Damn skippy they wouldn’t. Just as she might never get Carter Cox out of her head if she never did anything about him. But what was there to do? She didn’t like the guy enough to ask him out on a date, nor did she hate him enough to have her way with him for one night to satisfy her curiosity and desire, and then never speak to him again.
CHAPTER 4
When Paige got to the gym the next morning, she was in a mood. She hadn’t slept well which was in part because she’d stayed up far too late looking for more of Carter Cox’s white papers, and devouring everything she could find.
The guy was…brilliant. His writing was straightforward without a bunch of frills, but instead of reading as barebones and unimpressive, it came across as concise and more concerned with action than just showing off his knowledge of arcane government policies. He wasn’t academic; he was in it to accomplish something. While she might disagree with what his aims were, she had a pretty serious nerd-on for how he went about persuading other people that he was right.
Asshole.
The lack of sleep and being increasingly flustered by the lust-loathing she felt for this guy were giving her a headache. Spin class would either help or make it worse. As would the plan she’d finally come up with to deal with her unhealthy occupation with Carter Joshua Cox. She was going to—wait for it—talk to him.
The thing was, his position papers had all had a fiscally conservative and/or libertarian bent. There was no evidence in any of them that he was a racist, sexist, misogynistic, anti-Semitic, Islamophobic, homophobic dickwad. Which was consistent with a lot of the Republican staffers she knew. They tended to be more liberal than their bosses, at least not such hard-liners when it came to party dogma.
So maybe Carter wasn’t as bad as she feared. Maybe he was better than she’d given him credit for? She certainly hadn’t met anyone lately who inspired the same kind of raw attraction she felt for that man, so what would be the harm in giving him some conversational rope to play with? He’d either use it to hang himself, or perhaps tie himself up like a present with a tag looped around his neck that said, “For Paige. Love, The Universe.”
Yep, it would be totally worth a few minutes of her time to figure out whether she should just keep using Carter—a very quiet Carter—as spank bank material or whether there might actually be something there.
As she rounded the corner to the hallway where the door to the bike room was, she walked into someone, and was surprised to find after the requisite flurry of apologies that it was none other than Carter.
He blushed and stuttered and she was about to put her plan in motion when she realized he’d already been in conversation with someone. A total bro, younger than them and the kind who wore a backwards cap and no shirt to work out in—dude, come on, no one needs to see that—and she’d bet even money did some serious grunting when lifting, because he was totally the kind of guy who lifted.
Unlike Carter and the smile he had for her, this guy looked her up and down stopping in all the requisite places before turning his attention back to Carter.
“I’d say she should be more careful where she’s going, but it’s probably hard with an ass like that.”
Paige’s blood lit up with embarrassment. Sometimes when a guy was such a jackass, she’d call him on it, and sometimes it wasn’t worth it so she’d just walk away. But she wanted to see what Carter would do, if anything. That would tell her something about the kind of man he was, and maybe she could save herself the trouble of speaking with him.
Much to her dismay, all he did was let out a choked noise, and looked back and forth between Paige and the dudebro. Okay then.
So she walked away from the guys, pretending she hadn’t heard, and walked away from the possibility of anything ever happening with Carter.
As she made her way down the hall, she could still hear their conversation.
“Anyway,” the jackass continued, “It’s just not right, you know? Marriage should be between a man and a woman, and as a Christian country we should recognize that. And don’t get me started on—”
Paige tried to hurry away, but she couldn’t escape into the turned-up music of the spin room soon enough to avoid hearing Carter answer him. “Yeah, absolutely.”
Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and a sick sense of betrayal welled in her chest. How could you, Carter? No, she’d never done so much as talked to the guy, but she’d been about to. She’d wanted to give him a chance, had thought that despite their differences he might prove to be a decent person. At least she wouldn’t waste weeks or months figuring out how he really felt. It had been lucky, really.
As she threw her gym bag in back of her bike where the wheel wouldn’t catch the strap, and where it wouldn’t get in anyone’s way, she huffed. It was maddening. Actually, maddening was right. Adjusting the height of the seat and the distance of the handlebars, a righteous anger permeated her whole being. Which only got hotter and more intense when Carter walked in a few minutes later and had the nerve to smile at her.
When he climbed onto the bike and started to pedal, the familiar sweat stains forming on his shirt, her fury turned to flames. Despite having heard him, despite knowing he was a kind of conservative she couldn’t get behind, she still wanted him. Wanted to tug that curly hair between her fingers, wanted to span her hands the breadth of his ribcage as she kissed him. Most of all, she wanted to feel what it was like to hold his hips and watch his corded back muscles flex while she had his ass.
Then again, just because she thought he was a narrow-minded putz didn’t mean she couldn’t fuck him. He’d probably fucked women he didn’t have feelings for, right? Because people like him tended to believe women were only sort of human. Yep, maybe she’d give Carter Cox his just deserts.
ERIC DONALDSON WAS THE WORST. Other people were bad, but Eric was a total asshole. And why he had to go to Carter’s gym, Carter had no freaking idea. He’d tried to give the manly chin jerk that seemed to be sufficient with most guys, but no. Carter’s boss’s son didn’t observe that element of the social code.
