About the Authors

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.

A.C. ARTHUR is an award-winning author who livesin Baltimore, Maryland, with her husband, three children, grandson and English bulldog named Vader. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school and she hasn’t stopped since.

Also by Lauren Hawkeye

Between the Lines Playing Dirty

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Sweet Temptation

Lauren Hawkeye

A Private Affair

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09930-1

SWEET TEMPTATION & A PRIVATE AFFAIR

Sweet Temptation © 2020 Lauren Hawkeye A Private Affair © 2020 Artist C. Arthur

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Sweet Temptation

Back Cover Text

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

A Private Affair

Back Cover Text

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

About the Publisher

Sweet Temptation

Lauren Hawkeye

“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!

For Patience

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.

CHAPTER FIVE

“HI, JOHN.”

Startled, John tore his gaze away from his phone as a woman got onto the elevator behind him. Smiling back automatically, he racked his mind for a reason behind the redhead’s knowing smirk...and her name.

“Hi... Madison.” He wrestled the name from the folds of his brain, along with the history behind his knowing it. Madison was a paralegal, working on the floor above Crossing Lines. She was friends with Theo’s assistant, Ava. They’d all gone out for drinks once, and the woman had let him know that she was available for a good time.

“Having a good week?” She batted her eyes at him, and he was momentarily distracted. Not because he was attracted to the come-hither gesture, but because he was wondering if her eyelashes could be real. They looked like Muppet fur glued to her lids.

It wasn’t hot.

Belatedly, he realized that she’d asked him a question.

“Yes, thanks. You?” He knew what she was going to say—the gist of it, at least—before she spoke.

“It could be better,” she pouted, pursing her shiny lips. Her gloss was so thick it made a slight smacking sound when she spoke, putting him in mind of the slightly tacky consistency of drying paint. It, too, wasn’t hot.

Even a month ago, the woman’s thick layer of makeup wouldn’t have bothered him, if he’d even noticed it at all. He would have enjoyed the attention, let her admiration fill up the void inside him, the one he’d been trying to fill his entire life.

It might even have worked, at least for the hours he spent skin to skin with another human. Ultimately, though, that warmth would have evaporated like mist, slipping through his fingers because of its lack of substance. And yet he’d always been scared to pursue to anything more solid, afraid that it, too, might disappear.

And those were some deep thoughts to be having with a gorgeous woman making it clear that she was interested.

His problem? She might be interested, but he was not.

The elevator bell dinged as it reached the floor that housed Crossing Lines, and John nodded at the woman before slipping out of the elevator the second it opened. He registered the indignant huff at his back—women who looked like that rarely struck out.

But last night he’d dreamed of Meg. More specifically, he’d dreamed of parting those sweet, plump thighs and sliding between them. He’d spent a sweaty night, haunted by those erotic images, and had woken hard, his cock in his fist.

Meg was the sweetest temptation he’d ever known, and until he’d had his fill of her decadent body, no other woman was going to whet his appetite.

“Morning, John.” Ava was sitting behind her desk, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched as she sipped from a Starbucks cup. She’d seen him blow off her friend and expected an explanation.

“Morning.” She wasn’t getting it, not from him anyway. Striding past her, he angled his body toward the office that had been his for the last few months. His dream still so fresh it seemed real, he stepped quietly as he passed Theo’s office.

If Theo knew his plans for Meg, he’d punch John in the nuts.

“John!” Dammit. That was Jo’s voice, and there was no way to pretend he hadn’t heard her. Turning reluctantly, he found Meg’s sister sitting on Theo’s desk, legs swinging as she watched a man in torn jeans install a light fixture.

“Morning.” He forced a smile to his lips, directing it at Jo, then at Theo, who was sitting behind his desk. He avoided eye contact with the latter. “Are we finally getting rid of those fluorescent lights? Thank God. They make me look pale.”

He winked at Jo, patting his brown cheek, and she grinned. “You can thank me. Theo’s been dragging his ass about the expense, but we met Aaron here last night at the bar.”

