by Shayla Black
With a coy flutter of my lashes, I smile. “Are you just going to stare at me or actually do something?”
“Always pushing me, always trying to take control. You’re a bad girl, Eryn. I definitely intend to do something.”
Before I can question what, he wraps his fingers around the filmy sides of my panties and yanks them down my thighs. I’m still gasping when he unbuttons the single closure holding my babydoll together.
That quickly, I’m totally bare to his gaze. He drinks me in hungrily as he shoves my thighs apart. “A landing strip?”
In the past, West loved it when I waxed bare. He’d heap hours of enjoyment on me. The maintenance wasn’t a hardship when the benefits were so awesome. But after he left, I let myself go natural again. I only shaved this design a few hours ago. Why not? I told myself. But on some level, I knew he would see it. And I knew it would provoke a response.
I shrug casually. “It’s my body. I can do whatever I want with it.”
“If you sign the agreement, your body is mine for the next six weeks. Get rid of this before you come to Vegas.” He swipes a thumb through the patch of curls before settling the digit over my clit. “Are we clear?”
I fight not to squirm and beg him for more.
“What if I don’t want to?” I hear the breathy defiance in my voice.
His smile is slow and smug. “Still like playing this game, honey?”
The one where I goad and tempt him into teasing me until I beg and twist and dissolve into a million pieces at his feet? “No game. Merely asking a question.”
“Well, if you don’t play nicely, I might not feel like doing this.” He yanks my hips onto the arm of the sofa and kneels between my thighs, his breaths pelting my flesh, before he licks his way through my saturated sex with a groan.
God, that’s so good. By definition, oral sex should be. But I’ve been single enough in the last few years to know that’s not always the case. Some guys fumble this. Or pass on it altogether. West is really focused and really talented at making me combust.
As he prods my clit with the tip of his tongue, I arch and lift to him. He parts me with his thumbs and devours me with his whole mouth. It’s as if I’ve been revved back to life, like I was dead and his tongue is the jolt of pleasure I needed to awaken my senses once more.
“You still taste so sweet…” he murmurs before he lowers his head again.
He’s unrelenting when it comes to ramping me up. As if his mouth isn’t enough, he also brushes my most sensitive spots with his fingers and watches me slowly come unhinged with a satisfaction that arouses me even more.
“Can you see what I’m doing to you?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Can you feel what I’m doing to you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you stop yourself from pleading with me to do more?”
No, I can’t. Damn him. “West!”
“Answer me.” He toys with me, his voice a tease all its own.
The pleasure is so strong, it’s agony. I have no defense against it, no way to fight it. Breathing through it does nothing. Flowing with it only spins my head until I feel as if I’m dizzy and drowning in a pool of ecstasy.
Then he ceases every seductive movement and pulls away. “I’ll stop. Weren’t you protesting for that when you called my name?”
The sly bastard knows better, and I hate him for toying with me. But if I don’t admit how much I want him, he’ll let me weep and die from the unfulfilled pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp out. “Don’t… I can’t take it. You make me ache. Please.”
The smile that slides across his face is both sexual and terrifying. He knows he’s got me. I’ll care later. Right now, I don’t.
“You’re sure you want more?” He licks his lips with a hum.
I nod and grab a handful of his shirt to yank him closer. “Yes. Damn you, yes!”
He lets loose a satisfied laugh. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to bore you.” Then he shrugs out of my grip and stands with a seemingly reluctant sigh. “But I would never want you to feel as if I’m wringing a response from you while you’re under duress. Maybe I should give you time to think about whether you really want me. You can let me know on Sunday.”
“C’mon. You can stay another ten minutes.”
West shakes his head. “I can’t. Come to Vegas. We’ll have a nice dinner. You can tell me then if you’ll be signing my contract and accepting my offer or walking away for good.”
He’s going to leave me needing, pleading, and aching like this for three days? Of course he is. He knows my weaknesses. Good sex. Good food. He’s laying a trap and daring me to walk right into it. The question is, why?
I struggle to my feet and cover myself. “What do you really want from me, you bastard?”
West cocks his head and smiles as he settles his suit coat back in place. “Come to my place on Sunday, and you’ll find out.”
Chapter Four
Eryn
After barely sleeping, I come to a few conclusions. The biggest one is that if I don’t play my hand right, I’m screwed. After making a few phone calls to the city verifying West’s story about the seismic retrofitting’s deadline and the initial contractor’s heart attack, I remember that he’s not a liar, just a player.
I can’t let myself get played again.
On the other hand, when I risk a glance at my bank balance, it’s bleeding red. Rent is due in two weeks. I need to make my car payment in three. I can’t do any of that unless I act fast.
Beside me, my phone buzzes. I tense, half expecting West to be on the other end, prodding me for an answer. But no, it’s my little sister, finally returning my call. As I answer, I can’t decide whether I’m disappointed West isn’t demanding my attention or annoyed because he’s playing some damn cat-and-mouse game.
“Hey, Echo.”
“Uh-oh. I know that voice. How bad is it between you and West? I meant to call you yesterday, but the day got away from me.”
I’m not sure what to say when I can’t seem to untangle it myself. “It’s a cluster.”
