Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain)

by Rebecca Brooks

  It worked. Her flush deepened, and her eyes traced slowly down his body. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and rolled loosely up his forearms. If the force of her gaze could undo buttons, it would be all the way open by now.

  “You should care about what you’re doing,” she said, not lifting her eyes from his chest. “I still don’t believe you want what you say.”

  He scratched his hand along his jaw, raking it over his beard. Mack may have been trying to hide how her breath hitched, but she couldn’t cover up that rise to her chest as her dress pulled taut across her breasts, or the way her eyes burned into his.

  “Tell me, Mackenzie.” He drew out the word, teasing it around on his tongue. “What do you want, besides your name in lights?”

  Who cared how short she was—she shoved him right in his solar plexus, back against the door of his car.

  “Fuck you,” she said, but she was running her hands under his shirt, over his skin, down to his belt. “You’d never understand.”

  His breath caught. No matter how much they fought, he wasn’t going to stop her from unzipping his jeans and rubbing her hand over his fly where he’d been hard since the moment they came outside and he saw the flush in her cheeks.

  Since before that, sitting there with Sam half hard and half pissed off out of his mind. How did Mack do this to him?

  He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “We don’t always get what we want.”

  “Maybe you don’t.” Her eyes flashed. “But I do.”

  He pushed her back against her car and covered her body with his, making her feel his hardness through that flimsy nothing of a dress.

  “I know exactly what you want,” he murmured, and claimed her mouth with his.

  Her body stiffened at the same time that she opened to him, tongue pressing back, teeth grazing his lower lip. She went for his cock again, but he lifted her arms and pinned them overhead. The motion lifted the hem of her dress, exposing more of her legs to him. He spread her thighs apart, making sure she could feel the scratch of his jeans on her skin.

  How could someone so infuriating be so incredibly hot? They were outside in the middle of the day, Sam in her office mere feet from where they stood, the blinds drawn to block out the sun. They were off the road and behind the main parking area, by a side entrance that was rarely used, but if anyone peered around the building, they’d be caught.

  But not even the threat of a passing car, an employee calling out, or Sam flipping open her blinds could stop them.

  Overhead, a breeze rustled through the trees. A truck rattled down the main road but didn’t slow. Connor used one hand to keep Mack’s arms pinned to the car and trailed the other over her body, her hips, holding her so hard a tight, desperate sound escaped her lips.

  He kissed her as his hand moved up under her dress. Wrinkled in his palm, the fabric was flimsy, nothing, pulled up over her hips. He reached her breasts and pushed aside the cups of her bra to brush her nipples, pinching them as they peaked in his hand. His beard scraped her skin. Her cheeks would be raw, her lips swollen and red by the time he got through with her.

  Which was exactly what he wanted.

  He wanted her nipples sore, her legs trembling, every inch of her aching from the onslaught. He wanted her to remember exactly how it felt when he fucked her, how sore he’d made her after, so that when she got home, she wouldn’t be able to forget how hard he’d made her come. No matter how much she was stewing, she wouldn’t be able to ignore that she’d begged for it. Pleaded. Needed it from him and him alone.

  A flock of birds flew by, and from somewhere down the road, another car came. Who cared? Not Connor. Let her try to pull away—he knew she wouldn’t. He teased her nipples, then brought his hand down to cup her over her panties. Lace—he could feel it, along with the radiating heat. Fuck, he loved lace. He loved even more that she was already wet. Now he knew her secret. Like him, she’d wanted it as soon as they stepped outside.

  Maybe even earlier—who knew with Mack. Maybe she got off on fighting, on being self-righteous and uncompromising. He pressed his hips against her, her body pinned between him and the car so there was nowhere for her to go except writhe in his palm.

  “Please,” she whimpered. Playing at nice.

  He pushed the lace to the side and stroked the softness of her. Mack inhaled as his finger found her clit and then the slick, sweet opening behind. He slid in easily. She took him all the way to his knuckles, one leg hitched up over his to draw him deeper.

