Читать книгу: «Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair», страница 4

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE HADN’T COME right out and called him a player, but she might as well have. And it shouldn’t have bothered him—hell, he’d once enjoyed the label, since it let potential bedmates know the score.

From Meg, though, it stung. And it was because it was from Meg. He didn’t fully understand it, but he wanted her in every single way. Wanted to claim her. Wanted to give her everything she wanted, and more.

For a week, a little voice in his head reminded him. He took a split second to absorb the reminder, to get a hold back on his legendary control.

Yes, he wanted her. He liked her. But at the end of it, he would also get over her, because to keep that grip on his life, he... Well, he just had to.

On the bed, Meg shifted, and he realized he’d been staring. He watched, transfixed, as she moved back to the center of the sheets. Rising to her knees, she slid the strap still on her shoulder down the kissable slope, then reached behind her to work at the zipper of her dress.

His mouth went dry as the pink silk slipped down. She caught it, holding it to her breasts with both hands, inviting him over with the arch of an eyebrow.

He liked control. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him why—not knowing where you were going to sleep that night or where your next meal was coming from did that to a person. And he couldn’t control Meg, not in the way that he craved him from the women he usually allowed into his bed.

It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before, but knowing that she could damn well take care of herself? It made it all the more exciting when she placed herself in his hands. Like right now, sitting there on the bed, on her knees, waiting.

Waiting for him.

“We need to set some limits.” He didn’t move closer, couldn’t let himself touch her, not yet. He didn’t want to put his hands on that satin skin until he could be sure that she was all in. And he wasn’t entirely convinced that she knew what she was asking for.

“You mean like...hard and soft?” She smiled and parted her thighs, and he fought to keep his hands to himself.

“Someone’s been doing their reading.” He was oddly touched that she had. “But we don’t have to go that...intense. Okay? I don’t have to push you like that.”

She pressed her thighs together again, and he mourned the loss of the visual, that hint at the promised land. His gaze traveled up the length of her body, and he bit back a groan when he saw that she’d let the dress slip just an inch lower.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” She narrowed her eyes at him, defiant. “You already know a little birdie told me that you’re kinky. I know that most of your women are submissive to you, in the traditional sense.”

“As I said, I don’t expect you to do that.” Couldn’t imagine her acquiescing fully, not this vibrant, wild woman who he couldn’t take his eyes off.

“Don’t you understand yet?” The hands cupping her breasts moved, and the dress fell, pooling around her waist. “I’m not put off by what you want. I’m turned on.”

“Jesus,” he choked out, fisting his hands at his sides. She hadn’t been wearing a bra beneath the dress, and now her torso was completely bare, naked breasts open for his eyes to feast on. And what breasts they were—large, ripe, full. The peachy tips looked like puckered silk and made his mouth water. He wanted to touch, to taste—and he wanted it now.

Still, he forced himself to wait, to make sure that she was sure—because this wasn’t just another woman. This was Meg.

“Let me give you a scenario,” he said. She rolled her eyes, actually rolled her eyes, and his palms itched. “You agree to submit to me for this week. To give yourself to me.”

“Talk, talk, talk.” She smirked, clearly bored of talking when there could be more doing. “I’m starting to think you’re scared.”

“Not at all.” Tilting his head, he looked right into her eyes and took a step closer. Her chest rose and fell in response as she gave a quick breath, and satisfaction heated his blood. “Let me finish. You agree to give yourself to me. Then when I take the time to ascertain that your mind is made up, you roll your eyes at me. Me, to whom you have given care of yourself.”

He moved forward another inch, savored her sharp inhalation.

“What should I do about that behavior, I wonder?” Leaning forward, he placed his palms flat on the bed. She whimpered, and he very nearly did, too, because now he could smell the warm peach scent of her skin, the musk of her sex.

He wanted it all, every last bite.

“In this case, I think I’m going to make sure that you can’t roll your eyes at me again.” From his back pocket, he pulled one of his ties, which he’d placed there earlier for easy access. Now he dangled the length of navy silk from his thumb and watched those sky blue eyes of hers go wide.

Climbing onto the bed on his knees, he placed a hand at the small of her back and tugged her against his chest. Her nipples had tightened, and they taunted him through the thin cotton of his polo as he lifted the tie to her eyes.

“Remember, just tell me no if you need to,” he reminded her before placing the silky band over her eyes. “That’s all you need to do.”

“Stop coddling me.” Raising a hand, she tugged the tie up to glare at him balefully. “I’m here because I want to be. I want it all. So give me everything you’ve got.”

