All ONES: The Complete Collection

by Aleatha Romig

  Things could be different in a beach hotel. We could take pretend to a whole new level with the ocean crashing outside the windows.

  Duncan wants my ground rules, but I'm not sure I know my ground rules. My mind and body have been in constant disagreement since I proposed the deal to Duncan.

  While I can't decide on my rules, I know without a doubt that the mere thought of him makes my insides pinch. His shimmering gaze, drop-dead sexy smirk, and deep, rumbling voice send ripples through me, causing involuntary reactions that bring my nipples to attention as well as dampen my panties. He's been a fantasy for so long that the idea of being with him—really with him—scares me as much as it excites me.

  What if the rumors are false? What if he doesn't live up to his reputation? What if I don't live up to the women in his past?

  Doubt and insecurity weasel into my thoughts and then, just as quickly, the reality of his baritone tenor washes them away.

  "Miss Jones?"

  I take a deep breath and turn toward Duncan Willis. The damn glint in his eyes makes me question whether my illicit thoughts about him were actually audible. It's as if the shimmer is an unspoken challenge daring me to learn if he lives up to my fantasies and his reputation.

  I clear my throat. "Mr. Willis."

  He doesn't correct me, and since he called me Miss Jones, I surmise we are being professional for the sake of the others in the office. Of course, I've told Shana all about the deal I proposed to Duncan; however, I didn't tell any of my coworkers. It hardly seemed appropriate lunchroom talk. "So guess what I did today? Wrong. I blackmailed Mr. Willis into being my plus-one for a wedding in a podunk town in Indiana. Nope. Really. Well, he agreed because I caught him in a compromising situation that I didn't report. Oh, and we'll be sharing a bed in my childhood bedroom." Yep, the opportunity to make such a statement never presented itself, not to random coworkers and definitely not to the others in the human resources department. The kiss in his office was against company policy. The entire thing could probably get me fired.

  My gaze catches the corner of my computer screen. The clock says exactly noon, the precise time he said we'd leave. It seems as though I can add punctuality to Duncan Willis's list of attributes.

  "I believe we have a car waiting to take us to the airport," he says, his intense gaze fixed on me.

  I nod and log off my computer, hoping no one else is paying attention.

  I'm confident that whatever is happening is definitely being noticed. It isn't often that exciting things happen within our walls. When it does, it's like a piranha feeding frenzy. No doubt there are gossip-hungry people ready to jump at the chance to learn the truth about my rendezvous with Mr. Willis.

  As I smile at Jack, the guy who shares my partition, I vow that whatever is said once we leave doesn't matter. I truly enjoy my coworkers, well, most of them. That's why I want to come back to them all on Tuesday and still have my job. Besides, if anyone notices what is happening, they'll think we're doing something business related.

  Maybe it's a seminar or conference.

  Yeah, right, Kimbra. There are so many seminars over Memorial Day weekend.

  I push away my worries and stand as Mr. Willis's cologne fills my senses, clouding all rational thought.

  The way he's standing there, looking at me—the man is absolutely sex on a stick. If I didn't have a family to fool and a wedding to attend, I could let my fantasies go in so many other directions.

  Stay focused. Concentrate.

  Walk. Step and don't trip.

  Thank God I'm not carrying coffee.

  As we silently stand waiting for the elevator, I fidget with my purse and pray I won't hyperventilate.

  Watching the numbers climb to our floor, I wonder why I suddenly feel awkward, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Three years of knowing one another and in the three days since I last saw him, everything feels different. Finally, the doors open and we step into the empty elevator.

  Once the doors close, Duncan turns. In one quick step, I'm backed against the wall with his hips crashing into mine. I barely catch my breath, as I'm caged within his arms when without warning his mouth descends.

  "O-oh!" I stutter before his lips steal my whimper.

  Demanding yet sensual, his kiss is like the sweetest delicacy wrapped in cinnamon goodness. Breathing is forgotten as his tongue joins the assault. Without thought or hesitation, I accept his invasion, opening my mouth and welcoming his addicting taste. His one hand secures me against the wall while the other one wraps around my waist, pulling our hips together.

