by Erika Wilde
Tall, Dark, & Tempting
Erika Wilde
Copyright © Erika Wilde, December 2018
Cover design by Maria @ Steamy Designs
eBook Formatted by: Clara Stone
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the Author.
Tall, Dark, & Tempting Synopsis
Dylan Stone and Serena Fields have been best of friends their entire lives. For Dylan, she's the solid, dependable woman in his life. His person. The one who has been there for him through the best and worst of times and doesn't see him for the millions he has in the bank. And even though he's been secretly attracted to her for years, there are some lines that best friends don't cross—even if he does spend most of their time together entertaining dirty thoughts about her that have no business being in his head.
Serena has been in love with Dylan Stone for as long as she can remember, but she's searching for her happily-ever-after and that's not her best friend's thing. Unfortunately, her dating life is one disaster after another, yet Dylan is always there with a pint of her favorite ice cream and a listening ear after each and every disappointing encounter.
It's the perfect arrangement, until one night changes everything.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Also by Erika Wilde
About the Author
1
The last thing Dylan Stone expected at nine-fifteen on Friday evening was a knock on his door. He was equally surprised to find his best friend, Serena Fields, standing on the other side of the threshold, considering it was supposed to be the night that she'd intended to go all the way and seal the deal with her latest guy after holding out on him for the past five weeks.
She'd definitely dressed to impress and seduce her date. The sexy little red number she'd chosen to wear for the occasion molded to her curves like a second skin from chest to thighs, and it was all Dylan could do to keep his gaze from lowering to the upper swells of her breasts being pushed up by the tight, strapless band of fabric wrapped around her tempting body.
Don't fucking look, he told himself, because ogling his best friend's full, lush tits wasn't cool. And because he'd spent years keeping his attraction to her a secret from everyone around him, and especially from her, he managed to maintain that normal outward indifference to Serena as a desirable woman, despite the heated lust coursing through his veins. If she'd been any other female, he would have already had that fuck-me dress on the floor and his cock buried eight inches deep inside her.
Surprisingly, it was those dirty thoughts that made him aware of the fact that nothing about her appearance announced that her latest Mr. Right had enjoyed what she'd been offering. There were no wrinkles in her dress, her makeup wasn't smudged, and her honey-blonde hair looked impeccably styled and untouched by a man's hands—unless her date was one of those self-centered guys who had no clue how to please a woman in the bedroom.
Then he recognized the disappointment in her blue eyes and the discouraged slump of her bare shoulders. He was all too familiar with that look of utter defeat because he'd seen it dozens of times before. It told him that yet another douchebag had shattered those hopes and dreams she harbored of finding a husband, getting married, and having babies.
"I take it things didn't go well with Dick?" he asked, stepping back and opening the door wider for her to come in.
"No, it didn't go well at all, and his name is Darren," she corrected as she passed by Dylan, enveloping his senses in a soft, seductive perfume that made his lower region stir inappropriately.
"Darren . . . Dick." He shrugged unapologetically as he closed the door and followed her into his living room, doing his best to keep his eyes off her swaying ass. "Close enough."
She turned around to face him, the barest hint of a smile on her red, glossy lips at the nickname he'd given the latest guy who'd crushed all her expectations and had hurt his best girl. His attempt at humor in these situations—and there had been way too many of them—always helped to lighten the moment, and her mood. He was the guy who was always there to pick up the pieces of her fractured confidence, who bolstered her esteem and encouraged her to give dating a new guy another try. That's what best friends did, because she deserved a good man in her life and that fairy-tale ending she'd been chasing for years.
Her smile faltered as her gaze took in his naked chest, the old, worn sweatpants riding low on his hips, then back up to the hair he knew was all over the place because he'd run his fingers through it a few times while figuring out the glitch in one of the newest apps he was building.
Ironically enough, Serena’s dating woes had inspired the the Boyfriend Experience app he was currently working the bugs out of, which offered a woman the ability to choose the perfect man for her based on her ideals and qualifications—mostly for a temporary arrangement when they needed a quick, on-the-spot fake boyfriend for an event or other occasion. But this latest issue in the code was frustrating the hell out of him and putting him behind on launching the app.
"Umm, I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?" she asked, her voice dropping a husky octave as her pretty blue eyes darted around the room, clearly looking for evidence that he had a guest over.
"If you're asking if I have a woman here, no, I don't." Not that it would matter. He'd always put Serena first, before any female he brought home for the evening. Which was all those dates ever were—casual, no strings, and usually one-night stands because emotional ties were so not his thing. “I was just working on the Boyfriend Experience app and trying to figure out where the problem is in the interface. You know, nerd stuff,” he teased.
