by Erika Wilde
Yes, she had, almost to the exclusion of everything else. She’d given up frivolous weekends with friends and a social life in general, though it had been easy enough to scratch dating off her list of things to do over the past three years when she obviously couldn’t trust her judgment when it came to men. At least being celibate hadn’t been in vain.
“You put in long hours without complaint,” he went on, extolling her diligence as he set the drink menu back down on the counter. “And you came in on weekends even when you didn’t have to just to make sure a project was completed ahead of deadline, and you’ve always been a team player with original and creative perspectives on branding concepts and designs.”
She didn’t get flustered often, but she couldn’t stop the warmth spreading across her cheeks. “Okay, now you’re making me blush.”
“I like it when you blush,” he said with a too sinful smile that made her skin flush even more. “I just wanted you to know that your work ethic didn’t go unnoticed, and I made sure Sabrina was aware of all the personal sacrifices you made for the company, too.”
She blinked at him in shock. “Did you recommend me for the position?”
He shrugged. “When the position opened up, I put in a good word for you because you deserved the promotion, but it was ultimately Sabrina’s decision.”
“Well, thank you for that.”
“So, enough about work. I say we move on to other pleasures,” he said with a flirtatious gleam in his golden eyes. “What’ll you have to drink? Your normal white wine spritzer?”
Yep, she really was totally predictable and boring, because that was always her go-to drink during their monthly mixers with clients or when some of their co-workers went out after work for a cocktail, and he’d obviously noticed her lightweight choice. Her limit was always one, and she was usually the first to leave those social gatherings, citing an early morning.
Predictable and boring had been her life for the past three years because it was a safe place to be, but tonight, being in a different city and away from her normal routine and weighty expectations prompted her to be daring.
“I think I’ll have a Moscow mule,” she said, stepping completely outside of her square little box.
He arched a dark brow, the amusement in his eyes warm and playful. “Wow, walking on the wild side tonight, huh?”
She laughed, the sound huskier than she’d intended. “Sure. Why not.”
“Why not, indeed,” he murmured, looking at her as if he was seeing someone other than the reserved woman he’d worked with the past three years before motioning to the bartender.
“What can I get you two?” the older gentleman asked as he set a small square napkin on the counter in front of each of them.
“Two Moscow mules,” Aiden said, surprising Daisy by ordering one for himself.
“You like them, too?” she asked once the bartender left them to make their drinks. With a mixture of vodka, spicy ginger beer, and lime juice, it was usually an acquired taste.
“Never had one,” he admitted, flashing her a dimpled grin that caused a warm tickle in her belly. “But if you’re taking a walk on the wild side tonight, then I’m joining you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m such a rebel,” she scoffed, then shook her head at that absurd notion and laughed. “Okay, let’s be real. I’m so not rebellious.”
“I know, which is why I’m not letting you indulge alone,” he teased, leaning his forearm on the countertop. “You know what they say . . . friends don’t let friends get drunk alone.”
Her lips quirked at his explanation. “Umm, can’t say I’ve ever heard that quote before.”
“Just go with it, Daisy,” he encouraged, swiveling his chair so that his body was turned toward her, though she remained sitting straight, because if she did rotate her seat his way, his legs would end up bracketing hers. “Besides, I don’t want to be the responsible sober one if you do something crazy, like dance on one of the tabletops. I want to watch and cheer you on.”
Her cheeks warmed at the notion of doing something so impulsive, but mostly at the thought of Aiden encouraging her brazen behavior and having his eyes on her while she shimmied her body and tempted him to end her three-year dry spell. Yeah, as if that would ever happen. Judging by the beautiful, sophisticated, svelte women she’d seen him with, she was so not his type.
“So, truthfully?” he said, his voice effectively snapping her out of her little fantasy, even though the residual scrape of her tight, hard nipples against the cups of her bra was distracting as hell. “I’ve always been curious to know what a Moscow mule tasted like.”
“You didn’t have to order one,” she told him with a laugh. “I would have given you a sip of mine.”
“Mmm . . . I don’t think I should be putting my lips on your lips,” he said, his voice dipping sensually low as his gaze skimmed across her mouth before lifting to her eyes again. “Well, not technically, anyway, but if you shared, I might not be able to stop at one taste, and that wouldn’t be fair to you.”
Daisy’s pulse stuttered, then resumed at a faster, more arousing pace. Oh. My. God. Were they even talking about the Moscow mule anymore? She was used to the occasional teasing exchange with Aiden at work, where there were a dozen other people around so it never felt personal. But now that it was just the two of them, without anyone else around to buffer his comments and the situation, she wasn’t sure what to make of this more intimate dialogue . . . except to admit that it was making her very aware of how much she missed this kind of connection with a man . . . especially the physical one. And how much she liked Aiden’s attention.
The bartender delivered their drinks, and both she and Aiden picked up their highball glasses and took a sip of the Moscow mule. The taste of vodka was strong, but the spicy ginger beer and lime gave it an interesting twist of flavor. It took Aiden three sips, taken with a furrowed, uncertain brow, before he finally, slowly nodded his head in approval.
