by Marie Carnay
Dixon paced the length of his apartment, striding from the kitchen where he’d shown off his culinary skills, to the windows that captured Harlow’s attention the minute she walked in. She wasn’t meant to be anything more than a business decision.
The head of a tiny company he would purchase and turn into gold.
Not a woman with a body made for his hands and a pussy that tasted like the best fucking wine in the whole damn world. Dixon cursed at himself and stopped in front of the windows, pressing his hands to the glass as he stared at the city so busy below him.
He should be focused on the purchase and trying to ferret out the terms that would make her sell. Not fantasizing about spreading Harlow over the length of his bar and licking every square inch of her skin until she begged him to fuck her.
Dixon closed his eyes. All he saw was her. I can’t have a relationship. He opened his eyes and turned away from the window, away from the thought of Harlow standing in the same spot, away from any chance of more.
She’ll leave. No matter what she says, what I can do to her body, it won’t be enough.
Forget that Harlow made him think about more than just sex for the first time in years. Dixon couldn’t open his heart again. Not after Kendra.
The chirp of his email dragged him out of his spiraling thoughts and Dixon pulled out his phone. Harlow.
She’d emailed him.
He read the message. Then read it again.
Hi Dixon,
If you’re free today, please come over to my place. I want to talk.
Harlow
I’ll be damned. She’s reconsidered the sale.
Dixon shot off a quick reply and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Maybe he would get to take Crane Matchmaking to the next level after all.
HARLOW
Ever since Foster said goodbye that morning, Harlow couldn’t get Dixon out of her head. Every time his name or face popped back up in her mind, the rush of shame and embarrassment overtook her. She hadn’t cheated; she knew that.
Hell, they’d shared one night. A wild one-night stand that didn’t mean anything to any of them. According to Foster, that’s all Dixon ever had.
So why did she feel the need to see him and explain?
Maybe because despite his bravado and bluster, she saw something in him. Something she couldn’t let go without giving him a chance.
The doorbell rang and Harlow jumped. I hope he likes chocolate. Harlow rushed to the door, smoothing down her hair before pulling it open.
Dixon stood in the doorway, a confident smile on his lips. “How about we skip the pleasantries and get straight down to business.” He barged past her, stopping only long enough to shed his jacket on a barstool. “Our prior offer still stands, although I really should deduct a fee for it taking this long.”
What? Harlow still stood in the entry, hand holding the door wide open. He thinks I’ve changed my mind?
She let the door swing shut, the solid wham of metal on metal shaking the walls. “Crane Matchmaking isn’t for sale. I thought I made that clear the other day.”
Dixon’s face fell, confidence giving way to confusion. “Then why did you say you wanted to talk?” He frowned. “Is this about Foster? Did he say something?”
Harlow exhaled. “It’s not about Foster. It’s about you… and me.”
“Us?” Dixon shook his head. “What about us?”
Oh my God. He really didn’t give a shit. She couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry. I… this… I thought… oh, hell.” She walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of red wine sitting on the counter. She poured herself a full glass and picked it up, chugging most of it down without a breath.
“Harlow? Are you all right?”
While she’d been drinking her mortification down her throat, Dixon had come into the kitchen. He stood a step away, concern darkening his green eyes. “Did something happen?”
She laughed, too high-pitched and loud. “Only me, making an ass out of myself. God, why do I do this?” She brought the glass to her lips again, but Dixon stopped her, his hand holding fast to her wrist.
“Put the wine down and tell me what the hell is going on. If you don’t want to sell the business and this isn’t about Foster, then why did you want to see me?”
“Because I like you, you big, gorgeous idiot. I thought you liked me too!” She wrenched her arm away from him and stomped back to the entryway. “But the other night obviously didn’t mean a damn thing and I’ve gone and made a fool of myself.”
She tugged open the door. “You can go now.”
Dixon didn’t move. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, you asshole. Now get out!” Her voice had reached that precarious warble where tears followed soon after. He needed to go. “Please, Dixon. Just leave.”
He crossed his arms across his chest. “No.”
“What more can you want? Me to humiliate myself some more? Grovel, maybe?” She rolled her eyes and wiped at the moisture threatening the overflow. “I bet you’d love me on my knees, wouldn’t you?”
“Stop it, Harlow.” He closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around hers where it held the door. “Let go.”
He pried her fingers off one by one until she had nothing to hold onto but a scrap of dignity as see-through as her wine glass sitting on the counter.
The door closed and Dixon turned to her, pinning her to the wall with his stare and his body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t take more than a shallow, insufficient breath. He held her without touching, without so much as a finger against her skin.
“I’m no good at this, Harlow. I can’t do relationships.”
“Neither can I, but here I am, taking a chance. I thought you were all about risk and reward?”
His brows nudged together. “In business, not in my personal life.”
“I’ve been burned, too, Dixon.”
“Not like me.”
“Foster told me about Kendra.”
He froze, body contracting, face tightening with anger and grief. “How much?”
