His eyes darkened. “You’ve been getting a rise out of me since the first second you shoved me on that elevator. But I’m not pretending I can’t get it up, sorry. No. Not happening.”
“There’s the grumpy guy I first met. It’s just for effect, it’s nothing personal. I’m not actually worried at all, despite the fact that you chugged a martini.”
“No. That implies I have a history of whiskey dick, if you’re worried I might have whiskey dick.”
That amused me. “You’re overthinking this. Okay, so how about we’re fighting because I’m a horrible tramp and I was flirting with every guy in the place?”
He gave me a hilarious expression of horror. “No. Try again.”
“Because I spilled your drink?”
“What kind of asshole does that make me if we’re fighting over a spilled drink?”
He seemed to be missing the point. “It’s not real,” I said. “Be spontaneous and roll with it. Maybe I’m mad at you because I expected jewelry today and you gave me a blender.”
“I don’t like any of these,” Brandon said as a cab pulled over to the curb. “I’m not fake fighting with you. Follow my lead.”
This should be interesting.
It was.
Brandon’s plan to prevent the driver from talking to us was the exact opposite of fake fighting. It was way worse. It was fake loving.
The very second after I gave my address to the driver, he turned to me and brushed his hand through my hair. “You’re so beautiful, babe,” he murmured. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
His voice was frighteningly sincere. He was a hell of an actor. I couldn’t help it. My cheeks felt a little warm. I swallowed hard and tried to play the game. “Thank you, sweetheart. I feel pretty damn lucky myself.”
Brandon laced his fingers through mine and lifted my hand up, entwined with his. He kissed each of my knuckles. A shiver rolled up my spine and my nipples got hard, without warning. I was acutely aware of them, and my face felt even hotter. I had the horrible thought that I might actually be blushing. When the hell was the last time I had blushed? I couldn’t even remember. But he was gazing into my eyes with an intensity that was unnerving.
“I have a gift for you at the apartment,” he said. “I think you’re really, really going to like it. I’ve been wanting to give this to you for months.”
Now I wasn’t even sure if he was just still faking it for the driver, who was mercifully silent, or if he was going for a massive sexual innuendo. Maybe both.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I said, and my voice sounded ridiculously breathy. “I thought we weren’t exchanging gifts.”
“All I need is you. As long as I have you, I have everything.”
He had lowered our entwined hands, but his thumb was stroking mine. There was something amazingly erotic about such a simple touch.
“You have me,” I said, because it seemed like the appropriate response if we were in a relationship. And because for tonight, he was going to have me, no questions asked. I wanted him the way I wasn’t sure I’d ever wanted anyone.
He was just so much damn man. I willed the cabbie to drive faster.
Brandon leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth, a soft brush, barely there. Then he did the same to the other side.
Holy hotness, he was really good at this. This was definitely better than fighting. Even if he had flipped the script and given himself control, and now I was a massive quivering blob of desire who couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.
If he fake asked me to marry him or make a baby, I would fake say yes, and might not even remember it wasn’t real. I felt pregnant just by the way he was looking at me.
Time stood still, or maybe sped up. I wasn’t even sure. I couldn’t even recall what he said to me after that. I just knew that his piercing green eyes had me hypnotized and my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. He’d claimed he wouldn’t use voodoo but I wasn’t so sure. It felt like he’d cast some kind of seduction spell on me.
I was actually shocked when the driver announced we were at my apartment.
Shoving the door open, I jumped out, needing the cold air to slap me straight. I was actually really glad we were at my place, not his. I needed to be in familiar surroundings, on more stable footing again. At his place, he would totally have the upper hand.
As if he didn’t already.
I dragged my key out of my purse as he shut the door and smiled at me.
“That was much better than fighting.”
“You’re a shockingly good liar,” I said. “I think you could have run with any one of those fight scenarios, easily. You underestimate yourself.”
“Nah. It was totally different. I wasn’t really lying. I am attracted to you and I do feel lucky.”
I opened the door to my building and gave him a skeptical look. “So I take it the gift is your cock? Be careful here, you’re treading into douchebag territory.”
Brandon laughed. “Okay, fair enough. I apologize.” He held the door as I stepped inside. “I would never refer to my dick as a gift.” He grinned. “Even if it is.”
I rolled my eyes as I started up the stairs. “You are enjoying this way more than you should.”
His laugh cut off. “In all seriousness, I am. I don’t get out much, honestly. I’m too busy for much of a social life. I like your company, Dakota.”
Part of me wanted to be flippant. To protect myself. Because this was one night, most likely nothing more. But for whatever reason, I was honest with him. “I like your company, too.”
Something about Dakota’s expression as she turned away from me to her apartment door made my chest tighten. I had been telling the truth in the cab. She was gorgeous and I wanted her. Fucking desperately.
Briefly, I wondered if I should mention that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but instantly dismissed that thought. That would just come off as rude. People had hookups all the time and didn’t feel the need to discuss what it was. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I didn’t want to see her again. Was it impossible to date Dakota? Maybe. Maybe not. If I kept seeing her separate from the rest of my life, it might be something more than one night. I didn’t know. She made me laugh, made me feel carefree, totally lacking in responsibilities. She was upbeat, spontaneous, and I wanted more of that. So I kept my mouth shut.
