“But I can’t possibly read your mind. You’re going to have to tell me.”
“You. On your back. Your legs up over my shoulders.” Damn, he had thought about this. “I’d be so deep inside you—”
“Fuck,” Mack gasped.
“That’s exactly what I want to do to you.”
“Fuck me?”
“I love the way you say that.”
“Say what?” she teased. “Fuck me?”
He groaned. “Fuck me,” she said again, and heard the hitch in his breath, could sense even from afar the uptick in his rhythm. “Harder, Connor. Fuck me. Please.”
“Touch yourself,” he said breathlessly. “Make yourself come.”
“I will when you do.”
“I want you to explode.”
“I want to come on your cock—”
“Yes.”
“As you give it to me.”
“Any way you want it.”
“From behind,” she said immediately.
The noise he made was almost as satisfying as an orgasm itself.
“Take me hard,” she said. “Please.”
If she was going to have this one last thing with him, she might as well get what she wanted.
“I’m going to drill into you. I’m going to pull your hair and push you down and fuck you until you lose your mind—”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Please. I’m touching myself.”
“Mack—”
“Come,” she said urgently. “Let go and come.”
“Inside you,” he said, almost a question, and she practically screamed yes because that was how she wanted it, hard and fast and without apology, so that for a few seconds she could float in that empty space where none of this mattered, there was nothing to worry about, just her fingers circling her clit and the feeling growing tighter and tighter inside her, his groan long and hard and panting telling her yes, he was coming, spurts of it over his hand so that all she had to do was think about his orgasm and how much she wanted to taste him, feel him, have him be the one making her come, and she was hurtling over the edge, no longer able to stop. Pleasure coursed through her, her own panting loud in her ear, loud for him, telling him what she was doing as her fingers drew out the waves and her heart thudded in her chest.
They were quiet, lost in their breathing as they came down.
“Did you?” he asked after a pause, and she said yes and then asked him, and he said yes, and they waited for a moment in the silence that had fallen. It was as though they had been temporarily transported to some alternate reality in which what they’d done made sense.
Only there was a glitch in the system, and now they were back in this world, the real world, and what they’d done was in fact fucking insane. Mack couldn’t believe she’d turned him on like that. She’d done it, not somebody else.
She couldn’t believe he’d done that to her, too.
She was in that limbo between the terrifying present and the blissfulness of sleep when Connor asked, quietly, “Did you really like the food today, or were you just saying that?”
She smiled in the dark. “Would I tell you it was good if I didn’t mean it?”
“No. You may be a pain in the ass, but you don’t lie.”
“I still don’t think a five-star restaurant is going to work. But what you gave me was delicious. You can trust I’m being honest about that.”
“I do trust you,” he said. “And it will come together. I’ve got a plan.”
She wanted to ask what, but his voice was mumbling, sleepy and sweet. She couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d just told her what to do with her fingers, what he’d do with his hands, his tongue, his cock if he were in her bed that night.
“I’m going to hang up now,” he murmured.
“Okay.”
But she held the phone, still hoping there’d be more. She kept holding it after he clicked off without saying good-bye.
Part of her was relieved he didn’t ruin the warm feeling running through her veins by saying something stupid.
But another part wished he hadn’t decided so quickly that it was time to go.
Chapter Twelve
When Mack drove to Sam’s office for their next meeting, she braced herself to be cool, calm, and most of all, professional. Not a sex-starved maniac who’d do anything no matter the consequences. Certainly not someone about to cave to Connor’s wishes simply because he happened to know how to make her lose her mind.
Kane Enterprises had a string of offices near the mountain, and Sam had a sunny suite with a view of the tall, craggy peak still snowy at the top. Mack parked in the back and took a moment to appreciate the sight. Which also gave her time to take inventory before she walked in.
Brain: screwed on. Panties: dry. Fists: clenched by her side in a fit of determination to keep her brain and her body from getting away from her at the sight of Connor sitting at the table, breaking a cookie in two, and licking chocolate from his thumb.
Dammit. Did he time it like that, to have his tongue darting out the moment she walked though the door?
Brain: a mess. Panties: same. Fists: still clenched, but not helping.
She sat across from him, mouth set in a line. They were not going to play this game again.
And they couldn’t, because in a second Sam came in, laptop open, and Mack and Connor had to pretend they’d been hard at work at something other than giving each other explosive orgasms in compromising situations.
But today Mack had something concrete to bring to the table. She’d worked out a menu with twelve unique cocktails, each drawing on a different homemade bitter, followed by a second menu with seasonal rotations. In her notebook was another list of options revolving around the same theme.
“I haven’t tried every one,” she admitted, “but I’ve worked through the basics and believe the foundation is strong. The drinks are interesting enough to make us stand out but familiar enough to appeal to our core audience here.”
Sam looked impressed, and Mack gave herself a secret pat on the back. She’d been Googling how to make business pitches, knowing this was her shot to get both Sam and Connor on board.
