Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6

by Steiner, Kandi

  “What is that for?” He extends the other hand, a smile playing across his lips.

  “You. You and your ridiculous temptingness.” The truth slips out before I can harness it in. I bite my bottom lip and look down at the cufflink, struggling more with getting this one through the hole.

  “Oh good. I was worried I was losing my touch.” He flips over his hands, offering them to me and I pull, getting to my feet.

  “Nope. No worries there.” I eye his suit. “So it’s this kind of a dinner?”

  “You were expecting the buffet? Keno and sweatpants?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I groan, moving past him and to the bathroom. “I’ve worn heels for, like, fourteen hours now.”

  “You don’t have to come.” He stands in the doorway and watches me. I grab a washcloth and rub it over my face, removing my makeup. I glance in the mirror, at my face, slightly pink from the hot water, and frown. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that Trey isn’t trying to fuck me. Not when he sees me like this, in threadbare yoga pants and a shirt I borrowed from his suitcase without asking. That’s what he gets for owning T-shirts that feel like suede and for booking us in adjoining rooms. I may be bringing his company success, but I’m not above blatantly stealing from his suitcase.

  “I know Mira and her husband,” he continues. “Why don’t you take the night off? Get room service and a movie.”

  I turn off the water and glare at him in the mirror. “Her husband owns thirty-seven department stores in California. I don’t care if you know Mira. Their first order, if we can get it, will be huge. No offense, but I’m not letting you screw it up.”

  “How can I not take offense to that?” He barks out a laugh, and follows me to my suitcase for a straightening iron.

  “It’s the truth.” I plug in the iron. “And don’t flirt with her.”

  “Oooh … jealous Kate. I knew you were in there somewhere.”

  “I’m not jealous, I’m sane. You don’t know how you are, what you do to women. You say something casual to her, and her husband is going to bury you into next year—”

  “Kate.”

  “…and he isn’t going to care if—”

  “KATE.” He steps forward, pushing me against the bathroom counter, the line of his body hard, fitting perfect into my curves, one of his legs moving forward, in between mine, a stiff line of muscle against an area that hasn’t gotten any attention since Craig in Hong Kong. “It’ll be fine. I’ve met her husband before. Everything … will … be … fine.”

  He drops his eyes from mine and down to my lips. His hands are resting on either side of me, flat upon the counter, caging me in, and I flinch when he moves just his thumbs, the scrape of them slowly caressing the sides of my hips. I can feel the delicate shift of air as he exhales, his eyes tracing over the lines of my lips, and I wet them in preparation. I should step aside, make a joke, mention the time. Instead, I close my eyes, my chin lifting, and wait for his kiss.

  I hear his groan in the moment before he pushes off the counter, his body leaving mine, my skin suddenly cool without the heat of his touch. I open my eyes and he is there, against the wall of the bathroom, his hand worrying over his mouth, then crashing through his hair. He steps through the doorway, and then there is the slam of the connecting door, and I am alone.

  I sag against the counter and let out a curse.

  Chapter 20

  HIM

  My shoes clip across the hotel tile, a dominating sound that grounds me, another piece of the external appearance of control. I need the illusion, while inside, I fall to pieces.

  My company needs her.

  I need her.

  And, unfortunately, so does my cock.

  And that right there, is how things fall apart.

  I step toward the maître d’ and hope like hell she doesn’t come to dinner.

  Chapter 21

  HER

  My hair up, I wear my best suit—a sexy YSL number that Trey bought for me in New York. He had groaned when I had stepped from the dressing room with it on. A very similar groan, in fact, to the one that had ripped from him in the bathroom.

  Maybe he likes to torture himself. Or maybe he can only get himself off, and women are all just pawns in his ridiculous game of arousal.

  Whatever the reason, this dinner is too important to let our misplaced sexual tension get in the way. I pass the hostess stand, my heels careful on the slick wood floors, and move through the tables, looking for him. In the back, in an elegant four-top overlooking The Strip, his eyes meet mine. He rises from his seat, and I step toward him.

  * * *

  Mira and Edward are from San Diego. She is a hugger, and I brace when she wraps her arms around my shoulders, her height putting her face uncomfortably close to my breasts. She’s in a low-cut red dress, one that shows off impressive curves and olive skin. She’s not traditionally pretty, but has the sort of face that is transformed when she smiles, her energy infectious. Her husband is more of the strong and silent type, a courteous gentleman who rises alongside Trey and extends a polite hand toward me. He is our mark—his upscale department stores the perfect home for our lingerie. We are in town for an expo, and Edward, apparently, loves any excuse to gamble.

