Dirty Rich Obsession

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I give her a small lead, letting her wonder if I will actually follow. When I finally start walking, I’m back in hunter mode, on the prowl for this woman, and looking for far more than answers. I catch up with her just as she steps into the elevator, but not before I’ve confirmed her ass in that dress is just as perfect as every other part of her. I join her in the car, stepping into the center, my big body consuming the small space, and effectively claiming the control she just tried to claim by walking away from me. She punches in a button and uses a key card that says she paid well for the room. The doors shut, and she leans on the wall, facing me. I turn to face her, close, but not close enough considering how damn much I’m looking forward to stripping that dress off of her and kissing her pink painted lips.

  But first, answers. “Why am I worth fifty thousand dollars to you?”

  “The charity is worth fifty thousand dollars to me.”

  “You could have just written a check.”

  “Yes. I could have.”

  I close the space between us, my hand pressing on the wall. “Why am I here?”

  “Because you want to be.”

  “Why am I here?” I repeat.

  “Because I want you to be.”

  “Why am I—”

  “Because you’re my bonus for doing a good deed, and I really need a bonus tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s my business. I don’t need a bartender or a counselor,” she says. “I just need—you.”

  “You mean you need to fuck.”

  The elevator dings and the doors open. “Yes. Exactly. Are you going to let me off this wall before the doors close?”

  I stand there, studying her, looking for the truth, and what I find is a hint of anger in those green eyes. The kind of anger that says you’re burned, and you want a different kind of burn. The kind a good fuck can give you, at least until it’s over. I can believe that’s what she wants and needs, but my gut is telling me there’s more to this woman than a need to escape. And yet, I’m not turning away from her. I’m in this far. I’m going all the way.

  I step back, giving her space to exit and waving her toward the door. “Ladies first.”

  Her eyes linger on mine just a moment, a probing push in their depths before she cuts her gaze and exits the elevator.

  I join her in the hallway, and this time she waits, standing toe to toe with me, that sweet rose scent of her heating my blood. “Last chance to back out,” she says, but I’d be willing to bet my right hand that she simply didn’t want me at her back, stalking her down a narrow hallway.

  “I always finish what I start,” I say, “and in this case, what you’ve started. Unless you want to back out?”

  “I don’t want to back out, Reid Maxwell. Not even a little bit.” She turns and starts walking and something about the way she says my name sounds really damn personal. It might be directed at me, for some sin I might or might not remember, but as far as I’m concerned, the best way to fight a war with a woman like this one is naked. I pursue her, stepping to her side in the narrow hallway, the charge between us crackling with a mix of lust, her anger, and unanswered questions. I focus on the lust. That’s how I get my answers. With her legs over my shoulders.

  She stops at a door and swipes her key, reaching for the door handle, and this is where this game becomes mine. She enters the room, and I’m right behind her, letting the door shut behind us, and locking it, ensuring there won’t be any surprise visitors. I scan the open concept room with one bed and a sitting area, and once I ensure we’re alone, I snag her hand and pull her around to face me. That first touch is pure fire, and we both react. One minute, our eyes collide with a punch, the next, my fingers are in her hair, and my mouth is slanting over hers. I lick into her mouth, the taste of her pure anger mixed with a shearing lust, hot enough to make me fuck her right here and now, but the anger, that anger, just can’t be ignored.

  I back her into the room, toward the living area, pressing her against the window next to the wall between a desk and an oversized chair, her purse crashing to the floor. “You know my name,” I say. “You know me. We both know you do. Now it’s time to tell me who you are. What’s your name?”

  “Pick one. I’ll be her tonight.”

  “Oh no, baby. That’s not how this works.”

  Her hands plant on my chest, her grip firm. “No name. Take it or leave it. Take me or leave me.”

  My lips quirk. “We both know you don’t want me to leave.” I reach for the skirt of her dress and pull it up her legs, my hands settling over the lace of her thigh highs, a choice I approve of one hundred percent. “We both know why I’m here.”

  “It’s not about names.”

  “Isn’t it?” I challenge. “You hate me, but you want to fuck me.”

  “I hate all men right now.”

  “And yet you want to fuck me.” My thumb strokes up her inner thigh, back and forth, goosebumps lifting beneath my touch, her body softening with submission, while mine just keeps getting harder and harder.

  “For me. Not you.”

  “Oh, I assure you, sweetheart,” I say, “that every place I lick you, touch you, and the many ways I plan to fuck you, is very much for us both, or I wouldn’t be here. You know I can get your name from the charity.”

  “I bid anonymously.”

  I arch a brow at that telling statement. “Is that right?”

  “I don’t need credit for the donation. I just need what it makes me feel.”

  I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to catch herself with her hands, and I yank her dress all the way up to her hips, my legs shackling her legs, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of the black lace thong before I yank it away. She yelps and I lean in close, holding up the panties. “Something to remember you by,” I say, shoving them into my pocket, my lips at her ear. “Now. Let’s get to what’s important. Your name on your lips and then you on mine. What is your name?”

  “Samantha.”

  I smack that perfect backside of hers, not hard, but enough to sting. She gasps, and arches forward, right as I slide my hand between her legs and cup her sex. “What are you doing?”

