Dirty Damsels (DotComGirls Series Book 1)

by Peggy Jaeger

  I swallowed.

  “Why? What was on your shirt?”

  “A feather duster with Dirty Damsels embroidered beneath it.”

  “You work for the company Tony is looking to buy?”

  It was my turn to shake my head. “No, I don’t work for it.” I waited a beat, one of the longest seconds in my life. “I own the company.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said immediately. “I saw the specs. Went through them on the plane. It’s titled to a corporation named CPJ, LLC.”

  “CPJ is me. Cynderella Pandora Jones. Dirty Damsels is my baby. My company. My life.”

  He let go of my hand and fell back in the booth, a look of befuddlement and shock wandering across his face.

  “And your friend, Antony Culverson, wants to take it away from me.”

  If the silence a few moments ago had been disconcerting, the one surrounding the booth now was like a deafening roar. I was convinced now Buddy hadn’t known who I was, either before we’d spent the night together or since. No one’s that good of an actor. His shock at hearing my real name, plus the way he rolled off the LLC, were said without thought behind them.

  No, he hadn’t known I owned the business his friend wanted to attain. We’d simply been two consenting adults who’d met, formed an instant sexual attraction, and acted on it. After one night, it was supposed to be a pleasant memory. Circumstances now made it a problem.

  “Christ.” Buddy dropped my hand and ran both of his across his eyes from forehead to temple. A sudden thought must have crossed his mind because he shot me with a hard, direct glare that had me wriggling again in the booth. His piercing eyes lost their molten warmth and filled with crystallized ice.

  “I’ve got a question of my own,” he said in a voice matching the chill in his gaze.

  I immediately knew he’d worked out why I was asking about Culverson.

  “When did you find out who I was?”

  Bingo.

  “The day after we were together.”

  “How?”

  I took a breath, then a gulp of coffee, waiting until it settled before I answered. I told him about Danny, Nell, and our meeting.

  “You told me your name was Buddy. I had no idea what it really was until my business manager sent me a file about you with a picture. Every financial article I read referred to you as the current wizard of Wall Street, Duncan Prince. The guy, I quote, who can seal any deal, anytime, anywhere, unquote.”

  The anger chilling in the ice melted again. He shook his head, a lopsided grin growing across his mouth.

  “The description’s an exaggeration, and Buddy’s a family nickname. It was Aunt Cal, in fact, who gave it to me.”

  I stayed silent.

  “Your questions make sense now,” he said after a moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but once you found out who I was, you thought I knew who you were when we slept together, didn’t you?”

  Honesty was always best. “It was more my friend Nell’s idea, but I did consider she might be right.”

  “So if I go from there,” he leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands together, his coffee mug all but forgotten in front of him, “your assumption was I slept with you to find out something about your business, or you, that I could use against you during negotiations.”

  I felt terrible admitting it, but I nodded.

  “Ella.”

  My name was said so sweetly, with such emotion behind it, I wanted to weep.

  “Look at me.”

  I lifted my gaze back to his face, and he took both my hands this time in his own.

  He gave them a gentle squeeze. “Do you believe now I had no knowledge of who you were, either before we were together or after?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I may be many things, but I’d never have sex with a woman to gain an advantage in a business deal. No matter how damn much I wanted her.”

  My legs got wobbly from the heat in his voice, and I was so glad I was seated.

  “From the moment you turned around from the fireplace, I wanted you,” he said, his voice soft and mesmerizing. “I was exhausted and ready to drop, but there you were.”

  I crossed my legs under the table, gave a little mental gasp when they slid against each other, then uncrossed them again. I was wet just from listening to his voice.

  We sat for a few moments while his fingers did the circling-squeezing-circling thing he’d done the night in the Marchant bar. Every little bit of pressure he applied shot a bolt of lightning straight to my toes.

  The man exuded sex. It was as unconscious to him as breathing. I’d bet money he had no idea what happened to a girl’s insides when he was anywhere in the vicinity.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I was disappointed when I woke up alone. I wanted you again the moment I opened my eyes. I still do. More now than then.”

  I needed coffee, water, something, anything to help distract me from losing all sense of propriety, grabbing him, and running straight back to my apartment where I could take my time devouring him.

  “You’re nervous again,” he said, giving my hands a gentle cuddle.

  “I never stopped being nervous.”

  When I looked up and caught the smile on his oh-so-kissable lips, I dreaded what I was about to say.

  I had to end this. No matter how intense the attraction we shared, I shouldn’t be sitting here, allowing him to make love to my hands and dreaming about him doing the same to my entire body. Distance was what was needed. I had to stay focused on the potential damage to my business and the part he was going to play in that.

  I was about to tell him all this when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Happy for any excuse and distraction to put off telling him what I needed to do, I pulled my hands from his and said, “I’m sorry, I’m getting a call.”

  I think I gasped when I saw the number and the avatar of a witch across my display screen because Buddy reached out and took my free hand in his. “Ella, what’s wrong? Who’s calling?”

  I lifted my gaze to his, registered his furrowed, concerned brow and quizzical stare, then looked back down to my phone.

