Staying out of the dating game is easy, but I would be lying if I said that I don’t miss the scratch of Ethan’s stubble on my face when he kissed me, or that I don’t long for the feeling of his weight on top of me when we were in bed. I suppose that’s why I’m at a bar in the middle of Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, sipping on a cocktail and sitting next to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
We’ve been talking for half an hour, both of us waiting out a line of storms that have delayed every outbound plane in the area. I’ve booked a seat on a flight leaving first thing in the morning, and there’s a room waiting for me in the hotel that’s attached to the terminal. I should go up there and get some sleep, or finish one of the many projects that I have going on right now. But there’s something about this man that makes me want to stay right where I am. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly nice to look at.
I don’t even know his name, but I like the velvety look of his close-cropped light brown hair and the sexy ruggedness of the couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face. I like the cool depths of his bright blue eyes and the infectiousness of his smile. I want him, there’s no doubt about it. I want to see him naked at some point this evening, but I’m completely unpracticed in the art of the one-night stand. I have no idea how to be even remotely sexy, but I’m flirting with him shamelessly. And he’s flirting back.
“What happened here?” I ask, tracing the long, jagged scar that stretches out a few inches below his thumb. His skin feels electric beneath my fingers and when I touch him, he looks at me like he never wants me to stop. Unless my raging hormones are making me imagine that, which is entirely possible.
“This?” he asks, leaning in closer as he twists his wrist. “I was rappelling down the side of a cliff and my harness slipped. I reached out for leverage and cut myself.”
“Rappelling?”
He grins. “Yeah, it’s when you descend from a rock face using ropes and-”
“I know what rappelling is,” I say, laughing. “I just thought that you were trying to impress me.” I want to rappel him. Start at his head and work my way down, down, down.
“I am trying to impress you, but that’s actually what happened.” He looks down at what’s left of the beer in his glass, and then he slides to his right a little, until his arm is touching mine. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any impressive scars?” He smiles again, and its imperfection is endearing. His bottom lip is a little fuller than the top, and one of his front teeth is just the tiniest bit out of alignment with the rest. I’m pretty sure he knows how charming that smile is and the effect that it has on women. He’s using it to his advantage tonight.
“Nothing really impressive, but I do have this,” I tell him, pointing at my chin.
He slides his fingers along the underside of my jaw and tilts my head up so he can get a better look. The pad of his thumb grazes my scar, and I shiver. I hope he doesn’t notice the way my breath catches when he touches me. I don’t want to come off as desperate for him as I actually am.
“What’s the story?”
“It’s not even remotely cool as rappelling,” I say. He looks at me expectantly. “I was at Girl Scout camp when I was, I don’t know…seven maybe? It was my troop’s turn to clean up the mess hall, and we were all running around and acting stupid. One of the girls started chasing me and I tripped, fell, and hit the edge of a bench.”
He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth as he grimaces.
“Ouch. I guess you’re not good in situations where fleeing is required?”
“I generally avoid situations where fleeing is required, actually. I’m small, so I guess I could always hope that someone would take pity on me and pick me up to expedite the fleeing process and limit the amount of damage I could do to myself while running.” I’m talking way too much, but I just can’t seem to help myself.
“I’d pick you up, but it wouldn’t be out of pity.” There’s a mischievous look in his eyes that makes me want to wrap my body around his, and I’m beginning to get a sense that the two of us might have the same endgame in mind.
“So,” he says, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
For a split second I consider making one up, but even though he’s a complete stranger, it feels wrong to want to lie to him.
“Callie. My name is Callie.”
“Short for…” He draws out the ‘r’ as he searches for a name to guess. “Calliope?” He seems really proud of himself for thinking of another name, and it’s disarmingly cute.
“Good guess,” I tell him. “It’s Callista. And your name is?”
“Nate.”
“Short for…Michael?” It’s an idiotic thing to say, but he laughs anyway.
“It’s nice to meet you, Callie.” My name sounds like heaven when he says it, and he takes my hand in his. His palm is a little rough, and I imagine what it would feel like sliding across the small of my back.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say. For a very brief moment, I think about asking him where he’s headed, but I decide against it. One-night stands aren’t supposed to get invested, and I don’t even want to know the slightest bit about his personal life, including where he’s from or where he’s going. I wish there was a way for me to turn off my mind and think with my vagina. Sex should be easy, but my brain has a way of complicating things.
“I was pissed when my flight got canceled, but now…” Nate says, looking down at our fingers which are loosely entwined. Somewhere in the back of my head I know that he’s playing me, but I don’t care. I just really don’t care.
When he looks up, I catch his gaze, and we look at each other for a very long time. Butterflies circle my stomach, flapping their wings against my insides, and I feel like it might kill me to look away from him. It’s been forever since someone has made me feel this way, and I want to keep feeling it. I’m trying to figure out a way to ask him upstairs to my room without sounding like I’m asking him upstairs to my room. I’m such a failure at casual sex.
Thankfully the bartender interrupts my frenzied thoughts when he walks over and asks if we’d like another round.
“No,” I reply softly, still looking at Nate. His face falls with disappointment for just a split second before understanding lights his eyes.
