THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5

by Nelle L’Amour

With a nervous little smile, I moved my omelet around my plate with my fork. “What about you? Where’d you go to school?”

  “UCLA.”

  “What did you major in?”

  He licked his lips. “Anatomy.”

  My eyes rounded. “You wanted to be a doctor?”

  “No. I wanted to fuck.”

  I flushed with unexpected laughter.

  “I was a terrible student, but my female professors liked me and gave me passing grades.”

  “Did you screw a few?” I couldn’t believe I was asking my boss such an audacious question.

  He grinned wickedly. “I screwed them all.”

  My eyes widened, but why should I be surprised? This guy was born a player. He was pure walking sex.

  “How come you and your father have different last names?”

  “During college, I did some modeling. My agent thought Blake Burns would sell a lot more products than Blake Bernstein. The name stuck.”

  My eyes widened again. “You were a male model?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. My roommate made me try out for one of those I-want-to-be America’s Next Top Model reality series. I did it just to piss off my father because the show was another network. Well, to make a long story short, I won.”

  “Wow! Did you like modeling?”

  “Just the fucking supermodels part.”

  A nervous little laugh slipped out of my mouth. He was definitely into supermodels. I took a sip of my coffee and probed further.

  “So, how did you end up working for your father?”

  “I got bored with the modeling pretty quickly. And the acting. But what I discovered was that I liked being behind the camera more than in front of it. And I saw that sex sold. More men than women watched that top model show. It gave me an idea. Why not create a television network that sold sex? Give the Playboy Channel a run for its money.”

  “And—”

  “So, I pitched the idea to my old man. SIN-TV. The Sex International Network. And he went for it.”

  What a great story. Okay, maybe I didn’t agree with all his programming choices, but he was a visionary. I had to admire him.

  “What’s it like working for your father?” Saul Bernstein struck me as a warm but very demanding man.

  “Better than I thought. It’s made us closer. He’s grooming me to one day run the entire company.”

  “Interesting.” So, one day, my boss Blake Burns would be the head of Conquest Broadcasting. I was much more impressed than I let on. Of course, some gorgeous supermodel would be by his side while he ruled the media world. I took another sip of my coffee and inwardly sighed.

  We shared a stretch of silence and finished our breakfast. My eyes soaked in the undulating roll of the waves and the surfers who were riding them as well as the close-by seagulls searching for a few breadcrumbs. But mostly, I couldn’t stop staring at Blake as he ate. His sapphire-blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, and his damp dark hair shimmered like satin. Every sculpted muscle was a work of art. He was beautiful. He caught my eyes on him. Setting down his fork, he reached across the table and brushed away a tendril of hair that had fallen onto my face from the ocean breeze. “So, when are you and your fiancé getting married?”

  His out-of-the-blue question took me by surprise. I swallowed hard. “We haven’t set a date yet. Maybe in the summer.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  I scrunched up my face, but inside my heart rattled. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m in love with him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I care about him. I put his needs before mine.”

  Blake gazed at me intensely, his eyes like lasers. “And he does the same for you?”

  My mouth parted, but words stayed trapped in my throat. The truth: it was mostly about Bradley. His career, his interests, his desires. I was always giving into his ways—eating at vegan restaurants that made me want to puke, attending dental conventions that made me want to fall asleep, and spending the night at his place with its dreary brown wood furniture I wanted to burn. Damn it. I even fucked him the way he liked it. Always the same old boring way. Missionary.

  “Bradley loves me.” My tone was sharp and defensive.

  “Is he good in bed?” His deep blue eyes held me fierce. He was unnerving me.

  “I’m not going to answer that question.” I spat the words at him. The truth: I wasn’t sure. He was the only man I’d ever been with. His dick was smallish. He came quickly, and I’d never had an orgasm with him. He was nothing like the men in those erotic romance novels I’d read. But I knew they were just fiction. Men like Christian Grey and Gideon Cross didn’t exist in real life.

