Tempting Forever

by Mia Pride

  “Not me. I’m very careful.”

  A shadow crossed her face, and she sipped her coffee. “Sure... but like... what if someday it happened?”

  Why was she asking me this? “It won’t until I’m ready, and I’m not ready now,” I said definitively.

  She nodded and smiled. “Great, glad you have life all figured out. Well...” Rising quickly from her seat, Monica stood, and I couldn’t help but notice the skin-tight black yoga pants she wore. “I will get to work on your shopping and see you tonight with dinner ready. I will need a list of your favorites, as well as anything you don’t like. Email it to me?”

  Standing, I nodded. “Sure, but you forgot your check.” I reached into my back pocket to pull out my checkbook, and she put a hand out to stop me.

  “Let me earn it, first. I’m sure you’re good for it. I will look for a list in my email and have everything set up by tonight. See ya.” Turning before I could get another word in, Monica left the coffee shop like a woman who just realized she left the curling iron on at home.

  “See ya,” I murmured and tilted my head, watching her sweet ass as she walked away. I wasn’t usually that sort of man, but damn if Monica Stevenson didn’t make me lose all my wits. Knowing what she looked like naked was killing me. It was only a few moments—a quickie in a hotel room—but it had been enough to brand the feel of her on my skin forever, and I wanted so much more. Never had I wanted something or someone I couldn’t have. Maybe that was my obsession. I simply pined for what I knew I couldn’t have. And keeping her as an employee made certain I kept my hands to myself and didn’t cross any boundaries.

  Sweet torture. That was Monica in a nutshell: The sweetest torture I would ever know.

  Chapter Six

  Monica

  I HAD A KEY TO CHRIS Farrington’s sweet-ass mansion. How had I got myself into this? Pulling up to his address, I plugged in the gate’s code, pulling my car through and gaping at the size of his front garden. Good God, all mighty. A colossal fountain stood in the middle of a circular driveway that could be it’s own road. Perfectly sculpted hedges lined the perimeter, and a set of steps led up to the tallest, widest door I had ever seen on a home. Beige columns lined the wrap-around porch, and I drove up and placed my car in park, staring up at the three-story house.

  One man lived here? Alone? No wonder he needed help keeping it clean. Even an unused room required dusting and upkeep. What a hassle. I preferred my little condo. I would never complain about that one corner of the living room, behind the end table, that collected dust bunnies again.

  Stepping out, I popped the trunk and grabbed the fresh groceries I spent the day collecting from numerous small shops, farms, and markets in the city. I was treating this gig as if it was a restaurant. Only the freshest local foods would suffice. Closing the trunk with a thud, I looked up at the towering house and walked up the imposing steps to the massive door. Smugly, I looked at the dinky key in my hand and wondered how Mr. Rich didn’t have some fancy retina scanner instead of an old-fashioned key.

  Turning the lock, I nearly dropped the groceries at my feet when the door silently opened. “Sweet Mother of my big toe.” His foyer was as big as my condo. This was insane. He was insane. Why had be bought this place? Stepping in, I marveled at the marble floors and art on the walls that I was way too common to interpret. Yet, it felt cold and lonely, almost sterile.

  Brent’s house was a fraction of this size, but it felt like a home. There were little fingerprints on the stainless-steel refrigerator door, and a nick in the baseboard from when Grace decided to skate in the house. Walking into the kitchen, it was as if nothing had ever been touched. It smelled nice, at least. Something tropical and floral. It would likely make me barf in the mornings, I noted. Best not to arrive until I was done puking for the day. But, everything made me barf in the morning, especially eggs and chicken, which was not a good thing for a chef.

  I placed my reusable fabric bags on the kitchen counter and started rummaging through the drawers and cabinets to familiarize myself with the place. Opening the fridge, I frowned at just how barren it was. Nothing but a half-full ketchup bottle, because I’m always the optimist, and some chilled white wine that I didn’t dare touch, in case it cost more than my mortgage.

