“No, thank you.” I gaze longingly at a bottle of scotch on the bar. A nip would do wonders to calm my nerves, but I need to keep my wits about me. “Coffee would be nice.”
“Twelve steps?” He’s teasing me now, and it comes as a shock. “I hear admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery.”
“The only problem I have right now is you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I bite the inside of my cheek and frown. He laughs. The deep, rumbling sound does crazy things to my insides.
“Back at you, sweetheart.” He pours coffee into two cups. The rich aroma fills the room. “One sweetener, no cream, right?”
“Yes.” I’m hard-pressed to recall what I wore to work last week, let alone something from twelve years ago. Looking at his handsome face, I know that’s not true. I remember the appendectomy scar on his belly, the way he talks in his sleep, the glide of his fingers between my legs. “How can you remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things.” His voice lowers, deepens. “How you smell, the way your eyes change colors when it rains, the tiny mole on your left ass cheek.”
Holy crap, my panties are getting damp at the memories. I squeeze my thighs together and blow on the coffee, even though it’s the perfect temperature. Cam’s gaze focuses on my lips. Our eyes meet, and it’s so obvious what he’s thinking.
“Those girls in your hotel room—were they prostitutes?” I ask. He chokes and sputters on his first sip of coffee. With a groan, he dabs at the dark brown spots on his shirt. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
A blush tints his cheeks. It’s genuine and unexpected. He clears his throat, frowning. “Do you really want to know, because I’m happy to go into the details.”
It’s my turn to blush. “No. Not really.”
“They’re professional volleyball players. Whenever they’re in town, they like to drop by.” His lips curl at my growing discomfort. I fan my face with a folder to cool the heat in my cheeks. “Sometimes they like to—”
“I’m good. That’s enough.” My hands shake as I rummage through the reports. “I had Ivan email the file to you. Did you have a chance to go over it?”
“No. Tell me. Give me your elevator pitch.”
I draw in a deep breath and launch into a synopsis of marketing, investments, and restructuring. He waits until I’m finished to comment. I bite my lower lip, more nervous than I’ve ever been while he studies the reports.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” The downward inflection of his tone isn’t promising.
“Yes. I was serious when I said I want to work things out. My best team has been working on this nonstop. Seaforth Media is important to the overall health of Seaforth Industries. You started this company. My father’s name took it to the next level. We can continue the trend. Together, with my business sense and your media power, we can turn it around.”
“I have no doubt the company can be turned around.” He removes his arm from behind me, smooths his tie, and stares out the window. “The Seaforth name doesn’t carry the same weight it once did. I can do all this on my own. Why do I need you?”
His blunt answer dashes the last of my hopes. Why indeed? He’s already rich and powerful. The truth of the matter is that I’m the one who needs him, not the other way around. I’m desperate and not above using all my resources to get what I want. I uncross and cross my legs. His gaze travels the length of my calves and the sheer black thigh-highs covering them. The bulge of his Adam’s apple bobs. “You don’t. But I need you. I know it, and you know it.” Honesty is always the best policy. “I’m willing to sweeten the deal, restructure the partnership.”
“You haven’t done your homework, Vanessa.” The lids of his eyes lower, hooding his thoughts, but I can hear the disappointment in his tone.
“What do you mean?” Nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach, the bad kind. Embarrassment scalds my cheeks. I blow out a breath and unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
“It’s just you.” His nostrils flare. A tremor of excitement zings along my inner thighs. I know that look. Some things never change. I drag the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip and lower my eyelashes. “It means you haven’t prepared for this meeting.” His fingertips drum on the arm of the sofa. His chest swells with a long exhale. “Don’t fuck with me. I’m not a lovesick boy anymore. This is important. You’re too smart to play games like this.” With his free hand, he gathers the reports together and shoves them into my arms. Placing a hand between my shoulder blades, he propels me toward the door. “Now, get out.”
