by Kendall Ryan
I must be gawking because Hayes puts his warm palm against the small of my back and gently urges me forward.
“Let’s get to work, shall we?” he whispers in my ear.
When my wide eyes meet his confident gaze, his sensual mouth slides into a relaxed smile. Straightening his shoulders, he hooks my arm into the crook of his elbow. My skin lights up like fireworks at his touch, waking me up from my stupor.
I nod toward an older man peering over a nearby display case and whisper his name into my date’s ear. I feel more confident in heels, so I can easily keep up with Hayes’s long strides as we approach the gentleman.
Before we reach our target, I catch Peggy’s eye from across the room where she’s entertaining a circle of familiar guests. She looks absolutely lovely in her floor-length purple gown. She gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and before long, half the room’s eyes are on me. Not only on me . . . on Hayes. It occurs to me that I probably have the most handsome date in the room.
I squeeze his arm tightly as we approach Gene Westwood, CEO of one of the city’s most well-respected investment firms, known for its involvement in various philanthropic efforts.
“Gene?”
He turns around with a look of interest, his white eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
“My name is Maren. We spoke on the phone earlier this week. It’s so lovely to meet you in person,” I say as I extend one hand.
Gene accepts with a hearty shake, a wide smile stretching across his kindly, aged face. “Excellent. So nice to meet you. And this is your husband?”
My heart leaps into my throat but I recover immediately, masking my blush with a smile. “No, Hayes is . . . the inspiration behind the evening. And a very close friend of mine.”
The man on my arm shoots me a sly look that says—Inspiration, huh?—before outstretching his own hand toward Gene, who accepts it with another firm handshake.
“Happy to meet you. Are you enjoying yourself?” Hayes asks, exuding confidence and hospitality.
God, he’s sexy like this.
“Why, yes. What a fantastic event you’ve both put together,” Gene says, gesturing toward the auction items.
“Thank you,” I say, almost positive now that I can convince him to bid generously. With a grateful look around the room, I murmur, “We’ve been very lucky. Everyone has been so compassionate.”
“Now, now, don’t let anyone take the credit for your hard work,” Gene says, leaning in to give me a secretive wink. “My wife and I were just talking about bidding on this World Series treasure you’ve landed. She’s a bigger baseball fan than even me, so you can consider us sold.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.” Honestly, I’m just relieved that the subject came up so naturally.
“That jersey in particular will become a sought-after collector’s item in fifteen, twenty years,” Hayes says, waving Gene over to look more closely at the worn fabric. “The patch on the sleeve is what makes it priceless. It belongs in the hands of someone who will truly cherish it.”
“Indeed it does,” Gene mutters, nodding enthusiastically.
Seeing the excitement in his eyes, I reach over to squeeze Hayes’s hand. Thank you.
The night continues like this, with the two of us making casual but purposeful conversation with some of the biggest moguls in Chicago, only pausing to fill our plates with food from the buffet.
When the band on the corner stage starts playing some soft, crooning jazz, Hayes extends his hand to me. “May I have this dance?”
“Absolutely,” I say, taming my grin into a casual smile.
I slip my hand into his and follow his lead to the dance floor, a slightly upraised stretch of shiny, polished mahogany. Hayes stops, one hand sliding down my arm to lift my hand into his strong, sure grasp, and the other wandering around to the small of my back.
I allow myself to be tucked into his swaying embrace, resting my temple against his shoulder. He smells sweet and earthy, like a spring morning after a full night of rain. Closing my eyes, I sigh deeply, the stress of Riverside’s fate loosening its claws around my heart.
“We make quite the money magnet, don’t we?” Hayes says, his voice rumbling against my hair. His fingers trace shapes along the silk of my dress, scorching the skin beneath with hot excitement.
“It helps that you have the charisma to carry the conversation,” I say with a chuckle. “I can’t improvise like that. Just the thought of it gives me hives.”
Hayes snorts. “My charisma wouldn’t do shit without your earnestness. You’re very easy to fall for.”
I lean back to look him sternly in the eye, which proves to be a mistake. Making eye contact with Hayes is like diving headfirst into a vat of the sweetest, stickiest honey. Good luck getting out.
“That sounds like a charmed existence,” I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “What do you think? Should I quit my job to become someone’s sordid mistress?”
“I’d laugh, but let’s be real. You’d never leave Riverside.”
Surprised, I blink. “Why do you say that?”
“You did all of this. You spent the last month working your ass off to, what, quit and move on to something else?” he murmurs, releasing my hand to cup my cheek. Our feet stop moving, our eyes dancing as we gaze at each other. “That’s why you’re special. Work has never been about money to you. It’s always been about how much you care, dove.”
When I’m speechless, Hayes smirks and goes back to swaying with me in his arms.
How is it that every time I try to have a light, casual moment with Hayes, it always turns into this? This smoldering, heart-on-fire, can’t-catch-a-breath feeling?
“You know me pretty well, don’t you, Hayes Ellison?” I whisper, searching his eyes for some sort of sign, some clue that I’m not imagining this all-consuming fire between us.
