I nearly choke on my beer.
Anderson pulls a face.
“I can’t say curried goat would be an item I’d like to see on your menu, Mrs. Smith.”
“No, sir,” she says, with a straight face. “No goats.”
There’s an awkward pause while I keep my eyes down, staring into my beer like it’s the last water in the desert.
“The linguini alla puttanesca will be ready in five minutes, Mr. Anderson,” she says, smiling at him gently.
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, that sounds excellent. And I’d like to go through the week’s menus later.”
“Certainly, sir,” she says.
He walks away, and I think how lonely it must be to hear the laughter of other people in your home but know that none of it is for you. The thought is sobering. I look up and Rachel is still smiling, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Well, Justin,” she says, “can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Rachel, what is it?”
“Are you ever going to ask me out?”
Rachel takes my breath away.
She’s funny and clever and has the most fantastic ass of any woman I’ve ever known. And believe me, I’m going to make the most of her lapse in judgment.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. The only thing that has been holding me back is my concern that she could lose her job. Most employers prefer to think of their employees as celibate, inanimate household objects. I don’t know Anderson’s view, but if Rachel doesn’t care, well, I don’t need a written invitation.
There she sits, looking right into me, seeing everything with those beautiful blue eyes, so warm and trusting. Her gaze is magnetic, pulling me in. My hand reaches across the table and I stroke her cheek. Her eyelids flutter and she leans into my hand, sighing softly.
The distance across the table is too far. I stand up and walk around, drawn to her. And I know that one of us could get burned. If it’s me, that doesn’t matter, but I can’t, won’t hurt someone as good and kind as Rachel.
She puts her soft, cool hands in mine and I pull her upwards.
She smiles, and I feel the breath leave my body. So beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
Gently, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my face towards her. Her lips touch mine, and desire pulses through me. I can’t hold back any longer, God help me. I want her, every inch of her. Badly.
She pulls away from me, gasping for air, my vehemence taking her by surprise. Then she smiles, her fingers touching her lips.
“That was…”
“Yeah, it was.”
We stare at each other across the empty air, then she looks away.
“I think I’d better serve dinner.”
Did I go too far? Should I apologize? She doesn’t seem mad, but you can never tell with women.
She takes Anderson’s food into the dining room and I slouch in my seat, brooding. I acted like a horny teenager. I’ve probably scared her off.
When she walks back in, there’s still a flash of red staining her cheekbones, but she holds her head high.
“Rachel, I’m…”
“Please don’t say you’re sorry for kissing me.”
“Fuck, no! I mean … shit! I’m sorry if I took it too far.”
“It was a very nice kiss,” she smiles, the flush deepening.
“Nice? I must be losing my touch.”
“Do you kiss many women?” she asks.
It sounds lighthearted but I sense a note of anxiety beneath the words.
“Not many. Bad divorce,” and I shrug.
Her smile is sympathetic, but she doesn’t speak again, simply placing my food in front of me.
For once, the silence is awkward, and I’m cursing myself for causing that.
“Rachel…?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still want to go on a date? With me?”
She smiles slowly and nods.
“Yes, very much.”
Chapter 11
The Birthday Party
A WEEK LATER and I’m so full of frustration that I’m damn near choking on it. I haven’t had a single chance to take Rachel out. Every evening, Anderson has been busy: three fundraisers, two late meetings with overseas suppliers, one opera, and one dinner with Landon where I had to wait in the car outside a French restaurant. Boring as hell.
I suppose it’s understandable that he’s out every night when he has nothing to come home to—no one to come home to.
I decide I can’t wait any longer to spend some quality time with Rachel, so I’ll improvise. If I can’t take her out on a date, I’ll bring the date to her.
On the rare occasions when Anderson stays at home, our normal routine is to eat together and then watch a movie. I treasure those evenings.
Tonight will be even more special.
After we’ve all eaten dinner and Anderson has closed his office door, Rachel starts cleaning up in the kitchen. That’s when I get the flowers that I had to sneak into my bedroom, along with a not very chilled bottle of champagne that I stuck in my sink with cold water, and the expensive French chocolates.
I lay everything on our dining table, get two wine glasses out of a cabinet and pop the champagne cork.
Rachel walks in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
“Justin, I thought I heard … oh! Oh, flowers? And chocolates? Champagne? What’s the occasion?”
“Our first date. The slave driver hasn’t been very cooperative, so I thought if we can’t go out on a date, I’d bring the date to us. Is it okay?”
She’s so quiet, I’m worried that she doesn’t like it. Maybe she thinks I’m cheap, not taking her to dinner.
“Justin … it’s perfect! Thank you!”
And she kisses me sweetly, the lightest brush of her lips on mine. After that, I know it’s going to be okay. In fact, I’m pretty certain it’s going to be the best damn date I’ve ever had.
We talk and laugh, drink champagne, and I watch as Rachel makes her way through the French chocolates, licking her lips and saying, “Just one more and then I’ll stop.”
She doesn’t, and I really kinda like that.
