Loverboy

by Bowen, Sarina

  “A logo,” Duff supplies. “Every company needs a logo. It’s extra helpful for us, because we don’t tell anyone the company name. Most of us have that tattoo. All the guys I know who work for The Company.”

  “But Gunnar works for me,” I argue. And then I immediately realize that I’ve missed something big. Maybe Gunnar isn’t there for fifteen bucks an hour plus tips. It always seemed weird to me that he turned up in my shop looking for work.

  The barista with a single reference who doesn’t drink coffee. Who volunteered to work six days a week.

  “Gunnar,” I say slowly. “Tell me again how you came to be a barista in my shop?”

  “It’s complicated,” he says.

  “I HAVE TIME!”

  “First stop, Spring Street,” Duff says, slowing the van to a crawl. “No tail, but watch yourselves.”

  “Thanks Duff. Before we go, is everything quiet at the pie shop?” Gunnar asks, removing his seatbelt. Then he reaches over and removes mine, too. “You’re getting out here with me.”

  “SAYS WHO?” I’m prepared to keep howling until I get some answers.

  But Max stuns me into silence by pressing a single button on his high-tech console, changing all the images on the monitors behind him. And what I see on those screens makes my eyes widen.

  Every camera view is inside my pie shop. There’s my counter in the nighttime shadows, the lemon meringue standing tall. And there’s a shot of table four, and another of eleven. There’s also a view of my front door, and a view of the back.

  “What the hell?” I whisper. “Where did those cameras come from?”

  “Gunnar will explain,” Max says.

  “Come on,” Gunnar says, putting a hand on my lower back. “Still clear, Duff?”

  “Clear.”

  Gunnar opens the back door and tugs on my hand. “Quickly now.”

  Numb, but still needing answers, I follow him, hopping down to the pavement.

  He puts a firm hand on my back, looks up and down the sidewalk, then pulls me toward his front door.

  Sidestepping him, I disengage his hand from my body, even though I like the feel of it. “I’m not going upstairs with you,” I say, sounding just like a petulant child.

  “I need you to,” he says simply. “You’re easier to protect up there.”

  “Protect from what?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it upstairs,” he growls, unlocking the front door and holding it open for me.

  And I step through. But only out of pure curiosity. “I’m still mad,” I say, just for clarification. “I don’t like you anymore.”

  Just keep telling yourself that, my hormones chuckle.

  “You shut up,” I whisper.

  “Sorry?” Gunnar asks, closing the door behind us.

  “Not you,” I grumble. “I need some more explaining from you.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, I know. Come on.”

  Gunnar lives in a small but chic little building—the kind where the elevator opens right into his third-floor apartment. When the doors part, we step into a soaring, open-plan space with a huge living area, white plastered walls, a stone fireplace, a killer kitchen, and double doors opening to a big bedroom in back.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I breathe. “You could never live here on barista money.”

  “You’re right.” He takes the tuxedo jacket off and tosses it over the arm of a giant L-shaped couch. It's just like mine, except larger, newer and about ten times more beautiful. The leather looks like butter.

  And I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. “You lied to me.”

  “I did,” he says, teasing his bowtie apart.

  “You really work for Max.”

  “Exactly.” He threads the bow tie through his collar and tosses it onto his jacket. Then he unbuttons the tux shirt collar.

  “The barista job. It was all just a ruse. You’re spying on me!”

  “Not on you,” he says calmly.

  “Is it … are you with the police?” I squeak.

  He shakes his head. “No. Max’s company does high-end private security, and some industrial cybertech work. There’s a criminal who’s been using your pie shop WiFi to brag about a series of murders. You might have seen them in the newspaper. The killer poisoned …”

  “I read about those!” I snap. “Those were scary and disgusting. I don’t want anything to do with that.”

  “I know you don’t,” he says calmly.

  “Why do you keep agreeing WITH EVERYTHING I SAY?” I shout. “It’s so fucking irritating!”

  “Oh, I’m irritating?” he returns. “You act like you’re the only one who has ever missed the joke. You tailed me tonight, and I didn’t even notice. You, with the stealth skills of a kitten wearing a bell around its neck.”

