A Daring Desire (Dare Menage Series Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

  Which, unfortunately, wasn’t long enough. As his dick decided enough was enough, he slipped from her. As he reluctantly released the hold he had on her ass, her feet finally touched the floor. He caught her when she wobbled against him and pressed his lips softly against her forehead, then her lips, before capturing her chin in his fingers and looking at her seriously.

  “I’m sorry, this isn’t a competition,” he murmured.

  She tilted her head slightly and studied him. “If I didn’t want you to fuck me, I would say no.”

  “But, after the fact, I feel like I’m disrespecting you by taking you against the wall or bent over my office chair.”

  “Do I look offended? Or do I look satisfied?”

  He studied her and then ran a knuckle down her flushed check. “You look like someone who’s been thoroughly fucked.”

  “And that’s not a bad thing.”

  “No, but next time I want us to take our time and enjoy each other.”

  “I enjoyed this.”

  “You don’t want to have sex in a bed?”

  “I’d like that, too. On the floor, on the bed, over your knee, in the shower. Any way you want to give it to me, Gryff, I won't say no. Unless you like it when I’m obstinate.”

  He smiled then. She was something else. “I like it when you’re willing. I like it when you’re fighting me. I’ll take it any way you want to give it to me, Rayne.”

  “Me, too,” came Trey’s weary voice. Gryff was sure he found his own release while they found theirs.

  “I almost forgot you were there, until you opened your big mouth.”

  “You’ll never forget me, Gryff, admit it. Especially my big mouth.”

  “Fuck you, Trey,” Gryff growled, and moved to the desk to pick up the receiver and slam it back on the base.

  Rayne smothered her laugh. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “I’m sure he got his rocks off.”

  “Wasn’t that the point of putting him on speaker phone? Or was it just to rub this in his face?”

  “Mostly the second part.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest,” she said pulling on her skirt and turning so he could zip it closed for her.

  “That I am.” Funny that how in the heat of the moment, he had no problem with that tiny zipper, but now? His fat fingers had the hardest time gripping the little zipper tab. He finally finished securing it, then snagged her before she could pull away. He lifted her hair up and kissed the back of her neck. Her smooth, delicate skin tasted slightly salty when the tip of his tongue darted out.

  “Should I finish getting dressed or are we going for round two?”

  With a sigh, he let her go, and glanced down at his flaccid dick, which still hung out of his pants. With a tug, he tucked it away and pulled up his underwear. “No. I need to get back to working on Peter Martin’s case.”

  She nodded her head and when she turned as she secured her bra into place, she looked somewhat disappointed. “Can we do this again soon? And not in the office?”

  “When do you have plans to hook up with Trey?”

  He didn’t miss when her expression changed, though, she quickly hid it from him. “I have no plans to meet up with him at this point.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged, then picked her destroyed blouse up off the floor. She looked at it for a moment, then headed to her office closet. “Because you interrupted our conversation,” she said, her back to him as she pulled a spare blouse off of a hanger. She shrugged it on and began to button it.

  He wanted to see her face. “Rayne...”

  “Boss?” she whispered, still refusing to turn.

  “Were you going to make plans with him?”

  Her shoulders lifted slightly and finally she turned around, her blouse closed. He realized all her lipstick was gone from their kissing and the pink in her cheeks was not makeup. Her natural look made his breath catch. This was what she would look like waking next to him in the morning. Hair mussed, face makeup free. Smoky green eyes watching him.

  His heart squeezed, then resumed a heavy thumping. He had never wanted any kind of commitment from a woman. Nor did he ever want to commit.

  Until now.

  He wanted her.

  And she wanted him. But not only him. Trey, too.

  Either way, he had to accept that fact, or he had to fight for her. “Let me take you to dinner Friday night.”

  “You mean like an actual date?”

  “Yes. Just me and you. I’ll pick you up and escort you to one of the best restaurants in the city.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “It’s impossible to get reservations this late in the week.”

