Out of Her Comfort Zone Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Nicky Penttila

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-240-1

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Jillian Baker

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my husband.

  OUT OF HER COMFORT ZONE

  Romance on the Go

  Nicky Penttila

  Copyright © 2013

  Nap over Emily stretched, just a bit, her foot happening to touch Elliot’s silky calf. The slightest nudge, and he knew what she wanted.

  “More princess?”

  She smiled at the grumble-honey of his voice and rolled to her side to face him on the bed. The light from the high windows slanted wide, mid-afternoon, and here they were in bed. Such luxury.

  “When can we do this again?”

  He smiled, a slow pull of his delectable lips up at the corners. His mouth was so wide the smile should have been distorted, but the rest of his face was so agile, so golden, the mouth seemed perfect.

  Certainly it was perfect in the many society photos she’d seen him in. He was the beneficiary of a small field – tech geeks who looked gorgeous on camera – and so was doubly valuable to the local society photographers. Not to mention a certain society columnist.

  As if he could sense what she was thinking Elliot pursed his lips and leaned in. He suckled the dip between her neck and shoulder and she felt the tension leach out.

  “Girls who code too much need more sex,” he said.

  “There’s no such thing as coding too much.”

  “Remember that time you couldn’t turn your neck to the left for three days?”

  “To the right. Two days and a half.”

  “Exactly.” He drew his hand lazily across her hip. She lifted her knee and then let it flop to the side on the bed. He took the hint, cupping her mound gently and then a little firmer. His fingertips played a gentle arpeggio on her clit and her hips rose in response. The soft lilac color of their so-soft new sheets meshed well with the flashes of lightning white-red of pleasure Elliot drew from her.

  She loved his long, strong fingers; really, all of his long, strong self. Despite that odd hair-job and his oversized reputation, he was just a regular guy. A regular, spectacular-looking, generous guy. With hands that could do, oh, that.

  She could feel the climax rumbling to life at the base of her spine, a cauldron ready to spill. She arched her clit into the base of his palm, ready to lift off.

  But he pulled away, loosening his grip and shifting his weight on the bed. Emily lifted her head from the pillow, dazed.

  “I want to try something.”

  She dropped her head back on the pillow. “I thought we were doing fine.” She closed her eyes.

  She felt him roll up to his knees, his hip still pushed into hers. His hands pushed gently down the length of each thigh, around the kneecaps, and under each calf. As his fingers touched her soles she squeaked involuntarily.

  “So ticklish.” He deepened his touch, not a feather, a glove. “I love your toes. All the other ... women were all beat up. Dancers, you know? But you, you’re perfect.”

  Before she could follow his train of thought he’d cupped her heel in his hand and bent down, taking her big toe into his mouth. The surprise of it shot up her spine to the base of her head, but it was quickly followed by wonder, and then, pleasure.

  His mouth felt like warm velvet, his tongue a chamois stroking her so softly. Every muscle in her shoulders relaxed, sinking deep into the mattress.

  He pulled up for a moment. “OK?”

  She sighed it out, “OK,” long and sweet. The sensations formed shapes in her mind, rounded algorithms expanding and contracting. Möbius bands?

  By the third toe, Emily’s body – or the bed – seemed to spin, sensation overloading all her circuits. So this was what steady bliss was like. But when Elliot started on the other foot, she discovered even bliss could be doubled.

  One hand holding her foot, the other crept back up to her mound. Now swirls like the ones at the ends of her legs were happening in the center of her body at the same time. The sweet fountain of pleasure cascaded into a sharper fall of bliss. Elliot’s chuckle rumbled her little toes as she bucked into the biggest release of her life.

  After she stilled, spent, he released her foot, setting it back against her knee, and lapped at her sodden vulva. “I love how every part of you is so, so sensitive.”

  “You do it to me.”

  He lifted his head. His smile shone through even her half-lidded eyes. “Good.” Something caught his eye. He leaned over her legs to look at the floor. “Your phone is blinking.”

  Wasn’t it always. “What color?”

  “Pink?” He was right to be surprised. Blue was family, green work, purple social. Pink was rare.

  “My personal calendar. See what it is.”

  He rolled over her legs, somehow copping a feel of her ass on the way, and back again. “Password?”

  “Shape. Delta, starts at six.”

  He got it on the first try. “Not very secure. ‘Condo’?”

  She frowned, and then remembered. “Right. It’s September again. I have to decide whether to renew my tenant’s lease.”

  He clicked the screen dark and rolled onto his side. Head propped on a hand, he searched her eyes. “I thought you moved in with me 21 months ago.”

  “Exactly right, of course. But if I want my condo back, I have to give the tenant at least two months’ notice.” It was an easy decision. Things had been going well with Elliot for months; they hadn’t even fought in more than half a year.

  But he frowned. “So, time for a change?”