  “I CAN BE VERY STEALTHY!” I shriek.

  “Obviously.” He unbuttons the collar of his shirt, and my eyes dart to his strong neck, and the few blond hairs visible on his upper chest.

  Keep going, my hormones beg. They won’t shut up even when I’m very angry.

  And I’m still very angry. “It’s not okay. You can’t just spy on someone’s pie shop with your spy tools and your sneaky friends. That’s my LIFE in there!”

  “Look, did it occur to you that I don’t want you to lose your life?” he snaps. “That maybe I realize you don’t need to be at the dangerous epicenter of someone’s grudge against a killer? A menacing person who’s made himself very comfortable in your shop, Posy. I only lied so I could figure out who that is.”

  “Well it’s not me!” I squeak.

  “I know.” He unbuttons that shirt a little further. I watch the ink from his tattoo appear slowly, one sexy button at a time.

  The key comes into view, which reminds me of the handsome asshole’s duplicity. “This was all a game to you. I’m just an unwitting little cog in your wheel. You’re using me.”

  “Hey now,” he says, his cool eyes flashing. “I know it’s a lot of information. I realize it’s a big shock. But try to remember that I also busted my ass for the last three weeks, making coffee eight hours a day. I show up early and I stay until the job is done.”

  It’s all true. But the lie still burns, because … “I thought we were friends,” I gasp, knowing how pathetic I sound. But I’ve always prided myself on drawing my employees close. We depend on each other.

  I thought we did, anyway. But I was wrong.

  “We are friends, damn it,” he says. “The pie shop is pretty great, and I care a great deal about what happens there.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’re just saying that to make yourself feel better,” I argue. And then a brand new and truly horrible idea occurs to me. “Wait—was it you? Did you and Max break my window? So you could fix it and put cameras everywhere?

  “No! Posy—!”

  “You did!” I squeak. “You walked me home from the bar at just the right time to witness it. How convenient for you to keep me busy that night. Did you follow me to that bar? You did! And then on the way home you—”

  My next realization is so awful that I actually choke on my words. Everything that happened between us that night was a lie. The way Gunnar propositioned me, just so he could walk me home. Kisses on the sidewalk, just to distract me. And after the break in, he stayed close by and held my hand while the cops took my statement.

  “Omigod,” I whisper. “Oh. My. GOD. I’ve been played by yet another man.”

  “Slow your roll,” he thunders. “I have no fucking idea who broke into your shop. But I’ve just spent the last week trying to figure it out.”

  “LIAR!” Spalding was right. I am terrible at sex. I can’t even tell real kisses from fake ones. It’s utterly humiliating, and fat tears spring from both of my eyes. “You kissed the poor, lonely baker so she wouldn’t notice what you were up to.”

  “Bullshit!” he shouts. And suddenly he’s right in front of me, all up in my space. “You’ve got it backwards. I just spent the last week trying not to
kiss you, because everything got so complicated. The case is still up in the air, and—”

  “The case,” I spit. “It’s all about the case. That’s all you ever cared about.”

  “It’s not,” he thunders, his face red. He reaches out and grabs the belt loops of my skirt, towing me closer, as if proximity would make his argument more logical. “I’m trying to explain, but you won’t listen.”

  “Because it’s bullshit.” I whisper at close range. His green eyes are enormous at this distance. “I don’t believe anything you say.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Then believe this.” That’s when the asshole leans in and kisses me. It isn’t a bashful kiss, either. He tilts his head and consumes me with firm hungry lips. I’m hit with his clean scent and the heat from all that skin so close to mine. Surprise makes my knees wobble, so I reach out to steady myself.

  But my palms land on that hard chest. And—wow—the heat rising off this man makes me crazy. I don’t know how it happens, exactly. But the same mouth I used a minute ago to snarl at Gunnar is now kissing him back.

  He likes it, too. He hauls me against his hard body, wrapping his arms around me. And now his tongue is in my mouth.

