Torrid Rush: A Single Dad Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 3)

by Scarlett Avery

  “Anyway, he’s picking me up in,” her eyes drop to her expensive Piaget watch, “half an hour.”

  “And it’s only now you tell me you’re going to leave me here alone. Way to go, Ainsley.”

  “Don’t be like that. You’re a big girl. Besides, it’s best if I get out of your hair. Men are intimidated when women travel in packs. Alone, you’ll be able to score easily.”

  “There will be no such thing as me scoring tonight,” I tell her.

  “What do you mean?” Her long eyelashes are batting a mile a minute.

  “Ainsley, I’m exhausted. I swear we must’ve glazed and stuffed more donuts today than we did in the past three months combined. Not to mention I barely slept last night because I was so scared we’d screw up.”

  “But you didn’t. Every single guest here will be seduced at the first bite.”

  “You’re the best for saying that.”

  “I mean it.”

  Her unwavering faith in me is humbling.

  “Well now that my work is done, I intend on having a long and satisfying beauty sleep.”

  “Have you ever heard of post-coital sleep?”

  “Vaguely,” I shrug.

  “It’s the best you’ll ever have.”

  She keeps going on about earth-shattering orgasms. Something I know nothing about. To me, post-coital blissful sleep is just a myth. Like a unicorn.

  “That’s not a good enough argument for me.”

  “You’re going to let that luxury suite go to waste?”

  “No. I’ll enjoy it fully. Alone.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yup. That deep claw tub strategically placed right underneath a large skylight is calling out my name.”

  She looks horrified.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, cuz,” I laugh.

  She doesn’t look amused one bit.

  My laughter comes to an abrupt stop as my gaze slides over her shoulder.

  “Oh, God.” I blink in disbelief.

  “What?”

  “That can't possibly be who I think it is.”

  “Who? Where?”

  Her gaze follows mine.

  Ainsley’s forehead creases in a frown. “Do you know him?”

  I swallow hard. “I think I do.”

  “You either know the guy or not. It can’t be an in between.”

  “I do.”

  “Nice. Who is he?”

  “That’s the hot client who sent me flowers.”

  “Oh...” Then the light bulb goes off. “Oh. My. God! That’s him?” She shouts her question. Her voice nearly drowns the background music.

  “Louder, please,” I say between clenched teeth, “I’m pretty sure people living in Rhode Island didn’t hear you.”

  “Can you blame me for being excited? My cousin caught the eye of a very fuckable hottie.”

  I knew Callum would be circumspect about things. Skylar, on the other hand, I knew was a loose cannon. I didn’t expect her to shoot off a text Ainsley’s way so quickly. Before I knew it, my other cousin was barging through the bakery’s doors demanding the scene-by-scene. Yeah, it turned into a pretty crazy Monday morning.

  “Seriously, Everly? Are you sure it’s him?” Ainsley presses.

  “I’ve only seen him once before, but there's no way you can ever forget a man who looks like that.”

  “No, you can’t,” she agrees.

  Ainsley and I exchange glances—mine of pure disbelief, hers veiled with devilish glee.

  “Ooohhh, he’s fine.” Ainsley’s scarlet-painted lips crack into a wide smile.

  A thought enters my mind. Not just a thought. A crazy ass one. One I have no business entertaining. But before I know it, my mouth opens.

  “He would look so good in that tub.”

  “Yes. He. Would. Especially if he were naked. Of course, you’d be naked as well,” she adds, as if it wasn’t obvious.

  “It goes without saying,” I say absentmindedly, my eyes taking in every inch of him.

  My God, the man is delicious.

  Although his note didn’t go into specifics as to when he’d be back in town, I kept praying all day yesterday that he’d pop by.

  “Christ, does he ever do that suit justice. Your man—”

  “He’s just a—” I stop myself before telling another lie.

  Who am I fooling?

  I’ve never felt like this before about a guy. I’m drawn to him in the most unreasonable way considering I barely know him. Callum is right. The palpable attraction between us is most certainly undeniable.

