The Billionaire's Sexy Rival (Jameson Brothers Book 3)

by Leslie North

  "What is 'Netflix and Chill'?" he read by way of greeting.

  Poppy glanced down at her T-shirt logo. "You really don't know?" She grinned. "It's code," she said mysteriously.

  "Whatever it is, it reads like it should have a hashtag in front of it."

  "Perceptive," she commended him. "Let's just say it's something those whippersnappers on the Internet cooked up. I figured it was probably lame enough by now for someone my age to ironically appropriate it."

  "Looks like I came overdressed for the occasion," William remarked.

  "For movie night? Yeah, I'd say so." Poppy laughed disarmingly as he followed her inside. "You came dressed just fine, William. Actually, I've imagined that you sleep in your suits. So thanks for adding fuel to my theory."

  "That would be my brother, Sam," William said without missing a beat. "Although I appreciate that you imagine me sleeping."

  Poppy's cheeks colored a little, but she didn't look shy or sheepish. If there was anything William had come to understand about her, it was that she enjoyed his flirtation as much as he did—and gave as good as she got. "Here," she said. She plucked a kernel of popcorn off the top of the bowl. "Open up and tell me if it's good."

  William set his briefcase aside on her kitchen table, and opened his mouth obediently. She popped the fluffy piece in, and he closed his lips over it, purposefully catching her finger in the process. She withdrew her hand and pretended not to notice. "It's good. Tasty," he said. "Reminds me of how my mother used to make it."

  "I take that as a very high compliment," Poppy said. "Shall we?"

  His days of opposition research into Poppy Hanniford were over…or at least, postponed until an indefinite future date, but that didn't prevent William from taking in every inch of her apartment now. She led him into the den—accented in a deep, luxurious purple, of course. She made what William had once thought a garish color appear like a beautiful shade newly discovered on the spectrum. Every table, every surface, in every room, seemed to have a potted plant growing on it, and they looked better watered and better looked-after then even the ones back at the office, and William hired a guy to take care of that. Poppy's brownstone was tasteful, well-kept, and homey. William felt a strange sensation forming within him. It wasn't nostalgia, and it wasn't longing…it was something else, some indefinable cousin of the two. In Poppy's apartment, he felt it for the first time.

  "Thanks for agreeing to host," he said as he collapsed back into her couch. The cushions sagged beneath him, almost threatening to engulf him entirely. He had never been so goddamn comfortable in his life.

  Poppy alighted on the cushion beside him. "Not at all. It's the least I can do, considering it's one of my favorite movies."

  "You keep saying that," William mused as she booted up the DVD player. "I wonder if I stand to learn something new about you before this night is through. Something intimate."

  "Did I mention the movie is four hours long?" Poppy said perkily.

  William groaned. He rose to go get his laptop from the kitchen to take notes. When he returned, Poppy was reclined back next to the indent he had left. Her eyes narrowed at the laptop, but she said nothing. She didn't have to—it was obvious she disapproved.

  William took steadfast notes for the first twenty minutes of the movie…but soon enough he found his keystrokes slowing, his eyes favoring one screen more than the other. He had thought watching a four-hour plot unfold would be tedious, but he found himself totally engrossed in Scarlett’s plight. He closed his laptop, set it aside, and relaxed back. He was surprised to find his shoulder resting against Poppy's.

  "Welcome to the movie," she said with a teasing grin. "Popcorn? Or are you going to make me eat it all myself?"

  Two hours in, and the bowl was empty. William leaned forward, squinting at the drama playing out on the TV screen. "You know, I never realized this movie had such a strong female character," he said. "For its time, and even for now." He didn't mention aloud that he thought he could relate to Scarlett. Poppy disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with two freshly-cracked, frosted beers. She offered one to William, and he accepted without hesitation. She sat back down.

  "You're kidding, right?" Poppy took a long swig of her beer. "I mean, yes she's unbelievably strong and cool… but she's an amazing character because she's flawed. They all are. In Scarlett's case," Poppy gestured toward the screen with the butt of her bottle, "her stubbornness is her downfall. She should rely on Rhett more when he offers her his help. She should trust his love for her."

