by Meghan Quinn
“Oh yeah, yep. Uh-huh, the safest. So safe, the greatest of the safe, couldn’t have been more pleased with the safety, because that’s what I wanted, safety, not love or anything.”
Cue the hysteria.
The side of Jack’s jaw twitches, but that’s the only sign I see of his displeasure from my answer.
Laughing nervously, Dylan says, “If you’ve been watching the show, Mr. Valentine, you would know Noely has gone out with three very different men from the program. She referred to them as The Suit, The Rebel, and The Jock.”
“Yeah, none of them worked out.” I cross my arms over my chest, cutting Dylan off. From the corner of my eye, I can see Kevin’s face starting to turn purple, so I add, “Timing was off with all the guys. Great program though.” I give Jack an over-exaggerated, sarcastic-on-my-end, thumbs up.
“Timing is important when you’re are trying to meet someone. Everyone is in different stages of their lives and even though you might be a good match, sometimes, if the timing is off, it might not work out.”
“Yeah, timing is precious.” I drown the rest of my mimosa and twirl the stem of the glass in my hand. “Tell me, Jack, would you ever participate in your own program?”
He eyes me suspiciously, so does Dylan, who I can see is panicking from my ad-libbed question. “I would. I have confidence it would find who I’m looking for.”
“And what about timing? What if that got in the way? Would you do it again? Look for another date?”
Dylan’s head bounces back and forth between us, as if she’s watching a tennis match, her mouth slightly agape, her leg bouncing nervously.
“No,” Jacks answers with conviction.
“Oh, why is that?”
Casually running his thumb over the brown leather of his shoe, he says, “Because, I trust the program would be right about the first match it gave me. If I have to wait and pursue someone at a later time, then I would. Because as our program states, your first match is usually the person you’re most compatible with.”
My nostrils flair, and before I can lash out on him, Dylan says, “Oh, it looks like we’re all out of time. Jack, thank you so much for spending part of your morning with us.”
“It was a pleasure.”
Oh . . . suuuuuure it was.
My mind fades as Dylan singlehandedly wraps up the show, and as I wait impatiently for that red light to . . .
“Finally.” I stand just as the red light goes out. I storm off toward my dressing room, getting rid of my microphone along the way. I can’t be in the same room as him for one more second.
“Noely, my office,” Kevin says as I walk past him.
Ignoring his request, I shout back, “Not now, Kevin. Not fucking now.”
I’m not much of a swearer, or a rule breaker, or someone to ignore a boss for that matter, but right now, with Jack Valentine a few feet away from me, I need space. I need the space an ocean can only really provide.
The thought of my balcony, calling to me, has me pushing forward to my dressing room, passing every nice and considerate coworker I have who is praising the show this morning. Ignoring all of them, I make a mental note to bring donuts on Monday morning for the entire crew. That will make up for my rudeness.
Not bothering to show any grace, I fling my dressing room door open and close it quickly. Standing in front of my vanity mirror, I place my hands on the counter and bow my head. With my eyes squeezed shut, I try to take a few deep breaths.
Jack Valentine, the owner of Going in Blind, my first blind date, the man who likes to keep his private life private, just blew my mind and not in a good way.
Why didn’t I put two and two together?
Hmm . . . maybe because he lied to me. The bastard.
In a very immature and bitter voice, I say, “Hi, I’m Jack, and I’m a handsomely attractive liar and manipulator. I want love. Not. But I do really want to mess around with people’s minds. Come join my program, you’ll find the love of your life and live happily ever.” I roll my eyes just as my door opens. Not in the mood to talk to Dylan, I say, “Dylan, please, not now.”
The door shuts and the lock clicks. Looking into the mirror, I catch Jack’s intense gaze in the reflection. Standing ramrod straight, I turn around just in time to catch him adjust his tie and step forward.
“Not Dylan.”
Feeling slightly breathless, a little caught off guard, and a whole lot of angry, I say, “Have you ever heard of knocking?”
“I have. Chose not to.”