  Slowly, I put everything away and made a mental note to buy the man basic foods like peanut butter and, well... butter. It was only three in the afternoon, and I had no idea when Chris would be home, which was the only hard part about this job. How did one plan a meal for a man who may never come home? He mentioned that his previous cook was also a maid, so she had more to do than just sit in a kitchen and twiddle her thumbs. Perhaps I should do the same since it was too early to prepare dinner, and I didn’t want to drive home just to come back again. I was tired as hell as it was. This baby sucked all my energy.

  Pregnancy was sort of cruel. I was tired but couldn’t drink my usual gallon of caffeine. I was hungry but nauseous. I couldn’t eat sushi or drink booze. And eventually, a human was going to burst forth from my lady bits. Meanwhile, his father owned a house bigger than Rhode Island and likely would just hire a hot full-time nanny that he can make out with on the side while I bust my ass as a full-time working, single mom who won’t ever get laid again.

  Whoa. Where did that anger come from? Taking a breath, I decided to make myself useful and roam the house to see if there was anything else I could do to stay busy until I started dinner. Though massive, the layout of the house was wide-open with windows from floor to ceiling. Lots of natural light flooded the living room, glaring off the largest mounted flat-screen TV I ever saw. It may as well be a theater. Beige leather couches wrapped around the room, and I scoffed. “Those are going to shit as soon as the baby arrives.”

  I frowned and plopped on the couch as reality sank in. Chris’s entire life was going to go to shit. And it was my fault. I’m the one who held my hand over his mouth and kept riding him. I was so close to coming, and my damned brother was going to ruin it all. How was I to know Chris was about to blow, too? Now, I would have to drop a bomb on him, and I honestly didn’t know how.

  Looking around this house, I burst into tears. I can’t do this. I can’t take this job knowing I carry his child and couldn’t tell him as long as I work here. What was I thinking? I will just work with him for another month until my stomach gets so big that I can’t hide it. Then what? He won’t let me keep working for him. I know that much. He has too much honor to let his baby mama slave over his meals, so he will do something chivalrous, cut me a huge check, and send me away. Well, fuck that. I wasn’t a charity case, and I didn’t want his money.

  Brent was going to kick his ass. None of this was okay, and none of it was Chris’s fault. I knew what I was doing that night. I seduced him. He knew it was a bad idea. So did I. But it was so good. Just thinking about it made my nipples hard. God, I was horny. Damned hormones. I was doomed. Who was going to have sex with a pregnant woman who wanted to barf one minute, cry the next, and then eat a cheeseburger? Only the baby’s father, and only if he loved the mother, and Chris clearly didn’t love me. I was the woman about to ruin his life because I was lonely and horny and wanted his dick.

  Tears ran uncontrollably down my face. Being in his house was playing games with my mind and making me consider realities I wasn’t ready to face. He needed to know. I was being selfish by not telling him. The longer he knew, the more time he had to prepare. Yes, anything could happen, and I could lose the baby, but didn’t he deserve to know he sired a child? Everyone always focused on the rights of the mom, but what about the rights of the father?

  “Fuck!” I cried and covered my face with my hands, knowing I was officially wrecked. My mascara would be all over my face by now, but that was the least of my concerns.

  “Monica?” My back stiffened, and a jolt of dread ran up my spine. I refused to turn around. Closing my eyes, I prayed I was just hearing things. Maybe pregnancy made women go insane? A hand touched my shoulder, and I jumped bu
t still didn’t turn around. “Are you okay?”

  When he came around the other side of the couch, Chris kneeled in front of me, and I felt his concern without even looking at him. “Are you hurt?” His large hand gripped my knee, and I shook my head, sniffling as I looked up into his eyes.

  “No, I’m not hurt. I’m just...” As I looked into his green eyes, took in his fine tailored suit, observed his perfect house, I shut my mouth. I couldn’t, not today. He deserved to know the truth, and I would give it to him. But he deserved peace a little while longer before his world came crashing down the way mine had. “I’m just...” Why would I sit on his couch in the middle of the day crying? Was there any excuse I could give that would not be insane? “I’m just having a rough afternoon.” Clearing my throat, I stood up and tugged on my sweater. “I put all the groceries away. I will go home, get my shit together, and be back soon.” I started to walk away but looked over my shoulder to see him frowning with apparent concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry you found me like that. I hadn’t expected you back so soon.”