I fill her in, leaving nothing out. Well, almost nothing. I think if I told her how quickly West had me panting, she’d probably berate me. Admitting he kissed me—and that I liked it—is embarrassing enough. I refuse to even think about the throbbing ache he left me with that isn’t going away.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m still weighing my options. But one thing I know? I’m going to kill you for letting him in while I was drunk, then checking out on me like that.”
Echo pauses. “You can’t kill me. Ella would come unhinged. Besides, I did that because I kinda felt sorry for him.”
“Sorry?” Is she kidding? “He’s the one who left me.”
“I know, and I haven’t forgiven him for that. But I also let him in for you. I love you, and I want the best for you.”
“What makes you think West qualifies?”
“I don’t know that he does. But I’ve seen you turn some great guys upside down and inside out in the last three years. I don’t think you meant to,” Echo quickly qualifies. “You always start a relationship well-meaning. But once a guy gets too close, you cut him off at the knees. You weren’t that difficult before West. I mean, you were always cautious, and that was fine. Now you’re scared. I don’t think you can overcome the fear until you deal with your feelings for him.”
“You’re twenty-one and still a virgin because you’re hung up on your superhot best friend. What do you know?” I say dismissively, then feel instantly contrite. She’s right, and that was a low blow. I’m sounding like a bitch.
“I’m not hung up on Hayes, and you leave my bestie out of this,” she grumbles. “I might not know a lot about adult life, but I know you. And you need to deal with your feelings for him, Eryn.”
Instead of saying the first sarcastic thing that lands on the tip of my tongue, I bite back the verbal swipe. It won’t help anyone,
least of all me.
“Sorry. So…going to Vegas to be West’s mistress and screwing him out of my system isn’t a horrible idea?”
“Weirdly, no. You’ll leave at the end of six weeks either knowing that you’re finally free of him or irrevocably in love. And I’m pretty sure you’ll know how he feels about you, too. Have you thought about that? Asked yourself why he’s so insistent on getting you back into his bed? Into his life?”
I have. I just don’t know the answer. “West’s mind is a mystery, but if I go, I’ll be doing it for clarity, so I can leave with an open head and heart.”
“Totally. Besides, getting a long, well-paid vacation out of it can’t be all bad. And Vegas!”
She makes good points. “Hey, don’t you get a fall break from school in a few weeks? You could come visit me.”
“I’m not sure West will appreciate me in your shared love nest.”
“Well, he can live with it. If I go, promise you’ll come out to see me for a few days.”
“I’ll think about it. Right now, Hayes is talking about some big group camping and canoeing trip to the mountains.”
“He doesn’t need you to lie on the hard ground to hang out with his farting, beer-drinking buddies.”
“I hear you.” But she sounds reluctant to bail on Hayes, and I know that, despite her protests, she’s utterly into him. “We’ll play it by ear, okay? We’ve got time to decide. Heck, we don’t even know for sure that you’re going to Vegas.”
“Yeah.” But what else is there to think about? If I don’t go, won’t I always wonder what if? “I’ll keep you posted.”
The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity. I plead my way into thirty minutes with my hairdresser for a fresh cut and style. I hit a nearby brow bar. I get a killer mani-pedi. I find the most amazing bloodred lipstick at the mall. I even do a little lingerie shopping.
One thing I don’t do? A damn thing about the landing strip that displeased West so much. If I go to Vegas, I’m doing it to please myself, so I can have the closure I never got when we split up. If he’s more hung up on my pubic hair than our relationship, this will be an easy six weeks of hot sex for me. We’ll share pleasure, some laughs, and that command performance dinner with his family. Then just before Thanksgiving, I’ll be heading home—and leaving West behind for good.
I like that plan.
With a smile, I grab a suitcase and begin tossing things in.
WEST
I pace, phone in hand. It’s seven p.m. on Sunday. No sign of Eryn.
My apartment is ready for her arrival. Hell, I’ve made room for her in every corner of my life. Half my closet and dresser are empty. I’ve ruminated, planned, grabbed supplies. And thought long and hard about how to handle her once she walks through the door.
If she comes at all.
It’s been almost seventy-two hours since I last laid eyes on her. She still hasn’t given me any indication whether she’s coming…or whether she’s blowing me off. But I’m betting on the former.
But if she doesn’t come, the slow, toe-curling seduction I plotted, followed by the long heart-to-heart we need will probably never happen. And that’s not acceptable. If I have to drive back to LA and drag that stubborn woman to my penthouse by her hair…
Fuck, I sound like a caveman. That’s how Eryn makes me feel—primal and possessive. I know she wants me, too. I felt it. I heard it. I made her a damn good offer. The only reason she would refuse is out of spite.
Knowing Eryn, that’s enough reason to turn me down.
Why didn’t you just tell her you think you might still be in love with her and that you want to try again? My sister asked me that during my drive home Thursday night. The question is valid…but pointless. Eryn wouldn’t have believed me. I’m not even sure she would have cared. Somehow, I have to change her mind.
Is six weeks even long enough? Given the armor she’s surely built around her heart since I walked away from our wedding, I don’t know if six decades would be.