  Ainsley cocks an eyebrow. “I see you’ve come to your senses. Good. As I was saying, your man is oozing of virility, alpha-goodness and sexy ruggedness. You have to go for it. You just have to.”

  I look at her blankly. “I don’t know, Ainsley. That’s a tall order,” I reply on autopilot because I can’t think of anything less frightening than coming on to such a handsome guy. Wingsuit-flying followed by a B.A.S.E. jump into a plane in mid-air, maybe? Nah. This is way scarier. “I’m not that brave. Or bold.”

  “So you’re telling me you’re willing to let a common whore wearing a dress that’s two sizes too small go after your man? Do you see how hard she’s flirting? For the love of God, we can see her vajayjay. And her nipples are practically tearing her flimsy excuse of a dress. Classless tart.”

  “Where?” I move my head left and right to see past the crowd. It’s much easier for Ainsley since she stands five nine and she’s wearing four-inch heels.

  “Three o’clock,” she points to the right of the room.

  “Hell no, vulture,” I grumble when I catch sight of a woman dancing suggestively with her eyes on Holt.

  “What are you going to do about it?” my cousin challenges.

  I’m nothing like Ainsley. She has no qualms telling a guy pointblank how she feels about him. I, on the other hand, tend to wait for the guy to make the first move. I can’t explain it, but something shifts in me. I have a strong overpowering urge to walk across the room and go after what I want.

  “If the bitch thinks she’s going to sink her claws into him, she has another thing coming,” I say with a zeal I don’t recognize.

  “That’s my girl. Go. Flirt. Get laid!” Ainsley slaps me on the ass for good measure.

  CHAPTER 11

  Holt

  “Holt! Bro, you’re en fuego!” I hate it when he says that. “What a night for you!” Cadoc slaps me on the back in one of his annoying macho trademark gestures. “You might still be a tiny pup who’s still wet behind the ears,” Condescending asshole, “but tonight you kicked ass. You’re quickly turning this industry upside down. Your artists literally won the top awards of the night. You fucking cleaned the house, bro!”

  “I’m blessed. I was lucky enough to sign some amazing talent.”

  “And to think, regardless of my courtship, they remain loyal to you,” he smiles.

  I know. Ain’t that a bitch.

  “Like I said, I’m blessed,” I return his insincere grin.

  “Well, a gentleman can only try.”

  Gentleman? More like a fucking piranha.

  Cadoc Cork Phallusburg—and yes, that’s his real name—isn’t afraid to use any tactic to poach talent from other record companies––especially smaller ones. He started working at giant Gennadius Records at twenty, and he’s never left. He’s now the CEO.

  “Where’s that British guy with the eagle eye––I guess I should say with the wolf’s ear––who discovered Misty? I still can’t believe she beat Belinda Knowles and Taylin Shiftt. She even dethroned last year’s big winner. Denisa Luka is no longer reigning queen. What a coup! I’ve been looking all over for him to talk business.”

  “Xander had to leave early.”

  “Is he sick?”

  “No.”

  “Jetlagged?”

  “He had other obligations.”

  “He had something better to do than to do the women here?” Cadoc laughs at his own joke. I s
imply pull the corners of my lips up. That’s the best I can offer. “Get it?”

  Painfully so.

  “Got it.”

  “Xander is—” Cadoc pauses when a busty redhead in a yellow t-shirt posing as a dress walks by. “Oh, sorry, bro, I’ve been dying to get inside her panties since I saw her arrive. I’ll catch you later.”

  Never mind that she can’t be more than twenty and you’re sixty.

  “Sure.”

  Good riddance.

  I turn around with my drink in hand just to face an over-bleached blonde. Her gaze catches mine from across the room where she’s gyrating her hips from left to right. The look she gives me? Blatant. That dress she’s wearing? Completely see-through. And she isn’t even wearing any underwear. Desperation isn’t sexy. A half-drunk and half-high wannabe isn’t on my to-do list for tonight. Or ever. A few minutes ago, I saw her doing lines of coke in one of the party rooms and wash it down with Patrón… straight from the bottle.