Instead, he’d yammered on at Carter about this bill his father was trying to get passed. It wasn’t something Carter had anything to do with, and he wanted to keep it that way. But if you wanted to keep working at the RSC, you couldn’t be a dick to Donaldson’s kid. Carter had learned that the hard way, watching one of his friends basically get forced out with crap assignments after he’d given Eric a piece of his mind. That wouldn’t be him.
When Eric had insulted the black-haired woman, though, Carter had thought about it. Had wanted to be that guy who did the right thing, but as these things so often went, what he should do or say got all snarled up in his head and by the time he was starting to untangle it, the interaction had been finished, and his chance to impress the girl of his dreams was over. So, so over.
Having at long last extricated himself from Eric the Vile’s conversational clutches, he wanted to apologize to the woman. But he didn’t even know her name, never mind what to say, so when he passed her on the way to his usual bike, he offered what he hoped was a smile that communicated I know, I’m kind of an idiot who can’t make his mouth work when he really needs to, but I think you’re awesome, and I’m sorry. I also think that guy is a turd face. A wrong turd face to boot.
But if he couldn’t make those words come out of his mouth, how on earth was she going to get that from an awkward smile-ish expression. At this point, he should forget spinning and just go day drink.
He didn’t, though. Carter worked his way through every climb, every endurance run, every speed trial the instructor could throw at them. It was a particularly brutal class, so he did an extra good job wiping down his bike when it was done.
Feeling somewhat less like his lungs were going to implode, he slung his gym bag over his shoulder and was about to head out when someone smacked him upside the head.
“YOU, me. Nine-thirty at the address on this card.”
The woman shoved the card at him, a
nd he blinked. What else was he supposed to do? Had he heard her right? She’d never spoken to him before, and now she was…for real?
Carter had been accused by his friends and siblings of not knowing when women were trying to flirt with him, but this was pretty clear. After all, she’d literally smacked him upside the head. But still…
Yeah, she. Her. The woman who was always seated at the bike behind him, already pedaling away by the time he arrived. Not sweating yet, but looking determined and reading. He’d noticed her, of course, but he hadn’t thought much of it except that she was an attractive woman who likely wouldn’t give him the time of day. Especially after he hadn’t been able to muster a protest that wouldn’t get him edged out of his job when Eric had insulted her. But here she was, slapping the card onto his chest, clearly having lost all patience with him. It was a look he knew well. Too well.
“Did you hear me?”
Her gaze felt like a thousand tiny knives raking over his skin—uncomfortable, but oddly arousing. It felt dangerous, as if she could do serious damage if she felt like it. All she’d have to do is change the angle and he’d bleed. But that was part of what made it hot—the intensity of it. Which was also what made him choke on his own tongue and blink again. Much like when he’d blown his chance to be a stand-up guy earlier. It was no wonder he didn’t have the most successful track record with women. This one in particular looked like she wanted to throttle him.
“Earth to Reagan Fan Eighty-Four. Are you going to be there or not? This is the last time I’m going to ask.”
God she was pretty with her black, black hair and her clear blue eyes. She looked like Snow White with her cheeks pink from class and her lips red from—fuck it, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. The only thing he knew was that if this woman wanted him somewhere, he’d be there. At her beck and call.
“Yeah.” He sounded like a frog, and that was less than ideal, but at least he’d answered her, stopped her from walking away. Carter cleared his throat and tried again, raking a hand through his hair, cringing slightly when he got to the part of his scalp that didn’t have quite as much hair as it used to. Fucking genetics. “Yeah. Yes. I mean, of course.”
One of her dark eyebrows kicked up and his heart skipped, like it wanted to leap out of his chest and fall at her feet. What? Christ, what did this woman want from him?
Her head tilted, her ponytail swinging to the side. “Then perhaps you should take the damn card.”
Right. The card she was pressing against his chest with one of her fingernails. Not her whole hand like when she’d slapped it against him. No, now it was as though she didn’t want to touch him and the paper provided a barrier, which was a little insulting, but also made him swallow hard with the effort to not get, well, hard.
He reached up to slide the card out and hoped she’d leave her finger there so she’d be poking him in the chest with only the thin cotton of his shirt between him and her fingertip, but no such luck. As soon as he had a grip on it, she dropped hers.
“See you tonight,” she said, as though it was a foregone conclusion. In his mind, it was. She turned, her ponytail swinging so close the ends nearly whapped him in the face, and then she was stalking through the door, her butt hugged by those black leggings.
It took a few seconds for him to stop looking after her, though she’d long since turned the corner. It felt like a dream, a really awesome dream, in which a beautiful woman propositioned him. That’s what that had been, right? She was soliciting him for sex. No, not soliciting like sex-worker soliciting because there was no way he was attractive enough to be mistaken for a gigolo, but…
Maybe he should check with Jamie to be sure he wasn’t reading this totally wrong. But then Jamie would probably be a dick about it. On the other hand, if this woman was going to knock him out cold and he’d wake up hours later in a bathtub filled with ice with one fewer kidney than he’d had previously, then it would probably be a good idea for someone to know where he was…
He tapped out a quick message on his cell: Can we have lunch?
