Get Lucky

by Lorie O'Clare

  She damn near jumped out of her skin when someone knocked at her door. “Definitely on time,” she said, scrambling out of her apron and frantically folding it and stuffing it in the bottom drawer in her kitchen. “I guess the flowers stay.”

  *

  Marc didn’t know if he liked London’s flushed expression with very little makeup or the incredibly stunning, figure-hugging dress she wore without shoes better. London sighed, smiled, and pulled her front door open farther.

  “I knew you’d be on time,” she informed him, inviting him into her home.

  “I almost wasn’t when I decided to buy these and couldn’t find the florist. My GPS decided to have a brain fart.” Marc held out the bouquet of flowers, red roses with some other flowers stuck into the arrangement. “I didn’t know if you had a vase or not.”

  He didn’t usually feel awkward, even on first dates. And he reminded himself this wasn’t a date. London had been very strict about the terms surrounding him coming over for dinner. When her expression transformed as she accepted the flowers and she lifted her gaze to his, not saying anything for a moment, he knew he’d made the right choice.

  “Marc, they’re absolutely beautiful,” she whispered, burying her nose in them as she turned and walked barefoot across her living room. “Everything is ready. Come on in.”

  He glanced at his car parked out on the street and at the houses across the street before closing the door. London lived in a stable-looking neighborhood, very middle-class, with each home, including hers, appearing neat and well cared for. Her sidewalk and porch had been cleared of snow, and he wondered if she shoveled it or if she had a service tend to the deed. Marc closed the door and secured the dead bolt, done out of force of habit, before turning and taking in her living room.

  “Something smells incredibly good.” His stomach seconded the notion, growling when he breathed in the rich aroma of home-cooked food. They ate at home as a family when they could. His mother insisted on it at least once a week since she’d returned home and reunited with their father. Those were memorable, happy times, and sitting down with London for a good meal sounded just as appealing.

  “Come on in. I’m not waiting on you. You can help put food on the table.” There was laughter in her tone.

  Marc glanced at the dark living room, light flooding into it from the adjoining dining room. There were a few prints on the walls, comfortable-looking furniture, and a round braided carpet that almost reached the walls and showed off the wooden floor underneath at its edges. As comfortable-looking as the room was, it wasn’t personalized. London either didn’t spend a lot of time in this room or simply worked so much she hadn’t gotten around to putting anything personal in there. He noticed there wasn’t a TV in the room and there weren’t any pictures of family or friends. He remembered Meryl’s comment about London refusing to discuss her past. There was proof of that here, with no hint of anything about the woman other than what he already knew.

  “If I knew we were eating buffet-style, I would have brought food instead of flowers,” he said, studying the place settings in the dining room as he found his way into her kitchen.

  London grinned at him over her shoulder, stirring something on the stove. “I like the flowers.”

  He spotted them on her windowsill next to another vase that held all the silk roses he’d bought for her at the gift shop throughout the week. A wave of intense satisfaction rushed through him, and he returned his attention to London. He would have to remember flowers went a long way with this woman. She hadn’t thrown away any of the flowers he’d given her.

  “So what do you want me to do?” he asked, the smells of whatever she’d made almost making him drool.

  “You could pour wine.” She nodded to a bottle on the counter. “The glasses are already on the table.”

  He took to his task, his stomach growling again when she brought in a pot roast, nicely arranged on a formal serving platter with potatoes and carrots surrounding it.

  “That looks good enough to be on a cover of some kind of cooking magazine.”

  London shrugged, placing it on the table and returning to the kitchen. “I don’t cook that often and it was kind of fun.”

  “I’m glad my idea of eating appealed to you.” He watched her walk away, enjoying the hell out of how her dress hugged her figure, showing off her narrow waist and incredible ass. The dress ended above her knees, and her legs were shapely, not muscular but toned and long. “If this tastes even half as good as it smells, I’ll be in heaven.”

  He hadn’t poured the second glass of wine when she returned with biscuits. “Well, I hope you like it,” she said, tugging on her dress before sliding into her chair.

  Marc hurried to finish pouring the wine and placed the bottle next to his plate as he joined her at the table. “Allow me to serve you,” he said, deciding he should take on at least one more task. London had gone to a lot of work to prepare this meal for them. “It’s the least I can do.”

  The food was incredible, the company even better. Marc found himself leaning back, laughing along with London as she told a story about a guest who’d stayed at the ski lodge earlier the previous year.

  “By the time he’d checked out I swear he’d stayed in over twenty rooms,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass as she shook her head and continued laughing. “We never did figure out why he complained about each room and insisted on being moved.”

  “There are some unique characters in this world,” Marc said, and reached to pour both of them more wine.

  “The only bad part about a great meal at home is cleaning up afterward.” London sipped at her wine and slid back from the table. “I guess we can let the dishes soak until later.”

  “Nope. I know my manners. You cooked the food; I’ll clean up. Sit there and tell me more stories,” Marc encouraged, taking her plate and his and heading to the kitchen.

