His guiltiest pleasure

She’s wild, wicked...and pure, sexy trouble

It takes a nanosecond for Lizzie Marchande to see that Ford Lassiter worships rules and order. Yet behind his leonine eyes this gorgeous but tightly wound man is hiding something much deeper than lust. He’s hiding a deliciously raw, hungry need to take control while Lizzie relinquishes hers. But for this wild, fierce woman there’ll be no holding back his heart...no matter the cost.

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

New York Times bestselling author LAUREN HAWKEYE never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living…though she’s the only one who’s surprised. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada, with her husband, two young sons, a pit bull and two idiot cats. In her non-existent spare time Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through e-mail, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Lauren’s newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Playing Dirty

Lauren Hawkeye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07127-7

PLAYING DIRTY

© 2018 Lauren Hawkeye

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the incomparable Suzanne Rock and Julia Kent, for not judging me when I said “Little Women” and “erotic” in the same sentence.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Then

THIS COULDN’T BE RIGHT.

Ford Lassiter tore his gaze away from the blocky brown house that sat on a large lot shaded by leafy green trees. Looking down at the GPS on his phone, he squinted at the blinking icon that told him he had reached his destination.

“That’s just great.” He had paid a lot of money for the best that technology had to offer, and now when he really needed his GPS to work? It took him to some run-down estate on the South End instead of the garage he desperately needed to fix his car, which was making a rather ominous rattle.

He was going to miss his meeting outside the city. Nothing to be done about that. Still, he was not accustomed to things not running according to his plan, and it was like an itch that he had no way to scratch.

“Damn it!” Slamming a hand into the center of the steering wheel, he jolted when he accidentally set off his horn. It sent a surge of adrenaline through his system, a shot of caffeine to his blood, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at himself.

“You can run a small empire without help.” Scrubbing his hands over his eyes, Ford took a moment to lean back in his leather seat. “But you can’t get your car fixed without an assistant.”

The very notion hurt his pride. He had an MBA, for heaven’s sake. He was a very intelligent, very rich man.

He could get his own damn car fixed without a babysitter.

Scowling, he once again punched in the name of the garage that the old man at the gas station had recommended—Marchande Motors.

Arrived at destination.

“Okay, then.” Either he was going to kill the designer of Google Maps or there was something he wasn’t seeing.

He pushed his way out of the low-slung silver Porsche Turbo and took a moment to stretch and look around. He was parked on a quiet street in an old neighborhood, one that looked like it might have been fancy once upon a time but now had clearly seen better days. Unlike the neat grid of downtown Boston, where he spent most of his time, this area was...confusing.

Well-worn family homes were interspersed with the occasional newer model, probably things that had been built after tearing down older ones that just couldn’t weather the elements another day. Then there were residences that were little more than shacks. The one that was supposed to house the garage and the one next door to it were stately old estates, though the neighboring house was in far better repair than the one he was currently standing in front of.

Cars were parked on lawns on some of the nicer houses, and pretty flower boxes lined the sills of the poorer places. None of it made sense to Ford. He supposed that it might hold some charm for someone more whimsical than himself, but all he saw was chaos.

He’d had a meeting in a suburb south of the city, and his car had started to make that ominous sound once he’d entered the South End. He’d never actually spent any time here, and, looking around, he could see why.

Pressing his lips together, he rounded the sidewalk of the place he’d been directed to.

“There we go.” The old, twisted trees had hidden the fact that the building was on a corner lot. Once he rounded the corner, he could see a driveway and cars lined up in a more or less neat row.

More than seeing that there was more to the house, he could hear it—music was blaring, loudly enough that he wondered how it hadn’t reached his ears before. He got his answer when he pushed through the verdant greenery and the volume only increased—it had acted as a barrier.

Now that he was through? He winced as the thunderous bass notes threatened to make his eardrums explode.

He recognized the din, just barely, as Metallica, and though he’d so far resisted the urge to look down his nose, this choice pushed him past the point of no return. Who listened to “Enter Sandman” when there were so many more civilized options? Like Coldplay.

The plastic sign with crooked letters that identified the garage as the place he’d been looking for did nothing to improve his opinion. It was stuck into the lawn with a wooden stake, and while he thought the words might once have been red, they were now the peachy pink of salmon.

“No way am I leaving my car here.” Ford knew he was a bit of a snob, and he was okay with that. He worked hard to live up to the family name—more than his own father had ever done. So what if he enjoyed the perks that came with wealth?

“You dropping off keys or are you going to stand there all day?” a female voice shouted out from the shadowed depths of the garage, jolting him—he hadn’t seen anyone inside. Ford squinted into the bright midday sunlight, but he couldn’t see the speaker.

He wasn’t used to being put on the spot, and he didn’t appreciate it.

“It seems I’ve come to the wrong place.” A garage attached to a ramshackle house, music loud enough to deafen him, a woman yelling at him instead of smiling, like he usually encountered—no. Just no.

Spine straight, Ford turned on the heel of his hand-tooled Italian leather shoe and started to walk away.

“If you’re looking for another garage, I know for a fact that Jimmy’s place is overbooked.” Ov-ah booked. The speaker’s voice had more than a little hint of the Massachusetts accent that he’d tried hard to eradicate from his speech. It should have only served to further annoy him, but he couldn’t focus on her voice, not with what she’d just said. “He sent me the job I’m working on right now because he was full up.”

Shit. The rattle in his Turbo sounded pretty bad, especially when compared to its usual near-silent purr. Still, he might have risked it...if he could have remembered when he’d last had it serviced.

Turning on his heel, he pulled out his phone and tapped out a text to his assistant, never mind that he’d wanted to prove that he could do this himself. Jeremy replied within a minute, efficient as always.

You’re not going to like this, but don’t shoot the messenger. It’s going to be at least twelve hours until you can get a tow. There’s been a huge pileup by the harbor and every truck is there, cleaning up the mess.

Ford ground his teeth together.

What garage are you at? Could you leave the Porsche there and I’ll send a car to pick you up?

Down the street a rough engine growled, roaring to life. Ford jolted, nearly dropping his phone.

The engine was followed by coarse language and shouts that had south Boston dripping from their every word.

The Turbo was his baby, the first big purchase he’d made when the money started to roll in. No, he wouldn’t be leaving it here overnight.

“Where do I leave my keys?” His voice was tight as he turned yet again and stalked forward. He entered the open door of the garage, scanning the appallingly disorganized shelves and inhaling the heavy scents of motor oil and gasoline.

He still couldn’t find the person who’d spoken. Infuriating.

“Leave them on the counter there.” The voice was coming from below him. Taken aback, he looked down to find a pair of absolutely filthy work boots sticking out from beneath a rusty old Contour—his mystery voice.

