Whatever He Requires

by Alice Gaines

  “Excellent job,” he said.

  Her smile was radiant. “Thank you.”

  “Now then, what shall we cook for dinner?”

  “We?”

  “It’s time you pulled your weight in the kitchen,” he said. “Let’s make pasta.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can do that?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Italian grandmothers have been doing it for centuries.”

  “Somehow, you don’t remind me of an Italian grandmother.” Her voice was full of laughter again, such a combination of innocence and seduction. The sound of someone full of youthful confidence and awareness of her appeal. But then, hadn’t he told her in so many words that he found her body perfect just the way it was? And hadn’t she caught him in the act of letting his gaze caress her? She’d have to be blind or stupid not to realize the strength of his attraction to her by now.

  “I’d like you to do me a favor this evening,” he said. “Stay with me and watch an opera.”

  She cocked her head. “Another requirement?”

  “No.”

  She rested her elbows on either side of her laptop and put her chin in her hands. “A date?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Do you like opera?”

  “That is a requirement for living in San Francisco. This is a great opera town. Caruso was here during the 1906 quake.”

  “You’ll want Italian, then.”

  “The man who makes pasta has to ask?”

  “Verdi.” Now he’d done it. Made a date with her, if only to sit in the living room for a couple of hours. After another one of their dinners while he watched her eat and bring the wine glass to her mouth. And listened to her laugh. If he sat back and didn’t press her, would she perform the seduction? Or would they continue the sexual push-pull for the rest of the week? He’d find out this evening.

  * * *

  So they had a date. The butterflies in Susan’s stomach had butterflies—so bad she’d passed on dessert. She’s managed to eat the fettuccini with Dungeness crab. Some things were too good to turn down.

  Now she sat on the couch with him—only a few feet apart, within easy reaching distance. The music washed over them as the tragedy unfolded on stage. With the large screen and surround sound, they were closer to the singers than they would have been at the opera house. She would have suggested doing this herself if she didn’t run to her room after dinner every night. Honestly, if she’d heard such beauty going on in the living room, she would have come out and joined him uninvited.

  Only, the opera would end in another minute, and she’d be alone with Peter Breit…the man she’d lusted after for days. She shouldn’t want him. He was her job and nothing else. The attraction clearly went both ways, but they didn’t have any future. Men like Peter moved in entirely different circles than she did. What would he do with a starving student when he could have supermodels and princesses?

  The music ended, finally, and the audience broke into wild applause and shouts. One by one, the cast appeared in front of the golden curtain to accept the crowd’s adoration.

  Peter put his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers almost touching her back. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “What’s not to enjoy? It was amazing.”

  “Domingo’s still my favorite Otello,” he said.

  “I agree.” Small talk. She knew enough about opera to make intelligent conversation on the topic, but those synapses had fizzled out shortly after the moment when she’d settled into the aura of his body heat.

  He gave her the slow smile that always stopped her heart for a split second. “Thank you for joining me.”

  “Thanks for dinner.”

  He picked up the remote and turned off the television. “Would you like your dessert now?”

  Dessert. Oh yes, she’d like that, but nothing from the kitchen. The only treat she wanted sat next to her. Someone definitely worth eating and then allowing him to return the favor. “It looked great, but no thanks.”

  “An insecure cook might think his desserts don’t tempt you.”

  Not tempted? She had to laugh at that. “Calories.”

  “You know my opinion on that.” His gaze moved over her slowly. This close it was potent enough to make her pulse flutter. “Some brandy, then.”

  An intoxicant probably wasn’t a great idea. She shook her head.

  “I think I’ll have some.” He rose and went to the hutch that served as a bar. While he poured himself a drink, she took the opportunity to study him as he had her a few seconds before. What a prime specimen of a man he made. Tall and muscular. Even from across a room, her palms itched to run across the breadth of his back. And Lord, what an ass he had. Round and firm. Muscles used for riding…or thrusting. Suddenly, the room grew warm.

  When he returned, he sat a bit closer to her, swirling his snifter by the stem. “You test me sorely, you know.”

  Oh man. Here we go. She should change the subject. Laugh. Tell him she’d changed her mind about dessert. Anything to break the tension. If she were smart, she’d get up and leave. Of course smart had gone out the window the minute he’d checked out her body. “How so?”

  “I treat my employees with respect. I wanted an assistant. The person could have been young or old, male or female.”

  “And you would have required anyone to share this condo with you,” she said.

  “Absolutely. It was to be a professional relationship.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m struggling for…” He stopped talking and stared at his glass. After a moment, he set it on the coffee table without drinking a drop. “Detachment.”

  “Are you winning?”

  “I always win.”

  A challenge, clear and simple. He wanted her to take the first step so he didn’t have to take the responsibility for what might happen next. “Maybe you’re just a coward.”

  “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His eyebrows went up, but he didn’t seem offended so much as surprised and, yes, pleased that she’d stand up to him. She could please him even more. This time, she ran her arm along the back of the couch and leaned toward him. For a few seconds, he sat still, watching her, and then a smile curved his lips and he moved part of the way toward her. They stayed in that position as her heart thundered in her chest.

