by Lynn Cooper
“Okay. What are we going to do when we get to your place?”
I ask him this because James stopped and picked up the pizzas a few minutes ago, and I’m certain we must be getting close to Stoke Estate.
“I thought we could relax on the sofa and watch a Lifetime movie.”
I can’t stifle a giggle. “You have got to be kidding me. In no universe can you like those kinds of movies.”
“I really do. A few years ago, I got strep throat. Picked it up on a cross-country flight. Damn recirculated air!”
“Shouldn’t a rich man like you have his own plane?”
“My private jet was grounded for an extensive service check, and I had to make that meeting. One of my acquisitions hit a snag, which required swift action. Anyway, while I was down with the virus from hell, I was channel surfing to get my mind off the high fever and horrible throat pain. I stumbled upon a Lifetime movie and got sucked in.”
I nod. “They do have a strong sucking-in factor.”
“No shit! I’m seriously addicted to them. Yeah, they’re cheesy chick flicks through and through, but they’ve become one of my secret, guilty pleasures.”
I have one question left, and I can’t resist opening the door he has left cracked. “What are your other secret, guilty pleasures, Mr. Stoke?”
“If you really want to know, you should call me Torin, and I should call you Winter. That kind of information warrants a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Torin. Now tell me.”
Chapter Eight
Torin Stoke
THE LOOK ON WINTER’S face is pure ecstasy. With each bite of pizza, she seems to sink deeper into taste-bud oblivion.
Wiping a dab of greasy goodness from my mouth, I say, “It makes me happy to see a woman with a healthy appetite.”
She smiles around another bite. “After watching me eat, you must feel downright ecstatic then.”
Taking a swig of my tea, I find myself staring in wonderment at this wild, sexy, untamed creature. Breathtaking is the only description that does her justice. And that’s how this woman makes me feel—breathless.
When she finishes off the last slice, I grab the empty boxes from the coffee table in my living room. We’ve been sitting a safe distance from each other on the sofa since we arrived at the estate. I wanted us to eat while the food was still warm. Now, I’m debating over whether or not to take her on a tour of the mansion or jump her bones and kiss her until she faints.
As I walk to the kitchen to dispose of our trash, I call over my shoulder, “Want the grand tour, or are you ready to watch a movie?”
I can hear her standing, and my nerves feel like vises tightening around my chest. The soft pad of her feet on the ceramic tiles prickles the hair on my neck. I want her in the worst kind of way.
Closing the recycle receptacle, I wash my hands then turn to face my houseguest. Her palms are resting flat on the swirled black and grey marble counter, and she has a stubborn look on her face. “What I want is for you to answer my earlier question, Torin.”
I had been hoping to distract her with the meal, thinking a full stomach might make her forget. A big part of me would like nothing more than to tell her every one of my secret fantasies. But the biggest part of me doesn’t want to scare her off.
Smiling, I reach across the counter and take her hands in mine. “Let’s watch that Lifetime movie first. I’ve got a bunch of them recorded on my DVR. What theme are you in the mood for? An obsessive stalker who turns murderer? A cougar prowling for college-age men? I know: how about a sleazy, two-timing cheater who’s clueless fiancée doesn’t suspect a thing?”
The hurt, crestfallen expression on her face crushes me. She looks like she might cry as she pulls her hands away from mine. When she answers, her voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’ve seen the last one. Correction: I starred in it,” she sighs, jerking her thumbs toward her chest. “Spotlight on the clueless fiancée.”
I hurry around the counter and pull her into my arms. With my chin resting on her head, I caress her back. “I’m so sorry, Winter. I had no idea. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head and sniffles against my shoulder. “No.”
Pulling back just enough to gaze into her misty eyes, I ask, “What do you want?”
“You mean other than a man who’s faithful. Who doesn’t betray the woman he’s supposed to love more than anyone else. Who doesn’t lie as easily as he breathes?”
I wipe away a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb and say, “If I’m reading you correctly, you hate a liar. Am I right?”
“You got it, Sherlock.”
“There’s that smartass mouth again.”
She smiles sadly. “Why do you care either way?”
“I care because I want to know you. To know what you value most above all else.”
“Honesty, Torin. That’s what I value most.”
I give her shoulders a comforting, reassuring and encouraging squeeze. “I can give you that, Miss Primrose.”
“What in hell’s bells are you talking about?”
“This weekend will be all about the truth. Even if it’s just for the next forty-eight hours, you will have a man you can trust.”
“You can’t be that man,” she says, pulling away from me.
“And why the fuck not?”
“Because you’re a liar, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s right. You said you would tell me your secret, guilty pleasures once we were on a first name basis, but you have put me off twice and refused to answer the question.”
“Fair enough. Starting now, I will not evade any of your inquiries and everything out of my mouth with be the honest-to-God truth.”
Chapter Nine
Winter Primrose
I WAS MORE THAN a little bit skeptical. Never in my life have I known a man who was capable of telling the truth for a single second much less for an entire forty-eight hours. But since Torin has taken this self-imposed vow of honesty, I am definitely going to take full advantage of it.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s play. Tell me what you want to do right this minute.”