It would play out naturally.
Like everything between us had so far.
“Welcome to the apartment Elijah refers to as the place where hopes and dreams come to die,” she said, as I followed her into a crowded and very small room.
Between the two of us, we consumed half of the space that didn’t have furniture in it. It was basically a narrow room with a couch on one side, a kitchenette on the other, and we were standing in the aisle between the two. That’s all it was—an aisle. “This is, uh, definitely tight.”
“And still overpriced. Welcome to New York.” Dakota took her coat off and hung it on a hook by the door where several other coats were piled on top of each other. “Where is your coat, by the way?”
Before I could answer, she said, “Oh, never mind. You run hot. I remember.”
It seemed we both remembered a lot about the night we’d met. Because I had mentioned that. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one who had been affected by our meeting.
“This room doesn’t have any windows,” I said, suddenly realizing why it felt so stuffy and closed in. Aside from its size, that is.
“Technically it does,” Dakota said, reaching out and removing a piece of art of a dancer on a bridge. “But I cover it up because as you can see, the view leaves a lot to be desired. I’m not sure it adds any light anyway.”
The window was small, and as I took a step closer, I could see that the brick wall of the building next door was no more than two feet away from the window, and the neighbor’s window was clearly visible. I could see a man standing in front of his kitchen sink. We made eye contact and he looked startled. Probably because n
ormally the window was covered. I turned back to Dakota. “I don’t blame you. I just made eye contact with your neighbor.”
“Exactly. It’s awkward.” Dakota opened one of her two kitchen cabinets and pulled out two glasses. “What do you want to drink? I have vodka, wine, and gin. I might have a beer or two in the back of the fridge.”
“Whatever you’re having.” I didn’t even need another drink. I was content just to watch her maneuver that ridiculous space masquerading as a kitchen. I leaned against the wall since there was nowhere else to go. “How long have you lived here?”
“Three years.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. “It was a good find. I was tired of living with roommates.”
“Where are you from?” I couldn’t tell from her accent. Nothing immediately jumped out and gave it away. Her vowels were a little flat, but not like a New Yorker.
“Cleveland.” She pointed a corkscrew at me. “No trashing my hometown. I can’t stand people who like to shit-talk Cleveland when they’ve never set foot in it. It’s stupid.”
Her passion made me raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to shit-talk Cleveland. I’ve actually been there for work and I have zero complaints. Great food, enthusiastic football fans.” Fans who had stuck around longer than was reasonable. I wouldn’t turn down an offer to coach there because you could wind up a legend if you had a great season.
“Exactly.” She was struggling to open the wine. She kept turning the corkscrew and nothing was happening. “My dad and brothers have season tickets. What the hell is wrong with this thing?”
“Here, let me.” I reached out for the bottle, grateful for the distraction. I didn’t want to discuss football, and I regretted bringing up the subject. I didn’t want her to know I was a head coach, that I was charged with revitalizing a franchise that had been steadily declining, that I loved my job and worked an insane amount of hours. That I knew her ex, Dante.
Not yet, anyway. I just wanted to keep it simple.
I opened the bottle and poured us both a glass of wine. I would have preferred the vodka, but I also didn’t want to sit around drinking all night. I had better activities in mind. She picked up a glass and sipped it, eyeing me.
“This isn’t the best apartment for entertaining. I don’t even have a coffee table.”
“It’s better than trying to sneak you into my apartment.” The thought of being busted by my girls was chilling. Or frankly, the nanny. I’d had a hard enough time keeping a nanny because my daughters were on some quest to see how many nannies they could convince to quit in a six-month period. We were up to three already. “I don’t even know what I would say to my daughters if we got caught.” I took a swallow of the wine and set it back down. “Come here.” I reached for her.
She set her own glass down and shifted into my arms. Damn it, she fit perfectly there.
“We’ve had a drink in a quiet location,” she said, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Now what?”
My response was to kiss her. I couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, the feel of her in my arms. I really fucking wanted to see her naked and it was pretty much a guarantee that Dakota wasn’t a woman who would be shy about it. As a dancer who had performed for years, she was clearly comfortable in her own skin.
The sides of her tight red dress were absent, some kind of design choice, and it allowed me to rest my hands on her waist, on those tantalizing spots of bare flesh. Her skin was cool to the touch from being outside and I wanted nothing more than to warm her up. I kissed her, teasing her mouth open with my tongue. She gave a little moan of approval that made me instantly hard.
Dakota broke away, sighing in pleasure, tilting her head a little, eyes dark with desire. I brushed my lips over her neck, breathing in the scent of her. She was wearing a deep, earthy perfume. Something erotic, with a scent I couldn’t distinguish, but it wasn’t floral. Floral didn’t suit her. She was more confident, sexier, more free as opposed to delicate or fragile.
“You smell amazing,” I said, dipping my head down to run my tongue along the side of her breast. She had perfect full tits, boosted up for maximum display. I teased my thumb across her nipple as she gave a soft gasp.
