by Emma Quinn
She had to agree with that. It was stupid. All of this was stupid. And there was one thing about all of this that was still nagging at her. “If you didn’t tell me about Tiffani, what else are you not telling me about?” she finally asked.
The deal they had made lingered in her mind.
Would he hold up his end of the bargain? He’d already gotten what he wanted—unless he’d been trying to sleep with her. What was to keep him honest? Especially since he apparently wasn’t too good at it.
“Please, Helen,” he began, but she was already saying good bye.
“Don’t call again, Mr. Roth,” she told him coolly. Then she hung up and put her phone down.
Fiona was there, staring with large eyes filled with sadness and disappointment. “She was his fiancée?”
“Yes,” Helen said flatly. “Not anymore, but she was. And recently, too. She still had his house key.”
Fiona’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe—”
“No. I gave him a chance. We’re not talking about this anymore.”
Although it looked like Fiona wanted to keep going with the conversation, she let it go. Finally. “That sucks,” was all she added before they both returned to their work.
Helen reminded herself that she didn’t care, but it was a hard sell.
After work, Helen decided she needed a pick me up. Fiona did more than wave as they parted ways, her way of letting Helen know that she was crestfallen over the whole Mr. Roth thing. Although it had been Helen’s love life on the line, Fiona had been living vicariously through her and it had clearly upset her that this had not unfolded like one of her romance novels.
Helen didn’t even invite her over to her parents’ restaurant that evening, which was where she was headed for a little TLC.
When Helen got there, she was surprised to find that her parents were celebrating.
“What’s going on?” she asked her mother, who was grinning from ear to ear. She was holding a celebratory glass of wine and quickly went to the counter to pour Helen one, too.
“Here, here!” she insisted, all but shoving the glass into Helen’s hand. “You need to celebrate with us!”
Helen couldn’t help but smile. It was a relief to see her mother in such good spirits. A moment later, her father came out from the back carrying a plate of mini cakes. He grinned and winked at his daughter before he began making his rounds, dropping off a cake for everyone who was seated at the restaurant.
When he finally came around to Helen and his wife, he presented them both with a mini cake. “To celebrate!”
Helen laughed as she accepted the cake, then asked both her parents again, “What are we celebrating?”
“The restaurant!” her father announced, then began dancing around the dining room as the patrons clapped along.
Helen couldn’t believe how ridiculous her father was being. It wasn’t that he was so strict that he never had any fun, but it was unusual to see him so light. Especially these days. And her mother! She looked ten years younger and twice as happy. It was an unreal transformation from the last time Helen had visited her parents.
“Mom, seriously, what’s going on?” Helen asked as her father continued to dance around.
Her mother continued to smile brightly as she answered Helen. “We won’t lose the restaurant!”
Helen stared at her mother, for a second unable to understand the words. “Wait, what?”
Her mother nodded emphatically. “I know! It’s a miracle! But we just got word today that they’ve officially closed the project and there’s even talk that some of the others who have sold will be given the rights to their shops back in the next month or so! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Before Helen could answer her mother, her father had returned to sweep the older woman away. The pair of them laughed and danced as though everything was finally right in the world. The customers were smiling and laughing. Everything had fallen into place. And Helen knew what it meant.
Michael Roth had kept his word.
As her parents continued to celebrate, Helen reached for her phone and did two things. First, she texted Fiona with a simple: You were right. He kept his word. The second thing she did was dial Michael’s number. It rang twice before he answered this time.
“Hello?” His tone was cautious this time.
“Do you still want that second date?”
16
Michael
M
ichael hadn’t expected to get a second chance with Helen after that whole mess with Tiffani, but when she called something in his chest had eased.
A second date.
Michael had done the legwork to get the project called off and was currently in negotiations to return ownership of the other restaurants and shops in the neighborhood to their rightful owners. It hadn’t been a hugely popular move with most of his board, but he felt good about the decision. It was the right thing to do and his main argument to his board had been that it was saving Roth, Inc. from a huge scandal.
That had been enough to get the okay from them and he was relieved that he didn’t have to go directly against them. That could get bloody.
Michael got ready for his second date with Helen, equal parts relieved and nervous. He was hopeful that she had agreed to this date because she wanted to spend time with him, but there was also a spark of doubt in the back of his mind. Doubt that maybe she was only doing this because she wanted to say thank you for keeping up his end of the deal.
Helen seemed like the type of person who would do something simply because it was the right thing and that made Michael a little nervous. What if she had decided that she didn't like him at all? There was every possibility that at the end of this date they would part ways with a hug and a smile and Helen would tell him thank you for everything.
He admitted that it was why Michael was spending more time on his appearance tonight than usual. Not that he thought how he looked would change Helen's mind one way or the other, but he was hoping it would boost his confidence at least.