Chapter 18
Cam - Twelve Years Ago
THE LIBRARY SMELLS of leather, dust, and sex. Sunlight illuminates the highlights in Vanessa’s hair. The fine strands spill over the cushion beneath her head. Blood pulses in my ears and my cock from an orgasm so delicious, I’m delirious. Once it fades, however, the reality of what we’ve just done hits me in the head like a sucker punch. What was I thinking? After passing a shaking hand over my face, I pull out of her and sit back on my knees, take off the condom and tie it in a knot. My gaze drifts over her body. The creamy skin of her torso is pink. Her nipples thrust at me, begging for my mouth. Damn, if I don’t want her again. If only to prove to myself that it wasn’t the best sex I’ve ever had.
Mistake number one: I drilled Vanessa Seaforth in the library of the Avondales’ house. Not just screwed, but fucked like a horny monkey
Mistake number two: I liked it—a lot. So much, in fact, that my dick is getting hard again. She’s incredibly wet, the evidence glistening on her inner thighs. With the flush of sex still on her cheeks and her lips swollen from my kisses, she’s irresistible.
As if reading my thoughts, she sits up and starts to dress. I do the same, shoving my shaking legs into my shorts, and trying not to stumble.
Vanessa runs her fingers through her mussy hair and gives me a smile. “That was amazing,” she says. The light from the window catches her green eyes, and I press my lips together. I hope she doesn’t think this means we’re a thing now. So many girls do that, read more into the act, confusing biological lust with emotional love.
“Yeah,” I say, because I’m an idiot, and because I have no words to describe what just happened.
“Okay, well, I’ve got some reading to do. I’ll catch up with you later.” She pats my cheek and leaves.
I follow her delectable ass out the door with my gaze, mouth gaping open in shock. Did she really just brush me off? I sink onto the chaise and pillow my face in my hands while I fight to get a grip. I’m always the one to walk away. It’s just what I do. Sex for me is a means of release and my main source of income. I’ve fucked dozens of women and, afterward, left them without a backward glance. No mess, no fuss, no emotions.
So why does this time bother me? I exhale and lean back on the chaise, an arm behind my head, to contemplate the novelty. Maybe because it was, by far, the hottest sex I’ve ever had. Sweet and quick with just a touch of dirty, the way I like it. If things had been different, if we were different people at a different time, I would have taken her again and again until we were both too exhausted to move. But that’s the problem. We’re not other people. She’s American royalty, and I’m the son of a murderer.
After a few minutes, I draw in a cleansing breath and get hold of my senses. What the fuck is my deal? This is the perfect scenario. She wants absolutely nothing from me, and I’m free. I’ve never been one to dwell on past mistakes. If I did, I’d be paralyzed with grief and betrayal. I believe in moving forward; it’s what has gotten me this far in life.
Feeling better, I shake off the malaise and head upstairs for a shower. Vanessa’s bedroom door is closed, and I force myself to walk past without knocking.
When night rolls around, I can’t sleep, knowing she’s on the other side of my bedroom wall. After tossing and turning, I get up, intending to visit the kitchen for a late-night snack. Vanessa’s door opens at the exact
same moment. She’s wearing tiny shorts, a tight tank top and no bra. We collide. I wrap my fingers around her biceps to keep us both from falling.
“Sorry,” we say in unison.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask when we’ve each taken a step back.
“No. I— Not really.” She glances at her bedroom door like she wants to dive inside.
“Me neither.” I can’t tear my eyes away from her breasts. They’re high and full, the cotton stretched taut between her erect nipples, and they jiggle when she moves. “I was going to the kitchen for a snack.”
She runs her tongue over her lower lip, and my eager dick swells. The gesture captures my interest. “I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies in my room, if you want some.”
“Yes.” Hell, yes. I want her cookies and her hands on me and my cock buried deep inside her. My previous resolve melts away under the heat in her eyes. She turns into the room, holding the door open for me to pass. I tell myself it’s the cookies I’m interested in when both my dick and my stomach know it’s a lie.