  “Trey was just telling us all about you.” Mira leans forward, tucking a dark curl behind her ear and lowering her voice as if this is a secret of some sort. “He said you used to work at Lavern & Lilly.”

  “I did.” I make a face. “It wasn’t nearly as much fun as working for Marks.”

  She gives me a knowing smile. “Oh, I believe that. I worked with Trey before. I know how well he keeps his coworkers entertained.” She steals a shrimp off the appetizer platter and turns to Trey. “Isn’t that right, Trey?”

  Trey attempts to give her a stern glare, one that loses its impact in the curve of his mouth. “It’s not like that, Mira.”

  Goosebumps pop along my arm, and I study her face, the way she smirks at him before dipping the shrimp into sauce. From under the table, I feel Trey’s hand settle on my thigh, his fingers squeezing, a brief warning that is entirely unnecessary.

  “I’m sorry.” I smile politely. “I didn’t realize that you two worked together.”

  “It was at Bloomingdale’s,” Trey lifts his glass, the ice cubes settling in the amber liquid. “Mira worked in their accounts department.”

  “I seduced the poor boy,” she interrupts grandly, holding up her wine glass to her husband, who lifts the bottle. I watch the dark red wine pour, and wonder exactly how many Bloomingdale’s employees he went through. “And, honestly, he didn’t have a chance.”

  “I wasn’t exactly a boy, Mira.” Trey lounges, his arm reaching behind my seat, the tips of his fingers brushing against my back. “I was twenty-four, same as you.”

  “I was wise beyond my years.” She turns to her husband, who seems completely unconcerned about their history. “Wasn’t I, babe?”

  “Still are.” He leans forward, setting down the wine bottle. “That’s why you get along with me so well. I’m immature and you’re ancient.”

  She scoffs, Trey chuckles, and I feel a combination of jealousy and confusion. I lift my drink and steal another glance at Mira, this one more apprising. I’ve seen a handful of Trey’s dates, most the long-legged kind who don’t concern themselves with breakouts, limp hair, or extra pounds. But Mira … she is a real woman, one whose nose is a little too big on her face, her features pleasant but not breathtaking, her body shape one that could shop at Lane Bryant as easily as Saks. She catches my eye and smiles, and her easy confidence is overwhelming. I swallow a sip of my mojito and search for something to say. “Edward, you met Mira through Bloomingdales also?”

  “I did.” He had smile lines around his eyes, his head a thick pile of silver and gray. Somewhere in his fifties, with the same sort of lean build that Craig had. Probably a swimmer, or cyclist. “She was my account manager.”

  “How long were you with Bloomingdales?” I ask Mira, taki
ng a roll.

  “God, two years. The longest two years of my life. But hey,” she hugs Edward’s arm, “it was worth it for this lug of sexuality.” She glances at Trey. “Hell, relationship-building was the only real benefit of that place, right?”

  He shifts in his seat and I pick up on his tension, the rigid tap of his finger against his spoon, the way he clears his throat. “Have you guys made it to Aspen yet this year?”

  She leans forward, and launches into a long and moderately funny story about a ski trip. I cut my filet and watch Trey, wondering at his tension, the abrupt change in conversation. He glances at me and I meet his eyes, a question in the look. What’s going on?

  He looks away. Maybe it is just Mira’s comment, the thinly veiled reference to Vicka and his relationship. But it seems like something else. He hadn’t wanted me at this dinner at all. I glance at Mira and wonder if there is something else I am missing. Mira smiles at me, and I realize that the table has fallen quiet, everyone looking at me in the expectant way that follows a question. I swallow the bit of steak. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “Edward is leaving tonight, flying back home for a meeting. I was wondering if you could show me your new collections in the morning?”

  “Of course.” I smile, ignoring the hard press of Trey’s ankle against mine. “I’d be happy to. Maybe we could grab lunch at Lago and go over it there.”

  “I could join you.” Trey leans in, and I position the heel of my stiletto in the vicinity of his shoe, his foot quickly moving out of the way.

