Miss October

by Madison Hayes

Dragging his heated lips down the side of her cheek, he buried his face in the warm hollow of her neck as his hips continued to surge gently, milking the experience for everything he could take from it. “Tavia,” he breathed in a heavily sated growl, “now…aren’t you glad you weren’t wearing underpants?”

  Tavia’s heartfelt giggle was her only response.

  “They should make more women like you,” he mumbled into her neck.

  With her fingers caressing his hot, rough cheeks, Tavia pulled his face out of her neck and smiled softly. “And why is that?”

  “Because,” he told her with a deep, exhausted rumble of contentment, “if they made more women like you, I’d order myself a dozen and stay fucked all the time.”

  Tavia chuckled. “A dozen?”

  He nodded as he pushed himself away from the chair and onto his feet. He tucked his cock inside his jeans, did up a few buttons then rubbed his palm down the faded line of his button-down fly. “A dozen. That way I wouldn’t wear you out.”

  She cocked an accusing eyebrow at him. “You didn’t hear me complaining.”

  He gave her a warm smile and a lazy nod. Leaning over, he stooped to nudge two fingers between her thick labia. Slowly, he drew his fingers through her hot, swollen folds. “Wait until this afternoon,” he told her ominously. “By the time I’m finished with this tight little piece of pussy, you’ll be screaming for backup.”

  When she smiled at him, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

  “I should let you get back to work.” Slipping his plate over hers, he smiled down at her. “Guess I’ll go talk to the carpenters.”

  “I imagine you’re anxious to get away.” Her voice came out lower then she’d planned.

  There was a pregnant pause. “I wouldn’t mind spending another night.”

  When Tavia lifted her eyes, he was grinning at her. Damn, he was a smug, cocky bastard.

  “But right now you’ve got a deadline to meet and I’m not much good at doing nothing.” Sweeping the hammer off the floor, he hooked it through the hole in his back pocket. “So I’ll keep busy outside until…later. I saw a flatbed pull up with a load of trusses while I was in the kitchen.”

  “Trusses?”

  He nodded. “For the roof on your new addition,” he told her. “I’ll see if the carpenters need any help.”

  “You could do the dishes,” she pointed out as he sauntered toward the door.

  “Don’t do dishes,” he threw back at her. “Don’t do dishes and don’t do panties.”

  “Chauvinist,” she yelled at him.

  “Get used to it,” he called back.

  Chapter Six

  Tavia went back to work with a smile and a warm feeling of contentment. Forcing herself to concentrate on her current project, her fingers tapped on the keyboard amid the dull thump and pound of distant hammers. Eventually, she left her office to shower again and dress. Dallying in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the bathroom, Tavia pulled her hair back and turned her head, lifting her chin as she surveyed the smooth flesh of her neck. The soft skin was mottled with warm, scratchy pools of pink—blotches of color where Bolt had left his mark on her, the masculine evidence of his rough beard and male passion etched on her pale, feminine skin.

  Humming in the closet, she selected another calf-length dress with a thin gauzy overlay of chiffon splashed with muted colors of soft peach and warm pink. After slipping on a comfortable pair of flat sandals, Tavia headed down the hall and into the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. On her way back, she made a sly detour to the living room window where she could spy on the new construction through the shielding veil of a sheer white curtain.

  Bolt had made himself at home on her roof, standing on the narrow wooden wall, guiding trusses into place, toe-nailing them down then ducking through the open framework as the next truss swung up to meet his outstretched hand. Every movement he made was carried out with a leonine grace, his muscles rippling in his shoulders and across his back as he balanced on the narrow wall. Tavia was so focused on the pleasant view of Bolt working that she jumped a bit when the doorbell sounded from a few feet distant. Just before she dragged her eyes from Bolt, she saw his gaze swing into the driveway. He glared at the white van parked on the concrete in front of her house.

  Tavia answered the front door.

