by Vivi Paige
“You’re free to do whatever you want to do.” I shrugged. “I just never thought I’d find you here. I mean, you do have a sense of humor, but this guy…”
“Yeah, he’s not that funny,” she agreed, peering at me over the rim of her glass. Her eyes locked on mine, and I had to make a very conscious effort to look away. To look into her eyes reminded me of that tiny booth at the Jolly Roger, and of how perfectly shaped her naked hips were. My mouth turned dry as I remembered the taste of her lips—ripe strawberries and vanilla—and I drank half of my bourbon with a single gulp.
Get your shit together, Peter, I told myself.
For a moment, neither of us said a thing, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Slightly awkward, yes, but definitely not uncomfortable. Around her, I felt at ease. I wondered how long that feeling of peaceful comfort would last after I unleashed Randy Johnson on her club. Not long, I assumed.
Suddenly, I realized what I was truly risking. Even if we were standing on opposite sides, could I truly go up against Belle? I wouldn’t mind having the Jolly Roger close down for good, but what if that meant I had ruined things with Belle forever?
“Why are you here, Peter?” she asked me, her smart eyes burning a hole in me. “If you’re not here for the jokes…”
I opened my mouth to reply but then clamped it shut. I could offer her a lie, and she would give the same thing in return, but our motives were as clear as the blue sky. If Belle hadn’t come here for the show, that meant her plan was the same as mine. She wanted to airdrop Randy Johnson on Club Lost. Great minds thought alike, it seemed.
Suddenly, I realized there would be no easy way out of this stupid war.
We were at a impasse.
Make love, I thought, not war. I’d never been a fan of worn-out sayings, but I wondered if this wasn’t a strategy I could follow. Why bother with harebrained schemes when I could be having fun?
“Listen,” I started, turning to face her, “I messed up when I told you to quit your job for me. I know you’re not the kind of gal who’d wave a white flag, and I respect that.” I wasn’t even sure why I was telling her all this, but I didn’t particularly care. It was the truth, after all.
“What’s this?” She laid her glass on the counter and arched one eyebrow. “Are you apologizing to me?”
“Don’t make me regret what I just said.” I shook my head but laughed at the same time. I looked over at the Boyz, who were slapping their hands against their knees as their deep laughter echoed throughout the room, and I ended up thinking of Randy Johnson again.
The more time I spent around Belle, the less I wanted to let that asshole loose on her club. Sure, Uncle Lucy wouldn’t be happy, but what did I care? If all he wanted was a brain-dead asshole to follow orders, he wouldn’t have put me in charge. Besides, he had been pretty lenient with Will recently.
“Listen,” I continued and then cleared my throat as I lined up the rest of my sentence. I finished my bourbon and set the glass aside. “This guy sucks, and his set is going to last forever. What do you say we get out of here and grab some dinner?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
Fuck—was I? “Yes, I am.” Then I took her hand in mine. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Lead the way.”
Chapter Fourteen
I hated to be charmed.
Smartasses from all over New York—or, hell, from all over the world—did their best to charm me in the Jolly Roger, and I had always been quick to shut that down. Sheiks enticed me with promises of luxury, oligarchs flashed me their gold and power, and rich playboys used all of their quick-witted lines on me.
None of that ever worked.
I was a woman who knew her worth, and I was immune to charm. That was, of course, until I met Peter Mayne. I didn’t know what it was about him, but I was certain there was something.
“Tell the truth.” He flashed me his boyish smile. “You were planning on using Randy Johnson against my club. Weren’t you?” He pressed the elevator button, and just a couple of seconds later, the doors slid open.
“Do you really think I’m that evil?” We both stepped inside the elevator, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, not sure if I should tell him about my plans. “I mean, Randy Johnson? It would have been easier to just torch your club.” He arched one eyebrow up and folded his arms over his chest. “Fine, you got me. That was the plan. But you were there, too. I know you were planning the same.”
