by Red Garnier
She was heading straight, straight, to Luke Preston. Jealousy squeezed him by the nuts and he wanted to vomit thinking about the things Luke Preston would do to Chloe in a heartbeat…there was no surer thing in all of Chicago than him. And Chloe was about the sexiest, most innocent thing on legs. Graves didn’t even know how the hell he’d managed to resist her just now, when she’d glowed like a blazing sun and he’d been desperate to get burned to ashes.
“Call Luke’s mobile,” he barked out to his butler.
Calling Luke Preston’s mobile phone, sir.
“What’s up, Grave face?” Luke’s cocky voice rang out into the living room.
“Hey, you home?” Graves kept his voice level as he dug into his pants pocket in search of the handcuff keys.
“Hell no. Still at Danny’s. Cade’s fucking us both in the ass. You should really get back here and dump a couple of more millions so he can fuck you.”
“Listen, remember the weapon-scanning software you wanted me to install? I’m restless and have time now. I need an in to your place and no interruptions for at least a couple hours.”
“Restless? Just go get laid, Graves. You’re depressing me, man.”
“Yes or no, Luke?”
“Fine. Yes. It’s cunt.”
“Excuse me?”
“The password. It’s cunt.”
“Jesus.” Graves ended the call with a quiet command, then he turned to Susanne and unlocked the handcuffs. “Sorry I made you come over. Help yourself to something, just be sure to let yourself out before I return.”
She shrugged, bored. “That’s fine. I’ll just go fuck Randy.”
“Say hello to your husband and thank him for sharing.”
She grinned. “Don’t worry, he gets off on it.”
“Yeah, I know.” He crossed to his bedroom and shoved into a plain T-shirt, so damned angry that Chloe would expose herself, sacrifice herself, over some stupid idea of losing her virginity before Saturday. She’d always been all sunshine, spirited and mischievous. Something that, as the polar opposite of Graves’s grim personality, he liked in ways that defied his comprehension. But this?
“I’m leaving,” he called out as he stalked toward the elevator. “Set up security system after Mrs. Robinson leaves.”
Yes, sir. Security system on standby.
Anger had worked Chloe into a lather.
Her car smelled of Graves. The gas tank boasted full, the red indicator rising up above the top of the marker. And the fact these tiny details affected her so powerfully made her want to scream. Especially when the man she ached for was now, as she drove down the busy Chicago streets, with another woman, in handcuffs, in his apartment.
God, please let Luke allow her the use of his state-of-the-art gym, so she could just have a go at his punching bags. But then the thought of Graves—mesmerizingly sexy, dark in all the ways that that woman had been light and fair—doing sexy things to her this very moment made Chloe’s throat close and her eyes sting and suddenly hitting something was the last thing on her mind.
And all she wanted was just to have a good cry instead.
She swallowed back her tears and braked at a stop light, drawing in a deep, fortifying breath. No. She couldn’t cry now. Maybe if she’d thought all hope was lost, she would allow herself to break—especially when her entire life, she had been waiting for him.
But Graves’s words trailed unbidden in her head, and her storming hormone levels shot through the roof every time she replayed them…
That’s right, Chlo. I want you so much you make me shake in my fucking pants. I’m obsessed with you…with where you are…and what to do…and who the fuck you’re with…I want to bury myself inside you so deep I won’t ever want to pull out…
Her hands shook on the steering wheel, and when she made her last turn, Luke’s posh apartment building stood like a beacon of hope only two blocks away. Because Luke was such a party boy, Chloe had been to several of his legendary “pajama parties” a couple of times when Daniel was out of town and mercifully oblivious to it, and thanks to those random escapades she knew Luke’s key-code access. The man had even told her once that if she ever wanted to go into his place, she could wait for him naked like all the rest of his special “friends.” Yeah, right.
He was incorrigible, Luke Preston, making it look so good to be bad.