“Challenge accepted.” Before she could suck in another of those breaths that made her tits jiggle, he’d grabbed the hand that she’d used to lift the tie and placed it against his chest. He did the same with the other and felt something tighten in his belly when her fingers dug into his pecs.

“Don’t move your hands, no matter what I do.” Adjusting the silk over her ears, he tied the makeshift blindfold in a loose knot at the back of her head, taking care not to tangle any of her chestnut curls in the knot.

She raised her chin, unable to curb her pride even as she gave herself over, and he took a minute just to look at her.

She was still on her knees, and the puddle of pink satin in her lap set off the soft cream of her skin. He took a moment to trail a finger up her inner thigh, savoring the resultant quiver.

Her waist rose above the ripe flare of her hips. She wasn’t what anyone would call skinny, with those wide hips, the softness of her belly and those full, magnificent tits. At that moment, he couldn’t imagine why a man would want anything else.

He liked a little something extra to hold on to in the night.

He moved his finger from the inside of her thigh to the dent in her collarbone. Stroking down, he traced the path between her breasts. This was new, this urge to go slow. Well, part of him wanted to turn her over and take her fast and hard and deep, not stopping until they both collapsed in a boneless heap. But the other part of him was enjoying this, just this right here—the buildup.

His cock thickened as he moved his questing finger down lower, over her abdomen to the silk in her lap.

Maybe moving just a little bit faster wouldn’t hurt.

“What are you thinking?”

He resisted the urge to slip his hand beneath the silk. Instead, he slid his fingers between her legs over the top of the skirt of her dress, guided to her center by her heat.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you.” He circled his finger, felt the silk beneath it growing damp. “And every single time since. I should make you wait now, the way you made me.”

“Oh, please don’t do that.” Her laugh was breathless as she arched into his touch. “I trust you. I know that you’re going to give me what I need.”

He increased the pace, circling her clit faster until her thighs began to tremble. Fuck, but he loved this part—loved holding the potential to so much pleasure in the palm of his hand.

“You know Theo’s friend John,” he replied mildly, slipping a finger from his free hand beneath the edge of her panties to trace her lower lips. “You know the John who has dinner with your family. But here’s my dirty little secret...every time I’ve been around you, no matter where we were or what we were doing, in my mind, I had you naked. Naked, on your back and underneath me.”

“I’m thinking...that...you’re going to ruin me for other men.” Her words were broken, her breath coming quicker as he found her entrance and slid a finger into her welcoming heat. “Oh fuck.”

“When you’re with me, I’m the only man you think about. I’ve already sent one packing. I’ll do it again.” Thrusting his finger in and out, he increased the pressure on her clit until she cried out, milking his finger as she shattered. It felt so good, her liquid heat surrounding his hand—he couldn’t even imagine how good it was going to feel around his cock.

“What do you mean?” Breathless, Meg shifted back far enough that he had to remove his hands from her panties, where they wanted to live.

“What?” His head was fuzzy, clouded with sensation—Meg’s slickness on his fingers, her scent in the air, the heat of her skin radiating out from her body.

“You said you shooed someone off?” A steel rod snapped into place in her spine, and her eyes narrowed as she ripped off her blindfold. Usually, women regarded him with lust or satisfaction. Still, he didn’t have to be a genius to understand that Meg was pissed off, and he was responsible.

“Ah...” Shit. He’d built his entire life around being prepared for any possible outcome, but he was caught woefully off guard right now. The power dynamic between them instantly shifted as Meg rose to her knees, jabbing a finger at his chest. She looked magnificent, like some kind of avenging goddess, but he suspected that she wouldn’t take too kindly to him saying that out loud right at that moment.

“John. Tell me what you did.” There was no way out of this, and, if he was expecting her to give herself to him, he couldn’t lie. Still, the sinking sensation in his gut told him that this wasn’t going to end well for him.

“Remember that guy from the wine bar?” John scrubbed a hand over the bristles of his hair. “Aaron?”

“Uh-huh.” She tapped a finger on her thigh. “Continue.”

“Uh... Theo met him that night, too, I guess. It seems he’s an electrician.” He cleared his throat, casting a look at Meg, hoping that was enough detail. Instead, she gestured with her hand for him to continue. “He was doing some work at the Crossing Lines office, and he asked for your number. Said he’d hoped to get it the night before but missed his chance.”

John hoped that Meg would remember that Aaron had missed his chance because she’d connected with John. From the redness that was flooding her cheeks, though, he guessed that that wasn’t going to be the case.

“And?” John blinked. Meg waved again expectantly. “Did you give it to him?”