I smile as he clenches his jaw, and his breathing becomes instantly labored.
With his hands still resting on my shoulders, and his gaze locked on mine, he says, “I want to strip this bathing suit off you and fill my eyes with your beauty.”
I refuse to blush. Based on our previous interactions, I expected him to play the shock-value card. “Is that all you want to fill?”
He takes his hands off my shoulders and runs them through his thick, black hair. “Damn it, Winter. What are you doing?”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Why nothing, Mr. Stoke. I was curious, that’s all.”
He growls. “You best remember curiosity killed the cat.”
“Yes, but satisfaction brought it back. Do you think you have what it takes to satisfy an ice queen?”
“Honestly? I don’t know, but I sure would like to try,” he says. Taking my hand, he half-drags me out of the kitchen, through the living room and then down a long carpeted hallway.
Breathlessly, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“To my office.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
I feel on the verge of hyperventilation. Perhaps having a man say and do things with such raw truthfulness wasn’t such a good idea after all.
When we step into his office, I instantly feel warmed by the masculine earth tones. The walls are painted soft beige with a darker, adobe-colored trim around the door and window frames. Long, floor-to-ceiling rectangular windows located behind his huge desk are covered with oak-finished blinds. I can only imagine how pretty the room is during the daytime when the sunshine filters through the slats.
Even though we are alone—I’m assuming James has gone home—Torin closes the door behind us and locks it. Then he walks past me, making his way around the de
sk. Leaving me standing in the middle of the room, he sits down in a plush leather office chair and leans back as if he’s just relaxing after a long day and doesn’t have a care in the world.
I take a few steps forward, regarding him with undisguised interest. I have no idea what he’s up to, but he has me intrigued. I take a deep breath and say, “You definitely have my attention, Mr. Stoke.”
When he finally speaks, the low, sexy timbre of his voice makes me instantly wet. “Come here, Winter.”
My name on his lips sounds like the most intimate and naughty word I’ve ever heard. When I reach his chair, he takes my hands, lets his legs fall open and gently pulls me down between them until my knees sink into the lush, cream-colored carpet.
My heart beats out a staccato rhythm that skips awkwardly across the inside of my ribcage. He reaches out and touches my cheek. “You’re not breathing, Miss Primrose.”
I inhale, expanding my lungs, but it doesn’t seem to help. Kneeling at his feet makes me feel short-of-breath and insubstantial. My insides are all fluttery. My limbs are weak.
He removed his tuxedo jacket and tie the moment we arrived at Stoke Estate, and he looks even sexier in just the black pants and the crisp, white shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal a tuft of dark, chest hair. This view of his body reveals his size and strength. His broad chest, bulging biceps, washboard stomach and powerful thighs. He’s hard everywhere I’m soft.
My mind tells my mouth to say something witty or sexy or even shocking, but it has gone dry and refuses to speak.
Torin leans forward. He’s so close our breaths meld. Just a fraction of an inch more and our lips brush together, separate then hover, suspended in time and space, anticipating the next touch.
I whimper, needing him to give me more. I’ve never wanted anyone to kiss me as much as I want him to. Right now. He pulls back, and I nearly die. “Winter,” he moans, caressing my cheek. “I don’t want anything but the naked truth between us. I need you to stand up, take off your swimsuit, and sit on the edge of my desk. Please.”
I place my palms on his chest. His pectoral muscles twitch beneath my fingers. I’ve never felt such hard ridges and indentations. Giovanni was mushy as a marshmallow by comparison.
Taking a slow, measured breath, I muster the courage to look Torin in the face. My eyes burn with lust as they absorb the dark shadow of his square jawline, the angle of his cheekbones and the desire etched across his brow. His heated gaze sends a volt of electricity between my thighs. It’s like there’s an invisible current between us, pulling us together and toward something undefinable that scares the crap out of me. All of a sudden deceit seems like a much safer place than the truth. There’s a reason for the old saying, Be careful what you wish for.
Chapter Ten
Torin Stoke
THE UNCERTAINTY AND FEAR on her upturned face tightens my stomach, making me want to take her in my arms and soothe her. But I won’t do that. Winter said she wanted honesty. I’m going to give it to her.
I clear my throat to bring her to attention. “Are you going to do as I ask or not, Miss Primrose?”
She swallows hard, drawing my eyes to the lovely ivory column of her neck. I intend to leave my mark on that length of flawless flesh before the night ends.
She stands slowly and stutters, “I—I—”
“What?”
“I was wondering if you were going to take off your clothes, too.”
“Do you want me to?” I ask, looking up at her from my chair.
She blushes, then hangs her head. It’s in that moment I realize Miss Winter Primrose has a lot of trouble with telling the truth.
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think I do.”
“You don’t think?” I ask. Feeling a little exasperated, I say, “Where I come from, honesty and trust is a two-way street. You said those are the things you value most. Or did you mean you only want me to tell the truth while you lie?”
Her voice is laced with indignation. “I never said anything about trust. You added that part just now.”