“Could you please come out of there so I can speak with you for a moment?” Ford wasn’t accustomed to having to ask for things like this, either. When he entered the high-rise in downtown Boston that served as the headquarters for his hotel conglomerate, people snapped to attention. The security guard would smile and wave him through. People held the elevator. On his floor, one assistant would hand him a cup of perfectly brewed black coffee and the other his tablet, the day’s schedule already open for him to peruse.

A very unfeminine snort issued from the area of his feet.

“If I come out to talk to you, I’ll have to stop working on this car. And that will just put the next car behind, and consequently yours.” The voice, otherwise sweet in tone, dripped with sarcasm. “And I’m guessing you’re the type who’s in an all-fired hurry to get out of here, so no, I won’t be coming out until I’m done. Leave your keys on the bench, fill out a form, and come back in three hours, or have your car towed back to the north side.”

Jeremy had said that towing wasn’t an option. This was unacceptable.

“Three hours?” Ford was indignant. “That won’t work at all. I’ll pay extra to have it bumped up the line, but I expect this car to be finished as soon as possible.”

His tone was the one he used on the battlefield of the boardroom—the one that always, always got him the desired results. Instead?

The feet, which had been tapping in time to the music, stilled. A breath of honeyed vanilla hit his nose seconds before the woman rolled out from beneath the Contour.

He had a brief impression of dark hair and incredibly blue eyes, and then the navy jumpsuit–clad creature was on her feet, not just glaring at him, but actually poking her finger into his chest.

He knew that he wasn’t going to win any feminist awards, but he was a bit taken aback that the mechanic was a woman—he’d assumed that the voice belonged to a receptionist or assistant of some sort. Not that he thought women couldn’t do any job they wanted—he just hadn’t expected it.

“Now just a minute—” He wasn’t going to tolerate this kind of treatment from a service provider, not even if she was a woman. No way, no how.

He didn’t get a chance to say so.

“As soon as possible will be as soon as I finish this car, and the one after that.” Those eyes shot out licks of cerulean flames that threatened to incinerate him. “Around here we do what’s fair, and what’s fair is for you to wait your turn.”

“I’m not sure you understand how much money I’m willing to pay—” Ford tried to speak, and the damn woman poked him in the chest again.

“What kind of person bends the rules for money?” She sniffed, tossed back a long dark braid, and Ford again caught that intriguing whiff of vanilla. The scent was so out of place, layered over the engine grease, it made Ford think of cupcakes.

An odd thought for him overall, since he rarely indulged in dessert.

“So you’re saying there’s nothing I can do to speed this process along?” Ford shook aside thoughts of sweet baked goods and grasped his irritation. He found it especially annoying that he couldn’t really see her, this strange creature who had the gall to yell at him—couldn’t see the person in the shapeless coveralls or the skin beneath the thick layer of engine grease. She looked like she’d been grubbing around in a coal mine.

The woman gave him a sweet smile, but Ford noted that her eyes—the only part of her that was clearly visible—were still glittering as she did.

“Like I said.” She pointed at the desk. “You’ve already put me behind. So for the love of God, if you want your damn car fixed, go put your keys over on that bench and fill out the form.”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck here,” Ford muttered as he turned to do as the woman said, and he heard a snort of laughter that made him turn back to her.

“Actually, you’ll be stuck at the café down the street.” Now her expression was mocking. She clearly didn’t think much more of him than he did of her. “I don’t have a waiting room.”

With the smooth movement of someone who had much practice, the strange person lowered herself back down to the rolling thing—what was it called?—and again disappeared beneath the Contour.

Ford’s mind quickly sorted through words and phrases, searching for a witty comeback that would put this impudent woman in her place.

He had nothing. Nothing that would convey the deference he was used to receiving to this grease-covered imp who clearly didn’t care.

Scowling, he stalked over to the workbench and all but threw his keys down on the unfinished wooden surface. He took up the stubby-nosed pencil and the order form, then shook his head and instead pulled out a business card, which had all of his relevant information. He clipped it to the form.

Marchande Motors

Proprietor, Beth Marchande

So she was not just the mechanic—she owned the whole garage. Ford didn’t quite know what to do with that information—the woman didn’t fit into any of the preconceived slots he had to classify the female of the species. And he needed to classify—to classify everything.

What was life without order?

It seemed that this strange, vanilla-scented woman would force him to take a taste and find out.

CHAPTER TWO

BETH DIDN’T HURRY the work that needed to be done on the Contour, or on the massive old truck that came after it. When she hurried she made mistakes, and mistakes hurt the reputation of her business.

One customer lost meant money lost, and she and her sisters and Mamesie didn’t have a penny to spare. They all hustled to keep them in their family home, and sometimes that meant servicing the cars of assholes when she’d rather tell them to take a hike.

It was late afternoon when she finally scrubbed the grease off her face and arms, then grabbed the keys that the fancy man had tossed onto her workbench—tossed with more than a bit of temper, which made her lips curl up into a grin.

She was laid-back by nature, so her sisters always said, but when someone threatened her notions of right and wrong, she did tend to lose her grip on control. And even the fact that the offender was jaw-droppingly gorgeous didn’t ease the weight of his offenses, at least not in her eyes.

“Of course.” Lizzie huffed out a breath when she noted the Porsche logo on the key chain. The breath turned to a whistle when she trotted around the corner and saw the sleek silver Turbo parked on the side of the quiet, tree-lined road.

The fancy man was not only sexy...he was loaded. She’d just known it—everything about him had screamed north side. What the hell was he doing out here in the South End?

Actually, what was he doing with a ten-year-old Porsche? She was pretty sure he could afford a new one. Still, a Turbo was a Turbo, and she couldn’t quite suppress the thrill when she opened the car door. She was halfway in when she realized that while she’d cleaned off her skin, her coveralls were still soaked with grease. And she’d just bet that Mr. Tight Ass would have something to say if she dirtied up his buttery leather seats.

Shucking her dirty coveralls, she rolled them into a ball and tossed them onto the passenger’s seat. Clad in the ribbed white tank top and bright pink yoga shorts that she wore beneath, she finally slid behind the wheel.

She couldn’t quite hold back the moan as she ran her hands over the steering wheel. Her joy at being behind the wheel of something like this was almost sexual, it felt so damn good.

She grinned as she briefly considered giving herself a handsy little ride on the seat, picturing the man’s face if she told him about it after.

Tempting, but not professional. So instead she eased the vehicle forward, wincing as she heard the death rattle.

“Transmission.” She didn’t have to look—she was a damn good mechanic, and she’d heard that sound before. But she wanted to give the Turbo a full diagnosis, so after pulling it into the garage, she popped the hood, sighing only a little at the whisper-soft swish of the automated lift.

Without bothering to put her coveralls back on, she started to poke at the guts of the beautiful machine.

She was more than a little disgusted with what she saw.

The main problem was, as she’d known, the transmission. The filtration system was clogged, the seals were hardened and the fluid had been neglected. The Turbo was going to need an entirely new part.

