by Lila Monroe
“What? No, no,” I protest. “I’m listening.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” he asks, not bothering to hide his smile.
“Then what did I just say?”
Crap. I have no clue; I was too busy watching his mouth move. “Something about . . . green engines?” I guess. “And horsepower? And like . . .” I wrack my brain for some other car-related term. “. . . spark plugs?”
Cal snorts. “Spark plugs,” he says, nodding seriously. “Definitely.”
“Whatever.” I can feel myself blushing, knowing he’s onto me. “Spark plugs are a thing.” I should stand up and put some space between us—I am going to stand up and put some space between us, any second now—but when I glance up Cal’s staring back at me, the intent on his face unmistakable.
Hello.
Before I can react, he pulls me closer, and claims my mouth with a hot, sizzling kiss.
I gasp in surprise against him, and Cal pauses, almost like he’s realizing what he’s done. But it’s too late.
I want him.
I kiss him back, hard, and thank heavens, Cal doesn’t need any more invitation. He hauls me to my feet and backs me up against the desk, sliding his tongue deep into my mouth as his hands rove everywhere. I return the favor, exploring the broad plane of his chest and mmmm, that tight ass, thinking wildly about all the flat surfaces in his office we could use. The desk? This godawful settee? I don’t care, just as long as I get him naked and—
“Hey Cal?” A voice breaks the sound of our panting. Someone’s tapping at the door. I leap away from Cal like I’ve been electrocuted just before his assistant walks in. “The Noguchi folks are waiting for you in the—oh, I’m sorry.” Jason stops, eyes darting from me to Cal and back again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine,” I exclaim brightly. My face feels like it’s on fire. “We were just, um, discussing business.”
Real smooth.
“I’m going to see what the kids are up to,” I continue, backing away. I quickly smooth down my shirt. “Bye!”
I dart past Jason and down the hallway, then duck into a stairwell to catch my breath. That was a close one.
And hot.
Close, and hot, and definitely not part of the program.
I sink back against the wall, cringing. I know the whole point of this crazy scheme is to make it look like we’re engaged, and getting caught sucking face wouldn’t be a big deal to his employees. But it felt like a big deal to me.
And I would know, I was pressed up against him.
Ahem.
All at once a million vivid memories of the night Cal and I spent together in Vegas come barreling at me, faster and more powerfully than any top-of-the-line racecar ever could.
“Fuck,” I mutter, banging my head softly against the cinderblock wall of the staircase. “Fuck.”
Which: yeah. That’s pretty much what happened.
8
Las Vegas, Three Years Earlier
Cal takes my hand as we weave through the crowded, smoky casino, past the all-night buffet and the reservations desk and an enormous statue of some bare-breasted Grecian women drawing water from a well. Finally we reach a bank of elevators; I watch with interest as he scans his key card and hits the button for PH. “Big spender,” I tease, surprised.
Cal shrugs, grinning wolfishly. “Lucky night.”
A moment later the elevator doors open onto a massive suite, all white marble and plush carpets, an enormous arrangement of lilies on a round table in a center hall. You could fit my crappy studio in the lobby, and as for the view . . . Through the wall of windows in the living room I can see the whole strip spread out beneath us like a carnival in the middle of the desert, bright and blinking.
Holy shit, who is this guy?
“This work for you?” Cal asks, a hint of a smile in his voice. When I turn around, startled, he’s leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, watching me.
I blush a little, realizing that I’ve been openly gawking. “Well, I’ll tell you, it’s better than the room Kelly and I are sharing at Planet Hollywood,” I confess, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress. “All the rooms over there are movie-themed, did you know that? So, like, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, or Casablanca, or whatever.”
“Oh yeah?” Cal asks. “What’s yours?”
I grimace. “Seven.”
That makes him laugh. “Sounds like an experience,” he says, pushing off the wall and coming to stand beside me.
“Yup.”
I’m tongue-tied with anticipation, but I feel out of my depth. This isn’t some guy from class, getting drunk at the pub then going to grind on a mattress while his roommate plays video games across the hall.
