by Cari Quinn
What had happened at the gala had been an aberration. End of story.
Loath as he was to agree with his parents right now, he and Melinda fit. They had similar aspirations. Even the ways they spent their precious little free time meshed. Melinda enjoyed opera and visiting museums. Victoria’s idea of a fun night was hitting up a noisy club, partying until dawn, and waking up just in time to go to work.
She did work hard, as proven by her successful business. No one could dispute her intelligence and insatiable curiosity. He disagreed with her more often than he agreed, but no one made him laugh more. He’d happily drown in her honey-colored eyes and never think to ask for a life preserver.
He remembered the way she’d come apart beneath his hands, so hot and wet and beautiful in her release. If he was honest with himself, he’d been thinking about that day more often than not.
And that was exactly why they shouldn’t date, for real or otherwise.
Melinda was safe. Victoria was so very not. She wanted fun, at any cost. Just like his damn father. His real one, not the man who’d given him his name when he was a kid. Raymond Santangelo was a great guy, his recent directives regarding Cory’s love life aside. Hardworking, steadfast. Not the type to get wasted and forget his responsibilities like Tommy James.
Dillon still bore Tommy’s last name. Why, Cory had no idea. Tommy hadn’t been a father to them, much as Victoria’s mother hadn’t been around for her. They had that in common. The difference being that Raymond had come into their lives a couple years after Tommy had walked out on Cory’s mom for the last time when he’d been eight, and Cory had been told he could stop worrying quite so much about taking care of his mom and little brother.
Though he never really had. As much as he hated admitting it, he’d expected Raymond to choose wine, women, and song over his family someday just like Tommy had. So Cory had stayed vigilant, ever ready to step back into the role of man of the house.
Even now that his parents were retiring, he still hadn’t stopped taking that role seriously. He never wanted to cause his mom even an instant of grief, which was part of why he’d come up with this inane fake girlfriend plan in the first place.
Without the photos that had pushed him into making a move, he might’ve balked at going so far as faking a relationship. But he could trust Victoria to keep up her end of the bargain. This arrangement could be beneficial to her, too, as far as business contacts were concerned. That mutual benefit had swayed him, as had the fact that he wouldn’t risk losing control of Value Hardware for any reason. Not after he’d sacrificed so much of his life to make it a success.
He’d come up with the crazy idea that Victoria could help him, nicely forgetting that she often inspired thoughts he had no business thinking. But it was too late. Victoria had thrown down the gauntlet with his mother. He’d tried to do the responsible thing and hold her at arm’s length.
Now she’d see what she’d unleashed.
He set aside the binoculars and yanked out his phone. No calls. No texts. Maybe she’d decided to break her sexless streak. Ten months. Ha. Though he didn’t use slang as a rule, he’d been tempted to whatever the hell out of her for that one.
“Add in six more months, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Then we’ll talk.”
He called and waited through three rings before someone answered who most certainly wasn’t Victoria, unless she’d been smoking a lot of Camels.
“Yo. Vicky’s phone.”
A freaking guy had answered her cell, just as he’d feared. Not feared. Suspected. Fear would indicate a level of trepidation at the possible outcomes. He was…indifferent.
“Who the hell are you?” Cory stalked back to the railing as if he could see into Victoria’s house on the opposite side of town. “Where is Victoria?”
“Dude, she’s out with the dog. She’ll be back.”
The news that Victoria and her faceless he-man weren’t currently screwing like bunnies calmed him somewhat, but what she was doing infuriated him all over again. “Why is Victoria out with your dog when she’s late to see me? Dude?”
He heard a commotion in the background followed by a thud. “Vicks, come get your phone. The dude keeps calling you Victoria.”
Her sigh gusted over the line amid the sounds of a scuffle. “Yeah?”
“Yeah? That’s how you respond to me after you’ve kept me waiting six hours?” Cory blew out a breath. “Who is that guy?”
