Light danced in her eyes and she lifted her shoulders. “What do you want to know?”
“Hmmm.” I took one last sip of whiskey and set the empty glass on the table before reaching for hers too. “Mostly I want to know why you’re not closer to me right now.”
She giggled, letting me put her drink aside and pull her onto my lap the way she’d been the other night, straddling my thighs. My shirt was unbuttoned and she immediately put her hands on my chest. God, it felt good to be touched that way. I’d forgotten how good.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now I want to know why you’re still wearing so many clothes.”
She grinned devilishly before unzipping the sweatshirt she wore and tossing it aside. Then she hesitated, glancing at the fire, which was the only source of light in the room. At first I didn’t understand why, but when she tugged the little white tank over her head, I noticed the scar on her chest.
Immediately I reached out and traced the long, ragged, dark pink line that ran down her sternum, between her breasts. “Does it hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“What was the surgery for?”
“I was born with a congenital heart defect called a bicuspid aortic valve. I had several surgeries as a baby to repair the valve, and eventually one to replace it when I was ten.”
“That sounds scary.” I looked up at her with concern, placing my hands on the sides of her ribs. “You’re okay now?”
“I’m totally fine. The worst that happens is I can get tired easily, and I have to watch my cholesterol. I have a slightly elevated risk of an aneurysm or heart failure. But I’m very good about paying attention to my body, and I eat right and exercise, and take all my meds and keep all my doctor appointments like a good little girl.”
“Good.” I looked at the scar again, and she sighed.
“I know it’s really ugly, but I’ve made my peace with it.”
I met her eyes. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Inside and out.”
“That’s how I feel about you too,” she whispered.
Pulling her closer, I fastened my mouth to one perfect pink nipple, teasing the tip with my tongue. She threaded her hands into my hair and moaned softly, arching her back. My dick was hard again in no time.
Lucky for me, she was just as hungry for more as I was, and she ditched her pants and yanked mine down inside a minute. I couldn’t even speak as she sheathed my cock with her fist and moved it up and down, then licked her fingers and touched herself in a way that made my chin hit my chest.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered, glad this was round two or else I’d have come all over myself in seconds.
She lowered herself onto me slowly, her eyes shut, her mouth open. I put my hands on her hips and fought the urge to buck up beneath her. When I was buried inside her, she opened her eyes and looked at me as she started to move.
At that moment, I didn’t care about the age difference or whose daughter she was or how I was going to add her to the chaotic mess that was my life. All I knew was how good it felt to be with her this way, to see the desire in her eyes, to watch her come apart above me, to be the man she saw when she looked at me, not the one I saw when I looked at myself.
We went a little slower this time—probably because I let her set the pace for once. She didn’t race to the finish line, but the gradual buildup was just as intense, and the climax an even sweeter reward, our bodies pulsing together in perfect harmony.
When it was over, she fell forward, her head on my shoulder, her chest heaving against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and inhaled the scent of her soft wavy hair.
“Mack,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have to go home tonight?”
I thought for a moment, realizing quickly that I didn’t want this fantasy to end so soon. Tonight, I was just a man going after what I wanted. What I needed. What felt good. When I walked out of here, it was back to real life. Who knew when I’d have this chance again? The truth was, I had no clue how this was going to work—how I would balance being who I needed to be with who I wanted to be. Maybe I was just setting myself up for another failure. Maybe it was stupid to think I could make this work. Maybe in a week she’d realize that feeling like somebody to me wasn’t worth the trouble and she’d move on.
But tonight … tonight could be ours.
“No,” I told her. “I could stay here with you.”
She picked up her head. “Do you want to stay here with me?”
“Yes,” I said, pressing my lips to hers. “I do.”
Frannie
I had to work the next morning, although I’d never been more tempted to call in sick. We’d been up half the night. I was exhausted and sore and so hungry I could have eaten a bear. But I was giddy too—when I woke up, the first thing I did was look at the man sleeping next to me to make sure last night hadn’t been a dream.
Mack lay on his stomach with his head completely under the pillow. Suppressing a giggle, I carefully slid out of bed and jumped in the shower. The smile stayed on my face as I washed and conditioned my hair, soaped, rinsed, and dried off.
Back in my bedroom, with the towel wrapped around me, I couldn’t resist sneaking over to the bed and lifting up one corner of the pillow to peek at Mack’s face.
Even asleep, he was so handsome my heartbeat quickened. His profile was sharply defined and masculine, his jaw thick with scruff, his nose strong and straight. He slept with both arms over his head, and the muscles on his bare shoulders bulged thick and round. I was tempted to run my hand over them, but I didn’t want to wake him up. We’d only been sleeping for about four hours.
His eyes opened.
“Hi,” I whispered, smiling.
“Hi.” He grabbed the pillow I was holding up and stuffed it beneath his cheek, closing his eyes again. “Was I snoring?”
“No. Do you snore?”
“I don’t think so. But the girls tease me about it. Teasing me is their favorite thing to do.”
My grin widened. “What else do they tease you about? Besides your cooking.”
