The Dixon Brothers Trilogy: Hot Brits, Books 1-3

by Anna Durand

  She moans again, the sound rougher and needier.

  Fuck, I want her. Need to be inside her. So I shove her skirt up, tear off her knickers, and unzip my trousers while I seal my mouth around her nipple. Her blouse and bra separate my mouth from her skin, but nothing can stop me now. I suckle her stiff peak, and she arches her back and clutches my head. I have just enough sense left to remember to get a condom out of my pocket. I always have one with me, though I've never needed it until tonight, and I give up her flesh only long enough to get the condom on.

  Scraping my teeth across her nipple, I hoist one of her legs up and drive into her.

  A cry bursts out of her.

  I push inside her again and again, desperate to penetrate her so deeply that our bodies might become one. I love the feel of her hot, velvety flesh surrounding my cock and her hairs tickling my skin. Maybe I should hold back, take more time to make sure she comes, but I can't control my lust for this beautiful girl who recited German numbers to me. I consume her with a kind of unrelenting passion I've never experienced before, my movements growing wilder, greedier, almost rough. The need to come is nearly overpowering, but I want this to go on forever, with her body wrapped around me while the slapping of our flesh as we collide becomes a frantic rhythm. She bounces on my cock, and I grunt every time I slam her into the wall.

  She cries out at the instant her body clinches me, over and over, like her climax will never end. It pushes me over the edge too, and I come so hard for so long that my ears start to ring because I've stopped breathing. I unleash everything I have inside her lush body, then we both go limp.

  The beautiful woman in my arms sags against the wall.

  I nuzzle her neck, with my cock still buried inside her, and pepper light kisses on her skin as I make my way up to her ear. I want more time with her, more than a quick shag in an elevator.

  A phone rings.

  Fuck, it's mine.

  Digging my mobile out of my pocket, I answer it. "What do you want?"

  "Chance, darling," my ex-wife says. "We need to get together and talk more about your new duties at my firm."

  "I'm busy," I snap, sounding annoyed because I am. The last thing I want to do is see or speak to Raisa. "We can talk about this Monday."

  The elevator stops. The doors open.

  And the woman I want to spend the night with hurries into the hallway.

  "Wait," I call out to her.

  She turns toward me, her lips compressed even while they seem to quiver slightly.

  I hold the phone to my chest and speak to her. "Please wait. I'm sorry about this." Raisa shouts something, though my chest muffles her words. I hiss into the phone, "Not now."

  I look at the woman with the caramel eyes again, wanting to beg her to stay but unable to speak the words.

  She shakes her head and rushes away.

  "Goodbye, Raisa," I growl into the phone, then I disconnect the call and shove the mobile into my pocket.

  Zipping up my trousers, I race after my mystery woman.

  She's hurrying through the stairwell door. I get there a second after it closes, shove it open, and sprint down one flight. She's there, sitting on the last step, with her face cradled in her hands.

  A sigh rushes out of me. I haven't lost her.

  She peeks through her fingers at me.

  I kneel beside her. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have answered my phone."

  The loveliest woman I've ever seen shrugs, still peeking at me through her fingers.

  Gently, I pry her hands away and clasp them in mine. "Please come to my room. I'd love to spend all night with you. You're the most enchanting woman I've ever met."

  Her mobile chimes, like she has a text message, but she seems hesitant to look at it.

  "You can check that," I say. "It's all right."

  "Sorry." She pulls out her mobile and reads the text.

  Her expression turns pinched, and she glances up at me through her lashes, biting down on her lip.

  "You need to go," I say.

  She winces. "Yeah. It's, um, a family thing I forgot about."

  "May I know your name?"

  "Elena." She rummages in her purse, bringing out a slip of paper and a pen, then she scribbles something on the paper. Offering it to me, she says, "Here's my number."

  "Thank you, Elena." I love the way her name rolls off my tongue, as sweet and enticing as the woman herself. "I'm Chance, by the way."

  We both get up.

  I kiss her cheek. "I'll ring you tomorrow, if that's all right."