He holds up has hand and shakes his head. The bartender walks away.
“Callie, I never do this, but-”
“I have a room,” I say, interrupting him to keep him from finishing that sentence. Because ‘I never do this’ is the kind of thing that people who typically do this a lot tend to say. And I’m okay with that, really. But I don’t want to hear it.
“Okay.” Nate flashes a smile as he stands up and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. Then, he slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and leads me out of the bar.
We make our way through the crowded terminal to the hotel, looking at each other every few steps and grinning like a couple of fools.
The elevator can’t come quickly enough.
I fumble with the key card in the lock, a mixture of nerves and excitement making my hands shake. As if Nate wants to see just how much of an effect he has on me, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against him until I can feel every inch of his chest against my back. It takes me three tries to even get the damn card in the slot, and the longer it takes me, the more my hands shake.
“If you don’t get this door unlocked, I’m going to break it down,” he says, his voice a low rumble despite his teasing words. I take a deep breath to smooth over my jitters. “Let me help you,” he says, gentle now as his lips brush across the shell of my ear. He doesn’t seem to be nearly as nervous as I am, if he’s even nervous at all. He unlocks the door with a sure, steady hand.
Once we’re in the room, Nate tosses his bag to the side and pushes the door shut with his heel. Then he takes my face in his hands and kisses
me like he can’t get enough, like he’s been waiting to do this his whole life. Our mouths melt together in long, slow kisses and then urgent, faster, needier ones. He brings my arms up and over his shoulders, clasping my hands together behind his neck.
“Hold onto me,” he says. And I do.
Nate kisses me again, and all I can think about is the way he tastes, the way he feels. He slides his hands down the small of my back, down the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him, not caring about what’s going to happen next as long as he keeps kissing me like he’s never going to stop. He gently lowers me onto the bed, then pulls off my shoes, grinning at me as he playfully tosses them across the room. I help him by unbuttoning my jeans, then he tugs on the cuffs, sliding the denim down my thighs as I take off my shirt.
I lie back and enjoy the view as Nate pulls his shirt over his head and then unzips his pants. They fall to the floor, revealing a pair of boxers with yellow smiley faces all over them. I can’t help but grin when I see them, and I trace the hem that hangs over his right thigh with my big toe.
“Are these your sexy shorts?” I ask.
He seems confused for a second, then catches on to what I’m asking after he looks down at what he’s wearing.
“Hey,” he replies, pretending to be offended. “I’ve gotten lots of compliments on these.”
I don’t even want to think about just how many compliments he’s gotten on these boxers, so luckily he distracts me by sliding them down his hips. And my eyes are glued to him. His body is insane. Sturdy. Muscular. Perfect.
“C’mere,” I say, crooking my finger at him, trying to be seductive and sexy and failing miserably. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t seem to care.
Nate kneels over me on the bed, leaning down and kissing me before he reaches behind my back and unclasps my bra. He kisses my breasts, licking slow, torturous circles around my nipples that make my toes curl. My hands are everywhere, slipping across his broad shoulders and tight muscles, and I can’t kiss him enough. His skin is salty and sweet. I love the little sounds that he makes when I press my lips here, touch him there, and gently slide my palm along the length of his erection. He sighs, resting his head in the crook of my neck.
“Do you like that?” I ask, wanting to be sure that I make this good for him.
“Yeah,” he replies with a breathy laugh that warms my breast, and then his mouth finds its place on my skin. I continue sliding my hand up and down, and he bucks his hips against me as we kiss. When his breathing speeds up and his kisses become a little unfocused, he pulls away and kisses a trail down my stomach to the insides of my thighs. And then, oh. Oh.
“Oh my god,” I sigh, and Nate lets out a little hum of a laugh that vibrates against me and makes my eyelids flutter shut. He works magic with his tongue and fingers as I sink back into the mattress and let myself drift. I drift and drift. Sometimes my eyes are closed and sometimes I look down at him while he’s looking up at me and I have this crazy desire to run my fingers through his short hair. To scratch his scalp with my fingernails, because I think he’d like it.
So I do. And he likes it. And I like what he’s doing to me so much that it isn’t long until he makes me come in a warm, lapping wave that reaches out from my belly, cresting against my fingertips and toes.
Nate is obviously pleased with himself as I pull him up for a kiss, but it doesn’t last as long as I’d like because his lips leave mine when he sits up and reaches for his jeans at the foot of the bed. He pulls a condom out of his back pocket, and I’m so glad he wants to be safe. It would be too easy for me to be stupid with him.
He kneels in front of me, my legs on either side of his as he looks down, his eyes locked with mine. I can’t read his expression, can’t tell exactly what he wants me to do next. And it’s killing me, because whatever he wants me to do, I want to do it. One of his hands lightly traces the outside of my calf and the other cups my foot, lifting it until it rests on his shoulder. He turns his head and plants a sweet, gentle kiss on the inside of my ankle.
“You are so beautiful,” he says, his voice very soft and very deep at the same time. I’m lying naked in front of him, so he knows this is a sure thing. He doesn’t need to flatter me, but still…I’m flattered. What am I supposed to say? You’re handsome? I’d like to lick every square inch of your body?