This guy is charming. Sophisticated.
And really, really hot.
He closes the distance between us in two long strides and suddenly we’re close enough that I can feel the body heat radiating off him; I can see the flecks of hazel in his eyes. His fingertips caress my waist, rubbing gently through my dress, and I shiver. “Do that again,” I hear myself say.
Cal arches a teasing eyebrow. “What, this?” He reaches down and slides his hands up under the short hem of my dress, palms skating along my thighs and higher until his fingertips land on my bare skin, stroking back and forth.
“Um, yup,” I say, breathless, my head thunking back against the window. Jesus, he hasn’t even kissed me yet. “That.”
Cal smiles, his clever fingers just barely teasing the elastic waistband of my thong. He holds the eye contact for another second, steady, before leaning in and capturing my mouth in a hot, slow kiss.
Damn, he’s good. In my experience, first kisses are never as exciting as the buildup, but with him it’s somehow better. I wrap my arms around his neck, reaching up on my tiptoes to press the full length of my body against his.
Cal pulls me even closer, grinding his hips against mine for a moment before pulling back. “Off,” he says, nodding to my dress, and my stomach flips over at the command in his voice.
Fuck, that’s sexy.
I do as he says, shimmying out of the tight fabric and letting it drop to the floor.
“Damn,” he mutters, his gaze flicking up and down my body, then he yanks me in and kisses me again. Just like that the air between us is on fire. I can feel his cock against my hip, hard and insistent, and my legs turn to jelly, an electric ache shooting between my thighs.
“Okay,” I gasp, even as I’m tilting my head back so he can lick against my neck. “You got a bed in this palace, or what?”
Cal grins.
We barely even make it there, careening off the wall in the hallway and tripping on the carpet, kissing hot and wet and filthy. I want to touch him everywhere at once. When we finally get to the bedroom door Cal grabs me underneath the ass and lifts me, tossing me right onto the mattress so hard I lose both my shoes.
“Too bad,” he mutters into my mouth, sliding a hand under my back and working the clasp of my bra with capable fingers. “I was going have you leave them on.”
I gasp as his mouth finds my breasts, licking and teasing until my nipples are stiff, sensitive peaks. He pulls away, but I don’t even have time to complain before he’s easing me onto my back and kissing his way down my belly, pulling my lacy black thong down. He nudges my thighs open with one broad shoulder, and I sink back into the pillows with a moan.
He ducks his head, sucking lightly at my stomach and nipping along the crease of my thigh, teasing. When he finally closes his mouth over me and licks, I buck up so hard I’m worried I gave him a fat lip.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, glancing down “You okay?”
“Easy, tiger,” he murmurs with a grin. “Or I’ll have to tie you down.”
Holy shit.
I sink back again, as his wicked mouth does all kinds of things to me. It feels incredible, but for some reason, I can’t let go. Fuck, I’m close, wound so tightly, but something’s holding me back.
/>
To my embarrassment, Cal notices: “So, not to complain, because I could do this all night,” he says, giving me a lazy smile as his fingers dip and tease. “But if you want to give me any direction . . .”
“No!” I blurt. “Believe me, everything you’re doing is A-plus. It’s me,” I sigh, still tense. “I’ve never actually done this before.”
Cal blinks.
Oh God. “I’ve had sex before!” I protest. “I just mean, you know. With a stranger.”
Cal smirks at me, his gaze flicking down my naked body and up again. “I’m hardly a stranger at this point.”
“We met like two hours ago!” I point out. “You are unequivocally a stranger.”
“Okay, Okay.” Cal grins. “You want to stop?”
“No!” I practically shriek.
He laughs. “So, what do you want to do?”
I pause. “Tell me something about you,” I decide finally. “Tell me, like, one true thing.”
“Hm.” Cal keeps kissing my thighs while he thinks, and I shiver at the faint scrape of stubble; I’ll have marks there tomorrow, I know, the idea of it weirdly thrilling. “My favorite book is Jurassic Park,” he says at last.
