ForePlay: A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 1 (The Checkmate Inc. Series)

by Shelly Alexander

  So I’m giving her what she wants. An insider look at Checkmate Inc.

  My stomach burns. I haven’t run this past Dex and Oz, and I’m not sure how they’ll react.

  When I arrive at the studio, cash-and-carry customers flow through the glass doors to the left of the large foyer. C&C customers, as we call them, don’t usually buy the whole five-figure package we offer. They come in to buy our salon and cologne products. Those products were born from my doctoral research, and that’s how Checkmate started. That arm of the business is still raking in the cash, because they’re high-end products with kickass packaging.

  But Checkmate has grown and morphed into so much more than a men’s cologne and personal body products company. We rival all the great clothing designers that have branched out and expanded into designer eyewear, cologne, accessories, and any number of other products. Checkmate follows a similar business model, but with an approach that is different enough to set us apart from any other company.

  We take it a step farther. We special-order a client’s wardrobe directly from the designers, just like any retail chain does. But we package all of our retail products with a life-stylist for those customers willing to pay the price. Throw in client confidentiality, superior service, and call our stores a studio, and men eat that shit up, because it doesn’t sound like female-speak for shopping.

  A baseball cap pulled low over my forehead conceals my identity. I veer to the right, away from the crowd that is streaming in to sample the new products we just launched, and I head toward the doors with “Lifestyles” etched into the glass along with our company logo. As soon as I enter the small rotunda, I’m greeted by my personal life-stylist, Gerard. I know better than to try to shake his hand.

  “Maaaavelous to see you, Leo.” Gerard kisses both of my cheeks. Because he spent several years working the fashion scene in Milan, he fancies himself European. Really, he’s from West Virginia.

  Dex lured Gerard and his husband, Magnus, to Checkmate when we started the retail arm of the company. Together they train and manage our entire army of life-stylists. I mean, come on. Our business concept may have been novel enough to make Checkmate soar, but Oz, Dex, and I are three straight guys. We needed help from men with fashion sense. Hence, the reason Dex hunted Gerard and Magnus down and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.

  “My guest, Miss Evers, will be here shortly,” I say. “Treat me like a new client, Gerard. I want her to see everything from start to finish.”

  He raises a perfectly waxed brow at me.

  “Would you like to know why?” I ask.

  “Unless it involves a shirtless Matt Bomer from White Collar, who am I to question our fearless leader?”

  I grin. “Then keep this meeting confidential, just like you would any other client.” I want to be the one to tell my two business partners that the first female ever to go behind the scenes at a Checkmate Lifestyles studio is not only our PR rep but also the girl I’m likely to be fucking. At least for a few days.

  And shit. Now that I’ve summed up the situation in those terms, I can see how stupid this idea is. But I’ve been thinking with the wrong head since I first laid eyes on Chloe Evers. It’s like I’m on this collision course with trouble, but I can’t stop, can’t slow down.

  The door swings open, and Chloe steps in. Adrenalin kicks through my veins, and my heart thumps against my chest. I can’t help it. My gaze slides down her length, and I gawk at her like a horny, ill-mannered teenager.

  She’s in a gray sweater dress that hits her above the knee, black hose, and a pair of high-heeled boots that scream “fuck me” louder than a heavy metal concert.

  My mouth is as dry as cotton, so I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I swallow and clear my throat.

  Gerard swoops in for the save. “You must be Ms. Evers?” He steps forward.

  “I am,” Chloe says, her gaze shifting between me and Gerard.

  Instead of taking her outstretched hand, Gerard smooches both of her creamy cheeks. “Welcome to Checkmate.” He drops his voice like a vixen and half-whispers, “This is going to be fun.”

  Chloe’s million-dollar smile tells me she likes Gerard, and I’m glad. Chemistry between a client and the life-stylist is the first step, and I want her to experience that connection.