  Blake grinned smugly. “You did answer it. But as my dad always says, good is the enemy of better.”

  He was having a very uncomfortable effect on me. As I pondered his words, my heart beat rapidly, and I felt flutters rise between my legs.

  “Come over here, tiger.” He signaled with his index finger for me to lean into him. With my lips slightly parted, I did as he asked.

  “You have some egg on your mouth.”

  “Oh.” I flushed with embarrassment. Before I could flick it off, his long forefinger made contact with my face and languidly traced my lips before brushing it off. My flesh tingled all over from his tender touch. My eyes never left him as he sucked the bit of egg off his fingertip. A satisfied smile spread across his face.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have very kissable lips, Ms. McCoy?”

  I jolted with shock. A heat stroke was a very real possibility. “No,” I croaked, my voice just above a whisper.

  “Well, I’m telling you.”

  With that and the check, breakfast with my boss came to an end.

  Chapter 12

  Blake

  After breakfast, I asked Jennifer if she wanted to take a walk on the beach with me. I enjoyed being with her. It was rare for me to have a real conversation with a girl and couldn’t remember the last time I did. But after I told her she had kissable lips, she clammed up and told me she needed to get home.

  Fuck. She didn’t even thank me for the compliment, I thought as we cruised along the Santa Monica Freeway in silence. Maybe she didn’t take it that way though the rest of our morning had gone so well. The top of my Porsche was down, and the radio was blasting. From time to time, I stole a glance at her. Her ponytail was whipping against her face, her eyes squinting, as if deep in thought. She kept her gaze straight ahead and occasionally looked out her side of the car. My cock was still twitching from the boner I had under the table. I was inexplicably attracted to her. It had taken all I had not to kiss those kissable lips and let her know I was the man she’d kissed in that game of Truth or Dare. I was now playing my own version of that game. The truth if I was asked: I had a burning urge to pull off the road and ask her to blow me. And if someone dared me, I’d do it.

  With no traffic on the freeway, it took a short twenty minutes to get Jennifer’s house. I pulled up to the curb outside a small Spanish cottage. There were two cars parked in the drive away—a Mini Cooper and a Kia. Obviously, she shared it with someone. Her fucking fiancé? My skin bristled, but then I remembered he was at work. So, someone else.

  “Thanks again for breakfast,” she said as she unfastened her seat belt. Her nonchalant tone irked me.

  “My pleasure. We should do it again.” And let me savor every part of you.

  The corners of those kissable lips curled up. “Maybe.”

  Man, I hated that word. I was a man used to hearing yes and who never took no as an answer.

  Before I could jump out of my car to help her out, she opened the passenger door and let herself out.

  “See you on Monday.” Her voice sounded cheerful but businesslike. She pivoted toward her house. Unbeknownst to her, I kept my eyes on her tight little heart-shaped ass and her thin, toned legs. She had a sexy little bounce to her stride. My dick hardened.

  I lower
ed the volume of the radio. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “What I always do on Saturday nights. I’m seeing my fiancé.”

  The f-word. I clenched my fists into hard balls while my dick softened.

  By the time she disappeared into the house, I’d totally lost my erection. But the ache in my balls was palpable.

  With the Lumineers singing “Ho Hey,” I peeled off the curb with a screech.

  Whatever stupid game I was playing, I was losing. Jennifer McCoy did not belong to me.

  Five minutes later, I made a sharp U-turn. Blake Burns did not lose at games. It was time to check out the competition. I pulled up to her house, jumped out of my car, and then knocked at her door.

  She came to the door quickly. Opening it, she was already freshly showered and sporting a short terrycloth robe. Her damp, shampooed hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders. Fuck. She smelled delicious—all cherry vanilla—and beneath that robe, I knew she was pure silky flesh. Man, how I wanted to tear that robe right off her and take her in my arms.

  “Blake!” She seemed shocked to see me.

  I cupped my jaw with my hand and feigned pain.

  “Is something wrong?” She sounded concerned.

