“Once won’t be enough to get this out of our systems.”

A tale of out-of-control chemistry from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Hawkeye.

From the moment they met, Meg Marchande and John Brooke have had the kind of chemistry you bow down to, give thanks for and find the nearest bed to release. Despite a magnetic attraction, their timing has never been right. But passion waits for no one.

Moving from city to city for his powerful career, John doesn’t see himself in a traditional relationship. Still, he can’t get Meg out of his mind. Meg is more than happy to meet up with him for increasingly erotic encounters, but she doesn’t let herself think about a happily-ever-after. After all, her business means she has to stay, and his means he has to go. She doesn’t want to give up the things she’s fought for any more than John does.

With both of them set on their own paths yet helplessly drawn to one another, they must discover whether love is enough. Or is their relationship doomed to never be about more than sex?

Mills & Boon DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

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 nonexistent spare time, Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through email, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Lauren’s newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r.

Also by Lauren Hawkeye

Between the Lines Playing Dirty

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Sweet Temptation

Lauren Hawkeye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09928-8

SWEET TEMPTATION

© 2020 Lauren Hawkeye

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Patience

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

TO ANYONE ON the outside looking in, John Brooke had one hell of a night planned.

He’d been seated at a low table in Grapes of Wrath—the new nightspot that was essentially a wine bar with dancing—for over an hour. At the table with him were Theo Lawrence, his friend and the man whose company he’d been working for over the last six months, as well as Theo’s live-in girlfriend, Jo. They were having one final hurrah before John left. He had a week until his next job, the next place he would temporarily call home.

He’d sampled several of the fantastic vintages that the bar offered and was feeling loose and warm, and the attractive blonde waitress had made it clear that she’d be off at midnight if he was interested.

He’d flirted with her in return, thinking that some hot, sweaty sex would be the perfect way to cap off a great day, but for some reason, he wasn’t quite as interested as he should have been. He couldn’t even remember her name, which embarrassed him more than a little.

“Thanks.” Automatically, he flashed her a smile when she brought him his newest drink order, but when she lingered, bending over to give him an eyeful of her cleavage, he found himself winking at her on autopilot. His body appreciated the view, but that was where his interest ended, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

It had been happening more and more often lately, this hint of dissatisfaction over things that were the norm in his life. John was an independent contractor, his specialty was mentoring start-up companies through successful launches. He’d lived a nomadic lifestyle for over a decade and had always felt a thrill when it was time to move on. Tonight, though, the expected buzz of excitement was hovering just out of reach.

“To John!” Across the table, Theo toasted him with his glass, which contained only sparkling water—Theo was several months sober, all thanks to the spitfire of a woman sitting next to him, who raised her glass, as well. “We’re sad to see you go, man.”

“Thanks, Theo.” John nodded, then sipped his wine—a nice, full-bodied red. Christ, was he ever going to have a headache tomorrow. He’d indulged more than he usually did to compensate for these weird feelings that he couldn’t seem to banish.

For the first time in memory, he had friends. He cared about someone other than himself.

What was happening to him? He didn’t let people in. The second they tried, he was gone, and for good reason. He traveled, he enjoyed the money from the career he’d built off his sweat and blood, and he rarely spent more than a few nights with the same woman. But since meeting Theo and Jo, seeing the way they’d overcome their demons to find a connection that made them both shine... Well. He’d fought against it, but John couldn’t deny that somehow, someway he was now aware that he maybe wanted something more.

“I have a break coming.” The waitress was back. The club’s uniform was a skintight blue dress that showed off the woman’s lean figure, and John knew that in five minutes, he could have the skirt lifted and the woman’s long, tanned legs wrapped around his waist. His cock didn’t hate the idea.

That was it, then. He’d indulge in a quickie, and maybe it would break him out of this mood.

His decision must have shown on his face, because the woman smiled, catlike, and bent to whisper in his ear, “The staff bathroom is at the end of the hall. I’ll be waiting.”

His smile frozen on his face, he watched her sashay away. Theo’s low whistle broke him out of his trance.

“Guess you’re leaving, then?” Theo grinned at him before pulling the woman next to him in close to nuzzle her hair. Jo rolled her eyes in John’s direction, pursing her lips with disapproval.

“You can do better,” she informed him, tipping her head back to catch the last drops of whiskey in her glass. “Her boobs don’t even move. I mean, you can’t deny that they look good, but make sure she doesn’t hit you in the head with one of those things. She’ll knock you out cold.”

“Duly noted,” John replied dryly, finishing the dregs from his glass. Standing, he checked his pockets to make sure that he had a condom, which he did—of course he did. He was the master of details, noticing things that other people were utterly unaware of...such as the fact that he probably should have felt a little more enthused at the moment. He was heading off to have sex with an attractive woman, but as he left Jo and Theo behind to pursue said woman, he found himself thinking that he’d rather go home.

Stopping halfway across the dance floor, he debated it for a moment, which was yet another thing that was utterly unlike him. He prided himself on being decisive, on being a man who took action, who always had a plan, and this unsureness left him feeling unmoored.

Make up your mind, John!

He started walking toward the door, away from the waitress waiting for him with her skirt around her waist. That was when he saw her, a split-second glimpse of her from behind before she was swallowed up by the crowd.

He turned toward her, as though he were a satellite set to orientate in her direction. He was a tall man, over six feet, but she was nearly ten inches shorter than him, and try as he might, he couldn’t catch another glimpse from where he was.

It didn’t matter. Even without a second look, he knew that the petite woman packed some serious curves into her small frame. Curves his hands itched to touch. He knew that her hair fell in chocolate-brown ribbons to her waist, making him imagine how it would look spread out over the white sheets on his hotel room bed.