  London twisted in her chair, looking at him as if he’d grown a third eye. “You’re seriously going to wash all the dishes?” she asked.

  “Yup.” With a glance he saw there wasn’t a garbage disposal, turned and found the trash can, then scraped the remaining food off both plates into it. “And you’re going to sit and keep me company. So what did you do before you worked at the Elk Ski Lodge?”

  He caught her shrugging before she twisted in her chair again when he entered the dining room and grabbed the platter with the roast and remaining vegetables on it. They’d put a good dent into all of the food, but there would be leftovers. Since he didn’t want her changing the subject, he took the platter into the kitchen, set it on the counter, and returned for the roll basket.

  “I’ve been at the lodge for three years. There were a few jobs before that after I finished high school.”

  “How old are you?” he asked, realizing he didn’t know.

  “Aren’t guys not supposed to ask ladies that?” she asked, grinning broadly.

  “I think that rule doesn’t fall into place until we’re over forty.” He rinsed the plates and stacked them next to her sink. “Let me guess. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

  London leaned back in her chair, laughing, and drank more of her wine. If she was getting tipsy, he liked her this way. “I’m mortally offended,” she said, still laughing. “I’m twenty-five. Your turn. Age and job description please, sir.”

  “Twenty-seven and I own part of a family business.” Now it was his turn to change the subject. “Where is the dish soap?”

  “You really don’t need to wash the dishes.” She stood, moving toward him with a lazy stroll.

  “Is there something else you’d rather do?” he asked, reaching for her with wet hands.

  She giggled, making an effort to dodge him. Her dress looked pretty nice, and since it was possibly “dry-clean only” he used that as his excuse to drag his damp fingers through her hair, capturing her face and lowering his mouth to hers.

  London didn’t relax against him as easily as she did the last time he kissed
her, but she tasted so good Marc didn’t care. Gripping the side of her head, he tilted her so he could devour her better. She tasted of their dinner and the wine. But it was the heat that greeted him, slowly drifting to his brain, that made him slow the kiss and pull her closer. London groaned and he dragged his fingers through all that thick, tangle-free silk down her back until he clasped her rear end.

  More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of her. He was acutely aware of the zipper down her spine and forced himself to instead caress her smooth, round ass as he continued feasting on her mouth. If he moved too quickly she’d make him stop. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he didn’t doubt it for a moment.

  “You really don’t want your dishes washed,” he murmured into her mouth, knowing he could stop now, but if he held her in his arms much longer he’d be carrying her in search of her bedroom.

  “Huh,” she gasped, letting her head fall back and her eyes remain closed when he raised his head. The slight grin on her face added to the vision of beauty Marc stared down at. “Soap is in the cabinet under the sink,” she said, holding her position.

  “You are wicked,” he accused, letting his gaze drop to the view of her breasts with the material of her dress stretched over them.

  London relaxed even more in his arms. If he let her go, she’d fall backward; not that he would ever let her go. Marc blinked, suddenly realizing this wasn’t casual sex or friends with benefits. They’d known each other a week. He’d booked his room at the lodge for a month. If this was how he felt about her right now, where would they be when it was time for him to leave?

  He was a selfish bastard. Marc would take what London offered and worry later about where it might lead them. He wanted London too much to start analyzing something as serious as a relationship.

  “I tell you what,” he said, squeezing her ass and pulling her dress up until he felt the edge of the material in his hands. That was enough to open her eyes. “I’m going to wash your dishes and then I want more of this,” he said, lowering his head and nibbling at her lower lip.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” she informed him. When she straightened, London appeared a lot more sober than she had a moment before. “And we’ll see. No promises.”

  London couldn’t remember when she last had more fun washing and drying dishes. Marc jumped into the task, making her feel obligated to get out a hand towel and dry.

  “You see,” he told her. “I learned at a young age washing the dishes was the much better task than drying them. My brother and I had to do this every night. It was our chore; that was before we got a dishwasher.”

  “Oh yeah? Sounds like you were so tortured.” She enjoyed hearing about his childhood and trying to imagine what it would be like being in a family where there were actually chores given. Any time her parents told her to do something, they’d forgotten they’d told her before she found time to do it. Although for the most part, her parents ignored her. She kept whatever house they were living in clean because they didn’t. They were always too busy plotting their next venture, or business deal, as they liked to call it.

  “Most definitely,” he told her, grinning and showing how little he was tortured. “Washing is the easier half of the task. When you dry, you have to not only dry the dish but also put it away. Usually the dish towel is too wet to keep drying dishes and so you have to get another one. Yet another part of one task. When you wash, that is all you do. This is the easier half of the job.”

  “Sounds like you put a lot of thought into the matter,” she said, laughing.

  “Yup. I was all about making sure Jake did more of the chores. I lived to see to that fact.”

  “So you were the oldest?”

  “Yup. And definitely the better of the King men,” he told her, suggesting there might be a competition between the two of them. “Jake is a player.”

