by Liv Morris
21
Tessa
I stand between Barclay’s bent legs as he sits on the edge of his barstool. His dark eyes are velvety night, sensuous and full of promises I can’t even fathom, but I feel them. He has the key to an unknown part of me, and I need him to unlock it before I combust into a million pieces.
I want to touch him, place my hands on his muscular thighs, feel their strength under my fingertips, but should I? Is that too forward? I have no idea what a man with his experience expects from a woman. Just as I prepare to move my fingers, my phone sings “Sweet Home Alabama” and vibrates on the wooden bar top. Cringing, I grab my phone and silence the ringer.
It’s Maggie. She’s calling right on schedule, and I can’t wait to tell her what happened and who’s with me now. It’s like she peered into a crystal ball and knew the future.
I hold up my index finger and point to the phone in my hand. “I need to get this. It’s my best friend.” Barclay nods, but remains impassive. I don’t think he likes the interruption, and neither do I, but she’ll keep calling if I don’t answer it.
“Maggie,” I say, my voice turning into a whisper. “The crisis has been averted.”
“What do you mean? The toad has hopped away?” she asks.
“Yes. I applied the spiked heel defense. I couldn’t wait for your call. He tried to get me to sleep with him.” The thought of Trevor’s words and breath make me shudder in disgust.
“I should’ve punched him,” Barclay practically roars while standing up from his barstool. I guess I wasn’t quiet enough. Gone is the reflective man who confessed his attraction toward me. It’s like he’s turned into a hot version of the Incredible Hulk, dressed in all black with perfect hair and a tense jawline. “I told you to stay away from him, that he was bad news.”
“I handled him just fine,” I say, fumbling with my words. I feel breathless and so turned on by Barclay’s show of male possessiveness.
“Like hell,” Barclay replies, still grasping my left hand.
“Wait,” Maggie yells into the phone, shaking me out of the testosterone haze. “Is that Barclay you’re talking to?”
“Mmmhmmm,” I answer with a hum of happiness, because the beautiful man I never thought I’d see again towers over me, and I want to fold into him so bad and never let go. Only yesterday, I’d cried, heartbroken, thinking being with him was an improbable dream. Now, he holds my hand, and without knowing it, my heart. I feel free, vulnerable, and confused. He’s almost too much to handle.
“I told you he’d come back around,” Maggie says, full of glee. I can almost hear her jumping up and down. “Okay, get off the phone and quit disagreeing with him. Have sex first, then fight, and then have angry sex. It’s amazing.”
“Bye, Maggie.” I end the call and toss my phone in my bag. My mind’s already flooded with dirty thoughts, so I don’t need to add hers.
I look up at Barclay, and he slightly raises his eyebrows as he peers down at me. I can’t tell whether he’s amused or upset.
Wait. Surely he didn’t overhear what Maggie said? A flush crosses over my face at the thought.
“Um, thanks for getting rid of Trevor … I mean, Mr. Spears.” A corner of his mouth tips up. He’s gloating at my admission that he was right. I did need his help in the end to make Trevor disappear for good.
Barclay hands me my champagne flute. His long fingers encircle the glass, and I can barely see the bubbling liquid inside it. The bartender must’ve refilled my prosecco after I tossed it on Trevor. Bless his heart.
“Be a good girl and drink this,” he says, his smoldering gaze fixed on me. What a beautiful, bossy man.
I bring the glass to my lips and down it in a couple long sips. Barclay’s perfect mouth eases into a lazy smile. He enjoys watching me submit to his demands. I don’t know why, but I want to obey them. He takes the empty glass from me and sets it down on the bar.
“Michael,” Barclay says, and the bartender turns our way. “Put all these drinks on my tab, including Trevor’s, and add forty percent for your trouble.”
“Thanks for the drink,” I say.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs. “I own the joint.”
“So I heard,” I joke, and he shakes his head with a slight chuckle.