“I pay attention, Maren Cox.” His thumb caresses my cheek, his eyes fixed on my lips.
Please kiss me. Please kiss me.
“Hayes—”
“Maren!” calls a female voice from behind me.
I swallow my words, turning around to see Peggy waddling toward us, waving a legal pad in the air.
“Maren,” she says, panting, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying my best to ignore the sensation of my date’s fingers, still pressed against the silk of my gown.
“Nothing is wrong.” She beams, her teary eyes threatening to spill onto her rouged cheeks. “I’ve just tallied up the final list. It’s a miracle. Look!”
The paper she’s showing me is the list of highest bidders. I follow her finger down the length of the page, landing on the final auction item: 2016 World Series Cubs v. Indians Memorabilia. A familiar name is scrawled next to a number with far more zeros than I think I’ve ever seen outside of an episode of Mad Men.
“Gene and Miriam Westwood . . . sixty thousand dollars?” I gasp, the music and chattering of the room only white noise to the beat of my hammering heart.
“I was wondering if you’d like to do the honors of rewarding the highest bidders, my dear,” Peggy says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “You deserve it. The stage is yours.”
Glancing back at Hayes and his encouraging eyes is enough to solidify the truth I’ve been praying for. Riverside is saved.
“I would love nothing more.”
After the last guests have said their good-byes and left for the evening, Hayes and I stick around to clean up whatever we can.
I’m on garbage patrol, limping around with sore feet and a giant garbage bag, tossing the debris of the evening inside. Hayes, meanwhile, helps a handful of volunteers disassemble the stage and carry the tables to the storage closet. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket when we began to help, and it’s impossible not to stare at that muscled back. A low tingle in my belly reminds me what else the night has in store for me.
We stop by the car to pick up my tote bag, which contains pajamas for me, my toothbrus
h, and an extra I picked up for Hayes earlier this week. Leaning against the car in the cool night air, I toss my creepy donor-stalking binder into the back seat. When I reach for the bag again, Hayes intercepts me.
“I’ve got it.”
“You know, you don’t have to do the whole gentleman act still,” I say before leaning in to whisper, “I think the fancy part of the evening is over.”
“Oh, in that case—”
Hayes swings my bag around and around, threatening to dump all of its contents onto the parking lot.
“No, Hayes!” I laugh, reaching for him. “Okay, okay, five more minutes of gentlemanly behavior, and then you’re free to be a savage.”
Hayes sighs dramatically, muttering that five minutes is too long. He straightens his shoulders, threading one arm through the loops of my bag before offering me the other to lean on. Smirking, I wrap my hand around his firm bicep and shuffle alongside him toward the hotel.
It only takes minutes to sign in and get our room key. In the elevator, I lean against the wall, a small smile on my lips at how well tonight’s event went. Hayes leans against the opposite wall, watching me.
“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice so tender it should be illegal.
“Exhausted.” I sigh, cocking my head to the side to give him a tired smile. “Happy. Free.”
“Free?”
“It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders,” I murmur, closing my eyes. “It’s like I’ve been underwater this whole month, and now I can finally breathe again.”
When I open my eyes, Hayes is looking at his wristwatch.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a huff. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all.” He smirks, but his eyes stay locked on the silver accessory.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
He holds up one finger, an annoying gesture to wait. Finally, he drops his arms, my bag, and its contents along with them.
“Seriously, Hayes? What’s wrong with y—”
With one long stride, he’s on me, his hands on my jaw, angling my mouth up to his in a kiss so fiery, it sears right through me. All questions die on my lips as the kiss overwhelms me.
I clutch his shoulders with desperate fingers, my mind deliciously blank. Greedy for more, I open my mouth to his insistent tongue, which eagerly slips inside to caress my own. One long leg presses between mine and rubs against my core with a satisfying urgency. When he releases me, our lips parting, his eyes are nearly black with desire.
“What was that for?” I ask, breathless.
Hayes leans in, tracing a path down my neck with his hot, wet tongue. “Your five minutes are up. Time to be a savage.”
13
* * *
HAYES
The door slams shut behind us, and I press Maren against it.
It’s like the tension that’s been building all night has finally burst, and we’re helpless against it. I’m helpless against it. I’ve wanted this for so long, and the moment her mouth met mine in the elevator, I knew she wanted this too. So to be here now, to know what’s coming next, it’s almost too much to handle.
Almost.
I bring my hands to her hips and drag her body closer so we’re pressed tightly together. She lets out a little sound of surprise when she feels how hard I am. And believe me, I’m hard enough to pound nails.
Fuck. Slow down, Hayes.
I press my forehead to hers and draw a breath, my voice raspy as I say, “Dove.”
She touches my jaw, tilting my mouth back down to hers. “More.”
I groan and give in, kissing her deeply. My tongue tangles with hers, and I feel powerless to do anything but give her everything she wants. And it’s obvious she wants this—more kissing and less talking.