  A young man in a crisp gray uniform stood on the other side of the door, a large bouquet of yellow roses in his arm. Really large. There must have been forty blooms in the bundle. She thanked him and signed for the flowers but he stopped her before she could close the door. “There’s more, ma’am,” he warned her. “Lots more.”

  “Oh!” She glanced around the small entryway that opened into the living room. “Shall I just leave the door open then?”

  “I think that would be best, ma’am.”

  By the time the deliveryman had emptied the van and Tavia had finally closed the door behind him, she had a dozen huge bouquets spilling across her living room into the dining area. Each bundle of color had a little white card attached. All of the flowers were from Alex. The handwritten notes varied in content but not in purpose. “We need to talk” was the main thrust of the messages. “You’re making a mistake” was another recurrent theme. Tavia sank into a turn-of-the-century, straight-backed chair just inside the living room.

  The front door opened soon afterward. Bolt filled the opening just before the door slammed behind him. Tavia lifted her gaze to him, a handful of fancy, ragged-edged cards in her fingers as she sat in the richly upholstered chair.

  Bolt’s thin, worn scrap of a T-shirt was clutched in his fist and he lifted it to press above the sweating curve of his chin. Moisture dampened the gold stubble on his jaw and more sweat gleamed across the muscles of his chest. When he rubbed the T-shirt across the broad expanse of his bronze-flecked chest, she stared at his flat, brown nipples. Jeez, he looked good in nothing but skin and nipples.

  Bolt glowered as he took in the roomful of flowers. “Let me guess,” he growled. “Alex?”

  She nodded without speaking, returning her attention to the handful of cards.

  “What the fuck is his problem?” Bolt grumbled. “Can’t the man take no for an answer?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t actually told him no.”

  “You didn’t have to. I told him for you—last night.”

  She lifted her head. “His family has been asking him when they should reserve the country club…for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “Did you tell him two weeks after hell freezes over?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  A long silence ensued as his eyes narrowed into a thin line of gold. “No,” he said finally. “No. You’re not marrying that princess.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because…because I forbid it!”

  “You forbid it?”

  “Yeah, I forbid it. Jesus. He—he drives a Fiat for chrissakes.” He scowled at her as though that were sufficient argument.

  She folded her arms over her chest and stared back. “What do you have against Fiats?”

  “Fiats are for girls.”

  “That’s your argument?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. I don’t like arrogant, male chauvinistic pigs who feel threatened by women, girls or any man who happens to have the least bit of sensitivity.”

  “Threatened?” Bolt bellowed. “Do I look threatened?”

  “At least his Fiat runs!” Tavia sniped at him. “Unlike your vehicle, Alex’s car runs! And despite what you think, Bolt, Alex is not gay!”

  “How would you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “How would he know?”

  “Stop it,” she yelled. “Just stop it, Bolt!”

  He pulled a hand back through his hair. “If you have to get married,” he yelled suddenly, “at least pick somebody worthy of you!”

  “Worthy? Of me? Alex was last year’s Mr. Dream World Fantasy at t
he Romance Lovers Convention.”

  “Yeah, he’s a fantasy all right,” Bolt muttered. “And you’re living in a dream world if you think he’s anything else.”

  “Okay!” she shouted. “Okay, Bolt. Just who would you suggest in his place?”

  “In his place?”

  She waited.

  “How about someone like me?”

  Not me, but someone like me. What a complete dick!

  “How about someone like you?” she tossed back at him with a sneer. “How about a guy who works in a garage and apparently isn’t even very good at that! A guy who can’t even keep his own vehicle running. A guy who can’t afford the parts to keep it running! A guy I found hitchhiking down the road wearing a ratty old threadbare T-shirt with his ass hanging out of a pair of jeans that were at least as old as his car?”

  Bolt looked startled for a moment then his expression went blank as his eyebrows lifted in surprise. His eyes focused on the T-shirt fisted in his hand and he frowned at the thin scrap of material as though he’d never seen it before.

