The Winner Takes It All

by Jennifer Dawson

  It bothered him on some deep level he didn’t quite understand.

  When she hadn’t shown up by eight thirty he’d lost patience and texted her, but unlike before, she hadn’t texted him back with one of her sassy remarks. While his phone cheeped, beeped, and rang at a steady clip all night, it had never once been her.

  The sleek, gunmetal-gray Mercedes she drove still sat in the driveway and hadn’t moved.

  As far as Shane could tell she’d locked herself into her room and hadn’t come out.

  The question was: Why?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted, wondering if he was going to need fucking reading glasses soon. He kept meaning to make an eye doctor appointment, or at least tell Penelope to make him one, but he conveniently kept forgetting until he stared at a screen for four hours straight.

  It wasn’t that he cared about getting old; he didn’t. But his age reminded him everything else had aged too, and he didn’t know quite what to do with himself. It was like he was still going Mach 10 while the rest of the world had gone into slow motion.

  Since his dad had died he’d been working his ass off. From the second he’d received the call about the car crash he’d been in crisis mode, fixing the mountains of problems left behind by two ill-prepared people, taking care of his siblings as his mother focused on Maddie’s recovery and struggled with her grief, paying off debt after debt. He’d barely breathed all those years. Barely thought. He’d just put his head down and bulldozed through every obstacle that came into his path.

  Then one day he’d finally looked up and realized he’d done it. He’d saved them all. His mom would never have to work a day in her life. His brothers and sister were grown. And, somehow, after all his years of being a slacker, a fuck-up, he’d built a company that employed thousands of people with a bottom line that still staggered him.

  Everyone was finally safe. Finally secure. If he died tomorrow they’d be taken care of. He’d made sure what happened before would never happen again.

  Only, he couldn’t seem to break out of panic mode. That feeling of being one step from disaster still plagued him.

  He frowned, not liking the direction of his thoughts.

  He had a company to run, a contract to straighten out, and e-mails to answer. This wasn’t the time to turn introspective. He refocused on the message from his VP, shot off his comments and opened the next e-mail.

  Twenty-four to go.

  The kitchen door swung open. He expected Mitch or Maddie, but instead it was Cecilia.

  She screamed, her hand flying to her chest as she pulled a silky robe tightly around herself. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

  He grinned. Instantly the vague unease troubling him disappeared. “Sugar, I was here first. You walked in on me, not the other way around.”

  She tied the sash around her waist, cinching it far too tight than he thought necessary. “Don’t call me sugar, that’s despicable.”

  He chuckled, wondering what she had on under those clothes. “Where have you been hiding all night?”

  Her shoulders squared. “I haven’t been hiding, you arrogant ass. If you must know, I fell asleep.”

  “And woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I see.” He stretched his legs and watched her with avid interest, wishing for much better light so he could see more of her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a haughty tone, taking another couple of steps into the kitchen.

  He waved at the computer. “Answering e-mails.”

  “Oh,” she said, tugging the lapels of the robe closer together. “Don’t let me disturb you. I just came for some water.”

  He gestured toward the cabinets. “Third door on the left.”

  She moved across the floor with the practiced, studied grace of a rich girl.

  Coming from a humble background, he’d never thought that was something he’d be attracted to, but she made it work. He’d bet dollars to doughnuts she’d taken years of ballet.

  She reached for a glass, her back arching, her calves flexing as she stood on tiptoes to grab what she wanted. The moonlight streamed in from the window, casting her in its glow, and his breath caught. In the pale light her face was still soft from sleep, her hair rumpled, and she lost all that polish.

  Goddamn, she was beautiful. His cock stirred. It was more than her face; there was something about her, something that reached inside of him and squeezed.

  One day in her presence had rid him of all his delusions that he could keep her at arm’s length. She was a mystery that had gotten under his skin and now he had to figure her out.

  He wanted her and intended to have her.

  She moved to the fridge and filled her water from the automatic dispenser before lifting it to her lips and taking a long drink. The delicate cords of her neck worked and he remembered earlier this afternoon when her pulse had hammered under his thumb, belying her cool nature.

  When she was done, she turned and looked at him, one hip cocked. “You’re staring.”

  He’d thought a lot about his strategy with her, and in the end, he’d decided brutal honesty would be most effective. He shrugged. “You’re a gorgeous woman, of course I’m staring.”

  Her brow furrowed, as though the statement perplexed her. “Even though you don’t like me?”

  He flipped the lid of his laptop down. “Maybe I misspoke earlier. I don’t know you well enough to like or not like you. I think you work damn hard to keep yourself at a distance, and until now, it’s worked.”

  She glanced at his computer, then took another sip of her water and placed the glass on the newly installed granite. “Don’t you need to get to your e-mail?”

  He gave her a slow, easy once-over. Gaze skimming down her body, over the swell of her breasts and curve of her hips covered in powder-blue silk. “What are you wearing under that robe?”

  She laughed, shocking him. It was full and throaty, matching that porn-star mouth of hers. The sound vibrated straight to his balls, sending a jolt of powerful lust through him. “As if I’m going to tell you.”