  Should they go somewhere more private?

  No, there was no way he could wait. He had to have her. Now.

  He had a condom in his pocket. Mack probably thought he was such a player for carrying one with him, like you never knew who you were going to meet at the grocery store. But he’d grabbed it before leaving his house precisely because he knew he’d be seeing her. It felt absurd. He’d bring it home unused and chastise himself for assuming something that clearly wasn’t there.

  But now it felt even more unbelievable to know he’d been right. Try as he might to deny what was happening, he’d known in advance how things would go.

  He pulled his cock out of his jeans and slid it on. Mack, her dress over her hips, panties pushed to the side, peered over his shoulder to see if there was anyone around.

  “Jesus, Connor,” she said, a note of worry creeping in. “It’s broad daylight.”

  “They’re in meetings.”

  “The road?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

  She skimmed her fingers over his balls, the fucking tease. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to grab her and rip open her dress, turn that fabric to shreds as he gave her what he knew they both wanted.

  Her lips curled into a smile. “Fuck me hard enough to make me forget.”

  It was all he needed. He grabbed her by the ass and lifted her so she was positioned over his cock, her legs spread, her hands wrapped around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. Ready, open, wanting.

  Then he brought her down.

  Her initial gasp was cut short by the rise of a low moan, throaty and raw. She bit his earlobe as her hips tilted to draw him deeper. He thrust into her, hard, and her body tensed to hold him tighter, her whimpers growing in his ear.

  The sounds of the road receded. Even the sunlight seemed an afterthought. Who was near them? What did it matter? She held on closely as he took her up against the car. So fucking dirty. So fucking right.

  This wasn’t like the bar, or the lake, a fantasy they were halfway running from. A game in which they egged each other on as though sex were a competition, a fight to see who could make the other fall apart.

  This was quick and hard and desperate, their breathing coming fast, their hands clinging tightly as their bodies took what they needed. It was a quickie in the parking lot—could Connor get any more clichéd? And yet the fact that they couldn’t even wait to make it inside one of their cars told him they were further gone than either of them was willing to admit.

  She tightened around him, her thighs strong, grasping him close.

  “Come,” he whispered as her heels hooked around his ass.

  “I’m so close.”

  He pressed into her with his hips so she could feel the pressure against her clit with every thrust. He was out of his mind with how good she felt, how deeply she had taken him. “Tell me. Anything you want.”

  “Right there,” she said, and then a litany of commands. “Harder. Please. Yes.”

  He gave her everything she wanted, he gave her all of it and more, and when he didn’t think he could wait a second longer, he felt her legs tense, her fingers tighten their grip, her breathing so fast he could feel the thud of her heart pounding from her chest to his.

  And then she let go.

  He could feel the release, the way her hands shook and her gasps shuddered as she ground against his pelvis, whispering, “That’s it, that’s it,” until she went slack in his arms.
r />   And then, to her whispers urging him on, he released every ounce of pent-up longing while she wrapped her legs around him and locked him tight to her.

  To say it felt good was an understatement. It was more than good. It was more than physical, even. Yet there was a sense of something unsated by what they’d done. When Mack’s feet slid to the ground, he felt a piece missing when she was gone.

  He took the condom off and threw it in the trash outside the building. If anyone saw it, they’d think teenagers. Kid stuff. Not the head chef and bartender of Kane Enterprises’ newest investment, who had jobs and reputations and homes with beds. Who didn’t typically view sex as a 2:00 p.m. in the outdoors kind of thing.

  And certainly not between the two of them.

  Mack adjusted her dress and smoothed her hair so it didn’t look like somebody had raked their fingers through it like a madman. He wondered if she’d said anything to Abbi or Claire. If she would, at some point. If he should tell Austin. If this was going to continue, he’d have to say something eventually.

