The Best Laid Plans

by Mataya, Tamara

  THE BEST LAID PLANS

  Tamara Mataya

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  The publisher recommends this book to readers who are over age seventeen due to mature content, language and explicit sexual content.

  Copyright © 2013 by Tamara Mataya.

  The Best Laid Plans by Tamara Mataya

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Books, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited by Georgia McBride

  Published by Swoon Romance

  Cover designed by Genn Albin

  Cover art licensed by iStockphoto

  Cover Art Copyright by Tamara Mataya

  “I have a Book Hangover! I <3 this book so freaking hard. The writing is beautiful, intelligent, so witty, and tight.” – Angela

  “I HEART THIS BOOK SO HARD. I felt like I was falling in love with both MC’s as I was reading.” – Amber

  “This is one hot story!” – Elizabeth

  “One of the hottest couples I’ve ever read.” – Bethany

  Malcolm tracked the smoking hot redhead from the moment she strolled into the room looking like she owned the place. Bold, confident, and so familiar. Had they slept together? No. He’d remember curves like that. Standing with her back to the stage, she tilted her head and looked at the man next to her, and Malcolm’s fingers almost snapped the neck of his guitar. The angle gave him the perfect view of the crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck. He’d know that mark anywhere – he’d spent hours looking at it from afar in high school.

  Jane Griffin.

  It had been an unfulfilled fantasy, to run into one of his tormentors after all these years, while he looked fucking epic and she looked dingy and lame. But she looked like a goddamn fox now, when she’d been more like the hound in high school – though he’d crushed on her even then. Was it really her? She turned and smiled. It was definitely her.

  The new red hair suited her, maybe more than her real blonde color did, making her seem sassier, more sophisticated. She had been athletic in middle school, gone to skinny in high school, but now she ran more to curvy. Long shapely legs, squeezable ass, and hips that he could spend an hour or so getting to know better. Malcolm watched her all night, never missing a note on his guitar, seeing the way all the men practically threw themselves at her. Seeing the women laugh with her, then watch her with envious eyes when she turned away.

  And she’d winked at him! Just walked right past and winked a big blue eye at him like they hadn’t known each other. Like she hadn’t been the instigator of the worst tormenting he’d ever received as a teenager. He was equal parts angry and proud. He’d changed so much that she hadn’t recognized him.

  But he remembered her. It didn’t matter that he’d become a successful studio musician. It didn’t matter that he was in the best shape of his life and drowned in choice pussy. It didn’t matter that it had been over ten years since they’d seen each other. It might as well have been yesterday.

  He grabbed one of her business cards – he’d seen her hand it to someone who discarded it on a table. She called herself Jayne now. He tossed the card to the table.

  She went home with some rich douchebag. Malcolm knew women like her. Beautiful, ambitious, insecure, egotistical. Making up for the years no one would look at them in high school.

  He knew. He was exactly the same way.

  ***

  The blonde bobbing up and down on his lap put on quite the show – eyes closed, face a mask of ecstasy, hands rubbing her own breasts, and gently moving to her head as though she couldn’t quite believe how hot it all was.

  The adorable little faker. Malcolm had made enough women come that he could spot a fake orgasm a mile away. Bless her little heart. He saw it far too often – women ready to rock, and then ended up putting on a show. Were men so hopeless in bed? Were women so used to faking it that it became their default even when they didn’t have to?

  He tightly wrapped his arms around her, stopping her frantic movements. She shivered as he ran gentle fingers across her lower back, feathery pressure mirrored by his lips sweeping down her neck, down her collarbone. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, slid a hand down to her clit. She was wet, and hot, and he softly stroked her, and smiled when he felt her pussy tighten around him.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. When her hips started following his hand movements, he pressed a little harder, and moved his hand a little faster. She made little mewling noises, hugged him closer, and even though his hard length already reached deep inside her, he pressed up harder. The gasp and shudder that ran through her pliable body showed her readiness. But instead of fucking her, he pressed his dick deeper into her, letting her feel the fullness inside, and rubbed her clit faster and faster.

  She was so wet. He didn’t want to wait, but her orgasm had to come first. A sudden tightening, as her hot wetness clenched around him let him know, better than any porn-style screaming, that she’d just come. Hard too, by the look of the blush creeping up her chest and staining her cheeks. Now.

  He laid her on the bed and spread her legs wide with a few nudges of his thighs. Her entire body relaxed and went pliant; all except for the muscles still rhythmically spasming around his dick. So delicious. If men only knew how a woman tightened when she came, they’d make the female orgasm Priority One.

  Kneading one breast then the other, he thrust in and out, slowly at first, then faster when her hips and gasps told him she wanted more. He pushed up as he pushed in, rubbing the tip of his cock against that sweet spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back. Harder, and harder, faster and faster, until she started to grow impossibly tight and began to tense, bracing against the orgasm that built deep inside.