It had been a long time since a woman made him nervous.
Michael tried out a grand total of sixteen ties tossing each one of them aside after deeming them too stuffy or too boring or too business-like.
When he finally settled on an outfit for that evening, it didn't include a tie at all. He ended up wearing black slacks and a white button down tucked into them. He picked out a plain matching black blazer and while he felt a little foolish because he looked so traditional, he decided it was better than trying to be flashy for Helen's sake. She didn't seem like she would enjoy that anyway.
Michael grab the keys to his house and stuff them into his pocket along with his cell phone, then he headed out to the waiting limo. Helen had still refused to let him pick her up, but he decided that was fine. He would win her over eventually.
The limo driver opened the back door for him and Michael slid in. the driver got behind the wheel and adjusted his rearview mirror so that he could look Michael in the eyes.
“Where to tonight, sir?” he asked.
Helen had picked the restaurant for this evening and Michael was interested to see where it was. He didn't recognize the address and it was in an unfamiliar part of town. That might have made him nervous at one point, however, after her surprise trip through the park he was confident that he would enjoy whatever location she had picked.
Michael gave his driver the address. The quirked eyebrow from the man made Michael question where he was going tonight, but he was going to meet Helen. Period.
They stopped in a parking lot and Michael frowned. “Are we lost?” he asked.
The driver shook his head. “No, sir. We’re here. It’s a taco truck.”
Michael got out and noticed that there was a long food truck and a couple of tables set up in front of it. There were only a few customers out, holding tacos and standing rather than sitting.
“Are you sure this was the correct address?” the driver finally asked, looking skeptically at
the area.
Michael almost said no, but then he spotted Helen.
She was dressed in a denim skirt with leggings underneath and a blue sweater and a coat over it. The nights were still chilly and he saw that they were probably going to be eating outside tonight.
Smiling, Michael shook his head. “No, this is the right place. Thank you.”
The limo driver nodded and mentioned that he wouldn’t be far whenever Michael was ready to go. Michael thanked him before heading towards Helen.
She was smiling cheekily.
When he reached her, he grinned and said, “I suddenly feel overdressed.”
She laughed, but said, “You look great no matter where you go.” Then she winced and said, “I mean, plenty of people stop here after work, so you’re not overdressed or anything.”
He thought he saw a blush on her cheeks, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he said, “Thank you. And should I be worried about food poisoning?”
“No! And everyone around us is going to be offended if you suggest that again,” she admonished. “Food trucks are very clean, because they have to be. There isn’t enough space to be messy and no one wants to get a reputation for bad food.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Consider myself schooled. What do you recommend?”
“The pork tacos,” she told him. “They’re my favorite and only a little spicy.”
Laughing, he shook his head and said, “Suddenly I don’t know if I should trust you.”
She grinned. “Guess you’ll just have to take a leap of faith and see.”
He did.
Michael ended up trying three different types of tacos after deciding the first one was so good. Helen laughed and teased him, sharing hers in bites. She offered him the fish taco she’d gotten and he took a bite as she held it.
She laughed at him. “You’re ridiculous!”
Chewing before responding, he winked at her and said, “You’ve made a believer out of me.”
“I do have that affect on people,” she agreed mildly, polishing off the taco.
When they had gotten a couple of beers to wash down the tacos, Helen looked up at him and smiled sincerely at him. “I wanted to say thank you for keeping your word.”
His smile was soft. “You don’t have to say thank you,” he told her. “I promised.” He lifted the beer towards her as though in a toast. “And now, you don’t have to go out with me anymore.”
He said it teasingly, but the truth was, he hoped she would correct him. He hoped that he’d won her over and that she would ask to see him again.
Instead, she set her beer down and then reached for his. She took it out of his hand and put that one down, too. Then she stepped towards him, smiled, and pushing up on her toes, kissed him on the mouth. He was surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. His hands went to her waist and he pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. Her breasts pushed against his chest, her heart syncing with his. Or maybe his own heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t feel the beat of hers.
Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling herself as close as she could. Her lips were full and warm and when they parted his tongue accepted the invitation to explore.
She was sweet and salty and so warm.
His hands wandered lower, finding her full hips and moving around to the swell of her rear. He squeezed there, pulling her closer at the same time. His hardness pressed against her middle, something he couldn’t hide if he wanted to.
But he didn’t really want to.
That was when she broke the kiss, a breath of heat escaping her swollen lips. “I think you should take me home,” she whispered against his mouth.
Heat surged inside him and his hardness swelled further. His eyes flashed and he asked, “Are you sure?”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Yes.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed her again, but pulled his right hand from her body to dig into his pocket. He found his phone and pulled away so that he could make a call. She continued to kiss along the column of his neck, her hands smoothing over the stiff material of his button up shirt. Her fingers slipped between the fabric, dallying over soft, hot skin, and slowly driving him absolutely insane.