  "From where I'm sitting, Scarlett's doing exactly what she needs to keep her family and her plantation afloat," William said. "She's a passionate woman, but she's also making calculated decisions about survival. Decisions that aren't easy for anyone. Depending on somebody else…" William shook his head and chuckled. "That wouldn't make her such a remarkable leading woman. You can't be a leading woman if you don't lead."

  Poppy shrugged. "We'll see," she said.

  William didn't like the promise in her voice. He liked it even less when, two hours later, the movie ended, and the unspoken promise was fulfilled: Scarlett was left alone.

  William stared at the blank television screen long after the movie had concluded. Then he turned to Poppy.

  "Well?" Her jade green eyes shone within the darkness. "Did you totally love it? I bet you have some criticisms. Of course you have criticisms."

  "It isn't a perfect love story," William said. "That much is obvious. With how hard Scarlett worked…there was no real emotional payoff for either her or the audience in the end. Her family, and Rhett—absolutely none of them showed appreciation for how much she toiled and sacrificed. Scarlett single-handedly improved the course of her life and the lives of those around her, and this is how the narrative thanks her?"

  "Wow." Poppy stared at him, before taking a quick swig of her third beer…at least, William thought it was her third. "You really took this movie to heart."

  "I wouldn't take it otherwise," he said. "You said it's one of your favorite love stories."

  "My single favorite love story, actually."

  "I just don't understand it," he muttered. His tongue felt loose, his wit completely agile. He wasn't so far gone as to not suspect the beer, but it was easier to go with the flow of his feelings.

  "What don't you understand?"

  "Why none of them understood!" William exclaimed. "I mean, it's obvious to the viewer that Scarlett got stuck with a shitty ending, isn't it?"

  "Of course she did," Poppy said. "Because she was flawed, William. Her life's tragedy is realizing too late that what she wanted was standing right in front of her the whole time. Scarlett messed up by never inviting anyone else into her world—into her plans."

  "She doesn't want a man like Rhett anyway," William muttered as he sank back into the couch. "Seriously, what a clown. 'You should be kissed, and kissed often, and by someone who knows how.' Christ. Just shoot me if anything that cheesy ever comes out of my mouth."

  "You're drunk," Poppy accused abruptly. She swayed a little herself as she pointed to him. "And also, you're wrong. That's one of the single most romantic things a man has said to a woman, ever. And you know what? I don't care if it was fictional!"

  "And you stand by your claim?" William asked her.

  "I stand by my claim." Poppy crossed her arms.

  "Didn't look to me like he had the kissing chops to back up his offer," he countered. "If I was Rhett, I would have grabbed the woman I loved that instant, kissed her, and never let her go. I would have made her see just how much she needs me."

  "No kiss is that good," Poppy argued. Then she snorted and set her beer aside. "I mean, come on…I can only suspend my disbelief so far. Even audiences back in the forties would have rolled their eyes if that was the case."

  "Maybe," William acquiesced. "Maybe none of them ever experienced the kind of kiss I'm talking about."

  Green eyes gleamed even brighter in the darkness. The low light cast by the televisio
n screen bathed Poppy in a soft, silver radiance. William hadn't allowed himself expectations for how this evening would go—not conscious ones, anyway—but he was feeling too good to stop now. The silence between them tasted of expectation.

  Of challenge.

  He grabbed a fistful of Poppy's shirt and pulled her over to his cushion. He swept his free hand down the curve of her cheek, watching her lean into the touch with a sigh, almost as if she had stopped thinking and was only responding to him now. Good. That was exactly how he wanted her. When her eyes fluttered open again, William moved in. He crushed his lips against hers in the dark. He didn't need a light to see by. If he didn't know where her mouth was, he knew exactly where it belonged, and that's what guided him to her. He tasted the spark of carbonation, the sweet, slick hint of butter on her lips lubricating his every plunge and slide. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before, and unlike anything William had experienced with a woman.

  So he kept going.

