by Ellen March
His hips twitched, thrusting up. He was close to coming, and hard. Holding her head, he felt the muscles flex in his buttocks as he began to climax.
“Shit,” he gasped. He tried to temper his breathing, to gain control of the orgasm he’d just achieved.
She rose and pinned him with a heated gaze. “You liked?”
He nodded, his lips curved into a smile. He brushed a handful of long hair back and drew her up. He couldn’t decide what he wanted, to screw her or leave her tonight. She had been an okay screw, but he was bored.
When his mobile rang, he picked it up and smiled at the name that flashed up: Rio. One seriously wild man.
“Hi, buddy, what you up to?”
Micah cricked a dark brow when the woman crawled over him, and he pushed her away, irritated. He’d had what he wanted; hands-on wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t understand or desire the need for touching after sex. It annoyed the hell out of him.
Yet all the women he’d slept with craved it. He abhorred the intimate contact. The only time he interacted with women was during sex; apart from that he didn’t kiss or touch or curl around them.
Rio’s deep voice rumbled over him. “Not a lot. Fancy a session?”
“You’re on.” Micah checked the time. It was tracking into the early hours. “Meet you at the Flier, say in half an hour?”
“I take it you’re at a loose end,” said Rio.
“Nope, just finished with my latest and could do with a drink. I’ll book out of the hotel and see you there.” He clicked the phone shut.
Micah spared a glance at the brunette. “Shift your ass, honey, I’m going out.” He moved away from her. He wasn’t so much large as huge and all muscle. He rose to his feet, naked. Micah was comfortable with his body. He wasn’t conceited but knew it looked good.
The woman glanced up. Her attention sifted over his hard muscles, not toned but cut deep. Each groove was a line of discipline. A shading of dark hair sprinkled over his chest, spearing a ragged line downwards. It snuck a sexy path over his belly button, across his taut abs and down to his crotch, finally teasing to the thatch of wickedly curling pubes.
“Have you got to?” she purred, her attention focused on his shaft. Even soft it was large and limpid.
With a sinful chuckle, he shook his dark, leonine head. “Afraid so, honey. Get dressed. I’m partying.”
“Without me?”
Micah cricked a brow. “Oh course. What else did you think? I’ve had what I wanted; now you can go your own way.”
She stared at him, confusion rife across her face. “You mean, leave?”
Micah stuffed his heavy legs into his jeans. He didn’t bother looking at her. She was wasting her time. His mind was made up. “Guess that’s what I’m saying.”
She still lay on her back, staring up at him. From her expression, he could tell she thought he was teasing.
Micah tucked his T-shirt and dragged his zipper up. “Look, honey, I don’t mean to be rude, but can you get your ass moving? I’ve got a place to be.”
She wound herself ivy-like around his thigh. “Why can’t I come?”
Micah pulled her off, his cerulean blue eyes turning frosty. “Because I’ve had what I wanted and don’t intend on doing a repeat. Got it?”
A chill ran through her veins at his callousness. Realization dawned: he wasn’t messing. She’d heard he was a hard bastard but had disbelieved all the tales, convinced he would fall for her charms.
That his cold personality would melt.
Micah rose to his full height—he towered over her—and waited. His hands crossed in front, he watched as she slowly and methodically dressed. Finally he ushered her out of his hotel room and tugged the door behind them.
His quick jump was over. Now he wanted a drink with his best friend Rio.
Micah threw the keys of the blood-red Lamborghini to the youth waiting alongside the exclusive club, which had the odd name of, “The Flier.” Considering it was surrounded by huge oak trees, he thought something to do with nature would have been more suitable. But what the hell, the owners obviously had their reasons and it had nothing to do with him. Micah didn’t miss the flash of excitement skate over the lad’s face. “Park it up and no joy riding,” he warned before loping inside.
He spotted Rio immediately, his presence too forbidding to miss. A massive hunk of blond muscle squeezed into a cubicle.
