Hard Deal

by Stefanie London

  “You’re really happy to stop at a verbal throw-down?” she asked.

  “It would be a great challenge to see if I could get you to come with only words.” He nipped at her earlobe. “I’d be up for it.”

  “You do have a filthy mouth.”

  “Baby, when it comes to you I haven’t got an ice cube’s chance in hell of being anything but filthy.” He grinned. “You bring out the best in me.”

  “So you haven’t taken other women to that club?”

  He drew her into his lap and without thinking, she straddled him and slung her arms around his neck. Instead of trying to distract her from the question as she’d assumed he might, he cupped the back of her head and brought her forehead down to his. “There have been other women before you. But right now, I’d be perfectly fucking happy if this was it.”

  What was that supposed to mean? He wanted her...permanently? He thought they had more than physical chemistry? It was a lot to take in and considering she’d been ready to hightail it out of his apartment tonight, she wasn’t equipped to deal with this turn of events.

  “Enough words,” she whispered, her lips grazing his.

  “You want me to show you?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and stood. “Fine.”

  Instinctively, she locked her ankles behind his back and let him carry her to the wall of glass that separated them from the night sky. When the door opened a breeze whipped along her skin, the crescendo of nightlife lifted into the air around her—the rush of tires over bitumen, the distant throb of club music and laughter from somewhere below.

  “I wasn’t joking about the balcony,” he said. “And I’ve thought about bringing you here so many times. I wanted to the feel the contrast of your hot skin and the cool air. I wanted to know if you’d scream for me, let everyone know how good I make you feel.”

  Swallowing, Imogen turned and saw Melbourne stretched out before them like a postcard. The Arts Centre spire glowed in the distance, the coloured lights melting from blue to green to red. Flinders Street Station and the whole of Southbank glimmered, reflections shifting in the river below. It was the closest she’d ever get to being able to fly and instead of feeling scared, she felt...free.

  “Don’t you dare drop me,” she said with a smile. They weren’t anywhere near the edge of the balcony, but that wasn’t the kind of falling she was really worried about. The wind pulled strands of her hair free and sent them whipping around her face. “I’m trusting you with my life right now.”

  “I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to hers. “And I’m rock solid. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “I want to be right here. With you.”

  He set her feet on the ground and brought his hands to her face, leaning in for a long, searching kiss. It wasn’t like the others they’d shared—hungry, needy, desperate kisses. The type you had to grab with both hands before they burned to ash. This was slow seduction. A kiss meant for learning and discovery.

  His lips were soft and coaxing, his hands gliding under her top to trace the contours of her waist, the swell of her rib cage and the little dip at her back. So she did the same—she ran her fingers over the gentle stubble along his jaw, over the corded muscles in his neck and the broad expanse of his chest. She counted his shirt buttons all the way down to his belt.

  Before she knew it, she was yanking at the leather. Tugging at his zip. Dipping her hand into the soft fabric of his suit pants until she found him hard and pulsing in her palm. But even that thin layer of cotton was too much—she wanted all of him. Only him.

  She found the slit in his boxer briefs and wrapped her fingers around him. But this time she wasn’t content to stop here. Sinking her to knees, she ran her fist up and down his length. This was the first time she’d seen him like this—unrestrained and uninhibited. Not hidden by the darkness of the club or the flat, solid wood of the boardroom table. Not fully clothed while he took charge of the seduction. Now it was her turn.

  “I want to taste you,” she said.

  His hand came to her head, brushing back the loose strands of hair from her forehead. “Which bit do you want to taste?”

  “Here.” She pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his erection. “All down here.” She drew her fingertip along the length of him. “Here.” She gave his balls a gentle squeeze and almost melted when he groaned, long and loud, into the night.

  “And you think you’re not sexy,” he growled. “Bullshit, Imogen. Absolute bullshit.”

  Stifling a smile, she swiped her tongue along the head of him, enjoying the taste. He was earthy, with a hint of salt. She’d forgotten how powerful it made her feel to have a man under her control like this—to have him surrender to her mouth.

  Caleb grunted as she drew him along her tongue, sealing her lips into a tight ring around his shaft. “Fuck me, that feels good.”

  “Does it?” She swirled her tongue around the head, growing more confident by the second. “Tell me.”

  The grip on her hair tightened, and he slowly thrust his hips back and forth. The movement was so primal, so instinctual. He wasn’t the kind of guy to sit back and take—he wanted to be an active partner in their sex. Each and every time he was in it for her pleasure as much as his, and that was a first for Imogen.

  “You have no idea, baby. Your lips are like heaven.”

  She drew back. “What about the rest of me?”

  “Perfection.” His hand curved around her head and he tugged lightly on her ponytail to tilt her face up. “You’ve ruined me. You know that, right? I’m damaged goods now.”

  The words turned her bones to goo and she braced one palm against his thigh. “You’re not damaged goods.”

  “Yeah, I am.” He pulled her up and started working on her jeans, popping the button and drawing the zipper down so slowly she wanted to shove his hand out of the way to get the job done faster. “Nothing else will ever feel as good as this.”