He had the amazing good looks of a Greek god and lived a life of excess like a true Roman. Super sexy and painfully aware of his magnetism, he was unscrupulous enough to take wicked advantage of every girl’s attention and then some. The fact that he’d been born a billionaire and his companies almost ran themselves left the guy with tons of time to visit every bedroom in the city. In fact, Chloe’s entire group of friends had slept with Luke—and years later, they still didn’t stop gushing about it and couldn’t stop complaining over the fact that Luke didn’t seem to visit any bed twice.
But Chloe didn’t plan to sleep with the guy.
She wanted Graves Buchanan so badly, she feared she would die a virgin if she couldn’t have him.
All she truly needed tonight was to lure Luke’s playful streak—which was easy because the man didn’t have a serious bone in his body—and ask him to please help her torment Graves so he’d believe they were having an affair. Maybe if she managed to push the right button, Graves would react and for the love of God just put her out of her misery already!
Graves.
Chloe had never before reacted to a boy the way she had when she’d first met Graves. He’d been so handsome with his dark, windblown hair and his gold eyes and that deep, grave voice of a man. His endearing somberness had made Chloe anxious to tease out a smile from him.
She’d been merely thirteen, while Graves had been almost seventeen, and he’d recently approached her father’s company with one of his brilliant intelligence plans. Her father had been so impressed with the boy, he’d pulled his only son out of the partying lifestyle he’d been dragged into by the incorrigible Luke Preston, and he’d forced Daniel to work with Graves on the project for months.
Graves and Danny had been best friends ever since.
Years later and barely in his mid-twenties, Graves had gone on to become independent and a billionaire, but his promising start had been with the Lexingtons.
Chloe still remembered how anxiously she’d waited for Graves to come over to the house to work on his projects with Danny. Sometimes, she felt like she dressed just so he’d see her. And God, did Graves see her.
He used to stare at her like she was the most beautiful, precious thing on this earth. Like he’d gladly miss the sight of a comet, a sunset, a rainbow, so long as he could keep staring at Chloe. He’d get so distracted when she passed through or came to say hello, Danny would have to call his name several times to regain his attention.
But then, a couple of years ago, around the time Chloe began seriously trying to flirt with Graves and dramatically improved her outfits in the sexiness department, he’d begun stiffening when he heard her voice, going almost into defense mode when he saw her approach. And that had just made Chloe more and more desperate to make him look at her.
But tonight, those pale tawny eyes that appeared in all of Chloe’s fantasies were now looking with desire at another woman.
A cloud of despair enveloped her, and she bleakly decided the first thing she would attack when she got to Luke’s place was his assorted bar.
Graves could be kissing that woman and sliding his hands all over her this very instant, his beautiful tanned fingers caressing her skin in ways Chloe had dreamed of.
Her pussy wept with longing, while an awful loneliness spread through her until she felt empty and unwanted.
Trying to push him out of her mind, she rode the elevator to the top floor of Luke’s building, pressed Luke’s stupid code into his naked-woman keypad, and then she strolled into his place, greeted instantly by Luke’s female butler who’d been reduced to some sort of harem girl who sounded almost orgasmic. Wel
come, master!
“I pity you, woman,” Chloe grumbled, shaking her head. “I really do.”
Luke’s pad was sexy, a version of a playboy mansion that took up three entire floors, with the pools and a mini golf course on the lower level, his “themed” bedrooms on the second level, and a huge terrace plus a bar and the living area with Luke’s trademark red velvet drapery on level three.
Before Chloe settled down in the living room to watch something cheerful like E’s The Soup, she determinedly went to pour herself three shots of tequila. She paused when she heard a noise by the door and Luke’s stupid, Welcome, master! erupted once more. So…
The master had arrived indeed. Excellent. He was just in time.
“All right, Luke, before you start taking your pants off, let me tell you exactly what I want from you—” She stuttered to a halt as she turned.
Her stomach dropped.
Graves Buchanan, the man of her dreams, somehow had pulled a Copperfield on her and now stood at the open door. His chest was broad and muscular in a plain gray T-shirt, the sleeves snug around his bulging biceps. He looked somber and thoughtful, but even then, Chloe loathed that he was still as sexy as he’d been half an hour ago—and he still made her heart ache like a sore.
