by A. C. Arthur
“Besides, you’re the one who came up with the idea of ground rules. I don’t think either one of us should just dictate what the other should do. So why not play for the bedroom rights? If you win, the bedroom’s yours. If I win, it’s mine. Simple.”
One elegantly arched eyebrow lifted and Alex felt a tightening in his groin.
“Simple, huh?”
She was thinking about it, weighing the odds. He noticed she thought about things a lot, probably over-thought them. That either made her very careful or paranoid, both bringing him back to the conclusion that something had happened in her past to make her the way she was now. A natural fixer of all things wrong, as his siblings often accused him of being, Alex wanted to know what happened. He wanted to know more about Monica Lakefield, about why she’d built this enormous shield around herself and practically dared anyone to attempt to knock it down.
“Come on, Monica. You’re not afraid of playing one game with me, are you?”
“I’m not afraid of anything” was her quick retort.
Just the words he’d expected to hear from her. “Great. Then kick off your boots and let’s get started.”
“I can’t play dressed like this.”
He looked at her pristine slacks and sweater and had to agree. “You go change and I’ll get the game set up.”
After a brief hesitation she said a quick, “Fine,” and was out of the room before he could say another word.
Alex cleared the floor in the middle of the living-room area and spread out the giant plastic sheet filled with colored circles that would be their playing board. Then he looked down at his own jeans and shirt and thought he should probably change, too. As he remembered, Twister was a game of flexibility, which he wouldn’t have much of in the constricting denim he was currently wearing. One of his bags was still in the bathroom so he grabbed a pair of gym shorts and slipped them on. He returned to the living room and his throat went dry when he saw her holding the cardboard dial that would instruct them throughout the game. It looked as if she’d put on gym clothes, as well—black spandex pants and a hot-pink top that just barely covered her midriff.
“What? I didn’t pack any play clothes. This was a business trip, remember?” she asked, looking plenty guilty about her attire.
Guilt wasn’t what Alex was feeling. Hot described it best.
“No complaints from me. But if you were planning to wear that to a business dinner I’d say you would be guaranteed to have all the pieces you wanted to show at the Black History Exhibit.”
“Ha-ha,” she scoffed. “Let’s get this over with.” She flicked the arrow on the dial. “Right foot yellow.”
“Guess that look means I’m first,” he said with a chuckle. She was beyond bossy. It was kind of attractive so he did as she said and put his right foot on a yellow circle.
“Right foot blue,” she said.
“That’s here next to me,” Alex said, knowing she’d never stand that close to him. The kiss had rattled her, too, he knew from the way she’d remained quiet when it had concluded. Not that he’d stuck around to hear her comments, but if she had anything to say on the subject she certainly would have said it as soon as he’d come back into the room. Instead she had remained quiet about the situation, probably hoping her silence would make it go away.
It didn’t. He felt the sexual pull to her stronger now than he had in the kitchen. The kiss had made the attraction to her all the more potent. He only hoped he’d have the good sense to keep his hands off her. At least for now.
She surprised him by placing her foot right next to his on the blue circle. He looked down, then up at her face.
“I don’t like to be cold,” she said, turning her attention back to the dial.
He wasn’t going to say anything about her fuzzy black-and-white-striped socks. If nothing else they did look warm and she had packed to come to a ski resort. “I didn’t say a word,” he added with a smile.
For whatever reason she seemed awfully self-conscious about what she was wearing. In fact, he thought for a second, she seemed a little off balance since she’d changed out of her sleek Ice Queen outfit. Almost as if she didn’t know how to act without the whole Monica Lakefield Businesswoman facade.
“Left foot green,” she announced. Alex maneuvered himself until his left foot was on the green circle while his right was still on the yellow.
“Right hand blue,” she said, then looked down at the mat.
“I’ll do the spinning,” he said, taking the dial from her hand. Her last bit of control.
She frowned at the loss then leaned forward and placed the palm of her hand in the center of a blue circle.
This put her in an interesting position as she’d turned her back to him so that now her bottom was strategically centered in his line of sight…and a nice bottom it was, he readily admitted.
After his next spin put him closer to her left ankle, which had found its home on a red circle, Alex’s resolve against touching Monica again was melting. From the way she moved to one circle after another he could tell she was flexible, her long body limber and graceful. She probably worked out obsessively. That would be the only way she ever did things, he figured. Always to be the best. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out she’d most likely hit that mark years ago.
Without another word he wrapped his fingers around her ankle then moved his hand gently upward, stopping at her calf when she sucked in a breath and angled her head to stare at him. She didn’t say a word so he let his fingers continue to walk up her leg, gliding along the satiny pattern of her pants before stopping at her inner thigh. Her gaze had gone all glossy then, her lips parted slightly. His own breathing grew faster as his fingers rested right there at the muscle of her thigh. Through the pants he swore he could feel her pulse thumping wildly at his touch. With a move so smooth and gentle it almost felt as if he’d practiced it, Alex repositioned both of them so that she was sprawled beneath him on the mat. Her heart was pounding, he felt it right up against his own as he looked down into her eyes. There was no fear there, not that he’d expected any. More like a question—a why and not a when—and he almost faltered.