  Or maybe they’d admit it later, months, even years down the line. A late night when this was behind them and a funny story to shock their friends.

  The thought of them sitting around talking, laughing in some nebulous, ill-defined future hit him hard. He didn’t want to be a funny story. He didn’t want to be somebody’s shock.

  “Have dinner with me tonight,” he blurted out. He didn’t have plans. He hadn’t checked the app since he’d blown off his date and spent the night with Mack instead. He had no idea how many messages he had, but he didn’t care who else might be waiting. He wanted to see her again.

  Mack’s hands froze and slowly lowered. “What?”

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  She frowned. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Connor,” she started.

  “Or…not?”

  “I’m late.” She pulled out her keys. “I have to strain the next round of bitters before they steep too long.”

  “Huh. That’s a new one.”

  She got in the car and rolled down the window, leaning out. “Dinner isn’t going to change the way that meeting just went. You’ve got the menu you want, the dishes you’ve planned. You have your restaurant, Connor. The least you can do is let me still have a say.”

  A thousand responses came to him too late. A thousand frustrations, like the fact that sex with her could be so good and still mean nothing. That for her this was tit for tat, another play in her strategy to dominate the restaurant.

  After sex like that, Connor could barely think.

  But there was Mack, driving away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mack peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Her legs felt like jelly, her heart hammering from the fight, the sex, the mess of emotions boiling within.

  She didn’t know where she was headed, just that she had to get away before Connor could confuse her any more. She reached for her phone and called Abbi at work.

  “Weekend in Bellingham,” she said. “I’m driving. You in?”

  “Sounds awesome!” Abbi chirped. “When are you thinking?”

  “I’ll pick you up Friday at five.”

  “Wait—you mean this weekend?”

  “It’s this restaurant stuff,” Mack explained. “I need a break from meetings. I’m losing my mind.”

  “I would, but I already told Connor I was coming for brunch on Saturday. Didn’t you say you were going to be there?”

  “Shit.” Mack could have kicked herself. He’d invited everyone ages ago, before anything started between them. “I forgot. Why did I agree to that again?”

  “Because you love French toast and want to see the rest of your friends?”

  “I guess that qualifies. But can we go for the night? We don’t have to stay late. I just want to get out of here for a little bit. Please?”

  Abbi may have found it strange Mack wanted to drive that far for dinner and a drink, but as Mack suspected, she wasn’t about to say no to a night out. Only the promise of their escape got Mack through the rest of the week.

  …

  The work was endless. The foreman said he could wait before making the sign for outside, but they still had to finalize the layout, and Sam’s design team needed time to source materials and come up with a plan—plus the menus and the logo needed a name, an image, a feel.

  Mack rushed out after every meeting, making sure never to find herself alone with Connor. But that didn’t make it easier. By the end of the week, she was grateful for plans that had nothing to do with restaurants, renovations, or men.

  She might have gone a little overboard, though. When Abbi got in the car, she raised an eyebrow approvingly.

  “Damn, sweet pea. What’s gotten into you?”

  Mack reddened—which thankfully Abbi took as a reaction to her clothes and not because the literal answer to that, Connor Branding, made her flush to her toes. She was wearing a tight black dress with killer boots and rich, smoky eyes, her hair straight and sleek around her face. She had to admit, she felt good. She needed this: a chance to step back from the swirl of emotions within her and breathe.

  The bar had been a mistake. The lake was an afternoon that got out of hand. The phone—well, it was late. And since they weren’t in person, she was tempted to say it didn’t count. The parking lot was where it really felt like the line was thick, clear, and blindingly obvious—Mack could see it because she was waving at it from far beyond the other side. Could she seriously no longer keep her clothes on because a tall guy with lickable abs pressed her against a car and said now?

  It would be one thing if he were her boyfriend. But there were risks she couldn’t take—not for someone who’d never reciprocate. Who’d be off chasing a newer, shinier toy faster than she could say stay.

