Red Hot Rose Boxed Set

by Kandi Kayne

  She sniffed again, following me. “Cologne. It’s men’s cologne.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you for not letting her smell the sex I just had. How humiliating!

  She tapped her finger in her chin. “Hmmmm, you got near enough to him that you got his cologne on you. Why … you little devil.” She was grinning at me now, proud of herself that she’d succeeded at her detective work.

  “Fine. I got close enough to get his cologne on me. You’ve figured me out.”

  “What about his dick? Did he get that on you too?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  I shoved her away. “Get out of here, you perv.”

  “You totally just did it with Alex in our apartment, didn’t you?”

  My face burned bright red. “Shut up.”

  “Oh. My. God.” She fake sniffed and wiped away a faux tear from the corner of her eye. “My little girl is growing up.”

  I walked out of the kitchen, shaking my head. “I’m still not sure I’m going to meet him. Even if we did have sex up against the front door a few minutes ago.”

  Jessica squealed and chased after me, all the way to our bedroom.

  “You’re totally going to meet him, so let me help you get dressed,” she said, once we’d settled down again.

  I was sitting on the bed, watching her pace around the room. “I don’t think I should go. Every time I get near him, I lose control. I’m like possessed or something. A possessed ho.”

  “Oooh, a possessed ho. I like that. And I’ll bet he likes it too.” She threw open our closet doors. “Where is he taking you again?”

  “He said The Breakwaters in Palm Beach. I have no idea what that is.”

  “Oh, it’s nice. Very fresh food, seasonal ingredients, fancy schmancy. You need a cocktail dress. A black one.”

  She pulled something out on a hanger. “Perfect.”

  “Oh, no, Jess. I could never wear your Chanel!”

  “Of course you can. It’s the absolute perfect dress to negotiate your new and very high salary. It will give you just the edge you need. Now go get in the shower and make sure you shave. Everywhere.”

  I stood up from the bed, eyeing the dress with trepidation. “What if I stain it?”

  “With what? Bleach? Just keep his man-juices off it, and you’ll be fine.”

  I burst out laughing. “Man-juices? Jess, that’s just nasty.”

  “Go. Shower. We have hair and makeup in twenty minutes.” She looked at her watch. “What time did he say he’d be here?”

  “Six.”

  “Well, hurry up! Time’s a-wastin’!”

  I smiled, moving to follow her orders. I still wasn’t sure this was the smartest thing to do, but it sure wasn’t going to be boring. And I’d had enough of boring to last me for a while. Besides … what could possibly go wrong with dinner at The Breakwaters with a handsome, unattached politician?

  I stepped into the shower and began lathering my hair, taking extra time to make sure my skin was as smooth as it could possibly be. Just in case he decides to touch me again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  By the time Jessica was done with my hair and face, I looked like a Hollywood starlet. Even I was impressed with what I saw in the mirror. I turned from left to right, viewing myself from every angle possible. Could this sophisticated woman actually be me? I felt like I’d aged ten years and already joined the professional world of business and politics and back-room deal-making.

  I smiled at my thoughts. I’d already done the back-room thing, but I hadn’t necessarily been making any deals.

  “What’s that sly grin for?” asked Jessica, taking a loud bite out of a very red apple, crunching its juicy flesh, her cheeks bulging out at the sides.

  “Nothing. Just thinking about … the party the other night.”

  She slurped up the piece of apple that tried to escape her mouth. “You lucked out at that thing. I stood around talking to Mister Pinky Ring all night, and you got laid by the hottest guy this side of the Mississippi.”

  I laughed. “He’s not that hot.”

  Jessica waved her apple at me carelessly before burping very cutely into the back of her wrist. “Ha! Don’t even try it. You know he’s that hot, which is the reason you’re dropping your drawers every time he’s around. I know how you are, Rosie. You don’t mess around with just anyone. Your pussy’s guarded better than the gold in Fort Knox.”

