by K. Webster
“You scared the shit out of me,” she hisses, her cheeks blossoming pink the moment our eyes meet.
I smirk and nod toward her soiled jacket. “You should pay better attention.”
She lets out a frustrated huff and sets down her coffee. I watch with satisfaction as she struggles to clean the coffee off her jacket with a tissue. Eventually, she gives up and pulls the jacket off. Her white button-up blouse is tight, revealing her perfect tits underneath. My cock thickens as I wonder just how long it’ll take until I get her naked.
By the end of the week.
Without a doubt.
“Hey,” she snaps. “Eyes up here, buddy.”
Ignoring her outburst, I pin her with a knowing stare. “How was your weekend?”
She swallows, and the fire that was just burning through her is squelched. “Fine. Yours?”
“Also fine. Went sailing with some friends.”
“You know how to sail?” she asks, her nose scrunching.
I lean forward and grin. “I know how to do everything.”
Her eyes fall to my lips, so I lick them for good measure. She lets out a ragged sigh before turning her attention to the screen. I watch as she types in her password: WILDHEARTS2.
“What’s on the agenda, boss lady?”
“Well, for one, my name is Poppy. Two, you get to watch and watch only, remember?” Her back straightens and she purses her lips. Poppy Beckett is no longer caught off guard like she was last week or moments ago. She’s found some solid ground and is ready to go toe-to-toe.
Game on, woman. Game fucking on.
“I’m watching,” I rumble. “Carry on.”
She’s stiff for most of the day, but once she realizes I’m taking notes and not harming her, she relaxes. After several hours, she has relinquished her calendar to me. I help her prioritize her clients and her political engagements. Everything is color coded—blues, greens, grays—to indicate business appointments. Her calendar is a blur of boring. The only color is every other Saturday which is coded pink. As I get acquainted with her calendar, our eyes meet more and more over the screen. Once or twice, I even steal a smile from her.
A real smile.
Not the fake bullshit she gives everyone else.
Her office phone rings, and she takes the call. While she’s distracted, I peruse through her cell phone, no longer interested in her schedule. I program my number in and text myself. I also take it upon myself to read all her texts from those closest to her. She and Mateo are about as boring as can be. An outsider would never consider them romantically involved based on their text conversations alone. In fact, an outsider would never know the real her based on her phone. Her wallpaper is a picture of a gavel. Lame. Her photo folder is completely empty. In her deleted folder, there are pictures of plants and the Tampa skyline. Even a selfie with her tongue sticking out. I text them all to me. She has emails and messages galore, but they’re all business related. I can’t find anything that would reflect her having a life outside of running for lieutenant governor.
“Of course,” she purrs into the phone. “Mateo and I will be there, Governor. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Fake. Fake. Fake.
While she pretends and schmoozes, I download a porn app. Then, I look through her cookies. She looks at travel destinations a lot, not that she has time to travel. Maldives. Cozumel. Eastern Caribbean Islands. I even find where she’s looked up some people from her high school through a classmates app. Of course, it’s all been deleted. It’s as though she tries to stamp out the zany Poppy who used to babysit my brothers and me. At twenty-nine, she’s no longer that beautiful, carefree college girl.
She’s this picture-perfect woman who so carefully cultivates her life for all to see.
Bored with her phone, I erase my existence from my snooping, and then set it back down on the table. Today, I wear a Carl F. Bucherer Manero watch with a chocolate leather band. I stare, fixated on the second hand as it tick, tick, ticks around.
“Nice watch. Grandad buy that for you too?”
I snap my stare her way and grin at her. “Not exactly.”
Her cool expression fades as she searches my eyes. “Are you always so mysterious?”
“I’m not the one hiding my desire to swim naked in the ocean or my obsession with pretty flowers,” I tell her smugly. “I like cars. I like watches. I like boats. End of story.”
