Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “For the last couple years, all the really good times have revolved around my girlfriends. And before you give me that look again, they’re all happily married to gorgeous guys.”

  “Good to know.”

  He pulled into her driveway, helped her out of the car, and took her keys from her so he could open the door. Then he handed her back her keys, turned her toward him and gripping her forearms lightly he bent and kissed her on her forehead. “I’ll call you,” he said. Ignoring the knitted brows and her confused expression, he turned her and gently nudged her inside before closing the door between them.

  He strode back to his car with a jaunty step. Oh this was so going according to plan.

  Chapter Forty-two

  He waited two hours before he punched in her number. It rang five times before she answered. His cell phone didn’t broadcast his number so he knew she didn’t know who was calling.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Garrett.”

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “I told you I’d call.”

  She laughed. “I guess I assumed that meant tomorrow or the next day.”

  “It’s fairly safe to say that you shouldn’t assume anything about me.”

  “I guess I’m finding that out.”

  “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Yeah me too.”

  “I want to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it honestly. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Mmm. Okay. I’ll try.”

  “Have you thought about me spreading your thighs and putting my tongue inside you?”

  There was a gasp and then a long silence. Finally he heard her sigh.

  “Be honest now,” he admonished. “Have you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good. Because that’s all I can think about right now.”

  Again there was silence.

  “Just wanted you to know that. Good night.”

  Laurel was left sitting in her bed, propped against her pillows, staring at her portable phone. Had he just called and said what she thought she’d heard him say? And then hung up?

  It was many minutes before she replaced the handset, and almost an hour before she slid down onto the soft mattress and pulled the covers over her head in frustration. Every thought revolved around him as her mind walked her through scenario after scenario—all involving her being naked, him being fully clothed and his head settled between her splayed legs.

  She finally came to the realization that he had done this on purpose. That he had planned that phone call and her subsequent gnashing of teeth into her 700-count Egyptian cotton pillow cover. That scoundrel!

  She tossed the covers off and used the redial feature on her phone to call him back. When he answered she lowered her voice to what she hoped was seductive, and without preamble asked, “Have you thought about me kneeling before you and wrapping my lips around your gloriously hard cock and then sucking it all the way down my throat?”

  She was rewarded by a long, drawn out moan.

  “Tit for tat,” she murmured, satisfied that she’d woken him and put him in the same aroused state she was in.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  She was in the process of slamming the phone down but heard his throaty chuckle and lifted it back to her ear.

  Her appreciative laughter joined his and then abruptly stopped when she heard him ask, “So . . . what are we going to do about this? You undoubtedly have a sopping wet pussy and I have an erection that could be used as a pile driver.”

  Taking a deep breath she said, “I think we should move onto date number two.”

  “Tell me upfront how many it’s going to take until I can feel myself sliding into you?”

  She arbitrarily chose a number. “Seven.”

  He negotiated. “Three.”

  “Five.”

  “Four. And breakfast, lunch and dinner tomorrow each count as one.”

  She laughed with genuine delight and it coiled something in him so tightly that it caused him to shake his head at the sensation.

  “The sad thing about that is that I can’t meet you tomorrow. I’m playing in a charity golf tournament, and then helping with the silent auction afterward. ”

  “That is very distressing because sporting this hard-on means that I won’t even be able to leave the house.”

  “You started this.”

  “Just so we’re clear, you started this the second you fell down those stairs and into my arms.” She had in fact started this, but she’d never know that it had begun with a click of a mouse opening one of her files.

  “So what are you doing Friday night?”

  “You tell me. What am I doing Friday night?”

  “Going with me to the beach concert at Ocean Isle and eating deli sandwiches while we listen to the Craig Woolard Band and watch the sunset. It’s the last concert of the season and not to be missed.”

  “It’s a date—date number two, mind you.”

  “Do you like Italian cold cuts?”

  “Love them.”

  “Beer or wine for after the concert?”

  “Wine.”

  “I’ll meet you there at 6:30 so we can get upfront seats.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “You’ll need to bring a chair and your dancing shoes.”

  “Dancing shoes?”

  “We shag on the asphalt. It’s a hoot. And we also line dance.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “You don’t shag?”

  “Only the Austin Powers’ version.”

  “We’re waiting for date number six for that, remember?”

  “Four—and not one minute later. Do I need to get this in writing?”

  “That would be an odd contract to present before a judge.”

  “We already have an oral contract. Binding for both parties,” he said suggestively.

  She thought of Garrett’s lips. There. She’d been to Italy and seen The David firsthand. And while the other women on the tour had stared at his butt, she had been mesmerized by his full sensuous lips. Garrett’s lips had the same pouty and sculptured quality. The thought of his lips on her anywhere caused liquid heat to flood through her veins. The thought of his tongue . . . well, there was no point in denying herself the pleasure of that!

