, I roll off the couch and stomp into her bedroom. “It’s just sleeping.” She probably won’t even know I’m here. I need a couple hours before I call Jason for a ride.

  Looking down at her in her queen-size bed, I can’t help noticing how pretty she is when she sleeps. Like an angel. I hope to God she doesn’t freak out when she realizes I’ve been sleeping next to her all night. She might not be as angelic if she finds out I crawled into bed with her. Hopefully, I’ll be long gone by then. Pulling back the covers, I slide onto the cool, soft cotton and sigh. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Fluffing up the pillow, I roll to my side so that I’m facing her back. I can tell she’s wearing some kind of nightgown with thin straps that rest on her narrow shoulders. Nothing too provocative, but it’s still sexy on her because it’s showing so much soft, smooth skin.

  The minute I’m comfortable, Agatha rolls over, facing me. “Ian?”

  “Yeah, honey.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  God she’s sweet.

  And soft. Did I mention soft? I know this because she’s scooted her body toward mine until our legs and arms are touching. Wrapping her arm over my shoulder, around my neck, she pulls closer until her right leg is thrown over mine.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. My dick likes this position. A lot.

  “Mm,” she says in her sleep. Or, I assume it’s her sleep. “Ian.” She whispers as she presses her cheek to mine. “You smell so good.”

  Fuck.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers.

  So, I do. I fucking do. I use my tongue to nudge her lips open. Let me in, Agatha. She responds perfectly. Beautifully. Our tongues meet in a slow, sexy caress. My hand slides down from the top of her back, down, down, until my palm is cupping her luscious ass. I squeeze one cheek pulling her closer to me. My cock is so damn hard it’s trying to break free from my boxers.

  What the hell are you doing, Burke?

  Chapter 21

  Agatha

  My body is on fire. I feel hands everywhere—on my ass, on my nipple, and one palm is sliding beneath my nightgown. Oh, my God. This is amazing. I roll my hips toward the feeling, attempting to get the ache to stop. “I feel so achy,” I hear myself whine.

  A deep voice whispers in my ear, “I’ve got you, honey.”

  Ooh, my dream man has a deep, sexy voice. This is the Best. Dream. Ever. It’s so real. Arching into the touch I feel something hard against my ass. When I feel fingers slide into my panties, I freeze. I know why it feels so real. Because. It. Is.

  My eyes fly open suddenly. I blink a few times trying to get my bearings. I’m in my bed. At home. There’s an arm or I should say arms wrapped around me. The hand running beneath me on my left side is gently massaging my breast. When he pinches my nipple, I moan. I can’t help it. You would too.

  The other hand is further down. Way down. His thick fingers are doing amazing, magical things to my clit. Things no one has ever done. Not even me.

  “Ian?” I squeak.

  “Yeah, honey?”

  Oh, shit. I should stop him. I really should. How did it even get to this point? I squeeze my eyes closed tightly, attempting to recall the events leading up to this, this situation. He drove me home from my job. He carried me inside. I went to bed––told him he could sleep on the couch. So, how in the heck did we end up here?

  “Put your leg back over my hip, sweetheart.”

  Instead of doing what I should, you know, jumping up and running away, I do it. I lift my left leg and place it back onto his hip. It opens me up for him.

  “This okay, Agatha?” he whispers in my ear.

  “Yesss,” I hiss as his finger moves into my center. “Don’t stop.”

  “You’re so fucking wet, honey.”

  I love that endearment––honey. And I am so damn wet. I don’t ever remember being this turned on in my life. Neither of my college boyfriends knew what they were doing, but I get the distinct impression that this man does. “Oh, God.” I moan as he wiggles his fingers inside me and around my clit. My nipple is getting a work-out as well. When his mouth starts to nibble and lick my neck, just below my ear, it’s over. “I’m coming,” I pant.

  “Shit, sweetheart. You’re squeezing the hell out of my fingers.” He kisses my neck again then bites the lobe of my ear and I squeak; he chuckles.

  When I start to come down from the high of my orgasm, I stiffen. Probably not as stiff as the long, hard thing poking me in the back but still pretty stiff. As nonchalantly as possible, I roll away from him to quickly move off the bed to standing. “Ian. I…”

  He’s got that expression on his face––half grimace, half smile. I watch him as he discreetly wipes his hand on his stomach. Oh, my god. His stomach. It’s flat and it looks hard. Damn, he’s got a great body.

  Rolling onto his back, he runs his big palms over his face. I blush, thinking about him doing that with my, um, me all over his hand. I’m distracted by the tent in his boxers. It looks like it’d sleep a family of six.