And because Jamie worked for a political blog, and it was his damn job to be on his phone every second of every day, he answered lickety-split. Same mocking reply Carter got whenever he asked to meet up with Jamie, because ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it wasn’t to do with a girl. Lady troubles?
This time, though, Jamie and his incorrigible urge to poke fun were correct. Actually…
CHAPTER 5
P aige laid out everything she’d need in her bedroom. Strap-on, check. Her favorite dildo to use for anal, check. Condoms, check. And lube, check. Yes, she hated Dick/Carter Joshua Cox with almost every fiber of her being—all the fibers that weren’t involved in the whole lust thing anyhow—but she didn’t want to actually do damage to the guy.
Also, there was the distinct possibility this was all for naught because odds were good she’d let him in on her plans and he’d run screaming. Dudes and their fragile, fragile masculinity, afraid it would be stripped away by having something up their ass. God forbid they be the ones getting penetrated.
There shouldn’t have been butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of getting to be inside Carter Cox. About making him sweat and beg under her, about watching those toned but not ripped biceps flex as he held himself up beneath her while she fucked his ass. This was about revenge, right? It was about making him feel as helpless and used and subjugated as she did so often these days. Make him feel a little afraid.
But no, she wouldn’t hurt him because Paige knew how to peg a man, which was more than she could say about what his kind intended for her. Suppression, humiliation, used for parts. Fucking right she’d take her pleasure from Carter goddamn Cox and his gallingly hot...brain.
It was precisely nine-thirty when her door buzzer went off. She didn’t bother with the intercom but just buzzed him on up. A minute later, there was a knock on the door. Soft, tentative, and Paige almost—almost—felt bad. Was Carter nervous?
She opened the door, expecting to find a leering man. Yeah, she’d clearly thrown him earlier what with giving the back of his skull a good slap, but he’d no doubt have his shit back together almost fifteen hours later. But the Mr. Cox she found on the other side wasn’t what she was expecting.
Not exactly a cocky asshat who’d look at home on K Street, Carter stood there, his hair disheveled and sticking out in a way that shouldn’t have been appealing. His suit was rumpled, his tie was loosened and crooked to boot. Also, he was clutching a cheap bottle of wine, a giant bag of off-brand potato chips, and a box of no-name chocolates. What the hell?
Then his eyes practically fell out of their sockets, and she remembered what she was wearing underneath the plaid flannel robe that was now gaping open; a silky black negligee, thigh high stockings, and fuck-me stilettos. Well, in Paige’s case, really fuck-you stilettos, but they’d get there soon enough. First things first; she really didn’t need her neighbors seeing her like this.
Paige grabbed the elbow of Carter Cox’s suit coat and dragged him and his bizarre payload over the threshold, shutting the door behind him.
“I see you can tell time.”
Carter didn’t respond to her baiting, busy looking around her small living room as he was.
She tapped her shoe, the ball of her foot pattering against the wood. “Do you always make women repeat themselves three times before you answer?”
That got his attention, and he blinked as he turned to her, looking owl-ish. “No. I just…”
“YOU JUST WHAT?”
Holy crap she was beautiful. Like out of control gorgeous. He’d thought she was really pretty in class, the way her hair frizzed out of her ponytail and around her face, and the way her workout clothes showed off her generous shape. But this, even the glimpses he could catch underneath that bathrobe, she was…stupefying. Not that he was always great with the whole words coming out of mouth making sense thing—talking, that’s what that was called—but he could usually answer bas
ic questions.
Also, he wanted to look at her stuff more, find something they had in common he could prepare to talk about next time. If there were a next time. There was a picture of her with Slade Lewis, the former Secretary of HUD, and a few more pictures with other political higher-ups predominantly on the left. She probably worked in government, much like it seemed ninety percent of this town did, and it seemed likely she was a Democrat. But, more time answering her question now and less time figuring out what on earth he was supposed to talk to this woman about when she was so…all the things.
“You, um…” Why did his tongue suddenly feel like it was taking up his whole mouth? Why did he suddenly have no vocabulary? No thought process? Nothing? Maybe it would be better if he just left because there was no way she was going to want to do anything with him now. “You, uh, look nice.”
Nice? Carter mentally smacked his forehead. She didn’t look nice, she looked like every wet dream he’d ever had and some his imagination hadn’t come up with. Fuck. This was not going well. At all. Maybe he could say he needed to use the bathroom and call Jamie?
Over lunch his brother confirmed for Carter that it did indeed sound like the mysterious and super-hot woman from spin class did indeed want to have the sex with him. Unfortunately, Jamie had spent so much of the meal giving him impressed looks with his mouth full or saying shit like “Carter Cox, you sly dog, you. I knew you had it in you,” that they really hadn’t talked about the whole part before the sex. Maybe he could beg Jamie for some pointers while he pretended to take a leak? But it would take too long, and then she’d probably think he was doing something creepy, and he didn’t want her to think that.
No, not her. She must have a name, right? There hadn’t been one on the card she’d slapped against his chest. Just an address, and here he was. The buzzer hadn’t even had a last name, and now he was standing here—
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 37