“No.” He was starting to get annoyed himself. Whether it was a reflex sneaking in to cover up his guilt was something he would examine later. “I wouldn’t just give out your number. Besides, Jo said she’d give his number to you, just to be safe.”

“Spit it out,” she demanded, pulling up the bodice of her dress. Settling it into place, she strained to do up the zipper by herself, but when he reached to help, she batted his hand away. “I know there’s more, or you wouldn’t look like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“I told him to stay away from you,” he finally blurted out, and yeah, he was pissed as well now—pissed at himself. “I don’t want another man sniffing around you while we’re together.”

“You are unbelievable.” Zipper half done up, Meg slid off the bed, smoothing the skirt of her dress with both hands. Turning to face him, she planted both hands on her hips. “That was so not your place.”

“So, what, you like this guy?” John furrowed his brow. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you sent him packing and came with me instead. So what’s the big deal?”

Meg closed her eyes, and a strangled scream of frustration emerged from her throat.

“The big deal is that I offered you a present—me.” Pinching her lips together, she shook her head, and something very close to panic snaked through his gut. No. She wasn’t ending it, was she? Not yet. “You need to treat that with respect, or what are we doing here?”

Stomping across the room, she slid into her wedge heels, grabbed her knockoff designer purse. He scrambled off the bed, following her, but she pointed at him, her stabbing finger just daring him to come even a step closer.

“Don’t.”

Shit. He’d screwed up here. Big-time.

“Meg, tell me how to fix this.” His mouth was dry. “How do I make this right?”

She just shook her head and exited, slamming the door behind her. John was left with an erection the size of the Empire State Building and guilt swimming greasily in his gut.

For the first time in his life, he’d struck out with a woman. And more, it was entirely, one hundred percent his fault.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE NEEDED HER catering van, but every time she tried to park it she wished she drove something smaller. This driveway wasn’t big to begin with. Add in the various vehicles jammed like sardines in the driveway of the house she’d grown up in, and it was like squeezing ten pounds of potatoes into an eight-pound sack.

She managed to eke out a sliver of space behind a maroon sedan. From the garage she heard Metallica, volume turned up high, and knew that the full driveway meant that Beth was powering through an equally full day of repairs and maintenance in the mechanic shop she ran out of their garage.

She wouldn’t bother her. Instead, she grabbed the heavy rubber tote from the back of her van, arm muscles straining as she closed the van doors with her foot. Lugging it to the house, she set it down with relief, then dragged it through the front door and into the kitchen.

Prying off the lid, she started to remove the Tupperware cartons of leftovers from her commercial kitchen. She jumped when a voice came from behind her.

“A delivery came for you.” Meg squeaked with alarm, whirling to find Amy standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Gasping, she clasped a hand to her heart.

“You startled me.” She eyed the bottle of whiskey in Amy’s hands—the same kind she’d brought to John’s hotel room last night. The pear one. When hope sprouted in her chest, she tried to pull it out, but like a weed, it wouldn’t be uprooted. “Are you home for lunch? Good timing.”

Checking one of the containers she was unpacking, she slid it across the kitchen island to her sister, who placed the bottle of whiskey in front of Meg before checking out the contents of the Tupperware.

“Vietnamese dumplings?” Amy cooed with approval as she opened a drawer and pulled out a fork. “Come to me, my precious.”

“Aren’t you going to heat those up?” Meg grimaced as her sister speared a cold dumpling on her fork and shoved it into her mouth.

“Aren’t you going to check out your delivery?” Amy replied with her mouth full. She poked at the ribbon around the neck of the bottle. “There’s a card.”

Sighing, Meg traced fingers over the paper, then looked at her sister with narrowed eyes. “The envelope is open.”

“Is it?” Amy blinked at her innocently as she chose another dumpling. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Dude.” Meg frowned at her sister but ultimately was too tired to lecture her. She hadn’t slept well. She probably shouldn’t have even been driving; she was still so keyed up.

She was irritated at John’s high-handedness. But most of her anger was at herself.

She knew the score—he was leaving. She shouldn’t have had to keep reminding herself of this, but her traitorous emotions weren’t listening.

Tugging the card off the ribbon, she pulled the small note out of the envelope, keeping it angled away from Amy. Why, she wasn’t sure, since the knowing smirk on her sister’s face confirmed that she’d already read it.

I’m sorry. A fresh bottle for a fresh start? —J.

Huffing out a breath, she shoved the note into her pocket, then turned away from the bottle to finish loading the leftovers into the fridge.

“You should call him,” Amy offered as she chucked her empty container and fork in the sink. “I don’t think he’s a man who says sorry easily.”