Wear and tear was part of owning a car. But this combined with the sludge that passed for oil, the corrosion in the cooling system, the clogged fuel injectors...

She’d bet that the man...what was his name? She grabbed for the form, leaving fresh smudges on the white paper.

Ford Lassiter. Of course. Fancy name for a fancy man. And all those fancy college degrees listed after his name. Anyway, she’d bet that Ford Lassiter had only serviced his car a dozen or so times in the ten years he’d had it, assuming he was the original owner, and she assumed he was.

Irresponsible.

“Is it fixed?”

Beth turned and found the man in question standing in the entrance of her garage, silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun. He was tall, probably a good eight or so inches taller than her own five feet six. His hair was the tawny kind of color that made her think of a lion, and it offset the surprising chocolate brown of his piercing eyes.

He was lean, but his body looked hard, like he did more with it than just hit a gym. The suit he’d been wearing earlier was well cut and clearly expensive and showed off that body quite nicely.

In the hours since she’d sent him away, he’d removed the suit jacket, loosened the tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his white shirt. And in sharp contrast to the sleekness of the outfit, he now had an open can of Coke in his hand. Beth highly preferred this look. In fact, as she met his stare and leaned back against the sleek door of the Turbo, she found herself wanting to purr a bit as she took in the view.

Not that he was her type. At all.

“It is most certainly not fixed.” Even through her annoyance, she felt a little quiver in her belly when she looked at him—really looked at him. She’d have to have been dead not to.

“What do you mean, it’s not fixed?” That handsome face schooled itself into a disapproving frown, and Beth arched an eyebrow.

Sexy or not, he’d best keep some respect in his tone when she broke the news to him.

“When’s the last time you had a maintenance check done on this car?” Pushing off from where she lounged, she beckoned for Ford to come look under the hood with her. He hesitated, and she didn’t miss the way those dark eyes meandered down her body, which was far more exposed than it had been earlier in the coveralls.

Interesting. Beth had always had a knack for reading people, probably since she preferred to hang back and study them rather than dive right in. That knack was telling her that Ford Lassiter was a man who kept everything in his world under rigid control.

She would have bet money—if she’d had any—that he wasn’t that deliberate in checking out a woman unless some part of him wanted the woman to know.

He hadn’t moved but was instead regarding her intently.

Well, well, well. The rich man wanted to go slumming, did he? Smirking, Beth crooked her finger again and deliberately swayed her hips as she bent over the open hood.

That leonine power, that tightly coiled control—he would be fun to tease. And, she noted when he finally deigned to saunter over, not bothering at all to bank the combination of curiosity and attraction in his eyes, she couldn’t deny that little click that she felt in her gut when their eyes met.

Chemistry. Couldn’t make it, couldn’t fake it. It was either present with another person or it wasn’t...and it seemed that she and Mr. Ford Lassiter had it on the most elemental of levels.

Beside her, he leaned a hip against the Turbo and regarded her with an amused smirk on his own face. Oh, yes, he felt it, too...and unless she missed her guess, he was entertained by the notion of being attracted to a woman like her.

Beth had made it a point to live her life without worrying about what others thought of her, but it still stung when someone, even a stranger, looked at her like she was one of those wild Marchande girls from the wrong side of town. Well, fuck that. She was going to make him want her so badly his head would spin...and then she’d send him packing.

“Can’t remember? Even with all those fancy letters after your name?” She tilted her head, looked up at him, waited while he thought back to her question.

“I don’t recall.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed about it, though she noted that his spine stiffened a bit in defense. “I’m a busy man.”

“Seems to me that a busy man like you would have people who could take care of little details like car maintenance for him.” Though Beth’s lips curved in a smile, inside she went from irritation to anger. “This fancy machine here? Most people in this neighborhood have to work for five years to earn that kind of money.”

She wouldn’t focus on what she and her sisters could do—could pay off—with that kind of cash. Replace the furnace that threatened to quit every winter. Patch the place in the roof that let the rain in. “Some of those people might think that you’d want to take care of something like that. Take some responsibility.”

“You’re right.” There, finally, was evidence that he was human—the tiniest flicker of guilt. It was enough to melt her anger away.

Likely he hadn’t ever thought about how long other people would have to work to pay for one of his toys...and why would he treat it as anything special when he probably had a garage full of others at home?

“Can I get that in writing? I think it’s probably not something you say very often.” Beth arched an eyebrow. Ford blinked at her, seemingly stunned, before bursting into laughter.

It was a rich laugh, not the carefully controlled chuckle she would have expected from him, and it cut her off at the knees. To her, nothing was sexier than a man who could laugh at himself.

“Don’t get used to it. It probably won’t happen again.” As if he realized that he’d let his control slip, Ford’s grin quickly morphed back into stern lines. “In all seriousness. Now that we’ve established I don’t take proper care of it, what is wrong with it? Do you not have a part that I need?”

Beth couldn’t hold back the snort of sarcasm that slipped from her throat. “Well, that’s a start, but no, I don’t typically carry parts for cars like these. Not much call for them around here.”

Doing her best not to roll her eyes—they were clearly from such different worlds—she rubbed her hand over her cheek. The return of his smirk told her she’d likely left a smear of engine grease behind on her clean skin, but she didn’t care. That was her. Take it or leave it.

“Your transmission is shot. That needs to be replaced. I can call in a favor and have the part couriered in for the morning, since I figure you’re probably willing to pay the rush fee. But replacing it is going to be a full-day job.” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth, looking like he was prepared to argue. To her way of thinking, there was nothing to argue about here. “But if you stay consistent with the way you treat this car, then I would suggest you let me fix everything else that’s wrong with it while you’ve already got it in the shop. Your fuel and cooling systems need work, you’ve got some corrosion...and you need a basic damn oil change.”

“I see.” Ford gazed at her steadily, his expression unwavering. Beth stared right back, startled when he was the one to break away, huffing out a sound of exasperation and waving his hands in the air. “What are you listening to?”

“Sitar music.” She loved this playlist as much as she’d loved the heavy metal one she’d been playing earlier. Music was so deeply ingrained in who she was, she felt it was a shame not to appreciate as much of it as she could.

“Right.” This, finally, this was what seemed to throw him off his game—the music blasting from her phone.

Beth felt her breath catching as he reached out and sifted his fingers through the end of her braid. Her breasts pushed forward as she exhaled, and Ford looked her over again with that hungry stare—not lecherous, just an acknowledgment of that strange little click between them.

Beth didn’t believe in love at first sight...but oh, she sure believed in lust.

“Sitar music. Heavy metal. Purple in your hair, and the scents of vanilla and engine grease on your skin.” He sounded bemused. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very unique woman?”

“All the time.” She was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but the way this strange man was looking at her made her very, very hot. Riding on instinct, she reached for the cherry-red can of Coke that still dangled from his fingers and lifted it to her lips. “But you’ve only scratched the surface. There’s a lot more to me than the color of my hair.”