  “It’s early, so I’ll have sparkling water brought out for now.” Gerard sashays to the front desk. It’s all glass, just like most of the studio. He taps on a tablet.

  “What do you think so far?” I ease up to Chloe. Close. Cozy. Casual.

  Intimate.

  “It’s gorgeous.” Her gaze travels across the vaulted ceiling, then around the studio. “It’s very much like the Checkmate building.” Her boots click against the black and white marble floor that is made to look like a game board. She wanders to one of the sculptures. A life-size white queen is tipped like it’s being dragged across the board and is about to capture a black king.

  “When we decided to open the retail chain, we had the same architect design both our headquarters and the studios.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. I wore the most generic thing I could find in my closet because I want Chloe to see the complete transformation.

  She spins in a complete circle. “But where are the products and services? The clothes? There’s not much here.”

  The round foyer of the studio is similar to the rotunda at Headquarters, but on a much smaller scale. It’s grand and awe-inspiring. It’s also a façade designed to capture the imagination before launching into the real work that’s done at Checkmate.

  “That’s what we’re going to show you.”

  Another employee appears, dressed all in black, like all studio employees, and hands Chloe and me stemmed glasses of sparkling water.

  Gerard rejoins us. “Are we ready to begin?”

  I put my hand at the small of Chloe’s back and lead her forward. “We’re ready.”

  We follow Gerard through a sliding stainless-steel door into the back of the studio. Visually, the studios are much larger than they first appear. This is because we keep the various sections compartmentalized. It helps with client privacy.

  We offer it all—a men’s hair salon with a flowing display of all of our products that are available on the public side of the store; private sitting rooms for clients to try on clothes as the stylist helps them build a new wardrobe and a new look; smaller rooms where our personal coaches meet with clients.

  Honestly, we don’t really change a guy. We just give him a boost of confidence that he doesn’t have when he walks through the door the first time. Once he experiences the first rush of self-confidence, he’s hooked. It’s like a drug he can’t ever give up.

  But first there is paperwork to take care of. Gerard leads us into a private fitting room. It’s masculine and makes a statement. Three walls are covered in full-length mirrors. A comfortable black sofa sits in the center of the room with accent chairs on each side and a black lacquered coffee table in front. Gerard seats us on the sofa, gives us the privacy spiel, and hands the agreement to me, along with a Mont Blanc pen.

  I sign and hand Chloe the pen. “You can keep it. It’s included in the consultation fee.”

  She raises both eyebrows, slowly slides the pen from my grasp, and drops it into her purse. From there, Gerard guides us through the transformation process. We start with a digital catalogue so I can pick out possible hairstyles, clothing, shoes, accessories, even designer underwear and socks.

  We believe in the whole package, and that’s what our clients pay hefty fees for. Gerard taps my preferences, my dislikes, my everything into a tablet.

  “My choices are sent to the back of the studio where employees are pulling clothing samples from our stock for me to try on. A hair appointment is even made for me through this device.”

  “Wow,” Chloe says. “It’s almost like Munchkins are behind the stainless-steel curtain and Gerard is the wizard.” She winks at him. “I just hope there are no flying mo
nkeys.”

  Funny she should use that analogy. It’s exactly the analogy Dex, Oz, and I used when we decided to open the Lifestyles Studio arm of Checkmate. Dex and I like to hassle Oscar about his nickname, and the metaphor fit.

  “I like her,” Gerard says. “She’s sassy.” He hisses out the word “sassy” like a cat in heat, and we all laugh. “Press the call button when you’re ready.” Gerard hands me a remote fob and an expensive velour robe. “You better be naked when I get back.” He winks at Chloe as he spins on a heel to leave.

  The early morning workout helped, because I no longer feel like the quiet chess team nerd who can’t get the girl’s attention. Chloe’s attention is on me. Only me, and I like it. I kick off my shoes and toss the robe over a chair.

