by S. Ann Cole
Kiera.
Horniest. Friend. Ever.
My head is vibrating.
Wait, no, it’s my pillow.
Sleep submits to consciousness, and I blink awake, eyes adjusting to the darkness. I lie still and listen. Nope, it’s not my pillow. It’s the phone under my pillow.
Snaking my hand under the pillow for my phone, I squint at the screen. A groan leaves me when I see “Mr. Van Der Wells” flashing across the screen. I check the time. 1:18 AM. Seriously? What could he want at this ungodly hour?
I pause a second, my heart pounding with a thought. Trouble. Andrew. He’s abducted Noah and is calling me from his phone. Oh God. Oh God. Oh Go—
‘Just shut up and answer the damn phone, you idiot,’ Rational Lotty snaps at me.
Reckless Lotty titters.
I hate the both of them.
Taking a deep breath, I answer the phone, bracing for the worst. “Noah?”
“I’m on the doorstep.”
I take a minute to process his words, then, “What?”
“I’m on the doorstep.” He hangs up.
Fumbling out of bed, I slip on my bed-slippers, tie a robe around me, and pad out of the guestroom. The house is dark and quiet, as most houses are at this hour, the tick-tick-tick of Gloriel’s antique owl clock the only sound echoing through the house.
At the front door, I go to turn the lock, but Rational Lotty cautions me to utilize the peephole. So, I tip up on my toes and press one eye to the peephole. And there is Noah, on the doorstep, just like he said, staring straight into the peephole with an arched brow. He knows I’m on the other side.
He doesn’t seem agitated, panicked, or worried, like something terrible has happened. So why is he here?
Annoyed, I turn the lock and swing open the door. “It’s your mother’s house. Don’t you have a key or something?”
As I snap this out at him, my eyes rove down and up the length of him. He’s wearing his pajamas, bed-loafers, a sleep tee, and a sleep robe knotted loosely at his narrow waist. Hair all rumpled and eyes a bit lazy, as though he: A). Just woke up from a flailing nightmare, or B). Just gave a lucky woman amazing, thigh-squeezing, hair-gripping head. Mostly likely, this lucky woman was Sienna. I mean, hey, why not play while Lotty is away?
“Yes,” he affirms, “But I don’t want to come in inside.”
“Open your mouth.”
He pauses for a beat, frowns, looks from side to side, then asks, “What?”
“Open your mouth. I want to smell it.”
His eyebrows kiss the sky. “You want to smell my mouth?”
“Yes.”
He looks as if he’s about to ask me to expound on this, or maybe laugh at me, but then he thinks better of it and slowly opens his mouth.
I step forward, grab the lapels of his robe, yank him forward, and sniff. Nope. His mouth doesn’t smell like vagina. Smells a lot like vanilla, though, and a hint of alcohol.
As I release his lapel, he steps back, smiling. “What’s that about?”
My eyes flick to car waiting on the curb behind him, taillights on. “Oh, just checking for vagina breath.”
His smile falters, no longer amused. “You think I was sleeping with someone?”
“Nope. Eating someone.” I wrap my arms around myself, the chill of the night air biting into my bare legs. “What’s so important that you had to call me out of bed at one in the morning?”
“You didn’t smell my dick.”
My eyes snap up. “What?”
“I don’t eat every time I screw,” he deadpans. “So you should smell my dick instead.” As he says this, his hands are opening his robe and moving to his pajama bottoms.
Appalled, I cover my eyes and a turn away. “Stop, you perverted jackass!”
A deep chuckle caresses me, and I peek through my fingers to see him retying his robe.
“Come on, Lotty, don’t tell me you’re cock-shy.”
Spinning back to him, I punch his arm. “I’m not ‘cock-shy,’ you turd. But we’re standing on your mother’s doorstep. Now, why did you come here?”
He shrugs, as if it’s simple and obvious. “I missed you at the apartment.”
My eyes circle the heavens. “Don’t tell me you’re catching Q’s monophobia.”
