by J. A. Huss
She is speechless. Her mouth is opening and closing, opening and closing, but no words make it past those beautiful plump lips.
“So relax, enjoy it. And if you really want to say no when I start taking your clothes off, I’ll back away. I’m not a rapist, Ivy. And if you think I am, then you’re not as smart as that resume makes you out to be.”
She scowls at my words but stays silent.
“I don’t need to force women to have sex with me. I get them to the point of begging and then it… just happens.”
“It won’t happen with me.”
I honestly think she believes that. But she has no idea what’s coming, so I wave it off with a hand gesture. “So, Richard is your boyfriend? How long have you been dating?”
Ivy tips her head up, like she’s got the upper hand here. “Yes, Richard. We’ve been dating since my freshman year of college. And he’s a lawyer.”
“What kind of lawyer?” I ask, wondering how far she’ll take this boyfriend thing.
“He works for the district attorney’s office in Boston.”
“Boston, huh. He’s a close-to-home guy as well?”
“You live in the desert, two hours from your father’s home in San Diego. So you’re one to talk.”
“I didn’t grow up with my father, Ivy. My mother divorced him when I was twelve and we lived in Palm Beach when I was at home. But most of the time I was in boarding school in upstate New York.”
“Oh,” she says, taking a moment to think this through.
“I came back to the desert because I like it here. It’s a place people hide.”
“Are you hiding?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“No.” She laughs. It’s not a real laugh. Not like the ones I saw earlier. But it’s a start.
“You’re hiding behind a fake boyfriend. Why? To keep my sexual advances at bay? It won’t work.”
She shakes her head as she lets out another nervous laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“I just can’t believe what an asshole you are. I mean, I expected some of this—”
“Which parts? I love hearing what people think of me before they actually meet me.”
“Jesus Christ—”
“Ah, so that religious upbringing is wearing off.” I tsk my tongue mockingly at her and then say, “That’s good to know.”
“I figured you were a jerk but I really had no idea you were this bad.”
“Because I’m self-assured?”
“Because you are the definition of arrogant, Mr. Delaney.”
“Nolan,” I say. “I thought we were in agreement on that?”
“We’re not in agreement on anything, Nolan.”
I smile and she falters for words.
“We will be by the time this night is over.”
She’s just about to respond to that when the servers come with a basket of bread and wine.
“I hope you like wine.”
“I do,” she says.
“Good,” I say. “Then I did something right. This is a fantastic Ornellaia Vendemmia d'Artista Special Edition Bolgheri Superiore that comes straight from Tuscany. Have you ever had it?”
“No,” she says crisply. “It sounds a little out of my price range for dinner drinks.”
“Well, enjoy then. I like the finer things in life, Ivy. I won’t skimp on this date, don’t worry.”
The servers leave us alone again and Ivy gathers her nerve. “It’s not a date,” Ivy says, once they’re out of ear-shot. “And I won’t be fucking you tonight, Nolan. No matter how pricey the wine or how good the food.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Ivy. I don’t get girls in bed by wining and dining them. It’s the talking that lowers all those keen defenses and inner voices telling them to run away as fast as they can.”
She laughs. And this time, I think it’s real. “Well, the rumors seem to be true all the way around. You certainly are charming. And charisma? You’ve got it in spades. But I don’t fall for charm.”
“Is that why Richard is boring? I mean, come on. District attorney’s office? Tell me, does he have grand dreams of public service once his five years are up? State’s attorney, maybe? Federal judge? I’m practically falling asleep as I talk.”
“It’s a noble profession. Putting criminals away.”
“Criminals like me?” I ask with a wink.
“You were never tried.”
“Correct. I never was.”
She presses her lips together, wanting to reply, but afraid to.
“Say it, Ivy. Go ahead. I know you want to.”
She swallows hard and goes for it. “Did you do it?”
I smile as she fidgets in her chair. “Wait until we’ve been dating a week and then I’ll ask you if you think I did it.”
“A week?” Her eyebrows knit together.
“Do you think I’m a one-night kind of guy?”
“Absolutely. But I think you probably make your targets think it’s more, just to get through that one night.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”
She gives me an indulgent smile this time. It’s funny. She doesn’t even realize what I’m doing. Putting her through this emotional rollercoaster. Watching her expressions change. Watching her fight her instincts and give in.
“After this dinner I’m going back to my room to sleep—alone—and tomorrow morning I expect that jet to be ready and waiting to take me home.”
“What if I want to hire you tomorrow?’
“What?” She says it loud, too. It echoes off the high ceilings of the small private dining room. “You are too much.”
“No really. I liked your idea, Ivy. And I know there’s more to it. But I really do want to fuck you. So I can’t hire you today or that would be inappropriate.”
Her mouth hangs open.
I reach over and close it up with a fingertip to her chin. “Close your mouth, Ivy Rockwell,” I croon. “You’re making my dick hard just thinking about how you’ll suck it tonight.”
She blinks. Twice.
“Does Richard talk dirty to you, Ivy?”
More silence.
“I’ll take that as a no. I will. I’ll talk dirty to you. Is Richard the jealous type?”
