Once Upon a Stormy Night (1 Night Stand Series)

by Monodee, Zee

  I want to know what he looks like. Simmi ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, and in the distance, he straightened.

  With a soft nod, he beckoned her to approach.

  I can’t. Apprehension and anxiety warred inside her, but under his steady perusal, her steps, though slow and cautious, were regular. His mere presence held an unbreakable pull over her, and her feet seemed to hover over the chipped gravel.

  Each step brought her closer to him, but none enabled her to see him any clearer. With the light behind him, shadows were his friends. They cloaked him and hinted at the real man.

  At last, she stood on the porch, a few feet away from him. The minute she moved under the corrugated tin awning, the darkness around him melted, revealing his features.

  Simmi hitched in a breath. He stood tall and broad, at least twice her size and weight. If the way his jeans and T-shirt hugged his body gave any indication, he packed nothing but solid muscle under the garments. Her gaze moved from his waistband, up his torso, to his face, and she bit her lip.

  Beautiful. She had no other way to describe him. His tanned features were taut and chiseled, the square jaw emphasized by his close-trimmed, golden beard. His mouth begged kisses, sensual, but not girly. A patrician nose, eyes that, in the cloaked dimness of the porch, looked like deep pools of blue ink…. His dark-blond hair seemed mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands a minute earlier.

  “Hello.” His deep, male rumble sent tingles down her spine and along her arms.

  He’s a foreigner—white, yes, but a local white man would’ve addressed her in French, not in English, and not with such a crisp accent in the word.

  Now she knew how Madame Eve had been able to pair her with someone on the island. Simmi had mentioned her concerns about meeting someone she might know, so Madame Eve found the perfect solution—an expat.

  A foreigner on her island—what were the chances she’d ever meet him again?

  Tension drained from her shoulders, and a measure of calm and competence seeped through her. She could—and would—do this.

  He gave a soft nod. “My name is—”

  Simmi crossed the distance between them, and placed the tips of her fingers against his mouth, cutting his words.

  “No. Don’t say it. I don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Two

  Her fingertips lay soft and warm against his lips, and a subtle whiff of Chanel No. 5 drifted to his nostrils while she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

  He couldn’t discern her face, her features, not with the darkness of night creeping up all around them. Lars needed to see her. All of a sudden, his gut burned for a glimpse of her, a taste of her, for all of her.

  Bloody hell—Madame Evangeline was good. Few women elicited such a response from him, yet the lady had paired him with a woman who made his blood simmer and his lust boil. He shifted to ease the tightening in his jeans and brought his hand up to wrap his fingers around hers.

  Her lips parted. She had a beautiful mouth. He craved to know what her lips would feel like, taste like, how they would open under his, how they would feel wrapped around him.

  Treat her like a princess.

  Madame Eve’s words—in bold and italics—in the confirmation email, blinked like neon lights inside his head. Why did this woman warrant such deference?

  He had to see her, damn it. Without releasing her hand, he took a step backward and tugged her with him. She moved as if she floated on a cloud, steps delicate and small, and followed his retreat into the villa without any hesitation.

  As he passed the demi-console in the hallway, he put his glass down. Lars moved into the wide-open space of the villa’s living room. The heels of her shoes click-clacked on the polished wood parquet, but when she stopped dead at the edge of the room and pulled her hand back, he grew tense.

  He turned toward her, and a fist slammed into his stomach. The soft glow from the appliqué light on the wall fell over her face and lit up her ethereal beauty as if from within. She looked so beautiful with taut, smooth, and radiant alabaster skin, her features sculpted on a fragile bone structure. Her deep-set eyes were big, rich brown like molten milk chocolate. She wore her lustrous black hair in a pixie cut, with longer strands in front, tucked behind her ears.

  And he knew her. At least, he knew her name. What man would ever forget such a magnificent face, one that would haunt his dreams? He’d seen a photograph of her once, but once had been enough to burn the image of her physical perfection into his brain.

  Madame Eve didn’t always provide the names of the people she matched up front. Full disclosure, in their case, was at their discretion.

  The gorgeous woman didn’t want to know his name. Fine by him, before he’d recognized her. But things were different now. Simmi Moyer, Vice-President, Legal Affairs, of Dunmore Group of Companies. A year ago, she’d been in London with the contract for a joint venture between Dunmore and Elriksen Shipping. The insurance branch of Dunmore partnered Elriksen Shipping on the Mauritian, African, and Indian Ocean territories. Lars had been in Sweden when the signatures were exchanged on the documents, and he and Magnus had ragged Stellan senseless because their friend had failed to go after the beautiful, and single, Ms. Moyer. Stellan had maintained Simmi Moyer did not look like the kind of woman one engaged in a tryst; she represented the type of lady a gentleman wined and dined and treated like a princess, if not his equal.

  Is she still single today? Why else would she sign up for a one-night stand? Madame Eve did not arrange adultery.

  Why did one of the most beautiful, intelligent, and successful women of Mauritius choose to be here tonight? Simmi could have her pick of men.

  And she doesn’t want to know my name…

  “Why?” he asked.

  She parted her full, pink lips. They seemed devoid of artificial color—soon, he would know. But first, he wanted answers.