“It’s definitely different, but I like the kick of spice.” He shifted his gaze from the drink to her. “Who knew beneath those conservative suits you wear that you were a woman who liked a little spice in her life.”
His eyes twinkled mischievously, though there was something more heated simmering beneath the golden hue as he maintained eye contact with her. As if he was testing just how far she’d allow this arousing banter between them to go. If she’d play it off like she normally did, or if she’d dare to take a walk on the wild side, as he’d suggested earlier.
The thought was appealing, especially in a city and environment where no one knew them. Deciding to just go with the flow of flirty conversation and enjoy the evening away from work, obligations, and responsibilities, she took another swallow of her drink and smiled at him. “That’s because you’ve never seen me out of my business attire.”
Chapter Two
For the first time ever, buttoned-up, straightlaced Daisy Parker had rendered Aiden speechless, and he kinda liked being thrown off-balance by a woman, which admittedly didn’t happen often. Correction, he liked being thrown an unexpected curve ball by Daisy, because that bit of impetuousness she’d just displayed contradicted the colleague who’d presented herself as poised and serious when it came to work and business-related functions.
He’d always suspected that her sedate, unassuming outfits, combined with the way she wore her hair pulled into a neat and tidy twist at the back of her head, and her mostly composed personality, were her attempt to downplay her beauty and conceal her delectable curves so her intelligence and experience were what people focused on. She was a woman in a competitive corporate world, so he understood why she’d want to present herself as smart and as capable as any man who was her equal.
What she couldn’t hide, however, was that the tailored fit of her clothes, despite being modest, still hinted at the feminine figure beneath, or the full, soft lips that even now shimmered with a pale shade of pink that was hardly noticeable, instead of a blatant red
hue that women wore to get a man’s attention. And even though she kept her hair pinned up in what he’d label a matronly style, there was no doubt in his mind that if she ever let it down, it would be thick and soft and turn her from a self-contained lady to a hot little vixen.
At least, that’s what happened when he fantasized about what it would be like to peel away that outer layer, and he’d imagined it many, many times. So while he might not have ever actually seen her out of her business attire, he definitely had a mental image of what she’d look like naked . . . ample breasts that would fit his big hands perfectly, shapely hips he could grab on to as he did dirty things to her from behind that made her shake and moan, and a lush ass that he’d enjoy putting his handprint on.
Jesus . . . those illicit thoughts of Daisy accomplished what Mallory’s come-ons had not. His dick was hard, and as he met Daisy’s amused gaze, it took effort for him to regain his composure.
She tipped her head to the side, the corner of her luscious mouth barely suppressing a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, Mr. Stone.”
He shifted on his barstool, which did nothing to help ease the ache in his groin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard something so naughty, or so tempting, come out of your mouth.”
She shrugged as she took a long drink of her Moscow mule, nearly finishing the cocktail, then met his gaze and licked her bottom lip in a way that set his blood on fire. “Just for the record, I do like a little spice.”
In her drink? In her life? With sex? Her reply was open-ended, but since she’d sat down beside him at the bar, their conversation had gradually veered from work to light and engaging and, now, to something far more suggestive. It felt as though she’d just volleyed the ball into his court and was waiting to see if he’d drop the ball or return it.
Jesus, he was so fucking turned on by this unexpectedly bold side to Daisy. She’d always intrigued and fascinated him, mostly because she was one of the few single women he’d met who hadn’t blatantly come on to him before. Admittedly, he’d enjoyed that attention and easy conquest in his younger years, but now, at thirty-two, when it came to sex, he found himself being more discriminant and preferred being with a woman who stimulated more than just his cock, and one who had substance. And Daisy certainly had plenty of that.
Despite her outer appearance being the complete opposite of what normally caught his eye, his attraction to her had been a slow, steady build over the years. They’d started as colleagues, had become friends, and as time went by, he’d notice those little things about her that went beyond the physical . . . like her captivating smile and her husky laugh that was so damn sexy. How smart and funny she was, and confident in a quiet, understated way that drew respect from her co-workers—and had earned her a substantial promotion.
But never, ever did he think that the two of them would cross the line beyond flirtation and skirt the edges of temptation. But they were currently right on the verge of stepping over all those boundaries, and the fact that they were hundreds of miles away from home, where no one knew them personally, made what he’d always considered off-limits suddenly an enticing possibility.
“So, what happened to your flavor of the week?” she asked.
Aiden blinked in confusion at Daisy, realizing that he’d taken so long to respond to her “spice” comment that she’d moved on to another topic and he had no idea what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”
“Mallory,” she explained with a quirky smile. “You know, a new woman every week, hence, the phrase flavor of the week. I would have bet money that the two of you would have hooked up tonight.”
He was still wrapping his mind around the whole flavor of the week thing, because all he could think of was what flavor Daisy would be. He imagined her mouth would taste like sweet ginger from the Moscow mule, her nipples like cherries, and her pussy like warm honey against his tongue.
