by Tessa Layne
“A stupid fuck?”
She nods.
“Because I know perfection when I see it.” I tug on her fingers, which I haven’t been able to bring myself to release. “And I do my damndest not to let go when I find it.”
She stiffens and withdraws her hand. “Is that so?” Her eyes sharpen as she stares me down.
Fuck. I’ve said something wrong. But what? I was wooing her for chrissakes. Doing my damnedest to make her panties melt. And from the look in her eyes, I thought I was succeeding. “Yes,” I say with conviction that’s rapidly fleeing.
“If I’m perfection, then how come you turned down my grant application for a tamale stand?”
Chapter Two
Luci
M ason’s face transforms from guarded to shocked so fast I let out a giggle. Did he really think I was going to hop in the sack with him just because he’s Mason-hot-body-Carter?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What do you mean you have no idea what I’m talking about? Your paperwork says you personally review every application.”
He squirms in his seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and my heart sinks a bit. “All that stuff about nothing being wrong with my ass, and about finding someone who appreciates my curves… that was all B.S., wasn’t it?”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “No,” he grits. “I swear it wasn’t.”
“But you saw perfection,” I push. Because I can’t not push, and that’s why I’ve been in a relationship desert for over a year. “I gave you a rock solid business plan and you turned it down. Without even an explanation.” I signal the waiter for my check. I’m done here. I give him a polite smile. “I should thank you, really. I wouldn’t be here if you’d said yes.”
The bartender drops the tab and Mason’s hand lands on the leather folder with a thunk. “Don’t go? Let me make it up to you.”
His eyes say please and my pussy shouts yes. But I have to keep my dignity. It’s all I have left. But I can’t resist dropping a kiss on the hollow made where his cheekbone and jaw connect. Arousal sizzles through me like lightning on wet wood. A hint of his stubble burns my lips, and the scent of him — woodsy and masculine — like he’s a lumberjack and not a billionaire, makes my womb quiver. His hands, his mouth, could make my body sing, and I have to clench my thighs together to avoid melting into a puddle right here. “Maybe another time,” I say with more than a little regret. “See you ‘round, Mason.”
Probably not, because my mind’s already whirling with the next steps for my life. And they don’t involve Prairie. Being in New York has shown me that I need a change of pace, a change of scenery. And if my future isn’t owning a tamale stand in my hometown, or being the chef for a Major League Baseball team, then maybe I’m better off moving to Mexico for a year and studying food. I could sell tuna on a stick to tourists on the beach and do just fine. Maybe get a job in the kitchen of some celebrity chef in Oaxaca.
I flash Mason one last smile and turn on my pretty patent leather peep-toe stiletto — another reason my bank account is all zeroes — and head for my gate with an extra swing in my hips. “Eat your heart out Mason Carter,” I mumble as I wind my way through the press of humanity inside JFK.
As soon as I reach my gate, I pull out my laptop and review the connections I’ve made here in NYC. I’m under a strict agreement not to disclose anything about the show until the final episode has aired, but that’s not going to happen until next spring. Too late to help keep the Kings in Kansas City. Someone else will have to save them. My heart sinks a little for my aunt. We lost my cousin Benny to a farm accident and Emerson’s all she has left. My heart sinks lower when I think of my parents — scraping and pinching to put all of us through college, working their fingers to the bone night and day and somehow, staying happy through all of it.
I drum my fingers across the keys. There has to be another way. “Think Luce, think.” I stare at the television screen as an ad for some fancy pants resort in Belize pops up. By the time the ad is done I’m salivating over the food shots and ready to whip out my phone and book my flight. That’s when it hits me. It’s a sign I should go to Mexico. The idea formulates rapidly. So fast, I can’t keep up with the images. I’ll take a year, six months at least — until the final episode has aired, and I’ll do my own online video show a lá Anthony Bourdain. I could call it… Luci Loves Food. Or maybe not… but I know just the person who can help explode my Instagram and YouTube following. I whip out my phone and hit speed dial. “Emma? It’s Luci.” Emma Sinclaire is one of the best PR people I know. Actually, she’s the fucking queen. And this project will be totally up her alley.