He knew that her skin, smooth and pale, was laced with colorful ink, like all of her sisters. And he knew that every time they were in the same room, the sparks between them threatened to erupt into full flame.

Meg Marchande.

Without consciously thinking about it, he started moving, closing the space between them, irritated at the people in his way keeping him from her. When he was still a few feet away, the crowd parted slightly, and he found her again.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She’d chosen to display her curvy body in a thin white T-shirt dress that was low in the neck and high on the thigh. She’d paired it with a pair of black heeled boots that extended up over her knees, the look effortless, though he knew that, as a woman who appreciated fashion, she would have chosen her outfit carefully, conscious of the image that she wanted to project.

He could only assume that she’d wanted her clothing to scream sex, and, oh, had it ever worked.

He tried, really he did, not to let his gaze linger on the delicious cleavage rising out of her neckline, or on the creamy expanse of thigh that made him think of what those legs would look like wrapped around his waist.

She shifted, the already-short hemline riding up even higher, and he lost the battle. It wasn’t the first time, either—in the month since he’d met her, he’d had a very hard time fighting his attraction for the petite brunette.

In another world, fighting it wouldn’t have even been an option. That first day they’d met, when he’d gone to the Marchandes’ home to convince Jo to take a job, the spark had been immediate. There she’d sat, surrounded by her sisters, and the only one he’d seen was her. And if they’d gone for it right then, it probably would have been okay. But now?

Now he and Theo were friends. He and Jo were friends. The Marchandes were a package deal, their mother and Theo included. And that meant that starting anything up with Meg, even a fling, was...well, complicated.

Meg was like a sister to Theo, and wasn’t that an unwritten rule in the bro code? Sisters were hands-off. Sisters were especially hands-off when he was only going to be here for one more week.

That didn’t stop him from thinking about what it would feel like to wrap a hand in those long, loose waves, tugging gently until she gasped.

His cock, which had only paid the barest minimum of attention to the waitress, was fully on board with this new plan. It didn’t help his restraint. Nor did the flare of emerald green jealousy when the man who Meg had been speaking to—flirting with—moved in behind her, placing his hands on her hips and tugging her back against him.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, even as he reminded himself that she had the right to dance with whomever she wanted. She could flirt with whomever she wanted, and she could sleep with whomever she wanted.

None of that, however, meant that he couldn’t throw his hat in the ring.

Looking across the bar, he saw the table where Jo and Theo still sat, wrapped around each other like ribbons on a maypole. John knew Jo well enough to understand that she would just shrug and say it was Meg’s choice, but Theo would string him up and flay him alive and enjoy doing it. He didn’t want to risk the first real friendship he’d had in...ever.

Theo would probably come around if he knew that John liked Meg, on top of wanting to screw her brains out. That was part of the problem, though... No matter how much he liked Meg, it could never be anything more than sex.

He didn’t do connections with other people. It was something of a personal rule, and he wasn’t some naive idiot who needed to lie down on a therapist’s couch to figure out why—he avoided relationships of all kinds because when you cared about people, they could hurt you. This had been his truth since before he could remember, and hitting the streets at age thirteen had locked it in.

Theo and his friendship had sneaked past John’s barriers, but after careful examination, John had decided that he could handle any potential fallout. Same with Jo.

What he felt for Meg, though? That was something best left unexplored, which was why he’d spent the past few months trying to ignore it.

Right now, watching the sway of her hips as she danced? As the primal urge to fight his competition for her thickened in his blood? Combined with the fact that he admired her, liked her?

He’d honed his self-control in iron for his whole life, but he was still only a man, and he wanted her with every fiber in his being.

Before he’d decided on a plan, he started toward them. He ignored the alarm that started shrieking in his head, warning him of the impending danger.

He’d built a very successful company that had made him very wealthy by going after what he wanted with laser focus.

And right now? Maybe he had an undiscovered masochistic streak that had him craving her company, even if he wasn’t ever going to do anything about it. Yeah, he must, because he found himself walking straight toward her.

He couldn’t have her, but the only thing he wanted was Meg.

CHAPTER TWO

IF THE MAN rocking his pelvis against her ass knew that Meg was going over her list of orders for the next day in her head while he got handsy, he probably wouldn’t have been too thrilled. And it wasn’t that he bored her or anything—she’d quite enjoyed their flirtation, which had started after he’d watched her down two shots in quick succession. He was hot, and she wasn’t immune to the sensation of his hardening erection pressing against her from behind.

It was just that she had a lot going on these days. Her brain was full, and she was tired. Or wired. She couldn’t tell anymore. Before she’d opened her small catering company, others had told her how proud she’d be, how nice it would feel to be her own boss and set her own hours. These things were true, but why hadn’t anyone told her how freaking hard it was? In the past, at the catering company she’d worked for since she was a teenager, there had always been someone high ranking to pass problems to.

Now? She was that high-ranking person. She was the end of the line. And while she was happy, it also meant that most of the time, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. Which sometimes led to multitasking...like working in her head while a hot guy tried to get into her pants.

Jo had all but dragged her out by the hair tonight, reminding her that after fighting so hard for her success, she should be enjoying it a bit, too. Meg knew her sister was right, but even two shots hadn’t been enough to clear her head.

Behind her, she felt Aaron—that was his name, right?—slide one of the hands resting on her hips down lower to toy with the hem of her short dress. The pads of his fingers were hard, the calloused skin of a man who worked with them for a living, and she liked the sensation of them scratching her skin. A thin ribbon of arousal spooled out in her belly, and she pressed back against him, making him groan.

“Want to get out of here?” he whispered against her ear. “My place is only a block away.”

