“I guess that isn’t how that turned out.”
He waved his pizza. “Daddy was cutting her off.” He took a bite.
He left the part that she was searching for someone else to support her unsaid.
“What about Miss France?”
He finished chewing, chased his food with cheap wine. “That was just fun.”
Mary knew her eyes were wide.
“We both knew it was for fun,” he quickly explained.
“Oh.”
“Have you ever done that?”
“Flown to France for fun? Ah, no.”
He smiled. “Flown, drove . . . taken a walk, just for the fun?”
Inside she cringed. She’d been asking personal questions, and Glen had answered with sincerity . . . she should probably follow his lead.
“College . . . once. It didn’t work out well and I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.”
“So what was wrong with Mr. College?”
Mary tipped back the last of the wine. “I was seeing someone from my modern lit class . . . it wasn’t serious . . . just college, ya know?”
“I went to college.” His smile told her he had all kinds of knowledge on the subject.
“One day Mr. College came along . . . asked me out. I was interested, but I put him off.”
“Because of Mr. Modern Lit?”
She shrugged. “Because I’d never dated two different guys at the same time. Eventually my girlfriends were in my face about how if Modern Lit and I didn’t have a conversation about exclusivity, then why was I treating our time together as exclusive. Then they went on about how did I know if Modern Lit wasn’t dating other girls. After all, we were in college.”
“So you listened to the girls and went out with Mr. College.”
“I did. Mr. College and I went out for fun, as you say it. Don’t look so impressed,” she teased. “It didn’t end well.”
“So what happened?”
She could almost see the inside of her dorm when she repeated the series of terrible events.
“Mr. College was leaving my dorm and Modern Lit was surprising me with Starbucks.”
“Oh, that’s bad.”
“It was awful. In the end I didn’t end up with either guy and didn’t date for close to a year.” She shivered. “Ugh!”
“I take it Modern Lit thought you were an item.”
“Yeah.”
“And Mr. College was . . . you were too much trouble for his time.”
“That about nails it.”
“So how is it you still like surprises after that?”
Good question. “I drank the Starbucks. It wasn’t the coffee’s fault I got caught in the walk of shame.”
Mary was not wearing a coat suitable for an early spring night in New York. Glen kept his arm around her as they quickly walked back to the hotel.
The minute they reached the room, he took the phone and ordered room service. “Red or white?” he asked her.
“Stick with red.”
“Chocolate, fruit, cheesecake, or ice cream?”
Mary shook her head. “I’ll have a bite of yours.”
She didn’t pay attention to his glare and didn’t answer his question. When room service answered his call, he ordered a bottle of merlot and then started ordering dessert. “We’d also like a slice of that triple chocolate cake and your chocolate covered strawberries . . . you have cheesecake, right?”
“Of course, Mr. Fairchild. Plain or with a fruit topping?”
“Plain . . . and do you have ice cream?”
“What are you doing?” Mary stepped in front of him, hands on her hips.
Glen simply smiled. “You didn’t tell me what you wanted so I’ll order it all.”
Mary snagged the phone from his hand. “We’ll take the chocolate covered strawberries. Only the strawberries.”
“And the chocolate cake,” Glen told her.
“And the cake,” she told the attendant. “No, we don’t need the cheesecake or the ice cream. The wine and two desserts will be plenty. Thank you.”
He really did like getting his way.
“You’re a brat.”
“I am,” he admitted. “And you’re stubborn.”
She grabbed her purse, muttered something under her breath, and walked into her bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Glen opened the blinds to take in the New York skyline.
When Mary returned from her room, she had twisted her hair back in one of those twists women do and shed her shoes. The fact she was relaxed enough to dress down in front of him had him smiling on the inside. A woman working hard to impress would have left the room to put on more makeup or slip into something sexy. If he was being honest with himself, he’d say he wouldn’t mind the sexy on Mary.
“You do know you’re staring,” she said.
He’d be doing more than staring if he wasn’t worried about blowing it. “You’re easy to stare at.” And Mary was surprisingly easy to fluster.
She moved to the window and turned her back to his stare. “This doesn’t get old.”
His gaze lingered on her before turning to the view beyond the room. “It makes the long elevator rides to the top floors worth it.”
“Sounds like such a hardship,” she teased.
“It is when the elevators break down.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “And how often does that really happen?”
He couldn’t remember . . . “It could happen.”
Mary turned back to the view. “I’ll take my chances for the view.”
A knock on the door brought with it their nightcap and dessert.
A middle-aged balding man wearing a crisp white jacket and a smile delivered room service. After removing the lids from the food, he asked, “Would you like me to open the wine, Mr. Fairchild?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Glen tipped the man and thanked him.
He watched Mary from the corner of his eye. She was already checking out the food. Glen couldn’t wait for her to dig in so he could tease the crap out of her.