It takes several more seconds for Ivy to catch up on the conversation and then she squints her eyes at me and says, “Yes. He is. And he comes from a mob family in Providence. Ever hear of the Providence mob? It’s infamous.”
“You’re lying. Richard is some stuffy career man who wouldn’t know a mobster from his flaccid little dick. And no one you’re sleeping with is more infamous than me.”
“I’m not sleeping with you, Nolan. That’s final.”
“Not yet,” I say, leaning back in my chair and wishing we were somewhere more private so I could masturbate as she fights my seduction. “Anyway, I know Richard is fake. I even know why Mr. Corporate sent you here.”
“What?” she says quickly. “Why?”
“He’s trying to set us up.”
“What?” This time she’s loud.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my wine and reaching for the bread. I pull off a piece, butter it, and then place it on the little plate to her left. “Eat that. It’s fucking delicious. This chef I hired can bake like a motherfucker.”
“Why did he send me?” Ivy asks again, ignoring her bread.
I butter a piece of my own and then take a bite and another sip of wine to wash it down. “We’re playing games.”
“What kind of games?” She’s angry now.
“You know Mr. Match?”
“No,” she says, huffing out air that makes a little bit of hair blow up from her forehead. “Not really. I don’t know his real name. But I’ve heard of him.”
“His name is Oliver Shrike and he runs this dating site. Online dating? You ever done that?”
“Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head and blushing. Which means she totally has. I’m going to get Oliver to lo
ok that shit up for me. If she was dating online, she was probably doing it at his website.
“Well, Oliver and his sister own this big dating site. But I was at Perfect’s engagement party a few weeks ago and Corporate comes up to me and says, ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that Match has no date today? Shouldn’t he have a date if he runs the country’s largest online dating site?’
“I shrugged and said, ‘Maybe?’ So then he goes into this whole plan about how he’s going to headhunt a girl for him. And he sends me this ridiculous online dating dossier this morning. A girl for Match. Right as you were pulling up in that limo, to be exact. So I think he sent you here to fix us up because I was dateless at that party too. Which means there’s no Richard. Maybe there was a Richard, once. But he’s not in the picture now. Mr. Corporate is very thorough.”
I have rendered Ivy Rockwell speechless too many times to count today. It gives me a lot of satisfaction. “You’re not eating your bread, Ivy. It’s good. And that fucking chef, man. She even has people making the butter from scratch. Take a bite.”
“Are you for real?” Ivy asks, all her defenses down. “No man is really this full of himself.”
“One hundred percent genuine. You’re getting me tonight, Ivy. I hope you can handle it. Because I’d hate to disappoint Mr. Corporate at the next party.”
Chapter Twelve - Ivy
I… have no idea what to make of him. None. This whole day, this whole experience, has been one mind trip after another. “Why would he do that?”
“I just told you,” Nolan says. His voice is low and filled with ego, and self-assurance, and charm—all wrapped up into one low rumble. His voice is filled with power.
“He’s trying to set you up? On… a date?” It seems silly.
But the look on Nolan’s face tells me I’m reading it wrong.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says back. “So about those ideas you have.”
Hmmm. So that’s why he kept me here another night. He wants to pump me for information. “I don’t work for free, Mr. Delaney. So you’re wasting your time with this dinner.”
“I don’t expect it for free, Ivy.” Those green eyes practically burn into mine. He doesn’t blink, or avert his gaze when I stare back.
I break away first. “So you really do want to hire me? For like, a job?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “More like a contractor. And not until tomorrow.”
“Because you’re going to fuck me first.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
“Well.” I laugh, looking out into the empty restaurant beyond the arched doorway. “You’re mistaken. I’m not interested in you like that.”
“Then why did you come? Hmmm? Good girls like you, Ivy Rockwell, don’t get into a private jet and travel two thousand miles for an interview with someone you’ve never even met.”
“Don’t assume things about me, Nolan. I’m not as innocent as I look.”
“Well.” He smiles, unleashing a dimple in his chin I hadn’t noticed before. “That’s good to know. I was afraid I’d be wasting my time with a virgin.”
I huff out an uncomfortable laugh before I can stop it.
“I mean, twenty-two is late, but it happens, right? And you are a preacher’s daughter.”
My heart is beating fast and I have a sudden fear that panic will overtake me and I’ll say something stupid. So I shut it down. “I’m not discussing my personal details with you. So change the topic of conversation or I’ll get up and walk out. I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
“Sure you do. That’s why you came, right? The infamous Mr. Romantic. I’ve heard that said enough times on the news reports to accept it. They don’t call Perfect infamous. Hell, they don’t even call Mysterious infamous, and he’s far more dangerous than I’ll ever be. So I know when you figured out who the interview was with, those words danced across your tongue. And I like the swearing, Ivy. I see you haven’t fallen for the bullshit your father probably sold you all growing up.”
“Don’t talk about my family like you know them. You have no idea what kind of man my father is.”
