“Do you think less of me for losing my money?” Sitting forward, he braced his hands on his knees, wraithlike eyes fixed on her figure.
“What?” She shook her head. “Of course not.”
“You don’t think I’m less capable because I did some really stupid things?” His voice was mild.
She got the point. Pinching her lips together, she studied his face. Her entire life, people had called her stubborn.
Turned out she had nothing on Ford Lassiter.
“Get some rest, baby girl.” Extending one of his arms, he tugged her hand into his again, holding it tightly. “I’m not going to let go.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“YOU HAVE AN appointment to change a transmission,” Ford reminded Beth as he pressed a light kiss to her lips. She moaned and twined her arms around his neck, rocking her hips into his until he saw stars. “You’re the one who wanted to go back to work already.”
“I know, I know.” Rising onto her toes, she slid her lips down the column of his throat. Growling, he pressed her back into his front door, covering her still too-thin frame with his body. “I had to run over and see you quickly between appointments, though. I’m missing you.”
“Missing me or my cock?” Grinning, he turned her so that her breasts were pressed against the door. She was in her standard uniform of tank top and tight little shorts underneath coveralls that she’d tied around her waist.
They hadn’t had sex in the full week since she’d been released from the hospital. First, it had been because the doctors hadn’t allowed any strenuous exercise—she needed to rest.
Now it was because they hadn’t had time. Beth had filled her schedule back up with appointments, desperate to make up the cash they needed for that big payment.
At least she was eating again, and sleeping because she’d been prescribed something for it. She was still too skinny, but she’d put on a couple of pounds, which was a relief to them all.
“How much more time do you have?” Growling with frustration, he clasped her waist, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts, toying with her piercing through her shirt the way he knew she liked. She pushed her ass back into his pelvis, rubbing it over his growing erection.
“Five minutes,” she panted, placing her hands flat on the door. The sight of that, of her choice to assume a position she knew really did it for him, had his arousal cranking up to scorching levels.
Not enough time to get them both off. But at least he could send his girl off with a smile on her face.
“Keep your hands where they are.” Leaving her bent over, he undid the knot she’d made at the waist of her coveralls. Letting them fall to the floor, he gathered the back of her little shorts in his fist, tugging until the elastic material slid between her cheeks.
“What will get you off right now?” Sliding his other hand over her stomach, he grabbed the front of her shorts as well. Alternating where he pulled, he tugged the taut material back and forth through her dampening cleft, and her hips rocked with the rhythm.
“Just...treat me like I won’t break.” She dipped her head, her loose waves of hair falling into her face. “Whatever you want, just be rough.”
The remaining blood from his brain drained south. He was hard as stone, and the need to sink inside that sinful cleft of hers was blinding.
No time. But he could make her feel good.
“Don’t move.” Letting go of her shorts, he left them as they were, where they’d ridden up and were wedged into the cleft of her ass. It left her round cheeks open to his view.
He hesitated for a moment. Those cheeks weren’t quite as round as they usually were, and he reminded himself that she was still on the mend. If he was rough with her, would it hinder her healing?
“Come on already.” She canted her ass back at him, impatience thick in her voice. “Three minutes. Should I do it myself?”
“You little brat.” Growling, he lifted his hand and brought it down on her right cheek. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the audible smack of his palm on her ass.
“Is that what you wanted?” He delivered a second smack to her other side, then a series of lighter ones between her legs, right over her center. Her body tightened as he slid fingers between her legs, pushing beneath the stretched-out fabric of her shorts.
“You know it is.” She clenched around him as he tucked his fingers inside her. Closing the space between them, he covered her body from behind with his own, using his free hand to work into her bra and pluck at her pierced nipple.
She was right. He’d developed a bit of a fetish about it. If he had his way, he’d convince her to do her other one, too.
“I wish I could be inside you right now.” Knowing the words would bring her closer, he pistoned his fingers between her legs while roughly pinching the small gold hoop in her nipple with his fingers. “My cock is so hard it hurts, wanting to be inside you. This will just have to hold us both until we have time.”
Scissoring the fingers inside her, he found the soft, fleshy spot that always made her scream. This time was no different, and when he rubbed the pad of a finger over it, she exploded around him, crying out and rubbing her breast into his palm hard, begging for him to tug on it.
When her shudders subsided, she kept her palms flat on the door, panting to try to catch her breath. Withdrawing his fingers, he hugged her from behind, pressing his lips to the back of her neck.
“I love you, Beth.” His voice was rough, his body tense as he waited for her reaction. Or for her to fucking thank him again, like on that episode of Friends, Ross with that girl he’d met in China. “You don’t have to say it back. But I wanted you to know, I’m not falling anymore. I’m fully there.”
Placing her hands over his, where they were clasped at his waist, she was silent for a moment—long enough that his nerves began to flock through his veins like migrating birds. Then she purred, a sound of pure satisfaction, tilting her head back to look him in the eyes.