  I leaned over and slapped my roommate hard on the shoulder. “Shut your fat face, Jess! I’m not a prude. I’m just picky.” I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. Am I repressed?

  “Ow. Careful. Watch those meat hooks of yours. I have a delicate constitution, you know.” Jessica rubbed her arm. “I know you’re not a ho. You just have such high standards, it’s hard for any guy to meet them.”

  “Oh, please. My standards are just average. The bare minimum.” I looked down at my neat manicure, admiring my slim fingers that my mom used to say were made for playing piano. “And I don’t have meathooks for hands, by the way. They’re actually quite small for my body.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Back to you and your standards. I’m not done arguing that point yet. What about Bradley?”

  “Graduated, unemployed, living with his mother.”

  “Times are tough. You have to adjust. Not every guy is going to have a job right out of college.”

  “He’s been unemployed for five years.”

  “Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the best example. What about Josh?”

  “Man-whore. He’s slept with at least eight girls from my econ class alone. Bathroom walls are decorated with his name and not very appetizing mentions of his activities.”

  “Okay, we don’t need any diseases, that’s true. What about Charlie? He was cute and he had a job.”

  “Yeah. He’s perfect in every way, except for the fact that he’s gay and would only date me if I had a dick.”

  “Oh, shit. I had no idea. I should have, though … he is so friggin cute. And that body? Woof.” She shook her hand out and wiped the imaginary sweat off her brow.

  “Seriously,” I agreed. “Flawless.”

  “Okay, so I admit, the offerings have been a bit on the slim side. But still, you’re too picky. You refuse to use any of the online dating sites, you refuse to do anymore escorting … I’d say you’re lucky as hell to have ended your dry spell with Mister Tall Dark and Handsome. At least he has a job.”

  “And he’s not gay,” I said, smiling.

  “And he’s most def not gay.” Jessica smiled back at me. “Are you gonna do it in the parking lot of the restaurant, do you think?”

  I slapped her again. “No! I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Booooring,” sang Jessica, getting up to go to the kitchen. She yelled from the other room, “Roomie, your word of the day is Yes. Anything he asks you, you just say yes. Follow my advice, and you’ll be golden.”

  “Follow your advice, and I’ll probably end up in jail,” I muttered to myself, glancing one more time at the mirror. “Yes,” I said at my reflection. “Whatever you want, Alex, the answer is yes.”

  “No. I’m not doing that, Alex,” I said, frowning at him from the passenger side of the car.

  “Just humor me.”

  “No way, go humor yourself. If this dinner is all about sex for you, then you can just unlock my door and let me go back into my apartment.” I stared out the front window, unable to face him anymore. I was afraid he’d call my bluff. My mouth was saying no way, but my body was saying yes, yes, yes to his request that I take off my panties and ride to the restaurant commando.

  “I need this,” he said simply.

  “Get a blow-up doll,” I said, refusing to look at him.

  He didn’t say anything in response, but I felt his hand on my thigh.

  I pushed it off, turning to glare at him. “I am totally not kidding. Keep your paws off me, or I’m done here.”

  He smiled, a devilish look on his face that made my heart skip
a beat. He shook his head slowly, turning the engine over and pressing on the accelerator a little, making a growl come from beneath the hood. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  I took a deep breath. This thing was already getting out of control, and we hadn’t even left the parking lot. “You’re right. I don’t. You’re making no sense whatsoever. But just so you know … my roommate has your license plate number, and she knows where we’re supposed to be. If I don’t text her when we arrive and when we leave and every point along the way with our secret code, she’ll have the cops on your butt so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

  He chuckled, shifting the car into reverse and expertly removing the vehicle from the tight space. “You have nothing to fear from me. The last thing in the world I’d want to do is harm you.”

  “Why?” I asked. It was one of the dumber thing I’ve said, and I cringed at the word as soon as it left my lips. But there was nothing to do about it now except wait for his laughter at my naiveté. I might as well have told him to declare his undying love for me or something. Gah! Why don’t I think before I speak?

