“And?” he prompted.
“I think being beautiful to you is all I ever need to be.”
He placed his hand over hers, holding onto the feel of her. “All we need is each other.”
She nodded and stretched forward to kiss him. When their mouths met, and their tongues danced a mutual, sensual glide along one another, Declan Cage knew he had lost his heart to the prissy little personal assistant, and there was no going back, not that he wanted to. Tiffany Brooks had quickly become the one woman he couldn’t be without.
“Lie back,” he whispered against the crook of her neck after leaving a mark there.
He helped her do what he’d asked, hands at the top of her pajama bottoms, tugging until he’d freed her from the restraints of clothing. He swept his gaze over the entirety of her from her red painted toe nails, up her ankles, her legs, the spot between her thighs, to her flat stomach, breasts, neck, face….
Declan stood, removed his jeans, and then went back to his prize. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve her, and maybe he didn’t deserve her, but he sure the hell was going to hold on tight and never let her go.
When his mouth caressed the tip of her big toe, she squeaked and wiggled. He smiled and kept kissing each and every digit, the top of her foot, the inside of her ankle, his hands gliding up her calf, mouth following.
After he made his way to her thighs, he spread her, kissed each toned muscle, then placed his lips to her femininity and kissed her before continuing his journey to her navel. Her skin chilled into an outcropping of goose bumps beneath his hands and lips. He kissed each hip, the tender flesh between her breasts, the hollow of her throat, and finally her mouth as he reached between her legs and stroked her moist sex, hearing her moan for him.
“Say my name,” he said, his slick digit circling her clit.
“Declan,” she uttered.
He pressed his hard cock to her opening, but did not enter her. “Again. Say it again.”
“Declan,” she said then moaned when he thrust his naked cock into her warm, wet core, pressing to the hilt, feeling her body stretch to take all of him. The feel of her was nirvana.
“God, baby.”
She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, her arms around his waist, moving in rhythm with her hips. He pulled out and pushed back into the snugness of her body and watched the resplendent expression cross her face before he kissed her mouth.
They made love this way for a long time before he rolled her, never leaving her body. She was atop him when he sat up. She stretched her legs out behind him and he behind her, their chests pressed together, holding onto each other. He pumped his hips upward, and she worked her body in a rocking motion, trembling in his arms.
“Tiffany,” he said. “Come for me.”
“Ahh…” she cried out. Her sweet pussy squeezed him, forcing him toward his own completion. “Declan. Oh, God.”
“That’s it, baby.”
His mouth slanted over hers, and he claimed her sounds of pleasure while he waited for every single tremor of her body to calm. Right as the last spasm of her tightness worked his prick to the edge, he pulled himself out of her body and released his seed between them in three hot spurts, thinking about how badly he wanted to release himself inside her.
Chapter Nineteen
Tiffany sat at her desk, staring at the screen of her laptop, not really seeing a thing. She should have been busy typing a letter for Mr. Stoub, but the Word document was nothing but a blank white square on a blue background. Her thoughts were with Declan and how they’d made love, not once, but twice, and would have started a third round if it wasn’t for the fact they had to get out of bed and get to work.
With a sigh, she ran her finger over her bottom lip. Everything about making love had been incredible. Out-of-this-world fantastic.
“Ms. Brooks,” Matthew Stoub said.
“Hmm?” she muttered and looked up.
“Ms. Brooks, are you alright? You seem a little lost and preoccupied this morning.”
She straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. “Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. Stoub. Everything is fine.”
“Are you sure?” His brow had the slightest of crinkles while he watched her with bright, inquisitive green eyes. “If you’re not feeling well—”
“No. It’s nothing. I’m feeling fine.”
“Clearly something’s not right,” he said. “You didn’t e-mail my schedule, and you never miss sending my schedule.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get it to you right away.” She glanced down at her computer.
“It can wait, Ms. Brooks.”
She decided to tell him part of the truth. “I guess I am a little bit distracted.”
“I do agree.”
She lifted her gaze to him. “I had a bit of a thing last night. Well, at two this morning, actually.”
His eyebrows arched high, and he took a seat in the chair at the front of her desk. “What kind of a thing?”
“I thought I had a prowler lurking around my apartment window, and I had to call the police.”
“That doesn’t sound good at all.” His tone held concern. “Did the police find anyone there?”
Tiffany shook her head. “There were some disturbances in the shrubbery, and they said they recognized signs of animals in the area, but they didn’t find any shoe prints, so who knows? I might have let my imagination get the best of me. It was dark, and I was tired.”
“Never second guess your gut. If you felt it was necessary to call the police, then it was.” He gave her his fatherly smile. “Denver is a big place and not above the crimes of deviants.”
“I know,” she said.
“A young woman, especially one who lives on her own, needs to be smart and savvy.” She nodded as he spoke. “You should consider a home security system.”
“I don’t really have the money for a new system.”
“I know I could work a deal with Burrell Security for you,” he said. “Terrence Burrell owes me a favor, so perhaps it’s time to collect.”
