“You have no idea.” He set down his glass. “You ready for dessert?”
“No.” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I don’t have the room.”
“Not even for cream-filled profiteroles?”
She glanced toward the small bakery box on the kitchen island, which she’d only recently noticed. “Hmm, that does sound delectable. But I won’t be able to waddle if I have them now.”
“Dishes first, then. Dessert later.”
“You helping?”
“Of course. What kind of date would I be if I cooked, then left you to clean up the mess by yourself?”
“A typical one?”
A roguish smile spread across his face. “You’ve been seeing the wrong kind of guy. You’ll find that I’m anything but typical.”
Glancing down, she carefully folded her napkin. “So are we seeing each other?”
He waited until she looked up again and met his eyes. “I don’t know. Are we? Despite what you may think, I’m not much for one-night stands.”
Her heart thumped under her ribs. “So after tonight . . .”
“I’m looking forward to another night. And another after that. I could even be talked into a few days too.”
“Maddox, I . . . I’m just not sure.”
“You don’t have to be sure. We’re just having fun, Brie. We’ll take things one day—or rather one night—at a time.”
Getting to his feet, he stacked their plates and carried them over to the sink. She gathered up the salad bowl and the drinking glasses and followed.
To the strains of Mozart, they loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and put leftovers away in the refrigerator. He talked about easy, inconsequential things while they worked; she followed his lead.
All the while an inner debate raged in her head. What was she doing getting involved with Maddox Monroe? He was the last man she wanted in her life.
Or her bed.
He drove her crazy. And the two of them barely even tolerated each other. So why was she considering seeing him again after tonight?
For more of the best mind-blowing, lick-your-lips – good sex ever, maybe?
Her vag muscles tightened just at the thought, anticipating the next time he stripped her naked and buried himself inside her.
God, she really needed her head examined.
If she was smart, she would hand him his clothes and the box of profiteroles and shove him out the door. They’d go on as they had before—childhood adversaries who now had a polite but distant professional association. Tonight’s encounter, for lack of a better word, would be filed under mistakes not to be repeated and never spoken of again.
Yet, as she watched him give the countertops one final wipe, his beautiful, long-limbed muscles shifting and flexing, his pale golden skin gleaming with warmth and vitality in the low light, she couldn’t find the willpower to do it.
He neatly folded and placed the dishcloth on the edge of the sink, then rinsed his hands.
Finished with cleanup duty, he glanced over at her and into her eyes. “Time yet for dessert?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet.”
A spark flickered in the depths of his gaze. “Maybe another sort of sweet treat, then?”
At first she didn’t know what he meant. Then, before she could stop him, he reached out and laid his still-wet hands over her breasts.
She pulled in a surprised breath. “Maddox.”
Droplets of moisture seeped into her cotton T-shirt.
He gazed down critically. “Not enough.”
Flicking on the tap, he filled one cupped palm with water and splashed her.
Then he splashed her again.
“Maddox! What on earth? Stop that!”
But he just grinned, reminding her of the devilish little boy she’d once known.
He turned off the faucet, his eyes glued to her front.
She looked down and saw why.
Her shirt was drenched, the thin white material clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Her nipples drew into hard points. Her mouth grew suddenly dry.
“You’ve gotten me all wet,” she said.
“Yes, I have.”
Reaching out, he took one peak between his thumb and forefinger and massaged.
A moan sighed from her throat.
“Ready for me to get you even wetter?”
The space between her legs turned instantly slick, desire curling in the base of her belly.
He played with her other nipple as well, then slid his palm under one breast and bent to take the hard nubbin into his mouth. He sucked deeply, pulling on her through the wet material.
Her fingers wove into his hair and urged him closer.
“Yes,” she cried, letting her head tip back as he wrapped an arm around her waist and arched her into his body. “Oh. Hell. Yes.”
With a low, throaty chuckle, Maddox lifted her onto the just cleaned countertop and proceeded to give her exactly what she asked for.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“And as you can see, Mr. Monroe,” explained the first of the three architects in the conference room, “the projected redesign will add an additional twenty-four thousand square feet to the new M London. By using your plan to combine the three properties on the block and build up by two stories, we will be able to offer twelve more guest rooms than originally planned as well as two extra luxury penthouse suites with excellent views of the park.”
Maddox studied the scale model set up in the middle of the long table, then the 3-D computer renderings projected on the screen, analyzing each with an eye for detail. Overall, he liked what he saw.
“And the cost to break ground? You have those figures? Along with the projected timetables and completion dates?”
The oldest of the three men nodded. Reaching for a heavy binder, he thumbed through to find the information requested. He was just opening his mouth to answer when Maddox’s cell phone vibrated.
Maddox gave the phone a quick glance, recognizing the number. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to take this.”
