The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  They’d accepted the offer of a lift back into town from Reese when the hour had grown late and their town car had been ready to go off-shift. She hadn’t really thought Reese would drive them himself, of course, but the sleek black limo and liveried driver hadn’t been expected either.

  With a final wave, she and Garrick slipped through the door and into the waiting car. She climbed in first, sliding across the soft leather seat to make room for Garrick. The door clicked shut behind him and sealed them into a warm cocoon.

  Garrick turned to her in the intimate darkness and something tightened deep in her body. She’d been harmlessly flirting with all three men most of the night and hadn’t given it a moment’s thought until Garrick had hugged her in the billiard room. She’d felt his erection against her hip and her blood had heated, running thick through her veins. She’d struggled to recover her composure, grateful jokes about fellatio-performing moose distracted her.

  Until now.

  “Thank you.” His voice was soft, rough along her skin.

  She clamped down on her body’s betrayal, crossing her legs and shivering as her bare thighs skimmed over lacy stocking tops.

  God, what is the matter with me? She stared at her hand clutching the leather seat between them and counted her breaths.

  The heat in the car was high, forcing back the bitter cold outside and carrying the scent of Garrick’s cologne. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale until she was dizzy from the heady musk hiding beneath the smooth hint of pine.

  He watched her, no doubt waiting for her response, hopefully unaware of how ferocious it truly was.

  She met his gaze, determined to say you’re welcome or something equally inane and nothing like touch me please. The words wouldn’t come. Not even the plea, though she suspected he could see it written in every line of her face.

  She felt drunk, but her spinning head had nothing to do with the two beers she’d sipped, and everything to do with her pounding pulse and swelling body.

  He was forbidden fruit. Untouchable by her own rules, and yet had proven more desirable than any man she’d known. He was her friend. Trusted.

  And fucking beautiful.

  She saw the questions in his patient eyes. Was aware of how unlike his nature it was for him to sit so still. To not take action. It didn’t take a glance at the increasingly poor fit of his trousers to know he held back. It was just there, on his face, in his gaze.

  She turned away, her eyes fixed on the blank wall of the privacy screen. They were alone, behind dark tinted windows and thick sound-proof barriers, shielded from the rest of the world.

  A small pocket of time and space all to themselves.

  It was this thought, this reckless belief that she could steal a few minutes from a life, a career, a friendship that should prevent her from stealing any such thing, that made her turn back to Garrick.

  Chapter Nine

  Garrick watched, wide-eyed, as Savannah slid across the limousine’s long, smooth bench.

  His hands shook with the need to take, to claim, to feel her touching any part of him with any part of her. He was already delirious with the hint of her arousal in the still, hot air of the car. Drunk on her scent. Intoxicated by her heavy-lidded eyes—smoky green flashes in the pale streetlights before they fluttered closed.

  Her lips touched his and he opened to her. His heart thumped wildly against his ribs while his cock fought his briefs and the zipper of his dress slacks. He wanted to free his erection. He wanted to haul her up over him and grind her down on top of him. He wanted so many things, he could do little more than let her kiss the breath out of him as he tried to figure out what the fuck was happening.

  Good God Almighty, he wanted this so badly he would gladly yowl at the moon from the pent up need, the desire he’d swallowed down every time he was near her.

  He knew her taste, the flavor of her uninhibited kisses unforgettable as her tongue danced with his. She groaned, long and loud in the quiet dark, and her hands fisted in his shirtfront.

  Every sound, every yank on his collar, ratcheted his desire higher.

  He drew the knee she had crossed toward him higher, turning her more fully into his body, the warm length of her leg draped across the tops of his. He worried his touch would spook her, but she only wriggled closer, moaned louder, when his hand wrapped around one sleekly muscled calf.

  He would have smiled had his mouth not been fully and delightfully occupied. He skimmed his palm up the back of her thigh, over thin silk and the rough lace edge at the top of her stocking. He forged on, desperate to know more than the touch of her lips. At last his fingers met hot, satiny skin, and he sighed into her mouth as she whimpered into his.

  She shifted, and he prepared to beg her not to back away. Instead she rolled over him, almost straddling his thigh, until her knee nudged his zipper, teasing his aching cock. His hips surged, searching for more pressure. Relief.

  She growled low in her throat, and he fought back a laugh when he figured out she was stuck, her tight skirt preventing her legs from spreading any farther.

  She stopped feasting at his mouth and turned her attention to his jaw. He arched his neck, eager for the tickle of her lips and tongue. He dragged in a deep breath, an attempt to think straight that failed miserably when he inhaled the musk of her arousal.

  He needed her closer. Now.

  “Come here.” He slipped his arms around her and hauled her over him. She gasped into his mouth and came willingly. Eagerly. She relinquished her death grip on his shirt to yank at the material at her hips, forcing it higher so she could spread her thighs and straddle him properly.

  His hands tore at the buttons of her wool coat, her fingers brushing his as she untied the belt. The moment it came loose, she shucked it off and tossed it into the shadows on the far side of the car.