She considered. Maybe some sweaty sex was just what she needed to clear her head. Aaron was hot, in a rough kind of way—his nose had the crooked lines of a brawler, and the body beneath his no-nonsense jeans and T-shirt promised that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She suspected that sex with him would be the same—straightforward, simple, a transaction that got them both off.

She could get down with that. She shifted in his arms so that she could reply in the affirmative, but as she did she found her gaze drawn toward the long, sticky surface of the bar. Gaze awareness, she thought it was called—that weird thing that happened when you sensed someone looking at you.

She wasn’t wrong. Someone was indeed looking at her, and when she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be going home with Aaron tonight, or any other night.

Keeping one eye on her new admirer, she turned in Aaron’s arms, smiling up at him ruefully. “Not tonight, but thanks for the dance.”

He furrowed his brow momentarily, and Meg felt herself tense. Some men—not all men, but some—didn’t understand that a dance wasn’t a promise, that accepting the offer of a drink, or a flirtatious conversation, or the choice of a short skirt and high boots wasn’t a contract promising that they’d get their rocks off.

Aaron, however, shrugged good-naturedly after a moment of disappointment and took off into the crowd, in search of a woman who would take him up on that offer of simple sex. Meg exhaled a sigh of relief before turning back to where the other man still watched her, a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

“See something you like?” she asked with more than a hint of sarcasm as she approached him, signaling for the bartender. She didn’t expect him to answer, because they both knew the truth—they’d been hot for each other since the moment they’d met, but their moment had passed. She’d been sprinting forward with the opening of A Moveable Feast, managing a million details, but she still would have made the time for what she just knew would be toe-curling sex. He’d pulled back, though, just a bit, immersing himself in his role at Theo’s dating-app company, and the heat between them had turned itself down to a manageable simmer. Especially when Theo had made sure to take her aside and explain, in no uncertain terms, that while John was a great option for casual sex, he didn’t ever—ever—do more than that. And also that if John went anywhere near her, Theo would go after his testicles with Jo’s manicure scissors.

Meg had rolled her eyes, informed him that her tomboy sister didn’t own any of those and then punched him in the gut. He’d doubled over, wheezing, but she’d made her point—she made decisions about her own life. No one else.

However, when it came to sex, both parties had to agree, and since she suspected that Theo had given John that same “don’t touch my sister” chat, she was pretty sure that he no longer viewed her as a potential partner for sexual escapades.

It was just her luck that she’d run into him when she was keyed up from dancing with Aaron and had sex on the brain. It made it harder to ignore that knee-jerk punch of attraction.

Accepting the icy bottle of beer from the bartender, she took a long swallow, letting the crisp liquid cool her off. Thus fortified, she turned to face him, let herself take him in.

She was attracted to him, but she wasn’t so naive as to think that she was the only one. She’d have had to be blind not to appreciate the sheer perfection of his face. She’d grown up next door to Theo, who, while she’d sure never seen him that way, turned plenty of heads with that whole Latin lover thing he had going on. She’d dated men who were nice to look at, but John was just ridiculously good-looking. His skin was a smooth medium brown, and next to it his pale eyes—which were, of course, fringed with lashes long enough to make a woman weep—were impossible not to focus on. He kept his ebony hair buzzed down close to his head, letting the lean planes of his face take center stage, and his body was a continuation on the theme—the man obviously logged some serious gym time, because, well, damn.

It didn’t surprise her that half the women in Boston had reportedly dropped their panties the second he’d arrived in town.

Dammit. He caught her looking, and that smug little half smile deepened, making her stomach do a little flip.

Down, girl. This wasn’t going to happen. He’d flirted with her when they’d first met, but Theo had put any attraction John felt on ice. And she could deal. Hell, they’d had dinner together a week ago, and she’d kept her horniness in check just fine. Of course, there had been six other people at that dinner, and she hadn’t been wearing next to nothing with sex on the brain.

“Hey!” Meg protested as John stole the beer right out of her hand, though nerves danced in her skin where his hand brushed hers. “Give that back!”

“You asked if I saw something I liked,” he replied innocently before taking a long sip of her drink. She couldn’t tear her stare away from the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed.

Handing the beer back to her, he kept his fingers on the bottle even after she’d taken it. Her pulse skittered even as she rolled her eyes. It was because she was already slightly aroused from dancing with Aaron. It was absolutely not because her admiration of John had grown into a full-fledged crush.

“Yes, because obviously I was referring to the beer.” Even though she wanted to prolong the contact, she tugged at the beer until he released it, though when she pressed her lips to it, she could have sworn that she could taste him on the glass.

He sees you as a sister now, Meg. Deal!

If only he didn’t make her mouth water when he fixed her with that stare.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to notice me. You were...occupied.” John waved an arm toward where she’d been dancing with Aaron. Though his tone was teasing, she thought she saw a flash of...well, of something in his eyes. Surely that wasn’t jealousy. No, definitely not.

He could have literally any woman in this bar—sexy, sweet, thick, thin. And he was not the kind of man to get jealous over her dancing with another man, no matter the chemistry between them. And she was absolutely not disappointed by that. Nope. Not her.

“Wasn’t feeling it,” she replied, which was only half a lie—she’d been feeling it, at least a little bit, until she’d seen John.

Maybe she should wade back into the crowd and find Aaron, take him up on his offer. The longer she stood there, looking at what she couldn’t have, the friskier she felt.

“Good.” Her gaze snapped to him, shocked. “You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked, not sure what to make of his words. “Why, because he wasn’t wearing a suit? Maybe what I want is a guy who works with his body. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Not what I meant, kitten.” He seemed more amused by her attitude than anything, which only irritated her further.

