by Paige North
I waited.
Then waited some more.
Dammit, I’d asked for him to consider my feelings, but then I regretted it.
I finally wore myself out with all the fantasizing I was doing about the enigmatic smile I saw on him as that elevator door closed, and I fell into a restless sleep. Now I’m just as slow to get out of bed as I’ve always been during my stay here.
I’m tired from tossing and turning.
I’m really horny for him to come back to me.
When I ultimately find Nat, she’s scuttling around the mansion, running her fingers over the surfaces of the furniture, seeing if they pass the Dr. Owen Gregory Dirt Test. I figure out for myself that she doesn’t have time to sit down for breakfast with me, so I eat alone on the patio with the heat lamps on. The soft sunshine feels good on my face.
I’ve brought the laptop out here, too, and as soon as a maid clears my plates, I dive right in to my work—attempting to round up my siblings again and get our family house in order. The hours slide by as I phone a local bank in Miami about a loan, then touch base with my brothers’ and sisters’ caseworker. On the computer, I begin to narrow down a search for a lawyer that I can now afford, and the only thing that stops me from making a final decision is an incoming phone call.
Jumping in my patio chair, I recognize the ringtone right away: This morning I assigned Owen the theme song from Doctor Who, which I thought was kind of hilarious.
After I take a calming breath, I answer. “Hello?”
Oddly, after everything, I still sound a little shy. The flush of warmth I’m feeling on my skin only proves that.
“Chef Thomas tells me you didn’t eat lunch. You also haven’t put in a request to the kitchen for dinner yet.”
I lean back in my chair. Owen’s not just a god of a man—he’s a very focused, consumed medical professional, and I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s keeping track of my nutritional needs. He’s also the boss of everyone, too, so why wouldn’t he lord it over my eating habits?
“I didn’t have lunch because the breakfasts I get here are huge,” I say. “They last me for hours! And, truthfully, I haven’t even thought of what I’d like to eat for dinner.”
“I’ll be dining with you tonight, and I’d like for you to arrange the meal.”
A smile takes me over. He wants to eat with me, almost as if we’re a…
Couple?
Don’t read too much into this, I think once again. He has to eat, so why not have me do it with him since I’m here?
“Do you have any requests?” I ask.
“You just tell Nat what you’d like, and Chef Thomas will prepare it to my preferences.”
It almost sounds like he’s giving me space again, allowing me to have a choice, a voice…
Then he continues. “There’s something else I’d like you to do, Juliet.”
His return to a commanding tone gives me pause, and once again, I’m back to feeling like the hired help. But that’s exactly what I am, isn’t it?
“Yes?” I ask him softly.
“There’s a velvet dress in your closet. The color of dark red wine. Straps. A Valentino design.”
It’s as if he’s been thinking all day of me wearing it, what I’d look like in it, and my tummy knots up with a sensual tightness.
“You want me to put it on for you tonight?” I ask.
“Yes, I do.”
His frank admission makes those knots inside of me throb.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do that then.”
A laden moment passes, one filled with so many unspoken desires—mine, his, both of ours. Then his voice gets businesslike again.
“Since I didn’t expect your agreement to be extended, I want you to buy more gowns, cocktail dresses, pretty clothing. Take a car and driver for a shopping trip, make a day of it. You’ll be keeping everything after our month together, so take advantage.”
He’s giving me all of that, besides the money? I’m floored.
“I would love to do some shopping,” I say. “Thank you, Owen.”
We end our conversation on that note. After both of us say goodbye and disconnect, I put down my phone and turn to my laptop. I close it, knowing what my job is—and it has nothing to do with my own personal life.
I’m going to make Owen happy.
Funny, but even though it’s all business, pleasing him seems to be so much more important after last night.
Once I’m back inside, I do something I’ve been dying to do since I got here—I go to the music room, access a digital station on the sound system, then crank it up.
I dance like a fool to a loud Portugal the Man song until I’m laughing.