  “Punishing your beautiful backside every time you lie to me.” I press my lips to her ear and caress the wet heat of her body. “And apparently making you really fucking wet. What’s your name?”

  She laughs this bitter, raspy, aroused laugh, and says, “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Name,” I bite out.

  “Samantha.”

  I smack her backside again and she pants out a breath, her back arching against the sting of her cheek, even as I tease her clit and stroke the seam of her body. “Oh,” she breathes out. “I hate—”

  “Name,” I say, “and I’m growing impatient. And you know what happens if you say Samantha.”

  “Samantha is my name.”

  I smack her cheek, this time hard, and then I turn her to face me, my thighs gripping hers. “I have all night,” I say. “I’ll get your name from you.”

  Chapter Three

  Reid

  “What’s your name?” I repeat, holding my emerald princess against the hotel wall.

  “Why does my name matter? You aren’t marrying me or taking me home to your family. That’s not what this is.”

  My family. No mom and dad, like the saying goes, which could mean nothing, or it could mean that she has intimate knowledge of my life and the fact that my mother is gone. I cup her backside and pull her to me. “What do you know of my family?”

  “Just that I don’t want to meet them.”

  I lower my lips just above hers. “There’s more to your story and you’re going to tell me,” I say, my mouth closing down on her mouth, my tongue stroking against her tongue in a deep, possessive, hungry kiss that is all demand, and a promise of what is to come. I want her, and I want answers, and I’m going to have both.

  For the briefest of moments, she is stiff, unyielding, but her resistance fades into a mo
an, the tense lines of her body melting into every hard part of me. “Now I know how you taste here,” I say, brushing my lips over hers again. “What about here?” I press my fingers between her thighs, into the wet heat of her sex. “Should I find out?”

  “Do I actually have a say in the matter?”

  “You can tell me no anytime you want.” I release her and press my hands to the wall. “Do you want me to lick you, Samantha?”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “So I’ve been told, but you aren’t going to make it seem as if I started this. You started this. So I ask again. Do you want me to lick you,” I reach down and slide two fingers along the seam of her slick body, “here?”

  She curls her fingers on my chest and cuts her gaze. I lean in, my lips by her ear. “I don’t know if you’re pissed off that you want a man that you hate, or you just went from bold to shy on me. Either way,” I tangle fingers in her hair and drag her gaze to mine, “it’s sexy as fuck.” I kiss her again, a long stroke of my tongue against hers, and I caress her breasts and pull the top of her dress down to expose her nipples, my fingers stroking over one, and then tugging roughly.

  A soft, sexy sound escapes her lips and lands on my tongue, and I smile against her mouth. “Now for that taste.” I brush my lips over hers once more and allow my hands to settle at the sides of her breasts, and I lean in and drag my tongue around her nipple before settling on one knee.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” I say, shackling her hips and glancing up at her. “Do you want me to lick you?”

  “Is that really even a question?” she says, her voice a raspy, sexy affected whisper.

  “I thought you might have a problem with a stranger licking certain, extremely intimate parts of your body. Do you want me to lick you?”

  Her eyes burn hot. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “If you don’t know where,” she challenges, “I picked the wrong guy.”

  I laugh, which is not something I do often, but she gets an “A” for creatively getting out of that answer and I reward her with my tongue, a quick lick over her clit. She sucks in air and I glance up at her. “There?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she dares this time. “There.”

  I could make her tell me exactly where there is, to name her spot, to say please, but I really want to hear this woman moan, not beg. I lick her again and this time I suckle her swollen nub, stroking fingers along her sensitive seam and delving inside her. Just as I could make her beg, I could tease her now, force her to trade an orgasm for her name, but you don’t strip everything from a person at once unless you mean to destroy them. And I want to know her story, not destroy her. She interests me. I haven’t been interested beyond a fast fuck in a long damn time, but I am now.

  I drag her leg to my shoulder, cup her backside, and I lick, suckle, and stroke her sex until she is arching into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, wrapping around the strands with a fierce grip, which confirms what I already know: she doesn’t want this to feel good. She doesn’t want time to feel good. That she can’t help herself, pleases me. Drives me onward, and when she tenses and moans, it’s only seconds afterward when her sex clenches around my fingers and she jerks with the intensity of her orgasm. I soften my touch, my mouth, my tongue, and when her knee buckles, I catch her waist, ease her leg to the ground; sliding up her body to bring my mouth to her mouth.

  “This is how you taste on my lips,” I say, closing my lips over hers, and kissing her, “and now you have something other than how much you hate me to think about.” I reach around her and unzip her dress.

  “I do hate you,” she confesses, catching my hands when I would ease the front of her dress down. “Passionately. With all that I am.”

  “Then you have two choices.” I shrug out of my jacket and sit down on the couch. “Undress or talk.”

  She doesn’t do either. She comes down on top of me, her legs straddling my hips, her hand settling on my face. “I will not undress because you order me to undress. I will not do anything because you order me to do it.”

