by Kali Hart
Until Luke
Reynolds Family
Kali Hart
Until Luke is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Kali Hart
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
LET’S STAY IN TOUCH!
1
BRITT
I’m not supposed to be here. But that’s never stopped me before.
I glance over my shoulder before stepping over the roped off section, beyond the Off-Limits sign to ensure my pesky date hasn’t followed me.
Maybe it was wrong to send him after a couple of drinks, but I couldn’t stand to hear him utter one more word about his priceless video game collection. We’re surrounded by the most beautiful paintings and works of art in this museum, but he couldn’t be bothered to appreciate a single one.
I’m new to town, and had I known another way to solicit an invitation to this private event short of answering a personal ad to be some stranger’s plus one, I’d have taken it. But agreeing to be Harry’s date for his corporate office party was the only way I was getting inside while important museum people were present and accessible. Namely, the curator.
The day after I moved to town and arrived at the museum to present my resume, I’d been the unfortunate recipient of the news that the museum not only had no new openings, but they weren’t even accepting resumes until next year. It put a small damper on my plan to someday be the curator.
I came here once as a little girl with my grandma. It’s where my love of art was born. It’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to work.
I’m almost far enough away from the rope. So close to the freedom to roam undisturbed. I need a visit to the east wing—where all the best art resides—for inspiration so I can work up the nerve to approach the museum curator. I’m hoping a reminiscent story from my childhood will win her over. Convince her she needs an assistant. Hell, I’d agree to be the janitor if it’d get me in the door.
I hear Harry’s voice, already starting to slur. I roll my eyes. We’ve only been here an hour.
“Where y-you goin’, Bonnie?”
I let out a slow, heavy sigh before spinning around. To my surprise, Harry’s got more ninja-like qualities than I’d have thought possible for someone who is so not holding his liquor well. He’s just feet away. The stench of the alcohol lacing his breath makes my stomach curdle.
“It’s Brittney.”
“ ‘sss what I said. Becky.”
“I don’t suppose you want to go on a tour?” I wave toward the paintings lining the hall, leading up to a display I’ve been dying to see since the moment I stepped foot inside. He’s not my first choice for company. But at least if he’d hidden away in the deserted hallway, he’s not inside the event room embarrassing the both of us.
“A private tour?”
“No.”
I regret not adjusting my clingy black dress earlier when Harry’s eyes fall to the excessive amount of cleavage I’m displaying.
I only wore this short little dress because the ad required a formal gown, and this—outside of a frumpy, unflattering funeral dress—is all I had. I’m a little curvier, and a little more filled out than I was when I bought the dress a few years ago.
But since I just graduated from college, I wasn’t about to spend money I don’t have on a dress I didn’t want.
“Oh c’mon. No one will even know we’re here.” He takes another step closer. I take two back. There’s not a breath mint in the world that can help him now.
“Go back to the party, Harry.”
He sticks his hand out toward me, offering me a plastic Champaign flute. “I brought you your drink. Here, drink up.”
“It’s empty.” Why am I not surprised that Harry polished off two drinks on his quest to find me? Silly me had hoped that I might just meet a man who would support my dream to work in this wonderful place. But telling that to Harry upon our arrival had earned me little more than an eye-roll and an instant change of subject. Like my dream to be the curator of a museum was unimportant and foolish. Same song, different guy.
The very reminder I needed to stay focused, and mostly importantly single.
“You sure it’s empty?” He waggles the glass at me until his hand is so near brushing my chest that I contemplate snapping his fingers. I know I’m strong enough to do it. Instead, I take a step back.
“Go back to the party, Harry. I can find my own way home tonight.”
“You’re coming home with me.” He overdramatically points a thumb at his chest, dropping one of the Champaign flutes in the process. I cringe as the droplets of alcohol seep onto the otherwise unscathed carpet.
“I’m not.”
“But you’re my date.” The slurring is worsening, and my patience is thinning. I’ve already abandoned any hope of wandering the museum on my own. Harry would just follow me and probably crash into a priceless display. “That’s what dates do.”
“Not this date.” I shove my way around him—as he’s leaning ever so close—and head back to the event room, quite pissed off about this inconvenience. His hand shackles my arm and spins me around.
I don’t think. I just act. My knee connects with his groin so suddenly that the other glass goes flying across the hall. He crumbles to the floor with an agonized cry. “Go home, Harry. Don’t call me.”
“Is there a problem here?” A deep, male—definitely not slurring—voice asks from behind me. Before I turn, I inhale an enticing woodsy cologne and swallow hard. That scent alone has my nipples standing to attention.