  “And you’re not a player?” She twisted her damp dish towel and aimed it at him. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Marc shifted his attention from her face to her towel. “I’d think twice before doing that,” he said, his voice lowering into a challenge.

  London let the towel go, releasing it with one hand and aiming low. The towel slapped against Marc’s waist before he ducked backward, his blue eyes suddenly glowing as his mouth twisted into an ornery grin. London’s heart skipped a beat and started pumping too quickly in her chest. She reloaded as fast as she could, aiming higher when he straightened and started for her.

  “You think I’m a player, do you?” He tried grabbing her towel.

  London jumped out of his reach, letting the towel fly again. It made a slapping sound against his chest. “What would you call it?” she asked, laughing even harder when he lunged at her.

  She barely made it out of his grasp and darted out of the kitchen. There wasn’t time to twist her towel again and reload before he pounced on her, lifting her off the ground. Her back was pressed against all that steel muscle and his arms were all bulging muscles. London lost her towel and gripped his arms but couldn’t budge his grip on her.

  “You would attack an unarmed woman?” she asked, barely able to get the words out as she laughed harder than she had in ages.

  “You attacked an unarmed man!” he accused, his voice a deadly growl in her ear.

  Her heart exploded in her chest. A warmth stretched over her body, causing immediate swelling between her legs and a tingling starting over her flesh. She’d had a few glasses of wine but not enough to make her drunk. As she continued laughing and twisting against his impossible grip, fumes flooded her brain. London might blame it on the wine, but suddenly she wanted to fuck him.

  “You’re twice my size,” she gasped, trying to control her fit of giggles when he hauled her into her dark living room.

  “Nonetheless, I’m unarmed so I must use what tactics I can to defend myself.”

  Her zipper moved down her back, his knuckles brushing over her bare skin. London did her best to flip in his arms. When she did, her breasts smashing against all that roped muscle, her dress slid off her shoulders, no longer hugging her body but now feeling loose and baggy on her.

  “That’s a crock.” She laughed, grabbing his shoulders so she wouldn’t slide down him. It was kind of nice being eye to eye with him. Not to mention, his muscular arms securing her against him and his hands cradling her ass was a turn-on she couldn’t ignore. “You’re using your size and body right now to win,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

  Suddenly the wall was behind her and Marc was pressed against her. His blue eyes turned dark, like a sky right before a storm explodes. London would drown in those eyes, in his powerful, incredibly handsome face. His grin was as appealing as his serious expression, and she should be scared.

  Terrified. She should be more than scared. Marc was a guest, a man staying at the Elk Ski Lodge who would be out of her life as fast as he came in. Once again she would be alone, working day and night to avoid the bitter attack of loneliness. As much as these thoughts hit her hard, it was damn impossible to get them to sink in when his face was so close to hers. His body touched her everywhere. He was so near her she could almost taste him—almost. London could definitely feel him, especially his rock-hard cock that grew by the second and began throbbing against her pelvis.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, “trust me, your body is a much better weapon than mine.”

  When his expression turned serious something inside her quickened, causing her to hold her breath when he met her gaze.

  “I’m not a player,” he said slowly. “I don’t like getting hurt and won’t hurt anyone else.”

  “Good to know,” she said, her mouth all of a sudden so dry she could barely get the words out.

  “If you don’t want this, now would be a good time to tell me to stop.” His focus dropped to her lips as he spoke.

  “That’s hardly fair.” Again it was hard to get the words out. Her breath caught in her throat. “You’re
putting the responsibility on me.”

  “You’re definitely the stronger right now,” he whispered, dropping his mouth to her collarbone, where he started nibbling.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  He was performing some kind of magic. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind. London had strict rules. She’d never had a problem sticking to them. Other men at the lodge had asked her out. She’d received gifts before. As she let her head fall back, the hard, smooth wall pressed against the back of her head while Marc continued licking and nipping at the base of her neck. She couldn’t get her brain to wrap around why saying no to Marc proved impossible.

  His mouth moved to hers and she received him with as much excitement as he offered. It was weird. Kissing Marc was like reuniting with an old friend. London wasn’t a virgin, but she had kept her serious admirers at bay for several years now. Once or twice she’d agreed to a date with a local man, spending an evening with him and almost always seeming to come home without having sex. At the moment, though, it didn’t make sense to her that she always said no.

  Her body screamed for release. The pressure building inside her was almost painful. Her pussy was so soaked she could feel the moisture pooling against her freshly shaved flesh. Her skin tingled, and fireworks kept snapping in her brain.

  “Are we going to do this?” Marc moved his lips over hers as he asked.

  “It looks that way.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought one leg up, pulling him closer.

  Marc lifted her into his arms, picking her up as if she didn’t weigh a thing. “Where is your bedroom?”

  She waved a hand in the air, which were the worse directions ever. Marc apparently understood them, though, and walked through her living room to the small hallway that led to her bedroom and bathroom. There wasn’t much to her house, but he was still impressed. When he placed her on her bed, her dress slipped down her shoulders, trapping her arms. She wouldn’t be able to move until she got out of it.