The man on the ladder grunted as he strained to connect a wire.

“Don’t we usually go through a referral agency?” John lowered his voice as he eyed the stranger in the room. He couldn’t see his face. “How do we know he’s not going to burn the place down?”

“That’s rude—” Jo started, but the other man cut her off, starting to climb down the ladder.

“You know because I’m a master electrician, certified by the state of Massachusetts. And you like me because I’m giving you a discount on these fixtures. Former client decided against them and couldn’t send ’em back.” He grinned, offering his hand. “Aaron Horton. Nice to meet you.”

“John Brooke.” He took the offered hand reluctantly, squinting at the other man. “Do I know you?”

“Saw you at the bar last night,” Aaron replied mildly, though John didn’t miss the fact that the other man was sizing him up. “You’re Meg’s friend.”

John found himself squeezing harder than strictly necessary before letting go. This—this—was the man Meg had been dancing with. The one who’d had his hands on her soft curves. The one Meg had considered going home with.

He wanted to snarl, to tell Aaron to stay the hell away from his woman. Except Meg wasn’t his woman, and both Theo and Jo were listening intently, having picked up on the tension building in the small room.

“That’s right,” he finally managed to grind out through his teeth. “Meg’s...friend. Jo here is her sister.”

“Sweet.” The other man cast Jo a somewhat sheepish grin. “I’m going to take this as a sign, then. I didn’t get Meg’s number last night, and I’ve been kicking myself. Do you think she’d mind if I got it from you?”

“Hell no.” John bristled. He looked over at Theo, who was doing the same.

“No?” Theo cast John a quizzical glance, and John realized his misstep—he didn’t have to say anything. Theo would slip into big-brother mode and refuse to pass along Meg’s number anyway.

“Something tells me you aren’t going to give the number of someone you consider a sister to a stranger.” John couldn’t hold back the scowl.

“Aren’t you Mr. Sensitivity this morning?” Theo replied, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was assessing as he looked at John, and John knew he had to bite his tongue if he didn’t want his friend finding out about his feelings for Meg.

“Uh, I’m standing right here,” Aaron offered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I get it. I wouldn’t just hand my sister’s number out to anyone who asked, either.”

“I don’t suppose any of you have thought to consider what Meg might want on this occasion?” Rolling her eyes again, Jo slid off Theo’s desk to her feet. Crossing her arms over her chest, she arched an eyebrow in John’s direction. “And how many ladies’ numbers do you have in your contact list, stud?”

John clenched his jaw but didn’t answer.

“Thought so,” Jo smirked, then patted Aaron on the shoulder. “How about I’ll give Meg your number, and she can decide whether or not to call you? Come see me when you’re done.”

And then she was gone, mumbling something about Neanderthals.

An awkward silence surrounded the three men until John muttered about getting to his office and left. Once in the small room, he clicked the mouse to wake his laptop up, then sank into his chair with a sigh.

The sigh turned to a grunt of frustration at the knock on the door. He’d left it open a crack, but now it opened fully, framing the electrician.

“Hey, man. I just wanted to say that I’m not into stealing someone’s girl.” Aaron held out his hands, palms up. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

John hesitated. He could agree that Meg was, in fact, his girl, and then this guy would back off. But then there was a chance that Aaron would mention it to Theo or Jo, and John was already carrying enough guilt over his plans to debauch Meg that evening.

He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, because for most of his life, he’d only had to answer to himself. He should say that Meg wasn’t his. It was the truth, after all.

Instead, he gave in to the primal urge to claim his woman.

“Stay away from her.” He pointed at the door. “You can see yourself out.”

CHAPTER SIX

MEG FALTERED AS she stood in front of John’s hotel room, a bottle of whiskey cradled in the crook of her arm. She’d made it through handing the keys to her giant white catering van to the hotel’s valet, and she’d only felt slightly out of place as she carried the cheap alcohol through the sleek, modern lobby that screamed money.

Now, faced with the reality of what she was about to do, and whom she was going to do it with, she felt the nerves bubble up inside, frothing up and over like champagne in a wineglass.