Her expression softened with relief that he was alone, and she tossed her small purse on a chair in the living room and returned her gaze to his. "Good, because I really need to vent about my awful night. But first, this tight dress that I can barely breathe in and these stupid shoes that are killing my feet are coming off."
With that announcement, she whirled around and headed down the hallway to his master bedroom, making herself right at home like she always did. As soon as he heard her rifling through his dresser drawers, he headed into the kitchen to get phase two of her breakup routine started. He opened the side-by-side freezer and reached for the only thing that helped to cure her dating-night blues . . . a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.
It wasn't a coincidence that he always had at least three cartons of the flavor on hand at all times. He was always prepared for a late-night visit, because inevitably, Serena's idiotic dates fucked up a good thing and she ended up on his doorstep to wallow in her inability to find a decent, honorable man—one who didn't come with any kind of obnoxious traits, offensive mannerisms, or disturbing personal issues that slowly, eventually, made themselves known over their time together.
He couldn't wait to hear what this latest moron had done to let such an amazing woman slip through his fingers, h
e thought with a smirk. Especially on a night that should have ended in hot, sweaty, multiple-orgasm sex. What guy in his right mind screwed up that kind of sure thing?
Dylan grabbed a spoon from the drawer and frowned at the unwelcome image that filled his head of another dude getting it on with his best girl friend. Okay, if he was honest with himself, Dylan had to admit that he was grateful that the night had been aborted, because he hated knowing or hearing about some other man kissing her, touching her, and doing all the dirty things he'd spent years privately fantasizing about doing with and to Serena.
And how awful was it that he could breathe a little easier when these guys did something stupid or didn't live up to Serena's standards, and she ended things with them? Not because he enjoyed seeing her upset or hurt, but if he was truly honest with himself, he was dreading the day when someone else came along and replaced him in her life as her best friend. It was inevitable that it would happen at some point, and he didn’t like thinking about the possibility.
With her carton of ice cream in hand, he headed into the living room and settled on his dark gray sectional couch, comprised of a large sofa and a chaise lounge attached at the end where he sat. Then onto phase three . . . turning on the Hallmark Channel on the TV so it was playing in the background for now. A few years ago, he’d subscribed to the on-demand service just for her because she loved watching the sentimental movies that gave her hope for the next guy, while he endured the eye-rolling, corny shows for her sake and tried to keep his snarky comments to a minimum while she swooned over the predictable romantic plot.
Down the hall, where the guest bathroom was located, he could hear Serena moving around and water splashing in the sink, then a few minutes later she returned, her now bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. He wasn’t surprised to see that she’d washed her face free of the makeup she’d worn for her date, or the fact that she was wearing one of his old T-shirts, despite having a dedicated drawer and closet space in the guest bedroom, where she kept spare clothes for these impromptu sleepovers.
And yes, he already knew she was staying the night . . . because it was a Friday evening and once her stomach was full of her creamy dessert and she’d finished raking her latest dating disaster over the coals, she’d eventually fall asleep on his couch while they watched one of the latest Hallmark movies. And when she woke up in the morning, she’d expect him to make her the chocolate chip pancakes she loved. It was a ritual they’d done dozens of times before.
He sank into the corner of the couch and stretched his arms across the back cushions, knowing he was probably going to hell for noticing the gentle bounce of her breasts beneath his shirt and the outline of her puckered nipples grazing the soft cotton as she approached. The shirt ended mid-thigh, and instead of taking a long, leisurely journey down her gorgeous legs, he commended himself for lifting his gaze back to her freshly scrubbed face.
But Jesus Christ, there was something so fucking sexy about a woman wearing a man’s shirt—specifically, his shirt—and little else, though Serena was the only female he’d ever allowed that privilege. The first time she’d changed into one of his shirts their freshman year of high school, she’d explained that she liked how the material smelled like him, and being wrapped in his scent made her feel safe and secure.
What she didn’t realize was, by the time she left in the morning and returned his shirt after sleeping in it all night long, it was her fragrance that lingered on the fabric. More times than not, he found himself reduced to his horny, fourteen-year-old self as he buried his nose in the material, inhaled her soft, powdery scent, and imagined the hand stroking his aching cock was hers, instead of his own. It was his one guilty pleasure, since those moments were the closest he’d ever get to satiating his desire for her.
With a heavy sigh, she plopped down onto the couch cushion next to him, causing her breasts to jiggle temptingly once again. She crossed her legs in front of her and tucked the hem of his shirt in between her thighs, but not before unknowingly giving him a quick, memorable glimpse of the red lace panties she’d worn to seduce her dipshit of a date.
After reaching for the pint of Ben and Jerry’s he’d set on the coffee table, Dylan pulled off the lid and handed her the carton, along with the spoon.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and dived right in to the ice cream.