“I can imagine.” He watched her with painstaking attention to detail as she lifted the can to her lips and sipped. The rush of sugar burst over her tongue, and she imagined she got just the slightest taste of him, as well.

“Are you always this forward?” He tracked her tongue as she ran it over her lips.

“Afraid of catching girl cooties?” Beth handed the can back and arched an eyebrow. “And yes, I often am. I’m usually pretty clear on what I want.”

Stepping away from where they were still curled together beneath the hood of the Turbo, she laced her hands together and dipped her head. “But sometimes I like to be told what to do, too.”

Her heart pounded as she made the admission. Had she judged wrong? She couldn’t have. She liked to go after what she wanted, true enough, and she felt no shame in wanting what she did. But she usually felt the subtle little click that she had with Ford when the dynamics between them were just right—as in, the other person wanted to be in control, and Beth wanted to relinquish it.

“I...” Ford took a step back, not the reaction that Beth was expecting. He looked her over again, and her skin felt on fire everywhere his gaze touched.

No, she wasn’t wrong. She felt it in her gut. But he didn’t seem to be all that pleased by the notion.

“I’ll tell you what to do, then.” The struggle to regain control was evident in his voice. One blink of her eyes, and the stern businessman mask was back in place, shuttering the hint of passion that she’d glimpsed below. “Order the part. Fix the car. And call me when it’s ready for pickup.”

Beth felt the same slight chill that she had when she’d noted that he seemed uncomfortable with whatever this was sparking between them—felt it and resented it.

She wasn’t asking for a ring—she was just embracing her needs and desires, like she and her sisters had always done.

“You didn’t ask how much the parts and work are going to be.” Beth’s temper rose, so she unlatched and slammed the hood of the Turbo closed, hard enough that most people would have turned to check that she hadn’t taken a golf club to the metal.

He didn’t turn, didn’t look back—not at the vehicle and not at her.

“Like you’ve pointed out already... I can afford it.”

Well, then. Clearly he wanted to highlight the differences between them. Beth cocked her head and watched as he headed out of her driveway and back in the direction of the café, probably off to research his accommodation options, which she could have told him were few. She suspected he wasn’t going far.

His gait was easy, the stride of a man who knew that he had the world at his feet. As if pulled by her gaze, he finally cast one look back in her direction.

The intensity of the connection when their eyes met nearly brought Beth to her knees. Yes, that attraction was there, burning brighter than any she’d ever felt.

So why was he turning away from it? From her?

She could dwell on it, could go cry into a bottle of wine with her sisters over the rejection, but she’d never seen the point. Sex was supposed to be easy, fun. And to her it always would be.

If Ford Lassiter was uncomfortable with being attracted to her, well, that was his problem. Beth was just fine with who she was. Still, it was a damn shame he was a stick-in-the-mud, she thought as her lips curved.

A man who looked that good in clothes? He would surely look even better out of them.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SURFACE OF the bar was sticky beneath his hand as Ford placed his whiskey glass back down. It was his second of the night, and he felt like he needed to indulge in at least one more, just to get his head back on straight.

He’d been feeling off center ever since the interlude with a certain little mechanic that afternoon. Damned if he could entirely understand why.

“One more?” Even in the dingy bar that was connected to the equally dingy motel he’d had no choice but to book a room in, the bartender who approached him was still more his type than the woman who’d laid into him about responsibility that afternoon. Tall and slender, with icy-blond hair and a neat sleeveless blouse, she more closely resembled the women he dated back in the city.

Neat. Proper. Nice.

He considered for a moment, contemplated indulging some of this frustration in a flirtation with the blonde. Maybe it would lead to a nice dinner and some equally nice sex.

Before he could consciously decide, his hand covered his glass. “Not right now, thanks.”

There was a flicker of disappointment in the blonde’s eyes as she nodded and walked away, and Ford cursed himself. That was the kind of woman he should be attracted to.

Curvy mechanics with rainbow-bright ink snaking over their pale skin didn’t belong in his life. Not even for a night. And not because of that brightness...but for other, darker reasons.

Settling back on the stool where he’d been seated since the need to escape the shabby motel room had clawed at his skin, Ford blocked out the thunderous music from the old-timey jukebox and allowed his mind to pull up the image of her—of Beth Marchande.

Nothing about her made sense.

She moved like she couldn’t care less about anything but was quick to speak up when she had something to say. Confident—she was quietly confident, owning her curves in a way that stick-thin women he knew back home didn’t seem capable of.

Her hair, in that long, thick braid, was midnight black up top and twisted with bright purple below. Purple...what kind of woman had purple hair?

And yet he couldn’t stop imagining it wrapped around his fist as he thrust into her.

Jesus. He needed to get a grip or he’d embarrass himself in the middle of this dive bar.

He’d been in her presence for less than an hour, and yet he already knew he’d never forget her. She was too vibrant to ever be erased.

“Forget about it.” He’d fucked it up that afternoon by being an asshole, he knew that. It would be best to signal that sweet blonde bartender and order another drink, to forget all about Beth Marchande of Marchande Motors.

But damn it...when she’d stood there, hands clasped submissively in front of her? When she’d issued that invitation, had said she liked being told what to do, while he could just make out the outline of a barbell piercing her right nipple, pressed against the tissue-thin fabric of that skimpy shirt?

She’d pierced right through to the core of his basest desires, the ones that he tried with an iron fist to keep locked away and buried.

Lots of men with his power, his position, indulged in all sorts of hedonistic things, and he didn’t judge them for that. But after seeing his father go through wife after girlfriend after mistress, treating them all like his possessions?

As far as Ford was concerned, nice men didn’t have the urge to tie their women up. Didn’t have their palms tingle with the need to redden white skin, to leave a mark of mastery.

The tattooed little mechanic made every one of those latent desires come roaring to the surface, threatening to boil over.

That just wouldn’t do.

And yet here he was. He hadn’t been willing to be far away from the Turbo, sure, but that wasn’t the only reason that, instead of calling a car to take him home, he’d taken a room in the one small motel he’d been able to find close to the shop.

The woman had hooked him. He was interested, even if he didn’t want to be.

Bad idea, Ford. Very bad idea.

“Excuse me?” Lifting his head, Ford raised his hand to signal for the bartender again. He’d have that third drink, and then he’d go take a long, cold shower. He’d work from his motel room until his car was ready, and then he’d go, as fast and as far as he could.

Out of reach of temptation.

The volume of the music increased with the next song, something slow and sultry that he didn’t recognize. Down the length of the vinyl-covered bar, a large young man wearing work boots stumbled onto a stool and slapped a fiver down. “I need a beer, Sallie, and I need it now. There’s one hell of a show goin’ on over there, and I’m thirsty.”