He doesn’t wait for me to figure it out, he just leans down and kisses me as he hooks his arms under mine. I reach up and touch his face, wondering why all of this feels so tender when it isn’t supposed to mean anything at all. Nate presses his forehead against mine as he slowly pushes into me. He sighs and runs his fingers through my hair, and somehow it feels like we’ve been together like this before. He knows every spot to touch that makes me gasp, every stretch of skin to slide his tongue across that opens me up to him. He brings me to the edge of pleasure and pulls me back, again and again, until my whole body is humming and desperate. When I finally fall, I bury my face in his neck. He follows soon after, peppering my face with kisses.
After, we lie there in bed, clinging to each other. Until a kiss turns into more kisses and a touch turns into a thousand more. Until he’s inside me again and my body is wrapped around his and our names fall from each other’s lips. We follow the same pattern all night, over and over again, until we finally drift off to sleep.
I wake up just before dawn, wrapped in Nate’s arms. I’ve never been so comfortable and so scared in my entire life. I don’t want to walk out of this room and never see him again, but more than that I don’t want him to become another Ethan. I’m scared he’ll break what’s left of my heart, and I’ll get so hardened against men that I won’t be able to have another night like this again.
No, it’s better for me to leave things as they are and let this night become a memory.
I get dressed quietly and gather my things, ignoring the nagging ache I feel as I slip out the door.
* * *
Meeting Mr. Wright is On Sale Now!
Anyone with half a brain would probably tell you that falling in love with your boss is the worst possible thing you could do in the business world. But they don’t know what Abby Waters does: it’s not the love that gets you in trouble, it’s the lust. That insatiable, hormone-driven gateway drug that gives you a taste of the thing you fantasize about the most and leaves you wanting more and more. It’s an unpredictable disease; simmering one minute, burning out of control the next.
That morning, she was simmering. The object of her desire, Cole Kerrigan, had just left the office for a late-morning meeting, and her best-friend-slash roommate, Becca, was waiting for Abby to join her for an early lunch at her favorite diner.
It was a gorgeous day outside; the first one since November that Abby hadn’t needed a coat, and she was giddy at the prospect of pulling her spring wardrobe out of storage. When she opened the diner’s door, she immediately spotted Becca in the far corner, her blonde curls spilling down her back.
Like a true angel, Becca had already ordered for Abby, knowing how pressed for time she was and how rare it was for her to be able to go out to lunch. She was usually chained to her desk. Abby thanked Becca and she grinned, wearing a shade of lip gloss that Abby was certain she’d bought for herself last week. She was in too good of a mood though, so she decided not to call Becca out for being a thief.
“We come to the best diner in the city and you order a salad?” Abby asked, lifting a spoonful of the heartiest, most delicious chili the island of Manhattan had to offer to her lips.
Becca glared at her and tossed a few strands of hair over her shoulder. “You don’t get to comment on my rabbit food, Abby. Especially since you use me as a guinea pig for all that godforsaken chocolate you insist on making every day.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “No one makes you eat it. How am I supposed to eventually become New York’s premier candy maker if I don’t get some practice?”
Becca sighed, pushing a grape tomato aro
und her plate. “Practice on the people you work with and leave my hips alone.”
“The people I work with consider themselves obese if they can’t fit into sample sizes, Beck. They wouldn’t know good chocolate if they rolled around naked in it.” Becca was tall, curvy in all the right places, and had absolutely no issues with her hips. Of course, no one could tell her that. To hear her talk about herself, you would think she was hideous.
“Besides,” Abby said. “You love me.”
“Eh.” Becca shrugged, giving Abby an impassive look. After taking another bite of her salad, she reached into her huge tote bag and pulled out her copy of The City Whisper, Manhattan’s own celebrity gossip paper, delivered to Abby and Becca’s mailbox every morning.
“Really?” Abby asked, shaking her head. “During lunch?”
“I’m an addict, I can’t help myself.” Becca placed the paper on the table and thumbed through the first few pages, completely uninterested in the ads and desperate to get to the gossip. Her impatience was one of the things Abby loved most about her. “I like to see how the other half lives.”
“They don’t eat at hole-in-the wall diners, that’s for sure.” Abby leaned over, trying to read the headline Becca was fixated on. “And they don’t read at the table, it’s uncouth.”
“Unless it’s the Wall Street Journal.” Becca quirked her brow, grinning.
“Or their trust fund statements.”
“Probably.” She flipped the page. “It’s just, have you seen the slobs that ask us out? Stained t-shirt wearing fools who live in a one-bedroom apartment with their five roommates. Couldn’t find your clit with two maps and a turn-by-turn navigation system.”
Abby clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh and stop herself from spitting out her drink.
Becca held up the paper and pointed to a picture of a hot-bodied man in soaking-wet swim trunks. “You can’t tell me this guy wouldn’t know what to do with you. Look at those abs, my god. And the shoulders, Abby. His shoulders! That muscle definition. I bet he could pick a girl up while he fucked her.”
One Night With The Billionaire Too Page 16