  I nodded with a grimace. Man, I was good. I deserved an Emmy. My modeling/acting days were good for something besides supermodel hook-ups.

  “I have a terrible toothache,” I moaned, rubbing my cheek.

  “Oh my goodness. Come in. I’ll get you some Advil.”

  “Thanks,” I said, stepping inside. “It started at breakfast but just suddenly flared up.”

  “You poor thing. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  Poor me settled into an armchair while she darted off. Before I could study her house, she was back with a couple of those red pain pills and a tall glass of water.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking them from her. I downed the Advil with a couple sips of the water.

  “You should see your dentist right away.”

  “I can’t. He doesn’t work on Saturdays.”

  “Then you should see my fiancé. He’s a great dentist.”

  Bingo.

  I moaned again. “Do you think he could squeeze me in?”

  “I’ll call him right now and make sure he does.”

  Reaching for her cell phone on the coffee table, she speed-dialed a number.

  I continued to feign pain while I listened to her conversation. She was obviously talking to the receptionist. She told whoever it was that a friend of hers from work had an emergency. Her brows furrowed while she waited for a response and then she broke into a smile.

  “Great. He’ll be there soon. Can I say hi to Bradley?”

  Pause.

  “Oh, all right. Just give him my love and tell him I’ll see him tonight.”

  I inwardly cringed as I watched her end the call. Placing the phone back on the coffee table, she found a pen and a cocktail napkin. She jotted something down on the paper napkin.

  Smiling, she handed it to me. “My fiancé can squeeze you in. His name is Dr. Bradley Wick and this is where his office is.”

  I eyed the address. Fuck. I had to go all the way to The Valley.

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck. You’re going to love Bradley.”

  There was only one thing I was going to love about Bradley Wick, DDS. And that was making him disappear.

  My bud Jaime was right. Eliminate the competition.

  I mentally gave myself a high five. Operation Dickwick was about to begin.

  Chapter 13

  Blake

  It would figure that Bradley’s office was in the fucking Valley. Burbank, no less. With the traffic and construction on Laurel Canyon, it took me almost an hour to get over the hill and then across the 101 to the Barham exit. It was hotter than balls outside so I had to drive with the air conditioning on and the top up; my Satellite radio didn’t make the journey any better. I fucking hated going to The Valley. But I was going to make this trip worth it.

  Seething, I pulled into the driveway of a white colonial-like building complete with Tara-like columns located off Pass Avenue. While located close to the media district, there was nothing chic about the building or the address. I whipped my Porsche into the first available spot in the small parking lot—right next to the spot reserved for Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS. Wouldn’t you know it—he drove a Prius. A white as bleached teeth 2012 model. I hated guys who drove Priuses. Have you ever noticed they’re a breed? All self-righteous, environmentally conscious, and fucking anal. Do-gooders who never broke a rule. The type who was always the teacher’s pet or the perfect Boy Scout. I already had a handle on Dickwick.

  The waiting area of his office was for sure a reflection of his penis—I mean, Prius. Small, compact, and energy efficient since it seemed to have the barest amount of air conditioning allowed by human labor laws. An oppressive cheapskate. Except for an unattractive matronly woman on her way out, I was the only patient. No wonder he could fit me in so easily. Business was not as good as Jen made it out to be. I signed in with the buxom redheaded receptionist, who made goo-goo eyes at me, and then took a seat in one of the burnt-orange tweed armchairs that looked straight out of an Office Depot fire sale. Cupping one hand on my stubbled jaw to feign pain, I randomly picked up one of the anally arranged magazines on the coffee table. Dental Life Today. Man, he was a dweeb.

  I tossed the magazine back onto the table (deliberately making a small mess) and pulled out my iPhone from my shorts pocket to check my messages and texts. Only one warranted my attention. The one from Jennifer.

  Blake~I hope your toothache feels better. Bradley is an amazing dentist.~Jen

  I shot her back a smiley face emoticon. Dr. Wick was about to find out that I was an amazing patient. When the receptionist called out my name, my secret evil plan sprung into action. Phase One of Operation Dickwick was about to begin.