She blushes and picks at her perfectly manicured nail, chipping at the nude polish. I remember when it used to be painted blue or pink or orange. Back when she didn’t have to put on a show for others. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Little liar.
“So you’re going to Governor Mike Paxton’s birthday tomorrow night?” I ask, changing the subject.
Momentarily stunned, she frowns at me. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I overheard you talking.” I gesture to her phone. “And it’s on your calendar.”
She rubs at her temple. “Right. Sorry. Headache.”
“Too much wine last night?”
She swallows and shakes her head. “I haven’t had wine since Thursday. Mateo and I both agreed I had too much.”
I bite back a laugh. Does she like it when Mateo daddies her? “Noted. Stress?”
“Maybe,” she admits. “Or lack of protein. And before you say anything gross, I—”
“Let’s go,” I interrupt as I stand. “You don’t have another appointment until three. We can grab some lunch. My treat.”
She stares up at me in confusion. “I don’t have time to go to lunch.”
“You do, and you will. Move your ass, Beckett.”
“Camden!”
I squat beside her purse and shove the spilled contents back inside while sneaking a peek. Makeup. Planners and notebooks. Perfume. Nothing of interest. She’s standing by the time I hand it to her. Our fingers brush, and the blush on her neck returns.
It’s almost too easy.
Instead of pushing, though, I pull. Flash her a flirty smile. Let my eyes linger on her tits. Toss her a wink. She lets out a frustrated sigh, but based on the smile she fights, she likes the attention. I spent an entire evening watching her and Mateo interact, and it’s almost laughable the way they are together. It makes me wonder if the old man can get her to orgasm. I’m surprised she doesn’t have sex scheduled in her calendar.
Come to think of it…
“What’s the pink code for every other Saturday?” I blurt out as we exit her office.
She stops and gapes at me. “W-What?”
I lift my hand and close her mouth, letting my fingers linger there. I notice Nellie watching our exchange and she quickly looks away. “Pink, Poppy. What’s the pink stand for?”
She steps away from me and quickly scans the room where people are working. Instead of answering, she storms down the hall to the elevators. I trot to keep up with her. Her foot taps as she waits for the doors to open. Prowling over to her, I stand closely behind her so I can inhale her sweet scent. Lemons. I bet she tastes tart too.
Leaning forward, I bring my mouth to her ear. “Is pink for pussy? Is that something I get to watch too?”
She gasps, and before she can get away, I chuckle against the shell of her ear. The doors open, and she rushes inside. I casually look over my shoulder and grin at an older woman watching. She smiles politely at me and looks back down at her work. I follow Poppy inside the elevators and admire how flustered she is. Her arms are crossed as she faces me, her nostrils flaring with anger.
“What?”
“You can’t act like that,” she snaps. “I have a fiancé. You don’t get to say those things to me.”
I lift a brow. “What things?”
“Those things.”
“Is pussy one of those things? I like those things if that’s the case.”
She swallows and looks down at her feet. “Someone could have seen or heard.”
“Seen or heard what? We were simply discussi
ng your calendar.”
The doors ding open and several people enter. Taking the advantage, I sidle up next to her. She doesn’t move away, but won’t look me in the eye either.
“I bet Saturdays are for pussy. Does he lick you those days? Do you have such busy schedules you have to pencil in his cock?” I taunt, my voice low and only audible for her.
She lifts her chin and glowers at me. God, she really is beautiful with the fire flaming through her. “I’m not answering that for so many reasons.”
“Since I’m helping with your calendar,” I continue, ignoring her, “I could help you schedule in more days. And if he’s too busy on those days, I could assist.”
The elevator doors open again to let more people file in. She shifts away from me, and I step closer to her. My dick is hard, and I slightly press against her back to let her know, then place a discreet hand on her hip nearest the wall.
“Every day could be pussy day,” I breathe against her hair. “All you have to do is say yes.”
“No,” she hisses.
More people file in, and I’m forced to corner her altogether. Her breathing has quickened.