  She was right. But that wouldn’t deter him. “You let me worry about that.”

  His eyes dropped to the V of her blouse. This one was no better in covering her than the one he ripped off of her. He couldn’t resist tracing a finger over the soft mounds of her flesh. Then he curled his fingers into fists and stepped away, heading toward the door. “I’m going to draft a dress code.”

  “You better not.”

  Gryff opened the door and chuckled as he shut it behind him. He leaned against the door for a second and blew out a breath. Then straightened his spine as he snapped back into work mode.

  As he walked past Dani’s desk, she asked, “Is everything all right? It sounds like that meeting got a little heated.”

  Gryff kept his expression blank. “We just disagreed on the course of action in Holloway’s case, that’s all.”

  “Well, hopefully you got everything worked out,” she said with a smirk.

  “We did,” he assured her and rushed into his office, keeping the door shut for the rest of the afternoon.

  Chapter 7

  Gripping the bouquet of Calla Lilies tightly, Gryff rang her doorbell. He was actually nervous. Nervous. Him!

  He felt like a teenager picking up his prom date. With a quick glance down, he assessed his outfit just to make sure he had his shit together. Ironed, matched and tucked, he looked good. At least his mirror had said so.

  He tried to go for a more casual look tonight, wearing an eggplant dress shirt that emphasized the deep tone of his skin, no tie, no jacket. He even left a couple of the top buttons undone. A pair of black slacks, freshly shined shoes and he went as far as slipping a diamond earring into his left ear. Something he never wore to work. The holes in his ears had never closed up since he had them pierced in his youth, and sometimes when he wanted to be on the more “wild” side, he’d dig out his half carat stud. One, but never both.

  When the door cracked open, he was blinded for a moment. Not from the foyer light, no. From the beauty of the woman before him. Her hair fell around her bare shoulders softly, looking a little more tamed than usual, her green eyes appeared smoky, her lips glossy, her cheeks a healthy pink. She wore a slip of a dress. And that’s exactly what it looked like... a slip. Spaghetti straps held up a loose sheath that only clung to her breasts, her outer hips and, he assumed, the ripe globes of her ass. He couldn’t see behind her yet, but he’d make it a point to get a glimpse shortly. Her nipples were unmistakable under the green fabric that matched her eyes. In fact, he didn’t think she even wore a bra. The bottom hem barely hit mid-thigh and it had six inch slits up both sides.

  In fact, this looked like something she’d wear to bed at night. A sexy nightie. What the fuck. She couldn’t wear that out to dinner.

  No fucking way.

  If she was his woman, she’d never leave the house like that. Around the house? Yes. She could wear that all day long. At least until he tore it off her before throwing her on the bed.

  “Are you just going to stand there? Or are you coming in?” Amusement lit up her eyes, and he realized he’d stared at her like a lost soul. His mouth had gone dry, and he desperately needed a drink... One with alcohol.

  As she stepped back to let him cross the threshold, he realized this was the first time he’d seen her not wearing heels. Hell, without any sho
es at all. She seemed so much more petite without them.

  She closed the door behind him and then led him down the hallway.

  His eyes glued to the thin spaghetti straps that crisscrossed the smooth length of her bare back. That ass, though... Nothing petite about it.

  He didn’t get to see much of her condo before they ended up in her kitchen at the back of the house. It was open and modern and—

  What the fuck.

  “Our reservation is at seven.”

  She spun to face him and snagged the flowers out of his hands. “Cancel it,” she said, while digging through a nearby cabinet for a vase, then filling it with water at the sink. She ripped the paper off the base of the flowers and plunged them into the water before turning toward him again. Where he stood frozen like a dumbass.

  He had done some groveling to get that reservation and now she wanted him to cancel?

  That’s when he noticed the delicious smell in the air and the pots on the stove. “You cook?”

  She placed the flowers in the center of the kitchen table and then faced him with her hands on her hips. Which made him appreciate that small waist of hers sandwiched between generous curves. Suddenly, he wasn’t so upset about the wasted reservation.

