by Roxy Reid
“Look, it’s … It’s not a big deal. You’re embarrassed by me. So what? I just work for you. I don’t need you to be, I don’t know, proud to be seen with me. But I don’t need to sit around and hold your hand and make sure you feel comfortable while you’re acting like just being next to me is a public humiliation.”
“That’s not—”
“Delete the photo,” I mimic, and he scowls.
“Stella, that’s not why I—”
I try to dodge around him, and Wade grabs my arm. “Let go.”
He does, but his face is furious. “Just listen to me, dammit.”
“No!” I stalk past him.
“It’s Duke,” he says, and I stop in my tracks, because that was not what I was expecting.
“I … what?” I turn this over in my head, but for the life of it I cannot think what the heck my brother has to do with any of this. “Why don’t you want him to know we got dinner together?”
“Because it won’t look like dinner,” Wade says through gritted teeth. “It will look like a date.”
I raise my eyebrows skeptically.
“I was touching your mouth! We were at a fancy restaurant. Even aside from the Duke thing, it would be a publicity nightmare if people think I’m dating my assistant. Not to mention it will make it a million times harder to hire people, and have them feel comfortable working for me.”
“Well, you could have thought of all that before you asked me to go to dinner!” I shout. “It’s not fair to me for you to offer something, and then act like you’re ashamed of me when I accept.”
I storm past him to my car. Wade chases me, catching up to me with laughable ease.
“Stella, I’m sorry. You’re right it’s not fair, it’s just …”
I whirl to face him. “What? It’s just what?”
He closes his eyes briefly, then looks down like he’s ashamed of himself. I can see the tension in the line of his jaw.
“It’s just,” Wade says quietly, “that I wanted to. I feel good when I’m with you. But that’s no excuse. You’re right. If I’m embarrassed to have someone share my actions with the world, I shouldn’t be doing them in the first place.” He groans. “Ugh, Stella, I’m so sorry I ruined your night. I’m just … really sorry.”
I cross my arms and jut my chin out. I’m not ready to give him a pass on how he made me feel. No matter how much his I feel good when I’m with you is trying to worm its way under my armor and into my heart.
“At least let me walk you to your car,” Wade says. “It’s late at night.”
We’re on a nice street with leafy trees. I’ve taken care of myself in much rougher areas. But I recognize Wade’s offer for the peace offering it is. And I might not be ready to forgive him, but we still have to work together on Monday.
“Fine,” I bite out. “You can walk me to my car.”
We wordlessly fall into step as we walk to where my car is.
Except when we turn the corner, my car’s not there.
I blink. Check the street sign. Check the buildings around it. Check where I parked my car again.
“Where’s my car?” I demand.
“Are you sure you parked it here—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I say, holding up a finger, and Wade shuts his mouth.
I’m looking around, trying to figure out what happened—did it get stolen? Am I remembering wrong?—when Wade lifts up a branch that’s blocking a “No Parking” sign.
Apparently, violators will be towed.
I swear, viciously.
Wade frowns at the sign. “The impound lot will be closed tonight, but I can drive you tomorrow—”
“I can take care of myself!” I bark.
“I know you can take care of yourself! I’m being nice. Like a normal person would.”
I scoff.
“Ok, the reporter is my fault, but this isn’t. Do you want a ride home or not?”
I glower at Wade. He’s right, and that makes me even more mad at him.
“Jesus Christ, Stella—”
“Fine, you can drive me home.”
“Oh, what an honor your highness,” he says sarcastically, as I walk past him, head held high. He jogs to catch up with me.
“Don’t you need to know where I parked?” Wade asks pointedly.
“I know where you parked,” I say. “I saw you fixing your hair before you came up to the restaurant. You know. Primping for your not-date.”
Wade stops on the sidewalk, holding up his hand, and I stop too, because he’s got the car keys.
“Look. We’re both in bad moods. Let’s just stop talking before one of us says something we’ll both regret.”
I purse my lips. “You seriously overestimate the amount of things I’d regret.”
But he doesn’t rise to the bait. He just stands there waiting, so I heave a heavy sigh. “Fine. No more talking.”
We get into the car, and Wade drives me home.
The city is pretty at night, as streetlights and business fronts give way to trees and homes, and by the time we reach my home I’m calmer.
My throat is tight, and I just want to be home, and alone, and done with the day, but I’m calmer.
Of course Wade doesn’t want to look like he’s dating an employee. And I may not feel like an employee, since I’ve known him since I was a kid, and I accepted another job offer today, but that’s not what it would look like to the world. And I may not have to care what the world thinks. But Wade does.
It wasn’t fair of him to put me in that position. But it wasn’t really fair for me to be willfully oblivious to the position he’s in, either.
Wade parks the car and looks at me. Shadows slash across his face in the dark of the car, and for all the ways we click together perfectly, I’m reminded I’m basically sitting next to a stranger.
“So … maybe next time we should stick to McDonald’s,” I say, and he laughs, tired and low.
Wade shakes his head, then drops his head back against the headrest. “Is it weird if I say congratulations on the new job?”