  Her nails running down his back sharpened the haze of his desire, made it possible for him to hold on and come a moment after she did. This time she screamed as the pleasure overtook her. He kissed her neck and cheek and forehead, saving her mouth for last. He could see in her eyes. In this moment she was vulnerable, and open, and utterly his.

  They’d met only two hours ago.

  He craved this moment of validation more than any orgasm. The scrawny band geek he’d been screamed victory from deep inside his ego. Capable of rendering women defenceless with pleasure beneath his hands, seeing in their eyes that they would be his if only he asked … He never would ask. But it didn’t stop him from making them want to be his.

  But something felt different. He wasn’t satisfied tonight.

  But why? She fucked like a champ when she wasn’t trying to put on a show. What was it?

  He turned to the woman in his bed. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t … what?

  Jane.

  He clenched his fist in frustration. He wouldn’t feel satisfied until he had Jane, or rather, Jayne, beneath him. Until he buried deep inside her, making her writhe and scream, and lose her mind with pleasure. He wouldn’t be happy until he made her fall in love with him so he could break her heart and undo her, the way she’d undone him all those years ago.

  ***

  “Now I know how a teabag feels!” Jayne gasped, the air
on the street almost painfully cool after the sauna inside the studio.

  “Yeah, like you’ve never teabagged before,” Amber cackled.

  “This! This is why I love you and you can never ever quit.”

  “I know. I’m awesome. And you’re the only one at work who doesn’t put me to sleep. Just because we work in the financial sector doesn’t mean we have to be stiff and boring.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Jayne tapped her water bottle against Amber’s and took a big swig. And then another. It was her first, and last, time trying hot yoga. Jayne did yoga and hit the gym twice a week. She’d never heard of the hot version before, but when Amber had discovered that they were both doing yoga on their lunch hours, she insisted Jayne accompany her to the hot class she swore by.

  Amber’s legs were a killer endorsement, so Jayne tagged along.

  And now she felt thoroughly steamed.

  “You going to come again on Thursday?” Amber sucked back some water.

  “Hell no!” Jayne mopped more sweat from her brow, noticing Amber barely sweated. Of course, with her dark brown, almost black hair except for the chunk of white blonde on the front of the right side, it was harder to tell if it was wet. It probably wasn’t; she’d be used to this hot yoga crap. “You can keep it.”

  “Wimp.”

  “I don’t know how you can do that shit and then go back to the office and work! The only thing I can think about is a nap.”

  “You get used to it.”

  Jayne squirted a thin stream from her bottle at a passing businessman. The water landed short, hitting the sidewalk in front of him. His pissed off expression turned to a charmed smile at her cheeky grin.

  It was a walk-by flirt, though. They kept moving their separate ways.

  “You are so bad.” Amber swatted at Jayne’s arm.

  “Only on Tuesdays.”

  “Today is Tuesday!”

  “Well, then. Color me bad.” Jayne strutted a little harder.

  “I feel so close to you right now. Do you have plans this Friday?”

  “Glass of wine, quiet bath. I can barely focus. I think my brain got broiled in there.”

  “That’s the relaxation talking. Come for a drink with me!” Amber fobbed them into the employee entrance to the office building.

  “I don’t know.” Jayne pressed the elevator button and they stepped inside selecting 34.

  “Come on. I’ve already ruined your productivity for the afternoon, might as well let me wreck your Friday plans too. Besides, we need something to look forward to, other than the staff meeting.”

  “You’re not wrong there. Thursday night is going to be super exciting.” Jayne tempered the sarcasm with a genuine smile. Amber had only transferred to her office three weeks ago. They’d spent the first week sizing each other up. The second Monday, Jayne had seen the notes Amber took during the meeting. She’d drawn a giant talking penis with an awful moustache – perfect caricature, and characterization of Jim, the misogynist asshole who constantly sucked up to the boss. He hadn’t been fired because he made way too much money for the company. Everyone with breasts hated him.

  Jayne asked Amber out for lunch that day.

  They’d been buds ever since.

  “Don’t make me beg, Jayney. It’s undignified.”

  The elevator doors opened.

  It would be nice to have plans for after the dull networking “party.” “Oh, fine. Text me later with the details.”

  “Excellent!”

  “But you better start putting out soon.”

  Amber snorted and veered off the hall into her office with a wave over her shoulder.

  ***

  ‘Here’s a secret they won’t tell you in the glossy magazines: It doesn’t matter what you wear. You can get the hot guy regardless of the makeup you’re wearing, or how much you pay for a haircut. The key is how you treat him when you’re in a group of people.

  What you do with him after you’ve gotten him alone is up to you. But this is about getting the guy. Not keeping him. Because why would you want to keep him?’

  Technique Number One: You’re the most fascinating/insignificant person I’ve ever met.