I like it even more when she snuggles against me on the sofa and we watch some movie. I can’t even tell you what it’s called because I’m more interested in stroking her hair and kissing her neck.
Snuggling is fun. Who knew?
It’s been a great evening and I’d love to take it further, but I’m happy to go at Rachel’s pace.
She surprises the hell out of me when she stands, yawning, then without speaking, takes my hand and leads me into her bedroom. I’m not going to say no.
I’ve never been in her room before, and although it’s decorated the same way as mine, it has a completely different feel. I see family photographs crowded onto her dresser, including a younger Rachel with a blond guy who I assume is Brian. They look happy.
There are lots of throw pillows, books and magazines. It’s homey. My room is just a better class of barracks.
I follow Rachel to the bed, waiting as she stands in front of it.
She pauses, and for the first time I see uncertainty in her eyes, so I go for my fallback position of humor.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Breakfast at yours or mine?”
I take a step closer and her eyes widen as she laughs breathlessly.
“That is such a cheesy line!”
“Yeah. Is it working?”
“I think it might just be your lucky day, Justin.”
“Nah, it’s my lucky night. My lucky day was when I met you.”
Her smile drops but I’m not sure why.
“You’re sweeping me off my feet,” she says seriously.
“I’ll make it a soft landing.”
“Will you?”
And I know what she’s asking and what she wants. I can’t promise forever because a guy like me doesn’t even know what the word means. I could be fired tomorrow or given another assignme
nt overseas for God knows how long.
There’s a thousand reasons why I can’t think about forever, not forgetting the ex-wife who ripped my heart out and tried to shove it up my ass as a farewell gift. I’ve been burned and buried, flayed, fucked and fucked over, and that makes a man gun-shy.
And yet … there’s something about Rachel’s softness and kindness that soothes the hurt and pain. I’ve seen her goodness and willingness to accept another human being’s frailties and flaws. She trusts me, although she probably shouldn’t.
So when those beautiful blue eyes of hers beg me not to hurt her, there’s only one answer I can give.
“This isn’t a casual thing for me, Rachel. You know that, right?”
“I … thank you. It … it’s been a while.”
“For me, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I’m not blowing smoke, it’s true.
I never cheated on Carla, but we were apart more than we were together while I was deployed. She never followed me when I was based in San Diego either. I guess that should have told me something. Since I stopped being a bootneck, I’ve worked in Qatar and Saudi, both places where the punishment for unmarried adultery is a hundred lashes, or stoning, if you’re married. And in Qatar, adultery is punishable by death when a Muslim woman and a non-Muslim man are involved.
You could call that a deterrent. And maybe part of me thought that Carla and I still had a chance, that saying ‘I do’ meant something to me. Yeah, I never said I was smart.
There were a couple of hookups between jobs, well, more than a few if I’m honest, but nothing with any real connection, you know? Not like between me and Mrs. Smith.
Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, I want it badly.
She laughs a little, and it sounds like there’s relief in her voice.
“I think I can remember what to do,” she teases gently, driving me wild as she runs a finger down the buttons of my shirt. “What happens if I undo this one?”
She slides her fingers under the cotton and against my skin. Her touch is cool and soft, and she’s already making me lose my mind. My dick is like an over-eager puppy, straining at my pants ‘cause he doesn’t want to be left out of the fun times.
She undoes another button, and my heartrate sky-rockets.
My hands find their way to her hips, gripping tightly, because if I don’t hang onto something, I’ll be ripping her clothes off like a fucking caveman.
Slowly, watching me every second, she undoes each button, then slides the shirt from my shoulders.
It drops to the floor and she glances down, frowning. I know what she’s thinking because the woman is a neat freak.
“If you pick that up and fold it, I’ll be tempted to pick you up and fold you over your bed right now.”
My voice is a low growl, making her eyebrows arch.
There’s a small, pleased smile on her face, happy that she’s driving me crazy.
And the only reason I don’t take her now, is because she’s a woman who deserves to have it all: which means me taking it slow and giving her every ounce of pleasure first.
She runs her hands over my bare skin, tugging gently at my chest hair, twisting her fingers into it.
Her smile turns impish, and she leans forward, running her tongue over my nipples.
It’s more than flesh and blood can bear, but I hold myself rigid, letting her explore me.
“You’re so hard, Justin,” she whispers as her hands continue to roam. “So strong. Your stomach is like granite.”
“That’s not all that’s like granite,” I say wryly, watching a heated flush creep up her neck.
Tentatively, she reaches down and strokes her hand over the bulge in my pants.
“That is … rather alarming!” she says, as her eyes open wide.
I laugh silently, watching her eyes as my muscles contract and loosen.
Her hand flattens against my stomach and I don’t feel like laughing anymore.
I study her skin, paler than mine, her fingers long, the nails cut short.
And I can’t stand not to touch her as she explores my body. My hands close over hers, and then I lean down, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone and up her neck, kissing her ear, biting the lobe gently, breathing in her warm scent.
My hands run over the smooth fabric of her skirt, cupping her generous ass and massaging lightly.
