I placed my hands on the edge of my desk and heaved myself out of my chair, casting one last frustrated glare at the computer, as if it were the machine’s fault for overloading me with too much work, before turning around and stepping toward the window.
The view from my office was spectacular—one of the reasons I’d gone with the penthouse here at 166 Bank, one of the newest condos in the West Village. The city below was abuzz with Sunday afternoon activity. Pedestrians in spring clothes packed the sidewalks, and traffic moved down the wide roads in orderly lines. The sun high in the cloudless sky shined down on it all.
A gorgeous day in New York, and I was stuck inside moving around numbers in Excel.
“Fuck,” I said out loud to no one in particular. “I need an assistant.”
And just like that, a massive weight shifted off my chest. I’d been fighting against the idea tooth and nail for the last few months, waving away the nagging of the other members of the board. My reasoning was simple: I was the CEO of the company, which meant that no decision should be made without me at least laying my eyes on it first.
But it was becoming far, far too much. So many small details to keep track of. So many appointments and deals and handshake agreements. I’d realized it was only a matter of time before I slipped up and ended up costing Paradigm Investments, my company, serious money.
No more screwing around. I’d finish what was on my plate at that moment, then I’d start the process of finding an assistant.
But I realized that would be its own problem. Who could I trust to handle the ins and outs of my schedule? Was I really ready to hand such an important responsibility to someone else?
I turned back toward the screen and hit the “sleep” button on my keyboard, the twin monitors flicking from on to off, my blurry reflection visible in the black. For the time being, I didn’t even want to look at the work.
A walk was in order, a stroll through the neighborhood was usually just the thing to clear my head, something that always did the trick when caffeine had pulled all the weight it could.
I stepped out of the office and into the expansive main room of my penthouse, the crisp whites and moody blacks of the walls and furniture bathed in sunlight. Excitement tingled through me. After spending the first half of the day cooped up in my home office, just the thought of getting some fresh air and sunlight was enough to make me feel downright giddy.
After a keys-wallet-phone check, I opened the door to the elevator and stepped inside, the doors opening a few moments later once I was in the lobby.
Not a moment after I stepped out, however, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My first instinct was to ignore it, to put whoever was trying to talk to me on hold until I got back. But I realized that in my hurry to get out, I’d forgotten to end the chat I was in the middle of.
I slipped my iPhone out of my pocket as I hurried along, my eyes fixed on the small screen. It was a text from the executive I’d been speaking with, the text reading nothing but “AFK, huh?”
I smirked as I continued on, my thumbs moving over the on-screen keyboard as I prepared to fire off a response.
I didn’t get a chance.
First there was the abrupt thud of my body against another, followed by the quick, shrill shriek of a woman’s voice. Then a body flew toward me, the figure a wild, flailing blur of slim, milk-white limbs and flame-red hair.
“Oh, shit!” she let out as she toppled toward me.
I could already tell she didn’t weigh much, but being slammed into the way I had while my attention was elsewhere was enough to knock me off my balance. I staggered backward, losing my balance. Without thinking, I reached forward, my instinct shouting, “You’re falling! Grab onto something, and fast!”
So that’s what I did—I grabbed onto something. That “something” being the girl in front of me.
The two of us went down in a wild tumble, me falling back directly onto my ass and her coming down right down on top of me. When it was over, when I’d hit the ground, I couldn’t see a damn thing through something on my face that felt like silk and covered up my eyes.
It was her hair. I reached up and took it, tossing the thick strands out of my eyes. And when I did, I was face to face with the woman who’d sent me tumbling ass-over-teakettle.
And holy hell was she gorgeous.
She stared down at me with wide blue eyes like tiny frozen ponds. Her face was slim, her nose pert and small and dusted with freckles, the contrast giving me the impression of a dash of cinnamon sprinkled over fresh cream. Her full lips, blood-red and plump, were formed into a perfect O of surprise.
My hands were on her hips, and even through the denim I could get a sense of her soft, ripe curves. Making matters even worse, a glance down provided a view of her cleavage, which was beyond bountiful.
And her smell. An aroma like lilacs and angel-food cake and pure sex wrapped around me like a quilt.
I was still in a mild state of shock from what had happened, all my cock could think about was the fact that there was a gorgeous girl, maybe the most gorgeous I’d ever seen in my life, straddling me. My dick shifted in my jeans, and it took all the focus I had not to go into full-out hard-on mode right then and there.
“Oh, shit,” she repeated.
I shot out a small puff of air, blowing a few more stray strands of copper hair out of my eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to ignore my cock all but screaming at me.
She continued staring down at me, and I could tell she was more than a little frazzled. I realized it was going to be up to me to diffuse this mildly awkward situation.
“But if you could take your hands off my chest, that’d be great,” I said, glancing down at the two palms pressed against my solid chest. “Little hard to breathe.”
