Ian’s SUV was as high end as his suit. She might have made a comment about him compensating, but with the weather where he lived, four- or all-wheel drive was a necessity. The hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar price tag the Porsche carried was more of a luxury.
Like Mercy, Ian and Liz were born into money, though Mercy surrendered her inheritance when she left home at eighteen and dropped her family name. Ian earned what he had now, by keeping the family agency alive and thriving after his parents passed. It still left the tiniest hint of resentment inside Mercy. A feeling she didn’t like.
The restaurant was tamer than the car, to her relief. A microbrewery with a thinning crowd—given the late hour—but no dress code, and the prices didn’t make her wallet recoil in horror. They were seated quickly, at a table with no one else nearby. After the day she had, the quiet was both deafening and saintly. Small talk flowed easily with Ian, but he kept it neutral. They swapped tidbits about the weather, sales software, and industry rumors. Nothing provocative.
It didn’t stop her from studying him whenever she had the chance, racking her brain for a way to shift the conversation back to something sexier without looking like she was trying too hard.
Damn it, why had she shut him down?
“Are the two of you ready, or do you need a minute?” The waiter, who introduced himself as Steve, startled Mercy from her musings.
Ian looked at her with expectation. She handed Steve the menu. “Cup of the house soup for me.”
Ian raised his brows. “Steak sandwich, no onions, and fries.” He turned back to Mercy, as soon as Steve was out of earshot. “Don’t tell me you’ve become one of them?”
“One of what?”
“Those girls who only picks at her food in front of other people. You know you’re already skinny, right?”
Embarrassment pushed through her veins, white-hot and leaving her skin burning. She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “I do know. Thanks for pointing it out, though.” Okay, so she didn’t have gorgeous curves like Liz, or the kind of voluptuous tits some of Andrew’s starlets had, but it wasn’t her fault. She had a high metabolism. And God damn it, if she didn’t get enough grief for it from pretty much everyone ever, which included countless advice sessions from well-meaning teachers and colleagues, trying to get her to own up to eating disorders she didn’t have.
Liz knew better, and Mercy thought by some stupid extension Ian would remember how much the teasing bothered her when they were younger. That was a mistake on her part.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Was that actually apology in his eyes? “A joke gone wrong. I’m sorry. If you weren’t hungry, you should have said so.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Refused to see any pity in his eyes. “Maybe I liked the excuse to spend some more time with—” She snapped her jaw shut before she could say more. There was no reason to whine about this or toss it back in his face. “Forget it.”
“I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me.” He reached across the table and trailed his finger over her knuckles.
He wasn’t supposed to sound sincere. Why was he being so irritatingly… scripted tonight? “It’s all right,” she said. “Or rather, it’s not, but the apology helps.”
And now the conversation was over. So much for shifting things back toward sexy and playful. The sum total of zero topics for changing the subject flew to mind. She could ask him about Marx. That was what started it back in the day. Or tease him about selling his soul to The Man, to run Thompson advertising—a joke that might fall as flat as his did.
The food arrived, and still they didn’t do more than exchange bland nods and mumbles. She poked at her soup, even less hungry than before but feeling compelled to eat it anyway.
“Most interesting advertising request you’ve ever gotten?” Ian’s tone was neutral, and the question drew Mercy’s attention. “I’m not looking for details or names. I just like a good story.”
This was a conversation she didn’t mind. “Well… Despite the nature of my clients, I’ll be honest of their requests are pretty basic and straightforward. Their ads have to be search-engine friendly, depending on where we place them, so the most creative it gets is finding new ways to say, hot naked people for all your fetishes.”
“For some reason, I pictured a lifestyle of hot-tub parties and ecstasy-laced margaritas.”
“No you didn’t.” She wasn’t sure how she knew he was teasing. His voice didn’t give it away. There was the faintest smile around his eyes, and she only recognized that because Liz got the same look when she thought she was being clever and didn’t want to let on. This was so much better than dancing around Mercy’s insecurities—or stabbing them in the eye with a pointy stick, as the case may be. “I bet, Mr. I-have-expense-accounts-from-here-to-Timbuktu, your stories are way better than mine.” His comment about her weight still stung, but pushing forward made it easier to mute the nagging in her head.
“Not really. Though there is the occasional hot-tub party.” He talked between tiny bites of his food and never mentioned she only picked at hers.
“No? Nothing in all your vast experience has stood out as bizarre?”
“There are always little things.”
An impish impulse snaked through her, and she reached across the table, to steal one of his fries and dip it in her soup. “Like what?”
“We had a guy once, who wanted an infomercial. You know—half-hour spot, late-night TV, to hawk his wares.”
“People still make those?”
“Yes.” Ian laughed. “Some of us still live in the Stone Age and don’t know much about things like crowd funding and YouTube. Anyway, he insisted this product of his was amazing. Socks, gloves, various braces, that would pull the impurities from the body.”
“As in, chemical toxins and such?” It didn’t sound like such a unique idea to her. But there was always a catch.
