by Roxy Sloane
I reach the store and head inside, but I stop dead when I see how long the line is. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I whisper under my breath.
The person who just entered behind me chuckles. “You’d think they were grinding up crack in those shakes.”
I giggle, turning to agree. Then I lock onto a pair of deep blue eyes, and promptly forget what I was about to say.
It’s a man.
A ridiculously attractive man, sexy-as-hell, in a perfectly-cut designer suit. He’s got a square jaw, dark blonde hair, and a playful smile that suddenly makes me forget my own name.
“Now, a good burger, I’ll stand in line for,” he casually continues. “Hell, I’ll wait around for ribs if the smoke is good enough. But bitter green juice that gets stuck in your pipes? No thank you.”
“So what are you doing here?” I finally find my voice again.
He gives me a devastating grin. “Call it my shot at being a better man. You can have too much of a good thing.”
“I don’t understand why people say that,” I sigh. “I could use more good things, not less.”
“You’re right.” The man leans in, his arm brushing against me with a shock of sensation as he draws closer, just for me to hear. “When something’s that good, you never want it to end.”
I reel back, my head spinning. Are we still talking about juice?
His gaze skims down my body, and I feel it tense under his stare. Not defensive, the way I get when Carter gives me a skeezy look, but a hot curiosity prickling in my veins.
I like the way he looks at me.
Before I can figure out what to say next, it’s my turn at the head of the line.
I pass over Carter’s order, and they start packing slim green bottles into a bag. “That’ll be a hundred and twenty dollars,” the clerk says with a perky grin.
I look through my wallet and realize with a sinking heart that I didn’t think to bring Carter’s business credit card – and my rent check just cleared, meaning there’s a grand total of fifteen bucks in my account until tomorrow.
I pause, about to explain, when suddenly a black credit card slides across the desk. “She’s with me,” the sexy stranger instructs them.
“No, I couldn’t,” I protest.
“I insist. I’ll take an OJ with that.” He signs the credit slip with a scrawl. “I’m being a better man, remember?”
“But this is too much.”
“Too late, it’s done.”
The clerk hands me the bag, and I have no choice but to take it. “Well, thank you,” I tell him gratefully. “You really saved me. My boss would kill me if he didn’t have this.”
“My pleasure.” He holds the door open for me as we exit. I catch a drift of his aftershave as I pass, a rich, masculine scent with a hint of something spicy. I’m so distracted that I don’t notice the step down to the curb. I trip, stumbling out into the street. Way to make a good impression, Fawes.
Strong arms close around me, pulling me back up.
“Easy there, ” he murmurs, crushing me tight against his solid chest. “Wouldn’t want you to take a fall.”
A strange thought floods my mind: the only falling I want to do is into his bed.
I scramble to pull myself together. “I’m fine now. You can put me down.”
“Are you sure about that?” His gaze turns hotter.
I press my hands against his chest. It’s a mistake. I feel the chiseled muscle of his pecs and have to catch my breath again, but he’s already releasing me, setting me gently on the street.
The way he’s looking at me… I can’t remember the last time a man gazed at me with such intensity. Like he sees me, really sees me -- not just as Keely, go-to girl, but as a woman.
“Be careful.” The man winks again. “ Or next time, you’ll wind up on your hands and knees.” He leans in to whisper, just for me. “Exactly where you belong.”
His words shock me, piercing the haze of desire. “What did you say?” I gasp.
“You heard me.” He tilts his head, giving me a lazy grin. “Take care, Keely.”
My head spins, as I watch him walk away. For years it’s felt like I’ve been locked in a prison of numbness, ever since my parents died. Nothing breaks through, nothing affects me. But with one brief encounter, this man has pierced my defenses. I’m reeling from his touch, his words. But he’s already disappearing down the street before I can wonder.
How does he know my name?
FOUR
VAUGHN
I throw the photos from last night across the desk at Phil Markham: my client, and an all-around chump. He’s got a beer-gut, receding hairline, and a nervous laugh that’s already driving me out of my fucking mind.
No wonder his wife got wet the minute she laid eyes on me. This guy couldn’t find his way to her clit with a fucking GPS.
“There you go.” I nod at the pictures of his wife with her legs spread, licking my cum off her own tit. It’s not artistic, sure, but it gets the message across.
His mouth drops open in shock. “Is this...” he stutters. “Did you..?”
“Fuck her, like you wanted.” I yawn. Half my clients are happy just to have the job done, but then you get guys like Phil, who wanted her to cheat -- right up until the moment she does it.
He flips through the photos, his eyes widening. “She never goes down on me.”
“Consider it a lucky break.” I remember her slobbering. “She can’t suck for shit.”
He bristles. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
“Your soon-to-be ex-wife,” I correct him, “who’s about to be screwed in the divorce, thanks to those. Aren’t you the one who wanted to cut her loose with nothing?”
“Well, yes, but...” Phil squints at the final photo like he wants to argue some more, but I’m already done.
“My final invoice is in the file. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”
Phil blusters some more about my prices, but he clears out pretty quick once I remind him about the money he’s saving on that invalid prenup. When the door closes, I sigh in relief.