  "Yes, I'd like that."

  She walks away from me, disappearing through the door at the bottom of the next flight of stairs.

  The next day, when I ring the number she gave me, I wind up speaking to the gruff owner of an Italian deli. He's never heard of Elena.

  Maybe fate does exist---and it doesn't like me at all.

  Elena's Version

  One Hot Chance

  Chapter Three

  The shock of seeing Chance again has waned, a little bit, but I still want to crawl onto his lap like I imagined doing the other night. Luckily, I have lots of work to distract me from thinking about Chance for the next three hours. Well, maybe I think about him once or twice. Or...fifty times.

  Then I have to see him because he calls me to ask for a file.

  I walk into Chance's office and set the file on his desk. "Here's the information you need, sir. Do you require anything else?"

  He waves toward the chairs on my side of the desk. "Sit, Elena, please. I'd like to talk to you."

  Should I sit down? Is it safe for my libido? I eye the chairs, trying to decide whether I can control myself in his presence, since I'm not sure a desk is enough of a barrier. Finally, I settle onto the edge of a chair. At least this way I can run out the door if his silky British accent makes me too lustful.

  "This is awkward, I know," he says. "But pretending we haven't met before, haven't known each other intimately before, isn't the answer."

  "What we did wasn't intimate. It was a quickie with a stranger."

  "I like you, Elena. Is that a crime?"

  "No offense, Mr. Dixon, but you don't know me. I don't know you either."

  "Oh, I know a few relevant facts about you." He retrieves a folder from a drawer and lays it open on the desk. "I know you're twenty-seven, single, and you share an apartment with your brother. You grew up in a small town in Wisconsin and graduated from Northwestern, summa cum laude. You were accepted to Columbia Law School but backed out. Since you had already moved to New York by that point, you stayed and worked as a secretary in a law office until you received your paralegal certification."

  Holy shit, how does he know so much about me? I stare at him for several seconds, not blinking, my hands clamped over my knees, before I can manage to speak. "How do you know all that?"

  "Raisa is very thorough. Before she hires anyone, she has a complete background check done on them." He taps the open folder. "This is yours. Raisa gave it to me."

  "That's... kind of creepy."

  "It's business. Raisa is, admittedly, rather paranoid." He closes the file. "But I want to know more about you, all the things that don't show up in a background check."

  "Do I get to run a background check on you?"

  "No need." He leans back in his chair. "Ask me anything you like."

  "How about all the same facts you have on me?"

  "Of course." He keeps his gaze on me while he speaks, which makes me start to heat up in ways that are so not professional. "I'm thirty-four, divorced, not seeing anyone at the moment." He hits me with that swoon-worthy smile and winks. "Unless you agree to have dinner with me."

  Yes, yes, please yes. I want to say that, but instead I shake my head and struggle not to smile. "Continue with the facts, please."

  "All right. I grew up in the English countryside, in a quaint little village. I attended Oxford but got my law degree f
rom Yale. I live alone. Since this job is only temporary, I'm staying in the hotel across the street, the one where you and I met." He shrugs one shoulder. "I didn't graduate with honors, like you, but I did well enough academically. I've been working for a medium-size firm in Chicago, but I've taken a sabbatical to lend a hand here."

  "Until Raisa hires a permanent replacement for Lucas Miller." When he nods, I ask, "What exactly happened with him?"

  I've heard through the office grapevine that Raisa and Lucas Miller hated each other, but that's all the details I've gotten so far.

  "Ten days ago, Lucas Miller resigned," Chance says. "Lucas never got on with Raisa, and her recent behavior pushed him over the edge. He quit without notice. That left Raisa in a desperate situation, since several of Lucas's clients have court dates coming up soon."

  "That's why you're here."

  "Yes. I'm the emergency reinforcements. I've done a fair bit of corporate law, so I was qualified to take over as lead counsel."

  "I thought attorneys couldn't quit a case unless the client's doing something wrong."