  "God," Poppy moaned when she was able to draw back minutes later. William lowered himself to sample the smooth skin of her throat; he enjoyed the way her words trembled as a result. "You have no idea how long I've waited…waited for a man to try and live up to that kiss…"

  He intended to do more than just try. He silenced Poppy with another press of his lips to hers, and let his hand wander up her thigh to her hip. The denim cut-offs she wore were as short as her shirt was long. There was plenty of smooth skin for him to touch, but 'plenty' wasn't nearly enough.

  William pushed her back into the couch as his fingers located the front of her shorts. Poppy undulated her hips to give him better access; her hands came up to cup his face, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It wasn't enough. He felt like he could never get enough of her, but he was sure as hell going to try.

  The button on her shorts came undone, and he guided the cut-offs down her wiggling hips. He let the zipper on her fly come free on its own. Poppy arched beneath him, writhing and kicking her legs until her shorts went sailing off into a far corner of the room.

  He couldn't get her out of that shirt fast enough. He would never understand women's fascination with oversized clothes, although he supposed it was probably a relief to get into them after a long day at the office. Poppy's loud choice of shirt made his job easy now. He stripped it up over her head, exposing the black outline of the bra beneath. It was svelte and womanly by contrast, and obviously from a high-end store; it matched her black lace panties. These garments appeared to have been created with the exact opposite philosophy of whoever was responsible for that shirt. William silently thanked the manufacturer as he let his eyes travel over her.

  "I'm pretty sure Rhett never looked at Scarlett like that," Poppy murmured. "Mr. Jameson, what do you intend to do with me?" She reached for him, and William bent obediently. This time when their lips moved together, their tongues tangled. The kiss was indulgent, almost lazy. His hands slid between them to continue their work. He had no intention of spending all night admiring the way Poppy's underwear perfectly complemented her body. He was going to divest her of every inch of it, now.

  "What I intend to do with you, Miss Hanniford, is confidential Jameson business," William whispered. Her hands were loosening his tie now and parting the collar of his shirt. "Though I suppose since it's been proven by now that we work so well together…"

  "… you'd be willing to make a small concession for me?" Poppy asked, batting her eyes.

  "For the particular collaboration I have in mind?" William thrust his straining erection against her to punctuate his point, and she gasped appreciatively. "Anything but small, Miss Hanniford."

  Her hands worked even more quickly after that to strip his clothes off him. It was just as William feared—he was overdressed—but Poppy's fingers were as dexterous as they were eager. He could easily imagine that she had mapped her route to getting him naked ahead of time. He had certainly done the same for her in every meeting they had ever shared. He let her strip his clothes off, one article at a time, as he drew his wallet out of his pocket and thumbed it open. There it was, the sleek black package from the box of Trojan Magnums he had purchased days ago after their charged kiss. He drew it out and tossed his wallet to the side carelessly.

  He aligned his naked body with her own, privately enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin contact. Poppy hooked one leg around his waist to keep herself from sinking too far back into the cushions. Her body was perfect. Her curves were perfect. Her nipples were pointed, and hard with her need for him. She stared up at him with that angelic face of hers, pillowed in a cushion of golden hair, and William's cock twitched violently at the look in her eyes. He had never had a woman give him such pleasure with her eyes alone. She looked equal parts winded by him and hungry for him. It was an expression he would never allow himself to forget.

  "Touch me," he whispered. Poppy complied. Her smooth, cool hands found him and clasped his shaft. She ran her fingers along the length of his cock, and William hissed. He strained at her touch. It was too teasing. He needed heat, pressure. He needed to know the most secret part of her. If he didn't fuck Poppy, now, he would explode. Every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation of the next moment.

  "I want you," Poppy murmured. Her eyelids fell to half-mast, and fuck if William would ever forget that expression, either. "Please, William…"

  No need for politeness. They were beyond that now. If William stopped to think, he would realize they were well beyond anything he had prepared for when he had entered into this tentative partnership—but there was no time to think. There was only Poppy, and now. There was only his hand gliding between her legs to test her readiness and coming away wet. There was only that little pearl, perfectly nestled above her entrance, and what he could do to her by pressing it.