“Okay, kiddo, what’s up?” asked Micah. Swinging his huge frame into the small seat, he overpowered it. Then his gaze settled on Rio, the dirty-haired blond man. He was his best friend—in fact he wasn’t sure Rio had any other friends. He was a lone wolf.
Only Micah had the honour of being his friend. They were both similar; neither bothered with most people.
“Can’t I ring a friend and get pissed with him?” Rio shot him a dirty-assed grin.
As Micah shrugged his massive shoulders, his muscles undulated. “If that’s what you want, let’s get started.” He called a waiter forward. “Whiskey and two glasses.” Micah eyed him speculatively. And waited.
“I’ve got a problem,” said Rio thoughtfully.
Micah cricked a brow. “Spit it out.”
“There are too many women in my life.”
Micah contained a laugh. “So?”
“So, who the hell do I pick? I’ve been with three of them today.”
“What, in the same place?”
“No, get real.” A wicked smile played at his mouth. “That’s an idea though—three women and just little old me.”
Micah tried not to grin. There was nothing small about Rio. He was a veritable man mountain, almost as large as he was. The whisky burned the back of his throat, blazing a hot trail through his chest.
“Since when have you had a problem with too many women?” Micah shook his head, his wide forehead creasing in a confused frown.
Rio’s smile was smug. Finally coming to the truth of his worry, he admitted, “Well, actually it’s only one, a filly who’s as fiery as the colour of her hair.”
Micah stared at him, shocked. “You mean you’ve fallen for a woman?”
Rio’s deep laughter exploded around the small cubicle. “Get real. Nah, it’s my new neighbour.”
“And …?”
“She’s a looker. I tried it on as you do.” He paused, his face gloomy. “And she knocked me back.”
“Maybe she’s got taste,” teased Micah, genuinely taken aback. Rio was as successful as he was with the ladies. Neither had ever been refused; in fact, women often made the first moves.
Rio shot him a get-lost glare. “She doesn’t know me, but hell, man, she’s pure evil.”
“Lesbian?”
“Nope, I asked her.”
“And …?” Micah pushed. This was getting interesting. Rio never went on the hunt, but he appeared to be making a most definite exception in this case.
Rio glanced towards him. “I’ve never known a woman who knew so many swear words.”
“Maybe I should give her a go?” he asked, carefully gauging his friend’s reaction.
“Nah, wouldn’t advise it,” Rio said quietly, his green eyes flashing a deep jade.
“Bet I could pull her.” Micah’s interest was piqued; there’d always been a healthy rivalry between them. Yet this was the first time it had become personal.
“Only if you like hospital food.”
Micah laughed, not worried at his threat, but he knew it would be one hell of a fight. Both were experts in martial arts.
“Maybe this is the one?” he said.
Rio shook his head and poured another whisky, then frowned as if wondering where the drink had gone. “No way. It’s the fact that she’s holding out. But once I lay on the Rio charm, she’ll come round.” His lazy, sexy smile was a small sample.
“Want to put your money where your mouth is?” asked Micah. “I’ll give you a month, and if you fail, then I try.”
Rio paused, and a muscle ticked along his cheek. He didn’t wa
nt Micah going anywhere near her. There was something about the woman. Eventually he nodded. He listened to the amount of money that Micah intended putting on it.
A germ of an idea sprouted. “I bet you couldn’t last one day in my job, or without money.” Rio threw the challenge down and knew how Micah would react.
His friend gave a snort, “Is that a joke? Of course I could.”
“Okay then, I need security up at the Orangery. It’s live-in. How about you working there for a month?”
Micah paused and took a swallow of his drink. Glancing at the empty bottle, he ordered another. He’d be getting a taxi home. “Isn’t that a strip club out in the country?”
Rio nodded, could see he was going for it. Micah never backed down from a challenge. “You’ll be paid monthly, so for four weeks you won’t have a penny. Your food and drink will be all in.”
Silence enveloped the booth.
Rio gave a snort. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to do without cash.”
“It’s not that. I’m thinking about the sex.” Micah was frowning thoughtfully, his chin resting in his palm.