  He had a few seconds to process smooth skin above lace stockings, a flash of matching lace at the juncture of her thighs. Then she slid down, her breasts rubbing along his chest until their mouths met again and her soft heat pressed down on his cock.

  God, he was going to embarrass himself. His balls tingled, and his rigid shaft swelled further. She writhed in his arms, on his lap. He was damn close to coming in his pants.

  It wasn’t just her kiss, though he eagerly drowned in another of those. Or her taste, or the press of her body. It was that it was so unexpected. She was so unexpected. This woman, who was so controlled at work, so completely buttoned down—never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she hid this responsive, demanding wanton.

  He wanted to wallow in the joy of his discovery. Make heathens of them both. Not an easy task in the back of a limo only miles from their hotel.

  They had so little time. He tore his mouth from hers, rolled, and tossed her onto the soft seat. He dropped to his knees on the floor before her, pinning her to the leather with his hips, his hands. His cock.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and rocked against him, jamming swollen folds and lace against his shaft as she pulled him close. Her lips brushed his when she whispered his name.

  “Garrick.”

  He shivered, sucking in an unsteady breath. The tight grip in his hair anchored him to her. Their mouths met and she plunged her tongue into his mouth. He kissed her back. Madly. Desperate to use every second of the little time they had left.

  Clasping her thighs, he spread her open, lifting her knees higher as he changed the tenor of the kiss. His tongue danced into her mouth and took control while he mastered her lips with his, taking complete possession. His cock twitched and leaked when she melted beneath him, her body pliant. Her hum of approval buzzed down his spine.

  His hands began a slow, torturous slide down her legs, from the backs of her knees and under her thighs, across those precious inches of bare skin.

  Gasping with the need for oxygen and the skin-tingling pleasure of finding her thighs slick with arousal, he tore his lips from hers. He nibbled along her neck, behi
nd her ear, giving extra attention to the places that made her groan loader, writhe harder. He hoarded the knowledge he teased from her body. He was an able pupil, eager to learn. Hoping to bring this knowledge to bear another time, but knowing this might be his only chance.

  His thumb brushed over the lace covering her pussy and she jolted beneath him. He pressed harder and his heart stuttered at how wicked, how incredible she looked with her head thrown back, her thighs splayed wide, her skirt around her waist as she gasped out his name.

  It was a plea for more. He could not refuse her.

  Dragging himself away from her long neck, her tempting mouth, he turned his head and licked a determined path along the inside of her left knee.

  Now she shouted his name. Loudly.

  It was unlikely the chauffeur couldn’t hear at least some of this, but Garrick didn’t care. He craved her uninhibited reactions. He nibbled higher, delighting in her gasps, a giggle, her frantic groan when he hooked his thumb in the lace stretched between her splayed thighs. He tugged it to one side. She was wet, swollen. The head of her clitoris rose from her folds and begged for his attention.

  City streetlamps flashed outside the window. Their time was short.

  With a groan of hunger, he danced his thumb over her clit, slicking across the hood again and again. Holding the thin lace barrier aside with his fingers, he eased the other thumb deep into her body.

  She rocked against him and he adored her abandon. Her brutal honesty. He wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of it as he desperately held on to the woman writhing without restraint in his arms. He couldn’t get enough, so he pressed harder, stroked faster. It wasn’t enough. He withdrew his thumb.

  “No!” she cried.

  He thrust two fingers high and deep and she whimpered, rolling her hips again. He was frantic to give her the pleasure she sought. He tortured her clit with a thumb and her hot channel tightened against his fingers.

  “Garrick. Garrick!”

  Fuck, he loved hearing his name from her lips. Gasped. Hollered. Panted. Moaned.

  She planted her hands on the seat and used her arm to gain leverage, lifting and thrusting against him.

  “Oh god, Garrick. Please. I need… I need…”

  God help him, she was begging as she bucked against him and the sound raised the hairs on the back of his neck, his need growing with every whimper.

  He pushed her leg back farther, held her open so he could thrust harder, twisting his fingers, rubbing them the length of the front wall of her channel until he found the spot that made her whimper louder.

  “Oh my god.” Her mouth dropped open and wide eyes locked on his.

  She held herself suspended above the seat, frozen in pleasure. Gorgeous.

  With deep satisfaction, he rubbed harder, surged farther, and with a last great cry, she blew apart in his hands.

  Savannah keened Garrick’s name. She was loud, too loud, but she had so completely lost mastery over her own body, all she could do was let it out as the waves of her orgasm rolled over her.

  Arms shaking, her elbows gave way and she fell back to the seat, gasping in delicious pain and bliss as Garrick’s fingers jammed hard into her clenching body. Another swell burst within her and she threw her head back, quaking as another long groan tore from her chest.

  God, it was good. So fucking good.

  For a long time she floated there, collapsed against the soft leather behind her, beneath her, panting as she regained something resembling consciousness.

  Then the limo drew to a slow rolling stop.

  Snapping her eyes open, she jerked back in the seat, shocked by the sudden departure of Garrick’s hands from her body and horrified to see the front door of the hotel out the window.

  Holy shit. What have I done?