“I could have been naked.”
“And that’s a problem, because . . .”
Looking stoic as ever, Jack casually sticks one of his hands in his pants pockets and studies me, heat blazing in his hungry pupils. Why me? Why didn’t he find someone else to write nonsense to? Give false hope to?
Caught off guard from his statement and his roaming eyes, I ask, “Wh-what are you doing here?”
He takes another step forward, his body inching closer to mine, giving me no place to retreat, thanks to my vanity counter.
“Kevin asked if I wanted a promotional spot on the show and after all the dates you went on, I thought it would be a good idea, give the program a boost.”
“Your program sucks,” I spit out. “And I didn’t mean what you were doing at the show, but what are you doing here, in my dressing room, with the door locked?”
Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he says, “I have a disgruntled member. I want to address the issue personally. My goal is to make all my members happy.”
I fold my arms over my chest, drawing Jack’s attention to the swell of my breasts for a brief second before his eyes travel to mine. “Have you been keeping tabs on me this whole time? Playing matchmaker from behind the scenes? Laughing as you set me up with men who seemed attainable but were in fact, actually not?”
“No.”
I don’t believe him. And he can tell.
He steps even closer. “As much as you think otherwise, I didn’t get my jollies from watching you date man after man, Noely.” Only two. Only two men.
As we’re toe to toe, and his dark eyes are searing me in half, I say, “You make it sound like you’re angry I gave the program two more shots. That you would rather be the man I dated, which is rubbish.” Why I said that, I don’t know. Maybe because I wanted to push his buttons, maybe because he’s been pushing mine since the day we met, and every unfortunate meeting after that.
“Maybe I do want to date you.”
“Pah!” But the minute Jack takes another step forward and places his hand on my hip, I clam up. “What, uh, what are you doing?” His tall, toned body presses against mine, towering over me with a sense of power I’ve never felt from a man before. I’ve heard of men walking in a room and owning it, but I’ve never experienced a man walking up to me and owning the air around me. Owning . . . me.
That’s exactly what Jack is doing.
“Your hand is on me,” I point out when he doesn’t answer my question. “Do you realize that?” Leaning back slightly, I point at his hand that’s on my hip. “See that? That’s your hand, and it’s on my hip.” His thumb starts to stroke my hipbone and a wave of chills roll up my back and down my legs.
“I’m aware.” He takes one last step forward, and in one swift movement, lifts me onto the counter of my vanity, spreads my legs, and nestles himself into me.
The mirror lights shine furiously on Jack, and even though when I look in the mirror they don’t mask my flaws, and when I stare at Jack, I can’t find one flaw. Not one hair out of place, not one blemish or wrinkle. He’s flawless and utterly handsome.
The counter height means I’m almost eye to eye with Jack as his dark irises stare into mine. “Have you missed me, Noely?”
“Uh . . .” Is he drunk? I don’t smell alcohol on him. Maybe he’s lost is damn mind. I’ve heard of businessmen losing it from stress, so maybe this is a cry out for help. “Have you failed to remember why we didn’t have our second date?”
“Oh, okay.” I nod when both his hands circle my hips. “So, you remember breaking things off with me, having a little hissy fit about me mentioning your first name, and then taking off, leaving me high and dry before our second date? You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, because from the way you’re holding me, looking at me as if you’re about to kiss me, it almost seems like you’ve forgotten that little tidbit.”
“Nope, I remember.” His hands roam up my arms to my shoulders, then to my back where he finds the zipper of my dress.
My breath catches in my chest, and my hands, once pressed against the top of the counter I’m sitting on, seek and find the lapels of his jacket for support.
His fingers play with the zipper, never unzipping it, just tempting me as his legs spread mine wider, causing the skirt of my dress to rise higher up my thighs.
“Jack, wh-what are you doing?” I ask, breathlessly.
“I think you know what I’m doing, Noely.”
“But why? We hate each other.” I do. I hate this man. I truly hate him.
Don’t I?