  He moved from second gear to third so smoothly the car didn’t jerk even the slightest bit. He stared out the window the entire time, giving no indication that he’d heard me.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. This was bad. It was such a stupid thing to say that he was just going to pretend he hadn’t heard it. I wanted to sink down in my seat or just disappear into thin air, but since I wasn’t ten years old or a witch, I conjured an image of myself in front of the mirror, looking powerful and sophisticated. Visualization is the key. You are not an idiotic college kid, begging for love from some near-stranger. You are a strong, intelligent woman who just needs to think a little bit more before speaking.

  “Why?” he said, surprising me, making me jump a little. “Because there’s just something about you that … calls to me.” He shook his head, turning the wheel to take the highway on-ramp. “And you’ve not harmed me or done anything to make me upset, so why would I want to harm you?”

  I considered his words. I call to him? What? Like a siren? I smiled at that. Sirens were kick-butt.

  “You’re like some kind of drug I find myself addicted to.” He turned briefly to give me a smoldering look before dropping his gaze to my thigh and crotch area.

  I could tell he wanted to touch me, but maybe now he wouldn’t because of what I said. Dammit! My mind was racing. He wants to touch me. I want him to touch me. Why am I being a silly little girl about it? Jessica’s words came ringing back into my ears. “Whatever he asks, the answer is yes.”

  I disregarded the alarm bells of caution that were ringing in my head and lifted up the hem of my dress, reaching in underneath to hook the edge of my thong with my finger and drag it down. I could have done it quickly, but something told me the act of doing it was as important as the final result.

  I looked over at him when part of the material was halfway down my thigh. His breath had quickened and the muscle at his jaw was twitching like crazy. It was a miracle we weren’t flying off the side of the road, the way his hands were gripping the wheel so intensely, squeezing it over and over.

  I lifted up the right side of my dress and pulled other part of my panties down until they were finally at my knees. I thanked the stars that Jessica had insisted I wear thigh-high stockings instead of full control-tops tonight. I couldn’t imagine how I would have pulled off this sexy little strip-tease if I’d had to wrestle with all that nylon.

  “Stop,” he said, holding his hand out between us. He glanced over at me, my dress pulled up high to reveal a lot of black-stockinged leg and my underwear at my knees. He breathed out heavily as he lowered his hand down slowly to stroke my leg.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, reveling in the sensations being created by his hot hand. I could feel the heat through my stockings and was ready to beg him to go higher so I could feel him on my bare skin.

  He made a strangled sound or a growl, I wasn’t sure which, and jerked his hand back, putting it on the wheel again. “Take them off. All the way,” he demanded.

  I pushed them down, over my ankles and around the back and bottom of my heels. When they were completely off, I put them in my purse, wondering when I’d get a chance to put them back on again. He couldn’t possibly expect me to go butt-naked all night during dinner. Could he?

  I looked over at him, wanting to know what was going through his mind. I smiled at my boldness, considering my thoughts only for a second before I gave voice to them. “What are you thinking right now?”

  He didn’t answer me at first. He looked angry, a storm cloud moving over his expression. I was almost to the point of regretting having asked him when his answer finally came.

  “I’m thinking how badly I want to bury my face in your pussy.”

  A shock of pure pleasure hit me between the legs. He hadn’t touched me, and his hands were still on the wheel, but his words and the way they came out all raspy and manly just took me down.

  I swallowed hard, trying to get my voice to work properly. “Oh,” I said. “That sounds … nice.”

  He grabbed my hand and pressed it against the front of his pants, right over his hard cock. “Nice doesn’t even begin to cut it,” he said.

  I was emboldened by his passion for me, riding high on the knowledge that he was a slave to my sex appeal. Here was one of the most powerful men I’d ever met, and he was losing control over me in a little black dress. I rubbed him through his pants, not sure if it was the safest thing to do while flying down the highway at almost seventy miles an hour but doing it anyway.