  Her eyes widen, and she starts to get up. “I’ll wait out—”

  “Stay.” I lean over her, so close that her breath washes over me. “I have to kiss you before I go out of my mind, because I’ve been wanting to since last night.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She tilts her head back so our lips almost graze but not quite.

  “We’ve got nine whole nights for you to experience how Checkmate can affect a woman. I didn’t want to rush it,” I tease. Truth is, when I brought her home last night, I did want to kiss her. Everywhere. I wanted to lay the kind of panty-dropping kiss on her that leads to a trail of clothes strewn on the floor starting at the front door and ending at the foot of her bed. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted it to last all night. I wanted to wake up with her naked in my arms, her silky hair flowing over my chest. Then I wanted to do it all over again in her bed and in her shower before we even had breakfast.

  Lust coils my insides into a ball of tension.

  I place my hand at the back of her head, and it’s as silky as I knew it would be. Her eyes burn with the same intensity I feel in my chest. And I want her. So fucking much. Her perfume is just as sexy as she is, and I wonder if this is a dream. The haze that blankets my mind every time I’m with her is definitely dreamlike.

  There’s no mistaking the sheer desire glistening in her eyes. I close that small gap between us and brush my lips across hers. She sighs against my mouth. That’s all I need to take the kiss deeper, angling her head to fit perfectly with mine. That awesome Star Trek thing happens again as time shifts into slow motion.

  Her lips taste like coconut, and they’re moist from the sparkling water. Another graze and her lips part to invite me in. The air around us thickens and hums as the kiss grows deeper, fuller. More thrilling. The heat builds until fire is licking over my skin and my mind is ready to spontaneously combust.

  “It’s well worth the wait,” I whisper against her mouth.

  She fists a handful of my shirt and pulls my lips back to hers, leaving no doubt in my mind that she wants this.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and we break apart.

  It’s Dex, and a wave of guilt glides over me. I feel like I’m breaking a promise. A sacred vow that the three of us made in the beginning. No one sees behind the wizard’s curtain at Checkmate Studios. Chloe’s hand glides up my thigh, lingers close to my boys, then one finger hooks into my waistband. I send the call to voicemail.

  “Time to show you the rest,” I say, backing to the center of the room with my gaze locked with hers.

  A flicker of naughtiness springs to life in her cobalt eyes. She eases back onto the sofa, and the plush leather sighs. I reach behind my head and one-hand my T-shirt off. I take my time undressing, my eyes never leaving her perfect face. I watch for any sign of disapproval, a waver in her expression, or indication that this is making her unhappy.

  Notice I didn’t say uncomfortable. She’s definitely uncomfortable. What I’m watching for is that moment when her eyes, her expression, the subtle language of her body tells me she’s either decided she wants this or she doesn’t. If she doesn’t, it’s over, and I’ll have her wait outside.

  Her gaze caresses over me. My skin burns, and it feels like she’s actually touching me. Approval ignites in her eyes and they turn the most extraordinary shade of purple, so I keep going until I’m standing here in nothing but designer boxer briefs. When her stare snags on my ink, the tip of her pink tongue slips out to wet her bottom lip.

  I flex slightly so the fierce head of a stallion moves and shifts.

  I admit it, I’m proud of the muscled physique I’ve spent years working on at the gym. I may have been a member of the chess team, but I was always active. Years of weights and working out have turned that slender young kid into a muscled grown man. Women seem to like what they see when I get undressed, and Chloe is no exception.

  She uncrosses her legs and props one foot up on the coffee table to give me a view that should kill a mere mortal. No joke, she’s not wearing hose like I thought. She’s wearing stockings. And no panties.

  Forget my lingerie fantasies that started the first time we met. This is way fucking better than a thong.

  Chapter Eight

  Seeing as how I’m standing here in nothing but dark blue Ralph Lauren boxer briefs, surrounded by full-length mirrors, staring at the most delicious-looking pussy I’ve ever seen, no way can I hide the raging hard-on I’ve got. Every single drop of blood I possess is pulsing through my dick, and the lust spiraling through me explodes like a supernova.