  No thanks. I’ve left the trappings of that world behind.

  Without acknowledging her, I turn away, offering my back in answer.

  I don’t have time for shit like that.

  “Should I be worried?”

  I turn to the sultry voice to my right. “I’m sorry,” I frown.

  “Are you stalking me?” the woman challenges with a cock of her perfectly shaped brow.

  I’m completely lost.

  “Have we met?” I ask.

  “It’s Everly!”

  “Everly?”

  “The one and only,” she confirms with a nice dose of sass.

  I was just about to call it a night, but now that I’m standing in front of five feet and a bit of pure goodness, I might have to change my mind.

  Already, my cock twitches, eager to say hello.

  “I didn’t recognize you,” I explain.

  “It must be the hair,” she says, caressing her slick hairstyle.

  She turns around.

  Fuck, that ass. It’s a thing of beauty… even underneath the blazer.

  I pull my eyes back up just as she turns around to face me.

  “Bye-bye eighties’ crazy do,” she says. “When it’s like this, you don’t see the color as much.” Her hair is pulled back off her beautiful face in a low twist, leaving her neck bare. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t recognize me.”

  Instead of answering her, my eyes brush down her length.

  There’s something outrageously sexy about the way she’s rocking this female version of a tuxedo. Her fitted jacket caresses her slender curves and those narrow pants give the illusion that she has legs for days.

  Fuck. I’d love those legs wrapped around my shoulders.

  The pièce de résistance is the way her jacket falls open, revealing the peak of a black lace and satin bra. Her banging body is masterfully balanced on a pair of black patent leather stiletto heels.

  Wow.

  Classy. Sophisticated. Stunning.

  She’s been my go-to spank-bank fantasy in the past five days, wondering if she was into satin or lace.

  I have my answer now.

  She’s into both.

  Love it!

  I’m sure her panties must be as cock-hardening as the bra.

  Yeah, you guessed it, I’m sporting a semi at the thought.

  As my eyes travel back up to her gorgeous face, I catch the glitter of a double strand necklace and the sparkle of her large studs. Her makeup is flawless. Her red pout? Well, my mind is way in the gutter now.

  No wonder I couldn’t get her out of my head.

  She blushes under my inspection.

  “Wow. I must look really different,” she says shyly.

  “Nah, it’s not that at all. Without your fanny pack, you’re just another pretty face in the crowd,” I tell her.

  She covers her mouth with her hand, but that does little to taper the boisterous laugh that spills out of her. I can’t remember the last time the sound of a woman’s laughter made me feel this turned on.

  She’s so lighthearted, and I add that to the growing list of things I like about her.

  This girl is doing things to me.

  “Oh my God, that was hilarious,” she says when she finds her composure.

  “I tell it like it is,” I wink. “About your comments, I wasn’t stalking you. I swear. I wanted to see you again.”

  “You did?” Her big brown sparkle.

  “Yeah, I really did.” We stare at each other with a huge smile painted on our faces. “I even brought along the little princess so she could thank you personally.”

  Everly combs a fictitious loose strand behind her ear. “I’m sorry I missed you.” Her seductive brown eyes lock with mine for several long seconds. She draws a steadying breath that makes her delicate nostrils flare slightly and her chest heaves. What a vision. “Thank you for the note and the lovely flowers. That was a spectacular bouquet.”

  “I took a chance with the colors, but they reminded me so much of your hair, I couldn’t imagine sending you anything else.”

  She gives me a small nod. “You made my day.” Her eyelashes flutter softly against her rosy cheeks.

  “You saved my ass. Four-year-olds can be so temperamental. One minute they’re happy-go-lucky, and you’re the center of their world, the next, they’re pouting,” I laugh.

  “It would’ve been nice to meet your daughter,” she says.