Grinning, he tapped his index finger against his temple. “Great minds, huh?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I threw back, although I couldn’t help but smile. Again, that boyish charm of his was irresistible. Whenever I was with him, I no longer felt like a woman tasked with illicit operations, someone whose life revolved around crime and profit. I just felt like a woman. “What’s this place, anyway?”
“You’ve never been to Gaonnuri?” he asked. “You’re in for a treat.”
As if on cue, the elevator stopped its ascent with a soft ding, and the doors slid open to let us out. Gaonnuri, a Korean restaurant located on the penthouse floor of a Manhattan high-rise, was everything Peter had promised. We were ushered into one of the many rooms, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a clear view of a brightly lit Manhattan. Part of me had expected Peter to drive me up to some burger joint, but it seemed he wasn’t that juvenile. He knew how to impress a woman, that much I couldn’t deny.
“Is this where you take all of your flings?” I asked him, leaning back on my seat as the waiter brought out wine. It had been Peter’s choice and, once more, he left me impressed. At two thousand dollars a bottle, a Château Musar wasn’t what I’d have expected someone like Peter to order. Then again, what did I really know about him? Was he just a boy who had never grown up? Or was there a man hiding under that boyish façade?
“Only the interesting ones.” He didn’t miss a beat. His answer had been a non-answer, of course, but I liked his quick wit. “What about you? Do you grill every boy that takes you out?”
“I don’t go out with boys,” I replied, fully knowing how the game was played. “Just men.”
“Thanks for your seal of approval, Ms. Barrie.” Leaning back, he offered me a slanted grin. “I guess I’m a man, then.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Wait—aren’t you younger than me?” He picked a few pieces of meat from his side plate and laid them on the center-table grill. “I don’t know if you have the necessary authority to say who’s a man and who’s a boy.”
“Authority has nothing to do with age.” Taking a sip of the wine, I ran my tongue over my lips. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched me, and I had an open window to what was going on inside his mind. It wasn’t hard to figure out because I was thinking the exact same things.
I tried to focus on the food, but my rising heartbeat made it almost impossible to focus. The memories of what had happened between us the night we met kept on flashing behind my eyes.
“You like being the one in charge. Don’t you?” he finally said, resting his elbows on the table. He leaned forward slightly, and his last words dropped into a faint whisper. A provocation lay there, but it was exactly the kind of provocation I appreciated. “Well, I like being in charge, too.”
“If you’re good at being in charge, you don’t need to brag.” I was saying it to sound unimpressed, but my galloping heart proved otherwise. I knew for a fact that Peter liked being in charge, and he was pretty damn good at it. The way he had manhandled me before… Jesus, I couldn’t even think about it without my blood simmering.
“It’s not bragging if it’s the truth.”
Damn him.
“You think of yourself as a bad boy, don’t you? Well, let me tell you what I—”
“You’re into bad boys?” he cut me short, that maddening grin of his dancing on his lips. “Is that it?”
“Let me be straight with you, Peter.” I straightened my back as the words rose in
my throat. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to be straightforward with Peter Mayne, the guy I was supposed to destroy, but it was time to cut the bullshit. “I like you, but you’re not the bad boy you think yourself to be.”
His grin faded for a moment, but then it turned into a smile.
A genuine smile.
“I don’t care about being known as a bad boy,” he said. “In fact, I couldn’t care less about what people think of me. But I do care about the fact that you like me, Belle. It means the feeling is mutual.”
Had anyone told me that something like this would happen, I would’ve just laughed that person out of the room. Peter Mayne and I were on opposite sides of a battlefield, and our personalities weren’t exactly the type that’d mesh easily. And yet, there we were, talking about our feelings like two lovestruck teenagers. It was absolutely ridiculous, and I loved it.
“I said I like you, Peter,” I continued, “not that I’m thinking of marriage. So, cool your jets.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” He poured some of the wine into our glasses, his movements smooth and easy, and then touched glasses with me. “We don’t need to get hitched. We can skip straight to the wedding night.”