No way was she wondering why he was making a move on her. She was an intelligent and confident woman—she knew damned well how sexy she was and that he’d been insanely attracted to her ever since the first day they met. She had to know.
Just like she had to feel his arousal throbbing fiercely for her now. Her lips parted farther and he thought she was going to say something, a protest maybe, or some smart retort that would shatter this mood. So instead of waiting for the cold water to be splashed on him, Alex plunged, taking her mouth in a kiss guaranteed to warm even the Ice Queen all the way to her toes.
Chapter 5
It was officially a lost cause. He wanted this woman, badly. And she, well, she wasn’t putting up much of a fight. In fact, her arms had twined around his neck and her thighs trapped his between them as he deepened the kiss. He could take her right here, in front of the dwindling fire with the snowstorm raging outside. But he wouldn’t.
This would not be a quick romp or a sudden release of the day’s frustrations. When he took Monica Lakefield he wanted to take his time, to explore every nuance of this intriguing woman. It was going to take all the strength he could muster, but he wasn’t having it any other way.
So Alex lifted his head slowly, delaying the parting of their lips for as long as possible. Breathing erratically, they stayed in that exact position, both with eyes closed for seconds that seemed to go on forever.
“I won,” she said finally, her warm breath whispering over his face.
He wondered if she’d deal with this like she’d dealt with the last kiss—speak no evil, etc. Not sure how that thought made him feel, Alex opted for the cool comeback. “That’s why I rewarded you,” he said, opening his eyes to stare down at her.
She was not amused.
“My reward’s the bedroom, as I recall the terms o
f our agreement.” With that statement she used her palms to push at his shoulders, signaling him to get off her.
He thought about staying; clearly he outweighed her and could overpower her. But that wasn’t his style, either. So instead, he shifted, rolling off her and watching as she quickly stood and rubbed her hands down her thighs. Thighs he’d felt flexing beneath him just seconds ago.
“I’ll put your bags in the hallway,” she said then turned to leave.
He could have gotten up, stopped her, made her address this attraction between them, but decided against it. He grabbed the plastic mat, doing some kind of folding job before stuffing it into its box. For anything to happen between them, Monica would have to want it; she would have to be on the same page as he was in her wants and desires. No way was he going to force himself on any woman, especially not this one. So tonight he’d sleep on the couch and convince himself that it was as comfortable as that king-size bed in the other room.
Monica hated the night.
Hated all the shadowed memories it held and replayed for her at will.
Taking a deep breath, she burrowed deeper under the comforter and closed her eyes, tighter than they had been before. Maybe if her eyes were closed tight the memories couldn’t find their way inside her head. It was childish and probably sounded way beyond crazy, but this was her nightly ritual. All day long—from the time she woke up, usually at five, until the time her workday normally ended, around eight or nine in the evening—she was just fine. Nothing and/or nobody could throw her off her game. But the minute she changed into her nightclothes and sank into bed, the problems began.
Her past wasn’t an easy one to forget. On most days she figured it was best not to forget—that way she wouldn’t be likely to make the same mistakes twice. On other days she wished for something to come along and wipe her memory clear—like an IT tech would a hard drive. But Monica had no such luck, never did. Sometimes she wondered if she’d just been born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That seemed awfully selfish considering the privileged upbringing she’d experienced. Her mother, Noreen Lakefield, came from a long line of strong black women in South Carolina, while her father, Paul Lake-field, came from an industrious family who’d made their mark in the steel industry. Her mother was the nurturer, there was no doubt about that. Anything that had to do with the three Lakefield girls was Noreen’s business and hers alone. Paul rarely made time for the daughters he’d been saddled with despite his desires for sons. It was from that seed that a disconnect between Paul Lakefield and his daughters had grown. With Deena, the youngest, her father just had no patience at all. Then again, no one in the family really had a lot of patience for Deena’s impulsive nature, though they’d all been shocked when she had invited them to her wedding last July. Monica was still getting used to the idea of her youngest sister now being a wife, a mother and published author.
The middle child, Karena, Paul tended to ignore completely. That sometimes happened with the middle child, and it had bothered Karena so much she’d taken it out on their mother. Now it seemed Karena and Noreen had reconciled while Karena and Paul came to their own terms of acceptance. It would seem that now it was Monica’s turn, only she didn’t want a turn. Her father was a taskmaster where she was concerned, always had been. As the oldest she was expected to be the strongest, the smartest, the best at everything she did. It was an unspoken doctrine that she subscribed to just the same. For years Monica struggled to make sure she did everything right in her father’s eyes, everything acceptable. Her reward for those efforts was to never hear an angry word from Paul Lakefield about herself. That should have been enough, but not hearing an angry word equated to not hearing anything positive, either.