Her hands reach for my jacket, and she peels away the first layer of clothing between us. I reach for her hair, cradling the back of her head as I slide my tongue into her mouth. She moans and bucks her hips into me, clearly telegraphing her thoughts. Less clothes. Now.
I guide us to the king-size bed, removing my shirt in the process. Maren unzips her dress and begins to pull it over her head, but I stop her, holding her hands by her wrists.
“Let me.”
She nods, and I lift her arms over her head before bending down to gather the hem of her skirt. Slowly and with pleasure, I peel the dress from her body, kissing each new portion of skin I reveal along the way. Her knees, her thighs, her hips, her belly. When I reach her mouth, I drop the dress to the floor, and we fall onto the bed together.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say softly, taking her breast in my hand and rolling her nipple between my fingers, and she sighs and throws her head back.
I want to savor every moment of our first time together. I want us to enjoy this. I want her to enjoy this. I want her to be ready.
“Come here,” I say, and Maren obeys, climbing on top of me so that my cock strains behind my zipper, pressing into her center. “Ride me.”
She looks at me for a moment, her eyes full of lust and hunger and a hint of confusion. I grind up into her. She shudders and smiles in understanding. With one hand splayed against my abs, she gyrates her hips over mine, moans instantly pouring from her lips. It only makes me harder to see her like this, using me for her pleasure, getting herself off.
I pull her face down to mine and kiss her again, deeper and more urgently than before, moving my hips against her rhythm. She sighs into my mouth, and when she pulls away panting, her face is flushed, her hair spilling over one shoulder. God, she’s beautiful like this.
“I need you,” she says, panting out the words between breaths.
She climbs off me only long enough to shimmy out of her panties. I draw down the zipper to my dress pants, and Maren tugs them down my hips.
I could almost laugh at how eager she is. But right now, there’s no humor. Just a whole lot of sexual tension—tension that’s been building for actual years.
I’m so desperate for her, I could burst. But I vow not to, not until she’s come for me first. I pull off my boxer briefs and drop them over the side of the bed. Maren’s eyes drink me in, widening slightly as they settle for a moment at my crotch.
I press my lips to her neck as she climbs back on top of me. This time, I feel how wet she is, and I groan as she moves her hips and we slide together.
Clutching her hip in one hand, I slow her movements.
“Could you come like this?” she asks, a mischievous smile tilting her lips.
Could I come like this? She really has no idea what she does to me. “Is that what you want?”
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “I want you inside me.”
“Condom?” I ask softly.
She meets my eyes. “I’m good if you are.”
“I’m . . . good,” I say, breathing out the word. I’ve always used condoms. Always. But Maren is different. And since I haven’t been with anyone since Samantha dumped me, and I was tested right after that, I know I won’t be putting Maren at risk.
Lifting up on her knees, she brings one hand between us to lift my cock from my stomach and then . . . fuuck.
Breathe, Hayes.
She’s hot and tight and so perfect.
I groan at the amazing warmth that greets me. She lowers herself, sliding slowly as she adjusts to the feel of me stretching her.
Her eyes sink closed and she makes a low, pleasure-filled sound. “Hayes.”
“Fuck, you feel so good.” I growl out the words, rising up on my elbows to nip at the soft spot between her ear and shoulder.
She gasps as I thrust deeper into her, every inch a step closer to heaven. She takes me until I’m fully inside her, and every muscle in my body tightens to avoid the pending orgasm I can feel building at the base of my spine.
It doesn’t take long for her to find her rhythm. The sounds coming out of her mouth are otherworldly.
Maren’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, and that kn
owledge doesn’t settle well with me. It’s a dangerous realization that I don’t have time to dwell on because she begins moving faster, her cries growing louder.
As she comes apart, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her hair is wild. I wish I could slow time, wish I could focus on each little detail of this moment, but Maren’s beginning to unravel, and I know I won’t be far behind. When she finishes, I clutch her tightly, erupting with a wild bolt of pleasure that I feel through every nerve ending. After, we collapse back onto the bed together, our chests heaving.
I’m starting to drift off to sleep when she places her fingertips on my shoulder.
“We should probably clean up, sleepyhead,” she whispers. Her face is still flushed, sweat glistening on her chest, her curls wild and messy around her head. She’s perfect.
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur with a tender kiss to her temple.
“You have a good weekend?” Wolfie asks, his voice as even as ever.
He doesn’t suspect a thing.
“Yeah.” I choke out my response as we head toward the conference table to join the guys for our weekly team meeting.
We’re in the back office, overseeing product development as always. Except not quite as always. Because most days, I haven’t just fucked Wolfie’s younger sister over the weekend.
“What’d you do?” He folds his hands on the table, watching me.
“Not much.” Another lie. They come so easily to me now.
Guilt swarms inside me. As much as I try to pretend I have it all together, I’m nervous as hell. My heart pounds inside my chest.
What’s the end game here? What happens when Wolfie finds out? Or when I hurt Maren without meaning to? Because that’s bound to happen when you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. And I don’t. I don’t have a fucking clue.
