“Seriously. You’ll like this one.” Meg smiled so beseechingly that Amy sighed, turning in the direction her sister wanted her to look, then cast Meg some serious side eye.
“That’s John.” She rolled her eyes when Meg merely grinned, waving at her fiancé from across the bar. “Very funny.”
“I was trying to make you smile.” Meg nudged Amy’s untouched bottle of beer across the table. “Since you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.” To prove her point, Amy lifted her beer and took a healthy swallow. “See? Party on, and all that jazz.”
“You’ve been scowling for days.” Meg rolled her eyes. “I used to change your diapers, kid. Come on. Fess up.”
“It’s just work stuff.” Amy smiled stiffly and made a big show out of shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “Not a big deal.”
“If you say so,” Meg replied dubiously before waving at John once again. “What is taking him so long?”
Amy peeled a thin strip off the label on her beer bottle as Meg waved like an air traffic controller to get her fiancé to come back to the table. She hadn’t lied to Meg; it was a work issue that had her down. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
She actually didn’t care that much about what the other vendors in the shopping plaza thought about her. She may not have looked like a stereotypical businessperson, but she was shrewd. She knew her value as a business, and she didn’t give a flying fruitcake about that petition. If she was evicted for not fitting in, which was obtusespeak for being covered in tattoos, then she’d go to the media and raise holy hell.
What she did care about, even though she really didn’t want to? The fact that Fred had been the one in charge of delivering her that eviction notice. No, not even that...the fact that he’d hidden it from her. If he’d told her up front, she was pretty sure that they would have wound up in bed together anyway—that was how strong the pull between them was. But he hadn’t, and it had...well, it had hurt her feelings.
She never got hurt feelings. She and Fred had a history, however. Even though it had only been one night, it had held meaning for her.
Apparently it hadn’t meant nearly as much to him, yet she couldn’t bring herself to shake it off and move on. Which was why she was sitting in a bar she didn’t want to be in, with a sister who was torturing her for being moody.
As her sister’s fiancé finally made his way over to the table, she sneaked a look at her phone to check the time, wondering how quickly she could make an excuse and go home.
“Lucky us, getting the prettiest women in the club.” John grinned while he juggled the drinks in his arms. He set a fresh bottle of beer in front of Amy, and she barely held back the wince as she tacked another half hour onto her time estimate.
John slid into the seat nearest Meg and greeted his fiancée with a hand threaded through her hair and a deep kiss.
“Don’t mind me,” Amy said dryly. The couple continued greeting each other as though she wasn’t even there. Focusing her attention on her phone, she started a new game of Candy Crush, wondering if the couple’s utter absorption in each other meant she could subtract that half hour back off the time estimate.
A few more minutes of the smooching, and she was done. Meg and John broke apart as she slid out of the booth and got to her feet, stuffing her phone in her pocket.
“Don’t leave before you say hi to Theo,” John requested, lifting her bottle of beer and frowning when he found it full.
“Theo’s here?” Amy looked out across the bar, craning her neck until she saw him. Her sister Jo’s live-in boyfriend, and the man she considered the closest thing to an actual brother, was leaning against the bar, holding court in a group conversation.
“He’ll be over in a sec,” John added as he ran a hand down Meg’s bare arm. “He ran into some guys he was friends with in college.”
“Maybe you’ll wipe that scowl off your face and find one to converse with,” Meg suggested pointedly. “Some company might brighten your current dour outlook on life.”
“Maybe any man I’d be interested in talking to will appreciate my scowl,” Amy replied brightly. Brushing her blond curls out of her face—she should really consider going back to dreads—she leaned back into the booth to grab her small purse. When she straightened back up again, Theo was crossing the room toward their table, and he wasn’t alone.
Amy sucked in a deep breath when she saw the men who accompanied Theo. Incredibly tall, well over six feet, with coppery hair and a lanky build.
No. No way.
Then the men were at the table. Theo gathered her in a familiar hug as she frantically tried to compose herself, looking upward into the face of the cause of her angst.
Their eyes met, and damn it, there was that little tug in her gut. Her body didn’t seem to care that she was upset with him.
“Jo, this is Fred Vaughan.” Theo released her and gestured toward his friend. “I just put two and two together, but his family owns the shopping plaza where your shop is. Small world!”
“Right.” Her brain was telling her to play it cool, but the rest of her wasn’t listening. She narrowed her eyes at Fred and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Frank dragged me out for a drink.” He slid his hands into his pockets. He didn’t look all that thrilled to see her, either, which had her temper sparking. What had she done, besides giving him crazy good sex?
“Fred and his brother are friends from college.” Theo clapped the taller man on the back, grinning widely. Amy could tell that Jo’s fiancé had clearly had a drink or three already. “Haven’t seen them in years. How cool is this?”
“Uh-huh.” Amy could feel Meg’s eyes on her, assessing, and struggled not to grind her teeth together. “Where’s Jo?”