  “You’d better stop,” he said, “or I’m going to have to pull over. And then we’ll never make it to dinner.”

  I stroked him a couple more times for good measure and then pulled my hand away, grinning to myself, feeling like such a bad girl over the idea that I didn’t even care if we made it to that stupid restaurant at this point. All my high and mighty ideas of not being easy and not just letting him have his way with me faded out, overpowered by the idea of having his hands on me again. And that face-buried-in-the-pussy thing sounded pretty good too.

  “You have to keep me from touching you anymore tonight,” he said. “I have a serious business proposition for you, and I don’t want to spoil it.”

  So I’m irresistible now, huh? That’s kind of hard to believe. I looked at this grown man wearing a business suit with the jacket hanging on a hook in the back seat, his diamond-studded cufflinks attached to the french-cut shirt I knew had probably cost as much as my monthly rent.

  I shook my head, wondering what a guy like him was doing with a girl like me, folding my hands to keep the tremble in my fingers from being obvious. “I don’t understand. Why me? I’m just … a party escort.”

  He frowned, looking even more dangerous than he had before. “You’re not just anything.” He looked over at me. “You can’t possibly believe that about yourself.”

  I shrugged but said nothing. I wasn’t going to let this degenerate into one of those ‘poor me and you’re-not-a-bad-girl’ conversations. I didn’t want his pity, and I also didn’t need him thinking I didn’t have any respect for myself. I reached into my purse and pulled out my underwear.

  His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist firmly but not uncomfortably so. “Don’t,” he said, not looking at me.

  “Why not?”

  “Because. It’s what I want.”

  I withdrew my wrist from his grasp and leaned down, carefully drawing my underwear over and around my heels and up my legs, lifting my rear end from the seat to slide them in place. I carefully pulled my dress back down and smoothed it out. “Well, there’s no better time than the present to teach you the first thing you need to know about working with me.”

  “What’s that?” he said, his nostrils flaring as he stared out the windshield.

  “You’re not always going to get what you want, when you want it.”

  He dropped his hand
to the gear shift, putting it into fourth gear so he could overtake a slow car in front of us.

  “Challenge accepted,” he said confidently, his foot pressing on the gas pedal, the force of his acceleration pushing my body back into the soft leather seat.

  My face burned hot, but I wasn’t sure of the cause. Was it the nearly evil grin slowly spreading across his face? Or could it be the promise I heard in his voice? Either way, I knew I was playing in deep water now, and I was in waaaay over my head.

  We arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early for our reservation, but the fawning and smiling host led us to our table immediately. We had the best spot in the place, in a small alcove made private by strategically-placed plants and trees that allowed us to see out but no one to see in very well.

  Alexander pulled my chair out for me, waving the waiter off. He took his own seat, giving the other man the opportunity to take my cloth napkin off the table and drape it over my lap.

  The waiter stood next to me when he was finished, clasping his white-gloved hands together expectantly. “Shall I bring you an aperitif, perhaps? A kir or a cocktail?”

  I was immediately flustered by all the attention. I had no idea what a keer was or whether I wanted one, and I knew a cocktail this early in the evening would probably be a mistake.

  “Champagne,” said Alex without hesitation. “Ruinart. You know which I prefer.” His pronunciation of the champagne brand was perfectly French, causing me to wonder again when he’d been to France or to think that maybe he’d lived there at some point. It made me jealous; I’d always loved the French language and culture. Three years of learning the language in high school and another three in college hadn’t done anything to lessen my interest, either.

  The waiter gave a half-bow. “Of course, Mr. Blackstone. We have some ready for you, as well as some of the red from Mas Montel if you wish.”

  “Maybe later,” he said, looking at me. “I trust you enjoy champagne?”

  “It’s like drinking stars. What’s not to enjoy about that?” I said, smiling before I realized it probably made me look less sophisticated than I should in this place. I carefully schooled my features to look bland and cool.