by Azod, Shara
The mountain man frowned and returned to the side of the…where the hell was she? She looked around and realized she was in a tub, a very big tub, with her head resting against an incredibly soft, fluffy towel. Well, he was a big man; of course he would have a big tub. Hold up! Did he undress her while she was passed out? Looking down, Berlin noticed she still had on her underwear; a quick mental inventory indicated she hadn’t been violated. That disappointed her a bit, but she smashed that traitorous thought down quickly. Yet that was another point that escaped logic. Why would he literally drag her off the road to his lair or wherever the heck she was; strip her down to her bra and panties; and put her in a tub?
The cold, dumb ass, she mentally castigated herself. So you wouldn’t catch pneumonia or frostbite.
This guy wasn’t some kind of mad mountain freak; he had saved her from killing herself trying to get to town. She was damned lucky he’d come along and found her when he did. He had even kept on her underwear to preserve her modesty, such as it was. The sheer white silk and lace was see-through now that it was wet. She could clearly see her dark nipples through the material, as well as outline of her pussy lips.
“I’m sorry,” Berlin muttered as the man came closer. “I thought…I thought…”
“You thought I kidnapped you?” the man asked and laughed, kneeling beside her. Those blue eyes twinkling with amusement angered her. Nothing about this was funny.
“Yeah, well, what was I supposed to think? You literally plucked me off the road and I wake up here, in a bathtub!”
Berlin couldn’t look at him. She gave up a silent prayer of thanks for her dark complexion. It camouflaged her burning cheeks beautifully. The flush didn’t come from being exposed like this. Nope, it came from the hungry thoughts racing through her. With him so close, all she could do was hope he didn’t touch her. If he did, she’d come undone.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man whispered in awe. “I do believe you’re blushing.”
The deep, smooth voice with such a slow, lazy drawl sent little chills down her spine despite the warm water.
“Berlin Jameson,” she introduced herself, extending her right hand. She bit her cheek to keep from scampering out of the tub and into his lap.
“Matthew Hartsfield,” the man, replied taking her hand in his much larger one.
Berlin immediately perked up, bolting upright in the tub again.
“Hartsfield? Any relation to Mattie Mae Hartsfield?”
Oh, please, please, please, let her be his mother, Berlin silently pleaded. She wasn’t sure why, but it just might break her heart if the ultra-fine Matthew was married. It was wild; she generally didn’t find white men attractive, but there were exceptions. He was definitively a big exception. Even if she weren’t sitting in a tub full of water, she would be wet from his voice alone, never mind his drop-dead sexy looks.
“Mattie Mae Hartsfield? How did you hear that name?” Matthew demanded.
His heart stopped at her question. Mattie Mae had been his exclusive clothing line he sold from his boutique shop on Rodeo Drive. He’d named it after his grandmother who had raised him after his parents had been killed in a car accident when he was six. She had taught him to design and sew, always saying a man knew what looked good a woman far better than a woman could. Matty didn’t exactly agree, but he’d been damn good at what he did. After college, he’d been accepted into a premier design school in Paris. Soon after graduating from there, he’d headed to L.A.; and within three years, he’d become a clothier to the stars. Fame and fortune had come easily, too easily. He had fallen into a decadent lifestyle, forgetting who he was and where he came from until his grandmother’s death.
He had left Mattie Mae Clothiers behind and everything it stood for. There had been plenty of up and coming designers who would have gladly bought his by-appointment exclusive design boutique from him, but he’d wanted it to die. It wouldn’t be right to sell out to someone else, to have anyone but him designing clothes under his grandmother’s name. His fiancée hadn’t understood that. All she cared about was the fame and the fortune. Thank the fates above he had found that out before saying, “I do.”
If this woman had hunted him down in hopes he would design for over-privileged, self-absorbed stars again, she was bound to be disappointed. God, he didn’t want to disappoint her. Even the thought of her lovely face shadowed by unhappiness irritated him.
Looking down at her again, the hard-on he had finally lost came rushing back so quickly, it left him slightly dizzy. He would love to design for that body. Unlike the sickly stick figures in L.A., this woman Berlin had curves for days. Full, bountiful breasts; nice, thick thighs; a tapered waist made for the span of a man’s hands. Oh, the things he could dress her in, only to have the pleasure of undressing her once more.
“Pictures of your designs were sent to my office for consideration,” Berlin answered, shivering under the intensity of his stare.
She felt her nipples harden as his gaze caressed them. In any other circumstance she would have been pissed, but not with him, not now. His concentrated perusal made her feel sexy, completely feminine. He better not be hiding a wife somewhere. Berlin might have to take the woman out, even though she usually wasn’t down for the home-wrecking scene.
“What? I never sent any pictures to anyone. Who do you represent?” Matthew asked, bringing Berlin back to the present and her eyes up from his crotch.
“I am the head buyer for Femme,” Berlin answered, fidgeting now from his stare. “And unless you’re Mattie Mae Hartsfield, why would you know about it?”
Damn it! He was married. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t often she got the hots for anyone these days, and the one man who rang her bell, without even touching her much less, was taken. There ought to be some kind of law against shit like this.