Leaning forehead, his beard scrapes my cheek when he whispers in my ear. “I don’t hate you, Noely. Do you hate me?”
“Yes.” The sigh in my voice reveals my lie as his scruff grazes my cheek again.
“I don’t believe you.” His voice is low, full of sexy promises I know he can fulfill from the way his fingers play with the little flyaway hairs on the back of my neck. While one hand plays with my hair, causing me to tilt my head back ever so slightly, exposing my neck to him, Jack’s other hand presses against one of my exposed thighs, causing my legs to quiver. His nose slowly runs up the column of my neck, his hand on my thigh stroking higher until he reaches the top of my leg. His finger grazes under my lifted skirt, barely skimming the backside of my butt.
Within a few seconds and very little touching, this man has my body humming and yearning for more of his addictive touch.
“Tell me you don’t want this, Noely. Tell me you want me to stop, that you don’t want me to unzip your dress and suck on your gorgeous tits.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Knock. Knock. “Noely, let me in.”
Dylan.
My body goes stiff under Jack’s assault.
Not skipping a beat, Jack presses his lips to my ear and says, “Tell her you’re busy but will call her later.”
“But . . .”
Gripping the back of my neck, Jack bites my earlobe and then repeats himself while his thumb caresses my skin. “Tell her you’re busy and will call her later.”
Well, if he insists.
Trying not to sound as breathless as I feel, I answer, “I . . . I’m busy. Call later.”
“What?” Dylan asks, sounding annoyed. “I want to talk about Jack. Come on, let me in.” She knocks again.
Nose running along my cheek, his body heated against mine, lips millimeters away, he says, “Tell her you’ll call her later.” Fingers pressed against my ass, he squeezes, hard, and then moves to the front of my dress, running his fingers along the hem until he reaches . . .
“Call you! I’ll call you,” I blurt, my thighs clenching together. “C-call you later.”
“You’re being weird.”
Jacks fingers draw a line along the edge of my thong.
“For the love of God, I’ll call you later.”
There is a harrumph from the other side of the door and then the distinct sound of her footsteps retreating away. Thank God.
“Mmm, good job,” Jack hums in my ear, causing my entire body to quake with need. His hand once again plays with the zipper of my dress, but this time, his fingers start to pull it down so slowly I might die if he doesn’t go faster. “Now tell me, Noely. Tell me you don’t want this, tell me to stop.”
For the life of me, I can’t. I want to have all the morals in the world that say, “Hey, you were mean to me, therefore you don’t get to have me.” But I’d be lying if a little piece of me didn’t think about what this might feel like, being under Jack’s strong command, feeling his body rub against mine, enter me, please me . . . satisfy me.
I‘d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it every time I’ve run into him, every time I studied him from afar. Seeing his unflappable stature, the way he draws attention from everyone around him, it’s hard not to think about what it would feel like to be commanded by him. Because of that, I lean into his touch instead of away.
“I can’t,” I answer.
“You can’t what? I want to hear it from those fuckable lips of yours.”
While he awaits my answer, he slowly continues to drag the zipper of my dress, one tooth at a time. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin in anticipation of what this man will do to me.
I know he can ravage me. And even though he drives me crazy, that he made me feel stupid for saying his first name on TV, and that I want nothing to do with him anymore out of pride, I slip into his little world, into his arms, into the press of his mouth against my neck.
“Say it, Noely . . .”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NOELY
Knowing this might be a mistake I’ll most likely regret, I push forward anyway, because I’m past the timeframe of saying no. My body wants this and my brain is too fogged with lust to stop my body from calling all the shots.
“I can’t tell you no.”
“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” he rumbles into my ear as his hand slides down the rest of my zipper, exposing my back to the mirror behind me.
The zipper ends just at the waistband of my thong where his fingers are sensually caressing my lower back, teasing my skin, lighting my nerves up, and giving me a prelude of the kind of magic his fingers possess.