  I’m still gazing, unabashedly, at his crotch when he says, “Agatha?”

  “Huh?” I reply, still staring.

  Chuckling, he places his palm over it. “Agatha?”

  Busted. “What? Huh?” I shake my head slightly and look at his face, finally. “Sorry.” My face heats to about a million degrees.

  “I’m sorry.” Carefully, Ian sits up. “I shouldn’t have…”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  He arches his brow. “Your sofa is made for someone much smaller than me.”

  I repeat. “It was, er, it is. It’s okay.” I would like to know how it all started. “How?”

  “How did it start?” he finishes my question for me.

  I nod. I can’t say anything else right now.

  “We fell asleep. You woke up, moved closer and…”

  “And what?”

  “You said my name and you were rubbing your…”

  “Rubbing m-my what?” Oh, hells bells, this is embarrassing.

  “You rolled over until your bottom was...” Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair. “You were rubbing your ass on my…” he points to his crotch. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have…”

  Stepping closer to the bed, I place my palm on his shoulder to reassure him. “Ian, I’m a grown woman. You’re a grown man. We’re two consenting adults. I’m fine. Better than fine,” I smirk. “But, how are you?” I ask nodding down toward his still tented boxers.

  “I’ll be fine. Just stop looking at him. He likes you.”

  Oh, my. Did he just say that? I giggle nervously. It feels good to laugh. I haven’t had much to laugh about lately. I needed that. All of it.

  Ian excuses himself to the bathroom. He’s in there for a while. I’d like to know what he’s doing, but it’s none of my business. When he steps out of the bathroom, I see he’s back to normal––you know, in the penis department. I blush again thinking of it. And by ‘it’ I mean his it.

  “Stop blushing. You’re giving me a complex,” his laughter rumbles as he slides beneath my sheets.

  “Sorry.” Not sorry.

  “It’s still too early to call Jason. He’ll kill me if I woke him up at this hour. Let’s get some more sleep, honey.”

  I wake up alone and sit up quickly. Was it all a dream? Ian in my bed? Ian touching me, kissing me? When I hear someone out in my main room, I smile. “He’s still here,” I whisper. Laying back onto my pillow, I snuggle into the sheets, remembering the night before. My body’s still sore from the wedding but I’ll live. Especially now that I’ve got this sexy man in my life.

  But, is he in my life? Are we a thing? A couple? It certainly seemed
that way in the car. Not to mention in my bed. A shiver runs through me thinking about his big, warm hands all over me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. No man has ever taken control and given me such pleasure. Not my two college boyfriends and definitely not the one-night-stand I had in Vegas a couple years ago. That guy knew what he was doing, until he passed out, but it’s nothing like Ian. I guess he was right, what he said in the car: I think you’ll learn to appreciate the fact that age has its benefits.

  Well, he was certainly right about that. Now, my question is, how good is he at the rest of it? I shiver again recalling how big he felt. How hard. “I bet he’s an amazing lover,” I whisper.

  Rolling out of bed, I pull my fuzzy, blue robe off the hook on the back of my door, slide it over my shoulders, and tie the belt tightly around my waist. Stepping into the kitchen, I see the coffee brewing and two mugs sitting next to it. He must have just gotten up. Looking around the room, I note the time on the stove. “Almost nine.” Shoot, I bet he’s late. Scanning the living room, I see the front door is ajar. He must have stepped outside. No wonder, it’s supposed to be a beautiful morning. I wish I had a patio in the back. That’d be the perfect spot for morning coffee with Ian while we read the paper––solve the crossword puzzle together. At least I’ve got that cute little sitting area on my front porch.

  Rolling my eyes at my stupid, romantic thoughts, I fill both cups with coffee. I wonder how he takes his? Deciding to find out, I step toward the door but stop when I hear Ian’s voice. He must be on the phone. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I take one step back until I hear him say my name. Is he calling for me or talking about me? Moving closer to the opening, I press my ear to the door. Yes, I know it’s wrong, but the man is talking about me. Maybe he’s talking to his mom. If so, he could be telling her he’s met ‘the one.’ I’d snort but I need to stay quiet. Just know, the snort was internal. Moving my ear closer I hear him.

  “No, of course not. Nothing’s going on. You wanted me to find the money, right?”

  There’s silence. I hold my breath waiting for him to say more.

  “Of course. That’s exactly what I’m doing. You don’t think she’d tell me if she thought I was the enemy, do you?”