Dirty Rich One Night Stand: a sexy standalone novel

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I know it’s the morning after, and goodbye should have been last night, but this is over, and I can’t help but touch him one last time. I reach up and trace his lips and then let the rough edges of his one-day stubble brush my skin. He blinks awake and I start to pull away, but he catches my hand. “Good morning,” he says, those blue eyes flecked with amber sunlight, his lips that I was just touching, brushing my knuckles. “How are you?” he asks.

  “Better once the awkward morning after is over.”

  He laughs. “There is no awkward morning after, Cat. There’s pancakes and coffee, and possibly, no, absolutely, more sex. And I can’t seem to find the awkwardness in any of that, can you?”

  One and done, I tell myself. “What are we doing here, Reese?” I ask, but as he shifts slightly, I become aware of an impending need that takes precedence over my question. “Hold that answer. I have no choice but to announce that I have to pee. Really badly.”

  “Is that right?” He chuckles.

  “Yes. Which means I must request that you immediately remove your leg from my leg and, before I stand up, which always makes these situations worse, direct me to the bathroom.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes. I didn’t go all night last night. Get up!”

  “All right, all right. The bathroom is immediately to the left by the stairs right off the entryway.” He lifts his leg and releases me.

  I roll away, immediately aware of how very naked I am and since I don’t exactly have time to dress right now, I tug on the blanket that we’ve been covered up with. I start to walk, taking it with me, but after one step I realize that I’ve left Reese naked and uncovered. I rotate to find him shifting to a sitting position. And yes, indeed, he is one hundred percent as naked as I thought and it’s a beautiful sight.

  He arches a brow in my direction, mischief and understanding in his eyes. “I thought you had to pee?”

  “I do.”

  Mischief lights his blue eyes, sprinkles of sunlight in their depths. “Then why are you standing there?”

  “Because you’re naked,” I say, seeing no reason to deny the obvious. He is naked. And perhaps the most perfect male specimen I’ve ever seen up close and personal.

  “If you keep standing there,” he warns “I’m going to pull you back over here, make sure you’re naked as well, and say good morning properly.”

  “Oh,” I say. “No. That’s not possible at this very moment.” His phone starts to ring, and he snatches up his pants. “That’s the second call,” I say, dashing across the room as I hear him say, “Hello,” into his phone.

  I hurry past the couches and think about my clothes. I backtrack and scoop up my bra, dress, and shoes, though my panties appear to be missing. I have delayed my relief so long that I need to pee ten times worse than moments before. So much so that I have to walk cautiously, but quickly, toward said relief. I enter the hallway, and sure enough, there is an archway just to the left of the living room entryway. I dart through it and find the winding stairwell covered in the same beautiful mahogany hardwood as the rest of the house. To my left beside those stairs is a doorway. I pull it open, and sure enough, it’s the bathroom.

  Hurrying inside the small room that just has a toilet and a fancy white ceramic sink, I drop the blanket and do my business. Once I’m done, I walk to the sink, wash my hands, and look in the mirror, and good grief. My hair is standing on end. And, of course, day-old makeup minus lipstick is never flattering. I dare to open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and find toothpaste, floss, and a toothbrush. I grab the toothpaste and use my finger and the floss to do a pretty good job on my mouth. There is no hairbrush to save the mess on my head and I’m not washing my face with hand soap.

  I grab the white ceramic sink and try to process the fact that I’m naked in Reese’s guest bathroom, the morning after having all kinds of wonderful sex with him. And I’m not really sorry and I don’t think he is either. I am, however, confused. This isn’t how I thought this would play out, and I don’t really know what I feel right now. I should go. Or should I stay?

  I decide clothing gives me options. I quickly dress, and I’ve just stepped into my shoes when I hear, “Cat,” at the door.

  Inhaling, I’m nervous all over again, which is silly. I’ve been naked with him. I wanted this as a one and done. I force myself to open the door, and I’m rewarded with another wonderful view. I find him shirtless, his pants from last night on but unzipped. His eyes are hot as they look me over.