“Are you that eager for a second round?” I drank half of my wine in a single gulp, a pleasant warmth rapidly spreading across my body. In truth, I was the one eager for a second round. I wasn’t the kind of girl to toss and turn during the night, but after that first encounter, I was constantly assailed by the memories of his naked body. So much that eager wasn’t even the right word. I was desperate for him.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, and that pleasant warmth turned into a scorching heat. His feet bumped against mine under the table, and it felt as if thunder had exploded up my spine. Before I even knew what I was doing, I slid my right foot from its shoe, and then brushed my toes up his leg.
When I finally pressed my foot between his thighs, my heart somersaulted as I felt just how hard he was. It seemed like he was just as desperate as me. I kept on pressing down until his smile faded and lust overtook the lines on his face. Had I swept the cutlery off the table and lain down—careful of the cooktop, obviously—I don’t think he would have hesitated to take me right then and there, never mind the fact that the restaurant was packed.
“I think I might have an idea,” I finally said, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip. “But don’t think for a moment that I’m easy. I’m not the kind of girl to go down on her knees and blow you under the table. It’ll take more than fancy wine and—”
“Under the table blow jobs?” he said, his words coming out rapid-fire. He sounded amused. “Who exactly do you think I am? I’m a classy guy, Belle. I figured you would know that by now. I’m disappointed.”
“A classy guy, huh?” I laughed. “And what exactly does a classy guy do?”
“Well, he doesn’t play by the pedestrian rules of the last century, for one. We live in a new world, after all, and the expectations are different.” His grin returned, and he picked up a knife from the table. Holding it up to the side, his eyes never leaving mine, he let it drop to the floor. “Oh, damn it. That was clumsy of me. Let me just pick it up.”
As he spoke, he slid down from his seat so casually that nobody around us noticed. As he disappeared under the tablecloth, my heart threw itself against my ribcage, and I straightened my back as I pretended nothing was happening. What the hell was Peter doing?
“Oh god,” I muttered, reaching for my wine glass as I felt his fingers on my ankle. Slowly, he brought them all the way up to my knee, and then his hand slid under the hemline of my dress. I took a quick gulp of the wine, but that did little to stop a wave of burning lust from crashing against me.
As I felt myself becoming wetter, so much that my thong began sticking to my skin, I subconsciously pressed my thighs together. Peter was having none of that. With both hands on my knees, he kept my legs apart until I got the message. Right now, he was the one in charge, and I had no other option but to submit. It wasn’t a problem. Then and there, all I wanted to do was submit.
I took a deep breath as his hands wandered underneath my dress, his fingers steadily moving toward my inner thighs. I pursed my lips tightly as he brushed his thumb against the drenched fabric of my thong, and I had to make a conscious effort to stop my eyelids from fluttering.
A passing waiter smiled at me, and I had to use all of my willpower to act like a normal person. I probably failed at that, given that I smiled back like a maniac, but I didn’t allow my mind to focus on that fact. There was a lot going on under the tablecloth, and that’s where I put all of my focus.
I trembled in place as Peter laid his lips against my knee, and a shiver ran up my spine when he slid his tongue up to my inner thigh. Before I even knew it, I lifted my backside off the chair. He didn’t hesitate before hooking his fingers on the thong’s elastic band. He peeled my underwear down my legs, and without any warning at all, he moved right in.
“Holy shit,” I hissed through gritted teeth, my whole body tensing as he crushed his mouth to my wetness. His tongue ran up the length of my inner lips, and then he sucked my clit into his mouth, his lips wrapped around it like a vise. He lashed out at it without any mercy, and I grabbed the stem of the wine glass so hard it was a miracle the damn thing didn’t shatter.
Redoubling his efforts, Peter used his tongue like a whip, and all my nerve endings woke from their slumber. Tiny sparks of electric pleasure went off under my skin, and I gritted my teeth hard enough to feel it in my jaw.