“Chill out, Marchande,” she muttered, the dense velvety carpet beneath her feet and silk-covered walls absorbing the bite of the words. “You’re not here to marry him.”

Still, she’d never known anyone, lover or friend, so very different from herself. If she let herself think about it, it was extremely disconcerting.

“Are you going to knock or just stand out there all night talking to yourself?” John’s voice filtered through the heavy door, making her jump.

“Why are you standing by the door like a creeper?” Pressing a hand to her chest to slow her suddenly thundering pulse, she focused on the peephole. Knowing he was looking back made her senses come alive, and it was hard not to fidget.

The door opened, and then there he was, a lean hip propped against the doorway. Dressed in a simple black polo and jeans that probably cost more than her van, he still exuded power. Still, Meg’s mouth dried up at this glimpse into another side of him—she’d never seen him without the armor he wore at the office.

“You’re staring.” His pale eyes, so light against the gorgeous brown of his skin, roamed over her, as well. She loved clothing, loved the way she could change how the world saw her with what she wore. As his stare lingered on the simple cotton candy–pink sundress she’d landed on, though, she had the uncomfortable realization that he might be one person whose view of her didn’t change with what she wore.

That was nerve-racking as hell, so she held up the whiskey, using it as a distraction.

“Will this buy me entry?” She lifted it higher so he could read the label. “Apparently it tastes like caramel and pears.”

“No.” Still, he wrapped his fingers around the glass, tugging it and her forward into the room. With his other hand, he fingered the slim strap of her dress, his touch leaving heat in its wake. “But this sure as hell will.”

“You like?” Part of her was thrilled that he’d taken a moment to comment on her choice of dress, to compliment it. Most of the men she’d dated wouldn’t have cared if she’d shown up at their door in a paper bag, so long as it made its way to their bedroom floor.

Raising the bottle, both of their hands still wrapped around it, he coaxed her into a slow circle, and she felt the kiss of his gaze on every inch of her body.

“I hate it,” he disagreed. She frowned, taken aback, then gasped when he pulled her against him abruptly. She collided with the solid wall of his chest.

“This is a Rachel Roy,” she informed him. “I wore it because I wanted to look nice for you.”

“I appreciate that you like fine things. It’s something we have in common,” he agreed, pulling her against him so abruptly that the bottle fell. It bounced on the thick carpeting, and Meg gasped as she felt one of his large hands splayed over her back. “But I’m far more interested in what’s underneath.”

A soundless cry escaped her lips as his hand slid down, down to cup the curves of her ass. When he squeezed, her vision blurred.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It took far more concentration than it should have to spit out that one simple sentence. Wiggling in his grip, she strained to reach the zipper of her dress. She’d only worked it down an inch when his hand closed over hers.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered. Squeezing the hand he held quickly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then took a deliberate step back. After being pressed against the inferno that was his body, Meg felt chilled. She wanted the heat back.

“Don’t pout.” He ran a finger along her jaw, and she couldn’t help but lean into the touch, a flower to the sun. “I’m going to treat you right.”

Bemused, she wandered the suite as he uncovered dishes on the gorgeous glass dining room table in the suite. His hotel room was huge. She’d have bet money she didn’t have that the square footage was nearly equal to that of the entire house she shared with Mamesie and her sisters.

She ran a hand over the silky bedspread. Yeah, the room was as big as her house, and nicer, too.

“Nice digs.” Perching on the edge of the bed, she leaned back on her hands and watched as he organized the table. “Is your house this nice? Where do you live when you’re not traveling anyway?”

“I don’t,” he replied simply, dusting his hands and turning to face her. “Have a house, that is. I’m always on contract, always traveling, so there isn’t a point.”

Meg sat up straight, swallowing the words that wanted to slip off her tongue.

That’s so lonely.

And also yet another sign that whatever this thing was between them—it was temporary. It could never be anything else.

“Shall we eat?” John crossed the plush carpet to her, and she pushed the maudlin thoughts from her mind as she placed her hand in his. She tried to sit in one of the two chairs. When he kept his grip on her, she looked up at him questioningly.