  “Well,” he announced in slow revelation, “I guess when you put it that way, I don’t sound like much of a prize, do I?” His eyes narrowed on her with a cold, metallic sheen. “I didn’t realize you put so much store by money, Miss October. Personally, I don’t!”

  “That’s obvious!” she screamed in frustration.

  He continued to regard her coldly. “I would have thought you had enough money for both of us.”

  “And I’m not exactly surprised you feel that way! Believe it or not, Bolt Hardin, I’ve met plenty of men like you. There are plenty of men out there who think that I make enough money for two to live off.”

  He nodded. “Well, fuck me,” he murmured, then cut a glance at her. “I was speaking figuratively.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you even know what that means?”

  He looked stung, his normally arrogant expression finally reduced to something less. It didn’t look right on him. Bolt didn’t look good hurt. Immediately Tavia regretted the cheap shot.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah. I figure I have a rough idea. I figure it means I’ve wasted enough time here. Literally as well as figuratively.” He turned, grasping the doorknob as she shouted at him.

  “Don’t try to make me the bad guy, Bolt! You like an ambitious woman! Maybe I feel the same way. Maybe I’m looking for a guy with an education and a career and a future!”

  He turned back to face her, pointing a shaking finger at her. “You are such a fucking snob! For your information, I have a career! And I could have gone to college if I’d wanted to.”

  “I am not a snob, Bolt! But I do have standards. I do expect a little intelligent conversation out of a man.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “Fine,” he bellowed. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know,” she returned hotly. “Literature, maybe!”

  Crossing his sun-bronzed arms over his chest, he leaned back against the door. “Fine. Fire away.”

  “Well…” Tavia licked her lips nervously, suddenly feeling like a bit of an ass. “What’s the last book you read?”

  “Conan.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Have you ever read Robert E. Howard?”

  “No, but…”

  “Then how can you judge?”

  “Okay.” Tavia took a deep breath, convinced at this point that he was, in fact, the ass, rather than she. “What was the best book you ever read?”

  “Best ever?”

  “Yes.”

  “Catcher in the Rye,” he clipped out without hesitation.

  “Really?” she faltered. “That’s one of my favorites too. What did you like about it?”

  “Everything,” he cut at her. “It was…full of true things. It was real. Most books are full of crap.”

  She nodded.

  “Like romance,” he went on. “That’s all crap. There isn’t an honest word in a romance novel.” He stopped abruptly. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Tavia. I forgot—”

  “Have you ever read a romance?” she asked frostily.

  “Well, I…”

  “Then how can you judge?” Standing, she threw the handful of cards at the chair and stalked out of the room then down the hall.

  He levered himself away from the door. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Tavia. I’m sorry.” He followed her into the bedroom. “I’m sorry, but men just aren’t like that. The way they act in romance novels.”

  “Yeah?” She spun to face him. “Well, enlighten me, Mr. Bolt Hardin. What are men really like?”

  “More like me.”

  “Really, Bolt? Because of all the men I’ve ever met, I’ve never met anyone remotely like you!”

  “That’s just because most men are careful. Most men act…civilized.”

  She snorted. “So you’re telling me that Alex is just pretending to be civilized.”

  “Hell, no! Alex is pretending to be a man!”

  Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. “You’re a prick, Bolt. A goddamn bigoted prick.”

  “Me? Bigoted? I’m not a bigot, Tavia. I don’t mind guys like Alex. I think they’re fucking adorable. The only problem I have with Alex is that he’s a gold digger.”

  “And you aren’t!”

  His expression was stunned. “Don’t be ridiculous! I didn’t ask you to marry me!”

  “Arrgh!” she screamed. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Yeah?” he muttered, dragging the heel of his palm over his button-down fly. A wry smile fell over his features. “Well, if it helps to know, you do the same thing to me.” He blew out a sigh as they stared at each other.

  “You know,” she told him with a tired huff, “Alex isn’t exactly a poor man.”