“Coming right up, Ned.” Ford watched as Sallie—the cool blonde—slid a longneck across the bar to the rough-looking man. The bartender then leaned against the length of covered wood, looking off in the direction the man had come from, and the man looked that way, too. Both seemed to be settling in to watch a show.

Ford followed their gaze, and lust was an instant, heated punch to the gut.

His sexy little mechanic was on the dance floor, and she was working it.

Torn, faded jean shorts cut off high on her shapely thighs, barely covering an ass that was curved enough for a man to get a good grip on it. A white lace camisole on top revealed enticing flashes of skin as well as a black bra that held her full breasts up nice and high.

Black leather boots with high spiked heels wrapped the length of her calves and all the way over her knees. He could imagine her with nothing but those boots on, hands clinging to his headboard as he moved, hard and fast, between sweetly spread thighs.

She was gorgeous. Not his type at all, with the crazy hair and the tattoos spilling over her collarbone and arms. But on her, it worked. He shifted uncomfortably and noted that it seemed to work just fine for him, too.

“Damn.” Ford couldn’t hold back the groan as Beth shifted, stepping into the light, and he realized that she wasn’t alone. No, she had a woman at her front, a man pressed to her back and her eyes closed, her expression dreamy as she rocked between the two bodies, every movement sensual and sure.

The man behind her was dark and swarthy, and Ford might have thought to be jealous if he hadn’t been so fascinated with the way the man fisted Beth’s hair and pulled her head back. What he’d seen of her today said that she’d protest being forced to do anything, but her lips, shiny with red gloss, opened with a moan that he couldn’t hear but that resounded in his head regardless.

The woman in front of her, a redhead in a tight dress, rubbed her breasts against Beth’s own. Ford shifted on his stool, his cock hardening fully as the woman dipped her head and licked a slow trail down Beth’s neck.

Damn.

As if he’d spoken out loud, Beth’s eyes fluttered open. Lifting her head, she looked across the bar, over to where he sat, aching...and right into his eyes.

Earlier today her eyes had been the color of the afternoon sky, but now they were sapphire fire, the flames licking along his skin. His gut tightened as she smiled lazily, then slowly, sensually disengaged herself from the tangle of limbs.

Behind her, the couple continued their dance, but Ford didn’t care—his eyes were on the woman who was crossing the room toward him with slow, deliberate undulations of her hips.

“Fancy meeting you here, Sir Lassiter.” She stopped well into his personal space, and that vanilla perfume made his mouth water and his jaw clench.

“Sir?” He arched an eyebrow and tried really hard not to do what he wanted, which was to reach out and place his hands at her waist, to slide her shirt up and feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

“Mmm, you seem like a sir.” Beth smiled and inched closer, stepping right between his spread thighs. He felt his expression darken—she knew exactly what she was doing, what she was asking for.

“What makes you say that?” His instincts told him to tug her flush against his body, to press her to him so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

He did not.

“You seem all proper and noble...like an aristocrat. A knight. Sir Lassiter.” Beth nudged forward just a whisper, and he felt the curve of her hip press into his inner thigh.

His mouth went dry.

“Like you’re trying so hard to do what you think is right. But tell me something.” Tilting her head back, she looked up into his eyes, searching. “Why is denying yourself something that you want, that we both want, the right thing? I know you feel it, too.”

Her open question gutted him. He’d been in the boardroom with billionaires, with sheikhs, with sharks, and he’d bested them all.

The little woman who smelled like cupcakes? She was bringing him to his knees.

“I—” He started to explain, but she cut him off, stepping back, her sudden frown breaking the spell.

“I see.” Her lips pinched together in a mockery of a smile. “I’m not the kind of woman you want to get involved with, right? Not even for a night. Let me assure you, that’s your loss.”

Wait...what?

“Wait just a damn minute.” When Beth would have turned, Ford did as he’d imagined, catching her by the waist and hauling her back into the vee of his legs. This time her pelvis connected with the steel length of his erection, and he savored her sharp little intake of breath. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” Beth regarded him coldly, though she didn’t back down. “My hair, my tattoos... I’m far too wild for you.”

“Oh, do you think so?” The way she was looking up at him, so certain she was right, was a challenge, and he felt something inside him roaring to life to meet it.

She thought he was turned off because she wasn’t his usual type? Well, he couldn’t deny that she was not at all the kind of woman he was usually drawn to, and his instant attraction to her puzzled him more than a bit.

But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she made him feel.

“I don’t give a damn about the color of your hair or the ink on your skin. Got it?” The need to prove that she wasn’t the problem was quickly overriding his sense of restraint, the only other thing that had held him back from accepting her sweet offer that afternoon.

“I don’t know you, yet you make me want things I’m not comfortable wanting. Make me feel things I shouldn’t.” His hands at her waist squeezed, hard, to emphasize his point, and he savored her resultant shudder, which ratcheted up his own excitement.

“Why would you be uncomfortable wanting something if it doesn’t hurt anyone else?” She was watching him again, lids heavy over those big eyes. “Or maybe you think that it is hurting someone?”

He kept his stare on her face, absorbing every nuance of her expression, which was open, honest.

Something told him that Beth Marchande wasn’t going to be disgusted with the demands he might make of her.

“Sometimes a little bit of hurt is good, Sir Lassiter...especially when I’m begging you for it.”

“Fuck.” Dragging his hands up her sides, over her rib cage and the swell of her breasts, Ford clasped Beth by the shoulders and tugged her forward, crushing her smirking lips to his own.

Rather than offering him a kiss as sweet as the vanilla she smelled of, she moaned beneath the pressure and opened, her tongue surging out to tangle with his.

One hand slid behind her head and fisted in the long mane of raven and amethyst hair, just as his fingers had itched to. He tugged her head to the side roughly and then dragged his lips down the column of her throat, settling over her pulse and sinking his teeth in to claim.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Sir Lassiter?” Beth’s breathy question rasped in his ear, and she shuddered when his teeth marked her skin. “Are you going to be good? Or are you going to be bad? What do you think?”

Shoving his glass aside—he felt intoxicated just from being near her—Ford stood, making sure that every plane of his body glided against hers as he did.

Her eyes glittered with the same need that he felt as he quickly pulled a fifty from his wallet and tossed it onto the surface of the bar.

“I think...” Ford deliberately wrapped his fingers around her own, drawing them up to his lips to nip. “I think that we’re going to go back to my room right now. And I’m going to find something better for that smart mouth to do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WHAT AM I DOING?

This woman was different. Exotic. Wild. Not like anyone he’d ever been drawn to before, and he wasn’t sure why he was attracted to her now. He didn’t do exotic, didn’t want wild.

And yet when he placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the heated bar, he swore he almost felt a physical shock from just the press of his fingers to that small dip in her spine.

The Turbo had been his first acquisition on the road to success. He’d kept it because nothing had ever felt as good as that first achievement. That first marker of success that he’d earned on his own, not riding on his parents’ coattails.