  When the elevator stops, Duncan takes a step back. With a sexy glimmer in his eyes, his smile lingers before he wordlessly turns toward the opening doors, leaving my lips bruised, eyes wide, and lungs gasping for breath.

  Shit, this man can kiss.

  With little regard for those around us, he places his large hand in the small of my back and guides me through the lobby. With just two kisses, I'm suddenly at this man's disposal. My body moves to his inclination before my mind has time to process.

  Duncan nods to the doorman as we exit onto the street and move toward the waiting car.

  Standing beside the car is an older man with a cap.

  "Mr. Willis, Miss Jones," the man says with a nod as he opens the door.

  "Kimbra," Duncan says, "this is Pierce. Pierce, Miss Jones."

  I nod. "Kimbra is fine."

  As Pierce smiles at me, I realize that I'm probably one of a million women Duncan introduces to his driver. Just before entering the car, I stop and ask, "Oh, wait. What about our luggage? I gave mine to Jorge this morning."

  "It's already been loaded in the trunk, ma'am," Pierce replies.

  "Right." I'm definitely out of my element. And that information begs the next question: is luggage a common denominator among Duncan's women?

  Duncan reaches for my hand. "Jorge took care of everything."

  "Right. We don't want people to talk. The two of us leaving together with suitcases might start rumors."

  As the door closes, Duncan lifts the hand he is holding. His touch is sure and possessive as he brushes his firm lips over my knuckles. It's such a small connection and yet it ignites tingles that radiate throughout my body. A kiss of my hand and my toes curl.

  "Kimbra, I'm used to rumors. It seems I'm frequently the subject of many, or so I've been told. That doesn't mean that I want the same for you."

  "I'm hardly innocent, Mr. Willis. We're here together right now because—"

  "Because," he interrupts, "I seized the opportunity presented to me. That ability is what makes or breaks a businessman—or woman. Hesitation is a liability." His eyes sparkle with flecks of gold. "I don't hesitate. I seize."

  My breath catches in my chest. "That's good to know."

  As the car begins to move, stopping and going in midday traffic, Duncan continues. "There's much we both need to know. Shouldn't I know about your family?"

  "My family? I mean, we've only been together for..."

  "Five months," he says, finishing my sentence.

  "Right."

  "You have a brother?"

  "Yes. Kevin. His wife's name is Susan. My mother is Judy and my dad is Oscar."

  Duncan's eyes widen. "Oscar? Cool name. I think I like your dad."

  "Well, Mom had to convince him to let you stay in my room instead of the couch, which is probably close to thirty years old and kind of lumpy. So remember that when you meet him."

  Duncan laughs and shakes his head. "I really like your dad. For the record, if you were my daughter, I would most definitely make me sleep on the couch." His grin widens. "I cannot be trusted."

  "Duncan?"

  "Honesty is my downfall."

  "Seizing opportunities and losing them to honesty."

  "It seems as though you know all about me," he says. "Now tell me more about you."

  "It's my cousin Scarlett's wedding. We're about the same age and she's everything I'm not."

  "So
she's ugly and has no personality."

  I fight the urge to lower my eyes.

  Pretend. This is just pretend. That will be my new mantra, an ongoing chorus for this weekend.

  "No," I say, "she's perfect. She's sweet and successful. She's great at everything she's ever done, and she's marrying her high school sweetheart. His name is Kurt."

  "Let me guess: they're waiting until their wedding night and she wants a hundred babies."

  I shrug. "Yes, the bouquet at the wedding won't be the only flowers picked Saturday night. And as for babies, I think it's more like four. I'm pretty sure she's had them named since they started dating. You know, doodling their names in the margin of her high school notebook?"

  I keep talking, telling him about my crazy grandmother, Helen, how she loves to play games, especially cards, and how she's ruthless. "She's super competitive and doesn't like to lose."

  "I like her, too," he says.

  "The older she gets, the more direct she becomes. So don't be surprised if she asks you a million questions or tells you exactly what she's thinking. I think her filter is broken. The warranty is expired so we're all forced to put up with it."