“What did you mean, then?” Chugging the rest of her drink, she signaled the bartender for another. “And what the hell kind of nickname is kitten?”

Taking the empty bottle from her, he set it out of the way and stepped into her personal space so quickly that she barely had time to blink. With only a thin ribbon of space between them, she could feel the heat emanating off his body, could smell his cologne, something that probably cost more than she made in a month, but that made her want to take a bite out of him.

What is happening?

Also, she’d never been this close to him, and she was pretty proud of herself for not wrapping a leg around his waist and climbing him like a monkey.

“Well?” she prompted, the silence too full of the unspoken need for comfort. “What did you mean?”

The bartender set her fresh beer on the surface beside them. John picked it up before she could and pressed the cool glass to her decidedly warm lips. Her thoughts spun, a kaleidoscope of confusion and need.

Why does he have to be so damn hot?

“I meant that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, not just because you’re a warm, willing body.” He tilted the bottle, and she swallowed the cool liquid that spilled into her mouth. When she licked her lips, his stare followed the movement, and she felt her pulse increase.

Huh. Maybe he hadn’t fully heeded Theo’s warning. Interesting. Now what to do with it?

“What if all I want is a warm, willing body?” she challenged, reaching up to claim her drink. A whisper of a smile ghosted around his lips. “Not all women want a man to put a ring on it, you know.”

“I wouldn’t presume that you would,” he agreed. When he lifted his hand and traced a single finger over the plane of her cheekbone, Meg’s head spun as though she’d had way more than two shots.

Clearly, she’d overestimated her ability to keep her attraction to him under control, but then, she’d never had to withstand such a full-frontal attack.

“You enjoy your fair share of warm, willing bodies. I think that’s fair to say.” She watched as his eyes darkened—had she touched a nerve?

“More than my fair share, probably,” he agreed, gaze intent on her face. He was playing a game here, and he hadn’t shared the rule book, which made her cranky. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. And you deserve more.”

What the hell? He’d had her thinking, for a moment, that maybe he was still into her, but all he’d wanted to tell her was that what was okay for him wasn’t okay for her?

Mamesie had raised her and her sisters to be strong, independent women who knew what they wanted and went after it. And she was pretty sure that each and every one of them, in this situation, would call bullshit.

“So, you’re saying there’s a double standard here, then.” She stepped back, increasing the space between them until she could breathe again. “You can enjoy as many casual encounters as you want, but I’m supposed to be a good little kitten and wait for someone to come along and cherish me. Well, guess what? Screw that.”

She got enough of this big-brotherly crap from Theo—she didn’t need it from someone she desired. Spinning on her heel, she started to stalk off—she’d find Theo and Jo and inform Theo yet again of just what she thought of him interfering in her love life before insisting that he drive her home as punishment for his crimes.

Before she could take more than two steps, John grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her back toward him. She bared her teeth, daring him to manhandle her, but he did just that, gathering both of her wrists in his large hands and holding them up in front of her.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle, but she seethed, spitting fire from her eyes.

“Would you let me finish?” he replied mildly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb, distracting her.

How the hell was she supposed to maintain any kind of defense?

“I have nothing against casual encounters, as you so kindly pointed out. To be crude, sometimes just getting off is enough, yes?” He arched an eyebrow but continued before she could reply, “But when I say that you deserve someone who wants to be with you for you, I mean exactly that. It’s like food.”

“I’m not following.” No, she sure wasn’t, but she was suddenly very aware of his mouth, which suddenly seemed very, very close to her own.

“This might make your chef’s self shudder, but we can survive on fast food, right? On food that comes in a box, or a can, that’s quick and easy. It sustains us technically.” He dipped his head, and when his lips brushed the lobe of her ear, Meg felt her knees tremble. Had she thought she was in control here? Stupid, stupid her. She needed to get a grip, though, because he wasn’t trying to turn her on—that was all on her. “But don’t we all deserve a three-course dinner cooked by someone with your skill? Or are you, of all people, going to tell me that those yield the same experience?”

“I like fast food,” she managed, trying not to shudder when his lips moved to the shell of her upper ear. She knew he was only whispering in her ear because it was so loud, but she couldn’t stop the effect it had on her.

He frowned, small lines crinkling around the corners of his eyes. He looked her up and down, gaze lingering on the skin revealed by the low-cut neck of her dress. “I don’t like the idea of you going home with strangers.”

“You do it all the time,” she retorted. He pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“You’re a smart woman. I won’t tell you why that’s different.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to yell. “I’m not saying that it’s right, or that it’s just how it is. But you know damn well that there’s a big difference between a man going home with a strange woman for the night, and a woman going home with a man. Bad things shouldn’t happen, but they do, and I don’t want them to happen to you.”

She ground her teeth together in frustration, and a good chunk of the emotion was because he wasn’t wrong.

“Well, what’s a horny single woman to do, then?” She smirked when he choked. “No matter where I meet a man, I can’t be sure that I’m safe until I get to know him. And once I know him, it’s not casual anymore, unless both parties agree.”

“I—” He started to speak, then stopped himself, shaking his head. “Yeah. You know what? That sucks. That really sucks for women.”

Meg gazed at him as he furrowed his brow, clearly working this over, and as she did, an idea formed. It was a bad idea. A very bad one, probably, but after the alcohol she’d consumed and the sensation of his lips on her lobe still making her shiver, it seemed completely logical.

“What’s that look for?” he asked warily. “I know that look. I’ve seen it on Jo. It usually means no good for me.”

“On the contrary, I think this would be very good for you. And for me.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip, and his eyes tracked the movement. Ah. Unless she was very much mistaken, John wasn’t feeling too brotherly at the moment.