“Nah. I’m just Lotty sick.” He makes a mock sob sound in his throat, and coughs. “Help me.”
My heart is doing something in my chest. Something that feels warm and expanded and tingly and melty. “Get a vaccine.”
“Vaccines prevent. I’m already sick.”
I shake my head, but it’s mostly to block out Reckless and Rational Lotty who are dancing and shaking tambourines of happiness. “Seriously? You called me out of my bed to tell me you miss me. You couldn’t have sent a text?”
Taking a step into me, daring me to move back, he says, “Your bed is not in here. Your bed is in our apartment. And no, I didn’t just come to tell you I miss you; I came for medicine. I told you: I’m sick.”
My legs are no longer suffering from chill bites, because heat percolates me through and through, heartbeat uneven and unpredictable, my stomach coiling.
“What…What’s the medicine?”
Noah takes another predatory step into me, sealing the gap, and I’m forced to tilt my head back as he gazes down at me with raw, carnal hunger. “Your lips. Your tongue. The soft touch of your hands on my—”
“You’re asking me for a blow-job? On your mother’s doorstep?”
Noah folds his lips and watches me, his eyes smiling, glinting. As though he can’t hold back any longer, he breaks into a grin. “No, Lotty. I’m asking you for a kiss.”
“Oh,” I start to say, but before I can go any further, he holds my face between his warm palms, dips his head, fusing our lips. My hands reach up, gripping his biceps for balance. But as soon as I receive that balance, I go all in. All in.
I let go and give in, getting swept up in a vortex of blazing passion and fervor. One hand moves from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him, his arousal hard and tempting and pressing against my belly.
I slip my hands around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. The billionaire groans in my mouth, sending shivers down my spine, lust through my veins.
I want him. I want to devour him. Right here and now. My bud pulses with the reminder that I haven’t climaxed in days. And that’s a record because I’m fueled by my orgasms.
With one hand, I begin a caressing path down into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. But as soon as I get a sweet feel of his V, he swiftly catches my hand and parts from me.
“We can’t go that far. We’re on my mother’s doorstep, remember?”
“Then come inside,” I beg.
“No.” He begins to move back. “That’s not what I came for.” He kisses the center of both my palms, drops them, then turns and retreats down the steps. “Night, Lotty.”
“No,” I protest, voice whiny. “You can’t just leave.”
He doesn’t stop, keeps moving.
“Hey, now I’m Noah sick!” I call after him.
As he reaches the waiting car and opens the back door, he emits a sly chuckle. “Mission accomplished.”
The words take a minute to register, and my eyes narrow to slits. Sonuvabitch!
I start to chase after him, to give him a bitch slap, but before I can get down the first step, the car drives off.
“Bastard!” I yell into the night, then stomp back into the house and slam the door.
Belatedly remembering Gloriel, I wince, hoping I didn’t wake her, and tiptoe off to the guestroom.
As I climb back into bed, seething, my phone lights up with a text.
Noah: I want you to run to me, not away from me. If you’re Noah sick, only I can heal you.
Me: U r a bastard. I hate u.
Noah: I’ll never hurt you.
Me: I know.
Noah: Ever.
Me: I know.
Noah: Never.
Me: U still miss
me, don’t u?
Noah: You have no idea.
Me: I miss u 2.
Noah: Sweet dreams, Lotty.
Me: Dream of me…beautiful bastard.
Sliding my phone back under my pillow, I roll over with a gigantic smile on my face, close my eyes, and dream of Noah.
Giving me head.
NINETEEN
“PLEASE, KIKI,” I BEG, “Come with me. I’m scared.”
“Scared of getting tackled and boned by a super-hot, super-rich, sexy beast of a man?”
“Girl, please, I’m never scared of getting boned,” I lash back to defend my sex-fiend rep. “I’m scared of falling.”