It looked like it was working. The one time Connor glanced in her direction, it was to reiterate to Sam that the bitters were good. Mack felt a flush of pride—or maybe the heat in her cheeks was from his eyes on her. She swore he was reminding her of how she’d been the last time she’d seen him: on her knees, lips parted, desperate to be filled.
She looked away. They were done with that. He had to understand.
Talking her up to Sam wasn’t going to get Connor more head. But it did mean that when it was his turn to present the food side of the menu, Mack helped out by telling Sam it was a solid idea and she was on board.
See? Look at them working together. Two responsible adults more than capable of starting a restaurant and bar without fucking or fighting every chance they got.
“Have you tasted it?” Sam asked Mack.
“Um.” Mack swallowed. “Some of it.”
More like all of it. She remembered savoring the textures on her tongue, her hands bound.
“Are you hot?” Sam asked. “Want me to open a window?”
“I’m fine,” Mack said quickly, mortified that the flush on her cheeks was so obvious. Sam’s question had cranked up the heat in her core, and it wasn’t coming down.
Connor’s eyes flickered over her as he handed them each a sample menu. He must have known what she was thinking. She wondered if he was thinking it, too.
But she had to focus. This was her chance to see what she’d eaten that day by the lake. Most of the entries were familiar. Ravioli with fresh peas and mint. That dish she’d sworn wasn’t beets because it tasted good. He’d listed it as beet pearls with sweet roasted carrots and almond cream. Pearls? Damn, her mouth was watering.
“This is a sample for spring,” he said. “The menu will rotate according to what’s seasonal, so we can get most of our produce
locally. You can see everything emphasizes flavor and freshness. There are tons of burgers and steaks around here. This is how we stand out.”
He eyed Mack as he said that, as though she was going to disagree. But it wasn’t that she’d thought they had to have the standard fare. It was a question of how much change was beneficial. Maybe if Billy’s had come up with new options, it wouldn’t have gone out of business. But there was such a thing as going too far.
“There’s more,” Connor went on, and told them to look at the menu again.
That was when Mack realized how he’d divided the courses. Rather than appetizers and entrées, it was separated between small and large plates. You could order individually, he explained, but the dishes were meant to be shared.
“So then you can try everything,” he said. “You don’t have to choose.”
She almost burst out laughing. They might as well name the restaurant No Commitment. It was Connor through and through.
“This is great,” Sam said. “This is perfect. It’s really going to draw people in.”
“And the thing is,” Connor added, “the concept can focus on these shared plates and the communal eating experience, but the dishes get to rotate. So if you have another chef come in or you want to substitute, change the menu according to what’s in season or what people feel like right then, it’s open. As long as you keep putting out dishes that go well for the table, rather than individual plates.”
“That’s smart,” Sam said. “It’ll work long-term toward building our brand.”
She was typing a note to herself, blithely unaware that Mack’s heart had sputtered and ground to a halt. Another chef? Someone else coming in with their own agenda, their own recipes on hand?
So that was his plan. Get the restaurant started and then move along to whatever better offer came along. If the restaurant did well, he’d have no shortage of choices. The chance to say he’d started a restaurant with Samantha Kane of Kane Enterprises would give him the pick of any job he wanted.
Sourness coated the back of Mack’s throat. Somewhere between tasting his food by the lake and seeing the menu printed before her, she’d slipped, started to imagine that Connor Branding wasn’t a temporary part of her life. As though the restaurant, the sex, everything happening between them wasn’t part of his “fun for right now” attitude.
She’d been entirely focused on what it might be like to see him day in and day out after what they’d done. But it looked like that wasn’t going to be a problem. No Commitment indeed. Only Mack wasn’t laughing anymore.
“So that brings us to the last question,” Sam said as she finished typing. And Mack knew what it was. Her fists tightened in preparation; her stomach clenched. Her brain was doing fine, though. And her panties were dry. When Sam asked, “What’s the vibe of this place?” she was ready.
“Laid-back comfort,” Mack said firmly, at the same time that Connor said, “Refined,” and they looked at each other in surprise.
“What?” they both said, again in unison. Which, honestly, was just embarrassing.
“You still think this has to be fine dining?” Mack sputtered first. “Are you kidding me?”
“We need something different from the other offerings around here. A dining experience that will put us on par with the food capitals of the country, or resorts like Park City or Vail.”
Looked like Mack wasn’t the only one of them Googling pitches to avoid masturbating to memories they’d rather avoid.
But since it also looked like Mack was the only one of them planning to stick around past opening night, no way was she giving up her promise to Billy for some snobby bullshit meant for people who flew in from out of town, emptied their wallets, and left.
“Not a chance,” Mack said. “You can do the menu however you want. You can request whatever drinks you think should be served. You can wear a fucking tuxedo every night for all I care.” She leaned across the table, refusing to flinch from his gaze. “But I’m not giving you this.”
I’m not giving you more of myself.