Finally. Some motherfucking peace.
I grab a handful of Advil and wash them down with a swig of Jack from my bottom drawer. After I left last night’s job, I wound up at a club downtown with a couple of exotic dancers and a bottle of tequila. Now, those girls could show Mrs. Markham a thing or two about giving head. They’d been around the block for sure, but damn, if they hadn’t picked up a trick or two.
I remember Desiree licking her way across Lola’s breasts and feel myself get hard again. That’s when the door flies open and my newest client comes striding in.
“I thought I paid you to get the job done!” he growls, dark eyes flashing. “So why the fuck are you sitting around here instead of screwing that bitch?”
I slowly get to my feet. He’s a smug bastard: flashy pinstripe suit and a king-sized Rolex. Cloak and dagger shit too: no full name, no contact address, just a cell number for a burner phone. If it wasn’t for the huge check he came waving around, I wouldn’t have touched his business. I’m already regretting the choice.
“You don’t barge the fuck into my office. Make a damn appointment. Maggie!” I yell to my assistant in the next room.
She pokes her head around the door. “He wouldn’t listen.” She shrugs, then disappears.
“I’m paying an arm and a leg for your ‘services.’” He makes air-quotes, like the asshole he is. “So tell me when I’ll see some results.”
I don’t answer. I just fix him with an icy stare, this close to punching his fucking brains out. I’ve got fifty pounds of pure muscle on him, and I’d bet my last dollar that pretty-boy rich kid here hasn’t swung a punch in his life.
He realizes that he’s just waded knee deep in shit creek here. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He backs down, his face red. “It’s just a stressful time for us. There’s a lot on the line. I need her dealt with. And photos too.”
“You’ll get your dirty pictures.” I smirk.
“I don’t need to see them,” he says, dismissively.
Huh. Well, I get all kinds in here, not just the spouses in need of a pre-nup get-out clause. Desperate fathers needing to lure their princess away from gold-digging scum; daughters out to get rid of their wicked step-mother; women wanting to give their girlfriends the fuck they deserve. I will seduce anyone -- for a price.
“I made contact with the girl today,” I tell him. “She won’t be a problem.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” he sneers, heading for the door. “What makes you think she’ll give it up for you?”
“All women are the same,” I tell him. “This one is no exception.”
Even the hottest woman is still a job for me. I meet them; they fall to their knees; I snap the pictures. No feelings, no complications. I kicked those kinds of feelings to the curb years ago. I had to.
He leaves, and I pull out the surveillance photos I snapped of the girl on her way into work this morning: hair pulled back in that good-girl bun, neat blouse and pencil skirt, all business.
Keely Fawes.
After the desperate housewives I’ve been fucking lately, this one is a refreshing change. Pretty, stacked, with lush hips and a great ass -- even if she does try and hide it in those prim librarian outfits.
Yeah, this one will be fun. She has a mouth on her, too. None of that playing dumb, bimbo shit. Hell, I could practically feel her soaking through her panties when I stopped her from taking that tumble. Glazed eyes, flushed cheeks -- that girl had desire written all over her face just looking at me. If she’s not a virgin, then she’s damn close. Probably gave it up to her college boyfriend, the kind of pussy who looked deep in her eyes, told her he loved her, and came in five seconds flat.
She’s probably never had a real man in her life; never felt a dick slide so deep she sees God.
“That your latest victim?” Maggie comes in, wearing cut-offs and a tank top. I’ve told her to look smart for the clients, but she just tells me to go fuck myself.
“I’ll be doing her a favor.” I get out of my chair and check the time. “That’s my cue. Get the invoice ready for the client; you can send it along in an hour.”
“Sixty minutes? You’re pretty confident.” Maggie smirks. “Maybe she doesn’t go your way.”
“Everybody goes my way.” I look back down at the top picture of Keely. She’s frowning at her computer, a pen tucked behind her ear. She looks on-edge, with no hint of her humor from this afternoon.
“Not everybody,” Maggie snaps.
I raise an eyebrow. “Remember Stacy?”
Maggie makes a face. The only reason she’s lasted as my assistant is that she loves pussy nearly as much as me. She even shared a couple of girls -- until she realized that once they get a taste of my dick, her toys won’t ever compare.
We might give each other a hard time, but we keep each other honest.
“One of these days, a girl’s going to turn you down,” she says. “And I’ll be right here, laughing my head off.”
“Keep dreaming.” I slap her on the ass as I head out the door. “Never gonna happen!”
FIVE
KEELY
“And that’s when I told him he could run off back home to his wife. Keely? Hello, earth to Keely?” Justine’s voice breaks through my daze.
“What?” I blink, my cheeks flushed. We’re in her office, going over some case research I’ve been doing for her -- which is really just an excuse for her to bitch about her latest romantic dramas.
“Nothing. Are you OK?” She frowns at me. “You look kind of red.”
“No. I’m fine!” I scramble to pull myself together. Ever since running into that drop-dead sexy guy in the juice bar, I’ve been zoning out, daydreaming about his devilish blue eyes and those strong, muscular arms wrapped out me...