“Mattie Mae was my store in L.A. I closed it five years ago. Seeing as how the real Mattie Mae Hartsfield died around that time, I would say I would know all about who was sending around pictures of my designs,” Matthew informed her. “At least I should.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Berlin murmured, confusion riding those words as they left her mouth.
Someone had most certainly sent in pictures of this man’s designs. But who would do that? A wife. That would be the only person who would dare do such a thing. Probably tired of living in the middle of nowhere, especially if they used to live in the middle of the bright lights of Hollywood.
“My grandmother lived a full and happy life,” he informed her. “But thank you for the condolences.”
“Maybe your wife?” Berlin offered, holding her breath and hoping he didn’t have one. Really, she wanted to know if he were married far more than she wanted to know who had sent in the pictures.
“Oh, I’m not married.” Matthew smiled, no, more like leered at her.
His eyes dropped to her breasts once again, and damned if she didn’t stick out her chest just a little. It might have been a little…forward; but hey, she was single, as he had just confirmed he was too. Even if they did work out a deal about his line, it wasn’t as if she would be working with him. She bought the clothes and signed up the designers. The production, marketing, et cetera, would be done in their respective departments. She’d be in the wind long before those clothes hit the stores, and he would be good stock for her fantasies.
“I have no idea who sent the photos, but I would like to talk to you…”
“No.”
It was said with such firm conviction. Berlin blinked, unbelieving what she had heard. He surged to his feet once more, turning his back on her. She could see the tension gathering in his shoulders. Odd how she should notice that. She had never been particularly astute with any of her past boyfriends—all three of them.
Going over to a large oak cabinet, he withdrew another towel, then returned and handed it to her.
“That water has probably gotten a little chilly. I’ll go wrestle up something for you to wear.
; And with that he was gone.
Chapter Three
Matty had to get out of the bathroom. As confused as he was about how Berlin had gotten pictures of his designs, the fact she was just sitting there in a soaked bra and panties that left nothing to the imagination was just too much. He couldn’t recall ever feeling as turned on as he was by Berlin, a woman who seemed totally oblivious to her almost unreal sexual appeal. Those perky little nipples were practically begging him to cover them with his mouth. A few more minutes and he would have come on himself.
Rummaging through his clothes, he found a nice, comfy, flannel plaid shirt for her to wear and some nice, thick socks. It was the best he could do. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He just couldn’t bring himself to offer up a pair of his sweats, because once those sweats hid her gorgeous legs from view, he’d be itching to rip them off again.
Making his way back to the bathroom, he was glad to see her wrapped up nice and tight in the large towel. At least she was covered. Unfortunately, he happened to catch a glimpse of her bra and panties clutched in her fist.
“I, uh, need to hang these up somewhere.”
There went that blush again. Matty’s cock twitched in response. The higher her blush went, the taller his member grew. She was naked as the day she was born underneath that towel. A wicked little seed of a thought took root in his brain, refusing to let go. A grin split his face before he could stop it.
“Just hang them on the side of the tub,” he informed her and refused to look away as she did so. “Ms. Jameson, are you married or otherwise attached?” There was no ring on her finger, and he doubted she was married. If she had a boyfriend, well…
“No, why?”
She took a tiny step backwards as he advanced to where she stood. Matty watched in fascination as her chest heaved in agitation the closer he got. He could have just told her he was trying to get to the cream behind her, but he decided not to. It was kind of fun to hear the way her breathing hitched, to watch the goose bumps break out across her shoulders and down her arms. Her eyes darted from him to the door. If he’d thought for one second she was seriously afraid, he would have let up. She was excited. Scarlet heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks. Yeah, she was excited and very aware of him. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
“I mean, yes! Yes, I have a boyfriend! He is waiting for my call, probably.”
She was cute when she was lying through her teeth. Her face was all flushed in an interesting mixture of reds and browns. Her defiant little chin lifted, her eyes going from the raging boner he didn’t even bother hiding back to his face. He almost groaned aloud when he saw the way she squeezed her legs together. Good sign.
He stopped a millisecond before touching her. She had pluck; he’d give her that. She’d almost managed to suppress the flinch when he reached past her. He wished like hell he could see her nipples, to see if they were half as hard as she was making him. Reaching beyond her slightly trembling form he grabbed the expensive skin cream on the shelf right behind her. He had no clue where the idea had come from, but he had the sudden urge to make sure that soft, supple skin stayed nice and smooth. He didn’t know whether she would slap him across the face, but he was going to try anyway.
“Come on,” Matty told her, taking the clothes he had brought in for her with him.
He didn’t bother turning around to see if she followed. He could feel her moving behind him. It was peculiar, yet he’d known instinctively she would come if he told her to, but not if he had asked. It was downright strange the way he could guess what she wanted to hear, what she needed to hear from him. He couldn’t explain it, but he needed to make sure she got exactly what she needed. It was suddenly important to him to see this woman satisfied.
