She moves her hands over my stomach and up over my back, making me shiver, then brings her hands back out of my shirt and tugs on the hem. I pause to pull my shirt off, smiling back at her. She puts her hands back on my skin once it’s bare before her, looking at my chiseled, well-maintained muscles with lust and a little bit of awe, and I run my hands up her thighs, just a little, past the hem of her skirt.
She nods rapidly and lets out these amazing breathy little sounds when I do. I lean in and kiss her again, needing her lips on mine right now. I move one hand to the buttons on her shirt, working them one by one with my other hand still on her thigh, sliding higher and higher under her skirt. Charlotte opens her mouth under mine and runs her tongue into my mouth, meeting my tongue. She slides her hands down, toward my belt, as I pull her shirt open.
I pull back, wanting to see as I reach into her bra, cupping her breasts in my hands firmly. I’ve wanted to do this so badly since the first day I saw her, couldn’t get this image out of my mind so many times at the most inappropriate moments, hovered over a burner in the restaurant kitchen or alone in my apartment bed at night. She feels even better than I had imagined and cries out when I run my fingers in circles over her nipples.
“Yes, please,” she says, throwing her head back, one hand still working my belt as I touch her. My cock responds to her hands as they undo my belt and she trails fingers over my zipper. I swallow down a moan as I lean in to kiss her neck again, and then her breasts, running my tongue over her nipples until she cries out again and grinds her hips up into mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Charlotte,” I say, pulling back and looking at her again. Her hair is falling in her face, her shirt is open, her bra is mostly off, her skirt is hiked up her legs, and she’s looking at me like she’s never wanted anyone so much like she’s aching for me. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen in my life. I slide my hand up into her skirt, teasing my fingers against the inside of her thighs until I reach her underwear. It’s soaking wet, and she gasps when I run my fingers over it, teasing her.
“Touch me,” she breathes out, “please, Danny.”
I slide her underwear to the side with my fingers and then slide them in to touch her clit. She cries out again, hissing and nodding her head over and over. She looks at me, eyes blown out so wide, and reaches her hand into my pants as I touch her. She tugs on my pants a little and then slides her warm, slender fingers around over my cock when she can reach it, and, fuck.
I close my eyes for a minute, taking it all in, my breaths increasing in pace as she works me harder in slow, teasing, fantastic strokes. I’ve wanted this ever since the first time I saw Charlotte, and now that we’re finally touching each other like this, I never want it to stop.
I lean down to kiss her again and slide a finger inside her, thrusting it in and out slowly before adding another. She buries her head in my neck, moaning, and picks up the speed of her strokes on my cock. She feels wet and warm and so tight around my fingers, and she’s raising her hips to my fingers, bucking them against me like she wants more. I circle her clit with my thumb, making her shudder and cry out over and over.
After a minute I step back and look at her as I pull my pants all the way down. She nods again and lifts her skirt up to her hips, sliding her underwear off. The sight of her naked underneath her skirt like that makes my cock twitch even harder—I’m so desperate to be inside her, I feel like a teenager all over again, like I could come from just the sight of her. I step toward her, kissing her again, sliding my hands back over her breasts before I guide my cock inside her. She wraps her legs around me even tighter, letting out a shout and rocking herself into to me as I start to fuck her.
She feels amazing, like that electricity from kissing intensified tenfold, like I really am boiling over now. I thrust in and out of her, keeping one hand on her breasts, teasing her nipple, and then slide the other down between us so I can rub her clit as I fuck her. She kisses me hard and desperate and slides her hands over my chest, down my stomach. I want to touch her forever, want to burn into this moment. I want to feel her come around me, and I want to make her come so many other ways. I want her to bite out my name in a gasp, want to make her mine as I come inside her.
I fuck her harder, rubbing even firmer circles over her soaking clit with my fingers until I can feel her clench around me. She grabs onto my shoulders and cries out, “Oh, god, Danny” as she comes. I shudder, feeling like I’ll never be able to get that beautiful sound of her voice breaking as she comes out of my mind and feel my own orgasm build and crash a minute later coming with my hand wrapped around her thigh. We collapse into each other, breathing hard, and I think about asking her back to my apartment, about doing this all over again, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to do so much at once.
But I can’t let her go, just yet, so I held onto her for a moment, as we both come down, feeling her warmth pressed up against me everywhere and never wanting it to stop.
Charlotte straightens up and kisses me softly before pulling her skirt back down and fixing her bra. All I can think about is how much I want to touch her again, how much I hope tonight was the start of something more.
Chapter Nine - Charlotte
My alarm goes off far too early, and I groan, reaching for my phone to shut it off. My head is spinning as if I’d had too much wine last night, but I hadn’t touched a drop. My faces flush, thinking about Danny, thinking about my night alone in the kitchen with him. The sex had been incredible—Danny is just as at skilled at it as he seems to be at everything else. When I close my eyes I can still feel his touches, his lips, and I shiver, turned on just thinking about it.