  “Why are you so surprised?”

  Good question. “I, uh—”

  “I’m multi-talented,” she continued with a smile on her face.

  That he would not argue with.

  “I’ll have to say we got into a bad car wreck, otherwise I’ll never get reservations there again. I bribed the maître d’.”

  “Where did you get them?”

  “La Fourchette D'Or.”

  “Oh.” She moved quickly to the stove and peeked into one of the pots. She dipped a wooden spoon in and Gryff watched in fascination as her tongue darted out to taste whatever lucky food clung to the utensil. Something twitched in his pants. “Sorry, my cooking doesn’t even compare to the chefs at La Fourchette. I don’t want to disappoint you...”

  “Will it kill me?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder in surprise. “What? No.” Then she laughed. One of those husky, sexy, oh, fuck-me laughs that made him swallow hard. “I sure hope not. I’ve never killed anyone with my cooking before.” Her voice dropped even lower. “But there’s always a first time.”

  She was killing him right now.

  He pushed away the chauvinist thought of how sexy she looked standing in the kitchen in front of the stove wearing that... whatever it was, barefoot and braless, cooking him a meal. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman went through the trouble to make him dinner. Well, a woman other than his mother.

  Most women he dated wanted to be wined and dined. But this woman seemed to be the total package. Wicked smart, successful, absolutely stunning, and she could do more than pick up a phone to order takeout.

  Fighting Trey for her was looking better and better. Which, again, sounded a little chauvinistic and juvenile. But damn...

  He moved behind her at the stove and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He leaned his chin on her shoulder. “What are you making?”

  “Can you figure it out?” she asked, sliding a hand around the back of his neck and leaning her head back to rest against his shoulder.

  He couldn’t resist moving his hands up her belly until he cupped her breasts. He nuzzled her neck, then lightly sucked on her skin. When she shivered, her nipples peaked under his fingers. He rubbed the silky fabric back and forth across them with his thumbs. Just as he expected. No bra. And now that they were staying in, he appreciated the fact. Even though, he might be distracted during dinner.

  “I’m starving,” he murmured into her ear. “I can’t wait to eat.” He was not talking about food.

  He felt the vibration of her chuckle rather than heard it, and he smiled into her hair.

  “You haven’t guessed what I’m making yet.”

  Honestly, if it was up to him, they could skip dinner and he would gladly go without food. She alone could sustain him.

  But to make her happy, his gaze swept the stove top and the nearby counters. “I can smell the garlic and the shrimp.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I love garlic.”

  “I do, too. And as long as we both taste like garlic, neither can be offended, right?”

  “Right. I’m glad you’re of the same mindset.”

  His eyes landed on the nearby stainless steel pasta maker. She made pasta from scratch. Holy hell.

  “Lift that lid. I can’t seem to move my hands right now,” he said, his fingers continuing their massage of her breasts over the slip. He couldn’t imagine it wasn’t a slip or a nightie because what she wore couldn’t be an actual dress. He realized that now. Because, once again, his thought was that there would be no way in hell he’d allow her to go out in public wearing it.

  He grimaced. He might as well start grunting like the caveman he acted.

  Fuck.

  She released one hand from around the back of his neck and lifted a lid. He leaned forward slightly, bringing her with him. Then she lifted another lid.

  His mother didn’t raise no fool. He was definitely not letting Trey sweep her away from him. Not ever.

  “Homemade pasta. A white sauce which certainly looks like Alfredo. Steamed veggies. Yes. I’m impressed. You’re multi-talented. I’ll give you that.”

  His erection pressed into the crease of those luscious ass cheeks. He did his damnedest not to thrust. He didn’t want to risk her getting burned on the stove.

  “Do we have time for you to come sit on my lap quick before dinner is done?”

  She laughed. “Only if you want burnt Alfredo sauce, soggy pasta, and rubbery shrimp.”

  “Is it awful if I say I don’t mind risking it?”