Sighing, Monica turned onto her other side, clutching the pillow between her arm and her head, pulling her knees up close to her chest. She felt like a child but noted the comfort and safety most children experienced was missing. Monica hadn’t felt safe, ever. Comfortable? She didn’t know the meaning of that word. To be comfortable to her somehow meant she was complacent, settling for things as they were, and she didn’t want to do that. Not ever again.
She opened her eyes, tried staring at the ceiling because obviously keeping them closed wasn’t blocking the memories out. Her heart clenched and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from sighing again, or Lord forbid, whimpering. Show no weakness, another one of her mottos. If the enemy knew your weakness, he’d easily exploit it. Wasn’t that what happened before?
Turning again, she realized it was useless. She wasn’t going to get any rest tonight. At home she survived on about four hours’ sleep each night. When she wasn’t in her own bed, it was more like no hours’ sleep. So, throwing back the covers, she sat up, pulling her knees up to rest her forehead on them. She was too damned old to be going through restless nights and harboring fears that couldn’t possibly hurt her anymore.
If she were totally honest with herself she’d admit that her restlessness tonight wasn’t entirely due to the haunting of her past. A very pleasant distraction was keeping her from sleeping, as well. And he was right down the hall, sleeping on the gorgeous but probably not-too-comfortable couch. But did he really expect for them to share a bed? They barely knew each other and she wouldn’t even count the times they had met as getting to know one another. Then again, Monica didn’t spend a lot of time trying to get to know anyone. It just wasn’t worth it.
Kissing him was quickly becoming addictive. And Monica definitely did not do addictions. What she did do was own up to whatever issues she had. So she took a deep breath, lifted her head and stared toward the door. Alex Bennett was going to be an issue.
Finally tired of sitting in this strange bed, Monica stood, moving to one of the windows where she used her fingers to separate the blinds. They were roomdarkening, and she needed some light. There wasn’t much light outside, just the illumination coming from each cabin’s front-door lantern. And through that illumination she saw the huge snowflakes that had splashed against her face earlier were still falling.
The mere thought of all that snow had her searching for her purse, digging through it to pull out her cell phone. That—her heart sank as she pushed the buttons—still did not work.
“Dammit!” she whispered and clenched her teeth. The minute she got back to New York she was going to the store to replace this stupid phone.
Maybe she’d buy one from Alex. Funny how her thoughts circled right back to him.
He seemed like a nice enough guy. A very shrewd businessman, which she’d already assessed from the way Sam talked about him. Besides, after their first meeting and the resulting connection between his family and the prince and princess of Pirata, which ultimately showed up at the gallery with a link to the stolen artwork, she’d researched his family and company.
Bennett Industries had made its mark in the telecommunications industry in the early nineties with their advancements in personal computers. While they were no Bill Gates, they did hold the patent to several programs and PC accessories that were used nationwide, including in the Pentagon, which was a huge boost in their stocks. For the past few years they’d concentrated a lot of effort in mobile devices and security communication systems. They had steadily growing stock and were featured in this month’s Infinity magazine—a premiere publication owned by another branch of the Donovan clan—showcasing African-Americans on the move. The picture of Alexander Bennett sitting on the edge of his desk dressed in a black suit, white shirt and red tie was still fresh in her memory. Even from the glossy magazine page he’d touched her in that subtle yet potent way he always did. If she were really coming clean about everything she’d have to say she’d been attracted to him from day one.
It wasn’t something she was proud of, physically wanting a man she didn’t even know, but there it was. And just because she had this physical desire didn’t mean she had to act on it. If they didn’t keep bumping into each other, she wouldn’t have to act on it, because she n
ever intended to call him. But now, here they were. In a cabin, trapped in a snowstorm, ideal circumstances if she were thinking purely physical.
But she wasn’t.
Although Deena would say she should. The not-so-subtle hints from her sister that she needed to get laid did not always fall on deaf ears. And while Monica certainly remembered the days when sex was as important to her as eating, lately that just wasn’t the case. Until she’d met Alex.
It wasn’t just his looks. Even though the dark, exotic look he had from his African-American and Brazilian heritage was reason enough for any woman to want him. For her it could never be just about looks. Alex was on her level. She could tell by the way he’d come the moment Sam had called him—family loyalty. Monica had that emblazoned in her brain. Good business sense and dedication to his job was another mark in his favor where she was concerned. It was important to take a job seriously enough to dedicate most—if not all—of your time to it. That, she told herself every day, was the true sign of success. The success of Bennett Industries was definitely a priority to Alex. He also didn’t go out of his way to impress her; that was probably the biggest mark in his favor.
Just because she hadn’t been in the mood for sex in a long while, didn’t mean Monica had no clue about the men that were interested in her. She’d been approached more times than she could count, but they’d all tried too hard to impress either with their money or their status, neither of which she needed or wanted.
Tired of reminiscing and thinking she pulled on her robe and left the bedroom she’d played Twister so valiantly for. The other rooms of the cabin were dim, but she could still hear the low crackling of the fire in the living room. She did not turn in that direction; instead, she moved into the kitchen to find something to eat or drink that would help her sleep.