Wicked

by Jaci Burton

  Too bad she had professional scruples.

  Asshole. Prick. Degenerate. Dickhead. She hated him. Hated, hated, hated him. With a passion that made her blood boil.

  How dare he be so nice, so professional, so accommodating.

  So utterly and completely unpredictable. She’d fully expected him to have a detailed outline of every piece of furniture he wanted and where, every color, every fabric, allowing her no leeway whatsoever. Instead, he blew her away by telling her to do whatever she wanted.

  Her father had allowed her to redecorate one room in their house once. Right after she’d graduated from college. She’d made suggestions, but nothing she’d offered had been good enough for him. He’d changed everything. And his choices had been hideous, but of course he had to have control. Her mother hadn’t said a word. So typical. Blair hadn’t bothered to argue with him. It was his dime, after all. He’d wanted Early American ugly, and that’s what he’d gotten. The colors were dark, not a feminine touch at all. And it was their master bedroom. By the time Blair had finished, there had been nothing left of her mother in that bedroom.

  Except her mother.

  And her mom had pronounced it just lovely, had praised Blair for her work and told her father that his taste was wonderful.

  Sickening.

  But Rand, instead of doing what Blair’s father had done, had just given her free rein over his entire house. Had told her to decorate it the way she would if she lived there.

  Except she wasn’t going to be decorating it for herself. She was going to be decorating it for some other woman. He’d just fucked her, while he was obviously already entertaining the idea of marrying someone else.

  Son of a bitch. How could she have let her heart get involved in one night of glorious fucking? Because it sure as hell hurt at the thought of Rand marrying another woman, of some other woman having that backyard with those kids and dogs and that swimming pool.

  Stupid fantasies, anyway. It had been a bet. And she’d done her part and fulfilled it. Now it was over. She and Rand were over.

  And when she finished this project, she never had to think about him, see him, or speak to him again.

  But she would do a good job on his house. She would design it as if she was the woman who was going to move in there, as if she was the woman who was going to have his children and create a life with him.

  She’d show him he could trust her with his faith in her.

  Because she was a professional who was damn good at her job.

  Not because she cared about him.

  seven

  The house turned out perfect. Blair’s stomach squeezed with both excited anticipation and bittersweet regret. She could live in this house, could be comfortable and happy here.

  It was gorgeous, a place she would consider every woman’s dream, yet a house a man could enjoy living in.

  And Rand was due any minute. She cruised through every room to make sure nothing was out of place, then ran to the front porch when she heard him drive up, her stomach twisting in knots.

  She was never nervous about presenting her finished product to clients, but she was today. Nevertheless, she smoothed her skirt and presented a calm, professional demeanor, leaning against the door as he came up the stairs.

  And tried not to drool as he hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and stopped at the front step, resting his hip against the porch railing, whistling.

  She’d done the front porch, too. Not much, of course, but enough that he’d notice. Or she’d hoped he’d notice. She’d left the porch swing, because she really liked that. Added extra-wide wicker chairs with cushions, a few hanging plants with colorful blooms, and a couple cement floor plant stands that greeted him as he walked up the stairs. They’d painted the porch, too, so it gleamed a bright white now.

  “Damn. This is nice,” he said, tilting his head back and resting his palm against the butt of his pistol in his hip holster.

  “It just brightens up the front porch a little.”

  Her throat had gone completely dry. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was shaking. Honestly, why was she so nervous?

  “I’ll take you on a tour of your new place, if you’re interested,” she said with a casual shrug.

  “Sure. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Rand didn’t know who was more nervous, him or Blair. She might be trying her best to hide it, but he saw it in the furtive glances she threw his way while she acted nonchalant and shrugged her way into a near fit.

  For two damn weeks he’d been cooling his heels at his office, dying to sneak out here and see what she was doing, but holding true to his word and staying away. It took enormous willpower and lots of jacking off.

  He missed her. Missed being around her, missed her scent, her smile, even missed annoying her. He really liked annoying her. He liked her riled up and angry, all miffed at him with righteous anger. Her face glowed when she was pissed off, her eyes sparkling with passion.

  He missed touching her. Kissing her. Fucking her.

  His cock ached for her.

  His heart ached for her.

  He was a fucking mess. He hoped to God this worked.

  “If there’s anything you don’t like,” she started, blocking the door before he could enter, “we’ll of course fix it.”

  “Let me inside, Blair,” he said softly. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “I don’t want it to be fine. I want you to love it.”

  Now there was a revelation. And as soon as the words spilled from her lips, he could tell from her wide-eyed look that she regretted saying them.

  “I already love it. It has your touch.”

  “Whatever. The whole team worked on it, not just me.” She moved out of his way, and he stepped inside.

  Wow. It was a completely different house. Gone was the threadbare old furniture that didn’t match. Everything was gone. And nothing looked the same. Yet the minute he walked in he felt . . . comfortable.