“Not so fast.” Just a hint of that wicked grin of his played out over the corners of his lips, and her stomach did a slow roll. All he had to do was look at her, and she wanted him. Wanted him more than anyone she’d ever wanted before.

“Don’t get between me and my food.” She heard the breathlessness in her own voice. “There’s a reason I’m a chef, you know. I like to eat.”

“I won’t let you go hungry.” That grin again, and she knew he wasn’t talking about food at all. She swallowed hard and focused on the table as a distraction since he seemed intent on taking this thing slowly.

“How come there’s only one place setting?” She arched an eyebrow at him, then squealed when he lifted her off her feet. Seating himself in one of the plush chairs, he settled her on his lap, a hard arm banded around her middle.

“Relax,” he told her as she squirmed. She couldn’t help shifting, though, savoring the sensation of his hard thighs and the scratchy denim on her bare skin. And she certainly didn’t miss his reaction to having her on his lap.

“How can I relax? Something’s poking me.” Craning her neck, she grinned at him over her shoulder, savoring a bolt of triumph when he laughed, a genuine sound of amusement.

“Keep wiggling, and it’s just going to get...harder...to stay seated.” Pressing his lips to the base of her neck, he trailed them down her nape, making her shiver.

“Since you seem to want to take this slowly, maybe I should get off your lap.” She didn’t want to, though. The hardness beneath her, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his arms around her—she liked it. Probably more than she should for something that was only—could only be—temporary.

“Nope.” Still holding her tight, he pulled a plate toward them. Her chef’s eye appreciated the artistic presentation, even as she sniffed to discern the different ingredients.

He lifted a small bite to her lips. Surprised, she turned her head as far as she could.

“You want to feed me?” Gesturing to the huge array of full plates, she laughed. “That could take all night.”

“I want to take care of you,” he corrected, pressing the bite to her lips. She hesitated, then opened, groaning at the tastes that spread out over her tongue like the heat spreading through her belly.

She was a strong woman. She identified goals and charged after them. She spoke her mind.

But here she was with someone willing to give her exactly what she wanted, what she craved. Even if it was only for a week, how the hell could she say no?

“Far be it from me to argue.” She chewed and swallowed. “I’d never pay for food like this on my own, but I’m not dainty enough to turn my nose up at it.”

“I don’t want someone dainty.” His words held a thread of impatience as he selected another bite and held it to her lips. “I want someone who will let me spoil them. Now, eat that and tell me what you taste.”

Meg chewed again, letting the flavors roll over her tongue. “It’s a scallop. There’s definitely ginger in there. And I think that umami flavor comes from seaweed, but there’s another layer I can’t put my finger on.”

“Sherry, according to the menu.” He took one for himself this time. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“The catering company.” She allowed him to feed her another bite, this time of boar belly with sweet potato, blueberry and morel mushrooms. “I started there at sixteen, just waitressing at events, but the owner let me hang out with her in the kitchen when she was cooking, and she taught me everything I know.”

“You didn’t want to learn from Mamesie?” He took another bite for himself, and she was jealous of the food for being against his wickedly full lips. “I’ve been to your house for dinner. She’s one hell of a cook.”

He would notice that. He noticed everything. She hesitated—she wasn’t big on sharing her private thoughts. She avoided social media like the plague because she just didn’t think anyone needed that much detail about her life. But this was John. He was a friend, of sorts, and about to be more. Sharing with him was surely okay.

“After our dad died...” Her voice trailed off. Saying anything bad about her family always felt like a betrayal. They’d survived by banding together...but sometimes she just needed some space to breathe. “I spent a lot of time giving. Helping Mamesie with the younger girls. Working to contribute to the household. Cooking, cleaning, helping with homework. And I don’t resent any of it, not at all. But having those cooking lessons, from someone who wasn’t part of the family...”

“You didn’t have to share.” He brushed a kiss over the slope of her shoulder, and she understood that he meant it to soothe rather than arouse.