I lay out my idea for Emma, and no surprise, she’s already taking the ball and running. There is, however, the small obstacle of my zeroed out bank account. “So, I haven’t quite figured out how to pay for my venture,” I confess.
“What about selling your truck? You can’t use it if you’re in Mexico, and Sterling mentioned the ranch could use a light-duty truck for some of the smaller projects.”
I snap my fingers. “Brilliant. Have Sterling text me an offer. I’ll start looking for flights now.” Emma’s husband Sterling is a solid guy. I didn’t think so highly of him back in high school, but people change, and watching him and Emma together makes me want that. They’re a team, and he does all he can to help her shoot for the moon. My heart sinks even further. Maybe I should have taken Mason up on his offer of half-a-dozen orgasms. He, at least, likes my hips.
“Can passenger Luciana Cruz please come to the counter. Luciana Cruz, please report to the counter at gate 36-B.”
I perk up at the voice coming over the loudspeaker and look around. Shit, I haven’t been bumped, have I? That would be the cherry on the shit sundae. I stow my laptop and sling my bag over my shoulder and report to the counter.
“Ms. Cruz?” a lady asks. “There’s been a change to your seating assignment,” she says, handing me a new ticket. In first class. Holy shit, did the asshole producers suddenly feel guilty? Whatever it is, I’ll take it. Maybe it’s another sign that my newly hatched plan will lead me to fame and fortune on my own terms. I return to my seat and spend the remaining twenty minutes until boarding searching for flights. The earliest flight I can catch is on Thursday afternoon, a direct flight from Kansas City to Mexico City. That will give me enough time to deliver the truck, say goodbye to my parents, and hit up my cooking connections so I have a job waiting for me when I land. The flight is called, and starry-eyed, I head down the jetway, and drop into a window seat in the last row of first class.
As soon as I’ve settled the flight attendant offers me a beverage. A little thrill runs through me, before the terror of enduring three hours of turbulence turns my veins to ice. “Patrón, please. With a shaker and a lime wedge.”
“Make it two,” adds the dark and sexy voice I may never forget. Mason drops into the empty seat next to me, mouth twitching. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
“A baseball team, those six orgasms you promised…” I tap my lips. “Oh, and for my newest venture to be a wild success. My needs are small.” I’m being flip, obviously. Well, maybe except for the orgasms. But I turned down his offer, and I can’t imagine after the way I blistered him in the bar that he’s going to offer again. Sigh.
The flight attendant delivers our drinks. Mason reaches for the glass, but I put a hand on his wrist, willfully ignoring the heat that buzzes up my arm. His forearm is like iron, and it makes me wonder all the more about the iron I’m sure exists between his legs. God, I could use a hard fuck. I could use many fucks, but a hard one first, just to dull the insane level of want that is making my pussy ache. I swallow, momentarily at a loss for words. “I can’t let you ruin this shot, the way you did the last one.” My voice is husky and hoarse, but his eyes light up, and I find I can’t look away.
“Oh?”
“Watch.” I lick the space between my thumb and first finger. Slowly, as if I w
ere licking his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath. “It makes the salt stick,” I explain. And it’s hot as fuck to lick myself while he’s avidly watching — like he’s starving and I’m feasting. I unscrew the salt shaker and pour it over my thumb. I lick again, letting the salt dissolve on my tongue. Then I down the shot, and finish by sucking the lime.
He stares at me through hooded eyes. “I see.”
My blood races through my veins, a flash of heat blasting through me, and I feel a bit breathless, almost like I’m about to jump off a bungee cord platform. “Your turn,” I say, still unable to look anywhere but at him. I could drown in those eyes, lose myself completely in the gold and brown flecks that make me feel so womanly, so… desirable.