  I school my actions, but no way can I school my thoughts. Every muscle in my body goes as rigid as my dick, and I struggle to hold on to my last thread of self-control. When I do finally fuck her for the first time, it won’t be a quickie on the sofa.

  “Whoever put the idea in your head that you aren’t any good is a goddamn twit,” I say.

  Her brow creases.

  “You said yesterday you weren’t very good. I beg to differ.”

  “You don’t know they’re wrong. Yet.” Uncertainty shadows her pretty face.

  “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t let that asshole make you doubt yourself.” I let a hungry tone slip into my voice. “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?”

  Her blue eyes drop to my throbbing boner. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  Now my voice slips from hungry to full-on dirty. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Another hot wave of lust rolls through me, and I groan. She wants to play, and play hard. I like that, because I’m the type that leaves it all on the board. So game fucking on. “Close your eyes.”

  She studies me for a second, then her long dark lashes brush against the creamy skin under her eyes.

  “I want to sink to my knees in front of you, grasp both of your thighs just above the knees, spread you as wide open as I can, and bury my mouth in that hot little pussy of yours that you’ve been so generously flashing at me the last few minutes.”

  Her eyes fly open.

  “Surprised?” One side of my mouth lifts into a smile. “You’re the one who showed up without panties. I was picturing at least a thong.”

  A pretty blush floods her cheeks. “I assumed you’d want to do something that pleasured you, not just me.”

  I shake my head. “I told you, the queen is most important in the game, and she’s the focus at Checkmate too.”

  She glances back at the door. “Won’t Gerard be back soon?”

  I shake my head. “He won’t come back in until I press the call button. So close your eyes.”

  They flutter shut again.

  “Put your palm on your cheek.” When she does, I continue. “Slowly, slide it down to a breast.” Long, slender fingers tipped by manicured nails glide down her throat, over her chest, and cup a nice, round tit. It’s not too big, not too small. Just right to fill my large palm. Just right to bounce gloriously as she rides me until she comes. Just right for fucking when the time is right, because I definitely want to fuck those luscious tits. “Now massage both. Don’t open your eyes. Just think of me on my knees in front of you with my face buried between your thighs.”

  A shiver overtakes her. H
er other hand finds the one lonely tit, and she rubs both palms over the mounds. I fight the urge to grab my shaft and jerk off while I watch her. I don’t, because this little exercise isn’t about me. It’s all about her.

  “Put your other foot on the table and spread your legs wider.”

  Her boots click and slide against the table.

  The sight is beautiful. Better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. The only thing that could make it perfect is…

  “Slide one hand over your stomach, all the way down, and touch yourself.”

  She follows my instructions, and an erotic gasp escapes her lips, but that’s nothing compared to where she’s going to take herself under my direction.

  “Slide a finger in.”

  She does, and her back arches off the sofa.

  “Yes, baby. It’s wet, isn’t it?” I use a bedroom voice like I’m fucking her right now. Actually, I am. I’m mind-fucking her. Word-fucking her. Getting her to finger fuck herself while I watch surrounded by mirrors.

  Best goddamn shopping trip of my life.

  “That’s it,” I whisper. After her fingers have slipped in and out several times, I say, “Now find your clit.”

  She withdraws glistening fingers and slides them between her folds. She swirls the moist tips in a circle, finding a rhythm that makes her pant. Holy hell, I want to eat her. See her writhe in utter ecstasy. Hear her cry out for more because it feels so damn good.

  “Imagine your fingers are my tongue licking you. Picture my mouth right where your fingers are, sucking and biting that sweet spot where your orgasm is burgeoning.” I can see it in her expression. The storm is building and roiling inside of her, ready to burst like a thunderclap. I wonder what she’d taste like if I really did have my mouth on her pussy.

  I decide she’d taste like warm summer raindrops I used to catch on my tongue when I was a kid.