I smile. “So I did. But I get the feeling you have trust issues as well.”
She rolls her eyes. “You really should get a job with Scotland Yard. What gave me away? Me telling you about my scum-sucking, cheater ex-fiancé? Or are you just naturally psychic?”
“There’s no need to get snippy, and I’ll let you know after I consult my Tarot Cards.”
She sighs. “Look, this whole thing was a bad idea. Let’s just get through this weekend for the sake of those sick children and forget about you trying to be honest and me trying to trust you.”
“I have a better idea,” I say, standing up in front of her. Without breaking eye contact, I reach out and run my fingers beneath the straps of her bathing suit before pushing them off her shoulders and down the back of her arms.
She gasps, and her nipples harden beneath my gaze. I have pushed the front of the red, silky fabric down far enough to reveal the rounded flesh of her perfect breasts but not so far as to reveal the tightened buds I’m dying to lick and suck.
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Stoke?”
“It’s Torin now, remember?”
“Fine. Why, Torin?”
“Because I want to see your bare breasts. To touch them. To knead them. To put my lips and tongue on them. Don’t you want that, too?”
Her shoulders tremble against my fingertips. “Yes,” she breathes, closing her eyes.
In one smooth, fluid motion I pull her bathing suit down her body, revealing her nakedness. I feel her shiver and watch the goosebumps cover her creamy skin when my breath caresses her.
“Open your eyes, sugar.”
When she looks at me, I can’t breathe. Once again she has stolen the air from my lungs. My nostrils flare from desire and the need for oxygen. “You are so fucking beautiful, Miss Primrose.”
“It’s Winter now, remember?”
“I remember,” I say, placing my hands just above her hip bones. Tightening my grip in the curve of her waist, I pick her up and sit her on the edge of my desk.
“Oh,” she gasps. “You’re really strong, huh?”
I don’t answer her. There’s no point in stating the obvious, and conversation is the last thing on my mind. I’m a man on a mission.
“If I don’t taste you, I’ll die, Winter.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“No,” I say, sitting back down.”
She looks confused. “I—I thought you were going to kiss me.”
“I am, just not on your mouth. I need to taste you somewhere else first, “I say, rolling my chair closer to her. It’s the perfect height, putting my lips level with her feminine ones.
She places her hands behind her for balance then bends her legs and plants her feet on the edge of my desk in an effort to push backwards away from me. I grab her ankles and pull her forward. The fast, abrupt motion puts her flat on her back. I hear the air gush from her body like a whisper on the breeze.
She lifts her head and whimpers, “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t. I didn’t give you permission to do this.”
I drape her shapely legs over my shoulders, dip my head and plant feathery-soft, tender kisses up the inside of her thigh. “Do I have your permission now?”
“No.”
“Even if it embarrasses you, Miss Primrose, I need you to be honest. Your body is screaming yes. Your pretty, pink nipples are pebbled. Your breathy sighs are sensual as hell, and I can smell the heady scent of your desire.”
“Oh, God,” she groans, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t do this, and I can’t let you do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a hypocrite. You were right. I say I want a man to be honest with me, and the most sacred part of me really does want that.”
“But?” I prompt.
“But I can’t seem to be honest myself. For some reason it’s just too mortifying and hu
miliating.”
I soothingly run my hands up and down the outside of her thighs. “It doesn’t have to be, sugar. What we’re doing is perfectly natural. We’re just having some adult fun here. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing if I could come clean about what I want and need, but I can’t.”
“Other than the element of embarrassment is there any other reason you don’t feel as if you can talk openly with me?”
She nods. “Giovanni—the ex-fiancé—he made fun of me when I tried to tell him what I wanted in bed. His reaction made me feel ashamed, like I was some kind of kinky freak. I—I just can’t go through something like that again. I won’t put myself out there for anyone else to hurt.”
The devastation and pain in her voice breaks my heart and makes me want to kill Giovanni and anyone else who dares to ever hurt my girl again.
My girl! Where the fuck did that come from? One minute, I’m buying Miss Winter Primrose at an auction, thinking she’d be good for a weekend of fun. The next I’m feeling downright possessive as hell, wanting to protect her and love her. That’s right, not just fuck her but love her.
Chapter Eleven
Winter Primrose
I KNOW SOMETHING BIG is about to happen to me, and I’m not just talking about Torin’s cock. The raw, open way he talks is exactly how I’ve always wanted a man to speak to me. It’s how I wish I could talk to him. If I could only let go and trust him a little, I think it would be life-changing. I’m hovering at the edge of an emotional breakthrough, but I don’t want to take that leap during a whirlwind weekend of meaningless sex. I want it to happen with a knight in shining armor who I can have a future with, not some rich playboy with commitment issues.
I mean, for goodness sake, Torin is practically a stranger. A man I just met a few hours ago under a set of fantastically unique circumstances. From what I’ve seen, he most definitely does not want to settle down and get married. By his own admission, he has never even been in love. He’s had fifteen other women. I’m simply the sixteenth notch on his bedpost or desk drawer, if I decide to let him have his way with me here in his office.