Surreptitiously, I moved one hand under the tablecloth.
I threaded my fingers into Peter’s hair, and then pushed my back against the chair. I could feel it building up inside me, a pressure that threatened to turn into a thermonuclear detonation, and I had to tell myself to keep it together.
It was hard to do.
I yanked on Peter’s hair as he slid one finger inside me, driving it straight home, and that’s when my defenses finally came down. A wave of ecstasy washed all over me, and I closed my eyes so suddenly that I was pretty sure I’d have permanent wrinkles there. Holding my breath, I did my best not to let out a vicious moan, but I still couldn’t stop a quivering whimper from escaping my lips.
When Peter finally pulled back, I slumped in my seat, tiny spasms making my whole body tremble. I breathed in as deeply as I could and then finished my wine with a single gulp. I was about to pour myself another glass when Peter finally emerged from under the table.
“And here it is,” he said, proudly laying the knife beside his plate. “Sorry, I had a hard time finding it. I got… distracted.”
“Then you’re about to get even more distracted,” I whispered, immediately placing my right foot back between his legs. I pressed down on his hard length so suddenly that he groaned, and then I offered him the most devilish grin I could muster. “I think we’re done with dinner, Peter.”
“Definitely,” he replied, slapping his credit card down on the table. “I’m more than ready for dessert.” I merely nodded. After all, I was ready for it as well—especially because I knew exactly the kind of dessert he had in mind.
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t think straight.
To be honest, I don’t even know how I managed to find my way out of the restaurant. I heard the pounding of my heart in my eardrums, and Belle’s sweet flavor still coated my tongue and lips. I was convinced it was impossible for any man to have a single coherent thought under those circumstances.
As we stood in front of the elevator, waiting for the doors to open, I realized I simply couldn’t wait. Sure, a lot of hotels were right around the corner, and the back seat of my car was also an option… but I simply couldn’t wait. It was physically impossible.
Taking my hand in hers, I dragged her across the hallway and away from the elevator. The steady click of her high heels reached my ears as she followed me, and I threw her a little smile as I glanced back over one shoulder.
; “Don’t tell me we’re taking the stairs?” Her tone was a blend of lust and amazement. I didn’t say a word. I just opened the door that led into the stairs, stepped into the stairwell, and then pulled her into my arms.
“I’m not taking the stairs,” I whispered, our mouths dangerously close. “I’m taking you.” With that, I pushed on the door with the tip of my foot and slammed it shut. The moment I heard the latch fall in place, I pinned Belle against the metal panel, the dull thud of her body against the hard surface sending a shot of adrenaline through my body.
“Haven’t you done that already?” she whispered back, her hand shooting straight to my hard cock. She wrapped her fingers around me, the fabric of my pants doing little to stop her. As the pressure of her hand intensified, I sucked in a deep breath, my mind spinning like a helicopter on the verge of crashing.
“That?” I responded to her gesture by flattening my hand between her legs, my heart skipping a beat as I remembered just how delicious she tasted. Fuck, I could’ve spent the entire night with my mouth crushed against her drenched lips. There was nothing more delicious in the entire universe. “That was the appetizer. It’s time for the main course.”
“I thought we were here for dessert?” Slowly, she moved her wrist, her fingers traveling up and down the hard shape straining against my pants. A growl rose up my throat, and the violent fires of lust incinerated whatever common sense I had remaining.
“Main course, dessert…” I shrugged. “Who gives a fuck?”
With that, I leaned in and crushed my mouth to hers. I parted her lips with the tip of my tongue, and she responded in kind, hers wrestling against mine as she had a little taste of herself. She moaned softly against my lips, and I brought my free hand to her shoulder.
I pushed down the straps of her cocktail dress, revealing the outer edges of her bra, and then dove straight in. Pulling back from her lips, I brought my mouth to her breasts. I bit the cups away to reveal her nipples and then took my time circling them both, my tongue roaming freely over her naked skin.