“Tell me, Tessa. Do you have any more so called ‘drink dates’ this evening?” He gives me a wink, and I blush like the silly girl from Alabama I am. No one has ever really winked at me. Well … no one over six feet tall and handsome enough to land on a billboard. “Are there any more suitors I need to fight off?”
He’s teasing me with his words, and then his touch, as his fingers trace small circles on the inside of my wrist. It feels like he’s touching me everywhere. I can’t imagine what it would feel like if he actually kissed me. I seriously might faint. I’ll never laugh at the word “swoon” again, that’s for sure. It’s become my permanent state around him.
“Let me check my calendar.” I smile up at him and shimmy my shoulders. He narrows his eyes, then gives me a sexy smirk. He realizes it’s my turn to tease him.
“Then you’re all mine now, and coming with me.”
Whoa. Did he just say I’m his?
He weaves his fingers through one of my hands and pulls me away from the bar. We start walking toward the exit to the lobby.
“Wait. Where are you taking me?”
“On the best damn drink date of your life.”
22
Tessa
Hand in hand, Barclay hustles me out of the restaurant into the hotel lobby. I trail behind him by a step and try to catch up, but his long strides make it impossible. I give his hand a yank before he starts dragging me along the shiny marble floor.
He peers over his shoulder with a mischievous spark in his eye. “Having trouble keeping up?”
I shoot him a menacing glare, and he stops dead in his tracks. Finally.
“I can only go so fast in these heels. Not to mention, you’re a giant compared to me.”
“I should just throw you over my shoulders. It seems like something a giant would do after scaring away your date and making you mine.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Which side would you like, the right or left?”
“Barclay,” I breathe … or more like moan. The idea of him going caveman sounds hot as hell and makes me dizzy.
“I’m in a mood tonight, little girl.” His dark eyes are set on smolder, and he moves toward me, like a tiger ready to pounce.
Before I can even blink, Barclay wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me up to his shoulder. Thanks to gravity and a gentle push of his hand on my lower back, I bend and grab for something, anything, to anchor myself. My hands find his firm, denim-covered ass. I squeeze him and let out a squeal. It’s the first time I’ve touched a man in a forbidden zone. I hook my thumbs inside his back pockets and hang on.
Barclay begins to walk forward, and I bounce in rhythm to his cadence. I raise my head, and my hair swishes around my face like a moving curtain. People gasp and mutter all around us, because why wouldn’t they? I want to peek out and see their expressions, since I’m sure hot guys carrying their dates around like this happens all the time in Manhattan. I snort at my own thoughts, then splay my hands over his hard cheeks and try to push up so I can see the people in the lobby.
Everyone, including the doormen and bellhops, are standing still with their eyes flashing between my face and Barclay.
“Oh my God, Barclay. Someone’s taking photos of us.” I turn my face away to avoid the man with his phone aimed at us. Thankfully, Barclay picks up his pace as we come to the hotel exit.
The same doorman who wouldn’t give me a smile the other morning, sends me a thumbs-up. I wave at him as we pass by. Talk about awkward.
“Stay down,” Barclay commands as he walks us through the spinning turnstile door.
Once outside, and a few steps later, he swats me on my bottom, and I squeal again. It’s the first time a man’s touched me there.
&nbs
p; After placing his hands on my hips, he eases me down the front of his body until my feet meet the sidewalk. I gaze up into his eyes as he wraps his arms around me.
“What just happened?” I ask, because his behavior confuses me. Yesterday, he left me here on the sidewalk without looking back, and now he’s hauling me out of a hotel like a sack of potatoes.
“I let go,” he says, with an exhilarating smile. One I’ve never seen on him before.
“How did this letting go thing feel?”
“Damn good.” He bends down and kisses my forehead. I feel the light caress of his lips all the way to my toes. He releases me from his hold and grabs my hand. “But we’ll probably make Page Six.”
“What’s that?” An uneasy feeling twists in my stomach. The word “but” doesn’t sound good.
“The New York Post’s gossip page. Something I try to avoid,” he says in a dismissive tone, but I freeze in place, afraid of the fallout for me.