“You should mind your own business.” She jabbed a finger in the air in Amy’s general direction. “And put your dishes in the damn dishwasher.”

“Is that minding your own business?” Amy asked innocently, though she did as requested.

“Brat,” Meg muttered as she sealed her now-empty tote back up and carried it to the front door.

“Call him!” Amy shouted after her. Meg slammed the front door in response.

Back at her van, she wrenched the back doors open and loaded the tote in. Perching on the edge for a moment to catch her breath, she ran her fingers over the pocket that held John’s note.

She was at a crossroads here. He’d stepped way out of line, and yet she knew he wouldn’t make that mistake again—he was a smart man. Did she really need to punish him, to punish them both, when she’d already proved her point?

Pulling up his contact on her phone, she called him, nerves flaring as she listened to it ring.

“How’s the whiskey?” he answered, and just hearing that voice of his, deep and rich and so damn sexy, made her a little bit weak in the knees. “Is it as juicy as a ripe pear?”

“I’m doing deliveries, so I wouldn’t know,” she retorted, her sharpness a last line of defense. “I don’t drink and drive.”

“That’s wise,” he replied dryly, not commenting on the fact that she was snippy. “Maybe you should continue to refrain so you can drive to the hotel later.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She should say no. She knew she should say no. She shouldn’t want to be with someone who’d pulled what he had with Aaron, should she? Someone so controlling?

But isn’t that exactly what you want?

“Why don’t I tell you what I have planned?” His voice deepened, sending a shiver through her. “Then you can decide.”

She was silent for so long that he cleared his throat.

“There’s a bar a few doors down from my hotel. I’ll be there at seven sharp.” He paused, and she heard the sexy rasp of his breath in her ear. “You’ll come sit beside me. You won’t know me, and I won’t know you until you introduce yourself. You can be Meg, or you can be someone else entirely if that makes it easier for you to accept what you want from me.”

“And what if I decide I don’t want to be myself?” Meg swallowed thickly, envisioning the scene.

“No matter who you are, I’ll want you.”

John was propped against the scarred wooden surface of the bar in the dive he’d directed Meg to earlier when she walked in. His fingers clenched around his glass of neat whiskey, anticipation tightening his gut.

He wasn’t used to having to woo a woman. Wasn’t used to apologizing. Hell, he’d never cared enough about anyone to have a jealous fit to apologize for.

But the way she responded to him was like a drug. She wasn’t one of many women who’d read Fifty Shades and wanted to play at kink—she wanted, on a visceral level, to submit.

He pressed his lips together as he watched her scan the bar, her gaze coming to rest on him. Emotions flickered over her face for just a fraction of a second before she’d hidden them away again, and his spirits sank.

She wanted what he could do to her, but she wasn’t overly pleased to want him.

And why did he care? This was just a fling, an affair, right? They were scratching their mutual itch.

Except that he actually liked her. More than liked her. And he wanted to ruin her for everyone and anyone who dared to touch her after he was gone.

As he’d instructed, she made her way across the room, closing the distance between them until she could lean against the bar next to him. He lifted a hand to signal the bartender, but she batted it away, catching the woman’s attention herself. He watched, bemused, as she ordered the same thing he was drinking, though she hadn’t yet glanced at him or his drink. Only once it had arrived and she’d paid for it with cash, did she turn to face him.

Message received—she wanted to feel in control. She was probably slightly uncomfortable with being a strong woman, a business owner, the oldest of her sisters and also wanting to give up that control to him. She didn’t yet understand that she never did give it up, not really. Even when she placed her care in his hands, she held all the power.

“I thought I’d made a mistake when I pulled up here,” she started, taking a sip of her fresh drink. “This isn’t the kind of place I can picture you enjoying.”

“I had a hankering for substandard beer.” He grinned when she looked pointedly at his drink, which was not beer. “No, for real, the food here is supposed to be fantastic.”

“I’m not hungry.” She eyed him over the rim of her drink. “Not for food.”

His whiskey—not the caramel-pear one she’d brought him—burned a path down his throat as their surroundings faded away, his attention focusing in on Meg and only Meg.

“Are you sure?” Please be sure. “There’s no rush.”

“I know what I want.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, transfixed. “Are you going to give it to me?”

Setting his glass down firmly, he circled her wrist with his fingers and, with one sharp tug, pulled her against his body. She gasped softly as her breasts brushed against his chest, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re awfully saucy tonight.” Cocking his head, he tracked his stare over her face, lingering on those lips that were just begging to be kissed. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Maybe it’s time I find something else for your mouth to do.”