Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair
Still, she’d never known anyone, lover or friend, so very different from herself. If she let herself think about it, it was extremely disconcerting.
“Are you going to knock or just stand out there all night talking to yourself?” John’s voice filtered through the heavy door, making her jump.
“Why are you standing by the door like a creeper?” Pressing a hand to her chest to slow her suddenly thundering pulse, she focused on the peephole. Knowing he was looking back made her senses come alive, and it was hard not to fidget.
The door opened, and then there he was, a lean hip propped against the doorway. Dressed in a simple black polo and jeans that probably cost more than her van, he still exuded power. Still, Meg’s mouth dried up at this glimpse into another side of him—she’d never seen him without the armor he wore at the office.
“You’re staring.” His pale eyes, so light against the gorgeous brown of his skin, roamed over her, as well. She loved clothing, loved the way she could change how the world saw her with what she wore. As his stare lingered on the simple cotton candy–pink sundress she’d landed on, though, she had the uncomfortable realization that he might be one person whose view of her didn’t change with what she wore.
That was nerve-racking as hell, so she held up the whiskey, using it as a distraction.
“Will this buy me entry?” She lifted it higher so he could read the label. “Apparently it tastes like caramel and pears.”
“No.” Still, he wrapped his fingers around the glass, tugging it and her forward into the room. With his other hand, he fingered the slim strap of her dress, his touch leaving heat in its wake. “But this sure as hell will.”
“You like?” Part of her was thrilled that he’d taken a moment to comment on her choice of dress, to compliment it. Most of the men she’d dated wouldn’t have cared if she’d shown up at their door in a paper bag, so long as it made its way to their bedroom floor.
Raising the bottle, both of their hands still wrapped around it, he coaxed her into a slow circle, and she felt the kiss of his gaze on every inch of her body.
“I hate it,” he disagreed. She frowned, taken aback, then gasped when he pulled her against him abruptly. She collided with the solid wall of his chest.
“This is a Rachel Roy,” she informed him. “I wore it because I wanted to look nice for you.”
“I appreciate that you like fine things. It’s something we have in common,” he agreed, pulling her against him so abruptly that the bottle fell. It bounced on the thick carpeting, and Meg gasped as she felt one of his large hands splayed over her back. “But I’m far more interested in what’s underneath.”
A soundless cry escaped her lips as his hand slid down, down to cup the curves of her ass. When he squeezed, her vision blurred.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It took far more concentration than it should have to spit out that one simple sentence. Wiggling in his grip, she strained to reach the zipper of her dress. She’d only worked it down an inch when his hand closed over hers.
“You’re killing me,” he muttered. Squeezing the hand he held quickly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then took a deliberate step back. After being pressed against the inferno that was his body, Meg felt chilled. She wanted the heat back.
“Don’t pout.” He ran a finger along her jaw, and she couldn’t help but lean into the touch, a flower to the sun. “I’m going to treat you right.”
Bemused, she wandered the suite as he uncovered dishes on the gorgeous glass dining room table in the suite. His hotel room was huge. She’d have bet money she didn’t have that the square footage was nearly equal to that of the entire house she shared with Mamesie and her sisters.
She ran a hand over the silky bedspread. Yeah, the room was as big as her house, and nicer, too.
“Nice digs.” Perching on the edge of the bed, she leaned back on her hands and watched as he organized the table. “Is your house this nice? Where do you live when you’re not traveling anyway?”
“I don’t,” he replied simply, dusting his hands and turning to face her. “Have a house, that is. I’m always on contract, always traveling, so there isn’t a point.”
Meg sat up straight, swallowing the words that wanted to slip off her tongue.
That’s so lonely.
And also yet another sign that whatever this thing was between them—it was temporary. It could never be anything else.
“Shall we eat?” John crossed the plush carpet to her, and she pushed the maudlin thoughts from her mind as she placed her hand in his. She tried to sit in one of the two chairs. When he kept his grip on her, she looked up at him questioningly.
“Not so fast.” Just a hint of that wicked grin of his played out over the corners of his lips, and her stomach did a slow roll. All he had to do was look at her, and she wanted him. Wanted him more than anyone she’d ever wanted before.
“Don’t get between me and my food.” She heard the breathlessness in her own voice. “There’s a reason I’m a chef, you know. I like to eat.”
“I won’t let you go hungry.” That grin again, and she knew he wasn’t talking about food at all. She swallowed hard and focused on the table as a distraction since he seemed intent on taking this thing slowly.
“How come there’s only one place setting?” She arched an eyebrow at him, then squealed when he lifted her off her feet. Seating himself in one of the plush chairs, he settled her on his lap, a hard arm banded around her middle.