  I let out a groan of surprise, because I had no idea it was possible to be so irritated and so turned on at the same time. This frustrating, untrustworthy man is devouring me the way a starving man takes down a fat slice of apple pie.

  It’s a wonderful, terrible kiss. I know I should stop. But I just don’t want to. Not even when my back suddenly hits the wall, where Gunnar’s hard body has trapped me. “I’ve always wanted you,” he mutters between kisses.

  “Shh!” I order. “Don’t talk, for God’s sake. You’ll ruin it.” I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him in for another kiss.

  “You don't believe me,” he grunts against my mouth, as if this is some kind of surprise.

  “Of course I don't believe you. Men lie. You, for example, lie to me all day long.” As I say this, I’m unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

  A wrinkle appears in the middle of his forehead. Then he kisses me once again, but very slowly. “The only kind of lying I'm doing tonight is the kind where I lie on top of you.”

  Oh my.

  “—And don't say you don't want that. Because then you'll be a liar, too.”

  That is sadly accurate. “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I grumble, shoving the shirt off his shoulders.

  “Now who’s talking too much?” He dives in for another kiss, and my blood begins to pound. This is madness. I shouldn’t let him kiss me. I shouldn’t suck on his tongue, making him moan into my mouth. I shouldn’t arch my back to push my hungry body closer to his.

  No, I should kick him in the shins and storm out of here.

  But this Gunnar wants to distract us with once-in-a-lifetime sex, my hormones whine. We can storm out later, after we see where this goes!

  Which turns out to be straight to every nerve ending I possess. Because Gunnar’s kisses are overwhelming. He kisses with his whole body. A firm thigh slides between my legs. A big hand cups my ass as he delves a little more deeply into my mouth. We kiss until my lips are chafed and my nipples ache inside my bra.

  “Paxton,” he pants between kisses. “We’ve come to a crossroads.”

  “What?” I gasp. “Why?”

  “Five minutes from now you’ll either be on your way home with a polite Company escort. Or naked on my bed with your legs in the air. Which is it going to be?”

  NAKED! scream my deepest desires.

  Except I’m very bad at sex. And I’m still mad at Gunnar. I pull back another centimeter. As if that could possibly dull the zap and sizzle between us. “You put cameras in my workplace. Is this just your way of trying to slide that by?”

  “I want to slide something, that’s for sure.” He runs his hands down my body, and I nearly purr like a cat. “And I will apologize thoroughly for the subterfuge. But not right this minute. Because I can’t think right now. Not with my brain, anyway. So choose, Paxton. Am I calling an agent to drive you home? Or am I removing all your clothing?”

  “I haven’t decided,” I say as he kisses his way down my jaw.

  “No? Then why is your hand down my pants?”

  Oh, geez. Look at that.

  That was all us, my hormones confess. But isn’t this fun?

  “Fine,” I say sharply. “I’m in. But now will you stop talking?” Since my hand is already in the neighborhood, I rub my palm down over his erection.

  His answering growl thrills me. Then he lifts my hair in his hand, bends his handsome face down, and begins making sweet love to my neck.

  It’s … wow. I shiver as his lips and tongue trace a path across my throat. Then his hands reach around to cup my ass, pulling me flush against his hard, hot body. There's no mistaking his intention, or his arousal. And when he lifts his head to kiss me again, l let out a shameless moan.

  Who knew I was such a pushover? Each kiss makes me looser and more pliable. Like pastry dough in capable hands.

  “Honey,” Gunnar rumbles. “Let’s get you onto the bed.”

  “No,” I say, because I don't like how easily he's won me over. At least from the neck down.

  “Cool, cool,” he says between kisses. “Maybe you want to hop up on the counter. Or maybe you’re hoping I’ll bend you over the couch.”

  Ungh. Yes, please. Do us on the couch!

  “Here's the thing, though,” Gunnar pauses while his mouth takes an erotic journey across my collar bone, and my skin erupts in goosebumps. “The condoms are in the bedroom.”

  “Oh,” I gasp. Suddenly his bedroom sounds like a good plan. “Okay.”