  “You will. She loves your shop. She couldn’t stop talking about it. And let’s not forget, I have a challenge to meet head on.”

  “Oh, you haven’t forgotten?” she asks.

  “Not a chance. I can’t wait to sample more of your goods.”

  She gives me a dubious stare. “We are still talking about donuts here, aren’t we?”

  “That’s all up to you, sweet cheeks.”

  I can literally feel the smile creeping across my face.

  She’s at a loss for words.

  I tip the remains of my rusty nail down my throat, placing the empty glass on a waiter’s passing tray.

  “Where are my manners?” Her presence is intoxicating. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you. I’m good. I just finished another glass of champagne. I’ve lost count,” she laughs. “I should stop while I’m still able to walk in these like a lady.”

  Her eyes dart to her dainty feet.

  Mine follow.

  Jesus, those are sexy as fuck.

  What I’d give to see her in nothing more than those skyscrapers and the lingerie she’s hiding underneath the tuxedo.

  When I lift my head up, my gaze meets hers.

  “They’re a bit high, but this is a formal event after all. Flat shoes would be all wrong,” she says nervously, as though she can read minds.

  “No, they’re perfect. I love them on you.”

  I’d love them even more dangling over my shoulders while I pin you to the mattress.

  She stares up at me from beneath her endlessly long black lashes. “Copy that,” she says with a small laugh.

  “It’s good that we’re on the same page,” I say.

  “Clarity goes a long way.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “You, Mr.—” She pauses. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

  “Someone is being straightforward. I like that. You go after what you want,” I grin. “And it’s Mr. Christensen. At your service,” I add with a slight bow.

  She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her tits up, giving me a further peek of her bra and the swell of her breasts. She’s just upped the ante. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Christensen,” she says, blatantly checking me out with a languorous eye-sweep. “I reckon, between the two of us, you’re the straight shooter.”

  She’s good. She can hold her own.

  I like flirty Everly. A lot.

  “Nice double entendre,” I grin.

  She blushes furiously. “You’re bad. You lured me into your web and I fell for it.
”

  I have to coax myself not to go there.

  “Do you moonlight as a singer?” I veer the conversation to safer ground. If I don’t, I’m liable to allow the feral beast in me to do all the thinking. I’d love nothing more than to carry her out of here like a caveman to a secluded area of this hotel, so I can show her how bad I am.

  She knits her eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

  “You have to give up a vital organ to be on the guest list. That, or you have to be in the music industry or a group of select StreamTunes users.”

  “Oh, I get it,” she laughs. “Lucky for me, I still have all of my vital organs intact. I’m here because of my donuts.”

  “When did they serve them? I thought we had an assortment of cheesecakes for dessert.”

  “They’ll be part of the dessert table they’ll serve at midnight.”

  “That explains it. How did you get the gig? Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thank you. It’s been the highlight of my year. And to answer your question, I saved the event planner’s eldest son’s bar mitzvah party. Ryan Hammerstein—a faithful client—called me in a panic on a Sunday afternoon four hours before guests were set to arrive at his house. Unbeknown to him and his wife, his four-year-old daughter opened the fridge and served cake to their three German Shepherds. Since Ryan thinks cupcakes are too girly, he begged me to save the day. My team and I went into action. He said he owed me big time. Tonight is my reward.” She does a little curtsy.

  “Impressive.”

  “The team worked hard and it paid off. Mrs. Hammerstein dropped by the following day to thank me personally. She also referred tons of her friends after that.”

  “Wow. Good for you. Did you attend the entire ceremony?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even dinner?”

  “Yes. I was sitting at the vendors’ table.”

  “Where was it situated in the room?”

  “With a mob of guests, there’s no way you would’ve found it. We were on the bleachers in the far left corner of the dining room. It’s one of the downsides of not being a celebrity.”

  “I see,” I nod. “So you don’t have mad air guitar skills.”

  She laughs. “Nope. I’m more about sugar than musical instruments… even pretend ones.”