Things are working out! Life is awesome!
Nat finds me like that—hopping around, having the greatest of times. She has a cloth in her hand as if plaster from the ceiling is shaking loose and she’ll have to clean it.
When I smile at her and turn off the music, I merely shrug.
Smiling back, she pushes back a stray hair into her brunette bun and, for a second, I think that she’s about to ask if she can join me.
Negative on that.
“Have you decided about dinner?” she asks.
“Yup. You might’ve heard that Owen’s going to dine in with me tonight.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.” Then she raises her eyebrows. “Owen is it? My. He normally has his girls refer to him in a more formal manner.” She laughs. “Then again, he’s never had one here for more than a short time.”
As if she’s overstepped, she straightens her dress, but there’s a small smile ghosting her lips. Is it because Owen seems…well, maybe not happy with me, but at least content for the time being?
“Now,” she says, “what is it you’d like tonight?”
And we go from there. I suggest fish, knowing that he’ll appreciate something lean. Then I ask for a dessert along the lines of chocolate mousse, if it’s even possible to make that healthy.
“We’ll see what Chef Thomas can come up with,” Nat says. “He loves putting his own fitness-conscious twist on the meals. It’s a challenge for him, especially with something like chocolate mousse.”
After that, all that’s left for me to do is find that velvet dress and make myself into the fantasy Owen is expecting to come home to.
I pamper myself thoroughly with a bath, then slather myself with a soft aloe lotion. I slip on the lovely, long gown for Owen, then sit down at my vanity table and apply just enough makeup so that I won’t look as if I’m trying too hard.
Then I peer at myself in the tall, standalone mirror in the bathroom.
The burgundy-colored velvet dress has a slit that travels up my leg, and the black ankle-strap heels I’ve put on make that leg seem as long and shapely as a starlet’s. I leave my hair loose, and it kisses my bare shoulders, teasing the gown’s thin straps.
I’m somewhere in between a sinner and a girl with her heart in her eyes, but I think that’s accurate. That’s what Owen has already turned me into.
I meet him on the first floor, because Nat has already told me that, since the weather is beautiful, he requested we take our meal on the patio. In the darkening evening the lights and heat lamps are dim and seductive, and when Owen sees me walk outside through the French doors, he slowly rises from his chair.
It’s not like last night when he had a tight rein on his reaction as I stepped off the elevator to meet him. He’s not bothering to hide his desire for me now. It fills his yearning gaze, and my temperature rises in a flood of heat and need.
“Red,” he murmurs.
And that’s all he says.
Shyness overcomes me again as he pulls out my chair for me. I don’t know why there’s such a difference between having sex with him and having him look at me in this way with our clothes still on.
Somewhere along the way, one scenario has become more intimate than the other.
What will our next time together be like? I think, while a shiver
spins through me.
I go to him, and his clean scent overwhelms me. I sit in my chair as candlelight flickers from the glass holders on the table. He pours wine for me—the bottle says it’s a Vermentino, and after I drink it, the light, crisp taste tickles my senses.
He’s still watching me, and my shivers have turned into trembles. Nerves dance all over me.
“How was your day?” I blurt out, unable to deal with the tension anymore.
“More of the same. Yours?”
No personal talk, I remind myself. I’m going to respect his wishes just as much as he respected mine yesterday.
“My day was wonderful,” I say. “I enjoy being in the middle of New York. You have a sort of oasis here in the Village. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like we’re in the center of one of the world’s biggest cities.”
Indeed, the muffled sounds of traffic, car horns, and bustling activity seem so close yet so far away, but who can think about that when Owen is sitting there, intensely watching my mouth as I say every word?
I wait for him to respond to my comment, but we’re interrupted by Chef Thomas, who brings out what he calls an amuse bouche of seared branzino and heirloom tomatoes.
After he leaves us, we both eat our little servings of the fish, previews of the meal to come.