“Really?” The randomness of it makes me laugh; I clap a hand over my mouth.
“Fuck off!” he says, grinning. “That’s a great book!”
“I’m sure it is,” I tell him. “I’ll have to check it out.” I lift my hips up in invitation, satisfied at the idea of knowing even this much more about him. After all, this is just a one-night thing. It’s not like I need to see his birth certificate. “You know. Later.”
“Later,” Cal agrees wryly, ducking his head one more time. “Not now.”
I gasp as he licks against me again, and slides one thick finger inside me, then another, curling them right up against my G-spot until I moan.
It doesn’t take long this time, his mouth and his hands and most of all the single-mindedness of him, like here is a person who knows how to shut up and get things done. I come with a shudder, pleasure shattering through me, but it’s not enough. It’s just a taste, and I want the whole damn enchilada tonight.
I mean, it would be a waste of this hotel suite and Cal’s clearly expert skills not to get well and truly laid.
“Come here,” I gasp, still reeling. Fuck, he’s still fully dressed. I work the buttons on his shirt with fumbling hands,. “Pants too,” I order, reaching down and stroking his cock through the denim. Cal groans.
“Look who’s bossy,” he grins, pushing himself roughly against my hand.
“I’m always bossy,” I tell him, laughing. “I prefer to think of it as having solid leadership abilities.”
Cal smirks. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promises, kissing me one more time before standing up and kicking off his boots. I don’t even pretend not to stare as he pulls his jeans off—he’s got black boxer briefs on underneath, and a bulge so pronounced I feel myself swallow.
Hello, stranger.
He glances in my direction, catches me ogling one more time. “Were you hoping for a striptease?” he asks, thumbs hooked in his waistband.
“Well, I was promised some Down Under action,” I manage to tease, only he’s completely naked now and it comes out a lot more breathlessly than I mean for it to. “Fuck, Cal.”
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding dumbly pleased.
“Shut up,” I say, rolling over onto my back and throwing an arm over my eyes. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
“Uh-uh,” Cal says; I hear the rustling of a condom packet and a second later he’s back on the bed and dragging my elbow away from my face, hard body looming over me. “No hiding, Jules Robinson.”
“Not hiding.” I reach for him, pulling his body down to cover me. He pushes inside me inch by delicious inch.
Fuck, that’s good.
“I wanted you,” Cal groans against my mouth, teeth sinking into my bottom lip like punctuation. “From the second I saw you sitting there in that dress, I wanted—Jesus Christ, Jules.”
He moves against me, and I match him, stroke for stroke. We may be virtual strangers but this, fuck—this we do like we’ve known each other forever. I grip his shoulders, not caring if my nails leave scratches, and he rolls us, moving me on top and surging up, deep inside.
“Fuck,” I moan aloud, not caring how it sounds. I’m close again, but this time, I can feel it all the way to my toes, an avalanche of pleasure waiting to be unleashed. I grind at him hungrily, Cal reaching up to tease and grip my breasts, and then he’s flipped us again and I land on my back with a gasp, just as he pins my wrists to the mattress and thrusts into me again, hard.
“Cal,” I gasp, writhing against his grip. “God, I’m close!”
He fucks me again, no holding back now, and damn, I love it. I love the fact I won’t see this guy tomorrow, so I don’t have to think twice about thrusting brazenly against him, or crying his name out loud, begging so shamelessly I don’t even recognize myself as the pleasure builds higher and his cock drives me closer, and we pant, and wrestles, and hurtle over the edge into the most epic orgasm of my whole life.
Oh. My. God.
We lie there after it’s over, sweat cooling and breath slowing down. Cal traces idle patterns with one finger on the sensitive skin of my back. I don’t know the etiquette for this: it feels like I should probably make a quick exit to avoid whatever awkwardness is speeding in our direction, fast and flattening as a cross-country train, but when I start to shift my weight he reaches a hand out to stop me.