Against her better judgment, she felt something fluttering in the vicinity of her heart. Before she could stop herself, she’d dipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting him absorb some of the responsibility, just for a second.

It felt...good. Amazing, even. She wanted more.

She couldn’t have it. This was not something she should be getting used to.

Yeah, he cared about her, at least a little bit, because their lives were connected, and he wasn’t a soulless monster. But he lived his life hotel room by hotel room, and she...she had so many commitments that she’d once cried when she’d missed a cooking lesson due to one of the girls having the flu.

She needed to get a grip.

“Speaking of sharing.” Shifting on his lap, she wiggled around so that she could see his face. “I don’t. Not with this. It’s only a week, so...do you think you can do that?”

Something flickered in his eyes, a shard of ice splintering, but then it was gone, and she thought she might have imagined it in the first place.

She yelped when he stood abruptly, advertising a truly impressive set of thigh muscles as he brought her with him, arms cradling her in a fireman’s hold. Her mouth dried up as he carried her across the room to the bed. Setting her down gently on the silky comforter, he fingered one of the slinky straps on her sundress, gaze boring down into hers, before stepping back.

“This might come as news to you.” He pulled the strap down, baring her shoulder, fingers dancing lightly along her skin. “But I don’t want anyone else.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moved forward another inch, savored her sharp inhalation.

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

He wanted it all, every last bite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t.”

Shit. He’d screwed up here. Big-time.

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

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

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

CHAPTER EIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But isn’t that exactly what you want?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER NINE

MEG COULDN’T CONTROL her nerves as she and John approached his hotel room. She heard the lock disengage as it detected John’s phone. He urged her through the door first with two fingers pressed to the small of her back. Then they were both inside, and her stomach did a slow roll of anticipation.

“Want another drink?” He gestured to the bottle of whiskey she’d brought the night before, which still stood on the table.

“No.” She didn’t want a drink; she didn’t want food. When he turned to face her, she saw the coiled tension in his lean frame and felt the warmth of smug satisfaction.

That tension was because of her—because he wanted her. So many women wanted him, and yet he was here, looking like a lion about to pounce, because of her.

She braced herself for the lion to attack and was unprepared when, rather than grabbing her, he gestured toward the bathroom.

“Let’s have a bath.”

“What?” She frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Partly because we smell like cheap beer and cigarettes,” he replied, eyes tracking the length of her body, “and partly because I want to get you wet and naked.”

“Oh.” She exhaled, and just like that, her body was on fire. She followed him to a bathroom three times the size of her bedroom at home. It was a study in white, clean and bright and luxurious, but what caught her attention was the giant Jacuzzi tub under the window.

She watched, silent, as John started the water, and she felt the kiss of steam on her skin. He added droplets from a selection of small essential oil bottles that lined the edge of the bath, and her next breath was full of bergamot and cedar wood.

That done, he turned to look at her. Eyes on hers, he pulled a condom from the pocket of his pants and set it on the edge of the tub. She swallowed a whimper when he quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it open and then off. She hadn’t seen his naked chest before, and, oh, it was a work of art. He had to log serious hours in the gym, because for a man who spent most of his time sitting at a desk in a suit, he had the musculature of an athlete.

Before she had decided to move, she’d closed the space between them and was trailing her fingers over his abs. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hand moved lower, dipping just below the waistband of his dress pants.

“Undo my belt.” His words were quiet over the roar of the water, but there was no mistaking the steel behind them. They were in this now—he was taking over, making the decisions so that she didn’t have to. For a single breath, panic flared, and as if he sensed it, he took her hands and placed them on his belt buckle himself, helping her past the barrier of her doubt.

With shaking hands, she undid the buckle, then the button that fastened his pants. Her fingers grazed the head of his cock, which swelled beneath the touch.

“Undo the zipper.”

She did, savoring his groan when her fingers danced down his length. Sliding her hand into his pants, she rubbed the heel of her palm over his erection until his hips thrust forward into his touch.

“Undress me the rest of the way.”