  “I wanted to make certain you were able to get inside all right,” Chris said as he took a step closer.

  I forced a smile and nodded. “No problems. Your home is... wow.”

  “Thanks. It’s... a house.” He shrugged as if his house wasn’t bigger than the church temple down the road. “You are welcome here anytime, Monica. But maybe tonight you should take some time. I can make myself dinner tonight.”

  “Absolutely not. I spent my day finding fresh lobster, and you’re eating it.” I smiled and wiped my eyes, cursing when I noticed that the tears on my fingertips were mixed with black mascara. I must have looked horrendous. “I will be back in two hours.”

  Chris nodded and stood in his living room, looking like Christian Gray in a perfectly tailored suit, and I suddenly wondered if he had a pleasure room somewhere in this house. That made me smile sincerely. He was about as sexy as a man could get. If only he wasn’t my brother’s business partner. If only he wasn’t in a class way above my playing field. If only I wasn’t about to drop a bomb that would blow his life to smithereens. Maybe, in some world, we could have made a go of it. But in this world, we didn’t stand a chance. His hands were in his pockets as I turned the corner and walked into his foyer, then out the door. I would be back, and I would do my job. There would be the right time to tell him. I just wasn’t sure when or how.

  Chris

  I STOOD, ROOTED IN place, as I watched Monica walk out of my living room. What had that been about? I had never seen her cry. Hell, I didn’t think she was even capable of crying. That was definitely not what I expected to come home to, but I only felt concerned, and oddly, a pang in my chest that felt a little like jealousy and anger. Had a guy made her cry? Was Steve back in her life and giving her shit? The thought of her with another man pissed me off, which only made me angry at myself. I shouldn’t care. But I was more pissed at the guy who did this to her. And, despite finding her on my couch crying, it wasn’t my business to dig into it, which only pissed me off even more. I wanted Monica to be my business, I realized.

  Tugging on my tie, I walked into the foyer and up the spiral staircase to my room, desperate to get out of these clothes. Monica would be back in a couple of hours, so I had time to shower and change into something more comfortable than the designer suit I’d worn all day and to several board meetings. My emotions had never been so consuming. I didn’t want Monica to be my employee. I want her to be my girlfriend. How the hell was I going to survive being around her yet keeping my feelings and hands to myself?

  Even when she was crying with makeup smeared down her face, she was sexy as hell. Seeing her vulnerable was a shock to my system, one that only made me care more and want to be the man to comfort her, to dry her tears, and never give her reason to cry ever again.

  Mumbling curses, I threw my tie on the bed and stripped out of my clothes, walking over to the shower. I had better make it a cold one, considering the burning in my loins.

  Two hours later, as I paced my kitchen like a restless lion, my doorbell rang, and I paused for only a second before going to answer the door. No woman ever made me nervous, but Monica had me on edge. I needed to be honest and tell her how I felt. Then I could function normally. Either she would reject me or give me a chance, but either way, I needed to forget her brother, forget that she was off-limits, and be the real Chris Farrington who went for what he wanted and didn’t let other men tell him how to live.

  When I opened the door, I couldn’t help scanning her body as she stood on my porch. Good God, she gorgeous. She was still wearing the same black yoga pants from earlier, but instead of the slouchy sweater, which had been cute, she wore a tight pink tank top that showed every curve and accentuated her breasts. It was cold as hell outside, but I didn’t bother asking why she wore that tank. I just decided I would enjoy the view.

  “Hey,” she said, not noticing my gaze as it raked her body since she wasn’t even looking at me. Not the best start.

  “Hey, Mon. Feeling better?” Her makeup was done again, not that she wore much or needed any, but it was a good sign.

  “Not really, to be honest.”

