Impossible Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series, Book 2)

by Ruth Cardello

  “Now, sir?”

  “Pile it all on the table. Salad. Steak. Cake. Coffee. All of it. Then you’re free to go.”

  “Of course, sir,” the man answers. If he so much as smirks he can kiss his huge tip goodbye. Wisely, he doesn’t.

  Kylie looks like she’s holding back a laugh. “I can’t imagine what he thinks is going to happen on this table.”

  “I can.” I’m grinning at her like the smitten sap I am and I don’t even care. The man returns with another staff member and a large tray of food. They set it up beside our table and retreat as quickly as they arrived. I’ll make sure they’re well compensated. Later. Right now there is nothing more important than the woman who is smiling and shaking her head like she cannot believe this is happening.

  “You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “No reason not to be. I’m fucking amazing.” I would never say that to a woman who took me seriously. I wave my hand at the food. “Come on, admit it.”

  She makes a show of looking from the hanging lights to the plates of steaks. “I’ve been on worse dates.”

  “Have you?” I pick a roll off the tray and throw it at her. It bounces off her shoulder.

  “Yes.” She picks one up and would have hit me with it if I wasn’t expecting it. I laugh when it flies by. My gloat is cut short when the next roll hits me square in the forehead.

  We share a laugh.

  “But have you been on better?” I challenge.

  There it is—that serious look again. “No,” she says so quietly I wouldn’t have heard her if I hadn’t been listening with every fiber of my being.

  We could skip eating and head straight back to the cabin. My stomach growls in protest. I switch out the salad for my plate of steak. Or at least cut down on the courses. I slice into the steak.

  She digs into her salad, looking grateful I didn’t make a big deal out of her admission. She’s beginning to open up to me and for now that’s enough.

  My steak is delicious. I offer her a bite. She opens her mouth, and I slide the piece in. The look of pleasure on her face has my heart pounding like crazy. I need to hold it together.

  I pour a second glass of champagne for each of us. “What is your earliest memory?” I ask, both because I’m curious and because it seems like a topic that would put anyone at ease.

  Between bites of salad, she says, “I don’t like to look back.”

  “That’s not true. Your screen saver is from your childhood. Your password is too.”

  “Okay. Then I guess I prefer to remember specific times in my life, but not my childhood in general.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  She places her fork down and chugs half her glass of champagne. “It wasn’t good or bad—it was what it was.”

  “Is that how you’ve labeled that box?”

  “What box?”

  “The one you stuffed all of your hurt into?”

  She finishes her glass. “I thought we were here to have fun, to relax.”

  I stand, take her by the hand, and pull her to her feet. “Come on then.”

  She looks wide-eyed and cautious until she realizes I’m leading her to a swing. It’s a simple wood plank and two ropes rigged up over a large branch. “Guaranteed fun.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “When’s the last time you were on a swing?” If I was certain the staff was gone, I’d suggest we get creative on it, but I’m trying to contain myself to simply return a smile to her face for now.

  “I have no idea. But I know I wasn’t old enough to drink champagne.”

  “Then you should definitely try it. The end of childhood shouldn’t also be the death of all that was fun from it. Who says there has to be a last time for going down a slide? Climbing a tree? We work too hard to not kick up our heels and laugh now and then. Don’t you agree?”

  “On a swing?” She gestures at it, and I can see a flicker of interest. She takes another sip of her champagne before I grab it and place it by the tree. “You sure this is safe?”

  “I’ll catch you if it’s not.” I pat the wood plank and watch as she slides on, the twinkling lights making her wide eyes sparkle. After a few tentative pumps she gives in to the momentum and nostalgia. Her head is tipped back. Her long hair flowing nearly to the ground as she leans back.

  I go behind her and give a push that sends her soaring. She lets out a squeal and I laugh.

  “I forgot how much fun this is.”

  “How do you get off?”

  She continues to pump while tipping her head to one side. “Excuse me?”

