Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair
“I’ve never had a woman give herself to me for an entire week.” The thought of having Meg for seven entire days...of being able to explore things with her that he hadn’t yet with any other woman was intoxicating.
When he looked into her clear blue eyes again, he found her looking puzzled.
“That’s not sexist, is it?” Dammit. He’d just been saying what he felt.
“How is a choice I make freely sexist?” Meg cocked her head, and again, he felt as though she could see right through him.
“Then why are you looking at me like you’re confused?” Dipping his head on impulse, he brushed a hint of a kiss over her full pink lips—their first kiss, a promise of what was to come.
“Because you make it sound like I’m giving you a present.” A hint of uncertainty colored her voice. At least he wasn’t the only one off his game here.
“You are.” Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to take a giant step back, bumping into the car parked next to his. “And it’s a big present. So I want you to be absolutely sure.”
“I’m sure.” If her voice had been full of bravado, he might not have believed her, but what he heard was quiet yet sure. Yeah, she knew what she wanted, which was apparently the same thing he did. That, and the picture she made, leaning against his car with her dress all disheveled, skin flushed and eyes bright from his touch, made it so tempting to seal their deal right then, right there.
But she was giving him a gift, and he wanted to do right by her. So he simply ran a hand over the stubble on his skull and grinned.
“Go home, Meg. Think this over. Are you free tomorrow night?”
She nodded, and the trust in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.
“Come to my hotel for dinner.”
“You don’t have to feed me,” she said as she smiled wryly. “You don’t have to wait, either.”
“You said you wanted to be taken care of,” he reminded her, surprising himself by crossing the space between them and taking her hand in his. He liked the feeling of her fingers twined with his. “I intend to do that.”
She frowned, clearly puzzled, and he swallowed a chuckle. He didn’t mind throwing this confident, competent woman off her game, just a bit.
“So cold showers for us both tonight?” She cocked her head as she spoke, leaning forward slightly. Deliberately, he was sure, to give him a prime view of her rather spectacular tits spilling out the top of her dress.
His cock stiffened impossibly further.
“I’ll take a shower,” he agreed, squeezing her fingers, “but I’ll be doing it with my cock in my hand, thinking about you.”
“John!” she gasped, her hand reflexively squeezing his. “God.”
“You can call me both of those things as much as you want.” He rubbed his thumb over one of her fingers, wondering why the small gesture made his pulse quicken. “But save them for tomorrow. You keep those busy little fingers out of your panties tonight, understood?”
“You’re not serious.” Her spine stiffened. “You can’t tell—”
“I can, and I just did.” He smirked down at her, bending so that he could whisper into her ear. “You gave yourself to me for a week, remember? And I won’t be cheated out of one of your orgasms.”
Meg’s breath thickened, and he wanted to take care of the mean little ache he’d given her, right then and there.
“There she is!”
Meg and John jerked apart, fingers untangling as they heard Jo’s unmistakable, throaty voice. Looking across the parking lot, they saw Meg’s sister and Theo, winding their way through the parked cars.
“What are you doing out here?” Theo frowned at John. John scowled right back, burying a twist of guilt.
He was new to this whole friendship thing, but he was pretty sure that making plans to screw the lights out of someone your friend considered a sister was a no-no.
“We wanted to talk, and it was too loud in there,” Meg replied mildly. She gave no sign of what they’d been discussing, and John had to admire her self-control, because he felt as though his actions were scrawled in red, right across his face for anyone to read.
He felt that twist of guilt, yes, but what he felt for Meg was stronger. Interesting.
“Did he behave himself?” Theo asked Meg darkly as he shot a look at John. His tone was joking, but John again felt the burn.
He’d cultivated the playboy image for years—reveled in it, even. Why did he suddenly care that people saw him that way?
That was a question for another day. He was trying to think up a reply when Meg cut him off.
“Theo, remember what happened when you gave me the John lecture last time?” Her voice was light, pleasant, but with a thread of steel.