  “Maybe not. But I bet you’d make him rich.”

  Exhausted and exasperated, she nodded as she stared at the floor. Then she lifted her head. “How rich would I make you, Bolt?”

  “That’s not the issue, Tavia.”

  “No,” she agreed quietly. “That’s not the issue, is it?” She slumped down to sit on edge of the bed.

  “We got all the trusses up,” Bolt announced into the lengthy silence.

  She nodded at the floor.

  “I guess I’ll take a shower.”

  This didn’t seem to require any comment.

  “So. Are you going to fuck me or not?”

  Amazed, she lifted her head to stare at him. “You are such a pig.”

  His defensive gaze flicked across the room then returned to hers. “Is that a yes or a no? Because I want to know before I take my shower. I don’t want to waste it in the shower if there’s any chance—”

  “There’s no chance,” she cut in.

  He stared at her a few more seconds, his eyes burning with a strange gold fire. Then he spoke. “Well, Tavia. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this but you leave me no choice.”

  As Tavia watched, he reached back and palmed his hammer out of his back pocket. When he took a few steps toward the bed, she stood and backed away from him just to be safe. But he leaned over when he reached the end of the bed and used the clawed end of the hammer to pry the long nails from the black ankle-straps spiked into the carpet. With the shoes swinging from his long fingers, he stalked from the room.

  Tavia shook her head as she watched the empty doorway. Seconds later, she heard two slamming bangs. Horrified, she rushed from the room. “Damn it, Bolt! Those are hardwood floors!”

  Screeching to a hasty halt in the middle of the living room, Tavia stared, aghast. The shoes were spaced about three feet apart in the dining room—nailed to the polished hardwood floor. The toes were tucked beneath the edge of the dining room table, which meant that she’d be facing the table…once they were buckled around her ankles. And she didn’t imagine it would be long after that before Bolt had her face down, with her cheek pressed against the curly maple veneer of the tabletop.

  “No,” she s
aid in a tiny, awestruck voice as she backed away from the table, the dining room, him. She turned to run but he caught her by the hips and dragged her ass backward across the room

  “You promised to wear the shoes,” he told her firmly.

  “I already delivered on that promise!” she yelped as she fought to free herself.

  He wrestled her around to face the table. “Are you trying to renege on our agreement?” he grunted.

  “I already wore the shoes!” she screamed.

  She fought him every inch of the way, first pounding her fists on his chest then kicking back with her heels after he’d turned her. But with an iron-like fist manacling her ankle, he got her sandals off and got her right foot buckled into the ankle-straps. The next time she kicked out, he caught her foot and held it tightly.

  “You know,” he said lightly, “if I were you, I’d stop worrying about the shoes at this point and start worrying about those underpants you’re wearing.”

  She went suddenly still. “What?” she queried in a small voice.

  In answer, he guided her left foot to the shoe anchored on the floor.

  “No,” she screamed suddenly, tearing her dress up her legs and yanking her panties down. “No!” she screamed again.

  The vicious sadist laughed as her heel caught him full in the chest.

  Somehow, drawing her knee up into her chest, Tavia managed to wrestle the silk bikinis over her left foot before he grabbed her ankle again, turned her and strapped her in.

  Panting, she braced her hands on the table. Her hair hung before her face in long streaming ringlets of bright chestnut. Her discarded panties were puddled around her right foot. Tavia blew out a sigh of relief then pulled in a slow breath of longing as she felt Bolt’s hands pushing her dress up over her bare ass. There was a rush of cool air on her skin followed by the rough contact of his denim jeans against her bottom.

  She resisted the urge to snuggle her derriere into his warm, thick groin. The arrogant bastard didn’t deserve that kind of validation. It was bad enough that he’d forced her to bare herself for him. She felt his hands stroke up the back of her thighs and over her bottom. When he shifted his hips backward, she felt his large, rough palm stroke over the full, sodden lips of her sex.