Shit. He really wanted to hear her shout out his name while her pussy gripped and milked him to his own completion. Even so, his cool composure was working, and he was going to keep things in his favor.
He had gained more information than he’d expected. She’d told him while most people loved bright, sunny days, she loved listening to thunderstorms. For the last four years, she’d worked for Matthew as his assistant and, before that, had been hired on by his brother part-time. She’d run errands and done filing, learning all she could about the firm, then was promoted to full-time office assistant, working for both men until Dale retired.
Tiffany had confided that she preferred ordering takeout to cooking, saying her cooking skills were fairly atrocious, and then came the more disturbing things. He already knew she looked on life as being something to survive rather than to enjoy and live to the fullest, but he’d learned a little more—why she clung to the “life is hard, and then you die” mentality. She had no one in her life, apart from a mother, who had walked away and left her with a man she only referred to as being “a mean drunk.”
“Did the scar under your eyebrow come from him?” he asked.
“Belt buckle,” she said.
“He hit you with a belt?”
“Yes.” Her face distorted into disgust. “That’s what I got for looking too much like my mother.”
His gut twisted.
“I’m sorry, sugar.”
She looked up at him with sorrowful eyes and raw emotion. Soul-deep pain. Those blue-topaz jewels tugged at the strings of his heart.
“Why would you be sorry? You didn’t know me then, and you barely know me now,” she said.
“I’m sorry simply because the thought of anyone harming you is upsetting no matter when it happened, now or then. I don’t relish the idea of anything or anyone hurting you.”
Her eyes flashed. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You are a very confusing man,” she said, swirling her spoon around in her bowl.
“Really? I thought I was a pretty straightforward guy.”
“You are.”
He cocked a brow. “And being truthful is confusing?”
“Yes.”
Her answer took him a moment to ponder.
“You’d rather I hide my feelings from you and lie?”
“No,” she said in an offhanded tone. “I’m not use to someone feeling much of anything for me except what they feel in their pants.”
He eyed her. “So the fact I want you so badly I can hardly see straight, but I also want to know what makes you tick, and I’m not afraid to show you I care is foreign to your womanly sensibilities?
She smiled. “Pretty much.”
“Ah,” he said with a smirk, elbows resting on the table. “I can see how that might be confusing.”
He basked in the sound of her chuckle.
“I never claimed what you learned from our ‘getting to know you session’ would make any sense,” she said.
He steepled his fingers over his empty bowl. “No. I guess you didn’t.”
“Are you ready to run for the hills now, Mr. Cage?”
“Absolutely not.”
Declan got up from the table, plopped her empty cereal bowl on top of his, and carried them to the sink. “Go get dressed.”
“Why?”
He turned and gave her a stern stare. “Do you always have to ask why?”
The corners of her spectacular mouth twitched. “It’s in my nature to be curious.”
“I think what you really mean is it’s in your nature to be suspicious.”
She waved her left hand in a dismissive way before she stood and placed it on her hip. “You say potato; I say po-tah-toe.”
“Perhaps, but I can assure you I won’t say ‘let’s call the whole thing off.’”
Her eyes rounded in shock…and not for the first time.
“You know the old Louis Armstrong song?”
“Sugar,” he said. “I know you think I’m some dumb lug who works with my hands, but you might be surprised to know there’s more than meets the eye.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Sure you do,” he said.
“I don’t think you’re dumb at all.”
He chortled. “But I’m a lug, huh?”
“Maybe a little rough around the edges.”
“Do those edges bother you?” He watched her intently while she considered his question.
“No,” she said. “I’ve decided they don’t.”
It was probably ridiculous, but the news she wasn’t disturbed by all the things his own mother so badly wanted to change about him thrilled him.
“Good,” he said, poker face in place. “Now go and change.” She did a little ass wiggle, and it made him itch to palm the jiggle. “Go.”
“All right. I’m going.”
“And don’t change into a tight skirt or heels,” he said.
She breezed out of the kitchen.
“What then?”
“Put on something comfortable and sensible.”
“Why?”
He shook his head at the question.
“Because where I’m taking you, tight skirts and high heels will be a huge mistake.”
***
Declan watched Tiffany out of the corner of his eye while he drove. She tapped her more-sensible pant-covered thigh with her fingertips in time to Lana Del Rey’s “Blue Jeans” playing on the radio.
“Great song,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
She was looking out the passenger side window. “This is the Downtown Denver Aquarium.”
“Yep.”
“So why are we here?”
“I thought it would be different. And I think there’s something sort of peaceful about watching sea life swim.”
“You believe I could do with some peace, I take it.”
He smiled. “Everyone could use some, but the walking might give those stiff muscles of yours a workout and loosen up the aches and pains.”
“I could think of other things to loosen me up, so why the aquarium?”
“There goes that ‘why’ of yours.” He chuckled. “You needed to get out of the house.”