  “Alright, four.”

  “Goodnight Sexy.”

  “Goodnight Garrett. See you Friday.”

  “Can’t wait. ”

  They both hung up and sat in their respective beds staring at the opposite wall. Laurel, hardly believing she’d agreed to have sex with a man she’d only seen twice, and Garrett, trying to remember if there was any olive oil left in the bottle in his bathroom.

  Friday was a long way away off, Garrett thought, when he woke up at four in the morning with the bed sheets twisted all around him. How the hell was he going to amuse himself until then? He turned on the lamp and walked into the kitchen for some ice water. On his way back he picked up his laptop. If he couldn’t have her, he could have one of her stories. He chose the one that had intrigued from the beginning. Who didn’t love an innocent? And this one smacked of a fair amount of BDSM judging from the subtitle.

  The Rake and the Young Innocent

  Alternate title: Bought, Bound and Bared

  She sat at the formal table going through the motions of eating, stalling for time as she watched the man across the table eyeing her. She had been so nervous since this afternoon when her Aunt had told her he was coming to dinner. She had hinted that he was coming for much more than the simple fare they were now serving at the ornately carved mahogany table. And now, she somehow had the feeling that he was here solely b
ecause of her.

  Without lifting her head, she looked around the table at her siblings and her cousins. Margaret, her own sweet cherub of a sister was desperately trying to keep the small pile of riced potatoes on her fork until it reached her mouth. She was five and had only known her mother for three short years before she died. Next to her sat Theodore, her very grown up brother, who was trying to be everybody’s keeper. He was nine. He had been sorely affected by their mother’s passing. At the end of the table sat Molly, Aunt Patricia’s youngest daughter. She was a bit simple or maybe just a little slow at times, but a smiling, cheerful towhead nonetheless. She was six. On the other side of the table sat George, Aunt Patricia’s only son, and the bossiest child she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. He was fifteen. Next to him was Mary, a momma’s girl who was rarely more than a few feet away from her mother. She was eight. Then there was Aunt Patricia, newly widowed and burdened with six children, herself included. She was Julia—tall, willowy and curvy with long blonde hair, dewy skin in an unremarkable face, and nineteen just last month.

  At the head of the table sat the man her aunt had invited to dinner. The man she had met on only one other occasion. At a wedding in Dorchester, a long, long time ago when he had been only twenty-five. He was thirty-two now. She couldn’t remember whose wedding it was, just that he’d been there and that he’d never lacked for a simpering woman on his arm for even a moment.

  He was good looking by any woman’s standards, devastatingly handsome by hers. He was rather tall and well formed with hard chiseled looks that made her aware that this man was probably never denied much of anything. And he was wealthy, extremely wealthy. Wealthy beyond compare, her aunt had told her. It was evident in his manner of dress and by the ornately adorned livery of the coachmen that had accompanied his regal black lacquered coach. There was a ducal coat of arms on the door, but she wasn’t familiar with the hierarchy of the court, and didn’t recognize the crest. It was curious though, a mermaid entwined with a serpent against a clamshell. He had been introduced as the Duke of Thornhill.

  She was having a very hard time fathoming why he was here; they hardly ever had visitors, and certainly none of this caliber. And how was it that her aunt even knew this well-bred gentleman?

  After dinner the Duke asked Julia to take a walk with him in the orchard. She hesitated, but her aunt encouraged her with a vigorous nod of her head and a pointed look toward the door, so Julia finally took his proffered arm and let him lead her out though the French patio doors.

  They walked in silence along the oyster shell path that led to the far end of the orchard. She had heard her Aunt Patricia admonish the other children not to tag along, and to allow the Duke his privacy with her, so she knew she would be all alone in the moonlight with this man who was not much more than a stranger to her. And that in itself was very odd.

  As they walked, he gingerly took her hand and then lifted it to his lips. He placed tiny little kisses on each fingertip before turning to face her and looking into her bewildered eyes. She was stunned by his attentions. Things like this simply didn’t happen to her.

  “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

  “No, Your Grace, actually, I do not.”

  “Your aunt sent for me a week ago. She heard that I am finally in search of a bride. She says she chanced upon you bathing two weeks ago, and she seems to think I will find you suitable. She knows I have very discerning tastes when it comes to women.”

  “Pray tell, Lord Thornhill, how does she know this?”

  “I am not at liberty to say. Just be assured that I trust her word, that is why I am here today.”

  “Exactly what did she write you about me?”

  “She said that you were long of limb with a very sweet nature.”

  “And that was enough for you to come all

  this way?”

  “She said other things.”

  “I wish to know them, sir.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked as he led her over to a masonry bench in front of a rose arbor.