“Those strawberries look good,” he said as he twisted the cork out of the bottle of wine.
She snapped her gaze back to the lights outside. “Do they?”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. Instead of taking the wine to her, he brought the open bottle and two glasses to the sofa before he poured. “How are Dakota and Walt doing with parenthood?”
His question brought her attention back into the room.
“They’re a good team.” She sat and accepted the glass of wine.
“When does she get that cast off?”
“Another couple of weeks. Poor thing.” Mary sipped her wine and sat back. “Leo is adorable.”
“Sounds like someone’s clock is ticking.”
Mary nearly choked on her wine. She leaned forward and coughed, holding the wine away from her to avoid spilling it. “God, no.”
That was not the reaction he’d expected. “You okay?”
Mary ran her thumb under her lips and licked the end of it. “You obviously know little if you think my clock is ticking.”
Now this he needed to hear. He’d yet to meet a woman pushing thirty who didn’t have a ticking biological clock.
He took the plate of strawberries sitting on the table and set it between them before handing her a napkin. “Enlighten me.”
Mary set her wine down and busied her hands with the napkin. “I don’t plan on having kids.”
“I don’t think Dakota and Walt planned anything.”
Mary didn’t look at him while she spoke. Instead she removed one of the strawberries and examined it. “Let me rephrase. I’m not going to have children.” She bit into the strawberry. The moan of pleasure almost distracted him from the conversation. Almost.
“How can you be so sure?” He’d heard some of his male friends say they didn’t want to be dads, but he couldn’t remember one woman saying the same thing with as much conviction as Mary.
“I never played with dolls. Didn’t babysit as a teenager. I think babies are cute but when I see them I don’t have any desire for one of my own. All the signs point to me not wanting a child. Heck, I didn’t even pick up Leo until yesterday.” She popped the rest of the strawberry in her mouth and set the stem on the plate.
“Our house didn’t have dolls to play with and no parent in their right mind would have wanted me to babysit for them. Babies are adorable and I’ve never held Leo . . . but that doesn’t mean I won’t want to be a dad at some point.” He hated that her conviction was so absolute. Any other woman and he’d be all one less thing to worry about.
Mary lifted another strawberry from the plate. “I wouldn’t be a good mother.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Genetics.” She bit another strawberry in half before chasing it with wine.
So this was about her being abandoned. He wasn’t about to argue the point that she could be the complete opposite of her biological parents. He simply sat on the information and watched her eat.
He brought the slice of cake from the table to the space next to what was left of the strawberries and set a fork on Mary’s side of the plate before taking a bite. “I think I’d be the cool dad.”
She smiled. “How so?”
He’d always pictured his kids in the copilot seat with big grins and complete control. He envisioned Christmas morning playing with Legos and family vacations to Disney World. “I like thrill rides,” he abbreviated his thoughts. “Parenting will be one giant roller coaster.”
Mary pointed a fork filled with cake in his direction. “That’s if you have sons. How much thrill will there be when you’re chasing away the boys from your daughter . . . boys that are a whole lot like you?”
His cake caught in his throat.
Mary laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“I’m sure you were a saint as a teenager chasing girls.”
She had his number. “I’m still a saint chasing girls.”
Mary was laughing again and attempting to keep food in her mouth. “You are destined for daughters. Be prepared.”
“I think you just jinxed me.”
She took another bite. “I think I did.”
He waited until her mouth was full to ask, “So is it good? Li’l Miss I’m Too Full.”
Mary pushed the plate to his side of the sofa. “It’s awful.” She licked her fork with the tip of her tongue. Thoughts of teenage daughters chasing away boys disappeared and all Glen saw was something else on the tip of Mary’s tongue.
“Lucky fork.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Chapter Sixteen
Mary was convinced that Glen was not going to make a move.
He’d held her hand, bundled her close walking on the cool New York streets . . . he offered a warm welcome, poured her wine, and watched her eat strawberries like a porn star, but he was not inching closer.
She kept eyeing the closed door to the room he was supposed to sleep in with remorse.
For all the playing Glen had under his reputation, he was not playing her.
Maybe it was her.
Maybe he was studying for a new reputation and she was the control group.
A tiny voice said in a whispered shout, maybe he’s trying to be a gentleman.
The tiny voice suddenly had a devil’s smile. Maybe you should make the first move.
Mary wondered if Dakota had sent the message subliminally.
He’d brushed off his lucky fork comment and put the dishes back on the service cart and refilled their wine.
“Someone got very quiet,” he said when he sat back down.
The wine was making her dizzy, but it didn’t stop her from taking another sip. “This is good.”
“So you’re sitting there contemplating the wine?”
“Nope.” She shook her head and gathered her courage. “I’m contemplating something else.”
He leaned back with such ease, his wineglass dangled from his fingers and a smile inched up from the corners of his mouth. “Are you going to tell me?”