  "That's true," he says, swallowing hard. His features tighten, but then he seems to reach a decision and his whole demeanor relaxes. "Lucas Miller didn't just resign. He was arrested ten days ago, on a Saturday night, after he went to Raisa's apartment and started screaming at her. He also tried to hit her, but she slammed the door in his face before he could. Lucas had a severe mental breakdown and was taken to the hospital."

  "Holy cow. I had no idea. I heard somebody say he 'went off the deep end,' but I figured it was an exaggeration."

  Chance shakes his head. "Unfortunately, it's not. Raisa contacted a judge she knows well to get permission for me to take over Miller's cases."

  "Now I feel kind of bad for thinking Raisa drives me crazy. I meant it as a metaphor, not the actual truth." I slide back in my chair and cross my legs. "Raisa is a lot older than you, isn't she?"

  "Yes, she's forty-eight. I imagine you read the New Yorker piece on her last year."

  I nod. "The article described her as a powerhouse player on the New York legal scene. I already knew about her, though, about how she built her own firm from the ground up and became the queen of divorce court. That's why I wanted to become a lawyer, and it's why I wanted to work here. She's amazing." I screw my mouth up when I think about that article. "The journalist who wrote that piece neglected to mention Raisa is a raging bitch."

  "She wasn't like that until recently." Chance hesitates, seeming to consider whether to tell me something like he had a moment ago. "Our divorce was finalized two months ago. Raisa has always been tough, sometimes rude, but she didn't become a raging bitch until the final decree came through. It's my fault she's been terrorizing the staff."

  "Uh-huh." I probably sound suspicious, because I am. "Freshly divorced sounds like big-time trouble to me. Maybe you shouldn't screw other women until you and Raisa get over each other."

  "I am over her. Have been for a long time. Our divorce might've been finalized two months ago, but we were separated for more than a year before that."

  "Still don't want to get in the middle of your marital problems."

  As much as I want Chance---and heaven help me, I want this man like crazy---the worst thing I can do is to get between my new boss and her ex. Sounds like a sure way to get fired.

  Chance and I watch each other for a moment, and his gaze roams over my entire body like he's taking an inventory of every part of me. The desire in his eyes and on his face is unmistakable, and when he roves that gaze over my breasts in slow motion, they tighten and tingle. I need his mouth on me again, his cock inside me, his hands all over me.

  "Why didn't you go to law school?" he asks.

  "None of your damn business." I stand up and square my shoulders. Since I can't get naked with him on his desk, I don't need to be in his office anymore. Plus, I don't like talking about the reasons why I skipped law school. "What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Dixon? I'm sure you need to get up to speed with Lucas Miller's active cases."

  He rubs his neck. "Yes, please pull all the files and bring them to me. I'll get started on the five hundred and thirty-two emails clogging my inbox."

  "That's my job. I sort through them, delete the spam and other useless stuff, and let you know when it's safe to open your inbox."

  "I appreciate that, Elena. Thank you."

  "You're welcome." I turn toward the door but pause on the threshold. "Would you like coffee? I get Raisa's every morning."

  "No, thank you. But I'd love a cuppa."

  "A cup of what? You said no to coffee."

  "Tea. That's what cuppa means."

  It's the cutest word I've ever heard for drinking tea, and he's the cutest man I've ever met. A smile tugs at my lips. "I'm guessing that's the British way to say it. Sorry, but you are the first British person I've ever met. I don't think watching Henry Cavill movies counts."

  "Probably not. I would love that cuppa, though. If it's not too much trouble."

  "Of course not." That smile tugs harder and tightens my cheeks. "I'm your slave, after all."

  Why did I say that? Now I'm having visions of every possible way he could make me his slave.

  "Should I close the door or leave it open?" I ask.

  "Leave it open."

  I get a mug of tea for Chance, plus a packet of sugar, a little container of milk, and a cookie. Isn't that how Brits like it? Then I put it all on a tray and carry it into his office, setting the tray on his desk right in front of him. "Your tea, Mr. Dixon. I know this probably isn't how you Brits do teatime, but it's the best we've got here in the good old US of A."