“Yes. And no. Thanks for the ride home.” My bad joke seems to have broken the tension between us, and there’s a part of me that just wants to turn on my side to face him, curl in the seat, and talk to Wade all night.
Away from fancy restaurants. Away from other diners. Away from reporters.
Maybe I could recapture the good parts of tonight if I just stayed here a little longer, in the warmth of a car that smells like him.
But I’ve lived long enough to know it wouldn’t work. And it’s not fair to either of us to try and force it.
No sense breaking myself to fit in somewhere I don’t belong.
I get out of the car.
I am completely surprised when he gets out too.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you to your door,” Wade says, like I’m an idiot, and I almost call him on such an obvious line before I remembered I’m talking to a southern boy. It’s not a line. He’s not trying to sneak in a goodnight kiss. He genuinely thinks it’s his God-given duty to walk me safely to my doorstep.
Which is particularly idiotic, when you consider that most attacks on women come from men they know and trust, not some random boogie man lurking in the bushes.
But Wade St. George is as stubborn as they come, and I’m tired of arguing tonight.
And, ok, I admit as we walk up to my apartment’s entrance, maybe I like it.
Maybe there’s a part of me that likes that we can have a fight, and I can lose my temper, and he’ll still walk me to my door. He treats me gently.
And it’s a gentleness that’s unconditional. Or as close to unconditional as you can get and still be human. My mom always wanted me to act like a lady. Duke wants me to act smart. My tour friends wanted me to be as free and brave and reckless as they were.
Someone who treats me well not on condition of who I am, but because of who he fundamentally is? That’s … new.
 
; We stop at the entrance to my building.
“Well,” I say brightly, flashing my best don’t-look-too-close smile, “this is my stop. See you Monday.”
“Stella. What aren’t you saying?” His voice is low in the dark, and I’m very aware that I’m standing in the dark with a man I can’t seem to get out of my head.
I toy with my keys. “It’s silly. And it doesn’t matter. I get the not dating—not looking like you’re dating—your employees thing, obviously. But I don’t get why you’d care about Duke. I’ve dated Duke’s friends before. He’s fine with it.”
Wade rolls his eyes. “Sure, while you’re dating them. But as soon as you break up, Duke takes your side and stops being friends with them.”
“That’s not …” I think about the three of Duke’s friends I’ve dated, and realize Wade’s right. “I don’t ask him to do that.”
“Of course you don’t. But Duke’s got a blind spot where you’re concerned. If someone makes you cry, they’re dead to him.”
“But that wouldn’t … you’ve been friends forever.”
Wade smiles wryly. “I love Duke. But emotional nuance isn’t his strong suit. And he loves you with everything he’s got. If we dated, we’d eventually break up. And when we’d break up, I’d lose one of my oldest friends. So, no. Even if you weren’t my employee, even if I hadn’t signed Home Sweet Home’s morality clause, even if reporters weren’t something I had to worry about … tonight would not have been a date. Not in a million years.”
He turns to go, and as those broad shoulders walk away from me, I call, “You know you can just say you don’t like me like that.”
Wade stops.
“I’m strong enough to take it.”
“It’s not that, Stella.” He half looks over his shoulder, so I only catch his profile in the echoes of the porch-light.
My heart leaps. Is he saying—
Unless he’s just trying to be nice. A white lie to avoid hurting his best friend’s little sister’s feelings.
I wanted to. I feel good when I’m with you. That’s what he said. Unless those were lies too.
If they were lies, why did he risk taking me out tonight?
Wade takes a step away from me.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
He turns to face me. “Stella,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s pleading with me or warning me.
“Tell me what you’d do. If it weren’t for all those things. What would you do, Wade? Right now?”
“Don’t.”
“See? You can’t even imagine what you’d do right now if you actually liked me.” I shake my head. I can’t believe I thought … I can’t believe I wanted …
I turn to go inside. But the key is stuck, and in the moment that it takes me—
Wade grabs me and kisses me.
I’m caught off guard by his heat, his strength, his energy. I always thought Wade would be a careful kisser, but he’s not, he’s reckless, and I’m right there with him, tangling my fingers in his hair, sucking his lip, standing on tiptoe to get as close to him as I can. It’s electric, the most alive I’ve felt in years, and it’s not just because my pulse is pounding, and he’s waking up every nerve I have. It’s also because it’s Wade.
Wade’s breath is rough, jagged, when he breaks away, bracing his hand on the wall above my head.
“Not here,” he breaths. “We shouldn’t …”
“You’re right. My apartment.”
By some miracle, I’m still clutching my keys, so I turn and open the door. My hand is shaking, but I get it open. I’m into the lobby before I realize Wade isn’t following me.
I turn back to see him standing on the other side of the threshold, watching me.
My heart sinks. “Did you … did you change your mind?”
“No, God no, but …” Wade crosses to me. Cradles my cheek in one of his big hands. “Are you sure?”
Am I sure if I want this kind, brilliant, infuriating man whose eyes see through my bullshit, and whose body drives me crazy, and who kisses me like he’s starving and I’m the only one who can satiate him?
“It’s one night,” I say. “Don’t overthink it.”