  I chuckle. “The swing. Are you the type who lets it come to a natural stop, do you drag your feet to slow it down, or do you jump?”

  She doesn’t answer, my guess is because she doesn’t like what her response would reveal. I hold out my arms. “Jump, I’ll catch you.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  I might be, but only for her.

  She shakes her head. “Back up, and I’ll try to jump.”

  “Which is it: Do you think I won’t catch you or that I can’t?”

  Her silence is telling.

  I simply stand there, holding out my arms. She frowns then on her next approach launches herself off the swing and at me. I move to catch her. I stumble beneath the impact of her body against mine and land flat on my ass with her straddling me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks in a rush and attempts to stand.

  I grab her by the hips and hold her to me. “Never been better.” With a roll, I change our positions so I’m above her. Our kiss is explosive. Her mouth opens to mine as her legs do the same. Our tongues dance, and I slide my throbbing cock back and forth against her hot sex. Dry humping in high school never felt this good.

  Her hands are everywhere, grasping my back, slipping beneath my jeans and squeezing my ass. I could come from this alone, but there’s no way I’ll allow myself to miss out on how much better this is going to get.

  Just down the path I have a cabin set up for our first time. I tell myself to end the kiss now. That doesn’t stop my hands from sliding up the back of her shirt and releasing the clasp of her bra. Her breasts fill my hands as perfectly as I knew they would.

  I ease her up enough so I can whip her sweater over her head then toss her bra to the side. She rips my shirt off as well.

  I pause long enough to appreciate the view of her puckered nipples begging for my kisses beneath the light of the moon. I roll onto my back, loving how they dance free above me as I do. She bends so one of her tits is just above my mouth, and I pull her the extra inch closer.

  Better. Now my hands are free to explore while I tease her with my teeth and tongue. She arches closer and I tug the sides of her jeans down. When she doesn’t move to assist, I playfully slap her ass. She knows what I want.

  She shifts to a position that allows me to slide her jeans along with her panties to her knees. She takes it from there, kicking off her shoes as well as the rest of her clothing.

  I take advantage of her spread legs and delve my fingers into the folds of her sex. She’s so wet, so ready. I count to fifty and fight for control. Her mouth is raining hot kisses on my neck. I thrust my middle finger into her while settling my thumb over her clit. It’s a move I learned in college that has served me well many times. If done just right I can reach—

  She gasps and clenches around my finger.

  Found it. The magical spot that drives women wild. I really don’t know why college courses don’t cover this. The world would be a happier place if all sex started with a better understand of anatomy.

  She closes her eyes and braces herself by placing her hands on my chest while I pump my finger up and down, deeper and deeper. I play her clit with the skill of a man who has done his homework on this subject as well.

  A beautiful red flush spreads up her chest and she calls out, “Oh, God, Ben, don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

  I don’t know what kind of douche s
he’s been with that would make her think she needs to make that demand, but my intention is to make her come before, during, and after I do. I’m a gentleman, after all.

  Her eyes fly open, and she shudders and whimpers while looking directly into my eyes. It’s so hot my cock aches in my jeans.

  The next kiss wipes all thought clear out of my head. There’s no longer technique or counting. She undoes the clasp of my jeans. I lift my hips to allow her to slide them down. She tosses them to the side.

  She kisses her way down my bare chest to my stomach, and I stop her there. I want her mouth on my cock more than I want to breathe, but that’s not how I want to come for the first time with her. I halt her and make a side grab for a condom in my pants. It’s a pause neither of us welcomes, but part of not being a dick is respecting the big picture—and her.

  College should also teach a course on that—maybe they do. Fuck, I can’t think straight anymore. I slide the condom on and dig a hand into her hair. One more roll and her knees are around my waist and the tip of my cock slides across her slit.

  Her eyes are closed again, so I wait. I tease her with just my tip and whisper, “Kylie, look at me.”