“Relax,” he told her as she squirmed. She couldn’t help shifting, though, savoring the sensation of his hard thighs and the scratchy denim on her bare skin. And she certainly didn’t miss his reaction to having her on his lap.
“How can I relax? Something’s poking me.” Craning her neck, she grinned at him over her shoulder, savoring a bolt of triumph when he laughed, a genuine sound of amusement.
“Keep wiggling, and it’s just going to get...harder...to stay seated.” Pressing his lips to the base of her neck, he trailed them down her nape, making her shiver.
“Since you seem to want to take this slowly, maybe I should get off your lap.” She didn’t want to, though. The hardness beneath her, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his arms around her—she liked it. Probably more than she should for something that was only—could only be—temporary.
“Nope.” Still holding her tight, he pulled a plate toward them. Her chef’s eye appreciated the artistic presentation, even as she sniffed to discern the different ingredients.
He lifted a small bite to her lips. Surprised, she turned her head as far as she could.
“You want to feed me?” Gesturing to the huge array of full plates, she laughed. “That could take all night.”
“I want to take care of you,” he corrected, pressing the bite to her lips. She hesitated, then opened, groaning at the tastes that spread out over her tongue like the heat spreading through her belly.
She was a strong woman. She identified goals and charged after them. She spoke her mind.
But here she was with someone willing to give her exactly what she wanted, what she craved. Even if it was only for a week, how the hell could she say no?
“Far be it from me to argue.” She chewed and swallowed. “I’d never pay for food like this on my own, but I’m not dainty enough to turn my nose up at it.”
“I don’t want someone dainty.” His words held a thread of impatience as he selected another bite and held it to her lips. “I want someone who will let me spoil them. Now, eat that and tell me what you taste.”
Meg chewed again, letting the flavors roll over her tongue. “It’s a scallop. There’s definitely ginger in there. And I think that umami flavor comes from seaweed, but there’s another layer I can’t put my finger on.”
“Sherry, according to the menu.” He took one for himself this time. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“The catering company.” She allowed him to feed her another bite, this time of boar belly with sweet potato, blueberry and morel mushrooms. “I started there at sixteen, just waitressing at events, but the owner let me hang out with her in the kitchen when she was cooking, and she taught me everything I know.”
“You didn’t want to learn from Mamesie?” He took another bite for himself, and she was jealous of the food for being against his wickedly full lips. “I’ve been to your house for dinner. She’s one hell of a cook.”
He would notice that. He noticed everything. She hesitated—she wasn’t big on sharing her private thoughts. She avoided social media like the plague because she just didn’t think anyone needed that much detail about her life. But this was John. He was a friend, of sorts, and about to be more. Sharing with him was surely okay.
“After our dad died...” Her voice trailed off. Saying anything bad about her family always felt like a betrayal. They’d survived by banding together...but sometimes she just needed some space to breathe. “I spent a lot of time giving. Helping Mamesie with the younger girls. Working to contribute to the household. Cooking, cleaning, helping with homework. And I don’t resent any of it, not at all. But having those cooking lessons, from someone who wasn’t part of the family...”
“You didn’t have to share.” He brushed a kiss over the slope of her shoulder, and she understood that he meant it to soothe rather than arouse.
Against her better judgment, she felt something fluttering in the vicinity of her heart. Before she could stop herself, she’d dipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting him absorb some of the responsibility, just for a second.
It felt...good. Amazing, even. She wanted more.
She couldn’t have it. This was not something she should be getting used to.
Yeah, he cared about her, at least a little bit, because their lives were connected, and he wasn’t a soulless monster. But he lived his life hotel room by hotel room, and she...she had so many commitments that she’d once cried when she’d missed a cooking lesson due to one of the girls having the flu.
She needed to get a grip.
“Speaking of sharing.” Shifting on his lap, she wiggled around so that she could see his face. “I don’t. Not with this. It’s only a week, so...do you think you can do that?”
Something flickered in his eyes, a shard of ice splintering, but then it was gone, and she thought she might have imagined it in the first place.
She yelped when he stood abruptly, advertising a truly impressive set of thigh muscles as he brought her with him, arms cradling her in a fireman’s hold. Her mouth dried up as he carried her across the room to the bed. Setting her down gently on the silky comforter, he fingered one of the slinky straps on her sundress, gaze boring down into hers, before stepping back.
“This might come as news to you.” He pulled the strap down, baring her shoulder, fingers dancing lightly along her skin. “But I don’t want anyone else.”
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.