  -Lisa Tristina, Author of Snagged: Landing ANY man on the run.

  Why indeed, Jayne thought as she stared at Victor like he was the most fascinating person in the world.

  “The thing about transitioning from exclusively trading equities to trading futures, is … ”

  Blah blah blah. I wonder if he’s wearing boxers or briefs. He looks like a boxers kind of guy. She nodded as if hanging on his every word. Futures brokers’ staff parties were terribly boring – she’d been one for three years and they were all the same. Meet at whichever hotel had a large enough room for the company and their top clients. Since it was ostensibly about networking, and pretending not to care about the competition, a few other companies were invited as well, but Jayne and her coworkers were expected to out-schmooze the rival firms.

  There were about one hundred people milling about Ballroom B of The Lorraine Hotel, business casual-clad, and drinks in hand. Jayne knew less than half of them, but had her eye set on Victor.

  Surprisingly, inter-office dating was encouraged, in the unspoken interest of acquiring inside info on their rivals. Jayne had been largely ignored for most of the parties. But the last year had picked up considerably when she’d been exposed to the dating advice of Lisa Tristina. Initial skepticism had been blown away by the instant success she’d achieved by following the slim volume of advice on how to get the guy. Jayne had a lot of lonely years to make up for.

  She had learned how to get the guy. Oh how she’d learned. It was almost pathetic how easy it was. Guys who wouldn’t have looked twice at her in high school or college fell all over themselves trying to please her now.

  It still felt so fraudulent. She looked like she fit in with the beautiful people, but her easy smiles and self-confidence were hard-won, not quite second nature yet. But the book’s advice hadn’t let her down so far.

  Victor stopped talking and Jayne immediately shifted her gaze to his colleague who’d taken over the conversation.

  ‘Men want attention,’ Lisa Tristina had written. ‘They want to feel important and fascinating. When they speak, you listen with undivided attention. When they stop talking, they don’t exist to you anymore. This makes them feel insecure, and want to get your attention again. They will notice when you are paying attention. They will want you to pay attention when you’re not. Be the prey. Men love a challenge. Make them work for it – and they will.’

  Jayne smiled harder at Peter, catching Victor’s oh-so-surreptitious glances at her. When he interrupted Peter, and didn’t take his eyes from Jayne when he spoke, she knew she had Victor. She just had to reel him in.

  ***

  Victor pushed her against the elevator wall like he’d never done it before, but wanted her to think he had. He’d wasted half the elevator ride just standing there staring at the numbers above the door, until she stepped into his space, and he sprang into action. She let him kiss her neck, but his tentative hands annoyed her. Men weren’t manly anymore. They’d been taught that women were gentle creatures to be treasured and respected. Respectability was fine – in the workplace. The bedroom had other rules.

  “You’re amazing. I’m going to show you a night you’ll never forget. Treat you like a princess.”

  Jayne couldn’t help but lean away from the hand he caressed her face with. For once, she just wanted to be thoroughly ravaged by someone.

  No one meant what they said on the first date anyway. She didn’t know why they tried so hard – why waste perfectly good tongue on pillow talk?

  She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and kissed him hard, spiraling her tongue around his.

  Victor moaned in her mouth, pulled away from her as the elevator dinged open, and guided her to his penthouse apartment.

  Another woman might marvel at all the imported Italian marble and modern
art, but Jayne couldn’t care less. She wasn’t here to make him her sugar-daddy or husband.

  “Care for a tour?” His voice oozed smugness. He was accustomed to his wealth sealing the deal.

  “No. But I’d really like you to fuck me now, Victor.”

  His look of surprise was comical for someone whose tongue had just been in her mouth, but he led her to his bedroom.

  “Most women want the tour first.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  She shut the door with his back, pressing him into it, grinding her hips against his. He was already hard, erection straining against his pants. Jayne smiled and shrugged out of her military-style suit jacket. Underneath was a pale pink satin camisole. Screw the magazines and the fashionistas’ ‘redheads shouldn’t wear pink’ rule. It suited her. No way she’d admit she was a natural blonde - she’d dyed her hair and eyebrows red for years now. Her makeover gave her confidence before she was able to act out Lisa Tristina’s advice. The red hair, and cherry red book changed her life.

  Victor palmed her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them until they were as hard as his cock poking into the front of her skirt. She unzipped it, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her lacy satin panties, a perfect match for her top. Stepping out of it, heels still on, she kicked it away, and stripped his jacket from him, tossing it onto the nearby chair.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, eyes drinking her in from head to toe and back again.

  Am I? She wished he’d take charge of the situation instead of just standing there ogling her. She swallowed back the insecurities. He wanted her. Biting his lower lip didn’t provoke him into action, but she felt the hard length of him twitch against her. Instead of bothering with the last two buttons, she grasped his shirt and tore it open, buttons flying, daring him to meet her intensity.