“Of course,” the older architect said.
Maddox hit “answer” and put the phone to his ear. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room for some privacy. “Hey.”
It was Brie.
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “Am I calling at a bad time?”
He slipped a hand in one trouser pocket, blood humming in his veins from nothing more than the sound of her voice. “It’s never a bad time when you call.”
He could almost hear her melt on the other end of the line. She cleared her throat. “What I ought to have asked is, are you busy right now?”
“I’m in a morning meeting.”
“And I’m just on my way to one. But I wanted to let you know we got a response on our motion to have the Mergenfeld suit dismissed.”
“And?”
“It’s been denied. The judge has ruled that it can move forward. Do you want to discuss a settlement?”
Maddox’s hand tightened around the phone. “With that double-crossing, moneygrubbing little p-tard?”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“It’s most definitely a no. Anything else on the business front?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until we both have more time.”
He played with a button in his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers. It was small and green and had popped off one of Brie’s shirts last week when he’d surprised her at her office for lunch.
He’d stopped in to sign some papers and had ended up taking her in a frantic coupling in her private bathroom. He could still remember the way she’d felt. Her legs had been wrapped around his waist, her fingers in his hair, her mouth on his as she kissed him with crazy abandon from where she balanced on the granite countertop
next to the sink. He’d thrust into her over and over, one hand on her ass while his other hand tunneled inside her shirt to play with her breasts.
Somewhere along the line, he’d popped one of her buttons loose. He’d found it on the floor while he’d been tidying himself up afterward and had secreted it inside his pocket rather than returning it to her.
He’d taken to carrying it with him ever since.
As for Brie, she’d warned him not to drop in on her for “lunch” ever again. His visit had completely messed with her day, since she’d barely been able to think about anything else and had lost her train of thought that afternoon during a presentation attended by all the partners.
“I was mortified,” she told him later.
He’d laughed and apologized, then proceeded to fuck her blind seated on one of her dining room chairs.
“So, what time should I come over tonight?” he asked, staring out the window with an idle gaze while the architects waited patiently on the other side of the room for him to return.
“I’ll be working late. I have a client dinner that’ll probably go until ten or eleven.”
“Male or female?”
“Male or female what?”
“Client. I don’t like the idea of you out late with some other man.”
“If it’s a client, then it doesn’t matter what sex they happen to be. But if it makes you feel better, it’s a woman and her husband.”
“Need a plus one?”
She laughed. “No. And definitely not you. You’re much too high profile and I don’t need everyone speculating about things that are none of their business. Besides, one of the other partners and an associate are coming along too. You’d just be bored.”
“I believe I could keep up.”
“No doubt about it. But still you don’t need to waste your time. So rain check on tonight. We both could use some sleep.”
“Maybe, but I’ll be there anyway. Let’s say midnight. Unless you’d rather just come over to the hotel. I could send Marco with the car.”
“No, I . . . it’ll be easier if I see you at my place.”
So far, whenever he’d suggested she come to his penthouse at the M, she’d declined. He supposed it was too public for her taste. But as he’d explained, no one needed to know if she visited him overnight; he could easily bring her in through the private back entrance, which he usually used himself.
“Look, I’ve really got to run,” she said.
“Me too. See you at midnight.”
“Bye.”
He ended the call but didn’t immediately return to the conference table; his mind was still too full of Brie.
In the weeks since they’d first slept together, they’d spent only three nights apart. He’d needed to oversee some work at one of his other properties in Miami. Originally the trip had been scheduled for four nights, but he’d pushed everyone hard and finished a day early.
It had been late Friday night when he’d arrived back at JFK. He’d considered going to his penthouse at the M, but had ended up knocking on Brie’s door instead. Sleepy-eyed, her hair mussed, she’d let him in despite the late hour.
She’d welcomed him into her bed and her body as well, her guard down in those dark, quiet hours while the world slept around them.
As close as they now were physically, there was a barrier she worked hard to keep between them. He sensed it didn’t have anything to do with him, but with someone from her past. She didn’t talk about the men she’d been involved with, and truthfully, he didn’t want to know. But someone had hurt her; he couldn’t help but wonder who.
He found himself wishing occasionally that he knew so he could track the bastard down and punch his lights out. But then he reminded himself that if that man had treated Brie better, she might still be with him. They might even be married.
She wouldn’t belong to me now, Maddox thought.
And she did.
Exclusively.
He didn’t know how long the fire would burn between them, but while it did, he planned for them both to enjoy themselves to the max.
Turning, he went back to the conference table. “All right, gentlemen. Where were we?”
* * *
“Sorry, I’m late.” Brie slipped into a seat across the table from Madelyn. “Got held up in a meeting.”
The busy restaurant hummed around them, servers rushing to and fro while a multitude of noisy conversations droned like lazy bees.