  “That’s not necessary.” I beam at him. “You go do your manly stuff. Slot machines and whatnot. Let us have some girl time.”```

  Mira giggles against her wine glass and Trey smiles tightly at me, a noticeable tic in his cheek. I take a long pull of merlot and wonder again, what the hell he is so worried about.

  Chapter 22

  HIM

  Mira’s hands grip Kate’s shoulders and she kisses her cheek, smiling warmly and promising to see her tomorrow at noon. There is no way in hell that lunch is happening, but I’ll take that up with Mira tonight, once I get her away from Kate. I aged five years during that dinner, my heart in my throat whenever Mira so much as opened her mouth. I’d forgotten how much, without a dick in her mouth, she talks. I’ll fix that problem tonight.

  She reaches for me, and I accept her hug, not reacting when she whispers her room number in my ear. I step away from her and extend a hand to Edward, his smile cordial. “Have a safe flight,” I say.

  “Certainly. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He releases my hand, and we step apart. I turn to Kate and reach for her hand, our goodbye involving another round of salutations before we are through the restaurant and into the casino.

  “Want to play some slots?” I eye the blackjack tables, where Mira and Edward are headed.

  “Sure,” she replies cheerfully. “As long as you’re paying.”

  “Of course.” I place my hand on the small of her back, forcing myself to not caress the skin there, my steps brisk until we get to the private section of high limit slots. I pause, reaching into my wallet, and am stopped by Kate’s stern look, her perky smile gone. I smell an ambush before she even opens her mouth.

  “You prick with a dick.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the closest slot machine.

  I look back down at my wallet, pulling out a handle of hundreds and buying myself a second to think. I close my wallet and stick it into my pocket. “What? I told you I knew her.”

  “Knew her? Yes, that’s a bit of an understatement. Did you fuck everyone at Bloomingdales?”

  That earns her a smirk, my eyes taking a greedy trip down her body, lingering on the way her dress clings. “I managed some restraint at times.”

  “Don’t,” she warns, and God, I love it when she gets worked up.

  I turn to the closest slot machine, feeding a bill into the machine in an attempt to keep myself from touching her. “It was a long time ago. She’s married now. What difference does it make?”

  “Her marriage didn’t stop her from eye-fucking you across the table.”

  I glance at her, then push the button and watch the reels spin. “Easy, Kate. Your jealousy is showing.”

  She growls. “I’m not jealous, I’m intelligent. Our client is her husband. Are you too stupid to realize that he’s not going to stock anything from someone his wife is attracted to?”

  “I think you’re wrong.” I reach down and grab her hand, pulling her toward the machine, her struggle cute in a way that gets me hard as a rock. “Stop fighting me. I’m not fucking you against the reels. I just want you to push the button. Give me some lady luck.” I slide my hand atop hers and gently push, the machine coming to life. She pauses her fight, watching the roll of lights, and slumps slightly when they come up mismatched. She goes to move away, and I move closer, trapping her, my chest against her back, her ass against me in a way that lights my senses on fire. “A few more.” I speak against the back of her neck, her hair tickling my nose, my mouth close enough that, if I wanted to, I could drive her insane with just the brush of my lips against that skin. My hand still over hers, I give it a bit of pressure, using the excuse to push against her body, my cock pressing along the perfect curve of her ass, her inhale one that I will replay a hundred times over. “Watch it,” I order.

  “You’re too close to me,” she says, and her voice is husky, all fucking woman in every syllable of the words.

  “You want me to move back?” I press the button under her hand, my hips thrusting again, and she sags back against me. God, she’d be so easy to please. In five minutes, I could make her mine. In ten minutes, she’d be calling me her god. In twenty, I could propose and she’d beg me for a lifetime more.

  “Tell me, Kate. Tell me and I’ll give you all of the space you want.” Her hand moves beneath mine, slowly pushing the button, her ass arching against me, and I close my eyes in reverence, sending a thank you up to the God who created this perfect woman. She stiffens, and I open my eyes, almost falling forward as she spins toward me, all sexuality gone from her eyes, and I flinch when she shrieks, her arms flying into the air.

  “We WON!” she yells, and if that is all it takes to get a woman out from under my touch, I need to up my fucking game.

  I step back, glancing at the slot machine, which shows a trio of treasure chests. “Great,” I mutter, watching her spin back to the machine, her chin tilting back, her finger raising as she finds the prize display.