  “Mr. Burns, Dr. Wick can see you now. Just go through the door and head down the hallway to Room 3.”

  “Thank you,” I moaned with faux-pain. I felt her lustful eyes on me as I headed through the door. Don’t hate me. I couldn’t help that I had that effect on every woman.

  The examination room was nothing to write home about. I anchored my body into the leatherette examination chair, stretching my longs legs out in front of me. I had to admit it was quite comfy, and took in my surroundings. A sink, x-ray machine, and the usual array of scary looking dental instruments on a cart next to me. Littering—I mean lining—the walls were numerous awards and diplomas he’d earned throughout his wretched life—from being named “Little Mr. Good Behavior” at nursery school to his honorary degree from USC’s prestigious dental school. Holy Christ. There was an even a Boy Scout award along with a photo of him wearing all his badges.

  Another photo grabbed my attention. It was a recent one of him at some dental convention, posing with an ugly plaque. Los Angeles’s Most Promising Young Dentist 2013. He looked even dweebier than I’d imagined. And what was with that fucking smile? Was Dickwick some kind of walking advertisement for his practice? I’d never seen such monstrous teeth on a human being. Well, maybe on a horse.

  My eyes shifted to another photo taken at the same event. My skin bristled and my toes curled. Standing next to Dickwick was a beautiful young woman. Jennifer McCoy. About the same height as Bradley in her modest heels, she was wearing a simple ivory sheath and a smile. A small smile but nonetheless a smile.

  I wanted to rip the photo off the wall with my teeth. Maybe I could dump it in his toxic wastebasket. There was time. He still wasn’t here. Just as I was about to slide off the dental chair, I heard footsteps at the door. In walked 36-24-36 in a mini-skirted white uniform and shiny white platforms. This must be Bradley’s nurse or dental hygienist, I thought as she bounced my way. And I’m not talking about her gait.

  “Hi, I’m Candace, Dr. Wick’s hygienist,” she cooed. Her cartoony voice went with her na
me—saccharine and seductive. She had all the makings of a porn star. Blond, buxom, beautiful. She clipped one of those blue paper bibs onto the neckline of my T-shirt. Her tits were so big they grazed my chest.

  “Dr. Wick will be here shortly,” she breathed against my neck. Her overpowering sugary scent was nauseating.

  “Well, hello, hello, hello.” A chirpy, nasal voice sounded on cue.

  He was in my face before my head could swivel around. Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS… a twenty-six-year-old replica of his former Boy Scout self. But instead of a blue shorts uniform with all his do-gooder badges, he was now wearing a white, monogrammed lab coat over a cheap-looking gray suit and tie—the kind they advertise at the Men’s Wearhouse for ninety-nine dollars—and his hairline was receding. I eyed him up and down. He couldn’t be more than five foot nine. For sure, Jen couldn’t wear stilettos with him without towering over him. His small hands and feet told me something else was small too. My poor Jen! My elimination mission had, in an instant, become a rescue mission.

  He glanced down at the clipboard anchored in his hands. There was a piece of paper with scribbled notes attached to it. “Hmm… so, I understand you have a sudden toothache.”

  I did the moaning, hand-to-cheek thing again and nodded. God, I was good. My modeling/acting days had really paid off.

  “Call me if you need me, Doctor,” Candace said breathily before sashaying to the door. She sure knew how to move that piece of ass.

  Dickwick’s eyes fixed on it. Despite being engaged to Jennifer, he looked like he wanted to take a bite. I suppose most men would. Oddly, even though my type, she rang no bells for me. Not even a tiny testicular tingle.

  “Thank you, Candace.” As she exited, that big horsy smile spread across Dickwick’s face. A shudder ran through me. Shit. Did he use those teeth on Jennifer? I had the sudden urge to knock them out.

  His grating voice hurled me out of my mental—or should I say dental?—ramblings. “Refresh my memory… how did you find me?”

  “A referral.” I groaned out the words.