  I stepped aside and let her into my foyer, shutting the door as she headed toward the kitchen.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” I asked. “I would like to think we are friends.”

  That got her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she gave me a weak smile and nodded. “I think so, too. Thanks, Chris. In fact, I do need to speak with you. I thought I would make you dinner and perhaps stay so we can talk?”

  “I would like that. A lot,” I added, feeling my curiosity piqued. I had no idea what she wanted to discuss, but at this point, I was simply glad she was willing to talk. “In fact, I wanted to speak with you about something, also.”

  “Oh?” She raised a brow and opened the fridge, her perfect ass calling to me as she bent over to gather the ingredients. I was being a creep, and I knew it. She didn’t deserve to be gawked at, and I was technically her employer.

  “I suppose we will have lots to discuss then,” she murmured as she plopped a pile of food on my counter. “I hope you’re hungry for some lobster.”

  “Always,” I said. Though, my eyes were on her, not the food. I was hungry for something more than lobster. What the hell was wrong with me? It’s like I went from a well-bred gentleman to a caveman the moment she was within viewing distance. I may as well club her on the head and drag her to my cave.

  Shaking my head, I looked away. “I will be in the living room watching TV if you need me.”

  “Great. I’m sure I will be just fine,” I heard Monica shout from the kitchen. It was odd to sit around while Monica cooked for me in my kitchen. With Sylvia, it felt natural. I had grown up with a maid and a cook my entire life. Plus, I didn’t want to tear Sylvia’s clothes off her body and ravage her. But Monica was here because I had been desperate to get closer to her.

  Now that I was, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had backed myself into a corner, employing the woman I wanted to date. My obsession was purely physical. At least that’s what I told myself. Our time together in her hotel room had been brief, and I wanted more... so much more. I knew her better than I knew most women I slept with. She was funny, intelligent, career-oriented, and hard working. She was also a smart ass with a temper who didn’t care what others thought about her, and I found that incredibly refreshing.

  I couldn’t just sit here and let her cook dinner for me without talking to her first. Walking into the kitchen, I stood by her and grabbed the onion out of her hand just before she started to cut it. “What are you doing?” she asked, placing the large knife down on the counter with a frown.

  “I don’t want you to be my chef.”

  “Uh... you hired me like... today. Did I do something?”

  Shaking my head, I took a step closer, my height towering over hers, her vanilla fragrance surrounding us. I wasn’t sure if it was h
er body lotion or from baking, but it only made me want to taste her even more. “You have done nothing. I shouldn’t have hired you.”

  “Uh... thanks?” Monica took a step away from the counter, but I followed, stepping toward her again.

  “That’s not what I mean. Fuck, I’m not saying this right. Why do you do this to me?” Running a frazzled hand through my hair, I glared at her.

  Monica crinkled her brow and put her hands on her hip. “Do what? My job? What the hell, Chris?”

  Rubbing my temples, I took a breath and looked into her dark brown eyes. I could actually see my reflection in their dark depths. I closed international deals every day, managed a Fortune 500 company, and had a Master’s in Business from Harvard. Yet I couldn’t tell this woman in front of me that I liked her. I was behaving like an eight-year-old boy with a crush who didn’t know how to talk to girls yet.

  With a growl of frustration, I pulled her to me, making her gasp for air as I crushed my lips to hers. My arm slid around her waist as I pressed her closer against me. Her breasts pushed against my chest, and I groaned when I felt her turn pliable, wrapping her arms around my neck as her tongue slipped out and tangled with mine.

  Raw, animalistic need coursed through my veins. When her hands pulled my hair, and she pressed her hips against mine, I knew she felt the same tension. I was weak. I was consumed. I didn’t even last a day with her alone in my house without crossing boundaries I swore never to cross. But the moan escaping her sweet lips told me she wasn’t ready to file an HR complaint.

  Gripping her ass, I lifted her slender body onto the cold, hard granite counter, losing my mind as her legs caged me in. She broke the kiss and panted, looking at me with those mirror black eyes of hers, glazed over with a need I knew all too well. “Chris...”