“Oh, shit,” she said for the third time, noticing what she was doing.
She moved her hands quickly, so quickly that she lost balance, her upper body falling straight down and on top of me, her warm, soft cheek pressing against my lips.
“Now I can’t see,” I said, my voice muffled.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she said, planting her hands down on both sides of my head and shoving herself up.
“Very extensive vocabulary you’ve got,” I said, the pressure on my chest now gone.
“Sorry, sorry” she said as she scrambled to her feet.
Now she stood above me, and with her looming like this I was treated to a full view of her body, the girl looking larger than life. She was dressed in denim, as I’d felt, but they weren’t jeans. They were tiny cutoff shorts that allowed for a full view of pearl-white legs so shapely I had a hard time believing they belonged to a girl who was otherwise so slim. Up above she wore a powder-blue tank top that clung to her breasts, a modest but stylish pendant nestled in her cleavage
My cock twitched again, signaling its approval of the rest of her body.
“Here,” she said, extending slim fingers toward me. “Let me help you up.”
My eyes scanned up her slender arm, and I could already imagine grabbing onto it and accidentally yanking her down to the floor again as she tried to help up all six-three, hundred-and-ninety pounds of me.
“I got it,” I said.
I put both palms down onto the cool tile floor and heaved myself to my feet. Once I was standing up it was my turn to loom over her. She wasn’t tiny—I guessed around five-six—but most girls –hell, people in general- were pretty short standing next to me.
“Are you OK?” she asked. “I kind of slammed right into you.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who slammed into you, actually,” I said. “My face was buried in my—”
“Phone!” she said, pointing down between my legs.
I glanced down to where she was referring and spotted my iPhone sitting nearly perfectly between my shoes. Before I could say a word, she bent over at the waist, her head flying straight down and hitting me right in the junk.
An “oof” sho
t out of my mouth as I stumbled backward.
Dull pain swelled out in that awful way that only taking a blow to the balls could do. I bit my lower lip hard, trying not to show how much it hurt.
“Oh, no,” she said, standing straight again and realizing what she’d done. “Did I just…”
“You did,” I said, the pain fading. “You headbutted me right in the, um, business.”
Her milk-white face turned a deep red, almost as red as her hair.
“Oh my god,” she said, shaking her head. “What the hell is wrong with me? I saw your phone and—”
“It’s fine,” I said.
A tiny part of me was annoyed. But more than that, I couldn’t help but crack a smile at how ridiculous this whole situation was. Over the course of a minute I’d gone from being straddled by this girl like she was riding me to having her slam her dome right into my dick. It was like some weird, pratfall interpretation of sex.
I saw that my phone was still on the ground, and I quickly held up my palm before she had another chance to go for it.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I can get it.”
I kneeled down and swiped my phone from the ground and shoved it into my pocket, not bothering to finish the half-composed text.
And on the floor a little behind the woman was another phone that I assumed was hers. I deftly side-stepped her, picked it up, and held it out.
“Oh!” she said. “There’s mine.”
She took it, chuckling softly once it was in her hand. “And you, um, managed to give it to me without putting your face in my crotch.” Her face, which had begun to return to its normal shade, went red again as she realized what she’d said. “I mean, uh…”
I laughed. “I get it,” I said.
“Sorry,” she said. “Tripping over my legs and then tripping over my words. Hell of a way to make a first impression in the building, huh?”
Now this was an interesting development.
“You live here?” I asked.
“I do,” she said. “As of today, to be exact.”
“You got the place on the third floor then, right?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said. “Three-F. I actually finished moving an hour ago and just went for a walk to check out the neighborhood.”
“That right?” I asked. “And what’re your first impressions?”
“Oh my god,” she said, clasping her hands together in an adorably girly way. “It’s amazing. I still can’t believe I live in the Village.”
“It’s a hell of a place,” I said. “No doubt about that.”
“Too bad I knocked the first person I met right on his ass. Great way to get to know your neighbors, huh?” She smiled, her mouth curling upward, a small sliver of white teeth visible through her plump lips.
“Sure is,” I said with a smirk of my own. “Now you just need to go around and slam headfirst into the rest of the people who live here. They’ll get to know you whether they want to or not.”
“God,” she said, shaking her head and looking away. “I’m still so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “We were both in phone-world and had a little collision. I’m not sweating it.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I was feeling kind of mortified there for a second.”
“Mortification totally unnecessary,” I said, extending my hand. “Name’s Will Ford.”
She flashed me another gorgeous half-smile before placing her hand in mine and giving it a firm shake. “Emma Martin,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”
We said nothing for a moment, our hands in one another’s and our eyes meeting. It went on for one beat, then two, then three—far more than normal for a simple greeting. There was something there, a spark that I couldn’t ignore.
I let her hand go before I had a chance to let my mind linger on the strange feeling moving through me.