“That’s okay. I just arrived a couple minutes ago myself.” Madelyn sent her a smile and sipped her lemonade.
The waitress appeared and took Brie’s drink order—the same as Madelyn’s. The girl zipped off again.
Brie and Madelyn consulted their menus for a moment, then set them aside.
“What are you having?” Madelyn asked.
“Probably the same as you, soup and a half sandwich.”
At this restaurant, which had a quick turnaround and wasn’t located too far from either of their office buildings, they generally ended up ordering the same thing whenever they ate there.
“Yes, but are you having chicken salad or oven-roasted turkey breast?”
Brie laughed. “I think I’m going to live dangerously today and try the grilled cheese.”
“With tomato soup?”
“Of course.”
They shared another grin.
The waitress arrived with Brie’s drink, then took their order. She disappeared again with quiet efficiency.
“What’s new since the last time we talked?” Madelyn unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap.
“Not too much. You know the routine. Work, eat, sleep.”
Have sex.
She was getting plenty of that lately too—hot, passionate, wildly inventive sex that left her exquisitely satiated and ready to drop off into a heavy sleep afterward.
Maddox came over to her apartment nearly every night. And each time, in spite of giving herself pep talks during the daylight hours about keeping boundaries and maintaining a bit of healthy space between them, she could never seem to turn him away.
To her annoyed chagrin, all he had to do was crook his little finger at her and smile his sexy smile and she ended up in bed with him.
Or else having sex with him in the living room . . .
Or the kitchen . . .
Or in the shower . . .
Or even one time on top of the washing machine while the spin cycle was set to high . . .
“You sure nothing’s up?” Madelyn eyed her shrewdly. “You look kind of funny all of a sudden.”
Even though she shared most things with Madelyn, she still hadn’t told her that she was seeing Maddox. For one thing, she wasn’t sure how her older sister would react to the news. For another, she kind of wanted to keep the relationship a secret. Although it looked as if that wasn’t going to last for too much longer, not if Madelyn-the-bloodhound was on the trail.
“I’m good,” Brie hedged. “Just thinking about something at work. Any word from the newlyweds?”
Ivy and James were still away on their honeymoon. Last she’d heard, they had left Isle Ivy. Ivy loved the Twilight series and had named her new tropical island as an homage to Isle Esme from the books.
Madelyn nodded. “Mom got a text yesterday. They’re in France. Ivy’s painting and James has been taking a business call here and there. I guess they’re headed for Paris and Geneva next week, more business of James’s; then it’s back home. So they’ll be here for the Fourth.”
“That’ll make Mom happy.”
“It will. The twins are excited about the holiday. They’re already pestering Zack and me about when we’re leaving to see Grammy and Grandpa. They loved last year, playing games in the garden and getting to stuff on hamburgers and watermelon and ice cream. You’ll be there, of course,
right?”
Every year, their parents hosted a blowout Fourth of July bash complete with food and fireworks. Friends, neighbors, and family came from near and far to join in the festivities.
Brie frowned, glad when the waitress appeared and set their meals in front of them. She busied herself opening a package of tiny oyster crackers and sprinkling them over her soup, then took a bite of her warm, gooey grilled cheese sandwich.
“What day are you coming up?” Madelyn pressed, eating a bite of her chicken salad on lightly toasted sourdough. “I think we’re going to leave just before the crack of dawn on the Fourth and see if we can miss most of the traffic.”
Brie spooned up some of her soup. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ll be there this year.”
Madelyn stopped chewing, then swallowed abruptly. “What? Why? You always come.”
“No, not always. There were lots of times I didn’t make it up when I was living in D.C.”
“Yes, but you were in D.C., which means you had a good excuse. You’re in New York now. You have to come.”
“I may have other plans this year.”
“What plans?” Madelyn narrowed her eyes, her nostrils flaring faintly; she was on the hunt.
Brie sighed inwardly. “Work. You know how it is.”
“Work, schmirk,” Madelyn said dismissively. “You’ve always got work. What’s the real reason?”
She wished now she’d just said she’d be there. But from comments Maddox had made, she was pretty sure he expected her to spend the holiday with him. Of course, she could have explained that she needed to attend a family function, but then wouldn’t he expect to come with her? She just wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
“Fess up.” Madelyn waved a finger in her direction. “It’s written all over your face.”
“What is?”
“Guilt. You’re hiding something.” She paused for a moment. “Or hiding someone. Who are you seeing?”
“Nobody.”
Crap, why do I have to sound so defensive?
One would think she could do better at obscuring the truth, considering that she was a lawyer and all.
“Aha!” Madelyn pounced. “You are seeing someone. Tell me who he is. What he does. Is he scorching hot?”
Mad About the Man Page 16