She twisted a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You would do that for me?”
“I’d be happy to help,” he said, wrapping his knuckles on her desktop before he stood. “I’ll go make the call now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stoub.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear.” He paused. “Before I go, I actually came to ask if you could stay late this evening. I need your note-taking skills and your happy face in the meeting with Jerry Lysander. He’s not in a good mood over the necessary changes to his newest strip mall project, but if you’re there, he’ll behave himself, and I won’t have to think about throwing darts at him while he bitches and moans.”
Mr. Lysander could be a handful, and for some reason, which she surmised had more to do with her tits and ass than her shorthand skills, he was pleasant with her. She was glad Matthew needed her help; nonetheless, her heart sank. Usually, she wouldn’t have an issue with staying late, but tonight was the Cage family dinner.
She bit at the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t say no to Mr. Stoub, especially after doing her a favor with a deal on a security system.
“Sure,” she said, her voice lacking enthusiasm.
“Wonderful.”
The moment Matthew was tucked away inside his office, she picked up the phone and dialed Declan’s number. Two rings later, he answered.
“This is Declan.”
“Hi.”
“Sugar,” he said, his voice sounding pleased with the call. “You’ve got excellent timing. I was just thinking about you.”
“I have a problem,” she said, cutting straight to the point.
“What is it?”
“I have to stay late this evening.”
Silence.
“Declan?”
“Can’t you tell Matthew you have plans?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m needed in a meeting, so I can’t, but…” She wasn’t going to disappoint Declan o
r Matthew. She’d make both obligations happen. “I won’t miss out on dinner with your parents.”
“You’re not calling to cancel?” he asked.
“No.” She heard what she thought was a relieved breath. “Give me the address. I’ll run home at lunch and change into the new dress I bought, then come back to work and finish what I need to do. I’ll leave from here when the meeting is over and meet you at your parents’ home.”
“Got a pen?” he asked.
She plucked her pen off her desk. “I do.” Declan rattled off the address, and she frantically scribbled it across a note pad. “Got it,” she said, placing the pen on the paper. “I’ll see you there. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to your promise.”
“All right. I’ve got to go.”
“See you tonight,” he said.
“You will,” she said and ended the call.
***
Tiffany gazed at her reflection in the restroom mirror of Stoub Engineering, re-applying her nude lipstick then giving her lips a gloss layer before popping the two tubes into her purse. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose chignon, leaving some long strands free to frame her face. The blue dress fit her proportions well without going overboard on the cleavage she usually showed, and her black heels matched her clutch purse and shoulder wrap. With one last breath, she left the small space.
“Good night, Mr. Stoub,” she said, stopping at his office door.
“Thank you for staying this evening. Obviously, you have plans. I hope I didn’t put a kink in them.”
She glanced up at the clock. “No kink.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled. “You have a good night.”
“You, too. Don’t stay too late.”
“I won’t, Ms. Brooks.”
Tiffany made her way to her desk, tore the note with the address to Declan’s parents’ house from the pad, and headed for her hideous, gas guzzling rental car.
***
“Holy buckets of bouncing bratwursts,” she muttered.
Tiffany realized where she was going and stopped outside the open iron gates of the Cage home. The driveway led to a freakin’ almost castle-like home. A home she’d been to two years ago for a Halloween party. Her tummy churned. I may hurl chunks.
“You did him in his parents’ house.” She closed her eyes and tried to gather her composure. “His rich parents’ house.” Tiffany hung her head. “He comes from money.” She slowly lifted her chin and opened her eyes, similar to waking from another of her crazy dreams. “Lots of money.”
Every single one of her preconceived ideas about Declan had turned out to be wrong. Why finding he came from wealth should shock her, she didn’t know, except for the fact he was, at least in her mind and at every turn of the bend, a contradiction who kept on surprising her.
Tiffany corralled the herd of buffaloes stampeding through her stomach, took her foot off the brake pedal, drove up the driveway, stopped beside the huge truck in front of the house, and parked her vehicle.
After two deep, cleansing breaths, she exited her car and made her way to the massive double doors of Declan’s parents’ home. She clinched her good hand into a ball until her fingernails made an impression in her palm before relaxing the fist and shaking out the nerves. Spine straight. Head held high.
You can do this.
Tiffany reached out and pressed the doorbell, waiting to see the door open.
“Hey,” Declan greeted with a smile on his face and hugged her. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” she said, taking in his delicious scent before he let her go. “I told you I wouldn’t miss dinner.”
He took a hold of her hand, threading his fingers with hers, and walked her inside. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
She couldn’t lie; he had to have noticed her jittering hands. “A little bit.”
“Don’t be,” he said and escorted her through a large foyer she’d been in once upon a time on All Hallows Eve.
“I’ll try.” Tiffany wondered if she had seen his parents before.
Hand in hand, they entered a formal living room. “Mom,” Declan said. “Dad. This is Tiffany Brooks.”