“Stay,” he mutters into my hair, his voice low and quiet; when I lift my head to look at him his eyes are sleepy and somehow inviting.
“Okay,” I tell him, nodding slowly. I rest my cheek against his chest and listen to the sound of his heartbeat, slow and steady, until I finally fall asleep.
9
Cal
The kids spend the rest of the afternoon jumping on the trampoline in the yard, coming in for dinner sweaty and askew. Once they’re showered and tucked into bed, I find Jules in
the kitchen, surveying the mess with her hands on her hips. “They get down okay?” she asks, glancing over at me.
“Um, yup” I report. The truth is tonight was a disaster: Lottie will hardly speak to me, barely glancing up from her book long enough to grunt one-syllable answers to my questions, and Ezra threw a pre-bath tantrum so loud they probably heard him all the way across the river.
I’m in way over my head with these kids, and it’s obvious. To Jules—and to them, most of all. “Everybody’s in bed.”
Jules nods, eyeing me carefully. “You okay?” she asks, scooping a couple of plates off the table and carrying them over to the sink.
“Yeah, totally,” I say automatically, before letting out a sigh. “This is exhausting,” I confide. Then, off her raised eyebrows: “Not in a bad way, counselor. I just mean, like, objectively.”
I’m waiting for some kind of scolding—They’re kids, Cal; what did you expect it to be like?—but Jules just nods. “It’s totally exhausting,” she agrees, pushing her sleeves up and turning the faucet on. “I haven’t been this tired since law school.”
I picture it for a moment without entirely meaning to—twenty-two-year-old Jules in sweatpants and glasses, burning the midnight oil in the law library, a pencil shoved into all that yellow hair—but that just leads to memories of freshly-graduated Jules, propping up the bar in her illegally-hot black dress.
Nope. Danger lies in that direction, so I bring the rest of the dirty dishes over to the sink, and we work in companionable silence for a few minutes, Jules rinsing plates before handing them to me to set in the dishwasher.
See? Nothing sexy about dirty dishes.
“Great stacking,” she says, looking surprised.
“What, you think I don’t know how to load a dishwasher?” I make a face. “I’m not completely useless.”
“Well, no,” she allows, tilting her head to the side. “Not completely.”<
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“Oh, you think you’re funny,” I say, reaching over to dip my fingers in the suds before flicking them in her direction.
“I am,” she says, flicking me back. “And don’t start.”
“Start what?” I ask, reaching over and splashing more. But this time, the water hits her square on, soaking her T-shirt so the thin cotton goes translucent. Clinging to her curves, and the outline of her bra.
Okay, so apparently dirty dishes can get sexy, after all.
Jules clears her throat and grabs a hooded sweatshirt from the back of a chair and pulls it on—zipping all the way to her chin. “You good to finish in here?” she asks, looking flustered.
I nod. Down, boy. “You go put your feet up.”
“You don’t have to ask twice.”
Jules exits the kitchen, fast, and I sigh. Kissing her back at HQ was a massive mistake . . . which left me with a massive hard-on for the rest of the afternoon. I couldn’t help it. Something about Jules is dangerously kissable.
And lickable.
And definitely fuckable.
I scowl at the dishcloths. I’ve never had a problem keeping my hands to myself before, and if I wanted to get a workout, I have plenty of options. I may not be living the wild playboy lifestyle anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m a monk.
But Jules is off limits.
Which is probably why I’m going crazy over here trying not to notice the way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking . . . or how her jeans fit way too well.
And if I even let myself start to remember how she felt in Vegas, bucking against me, begging for more—
Fuck, I’m going to need a damn cold shower twice a day at this rate.
I finish clean-up duty and grab a beer from the fridge. Then I pause, and take one for Jules, too. It’s only polite, after all, and we are going to be stuck together in this house until I win custody. Roommates, that’s how I need to start thinking about her.
Professional, platonic roommates.
She’s in the living room, sprawled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her stomach.