  He doesn’t take my hand and lead me in there, however. That’s what a gentleman would do. Gunnar bends his knees, hoists me off the floor and tosses me over his bare shoulder. My shoes fall off and land with twin thuds on the floor.

  I’m so startled that it takes me a moment to let my shriek of outrage fly. All I can see from this angle is the floor moving, and Gunnar’s butt.

  It’s a spectacular butt. Still, I prefer to travel under my own power. A moment later the ride is over, though. He tosses me onto a giant bed, and I land ungracefully in the center of his comforter.

  I glance around at the huge room. It’s such a bachelor pad, with nothing on the walls except for a framed poster of the original Matrix movie. One wall, though, is covered from floor to ceiling in bookshelves. And every one of them is full of books.

  My heart beats a little faster. I love a man who reads. I trust a man who reads. And not just Golf Digest, either, like my ex.

  When I glance back toward Gunnar, his tuxedo pants are already missing. Then he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pushes them right off. The most gorgeous naked man that I have ever seen in my life is stalking toward me, his erection jutting up and out. He means business. He wants me.

  Oh boy, my hormones whisper. It’s finally happening. Gunnar Scott is going to do us. Right now.

  20

  Gunnar

  I put a knee onto the bed, bracing myself on my hands, and take in Posy’s expression. Her lips are bitten with my kisses, and the pulse point at her throat flutters wildly. She’s a little bit stunned, and a whole lot turned on.

  I’m done holding back. She and I have been dancing around each other for way too long.

  And I’ve had it with this whole stupid night. I’m relieved that Posy finally knows the truth.

  Hours ago—which seems like another lifetime—she finally got over her hesitation to go slumming with a guy like me. I couldn’t believe that she asked me to dinner and I had to say no, for so many reasons.

  I’ve had it with a lot of those reasons, too. My life is seriously complicated. And thanks to me, so is Posy’s. Whenever I picture her standing right in front of a violent criminal, I feel cold all over.

  But she’s safe right now. And I’m going to pretend for an hour or two that everything isn’t a goddamn mes
s. I’m going to reduce the evening to a simple equation that both Posy and I can understand. Her plus me on this bed.

  “Paxton,” I bark. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

  “No, I’m not,” she argues automatically.

  “Okay, prove it.”

  Posy scowls at me. But she never could back down from a dare. She lifts her top over her head and tosses it away. Then she kicks off her skirt.

  I suck in a breath when I see her sitting in the center of my bed in nothing but tiny little lace panties and a black demi bra. “You’re trying to kill me, right? That’s why you put this on and followed me into a hotel?”

  “No!” She makes an irritated noise. “This underwear wasn’t for you.”

  “Uh huh.” I straddle her thighs, tilt her chin up toward mine, and kiss her until she whimpers. Slowly, I drag my thumb across the swells of her breasts. “You are spectacular,” I whisper. “I was a twenty-one-year-old bartender who used to dream of doing this.” I lie her back onto the bed and then lower my face between her breasts. I tease the lace cups down until her rosy nipples protrude above the fabric. And then I circle first one and then the other with my tongue.

  “Oh boy,” she moans. “Unnngh.”

  I dip and swirl and suck, until she pushes my face away. “What the hell? I’m busy here.”

  “You’ve got me all trussed up like a chicken.” She reaches behind her body and unhooks the bra, and her breasts bounce free of it. “There. Carry on.”

  “I don’t think I will,” I tease, and Posy makes a noise of dismay. “But don’t you worry your pretty head about it. I have other work to do here.” I work my way up to lavish her mouth with kisses. Then I work my way down again, into the valley of her breasts and then down her tummy.

  When I reach those lace panties, I set about kissing every inch of that scrap of fabric. While Posy moans, deep and low. “Gunnar,” she pants. “Ohhhh.”

  The sound of her pleasure makes me ache. I’m so hard. And she’s so soft against my mouth. I tongue the lace, teasing her. And when I close my lips over her sweet pussy, Posy sobs my name. “Please, Gunnar.”