She laughed, and he knew, just knew, she was laughing at him. “That was Bryan, you dolt. My brother. He’s home for an…uh, unscheduled visit.”
Relief shot through Cory with such speed he actually sagged against the railing. Thank God she wasn’t there to witness his humiliation. “I saw his game against the Ravens. Incredible.” He paused. “Well, until that sack in the fourth quarter. How’s he doing now, by the way?”
“Fine. He’s just fine.” Her terse reply surprised him. “I’ll pass him your regards.”
“Thanks. And, uh, tell him I’m sorry for—”
“For being you?” she asked wryly.
Miraculously, a smile slid across his face. Amazing what just the sound of her voice could do to him sometimes. “Something like that.”
“Will do.” She sighed again. “Give me a few and I’ll get there, okay?”
He was tempted to tell her to forget it. Meeting after midnight when both their…tempers were aroused was a recipe for disaster. Once she learned exactly how serious he’d been about pushing her limits, she’d want no part of him.
Maybe a disaster was exactly what he needed.
“I’ll be waiting.” He clicked off and strode to his desk, snatched up his ledger, and went back out to the balcony. At least the galaxy still made sense.
…
Frenemies helping frenemies. Right. Past midnight. In a swanky apartment, all alone. As onboard as she’d been, actually kissing Cory on Monday had shown her that her good deed might just cause her to lose more than her panties. Because clearly the passionate encounter that had landed them both in the local gossip column—and started this whole ruse to begin with—hadn’t been enough warning.
A crush on the guy was one thing. He was hot. Criminally so. But falling for him, or even potentially putting herself in a position to make that easier…
She must be crazy.
Scratch that. She was crazy, for Cory and his mouth. If he’d use it on her again, she’d probably even be willing to listen to more of what came out of it.
Which was why it didn’t make sense that she’d avoided him all week. Why should she be afraid of where this might go? She was an experienced, sexually empowered woman. Whatever happened between them would be of her choosing. And she would enjoy the hell out of herself.
Kinky sex or not, she’d snapped on the Teflon guard around her heart and she was ready. She definitely needed a distraction after the night she’d spent with Bry. Her big brother was obviously suffering from his football injury more than he would admit and she was on the verge of climbing the walls from nerves. Worry was not her color.
The fancy doorman let Vicky into Cory’s phallic-shaped building and the man himself buzzed her upstairs. Really, she was barely nervous. Not even shaking or anything. Those goose bumps on her arms were from the fall chill, not abject fear at what might happen with Cory.
And what might not.
When Cory didn’t answer her knock, she tried the knob. The door swung open and she had to fight the sensation that she was about to enter the lion’s plush den. Gripping her hands together, she stepped inside.
Sconces high on the walls offered the only illumination, and the sounds of Beethoven streamed through hidden speakers. Thick bloodred carpeting swallowed her boots as she crept into his space. His pine-and-spice cologne lingered, teasing her nose. The rest of her was already on high alert.
Her gaze darted around the opulent surroundings, landing on the various paintings and sculptures and expensive, richly toned furniture before reaching the Frenc
h doors on the other side of the living room. Cory was leaning on the rail, wearing just a pair of low-slung black pants. His feet were bare, as was his torso.
Damn, damn, hot damn.
What a back he had. All ropy muscles and sleek golden skin. Thanks to his half-Italian heritage, he never seemed to grow pale. That bronzed body beckoned her forward, hastening her toward him like she’d been summoned by the Pied Piper.
His back looked like a solid wall of muscle, and God, she wanted to trace each individual coil with her fingers. With her tongue. While she drove her hands through all that dense, dark hair, she’d drag her teeth down his spine, not stopping until he shuddered. If he ever did. He had such unshakable control. What would break it?
He turned and the breath she’d been holding escaped. His corded abdomen and powerful shoulders proved exactly how much he worked out—and how much he hid behind exquisitely cut designer suits.