“As in, the multitude of evil spirits that inhabit each person.”
She almost choked on her bisque. “You’re serious.”
“He certainly was.”
“God.” Possibilities bounded to life in her head. “I can just picture this thing. But wait—there’s more. Act now, and we’ll throw in the vinyl summoning circle, so you can control your own exorcised armies.”
“They’ll clean your dishes,” Ian joined in. “Scrub your bathrooms. They even do windows.”
The commercial practically wrote itself. “And for today’s low introductory price of just nineteen-ninety-nine, we’ll throw in a second set of Exor-socks in beige. That’s right. Two pairs for the price of one. Rent your extra minions to the neighbors.”
They both dissolved into fits of laughter, which died and revived each time one of them tacked another offer onto the end.
When she caught her breath, Mercy asked, “So what happened to him?”
“He insisted no budget was too big, so we mocked up a script and proposal, and sat him down. Nothing this good, mind you, but it wasn’t bad.” Ian shoved his half-finished sandwich aside and leaned in, fingers intertwined. “We gave him a rough estimate on price, and he balked. Said he wasn’t paying more than five-hundred dollars, and we were a bunch of crooks.”
“It takes all kinds.” The restaurant had emptied while they talked, leaving them alone in the back corner. How long before someone started hinting it was time for them to leave? She wasn’t quite ready for that.
Mercy heard Steve’s oh, shit seconds before something light struck her shoulder, and wine spilled down her front, soaking her in red.
Chapter Four
“Jesus. I’m so sorry.” Steve was by her side in an instant, handing her a towel and reaching for napkins.
She waved him away. “I got it.” The last thing she needed was this kid dabbing a house red from her boobs… which were rapidly cooling, nipples drawing to hard nubs.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get more towels.”
“It’s okay.” She stopped him. “I’ll clean up in the
restroom.” Steve scampered off, and Mercy looked up to find Ian watching her, his gaze drifting between her chest and face, and a half-smile playing on his lips. “Enjoying the show?” she asked, his attention chasing away any irritation about being spilled on.
“It’s a good look for you.” Laughter tinged his words. “Do you want help, cleaning up? I can make sure you get all rinsed off and patted dry.”
She was tempted to take him up on the offer. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She almost looked over her shoulder, to see if he was watching her walk away, but a tiny voice told her she didn’t want to know.
A couple dozen paper towels later, with the assistance of generous helpings of soap and water, her sweater had a faint burgundy hue to it, instead of looking like she’d been stabbed. It still clung to her skin, damp and wrinkled. Her night was probably over.
When she approached their table again, Ian stood. “That top looks like it’s seen better days.”
“And just as many bad ones.” She couldn’t find enough annoyance in her, to be pissed off. The night was pleasant, despite its bumps.
He shrugged out of his jacket. “Turn around.”
“I— Why?”
“You need this more than I do.” He stepped behind her and pulled the suit jacket up her arms and onto her shoulders.
She should argue. Tell him she was fine. As the faint scent of his cologne washed over her, and his lingering heat sank into her skin, she decided obligatory protests could wait their turn. “Thank you.”
He rested a hand at the small of her back—God, that felt good—and pointed her toward the door. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked. “The manager stopped by and apologized. Comped the meal. Insisted you bill him for the top.”
“That was nice of him. It was an accident.”
“I know. I left the kid a good tip, though you should still charge them for the sweater.”
“I picked it up for two bucks in Peru. It’s time I retire it.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. They made their way back to the parking lot. As they approached Ian’s car, she turned to him, to thank him for the evening. Her words died in her throat when she realized how close he stood, face inches from hers.
He adjusted the lapels on the jacket, tugging it closer around her, and trailed his fingers down the front. His hands drifted centimeters from her skin. If she thrust out her chest, he’d brush her nipples. So, so tempting.
“You look good in this.” His tone was low and husky, and his gaze traveled the same path as his hands.
Not as good as you do. Again, her voice failed her.
He stepped closer, boxing her against the car. “I desperately want to kiss you, Mercy. And I’m praying you’ll tell me yes.”
She forced her vocal chords to work. “Yes.”
He brushed his lips over hers, and a moan slid from her chest. When he deepened the kiss, gliding his tongue into her mouth to wrestle with hers, she groaned. The rough, damp fabric of her sweater bit the rigid peaks on her chest when she pressed into him, and an ache of need grew between her legs. She wanted more of this. More of him. A bit of groping in the parking lot wasn’t going to sate the throb pulsing through her.
He rested a hand at the base of her neck, palm snuggled against her jaw, and held her captive. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, before letting go and pulling away. “Fuck, you’re a challenge.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that, but she liked the sound of it. “It’s not as delicious if you don’t have to work for it.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” He nudged her head back and drew his mouth up the side of her neck. “You’re carrying on half of an intelligent conversation”—his lips vibrated against her skin—“while I’m trying to keep up and not sound like a moron.” He pressed into her, and his erection dug into her stomach, teasing and tempting. “And all my blood’s already rushed to a different extremity.”