  “A thousand credits!” she shrieks again, her voice at a pitch that fighting cats frequent. “How much is a credit? Twenty-five—Trey, we won twenty-five thousand dollars!!!”

  “Yippee,” I say dryly, and I’d give all of it up to have her ass back where it belongs, flush against my cock. I glare at the machine, which blinks and dings with annoying cheer.

  * * *

  Room 1472. I stand at the double doors and contemplate my options. Mira isn’t the type to lord sex over a sale, she’ll have Edward order whatever we want, despite my cock’s activities, or lack of it. I can certainly decline her offer, but that’d be a little ridiculous, given the rare times that our paths cross. I haven’t been with her in two years, our last time in San Diego, three hours spent in every position known to man. She is my easy fix, the non-complicated sort that never pulls out a gun and steals my car. I eye her door and consider, one last time, returning to my room, to a jack off session and sleepless night, all one thin wall apart from Kate. I groan and reach forward, quickly rapping on the door, before I can change my mind.

  A release will be good for me. It will get my mind off her. It will flush my system, and remind me of all of the reasons that Kate and I can’t—won’t—ever work.

  The door swings open, and Edward stands there, his jacket and tie gone, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his feet bare on the plush carpet. “Trey.” He steps back. “Come on in. Mira is waiting for us.”

  * * *

 
Two hours later, I close the door to the suite and walk down the hall, my jacket over my arm, my shirt rumpled from her nails, a button near the top cleanly ripped off. I examine the loose thread and grin, shaking my head at the thought of her. God, I forgot what a hellion she is, how she can pounce on your body and ride you like a fucking bull. I step on the elevator and press the button for my floor, catching my reflection in the metal doors. I look like a mess. I step closer to it, tilting my head to the side to examine the hickey that runs along my collarbone. I pull up my collar and frown, the mark not entirely hidden. Damn woman. I’ll have to button up and wear a tie tomorrow. I am smiling as I step onto my floor, my mind in a better place than it had been two hours earlier. That’s the value of Mira and Edward, even more than the orgasms. They are a reminder that there is nothing wrong with me, that we are all consenting adults who enjoy pleasure, in whatever form brings the most of it. If Mira likes getting two, or four, or ten cocks at once, that’s her business and nobody else’s. If I like a husband to watch me fuck his wife, or I enjoy competing for orgasms, why should society judge me for it?

  I get it, though. I understand the stigma, the flinch of the mind when confronted with the idea. Hell, the first time Mira set it up, had I not been horny as hell, and twice as drunk, I’d have probably run the other way. But it had only turned me on more, thinking of fucking her in front of an audience, in front of another man, one who wanted her just as badly, or more, than I did. The competitiveness of it is an aphrodisiac, one so intense that normal sex can pale in comparison. Normal sex has, for a while, paled in comparison.

  I stop in front of my room, and dig in my pocket for the key card, sliding it through the lock and pushing open the door, reaching for the light switch and stopping. On my bed, curled into a ball, her dark hair spread out on my pillow, is Kate. A remote hangs limply from her hand, her face illuminated by the screen, a black and white show running. I quietly pull the door closed and step into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and changing out of my clothes. I consider the shower and decide to wait, needing to get Kate back to her room before my cock comes back to life. I pull on workout pants and look for my T-shirt, getting frustrated as I dig through the suitcase. I am turning back to the closet when I see my shirt on her, the bright blue fabric loud against the white sheets. I smile despite myself, walking over and carefully taking the remote before turning off the television, the room falling dark. I pull back the covers, and slide my hands underneath her, gathering her into my arms, her body falling limply against my bare chest. I steal a moment and lean in, inhaling her scent, one of fresh soap and flowers, a combination I’ve gotten whiffs of but never fully sampled. I step slowly through the open door, into her dimly lit room, and make my way to her bed, the covers already pulled back and waiting for her. I stop, looking down at the bed, not yet ready to let her go, not yet ready to part. Maybe I should have left her on my bed. Maybe I should have laid down beside her and curled against her body. I could be there, my body pressed against hers, right now. I could spend all night with my mouth against her shoulder, and her legs against mine. I almost step back, but don’t. It doesn’t feel right, doing that tonight, not when I’ve spent hours with Mira and left her here alone.