  “I liked you better in the blanket,” he says, resting his arm on the doorframe above his head, all that springy, dark hair on his chest, hard to not track here and there and everywhere. “Even better without it.”

  “I liked you better without it, too,” I dare. “That’s why I took it.”

  He snags my waist and walks me to him. “Stop trying to make this an awkward morning after.”

  “I’m not.”

  He arches a brow.

  I say, “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  I go back to my pre-bathroom thinking. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

  “We’ll figure it out. But we do have a slight situation. I called Royce Walker last night to ask for some help on this trial. He and his brother seem to think they found something. They’re on their way here now.”

  “Oh,” I say, because I’m brilliant like that. Real words that mean things come from my mouth.

  “And,” he adds, “we slept later than I thought. It’s ten thirty. My co-counsels will be here at noon to work on the case.” His cellphone rings in his pocket. “Give me just one minute, sweetheart.” He kisses me, a quick, minty-fresh brush of his lips against mine that tells me he found the toothpaste too. “One minute,” he says again as if it’s a promise, digging his phone from his pocket, which pulls his pants down to a spot that is dangerously distracting. “Hello,” he says into his phone, and then covers it with his hand to look at me. “Come to the kitchen. We’ll make coffee.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, but rather turns around and says, “What’s up?”

  I don’t follow him. I’m feeling too incredibly awkward again. I exit the bathroom and head toward the living room, grabbing my bag, purse, and computer and packing up. I’ve just made it to the front door when I hear, “Cat,” and Reese snags my arm and turns me to face him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving,” I say, when, of course, we both knew that before this exchange.

  “Without talking to me first?”

  “It’s awkward after all, and you have your trial and—”

  “Help me with the trial. I know it’s not the most exciting weekend, but spend it here, and help me catch a killer.” He steps into me and slides a hand to my face. “I need you here. I want you here.”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “I do. It’s illogical, I know. We just met, but I do need you here.” He backs me up until I’m pressed to the door. “I can’t help what I have going on in my life right now. Be a part of it. You are a part of it. It’s how we met. It’s your job, too. Let’s do our jobs together.”

  “Reese, I—”

  “You’re good at closing statements. I need to deliver a killer closing to the jury and, apparently, to you. Say yes. To helping with the trial and to finding out what this is between us. I need to know. Don’t you?”

  Somehow, this man, who I’ve called an asshole and wanted one and done, has turned everything around. He made me want and need him, and then said everything I wanted and needed to hear and didn’t know I wanted and needed to hear it. “Yes and yes,” I dare, because there simply isn’t another option I can live with. “But I have to go home and shower and change. Preferably before the Walker clan gets here.”

  “That’s any minute now.”

  “Oh God. I have to go.” I turn toward the door and Reese opens it so I can exit, but then catches my arm and turns me back to him. “Don’t run. I know you were burned. But I’m not him and I don’t chase women
, Cat, but I’ll chase you.” He strokes my cheek, and I can’t breathe as he repeats, “I’ll chase you.” He releases me.

  I turn away and start walking as his words ring in my head: I’m not him. The idea that my ex-asshole is controlling me right now stops me in my tracks. He is. He can’t have that control. I turn back around and find Reese still standing in the doorway. I march right back to him, press my hand to that gorgeous chest of his, and kiss him. “I’m coming back. I want to. And I am good at closing statements, and you have to give a killer one. This isn’t your opening. You can’t be your client and win over the jury.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Arrogant, rich, and good looking, and you are those things.” I rotate and start walking, with his soft, sexy laughter trailing after me. And I’m smiling. God. This man makes me smile. I reach the elevators, step inside the car, and sink back against the wall. This man is making me crazy, but I feel the most alive I have in forever. It’s terrifyingly wonderful. And he’s right. I have to know where it leads.