Over the decade since its purchase, he’d bought and sold cars, property, investments. Had pursued some of the most interesting and beautiful women in the world. Had grown his small hotel chain into something internationally renowned.

Nothing had come even close to recapturing that thrill, the high of knowing he’d achieved something on his own.

Nothing, that was, until now.

Beth said something to the giant man standing by the door as they passed, making the other man laugh. Then they were outside, the cool air of early fall in Massachusetts as refreshing as a swim on a hot day after the beer-soaked heat inside the bar.

He watched as she shook her long fall of wavy hair back. The bright purple seeming ethereal and mysterious in the fading light.

What was going on with him? Purple hair wasn’t sexy. Full-sleeve tattoos weren’t sexy.

Except that on her, it was.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as she looked him over. Those blue eyes of hers seemed almost to glow, full of wicked intent as she took her time regarding him from head to toe.

His body responded, dark need curling tightly in his gut. No, he had no idea why he wanted this woman so badly, but he did, wanted her with a craving that seemed primal in its intensity.

“I’d invite you back to my place, but I could tell this morning it wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.” She smirked at him, a knowing little smile that made his mouth water. She was provoking him deliberately.

That exchange they’d had earlier in the garage. The dynamic between them. Unless he’d read it very, very wrong, she wanted the very thing that he tried hard not to offer.

“Clearly you didn’t think I was serious about finding something better for your smart mouth to do.” He couldn’t help it. The needs that he was usually fine ignoring were clawing beneath his skin, begging to tear their way free to be with her.

The sharp inhalation of her breath was confirmation. An ache spread through his core.

Nice men don’t want this.

Then maybe he wasn’t a nice man.

“Coming?” Arching an eyebrow at him, Beth turned and started to walk in the direction of the motel. He couldn’t have stopped himself from following.

The small rectangle of parking lot was bordered on three sides with rooms. He’d been assigned to room twelve, and when he’d checked in earlier he’d been unimpressed by the cheap floral bedspread, the rough green carpet and the dated lighting, though at least the place was clean. Now he noticed nothing but Beth as she kicked the door closed behind them, seating herself on the edge of the bed and looking up at him with a hint of mockery in those insanely blue eyes.

He wanted to fist his hands in the long waves of her hair and taste her lips again, to touch her until she was breathless and all traces of that mockery were gone. He wanted to flip her over and bury himself inside her.

He needed to get a grip, needed to take the control back. So far she’d hinted at what she wanted but had been the one in the driver’s seat.

No more.

“Do you like wine?” The hinges on the small minifridge whined as he opened it. Earlier he’d refrigerated a bottle of the best chardonnay he could find at the tiny grocery store on the corner. He was stymied when he realized that he didn’t have a corkscrew.

Frustration mounted. He was supposed to be in charge here. Why couldn’t he grab hold of it?

“Need this?” Not bothering to hide her grin at his discomfort, Beth opened the bedside drawer. There, next to a worn copy of the Bible, was a waiter’s corkscrew.

“Spend much time here?” He held back a growl of frustration as he took the offered tool, expertly pulling the cork from the bottle of wine. There were so many feelings, so many sensations pressing on his chest from the inside out that he couldn’t even raise an eyebrow at the fact that he was pouring the pricey wine into water glasses.

“I’ve been here before, yes.” Beth took the glass from his hand. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled, then looked up at him. “And probably for exactly the reason you’re thinking. Does that bother you?”

Did it bother him? The idea of her with other men?

He wanted her, but he didn’t know her. He shouldn’t care what she’d done before.

He didn’t care for the thought of other men touching her when his own cock was aching to be between her soft thighs.

“Drink your wine.” Deliberately, he refrained from answering her question. Crossing in front of her, he watched as she took a sip, puzzled by the expression that crossed her lips after she’d sipped. “What is it?”

“I’m more of a beer girl.” Lips twitching, she set the glass aside. Then she crawled to her knees on the bed, making herself right at home. Rising so that she was almost at eye level with him, she looped her arms around his neck and ran her tongue over her lips. “But I’m not here for a drink.”

“What are you here for, then?” Reaching behind his head, he caught her hands in his own, holding her there. He countered her direct stare with one of his own, triumph surging when she broke, looking away first.

“Well, Sir Lassiter.” Licking her lips again, she tried to pull back, her breath catching when he held tight, keeping her in place, her breasts almost brushing across his chest. “I think we’ve established that there’s chemistry here. I’m here to see what you want to do about it.”

His control snapped, the last whisper of wariness evaporating in a sizzle of flame. Sir. That mocking mouth, calling him sir.

He didn’t want to analyze why he wanted her or why he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to hold back.

“I—” Still, the words stuck in his throat, even as his hands slid along her upper arms, over her back, tracing a line down her spine.

“I think you told me you had something for my smart mouth to do.” Arching into his touch like a kitten in the sun, she fisted her hands in the hem of her top, lifting it up and over her head. He broke his hold long enough for her to toss it to the ground, then groaned when he saw what had been hiding beneath.

Her breasts were perfect. A little more than a handful, soft globes that sat high on her slender torso. The bra she wore was black lace, a pattern that let him clearly see the outline of full pink nipples beneath. One was pierced through with a small silver bar, and the sight of that naughty bit of jewelry, rubbing against the lace, was sexy as hell.

He wanted to place his cock between those sweet curves and let go.

Real men didn’t do that.

She noticed his hesitation. Making a sound somewhere between a hum and a sigh, she cupped his cheeks in her hands, forcing him to look right at her.

Like he could look anywhere else.

“Look.” Her eyes searched his face, and there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in the blue depths. “I’m here because I’m pretty sure that we want the same thing—a night of incredibly hot sex. Dirty sex. Why don’t you stop thinking so hard and just let go?”

God, she was demanding. He didn’t usually like that, either, but at her words, something inside him surged to life—all of the wants that he usually kept buried down deep.

She had made it clear that this was what she wanted. What would the harm be in letting himself revel in it for just one night?

“This mouth of yours.” Dipping his head again, he brushed his lips over hers, taking the kiss deep fast. His tongue probed at the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, humming with approval as he stroked it over hers. “I think I had something for it to do.”

“I think you did,” she agreed, planting her hands on his pec muscles. She squeezed a tiny bit, scoring him lightly with her nails as her hands traveled down. Stroking over his stomach, she hooked her fingers in the waist of his suit pants.

“Mmm.” Her touch brushed over the head of his cock, which was fully erect and caught in the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Yes, I think we very much want the same thing. Unless you’re this happy about something else.”

“I’ll be happier when you do what you’re told.” Had he really just said that? He’d been raised in Boston society. The women he usually dated would be horrified. He might have even gotten slapped.

Beth just grinned.