“I love you, too.” She swallowed, and he watched the line of her throat as she turned in his arms. “It scares the shit out of me, but you already knew that.”
Rising to her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “And with that chitchat, I’ve got to go.”
“One more thing.” He ran his hands through his hair as she straightened her shorts, tugging her coveralls back up. “And hear me out.”
Looking up from the knot she was tying, she arched an eyebrow.
“I know you’re still stressed about money. And I know that there’s a good chance you guys aren’t going to make that payment.” Her face fell, and he swore.
He hating seeing her unhappy. He wanted to do everything he could to keep her from being that way. Which, actually, was where this idea had sprung from.
“You’d better not be offering to pay it for us.” The fire that sparkled in her eyes was blue flame. While she was in the hospital, he’d actually considered offering.
He didn’t much like his chances among all five Marchande women on the warpath. They were proud; he understood that. He wouldn’t insult them when he knew there was no way they’d say yes.
Which had birthed his idea.
“So first, let me remind you of some of my credentials.” Straightening, he held up a hand to tick them off on his fingers. “I started Lassiter Hotels at the age of twenty-three. I used my own money because I wanted to be more than a trust-fund kid. I made my first million by age twenty-five and grew a single hotel into a global conglomerate.”
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was wry, but he saw the flicker of curiosity on her face. “Is this your idea of sexy talk?”
“Shush.” She snorted, and he took it as a sign to continue. “I also went on to lose most of it, but I’ve been looking for a new opportunity. Not necessarily the one that would make me the most money, but one that felt right.”
“Keep going.”
“There are a lot of hotels in Boston. A lot of motels, a lot of B-and-Bs. But today people are so overly stimulated by devices and social media that they’re wanting something simpler. A more authentic experience.”
“You sound like a commercial.” She rolled her eyes. “Get on with it.”
“The very first time I visited your garage, I noticed that you have a large, rather oddly shaped lot. There’s a lot of wasted space. Space that could be used.” Normally in a sales pitch he pulled out all the stops, but right now he stopped. “Now, if you hate this idea, or your family hates it, that’s fine. I’ll think of something else. But I wanted to present this to you.”
“Can’t hate it if you don’t get on with it.” She tapped a finger on the door. “I have about thirty more seconds.”
“Microhotels are the next big thing.” He paused, searching for the right words. “What I’m proposing is that I lease a share of your land from you to build one of these. It will simply look like another house on the grounds but will be able to accommodate sixteen or so guests at a time. And I think you’d be solidly booked.”
Beth furrowed her brow, trying to take it all in. “Who owns the structure then, if it’s on our land? What happens if we hate it? Who runs it?”
“Those are all details to be discussed,” he started, feeling the familiar thrill of a new project creeping into his veins. “But my suggestion is I—or rather, the company I will set up—will assume responsibility for building a plan that you approve of, on land that I lease a share of for a five-year term, to be renegotiated at that time. At the end of that term, the deal can be renewed or canceled. If it’s canceled, you would have the option to purchase the structure at wholesale, and I guarantee you, by that time you’ll have made plenty to do so.”
Beth’s face was expressionless, but he knew she was turning it over in her head. He wasn’t expecting her to tackle him into a hug, pressing her lips into his neck.
“I like it. I mean, I have to think about it. And tell the others and see what they think.” Her eyes were bright, and he knew she was imagining the possibilities. “But if it will help us keep our house...wow.”
Pulling back, she looked at him, and he was alarmed to see a sheen of tears in her eyes.
“Oh, God, don’t cry.” Alarm coursed through him. “I can’t handle it if you cry.”
“I’m not crying.” With a giant sniff, she slid from his arms and opened the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she grinned. “You’re kind of awesome, you know that?”
“I’ll show you how awesome I am later.” Propping open the screen door, he sank a hand into her hair and kissed her deeply, sweeping his tongue over hers. “I bought something I think you’re going to like. Hint, it involves some clamps and your very pretty nipples.”
“Fucking tease.” She pushed through the door, then stopped short. “Um, hello.”
“Well, hello there.” A man in an impeccable suit stood at the top of the steps leading to Ford’s house. An Armani suit, Ford recognized at first sight.
The man was almost as tall as Ford, and they shared the same lean build, the same thick golden hair, though his was sprinkled with salt and pepper. Looking past the man to the curb, Ford noted the sleek black town car that no doubt had a driver whose name the man didn’t know, instructed to wait there for however long the man felt like leaving him there.
“Hello, Ford.” The man smiled down at Ford, and Ford felt barriers that he’d only recently let down slamming back into place. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend?”
“This is Beth.” He ran a hand down her back, a gesture of possession. Holding on to her, he smiled, but the movement felt stiff, frozen.
“Beth. This is my father.”