  “You keep saying these things...” She swallowed. “Like you’re trying to make me feel special.”

  “Is it working?” He pulled her jeans down over her hips. The air had started to chill and Imogen was acutely aware of how exposed she was. Her backside was facing the balcony’s edge—her boring, beige undies bared for the world to see.

  You’ve got to stop doing that. It’s clear the boring undies trick doesn’t work around him.

  “Yes, but you don’t need to romance me.” A lump swelled in the back of her throat. Hope filtered through her veins, her heart pumping the stupid feeling all around her body. She might be agreeing to sex, but that was it. If she started to care about Caleb then she was really going to be at risk. “You don’t have to say that stuff to get into my pants.”

  “I know.” He hooked a finger into the waistband of her underwear and slowly dragged the fabric over her hips and thighs. She wriggled and stepped out of them so she was naked from the waist down.

  “Then why do you keep saying those things?”

  “Because your body isn’t enough. I want to get in here.” He tapped the side of her head and then he tapped the spot over her heart. “And here.”

  It was too much—the words, the feeling of drowning in her own desire, the fact that she wanted the same thing from him. His body was great, the sex was great, but that was secondary to the fact that she never felt invisible to him. He’d brought her out into the open—literally and figuratively—shown her it was possible to indulge in her sexuality. To break her boundaries and to try again. To let herself fall for someone.

  That’s how you got so messed up last time. You fell for a guy even when your head said it wasn’t right—and what happened? You should have learned your lesson.

  “I don’t want you in there,” she said. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Maybe he was right—every time something started to feel too real she pulled away.

&nbs
p; It was why her dates always fell flat—she never shared anything of herself. Instead, she blamed the lack of chemistry on her not being sexy enough when in reality she didn’t make the effort. Turning up wasn’t enough. She needed to engage.

  But that was too freaking scary.

  “I’ll wait,” he said. “And I’ll be patient, but I will keep trying.”

  “Why? It’s not like I’m making it easy for you.” She tried to twist away but he held her fast, forcing her to look at him. “Why would you keep trying?”

  “Because I like you. I’ve always liked you.”

  The simple sincerity undid her. Whatever remaining ties held the last walls in place around her heart were sliced through. “I like you, too.”

  Against her better judgement, the lessons of her past and what she thought she should want...it was true. She liked Caleb Allbrook. A lot.

  “Does that mean you agree I’m God’s gift to cha-chas?”

  “Pussies,” she corrected with a grin.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Let’s get inside. I want that glorious butt of yours all to myself.”

  “No sharing with the great wide world tonight?”

  “No way.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Tonight, you belong to me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IMOGEN WOKE WITH her face mushed into Caleb’s pillow, one arm totally numb from being tucked underneath her. His bed sheets were knotted around her legs and it took her a good minute to disentangle herself. She spotted a drool mark on the pillow and decided to flip it over to hide the evidence.

  Post-sex in real life wasn’t quite as glamorous as the movies made it out to be, but that was fine by her. In fact, she kind of liked the imperfect little details because it made everything so much more real...and she wasn’t running away from that anymore.

  A stupid, unbreakable grin stretched across her lips and Imogen buried her face into her palms to muffle a fizzy laugh. Who the hell was she right now? Her limbs ached from a night of pure unadulterated bliss, each muscle group telling its own story, from the tightness in her forearms from when she’d gripped Caleb’s headboard, to the tenderness in her butt from where she’d fallen off the bed after he’d chased her across the room. To the ache between her legs from where he’d pushed her to come over and over, their need driving and insatiable.

  The room had taken a hit, too. They’d knocked over a lamp, caused the fitted sheet to ping off one corner of the bed and there was a slight splatter on the carpet from where they’d opened a bottle of chocolate sauce and Caleb had gotten a little too excited about licking it off her body.

  This wasn’t how she did sex. With her ex it’d been good, albeit a little bland. Missionary mostly, lights off. That was how she’d thought he liked it until she’d discovered that it wasn’t. It’d bothered her for years after whether he preferred it like that so he could imagine she was one of his mistresses—if he could superimpose someone else’s face over hers in the dark?

  But with Caleb everything was full colour, surround sound. Nothing got hidden or glossed over. Every part of her body had been worshiped.

  The bed still bore an impression of his frame. He was in the kitchen, judging by the noises that filtered under the crack at the bedroom door. An empty champagne bottle sat next to his alarm clock, late-morning light glinting off the gold foil around the neck. It was almost lunchtime.

  Smoothing her hands over her legs, she contemplated what to do next. She feared that leaving his room might burst this wonderful fantasy bubble. But reality had to be faced at some point. As if sensing her indecision, Caleb walked through the door.

  “I’m going to do a coffee run.” He looked even better the morning after with his blond hair rumpled and his muscled torso bare above black boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. “And stop staring at my junk. It’s not cool to objectify someone when they’re about to procure your breakfast.”

  “Can I do it after you procure breakfast?” She grinned. “And I’ll have a latte, soy—”

  “Soy milk, no sugar. Extra hot.” He winked. “Yeah, I know.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in her chest. “Thanks.”