  Emily’s body went from giddily drowsy to panic in less than half a second. Was he unhappy and she hadn’t noticed, again? That’s what they’d fought about the last time. She swallowed, hard. “Change?”

  Elliot swiveled upright, his feet on the floor. He hadn’t tanned in years, yet there was still a slight line from his bathing trunk from summers past. She reached out to trace it. He couldn’t be dumping her, could he?

  “We need coffee for this.” Slipping on his cotton yoga pants, he stretched to standing.

  Coffee? Not wine? Or a shot of tequila? Emily sat up, shuffling her hands through the tangles in her hair. This didn’t sound like a break-up. Coffee was for Sunday mornings, just them, shouting out something worthy they’d read in the papers. She loved how he still got paper newspapers on Sunday.

  Wait. If not a break-up, then something else? Something permanent?

  She crunched her legs, squeezing them tight to her and resting her chin on her knees. Was she ready? Was two years enough? Was this a forever thing? Was anything a forever thing?

  Her heart pounded, yes, yes YES. Ready, ready, READY.

  A smart businesswoman, she’d always done her due diligence. She knew all about Elliot, from his past to his potential, and while different than hers, they meshed. They did. And like a good businesswomen Emily knew when to take a measured risk. Marrying Elliot would be the least risky thing she did all year.

  And, to be honest, she had thought he was on the verge of an escalation. He was a little on the romantic side, though, so she didn’t expect any action on that
front until the winter holidays. Perhaps he was jumping his gate, a pre-emptive bid.

  Could it be the idea that she’d move back into her condo that set him off? She couldn’t believe it. He was even more due-diligence than she. It was his job, as one of the most successful venture capitalists in Silicon Valley, but it was also his way in life. No way a phone message could have derailed his careful planning.

  Or could it?

  She scooted off the bed to pull on some clothes. She absolutely was not having any sort of “change” discussion in the nude. Who knew, coffee might be thrown. Stranger things had happened.

  As she stepped out of the bathroom, though, Elliot reappeared, near-panic on his face.

  “The store didn’t deliver today, and I’ve looked all over.” His face looked thunderous, but with panic.

  “We are out of coffee.”

  ****

  The industrial-design coffee shop north of

  Market Street

  was half-empty for once. As usual, along with the croissants and coffees, Emily took her first sip as Elliott pulled out his phone and set it to voice-block, some sort of white noise that made it hard to remotely record voices. It was habit; he had so many confidential meetings in public places. She was so comfortable with it she usually didn’t notice. This obviously wasn’t going to be a classified conversation, anyway, since he hadn’t asked her to shield her mouth with her hand.

  After some small talk that made her more nervous than their first date had, he set his coffee down, half-finished, and reached into his pants pocket. His bare forearm flashed blond. A classic surfer dude, he’d surprised her that first time in bed by being such a natural blond all over. He’d had his hair dyed, but black over blond, not the usual reverse.

  He put his hand flat on the table. Halfway down his pinkie rested a lady’s ring. “I want to make our merger permanent. Marry me?”

  “It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “I know, it’s a ruby. My grandmother was kind of eclectic too.”

  “No, I love it. And wow, something from your family. It’s perfect.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted a huge rock. Your hands are so delicate. And all that blood-diamond talk.”

  “You listened.” She loved that about him. She loved him.

  “Here.” He turned his hand. The ring slid off his finger and landed in his palm. He lifted his hand to her. His hazel eyes held far too much worry. Her heart ached for him.

  How could he doubt? She hadn’t wanted a gorgeous guy, just a smart, responsible one who listened. Elliott exceeded all expectations, plus he made her laugh. And whoever had taught him it was all right to have emotions and maybe even talk about them sometimes was an angel.

  “Of course I’ll marry you. In fact, if you hadn’t proposed by Christmas, I was going to do it myself at New Year’s.”

  He blew out a breath and that beautiful smile rolled across his lips. He raised his brows expectantly. She held her hand out, fingers stretched, and he slid the ring on. It seated itself perfectly, the wine-dark stone seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. Before she could pull it closer to admire it he twined his fingers in hers and lifted her hand. He placed a kiss, so soft, so filled with promise, on her palm. The connection burned, a physical signature on an emotional contract, soft, hot, iron. She might be floating.

  Emily’s mind was so full of sensation and a spinning web of dreams of the future she didn’t notice when he set her hand back on the table and let go.

  “There’s one thing.” His voice dropped, as if carrying a heavy load of something, like reluctance. “It’s kind of private.”

  She tried to blink some sense back into her brain. She pushed the happiness back, but it flowed past her measly barriers. She must be smiling like a banshee, but for once she didn’t care.

  Elliott sat back in the chair. “I have a proposition.”

  “A pre-nup? Sure.”

  He shook his head. “Our lawyers will take care of that. I’m talking about the party.”