“It’s a strip club. Once select, it now attracts the less, shall we say, welcoming people. Hence the security. I’m sure you’ll get a leg over somewhere along the way.”
Micah breathed in a snatch of a relieved sigh. Satisfied he wouldn’t be going without, he nodded and shook Rio’s hand. “You’re on.”
Rio grinned, twining his fingers in a steel grip. “I forgot to mention it, but the guy you’re replacing is bent. The club operates a strict gay policy on male operatives. So do you think you can pretend?”
Micah froze. “No way. No damn way.”
“You’ve just shook on it,” Rio reminded him, a sneaky grin curling at his lips. “I’ll cut you some slack. You can always nose about elsewhere, like a nearby town.”
“What about this gay charade? That’s sexist.”
“They only employ female strippers. What do you call that?”
Micah shook his head at his so-called friend, but he liked a challenge. Which was why he loved his job, which had made him a billionaire. Buying fading businesses cheap and carving them into successful empires.
He paused, deep in thought, though his decision was already made. “You’re a devious bastard. You know that, don’t you?”
Rio laughed and called for another bottle.
“I can assure you there is no way I’m going without sex for four weeks. Hell, I’ve never managed four days,” said Micah with a shake of his head.
“Then you’ll have to use your imagination or travel, won’t you?” Rio advised, trying to swallow his snigger.
***
Savannah examined the dark-brown envelope. It looked official, and she tried to think of any bills she’d not paid. Slowly she ambled into the postage stamp-sized kitchen.
“Coffee?” asked Cato. He was perched on a high stool alongside the small ledge that doubled as a breakfast bar. It was the only way they could eat in the tiny room.
She glanced up and took the mug he automatically pushed towards her. Then hitched her ass onto the seat.
“What’s that?” He indicated the envelope she was examining as if it were from a crime scene. A smile tickled his face at the sight of her. What she looked like. She sat without a care in the world in a thong that was so far up her ass it acted like cheese wire. The strappy T-shirt didn’t come down far enough to hide her chubby stomach, whilst her hair hung lankly about her face.
He tried not to close his eyes to the disaster before him.
“A letter.” She studied the stamp on the back, which read Biltmore & Co Solicitors.
“Well, hell, what do you know?” Cato rolled his eyes and with the speed of a rattler nipped it out of her hands. He knew at this rate she’d never open it.
“Hey, give that back—it’s addressed to me.” She lunged at it, toppling off the seat and landing in a heap on the floor.
Cato ignored her outraged screech and spared a glance as she scrambled, unladylike, to her feet. He tore it open, and the envelope fluttered down into her outstretched hands.
“You thieving git, give that to me now,” she bitched, aiming a kick at him.
“Tut, tut, that’s not very ladylike,” said Cato. Inspecting the contents, he raised his head and stared at her, his eyes wide. Slowly he handed it over.
“Shit, don’t tell me I’m in court,” she muttered with a hoarse sigh. Her thoughts raced over her debtors’ list. So far she’d managed to dodge them with a number of home moves.
For years Cato had thought he was a gypsy. Until he was old enough to understand the reality of life. That debt equalled doing a bunk and moving.
“Nope, but think you’re in for a shock.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She studied the letter, and the words sprang out. Then she glanced up at him, shock and confusion glazing her eyes.
“Well, it appears you’ve inherited a place,” he said. “From the name, it sounds like an orchard.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. “This has to be a joke.”
“Not according to that letter.” Cato studied her, his eyes pinned on her face.
“But who the heck is this woman? Why would she leave me her house?” Again she re-read the contents.
Cato shrugged. “Don’t know, but it’s all there in black and white.”
“I don’t believe this,” muttered Savannah. “Someone’s having a sick joke.”
“I suggest you ring that number, maybe find out who they are?”
Savannah shot him a shut-the-hell-up look, her eyes darkening along with her thoughts. She reached out for her mobile, simply holding it and chewing her lip nervously. Continually shooting him a flurry of nervous glances, she asked, “You sure this isn’t a wind-up?”