  She does, and I thrust into her. She gasps and opens her legs wider for me. I kiss her deeply, then thrust myself, balls deep into the glorious wet glove of hers. Again and again. Deeper and deeper. Fuck, she clenches around me with a strength I knew she’d have.

  Her hands are magic. They’re everywhere I want them to be with a skill that, although it doesn’t surprise me, pleases me. I don’t want a virgin—I want an equal, and I’ve found one.

  I pound into her, wilder and wilder until I hear her breath catch and she starts to warn me not to stop again. Don’t worry, baby, there’s no chance of that now. I hang on until she begins to whimper and shudder beneath me, then I release my load with one final thrust.

  Holy fuck.

  I ease onto my side and remove my condom, tossing it on the ground behind me. She collapses against me, and I hug her to my chest. Her lips brush across my neck. “Wow.”

  “You can say that again.”

  We have a moment or two of absolute afterglow bliss then she sits straight up. “Are we alone?” She reaches for her sweater as she asks.

  “I’m seventy-five percent certain we are,” I joke.

  She pulls the sweater on and reaches for her pants. “Oh, my God, what were we thinking?”

  “I can only speak for myself.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and am rewarded with a glare. I laugh. Pretend anger all you want, honey. I reluctantly reach for my jeans.

  She throws my shirt at me. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s also not a tragedy. Worst case: we just gave someone a lesson on how to do it right.” I put my shirt on.

  One of my shoes flies by my head. I laugh again. “Unless you think you weren’t up to par and then we could do it again.”

  She waves my other shoe at me. “You’re so lucky I don’t actually want to hurt you.”

  I take the shoe from her hands. “Lucky, that is exactly how I’m feeling right now.” I pull her into my arms and kiss her until the fight leaves her and she winds her arms around my neck.

  When I raise my head, she asks, “Do you know what doesn’t help a CFO? Pictures of her naked getting busy with a boy toy.”

  My chest puffs. “Boy toy? I’m flattered. What can I call you?”

  She opens her mouth to tell me, but I kiss her before she has a chance. It’s probably better if I don’t let her say something she’ll want to apologize for later.

  When I lift my head, we’re both breathing raggedly again. Time for the cabin.

  We finish getting dressed. I toss my condom in the trash. See, gentleman through and through.

  Back at her side I can’t contain my grin. She’s trying to appear composed and in control, so I don’t mention the grass in her hair or the freshly fucked glow on her face. “The cabin is right down this path.” I hold out my hand to her.

  She takes it.

  There’s no need to rush. She’s mine. Now I want her to see that we can enjoy each other, and it doesn’t have to be awkward.

  “Is that water down there?” she points to a clearing and cranes her neck to see better.

  “It’s a little pond.”

  I guide her down the path that leads to the water. The cabin can wait. The moon lights the way, but the little solar lights the staff put in don’t hurt either. I tell myself they did it before they left.

  “The moonlight on the water is incredible. You don’t see this in the city.” When we’re close enough to fall in she stops.

  I bend down and pick up a stone. A flat round rock with smooth edges. It’s sheer muscle memory that pulls my arm back just right and releases it with a flick of my wrist. The rock skips across the smooth surface of the water.

  “Was that three times?” Kylie asks as she bends to find her own stone. “I used to be able to—” She stops and frowns.

  “What is it?” I turn her toward me.

  “Nothing.”

  I tip her face up so she’s forced to meet my gaze. “I like you, Kylie. Not just because of what we shared back there. It’s your choice to believe that or not. There’s nothing you can tell me that will change that.”

  “Really? You know what I was thinking? That I could skip it six times. Like that matters. Like beating you at rock skipping matters. That’s who I am, though. Sure you want to know the real me?”

  “You’re competitive. News flash, everyone knows that. Yet here I am. Give it your best shot. I’m not afraid to lose to you—because we’re on the same side. If we do this right, anyway.” I take a step back so I can get a good view.