Her gaze flew to his face—did he mean that? Wasn’t that going to be awkward? But it was clear that he wasn’t joking, and she felt anything but inept when she pulled his pants and his boxer briefs down with one tug. She thought he would step out of them, would kick them away, but he remained still, so she knelt before him, assisting him out of the pooled garments and then his socks, one at a time.

She started to rise but stopped when he shook his head. Her mouth watered, actually watered, when he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, jerking himself up and down, up and down.

“I told you I was going to find something else for your saucy mouth to do.” His smile was dark as he circled his thumb over the swollen head of his penis. Meg exhaled harshly as she watched a bead of pearly liquid disappear beneath his touch.

Rising to her knees, she reached out for him with her hands, but he again shook his head.

“No hands.” At his command, she fisted them at her sides. “Open up, kitten.”

She trembled from head to toe but did as he told her. When she parted her lips, he rocked forward, pressing the dark head of his erection to her mouth. She tasted salt, opened wider, and then he was on her tongue, heavy with arousal.

She waited for instructions, but none came. She got it—he wanted her to do what she wanted, so she sucked tentatively, experimentally.

He hissed out a breath.

She ran her tongue along the underside.

He groaned quietly.

She flicked that tongue over his swollen head, and he fisted his fingers in her hair. He began to thrust shallowly as she worked him, and her hands strayed up so that she could brace herself on his thighs. She knew he was close when his movements, which he’d kept controlled, sped up, and the muscles of truly impressive thighs clenched beneath her hands. Yet she was the one to cry out with disappointment when he abruptly pulled out of the wet cavern of her mouth.

“Good girl.” His breath was ragged. Her gaze was transfixed by his swollen length as he helped her to her feet—his cock was rigid, long and thick and shiny from her mouth.

She’d done that. That was how much he wanted her.

As if to let her know he appreciated her work, he pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard, and knowing that he didn’t care where her mouth had just been was freaking hot. Sliding his arms around her, he unzipped her dress—a little slip of electric-blue silk she’d gotten in a Tory Burch trunk sale—slipping the spaghetti straps down her shoulders.

She caught the dress at her breasts before it fell off. He’d seen it all yesterday, but tonight, the stakes had been upped. Even though he stood before her, naked and as confident as if he was wearing one of his custom suits, she was the one who felt exposed.

“Take off your dress.” He spoke against her lips, his fingers toying with the loosened straps at her shoulders.

Still, she hesitated. Partly because she was again nervous...and partly because she wanted to see what would happen if she disobeyed.

“Take off your dress,” he repeated, his words now edged with steel. Still, she remained frozen, dress clutched to her chest.

She wasn’t prepared for him to strike. She cried out as he rounded her, catching both of her wrists behind her back. She tugged, but with him holding her like that, she could do nothing when he used his free hand to yank down her dress, where it caught around her hips.

“If you don’t do what I tell you, then I do it for you,” he informed her. Cupping her left breast in his palm, he found her nipple and tugged. She gasped at the bolt of pleasure/pain.

“You’re not allowed to hide your body from me.” Dipping his head, he sank his teeth lightly into the curve of her shoulder. She pressed back against his solid frame, knowing he would hold her up when she trembled. “I need to make sure you remember that. On your knees.”

Oh God. She shouldn’t love this, should she? She shouldn’t feel like her entire core had turned to molten liquid, shouldn’t feel as though she stood on the edge of a cliff and was ready to jump?

This time, she listened. She dropped to her knees, facing the bathtub. John still stood behind her, but she felt it when he followed her down.

Moaning shakily when he touched her ankles, he slid her feet out of the wedge heels she was wearing, then traced a path up the sole of each foot. She was wearing a baby blue lace thong, and her eyes went wide when he slid his fingers under the strap that divided the cheeks of her behind and tugged. It pulled the remaining fabric into the slick heat between her lower lips, and when he experimentally pulled the fabric up and down, she gasped at the delicious friction on her clit.

“Do you remember the day we met?” He continued to toy with the lace, and she felt her pulse, right between her legs. She arched her hips, empty and aching.