Once inside, she sits on the bed cross-legged. With the plate of cookies between us, I stretch out on my side next to her and try not to think about all the things we could be doing on her bed besides eating.
“Good, huh?” She swipes a crumb from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue.
“Where did you get these?” I’m on my third one. The cookies are soft and sweet with huge chunks of chocolate.
“I bribed the cook to make them before she left.” A mischievous smile curls the corner of her mouth. Her gaze flickers to my mouth. “They’re my weakness—among other things.”
My heart skips a beat at her answer. Is she flirting with me? She’s hard to read. After her earlier brush-off, I question my instincts. Her body language suggests disinterest, but her eyes keep devouring me.
“What other things?” My voice cracks on the question. I keep imagining what it would be like to smear the melted chocolate from the cookies on her breasts and lick it off.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She leans back on her hands. “Random stuff.”
“Like what?” I want to learn more about her, what makes her tick.
“Okay.” Her smile causes my groin to tighten. “I love old movies, the kind with Bette Davis and Cary Grant.” Through the cover of her lashes, she glances up at me.
I nod and twirl a finger in the air. “Go on.”
“Chocolate, but you already know that. I like the way babies smell and puppy breath, and I can never pass up a secondhand store.”
“You buy secondhand stuff?” At my disbelief, she rolls her eyes. “You mean like vintage Dior or Chanel, right?”
“No.” She punches my shoulder playfully. I catch her fist, dwarfing it with my large hand, and brush a thumb over her knuckles. “I buy all kinds of stuff—jewelry, clothes. I enjoy knowing something has a history. Like this ring. I bought it at a secondhand store in New York.” Three emeralds wink from the silver band on her little finger.
“They match your eyes.” I take her hand and study the long, slender fingers. Now I’ve got both her hands in mine. She tries to pull back, but I don’t let go. I can’t. Each time we touch, electricity pulses through me. The sensation is novel and addictive.
“Cam.” The sound of my name on her lips is half plea, half warning.
“Vanessa?” I lift an eyebrow, staring her down, letting her know I’m not going anywhere quite yet.
Chapter 19
Vanessa - Twele Years Ago
THE BED CREAK as Cam shifts closer. I try to remove my hands from his, but I don’t have the willpower. He’s too sexy to resist. I’ve been restless all night, knowing he’s on the other side of the wall separating our rooms. Now he’s in my bed, touching me, awakening all the desires I’ve tried to avoid.
Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll scare me, he sits up. A shiver courses along my back. All the nerve endings in my body snap into full alert. We stare at each other. Whenever he moves, the scent of peppermint and woodsy body spray teases my nose.
I thought I was fine with a one-off, but my body craves more of him. After this morning, I meant to walk away and pretend it never it happened. I was a fool to believe it possible. “What are we doing?”
“Making a huge mistake.” Cam’s breath tickles against my ear.
“This can’t mean anything.”
“It doesn’t.” Strong fingertips trail along my shoulder to sweep a wisp of hair away from my face. He presses a kiss to my temple.
“No one can know.”
“They won’t.”
“Did you bring a condom?”
“Damn. No.”
“I thought you were a boy scout. Always prepared.”
“I’m anything but a boy scout.” He shakes his head, but his lips curl up at the corners. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Butterflies twitter in my stomach. He’s back, foil packet in hand, before I can find a reason to back out. Who am I kidding? I don’t want to back out. When I’m old and gray, I’ll be able to say I slept with the hottest guy in existence.
He sits on the bed beside me and places a hand on my bare thigh. The air between us thickens. I study his lips. They’re thick and soft with a sensitive Cupid’s bow. He rolls them together. Gathering my courage, I lean into him and press a kiss on his mouth. A growl rumbles through his chest. His fingers tighten on my leg. I expect him to take me right away, like he did in the library, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me back, long and slow. His fingertips skate along the bare strip of skin between my shorts and tank top.