But now, with the morning sun shining brightly through my window, I’m not sure the heady rush of last night was a good idea. I know I got too caught up in the moment, too carried away in the flirtatious vibe between us. I’m very attracted to Danny, of course, and I like spending time around him—honestly, I can’t get him off my mind—but going that fast has never been for me, has it? Not only that, but I can’t imagine Dad finding out. I can’t fathom what Dad would think if he knew I had a one-night stand with his best friend. I’d be mortified. That’s not exactly something to bring up casually over Christmas dinner, is it?
Not to mention, there’s the fact that I’m still not sure about Danny. In the clear light of the morning, I can’t help but replay all those things Mom said over the years in my head—deadbeat, womanizer, sleaze, going nowhere fast in life, that kid. I want to be sure about him—I want to think I’m seeing something there, that everything Dad’s always seen in him is the man he really. But I saw all the things Mom said with my own eyes, saw far too many women flock to Danny over the years when I was younger and saw how terribly he treated them. I know Danny has supposedly cleaned up his life, but in my mind, I still see girls in tight dresses pressing themselves up against him, loudly and breathlessly whispering about “last night.” No matter how great our night was last night, I have absolutely no desire to join those ranks. I shake my head and pull myself out of bed, headed for the shower.
Sure, part of me would love to keep seeing Danny, would love to turn last night into something real, but the longer I think about things, the more a larger part of me is embarrassed and worried more than anything else. I’ve never been the type of woman to start a relationship off with sex, have I? And there are so many other factors here, so many ways this could go terribly wrong, and so many of those ways that would not just hurt me.
What am I thinking? This could ruin Dad and the restaurant. And with everything Dad’s been through lately, with the divorce and all the changes it’s brought, the last thing Dad needs is any more negative changes. And I moved back here to take care of him, didn’t I? I certainly can’t be the one to bring him more bad news in the form of throwing away his business by throwing myself at his restaurant partner.
It’s for the best, anyway. I’ll never be able to get the image of all those girls from so long ago out of my m
ind, and the last thing I want, for myself, for Dad, for this new start here in my hometown, is to turn into just the latest conquest of someone who will never shake his town bad-boy reputation.
After my shower, I call Danny and ask him to meet me for coffee at the cafe by my apartment. He sounds pleased to hear from me and agrees quickly, saying he’s already in my part of town. It would be so easy, I think, hearing his reply, to fall for him, and I cringe. Maybe too easy. And maybe that’s the point—from his reputation, it certainly seems he’s the kind of guy you fall in and out of love with fast and easy. I button my sweater all the way up, and tie my hair back quickly, not wanting to look too done up when I tell Danny I don’t want this to go any further between us.
The cafe is warm and smells of coffee and cinnamon when I arrive, keeping out the cold December air and filling it up with cheerful spirit instead. The pretty college-aged barista takes my order and I get a table, smiling around at all the Christmas decorations and festive touches, even as my stomach is filled with butterflies.
Danny arrives a few moments later, and waves to me, ordering just as my coffee order is called.
“I’ll be right over,” Danny says. He’s got a knit hat on his head with a matching scarf around his neck, making him look like the model in some kind of Christmas advertisement. I nod and smile, not wanting to say anything until we’re sitting.
“Hi,” he says warmly, sitting down across from me. “I’ve actually never been here.”
“I hope it’s good, then,” I say, laughing a little. “I’ve wanted to stop in since I moved back, but I didn’t make it until today.”
“You live right up to the street, don’t you?” Danny asks, settling back in his chair.
“I do,” I confirm, nodding and taking a sip of my latte. It’s delicious, and I focus on it for a minute trying to figure out what to say next. The silence is a beat awkward, but it’s broken when Danny’s order is called, and he gets up to get it.
“Mine is great,” I say when he gets back.
“It smells promising, but truthfully, I’ve had a lot of really terrible coffee over the years. I’ll drink just about anything,” Danny says, laughing and sipping his coffee.
“Unusual for a chef,” I comment, wishing I wasn’t so interested in everything Danny said.
“A chef who spent months at a time on a boat, living off of instant coffee,” Danny says, grinning. “Mine is very good, by the way.”
“Better than instant, anyway,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “We had packets of it all the time in our break room at the hospital. I tried it a few times out of desperation in the middle of a night shift.”
“Desperate times call for desperate coffee measures,” Danny says, making me laugh. I shake my head.
“Sometimes,” I agree. Then I bite my lip, taking a long warm sip of my latte before I say: “Danny, I wanted to talk to you about last night.”
“I thought you might,” Danny says, nodding and unwrapping his scarf a little.
“I think we should—” I stop and shake my head. “Last night was really great. I had a lot of fun.”
“But?” Danny asks, studying me and raising an eyebrow. I flush, wishing I wasn’t being so transparent.
“But I’ve never—I don’t do that, I don’t move that fast, and I think starting now would be a bad idea,” I say, biting my lip again. Danny is looking at me with something that might be a disappointment, but I press on. “After all, you are my dad’s best friend, and I don’t want to affect that.”
“So, what do you want?” Danny asks, eyes locked on mine. There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard until now, a quiet and serious one.