“I’m just trying to—” Theo’s words broke off on a shriek as Meg, lightning quick, snaked out a hand. Catching Theo’s left nipple in nimble fingers, she gave it a quick twist that buckled his knees.
“What? Why?” Theo clasped a hand to his wounded chest, his expression tragic as a baby bird fallen from its nest.
“You don’t get to mansplain my choice of bed partners, bro.” Smoothing her hair back, Meg lifted her chin in the air. “And you have nothing to worry about. John and I understand each other perfectly. Now, did you have a reason to track me down?”
“We’re going home,” Theo bit out, glaring at Meg. “Though I’m second-guessing offering you a ride.”
“You deserved it,” Jo informed her partner. The wounded expression on Theo’s face brought laughter rumbling out of John’s chest.
He watched as the three of them piled into Theo’s car, bickering all the way. The message was clear—they were family. They depended on one another. It was something he’d never had, something he didn’t fully understand, and the thought that he was somehow a part of it, even on the periphery, was both comforting and anxiety inducing.
Meg looked out the window as they drove away, and family was suddenly the last thought in his brain. She winked at him suggestively, then made an incredibly dirty gesture with her fingers, and he burst out laughing again.
Tomorrow night was a long way away.
CHAPTER FOUR
MAKING DELIVERIES WAS the part of owning a catering company that Meg liked the least. Today, however, as she made her way from business to business, she found herself grateful for the monotonous busywork.
Making sure that the accounting firm two blocks from her rented kitchen had the correct assortment of cinnamon raisin, multigrain and jalapeño cheddar bagels in their twice-weekly breakfast order kept her from focusing on the way John’s hand had felt as it curved around her thigh, holding her open to him. Delivering a platter of beautifully cut tropical fruit to a local spa helped her keep her mind on something other than how good it had felt to have his rock-solid erection rocking against her damp cleft. And ensuring that she had vegan, paleo, Whole30-and keto-friendly lunch options for a big law firm helped calm the nerves she felt when she thought about the fact that she’d offered herself up on a giant silver platter to a man with wicked intentions in his eyes.
Her feet stumbled as she carried an empty cooler through a revolving door and back to her van. Stowing it inside, she took a moment to perch on the bumper, drawing deeply from her water bottle.
Five more hours. Was she insane?
She contemplated that for a long moment as she wiped sweat from her brow and let the cool water soothe her dry throat.
Theo liked to talk, and while part of his warning about John had simply been to let Meg know that his friend was a player and wouldn’t stick around, the other part...
The other had been meant as a cautionary tale, a story of how John was into control, dominance, being on top, however you wanted to put it.
While she was still irritated with him for presuming that she wanted his opinion on the matter, Theo had, in his weird but loving way, meant to demonstrate that John was not someone Meg would be interested in.
Theo had been wrong.
Yes, she was nervous about what would happen tonight, but more than that, she was excited. She certainly wasn’t going to chicken out, not when she knew, knew right down to her soul, that this next week was going to be something she looked back on when she was eighty and cackled over with glee.
Screwing the cap back on her water bottle, Meg’s certainty faltered for a second as she tried to picture John as a senior citizen, charming all the ladies as he stomped around with his walker. Would he look back on this week with the same warm memories? Would he even remember?
“Doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself as she swung out the back of the van. Closing the doors firmly behind her, she circled the vehicle, then lifted herself up into the driver’s seat.
She might just be the next in John’s line of women, but the spark between them was real. Why shouldn’t she act on it, sow some wild oats before they went their separate ways next week?
Busywork complete, Meg couldn’t hold back the tsunami of reflection as she pulled out into traffic. Downtown Boston was hideous to navigate at any time of day, but driving her massive van was like steering the Titanic, and cars tended to get the hell out of the way when they saw her coming, leaving her with plenty of time—too much time—to think.
She was twenty-seven. Most women her age had already gone a little wild, usually right after high school or during their years in college. College hadn’t been a financial possibility for her or any of her sisters, and she hadn’t had much time to party, either.
Beth had been sick, and medical bills were like quicksand, pulling them all down into the mire. Mamesie, a single mom, had needed help supporting the household and raising the girls, and as the eldest, that responsibility had fallen to Meg.