“My hairy stomach, my hairy chest—”
“I like the hair on your chest. It’s hot.”
“Thank you. Then there are my wrinkles, my gray hair—”
“You do not have wrinkles. And I like your gray hair, too.” I brushed my fingertips over the silvery strands at his temples. “You’re perfect.”
Opening his eyes again, he smiled and tugged at my towel. “Come back to bed.”
Ditching the towel, I scrambled into his arms, loving his bare skin against mine. “I’ve only got a minute,” I said reluctantly, tucking my wet head beneath his chin.
He held me close and kissed my hairline. “You have to work?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I wish I didn’t. What are you going to do today?”
“Pick up the kids. Clean the house. Grocery shop. Attempt to catch up on work. Your dad’s probably going to fire me for being so behind. That is, if he doesn’t fire me for seducing his daughter.”
“You definitely did not seduce me.” I dropped a kiss on his chest and sat up. “You just kept me up late.”
“Sorry.”
I laughed. “Liar.”
He grinned, tucking his hands behind his head. “You’re right, that was a lie.”
Wincing a little, I got out of bed and onto my feet. “Sheesh. I’ve never been so sore. My abs are killing me.”
“But you feel okay?” He sat up, his brow furrowed. “I mean, your heart isn’t stressed or anything?”
I grinned. “Oh, now I see the wrinkles.”
He yanked the pillow from behind his back and threw it at me.
I caught it in two hands and whacked him across the shoulder with it, but before I could get away, he grabbed me and threw me down on the bed. I shrieked and struggled half-heartedly to get out from under him, but really I couldn’t get enough of his body on mine.
“You
know what I do to my girls when they make fun of me?” he said, circling my wrists and pressing them into the mattress above my shoulders.
“What?” I asked breathlessly, thrilled to be one of his girls.
“It’s called the tickle torture.”
“No! No, please! I’m so ticklish—don’t—no, not the neck—” I dissolved into a wriggling mess, laughing and squirming as he buried his face in my neck and swirled his tongue lightly over the skin just below my ears. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I’m sorry I made fun of you! I’ll never do it again!”
“Now who’s lying?” He picked up his head and stared me down. “I was serious about your heart. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Your concern is very sweet, but no amount of sex is going to cause my heart to fail, no matter how good it is. I promise.” Then I laughed again. “Your dick is big, but not big enough to puncture my aorta.”
“That’s it.” He dove for my neck again, keeping my hands immobile and torturing my ticklish spot with his tongue until I pleaded for mercy.
“I’ll be good, I’m begging you,” I gasped. “I’m going to be late for work. I have to be down there in like ten minutes and I haven’t even combed my hair yet.”
“Want me to comb it for you? I’m really good at it.”
I laughed. “Stop it. Millie is always complaining about your buns.”
“Okay, I’m shit at the bun thing, but I am awesome at combing hair. I’m serious.” He let go of my wrists and sat back on his heels. “Go get your brush.”
“Mack, you do not have to brush my hair. It’s all wet and tangled. Do you know what a chore it will be?”
“I don’t care. There aren’t many things I can do for you, and you do so much for me. Let me do this.”
I didn’t really have time to mess around, but something about Mack offering to brush my hair was too sweet to resist. “Okay.”
In the bathroom, I grabbed my wet brush and threw on my robe. When I came out, Mack had pulled on his pants and was zipping them up.
“Here you go,” I said, turning around and presenting him with a long, wet, knotted mess.
He started at the ends and worked his way up, slowly and patiently. Since I stood facing the mirror above my dresser, I could see his reflection, and my heart beat faster at his serious expression. His long, gentle strokes across my scalp and down my back sent shivers up my spine. I didn’t care if I was late. This was totally worth it.
“There,” he said. “How was that?”
“Perfect.” We caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. “You were right—you’re awesome at combing hair. Thank you.”
He wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”
A few minutes later, we said goodbye at the door. He pulled me against his chest, hugging me tight. “This was so much fun. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, silly.” I looped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest. “I had fun too.”
“I hope no one catches me sneaking out of here.”
“You know, I really don’t care what my parents think about us. We don’t have to hide.”
“But I care.” He pulled back and looked down at me, his expression serious. “Your family is good to me. And this complicates not only our working relationship, but also things with my kids. Can we keep it to ourselves for a little while? Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” He tugged a strand of my wet hair. “I want to do this again. But I have no idea when that will be.”
“It’s okay, Mack. I meant what I said last night. I don’t need promises and I won’t make demands. Whenever we can steal a little time together is good enough for me.”
He kissed my forehead. “You’re too good to be true.”
“You’re in a good mood today,” my mother remarked after she caught me humming a tune at the reception desk.
“I am, actually.” I’d spent the entire morning at work mooning over him, replaying last night in my mind, and wondering when I’d see him again. I’d meant what I said to him about not wanting to be another responsibility. The last thing Mack needed was one more female making demands on his time and attention. But I also couldn’t help the way I felt—every cell in my body was radiating with happiness.