“I’m afraid Luke’s too busy getting fucked tonight, so I’m going to have to see you home.”
Something warm flitted through her at the quiet jealousy in his voice. “Graves, what are you doing here?”
“You surprised me once, now it’s my turn.”
Her pulse spun like a whirlwind when he stepped inside and shut the door, his expression telling her, You’ve been a bad, bad girl and now you have it coming…
Her heart jumped inside her chest and her traitorous nipples puckered. Then she remembered that he had denied her, repeatedly, and that he’d handcuffed some woman to pleasure him tonight instead of her. She shot him a glare. “I want Luke!”
He crossed his muscled arms and braced his legs apart, assessing her in somber silence for a moment. “Half an hour ago you wanted me, Chlo.”
“Clearly I’m wasting my time with you.”
He nodded indulgently. “I assure you, you’re wasting your time with Luke, too.”
“Really? How will you keep a sure lay like Luke away? Do you plan to tell him I have STDs or something?”
“Maybe,” he said with another nod, and suddenly he pushed himself forward in her direction. “Or then maybe I can just tell him you’d rather have me.”
Graves walked, easy and catlike, toward the bar, and suddenly her heart fluttered like a morphing little gremlin in her chest. Her mind got way ahead of her, and her brain synapses went haywire with the prospect of him pulling her into his arms and kissing the idea of sleeping with Luke Preston out of her head for good.
But he obliterated her hope when he grabbed two of her tequila shots and unapologetically poured the liquid into the copper bar sink.
“Don’t do this when you’re driving, Chloe,” he admonished with a frown that made him look concerned and inexplicably handsome to her.
A knot of disappointment tightened in her tummy when he tossed the third glass down the drain, too.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she rebelliously spun around and groped along the counter in search of the entire bottle. “Thanks for the advice, Poppa Buchanan, but I suggest you just go back to your big macho handcuffs and your bimbo now.”
Graves had cornered her, and now he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head forcibly to his. She held her breath as he ruthlessly scrutinized her for a long, heart-wrenching moment. His voice broke with huskiness. “Don’t be angry I didn’t put them on you.”
“Well, I am, because I’m not afraid of them!”
Another hand, massive and strong, spun her around to fully face him. “You should be. You should be very, very afraid of them. Of me, Chloe. You have no ideas the things a man like me could do to you—things little pampered girls know nothing about.”
Chloe’s lungs felt like they were exploding. Combined with his spicy scent, the dark flames in his eyes whipped her senses into a frenzy. Up close Graves was more stunningly virile than ever, more masculine than any man she’d ever known. Dark, square, and with that self-commanding air, he made her thighs water and her knees melt.
Her voice feathered like a whisper, and it broke with the force of her need. “I’m afraid of big things and small stupid things…but I’ll never in my life be afraid of you.”
Chloe couldn’t help reaching upward and stroking three fingers down his hard, stubbled jaw. A hand shot out to halt her, his reflexes stunningly fast, and although he didn’t instantly remove her hand, she could no longer caress him.
“Don’t, Chlo.” His voice was raspy, the black circles in his eyes spreading to swallow the gold irises. Swallow her. “I don’t like being touched…or being kissed…and I don’t like feeling like I’m losing control.”
Dropping that little bomb on her, he slowly lowered her hand, and walked away to the panoramic windows.
Chloe gaped after him. Her world tilted strangely on its axis as she fought to make sense of his words.
Eyes wide in disbelief, she looked down at her hands, and something twisted inside of her so very deep she thought it was a knife cutting through her soul.
“You don’t like being…?” She couldn’t even continue. The words tasted sour in her mouth. A whole ball of sourness spread to the pit of her stomach. “Why? Is that why you use handcuffs? To keep from being…touched?”
Oh my God, did this mean she’d never be able to caress and feel the man she wanted?