“Care to clarify?” When his gaze met hers, she noted that his pupils had swollen, the black edging out the glacial color of his irises until only a thin rim of ice remained.

“You’re a smart man. I bet you can connect the dots.” She sucked in a deep breath—here went nothing. “You like casual sex. I’m looking for casual sex, and I’m not worried that I’m going to get into any kind of trouble with you. Amy would go after you with her tattoo machine, never mind Beth and all those scary-looking tools in her garage.”

“Wait. What?” He gaped at her like something out of a comic book. “What did you just say?”

“I said that Amy would go after you with her tattoo machine.” She knew what he meant, but nerves had flooded her veins, and she needed a moment to recover, to breathe. What had she just suggested? “And Jo... Well, she’d get creative. She’d probably put you in one of her blog posts and claim that you have a small penis.”

“I do not have a small penis,” he informed her. “Also, did you seriously just hit me up for casual sex?”

“What if I did?” Emboldened by the alcohol, though it hadn’t quite drowned out the flutter of nerves in her belly, she inched closer to him. He didn’t pull away. “There was a spark between us that first time we met. If you deny it, you’re lying.”

Testing, she leaned in, just a little. Those pale eyes darkened, the lids lowering to half-mast. Meg felt an answering heaviness in her belly.

“There’s a hole in your theory,” he replied, and she was gratified to hear the slight rasp in his voice. “We know each other. Therefore, it’s not casual.”

“It’s whatever we make it.” Holding her breath, she reached out, laid her palm on his chest. Spread her fingers out slowly, savoring the sensation of the solid muscle beneath her touch. “Weren’t you just saying that we all deserve a gourmet meal once in a while? We know each other. We like each other well enough. Neither of us is looking for anything more than casual. So why should we deny ourselves a gourmet meal?”

A low growl emanated from his throat, and she felt it right between her legs. Her lips parted, and she ran her tongue over them to dampen them as she watched emotions play out over his face.

He liked the idea, that was easy enough to see, but he might still tell her she was crazy and that it wasn’t going to happen. With most men, she could shrug off that kind of rejection—one of the benefits of keeping it casual.

With this man, right here, right now? If he said no, she’d be fine...but she couldn’t deny that it would sting.

“Meg.” Dipping his head, he pressed his forehead to hers. His skin was cool, a sharp contrast to her heat. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

She felt the disappointment as she would a plunge into an icy pool, and she hated that it affected her so much. With a frozen smile, she pulled back, away from his touch, and lifted her chin.

“You’re probably right.” Shit, shit, shit. She was not going to cry. She wasn’t that girl. And why did she even care? “Let’s just pretend I never brought it up, okay?”

Turning, she walked away quickly, heading blindly for... She wasn’t sure. Anywhere that wasn’t here. The bathroom, maybe—she’d get herself composed, then request an Uber.

She made it three feet, and there he was again, stepping into her path.

“Can you please just let me go be embarrassed in peace?” she ground out, trying to step around him. He stepped with her, and she growled with frustration. Then he dipped his head, pressing those full lips of his to her ear again, and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

“I said I didn’t think this was a good idea. I never said I wasn’t interested.”

CHAPTER THREE

DON’T DO IT, MAN.

Oh, but I really want to.

The good angel perched on John’s shoulder didn’t have a chance. John normally had a will of iron, but seeing that other man’s hands on Meg’s body had sent all common sense flying out the door.

“Cat got your tongue?” Meg looked up at him, challenge written all over her face. “Or do epic one-liners like that always render you mute?”

Arching an eyebrow, he opened his mouth to reply, but at the same moment, the deejay decided to play a track with enough bass to make the floor vibrate beneath their feet. Meg winced at the noise. When he pointed toward the front door of the bar, she nodded eagerly and didn’t protest when he placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd.

He could feel the heat of her skin, emanating through the thin—very thin—cotton of her dress. A fabric like that would rip like tissue, revealing all of that soft peach skin, ready for his hands and his mouth.

The way she shivered beneath his fingers told him she might not be averse to that idea.

The air outside the bar was cool after the crush of bodies inside, a gulp of ice water on a parched throat. Watching Meg walk ahead of him, though, threw him right back into the fever.

“Did you know that your dress is completely see-through?” His voice was rough, the words catching in his throat as he guided her through the parking lot to where his car sat. He’d had too many drinks to drive, but it was the only quiet place he could think of to bring her.

“Is it really?” She smirked over her shoulder at him, the expression belying her words. “I had no idea.”

“Meg,” he protested, slowing as they reached his vehicle. With a gentle touch, he pressed her back against the passenger’s-side door, her back to the metal, him at her front. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I didn’t dress like this for you,” she commented mildly, “but if I knew how much you liked red satin thongs, I might have worn one around you sooner.”

He exhaled harshly. Though he wanted to fill his hands with those lush tits of hers that were on full display, he forced himself to lay his palms flat on the car door on either side of her. Lowering his forehead to hers, he laughed roughly.

This was about to get really, really complicated, and yet he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to resist, not anymore. The last shreds of his willpower had disappeared with the word thong.

“John,” Meg whispered, frowning slightly, “I think it’s pretty clear that we both want this. So why are you holding back?”

Why was he hesitating?

With every other woman he’d allowed into his life, even for just a night, he’d had no connection. No attachment to them. Meg, though?

“I like you,” he admitted. He even...cared about her. He wouldn’t be able to just walk away.

“Liking me is good.” Meg grinned up at him, then trailed a finger down his chest, between his pecs...and then farther down. “See? I like you, too.”

Hissing, he caught her hand before she could take him to the point of no return. Still, her fingertips grazed the head of his erection through his slacks, and he saw stars.