She took another sip. “I’m considering that option.”
“Now you have me very curious.”
Make a move!
“I’m wondering . . .” She forced her eyes to his. “I’m wondering if I should go to bed or force you to take me to yours.”
The smile on his lips moved to his eyes as he met her admission with a moment of silence. “Force me?” The question slowly rolled from his tongue in amusement.
That was not the word she’d meant to use. “Forget I said that.”
Glen started shaking his head. “Uh-uh . . . can’t do that. I would really like to see what Mary forcing me to take her to bed looks like.” He was still sitting back against the sofa, completely relaxed, while she was starting to tap her foot against the floor.
Mary wanted to channel her best friend right at that moment in the worst way. Dakota would know exactly what to do with a challenge like that, where Mary sat there and ate her words.
“Lose your nerve?” he teased.
“I’m thinking!” she snapped.
Glen sipped his wine and watched her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“I never make the first move.” Why did she tell him that?
Glen said nothing.
She set her wineglass down and stood.
“Giving up?” he asked.
It was her turn to be silent. She reached for the top button on her shirt and pushed it through the hole.
Glen’s eyes dropped to her hand.
She undid the second button, and Glen’s grin turned into an open mouthed stare.
Mary pushed part of her shirt to the side and traced the edges of her bra before sliding away another notch.
Glen set his wine down when she reached the last button.
When she started to slide the shirt from her shoulders, Glen stood and grasped her hand.
Without words, he placed her head in his palms and kissed her. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t hello . . . or even a good night. This was the kind of kiss that moved to something completely different. His lips were open and hungry.
Mary braced herself by placing her palms on his chest and holding on.
He tilted his head and enveloped her. Their tongues danced and Mary’s body swayed into his for full contact. The roughness of his shirt against the bare skin of her chest had her fingers searching for his buttons. While she searched for more skin, with their lips fused together, Glen’s hands slid down her back and over the globe of her bottom with a gentle squeeze. She saw stars. The simple touch was so welcome, so desired, her body scattered like rain being shaken off a dog in a storm.
She heard herself moan as she slid a button loose and moved to another.
Glen released her lips, gasped for air, and took them again.
Finally, she found his chest, his shirt slid from his shoulders, and she examined by braille. He was the most sculpted man she’d ever touched. For the amount of food the man ate, he should have held on to a few undesirable pounds. But no, he didn’t.
She let her fingernails scrape over his shoulders and down his spine.
Glen rewarded her with a quick tug closer.
Mary felt her nipples harden and felt everything south open for more. Her body needed attention, needed Glen’s attention. She released hold of his chest and reached around to unclasp her bra.
Through Glen’s assault of her lips, he batted her hand away and did the job for her. He caught one breast in his hand and finally let her breathe.
With one hand around her waist, he bent her back and took her tight nipple in his mouth.
“Oh, Glen.” Stars . . . there were so many stars. Her legs started to lose the ability to hold her up and her senses united with one purpose.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled as he moved to her ot
her breast.
He caught her when her legs gave way. Had she ever lost control like this? She knew the answer but couldn’t concentrate on the question for more than a fraction of a second.
The man was good . . . so good at finding the right pressure, the right touch. Glen spun her around and in two steps had her back on the couch and his fingers working the clasp of her slacks. She lifted for him, felt cool air and his hot stare when she kicked her pants free.
Mary watched his eyes as she traced the inside of her thigh with one polished nail. He moaned, said something she didn’t quite catch, and dropped to his knees. Like with the removal of her bra, he batted her hand aside from her thigh and replaced it with his tongue. Her hips lifted from the couch with a mind of their own.
Lovely agony described his touch. She wanted more, but didn’t want this to stop. If this was what making love to a player was like, sign her up. Every touch was urgent and desired but nothing was rushed to the point of being forgotten. Her lips throbbed from his kiss, her nipples ached for more attention, and her core cried for his touch.
Mary yelped when he nibbled the inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a mark. She wanted to protest, but the stubble on his chin rubbed the burn away and his breath warmed the space between her legs. Even with her panties on, she thought he was going to offer some relief, but no . . . the man moved to her other thigh.
She raised a limp hand to the side of his face and helped him focus on what she needed.
Glen chuckled. “What do you want, Mary?”
The man was the devil. “I swear on all that’s sacred, if you don’t touch me . . .”
He continued to chuckle.
She braved an open eye and found him staring. “Glen!” Her voice gave warning, and thankfully, he wasn’t going to make her beg.
He traced the back of a finger against her thigh and lightly petted her through the cotton layer of her panties. Her body shuddered. There was no way Glen could know how easily she orgasmed, but he was about to find out. “Take them off,” she told him, no humor in her words.
“Demanding,” he said with a smile in his voice.
Her hips arched, and he tugged the tiny fabric away.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he leaned in.
Mary closed her eyes and waited.
Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) Page 14
