by Eden Ashe
“I don’t think—”
“Right,” he interrupted. “Don’t think. Let’s just do it. Tonight,” he said on impulse. “And I know just the place.”
She lifted an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “And where would that be?”
He shook his head. “It’s a surprise. But I promise you’ll like it. No pressure. Just an evening out with a friend.”
He held his breath, waiting for her answer. Maybe it was the wine she’d had, or maybe it was the relaxed environment. Whatever the trigger was, she finally nodded her head.
“All right. Tonight.” She gave a breathy laugh. “Before I change my mind.”
“Excellent.” He wanted to pump his fist in the air. Instead, he looked at his watch. “It’s almost five. Why don’t you go home, change into something that’s not your work clothes, and I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’m afraid everything I have looks like work clothes.”
“Then just something different. Give me your address, and I’ll see you at seven.”
***
I have to be crazy. That’s the only answer for this.
Grace repeated it to herself over and over again as she drove home from the Paradise Ranch site. What would Ben Randall think if she told him she hadn’t been out on a date in twenty years? Oh, she didn’t count the public events she’d attended for business where she’d been able to snag some business associate as an escort. She usually asked someone on the back end of a bad divorce who was happy to have someone’s shoulder to cry on for an evening. Less danger for her that way.
Grace could have given them all chapter and verse on a bad divorce. More than that, on a bad marriage. Or what happens when you choose unwisely. Been there, done that, got more than one T-shirt to show for it.
For a brief moment, Alan Vaughan’s face flashed across her mind, lips twisted in that supercilious smile he always had, eyes flashing with contempt. She had been so swept off her feet by him, thrilled at the age of twenty-two that an older man, handsome and rich, seemed to be so besotted with her. By the time she hit her twenty-fifth birthday, she had realized her appeal to him—she was young and malleable and easy to get under his thumb.
Finding her own spirit and grit had been an arduous journey, and painful. Three more years had passed, years that almost destroyed her, before she had arranged things so she could walk out and leave him. But her confidence in herself as a woman had taken a big hit that she’d never recovered from. She had also made a vow that no man would ever have an impact on her life again.
She had her work to stimulate her mentally and her trusty toys to satisfy herself sexually. By the time she hit her fiftieth birthday, she had firmly entrenched her life in a pattern she had no desire to break.
Then along came Ben Randall, six feet of physically fit man, with thick, steel-gray hair, a deep tan, and brown eyes like melted chocolate. She could almost see the pheromones floating in the room whenever she was around him. After every meeting, her toy box got a strenuous workout because it required a lot to take the edge off the desire Ben aroused in her.
Desire!
Hell, she hadn’t felt sexual vibes for a man in so long, she’d begun think she’d buried them for good. Then Ben walked into her office, and arousal slammed into her like a speeding car. She had even taken to wearing a tailored jacket when they were together, to hide her hardened nipples that stood at attention at the sound of his voice. Today, she’d just been so warm she’d had to take it off. Had he noticed her reaction to him?
She had done her best to hide her reactions from him, to send her Keep Off signals. Although he’d respected them, it wasn’t hard to spot the latent hunger that flared in his eyes whenever they were together. What stunned her was how tempted she was. No man had excited her even a little bit in all these years. After Alan, she’d shut that door so firmly no one had been able to open it.
So what was she doing, going on a date with Ben Randall? A date, for god’s sake! Did she even know how to behave on one anymore?
The whole situation rumbled through her mind as she drove home, pulled into her garage, and carried her briefcase into the house. It bedeviled her while she stripped off her clothes, tossing them in the laundry hamper or the one for dry cleaning. And as she turned on the shower in her bathroom and prepared to step under the spray.
Ben Randall. He’d set her nerves buzzing from the first moment she’d seen him. At the time she’d told herself to turn him down as a client, but the lure of decorating such a massive project was too strong to resist. The unexpected attraction had grown over the many weeks they’d worked together until, now, it lurked constantly at the back of her mind. And made her body hum with desire whenever they were together.
She was afraid, plain and simple. Afraid of her feelings, afraid history might repeat itself, no matter that he and Alan were totally different people. Afraid of letting herself get out of control. Yet, here she was, preparing to have dinner with him.
She paused for a moment and took a hard look at herself in the mirror over the sink. Not too bad. She did her treadmill almost every day and tried to fit in an exercise class once a week. Her skin didn’t have quite the elasticity it once did, and her breasts, while round, were a little less firm. But, all in all, not too bad.
Wait! What am I doing? We’re going out to dinner, not getting naked.
Damn straight. That part of her life was long over. But, as she stood under the water, her body humming with need, the image of Ben rose unbidden. A pulse throbbed in her pussy and her nipples tingled. She poured body wash into one hand, worked it into a lather, and slid that hand along the slightly curved slope of her tummy to the folds of her sex. Nobody’s hands except hers had explored her there in all these years. By now, she’d learned exactly how to touch and stroke to give herself satisfaction. How to tug and pinch her clitoris to push herself up the slope of need. Bracing one foot on the built-in shower bench, she slid two fingers inside her body, feeling the clasp of her wet inner walls.
What if these were Ben’s fingers? What if he were in the shower here with me? What would he look like naked?
As soon as the thought intruded, she made a deliberate effort to banish it from her mind. The mind she was obviously losing. She should just stop this, finish her shower, and get dressed. But there was no way she could go out with Ben while still riding the edge of arousal. No, she needed to take care of this first so she could be her usual composed, together self. Gritting her teeth, she accelerated the rhythm of her fingers, dropping the other hand to play with her clit at the same time. Her climax uncoiled from deep in her womb until finally—finally!—her cunt clamped down on her fingers and her body shook with her release.
She withdrew her hand, slightly breathless and weak in the knees, and dropped her foot from the bench. Leaning against the wall, she waited for her pulse to slow, aware that she really hadn’t taken the edge off at all. In fact, if she were truthful, she was more aroused than before. How was that possible?
She needed to get her act together, or she’d be a hot mess when Ben showed up. Finishing her shower quickly, she turned off the water, stepped out, and wrapped herself in a large bath towel. A glance at the tiny clock told her she had an hour before Ben arrived to fetch her. More than enough time to lock away all those unwanted impulses and ideas and put on her public face.
Letting out a slow breath, she set about her task.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Sexy Designs by Desiree Holt
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