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear then looked at him. “Do you always do what you feel the need to?”
“Most times, sugar.”
“But not earlier today,” she said as a comment in passing. “You didn’t do what you wanted to do.”
“No. You’re right. Earlier I ached to spread those sexy thighs, put my head between them, and play with your clit ring until you begged me to make you come.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because this is more important.”
She snorted. “Taking me to see fish?”
“No. I needed to be with you, the two of us, without sex getting in the way of finding out about each other.”
“You can find out a lot from having sex with someone.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He had to hear this. “Other than all the spots which make you quiver, what else would I have learned?”
With a teasing tone and a brush of her fingers down his arm, she said, “Oh, no. I’m not telling.”
It was his turn to ask, “Why?”
“Because you’ll have to find out the answers to those specific questions all on your own.”
“Ah. A promise I can take to the bank?”
“I’d say you need to get ready to make a rather sizable deposit, Mr. Cage.”
The thought of sexing her up made his cock rise to the occasion yet again—for the ninety-ninth time that day. He smiled. Hell, at the rate he was going, he’d be lucky not to have one continuous hard-on when he was around her.
When they parked, he said, “Don’t move.”
She gazed at him with an expression questioning his sanity, but, to his relief, didn’t ask why.
Declan
hopped out of the driver’s side, slammed his door, and walked around the front of his truck to the passenger side door. He opened it and held his arms out. “You can move now.”
She chuckled and reached for him. He took her by the waist.
“Woo, yeah. I really like that,” she said in a sexy voice.
He knew the answer to what he was about to ask, but he wanted her to fess up. “Being manhandled?”
“Yes.”
“I know,” he said and lowered her down his body, making sure she experienced his need and stopped the descent when he felt the V between her legs catch on his crotch. He kept her there a moment, hearing her intake of air before placing her on the ground. He was going to keep reinforcing the point of wanting her, while emphasizing he wanted to know her, too.
Tiffany stood beside him while he shut her door and secured his truck, not moving a muscle. Watching her out of his periphery, he wondered if she was even breathing. When he turned to give her his full attention, she smiled. He was beginning to understand the difference between her pleasant company smile and her real smile. He was elated to see the real smile on her face.
He held out his hand, giving her the choice to take it, happy when she did. He slipped his fingers between hers, swallowing up her hand with his, and liked touching her once again.
“The aquarium awaits,” he said. Her little giggle filled him with a kind of joy he couldn’t recall ever feeling before.
Chapter Eleven
Tiffany eased herself into the booth. Declan scooted in beside her before placing his hand on her thigh. She liked being claimed by him, probably more than she should.
“Welcome to Buffalo Wild Wings. I’m Mark; I’ll be your server.” Declan nodded in response and took the slick menus Mark handed over. “Can I start you out with something to drink?”
“I’ll have a Coke,” said Declan, “And the lady will have….”
“I’ll have a Coke, too,” she said.
“All right. Would you like to hear about the special?”
Declan set the menus on the table. “I’m pretty sure I know what I want.” Heat warmed Tiffany’s skin when he squeezed her thigh beneath the table. “Sugar, do you need to hear the special?”
“I’m good,” she said. “I think I already know what I’m in the mood for.”
Mark grinned at them with a mouth full of metal. She wondered if the braces hurt. “Okay. I’ll be back with your drinks and take your order then.”
“Thanks,” Declan said. Mark left their table in a quick step as Declan turned to Tiffany. “I’m going to warn you. I may be addicted to wings.” She looked at Declan’s face and saw the mischief there when one side of his mouth quirked up.
Smiling, she shook her head. “Addicted?”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing to know, I suppose.”
“I hope you like them,” he said.
“I do, but I’m not addicted.”
He chuckled, and the sound washed over her. “Do you want a menu, sugar?”
“I don’t need one.” She noticed Declan didn’t need a menu either. “I take it you know their menu.”
“Yep. I come here a lot. And since I pissed off the manager at The Last Inning last week, I suppose I’ll have to get my wing fix here for a while.”
“I’ve been here a few times, too.” She studied his face—the way the light from the overhead fixture highlighted only one side. “Do you enjoy watching sporting events?”
“Sure. Football mainly. And you? ”
“Not really.” She let herself look at the width of his shoulders without worrying about whether he was watching her. “Did you play football?”
“No.”
“Really? I would have thought—”
“See, now there you go assuming again,” he said.
She chuckled. “You’re right. Just because you’re a large guy doesn’t mean you played football.”
“My mother despised football, or I would have. I played lacrosse and was part of the swim team instead. They were the more-acceptable sports.”
The hard set of his jaw and harsher tone of voice caught her attention.
“So you’re not upset about missing out on playing football, I see.”
He laughed. “Perhaps a little.” She expected him to elaborate on the subject, but he didn’t. “I think we can officially agree we have a few things in common,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“We can?”