  By the time I exit the elevator in Reese’s apartment building, my smile hasn’t disappeared. That is until I see the two big, intense men walking toward me that my departure was not fast enough for me to escape: Royce and Blake Walker of Walker Security. Both are the proverbial tall, dark, and deadly mix of attitude and good looks in jeans and Walker T-shirts. Both with long, dark hair tied at their napes. And both are in a direct collision course with little ole me. My only saving grace is Kara, Blake’s wife, who is walking next to them, who I have met numerous times and find really likeable, tough, and yet sweet.

  With no other option, I charge toward them and stop in front of them as they do me. “Hi there, Cat,” Kara says, while both men have knowing smirks on their faces.

  “I distinctly remember seeing you on camera in that dress yesterday,” Royce says.

  I scowl, stunned that he would point out my obvious overnight stay with Reese, considering he’s usually the quiet, brooding Walker brother. “Why are you even noticing my dress?” I demand.

  Blake laughs and Kara elbows him. “Sorry, Cat,” she says. “Not even his wife can teach him manners.”

  “I noticed the dress,” Royce says, scowling at her and then at me, “because my wife complained that she couldn’t fit into it because she’s too fat, when, of course, she’s not fat. She’s just pregnant. But I can’t get her to see that.”

  In other words, he couldn’t care less about my overnight. He’s thinking out loud about his wife and not sure how to be there for her. “Just love her, Royce,” I say as if he’s really asked the question. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine.” I pat his arm. “More than fine. I’ll let you all get to Reese. I know he’s eager for whatever you found for him.” I don’t wait for the knowing smirks that might follow. I start walking and exit to the street, the cool morning air going right up my dress to my naked crotch, which, of course, reminds me of Reese ripping my panties off me. Why was I even looking for them? I can’t actually wear them again.

  I smile and sidestep a group of passersby, with my mind back on Royce and how he dotes on Lauren, how all the Walker men are that way with their women. They are arrogant and sexy, but they love just as big as they make the art of walking into a room. I know that kind of love exists out there, maybe thanks to them. It’s just not how my father was with my mother. He had his women. She let him. I can’t be her. And maybe seeing those Walker men right now was more well-timed than it was poorly timed.

  I’m reminded that real men love their fat, pregnant women. I laugh and dig out my phone and dial Lauren. She answers on the first ring. “Hey, you big, fat, pregnant woman,” I say.

  “That is not funny,” she chides, and I can hear her scowl. “I might even unfriend you.”

  “You’re not fat,” I say, barely dodging two men who almost run me over and never even notice I’m there. “You are however, quite possibly losing your mind, though, if you think you’re fat. I just ran into Royce and he told me you were saying you are.”

  “Royce has a big mouth. And I am fat. None of my clothes fit me.”

  “You’re pregnant. And tiny.”

  “I carry it all in my hips, not my belly. Some women are all in their cute baby belly, but no. Not me. All ass and hips. I want a cute baby belly. And how did you run into Royce? He was going to— Reese. Cat. Were you—”

  “Yes. He apparently took your challenge and mine, and won.”

  She laughs. “As I knew he would. He has a lot of the Walker men traits about him. He sees. He wants. He goes after that target.”

  “Hold on,” I say, running across a street before the light turns. “Okay. Sorry. I’m hurrying home. I need a shower. He’s a good guy right, Lauren?”

  “A very good guy. And you really like him, or you wouldn’t be on the phone with me.”

  “He’s never been married.”

  “Neither have you.”

  “He’s never been engaged,” I counter. “Or…I don’t think he has. Why not? He’s good looking and successful.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “Yes. He said he’s a workaholic.”

  “He’s in his thirties, probably a self-made millionaire or at least on his way there, and one of the top defense attorneys in the country. You and I both know what that takes.” Her line beeps. “Hold on.” The line clicks over and a few seconds pass. “I need to go,” she says when she comes back. “I have a female client divorcing her abusive husband. It’s a nightmare for her more than me. I want to talk about the trial. I’ll call you back later tonight.”