* * *
“Aren’t you going to invite me into your...home?” Bruce Lassiter rocked back on his heels, his expression as he looked at the house Ford had purchased showing exactly what he thought of it, which wasn’t much. Beth had had to leave, and Ford was incredibly glad. “I had planned to drive the Beamer, but when I discovered which neighborhood you lived in, I thought better of it. Imagine leaving that parked on one of these streets.”
“Why are you here, Dad?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Ford shut the screen door behind him. There was no need to let his father inside—it would only invite more disapproval.
Bruce heaved a great sigh, as though Ford was a great trial to him. He probably was, but what Bruce didn’t understand was that the feeling was mutual.
“My own son has been back in Boston for almost two months and hasn’t come to see me.” Bruce’s words were an arrow, their aim true. “So I came all the way to the South End to see you. Try to talk some sense into you.”
“We’re not doing this again.” Ford sighed, tilting his head up to the sky. Overcast and crammed with dense clouds, it was going to storm later. If the man upstairs favored him, the clouds would burst now and free him from this conversation.
“I just don’t understand why you would live like this.” Bruce cast his stare down the street, fixating on Ford’s neighbor two houses down, who had a car on blocks parked in the middle of the lawn.
“Well, you’ve never understood me, so that’s nothing new.”
“Ford.” Bruce fixed him with an exasperated stare. “I worked very hard to give you a life of leisure. You’ve never had to work, and I’ve never understood why you feel the need to drive yourself so hard. Let alone to live like...this.”
Ford pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Especially now.” Bruce was on a roll. “You have a trust fund waiting for you. What the hell are you doing in this shithole? Go back to LA and that woman you were engaged to. Or find a younger version. But I won’t have a son of mine living like this.”
“Dad, any success you’ve had is because it was handed down to you from Grandpa.” A man not much better than Bruce, in Ford’s opinion. “And I hate to break it to you, but I like it here.”
And he really did. He never would have imagined it, but he was enjoying the physical labor of fixing up his own home. He liked looking at things after and knowing he’d put his own sweat into its creation.
“You’ve always been a little snot.” Bruce smiled, but it was like ice. “So sure you were better than me.”
“I’ve made it my life’s mission to be better than you.” The words were true, but they hurt Ford to say. He’d made his peace with the fact that he and his father would never see eye to eye, but he still had love for the man. Somewhere. You know, really deep down. “I wanted to work for a living. I wanted to prove that I could set a goal and turn it into reality. And heaven knows I wanted to treat women better than you ever have.”
“That’s why you bought clamps for your girlfriend’s nipples?” Bruce laughed, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. “You can’t fool me with this one, son. You’re as kinky as your old man. Have been since you knew what sex was. Movies with some pain? Something rough? Yeah, you liked those. You think I didn’t notice?”
Ford felt like he was fourteen again, watching one of those movies while his dad was nearby. It was nearly impossible to block the humiliation.
“And that girlfriend of yours? She looked like the type who likes it rough.” Bruce smirked. “Don’t tell me you don’t give it to her good. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Get out.” Nausea was bitter, coating Ford’s throat. “I’m not going to stand on the steps of my own damn house that I bought with my own fucking money and listen to this shit. Don’t come here ever again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Holding out the paper bag he’d been clutching since his arrival, Bruce set something down on the step. “Brought you a little taste of the good life as a reminder. Wasted on you.”
Ford pointed down the stairs. Bruce went, but Ford could hear his mocking la
ughter even after he’d gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FINISHED WITH HER work for the day, Beth had come inside to grab a quick shower before she headed back to Ford’s. Her body still tingled from his touch, and she felt a thrill of anticipation every time she wondered what he might have in store for her that night.
Her piano caught her eye as she walked through the house. She liked to play every day, but it had been over a week since she’d touched it.
Lifting the cover, she settled onto the bench. Stroking her fingers over the old keys, she paused for a moment then, grinning, started into a rendition of Coldplay’s “Clocks.”
She’d have to play it for Ford next time he came over. Which would probably be soon, if her family reacted to his idea the way she anticipated they would.
In her pocket she felt her cell phone buzz with an incoming call. She was tempted to let it go to voice mail, since she was just getting into the song, but if it was one of her family members checking on her, they’d freak out if she didn’t answer.
“Hey, Ames.” Her youngest sister’s tattoo shop showed on the call display. As she’d guessed, one of her family members was checking up on her. “I finished work and I’m fine. Promise. Going to make some dinner, have a shower, head to Ford’s.”
“About that,” Amy started. In the background Beth could hear the whine of the needles that Amy’s other artists used. “Ford is here.”
“What?” Beth frowned. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to get ink.”
“I had the same thought.” Her sister’s voice was not amused. “He’s so drunk he might black out, though, so I’m assuming that has something to do with it.”
“I just left his house two hours ago. He was fine,” Beth protested, then thought of the sharklike man Ford had introduced her to. “Shit. His dad showed up just as I was leaving. It’s got to have something to do with that. I’ll come get him.”
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