His stomach muscles quivered when she undid the button at his waistband, then slid the zipper down. The metallic rasp grated at air that was suddenly thick with tension. With need.

He tugged at his pants, pulling them down around his hips. His cock sprang free, and, going on instinct, he took his shaft in his fist.

“That’s a good look for you, Sir Lassiter.” Pushing him away from the bed with a gentle shove on his hips, she slid to the floor. Rising to her knees, she rested her palms on the tops of his thighs. “I bet this is a good one for me.”

Lust centered in his groin, a physical ache. When was the last time he’d had a woman on her knees for the sole purpose of sucking his cock? High school, probably. He enjoyed getting head, but he never demanded that a woman get on her knees for him. It was one of those things he wanted so badly that he didn’t dare let himself ask. That he assumed a woman did only because she wanted to please, not because she got anything out of it.

Looking down at Beth on her knees, her lips wet and ready, he knew that she was getting just as much out of this as he was.

Their stares locked as he slid a hand into her hair. Massaging her scalp, he guided her head forward until her lips brushed the head of his cock.

They both shuddered. Before he could take a breath, her fingers joined his, wrapping around the length of his shaft.

Her mouth closed around him, a hot, wet embrace. She sucked him in, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

He never let himself play like this, edging onto something shadowy that both tempted and terrified him.

But it felt so damn good.

“You’re good at that.” His voice was raw. She looked up at him, and though he couldn’t see a smirk on her lips, it was there in her eyes. He couldn’t help but grin in return. “Of course, sassy as you are, I’m probably not the first to want to keep it occupied.”

As if he’d challenged her, she slid her hand down his shaft, nudging his fingers out of the way. She worked him up and down with a tight grip as she took him deeper into the silky heaven that was her mouth.

His free hand joined the one fisted in her hair, and soon he was helping to guide her movements as she worked his shaft. Pleasure started to build at the base of his spine, and his hips started to thrust.

He needed to stop her before he came in her mouth. Needed to see to her pleasure first. He wanted to make her come before he took her, wanted her weak and wrecked because of what he did to her.

He wasn’t at all expecting her to cup his balls in one hand and tug gently. Her nails scored a light path over the tender seam, something no one had ever done to him before, and he saw stars.

“Beth. Beth!” He tried to pull her head back. She hummed around him, the vibration working through his cock, and scraped those nails gently over his seam again. “Oh, fuck.”

His release shot from his very core. He pulsed into her mouth, and rather than being repelled, she wrapped her lips around him tightly and swallowed him down. He watched the lines of her throat, transfixed.

Who the hell was this unearthly creature? And where had she been hiding his whole life?

She continued to lick him as he softened against her tongue, finally letting him slide from her mouth. The air of the room was cool after her heat.

Panting, he took a moment to simply look down at her, searching her features for some hint of discomfort.

Instead she grinned up at him, then climbed back up onto the bed. Crawling across it on her hands and knees, she sat back on her heels and looked over her shoulder at him as she undid her bra and tossed it aside.

“My turn.”

CHAPTER FIVE

WHY WOULDN’T HE just let go?

The man was a caged beast, his dominance rattling the bars. Beth couldn’t understand why, after all the reassurances she’d given him, he seemed to think he still needed to hold back.

She huffed out a breath of surprise when he caught the bra she’d just tossed aside.

“Nice reflexes.” She smirked at him, wondering if she was going to have to keep hold of that dark edge of his all night to keep it from sliding back beneath the surface. She exhaled sharply when he lifted the scrap of black lace and let it dangle.

“I like this.” He tossed it to the floor, then with a move she didn’t see coming, pulled at her feet, making her tumble to the bed. He rolled her so that she was lying across the bed face up, and then he was straddling her hips.

His cock still hung free, swollen, red and damp from her mouth. Her stare moved between it and the way he was undoing the front of his shirt, each button revealing another inch of rock-solid torso.

He’d been hiding one hell of a body beneath that suit. Whatever he did for work that required that suit, he countered it with some serious sweat at the gym.

She wasn’t about to complain.

His expression was so intense as he looked down at her that she almost—almost—felt the urge to cover her naked breasts. The piercing through her right nipple. She didn’t, though, instead waiting to see what he would do. If she would have to prod him, or if he would let go.

“Do the bottoms match the top?” With a wicked grin, he worked a hand underneath her, sliding up along the back of her thigh to cup her ass beneath the abbreviated hem of her cutoffs. He squeezed, and she pressed into the sensation of her bare skin in his palm.

“Doesn’t seem to be much of them, whether they match or not.” He moved his hand around to the front of her hip, then to the crease where her thigh met her torso. He grazed the silky fabric of the thong she’d changed into along with this outfit, and she let out a shaky moan.

“Lift.” The cutoffs slid down easily when he tugged. Leaving them at midthigh, he sat back on his heels and took his time looking her over.

“They do match.” He arched an eyebrow, and she felt flushed everywhere his stare traveled—her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs. Her center. “I didn’t think they would.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” She wanted to part her thighs, to feel his weight between them, but with the shorts still halfway down her legs, she couldn’t. “You seem like the type to send full sets of matching lingerie to your girlfriends. Garters, stockings and all.”

“Oh, it’s a horrible thing,” he agreed. With steady movements, he tugged the shorts the rest of the way down her legs. Propping herself up on her elbows, she reached for the zipper on one of her boots, but he stopped her with a raised eyebrow.

“The boots stay on.” He worked the shorts down over the leather that stretched all the way up over each knee. “But those matching panties have to go.”

“Obviously,” she agreed, her voice breathy as he tugged the scrap of fabric down to her ankles, then helped her free each foot. Letting the thong fall to the floor, he surprised her by tugging her across the bedspread until her ass was flush with the edge of the bed.

Oh, yes. Her thighs quivered at what was to come. This was going to be good.

Some men didn’t like dropping to their knees for a woman, but Ford did so as he did everything—with confidence. Hell, even when she damn well knew that he was holding back from really delving into that streak of dominance that kept slipping out of him, he still carried himself with ease. A man who was sure of his place in the world.

Beth was comfortable with herself, but her place in the world still hadn’t been defined. His confidence drew her like a bee to pollen.

Arching her back, she tilted her head, enjoying the sensation of her hair against the heated skin of her back before letting herself fall back to the mattress. When he closed his large hands around the insides of her thighs, she sucked in a breath and shut her eyes.

“You keep those eyes open.” He squeezed, the pads of his fingers digging into her skin. She did as he said, looking down the length of her naked body to where he knelt. He’d tugged his pants back up around his hips but left them undone. She could see the head of his cock, which was on its way to hard again, sliding out the slit of his boxer briefs.

His taste was still on her tongue, and yet her mouth watered. She wanted everything he had to offer.

“Eyes open,” he reminded her sharply when her eyelids started to flutter again. “I want those eyes on me. Want you looking at me when you come, fully aware of just who it is that’s making you feel so good.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” She let out a shaky laugh that quickly turned into a moan when he slapped that same soft skin.