Her sister Jo had a limited tolerance for the bar scene. A limited tolerance for people, really. If she was here, then they could escape together.
“She’s working. On deadline.” Theo grinned sheepishly—his significant other worked for him. “Before you get pissed, she’s the one imposing the all-nighter, not me. Says she won’t have anyone accusing her of sleeping with the boss to get ahead.”
“Speaking of getting ahead...” She deliberately turned toward Meg and John, putting her back to Fred as she spoke. “I have a full slate tomorrow. I should get going.”
“Fine.” Meg heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t think you’re coming to family dinner tomorrow night with this attitude, though.”
“Whatever.” Amy rolled her eyes at her sister. “Have fun.”
Then she was off, striding into the crowd of the bar without a second glance at Fred. Her spine stiffened when she heard him call after her, his deep voice carrying over the roar of the crowd.
He caught up to her quickly with his long stride, and she paused when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She should have turned around, but she didn’t trust herself to remain strong while looking at him, so she remained as she was, facing away.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped as he came up close behind her. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, but she could feel the heat of his body, radiating off his lean frame to warm the skin of her back. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Well, I have something to say to you,” he replied. If his voice had held anger, she could have pushed away, leaving him standing there alone. She didn’t hear any anger, though, just regret, so she remained where she was, silent and still.
“I need to apologize,” he continued, dipping his head so that he could place his lips by her ear.
“You think?” she retorted. It took every ounce of willpower that she possessed not to shiver in response to the fan of his breath over the lobe of her ear.
“You have every right to be pissed at me. I fucked up, big-time.” He moved in closer so that he could keep speaki
ng over a sudden rise in the noise level. She wanted to moan softly when she felt his hips bump against hers from behind. “Please hear me out. I had no way of knowing that you were Amy Marchande when I walked into your shop with that letter. You never told me your name.”
“You shouldn’t have been delivering that letter to begin with, to anyone.” She spat out the words. “I signed that lease. I pay up every single month. Even if there was a petition against me, you and your brother and whoever the hell else you work with should have shut it down right there.”
“I agree with you,” he replied mildly, but she could tell she’d struck a nerve. “But I’m not the one in charge. I just happened to draw the short straw.”
“And then you walked in, saw someone you might like to fuck again, and decided to tuck it away for another day.” Her spine stiffened as she clung to her righteous anger. “Gee, I wonder why I’m upset?”
“Don’t twist this around.” His hands found her hips, tugging her back against him, and she fought to remain stiff, not to let her body yield to his. “It wasn’t like that at all, and you damn well know it. Please let me say I’m sorry.”
“Fine.” The word burst out of her like a plea, but whether it was for him to let her go or to hold her closer, she had no idea. “Apology accepted. Now, I’m going home to bed.”
His fingers clenched on her hips, and she struggled to reach for her self-control as she added, “Alone.”
“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured in her ear. This time his lips touched the seashell curve, and this time she couldn’t hold back her shudder. “Please.”
“What did you have in mind?” This, this she could handle—flirtation. Lust. “Keep in mind how much you owe me.”
He huffed out a laugh, a low sound that did something funny to her insides, then used the hands on her hips to guide her in a half circle. She arched into his touch as he gave her a gentle push back in the direction of their table.
“We’re going to go sit down again.” His voice was dark, delicious. “Right at that little table, right beside one another.”
“Oh?” Her voice was faint; she didn’t know how he could still hear her over the music and the crowd. “And what will we do then?”
He laughed again, sounding nothing like the careful lover she remembered from Amsterdam, or the frenzied one she’d ridden in her shop.
“Then we’re going to do whatever I want.” This was a man in control, so completely unexpected and yet so completely right that the possibilities made her legs quiver. He nudged her forward, and she took a step, her senses suddenly on fire. “Now go.”
Swallowing thickly, she did as she was told—in truth, she couldn’t imagine refusing. Hyperaware of Fred at her back, she made her way back to the table. When Meg, John, Theo and Fred’s twin looked up at them questioningly, she forced her face into a smile, certain that she looked more than a little crazy.
“I think I’m going to stay,” she said brightly, reaching for the bottle of beer that was still sitting on the table. “I got a second wind!”
“Great,” Meg replied slowly, scrutinizing Amy’s flushed cheeks. “We were just about to get up and dance.”
“I’m right behind you!” Squeezing into the booth, Amy hip-checked Theo. Grumbling, he shifted over, making space for her and Fred to sit. Amy clasped her beer like she was clutching a life preserver, waving it in the air for everyone to see. “You guys are three drinks in, though. Let me just catch up and I’ll be right there!”
Meg, John and Theo were all regarding her as though she’d grown a third head, and she didn’t blame them. She sounded practically perky, not a look she usually wore. Fred’s twin, however—was she remembering right that his name was Frank?—was watching her intently, curiosity written all over his face.
He might have been Fred’s brother, but the expression made her want to sock him in the nose. It was one she was well familiar with, the look a man gave her when he was thinking about taking a walk on the wild side.