“I think we should focus on being friends,” I say. It’s not true. It’s not what I want at all, but I do think it’s what is best. I can’t hurt Dad over an infatuation. I can’t throw myself into a relationship with someone I’ve never seen take the idea of them seriously.
“And only friends?” Danny asks, nodding slowly.
“Only friends,” I confirm. “I really think it’s best.”
“Because of your dad?” Danny asks. He’s not fighting me on it, but I can tell it’s not where he was hoping this conversation would go.
“For a lot of reasons,” I say, sipping my drink again. Danny nods.
“I don’t want to pursue anything you don’t,” Danny says, “so friends it is.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling disappointed myself. I think I had been hoping he would fight it a little. I can’t help but wonder if his easy acceptance means I was right—that he wouldn’t have taken this, or me, seriously anyway.
“If you change your mind, let me know,” Danny says, smiling that heart-melting smile of his at me again.
“I will,” I say. It’s more than I should allow, but I can’t help it when he smiles at me like that. I know I’ve made the right the choice, but that doesn’t make me feel any happier about it.
Chapter Ten - Danny
There are printouts of properties in Washington, D.C., and Baltimore on my desk, with a note in Hank’s handwriting about how they’d make great locations for our second restaurant. There is also a bank statement staring at me with thousands of dollars less than it should have. Thousands, now. I’m tempted to rip all of them up, but I don’t. I settle for ripping yesterday’s special sign instead, wishing to rip the paper to shreds made me feel any better. Wishing it solved anything. I feel like I have so much today, even though I’ve actually already done everything I need to accomplish today. The final menu for the ball is ready to go, but I’m still unsettled, stressed about everything.
I really had wanted Charlotte to taste everything, and not just because I like having her around. But it’s clear she wants me to back off. I stand up, frustrated. I need to get out of the restaurant and let off some steam. I head to my car and drive to the gym, figuring working out will let me vent without fighting with Hank yet again. My gym is just a few blocks from the Dock’s End, and I always keep gym clothes in my car.
I change quickly and turn on a roaring playlist, trying to drown out every stress I’m having as my feet pound the treadmill. It’s not really working. I keep thinking about Charlotte, about the other night in the kitchen, the way she’d kissed me and touched me, the feeling of her hands and her skin. I keep thinking about her smile and her laugh and the curves of her body. I keep thinking about how she makes me laugh, about how I make her laugh, about how she makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time.
I don’t want to push her, but I was hoping the other night was the start of something. I was hoping we were both feeling the same attraction. I already feel like I’m falling for Charlotte, and I hate that we’ve stopped before we really started. Still, the last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable or pressured. I just can’t stop thinking about touching her again.
I used to be better at talking to women, I think.
Well, that’s not true. I used to be good at charming women, at getting them into bed. I used to be good at getting women to fall for me for a night, for a weekend, for a fling. I used to be better at nights but terrible at mornings. I used to not care about anything beyond that. I’m sure I would still be good at it, but I’ve long been bored with it. I’ve been looking for more. I haven’t found it. Things have still amounted to weekends and flings, but none of that is what I want anymore.
I want someone to be serious about. Someone like Charlotte, I think, is exactly the kind of person I could be serious about.
I step off the treadmill, still feeling wound up with stress, and head to the free weight, hoping that focusing on lifting will focus all of me. I find that working out normally clears my head. It’s a habit I developed in the Navy and one that has kept me going through all the stress of opening a restaurant, through everything that’s happening now. It helps me keep my temper in check, helps me keep my mind focused on my goals. It’s also been really good for business.
Last spring, Hank and I had been a business sponsor
for the 15k I run in every year. We’d had the Dock’s End logo splashed on the keepsake water bottles given out to all participants who bought the VIP package. We’d given everyone who’d bought one of the bottles to the restaurant a 15% discount on their bill for the rest of the weekend. It had been a huge success, and something we’ll probably do again next year if we make it that long.
The thousands of dollars missing is really concerning. Hank doesn’t want to go to the police—he’s still convinced it’s an internal error, but it has to be theft. He’s so focused on opening a new location that he doesn’t see that the one we have might be falling apart. The money, the inspection, it all looks bad. I have a bad feeling about it.
I breathe through my reps, thinking of how many extra hours at the gym I’d needed after Anthony had been fired. I wonder how many I’ll need to do if this all continues. I wonder how much money we’ll have to lose before Hank takes it seriously. I wonder if it will take until the inspector cites us for things that aren’t even real code violations for him to understand something is very fucking wrong here.
I still think talking to Charlotte might be my best bet, might help me actually get through to Hank, but now I’m not sure she’d be willing. She had said she wanted to be friends, but I don’t know how much distance to give her. I think I should let her come to me, but that’s not really in my nature. I’ve always been a first move, first gesture sort of guy. Charlotte makes me feel thrown off. In every way.
I shower after my workout, head not as clear as I’d like, mind still filled with thoughts of Charlotte. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop thinking about her anytime soon.
Hot Boss: An Office Romance Page 23