  “Ella?” He tugged on my hand.

  “Um, it’s the Evil Bi—I mean,” I swallowed, stunned. “It’s my stepmother.”

  Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter Nine

  Ten minutes later, it had.

  Buddy listened to the entire one-sided conversation without saying a word. He kept my free hand imprisoned in his and continued caressing my knuckles in that soothing yet utterly arousing way of his. I drew solace from his touch while I listened to the woman who had all but abandoned me after my father’s untimely death.

  For the past ten years, I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times Vivienne and I had spoken. Once was at my father’s grave, once at the reading of his will, and once when she called to tell me she would no longer be paying for my education.

  She’d married two more times since my father’s death, both of those ending in bitter and public divorces I’d found out about through mutual acquaintances like Cal Burton.

  The last I’d heard about the women and her daughters was a year ago when one of the twins got married.

  I didn’t think I needed to mention I wasn’t invited to either the engagement party, wedding shower, or wedding.

  And now, when the Evil Bitch called me out of the blue with horrifying news.

  “I’ll catch a cab and be there as soon as I can,” I told her and then disconnected the call.

  “Sounds like bad news,” Buddy said.

  I nodded and pulled my hand from his. It suddenly felt very cold. “One of my stepsisters was in an accident. Vivienne, my stepmother, wasn’t too forthcoming with details, but I’ve been summoned to the hospital. I’m sorry, I need to leave.”

  I rose, as did he.

  “I can take you,” he said.

  “N-no, it’s okay. I can get a ca
b. Really.” There was no way I wanted him near Vivienne, especially since I hadn’t seen her in a decade.

  “Please.” He gently wrapped a hand around my arm, halting me from moving away from him. “My car and driver are right outside. I can take you anywhere you need to go. Please, Ella. Let me do this for you.”

  He’d drawn me closer, his grip on my arm not tight but secure. I stared into those burning green eyes and saw nothing but concern and kindness. The concern humbled me, while I realized I might need the kindness if I was going to be in the same room with my stepmother.

  I nodded. After he threw a twenty-dollar bill down on the table, he walked me out, hand still securely around me, almost as if he feared I’d bolt if he let go.

  The late afternoon chill had turned colder once the sun had set, and I pulled the collar of my jacket up around my neck. Out of nowhere, a long, black limousine pulled up to the curb, stopped, and a tall, broad guy, about thirty years old, popped out from the driver’s seat and opened the door for us. Buddy helped me settle in and then asked, “Where are we going?”

  I told him the name of the hospital.

  “Park Slope Medical Center, Jerry,” he repeated.

  We pulled into traffic.

  Buddy reached over and held my hand. Again, the warmth that spread through my system at his bare touch could have melted a glacier.

  “Are you close with your family?” he asked.

  Impulse control issues aren’t only relegated to Nell’s personality. Before I could think not to, I snorted. Loudly.

  “Hardly,” I told him, an embarrassed flush running up my neck and face. “I haven’t spoken to Vivienne—my stepmother—in years. Her daughters even longer.”

  His eyebrows rose, the color in his eyes turning to a dark, smoky moss.

  “Long, boring family drama.” I sighed.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” The knuckle rubbing was in full force again.

  I squirmed in the plush, smooth-as-butter-soft-as-a-whisper leather seat, my girlie parts on high alert from his touch. The sympathetic and sweet way he was looking at me, though, coupled with the incredible warmth in his eyes made me forget about my credo of keeping emotional and family history stuff closed in.

  “My mom died when I was ten,” I said. “Dad married Vivienne when I was almost sixteen. Things were…interesting between us, to say the least. She has twin daughters from her first marriage who were ten at the time.”

  “You were an instant big sister in a blended family.”

  I nodded. “Only they didn’t want a big sister and never let me forget it. They were happy being joined at the hip. In every sense of the word. Siamese twins had nothing on how close those two were. No one could intrude on their sisterly space, especially an older stepsister foisted on them.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  I glanced out the passenger window, memories running through my head at warp speed. Christmas mornings where the twins had been showered with gift after gaily wrapped gift by their smiling and simpering mother, while I’d been handed one or two from my father. Dinners where I’d been moved to the opposite end of the long dining room table in our apartment, when I’d always sat next to my father. The twins whispering around me conspiratorially and giggling like crazy loons, tossing me sneaky, mean looks over their shoulders.

  Every Saturday morning they’d been hustled to dance and music lessons by their mother, while I’d been ordered to clean my room and theirs. My protests fell on the deaf ears of my father, who always acquiesced to Vivienne’s wishes to keep the peace. He’d told me too many times to remember I was the older, more responsible, and mature child who should set an example for the twins.

  “In truth,” I said at last, “I hated it. I’d always wanted siblings. And the twins were beautiful little girls. Like angels. Long curly, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and porcelain skin. They looked like dressed-up dolls most of the time. But they wanted no part of me. Neither did Vivienne. When my dad died, I was basically banished from the family.”

  I neglected to add the financial part of the story.

  “And yet, here you are, dropping everything and running to go see them during what sounds like a crisis.”

