SECOND CHANCES: A ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA® COLLECTION

by ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA®

  I tremble as he eases closer, his breath tickling my ear as he continues. “I remember exactly how it felt to be inside you. To feel the rhythm of your heart and the heat of your skin. Most of all, I remember the way you cried my name when you came, and the way your body fit with mine when you curled up trembling and limp in my arms.

  “Forgotten you?” he repeats, leaning back to once again meet my eyes. “No, Penny,” he says as he traces his fingertip over my lips. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

  I’m breathing hard, wildly turned on, and I think if he suggested it, I’d strip naked and fuck him right there in Mr. Stark’s office.

  Except he doesn’t suggest it.

  He doesn’t suggest anything.

  Instead, he pulls his finger away, then takes two steps back, putting distance between us. He pauses briefly, then exits the office. I follow, stumbling slightly as I try to adjust to this strange new reality.

  Back in the reception area, he pushes the button to call the elevator. “I should get back to lunch.”

  “I—oh.”

  The doors open, and he gets on.

  “Wait!” My voice sounds desperate, and I wish I could ask for a do-over. “Would you—I mean, maybe we could grab some dinner later?”

  “Dinner?” he repeats as the doors start to close. “Baby, dinner is the last thing on my mind.”

  THE REST OF THE day I’m too busy to think about Blake. And by the time I head to my car, all I can think is that it’s Friday and I can sleep tomorrow.

  Which means that when I pass the concrete beam that blocks the view of my car and see Blake, I am totally unprepared.

  “You’re here,” I say stupidly.

  He’s leaning against my Chevy, looking like he just stepped out of the pages of a men’s magazine. “I think you’re right.”

  “Oh. Good.” I frown. “About what?”

  “Dinner.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “A man has to eat. I need my strength, after all.”

  “Do you?” A smile tugs at my lips. This is the Blake I remember.

  “I certainly hope so. Have dinner with me, Penny. All you have to do is say yes.”

  “Yes,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. Not that I would. The memory of that kiss in the office still lingers.

  “Good. And just so we’re clear, tonight you belong to me. All night, Penny. Completely and totally mine.”

  “I—wait. What?”

  His eyes rake over me, his expression all power and control. “You heard me.”

  “That doesn’t—”

  “Is there someone else?”

  “What? No,” I say, then immediately fear I’ve revealed too much.

  “Then I don’t see any reason for you to hesitate. Unless you’d rather call the whole thing off.” He’s watching my face. There’s humor in his eyes, but also a heat so intense that I’m surprised I don’t melt into goo right there.

  “Why?” My question is a whisper. A plea.

  He steps closer, the air crackling and sizzling between us. “The last time we were together, you said no. This time, I’m not giving you a choice. I’m taking what I want, Pen, and under the circumstances, I think I’m being reasonable. My flight leaves for New York at noon. You’re mine until the car service picks me up at nine.”

  He pulls me toward him until his lips are only millimeters from my cheek. “Those are my terms,” he whispers. “Take them or leave them. The choice is yours.”

  His voice rumbles through me, igniting a bone-deep longing underscored by the frustration of unfulfilled desire. I want to beg for his touch. I want to slap his face. I’ve never reacted to a man like I do to Blake Thorton, and right then I’m not sure if I should lose myself in the fantasy or run to safety.

  “Is this a seduction?” I whisper. “Or is it a punishment?”

  He leans away, studying me, his expression a little impressed, a little surprised. Then he reaches out and cups my breast, making me gasp from the shock of his action as well as the electricity of his touch. Slowly, he rubs his thumb over my nipple, now hard under the lace of my bra. “What’s the difference?” he asks, and the ache between my legs increases to a needy, desperate throbbing. “You’ll come to dinner? You accept my terms?”

  I can only nod. Words aren’t in the cards right now.

  He moves me gently to the side, then opens my car door for me. “In that case, sweetheart, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  WHEN I GET HOME, there’s a package from Blake on my doormat. I have no idea how he got my address, but I’m running late, and I don’t have time to give it much thought.

  My apartment is tiny, but the price is right, and it’s near the beach. And as far as I’m concerned, the only valid reasons to live in LA are to work in the entertainment business or to live by a beach.

  I’ve turned my back on Hollywood, but I’m still in love with the ocean.

  I strip off my clothes as I head to the birdcage-sized bathroom that features a shower so small I have to perform yoga to shave my legs, underarms, and other parts that I hope will get attention during the evening.

  Once I’m out, I finger-comb my hair, letting it air dry while I do my makeup. My hair’s my best feature—strawberry blond and wavy, and it complements the blue of my eyes.

  I have a slim, athletic body, and I debate whether or not to own it and wear a silk tank with pencil slacks and heels, or if I should wear a low cut dress and enhance it with a padded bra and silicon inserts.

  I’m still debating the point—dresses are sexier, but the effect can be lost if the guy gropes the fake boob—when I remember the package. I hurry to the futon where I’d left it, then untie the bow. The box opens easily, revealing another with a label from La Perla. I suck in air, then pull out the delicate bra and panty set.