  He knew a challenge when he heard one. “You don’t have to tell me. I can come over there and find out.”

  She tilted her head to one side, her expression speculative. “What exactly is your game here, Shane?”

  He liked the sound of his name on her lips. Liked the way she didn’t skirt around the issue even better. “My plan is to take you to bed. It’s just a matter of when.”

  She straightened for a fraction of a second before relaxing back against the counter. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”

  “Hell, it’s a lot presumptuous,” he said, meeting her eyes in the eerie moonlit glow. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “You’re very crass,” she said, still looking completely unruffled.

  It was an act, he was sure of it. He didn’t know exactly what lurked under that cool exterior, but he knew she wasn’t unaffected. If he touched her, she’d be hot. Ready.

  As easy and casual as she, he smiled. “If I was being crass I’d say, ‘I’m going to fuck you’ and call it a day.”

  She sucked in her breath, just a quick little intake. “The words don’t matter much, but the fact that you act like I don’t have a say, does.”

  He stood.

  She straightened.

  He took a step around the table.

  Her gaze darted to the kitchen door before shifting back to him.

  He stopped, giving her a chance to run, not the least bit surprised when she didn’t.

  They were alike that way, unable to resist a dare.

  He advanced. “You have a say. You asked me my plan and I told you. What you do with the information is your choice.” When he reached her, he put his hands on either side of the counter, trapping her.

  She looked up at him with those storm-blue eyes. “I don’t recall giving you permission.”

  He laughed. “I’m more an ask-for-forgiveness-not-permission type of guy.�
�

  She swallowed hard but said nothing.

  He was close enough to feel the heat of her body, see the bead of her nipples, the fast rise and fall of her chest. “But I’ll respect a no.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Those lush, fuckable lips. “Even if I know it’s a lie.”

  It was very hard to stay calm with Shane Donovan so damn close.

  How many times had she thought about this moment? Fantasized? Lain in bed after a night in his presence, addicted to that rush he gave her. But here she was, trapped between his strong, powerful arms.

  She knew this was fleeting. A momentary blip that would flame out as fast as it started. Maybe her nap had addled her brain, but while the word “no” hovered on her lips, she found herself unable to say it out loud.

  In a calm voice, she said, “Do you try to intimidate a lot of women?”

  He frowned, looking vaguely disappointed. “No. And even if I did, you’re not intimidated.”

  Something inside her couldn’t give in. Couldn’t back down. No, within her, buried so deep she hadn’t known it existed, lurked a devil that wanted to play. It’s what had pulled at her since she met him, and in this darkened kitchen she gave in to the temptation.

  “I’m not.” She flicked a dismissive glance over him. “Are you going to back off?”

  His lips quirked. “Are you going to say no?”

  She pressed her lips together and their gazes locked.

  For a very, very long time.

  He straightened, and she experienced a keen disappointment, which disappeared the second he put his finger on the knot of her robe. He traced the fabric, over and over, watching her closely.

  Her nipples beaded into hard, almost painful points. Between her thighs, her core heated, and wetness slicked her skin. How did he make not touching such a turn-on?

  It would have been embarrassing, if it wasn’t so erotic.

  “Say no,” he said, his voice a rasp against her skin as he hooked his finger where the knot was bound.

  And let him win? Never. She sucked in a breath and said, “Step back.”

  Of course he didn’t. Not that she expected otherwise.

  He worked the knot with those long, strong fingers until it loosened and he pulled it free. Then he gripped the belt where it was tied by one tiny little X. “Are you naked under this robe?”

  She wasn’t; she had on a matching nightgown with sheer lace cups. Her guilty pleasure: pretty nightgowns nobody saw. “I’ll never tell.”

  He shrugged. “I’d rather find out myself.”

  “You’re waiting for an invitation that’s never going to come.” The words were a deliberate challenge. She shouldn’t be taunting him this way when she knew full well he wouldn’t back down.

  A hard tug on the belt had her hips tilting with all the invitation he needed. “I’m not waiting, I’m just enjoying the anticipation.”

  Another pull and her back arched, forcing her to brace her hands on the counter to keep from falling. Her hips brushed his and she had to fight the gasp that rose to her lips.

  His gaze met hers, panther green in the glow of the moonlight streaming from the window. “I want you to know how wet I can make you without a single touch.”

  It called exquisite attention to the heat between her legs, the slipperiness on her thighs.

  The belt came free and she relaxed back against the counter, the granite cool through the silk on her overheated skin. He spread his legs, planting his feet on either side of hers, before parting the lapels using only the brush of his fingertips. The fabric fell away, revealing her nightgown. He ran his hands over her stomach, to the curve of her waist. “I knew you were hiding something good under all those business suits.”

  Jesus, his hands were so big, so hot, sliding over the silky fabric as though he had every right, and she did absolutely nothing to stop him. “There’s nothing wrong with dressing professionally.”

  He stroked over the swell of her hips, pausing as he looked at her. “No, there’s not. A guy sure as hell couldn’t work if he knew you were wearing this.”

  Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter. She wanted to touch him back, but couldn’t yet. “Maybe the men I work with are more focused than you.”

  “Or more stupid.” He tilted her hips and sucked in a breath as her belly brushed the hard ridge of his cock. “I can see your nipples through the lace.”

  The reminder of how hard they were, how much she wanted to be touched by him, had her biting her lower lip.

  He moaned, brushing the under curve of her breast, which seemed to grow heavy as though descending for his touch. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” He was barely touching her, hadn’t even kissed her, and she was worked up into a sexual frenzy. Right now, in this moment, he could bend her over the damn counter and shove inside her and she’d probably come in one stroke.

  She was that desperate. That mindless.

  For a woman who’d always been in complete control, the abandon was as intoxicating as the man himself.

  One hand slipped around her waist, while he raised the other to brush against her lips. “That mouth. It’s enough to make a grown man weep.”

  She parted her lips, sucking air into her lungs, as he rubbed the wet flesh with his thumb. “Do you always talk this much?”

  He gripped her neck. “I’m holding back about ninety percent of the filthy things I’m thinking.”

  She wanted to know, and was bold enough to ask. “Like what?”

  His eyes flashed, and he rocked his cock against her belly. She wanted it lower, where it could do more good. “Like how I’m going to suck on your nipples through that lace until you moan.”

  Her breasts tingled in response, as though he’d touched her. She’d never known talking could be this much of a turn-on. Every word he spoke made her hotter. Made her melt a little more. His gaze dipped to her mouth, but he said nothing more.

  And she wanted more.

  His voice had always stirred a response, but with him talking like this, it was enough to set her on fire. She could listen to him all night. Shameless, she asked, “And?”

  His lips curved into a wicked, sinful smile. “Are you trying to get me to talk dirty to you, Ce-ce?”

  Yes! Now, do it! But of course she didn’t say that; instead she waved a hand. “Just curious, is all.”

  “Liar.” He leaned in close. “Are you wearing panties?”

  “No.” Her voice breathless.

  He slipped a hand down her waist and gripped her leg, raising it to his hip. “Too bad, I would have liked to rip them off you.”

  “As if I’d let you.” He bent his knees and she shifted, the soft worn denim brushed against her clit and she gasped, gripping the counter.

  “Let’s not pretend,” he said, his gaze darkening as he nudged between her thighs. “If a woman ever needed her panties ripped off, it’s you.”

  Her head fell back against the cabinet. Oh God, yes. “You’re delusional.”

  He palmed her ass, lifting her. “I want skin to skin. I want to slide my cock over your clit until we’re both dying to come and then I want to bend you over that kitchen table and fuck the hell out of you.”

  Need and lust curled an iron fist inside her belly and wouldn’t let go. She was going to come. He’d barely touched her and the orgasm already coiled tight inside her. She released her grip on the counter and wrapped her hand around his neck, unable to take it a second longer.

  It seemed to be what he was waiting for because the second she tugged, he pulled her close and his mouth finally claimed hers.

  There was no slow start. No soft exploration.

  It started fast and turned furious.

  Their mouths fused. Tongues met and tangled. Their breath instantly harsh.

  She dug her nails into his neck. Fighting. Needing. Desperate to get closer. She plastered herself against his body.

  He growled against her. Slanting his mouth to deepen the contact.

  It w
as like no kiss she’d ever had. There was nothing nice or civilized about it.

  It was raw.

  Dirty.

  Not like her at all.

  And she loved every minute of it. Was greedy for more.

  All at once she wanted sex like he described, sex that held nothing back. Sex where she felt taken and possessed. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

  She wanted it from him. Only him.

  His tongue stroked hers, his lips hot and possessive.

  She needed more. Needed closer. She rubbed her aching breasts against him.

  He heard her plea, cupping her breast to rub his thumb over her nipple.

  She cried out, the sound lost and muffled against him.

  He tore his mouth away, pushed her up on the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he delivered on his promise and his mouth closed over her lace-covered nipple, sucking it deep.

  She shuddered against him, moaning. “Jesus.”

  He rumbled something unintelligible, and laved at the beaded tip with his tongue, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.

  It was crazy. Better than any fantasy. A visceral chemical reaction.

  She wanted it all.

  As hot and dirty as he could make it.

  All she wanted was more. Much, much more.

  She clutched at his neck, pulling him close. “Harder.”

  He bit her, his teeth sharp and stinging as he squeezed and tugged the other hard peak.

  Her head thunked against wood cabinets. “Oh God!”

  He did it again, holding longer and harder until need coiled so tight inside her she thought she might break. She wanted to keep quiet but found she couldn’t, it was impossible. “You’re so . . . so . . . good at that.”

  He laughed, moving to the other breast and bathing it with his tongue until the fabric was wet against her skin. Then he raised his head and captured her lips in a brutal kiss.

  It was demanding. Arrogant. Possessive.

  And so right. So perfect.

  She threw away what little reserve she still maintained and abandoned herself to him.

  And it was glorious.

  His hand went to her thigh. Squeezed, then moved between her legs. He groaned, breaking the kiss long enough to murmur, “So fucking wet.”