The hum of vague street racket forty floors up from the Strip blends with the crooning of a sultry-voiced female on my radio who sings that she can’t help falling in love. The sounds blend together, fade into the background like white noise. I feel how alone I am. How fucking alone I’ve been since I forced myself to walk away from Eryn.
Suddenly, someone knocks on my door.
My heart stops for a tense second before thudding again. I stride across my unit in a handful of steps and yank the door open, fixing a welcoming smile on my face. Instead of Eryn, I see the delivery person from the nearby restaurant with our food.
“Good evening, Mr. Quaid. Where would you like your dinner?”
“Follow me.” Trying not to sound let down, I lead the college-aged guy to my kitchen and turn on the warming drawer under my oven. “Set it on the counter. Put dessert in the refrigerator. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
He does as instructed, then hands me a receipt to sign. With a flick of a pen, I pay for the food and wave him toward the door, presuming he can take a hint.
I unpack the meal, double-checking containers and setting the hot items in the warming drawer, when I hear an unexpected voice.
“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d see. The Weston Quaid in the kitchen, looking domestic. Then again, I guess it’s not that hard to call for takeout.”
Eryn.
I turn toward her. Sure enough, she stands in the entrance of the kitchen, looking way more edible than anything the five-star restaurant just delivered. Her little black spandex top cups her shoulders and breasts—and ends inches above the sensual indentation of her waist. Formfitting black yoga pants expose her naval, hug her hips, and cling to her shapely thighs. It’s the sexiest athletic wear I’ve ever seen.
Finally, I manage to clear my throat and find my voice. “You’re here.”
“Clearly.”
“I didn’t hear you knock.”
“Because I didn’t. The dude delivering food opened the door to leave as I approached. He even held it open for me with a smile.”
If he flirted with Eryn, I regret the nice tip I gave him. “Suitcases?”
“In the car. No rush.” She shrugs, then looks at the food containers strewn all over my darkened kitchen. “Whatever that is smells good.”
“Hungry?”
“Sure. Or, since you’re keeping it warm, it can wait.” Another shrug. “Whatever.”
She’s nervous. She wants me to think her mood is very chill and she doesn’t have a care in the world, but her eyes look tense, almost too alert. Same with her shoulders. She came here, maybe even against her better judgment. I didn’t leave her many options. Sure, she could have waitressed at some dive and spent twelve grueling hours a day on her feet in order to make up the income this seismic reconstruction is costing her. But she’s too smart to do that. I’m offering her easy money. It only comes with one itty-bitty catch.
I’m going to do whatever it takes to make her fall in love with me again.
“Dish up the food and pour us some wine. I’ll bring up your suitcases.”
“Sure.” She tosses me her car keys. “Where are the wineglasses?”
I point to the cabinet in the dining room. “I’ve already set the table.”
With a noncommittal nod, Eryn turns to the task at hand. I leave, gritting my teeth. She’s determined not to let my effort or seduction matter to her. She definitely doesn’t want anything I do to bridge the chasm between us. Does she want a fight? Or is she simply trying to goad me into proving that my desire to have her back is real?
A few minutes later, I return with her luggage. As soon as I dump everything in my bedroom, I race to the dining room to see Eryn sitting at the table, one foot resting flat on the seat of her chair. She’s braced her forearm against her upthrust knee, and she’s swirling her vino casually in her stemless glass.
“Nice place,” she says with a glance around.
&nb
sp; It is. It’s not exactly the way I want it yet, but it’s definitely a giant step up from the shack by the beach we shared a long time ago, when I didn’t have any money of my own or any responsibilities except to make decent grades and to show up for the occasional family event.
“Except…it looks more like Liberace lives here than you.”
Eryn is poking, trying to get a rise out of me. Oh, she got one, but not my temper. I won’t let her prod that over something so petty. “It needs redecorating. I only moved in seven weeks ago, and I’ve been busy.”
“I thought maybe you’d decided gold-foiled ceilings and baroque furniture was your thing. Killer views, though. Get much use out of the craps table in your living room? Or that swimming pool on the patio?”
“No and yes. I see you found the wine.”
“I did. Your taste in booze has obviously improved.” She holds up her glass in mocking salute, then downs half the contents.
I smile and sip the cab. “Eat your dinner. I assume you still enjoy a good filet and baked potato?”
“That’s never going to change.”
She digs in and takes a bite. I watch as she shuts her eyes and savors the tender beef. A few things get to Eryn without fail. Good food and good sex are surefire winners. I intend to ply her with both tonight.
In the background, Ed Sheeran croons. Forks clink against dishes. Eryn swallows. Tension stretches thick between us.
“Did you sign the contract?” I ask.
“I brought it with me so we could discuss. You outlined quite a list of ‘duties.’ They’re creative. Obviously, you’ve given this some thought.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“The West I knew years ago was driven without being a prick about it. But hey, I should be glad there was no start-each-day-with-a-blow-job clause.”
“Eryn, stop trying to push me into losing my temper. I won’t fall for it, and you’re only going to get more frustrated. You came here for a reason—”
“The money,” she assures me with a raised brow before she downs more wine.