“Only enough to know you and I are the same. I was engaged once, too. Turned out my ex had a thing for redheads.”
“You’re blonde.”
“Exactly.”
Dixon’s lips parted with a hint of perfect teeth as he fought not to smile. “I bet he didn’t leave you waiting at the altar in front of four hundred guests, did he?”
“No. But I know what it’s like to think you’ve found the one and realize you were wrong.”
“It’s not the same. I bent over backward for her. Gave her everything she wanted, but it wasn’t enough. She left.” He rubbed at his cheek as if scrubbing his skin would rid him of the hurt. “Last I heard she’s with some hippie out in New Mexico learning how to live off the grid. Whatever the hell that means.”
Harlow smiled and the last of her embarrassment ebbed away. He might be an assertive jerk sometimes, but underneath the bravado and ego, Dixon was a lot like her.
Wounded and gun-shy.
Maybe that’s why, despite the impossibility of it all, she still wanted him. Still longed for another kiss or press of his body against hers. Foster was an incredible, sweet man, but the three of them were tangled up together and Harlow couldn’t let Dixon push her away.
Not yet.
She reached for him, fingers grazing the trimmed brown hair of his beard. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
His eyes flicked up, gaze locked on hers. “I’d be lying.”
“Then stop pushing me away.”
He took her by the wrist, gentle this time, but still in control. His fingers moved up and down, gliding against her skin, and she shivered. “I told you, I’m no good at this, Harlow. I take what I want and move on.”
Every stroke of his fingers against her inner wrist and Harlow came a bit more undone, a bit more daring. Dixon believed the words he spoke, but they weren’t true. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted more from her than a night on the balcony
of his apartment. More than a casual fuck and a “see you later.”
Harlow didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but if she walked away… if she didn’t give these crazy feelings a chance…
She licked her lips, easing the path for her words. “Take what you want from me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Dixon’s grip tightened and he leaned closer, a breath the only space between them. “You should go be with Foster. He can give you what you need.”
“He can’t give me you.”
Chapter 13
DIXON
Her words burned like a stray spark from a fire. He can’t give me you.
Foster was the one she should be lusting after. But her words hit Dixon somewhere deep. Did she really want him despite all his flaws and failings?
Dixon crowded close, button-down brushing against the knit of Harlow’s T-shirt as she retreated. Her back hit the wall and Dixon’s hand followed, a hard slap against the exposed concrete of her small loft apartment.
“Don’t lie to me.”
The rise of her chest stuttered as air caught in her lungs. “I’m not.”
Dixon’s fingers flexed around Harlow’s wrist as he dragged it up, higher and higher, before pinning it above her head. He leaned in, face buried in the thick of her hair, inhaling the scent of her.
Jasmine. Wine. Submission.
She did something to him, this gorgeous matchmaker who refused to sell her company. Her blue eyes burned as she stared at him, pupils wide with lust and longing. A few moments with Harlow so close and willing and Dixon forgot his plan. Gone was the need to buy her business and move on.
In its place was a need, a hunger to have Harlow in any way imaginable.
He wanted her to scream his name as she came because he allowed it. He wanted her down on her knees, beautiful, sexy mouth wrapped around his cock, gagging on the length of it.
More than anything, he wanted her to accept him. Every single inch.
He pressed his thumb against her frantic pulse. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.” The words rushed from her lips, tripping over themselves as they landed hot and wet against his cheek.
“How?”
Her wrist throbbed with the rush of her blood. “Any way you’ll give me.”
Fuck.
Dixon grabbed her jeans, yanking the button free before shoving his hand down the front. Her pussy greeted him with such sweet desire, slicking his fingers as he forced his way through her folds. His two fingers eased inside her empty channel and Harlow bucked against the wall.
So damn beautiful.
She reached for him with her free hand, but he stopped her with a look. “Leave it on the wall.”
Harlow obeyed, plastering her palm to the concrete as Dixon fucked her with his hand. Even with all her clothes on, Harlow radiated sex and passion. The more he worked her, coating his hand in her slick need, staring into her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, the more he wanted her.
He could lose himself in Harlow and never want to be found.
She moaned as he flicked her clit, and Dixon crowded close, beard brushing the soft flush of her cheeks. “Is this what you want? My hand down your pants, getting you off right here?”
Harlow panted as she answered, every word clipped with breath. “It’s a start.”
Dixon rubbed her clit, fast and unrelenting. “Then come, you greedy little thing. Come right now.”
He alternated thrusts of his fingers with circles on her clit, wedging his hand as deep as it would go, his arm buried inside her jeans.
“If I don’t?” She had to be so, so close, hanging on the edge of an orgasm that would rock her into the wall and curl her toes, but she still managed to tease him.
He liked it.
His fingers stilled. “Come or you don’t get to suck me off.” He swirled his fingers again and she moaned. “Now do what you’re told.”
With a rough pinch of her clit, Harlow came, pussy contracting as she trembled and shook against the concrete. Her leg jumped with every wave of release, and Dixon smiled.