  She looks around and chooses a stone. She does pretty well the first shot, it skips three times just like mine, but she’s not satisfied. She chooses another. “I used to try to get Penny to do this with me all the time, and she said I was so competitive I sucked the fun right out of it.”

  I pick my next stone with more care and flick it. Five skips. “When I run I don’t pace myself against a walker. I like the energy of someone who just might be faster than I am.”

  “Because you want the rush when you beat them.”

  “Because even if I don’t, I’ve challenged myself beyond where I was before. It’s the same way in my job. I choose projects that matter to me, ones that teach me something or force me to recognize how much I have left to learn.”

  “I like that.” She skips another stone and this time it matches my number. “What this really needs is a wager,” I tell her casually as I toss another one in, this time not even attempting to skip it across the surface.

  “Does it?” She skips the next stone and this time it goes six full hops and nearly crosses the entire pond. Now she’s happy. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Winner plans the next date.”

  Her mouth rounds. “Next?”

  “Or the next fuck. I’m open to either.” I toss another stone without even trying.

  “How do you plan a fuck?”

  “Someone always determines the when and where. If not, it just happens, for example, in the woods where anyone could see.”

  “Funny.” She tosses another perfect six. “Sounds like you’re setting yourself up for another win-win scenario.”

  I choose my next stone. “Scaredy cat.”

  “What did you say?”

  In a low tone, I say, “Bock, bock, bock.”

  “You’re an ass.” She presses her lips together and my cock springs back to life.

  I think it was six skips. Who knows? All it took was the word ass for my eyes to be drawn to hers as she bent down for her throw. Down boy, how am I going to win if I drain my ability to concentrate?

  “Shit,” she said. “Four.”

  I rub a hand over my chin. “I choose planning the next fuck as the prize.”

  I bend over to toss a rock.

  She whispers, “Don’t mess up, because I’d love to tas
te that cock of yours tonight.”

  The rock hits the water with a plunk. I swing around and pull her to me. “Cheater.”

  Her eyes round in feigned innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

  A laugh rumbles out of me. She joins in.

  I lift her in my arms and carry her up the path.

  “Hey, I won,” she protests, but she’s still laughing.

  “Then start planning.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kylie

  I’m not the kind of woman men carry around, but I’m also not the type who makes people laugh, yet Ben acts like I’m hilarious. I should demand he put me down. The entire date has been over the top.

  If this was how my mother felt with my father—no wonder she let him drag her down as far as he did. Like a drug, feeling young and sexy is addictive. Who doesn’t want—what had Ben promised he’d do to me—to be swept off their feet?

  That doesn’t mean I can’t be smart about this. I’m here. The sex is great. Ben is fun. None of that is inherently dangerous as long as I keep it contained. One night. Or a short series of nights. I’ve been blunt with him about how I date. I’ll tell him again if he needs to hear it.

  Just not now.

  This is the sex I’ve denied myself—wild, free, fun. I can go back to sane and safe tomorrow morning.

  Ben has to lower me to my feet to unlock the door of the cabin. It’s quaint, the roof a steep pitch, making it look like a triangle. He opens the door, flips a light on, and it’s as unique on the inside. Exposed beams and wide cedar planks running the length of the room make it feel rustic even though it’s immaculate with modern furnishings.

  “This place is booked a year in advance but luckily he had a cancelation.” There are candles dotted along the large stone hearth. He put a lot of thought into this. I don’t believe for a second it happened by chance.

  “Did some poor couple get kicked out of here tonight?”

  “If they did”—he smirks and reaches for matches to light the fireplace—“they were wildly overcompensated for the inconvenience.”

  An hour earlier I would have pounced on him on the rug before the fire, but the desire I feel now is a slower burn. I am competitive, I guess. I want to rock his world the way he did mine. I wander to the bathroom door and snap my fingers. A large old-style claw tub. Perfect.