  In the end, he took control, taking her face in his hands and pressing his mouth against hers. Damn, but the man could kiss. He didn’t smash his lips against hers, instead he held himself back, doing no more than brushing his lips over hers in a way that coaxed her to demand more from him. So she did, tilting her head for more contact while their breaths merged and her blood heated.

  He was lethal and so delicious. He kissed her completely, from one corner of her mouth to the other and pausing at the center to nibble on her lower lip. She’d only imagined caresses like this. They only happened in movies or her most erotic dreams. Breathless sequences with sensitive skin exposed to the hands and mouth of a lover. How insane that he could affect her so deeply with no more than a kiss.

  When her mind fogged and everything threatened to fade into the background but the need rising inside her, she forced herself to pull back. The hooded, hazy expression in his eyes spoke loud and clear. He’d experienced the connection as profoundly as she had. Would he have stopped this if she hadn’t? What if she hadn’t been able to?

  “That’ll have to be my dessert,” she said, rising. “You’re way too rich for my blood.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Take it any way you want it. I’m going to bed.” She might have added the word alone, but he didn’t get up to follow her. She left the living room on less than steady legs. As she went down the hall, she could feel his gaze boring into her.

  * * *

  Peter still had an erection after he finished tidying up the kitchen. He hadn’t had to take a cold shower for years, but he’d do it tonight. The alternative—
using his hand for some relief—would work, but it would also serve as a surrender of sorts. Too adolescent.

  By the time he entered his sitting room, he’d already removed his shirt. After pausing to drape it over a chair, he went into the bedroom, where he sat on the bed to remove his shoes and socks. As he stood, he unfastened his belt and zipper. His pants and shorts resisted going over his hips, hindered as they were by his stiff cock. What would young Ms. Susan Christopher have thought if she’d seen the mischief she’d created? Women her age weren’t virgins these days, and she certainly didn’t kiss like an inexperienced lover, but he’d flatter himself that she’d be impressed. Perhaps even a little intimidated.

  The bathroom had every possible modern amenity, including a shower with sprays on all sides and the ceiling. If that couldn’t shrink him, he ought to consider chasing her down the hallway to the guest room and finishing what she’d started. He hadn’t imagined the invitation there, after all.

  He nearly yelped with shock when the cold water hit him. Shaking himself like a dog, he withstood the chill and accepted the punishment until his member finally got the message and softened. Then he turned the controls to hot and let the shower stall fill with steam. As it sluiced over him, he stretched, working out a kink in his shoulder. A shelf on the wall at the rear held a selection of soaps. He took one, lathered up, and then let the spray wash him clean. A fitting end to a long day.

  After turning the water off, he emerged from the shower, found a bath sheet on a nearby rack, and wrapped it around his hips. The air in the bedroom felt cool when he entered it, and no wonder. The doors to the balcony still stood open. He’d visited San Francisco often before and understood the unusual climate. Temperatures dropped to downright chilly in the evenings, even in summer, when the fog moved in. The day had been unusually warm, though, so he stepped outside and took in the sights of the nighttime cityscape.

  Lights sparkled below, and traffic moved slowly up and down Nob Hill. Such a beautiful city, and he shared a treasure of a living space with a beautiful woman. A woman who clearly wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  He didn’t dally with business acquaintances, but did she really fall into that category? She worked for the real estate company who’d sold him this condominium. Once Geoffrey arrived, she’d no longer serve as his assistant. He could pursue a relationship with her if he wanted.

  Her youth presented a problem. At thirty-one, he wasn’t all that much older than her, but he’d seen a lot more of the world than she had. He’d had several affairs, some with women older than him. Not only was she young, but she’d spent all her time pushing herself through various schools at an accelerated pace. She couldn’t have had much time for men.

  A naïve woman her age could take an affair too seriously, especially if she believed it would lead to an advantageous marriage. She could accuse him of leading her on—make things more than messy. He’d organized his life very carefully, and it didn’t include women who would latch on to him for his money. Still, if he could convince her to keep things light—emphasize that he was not looking for a long-term relationship—they could enjoy each other while they shared a living space.

  Yes. That woman with her glorious curves in this apartment with all its luxury. Good music, excellent food, beautiful surroundings. The sunken tub in his bathroom, complete with water jets, would easily hold two. He could taste her mouth again, cup her breasts, and tease the nipples until she squirmed. He could ease her thighs apart and find her most sensitive bud.

  Damn, he’d be hard again in another minute, from no more than thinking about her. He might as well face the truth. As long as they stayed together, he’d crave her, and the desire would grow with each encounter. If she was truly willing, he’d have her. For the sake of his sanity and her feelings, he’d better lay out the ground rules and make sure she understood him. This was going to be an exercise in pure hedonism and no more.

  That decided, he went back into the bedroom and closed the French doors behind him. He was smiling as he turned off the lamp and climbed into bed.