“Good.” He let her wrist go. “Now on your knees.”
HARLOW
Oh my God. This man.
Harlow eased down to the floor, her legs still wobbly from one of the best orgasms of her life. Dixon brought something out of her she never knew existed. A desire to submit, to lose control, to be what someone else needed in that moment.
Before Foster and Dixon, sex had been good, sometimes great. But never this raw.
Intimate.
Her soul was right there, naked and exposed as she reached for the buckle on his belt. It pulled free, the thick leather soft but sturdy in her palm, and Harlow unzipped his pants. His cock strained against the cotton of his boxers, the thin blue fabric the only separation between her lips and his skin.
With her fingers wrapped around the waistband, Harlow yanked his clothes down, freeing the glorious length of him. Her eyes feasted on his desire, learning the gentle curve of his cock, the way his cum beaded on the tip as she ran her fingers up his shaft.
She’d wanted him like this since the first night up on the veranda. The hard length of him a proud beggar for her lips. Dixon might have owned her body as he pinned her to the wall, but she was the one with the power now.
Down on her knees, she was his master. Her lips and tongue could make him moan and cry out and plead for release. Harlow leaned close, her tongue flicking over his spongy head to lap up the beaded moisture.
Dixon cursed under his breath, hand reaching for her head. He twisted her hair around his fingers, holding onto her like a sailor on a mast as she stormed around him. Tongue a whisper of wind, lips a wet smack of waves.
She took him inside her mouth, lips stretching over his width, the length of him bumping the back of her throat with every pass. Oh, she was in trouble. One taste of his skin, one lap of her tongue up the smooth skin of his cock, and Harlow wanted more. Wanted him pinning her to the wall and thrusting deep, flipping her around and driving harder, faster.
She wanted Dixon and Foster all over her in the dark.
Dixon groaned and she lost herself in him. In the moment. In the confusion of her heart and the need he drew from somewhere hidden inside her. Up and down, over and around, she coated him in her spit, taking him deep before pulling back and adding her hand.
Together they were a tempest raging—Dixon filling her mouth with shallow thrusts, Harlow lapping and sucking and urging him on. Together they raged, caught up in the sounds and smells and tastes of sex.
The first wave of his orgasm hit, and Harlow groaned in pleasure. The burst of salty tang across her tongue brought her own need back to life. She drank every drop, readily slurping and swallowing before pulling back to breathe.
She wiped her own spit off her cheek with the back of her hand as Dixon reached for her.
“I don’t know what to do with you.” He helped her stand before cradling her face in his hands, so gentle and earnest. So different from the man before. “You make me…” He paused and searched her face, eyes darting up and down before resting on her own. “I want things I shouldn’t.”
“That makes two of us.” Harlow took his hand and kissed his fingers, the faint taste of her release still lingering on Dixon’s skin. “What are we going to do about it?”
Without hesitation, Dixon scooped her up into his arms. “Every dirty, little thing I can think of.”
Harlow wrapped her arms around him with a smile. “The bedroom’s down the hall.”
Chapter 14
HARLOW
“Do you have the latest projections on the subscription model we’ve been working on?” Leanne leaned against the wall of Harlow’s cubicle, a question on her perky, non-troubled face.
“What? Oh, um…” Harlow glanced around at her stacks of papers. “I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time concentrating today.”
“Try all this week. What’s going on with you?”
; Harlow exhaled and rubbed her temples. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Leanne snorted. “Babe, I’ve seen you take two people who couldn’t be more different and make a perfect match out of them. Remember that vegan who wanted to rescue ferrets for a living?”
Harlow cracked a smile. “He had a thing for latex. She worked at a BDSM club. That one was easy.”
Leanne hopped up onto the only empty spot on Harlow’s desk. “Now spill. What’s got you so distracted that you can’t help me with this monstrous project?”
Harlow dropped her hands in her lap. “It’s Foster and Dixon. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve completely lost my sense of judgment.”
“As in, you think they’re both jerks but keep dating them?”
That one would be simple. Harlow shook her head. “I need to pick one, but I can’t.”
Leanne adopted her best project coordinator face. “Give me the rundown. I want all the pros and cons. Maybe if you talk it out, you’ll make a decision.”
Harlow nodded. That could actually work. She rattled off all the things about Foster she loved. “Foster’s loyal and honest. He had this crazy childhood growing up, but it didn’t tear him down; if anything he’s stronger for it. He’s handsome and unaffected and the things he can do with his tongue…”
Leanne held up a hand. “I’m jealous enough without all the details. And Dixon?”
Harlow blushed.
“Whoa. That good?”
“Better. The things he says, the things I want to do to him…” Harlow grabbed her water and downed half of it before continuing. “Deep down, he’s a lot like me.”
Leanne quirked a brow. “You’re not an arrogant egomaniac with a well-trimmed beard.”
“No, but we both thought we’d found the right person and it didn’t work out. I think he’s relationship-shy for the same reasons I am.”