She didn’t begrudge any of the years she’d spent helping, but she was maybe a little wistful when she thought of the ways her sisters had gotten to be young, ways in which she hadn’t because she’d been the normal daughter, the one who held it all together—the one who could be relied on, the one who never made a fuss.
But now...now her family had some breathing room, and she wanted to gulp in great mouthfuls of air. She had a healthy libido, and she liked sex, even though, in her experience at least, most men tended to be greedy lovers. Greedy, or willfully ignorant. The last man she’d dated had insisted that it was impossible for a man to find the clitoris since he didn’t have one. The day she’d broken up with him, she’d helpfully printed out a diagram for him, coloring the area in question in with a highlighter.
She snorted at the memory.
“You’ve earned this.” Checking the clock, she saw that her countdown was now four hours, and a small shudder of anticipation ran through her.
Something told her she wasn’t going to have to print out a diagram for John. Hell, she’d been on edge last night, just from having him between her thighs as they talked about what they were going to do.
She’d have been lying, too, if she said she wasn’t feeling a little bit smug to be the one he was focusing on right now. She’d seen how other women reacted to him, but he’d chosen her.
Of course, the sheer number of women who noticed him was why Theo had been warning her in the first place. But ultimately...did it matter? They’d set limits. One week and done. Of course, he’d move on to someone else after. She would, too—she’d make sure of it.
She liked John—really, truly liked him as a person. But that didn’t mean she planned to join the ranks of women mooning around after he’d left them. Yes, she would move on after.
Move on with a clearer understanding of what she wanted. She was the good girl, the good daughter, and she bet that Theo would never have been able to imagine what she had planned for tonight. Not that she’d want him to, because ew. But still. It felt good to have a dirty little secret even if she could hardly believe it herself.
Her phone rang. It was routed through the Bluetooth on the dashboard, and she should have been used to the noise, but it made her jump all the same.
“Hello? I mean, A Moveable Feast Catering.” She still wasn’t used to the fact that the company was hers.
“Please hold for Gavin Aronson.” A woman trying to suppress the Southie in her voice and not succeeding burst through the van’s speakers, followed by a beep sharp enough to make Meg wince. She quickly turned the volume down, but the next voice that came over the line was pitched so low that she had to turn it back up.
“Is this Meg Marchande?” No Southie in this voice. No, unless she was very much mistaken, the man now on the line had the nasal sound that came from someone raised in the Long Island area. “The Meg Marchande who catered the art show at Fifth Central Gallery last week?”
“That’s me.” She immediately felt herself sitting up straighter, as though she were about to be interviewed. In her line of work, a phone call often was the interview, two minutes in which to convince a potential customer why they should trust their event to her and not the competition.
“Well, Meg, my name is Gavin. I’m the director of a little company called Hyde Park Entertainment. You’ve heard of us?”
She hadn’t, but she certainly wasn’t about to say that, so she simply hummed, noncommittal.
“Hyde Park produces all kinds of ventures—concerts, festivals, films, award shows.” He paused, as though waiting for applause, so Meg hummed again encouragingly. “I was intrigued by the food at the gallery show. Those things are usually cheap wine and grocery-store cheese. Your offerings added a bit of flair.”
A bolt of excitement made Meg’s blood sizzle. Concerts? Festivals? She was so on board.
“People who simply do what is expected of them rarely get ahead,” she commented mildly, trying to keep the elation out of her voice.
“Interesting.” His voice was thoughtful. “We have several events coming up that I think you’d be a good match for.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked, and she coughed to cover it. “I mean, that sounds very interesting.”
“We’re hosting a banquet for the mayor’s office this Friday,” he continued, and she sucked in a deep breath. “Our caterer dropped out at the last minute, and I’d like to hire you. Why don’t I arrange a brief for you? You can read it and see the scale of one of these events. Is that something you might be interested in?”
Meg’s hands clenched on the wheel as she did a little butt wiggle in her seat. She confirmed the address of her rental kitchen, and he said he’d have a briefing document couriered over the next day.