He gave her a couple of minutes to enjoy a few bites and get all that chocolatey goodness into her bloodstream. When he could no longer handle her soft, husky moans of pleasure as she indulged in the treat, as if mere ice cream could make up for the fact that she’d been denied the orgasm she’d been hoping for tonight, he decided it was time to find why she’d ended up at his place instead of in her date’s bed.
“So, what happened with Dick? You’ve been dating him for five weeks now, so I can’t imagine what went wrong . . . unless he’s gay or likes to dress up in women’s lingerie?” he joked.
She shook her head, her lips pursing seriously. “No. Worse than that.”
He raised his brows at her dismayed tone. “Jesus. What could be worse than either of those scenarios?”
Her brows furrowed even more as she met his gaze, her own troubled. “He’s thirty-seven years old, he’s a finance manager for a car dealership, and money doesn’t seem to be an issue for him, considering how he dresses and what he spends on our dates,” she said.
“Okaaay,” Dylan replied, unable to find fault in any of those things.
“He drives a brand-new Mercedes,” she went on, waving her spoon in the air, her gestures and tone growing agitated. “He sends me a dozen roses every week at work and wants to take me to Fiji on vacation.”
Dylan scratched a finger against his temple in complete and utter confusion. The guy sounded damn near perfect. “So flowers and romantic getaways are suddenly a deal breaker for you?”
“No,” she said, adorably exasperated with him now. “Darren is almost forty, and he’s portrayed himself as a successful, financially stable guy, but tonight, I find out that he lives in his mother’s basement.”
“Maybe it’s just a temporary arrangement?” he suggested, trying to give the other guy the benefit of the doubt.
Serena shook her head as her lush, pink lips removed another dollop of ice cream from her spoon. “No, it’s not an interim thing, because I flat out asked. He’s never moved out of the house he’s lived in since childhood with his mother, and doesn’t plan to.”
Dylan blanched in disbelief and had to admit that the scenario was the stuff that horror stories were made of. “Okay, that’s creepy as fuck.”
“I know, right?” she said, sounding vindicated that he agreed with her. “That’s what I thought when I realized he lived in a basement! I could hear his mother moving around upstairs when we first entered the place through a back entrance. And then, as if she’d been waiting for Darren to get home, she opened the basement door, called down to him, and asked if he and his date wanted a slice of Darren’s favorite chocolate cake she’d made.”
As Serena explained the comical situation, Dylan started to chuckle, and by the time she finished, he was in stitches and laughing so hard he snorted.
She grabbed one of the throw pillows on the couch and smacked him in the face with it. “It’s not funny!” she said indignantly, because she always took these dates very seriously, mainly because she was looking for that forever guy and they always disappointed, one way or another.
He pressed a hand to his aching side, still laughing. “No, it’s fucking hilarious.”
“You’re such a jerk,” she said, though the corner of her mouth twitched with humor, which was exactly what he wanted. Darren the Dick wasn’t worth her frustration or anger.
“How did you not know this about him before tonight?” Dylan asked, more serious now. “You’ve been dating him for five weeks.”
“Don’t remind me, because I’m feeling incredibly stupid for investing that kind of time in him,” she said with a shake of her head. “I hones
tly thought he was just being a gentleman about sleeping with me and not pressuring me by taking me to his place.”
Dylan clearly remembered the day that Serena had met Darren, because he’d gone to the car lot with her when she’d traded her small, fuel-efficient vehicle for a newer model and had witnessed the flirtatious overtures between the two of them once Darren discovered that Serena was single and Dylan was just a friend. By the time she’d signed the finance paperwork and had her new keys in hand, the other guy had Serena’s digits in his phone with a promise to call and set up a date.
Up until this point, Darren had practically checked all the pertinent boxes as the prince charming Serena had been searching for. Economically stable, check. Attentive and thoughtful, check. Emotionally available, check. Hell, they’d also talked about the fact that they both wanted marriage and a family.
Even the few times that Dylan had been around him, he’d never seen a cause for concern, which maybe, in hindsight, should have been a cause for concern, he thought wryly. No guy was without their issues and faults . . . especially one who was thirty-seven and had never been married. Obviously, there was a reason for that, and tonight Serena had discovered her date’s fatal flaw that had undoubtedly ended many relationships before theirs . . . the fact that Darren was first and foremost a mama’s boy and probably always would be.
She put her half-eaten carton of ice cream on the coffee table and exhaled a huge sigh. “I guess I should have suspected something wasn’t right since we always went to my apartment after a date because he claimed it was easier or closer or some other reason that I accepted. And tonight, being the big night,” she said, putting the two words in air quotes, “he wanted to take me to a nice hotel and spend the night there, but that just felt . . . well, cheap to me. Especially for our first time together. So, I suggested we go to his place, and while I know he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, I told him that it was important to me to see where he lived.”