“Honestly, Lotty, I need a neck-brace for all the whiplashes I’ve been getting from you two,” she says through a laugh. “In the beginning, he made advances first, and you rejected him. Then you start making advances—going as far as blowing your cash on Louboutins and slutifying your uniform—and he rejected you. Now he’s making advances again, and you’re retreating? A pointless game of cat and mouse you two play. Who’s whose conquest here?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” I sigh. “See, at the time when he was making advances, I didn’t know he was him. Nate. So I didn’t bite, didn’t want to lose my job. But once I found out, I decided I had to pick up where I left off years ago. By then, he was over it; he said no, and that gave me enough time to realize I don’t just want to have sex with him, I want him. I made that slip the other night, and that was music to his ears. That’s what he wanted all along, the reason he rejected me before.
“And now that he knows I’m past the just-sex craze to full-want, he’s coming in like a wrecking ball. He wants more than full-want. He wants serious-want. Like the future-wife want. Risk-of-heartbreak want. And I’m scared shitless because I don’t want that kind of want. I want a temporary-want. Something to tide me over until it’s time to leave. But he’s saying I’m not leaving. And he’s saying I’m his. And he’s missing me. And he’s kissing me. And oh my bloody Jesus on a cross I think I’m falling for his missing me and his kissing me and it’s weakening me.” I finish with deep gulp of air, catching my breath, counting to ten.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and then, “Like I said: whiplash.” Her heels click and clack in the background, like she’s walking briskly. I hear her mumble a couple of good afternoons. “Listen, if you’re falling for Van Der Wells’ fine ass, then I’m not going to help you stop that. Call me selfish, but if you fall for him and he marries you, it means you’ll be a billionaire again and you won’t leave me and run off to bumfrig-wherever. So, sorry, but no. I will not come to training with you. The only bad thing about you falling for our sexy billionaire is that he’ll be perpetually off-limits, and I won’t get a chance to bite that ass.”
I scowl, even though she can’t see me through the phone. “Gasp! You’re the worst best friend ever.”
“Did you really just say the word gasp?”
“Oh, shut up.”
She laughs at me. “Have fun at training. And do grab his ass for me, squeeze it, and tell him it’s from me.”
She cuts off the call before I can reply.
Now I’m on my own. I look out the window of Gloriel’s town car and up at Noah’s building.
Last night, I was given specific orders not to miss training, so I had Gloriel’s driver take me, because Muscles was “tied up.” It’s been ten minutes since the driver pulled up outside VDW, and ten minutes since I’ve been sitting here staring up at the building, afraid to go in. Called Kiera and begged her to sit in with me while I train, and, well, you heard her.
I spot Mike, the bodyguard I don’t like, standing just outside the doors, waiting to escort me. And then an idea comes to me. Noah’s handsome assistant, whatever his name is. I can flirt with him, knowing Noah will be watching, maybe even kiss him and piss Noah off. That might make him reverse into just-sex territory. If I do that, he’ll see and know that I can’t change. That I’m just a flirtatious, flighty little twit, who will do to him worse than Sienna had.
With this brilliant idea, I smile; fears chased off by enthusiasm, and open the car door.
Except my enthusiasm to thwart Noah is short-lived. Because when I get off on Noah’s floor, I’m faced with a gauche, bespectacled, blond nerd; freakishly tall, freckled, and a little too pale.
He stands and grins as I approach, a mouth full of wires. “You must be Miss Cooley.” His voice is devoid of any kind of base whatsoever, as if he’s been castrated or something. “Mr. Van Der Wells is waiting for you in the gym.”
I nod, but ask, “Where’s the other guy?”
Brace Face looks puzzled.
“The receptionist whose position you succeeded?”
“Oh, my cousin? Zach?” He grins something big and proud. “Zach got promoted.”
A frown draws my brows together. “Promoted? He told me he just started working here, straight out of college.”
Brace Face shrugs, his limp, long arms jerking with the movement like broken tree limbs. “Zach says Mr. Van Der Wells is the best. I’m hoping to get promoted soon, too.”
Not likely, I think as I start in the direction of the gym. Zachary didn’t get promoted because his boss is “the best.” He got promoted because his boss is a jealous and manipulative bastard.