  I cup her head and tangle my fingers in her hair. “Is that a challenge or a promise?” I drag her mouth to mine, and she doesn’t pull back. She sinks into the kiss, leaning into me, and when I’m about to flip her to her back, suddenly a cuff is on my wrist. The shock loosens my grip on her hair, and she scrambles off of me. I jerk at my arm to find it attached to a steel bar that runs the length of the couch.

  “What the fuck is this?” I demand, sitting up, even as she pulls her dress down and up in the appropriate places.

  “Me fucking you,” she says. “That’s why I came here today. To fuck you.”

  “Yeah well, sweetheart, bring it on. Here I am. Now what?”

  “Now I leave. You have a phone. You can call for help. I only wish I could be around when you explain how it happened.”

  “You didn’t kiss me like a woman who wants to leave.”

  “I kissed you like a woman who wants to fuck you, which I do.”

  “Only we didn’t fuck. Come here.”

  “We didn’t fuck, but I fucked you.” She grabs her purse from the bed. “And this is me leaving you to enjoy the glow of the aftermath.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “No.”

  “Then what does this achieve?”

  “It reminds you that you’re human, and I don’t think that’s something you remember often. And maybe, just maybe, that saves someone from your wrath, though I’m certain it won’t save your soul.” She starts for the door.

  “Do I at least get to know your name now?”

  She turns to face me. “Carrie West, the one whose phone calls you’ve refused to take over and over again. And just so you know, I still run West Industries, the company that was my father’s company until you stole it from him. That makes me your employee, with check-writing authority. I’m writing a company check for the donation as I leave here tonight. I expect to be fired. I don’t care.”

  She starts for the door again and flips the lock. “Just remember this, sweetheart,” I say. “You will see me again. I know where to find you and I will, and when I do, both of us will still remember what you tasted like on my tongue. And among your many debts you owe me after tonight, one will be that orgasm you moaned your way through with my mouth on you.”

  She rotates and laughs bitterly. “We both know that you won’t find me,” she says. “You’ll have security escort me out of the building Monday morning, out of the company my father built from the ground up and that’s good. The staff will see the real you, not the man handing out cash to keep everyone on board. And as for that orgasm, you owed me that and a whole lot more.” And with that bold statement, she exits the room, the door slamming shut with a heavy thud behind her.

  I yank at the cuff and then stare at it in disbelief. “Fuck.” I scrub my jaw and laugh. What else can I do at this point? She got me. Not many people can outsmart me, but she did; really damn well, and holy fuck, I want that woman. I’m going to have her, too, and the next time, she’ll be the one cuffed. Only I won’t walk away like she just did. I’ll make her pay for every second I’m stuck in this room, which might make staying a while worth it.

  I tug at the cuff. It’s not coming off, but I had to try. My hand goes to my pocket, searching for my phone, only to realize that it’s in my jacket pocket, which is, of course, has somehow landed several feet away. I reach for it, stretching long and wide with no luck. I take the damn couch with me, lugging the huge piece of furniture until my fingers snag the jacket. Sitting back down on the couch, I dig out my phone and dial the only person I can dial. Royce Walker, the owner of Walker Security, a firm my brother-in-law hooked me up with, who I pay, and pay well, to basically find out shit for me.

  “Aren’t you being auctioned off tonight?” Royce asks when he picks up.

  “Yes, which is how I got where I’m at now. How much is it going to cost me to have you get me ou
t of a personal mess and keep it quiet?”

  “Nothing we do ever goes beyond us and you.”

  “Good to hear,” I say, glancing at the cuff. “Because this one requires discretion in a whole new way.”

  “I can have Rick Savage come talk to you tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to need help tonight.”

  “Tonight,” he repeats. “What can’t wait until morning?”

  “I’d rather not explain on the phone. I’m in a hotel room and I won’t be able to answer the door when your man gets here.”

  “In other words, bring pliers,” he says.

  “This isn’t your first rodeo,” I reply dryly, hating being a part of a pool of fools.

  “I’ve seen it all,” he says. “Are you at the event hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “What room number?”

  “1182, but again, I can’t get to the door.”

  “We can get in,” he says. “Expect one of my men in a half hour.” He disconnects.

  I set the phone down and consider the family debt between my father and Carrie’s father, and the fucking burden it’s now become to bear. One I’m legally obligated to protect with my silence. Carrie can never know, and most certainly if she did, I wouldn’t be cuffed to this damn couch. But every action has a reaction, and my emerald princess now has mine. Carrie West just rewrote her story and did so my way. I lift my cuffed hand and my lips curve. I’ll keep these and return them to Ms. West personally.

  Chapter Four

  Carrie

  I wake Monday morning to sunlight and the memory of Reid Maxwell between my legs that has me throwing aside the blanket and pressing my hands to my face. I hate that man. He took everything from me, even the damn orgasm I didn’t want him to have. I let out a very unladylike growl and climb out of bed, resolved to survive this day. Today will be my last day at West Enterprises, the company my father founded and took public. He’s already gone, in a Reid Maxwell driven hostile takeover. It’s all Reid. He did this, but in truth, this was coming anyway. I already knew from my father that I was going to be phased out and quickly. I already knew we were going to fumble the ball before we did. My father took risks that were out of character, and dangerous.