He takes my hand, and brings it to his mouth, licking the space just like I did, but so, so much better. My panties are soaked, because dear god, I want that mouth on me, licking all my secret parts.
He drops his eyes only to spill salt on my skin, then brings his heated gaze back to me as he licks every last grain from my hand. I’m panting when he finishes. He swallows the shot, sucks the lime, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I think I forget to breathe. “You’re right,” he says, voice grazing my skin like gravel. “Much better this way.”
My rational mind is about to shut down, but somehow I manage to ask the question that has been bothering me this whole time. “Why are you here, Mason?”
Chapter Three
Mason
I t’s a loaded question, and one I’m not prepared to fully answer, or fully examine, just yet. I’ve been wildly successful in part, because I trust my instincts. I’m willing to take risks others don’t, and it’s paid off handsomely. And watching Luci sashay away from me in the VIP lounge, every instinct shouted to go after her. So I did what any self-respecting man with my influence does. I made a phone call. Several. There’s something about Luci that lights me up. And I want more. I want all of it. All of her.
“I owe you an apology, for starters,” I say, deciding to be direct.
Her eyes widen and she cocks her head. “For coming onto me in the bar?”
“I’m definitely not sorry about that, and my offer still stands. I made a few phone calls after you left and learned that your proposal, and a handful of others had been sidelined by my now former assistant. I’m very sorry about that, and if you resubmit it, I’ll make sure it’s fast-tracked.”
Her mouth drops open, but instead of an enthusiastic yes, she laughs. Not as loudly as she did in the bar, but with equal enthusiasm. The husky sound goes straight to my cock. I want to learn all the noises she makes. I want to feel her groan into my mouth when we’re kissing, I want to know what she sounds like when I take her nipple in my mouth… or when I taste her hot pussy. “That’s sweet of you, Mason.”
My chest warms. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me sweet before. I like it.
“But you’re too late.” Her eyes sparkle.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m moving to Mexico on Thursday.”
My stomach drops. “Since when?”
She flashes me a grin. “Since about an hour ago. I’ll be doing video blogs about the cuisine. We’ll be launching the first episode the week the New York show airs.”
It’s a brilliant idea. And I hate it.
“What if you did something like that in Kansas City? I could help fund it,” I offer, hoping I’m not coming across as desperate.
She gives me a skeptical look.
“Think about it, Kansas City's already been on the foodie map for years, a project like this would be great for the whole region.”
Her lower lip thrusts out. “But not in time to keep the Kansas City Kings in town. What’s going to happen to the ballpark when they leave? It will just become another abandoned building in the East Bottoms.”
“It means that much to you?”
Her look says fucking duh, and I can’t help but smile as another idea hops into my head. I take her hand again, kissing the spot where I licked her. “Give me twenty-four hours.”
Her hand trembles. “For what?”
“To convince you to stay? To do a show like that here?” I kiss the spot again, this time, sucking on the skin. She inhales sharply, and a shiver runs through her body.
“You think all it’s going to take is twenty-four hours?”
“And six orgasms,” I promise solemnly.
“Six, huh? No more, no less?” Her voice is breathy and low.
“More if you want.”
“And when does this twenty-four hour period start?”
“As soon as we land.”
She taps a finger against her plump mouth. “And what do you propose in the meantime?” She smirks, as if she already knows my answer.
I lean in, bringing my face within inches of hers. Close enough to breathe in the heady scent of her that makes my dick go wild. “That remains up to you,” I murmur.
Her gaze tangles with mine and the space between us fills with tension. The kind that makes my body hum with anticipation. “Game on, hot stuff,” she says in a whisper. I wait a beat, biding my time, and I’m not disappointed. She closes the distance between us, her mouth lightly brushing mine. I hold my breath, savoring the arousal that shoots through me. There’s nothing like a first kiss, the build-up to it, the release when it finally happens, and this first kiss with Luci is everything I imagined, and better. Her mouth is soft, inviting, and when my tongue slips inside, I taste more than the remnants of tequila shots. I taste sex, and sweet heat… barely controlled passion.