Cato waved her away impatiently. “Ring them. You’ll soon find out.”
Savannah paced in a short, rotating circle around the miniscule kitchen. The dialling tone echoed in her ear.
Cato’s gaze tracked her till he felt dizzy. Then it dropped to her ass.
Rather than firm and pert, it was a bubble resembling two jelly cubes. It wobbled with a smattering of cellulite.
“Sis, you need to get down the gym, do some serious workouts on your backside,” observed Cato candidly.
“Shut the hell up,” she snapped. Then flushed. “Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.”
Stammering, she finally managed to get the words out. Several minutes later she clicked the mobile off.
“Well?” asked Cato. He’d listened to her one-syllable replies and hadn’t gleaned an ounce of knowledge.
“It appears I’ve been left an inheritance. From my godmother.”
“Didn’t know you had one?”
“Neither did I. It appears there aren’t any other relatives and I’ve been named in the will. The solicitor mentioned ‘The Orangery’ again.”
Cato’s mouth dropped open. “So, why didn’t you know about her? And why didn’t she appear after our parents died?”
Savannah took a deep breath and let it out again. “Don’t know, except I’ve got an appointment tomorrow.” An impudent smile tugged at her lips. “I swear to God, if she’s left me any money, then I get to hand my notice in.”
Chapter Three
Savannah could hardly contain her excitement. “Wonder what this Orangery is that he mentioned?” she said to Cato. “Hope it’s not a bloody orchard.”
Cato grinned at the light that shone in her dark eyes. He had never seen her so animated. A wash of guilt swept over him as he realized how much she’d sacrificed.
He would have added “silently,” but she’d whinged and moaned the whole time. Although he couldn’t blame her, knowing how she’d cared and protected him over the years, what she’d given up. Now it was her turn to live.
For once in her life to be young and carefree.
A flicker of shame ate at him. If it were the other way around, would he be as selfless?
***
The large sign of the solicitor’s office gleamed in the bright light of day. The brass names glittered and glowed against the dark mahogany plaque.
“Come on.” Cato pushed the door to the red brick building, leading the way inside.
Savannah couldn’t help grinning as she watched him play the receptionist. He was naughty. Even though he was one hundred percent gay, he loved to tease women. Especially those who fawned over his looks. He was beautiful, just shy of pretty.
Savannah wished for the thousandth time she’d been blessed with those looks.
Ten minutes later, they were seated in a musty office stacked with files and ancient documents. Savannah twirled her fingers, linking them and twisting on her mother’s wedding ring, which she’d worn ever since her death.. Her attention was focused on the balding man with the largest, most bulbous nose she’d ever seen.
She tried not to stare, without much success.
His gaze in turn dropped over the two of them before he gave a delicate cough. Shuffling the papers, he stacked them in front of him.
Eventually he turned his attention to her. Silence settled over the room. “You, Miss Shore, have been named as the sole beneficiary to the estate of Miss Kitty Harris.”
“Was that her name?” asked Savannah, ignoring the sharp burst of laughter from her brother.
“No, it’s the cleaning lady,” chuckled Cato.
She turned to him and complained, “Well, I didn’t know who she was. Until I had that letter, I didn’t know the woman existed.”
The solicitor broke in, “Miss Harris died several months ago.” At the bemused frown that settled over her face, he offered a brief explanation. “It took time to discover your whereabouts.”
“But why did she never contact me? Especially after my parents died?” asked Savannah, even more confused.
“That I can’t say. Although considering that I had to hire a professional to track you down, well, I would think she couldn’t discover your whereabouts. I’m merely conveying her request, fulfilling my duty.” He pushed his spindly glasses back up his nose. “So legally you are now the owner of the Orangery.”
“Yes, you mentioned that name over the phone and in your letter,” Savannah said. She tilted her head, trying to picture it, still convinced it was a parcel of orange trees. Do oranges grow on trees or bushes? she wondered. Wouldn’t they die in this climate? “But what is it?”