I can’t help myself. Even though I should be disgusted by the way he spoke to me, the memory of his outrageous comment sends a shiver down my spine -- and to other, more private places. It’s been so long since I felt anything at all, it’s a strange relief that he can get under my skin like this. And the way he looked at me... It was like a wolf eying a doe. One he was about to devour whole.
I wanted to be that feast.
But still, I couldn’t help but feel a tremor of unease, a dark edge to the mystery. Who was he? And how could he know my name? We’d never met before, I was sure about that.
A man like him, you didn’t forget.
“You are seriously zoned out today,” Justine’s voice comes again.
“I’m just tired,” I lie, looking back at the papers on her desk. “I’ve been working late all week prepping the Montgomery file for Carter.”
“That jackass.” Justine curls her lip. “You should--”
“I know, I know, I should stand up to him more,” I cut her off. Then I catch sight of the clock above her desk. “Shit, I’ve got to go. There’s a new client meeting he wants me to sit in on.”
“You want to grab drinks tonight?” she asks as I head out the door. “Sports night at McLarens. Hot jocks as far as the eye can see!”
“Maybe!”
I hurry down the hall towards Carter’s office. Justine is always trying to drag me out on the town with her. She says it’s easier to pick up guys in a pair: they always travel with wing-men too. But the bar scene has never been my thing, especially in LA. Guys here always talk to you with one eye on the door, like they’re waiting for someone hotter to walk in. I like to think I’m pretty enough with my long, wavy brown hair and wide blue eyes, but compared to the stacked blonde starlets and models strolling down the street in LA, there’s no competition.
The guy from the juice store probably dates girls like that: nineteen-year-old swimsuit models who can’t string a sentence together but who have legs up to their ears.
“We meet again.”
I stop dead, staring in shock. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve lost my mind completely and have conjured him up out of my imagination. But no, the gorgeous man from the store is sitting in Carter’s empty office, watching me with a smile.
“Do you want to come in?” he asks, looking amused.
“Uh, sure,” I stutter, quickly darting into the room. My heart races being near him again. He’s all I’ve thought about for the last twenty-four hours, and now I can’t resist sneaking a look to drink him in again.
God, he looks good. He’s wearing another smart suit, a crisp white shirt open at his neck, contrasting with the deep gold of his tan. There’s bronzed stubble along his jaw, and his blonde hair is ruffled out of place -- contrasting his impeccable attire.
A man of contradictions: smooth and rough all at once. A man who likes control -- and wouldn’t be gentle about it.
“I didn’t introduce myself,” the stranger says, his voice a low, sexy drawl. “I’m Vaughn.”
“Keely.” I feel my cheeks burn. He casually unfolds himself from his chair and crosses the room in two short strides, hand outstretched.
I have no choice but to take it. His large fingers close around mine, warm and rough to the touch. I feel a shock as our hands meet, and look up to find his blue eyes staring intently into mine.
Deep blue, like a sapphire, or maybe like a summer’s ocean – oh God, I’m thinking like a middle schooler just looking at him.
“You’re blushing,” he murmurs.
“I rushed to get here,” I lie. I start to pull my hand away, but he holds tight. His thumb strokes softly over my palm, a shockingly intimate gesture that sends a wave of desire coursing through my body.
“You look sexy, all flustered like that,” he tells me, those blue eyes flashing with wickedness. “Like someone just fucked your brains out.”
I gasp, snatching my hand away. How does he say these things? Just hearing such brazen words, my nipples feel tight, and I’m damp between my thighs. Who talks like this? And why do I like it?
“What makes you t
hink you can talk to me like that?” I turn away. “I wonder where Carter is,” I say, looking around. There’s no sign of him -- or his assistant. Which can mean only one thing. “You’ll have to make another appointment,” I say over my shoulder.
I go to the door, eager to put safe distance between us.
“Why can’t you take the meeting?” Vaughn’s voice stops me.
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“You don’t want to be alone with me.” He watches me, not taking his eyes off me for a second.
I squirm under his gaze. “I’m not qualified. I don’t even know your case...”
“It’s just a simple incorporation,” Vaughn dismisses my protests. “Unless you want me to tell your boss how you said I had to leave.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You meant it, though.” Vaughn strolls closer, looking at me with a glint of challenge in his eyes. “What do you say, Keely? Or are you worried spending five minutes with me will make you drop your panties and spread those gorgeous legs for me?”
His words send another bolt of desire through me, but this time, I force myself to act unruffled. “Fine.” I shrug, as if my heart isn’t racing to have him stand so close. “I’ll take the meeting.” I can deal with him and keep my shit together.
I walk over to one of the chairs and get my notebook out. Vaughn pauses a moment, watching me, then takes a seat opposite. The way he’s staring at me says that business is the last thing on his mind, and I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake letting him stay.
This man is dangerous.
I clear my throat and send up a prayer that I make it through this meeting without blushing. “Let’s get started.”
SIX
VAUGHN
Damn, is she cute, sitting there trying her best to look like she isn’t turned on -- and failing. Miserably. Her skirt hugs the juicy curve of her ass, and I wonder what kind of panties she’s wearing under there.
White lace, I bet. Demure. Innocent.