My reaction is swift, and my cock thickens with each swipe of our tongues. We’ve gone from zero to sixty faster than a Tesla. She pulls away and ducks her head, cheeks flaming, a satisfied smile pulling up the corner of her mouth. “People will see,” she murmurs.
“We should have taken my jet.”
A giggle escapes her sweet lips. “Gotta work for it, Carter,” she says with a smirk.
Fuck, I love her sass. I hold my reply until the flight attendants have finished their safety instructions and we’re taxiing down the runway. “You want me to work for it, beautiful?” I lower my voice so only she can hear. “Should I start with all the ways I’m going to make you come?”
She squeaks again, and after a moment, nods once.
The plane launches into the air, and I don’t miss how she clutches the armrest. “Nervous flyer?”
“The worst,” she says, shutting her eyes and letting out a slow breath.
No wonder she was shooting Patrón like water. I take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “I promise, the plane wants to fly.” Not for the first time, I wish we were in my jet instead of flying commercial. I’d have her in my bed in a hot second. There’s nothing like being cockblocked by the FAA. I squeeze her hand, sliding my thumb across her smooth skin. A thrill of anticipation zings through me, because when we land, she’s all mine.
Chapter Four
Luci
What am I doing? Agreeing to a no-holds-barred sexfest with the hottest man alive? And am I actually going to let him convince me to stay? Probably not, but it’s fun to think about. I like the way he looks at me, not only like he wants to eat me up, but like he sees me. And god it feels good to get as much as I give, and to feel like me while I’m doing it. I wouldn’t have expected that from Mason.
And I like the way he holds my hand. It’s a girly, romantic indulgence, but it feels tender and reassuring. Until the pilot comes on over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to leave the seatbelt sign on a little longer, it’s going to be a bumpy flight for the first hour. Once we get around this line of thunderstorms, it should be smooth sailing.”
My stomach hollows. Every cell in my body braces for disaster. I really fucking hate flying. I shut my eyes and try to slow my breathing, to stop the panic flooding me.
“What is it? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Be a gem and get me another shot of Patrón?”
> “Look at me, Luci.” His voice holds an edge of command that makes my nipples ache, and pinballs down to my pussy. I risk a glance, and meet soft eyes, full of concern. And more than a little amusement. His thumb starts sliding over my wrist. “Keep your eyes right on me. You don’t need another shot. I promise you, we’re not going to die.”
“God, if you were any sweeter, you’d be honey.”
His mouth twitches. “That’s twice you’ve called me sweet.”
“You are, you know.”
“I’m also bitter, and sour, and too much salt.”
Fuck, he’s speaking my language. “You’re all the flavors, in perfect balance,” I murmur, keeping my eyes locked on his, just like he asked.
“And when we get off this plane, I’m going to taste every one of your flavors, starting with your mouth—” he lightly presses his mouth to mine, tongue flicking along the inside of my lower lip, as if he’s a honey bee looking for nectar. My insides melt at the tenderness of it. My pussy aches to be filled. My breasts feel heavy and confined in my bra.
“I love kissing you,” I breathe when we pull apart.
He smiles against my mouth. “That’s only the beginning.” His voice is like gravel, dark and rough. “Next, I’ll taste here.” He moves his mouth to the hollow under my ear, lighting my nerve endings. By the time his mouth hits my throat, I’m a quivering bundle of nerves, and I barely register his words.
“I’m going to take my time with your gorgeous tits.”
God, his words are so wicked, and delightfully improper. It makes me want to offer myself up on a platter. The plane jolts as we slam into the turbulent air. I gasp and squeeze his hand so tight I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation.
“Eyes here,” he commands sharply.
I stare into his hazel eyes, the color of a forest floor, tears pricking my own. “I’m so scared,” I whisper.