“No problem.” Other than Harry crouched on the ground in the fetal position. But that’s definitely Harry’s problem, not mine. I spin slowly, taking in the tall, built man standing close enough to lick. The urge to do just that shocks me.
“You’re not supposed to be over here, you know.” His black t-shirt, clinging quite nicely to muscular pecks, reads Security.
So I’ve been busted.
His eyes—deep blue and sexy enough to be a sin—assess me. They trail up and down my body, and I’m surprised to say I’m quite turned on by the attention.
I forget Harry is still doubled over in pain until he ruins the moment with his whiney voice. “You bitch! Arrest her, officer.”
The security guard moves quickly, deliberately. His bicep brushes my breast as he move around me to get to Harry, and I swear the sensation causes my panties to drench in point two second flat.
LUKE
Moments ago, I was drawn into the off-limits hallways by a loud crashing noise and a pitiful cry, which I quickly realized came from the pathetic heap on the ground. I’d turned the corner in time to see a very confident, very curvy, very sexy woman in a form-fitting black dress
drop her knee.
Judging by the wail and the way the man on the ground rocked back and forth, she hadn’t gone easy on him. Good.
I’m still not sure what he’s done, but it doesn’t matter. I feel an instant protectiveness for this woman that has nothing to do with my security job.
“You’re leaving.” I yank the man to his feet, cringing at the heavy alcohol odor on his breath. It takes every bit of restraint in me to keep from shoving him right back to the floor. I can only imagine what he tried to pull on the brunette, curvy beauty that’s had my heart pumping in double time since I first laid eyes on her.
“What? You’re not going to arrest her? She assaulted me!” the man protests.
“You okay?” I ask her, ignoring him. I dare to meet those crystal blue eyes that instantly make my cock twitch. My traitorous eyes drop to her exposed cleavage. I should be a gentleman and look away, but all I can think is mine. I want to draw down the front of her dress and lick those nipples until she moans my name.
“I’m fine.”
I drag the pitiful man to his feet and toward the doorway. He doesn’t even put up a fight. But I’m six-four. At least a good eight inches taller, and certainly stronger. He’s at least wise enough not to provoke me. I could break his arm in a second. “You can stay within the boundaries of the party, or I can call you an Uber.”
Once free of my fist, which admittedly almost ripped his white shirt, he scoffs at me. He’s about to say something stupid, but collects a single moment of common sense and struts off toward the bar instead.
“Miss?” She’s standing right where I left her, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s eyeing the corridor that leads to the east wing she’s not allowed anywhere near. It occurs to me she shouldn’t even be standing where she’s at now.
“I had it under control, you know.” Her hands are folded across her chest, which only lifts those beautiful tits closer to my view. My cock twitches against my jeans, but I don’t fight what’s happening. Don’t even try to hide it. A part of me wants her to see it.
“Did you?” I step around her, blocking her attempts to break the rules any more than she has. Though I must admit, temptation pulls at me to drag her off into the janitor’s closet. The way she’s licking those pillowy lips suggests she’s considered something similar.
“Thank you for your help?” Her words come out as a question at first, then ends a little husky. She’s breathing heavier with my proximity to her.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, completely unashamed now. I trap her gaze with my own, to make sure she knows I was looking. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
She drops her hands to her sides. “I know.” There’s a small hint of defeat in her tone, disappointment sweeping over her eyes. I desperately want to bring back that fiery gaze.
“Was that your boyfriend?” I ask, unwilling to hide the disgust in my voice. If her answer is yes, I might just lose my shit. That asshole doesn’t deserve a woman as beautiful and strong as the one I’m staring at now. Mine. The thought infiltrates my mind again. The thought of him laying a single finger on her infuriates me.
“Him?” She laughs. “Hardly.”
Good. It saves me from causing a scene later. “Why were you out here anyway?” I shouldn’t entertain this. Not one bit. My mom hired my company to head up security for her event. I’m supposed to catch people who wander off, not encourage them.
“It’s stupid.” She takes the first step away, toward the doorway back to the event. I reach out for her elbow.
“Tell me.”
“Forget it.” There’s such defeat in that soft voice of hers that it makes me furious with the man who caused it. She might have kneed him in the family jewels, but I’m about to crack his jaw open.
I let my hand slide until our fingers lace together. She doesn’t pull away. “C’mon. Show me.” I pull her along toward the east wing. Where we are both not supposed to be. Getting fired by my mom wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to Reynolds Security, but it would certainly add a black eye to its reputation.
“The last time I came here was with my grandma, when I was a little girl.” The liveliness returns to her voice, and I quicken our pace. There’s still a chance that her loser date will come back to find her, or that someone else will come looking for me. Sooner or later, the absence of the head of security will be noticed. “It’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to work.”