He squeezed her thigh again. Fire raced from the spot straight to her clit.
“Yes.” He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. “We have the same taste in music.”
“All right,” she said, and even to her own ears, she sounded sappy. “I’ll give you that one.”
“We both enjoyed watching the shark at the aquarium earlier today.”
“Yes, we did” she said, “but you didn’t need to buy me a shark snow globe from the gift store. It was too expensive.”
“I wanted to.” He smiled. “You’ll have a memento to remember our first date, and it wasn’t expensive, so don’t worry about the cost.”
Her stomach fluttered. She had gone out with him for the day, and now they were having the dinner he had promised he would collect on, so she supposed she had no other choice than to admit their little outing had turned into a date.
“Well, thank you.” She patted his arm, irked the brace she sported kept her from really feeling him. “I’m going to put the globe on my desk at work.”
He nodded and removed his hand from her thigh to twirl a piece of her hair around his finger. The action tickled her neck.
“I think old Brutus the shark will look good on your desk.”
She snickered. “Brutus?”
“He resembled a Brutus to me. You can’t very well call a mean, lean killing machine Sally.”
“I suppose you have a point,” she said.
He tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger. He sure was touching her a lot, but she didn’t mind.
“Do you want to know what else—perhaps the most important thing—we have in common?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“We both drink Coke.” His mouth twitched. “I’m glad you’re not one of those who like the other namby-pamby drinks.”
She laughed, unable to contain the snort. “This has been fun today.”
“Fun is my middle name.”
Tiffany chuckled. “What is your middle name?”
“Don’t laugh at me when I tell you,” he warned.
“I won’t.” She made a sign of crossing her heart with her fingers.
“Zekial,” he said.
“Declan Zekial Cage.” She smiled. “I think you have a cool name.”
“Thanks, sugar. And you? I told you mine; now you tell me yours.”
“Renee.”
“Tiffany Renee Brooks,” he said.
She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling comfortable if not a bit touchy-feely herself. “Thank you for today and for taking me to dinner. This is nice.”
“No need for thanks. The aquarium wasn’t too much too soon after the accident?”
“Actually, I think you were right about the walking.” She sat straight and lifted her shoulder. “I don’t feel too stiff.”
“Good.”
Mark came over with their drinks and placed them on the table. “Are you ready to order?”
Declan looked at her. “Do you want to share a sampler with me?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll start with the sampler,” he said to Mark.
“What sauce for your wings?” Mark asked.
“Is sweet BBQ okay with you, baby?” Declan asked.
“Yeah.”
Declan looked at Mark. “Sweet BBQ, it is.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“I’ll take an order of your traditional wings with hot sauce,” Declan said.
“And for you, ma’am?” Mark asked.
“I’ll have t
he Big Jack Daddy Burger.”
Declan turned and eyed her. “Sweet choice.”
“All right, it will be a few minutes on your order.”
When the server walked away, Declan said, “I figured you’d want to nibble on a salad.”
“Nope. You figured wrong.”
“So you’re not one of those women who order dainty salads and pretend they don’t actually eat?”
“No. I pretty much throw down.”
“I’m impressed.”
Tiffany took in his expression, a mixture of awe and, perhaps, lustful hunger. But he might be hungry for food; it was hard to tell.
“You want a bite of my burger, don’t you?”
“Sugar,” he said in his low voice, all grit. “I want to bite more than your burger.”
The image of him nibbling on her sent a spark of excitement over her skin, only to be drenched by ice-cold buckets of water as she heard an unwelcome voice say, “Sweet Cherry Pie!” Simon. “Well, now,” he said, sauntering up to the end of the table. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
She noticed the muscles in Declan’s jaw work before he turned his full attention toward Simon Milligan. Her cheating, two-fisted, no good, old-enough to-be-her-father ex-boyfriend stood there in full leathers, biker patches lining the arms of the jacket, and his long, graying hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Simon,” she greeted in a clipped tone.
“Your mother told me you were in a fender bender,” he said, staring at the braced hand she brought up from her lap and rested on the table. She was going to kill her mother. “But, everything considered,” his hazel-brown gaze shot to Declan, assessing him, “I’d say you must be feeling no worse for wear.” Simon held out a meaty paw. “Simon Milligan.”
Declan took the hand offered and shook. “Declan Cage.”
“Are you keeping this one in line?” Simon asked, his stare flitting to her then back to Declan with a shit-eating grin plastered across his squared-off face.
“Something like that,” Declan said before the shake between the two ended.
“Simon,” she said, entering the conversation because she refused to be the conversation. “You can see, Declan and I—”
“Ahh,” he said in a gruff sort of throat clear. “No need to point out the obvious.” He put his hand on Declan’s shoulder. “I can see you two have something going on.”
Spanked by the Bad Boy Page 8