“It’s an essential oil. It’s supposed to make me smell like a femme fatale.”
“It definitely works.” I pulled my head back and eased my fingers into her hair. Her lips were swollen from our kisses and parted. “You have me at your fucking mercy.”
Dakota placed her hands on my chest, running them over my shirt, as if she were exploring or testing my muscles. She undid the first button on my shirt. “I promise not to kill you. Beyond that, anything is possible.”
Fuck. There was no way I could take it slow after a comment like that. She was just too hot and I had let her slip through my fingers once. I wasn’t going to wait another minute. Without bothering to unbutton my shirt, I hauled it off over my head. I heard a button pop but I didn’t care. She gave a sound of approval and ran her hands over my bare chest as I reached behind her and undid the zipper on her dress.
It was too tight to fall of its own accord, so she took a small step backward and reached up to ease it off one shoulder, then the other. Transfixed, I watched as she uncovered her tits, slowly, teasingly. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I swore. There was something covering her nipples, but other than that, it was just a whole lot of full breasts, round and high and pure perfection. Then she pushed the dress over her hips and thighs, bending over slightly as she did, which made the view of her chest even more interesting.
When the dress hit the floor, she stepped out of it and stood there in nothing but tiny red panties and her high heels.
My mouth went dry.
She was the sexiest woman I’d ever seen.
Long, lean legs, a narrow waist, those delicious tits.
But the sexiest thing of all?
The smile on her face. She knew exactly what she was doing to me and she was enjoying it.
“Dakota?”
“Yes?” She leaned close to me, reaching past my body, hands holding her breasts in place. She lifted her wineglass and took a sip, before setting it back down. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip.
“You just might kill me,” I said.
Then I put a hand on her waist, and with other clasped her hand, as if we were dancing, and I backed her up until she was pressed against the wall. I meant it to be gentle but it was harder than I intended. She hit the drywall with a startled gasp.
Not giving her a chance to protest, I covered her mouth with mine and ran my hand down her side, over her hip, and inside her panties.
Chapter Four
Brandon was kissing me and teasing inside my panties and I almost giggled at the surreal quality of it all. I’d never thought I would see him again, and now here he was in my apartment and I was basically naked, gripping his hard biceps. This was a fantastic turn of Valentine’s Day events.
When I had reached for my wine, I had managed to tug off my nipple pasties with an urgent tear that hadn’t felt all that awesome, but was preferable to him attempting to remove them. Men hadn’t historically proven themselves capable of removing pasties without making it weird. My nipples were stinging a little, but that would go away in a second. Trying to be casual, I stuck the pasties to the wall next to me. I didn’t want to destroy the illusion that I was totally together. Brandon looked at me like I was nothing less than perfect and I kind of enjoyed that.
Then again, I had plowed into Brandon earlier at the bar. He probably had no illusions about me. At any rate, my quick maneuvering allowed him to kiss down my neck, over my cleavage, and pull a nipple into his mouth without any interruption. I closed my eyes so I could just enjoy the delicious sensations he was creating in me.
He smelled like the woods. Like he’d literally just stepped out of the pine trees in Minnesota and right on into my apartment. I wondered again how old he was, then realized it didn’t matter. It was just a coincidence that I had run in
to him. Literally. Nothing more. It wasn’t fate. It was a vagary. An odd happenstance. An accidental occurrence after a multitude of decisions.
I told my mind to shut up and just enjoy it.
Brandon was devoting a lot of attention to my nipples while his thumb stroked inside my panties, coaxing forth a damp response. “That feels good,” I murmured, aware I was letting him do the heavy lifting. I could be a more active participant, but it felt amazing just to be… tended to. “You turn me on so much.”
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting but it wasn’t Brandon pulling back and wiping his bottom lip. The sudden removal of his body from my personal space had me aware how naked I was compared to him. “Tell me you’re taking off your pants,” I said, putting a heel on the wall and arching my back, arms at my sides. I knew how to show off what I had to full advantage.
“In a minute,” he said.
Before I could question why, Brandon was down on his knees in front of me. He kissed my navel, my inner thigh, then the other, sliding his tongue behind his trail of kisses. Then he eased my panties down until they fell of their own accord around my ankles. He leaned in, with a hovering, maddening tease, while I moved my hips, trying to encourage him. I could feel the hot exhale of his breath and I wanted nothing more than for him to touch me.
“Brandon,” I whispered. “Please.”
“Shh, in a second. I just want to feel you, drink you in.”
Where had this guy come from? He wasn’t like any man I’d ever been with. Maybe that said a lot about the crash-and-grab guys I had dated, but it said a lot about Brandon too. He didn’t need to rush.
His hands ran over my hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on my inner thighs as he pressed a soft kiss on my clit. I shivered.
“Brandon,” I repeated. “It’s been a second.”
He didn’t respond, just drove into me with the world’s most talented tongue.
Yes. I had thought something more along the lines of him pushing me into my bedroom and going from there. Instead, he had just dropped and was doing amazing, torturous, fantastic, sinful things to me with his mouth. I gripped the back of his head, needing to hold on to something as my legs buckled a little.
Halftime Husband Page 3