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Very well then. I choose not to keep secrets from you, if they are for the telling. She said that you had breasts as luscious and as plump as ripe white-fleshed peaches, and that the tuft of fur that protects your womanhood is so fair and so fine that even standing twenty feet away, your cleft is fully visible.”

  He chuckled as her hand went to her throat. She blanched and then gasped.

  “You asked.”

  “She would not dare say such a thing!”

  “Of course she would. She’s saddled with six children and she’s completely expended the monies left her. She knows that you are her most valuable asset, and she intended to make certain I would come to inspect the merchandise.”

  “I am not merchandise!”

  “Oh, my dear, how wrong you are. The fact is, that you are. You are a commodity to be bartered to the highest bidder. She knows I can pay the highest price and that I am willing to do so, if I find what I want . . . what I desire.” His eyes smoldered as he looked into her face.

  “I have a say! She cannot sell me!” She stood and began pacing.

  “Madame, if you are to my liking, she already has.”

  It was then that Julia remembered that her Aunt Patricia had been sequestered in the library with the Duke for the better part of an hour shortly after his arrival this afternoon. She turned, looked at him, and gasped. Could it be true? Could her aunt have sold her to this man?

  Now that she thought about it, it was probably the only viable solution her aunt had been able to come up with after learning of their dismal finances from her late uncle’s solicitor last month. Of course! This would solve all her problems! Unload the ugly, undowried niece, and at the same time earn an income to provide for the rest of the family.

  In actuality, it was a rather good plan and she should be grateful to her aunt for thinking of it. After all, her own dear siblings would suffer along with her aunt’s children if they were to be thrown out of their home, destitute, onto the street. She should be happy to help in any way that she could, but this, not this! Married to this arrogant aristocrat whose only concern for her marriageability was her youthful body.

  She moved back to the bench, and as if in a daze, slowly retook her seat. This could not be happening to her. She had been raised as a lady, a proper and respectable lady. One who would have a come out, attend balls, and be courted by proper and respectable gentlemen.

  The Duke knelt beside her as she sat on the bench and his fingers gently stroked the side of her long neck. “Your forehead is high and your nose a trifle long. You have nice cheekbones and creamy fair skin, but you are not lovely in face, neither are you homely though. Your looks are just average. Your one outstanding feature is your beautiful pale blonde hair. I do like your over plump lips though. Even though they are not fashionable. I however, shall find many uses for them.”

  He stood and looked down at her. “You are without a dowry, you have not had a proper coming out or attended a season and you are virtually an unknown living out here in this rural burg as you do. You have no skills other than teaching, child rearing and gardening, although Patricia has done extremely well with training you in the social graces of being a lady. You could do far worse than marrying me—a duke. A duke who can provide for you and your entire family in an elegant and grand style.”

  “If this is a proposal, it is not one such as I’ve dreamed of all my life. Being reminded that I am an unlovely maiden with over plump lips, an unknown country goose, dependent on my aunt, with no funds available to secure a husband.”

  “You are lovely in the ways that I need you to be lovely. I require a special bride, one that pleases me carnally. I venture that once broken, you will suit me quite well.”

 
“Are you asking me to marry you, Your Grace? Your words addle me, sir. I cannot tell whether you approve of me or disapprove of me.”

  His hand cupped her cheek and as he pulled her to her feet, he leaned in to kiss her. His lips were ardent as they pressed against hers. His other hand moved through her hair as he pulled her close and crushed her mouth under his. His lips covered and moved over hers as his tongue forced its way between her teeth and upon entry, he plundered her mouth until she finally pushed against his chest to separate them. She was woozy from his advance, but it had not been entirely unpleasant, and that surprised her.

  “Yes, I am asking you to marry me, if you meet my criteria, that is.”

  “Criteria?”

  “Yes, there are certain conditions that must be met.”

  “And what might they be?” she was still trembling from his kiss, but trying not to let it show, so she forced herself to be haughty in her reply.

  “I must view you first and you must be virginal—no man must have ever penetrated you.”

  “I assure you sir, that I am virginal. Chaste in fact, except for your kiss. View me? What do you mean by that?” Odd feelings came over her—fear, awareness of his impressive size, and desperation—the longer he spoke the more real this was all becoming.

  “I mean I must see you naked first. I must see your breasts and your womanhood and you must prove to my doctor that you are indeed a virgin. I am sorry, but your word just will not do in this matter.”

  She stood there wondering if she was imagining this whole ridiculous conversation. She shook her head in disbelief as she mumbled, “You expect me to disrobe and allow for your inspection before we are to become betrothed?” She was incredulous with shock. The impropriety of such a request was so foreign that she could not comprehend it in its entirety.