Now you’re just being fanciful, Matty boy, he thought to himself, but going directly toward the bed anyway. It had been a long time since he’d last been with a woman. That had to be it. But then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had opportunities to be with a woman in the last five years. Sally Jessup had done everything short of raping him. It had gotten to the point where he would actually go into hiding whenever she came calling. The last time he was in town, he had stopped in to the local bar to knock back a few with some of the guys he had grown up with and Sally had been there. He had to practically peel the woman off him.
Funny that though Sally was a looker with clear blue eyes and nice set of mammary glands, Matty had never even managed to get semi-hard when she’d been so bold as to stroke him at the bar in front of God and everybody else. He had actually been repulsed.
Then there was Sandy Duncan who had spent the first three years since he moved back here baking him pies and bringing them by at least once a week. Sandy was far more subtle than Sally, but equally as good looking in an understated way. Her eyes were a deep soulful brown that tended to remind him of a lost pup. He couldn’t imagine fucking a woman who looked up at him like a damn dog.
He had begun thinking he was suffering from erectile dysfunction or something. Now here he was, dying to bury himself balls deep in this woman before him.
“Have a seat,” he told her, sitting on the edge of his custom-made bed and patting the spot next to him.
Berlin swallowed hard as she looked at the massive bed on which the mountain man sat. That was no California king; that was a bed made for a giant. Yeah, he was a big guy, but not that damn big. Then again, the devastatingly handsome designer reeked sex appeal; he probably had orgies in that bed. Just the thought had her burning with a mixture of unaccountable jealousy and equally hot desire she didn’t really understand. No one else should be stroking those massive arms but me!
It was one thing to lust after a hot guy, but what she was feeling went a little beyond simple yearning. She couldn’t sit on that bed; if she did, she would be all over him. There was no way in hell she was going to ho-out like that. Biting her lip, Berlin shifted her weight from one foot to another, pressing her thighs together once again and trying to alleviate the ache between them.
“Berlin?”
She jumped at the sound of her own name. Damn, he had a slow, sexy drawl! “Yes, Matthew?”
“Actually, you can call me Matty,” he said and grinned.
Why did he suddenly remind her if a wolf about to take down his prey?
Devour me, Matty. One slow second at a time.
“Sit down, honey.”
His voice was so low, silky, and commanding. Berlin found herself sitting before she realized it. She almost jumped out of her skin when he reached down and guided her foot up to his lap. Opening the jar of cream, he applied a liberal amount on her foot and began to massage it into her skin. Berlin had to concentrate on keeping her thighs firmly clenched together so he wouldn’t see anymore than he already had. Like it mattered what he saw. Each time he looked at her, she felt as if he’d physically caressed her. Her entire body sang with want and she could barely quiet her longing. She managed to keep it together through the expert massage of both feet, both claves, both thighs, and both arms.
Berlin thought he was finished, reaching to the bundle on his other side and anxious to run into the bathroom and cover up, but he snagged her wrist before she reached her goal.
“Lie down on your stomach,” Matty instructed, patting the bed once more.
The second she complied, she regretted it. With one swift tug, he had the towel pulled down to her lower back. She couldn’t move without exposing damn near everything.
“Here.” Matty handed her a pillow. “Go ahead and relax. You had a trying day. Let me help put you at ease.”
Berlin was grateful for the pillow. It gave her something to bite other than her lip. His big hands felt so good kneading the muscles of her back. She tried to stay rigidly aware, not to loosen up so she could stop him if he got a little too personal with her body. But Matty was so masterful in the way he worked her muscles. Everything that had gone wrong in the last week—Betty getting sick; she crashing the car in the middle of Nowhere, We
st Virginia; the blizzard—all of it just melted away. She was so lost in the sensual pleasure his hands were bringing her, she didn’t notice that he was wandering up her ribcage to the sides of her breasts and down to the upper part of her buttocks.
Berlin couldn’t stop the moan that came from the back of throat. Lord, it felt so good! She couldn’t bring herself to complain when his hands got a little bolder, cupping her ass in a strong grip and squeezing her generous globes before traveling up her sides to fully cup her breasts. And damn if she didn’t raise herself up, just a little, to ease his way.
What the hell was she doing? Berlin didn’t know this man from Adam, and yet here she was, lying here like a ten-dollar hooker, letting him play with whatever he wanted. And goodness if didn’t feel beyond good. It felt right. She was so wet right now that she wouldn’t need any further foreplay. Ready and well passed the point of willing, Berlin struggled to not make it easy. What had started out as a massage was quickly becoming a full-out sensual assault. She had been conquered before she knew what was happening.
How long could a blizzard last? A day, maybe? If Matty wanted to take her, and by the way he was working her body right now, he definitely did, Berlin was more than willing to let him. She might regret it later, but she only had to be here as long as the snow fell. Things might be uncomfortable for a while, but he’d already said he wasn’t interested in designing for Femme. As long as she was careful, she didn’t really have to see him after this little interlude, right? She could let go a little; she was grown.
Who was she kidding? She was going to sleep with him regardless. Every tingling, aching, burning fiber of her body spoke to that truth. Berlin only hoped she wouldn’t wish she hadn’t after it was over. Why she was wasting time trying to justify what she knew was going to happen? Yeah, she might be remorseful about it. She was definitely going to feel weird about it because afterwards she had every intention of talking him into designing for her.