“Who says no to daily pussy play, hmmm?” I nip at her ear through her hair and slide my palm from her hip to her toned stomach. Pulling her closer to me, I let her feel how she affects me.
“I’m going to kill you the moment we get off this elevator,” she warns.
My dick jolts against her.
Her threats turn me on.
Chapter Four
Poppy
He laughs as I all but run to the parking garage toward his obnoxious car that takes up four parking spots. The lights flash and it beeps as he unlocks it for us. I climb into the passenger seat, and the moment he’s inside with me, I lay into him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I screech, fury bubbling up inside me. “Anyone could have seen us!”
The smug bastard grins wickedly at me. “There’s an ‘us’?”
“What? No!” I peek out the windows, but don’t see anyone nearby, thank God. “You’re a stalker. I’m telling Mateo I can’t do this anymore.”
He shoves the key into the ignition and turns over the engine. “You’re breaking up with him over me? Those feelings seem early, but hey, women are fickle creatures.”
“I’m not breaking up with him, asshole. Stop twisting my words. You. You’re out of here. Tonight, I’m telling Mateo what a pig you are.”
He peels out of the parking spots and barrels out of the garage. I scramble to get my seatbelt on just as we fly out onto the main road. He pulls out some trendy sunglasses and puts them on, hiding his calculating gaze from me. I cross my arms and glare out the window. We pass several restaurants my co-workers or Mateo and I frequent, heading toward the bay. My anger for him simmers as he winds us down the roads overlooking the sparkly waters. Tension bleeds from me as I trade in my anxiety for the beauty before me. We drive into a parking lot in front of a long pier.
Snookie’s Clams.
I’ve eaten here a few times when I was a teenager, but never as an adult. Dad would probably want to have me tested for worms if he knew I stepped into this place again. I can’t imagine it could have gotten any better over the years. I’m shocked rich boy Camden chose it.
“I promised you lunch,” he grits out before exiting the vehicle.
I huff out of the car after him, my high heels catching on the gravel. His hard face breaks into a smile when I wobble on the rocks, nearly tumbling to the ground.
“Careful, Beckett,” he sneers. “If you fall, I’m going to catch you. And once you’re in my arms, I won’t let go.”
I know it’s a threat, but my body warms several degrees. “What did I ever do to you?”
Ignoring me, he turns and strides over to the pier. His long legs leave me in the dust to scuttle after him like a little crab. By the time I make it to the end of the pier where the restaurant is, he’s already commandeered an outdoor table.
I sit across from him and try to remain angry. My attempts fail when he chats with the waitress, telling her to bring us their specials. He orders a mixed drink for me and water for himself. The youngest Pearson is so sure of himself. I suppose money makes a man that way.
A man.
And, God, is he ever a man. So much man, I can’t seem to ignore him like I want.
His shades sit on his perfect nose, hiding his intense blue eyes from me. Since he groped me in the elevator, I blatantly inspect him, not caring what he thinks. Joke’s on me, though, because I like looking at him. He may be a smug, arrogant bastard, but he’s a hot one.
Shame courses through me, and the moment the waitress hands me a drink the same blue as his eyes, I shove a straw in it and begin sucking it down. Rum. Coconut. Blue raspberry. It’s good and cold and distracts me from the other delicious thing on this pier. Mateo was right. I do find him attractive. But I also hate his guts. My life was perfectly fine this time last week. Everything going as planned.
He is not part of the plan.
“Don’t drink that so fast,” he bites out. “I thought you had a headache.”
“I do, and he’s looking right at me,” I hiss back.
He shoves the basket of bread across the table at me. “Eat, smartass.”
Unlike when Mateo chastises me, I don’t feel like I’m in trouble. Nor do I care. But I am hungry, so I grab a cheesy roll and bite on it unladylike. His lips twitch as he fights a smile.
“Feisty,” he says, his grin growing as he gestures at me.