A woman with short hair the color of dark sand, dressed in an elegant ecru pantsuit, stood up from her wingback chair. She fiddled with a long strand of pearls draped around her neck and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Tiffany.” She came toward her, cataloging her. Or, at least that’s how Tiffany felt. “I’m Ravenna Cage.”
She hadn’t seen them before and concluded they weren’t in attendance at the infamous party a couple of years ago. “Hello,” she said as Mrs. Cage shook her extended hand limply.
“Over here,” Mrs. Cage said, gracefully walking with her to another chair and patting the man who remained seated on the shoulder, “is Declan’s father and my husband, Dresden Cage.”
The man resembled Declan, only he was much slimmer and sported a pencil-thin mustache. He rose from his seat and stood next to his wife. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said with a British accent, which took her aback for a moment. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she sure hadn’t expected Declan’s father to be British. He was far from the retired wrestler of her imagination.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Cage,” Tiffany said. And for some nutty reason, she wondered if she should curtsy, even though she didn’t know how.
“Dearest,” Mrs. Cage said to Declan, “you need to round up your brother.”
“Sure thing,” he said and let go of Tiffany’s hand.
Tiffany looked at Declan, and the nerves decided to attack her bladder. She needed to pee in the worst way. “May I use your bathroom?”
Declan chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you where it’s at.”
“It’s fine.” She felt her face flush. “You can go find your brother. I only need to know where to go.”
“The bathroom is on my way.” He looked over at his mother. “We’ll meet you in the dining room.”
“All right,” she said, her gaze bouncing between her son and Tiffany. “Don’t dilly-dally. Dinner is ready.”
“We won’t,” he said in a clipped, irritated tone.
Tiffany kept pace beside Declan, who sauntered more than strode up the long corridor, stopping at a door. “Here’s the bathroom, sugar.” He placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m going upstairs to get Ryker, and then I’ll come back for you.” He kissed her on the cheek. She touched the place where his lips had met her flesh. He smiled.
“Okay,” she said.
“I won’t be long.” Declan turned around and sauntered back the way they’d come.
Once inside the bathroom, she set her wrap and clutch on the vanity, did her business, then washed her hands when she was done. The plush, thick hand towels had a gold embroidered C on them. She made sure to put the hand towel back the way she found it and rolled her neck along her shoulders in an attempt to relax. With a quick glance at her makeup, she flopped her wrap over her arm, grabbed her clutch, and exited the bathroom.
A sense of déjà vu struck. Unable to stop herself, she walked a little farther down the hall, came to the door of the study where her hot encounter had taken place, and stepped inside, surprised to see the back of Declan. He was standing by one of the large windows with what looked like a book in his hand.
Odd. His shirt was different, and she thought he’d said he was going upstairs to find his brother. Maybe she had been in the bathroom longer than she realized, and he had gone upstairs, found his brother, changed his shirt for some reason, and come back down.
The guilt to confess their prior acquaintance struck her. If she were going to have an open and honest relationship with Declan, she needed to tell him the truth. He might be upset she hadn’t told him sooner and ticked she’d withheld the fact she did indeed know him in the biblical sense before she really knew him, but he’d soon
get over it. He wasn’t the type of man to be mean and vindictive, not to her. In fact, he might find the whole thing between them and meeting up again kismet.
Biting the bullet, she was going to do the right thing. She swallowed, quietly set her wrap and clutch on the desk she’d been bent over once, and walked to where Declan stood. When Tiffany wrapped her arms around his tight waist, he jumped and stiffened at the touch. She’d startled him. Resting her cheek on his strong back she dug deep and found the courage to confess.
“Do you remember the desk and the Halloween party?”
“Fuck,” he muttered and broke her hold by turning around. He glared down at her with an expression she could only process as completely livid. Afraid, she took a step back. She hadn’t expected he’d be this mad.
“Hey, there you are,” said…Declan? His voice was behind her. She spun around on her heel and gaped at Declan standing in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?” he asked. She turned back around and looked at Declan standing in front of the window, clutching a book. No. Not clutching. White knuckling. Her gaze went to his arm. His bare, un-inked arm.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “It was you at the Halloween party.”
The tattoo-free version of Declan snarled at her. “What the hell,” he said.
“What’s going on?” The real Declan asked, coming to her side. “What’s your glitch, Ryker?” Her head was aswirl. She actually thought she might faint. He said Ryker. The man to her left was Ryker. Blood rushed from her head and hit her feet. Her stomach churned. This mean-looking imposter was the identical twin brother, Ryker.
“Oh, God,” Tiffany uttered, her hand going to her mouth.
***
Declan didn’t know why his brother was cursing and glaring at Tiffany as if he wanted to strangle her, but he was going to knock Ryker on his ass if he didn’t straighten his shit out.
“You are scaring my girlfriend and acting like an asshole,” said Declan.
Ryker’s gaze shot from Declan back to Tiffany. “She’s Ms. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
Ryker pointed at her. “This is the woman you’re crazy about?”
Spanked by the Bad Boy Page 13