  "It's wonderful, thank you." He picks up the mug, reading the words painted on it. "The law is hot. Am I meant to read between the lines?"

  "No, it's a novelty mug, nothing more. You're lucky I didn't give you the one that says 'you can bang my gavel anytime.' I think an intern left that one here."

  He sets down the mug and picks up the cookie.

  "Brits like tea and biscuits, right?" I ask. "And biscuits are cookies, aren't they? If not, then I've been seriously misled by all those BBC shows I watched."

  "This is perfect." He takes a bite of the cookie. "Peanut butter?"

  "Sorry, that's all I could find." I tilt forward, peering down at his mug. "I hope the tea is okay, because all we have is Earl Grey or eggnog flavor. I'm sure that one's been lying around since Christmas. So I figured you'd prefer Earl Grey."

  He pours milk into his tea and takes a sip. "Just right. Thank you."

  I wrinkle my nose. "No sugar?"

  "No."

  "Yech." Oh jeez, Elena, way to impress your hot new boss.

  He chuckles. "You really are the most adorable creature."

  "Better get those files," I say and hurry out the door.

  I swear if he smiles at me and chuckles that way again, I can't be held responsible for my actions. It's completely his fault.

  Chance Dixon will ruin me for sure.

  Chapter One

  Reese

  I dig the key out of my pocket and unlock the door, pushing it open to walk into my new flat---temporary flat, loaned to me by my brother's fiancée, for the sole purpose of finding an American girl to shag. All right, maybe that isn't the reason I gave Chance and Elena. My brother and his almost wife wouldn't have lent me this flat otherwise. When I'd announced to Dane, my other brother, that I was going to shag an American girl, no one took me seriously. Everyone heard me shout it, but they know I love to make jokes.

  This time, I'm not joking. That's my plan. Find, win over, and sleep with a New York woman.

  Why not? It's a bit of fun, nothing more. A holiday from my life which has started to, as my almost sister-in-law might say, suck royally.

  "Another hot British guy in the Big Apple," Elena had said when she and Chance saw me off at the airport, for my big holiday in the US. "Try not to leave a trail of broken hearts. You
Dixon boys are impossible to resist."

  My brother found a wife in America, but I'm not after that. Women never want to date me, much less marry me, because they know I'm good for one thing. All I need is a girl in my bed.

  Well, the bed is optional.

  I drop my bag on the floor beside the sofa and turn in a circle to get the full view of my new temporary home. Elena's flat, which she told me Americans call an apartment, has big windows with a view of the city. She says at night the view is spectacular, with all the skyscrapers glowing with lights. I suppose that view might help me win over an American girl. It can't hurt.

  A bar separates the living room from the kitchen, where I see the refrigerator, the cooker---ah, the oven---and all the other items a kitchen is meant to have. Elena told me her brother Kyle, a college student, had left the refrigerator stocked with beer in case he wanted to stay here for a weekend now and then as a break from living on campus. Elena also said she left food in the fridge for me, so I won't have to live on beer. She gave me the numbers for all the best takeaway restaurants in the area too.

  Elena called them takeout restaurants. I need to remember these American words if I'm going to impress the ladies instead of confusing them. Chance warned me about that problem.

  He and Elena are getting married in fourteen days, in New Hampshire of all places. It's where they live now. That means I have two weeks to make my American dream come true. I jumped on a plane the day after Elena offered me her flat. Chance paid for my ticket because it was expensive to get a last-minute flight and because I'm, well, financially challenged at the moment.

  Losing my job has that effect. Not my fault I'm unemployed. Sometimes it just happens, and yeah, it royally sucks.

  I drop onto the sofa, stretching out lengthwise on the very puffy cushions. Elena and Kyle used to share this flat, and they've left all the furniture. That includes the sofa, two equally puffy chairs, and a table. I cross my ankles, link my hands behind my head, and sigh with contentment. Closing my eyes, I begin to formulate a plan for hunting down eligible women.

  "Oh!"