  “Why what?”

  Her voice held a low, sultry note. He would’ve been disappointed if she’d sounded girly or high-pitched. Simmi Moyer looked like a devastating temptress—the voice of Minnie Mouse would’ve shattered that image to kingdom come.

  “You don’t want to know who I am.” He crossed his arms and watched her. “Why?”

  “Because…” She bit her lip and looked away.

  He narrowed his eyes, and under his scrutiny, she squirmed. Lars uncrossed his arms and stood straighter. In one single step, he reached her side. With his thumb and index finger, he grasped her chin and made her turn toward him.

  “Because what?” He kept his voice low and smooth.

  She lowered her gaze and then looked up into his face. Even in her heels, she stood a few inches shorter than him. Good—he liked his women small and dainty—not hard to ensure given his height and size. The tinier his partner, the stronger his protective instincts, and his desire for her—to make her come over and over again, to pleasure her ’til she abandoned herself in his arms, delirious with satisfaction—flamed higher. Simmi Moyer would be a choice morsel, but first, he had to know what game she played.

  “Answer me,” he said in a soft voice as he dipped his face to hers. The hair at her temple tickled his nose.

  “You—” She gulped, the sound audible in the hushed interior. “You know why we’re here.”

  He reached out, touched a lock of hair, and tucked it behind her ear. Her breath hissed when he brushed his finger in a light swipe across her temple.

  “One night of pleasure. Is that it?” he murmured against the shell of her ear. Then, he blew warm, moist air on her earlobe and the delicate skin of her neck underneath.

  “Yes.” The word came out as a moan.

  “So how do I make you scream my name when you come if you don’t even know what it is?”

  He moved back to look into her face.

  “I…”

  “Tell me,” he coaxed. “How do I make you come when I don’t even know your name? How do I ask you what pleasures you?”
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  She blinked, her eyelids drooping. Her pupils had dilated, and the come-hither bedroom gaze she fixed on him poked at the smoldering embers of desire burning in his gut.

  “You don’t have to,” she said on a ragged breath.

  “Make you come or know your name?”

  Stellan had described Simmi Moyer as a formidable dragon hidden behind the veneer of an ice queen. Right now, Lars saw her worlds away from that description. A soft, desirable, yearning woman stood in front of him, stripped of her title, of her status, of her position on the executive ladder. Just a woman, vulnerable and open, her whole being laid down at his feet, for only one night.

  Here, she existed just as Simmi.

  Who deserved to be treated like a princess.

  Lars didn’t think of himself as any prince—not even a knight in shining armor. What did he have to offer her, except one night of pure, unadulterated pleasure?

  And what of her purpose? He knew why he’d been forced to resort to 1Night Stand for this date, but what about her? Sex with a stranger? Did she get her kicks this way? Or did she thrive as one of those hard-boiled executives whose MO stated all work and no play, and who fell back on arranged dates devoid of any relationship factor for a tryst of fun?

  Before the sun came up again, he would know. He would coax all her secrets, all the answers, out of her. Simmi Moyer tickled his curious side more than any woman he’d ever met—could she be the one he’d been waiting for?

  He glanced down, into her eyes. The dark depths shimmered.

  “Do I scare you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” He took a step back. “Do you want a drink?”

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Damn—what would that feel like along his skin, on his cock?

  “That’s…not what I’m here for.”

  Lars drew closer and peered at her. “What are you here for?”

  He wanted her to say the words, to validate the reason for their encounter. Everything she said would clue him in to the real woman at the heart of her, to what she wanted both for the night and after. She ignited something in him, a fire that hadn’t burned in a long time, a blaze not only fueling his physical desire but also his whole being’s need for someone else. For her.

  “I…I’m here for you.”

  The words came out of the mouth of a soft, demure, and delicate creature—a far cry from the formidable adversary she could be across a corporate boardroom table.

  He watched the naked emotions flicker on her face, the longing in her eyes, the worry that maybe, she’d gone too far, in the way she bit her lip. Right then, he knew Madame Eve had pegged her down just right—Simmi lived as a lonely princess inside a gilded tower, far from any human touch or affection.

  A man treated a princess with deference and respect—he showed her love and everything good, while sheltering her from the bad and the ugly. And when the woman in question also looked like she had a stick up her arse, he made her loosen up, made her throw her every caution and reserve to the wind, made her lose all control and give herself to him.

  Lars brought a hand up and cradled her jaw. Her skin felt smooth and cool under his palm. She opened her mouth to suck in a breath, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb against her full lower lip.

  No lipstick, no gloss. Just her.

  She glanced up at him. Her soulful gaze said she expected him to kiss her.

  Not yet. He pressed his palm a little harder against her cheek. “I’m here for you as well,” he told her. “Trust me?”

  She gave a soft nod.

  He smiled. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me. Don’t open them until I tell you to.”

  Should she? Caution and apprehension battled inside Simmi.

  Madame Eve wouldn’t have sent her to a psycho, would she? The woman vetted every one of her clients, so the big man must’ve passed the test.