This is such a bad idea. But I don’t stop. Instead, I hurry us out of sight.
2
BRITT
“You’re a security guard for the museum?” I ask the man leading me away from the event and closer to the east wing I’ve been dying to see all night. I appreciate what he’s doing, but I don’t want to get him in trouble, either.
Or maybe I do. But the trouble dancing through my mind is of an entirely different kind. What has suddenly come over me?
“No, just for the event.”
“You work for a security company?” I can’t help but let my eyes travel up and down that muscular body of perfection. I wish it were my tongue tracing his skin beneath those tightly fitted clothes.
“I own the security company.”
There’s something so sexy in that confident, borderline arrogant tone. It makes my nipples tighten. Our fingers are still laced, though the hasty pace we took up to get out of sight has slowed now that we’ve turned a corner. “You won’t get in trouble for a private tour?”
He stops me there in the dark hallway, just one doorway short of the east wing. My body spins until my back is flat against the wall. His hands go to either side of my head, his woodsy cologne dancing around me. My panties grow wetter by the second. “Depends what kind of private tour you were looking for.”
I should really tell him to fuck off. I didn’t move to this city to get tangled up with some man and distracted from my dreams. But the tingling in my lower belly begs me to consider throwing caution to the wind for one night. If he’s not a security guard for the actual museum, I’ll never see him after tonight. We haven’t even exchanged names. “I want to see the east wing. It’s where all the best art is at.”
But we don’t move. He’s leaning so close to me that I feel the light scrape of his jeans against my silky dress. I wonder if he’s as hard as I am wet. I can’t help myself. I lean my hips into him.
I feel his erection against my belly, through the thin fabric of my dress. He’s huge. I swallow. Will I able to fit him inside me should things get that carried away? Damn the wanton vixen in my head. And apparently in my pussy. I catch myself searching for a janitor’s closet, though I think I’d be helpless to say no to getting fucked right here in the hallway.
“Private tour, then?” he growls into my ear. His lips hungrily trace their way from my ear to my lips, and I’m helpless to do anything but part my lips and grant him access. Our tongues collide, dancing in perfection rhythm.
I’m seeing stars by the time he lets me come up for air.
“Let’s go check out this artwork of yours.”
Though the air is charged with the electricity that kiss stirred up, we stroll leisurely through the east wing. He allows me to talk about the art without interruption. In fact, he seems quite infatuated by my every word. By the time we’ve made a full circle, I feel confident enough to approach the curator herself.
Back in the hallway, I tug on his arm and back us into a shadowy corner. I want to thank this stranger for enduring me. But a simple kiss quickly escalates. I’m back up against the wall, his hands on my shoulders, our lips fused together.
His hand runs down my arm to the hem of my dress and slides up my thigh. Earlier I was regretting the short black dress, certain I’d have to break Harry’s nose before the night was over. But now, I’m quite pleased with my wardrobe choice. It’s allowing this security guard—whose name I don’t even know—to inch his way with ease to my very ready, wet core.
“If you want me to stop, you better tell me now
.”
I rock my hips toward him, my high heels making me just tall enough that his erection teases the top of my clit. “Don’t stop.” I’m panting the words, completely breathless.
His thumb loops into the side of my black silk panties. “You’re so wet.” His voice is animalistic, and it’s causing me to come undone. Or it could be his thumb stroking my swollen clit. I try to keep my moans under control, but one escapes anyway.
The pressure stops, and my eyes fly open. His deep laugh vibrates against my neck. “Hold on, sweetheart. I need to tease those nipples with my teeth.”
I swallow. Anticipation building with each agonizingly long second it takes for him to unzip the top half of my dress. My boobs spring free, though they were almost there on their own. “Aren’t these a work of art?” He kneads them with his hands, and I think I might pass out.
My head is rolled back against the wall as his tongue dances around one nipple, and his hand dives back under my dress. I gasp as a finger thrusts inside me. A guttural moan escapes, but I don’t care if someone hears us.
“I need to taste you,” he says, his mouth still working at one of my nipples. “I bet you taste so sweet.”
Like the shameless hussy I’ve let myself become in this dark hallway, I shimmy my legs apart as much as the dress will allow.
A phone rings.
“Shit.” He steps back, his hand pulling away from beneath my dress. I stand there, pinned by lust against the wall with the top half of my dress unzipped. “Sorry. I’m on duty—”
LUKE
Fuck. This is the worst time for the most boring corporate party to suddenly get interesting. “This better be important,” I growl into the phone.