  * * *

  Though she knew it was a dream, that didn’t lessen the sense of reality. In fact, the sensations felt all the more powerful, distilled as they were down to the basics of sexual response. In the fantasy landscape of her mind, nothing existed but her naked body and the shadowy lover who’d taken her to the verge of climax and now kept her there. Though his face remained hidden in darkness, she knew his identity with dead certainty. Peter Breit floated next to her, his fingers buried in her intimate folds while he teased her nipple with his lips.

  Please, let me come, her mind cried. Her mouth wouldn’t work except to pull in puffy breaths.

  “Not yet,” he answered.

  Please, please.

  He continued tormenting her, his hands everywhere—under her arms, along her ribs, and then kneading her breasts. Her skin burned where he touched it as if singed by tongues of flame. Hot. Too hot. And yet she needed more. With all that going on, he somehow maintained the pressure against her sex, stroking her lips and rubbing her clitoris.

  The same sense that told her she was dreaming whispered that she could make herself climax. If she simply reached between her legs, she could finish herself with her fingers. But she couldn’t move. Not a muscle.

  She tried with every bit of her conscious mind. Wake up. Move your hand. Wake up, wake up.

  Useless. She could no more control herself than she could him. He wasn’t going to give her any relief, and she couldn’t help herself either. She’d have to endure and hope that in the end he’d give her the orgasm that lay just out of her reach.

  Then suddenly, they were riding a horse together—bareback with her legs spread around the animal’s ribs. He sat behind her, his fingers still playing her nerves like the strings of a violin. Impossible in real life, but in the dream he’d managed to bury his erection inside her, and as their mount rolled rhythmically beneath them, his hardness slid in and out of her. Pleasure beyond comprehension, and yet, the tension in her body rose and rose but never crested.

  “You want me,” he whispered into her ear.

  God, yes. Please more. Make me come.

  “Not yet.”

  When?

  “When you give me what I want.”

  Of course, he didn’t tell her what he wanted. In the dream, she would have surrendered anything, but she had no clue to what would win her reward. The horse picked up speed, making his thrusts inside her come faster and deeper. So big, he’d split her in two. She would come. She had to. Now!

  Susan woke suddenly, her whole body throbbing from the dream. She hadn’t climaxed, after all, but still hung on the brink. She quickly rolled onto her stomach, crushing her breasts against the mattress. Fumbling, she managed to get a hand into her pajama bottoms, down past her belly, and into the damp hairs that covered her sex.

  The moment she found her clit and teased it with her forefinger, the orgasm rushed through her. The contractions came hard on each other, her sex gripping at nothing and releasing. With her face pressed into the pillow, her cries went nowhere. Not as intense as the sensations of her dream, it was still one hell of a climax, and when it finally ended, she sagged against the mattress without enough strength to push her hair off her face.

  Holy hell. Thank heaven for the pillow or Peter Breit would have had an earful. Even muffled, he could have heard her if he was standing outside her door. Moaning, she managed to roll over and check the alarm clock. Two a.m. He’d be asleep in his own bedroom. Still, she lay quietly and listened for any movement outside. Nothing.

  The dream and the resulting orgasm were her own fault, of course. She’d started things with that kiss. She hadn’t expected it’d be that good. Who could imagine a relatively simple caress powerful enough to create images like the ones her brain had just conjured? Peter Breit was a narcotic, and now she’d had a taste. Where did she go from there?

  Into his bed, of course. Although they’d only kisse
d, they’d crossed the threshold from professional to very, very personal. He might well win a struggle for detachment if he wanted to, but he clearly didn’t. He’d crossed the last few inches to take her mouth with his. Allowing him to do that served as her tacit agreement. Well, the agreement didn’t have to be tacit any longer. The next time he touched her, she’d let him know in no uncertain terms that she accepted his invitation.

  What a treat he offered. If he aroused her half as completely as that dream had—and the brush of his lips over hers promised he could do a hell of a lot better than that—the two of them together would cause an explosion that would light up the San Francisco sky. She’d set the fuse in the morning.

  Chapter Three

  Peter hadn’t cooked breakfast the next morning, although Susan did find a pot of freshly brewed coffee and pastries in the kitchen. The man himself was nowhere around, but his laptop sat open on the butcher block table. She resisted the temptation to check out his private business for several seconds. Eventually, she gave in and glanced at the screen to find something that looked like a company’s annual report. Not all that interesting, and besides, she didn’t want him to catch her spying on him, so she left the report behind in favor of sustenance.

  She’d poured herself a mug of coffee and was in the process of taking her first bite of a croissant when he entered. Casually dressed as he had been at their first dinner, he somehow seemed bigger and more imposing than he had the day before. The steel-gray eyes took in her appearance. This morning she’d put on a peasant skirt and blouse cinched by a wide belt. His expression said he approved, although he made no move toward her. His iron control, maybe. Damn. That was back.

  “I thought you were going to cook me breakfast,” she said. “But I don’t see any waffles. No frittata, no omelets, no eggs Benedict.”

  “You like eggs Benedict?” His gaze lingered on her, but he made no move toward her.