Why did they leave the hotel? She couldn’t remember now. At least they’d parked in a back corner of the lot, and no one else was around. “I’m not letting you strip me down out here any more than I would have back there.” If he called her bluff, he’d find out she was pretty willing either place. Excitement danced along her skin, and the way his jacket embraced her was intoxicating.
He settled his other hand on her stomach, and the heat of his palm scorched away the chill from her damp top. “I can do a lot without taking off your clothes.” He inched higher as he talked. When he dragged his thumb across her rock-hard nipple, she whimpered. “And don’t think for a minute I didn’t notice you’re not wearing a bra,” he said.
“What did you have in mind?” Her question was punctuated by gasps for breath. He abraded the swollen nub, and she rocked her hips in time to his attentions.
“Nothing specific. More of an overall desire to make you come, and watch you pant and squirm until then.”
She heard enough dirty talk in her line of work, most of it came off as cheesy and forced. Something about the way he spoke drove straight to her core. Maybe it was because he meant it, or simply that the way he fondled her, pinching and twisting at the right time, flooded her thoughts with temptation and promise. “I’m good with playing things by ear,” she said.
“And they are adorable ears.” He traced his tongue along the curve of one, before nibbling and sucking on the lobe.
She almost didn’t believe this. Ian Thompson, the biggest crush she had growing up, was feeling her up in a dark parking lot. Because he wanted to. She should get some kind of achievement-unlocked trophy for this. On top of everything else, he’d found almost every erogenous zone she had above the shoulders. He bit into her shoulder, playfully at first, and increased the pressure when she groaned. Correction—he’d found them all.
She dug her fingers into his arms, to steady herself, and her hips moved with a mind of their own, gyrating with each new pinch, tug, or lick from him. It was all incredible, but it wasn’t going to get her off.
He dragged his palm down her stomach and inched under the waistband of her jeans. He’d either read her mind or her desperate grind gave her away. She didn’t care which, as long as it worked. When he parted her folds and brushed her clit, she jerked against his hand.
“Good spot?” His laugh was strained.
“Perfect spot.”
He traced circles around her sex. When she cupped him through his slacks, he increased his pace. She stroked his erection as best she could but lost track of everything as he pushed her closer to the edge. Her thoughts fuzzed, and pleasure spilled through her. She bit the inside of her lip, to keep from screaming into the night, intensely aware they were still in public—and more than a little turned on by the fact they might get caught. That wasn’t supposed to make her hotter.
He zeroed in on the right spot, and she whimpered louder. “Right there,” she managed.
He picked up the speed but didn’t change the pressure, and orgasm built inside, nudging, pushing her toward the edge and then over. She gripped his arm tighter when she came, digging her nails through fabric and into skin. Scrambling for purchase. She rasped against his touch, until it was too much and her body shuddered away.
“You’re gorgeous when you come.” He laid kisses along her jaw, up her cheek, and finally on her forehead.
She managed a chuckle and sagged against him. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe. But I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.”
She extracted his hand from her jeans and held his gaze when she raised his fingers to her mouth. One at a time, she licked them clean, trailing her tongue along each pad, and spending several seconds on each tip and knuckle.
A low growl rumbled from him. “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?” She dragged his last finger over her bottom lip, pulling out a pout before letting go of his wrist.
“Because”—he pressed into her, erection hard and insistent against her stomach—“you said I couldn’t strip you do
wn out here, and I’m already struggling to keep that in mind.”
*
Mercy scrunched up her face and wrinkled her nose in thought. “And you said, I can do a lot without taking off your clothes.”
When she reached for his belt and bent her knees, Ian had to draw on the last of his willpower, to grab her and pull her upright. She was willing to give him a blowjob, without prompting. Yet he preferred to drop her off and keep the memories of the night as they stood, rather than let her do something she’d regret if they got caught. What the hell was wrong with him?
“You don’t have to do that.” He couldn’t help stealing another kiss. “I’ll take you back.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t argue. Damn, why didn’t she argue? Instead, she stepped aside, let him open the door, and slid into her seat.
He adjusted himself as he strode to his side of the car. This was going to be the longest drive in history, and after he dropped her off, he still had another half hour up the canyon before he got home. When he was seated, he realized she was kneeling on the seat, watching him, a deceptively innocent smirk dancing on her full lips.
“What are you up to, Mercy?” His throat was dry from need. He wished he could fuck her right now. The seats in the back folded down, and the thing had tinted windows. His resolve not to push things was rapidly evaporating.
She dragged a single finger along the bulge in his slacks, teasing his cock, tracing over the head and back down the other side, before she reached for his zipper. “Returning the favor.”
And… his resistance was gone. He didn’t care they sat in a public place. No one was around, anyway. The only thing he could focus on was her cool, soft skin when she freed his shaft. She ran her tongue over the tip of his cock, and he leaned his head back with a groan. She took his length in her mouth, and he couldn’t help tangling his fingers in her hair.
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