  It wasn’t stuffy or pretentious or, God forbid, too girly. Yet it wasn’t overly masculine, either. Neutral-colored fabric couches sat perpendicular to the fireplace along with a couple really comfortable-looking thick leather chairs with ottomans. The rest of the living room was bare save for a couple pale wood tables next to the furniture to place drinks and magazines on. The lamps were modern but not funky. The room was practical and useful, yet cozy enough for a woman to enjoy, with a nice rug in front of all the furniture. He could envision kids with toys spread out on that rug enjoying a fire in the winter while he and Blair read the paper and drank coffee.

  He walked into the kitchen and found his grandmother’s old trestle table, which had been refinished. It still retained its old charm, still held the old nicks and scratches, just looked . . . better. Not as old and beat-up and junky. Now it really looked antique, but kind of cool.

  “There were no chairs with this table, so I . . . the staff scouted a few sales and found several that closely matched,” she said.

  Six chairs, to be exact. And they didn’t match perfectly. Which he loved, because his grandma’s chairs hadn’t matched, either. Hell, he didn’t remember where they’d all gone to. Relatives’ homes here and there, no doubt. But he liked that the sturdy wood chairs didn’t look brand-new; they blended in with the rest of the kitchen.

  The cabinetry was pine. Sturdy, dark to match Grandma’s table. The countertops had been replaced in a dark granite that was cool as hell, the sink changed to a double one in a shiny chrome. It was modern yet old at the same time. It looked like a country kitchen, but any woman would squeal with delight to cook in there, with its huge refrigerator and double oven and island stove.

  He was speechless. And damned impressed with Blair’s talent.

  “If you’ll follow me down the hall,” Blair said, “I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

  He knew he hadn’t said a word yet, that Bla
ir was probably going crazy with worry, but honest to God he didn’t quite know what to say.

  “We left three of the rooms undecorated at your request, assuming you’ll want to someday make them into nurseries and children’s rooms,” she said, her voice ending on a squeak. She had to clear her throat as she moved down the hall.

  He smiled at that. “Uh-huh.”

  “Now for the master bedroom.” She half turned to him as she pushed the door to his bedroom open, then moved out of his way as she flipped on the light. “I hope you like it.”

  There could be a cardboard box and a towel on the floor. As long as Blair was in there with him, he’d like it.

  It didn’t have a cardboard box. Instead, the iron bed had a scrolling pattern at the headboard and footboard. Flowers and hearts that a woman would find appealing. What he liked was the matching iron canopy. Strong and sturdy construction, too. His imagination soared into overdrive, imagining Blair trussed up in a standing position, her wrists tied to the top of the iron canopy, her legs bound and spread, her pussy at mouth height.

  Goddamn. Fixated on that bed, he didn’t even notice what else was in the room, though he was certain it was nice. Fuck, he didn’t care.

  “Did you want to see the rest of the room?”

  “No.” He stared at the bed.

  “Um, does it meet with your approval?”

  He turned to her, not even bothering to hide his erection, now straining hot and thick against the zipper of his jeans. “Does it meet with yours?”

  She hinted at a smile. “Of course it does. I designed it.”

  “Good. Undress.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Take your clothes off.”

  Her look went from shock to anger in an instant. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Look, Rand, I agreed to this job because it’s good for business. You wanted your place redesigned, fine. I did it. You haven’t even said whether you like it or not. Well, the job is done. Whoever you plan to marry is going to love it. You know it, and I know it. I’m leaving. You’ll get my final bill in the mail. Our association is finished.”

  “Our association isn’t finished by a long shot, Blair.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You are so goddamned arrogant! How dare you assume that just because we’ve had this lurking sexual tension between us, just because we had one night of really hot sex, that I’m going to strip and fuck you because you order me to, then be content while you carry some other woman over the threshold of the house I designed for her!”

  She pivoted, but before she could walk away, he said, “You’re that woman, Blair.”

  She stalled, then turned back to him. “What?”

  “You’re the woman I want to carry through the front door. White dress and all. You’re the woman I wanted this house redesigned for. You’re the woman I’ve loved and wanted since we were fifteen years old and you started teasing me. You’re the woman I love, Blair. I always have.”

  Blair had never in her entire life been at a loss for words. Always a snappy comeback, a sharp retort, she was a master at putting men in their places.

  Rand had left her speechless for the first time in her life.

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. I love you.” He approached her, his body lithe and taut, his cock unashamedly rigid against his jeans. And then he did something that brought tears to her eyes. He dropped down to one knee in front of her. This dominant, infuriating, alpha male went to his knees.

  “Marry me, Blair. I love you. I love your strength, your intelligence and sense of humor. I love the life you’ve built for yourself despite where you came from—and yes, I know all about where you came from.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I’m not your father, and you’re nothing like your mother. You are one kick-ass career woman who takes shit from no man.”

  She smiled at that. It was the best compliment he could have ever given her.

  “I don’t want to rule your life, baby. I wouldn’t love the woman you’ve become if you were my doormat. I love that you stand up to me and give back whatever I dole out.” He reached for her hand. “I want you in this house with me. I want you in this bed with me every night, fulfilling both our fantasies. Then I want to have babies and build a future together.”