The heat of his mouth feels magnificent as his lips lower to my neck. For support, I grip his shoulders and lean into his kiss, reveling in this moment of total abandonment. I’m not this girl, the one who has sex in a dressing room with a man she should hate. But there’s a little part of me, a naughty part, who wants to live in this fantasy, who wants to experience him. Despite how much Jack drives me crazy—and not in a good way—I can’t say no to this.
Nibbling his way up my neck, his hand works its way underneath the thin strap of my thong only to scoot me closer to his body, causing my legs to spread even wider. When his mouth reaches my jaw, my lips part, a gasp rolling off my tongue when he licks the spot below my ear. Body on fire, mind dazed, I lean into his touch and allow myself to feel his fingers, the heat coming from him, the way his hands are working up my thigh and down to my ass. He’s assaulting my senses and making me almost feel love-stupid, unable to process anything but the pounding between my legs, and the burning need I have for his next move.
“More,” I whisper.
Not responding, he works his hands to my shoulders as his mouth finds mine, pressing, sealing our connection with his soft, pliable lips. I sigh and open my mouth to his demanding tongue that takes no time searching out mine. We connect, our mouths working each other, our tongues wrestling, tangling, licking. God, I’ve wanted his kiss.
With his mouth pressed hard against mine, he slips the top of my dress down my arms, exposing my purple lace bra. Keeping his mouth on mine, his eyes closed, he pushes my dress to my stomach. For a brief swipe, his thumbs caress my stomach and then move to my breasts where he cups them softly. I gasp into his mouth when he squeezes, my hips fling forward, connecting with his large and prominent erection.
He’s so hard, so determined with his tongue, demanding more, edging me to meet his every stroke, tempting me to want more . . . and hell, do I want more. I want it all.
He moves his mouth to my jaw, then my neck, and finally my collarbone where he licks, suckles, and flicks his tongue, causing a steady thrumming to take place between my thighs. His every touch makes me wetter than before; his kisses singe me, his scent entices me, urging me to move faster and faster.
Pulling a
way, Jack brings his gaze to my breasts. A small, dark smirk crosses his lips as his fingers rub over my nipple through the fabric.
“Yes,” I quietly moan.
“So hot,” he responds, flipping the cups of my bra down and pulling out my breasts in one swift movement. Before I can say anything, his mouth sucks on one of my nipples and my hands instinctively go to his head where I grip his hair, holding him against my chest.
Wet and hot, Jack works his tongue over my nipple, flicking it and then sucking on it, hard. He repeats the process over and over, causing me to writhe beneath him until he bites down on my nipple, his teeth making their mark.
“Ah,” I cry out, thrusting my hips into his, and my chest deeper into his mouth. “Yes, more.”
Growling, he tends to my other breast, making the same wave of torture—biting and sucking, biting and sucking, over and over—creating a light sheen of sweat over my body. I don’t think I can take the pleasure anymore, the build up, the tension.
The bundle of nerves between my legs is tightening, throbbing, thrumming for attention.
Unable to control myself, wanting so much more, I begin to undo his shirt, leaving the top few buttons clasped with his tie. My hands stumble along the buttons, fumbling horribly as I blindly try to undo his shirt while his sinful mouth continues to do naughty—delicious—things to my breasts.
Once I have his shirt undone except for the top button, I undo his belt buckle and pants, leaving them open but untouched. Instead, I run my hands up his stomach, surprised by every divot and tight muscle I feel beneath my fingertips. This suit, this businessman, this closed-off and prickly human has a toned and cut body, something you see on Men’s Health, not underneath a starched suit.
I’m shocked, but even more turned on from the surprise.
My fingers tickle along his skin, soaking in the soft feeling and memorizing every sinew and corded muscle rippling under my touch, urging me to his pecs where I flick his nipples with my fingertips.
“Fuck,” he groans against my breast, disengaging briefly to catch his breath. When he lifts his head, the stormy look in his eyes I’m so used to disappears, and I’m captured by the look of unrestrained lust. His hands go to the hem of my dress, reach up and pull down my thong, which he then tosses to the ground.