  “Pathetic, right?” Despite everything, I still harbored a tiny speck of hope that one day they’d recognize me as someone akin to a family member.

  Buddy stretched over and kissed my cheek with such tenderness I wanted to weep and jump all over him at the same time. “Pathetic is the last word I’d use. Good hearted, kind, and caring describe you more.”

  I lost myself in the deep verdant color in his eyes. He cupped my chin and traced the outline of my bottom lip with his thumb, pressing ever so slightly in the middle.

  “Ella.”

  “My toes tingle when you say my name.” In the next instant, I felt the heat flush my face again at the admission. I bit down on my bottom lip, luckily avoiding his thumb, and heard his swift inhalation.

  Then the corners of his lips lifted, and those damn irresistible dimples caverned into his cheeks. “You didn’t mean to tell me that, did you?”

  I shrugged and glanced down at our joined hands.

  “Look at me,” he commanded in a voice made for sex, and once again, I had no will of my own to disobey.

  The grin had turned to a wicked, sexy leer. “Parts of me tingle when I look at you too, and I’m not referring to my toes,” he said, his voice low and filled with humor.

  I could get lost looking at him and never care a whit. And let’s not forget smelling him. Since we were confined together in the back of the limo, his aftershave, or cologne, or hell, maybe just his natural male essence, floated through my senses, and I had such an intense urge to lean in and sniff behind his ear.

  I forced myself to stay glued to the seat so I wouldn’t, but when he leaned in a little closer and gave my hand a gentle but very firm tug, the glue dissolved. So did I.

  In a heartbeat, he had one arm secured around my shoulders, pulling me closer, his other hand dropped to my waist to hold me hostage. Thankfully, the privacy divider was up between the front of the car and the back. A kiss that went from sweet and soft to hot and pulsing in a nanosecond was my undoing. I heard my own moan break through while I climbed onto his lap and straddled him, the fabric of my fake Chanel skirt riding up high on my thighs so I could wrap my legs around him. I fisted my hands in his glorious hair and yanked his head back a bit so I could devour his mouth from a better angle.

  Good Lord.

  Where this absolute unabashed boldness came from, I would never know, but he tasted so damn good, in the moment, I didn’t care. There were no thoughts about how he could take my business away from me, that I knew next to nothing about him, or even that I could be putting myself and my business in serious jeopardy by being with him. I didn’t even consider we were rushing off to see what could be my dying stepsister.

  All I could think about was how he made me feel every time he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me. If I wanted to be really honest with myself, the kind of honesty that usually requires a full bag of Milano cookies and a bottle of wine to be consumed before I could admit to anything, Duncan “Buddy” Prince was the perfect man for me.

  I wasn’t as scared of the thought as I should have been.

  His shoulders rocked against me, and his fingers dug into my waist, somehow finding their way under my blouse to press against my bare skin. Singed, torched, immolated…my skin burnt from his touch.

  I could feel him grow and pulse underneath me. The traffic was heavy, and the limo started and stopped with frequent jerks, making my body shimmy back and forth along the long length of him, riding him through our clothing and pleasantly torturing us both. A growl bellowed up from deep within him as he slipped a hand between our bodies, cupped me, then slid one finger under the thin material of my thong.

  Without the barrier, he could feel just how excited I was.

  It was my turn to growl.

  When he slipp
ed that finger inside me, the growl turned to a scream as I shot to the quickest orgasm I’d ever had. His mouth captured and contained the sound, all the while pumping and scraping his finger within me. That the man could shatter me so quickly, with barely any buildup, was a true testament to how much I wanted him.

  I slid my mouth from his, down across his jaw, and then pulled the fleshy part of his lobe into my mouth.

  Just as I was going to bite down, I realized he was trying to push me away.

  I pulled back and stared down at him. Those bedroom eyes were fully dilated under his hooded lids again, his mouth was shiny and wet, and his dimples danced on his cheeks. He traced a finger across my mouth, and I could taste myself on it.

  I didn’t know how I didn’t come again from just that subtle move.

  He grinned and, his voice barely above a whisper, said, “You have no idea how much I want to continue this.” He sighed, deep and rough. “No damn idea. But I think we’re here.”

  It took a few seconds for me to realize his meaning. A quick glance out the window and the sound of the driver’s car door opening had me sliding off his lap like a clap of lightning flaring. My skirt was hiked up to my waist, the cool air from the interior blowing across my bare ass. I jerked it down. My blouse hung half out of the waistband. Feebly, I attempted to shove it back into place. While I fiddled about, I couldn’t help but notice the sizable erection straining against Buddy’s trousers.

  I shot my gaze to his grinning face. “Told you I wanted to continue,” he said before leaning in and giving me a quick kiss on the mouth.

  The door opened a moment later, and with what looked like a herculean effort on his part, Buddy composed himself and alighted.

  When we were both on the curb, he turned, said something to the driver I didn’t hear, and reached for my hand. All the while, I was trying to put my clothing back in place.

  “You look fine,” he said, winding a hand around my waist, the other still held in his.

  We walked to the central reception desk. I gave my stepsister’s name, and we were issued visitor badges and instructed what floor she’d been admitted to.