  And yet even though he didn’t plan to stick around, he was still hell-bent on keeping her from the one thing she’d ever asked him for: the restaurant name her mentor, father figure, and friend had wanted for her. How could she be so angry with Connor and want him at the same time? How could they be so good together and still so at odds?

  She didn’t understand it. But right now, she didn’t want to. She cranked up the music and drove out of Gold Mountain, heading west to the coast. Abbi’s chatter about her job as a naturalist and the latest guy she’d broken up with was the perfect distraction. At their favorite sushi place they got a table with a view and sipped warm sake as the sun set over the water. For the first time since Sam told them the Dipper was in trouble, Mack felt herself relax. She wasn’t thinking about cocktails. Or Connor. Or anything having to do with the restaurant. She was enjoying the food, the company, the view.

  Until Abbi slipped away to go to the bathroom and Mack’s phone buzzed in her purse. She groaned out loud when she saw who it was.

  I have three new desserts.

  Mack had no idea why he was telling her this. They hadn’t talked for days outside of meetings—not since she’d left him in the parking lot.

  Congratulations? she wrote back, hoping he could read her sarcasm.

  Almond torte, vanilla rhubarb cake, chocolate molten mini cakes.

  Damn, those did sound good.

  I need you to tell me if the rhubarb should be sweeter.

  I’m in Bellingham, she said, and resisted the urge to add: Getting away from you.

  Why would you go there when my food is so much better?

  She didn’t respond.

  Come over, he texted after a pause.

  I told you, I’m out.

  Come over later. The cake needs to cool.

  She almost threw the phone across the room, but she’d hate for it to land in someone’s soup. We said we were stopping.

  How can anyone turn down cake?

  Can I eat the cake and not see you?

  You can eat the cake while I eat you.

  Shit. Shit. Mack was still staring at the phone with no idea how to respond when Abbi came back to the table.
“That guy back there is hot as fuck,” she said, sliding a bright strand of bottle-red hair into place.

  Mack turned over her phone, covering it with her hand. “Who?” she asked, swiveling around.

  “Don’t look,” Abbi scolded, but Mack had already zeroed in on Abbi’s typical prey, a six-foot-tall guy in a motorcycle jacket with muscles the size of Mack’s thighs.

  The guy caught them both looking and grinned, nudging his friend, who was a little more Mack’s speed: short hair, dimples, a heather-gray hoodie instead of the leather. Mack spun back around. “Go,” she said to Abbi. “I can wait.”

  “He’s got a friend,” Abbi said, but Mack shook her head.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You haven’t had any luck online, so why not try something in person?”

  “I just…I don’t know. Not tonight.”

  “Come on, you’re totally interested. Your face is bright red—I know that look.”

  “I do not have a look.”

  But it was too late. Abbi was already leaning forward and waving to the guys. “You do,” she whispered. “But you never let yourself go for it. It’s my job as your friend to stop you from standing in your own way.”

  Then her face broke into a smile as the guys started over. Mack kicked her under the table, but Abbi shrugged and slid over in the booth, making room. Mack took advantage of the reshuffling to drop her phone into her purse, which she tucked by her side.

  Motorcycle Man sat next to Abbi and Hoodie next to Mack, but Mack could hardly pay attention to a word they were saying. She could feel her phone vibrating in her purse. In her mind it was deafening, drowning out the guy next to her, who had turned toward her, one arm bent up and resting over the back of the booth, halfway to resting on her.

  She remembered how many nights she’d seen Connor sitting with some woman at the restaurant. She’d always thought of him the way Abbi was right now: locked on the prize. Any prize. The one that happened to be there.

  But maybe sometimes he was more like Mack was with Hoodie, thrown into something she hadn’t asked for, that was close to what she wanted but still not right. It was as though someone had taken her axis and tilted it in the wrong direction, so that while she didn’t know where she was supposed to be, she knew it wasn’t here, like this, with whatever was happening right now.