Nolan shrugs. “Don’t need to know. It’s the type. The strait-laced type. The kind of people who judge before they know the whole story. I bet he sat in front of the TV and asked his God to punish me for the atrocious sin I took part in. Did he do that, Ivy?”
I huff out some air, disgusted. What does anyone see in this asshole? And he is not even a class-act asshole, like some of the boys Nora or the other sorority girls dated in college. He’s the scum variety.
“He didn’t, Nolan.” I sneer his name. “He’s a kind man who was very good to me.”
“Except for the religious brainwashing?”
“Did you ever consider if I liked the religious brainwashing?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t mind it.” I shrug. “In fact, I like a lot of it. It’s made me the person I am today and I’m quite proud of that. So this stupid idea you have of making me uncomfortable, or trying to get in my good graces because you think I want nothing more than to rebel against the things I was taught—well, it’s not working, Mr. Romantic. You’re not exactly playing your A-game today.”
“Noted,” he says, like he’s done with the topic.
“So I would appreciate it if you’d be professional, if, in fact, you really do want to have a professional relationship with me. Got it?”
“Your plan,” he says, not missing a beat. “Did it involve the free room idea you pitched in the meeting? Or was that just a decoy?”
“It does. Somewhat. But I already told you, I’m not discussing the plan unless we have an agreement on how you’ll be paying for my expertise.”
He leans back in his chair, hands in his lap. “I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”
“No, you just want to fuck me.” It was meant to be like a slap. And he was meant to recoil. But he doesn’t react, and I find myself throbbing between my legs just from saying it out loud.
He smirks. Like he knows. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing that excited feeling to go away.
It doesn’t take very much to turn me on. And even though there is something about him that says, Run. Get away. Don’t participate in this conversation. Go back to your room, lock the door, and don’t close your eyes until you’re safely back in your own bed. I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about the reason I came here.
I bite my lip and wonder how crazy I’d be if I actually let him do what he wants?
“Ivy?”
“What?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Going home.”
“Should I call the pilot and let you go home?”
“I thought you wanted to hear my ideas?”
“After I fuck you, I said.”
I don’t know what to say after that, and thankfully the servers come with the food. A plate of shell pasta filled with ricotta cheese, topped with melted mozzarella—surrounded by a perfect circle of red sauce that smells so delicious, my mouth starts watering—is placed in front of me.
The chef appears, all smiles, hands behind her back as she looks at us. “I hope you like it. It’s one of my specialties. Nolan asked me to make my favorite dish for you, Miss Rockwell. And I don’t want to mess up your first date, so I’m nervous.”
I look at Nolan, one eyebrow raised.
He looks back, both eyebrows raised. “Taste it, Ivy. Elizabeth is waiting.”
I cut off a small piece because the sauce is still steaming, and place it in my mouth.
Jesus. Yes. I’m very hungry, but this dish is amazing. “Wow,” I say, after I swallow. “It’s perfect.”
Elizabeth bows to me, then Nolan, her smile even bigger than before, and then backs off, and turns away, walking to the kitchen, doing a little fist pump in the air as she disappears through a door.
“Well, you made her night.”
“It’s really good,” I say, ou
r heated conversation over. “I was talking to her earlier. She told me some interesting things.”
“Things you took note of?” Nolan prods as he takes a taste of his own pasta.
“Yes,” I say, unwilling to give him any details.
“Things you won’t discuss with me until tomorrow?”
“If I stay.”
“You’re staying,” he says. “I already know you want to, so let’s get past that. Forget about tomorrow for now, we’ll do it your way. I will hire you, we will sign a contract for your consultation services, and then we’ll discuss it. But tonight—I’m sorry, Ivy. Tonight, we’re gonna do it my way.”
I take a sip my wine, considering my options. Would it be so bad to have this very experienced man as my first?
I mean, beyond my father hating him. My father can’t ever know anything about Nolan Delaney. No way. And beyond the fact that Nolan might catch on to my secret and put a stop to it, thereby humiliating me as I beg him to keep going, even though I insisted we were not going to have sex tonight.
If I could control those two variables, then would it be so bad?
“I would die to be a mind reader right now.” Nolan is smiling at me, his expression nothing but cocky. Nothing but ego and self-assurance.
Nothing but the power he knows he has.
To render women powerless against his charming advances.
He knows I want him. Hell, I’m sure every woman he meets wants him.
I have never felt desirable. I have never felt wanted, not like this. I have never known the touch of a man and what that touch might mean. And I have never made a man want me so badly, I knew, no matter what I did or said, he’d never want to walk away. No transgression would be big enough for him to say no.
I can imagine Mr. Romantic being one transgression after another. And I can imagine all the hearts he’s broken in the process. I can imagine all the ways in which he walks out. All the ways in which he is begged to stay.
“I would die to have your confidence right now,” I say back.
And then he frowns.
Chapter Thirteen - Nolan
I frown. Thinking about that statement for a moment.
But then she laughs. “I mean, holy hell. You are so full of yourself, Mr. Delaney, it’s like ego is your superpower. Your picture is the definition of narcissist in college psychology text books. You’re the cover model for self-help books that tell people to believe in themselves.”