  “The party? Oh.” The event she always left town for. Elliott’s annual stag night, complete with strippers, or whatever they were. It was important for his job, he said, and since his job was matching personalities to start-ups it made sense, sort of, at least for the geek-tech men. But she didn’t have to like it.

  As his wife, she didn’t want to put up with it.

  “Will you stop with the party now? After all, women need venture capital too.”

  “That’s what I want to talk about.” He patted his shirt front, straightening invisible wrinkles. “I have… a proposition.”

  Now she knew something was wrong. Elliott never repeated himself, except to sing that blasted song, “say something once, why say it again?” She crossed her arms in front of her. The ruby caught at her sleeve, startling her.

  “This is the thing. The parties are great, and they do serve their purpose. But I’ve grown tired of them, especially since you. Because of you. The girls, they don’t feel as good in my hands as you.” He stared out the glass window to the slow-moving scene outside. “But I want to try one last thing. Like the toes. Something new.”

  He rubbed his eyes. She sighed as theatrically as she could. “Just say it.”

  Dropping his hand, he caught her glance and held it. “I want to see you – I want you to be – one of the girls.” He raised his hands fast, pleading patently false innocence. “Just for one night.”

  Emily sat straight, her hand almost knocking the coffee over. “You want me to what?”

  “It’s always been a dream of mine.” Elliot’s smile showed perfect teeth and no hint of irony.

  “It’s been your dream to pick up a – sex worker – and marry her?”

  He shrugged, and his face stilled. “Please, Em. I don’t want to upset you. Maybe just think about it?”

  Emily tried to quiet her roiling emotions and think clearly. What did they say to do to be more rational? Translate. She flipped her English thoughts to Spanish and back. Since she had only third-grade Spanish, the words were simple.

  “You want me to go to your annual sex party and make out with you?”

  “Exactly.” He nodded, face taking on his businessman’s officiousness. “The girls are masked, so no problem there.”

  No problem? “You don’t think anyone would recognize my body? My hair?”

  “A wig, then.” He wasn’t even fazed. One of the best negotiators in the Bay Area, he almost always won.

  “Like a game.” She tried to taste the possibilities on her tongue, but the bitter dregs of shame bound her down.

  “And it would be only with me.”

  “You swear it?”

  “And only the once. Haven’t you ever wanted to try it, to be the bad girl for once?” He smiled again, but not too wide. He wasn’t sure he’d won yet, she was surprised to see.

  “Sex workers aren’t bad girls.” Petulance laced her words.

  “But they’re not you, either.”

  He was right, she had to admit. And who hasn’t wondered about it? Those ladies were so cocky, so beautifully, so confident. Could she ever be that way, even hidden in costume? It might be delicious. She shivered.

  “You’re too scared to do it.” Elliot downed the last of his four-shot espresso coffee mix.

  “Am not.” How dare he? Now she did want to do it. But just the once. “What do I get in exchange?”

  “A night of games?”

  “That’s a given, right? No, you have to give up something.” Of course. “The party. This is the last party.”

  As he sat back in his chair pretending to ruminate, Emily remembered they weren’t at home. The NoMa hipster clientele, and the café’s brick and lofty beams and world-music vibe, did do more to make it feel like a business transaction than it would have in their own kitchen. But it was her body they were transacting about. Her reputation.

  He shifted in the seat, strong forearms crossing against his
pressed Oxford shirt. “What if I don’t give up the party?”

  “What if I don’t join in your party?”

  “Deal-breaker.” He sounded serious, final.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “If you won’t help me with my dreams, why should I marry you?”

  “That’s low.”

  “I’d like to go lower on you right now.” He leaned forward, brushing his thumb across the inner flesh of her wrist. Her coffee almost spilled, again. She picked up the cup and sat back, away from him. She sipped slowly, trying to buy time.

  “I do help you with your dreams,” she muttered, then a new thought rose to the surface. Her gaze flashed to his. “This is how you dump women, isn’t it?”

  He jerked back and shook his head like a dog who’d just had ice water poured over him. “What?”

  “Sure. You propose, and then set some condition you know the woman won’t agree to. She says no, and you’re free of her.”

  “Is that what you think?” He could see that it was, and his jaw dropped. “Em, I have never – never – proposed before. I have never – never – set this condition before.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Why should you say no? It’s just a step up from the play we do now. It’s just the once, and it’s safe.”

  “It is not safe.”

  “It’s safe as houses. It is my own house, for Christ’s sake. Our house.”

  “Why do you want this so much?”

  He sighed, drawing a finger across where his mustache used to be. He got rid of it for her; that was a forever thing. What he wanted from her now was one-time only. She was starting to cave. She drew her brows down to look like she wasn’t.

  “You’re so beautiful, even when you’re mad. Don’t scoff, it’s true. But…”

  “But?”

  “But it’s not the first thing people notice about you, or even the second. Sack dresses may be all the rage, but they don’t do a thing for you.”