“This part is easy,” he informed her, placing a mere inch between them, but an inch he very much needed to form any kind of coherent thought. “It’s the part that comes after that makes this messy.”

“You mean when you leave?” She cocked her head, studying him, and he had the uncomfortable sensation that she could see right through to the heart of him. Right to the part of him that wasn’t as excited to go as he should have been. “I think that makes it easier.”

“How so?” He held his breath, hoping both that she gave him a solid reason not to do this...and also that she had something to say that gave his conscience the all clear.

No, John. No, the little angel on his shoulder whispered.

The devil on his other side knocked the little angel out cold.

“You’re here for, what? One more week?” He nodded, and she pursed her lips—incredibly full lips that would look glorious wrapped around his cock. “That’s perfect.”

“How so?” He was stuck on the image of her lips. Discussing this like it might happen had his brain foggy, and he was having trouble keeping up.

“Well, I know you don’t do commitment. And that’s fine, because I’m not looking for it.”

He frowned slightly. For some reason, he didn’t like that, but she continued, “But I also have this sneaking suspicion that once isn’t going to be quite enough to get this out of our systems.” Without warning, she rose to her toes. Her soft, warm tongue darted out, tracing a line over his jaw, and he groaned with something akin to pain.

“You might be right about that.” His hand was in her hair before he consciously decided to do it, wrapped in the silky chestnut waves. She gasped, a throaty little sound, when he tugged just a bit.

“Do that again.”

Shit. He was really in trouble.

He tugged again, a little harder this time, and had the pleasure of seeing her cheeks flush with the most delicious shade of pink.

He liked to be in control. He could tuck it away and trot out a vanilla version of himself when the situation demanded it, but to have a woman respond to him the way Meg was right now, to just the slightest nonverbal command...

Yeah, one time was most definitely not going to be enough.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” He kept his voice deliberately mild, though he was feeling anything but.

“If you’re asking if I know that you’re a kinky bastard, yeah, I’ve heard the rumors.” She grinned up at him, but the sauciness of her words was undercut by the raw need he saw sparking in her eyes.

“Theo talks too much,” he muttered, to which she smirked.

“You can tell me why Theo knows so much about your kinks some other time.” Her expression grew serious.

“Tell me,” he said softly. Closing the space between them again, he pressed his hips flush with hers. She gasped when he rocked the solid length of his erection against the soft curves of her stomach. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ve been working so damn hard.” Letting her head fall back against the cool metal of the car door, she closed her eyes on a breathy sigh. “I just want to have some fun. It might be nice to be...taken care of.”

“Fuck me.” No way was he walking away from this. No way in hell.

Opening her eyes, she fixed him with a laser-like blue stare. “Isn’t that what you like?”

His control snapped. With a growl, he lowered his hands to her hips. Sliding a palm along the outside of one of her thighs, he wrapped it around his waist, leaving her core exposed.

She gasped when he bent his knees, adjusting their position so that his rock-solid cock pressed against her entrance. With his free hand, he slid an inquisitive finger over her panties, finding her as slick as the satin of the thong she’d teased him with.

“Is this what you want me to take care of?” He rocked into her warmth again, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her leg, against the need to rip that flimsy excuse of a thong aside and drive himself home. “This greedy little pussy?”

“Y-yes.” Her skin was flushed, her breath coming in pants, her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation. “Please.”

“Then let’s discuss terms.”

He might have laughed at the shock on her face as her eyes flew open, but he understood just how desperate she was feeling.

“Now?” Her voice was incredulous. “How about in ten minutes? No, make it five. You’ve got me so fired up—it won’t take long.”

He laughed, a throaty chuckle as he ran his thumb slowly over her lips.

“We’re not doing this until we set some ground rules, kitten.” Reluctantly, he set her back on her feet, smoothing her dress back down around her hips and resenting the hell out of the cotton for the loss of access.

“All right.” She gave a shake like a puppy, as though to clear her head, then squared her shoulders, reminding him again of what he liked about her. She was hot, yes, but she was also stubborn and ambitious, both traits he admired. Both traits he had. “First. This is just for one week, yes? Just until you leave. Full stop.”

“Correct.” Though he was surprised and slightly unsettled to have her lay it out so clearly before he could; he wasn’t used to that. “I can’t offer more than a week.”

“I wasn’t asking for a ring, cowboy.” She arched an eyebrow, and John shifted. She was absolutely right, of course, so why did her willingness to limit their fling to a week unsettle him? “Like I said. I just want to hand over the reins for a few days.”

“I’ve never had a woman give herself to me for an entire week.” The thought of having Meg for seven entire days...of being able to explore things with her that he hadn’t yet with any other woman was intoxicating.

When he looked into her clear blue eyes again, he found her looking puzzled.

“That’s not sexist, is it?” Dammit. He’d just been saying what he felt.

“How is a choice I make freely sexist?” Meg cocked her head, and again, he felt as though she could see right through him.

“Then why are you looking at me like you’re confused?” Dipping his head on impulse, he brushed a hint of a kiss over her full pink lips—their first kiss, a promise of what was to come.

“Because you make it sound like I’m giving you a present.” A hint of uncertainty colored her voice. At least he wasn’t the only one off his game here.

“You are.” Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to take a giant step back, bumping into the car parked next to his. “And it’s a big present. So I want you to be absolutely sure.”

“I’m sure.” If her voice had been full of bravado, he might not have believed her, but what he heard was quiet yet sure. Yeah, she knew what she wanted, which was apparently the same thing he did. That, and the picture she made, leaning against his car with her dress all disheveled, skin flushed and eyes bright from his touch, made it so tempting to seal their deal right then, right there.

But she was giving him a gift, and he wanted to do right by her. So he simply ran a hand over the stubble on his skull and grinned.