  “Yes, Boss. It is.”

  Gryff groaned. “Oh. Fuck. Me. Don’t call me that right now.”

  “Okay, Boss,” she answered, humor in her voice.

  He stepped back quickly before dinner went south... and so did he. He paced to the other side of the kitchen, needing to cool off.

  Which would be impossible if he continued to touch her, or even look at her.

  His cock was so hard right now that it was painful. Maybe he should excuse himself to relieve it. Just a quick—

  No. No. No.

  He had more control than that. What kind of man excuses himself to go to the bathroom to jerk off? Someone without self-control. That was not him. He had fought long and hard to take control of his life, to make his way to the top. To be reduced to an asshole without any control made him no better than what he escaped. It made him no better than someone like Trey. A cocky shit who did whatever he wanted and be damned with the consequences.

  He was not like that anymore. He would never go back to being like that ever again. He slayed that dragon once.

  But damn, his dick just had a mind of its own.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Just a little muscle cramp.”

  “I’m not sure it could be considered a muscle.”

  He strode back to her, pulled the wooden spoon out of her hand, thrusting his hands into her hair, and took her mouth like he owned it.

  She whimpered, grabbing his biceps, opening her lips to him, allowing him complete control.

  This wasn’t helping his situation out at all. Not. At. All.

  He pulled back enough to say, “I appreciate the effort you went through to make this meal from scratch. Believe me, I do. I’m humbled, in fact. But how soon can we eat and get it over with?”

  She bit her bottom lip, her eyes unfocused as she stared at his mouth.

  “Keep that up and that sauce will be burnt to the bottom of the pot,” he warned, releasing her and stepping back. Again.

  “Can you pour the wine?”

  Oh hell yes. That’s what he needed. Booze. Something to dull the edge. He closed his eyes at the sudden image of sucking red wine from her belly button.

/>   Jesus fuck. He was losing it. “Why did you have to wear that? Why didn’t you wear a damn track suit?”

  “Maybe because I don’t own one?”

  He groaned at his own suffering and looked around the kitchen for the wine. Something, anything, to get his mind off her. Even for a moment.

  “Wine’s on the table,” she mentioned. “Glasses are already on the table, too.”

  Obviously, he thought, his mind clouded. She had already set the table before he got there.

  But wait...

  He froze and without turning, he asked, “Why are there three place settings?”

  Oh fuck no.

  Fuck. No.

  No wonder she wanted him to cancel the reservation.

  “Please tell me you don’t know how to count,” he said, staring at the third setting.

  “I know how to count.”

  He opened his mouth and turned but before anything could come out the doorbell rang. His spine stiffened.

  Oh fuck no.

  “Can you get that?”

  “Rayne…” He blew out a breath. “You really don’t want me to get that right now. Trust me.” His fingers curled into fists.

  That was definitely not a good idea.

  It turned out that no one had to let him in. Trey being Trey let himself in. And he came directly back to the kitchen...

  Like he’d been there before and already knew the layout of the condo. When he entered the kitchen, it took everything Gryff had to not lay the fucker out.

  “Have you been here before?”

  Trey halted just inside the doorway, his eyes finding his, his expression quickly masked. “What kind of greeting is that?”

  “It was either that or my fist.”

  “Gryff—”

  Gryff cut him off. “No. Answer the question.”

  When Trey’s eyes cut to Rayne, he knew the answer.

  “So, it’s okay that you get to fuck her whenever you want. But me? No. You don’t like it. Well, tough shit, Gryff. It’s not your say. It’s Rayne’s.”

  “Both of you!” Rayne shouted, wielding the wooden spoon. “Sit the fuck down at the table and act civilized. I’m not a piece of meat. Don’t treat me as such. Now... Sit. The. Fuck. Down.” She pointed the spoon at one end of the table. “You, there.” She pointed the spoon at the opposite end. “You, there. And if either of you move toward each other, you get it with the spoon. Do you hear me?”