  Trust. That’s what it came down to. She’d signed up for a tryst with a stranger, except, instead of walking into a club and grabbing a fellow, she’d preferred to have a trusted party arrange the meeting for her.

  “If, at any moment, anything I do feels off or wrong, just tell me to stop, and I will. I give you my word.”

  He spoke in a deep, masculine growl with a faint, clipped accent. His warm, strong hand still lay against her cheek, cradled her jawbone, and she melted at the gentleness in the touch, the tenderness in the way he brushed the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone.

  Simmi looked into his deep-set, ink-blue irises. She saw concern there, his plea that she give in to him, the certainty he’d take good care of her. What else had she signed up for, except for a man to look after her for the night?

  Without looking away from him, she closed her eyes.

  His warm hand left her cheek, and she jumped a little when she felt a fleeting touch at her ankle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh,” he coaxed in a smiling tone.

  His touch soft and delicate, he worked the thin straps of her sandals out of the buckles. She started to move one foot down, when he closed a hand around her ankle and stopped her.

  He bunched the hem of her gypsy skirt in one hand and trailed the fingers of his free hand up her leg, one inch at a time. Tingles of pleasure mixed with surprise skittered up her limbs, and she gasped. What would he end up doing to her?

  Her skirt had ridden up to knee-level now. The air-conditioned cool inside the villa teased the skin of her inner thighs. Simmi closed her eyes even tighter. She prayed she wouldn’t break out in goose bumps. She didn’t have spectacular thighs. The anti-cellulite balm on which she dropped a fortune every time she went through the airport’s duty-free shops kept the lumps and bumps at bay, but goose bumps would undo all her painstaking work.

  And then something warm and moist touched the skin just above her anklebone. All notion of dimpled thigh appearance shattered upon the sensation of his soft lips on her skin. When he moved up and traced his tongue along the path, her knees grew weak. She snaked a hand out and grabbed his shoulder to keep her balance.

  She felt his smile against her knee. Little by little, the skirt crept farther and farther up, until her legs were bare. He moved his head, and the ticklish rasp of his beard scraped along the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh as he kissed his way up, up, to…

  Oh my God! He wouldn’t go down on her right there, would he?

  As if he heard the question, he pushed her bunched-up skirt away and pressed it into the small of her back as he tightened a steel-like arm around her.

  All muscle—she’d been right. Goodness, would his whole body be as hard, too?

  Unbidden, a rush of hot moisture shot through her core and moistened her knickers, at the same time his nose brushed against the lacy fabric.

  Heat crept up her face and stung her cheeks. Oh, the shame. Now he knew she wanted him, that she craved sex, anything erotic, with him.

  She didn’t have more time to linger with mortification, because with his free hand, he pulled the edge of the panty away, and placed a kiss on her there.

  Her feet in the unfastened shoes wobbled. He tightened his arm around her, kept her in place. Thank goodness because she had no clue how she could keep on standing otherwise.

  With his index finger, he kept the lace to the side. A cool breeze danced along her hot core, replaced seconds later by more warmth as his mouth closed on her pussy. He darted his tongue out to tease her clit then lapped at her sex, before he came back to suck her tightened clitoris again.

  Time and everything around them stopped existing from that moment on. As he expertly worked his tongue against her throbbing clit, her legs wobbled, ready to buckle the next time he sucked the nub into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth.

  She suspended caution and apprehension on a peg somewhere on the edges of her conscious mind, to plunge into the world of sensation and pleasure he called forth. A world where he pulled her with each st
roke of his tongue, each brush of his fingers, each nip from his teeth, each kiss from his lips.

  When her orgasm came, the rapture shattered her unlike any other fulfillment she’d ever felt in her life. True, she hadn’t been with a lover so, but expertise accounted for just so much of the whole deal, didn’t it? The man with her tonight called forth something else from inside her. He made her feel safe, even as he fired her blood and made her knees go weak at the prospect of having his hard, hulking body over hers. Driving into her. Taking her to new heights of sensation.

  On a blink, she realized she did, in fact, trust him. On a deeper, subconscious level, she knew she had found a safe harbor with him.

  For no more than one night…

  When morning came, they would go their separate ways and never see each other again. She’d have nothing but the memory of those few hours with him, her hot, handsome stranger. Who was he? Dare she find out? Like her, he had signed up for a one-night stand, nothing more. She’d be stupid to expect more than a sexual tryst and deep, physical rapture would come from this encounter.

  As her climax ebbed, he picked up a rapid pace with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, on her sensitive clit. Within seconds, a second orgasm crashed through her.

  She would’ve fallen this time, slumped to the floor, but he stood with swift, fluid ease, to gather her in his arms. Cradled to his chest, still reeling from the dizzying spin of pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her into another room.

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  Simmi forced the pleasure-heavy lids open, and stared at the big white bed that sat like a throne inside the airy bedroom.

  He chuckled, the laugh rumbling from his chest. He had a beautiful smile.

  “The night has just begun, älskling.”

  Chapter Three

  She looked even more beautiful when pleasure radiated from her features. The softness of fulfillment transformed her eyes into bottomless waters that promised the most sensual oblivion. Her parted lips begged for kisses. With her still in his arms, he bent his head and touched his mouth to hers.