We make out until my lips swell and my panties dampen. He cups the back of my neck with one hand. I tangle my fingers in his silky hair. Between us, his erection hovers against my leg, but he doesn’t press for more. There’s no hurry, no rush, as we explore each other. I could kiss him for hours like this. I’ve dreamed of being kissed like this, by someone who knows how.
Outside my open bedroom window, bullfrogs sing. A horse neighs from the stable. Time stands still. It’s just the two of us, alone in this big house. The space between my thighs begins to ache. My hands roam over Cam’s body, beneath his shirt where his flesh is hot and firm.
“Look what you’re doing to me, princess.” He takes my hand in his and slides my palm along the length of his erection. I curl my fingers around the hardness, making him moan. “We need to slow down, or I’m not going to last much longer.”
“I was thinking the exact opposite.”
“Who’s in charge here?” he asks, laughter shaking his voice. Beneath his lashes, he shoots me a sideways glance, but he never looks directly at me.
“Me?”
“I don’t think so.” In one expert motion, he flips me onto my back and settles between my thighs. Plush lips pepper kisses along my throat, collarbone, and breasts. “The sooner you figure that out, the better off we’ll be.”
The mattress squeaks when he sits up on his knees between my parted legs. He reaches behind his head and pulls his T-shirt over his head, baring his smooth chest and abs. Unspoken praise for his beauty catches in my throat. I can’t believe this magnificent creature is about to rock my world—again. How lucky am I? With his palms against my skin, he slides my tank over my head and tosses it into the shadows.
“Such a beauty,” he murmurs.
He’s so warm, almost feverish. His fingertips burn along my ribs, reaching to cup my breasts. A gentle squeeze of his big hands causes me to squeak. Anticipation and impatience consume my body. The waiting is excruciating. I want him inside me, over me. I squirm and thrust my hips upward. He murmurs something unintelligible over my belly then kisses a trail up to my breast. Sensuous lips encircle my nipple and suck until my toes curl.
“Cam, please. You’re making me crazy.” I feel his smile against my skin.
“Am I? Good.” The gentle sting of his teeth on my nipple precedes the soothing silk of his tongue.
“You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”
&n
bsp; For the first time, he looks directly into my eyes. The sight of blue irises between thick, black lashes steals my breath. “Hell yes.” He rises to his knees. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
He grips my ankles and yanks, sliding me off the pillow and flat onto my back. I’m too stunned to react. I just stare up at him, speechless, while he props my calves on his shoulders and dives between my legs. He presses a kiss to my belly button.
“These shorts.” The tip of his finger tickles along the inside of the waistband. My belly quivers. He works the snug polyester down over my hips. “They’re sexy as fuck, but they’ve got to go.”
“That mouth.” I tug on his hair. “Your language is appalling.”
“In about five minutes, you’re going to be singing praises about this mouth,” he says. My shorts sail across the room with one flick of his hand.
“Care to place a wager on that?”
His breath hits my clit, followed by a flick of his tongue. Holy moly. Pulses of electricity zip to my nerve endings. A finger dips inside me. I wiggle, trying to get away from the overwhelming pleasure. “How much?” His deep voice vibrates through my body.
“What?”
“What’s the wager?” The bed groans as he shifts his weight. “Are you a gambler, Vanessa? Do you like taking risks?”
Is he really talking about bets when I’m on the verge of a mind-altering orgasm? He lifts his head to glance up at me through the shield of his lashes. At the same time, he curls his finger, stroking the magic place on my inner wall. Blood thunders through my ears. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t begin to process the flood of conflicting sensations. A wave of heat races up my chest, followed by a shiver.
“Just get back down there and get to work,” I manage to say between gasps, giving his head a little push. His laughter echoes through the quiet. I don’t care. He can laugh all he wants, as long as he doesn’t stop.
He brings me to climax over and over using his lips, tongue, and fingers. Within an hour, I’m exhausted, the strength sapped from my limbs. Sleep tugs at my eyelids. Cam crawls up my body, resting his weight on his elbows at my sides, and nudges between my legs with his cock.
Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel Page 8