As Gavin ended the call, Meg finally let out an excited screech. A car beside her honked; she looked over to find a woman watching her with a startled expression—both of their windows were down, and she’d heard Meg’s scream. Mouthing an apology, Meg sped up, eager to get home and tell her sisters before she took the time to get ready for her evening with John.
This was a huge coup for her little business. And more than that, it would provide a welcome distraction from John after he left. See? No way was she going to be one his former flings, wishing desperately for something more.
She was going to make that something more for herself—but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy him along the way.
CHAPTER FIVE
“HI, JOHN.”
Startled, John tore his gaze away from his phone as a woman got onto the elevator behind him. Smiling back automatically, he racked his mind for a reason behind the redhead’s knowing smirk...and her name.
“Hi... Madison.” He wrestled the name from the folds of his brain, along with the history behind his knowing it. Madison was a paralegal, working on the floor above Crossing Lines. She was friends with Theo’s assistant, Ava. They’d all gone out for drinks once, and the woman had let him know that she was available for a good time.
“Having a good week?” She batted her eyes at him, and he was momentarily distracted. Not because he was attracted to the come-hither gesture, but because he was wondering if her eyelashes could be real. They looked like Muppet fur glued to her lids.
It wasn’t hot.
Belatedly, he realized that she’d asked him a question.
“Yes, thanks. You?” He knew what she was going to say—the gist of it, at least—before she spoke.
“It could be better,” she pouted, pursing her shiny lips. Her gloss was so thick it made a slight smacking sound when she spoke, putting him in mind of the slightly tacky consistency of drying paint. It, too, wasn’t hot.
Even a month ago, the woman’s thick layer of makeup wouldn’t have bothered him, if he’d even noticed it at all. He would have enjoyed the attention, let her admiration fill up the void inside him, the one he’d been trying to fill his entire life.
It might even have worked, at least for the hours he spent skin to skin with another human. Ultimately, though, that warmth would have evaporated like mist, slipping through his fingers because of its lack of substance. And yet he’d always been scared to pursue to anything more solid, afraid that it, too, might disappear.
And those were some deep thoughts to be having with a gorgeous woman making it clear that she was interested.
His problem? She might be interested, but he was not.
The elevator bell dinged as it reached the floor that housed Crossing Lines, and John nodded at the woman before slipping out of the elevator the second it opened. He registered the indignant huff at his back—women who looked like that rarely struck out.
But last night he’d dreamed of Meg. More specifically, he’d dreamed of parting those sweet, plump thighs and sliding between them. He’d spent a sweaty night, haunted by those erotic images, and had woken hard, his cock in his fist.
Meg was the sweetest temptation he’d ever known, and until he’d had his fill of her decadent body, no other woman was going to whet his appetite.
“Morning, John.” Ava was sitting behind her desk, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched as she sipped from a Starbucks cup. She’d seen him blow off her friend and expected an explanation.
“Morning.” She wasn’t getting it, not from him anyway. Striding past her, he angled his body toward the office that had been his for the last few months. His dream still so fresh it seemed real, he stepped quietly as he passed Theo’s office.
If Theo knew his plans for Meg, he’d punch John in the nuts.
“John!” Dammit. That was Jo’s voice, and there was no way to pretend he hadn’t heard her. Turning reluctantly, he found Meg’s sister sitting on Theo’s desk, legs swinging as she watched a man in torn jeans install a light fixture.
“Morning.” He forced a smile to his lips, directing it at Jo, then at Theo, who was sitting behind his desk. He avoided eye contact with the latter. “Are we finally getting rid of those fluorescent lights? Thank God. They make me look pale.”
He winked at Jo, patting his brown cheek, and she grinned. “You can thank me. Theo’s been dragging his ass about the expense, but we met Aaron here last night at the bar.”
The man on the ladder grunted as he strained to connect a wire.
“Don’t we usually go through a referral agency?” John lowered his voice as he eyed the stranger in the room. He couldn’t see his face. “How do we know he’s not going to burn the place down?”