  “Anything for you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled the bedside drawer open. Rows and rows of patterned socks were neatly folded, organised by colour like his wardrobe. He pulled out a pair that were black with little green Martians. “What are you looking at?”

  “Your socks. That’s quite a collection.”

  “The world needs more colour.” He dressed quickly and kissed her again before he fished his wallet out of his suit pants, which were still in a heap on the floor. “I’ll be back. If you want a shower, clean towels are in the cupboard in the bathroom. I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll wait,” she said. “We should save water and do it together. You know, for the planet.”

  “Hot and environmentally friendly. I like it.”

  Imogen didn’t move until the front door slammed shut. It was strange being alone in his space and yet totally at ease. His apartment was far from the slick, overly styled image she’d imagined. It was cosy and lived-in. Real.

  There was that word again.

  She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around herself before heading into the lounge room. A set of four framed photos hung on one wall. They were all black and white but each one had a slim, coloured frame. Red, blue, green and yellow.

  Rising up onto her tiptoes, she inspected the photos. One showed a mother and baby—which she assumed was Caleb. Then there was another photo of the two of them, years later. Caleb looked about ten and he had a huge grin on his face. His fair hair was spiked up and his mother smiled dotingly at him. One photo was of him and his brother as teenagers. Jason wore a serious expression and Caleb was smirking. The last one was the two brothers standing in front of the newly built Allbrook office, which would make the photo about six years old. A ribbon stretched across the front door behind them and Jason held a pair of ceremonial scissors. This time Caleb wasn’t smiling.

  Imogen touched her fingertip to the photo, brushing over his expressionless face. It made her chest ache to see his smile missing. Why would he put this photo on his wall? It didn’t look like a happy memory. Maybe it was a reminder? But of what?

  There were no photos of Gerald, which she suspected wasn’t an accident. Theirs was a relationship so fractured Imogen couldn’t even begin to comprehend it. At least when her ex had broken her heart she’d been able to walk away. Cut ties. Heal—well, kind of. But Caleb didn’t have that luxury. He had to face the person who tore him down every single day. He had to experience that pain over and over.

  No wonder the guy hid behind a charming smile, slick suits and snappy comebacks.

  “I see you,” she said to the photo. “I see who you are underneath.”

  A knock at the door broke through her thoughts and Imogen headed over to answer it. She hadn’t expected Caleb to go out and fetch them breakfast, but his gentlemanly morning-after approach was super sweet and very much appreciated. He knew that she needed a coffee to function, and it proved he’d been paying much closer attention than she’d given him credit for.

  “Hey.” She pulled the door open and the smile died on her lips.

  It wasn’t Caleb. The woman standing in the hallway looked as shocked as she felt—and her gaze slid over Imogen’s bare legs and arms, over the fluffy white towel keeping the important bits covered, but not much else.

  “I’m sorry.” The woman shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting... I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

  Up until those last few words, Imogen might have been able to brush off the awkward encounter as a neighbour looking to borrow a cup of sugar or whatever the hell was the generic reason one person knocked on another’s door. But on closer inspection, the woman wasn’t dressed like she nee
ded a simple favour. Her hair was done, her face perfectly made-up in that way that made guys think you weren’t wearing any makeup at all. The breezy summer dress was short and left miles of tanned skin free.

  “Grace?” Caleb’s voice made both women whip their heads around.

  He strode down the hallway, a tray with two coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He was every bit the dashing, dishevelled playboy—light hair mussed from a night of passionate sex, a hint of a shadow beneath his eyes, one darker along his jaw.

  “I, um...” The woman took a step back. Her expression was tight, her jaw ticking like she was trying damn hard to keep herself together. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “What’s wrong? Do you need something?” He seemed genuinely concerned, but otherwise emotionally detached.

  Had they slept together? Was this how he got after he moved on? Polite but cold. Distant.

  Bile rushed up the back of Imogen’s throat. Was she staring down the barrel of their breakup? This would be her, soon. Stumbling across him with another woman, being asked if she “needed anything” like there was nothing between them. Like there had been nothing.

  “I know you,” Grace said suddenly, her eyes squinting. “You’re Gerald Allbrook’s assistant, right?”

  Mother frogging shazbot. Of all the places to get caught. Of course she had to be dressed in a towel, too, so there was no denying what was going on.

  “Grace Henry.” The woman bit down on her lip. “My firm pitched an advertising campaign to Gerald a few months back.”

  Imogen didn’t have the faintest recollection of the woman, but Gerald had hundreds of people in and out of his office each week. Admitting that wasn’t going to smooth over this nightmarish situation, however. “Of course.” She nodded.

  “Anyway, well...” The woman pressed her hand to her chest and turned on her heel, ducking her head as she walked past Caleb. But Imogen hadn’t missed the tears shimmering in her eyes.

  Caleb ushered Imogen back into his apartment. But his expression had changed—the happy glow from earlier had been stripped away, replaced by something akin to wariness. “Grace is my neighbour, nothing more,” he said as he set the coffees down on the table.