“Go home, Meg. Think this over. Are you free tomorrow night?”

She nodded, and the trust in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.

“Come to my hotel for dinner.”

“You don’t have to feed me,” she said as she smiled wryly. “You don’t have to wait, either.”

“You said you wanted to be taken care of,” he reminded her, surprising himself by crossing the space between them and taking her hand in his. He liked the feeling of her fingers twined with his. “I intend to do that.”

She frowned, clearly puzzled, and he swallowed a chuckle. He didn’t mind throwing this confident, competent woman off her game, just a bit.

“So cold showers for us both tonight?” She cocked her head as she spoke, leaning forward slightly. Deliberately, he was sure, to give him a prime view of her rather spectacular tits spilling out the top of her dress.

His cock stiffened impossibly further.

“I’ll take a shower,” he agreed, squeezing her fingers, “but I’ll be doing it with my cock in my hand, thinking about you.”

“John!” she gasped, her hand reflexively squeezing his. “God.”

“You can call me both of those things as much as you want.” He rubbed his thumb over one of her fingers, wondering why the small gesture made his pulse quicken. “But save them for tomorrow. You keep those busy little fingers out of your panties tonight, understood?”

“You’re not serious.” Her spine stiffened. “You can’t tell—”

“I can, and I just did.” He smirked down at her, bending so that he could whisper into her ear. “You gave yourself to me for a week, remember? And I won’t be cheated out of one of your orgasms.”

Meg’s breath thickened, and he wanted to take care of the mean little ache he’d given her, right then and there.

“There she is!”

Meg and John jerked apart, fingers untangling as they heard Jo’s unmistakable, throaty voice. Looking across the parking lot, they saw Meg’s sister and Theo, winding their way through the parked cars.

“What are you doing out here?” Theo frowned at John. John scowled right back, burying a twist of guilt.

He was new to this whole friendship thing, but he was pretty sure that making plans to screw the lights out of someone your friend considered a sister was a no-no.

“We wanted to talk, and it was too loud in there,” Meg replied mildly. She gave no sign of what they’d been discussing, and John had to admire her self-control, because he felt as though his actions were scrawled in red, right across his face for anyone to read.

He felt that twist of guilt, yes, but what he felt for Meg was stronger. Interesting.

“Did he behave himself?” Theo asked Meg darkly as he shot a look at John. His tone was joking, but John again felt the burn.

He’d cultivated the playboy image for years—reveled in it, even. Why did he suddenly care that people saw him that way?

That was a question for another day. He was trying to think up a reply when Meg cut him off.

“Theo, remember what happened when you gave me the John lecture last time?” Her voice was light, pleasant, but with a thread of steel.

“I’m just trying to—” Theo’s words broke off on a shriek as Meg, lightning quick, snaked out a hand. Catching Theo’s left nipple in nimble fingers, she gave it a quick twist that buckled his knees.

“What? Why?” Theo clasped a hand to his wounded chest, his expression tragic as a baby bird fallen from its nest.

“You don’t get to mansplain my choice of bed partners, bro.” Smoothing her hair back, Meg lifted her chin in the air. “And you have nothing to worry about. John and I understand each other perfectly. Now, did you have a reason to track me down?”

“We’re going home,” Theo bit out, glaring at Meg. “Though I’m second-guessing offering you a ride.”

“You deserved it,” Jo informed her partner. The wounded expression on Theo’s face brought laughter rumbling out of John’s chest.

He watched as the three of them piled into Theo’s car, bickering all the way. The message was clear—they were family. They depended on one another. It was something he’d never had, something he didn’t fully understand, and the thought that he was somehow a part of it, even on the periphery, was both comforting and anxiety inducing.

Meg looked out the window as they drove away, and family was suddenly the last thought in his brain. She winked at him suggestively, then made an incredibly dirty gesture with her fingers, and he burst out laughing again.

Tomorrow night was a long way away.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAKING DELIVERIES WAS the part of owning a catering company that Meg liked the least. Today, however, as she made her way from business to business, she found herself grateful for the monotonous busywork.

Making sure that the accounting firm two blocks from her rented kitchen had the correct assortment of cinnamon raisin, multigrain and jalapeño cheddar bagels in their twice-weekly breakfast order kept her from focusing on the way John’s hand had felt as it curved around her thigh, holding her open to him. Delivering a platter of beautifully cut tropical fruit to a local spa helped her keep her mind on something other than how good it had felt to have his rock-solid erection rocking against her damp cleft. And ensuring that she had vegan, paleo, Whole30-and keto-friendly lunch options for a big law firm helped calm the nerves she felt when she thought about the fact that she’d offered herself up on a giant silver platter to a man with wicked intentions in his eyes.

Her feet stumbled as she carried an empty cooler through a revolving door and back to her van. Stowing it inside, she took a moment to perch on the bumper, drawing deeply from her water bottle.

Five more hours. Was she insane?

She contemplated that for a long moment as she wiped sweat from her brow and let the cool water soothe her dry throat.

Theo liked to talk, and while part of his warning about John had simply been to let Meg know that his friend was a player and wouldn’t stick around, the other part...

The other had been meant as a cautionary tale, a story of how John was into control, dominance, being on top, however you wanted to put it.

While she was still irritated with him for presuming that she wanted his opinion on the matter, Theo had, in his weird but loving way, meant to demonstrate that John was not someone Meg would be interested in.

Theo had been wrong.

Yes, she was nervous about what would happen tonight, but more than that, she was excited. She certainly wasn’t going to chicken out, not when she knew, knew right down to her soul, that this next week was going to be something she looked back on when she was eighty and cackled over with glee.