Though she hadn’t replied, he continued, “You weren’t dressed in any of your designer dresses. Your face wasn’t contoured. I could count every freckle on that adorable little nose of yours. You were with your sisters, who are all attractive women. But I fucking wanted you.”

This time he yanked on her thong, and she heard the fabric rip. Breath coming in pants, she arched her back, begging for more.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” With the torn fabric of her underwear in his hand, he leaned forward and traced it over her lips. She could smell her own arousal, and it forced her excitement up another level. “Your body is the sexiest thing I could ever conjure up, even in my filthiest dreams. Because it’s yours.”

Meg heard the sound of flesh cracking against flesh before she registered the fact that his palm had just swatted her ass. Her spine stiffened, and he paused, presumably to let her absorb what had just happened.

Her skin stung, stretched hot and tight where his hand had connected with it. It was uncomfortable.

As she shifted on her knees, somehow the newly awoken nerves traveled in a direct line to her clit. Oh—oh, that was new.

That was amazing.

Groaning, she felt herself sliding down until her chest touched the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The position offered her ass up, and she heard him growl.

He was breathing hard when he swiped his fingers through her exposed slit.

“You’re drenched, kitten.” A pleasant fog started to drift through her brain as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back up to her knees. “This body was made for me.”

His hand found her center again. She heard someone crying out over and over—was that her?—as she was pushed higher, then higher still. Then two fingers were inside her, scissoring against her swollen tissue, and she shattered.

She had no awareness of her limbs, of moving or of being moved, but suddenly she was in the steaming bath. John reclined in the scented water, and she straddled his lap. His latex-covered cock pressed against her, his hands at her hips, and she melted around him as he pulled her down, or he surged up, filling her to the brim.

It was too much. It was not enough. She couldn’t handle it, and when he began to thrust, she came again, and again, riding a series of aftershocks that had a scream tearing from her lips. He muttered filthy words in a rough voice, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he followed her over the edge.

The fog overtook her. When she came to, she was lying on the bed, wrapped in a giant plush towel. Her nose was pressed to John’s chest, his arms around her.

Holy crap.

She felt as though she’d been turned inside out. What the hell had just happened?

CHAPTER TEN

HE WAS SCREWED.

He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of different women. He didn’t see any shame in that, because he’d always been up-front with his partners about what he could—and couldn’t—give.

What he’d just experienced with Meg had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered it with crystal clarity—he’d wandered into the Marchande family garage to offer Jo a job, and there she’d been. She’d only been wearing a bra and a pair of faded overalls—none of the fancy clothes she loved. There had been no makeup on her face. She’d been surrounded by her sisters, and yet he hadn’t been able to look at anyone but her.

She’d looked right back. He’d thought that when they got together, any attraction they succumbed to would burn itself out, then be something they could exchange glances over at any future encounters.

He’d been stupid. Having Meg made him think of the tasting menus she put together for clients. So many different flavors. He could eat and eat, stuffing himself and never have his fill.

He had... He had feelings.

He was also leaving. Usually, that was appealing—moving on, a clean slate, a fresh start.

Right now, all he could think of was the fact that when she’d surrendered to him, something had clicked into place. Something that neatly filled all the empty places he ignored.

Pulling her against his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have any answers, but right now, just having her in his arms was enough.

Except she wasn’t all warm and pliant like she’d been just a few minutes ago. She was stiff. Tense.

“What’s wrong?” Pulling back enough that he could see her face, he took in her pale skin, her wide eyes. “Hey. Talk to me.”

She sighed, squirmed with avoidance, then huffed out a breath of exasperation and finally spoke.

“My dad died when I was twelve.” She eyed him warily, and he knew she was searching for signs that he didn’t care, that stories about her past weren’t what he was here for.

He was here for everything, so he nodded for her to continue.

“Mamesie was a stay-at-home mom when it happened, and suddenly, she was responsible for four kids and a house.” Meg’s chin quivered. “I was the oldest, so a lot of responsibility fell to me. I’m the normal kid. The one who doesn’t create any trouble.”