  "William!" Poppy said his name very differently this time. She gasped and bucked and surged beneath him as he rolled her clit, taking easy mastery of her pleasure. He experimented by applying different amounts of pressure, until a touch of his finger was enough to make her cry and clutch him so hard he nearly fell off the couch. Her hands clenched around his cock as she rolled the condom onto it, and William groaned. It still wasn't enough.

  "Don't make me ask again," Poppy panted.

  "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Hanniford."

  He hiked her other leg up over his hip, angled himself, and pushed. The dome of his cock slipped past her slick folds and he sank himself inside her, inch by agonizing inch. William tried to hold himself back, to go slow, but Poppy's knees squeezed around him and urged him on. Now. Faster. Before he knew it, he was completely buried inside her. He groaned and let his head drop onto her shoulder once more.

  "God," she breathed. "Finally. That feels so good."

  "You're the one who feels amazing, Poppy," William breathed. "Better than I could have imagined."

  "So you imagined us," she panted defiantly. "I knew it!"

  "So did you."

  She didn't protest, and she definitely didn't argue when William started to rock against her. The couch sank a little more beneath them, but he barely noticed. The springs squeaked with their combined weight, but the noise barely registered. He lost himself in the sensation of her. He rolled his hips and thrust deeper, and she received him with a happy sigh. "William," she moaned his name again, and his own moan joined with hers. He had always been as stoic in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom, but somehow William couldn't help it. He could control the movements of his body, but not its response to her.

  He thrust into her slowly, rhythmically. He watched the progression of her pleasure. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttered closed. When her explosive little breaths and kittenish mewls weren't enough, he began to thrust harder. He needed more. He craved to know her every response. The sofa squeaked a louder protest. Poppy's breasts bounced more quickly beneath him. William leaned in until his chest pinned her own.

  "Poppy," he moaned. He had pleasured himself so many times these past weeks imagining her this
way. It was only now, in the heat of the moment, that he could fully admit it to himself. In his private moments he was consumed by his thoughts of her.

  "Ohhh! Fuck, William!" Poppy cried. Her lips were parted, her teeth bared. There was perspiration beading her temple and darkening the blonde, tangled locks of her hair. William scooped his arms beneath her and gripped her close. His hips pumped into her like they had a mind of their own. Her thigh clenched around him…he felt caught in a vice…and all the while he submerged himself in the unbearable hot tightness of her. Now that he knew it, he couldn't bring himself to leave it for long. Every withdrawal segued to a harder, deeper thrust. He was pretty sure the violence of their lovemaking had already burst one of the couch cushions. One of Poppy's arms shot out to grope for something to hold onto, and the coffee table ground out a low note as she accidentally thrust it from her. The flailing arm eventually came to wrap around his neck again.

  "William, I'm going to come!" she cried out.

  William growled in throaty response. He wanted to challenge her to hold out as much as he wanted to dare her to do it, but he could feel his own orgasm building up inside him now. His thrusts came quicker; the slap of flesh against flesh was as loud as it was indecent as it was arousing as hell. His pulse roared in his ears as his heart sped out of control. He sank himself in Poppy and she cried wildly for everything: for him to speed up, for him to slow down, for him to give her a moment, for him to not stop. If her thoughts were scattering, then so was his ability to reason out what she was saying.

  When she came, he felt it. Every limb wrapped around him clenched, and her whole body shuddered beneath him. She tensed as she built herself up…and up…and up to the unbearable point of climax, and then she spilled over with a wail. Her depths contracted around him, squeezing him, and William came unexpectedly. He ejaculated on an inward thrust; his hot seed spurted inside her. He stilled himself as he emptied every last drop. Then he sagged down on top of her, utterly spent. Once she had caught her breath again, Poppy laughed and pushed weakly at his dead weight, but she didn't demand that he move. William was grateful. He needed a minute to collect himself after the mind-blowing sex he had just experienced. It had been unplanned. It had been impulsive.