Screwing the cap back on her water bottle, Meg’s certainty faltered for a second as she tried to picture John as a senior citizen, charming all the ladies as he stomped around with his walker. Would he look back on this week with the same warm memories? Would he even remember?

“Doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself as she swung out the back of the van. Closing the doors firmly behind her, she circled the vehicle, then lifted herself up into the driver’s seat.

She might just be the next in John’s line of women, but the spark between them was real. Why shouldn’t she act on it, sow some wild oats before they went their separate ways next week?

Busywork complete, Meg couldn’t hold back the tsunami of reflection as she pulled out into traffic. Downtown Boston was hideous to navigate at any time of day, but driving her massive van was like steering the Titanic, and cars tended to get the hell out of the way when they saw her coming, leaving her with plenty of time—too much time—to think.

She was twenty-seven. Most women her age had already gone a little wild, usually right after high school or during their years in college. College hadn’t been a financial possibility for her or any of her sisters, and she hadn’t had much time to party, either.

Beth had been sick, and medical bills were like quicksand, pulling them all down into the mire. Mamesie, a single mom, had needed help supporting the household and raising the girls, and as the eldest, that responsibility had fallen to Meg.

She didn’t begrudge any of the years she’d spent helping, but she was maybe a little wistful when she thought of the ways her sisters had gotten to be young, ways in which she hadn’t because she’d been the normal daughter, the one who held it all together—the one who could be relied on, the one who never made a fuss.

But now...now her family had some breathing room, and she wanted to gulp in great mouthfuls of air. She had a healthy libido, and she liked sex, even though, in her experience at least, most men tended to be greedy lovers. Greedy, or willfully ignorant. The last man she’d dated had insisted that it was impossible for a man to find the clitoris since he didn’t have one. The day she’d broken up with him, she’d helpfully printed out a diagram for him, coloring the area in question in with a highlighter.

She snorted at the memory.

“You’ve earned this.” Checking the clock, she saw that her countdown was now four hours, and a small shudder of anticipation ran through her.

Something told her she wasn’t going to have to print out a diagram for John. Hell, she’d been on edge last night, just from having him between her thighs as they talked about what they were going to do.

She’d have been lying, too, if she said she wasn’t feeling a little bit smug to be the one he was focusing on right now. She’d seen how other women reacted to him, but he’d chosen her.

Of course, the sheer number of women who noticed him was why Theo had been warning her in the first place. But ultimately...did it matter? They’d set limits. One week and done. Of course, he’d move on to someone else after. She would, too—she’d make sure of it.

She liked John—really, truly liked him as a person. But that didn’t mean she planned to join the ranks of women mooning around after he’d left them. Yes, she would move on after.

Move on with a clearer understanding of what she wanted. She was the good girl, the good daughter, and she bet that Theo would never have been able to imagine what she had planned for tonight. Not that she’d want him to, because ew. But still. It felt good to have a dirty little secret even if she could hardly believe it herself.

Her phone rang. It was routed through the Bluetooth on the dashboard, and she should have been used to the noise, but it made her jump all the same.

“Hello? I mean, A Moveable Feast Catering.” She still wasn’t used to the fact that the company was hers.

“Please hold for Gavin Aronson.” A woman trying to suppress the Southie in her voice and not succeeding burst through the van’s speakers, followed by a beep sharp enough to make Meg wince. She quickly turned the volume down, but the next voice that came over the line was pitched so low that she had to turn it back up.

“Is this Meg Marchande?” No Southie in this voice. No, unless she was very much mistaken, the man now on the line had the nasal sound that came from someone raised in the Long Island area. “The Meg Marchande who catered the art show at Fifth Central Gallery last week?”

“That’s me.” She immediately felt herself sitting up straighter, as though she were about to be interviewed. In her line of work, a phone call often was the interview, two minutes in which to convince a potential customer why they should trust their event to her and not the competition.

“Well, Meg, my name is Gavin. I’m the director of a little company called Hyde Park Entertainment. You’ve heard of us?”

She hadn’t, but she certainly wasn’t about to say that, so she simply hummed, noncommittal.

“Hyde Park produces all kinds of ventures—concerts, festivals, films, award shows.” He paused, as though waiting for applause, so Meg hummed again encouragingly. “I was intrigued by the food at the gallery show. Those things are usually cheap wine and grocery-store cheese. Your offerings added a bit of flair.”

A bolt of excitement made Meg’s blood sizzle. Concerts? Festivals? She was so on board.

“People who simply do what is expected of them rarely get ahead,” she commented mildly, trying to keep the elation out of her voice.

“Interesting.” His voice was thoughtful. “We have several events coming up that I think you’d be a good match for.”

“Really?” Her voice squeaked, and she coughed to cover it. “I mean, that sounds very interesting.”

“We’re hosting a banquet for the mayor’s office this Friday,” he continued, and she sucked in a deep breath. “Our caterer dropped out at the last minute, and I’d like to hire you. Why don’t I arrange a brief for you? You can read it and see the scale of one of these events. Is that something you might be interested in?”

Meg’s hands clenched on the wheel as she did a little butt wiggle in her seat. She confirmed the address of her rental kitchen, and he said he’d have a briefing document couriered over the next day.

As Gavin ended the call, Meg finally let out an excited screech. A car beside her honked; she looked over to find a woman watching her with a startled expression—both of their windows were down, and she’d heard Meg’s scream. Mouthing an apology, Meg sped up, eager to get home and tell her sisters before she took the time to get ready for her evening with John.

This was a huge coup for her little business. And more than that, it would provide a welcome distraction from John after he left. See? No way was she going to be one his former flings, wishing desperately for something more.

She was going to make that something more for herself—but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy him along the way.

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