  Garrick knelt before her, his hands on his thighs, his breath coming in deep drafts. He stared at her, his chest heaving.

  The slow burn of mortification bled into her cheeks, heating her neck, her entire face.

  The driver’s door shut with a soft click and she jumped, panicking. Her skirt was around her waist. Her legs still spread around Garrick. One of her shoes had somehow tumbled clear to the other side of the car to land by her coat.

  In desperation, she cracked the back window, clamping her legs together and hoping the dark interior would hide the rest.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, not even sure what she was apologizing for. The inconvenience? The screaming? “Can you drop us off in the garage? By the elevator?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He said it without blinking, not giving the slightest indication anything was amiss. Savannah’s face flamed hotter.

  God, what is wrong with me? How could I do that?

  With a quick jerk of her hem, she straightened her skirt, ignoring the tangle of lace and cotton between her legs. She could fix that later. She looked over at Garrick, who was slipping his sport coat off his shoulders.

  “You’re going to freeze when we get out of the car,” she said foolishly.

  Garrick’s slow smile made her stomach lurch, even as it rejuvenated the burn in her face. He gestured downward and she dropped her gaze despite her better judgment.

  His erection was huge. But not nearly so obvious as the large wet spot she’d left along his zipper and across the front of his pants.

  And here she’d thought it wasn’t possible for her face to get any redder.

  “Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I, ah, I don’t—”

  He stopped her rambling with a gentle touch to her cheek. She was surprised his fingers didn’t sizzle, her skin felt so hot.

  “Hey,” he said gently, “there is nothing to apologize for.”

  He sounded so sincere. But she’d had men laugh at her before. At how crazy she got. She’d lost her head. Again. And with Garrick.

  Another stroke to her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He frowned, obviously aware she was lying. She couldn’t bring herself to explain.

  The limo dipped down into the brightly lit concrete parking structure and eased to a stop at the elevators. Garrick slid her shoe back on and helped her into her coat. By the time the door opened and the driver’s hand appeared to help her out, she felt reasonably intact.

  She stood by and watched Garrick climb out behind her, biting her lip when he carefully held his coat folded over one arm in front of him, as if the balmy fifteen degree night were too warm for a jacket.

  They thanked Hodges, and he left.

  The elevator came almost immediately and was blessedly empty. She prayed it would stay that way, that the rest of the team was in their rooms for the night. She hit the buttons for the fifth and seventh floors. Garrick stood beside her without comment.

  When the elevator stopped on her floor, she braced for the worst and turned to Garrick. He looked concerned, possibly alarmed—which was hardly a surprise after her behavior in the car. She slapped her hand on the door when it started to close. She ought to say something, but what?

  “Are you embarrassed?” he asked.

  Oh god, here it comes. She cringed. “Yes.”

  “Because of me?”

  She looked into his face, confused. “What?”

  “Are you embarrassed because you were with me, specifically?”

  What the hell was he talking about? “No. Of course not.”

  “You say of course like you’re making sense.”

  Clearly she wasn’t, but loathed having to explain. She took the coward’s way out. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She lurched from the elevator, then strode toward her room as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run.

  As post-orgasmic goodnights went, it left a lot to be desired. She heard the elevator doors slide shut behind her and, with that final thud, felt a world of regret.

  She squeaked, barely swallowing her scream when a big hand wrapped around her elbow and turned her around.

  Garrick.


  “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously.

  “Honestly? Trying to figure you out. Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it…”

  Could this night get any worse? A fresh wave of shame heated her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  His jaw clenched. “Stop saying that.”

  She searched the hallway, watching for anyone from the Ice Cats and trying to make sense of his anger. They were still alone but they were pushing their luck. With a sigh, she yanked out her key, opened her door and, with bitter resignation, lifted an arm in welcome. He stepped in and closed the door firmly behind him.

  He seemed inordinately large in the tiny hallway.

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  She looked down at her feet and studied her new shoes. They were cute. And her feet hardly hurt at all.

  “Savannah?”

  She sighed and moved farther into the room, giving herself space, some time to try to sort out her words. His coat landed on the corner of her bed with a soft thump. She kept her back to him.

  “For being so crazy.” She hoped he would leave it at that.

  “Define crazy?”

  So much for that hope.

  “You know…yelling. Thrashing around.” She waved her hand vaguely, not sure how to put it into words without making her mortification worse.

  “Who told you that was something you should apologize for?”

  She really didn’t want to get into that.

  “Savannah?”

  “A few people.”

  “Who?” he demanded.

  He wasn’t going to let it go, damn it. “A boyfriend in college. A man I dated for a while a few years back.” She shrugged, wondering how many others had thought it and not said anything. “I sometimes get…I don’t know. Ridiculous.”

  She jumped when he spun her toward him.

  “At no time have I ever seen you ridiculous. You’re one of the most dignified people I know.”

  She gave him her best bullshit look. “Really? What just happened in the limo? You call that dignified?”

  Rather than answer, he started to pull off her coat. What the fuck? She batted at his hands, but he wasn’t deterred and stripped it from her quickly.