She moans, a soft, feminine sigh of pleasure that has my balls tightening.
And she copies me, running her fingers lightly over my ass and digging her fingers in.
“C’mere.”
I sit on the bed, holding out my arms to her and she comes to me immediately, hiking up her skirt so she can straddle my hips.
As she leans down to kiss my chest, I run my hands appreciatively across the smoothness of her stockinged thighs, frowning when my callused palms snag on the delicate silk.
“Don’t worry about that, Justin. I have plenty of thigh-highs—they’re cooler than pantyhose when I’m cooking and …”
“No, I think I’d like to fuck you while you’re wearing them … and nothing else.”
Bright red heat floods over her skin, but her eyes are glowing.
“That sounds…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence because I’m reaching up to massage those full, soft, luscious breasts, still trapped beneath a couple of layers of fabric.
I lean up, undoing the buttons of her blouse one at a time.
Wanton is a good look on her I decide, pulling off her sexy-as-fuck white bra.
As I start to suck on her left tit, she lets out a moan and her head falls back while I massage the other with my free hand.
I stand up suddenly, making her gasp, and place her on the bed carefully, hovering over her.
She slides her leg up my thigh, rubbing and squirming against me. She’s not even anywhere near my dick, but I have to take a breath as electricity shoots from my balls to my spine, warning me that I’m about to lose it.
“Rachel, honey, if you do that, I’m not going to last a second,” I spit out between gritted teeth.
At first she looks surprised, then a wicked smile spreads across her full lips.
And she does it again. And again. And again and again, until my blood is pounding and I think I’m about to have a heart attack. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and I can’t fucking move or I’ll be finished.
“Rachel!” I say again, and this time I’m fucking begging.
“Do you have a condom?”
The barbarian in me doesn’t give a damn. I want to jizz in her, on her; I want to mark her as mine so no other fucker even breathes in her direction.
She has to ask me three more times, before I grunt and point in the direction of the kitchen.
“What? You keep condoms in my kitchen?”
She sounds amused and enraged.
“Jacket,” I croak. “Wallet.”
“Oh!”
She slides away from me, the most excruciating deprivation. I grab my balls and tug on them hard. Not yet, you fuckers!
Rachel walks back into the bedroom, her tits bouncing, her eyes glittering with lust, her lips wet. She’s got my jacket in her hand and she throws it at me.
I fumble around until I pull out my wallet. I snatch the lone condom, hoping to hell the expiration date hasn’t passed, not that I bother to check. As I pull it out, credit cards go flying and Rachel giggles.
But when I yank down my zipper to release the beast, she sure as shit ain’t laughing anymore.
I sheathe myself quickly then look up to meet Rachel’s eyes. She looks excited but nervous, which is exactly how I’m feeling.
I kiss her deeply, urgently, and as she claws at my back, I know that she’s feeling the same.
I pull up her skirt so it’s rucked around her waist, and ease those sweet, plain white panties down her satin thighs. I can smell her arousal, and my fingers tell me that she’s more than ready.
&nbs
p; I thrust in steadily, wanting to be sure. But with no warning, she shudders and comes on my hand. Fuck, that’s so hot.
Moaning and calling my name, pawing at my back, I lower her to the bed. I can’t wait another second, and I slide inside, pushing all the way in with one determined thrust.
She gasps, and her legs lift, locking her ankles behind my back.
My last chance of controlling this has just gone up in smoke, and my body responds, doing what it’s been longing to do for too many weeks. Sweat breaks out across my skin, and my heart kicks up another gear.
And I’m right, I don’t take long, but it’s one helluva ride while it lasts.
My body goes rigid and her short nails dig into my ass, my eyes squeeze shut and my dick swells and pulses inside her.
I have just enough presence of mind not to crush her as I reluctantly slip out of her and collapse onto the bed.
I tug her into my arms, holding her until our bodies cool, and the whole time, I’m smiling.
We don’t speak, but after I’ve disposed of the condom, we face each other in her bed, eyes open, hearts exposed, and it feels so damn good.
Now, I don’t want you to think I’m a romantic guy, because I’m not. I’m a double-hard bastard with skin like a rhino.
But this woman … this woman.
Once isn’t enough.
And lucky me, I have an unopened box of condoms in my wall safe, along with spare ammo for my Smith & Wesson.
Her smile kills me, and I’m ready for more. Much, much more.
And we’ve got a whole night to play…
A THOUSAND IMAGES collide in my memory: her skin, her scent, her softness, her warmth, the tenderness of her touch, her passion scorching through me. Over and over again, our bodies joining, the loneliness erased in sweat and kisses and heat. Fucking fireworks! Nothing cool, calm and collected about a passionate woman taking what she wants.
We’ve slept maybe an hour when the alarm on my phone goes off.
“Fuck! Fucking alarm!”
I sit up dazed and slightly disoriented. Then I see Rachel smiling up at me, her blonde hair all mussed like cotton candy, a bright halo around her.
“Good morning! You’re very eloquent, Justin!”
Jane Harvey-Berrick Guarding the Billionaire Page 13