“Fucker.” I wave back at him.
He throws his head back and laughs, scaring some gulls nearby. My flesh heats once again, and I blame the rum. I pick up my glass and suck more down, all the while, checking out my nemesis.
Deciding ignoring him is better, I turn my view to the bay behind him. I wonder if he sails out there or goes into the gulf. I’d ask him if he could act like a normal person, but I can’t trust him not to turn it sexual. The warm breeze blows some hair into my face, and I push it away.
“Seems like a messy bun day.” He leans back in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee, and motions to my hair.
I run my fingers through the slightly tangled locks and shake my head at him. “I was told messy buns reveal a messy person.” Wincing, I try not to think about one of the big blowout fights I had with my father over my future.
Camden remains silent. When I look up at him, his jaw is clenched and he appears angry. I don’t understand him. I hate the way he’s slammed into my life and trying to mess everything up.
“I’m going to the dinner tomorrow night,” he blurts out.
I frown. “The governor’s?”
“Yes. You and Mateo are going to take me.”
“No.”
“I really like it when you say yes,” he growls. “I need this connection.”
His words calm me. It’s not some fancy scheme to bed his old babysitter. Mateo told me all about Camden’s aspirations. Meeting with Mike would be beneficial to him. Hell, maybe Mike would even take over as his mentor, relieving me from the awful task.
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Say yes, Poppy.”
I exhale as more hair flies into my face. “You can’t embarrass me.”
He laughs. “You do that all by yourself, beautiful.”
Fire flashes through me. “I was doing just fine until you came along.”
“Say yes, Poppy.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Say yes, Poppy.”
I start to open my mouth, but he blurts out a question at the same time I give in to what he wants.
“Pink means sex, hmmm?”
“Yes.”
He laughs again, and heat burns my cheeks. Tears prickle at my eyes. This time, when the wind blows the hair in my face, I let it hide me. I’m going to cry. Tough, hardened Poppy Beckett is going to cry in front of this rich prick.
Pink does mean sex. It used to not be on my calendar
at all, that is, until I had to start begging for it. Mateo, while a good bed partner, doesn’t initiate sex often. It’s one of the only times I truly feel like I’m part of him, like we belong together, and he seems to not be that interested in it. Especially now that we’re engaged.
“How’s the headache?”
The voice is close. Soft. Gentle.
A sob catches in my throat.
Hot, strong fingers catch my hair, and he pushes it behind my ear. He kneels in front of me in his expensive suit, looking sorely out of place. Beautiful and caring. Not a Pearson at all.
“Open up,” he mutters.
My brows furrow, but then he shows me two migraine pills. I accept the medicine, relishing the soft touch of his fingers, and then let him bring a glass of water to my lips.
This looks so bad.
Young, sexy Camden kneeling in front of his old babysitter.
If the press got a hold of this…
“Thank you,” I rush out, waving him back over to his seat. “I’m fine now.”
He rises and sits back down, surprisingly backing off. We eat the most delicious lunch I’ve had in years in companionable silence. After lunch, he tosses down several hundreds as we stand. The waitress lets out a squeal as soon as we walk away.
“Sir!” she calls out after us. “You left too much! Your bill was only fifty-two dollars.”
He turns, walking backwards, and grins at her. “Keep it. Vote for me as president one day,” he jests.
Her laugh is loud, carrying over the gulls and breeze. “You’ve got my vote, Mr. President.”
He beams at me before turning to walk beside me. When we reach the end of the pier, he tosses me over his shoulder, and I scream out in surprise.
“Camden! What are you doing? Put me down!”
He playfully swats my ass as he carries me over to his Bugatti. “I’m doing you a service. Can’t have you breaking your ankle on my watch, Popps.”
My heart flutters for so many reasons.
Camden is trouble. Big trouble.
As soon as I get back to the office, this all needs to come to an end. If I don’t stop it now, it’s going to escalate into something that will blow up in my face.