She didn’t mean to look down. Truly, she didn’t. But beneath the waistband of those silky pants she glimpsed the outline of the rest of his assets. And her breath stuttered all over again.
She’d suffered jolts of Cory Santangelo-inspired lust before. Now that she’d glimpsed—and felt in intimate detail—what he had to work with, she was in serious trouble.
That was the penis dreams were made of. Hers especially.
“See something you like?”
She didn’t realize he’d spoken at first. She was still staring and trying not to pant. Failing miserably. Eventually his sexy half smile blazed through the cobwebs of desire obscuring her thoughts. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No, but thanks for the concern.” She knew him so well that she could hear his amusement even when he wasn’t speaking. “Are you worried parts of me may freeze? Certain crucial parts?”
She didn’t flush, purely from sheer will. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You flattered me plenty with your expression.” His darkened sensuously. “I’ll be riding that high for weeks.”
“Show me a little more and we’ll work on months.”
If he thought she’d be deterred by his sudden veer into sexual no-man’s-land, he was mistaken. Shyness was not a word in her vocabulary. She’d be happy to yank down his pants and show her appreciation for his fine body in ways he would never forget.
But what if she was misreading things? Maybe he hadn’t been kidding about his extreme sexual requirements, which would’ve been dandy had they not had to work together on the magazine. The project mattered to her, and she didn’t want to jeopardize it. Or their weird quasi-friendship.
Before she could squelch her momentary indecision, she saw the notebook on the table at his side. And the binoculars.
What. The. Fuck.
“Are you spying on people?” she demanded. “Is that why you wanted a penthouse? Well, besides the flash and cash aspects.”
“You think I’m up here watching people?”
“Not people. Women.” She prowled to the rail. There was a ritzy building just across the street. Lots of windows to peep through, if one had a pair of high-powered specs and the inclination.
His laughter struck her chilled skin like a physical blow. “You found me out. See this notebook?” He shook it near her nose. “It’s full of my illicit thoughts about my kinky tendencies.”
Frowning, she narrowed her gaze on the notebook. Cory’s potential kinky tendencies made her tingle and tighten in ways that did not indicate displeasure. In fact, the more she considered the idea, the more she wanted to put him to work as her own personal piece of gym equipment. “Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m an ass?” He laughed again, tossing back his head so that the cords of his neck were outlined in moonlight. The glow spread over his toned shoulders, backlighting each well-defined muscle. “God, Vic, you’re too much.”
She snatched the notebook, mainly to keep from smiling that he’d called her something other than Victoria. She’d never been anything else to him but her given name, and it really stuck in her craw.
He didn’t say a word while she flipped pages. There were notes all right, but not on erotic leanings. There were also numbers, which she soon realized were coordinates. Sky coordinates. “You’re into astronomy?”
“I’m fascinated by the subject. If that qualifies as ‘into it’ in your mind, then yes.” His tone was cool.
Grinning, she covered her face with the notebook. Here she’d accused him of voyeurism and he was spending his time charting constellations. “Too bad you don’t have a high-powered telescope.” She pointed at the sky. “You’d be able to see Neptune.”
His lips parted as if she’d sucker punched him. “I have a superior telescope, thank you very much. Some nights I just make do with binoculars. And you know that Neptune’s at opposition?”
“Of course I do. Science geek, remember? I made a homemade telescope senior year. It was pretty good, but obviously not good enough to see Neptune. I still have it, actually.”
“You did not.” He slid his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, and she fervently wished that tongue would delve into parts of her that dampened at the prospect. “Did you?”
“I’ll show you sometime.”
“I bet you can’t point out Orion,” he challenged.
She had to laugh. As if she’d fall for such a trick question. Orion wouldn’t be visible until dawn this time of year. “You’re such a hot dork, Santangelo.”
He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “If you think I’m going to ignore that dork comment because you stuck hot in front of it, you’re mistaken. I should take you over my knee.”