“That’s rude—” Jo started, but the other man cut her off, starting to climb down the ladder.
“You know because I’m a master electrician, certified by the state of Massachusetts. And you like me because I’m giving you a discount on these fixtures. Former client decided against them and couldn’t send ’em back.” He grinned, offering his hand. “Aaron Horton. Nice to meet you.”
“John Brooke.” He took the offered hand reluctantly, squinting at the other man. “Do I know you?”
“Saw you at the bar last night,” Aaron replied mildly, though John didn’t miss the fact that the other man was sizing him up. “You’re Meg’s friend.”
John found himself squeezing harder than strictly necessary before letting go. This—this—was the man Meg had been dancing with. The one who’d had his hands on her soft curves. The one Meg had considered going home with.
He wanted to snarl, to tell Aaron to stay the hell away from his woman. Except Meg wasn’t his woman, and both Theo and Jo were listening intently, having picked up on the tension building in the small room.
“That’s right,” he finally managed to grind out through his teeth. “Meg’s...friend. Jo here is her sister.”
“Sweet.” The other man cast Jo a somewhat sheepish grin. “I’m going to take this as a sign, then. I didn’t get Meg’s number last night, and I’ve been kicking myself. Do you think she’d mind if I got it from you?”
“Hell no.” John bristled. He looked over at Theo, who was doing the same.
“No?” Theo cast John a quizzical glance, and John realized his misstep—he didn’t have to say anything. Theo would slip into big-brother mode and refuse to pass along Meg’s number anyway.
“Something tells me you aren’t going to give the number of someone you consider a sister to a stranger.” John couldn’t hold back the scowl.
“Aren’t you Mr. Sensitivity this morning?” Theo replied, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was assessing as he looked at John, and John knew he had to bite his tongue if he didn’t want his friend finding out about his feelings for Meg.
“Uh, I’m standing right here,” Aaron offered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I get it. I wouldn’t just hand my sister’s number out to anyone who asked, either.”
“I don’t suppose any of you have thought to consider what Meg might want on this occasion?” Rolling her eyes again, Jo slid off Theo’s desk to her feet. Crossing her arms over her chest, she arched an eyebrow in John’s direction. “And how many ladies’ numbers do you have in your contact list, stud?”
John clenched his jaw but didn’t answer.
“Thought so,” Jo smirked, then patted Aaron on the shoulder. “How about I’ll give Meg your number, and she can decide whether or not to call you? Come see me when you’re done.”
And then she was gone, mumbling something about Neanderthals.
An awkward silence surrounded the three men until John muttered about getting to his office and left. Once in the small room, he clicked the mouse to wake his laptop up, then sank into his chair with a sigh.
The sigh turned to a grunt of frustration at the knock on the door. He’d left it open a crack, but now it opened fully, framing the electrician.
“Hey, man. I just wanted to say that I’m not into stealing someone’s girl.” Aaron held out his hands, palms up. “Sorry if I overstepped.”
John hesitated. He could agree that Meg was, in fact, his girl, and then this guy would back off. But then there was a chance that Aaron would mention it to Theo or Jo, and John was already carrying enough guilt over his plans to debauch Meg that evening.
He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, because for most of his life, he’d only had to answer to himself. He should say that Meg wasn’t his. It was the truth, after all.
Instead, he gave in to the primal urge to claim his woman.
“Stay away from her.” He pointed at the door. “You can see yourself out.”
CHAPTER SIX
MEG FALTERED AS she stood in front of John’s hotel room, a bottle of whiskey cradled in the crook of her arm. She’d made it through handing the keys to her giant white catering van to the hotel’s valet, and she’d only felt slightly out of place as she carried the cheap alcohol through the sleek, modern lobby that screamed money.
Now, faced with the reality of what she was about to do, and whom she was going to do it with, she felt the nerves bubble up inside, frothing up and over like champagne in a wineglass.
“Chill out, Marchande,” she muttered, the dense velvety carpet beneath her feet and silk-covered walls absorbing the bite of the words. “You’re not here to marry him.”