  She hangs up, and I enter my apartment building to find my second oldest brother, Gabe, at the desk. The security guard says something to him and he turns to find me standing there. And, as usual, he’s looking his blond, preppy man-self, in his weekend jeans paired with his favorite Harvard shirt that has a collar, of course.

  “Why are you wearing the dress you wore in court yesterday?” he asks.

  “How do you even know I wore this yesterday?”

  “You were on camera.”

  “I repeat. How do you even know what I was wearing yesterday?”

  “You’re my sister.”

  “You’ve made my point,” I say.

  “That I’m not stupid? Thank you. Your hair is all over the place and so is your makeup. Who is he?”

  “Why are you here?”

  He reaches for the cups on the security desk. “I came to have coffee with my little sister.”

  I accept the cup and give him a curious look. “What are you up to?”

  He laughs. “Stop already. I just came to check on you. And—”

  “Cat!”

  I rotate before he fills in that blank to find a petite and pretty brunette, who is about five feet tall and wearing five-inch heels and a black pantsuit, hurrying my way. And officially, this morning just keeps getting better. Not really. “Who is that?” my brother asks.

  “My agent,” I say a few beats before Liz stops in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, and then hold up a hand. “Never mind. I know what you’re doing here. No. End of conversation.”

  Her brow furrows. “Why are you wearing—”

  “Do not finish that sentence,” I warn her. “I don’t need to hear that question again.”

  “Right,” she says. “Let’s talk upstairs, so you can fix yourself. You’re a mess.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Of course I am. Let’s go.”

  I start walking, and my brother and my agent are quick to keep pace while I sip my coffee, which is actually perfect. “Thank you,” I say, glancing at my brother as I punch the elevator button.

  “You’re welcome, little sis.”

  “This is your brother?” Liz asks, giving him a once-over with a little too much interest. Granted, he’s good looking, but she’s my agent and he’s my brother.

  “Yes,” Gabe answers for me. “I’m the older brother.”
/>   “Age?” Liz asks.

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Married?” she brazenly asks.

  The elevator opens and I roll my eyes and enter, while the two of them go to opposite walls but keep talking. “Never married,” Gabe says.

  “Why?” Liz asks, as if replaying my conversation with Lauren about Reese. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I watch the interaction, which has forgotten me and with each floor turns more and more direct, until finally I can’t take it anymore. I glance at Liz, who is all red-cheeked, and say, “Seriously? You’re flirting with my brother in front of me.”

  “I am not,” she says indignantly.

  “You’re not?” Gabe asks. “That’s too bad.”

  The elevator doors open and I exit the car and just leave them both there. Once I’m at my door, I enter my apartment and leave it open. Kicking off my shoes in the entrance, I really want to just go shower, but I walk to the kitchen instead. After setting my bags on a red leather barstool, I walk to the microwave and stick my coffee inside. By the time it’s out, the two of them are standing on opposite sides of the island looking at me.

  “Cat,” Liz begins.

  “No,” I say. “I decline the book deal.”

  “Why are you declining a book deal?” Gabe asks. “You hit the Times with your last book.”

  “How do you even know that?”

  “Of course I knew that,” he says.

  “You did not,” I accuse.

  “I did too,” he insists.

  “You did?”

  “Yes,” Gabe says. “I’m not the ass you are apparently remembering me to be.”

  “You hate that I left my legal career.”

  “I’m over it. Your column is damn good, and so was the book. Why are you turning down another deal?”

  “Wait,” Liz says, glancing at Gabe. “Did you congratulate her when she hit the Times?”

  “No, but—”

  “And now we know why you’re single,” she says. “Next time send her flowers and chocolate. And no. I was not flirting with you.” She refocuses on me. “Back to his question. Why?”

  “No,” I repeat.