  Underneath that box is another bundle that turns out to be a turquoise wrap dress in the kind of soft, silky material that makes a woman feel luxurious.

  A note is pinned to the dress:

  Wear these. And heels, red if you have them.

  Soon.

  B

  I smile, a little giddy. Blake knocked me off kilter today. His distance. That hard, unreadable look in his eyes. But considering the lingerie and the dress, I think it’s safe to say that the night is looking very promising indeed.

  I’m still debating which shoes to wear when he rings the bell. I don’t have red, so my options are strappy black sandals or deep burgundy fuck-me pumps with heels so high a stripper would consider them impractical.

  Naturally, I shove my feet into those, then try to hurry to the door. I fail, of course—I can’t exactly sprint in these shoes—but the effect is that I seem casually in control. No need to rush. No hurry here.

  I tell myself to own this calm and collected vibe, then open the door.

  Immediately calm and collected is beaten down by hot and bothered. Did I say delicious earlier? That’s woefully inadequate. He’s wearing black jeans that hug muscular thighs, an untucked white tee with a V-neck that reveals a smattering of chest hair and a tailored suit jacket. His hair is slicked back, giving him a sexy movie star look, while his five o’clock shadow adds some bad boy appeal.

  In other words, he’s a walking, talking fantasy, and he’s standing in my doorway looking like he wants to eat me alive, and all I can think is please, yes, please.

  “You look great,” I say, voicing the understatement of the year.

  He says nothing, but he meets my eyes. Then his gaze dips lower and lower, leaving a potent trail of heat along my sensitive skin, as if his gaze is a physical touch, sliding in between the layers of this flimsy dress and making me wet.

  He reaches the juncture of my thighs, and the sensation of being examined with such erotic precision is enough to make my core clench and m
y breath release in a low, needy moan.

  His inspection doesn’t slow, but his lips curve just enough that I’m certain he’s noticed my reaction. More, it excites him.

  Finally, his eyes linger on my shoes. And when he very slowly lifts his head to meet my eyes again, I see both approval and desire. “Are you ready?” he asks, and I manage a nod.

  Right then, I’m ready for anything.

  THE RESTAURANT IS THE kind where celebrities tend to gather. High end and trendy, where everyone watches everyone else, but pretends like they aren’t looking.

  I feel the eyes on us as we walk to the kind of booth that has a bench on one side and a table on the other. Blake guides me onto the bench, then slides in next to me. His hand rests gently on my thigh, and the touch discombobulates me so much that I miss the waiter’s question.

  “The lady will have a martini,” Blake says. “Hendricks gin. Very dry. Extra olives. I’ll take the same.”

  I glance at him, touched that he’d remembered my drink for all these months.

  “I told you,” he says answering my unspoken thought, “I remember everything.” His fingers start to inch the soft material of my skirt up my leg. “Especially the feel of your skin,” he murmurs. “The softness of it. The smooth sensuality.”

  I fight a whimper as his hand slides infinitesimally higher. “Please,” I say, but I have no idea what it is I’m pleading for.

  “I also remember how wet you get.” His finger burns a red-hot path along my skin. “How sweet you taste.”

  He’s reached the edge of my panties now, and I squirm, wanting him to continue yet desperate for him to stop.

  “Hands on the table, baby. Close your eyes. I’m going to make you come.”

  His words ricochet through me, and my core clenches. I want release. I want to spin out of control. But not here. Not with all these people.

  “Mine, baby,” he presses. “That was the deal.”

  “No,” I whisper, pulling my thighs together, trying to quell the ache. “Someone will see.”

  “Let them.” He brushes a kiss over my ear, making me shiver. “They’ll never know for sure.”

  Even with my legs so together, his fingertip finds my clit. I swallow a gasp, lost in the fire of sensation. The truth is, I do want to slide down deep into passion. I want his touch, his power. I want him to take me over the edge right here, right now. A secret that only we share, and the fact that we’re in public makes it that much more exciting.

  But not like this. Not like a reproach. Like a goddamn challenge.

  I slide to the far side of the bench, trying to escape both Blake and my own traitorous desire.

  “Is this what you’re after?” My words, though harsh, are pitched low. “To break me? To make me lose control in the middle of a goddamn restaurant? Is that what you want?”

  I expect him to deny it. To say nice words about the attraction between us. About wanting to touch me, needing to feel me.

  Instead, he simply says, “Yes.”

  “You son of a bitch.” I start to leave the booth. “Fuck that, and fuck you.”

  He grabs my arm. “Wait. Penny, I’m sorry. Please, just wait.”

  I hesitate. The truth is, I want what he is offering. Just not the way he’s offering it.

  “I’m listening.”

  He drags his fingers through his hair. “I was so goddamn frustrated when you walked away after Chicago. I’d played it all out in my head—the week in Hawaii, everything that came after. And then suddenly that dream—that possibility—was ripped out from under me.”

  “I—”

  “Let me finish. I was pissed. Partly at myself for falling hard and fast. But mostly at you, for making me believe that something I knew in my gut was real, was just smoke and mirrors.”