She wasn’t here to be any man’s tattooed little experiment. If they didn’t want her for who she was, then they didn’t get any of her, at all.
She willed Frank to head off to the dance floor with the others. He did not; rather, he sat sipping his beer and looking from her to Fred as though there was a puzzle there that he had to solve.
“Dude, what?” Fred reached across the table with his long arm, socking his brother in the bicep. “Stop being a creeper.”
“Sorry.” To his credit, Frank shook his head, as though jerking himself out of a trance. Draining his drink, he set the empty bottle on the table and stood. “Another round?”
“No, thank you,” Amy and Fred both replied at the same time. Frank furrowed his brow again slightly, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing, before making his way back to the bar.
“I don’t think your brother approves of you hanging around me.” Amy turned to Fred with a slight smirk. Here, again, was familiar territory. “Maybe he thinks I’ll be a bad influence on you.”
“Doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Fred said as he placed his hand on Amy’s knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What matters is that you do what I tell you to, right now.”
“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, prepared to tease back, instead losing her breath when he moved his hand steadily up her thigh. Excitement surged through her, gasoline that had been lit on fire. She followed his thought process and understood what he was about to do.
“Drink your beer.” He sounded calm while she felt anything but. “Now.”
Hand shaking, she picked up the beer. It had gone warm, but she took a sip anyway, not tasting anything because all her attention was focused on Fred’s hand and the way it was moving up her thigh with excruciating slowness.
She was wearing tiny cutoffs, the denim so well-worn that it was torn in places and soft as butter in others. Those were layered with a pair of lacy boy shorts, and neither provided the slightest bit of resistance as Fred’s questing fingers found the crease where her pelvis met her thigh.
She sucked in a breath, fingers tightening on the bottle. Exhaling slowly, she fought to keep her expression neutral as he tucked one large finger beneath the hem of the shorts, toying with the elastic lace that lay beneath.
“Careful,” he whispered, picking up his own drink. “Wouldn’t want anyone to look at you and know how wet you are.”
“I’m not wet,” she retorted. She sank back against the faux leather cushion of the booth back when he delved farther, moving his questing fingers closer to her core by tucking them beneath the lace of her underpants as well. “Shit.”
“Don’t ever think you can lie to me.” His words were cocky, even as she was desperate for him to look at her. He refused, casting his stare steadfastly on the empty table in front of them. “If I slide my fingers inside you, am I going to find you wet?”
“Why don’t you try and see?” Her words were staccato, pushed from her torso as she panted for air. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”
“I think you’d like it if I did. If I slid my fingers right up inside you.” He rubbed his fingers over her outer folds to punctuate his words, and she struggled to withhold a moan. “I’m right, aren’t I, you dirty girl? You’d get off from having my fingers inside you while we’re sitting here, out in public where anyone can see.”
“Fred. Jesus.” Amy willed herself not to prove his words true, but as she did, he worked his entire hand into the lace of her boy shorts. That massive hand of his cupped her mound, his thumb stroking over the slit that divided her labia, and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing out loud.
“Shh.” This time he leaned in against her, his shoulder bumping against hers companionably. “I know my touch makes you want to scream. But just look...your sister is here. Her fiancé. Theo, and my brother Frank. Do you really want them to see you whimpering f
rom my touch? What would they think, seeing bossy little Amy Marchande melting from the touch of a man?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Amy leaned against him, hard, but didn’t dare to lift her eyes from the table, to glare at him for withholding what her body so desperately craved. She wanted to look him in the eyes, to lose herself in those pools of pale green and to ask where this thread of dominance came from when it hadn’t made an appearance before. She didn’t, because she was afraid—afraid of hearing him voice the answer to a question she hadn’t asked.
Every single sexual encounter she’d ever had, whether with men or women or beings who identified somewhere in between...with beings who identified as straight or gay or bi... She’d been the one who was in control. She’d always been in charge, the one who had led the encounter, dictating the content and the rules, defining the limits.
When she’d first seen Fred in that bar so many years ago, she’d known only that she wanted him. What had come after had seemed a natural consequence. She’d been the aggressor and had remained in control. Being a woman, of course she had recognized and cherished the fact that he had let her be so, even though his physical body was undeniably so much powerful than hers.
She hadn’t realized that she’d internalized that power dynamic until Fred stroked that single finger through her damp folds, searching for proof that she melted at his command. She hadn’t anticipated any commands from him at all, and that made her response even hotter.
“See something you like?” She recalled the words he’d once uttered, poised above her in a fancy hotel in a city she’d considered her own, and she melted around his questing fingers.
She’d never thought of Fred as dominant per se. Not since he’d told her that he was turned on by whatever made her melt.
He understood more about her than she’d ever imagined. She didn’t consider herself submissive, per se...more that she was happy to assume the role if she happened upon a partner who was dominant.
Harlequin Dare May 2021 Box Set Page 54