Stumbling over his words, he managed to tell his driver, “Uh, we’re ready to go home.”
A few moments later, the limo pulled up and his driver stepped out to open the door for them. That was when Helen finally pulled her hands away from Michael’s shirt, much to his disappointment. Helen slid into the backseat and scooched over so that he could follow her in. They began kissing again as soon as the door was closed. His hand went to the small of her back, leaning her into the seat until he was half on top of her.
When the driver asked, “Ahem. Are we going to your place, sir?”
Embarrassed, Helen readjusted her denim skirt, but laughed. Michael managed to slide off of her, but left one hand on her knee. “Yes, of course.”
He raised an eyebrow at Helen who nodded her assent.
The drive home was torturous, but when they finally arrived, Michael led Helen inside. Once he’d closed and locked the door after them.
As soon as that was done, Michael grabbed Helen again by her hips, jerking her against him. His manhood had hardened to a desperate aching and he knew her warm body was the only thing that would alleviate the need growing within him.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the soft column of her neck, touching what flesh he could with his mouth and tongue.
“You taste good,” he murmured against her.
He felt her tremble in his arms and moan.
Her hands began to wander over him, starting first at his hairline, shyly exploring there, but as he suckled at her neck, her hands became bolder. They dipped beneath his blazer, sliding across the stiff fabric of her shirt.
Michael’s own hands slid over her rear, squeezing her full ass and jerking her against him. The pressure against his hardness did nothing to ease his need.
“Helen, please,” he whispered against her neck.
“Help me,” she muttered and it was only then that he realized she was trying to get his blazer off.
Helen was trying to undress him.
He pulled away then, grinning at her, and finished the inept work of her hands, jerking his blazer off. It dropped to the floor as her hands went to the buttons on his shirt. “Helen,” he murmured.
“Hm?” she asked, still focused at the task at hand—getting him naked, apparently.
Laughing a little, he said, “Helen, I need to get some of your clothes off—you’re wearing far too many layers.”
That caused her to pause. She looked up at him with large eyes and for a second he worried that he’d broken the whole mood. That she was realizing what they were doing and had decided she didn’t want it.
Then she let out a shuddering breath and her hands went to the jacket she was wearing. “Sorry. I—I didn’t plan for this.”
His own hands went to finish her work of undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I didn’t even dare to hope I’d get to touch you like this, Helen,” he told her honestly.
Had his imagination supplied illusions of what she might look like naked and splayed out beneath him? Of course.
Had he dreamt of taking her in his bed until she begged and called out his name? Undoubtedly.
But he’d tried hard not to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to make any assumptions of what he might experience with her tonight.
“It’s all I’ve been able to think about tonight,” she told him. Her jacket was off and she lifted her shirt up over her head, exposing the lacy bra she’d chosen for that evening.
He paused at the last button of his shirt to stare at her soft curves and the roundness of her breasts. The bra covered too much, he decided, the need to see her nipples hardened and to pinch them in his fingers intense.
She reached around then to undo the clasp of her bra and he knew the instant it popped free
.
Her bra slid forward and he reached out, his fingers slipping beneath the straps and drawing them down the length of her arms. He peeled back the lace to see the sweet, soft orbs beneath.
“Your nipples are hard,” he said with a smile, delighting in how reality was matching his fantasy.
Her cheeks warmed. He worried she might become embarrassed, but instead she grew brave. She grasped his hands in hers and drew them to her chest. She placed them on her breasts, encouraging him to cup her.
A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he squeezed her.
She tilted her head back, her eyes sliding closed as she let him touch her.
His thumbs brushed over her hardened tips and she jerked, a little moan escaping her. That little sound encouraged him and he used his thumb and forefinger to pinch at her nipples.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“You’re so soft, Helen,” he told her, cupping her breasts again.
Her hands went to his chest to undo the final button of his shirt, then pulled it open. She touched along the hardened muscles there, caressing warm flesh until he felt like he was on fire.
When her hands dipped to the front of his slacks, he jerked involuntarily forward towards her.
She undid the top button and when she pulled down the zipper, he sprang free, hard and pulsing with need.
Her hands slid over him.
“Damnit, Helen,” he growled, jerking into her hand.
She stepped closer and his hands slipped down from her breasts to her waist and lower to her hips.
Hips that were still clothed.
Through the murky haze of desire that her hands were causing inside him, he managed to get his hands around the front to her denim skirt. He fumbled with the button and zipper as she continued to gently stroke him.
The skirt dropped, but then he cursed. “Damnit. You’re wearing too many layers!”
She laughed, but it was breathless.
A second later her hands were gone from his aching member only to go to her hips and shove down her leggings—and her panties with them.