  He laughs.

  I have a hard time imagining Duncan Willis with my family. I mean, they're my family. I'm used to them. But to an outsider...I only hope and pray that they take it easy on him.

  "Really..." I take a deep breath. "My family is great. I love them, but they can all be a little overwhelming. I'll do my best to keep you out of the mayhem."

  "Do I appear that fragile?"

  It's my turn to look him up and down. His chiseled jaw contains just the right amount of facial hair. Since it's more than stubble and less than a beard, I deduce it's the perfect length, meaning it's trimmed and on purpose. He's still in his suit, like all of the ones he wears at the office. As I scan his tall, trim, yet muscular frame, I realize I've never seen him in anything but a suit. The idea of Duncan Willis in jeans or shorts makes my tummy quiver. What does he wear when he sleeps? Does he exercise? What's his favorite color?

  A million questions come to mind.

  "Kimbra?" He reaches for my chin. "You went away."

  I swallow, hoping my questions and mental images weren't accompanied by drool. "No, you don't seem fragile. It's just that they can..."

  "I think I'll make it. Will you?"

  "Me? What do you mean?"

  "What were you thinking a second ago?"

  Warmth fills my cheeks. "I realized I've never seen you in anything but a suit. I wondered what you wear when you sleep, if you exercise, and about your favorite color."

  His lips quirk to a grin. "It seems we both have an issue with honesty. To answer your question, I sleep nude."

  Before I am able to mask my reaction, my eyes opened wide. "Um, my parents...my grandma..."

  "Will we be sharing a large dorm room?"

  I shake my head.

  Fuck! Duncan Willis sleeping nude in my bed.

  He winks. "Then I think we'll be good. And yes, I exercise. Mostly I run, but I also do weights twice a week. Since our call last night, I've decided it's blue."

  "Blue? What's blue?"

  "My favorite color is blue, like your eyes."

  My cheeks rise.

  "What about you?" he asks.

  "Green is nice."

  "I was thinking more about your sleeping attire." His eyebrows rise. "Or lack thereof."

  "Me? What do I wear to sleep?"

  He nods.

  "A nightgown or shorts and a top."

  "You really should try wearing nothing at all. It's very liberating."

  "I-I..."

  Duncan brushes my cheek. "I enjoy making you blush."

  As we pull into the private airstrip, Duncan traces the edge of my neckline. "I think I need to ask some more questions."

  Though I'm distracted by his touch, I manage to answer. "Oh, okay. About what?"

  "This is very important, so keep with the honesty."

  "Yes?"

  "Since you've been dating a CEO for the last five months and since he has access to private planes, has he, Miss Jones, made you a member of the mile-high club?"

  I grin, enjoying his easy banter. "No, Mr. Willis, you see, my boyfriend is kind of a jerk. Five months and he's never once taken me on one of his planes."

  The car stops and Duncan reaches for my hand. "I'd tell you to break up with that dick, but there's still time to rectify that issue. Maybe you should let him attempt to make up for his previous inattentiveness."

  Pierce opens the door. Once we're out of the car, I look up at the plane and my feet forget to move. It's bigger than I imagined, like something in the movies. The stairs are down and a woman in a blue blouse and matching skirt is standing at the top of the stairs. "Wow," I say. "This is better than the airline tickets I had in mind, and I bet there's no layover."

  Duncan scoffs. "You're correct. It's a direct flight." He gestures toward the stairs. "Your carriage awaits." As we approach he leans close to my ear and whispers, "I hear the club is still accepting new members."

  His warm breath tickles my neck. I take a step and then turn back, smiling at Duncan over my shoulder. "You asked if my current boyfriend has made me a member, not if I am a member."

  Duncan's steps stutter. His green eyes blaze and a tendon in his neck twitches. "And?"

  I widen my smile, enjoying his reaction. "And...I'm not a member."

  "The first step toward your boyfriend's redemption awaits."