After that, our conversation stays polite and safe throughout the salad course, then the main course of branzino with tomatoes, capers, and lemon served with potato fondant, crusty bread, and baby vegetables. I remark that this meal seems luxurious and could pass for something very unhealthy.
That leads to a discussion about favorite restaurants while we finish an exquisite dessert of baked chocolate mousse.
Even though we’re still on secure ground, my nerves return. I’m three glasses of wine farther down the road to Blottoville than I was at the beginning of the meal. I’m dizzy in Owen’s presence. With every glance, with every breath, he stokes the fire that’s licking at the inside of my belly. Every long look makes lust trickle down between my legs, getting me wetter and wetter.
When we finish eating, I fidget by adjusting the strap of my gown, then tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
Finally, Owen leans toward me, and the oxygen catches in my lungs.
“Now it’s time for you to go to bed, Juliet,” he murmurs.
Chapter 13
Owen is playing a game with me.
He must be, because I’ve been lying here in bed in my lace-trimmed, cream silk nightgown for two hours now. Each flash of the digital clock, each dragging second tells me that he’s getting some sort of revenge on me for making him wait last night.
And the wait is killing me.
Even so, I can’t fight my exhaustion—the past nights of tossing and turning have done a number on me—and I finally give in to sleep. But just before I lose consciousness, I stretch my hand out on the mattress next to me, wishing Owen were here, feeling a pit of emptiness inside of me.
And then suddenly, I snap awake, feeling him climbing into bed beside me. “Red,” he says softly.
It’s dark and my eyes haven’t adjusted. “What’s going on?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer at first.
When he kisses me in the soft spot behind my ear, my breathing begins to quicken. He plants another kiss on my neck, and I can feel a vein there pounding against his mouth. He gently bites me like a famished thing, a wolf that’s found a bit of prey, and I moan again.
“Quiet,” he whispers. “Not a word, Red.”
There’s a faint scratch of stubble as he nuzzles me, and I almost feel like I’m still dreaming, because the Owen I know wouldn’t stand to have anything but a cleanly shaven face.
As he keeps nestling against the back of me while gnawing on my tender skin, my clit pulsates. My pussy feels plumped, swollen with the blood pounding down to it, and I press my thighs together to assuage the sharp need.
He runs his hand to my breast, squeezing it, making me cry out a little.
“You can’t stay quiet, can you?” he whispers roughly in my ear.
His voice echoes through me as if he’s inside of me, a fierce vibration, a brutal ache.
I start to say something—I don’t even know what—but he crushes his mouth to mine, stealing my breath away. His kiss is long and lazy, his hand busy caressing my breast through the silk of my gown. I writhe against him, still half-asleep, still dreamy. The surreal feel of him only heightens my arousal, sending a pulse of cream down between my legs.
He ends the kiss, and I grip his thick arm.
“I didn’t think you wanted this tonight,” I say.
“I’ve been wanting it ever since the last time I had you.” He’s whispering, making it feel as if we’re doing something forbidden and we’re trying to get away with it.
He buries his face into the crook between my neck and shoulder, nibbling at me until I strain beneath him.
“So delicious,” he murmurs. Then he digs his fingers into my hair, sliding his mouth to my temple. “And your gorgeous hair…”
He commandingly tugs me all the way under him until his streamlined, powerful body presses down on mine. “It’s driving me crazy. And I know you’ll smell just as good in the one place that always does. I know that because I’ve already tasted you.”
He rocks against me, his cock nudging against my silk-covered pussy. I spread my legs and cry out a little at the spike of lust that claps through me.
“Not a word,” he whispers again. “No more talking, Red. Not while I fuck you tonight.”
Did he have his fill of talk at dinner? Is having a conversation too messy for him right now, or does he want to just hear the sexy, chopped sound of our breathing?