“What if my brother sees it? He’ll be on the next plane here to fetch me home.”
“Don’t worry. No one knows who you are unless I tell them, and I won’t.” I say a little prayer that I turned my head in time to avoid a direct shot of my face.
There isn’t a driver or car at the curb waiting for us. Instead, Barclay hails a cab and we climb inside. He tells the cab driver the address and sits back in his seat.
“You’re too far away.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me across the seat to his side.
A small voice, probably my mother’s, warns me to put on my seatbelt, but I ignore it. I’ve never felt safer in my life than in his arms. Besides, he smells divine.
I close my eyes, then breathe in and out, and the most contented feeling washes over me. “Where are we going?”
“We’re headed to PH-D to meet my friend, Lucas.”
“Maggie, my best friend who plans on coming to New York City, keeps talking about this club. She put it on our top ten list of bars to hit once we land here permanently. She knows more about nightlife than me.” I pause and glance up at Barclay.
Our faces are inches apart, and our lips are even closer. What I wouldn’t give to have him kiss me. He stares at my mouth, his eyes ravenous, and licks his lips, then looks away. I deflate, but try to recover … by talking. Thank you, hot male induced anxiety.
“Anyway, she told me the rope lines to get in places like this are nuts and bouncers get to pick and choose who enters.”
“No rope lines or bouncers for us. We’ll be taking the service elevator upstairs. Standard VIP stuff. I hope this isn’t a disappointment.” A corner of his mouth tips up. He’s cockier than I thought.
“Are you kidding? Maggie’s going to turn green when I tell her this.”
“How long are you planning on staying here, in the city?” Barclay asks, and if that isn’t the two-thousand-dollar question—which is likely how much money I’ll need to stay longer. I don’t think seven days is going to be enough time to get a job, especially since I’m working from ground zero.
“Thanks to you and the emails you gave me, I have a couple interviews next week, but my flight back to Alabama leaves on Wednesday afternoon.”
“That’s great.” He rubs his chin and sighs. “But you’ll need more time. Listen. Stay an extra week on me. Well … not on me, exactly,” Barclay mutters the last part, appearing flustered.
“You’re way too kind, and have already done more than enough to help me,” I say, declining. I can’t take him up on this offer. Well … not for the hotel at least, though the other “on me” part has definite possibilities. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Just know the offer stands if you need it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and wonder if I should ignore my silly pride and say yes. But my first interview is Monday, so waiting to see how things go is the better option, and my pride stays intact—for now.
“Tell me about this brother of yours.”
“Miles.” I sigh. I don’t even know where to begin. Overprotective doesn’t even scratch the surface with him. “He’s my big brother, and also about your height and build, but with blond hair and a police badge.”
“He’s a police officer?” Barclay stiffens, and it’s not in a good way. Ugh. Here we go.
“Yes. My father’s the sheriff of Monroeville too.” I lay all the badges on the table.
“Okay,” he says, running his hand through his dark locks. “This explains a lot.”
“As in my lack of experience with men,” I add before I can stop myself. But we might as well lay the fact that I’ve never been laid on the table too—especially if he wants what I want: me in his bed.
The cab comes to a stop before he can respond, saving me from further self-induced humiliation. I glance out the window as he pays. The sidewalk’s jammed with scores of young people. It looks like a stiletto factory.
Barclay defies the laws of nature as I watch his large frame ease out of the cab. It’s more like he floats on the surface. Me? It takes a couple pushes to scoot to the door. He holds out his hand when I peek my head out.
“Let’s go,” he says, but it sounds like a grumble of regret.
I place my hand in his, but the look in his eyes makes worry rise up inside me. It reminds me of yesterday on the sidewalk, like he’s back to the tug of war between walking away from me or being the one who cashes in my V-card.
23
Barclay
PH-D bursts with kinetic energy. Music vibrates with a rhythmic beat. People fill every inch of the space, raving with their hands in the air. Strobe lights flash off faces and walls while hedonistic desires fill the smoky air.