“Well, Emma Martin,” I said. “You sound like someone who needs a proper introduction to the neighborhood.”
“That right?” she asked, a slightly curious expression on her face.
“That’s right,” I said. “How about I take you out for a drink later? Give you a proper welcome to the area?”
I almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Not like I hadn’t asked women out before, but in this case it seemed to happen without any control of my own, as if it was the most natural thing to say.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Is this the official welcome wagon of 166 Bank?”
“Don’t know how official it is,” I said. “But sure—consider yourself welcome-wagoned.”
She chuckled softly. “OK,” she said. “I won’t say no to a drink. When are you thinking?”
I checked my Patek-Phillipe. Part of me wanted to say “fuck it” and go out now, but I still had a good few hours’ worth of work to do.
“Meet you down here at eight,” I said. “How about that?”
She gave a smile and a spunky nod. “It’s a date.”
“Perfect,” I said.
With that, I turned and headed off, a smile on my face as I imagined the red flush returning to her cheeks as she realized what she’d just said.
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Best Man with Benefits Sneak Peek
Amazon Top 40 Bestseller
NEVER sleep with the best man.
Especially if he’s your brother’s best friend.
And your first.
There I am, naked, trying on this dang bridesmaid’s dress in the “women's only dressing room” and in walks Ol Big “bleep” Jacob.
The same Jacob that deflowered me.
Once my face stopped turning two shades of tomato, I sharply told him where to stick his big ego.
He doesn’t deserve a second chance.
Or third, or fourth, or fifth…
But that cocky smile has a way of making panties spontaneously combust.
Well, these panties ain’t going anywhere.
The brides been kidnapped, and we have a mission to complete.
This second chance romantic suspense offers one hell of a happily ever after and a surprise ending guaranteed to leave you breathless.
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Chapter One
Jacob
I stood in the center of the women’s dressing room—French, empty—holding an inhaler. “Addison, you in here? Hello?”
My best bud, the groom, had asked me to deliver the asthma inhaler to his fiancée. And as the best man, it was my duty. Even if that meant crashing in on half-naked women.
Except there aren’t any in here.
“Addison. It’s Jacob. Charlie sent me.”
I turned in a circle, noting the single empty mannequin, the closed curtains over changing areas, and caught sight of myself in a mirror on the wall.
Stark, handsome, Big Dick Jacob, as they’d called me.
Let’s deflate the ego.
One of the curtains scraped open, and I turned toward it. “Addison, I—”
My jaw dropped.
A naked woman backed out of the changing room, wiggling her peachy ass, free of tan lines. She had a pair of earphones in and held a cell phone in her hand. She warbled a Spice Girls song and swayed her hips, the little dance seductive in the extreme.
Just past her, in the changing room, a coat hanger held one of the bridesmaids’ dresses. Next to it, a full-length mirror afforded me a view of her entire body. Perfect, perky breasts, pink nipples puckered in the air-conditioned room, a sloping stomach, the strip of neat hair tracking down to the parting of her pussy lips.
I was instantly hard. Well, that’s inappropriate.
My gaze wandered up that shapely body and to her face. “Oh shit,” I said.
It was her.
Chloe Grace.
The woman of my dreams, my past dreams. The very same whose virginity I’d taken, whose heart I’d broken, who had dominated my thou
ghts back in our high school years.
Dark hair dropped past her shoulders in curls, sparkling green eyes snapped open. She focused on herself in the mirror then spotted me standing behind her.
Chloe’s expression transformed from joy to unadulterated horror. A scream erupted from her throat. She ripped the earphones out of her ears, turned toward me, lost her balance, and stumbled.
I rushed forward a step and caught her firmly underneath the elbows.
“What the fuck!” she yelled.
“Sorry,” I screamed back.
“Are you—what the—what the hell, Jacob. What are you doing here?” She was still painfully naked, and it took all I had not to peep. I held her upright and away from my body so she wouldn’t feel the boner tugging at the front of my pants.
“Hi,” I said, grinning at her. “You really want to talk about that now?”
“Yes, I want to talk about that now! You friggin’ weirdo, what the hell?”
“You don’t want to get a robe or something first?”
“Oh. Oh my god.” Chloe, just as gorgeous as she’d been back in the day, even more so now she was older, straightened and laid a dainty arm across her ample breasts. “Oh my god. Turn around! Right now!”
I did as she’d asked. Chloe was one of the only people in the world who’d ever gotten away with ordering me around on occasion. This occasion definitely called for it. I surreptitiously rearranged my junk while she scuffled around behind me.
“You done?” I asked.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, alongside the sound of a zipper.
“I’m looking for Addison.”
“And you think that’s a good excuse to barge into a women’s changing room? This is a dress store.”
“Once again with the sexism. You know, you and the lady at the front desk have a lot in common,” I replied. “Can I turn around now, miss?”
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