  She’d been wrong. Oh so wrong about everything. She’d judged Rand unfairly for years, comparing him to her father. Yes, he was dominant and arrogant and self-assured and controlling. But he was nothing like her father. Nothing at all.

  He wanted her to be an independent, take-charge woman in every aspect of her life except one. The one place where she wanted him to control her, where she wanted, needed his dominance.

  Sexually.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He grinned. “Say what you feel.”

  She shuddered a breath. “I’ve been scared of you my whole life. Because of my dad, and what he did to my mom. I knew what kind of man you were, and I swore I’d never be the kind of woman my mother was.”

  Tired of looking down at him, she dropped to the ground and sat. Rand sat with her and cradled her hands in his.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “After my first few sexual experiences, I came away empty. I deliberately chose guys I could control, because I was afraid to be with someone who was too dominant. The men I chose left me unfulfilled, though, and I knew then I was a sexual submissive, that I wanted to be dominated in the bedroom.”

  “Bet that really scared you, given your family history.”

  She nodded. “But I was determined to stay away from men who were like my father. And I lumped you in that category. You were strong, self-sufficient, arrogant, and powerful. I couldn’t control you. You made my heart thump like a wild beast in my chest, and you made my toes curl. You made my panties wet whenever you walked by or talked to me. For years it was you I fantasized about when I masturbated. With every man I fucked it was your face in my mind, your hands all over me.”

  Part of her couldn’t believe she’d just admitted that to him. The other part of her felt free and unafraid that she had. Because she knew Rand wouldn’t use it against her, wouldn’t think her weak because of it.

  “That’s hot, babe,” he said, reaching out to caress her neck. “Thank you.”

  Her skin flushed at his touch, her nipples tight and achy.

  She finally drew a deep breath and spilled her dark secret. “I’ve loved you from the first time my heart knew what love was, but it scared the shit out of me, Rand. I’ve never wanted a man more than I’ve wanted you. All these years, all those guys, all I ever really wanted was you. The only man I’ve ever surrendered to was you.” Her body, her soul, and her heart. She’d just handed it all to him. And as she did, she realized that she wasn’t afraid anymore.

  Her heart swelled with the love she’d been too afraid to show him.

  “I love you, Rand.” She pushed to her knees and hitched up her skirt, then straddled his lap. Winding her arms around his neck, she smiled at him, her heart swelling so much she felt it might burst through her chest. So this was love. Giddy, disgustingly sweet. She didn’t care how stupid it was. She felt fabulous. “I love you.”

  He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. “Does this mean your answer is yes?”

  She waited for the inevitable clutch of fear, the urge to run. It didn’t come rushing toward her. The path before her was clear for the first time in her life.

  “Yes. Oh, hell, yes, I’ll marry you.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, breathing in his scent, tasting the coffee and peppermint on his lips before she slid her tongue inside his mouth to claim him as her man. Hers. Forever.

  She was now a one-man woman. Maybe she always had been.

  He scooped his hands under her butt and stood, lifting her and placing her on her feet.<
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  “Now, Ms. Newcastle,” he said with a stern voice and an arched brow, “I believe I said something about you stripping.”

  She shivered at his authoritative tone, more than ready to do whatever he wanted. No barriers this time, no fear. She belonged to him and was his to command. But she could also tease him a little while doing his bidding. First she made painfully slow work of shrugging out of her jacket, folding it ever so neatly before turning to place it on the chair of the vanity across from the bed. When she turned back to him, she smiled.

  “Don’t be all day about it, Blair.”

  “These are very expensive clothes, Rand. I have to be careful with them.” She undid the buttons on her blouse. One by one. Slow and easy, keeping eye contact with him. Watching every breath he took, the way his nostrils flared, the way his gaze moved down the row of buttons with her fingers. The heat of his eyes singed every inch of skin as she undressed for him. Taking this much time to remove her clothes was excruciating. She wanted to rip them off and get naked so he would touch her. But she wanted to tease him, to make him anticipate.

  Or maybe she just wanted to dare him to take her. So far he was showing amazing restraint as she finished the last button on her blouse and spread it apart, letting it slide off her shoulders and skim down her arms. It floated to the floor. She left her bra alone and reached for the side button of her skirt.

  “You’re not moving fast enough. How expensive is that skirt?”

  “Oh. Very.”

  In a flash he had her in his arms. The button on her skirt went flying, the zipper tearing as he lost the last of his restraint. She gasped as he made short work of yanking the skirt down and ripping her panties off.

  “I’ll replace it.”

  Like she cared.

  He held her against his chest and with one hand reached behind her to undo the clasp on her bra, then stepped back, drawing the straps down her arms as he did. His gaze roamed over her naked flesh, her body reacting in the same way it would as if he touched her. Her lips parted, and she fought for air as she tried to anticipate what he had in store for her.