The atmosphere is wild and mesmerizing, exactly as I remembered from years ago. After I woke up from the party haze that filled my twenties, I swore I’d never walk through these doors again. Yet here I am, blending into the scenery like a weekly regular.
I’m parked on a leather couch next to Lucas. A glass of bourbon in my hand, and our special VIP section hidden in darkness, detached from the thumping crowds. The staff waits on our every beck and call, as they should for the price we’re paying for bottle service. But all the glitzy trimmings and gyrating bodies don’t distract me from my main attraction: Tessa. She’s dancing without a care in front of me alongside Lucas’s hookup for the night.
Tessa discards her jacket and tosses it in my direction on the couch. Her blond hair spills over her exposed shoulders and down her back. Her full breasts bounce and hips sway with the music. The pulse of the club pounds against my skin, but all my senses laser on her. I shift my weight in the seat, but nothing helps ease my craving for her.
When Tessa beams at me, I can’t breathe, because I realize where the source of her smile comes from. Pure joy. It’s from her heart, not something based on all the lust and booze being sold at the club. She radiates what’s missing here. Genuine happiness.
As the place continues to hum, I continue to watch Tessa move her delectable body. Her innocently seductive actions make my breath quicken and my heart race. I can no longer deny one fact: her hypnotic beauty has me under its spell.
I have no business falling for her, and not just because of her inexperience, which freaks me out. The main problem is she’s only temporary. Nothing is permanent. It’s like meeting that hot girl on a spring break hookup and promising you’ll call her when you get back to your college, knowing full well you’ll never see her again.
As much as I want to do wicked things to Tessa while she’s in the city looking for a job, I can’t forget she’s someone’s daughter and sister. The way she speaks about her family tells me they love her dearly. Who wouldn’t? I’ve changed since I last stepped foot into this club. I’m older now, and said goodbye to my player ways years ago, unlike Lucas, who’ll fuck any woman without a thought beyond getting off.
I rake my hands through my hair, wondering why a thirty-seven-year-old man is worrying about a young woman’s family. Hell, I haven’t even kissed her yet, but damn if I can’t imag
ine what it will be like when I finally do. Tonight, her head won’t hit the pillow without me tasting her sweet lips.
“She’s just …” Lucas interrupts my thoughts with a drunken slur.
A quick glance at Lucas finishes his sentence. He’s gaping at Tessa with his tongue practically sticking out of his mouth. She’s having the same effect on him. Neither of us can look away. Still, he needs to check himself, so I nudge him in the rib with my elbow.
“Ouch,” he shouts, rubbing his side.
“Watch your eyes,” I yell over the music.
“It’s kind of hard. She’s a fucking goddess. Guys would pay just to watch her move like this. Even fully clothed.”
Tessa’s downing her third glass of prosecco, making it her fourth for the night, and her inhibitions have loosened with each and every sip. Me? I’ve never sipped bourbon this slow, a calculated choice, since we’re both going back to the Hammond for the night.
“I’ve never seen this one at the escort service.” Lucas gives me a wicked smile. “Believe me, I’d have been first if I had.”
“Got to hell, Lucas. She’s not a piece of meat for you to paw at.” A rush of anger races through my veins, and I curl my free hand into a fist. “She’s from the South, not an escort service.”
“Well, what do you know? You like her. A lot,” Lucas marvels, holding up his hands. “But seriously, where did you find her? One-eight-hundred-jail-bait?”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s over twenty-one.”
“Barely.” Lucas gives me a pointed look. “Does she work at Hammond Press?”
“Are you kidding me? You know the rules,” I huff. It’s the reason I’ve given her leads for other companies. “Besides, I don’t mix my work and personal life. It never ends wells.”
“Tell me about it, but I’d make an exception to get in those jeans.” I flash him an evil eye and the side of his lips tip up. “Okay, Romeo. How did you meet her?”
“Over coffee.” Well … spilt coffee, but the details aren’t important.