His jaw muscles worked as he stared out at the city lights. “Maybe. All I know is the only one allowed to touch in my bed is me,” he said softly, so softly she felt it like a whisper on her overheated skin.
Her pussy clenched at the image of being tied in his bed. Touched and pleasured by Graves Buchanan. Chloe knew instinctively that Graves’s touch would give her such intense pleasure, she nearly climaxed just imagining it. God, she could be strapped to a tree, be gazed at by this man, those eerie gold orbs of his eyes wetting her, exciting her, arousing her beyond measure…she’d no doubt he could bring her to multiple orgasms.
“Graves…when you said kissing, you mean French kissing?”
He nodded. “Generally I find I just can’t get into it.” There was no apology in his tone, merely a fact stated out to her like he’d say: I don’t like Indian food. Period.
Chloe gripped the granite counter for support, for she just couldn’t believe it. Graves always stared at her mouth like it was the stuff of his fantasies. And yet he didn’t kiss? Okay…but why did this just make her want to kiss him harder? Just to prove to him he was so, so wrong? “How can you not get into it? How many times have you even tried? Can you tell me that?”
God, she had to make him change his mind.
Otherwise, how could Chloe ever suppress the urge to kiss his beautiful mouth?
He had such beautiful lips, that plump, pink mouth…oh God. She’d fantasized about it, dreamed of it so many times. But Graves was so detached, such a methodical man by nature, he probably didn’t appreciate complications that weren’t related to electronics.
Did he think kissing was complicated or just pointless? Sloppy? Too personal?
“The women available to me when I was growing up didn’t…live up to my expectations. So I had to make some adjustments,” he said, his back still to her.
Chloe swallowed a lump the size of Oklahoma. So he’d just stopped kissing women altogether?
“You can have any woman you want now, Graves. Any woman.”
He burst out laughing at that, then he raked a hand through his hair, and she could see the fabric of his T-shirt stretch over his bulging muscles. “I wouldn’t know what on earth to do with the woman I want, Chlo.”
Her heart shuddered feverishly in her chest, and she prayed to God that she was this woman. She would be happy—no, she
wasn’t happy, she was desperate—to tell Graves Buchanan, to show him, all the things he could do to her. With her.
She hoped he didn’t notice the strained note in her voice, but she was floundering, was having a hard time processing what he’d revealed about himself. Plus there was still that little wanton part inside her that didn’t care, one way or another. She just wanted this man so much, she would take him any way she could have him.
Any. Way. She could have him.
“So you dislike everything that makes sex actually personal? Is that it?” she whispered, barely refraining from adding, “That’s fine! Even that turns me on with you!”
He moved his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, and suddenly, yes, she could see how his OCD and controlling persona would really not cherish losing his mind much.
She could see that it would not sit well with the genius behind one of the world’s most advanced intelligent systems corporation, to lose control, when he thrived on it. In fact, his very business was dedicated to granting its consumers and clients the most power, with the least effort. It was all about commanding…
But although understandable to some degree that Graves could detach himself from the emotional aspect of sex so admirably well, he would probably still believe a girl like Chloe should not settle for such a poor offer from a man such as impersonal sex and a one-night stand.
But then he had no clue how desperately she craved to yield to him. To him, only him. Not to Luke, not to anyone.
“Can I at least know what you enjoy, Graves?” she asked, her voice quivery.
She had to know.
Because her every cell still screamed for his touch, even if her hands would have to be tied and manacled to keep from touching him back. Every pore of her body screamed for Graves Buchanan. His touch, the heated looks in his eyes…
Silence.
“What pleasures you, when you have sex, Graves? What…turns you on?” she insisted, and her voice wavered with desire.
He stared outside, and she could see his right hand clenching and unclenching at his side. “The thought of you.” Then he spun around with a dark look, his mouth thin with a cynical twist to it. “Don’t pretend you don’t know it. Every time I see you your dresses get shorter and shorter and tighter and tighter and I swear to God you fucking do it to scramble my brain.”