Pretty please. She lowered the notebook and widened her eyes dramatically. “Oh, no. I won’t call you names anymore, Sir Cory.”
“I like that. It sounds regal.” He skimmed his hand along the railing until her heart kicked up in her chest. While her guard was down, he grabbed the notebook back and flashed a victorious smile. “Mind’s fast. Reflexes aren’t. You should work on that.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.” Suddenly way too warm, she fumbled open the button on her light sweater. His gaze dropped. She wasn’t wearing anything special, just jeans and a cardigan, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring. “You okay?”
“I was waiting to see if you’d reveal Victoria’s Secret.”
The giggle that escaped was part nerves and part excitement. Cory wasn’t acting like himself. He was almost being flirty. “I don’t show my secrets on strange men’s balconies.”
That single brow winged up as he set the notebook aside. “Since when am I a strange man?”
“You’ve always been strange. Part of your appeal.”
“I’m also the man you’re dating, in case you’ve forgotten.” He moved closer, studying her far more intently than he usually did. “Not sure what game you’ve got going, Ms. Townsend, but I’ll play. And I’ll win.”
“This is a game we can both win.” She laid a hand on his chest. Warm, smooth skin stretched under her palm as he sharply exhaled. “Want to move things inside?”
He didn’t shoot her down or laugh at her, two minor miracles. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Looking to break that ten-month streak?”
She couldn’t stop staring at the swell of his Adam’s apple, and the way it jumped when he was nervous. Like right this second. This magnetically sexy, commanding, intelligent man was nervous because of her.
He might as well have injected an aphrodisiac directly into her veins.
“You never said how long yours was,” she said, letting her voice linger on the double entendre. She raised her gaze to his slowly and savored the flare of heat cracking through the ice in his gorgeous eyes.
“Don’t you know?” He followed the vee of her sweater down to where it ended just above her breasts. Her nipples hardened, pressing through the cashmere. Shamelessly begging for more than just his glance. “You took your sweet time looking. And feeling, as I recall.”
Vicky wet her lips
. She hadn’t pushed him quite like this before, but he’d never given her the slightest signal he would respond before Saturday night. But that was then, and this was now. He was interested. And he wasn’t hiding it, either.
In more ways than one, she realized as his length brushed her belly. Holy shit, he was turned on. Over her. Hard enough to fuel a thousand fantasies.
“Sometimes your imagination can overemphasize things, in retrospect. And the eyes can play tricks on you.” She sounded breathless, as if he’d already made her come and she was heading for round two.
“Especially when they’re like yours. Eyes like yours could convince a man of anything.” He rubbed against her so lightly she wondered if she’d imagined it. Until he did it again. “I almost believe you want me, Victoria.”
She couldn’t look away from his eyes. All that passion, that heat, for her. She wanted to harness it, own it. Make sure he never forgot that she’d been the one to make him feel that way.
“What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” He trailed his fingertip along her collarbone and she nearly whimpered. “Some women might want to rope me into this arrangement to try to make it real. But my money isn’t what’s making your breath quicken right now.”
She tried to find the words to convince him to take her to bed, but she couldn’t speak past the swamping need fanning out from her belly. If he slipped his hand between her legs, he’d discover the throb inside her, that primal drumbeat that sounded for him alone.
As much as she wished she could deny it, some part of her had craved him since she was a girl. She’d fought it, ignored it, but that growing part of her clamored for her attention now.
“You pushed me even after I’d told you we couldn’t do this.” His voice thickened. “Not us.”
“Yes, us.” In some way, it had always been them, moving to this moment. And she wasn’t about to let him go without making sure he knew it.
Holding his gaze, she licked his throat, one long swipe against his stubbled skin. His groan ruffled her hair and sent a powerful bolt of arousal through her system. She curled her fingers into his chest, digging in with her nails, and licked again, adding a scrape of teeth over his Adam’s apple.