I begin to think he’s on to something as he drives his cock against my sex again, and I hold back any kind of sound except for the slight gasp I can’t contain. I can’t help it—blood is zooming through me, making every breath labored, making my mind fog up until my fevered body rules me in every way.
As he dry humps me, there’s nothing but my panting and the wet sound of my juices. He’s turning me on expertly, ruthlessly, and I gyrate with him, hooking one leg around him so he can grind his tip against me harder.
He gets more aroused, too, maybe by the slick sounds, maybe because of my agitated breathing. A low, primal growl emanates from him with every push against me.
I scrape my fingernails down the side of his body. He grunts, then laughs quietly, giving me an extra hard prod with his cock. My hips suspend off the bed, then I groan as I fall back to the mattress. From there, our pace picks up.
My nightgown is riding up, over my hips, the tip of him messily slipping through the folds of my sex until he reaches between us to take hold of his shaft. He urges his head against my beating clit, and at the electric contact, I mewl.
The high, charged sound cuts the air as he grinds, pushing me to my limits, making my eyes roll back in my head, my mouth opening in a silent cry that’s cut short as I—
With a wet explosion, I bang for him, fast, furious, spangling to pieces.
Laughing roughly, he gets to his haunches, pulling me up with him. With a savage tug, he rips my gown off, and the tearing sound dominates our heavy breathing. He throws the silk away then brings me against him, body to body, skin to skin, ravishing me with a ferocious kiss. I scratch at his chest, and he catches my wrist in his long fingers, pushing my arm behind my back as I sway, enthralled, so caught up with him that I think I’m falling.
Falling hard.
He growls again as he disentangles himself, moving off the bed and bringing me with him. Is he taking us to the shower so we don’t make a mess?
Before I can get my bearings, he’s kissing me again, and I kiss him back with a bruising lust that feels as if it’s just now escaping from me all the way, crying out in silent passion, begging for more.
I’m throbbing for him all over my body, sweaty, my pussy sopping wet. I wrap both legs around his waist with such verve that he takes a step b
ack, crashing into the vanity table near my bed.
The sound of quaking glass trembles in the air, and he makes another animal sound, whipping me around and clearing off the table with his arm.
Glass hits the thick carpet, furniture bangs against the wall. He puts me on the table, and the skidding resistance of my sweaty skin on the glass top jars my heart in my chest. My clit is hot, ready for another orgasm. My belly is flipping around, adding to my stimulation as Owen cups my face in his long fingers.
I can barely see him in the near darkness. Only the light from behind the sheer silver curtains suffuses the room. But from what I can see—and from what I can hear by the coarse rhythm of his breathing—I know that he can’t get enough of me. I don’t know how a normal girl who just blew into his life can have this kind of hold over someone like him, but somehow I do.
As I look through the dimness and into his gaze, time seems to stand still. I think I’m already half in love with him. I think I was the minute I saw him at the door on that first day.
His eyes go just as dark as the rest of the room and just as obscured, but from the feel of his hands braced on my waist, he won’t let go of me even though I’m the last thing he needs, his addictive poison.
I take a shuddering breath at the realization that there has to be something emotional between us just as he bends down and latches his mouth to my breast.
He sucks me, and with each draw, a violent strain of electricity sears me. I open my legs, planting my feet at his hips while he drags his mouth lower, worshipping the skin of my stomach. I slide down farther with every kiss, angled on the table now.
It sounds like I’m screaming in reverse, sucking in a sharp breath with the arousal that overtakes me. He whirls his tongue around me there, and I begin to whimper.
The sound starts off slowly, softly, but as he moves down to my pussy, I get louder.
So loud that my gasps build on one another, filling the room like blocks of air that are about to tumble.
He gnaws at my sex as if he’s starving, a beast that has cornered an innocent in the woods. He feasts on me with his mouth, kissing me in such a feral way that I grab the side of the mirror. It shakes with every move of my hips as I keep up with his famished attentions. He licks at me, growls against my wet pussy and sends snarling vibrations up and through me.