Near the end of my shift, Chloe poked her head out the door leading to the offices. “Hey. Mom around?”
I shook my head. “She was, but she went up to change. She and Dad have dinner reservations somewhere.”
She came all the way out the door and closed it behind her. Then she leaned back against it and crossed her arms. Her eyes gleamed. “So.”
I looked expectantly at her. “So?”
“So last night I had a private tasting in the winery for some industry people, and it ran kind of late.”
“Oh?” Suddenly I had a feeling I knew where this was headed, and I busied myself cleaning the computer screen in front of me.
“By the time I was done cleaning up, it was close to midnight.”
“Mmm.”
“And I went out to the parking lot to leave, and saw Mack’s Tahoe in the staff lot.”
“Really?” I wiped repeatedly at a stubborn smudge.
“Really. The restaurant was long closed. The bar was closed. The offices were dark. Any idea where he might have been?”
“No,” I said, but I felt the burn in my face and knew my cheeks were going scarlet.
“Liar!” she hissed, thumping me several times on the shoulder. “I can see it in your face! He spent the night with you, didn’t he?”
“Shhhhhhhh!” I admonished, glancing around to make sure no one had heard.
“Oh my God, he did!” She hopped up and sat on the reception desk, which we were not supposed to do. “Tell me everything.”
“Get down from there before Mom comes down and sees you.” I tossed my paper towel in the trash and tucked the screen cleaner under the counter. “And lower your voice.”
She pouted but pushed herself off the desk and onto her feet. “Well?”
I scanned the lobby one more time, but didn’t see anyone I knew. “Okay, yes. He did.”
Chloe gasped. “I knew it!”
“But you can’t say anything to anyone. I don’t want to broadcast it.”
“Broadcast what, that you’re fucking the CFO?” She snorted. “Can’t imagine why. So how was it?”
A long, slow sigh escaped me. “Magical.”
Cracking up, she shook her head. “You’re not going to be able to keep this a secret for long, you know. The look on your face is a dead giveaway you’re in love.”
“I never said I was in love,” I said defensively, although the feelings I had for Mack were dizzying and breathtaking and all-consuming—exactly what I imagined love to be like.
“Whatever you say, sis.” She thumped me on the shoulder before pulling the hallway door open, giving me a wry grin on her way out.
I couldn’t help grinning too.
Around two, he texted me.
Hey beautiful. How’s your day?
I blushed and messaged back.
Good. Not too busy. How’s yours?
Good. Guess what? My sister called and said the girls can stay another night. Apparently there is a very serious Junior Monopoly tournament happening.
My stomach flipped over. Did that mean we could see each other again? With shaky fingers, I texted back.
That’s nice of her.
How does dinner and Netflix at my house sound? Don’t worry, I won’t cook. We’ll get takeout.
I laughed out loud before replying.
Why don’t I cook? I’ll get some groceries and meet you at your house. Seven?
Perfect. See you then.
My shift at reception finished at three, and I went upstairs to my rooms and crashed on the couch immediately. When I woke up, it was already going on six, and I jumped up to go change.
Trading my work clothes for jeans and a
sweater (and my utilitarian underwear for something lacy and cute), I quickly brushed my hair and freshened up my makeup. Just in case, I packed a tiny bag with a change of clothes, my toothbrush, and makeup remover. Double checking that my pills were in my purse, I threw the bag over my shoulder and headed out the door.
On the way to Mack’s house, I hit the grocery store and bought everything I’d need to make stuffed shells. Not exactly gluten-free, but since Millie wasn’t home tonight, I figured I’d take the opportunity to cook pasta for him.
I also bought a loaf of fresh Italian bread and ingredients for a garden salad and lemon-tarragon vinaigrette. Maybe I was showing off little, but it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t enjoy every moment spent preparing dinner for us in his kitchen. I loved cooking and baking, and I rarely had anyone around to share meals with. Usually I ended up giving food away.
Mack’s house was dark when I pulled up at ten after seven, and I wondered if he was in the shower or something. I parked on the street, got the grocery bags from my trunk, and trudged through the snow to his front door. Putting one bag down and shifting the other to my hip, I knocked a few times.
When he didn’t answer, I picked up the second bag and went around to the back of the house. The kitchen appeared dark too. I knocked again and even tried opening the back door, but it was locked.
Huh.
I set down both bags, pulled off my gloves, and checked my phone. Quarter after seven and no message or call from Mack. Double checking the earlier texts, I made sure I hadn’t gotten the time wrong, but I hadn’t—I’d said seven, and he’d said that was perfect. I hoped nothing was wrong. Biting my lip, I looked around. Garage door was shut, so I couldn’t tell if his car was in there or not.
Well, now what was I supposed to do? I didn’t have a key. Should I wait in the car? Go home? Try to call him? I decided to text first.
Hey, I’m here.
Adding a smiley face emoji, I hit send.
And waited.
Nothing.
My fingers were starting to freeze, so I left the groceries on the back porch, got back in the car, and tried again.
Irresistible: Cloverleigh Farms Standalone Page 12