She thought he would talk more, would continue with those dirty little words that seemed so strange coming from a man like him and yet suited him perfectly. Instead he pushed her thighs open wider, catching one ankle and arranging one of her legs over his shoulder.

She quivered as she waited for that first touch of his tongue, his breath fanning hot and damp over her folds. She caught his gaze as he lowered his head, and the intensity in those stormy eyes took her breath away.

He could deny it all he wanted, but the bossiness suited him. Dominance suited him. And if he’d just grab hold of it with both hands, he could blow both of their minds.

His mouth descended. He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the cleft between her legs, and she shifted her hips beneath him. Nuzzling his nose between her folds, he licked her from top to bottom, then bottom to top, and a soft cry escaped her lips.

“You’re wet. Soaking.” He swirled that tongue around her clit. “You liked sucking my cock, didn’t you?”

She moaned, then cried out when he delivered a light slap to her inner thigh again. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I liked sucking your cock.” Her voice was hoarse, her hips undulating beneath his attentions. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t.”

“No, I don’t think you would have,” he agreed, pulling away just long enough to look at her. She protested, her hands sliding down to tangle in his hair. “I doubt very much that you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I don’t.” She raised her hips. “God, go back to what you were doing.”

“Hmm.” He hummed against her, and the vibrations traveled to her belly, which was knotted tightly. “What part of it do you like, I wonder? The actual cock sucking? Or pleasing your partner?”

She parted her lips, trying to gather her thoughts enough to formulate an answer, but it seemed that his question was rhetorical. He pressed his mouth to her flesh again, but this time it was with an intensity that stole her breath.

When she’d flirted with him earlier, at her shop, she’d thought she would have to be the one to seduce him. The one to convince a man in a suit to take a walk on the wild side.

As he slid a finger inside her and continued to circle her clit with his tongue, she admitted that she wasn’t the one doing the seducing. And she was just fine with that.

“Fuck, yes.” He flicked his tongue over her clit, and she felt the shock of sensation all the way to her toes. “Right there. More.”

“Greedy girl.” He chuckled as she tried to close her legs to get away from the sensation, and at the same time arched her hips to meet his mouth. “I like it.”

Pulling his finger out of her slippery folds, he surged back in, this time with two. He scissored them inside her, stretching her swollen tissues, and Beth felt the tension inside her start to coil tighter and tighter.

“That’s it.” He slapped her inner thigh again, right in the same place. The skin there was starting to burn, in the best possible way. It heightened the pleasure that was threatening to break. “You’re going to come for me, right now. If you do, then I’ll give you my cock.”

“God.” No, this man certainly didn’t need to be seduced. The more she writhed against him, the filthier that look on his face got. It was like he’d been covered in a fine sheen of ice—colorless and tasteless, it had still only given her an impression of the man beneath. His orgasm had shattered that ice, and now she was getting glimpses of the full thing.

The real thing.

And she liked it.

She ached to see it all.

“Come on.” He scraped his teeth over her clit again, and the wave inside her rose higher and higher. “Let go.”

He crooked the two fingers inside her, rubbing them over a spot that made her see stars. At the same time he used his other hand to rub roughly over the skin he’d smacked, reigniting the burn. It was that burn that made the wave finally crest. Beth cried out, Ford’s name tumbling from her lips as she shook around him, grinding her face into his mouth.

He licked her through the shudders, sending her reeling into an aftershock. When the waves finally ebbed, she lay back on the bed panting, a sheen of sweat trying to cool her feverish skin.

“You’re awfully good at that.”

“She wiped a hand over her brow.

“I’m good at lots of things.” He stood, and she struggled to prop herself up on her limp arms so that she could see him. He stood at the end of the bed with his shirt open, his pants around his hips and intent in his eyes.

It was a good look.

She watched, her mouth dry, as he peeled the shirt away from that defined chest. It fell to the floor as he hooked his hands in the waistband of his suit pants, slowly pulling them down. His cock, now fully erect again, popped free, and she couldn’t help but suck in a breath.

Most men stripped themselves out of their clothes as fast as possible. She usually did the same, so she’d never found cause to complain. It had never even occurred to her that watching a man disrobe could be so hot.

Ford knew exactly what he was doing to her. He knew just how good he looked. And damn if the arrogance on his face wasn’t hot as hell.

He let his pants fall to the floor, kicking them to the side. He stood there completely naked, smirking as she looked her fill.

Yeah, he knew she liked what she saw.

“You look awfully pleased with yourself,” she managed to pant as she crawled backward on the bed. She swallowed hard when he placed one knee, then the other, on the bed. He closed the distance between them quickly, and she expected him to range his lean body out on top of hers. Instead he placed his hands on her shoulders, stroked them down to cup her breasts. She arched into the touch, rising up on her knees to offer herself to him.

“I’ve just made a sexy woman scream my name,” he replied, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples with a soft touch that only made her crave more. “What’s not to be pleased about?”

He caught her piercing in the fingers of one hand, rolling it. The pleasure snapped through her as he explored the silver bar, growling out a sound of pleasure that told her how much he liked it.

“I’m going to play with this more later,” he promised, dipping his head to run his tongue over the bar and her nipple in one slow lick. Then with swift movements, he released her breasts, sliding his hands down to her waist. Grasping the soft curves tightly, he rolled her, settling himself with his back to the headboard. Her knees were on either side of his, straddling his lap, and she gasped as her wet, swollen cleft pressed against his erection.

“I’ll be more pleased when you ride my cock.” His voice was low enough that she had to duck her head to hear him.

“I like the way you talk to me.” God, did she ever. It made her hotter, wetter than she could ever remember being.

Something sparked in the brown of those wraithlike eyes, and she responded to it. Lifting her arms, she looped them around his neck, and she watched as his stare tracked along the colorful ink that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

“Why have you chosen to mark yourself like this?” She stiffened for a moment, but there was no censure in his voice. Just curiosity. It made her relax. She truly didn’t care if other people didn’t like her ink, but it still pissed her off when they judged her for it.

Yes, she had tattoos. She also had a brain. A family. A business. The ink on her skin was just one small part of her.

Ford wasn’t judging her, though she’d bet her nonexistent funds that he’d never been so up close and personal with inked skin before.

“Two reasons.” Her voice was husky, and she paused to clear her throat. “First. My sister Amy is a tattoo artist. When she started getting into it, my sisters and I were all drawn toward marking things that are important to us on our skin. Claiming it, I guess.”

Releasing him with one hand, she trailed her newly free fingers over her oldest tattoo, which slithered across her left forearm. It read Music Soothes the Savage Beast. She’d gotten it at eighteen, when she’d been full of emotions she didn’t understand and the only thing that had assuaged them were the hours that she spent at the battered old piano in their house.

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