“The one who doesn’t cry?” He traced a fingertip belong one of her eyes. It came away wet. “There’s no shame in crying.”

“Except that I don’t know why I am!” Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed back until there was a ribbon of space between them. He wanted to close it back up but understood that she needed it. “I’m just... I’m not used to having my needs made a priority. It brought out some stuff.”

“Hey.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him full on. “I thought part of what you wanted from me was some care. Isn’t that part of our deal?”

She eyed him uncertainly but didn’t speak.

“Let me provide it.” Swiping under her other eye, he lifted his fingers to show her the wetness. “And let’s start with this. While you’re with me, you are mine. That means these tears are mine. If they’re in you, you’d better let them out so that I can have them. Understood?”

Meg laughed, then sniffed. He couldn’t lie; he was more than a bit relieved that she hadn’t burst into tears. He wasn’t one of those men who panicked at the sight of a crying woman, but he didn’t want Meg to cry. He wanted her to feel like what she was—the queen of the world.

“Orgasms. Therapy.” The corner of her mouth crooked up in a half smile. “You’re a man of many talents.”

“Oh, I’m very talented.” He smirked down at her, sliding his hand around to cup her bottom. “Let me show you.”

“Take a cold shower there, Romeo.” Pulling herself to a sitting position, Meg looked down at him with those big blue eyes, which were now, thankfully, dry. “I have to be up at four to make muffins.”

“I like muffins.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sure you don’t want to see more of my talents?”

“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, then looked at him thoughtfully. “Though since you’ve shown me yours, I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”

“I like this game.” He sat up as well, laughing when she ducked out of reach of his roaming hands.

“Stop that.” She arched an eyebrow. When he stilled, she took one of his hands in hers. Turning it over so that the palm faced up, she traced a finger over the lines that creased his skin.

He watched, saying nothing.

“Mamesie learned to read palms when she was just a kid,” she started, and the touch of her fingers tickled his skin. “She taught all of us girls, but I took to it the most.”

“This is one of your talents?”

“Yup.” She squinted at his palm, and he felt an unexpected trickle of nerves. “I don’t tell most people about it, because they’re skeptical. But since you shared with me, I’m going to share with you.”

“Huh.” She continued to study his palm, where the skin was lighter than it was on the rest of his body.

“Huh?” He was unexpectedly nervous. That was weird. “What’s huh?”

“See this line here?” She traced a finger over the line that curved near the base of his fingers. He nodded, and she continued, “See here, how it branches into two? That’s weird. Like... I’ve never seen that before, and Mamesie never mentioned it as a possibility. I’ve heard of the life line splitting, but never the heart line.”

“What does it mean?” In the dim light, her pale eyes glowed, looking almost otherworldly. He would believe whatever she told him.

She pondered for a moment before speaking. “I don’t know for sure. But my instincts tell me that it means you believed in one direction for your heart, and only one, that you thought would last you for your entire life. And then the branching off indicates that your feelings on matters of the heart have changed, or will change, at some point.”

That was scarily accurate. His feelings had changed...when he met her.

She frowned down at his palm, then looked up, faltering when she saw the intensity on his face.

“I do need to be going.” Dropping his hand, she shimmied to the edge of the bed. He loved that she didn’t hold a sheet to her skin like a life preserver. Instead, she walked naked around the room, collecting her clothing without a shred of embarrassment.

He focused on the view, rather than the words she’d just flayed him open with. Her confidence was hot.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” He knew by now that he was never going to get his fill of her before he left, but he was greedy and wanted as much as he could.

“No can do.” He appreciated the bounce of her breasts as she shimmied into her bra. “I have a girls’ night with Amy tomorrow night, and a family dinner the night after.”

“I like your mom’s cooking.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through.

Dinners with Meg’s family were one thing when he and Meg were just friends. They were something else entirely now that they were involved.

It didn’t matter. He still desperately wanted to attend.

She studied him curiously, as though she was meeting him for the first time. When she finally spoke, it was just to say one word.

“Okay.”

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