He swallowed back the groan that nearly escaped and tried to reply in a normal voice. “The offer was definitely there, but I just wasn’t into it. Or her.” That was the flat-out truth, and these days, sex was far more enjoyable if he was into it, and the woman he was with. “So, flavor-wise, she just didn’t interest my palate.”
“Hmm,” she said, the contemplative sound making him wonder what the heck “hmm” meant.
Before he could ask, the bartender stopped by, and when Daisy ordered another drink, he did, too. A few minutes later, they were sipping on fresh Moscow mules, and he was still thinking about the whole flavor thing, and decided to put an interesting twist on it and see what happened.
She currently had her head turned away, and he wanted to be able to look into her eyes when he asked his next question to gauge her reaction. He reached over and tapped his fingers on her knee, which was covered by the modest hemline of her skirt. He figured it might have been more effective if he’d caressed her bare skin, but he still got the startled reaction he was looking for because he’d never touched her so intimately before.
He heard her suck in a quick breath that was arousing as hell, and her gaze jerked to his. Beyond her initial shock, he didn’t miss the heat and awareness that flared in her pretty green eyes and gave credence to the desire that seemed to be simmering between them tonight.
“So tell me something, Daisy Parker,” he said in a low, deliberately seductive murmur as he skimmed his fingers a few inches up her thigh. Just enough to make her chest rise and fall a little more rapidly. “In terms of flavor, on a scale of vanilla being a woman who strictly enjoys traditional missionary sex, chocolate representing adding in some light, playful fantasy elements, and strawberry being dirty, x-rated foreplay and fucking, where do you personally fall on the spectrum?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as her mind seemed to process his suggestive question, and he waited for one of two things to happen . . . for her to reprimand him for being so uncouth and offensive—because, let’s face it, his question was the equivalent of a proposition—or banter back with a reply that gave them both permission to take that walk on the wild side tonight that he’d mentioned earlier. With each other.
She didn’t disappoint him. The look in her eyes turned hot and daring in a way that filled him with anticipation of what her answer would be. “If I had to choose, I’d have to say that I’m a Neapolitan kind of girl. I like a mix of all three, depending on the mood or the situation. Tonight, I’m definitely craving chocolate with a generous side of strawberry.”
Jesus. Who the fuck was this sexy, brazen woman? Certainly not the Daisy Parker he’d worked with for the past three years. Not that he was complaining, because it appeared that tonight they were on the same page and wanting the same thing.
He raised the hand resting on her leg to the collar of her blouse, then boldly slid a finger down to where her top was buttoned so primly, well above the swells of her breasts. He didn’t have to look down to know that her nipples were probably hard as little pebbles against the front of her shirt. “In order to enjoy strawberry to its fullest, most pleasurable extent, it would require you to not be so buttoned up and to let your hair down, literally and figuratively.”
She arched a brow at his subtle dare, and he could see her mulling over a response to his provocative challenge. After a moment, she broke eye contact with him, took a long drink of her second cocktail, and slid off her chair.
“Excuse me for a minute,” was all she said, and headed to the ladies’ room.
He watched her walk away until she disappeared from his sight, confused as hell at what just had happened and why she’d abruptly left him in the middle of what he’d thought had been a reciprocated conversation. Had he gone too far? He couldn’t imagine that he’d offended her after her own flirtation, and she probably just had to use the facilities, but he spent the next five minutes finishing off his drink and pondering her unexpected reaction and how she’d just left him . . . hanging.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approaching again, and he turned
his head to look at her and groaned at the woman heading in his direction. His brain and his dick immediately registered the changes she’d made in the short time she’d been gone, and now he understood exactly why she’d hadn’t answer his comment. . . because she clearly wanted to make a statement, and holy shit, he was blown away. For the second time tonight, she’d knocked him for a loop.
She’d taken out the pins holding up her hair, and for the first time since knowing her, he finally knew how long the rich chestnut strands were. The light in the bar caught the reddish highlights he hadn’t even known existed. The soft waves fell over her shoulders, the curled tips ending just above her breasts . . . and speaking of her tits, the buttons on her blouse were now unfastened low enough that he was able to see her mouthwatering cleavage and the creamy, smooth swells peeking through the opening.
Even her walk was different. What had always been a clipped, purposeful stride was now slow and sultry, with an inviting sway to her hips that drew his gaze down to a pair of long, slender legs that prompted a plethora of dirty thoughts to run through his head of where he’d like those legs . . . hooked over his shoulders, wrapped tight around his waist . . . the possibilities were endless.
By the time she reseated herself next to him, his mouth was bone-dry, and pure, unadulterated lust had his body strung tight with the need to get this woman up to his room as soon as possible so he could strip off her clothes and taste and explore every inch of her until they were both desperate for him to bury himself deep. His cock strained against the front of his pants and pulsed at the thought.
A knowing, sensual smile appeared on her lips, and her eyes danced with female satisfaction. “My hair is down and I’m no longer buttoned up. Does this work for you, Mr. Stone?” she drawled huskily.
He swallowed hard and somehow, someway, found his voice. “Fuck yes,” he replied, appreciating this woman’s bold, adventurous side.