Chapter Thirteen
The last time Connor had seen Mack she’d been blindfolded, on her knees, his cock in her mouth. The last time he’d talked to her, his hand had been firm around his dick while he told her every filthy thing he wanted to do to her. The last words she’d spoken to him about his food were positive, and he’d believed her.
So why were they sitting across from each other yelling so loudly that Sam was threatening to throw them both out?
“It’s not going to be Mackenzie’s,” Connor spewed. “It’s not going to be Connor’s. It’s not going to be Mack and Connor’s. Connor and Mack’s. The restaurant isn’t going to be named after either of us, and it isn’t going to be a repeat of the place we have now with a few superficial changes. In case you missed it, the Dipper is closing. You want to be in on this deal, you’d better pick another option.”
With the menus on the table, Sam nodding at both of them, Connor had been able to see the restaurant he wanted taking shape in his mind. His dishes, Mack’s drinks, the two of them able to do something together besides get each other off. For the first time, amid the fog of whatever insanity had possessed them to fuck in the first place, it had seemed doable.
But now that they were in person again, talking business instead of sex, they were back to the same old problem. Mack sat slouched in her seat, arms folded, shooting daggers at Connor. Sam typed, sighed, typed some more. Connor got up, paced, sat down. Got up again, ready to jump out of his skin.
At least they weren’t at the restaurant, where he’d be able to glance at the bar and remember what an idiot he’d been. It probably would have served to make him shout louder. As it was, Sam put a hand on his arm to calm him down. How did Mack make his blood pressure rise like this? She’d fuck him, but she still hated him. How did that even work? And why did it bother him so much?
He’d thought, stupidly, that things were going well. That somehow they’d turned a corner and everything had changed. For a second, it had seemed like they were on the same side, like they might even be able to agree. For a second, he had felt so incredibly good.
And then, at some point in the meeting, everything shifted. He couldn’t figure out what had caused it.
He’d thought, now that they’d agreed on the food, that Mack would be okay with elevating the restaurant a notch from what she’d been imagining. It fit the menus and provided a different ambiance than the other restaurants around.
So why did Mack look like she was going to cry? Or kick him. Or both. By the time Sam put a stop to the meeting, Connor was sure of two things. He and Mack were never going to be able to open a restaurant together, let alone run it.
And they were never, ever having sex again.
“Why is the name such a big deal?” he asked in exasperation after Sam left them for her next appointment. He knew he should cool it, but they were stuck walking to their cars together and anyway, it was a fair question. “And the concept. If we called it Mackenzie’s but made it a five-star place—would you agree? Or does everything have to go exactly your way?”
Mack kicked a rock and looked at the ground. She was wearing a dark dress with long sleeves and a top like a button-down, with a belt around the waist and a skirt that flared loosely to her knees. Connor wished she could have worn something a little less…noticeable for their meeting. Something that didn’t accentuate the curve of her breasts, or the sway of her hips as she dug her heel in the dirt.
He especially wished she hadn’t worn it with those gray boots up to her knees, reminding him that she was poised to kick the shit out of him at any time. They had a small, chunky heel but not enough to give her any height on him. How could someone so short be so goddamned unapproachable?
“I could ask you the same thing,” she finally said. Which hardly seemed the best response she could come up with, considering the time she’d taken to think it through.
“My idea does what we’re supposed to be wo
rking toward—providing something different.”
“Yeah, so different it no longer fits.”
“You make it sound like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Mack leaned against her car, one leg bent up so the heel of her boot was kicked against the tire. She folded her arms, a classic Mack pose. He didn’t remember noticing before how it drew attention to her breasts. He used to find it intimidating—which he assumed was why she did it. But now it was just distracting.
“Do you?” she asked.
Connor turned away to keep his eyes from wandering.
“I’m trying to create something I know will be successful.”
“But is it what you want?” she asked. “Is it what you love?”
“That’s not the only thing I have to consider.”
She kicked her heel down and threw up her hands, unlocking herself from that curled, protective position against the car. “But it should still matter. Why would you suggest a restaurant you’re not truly passionate about? I don’t want to be lukewarm about any of it—especially not the name. I want it to be something I’m wildly in love with, that gets me excited when I think about it, that feels like an essential part of my life and who I am. Because I’m planning on sticking with this restaurant. I’m going to be part of this place for years.”
She flushed with the intensity of what she was saying, pink on her cheeks and up to her ears, and Connor thought of how he’d brought that flush to her face in the candlelight. How even the blindfold hadn’t been able to hide that burn.
“And now it makes sense,” he observed.
“What does?”
“You want a name you’re ‘wildly in love with.’ So naturally that name is…” He drummed the hood of the car. “Your own.”
She scowled. “It’s not like that.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I just think you should give a shit about what you stand behind instead of changing course every time something shiny comes your way.”
He took a step forward. He had to disarm her. Remind her he wasn’t always the enemy here. “You don’t complain about what I stand behind when I’m standing behind you.”
Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain) Page 9