Mad as Madea that my plan has been shot to hell, I burst through the gym doors. Noah is grunting on the pull-up bar.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
Doing one final rep, he lets go of the bar and lands on the ground in a half squat. Straightening, he stretches his arms before snagging his towel from a nearby bench and wipes the sweat from his face. “What am I being Lotty’d for this time?”
Lotty’d? Prick. “You promoted Zach.”
“Yes?”
My hands settle on my hips. “He just started working here.”
One eyebrow lifts. “For my own sake, I’ll forgo asking how you know that.” Walking over to the cooler station, he plucks up one of the disposable cups, fills it, and downs the water, twice, before binning it. “This is my company, I can promote or demote whomever, whenever I want.”
“No,” I refute. “You moved him because I flirted with him and you’re a stupid, jealous adolescent. So you replaced him with the most awkward and unattractive male you could find.”
“In the same way, you are my girl and I can tell you to come over here and kiss me, and know you’ll obey,” he goes on as if I hadn’t spoken.
I take a step backward, confidence waning. “I’m not your girl, I’m your housemaid. And I’m definitely not coming over there to kiss you.”
‘Where are you going?’ Reckless Lotty screams at me. ‘Go forward! Forward! Not backward. Run and crash into that amazing chest, into those amazing arms, you fool.’
Rational Lotty has no comment, which means she agrees with Reckless Lotty. These two have been agreeing on a lot lately. It’s unsettling.
“Come here, Lotty,” he commands in a gentle voice, his eyes locked on mine. I know that gentle-voice lock-eye move. He’s trying to manipulate me.
I take another step back, and Reckless Lotty screams more disparaging words at me. I block her out. “No.”
Biting one side of his lip, he throws his towel down on the bench without his eyes ever leaving mine. “Should I come to you then?”
I don’t answer.
Leisurely, he moves one finger over his bottom lip, as if in thought, but I know it’s to taunt me. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Ask me to come to you.”
I swallow. Jesus, what is wrong with me?! This isn’t me. I’m the one with the bold overtures, the one who makes men nervous and uncomfortable around me. I don’t step back. I don’t shy away. I never hesitate. What is it with Noah? Why am I cowering? So weak.
“Ask me, Lotty,” he urges.
My sports bag drops to the floor, and my hand comes up to my throat, feeling my pulse beat rapidly under my skin. M
y eyes settle on his sweat-sheened chest, slowly drifting up to his throat. I want to touch my tongue to his throat and feel for his pulse. Is it beating as wild as mine? What about his mouth? Is it as arid as mine? And his knees, are they as weak and wobbly as mine?
“Come.” The word is out before I can stop it. “Come to me.”
He’s already moving across the room. Drives me back against the wall, cages me in with his hands pressed to the wall on either side of my head. The pulses at my neck are like fusillades of bullets now. He’s so close.
He wraps four fingers around two of mine, effectively removing them from my neck. He then brings them to press against his neck, and I feel it: his heart, his beat, his rhythm. I feel him. Not as wild and erratic as mine, but not normal either.
“Lotty,” he whispers, voice scratchy.
“Kiss me.”
He doesn’t oblige. “I came to you. Meet me halfway, Lotty. Stop making it seem as if I’m the only one who wants this.”
He leans in and presses the length of his body against mine, and a shudder caresses over me, as my whole body ignites with something…beautiful.
“I want…I don’t want…I…” I garble, eyes fluttering closed.
“You. Want. This,” he tells me.
I nod. Because I do. I do want this. I need this.
My fingers slide up his neck, around to his nape, and up into his hair.
My eyes open, and find he’s dipped his head, waiting for me to make the last move.
Without further hesitation, I do. I tip up in my Shape-ups and make it real. This time our kiss is slow and careful, probing. Noah’s hands come up to cradle my face, holding it in place so he can properly suck away my soul.
I go lax. I moan. I give into him. I surrender him the reigns.
And apparently that’s just what he needs, because in the next nanosecond his arms are hooked around my thighs and I’m hiked up. Instinctively, my legs lock around his waist, arms around his neck, our lips fused, and tongues caressing.
