Her Sexiest Surprise. Dawn Atkins
hostess at the Chicago mobster’s restaurant. Supposedly, Enzo had retired from his vending-machine business when he moved to sunny Arizona with his second wife and kids, but wiseguys always kept their beak in, Riley knew.
He himself had been part of busts with other Sylvestris—fraud with a charitable trust, drug smuggling at a strip joint and a knitting shop, of all places.
Surely the sweet woman in his arms knew nothing of her boss’s evil deeds, despite the fact that the man had been smack-dab in the middle of her birthday dinner. Just this once, Riley would hope for the best.
2
WHEN CHLOE OPENED HER EYES, she found herself looking between Riley’s fingers like they were the bars of a cell where she’d been locked away by the slut police.
She’d just slept with a man she knew nothing about except that he preferred booths to tables and was great in bed.
She’d been wild, too, carrying on like a porn star, except none of her moans had been fake. Remembering, she got a queasy stomach and a pounding head she couldn’t blame on champagne.
She’d made that birthday promise, right? Except it was to ask him out, not to screw his brains out. She’d gone too far. Having more fun and being free did not equal mindless sex with a near stranger.
How mortifying. She gently lifted Riley’s hand from her face to check the old-fashioned alarm clock ticking noisily on his nightstand—3:00 a.m. She had to get home.
She hoped her father hadn’t waited up for her. He’d only made a cameo at her party, since she’d insisted he go to his favorite AA meeting. He went to bed early, so hopefully he hadn’t noticed she hadn’t returned. She should have called. It had been the champagne, the birthday candles. And the man.
Oh, the man.
There he lay beside her, naked, tan and muscular, half-covered by white sheets that smelled of laundry soap and the spicy cologne he wore. She sighed. If she had to go wild and throw herself at a guy, at least she’d snagged a good one.
He’d made her slow down and enjoy what they were doing. Are you sure? he’d asked her more than once. He’d even offered her coffee to clear her head. Surely he hadn’t thought she was drunk. There had been no stopping her. The new Chloe had broken free, seized her sexual power, gone for it.
The old Chloe woke up mortified by her actions, worrying about her father, wondering what Riley thought of her. Did he think she was a slut? He wouldn’t say so, but she might read it in his eyes and she couldn’t bear that. How could she face him at Enzo’s again? She had to escape before he awoke.
The new Chloe would have teased him awake with a blow job. The old Chloe had to get out fast.
She slid out of bed with great care. The still-sleeping Riley reached for her, so she pushed a pillow over and he settled into a cuddle. For a sec, she wanted to crawl back into bed with him, but what was the point? She’d had her new Chloe moment. Enough for now. She grabbed her scattered clothes, then got on her knees to hunt a missing shoe.
She’d kicked it across the room, under the bureau. When she stood, her fingers brushed a small, framed photo. Leaning in, she recognized Riley wearing a police uniform. Riley was a cop?
Wow. She looked over at his sleeping form. He hadn’t mentioned what he did for a living. Actually, she hadn’t asked.
She’d never dated anyone in law enforcement. Sadie considered herself an expert. Drawn by the sexy uniform, she’d gone through what she called her law-and-order phase, but gave up when the guys turned out to be “macho, uptight, emotionally stunted commitment-phobes.”
It was wrong to generalize, despite her father’s bad experiences with the law, and she knew cops came in all flavors, but Riley didn’t seem to fit the mold. He’d been so easygoing, gentle and warm. And such a good listener.
She tiptoed to the door, clutching her clothes to her bare chest. Idle jumped from the bed and followed, tags rattling. “Shh!” she said, and the dog tilted his head at her, curious.
“Where you going?” Riley’s voice was scratchy with sleep.
“Home,” she said, embarrassed to be sneaking out naked.
“Come back here.” He patted the sheet beside him. “We’re still celebrating your birthday.”
Desire shivered through her. More would be nice. They could try new things, more positions, go slower….
No. She’d had a great time. She should be content. She backed up and banged her shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Careful there.”
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling the door closed.
“Chloe?”
She peeked in again. “Yes?”
“Happy birthday.”
She smiled. “You made it that way. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Anytime? He wanted more, too? How could it be that good again? It had been the right mood, the right man, the right moment. She’d made a memory. That was plenty enough for her.
She wiggled her fingers goodbye.
For just a second, in the warm spring night, she missed new Chloe, who might dance down the street singing. New Chloe wouldn’t have turned down more sex with Riley.
But reality now weighed on her shoulders. She checked her cell phone. No missed calls. No messages. Whew. Her father didn’t know she’d stayed out this late. She didn’t want him to worry about her. She worried enough about him.
He’d been quiet lately, which was odd in such an affable man, and he seemed troubled. What was up? He never complained, feeling guilty for all the trouble he’d been over the years.
It had been unusual last night and yet freeing to not be the person who watched out for her father and Clarissa, the one who thought two steps ahead, anticipated problems, pushed for solutions.
Not that Chloe minded taking care of her family. She’d been proud to take on the role when their mother left. Unable to cope with Mickey Baxter’s drinking and fresh-start promises, she’d taken off when Chloe was ten, Clarissa six.
Their mom visited a couple of times, but after a while they had to settle for weekly postcards—thoughtful and loving messages, but not the same as seeing her in person. Chloe longed for her tight hugs, reassuring smile and loving encouragement.
As an adult, Chloe realized her mother had been wracked with guilt, making the visits pure torture. At the time, Chloe had felt like a burden, a weight and a worry. Taking charge of the house gave her a way to be useful, to feel valuable.
Lately, though, she’d become impatient with her sister, whose financial struggles had drained Chloe’s savings and delayed her dream, and her father, whose good sense could be snuffed out like her tiny birthday flames with the merest puff of temptation. She tried to support, not enable, both of them, but sometimes it was tough to tell the difference.
Having wild sex with a man she hardly knew had been a way to rebel, she guessed. Here on out, she’d choose more productive actions. Though she might not need to rebel.
Her sister, married last year, seemed settled in Ventura and her husband finally had a solid job. Chloe’s father, sober for the ten years they’d been in Phoenix, seemed to have his gambling under control and spent less time with questionable friends.
As long as her family remained stable, her new job with the Sylvestris meant she was all-systems-go for a bright future.
When she opened the door, the roar of sports from the TV startled her. Had her father fallen asleep in the lounger? Rounding the corner, she was hit by the smoky aroma of whiskey and the gulping snores her father only emitted when he’d been drinking.
Sure enough, beside the lounger,