  Tears prick my eyes. “But how could I know it was real that fast? How could you?”

  “At first, I didn’t. I thought I was a damned idiot. I missed you so much it was like a physical ache, but how could I miss something I never really had? Like you said, it was fast. Just one night. But the longing lingered, and I realized that it wasn’t a question of time, but of quality. And we’d shared more—loved more—in those twenty hours than I ever had before.”

  I nod, my heart twisting in my chest. I understand completely. Hadn’t I felt exactly the same from the moment I walked away?

  He rubs a hand over his forehead. “So that’s it,” he says. “That’s my apology. And yes, part of me wanted to punish, because when you walked away, you shattered something inside of me. But more than that, I want to know that even if it was just for a fleeting moment, once upon a time you were really, truly mine.”

  I am. I want to scream the words, but I can’t. Not yet.

  “Did you come to the office expecting to see me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I assumed you were still living in Los Angeles, but I didn’t know where you were working.” His mouth quirks up. “I almost looked you up, but I didn’t want to see if you were in a relationship with somebody. Easier to just not know.”

  “I’m not,” I whisper. “I haven’t been.”

  He holds my eyes. “Me, neither.”

  For a moment, we just look at each other, but then I have to look away, overwhelmed by the pressure building inside me. I take a sip of water, but it does little to cool the heat that is now flooding through me.

  “You didn’t seem surprised to see me,” I say, because right now talking seems safe.

  “I was. I just excel at hiding my feelings. It’s a useful skill in my business. Gives me the advantage in negotiations.”

  “Oh. Are we negotiating?”

  He chuckles. “We already did. That’s why you agreed to my terms.”

  “Because of your amazing business skills?”

  “That,” he says. “And because you want me as much as I want you.”

  “Blake—”

  He shakes his head, silencing me. “I wanted tonight to color in the black and white lines of my memory. I wanted to have it so I could hold onto it and know—even if you would never admit it out loud—that whether or not you’re with me, you still belong to me.”

  I swallow, his words touching my soul.

  He smiles thinly, then lifts his hand to wipe away the words as he visibly gathers himself. “At any rate, that’s what I was thinking.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I came off as an ass.” He starts to slide out of the booth. “Come on. I’ll take you to your apartment.”

  “No,” I blurt, the word forced out by that pressure in my chest. “I want to stay.”

  He tilts his head to one side, studying me. “Do you?” I hear the interest—and the hope—in his voice. “Why?”

  “Because I hear the food is excellent.” I lick my lips, then look hard at him. “But I understand the service is even better.”

  HE’S DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY crazy.

  His fingers have slipped under those expensive, delicate panties and are stroking and teasing me. His other hand is on the tabletop holding mine, as I squeeze tight, trying desperately not to react as I contemplate the martini glasses and smile at passing waiters and pretend as though Blake and I doing nothing more interesting than chatting.

  In reality, I’m wet and lost and completely turned on. It’s all I can do not to gyrate my hips in an effort to guide his movements. To get a little more pressure, a little more friction.

  I’m more aroused than I can ever remember being, and the fact that I’m doing this in public only adds to the excitement. But that’s only because of Blake. Because I know he won’t push too far. Won’t let either one of us turn an intimate moment into a spectacle by crying out or otherwise calling attention to ourselves.

  And just when I think I’m going to finally explode, he pulls his hand free, leaving me to groan and whisper, “Dammit, Blake, pleas
e.”

  He chuckles. “Not here, baby. My hotel. And when we get there, I’m going to fuck you so hard. I’m going to claim every inch of you, fully and completely. You think you want to come now? That’s nothing. I’m going to make you come over and over until you beg me to stop. And then I’m going to take you there all over again.”

  I’m practically panting from his words, my sex throbbing, my nipples tight and hard. I take a sip of water, because my mouth is too dry to speak.

  And then I do the only thing that makes sense. I raise my hand and signal the waiter to bring us our check.

  I’M NAKED; MY WRISTS bound above my head with a luggage strap and Blake’s hands on my hips holding me firmly in place as he performs a symphony on my body with his lips and tongue.

  First, he teases my breasts, the tip of his tongue flicking over my nipples, one after the other before trailing kisses all the way to my belly button. He’s leaving a column of fire, and though I try to squirm, he holds me fast.

  With excruciating slowness, he maneuvers even lower, tracing the rim of my pubic bone with his tongue and then kissing along the soft skin at the juncture of each thigh. I tremble with each tiny sensation, longing for more, and at the same time not wanting this sweet torture to end.

  Finally, slowly, his tongue laves my clit, and shockwaves rip through me, the precursors to what I know will be a blinding orgasm.

  Not soon, though. Blake is taking his time. And only when I am balancing on the knife-edge for what must be the hundredth time does he finally push, releasing me to explode into a million pieces.

  All the while he’s holding me firm, unable to escape the onslaught of his attention. I can’t shift. Can’t lessen the sensation. And when I explode from the force of orgasm after orgasm, I have no choice but to be battered by a pleasure so profound it crosses the line to pain.