  At the top of the stairs, I nod at the lady in blue and turn toward the large cabin. On the table, arranged in a secured vase, is a bouquet of beautiful pink and red flowers. There are all different kinds: roses, lilies, carnations, and daisies. It's stunning.

  It doesn't seem right. I mean, surely Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals doesn't normally have fresh flowers on all their flights. I look from the flowers to Duncan, silently questioning.

  Duncan pulls a red long-stemmed rose from the bouquet and hands it to me.

  "What is this about?"

  "Each experience with you is another flower in our bouquet."

  Our. The word reverberates through my mind.

  "It doesn't matter if I wasn't the first to pick it," he goes on. "What matters is that you'll allow me the honor of sharing it with you. This weekend, I'd like to work on our bouquet."

  I spin the rose in my fingers, mindful of the thorns. "Pretend, remember?"

  He steps closer, his arm surrounding my waist and pulling my hips toward his. Eye level with his chest, I slowly lift my chin and gaze up into the deepest emerald I've ever seen.

  "The choice is yours," he says. "With the one flower that you're holding, I got your kiss. I'd like to add mile-high to our bouquet."

  "Pretend," I mumble just before his lips crash with mine. As our kiss ends, I can't recall if I answered him. Did I nod or shake my head?

  With a sexy grin, Duncan leads me to two large leather seats and we buckle ourselves in.

  "Mr. Willis, Miss Jones," the lady in blue says as she appears from the front of the plane. "I'm Marsha. Your luggage is loaded in the back and the pilot is ready to take off. Please let me know if there's anything you want or need. I'm at your service."

  Duncan reaches for the rose still in my grasp. "Marsha, could you put this back in the vase for us?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Wait," I say, stopping her. "Actually, Marsha, instead of putting that one back, could you bring a pink rose over here to us?"

  Duncan's eyes open wide.

  "It takes more than one flower to make a bouquet," I say.

  When she returns, she holds out the pink rose. I nod to Duncan. "I believe that's for you."

  Once he takes the flower, he looks up at Marsha. "I think we'll be fine by ourselves. Please leave us alone and relax in the back. We'll call you if we need anything."

  "Yes, sir. The captain and I are both only a phone call away." She nods toward the telephones built into the armrest of
our chairs.

  My thundering pulse echoes in my ears as the engines roar to life—I'm not sure which is louder. As Marsha walks to the rear of the plane, I question my sanity.

  Did I really just agree to mile-high sex?

  With my boss—the owner of the company where I work?

  In a company plane?

  Before I can make sense of my reality or remember the concept of ground rules, Duncan turns my way and covers my hand with his. "Kimbra, no promises about anything beyond this weekend. But for this weekend—the next four days—I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had. I'm ready to see if my imagination has even been close when it comes to what's under your skirt."

  "Pretend." The word is barely audible over my internal mayhem.

  We lurch in our seats as the plane begins to taxi. Duncan's large hand comes off mine and splays over my thigh. "We're leaving pretend in New York. It's time to build a bouquet."

  Chapter Nine

  Duncan

  I lay the pink rose on the seat opposite me as I consider its meaning.

  Did she intend it the way I'm taking it? Is that pink rose her acceptance of my invitation?

  Are we about to seal her membership in the mile-high club?

  Am I about to have the woman I've long fantasized about?

  The questions continue as my anticipation reaches epic levels. I'm trying to recall all of the suave things I should say. This isn't my first rodeo, though it feels that way. I've done similar things before, yet I suddenly have no memories. My brain seems unable to function. Synapses misfire or no longer take place. I surmise that it's due to the sudden lack of circulation. My blood is obviously rushing elsewhere. As my dick hardens at record speed, advanced communication, or even discussing the weather, seems currently outside my capability.

  I can't recall the last time I've been this excited to be with a woman.

  Maybe this has to do with what Kimbra said the other night at Gaston's. She'd said that easiest isn't always best. God knows that getting her—us—to this point hasn't been easy. The reality is that I've had easy. Easy kneels at my feet in a public bathroom. Easy spreads her legs with merely a grin. Kimbra has been anything but easy.