“That doesn’t answer my—”
I wrap my hand in his tie, rise up on my toes, and kiss him until my blood is rushing and I can’t breathe.
When I break away Wade’s eyes flutter open, like he’s drugged.
His voice is rough when he says, “So, uh, is that goodnight, or …?”
“It’s ‘or.’” I take a step toward the stairs, my hand still knotted in his tie. “Come up to my apartment, Wade St. George. Make love to me. I’m very, very sure.”
“That’ll do it,” Wade says, and we race up to my apartment.
7
Stella
Wade throws the door closed behind us and backs me toward the bed, kissing my lips, my neck, my eyelids, my forehead, my wrist. The back of my knees hit the bed.
“Lights on or off?” I ask in the dark.
“On,” Wade says.
“The light switch is on the other side of the room.”
“Off it is,” he says, and his hands find the small zip at the back of my skirt. He slides the skirt down my legs, and I’m a little in love with the feel of Wade easing the silk lining down my legs as he kneels carefully before me. I toss my jacket aside, followed by my shirt.
Wade runs his finger just under the hem of my underwear, and I shiver as he kisses me through my underwear.
“Oh. Oh God,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair.
When I’m gasping and trembling with want, Wade scoops me up and tosses me on the bed. If the bed creaks under my weight, it downright shudders as Wade crawls over me in the dark. I’m caged in by the heat and shape of him, and the feeling is so sexy I almost can’t breathe.
When I do take in a shuddery breath, I smell pine and sandalwood and him.
I trail my hand down Wade’s chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “Pants. Off,” I say, and my voice shakes.
“If you wish it,” he murmurs into my neck, kissing and sucking a spot that feels good until I’m literally twisting in the sheets, like a bad teenage fantasy.
Wade reluctantly pulls back just long enough to ditch his pants, and my brain clears enough to realize what he just said.
“Wade.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “Was that … a Princess Marigold reference?”
He can not be referencing a cult-favorite fantasy satire movie about a woodcutter’s son who falls in love with a princess.
“Obviously.”
“You’re such a geek,” I say, and he laughs, grabbing me, pinning me under him.
Here’s the thing: making out with Wade is fun. I’m used to hot, desperate, one night stands I like more than I should, and the occasional tepid, polite night with a respectable man I should like more than I do. But in Wade’s hands, I’m bucking one moment and laughing the next. And when I reach down into his boxers and squeeze his impressive length, the sound he makes is barely human.
And that’s fun, too.
So fun, I slide down, take him in my mouth, and suck.
“Stella,” he groans, his big hands tangled in my hair. “Oh, yes, that, I—” his hips jolt, and I grin. I love driving him wild. I squeeze and suck until he’s writhing in the sheets like my own personal fantasy.
“Stella, if you don’t stop I’ll …” He moans. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Sure you can. A big strong man like you,” I tease, giving his rock hard cock an absolutely delicious tug. “You can take anything I dish out.”
And suddenly I’m on my back, and he’s sliding into me.
“I can’t,” Wade says as I gasp. “I really can’t.”
Then he freezes. “Shit. Condom.”
I groan. “You are such a tease.”
He laughs, then kisses me quickly, and pulls out.
I stare at the ceiling while he fumbles in the dark for a condom, and I t
ry to get control of my breath.
I know it’s been seconds, but it feels like ages.
“Here I am, just waiting to be fucked,” I say, wistfully.
“Patience, woman,” he says, and then there’s the sound of foil ripping, and Wade’s back on top of me, back in me, rocking me toward the kind of intense, all consuming, full-body pleasure I haven’t felt in a long time.
He reaches down to play with my clit, and I’m pretty sure I scream. “Yes. That.”
Wade thrusts so hard the bed clanks, and something drops and tilts a level.
“Careful,” I say, and Wade freezes.
“Did I hurt you? Shit. I’m sorry. Damn. It’s been a while, but you’re so small, I should have …” he starts to ease out, kissing my temple, but I wrap my legs around him, holding him in place, and bucking up.
“Um …” he gasps. “God, that feels … I’m getting mixed messages here.”
“Not careful of me,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down, back to me, so my lips can find his again. “Careful of the bed. I bought it in the as-is section,” I say.
Wade thrusts, shifting the angle, and I grab his hand, bringing it back to my clit. “There, please. There.”
“Anything you want, Marigold,” he says, and I laugh, then gasp, because God bless the man, he takes the direction.
It’s hard to ignore how fucking strong he is when he’s bracing himself above me with one arm, and working me hard with the other while he pushes deeper into me, shaking the bed with each thrust.
“Oh God. Oh, God. WADE.”
“Come on, honey. You can trust me. Let go. Let go,” he murmurs into my ear, and I arc up into him as his weight slams me into my bed.
“Wade—”
“Yes, baby, yes.” He thrusts and I tremble and the bed moans louder than either one of us.
“WADE, WE’RE BREAKING MY BED,” I say, trying to get a hold of myself, trying to slow down, but I’m so far gone I can’t think. I’m so close, and there’s pleasure everywhere, pleasure and Wade—
Wade. Wade can think. He’s good at that. He’ll fix it. “We need to go slower—”