The Bet

by D. K. Combs

“I don’t want to do this in a car.” His voice was low, quiet.

  “I understand,” she said, struggling to speak. She was too busy trying to catch her breath to put much gusto into her words. She looked over at him, biting her lip. Besides the obvious bulge in his pants—oh, fuck her, that was an impressive bulge—he didn’t seem to be affected like she was.

  No heavy breathing, no flushed face.

  He recovered a lot quicker than she did, and if that didn’t have her flush changing from one of lust to one of embarrassment, she didn’t know what did.

  “Listen, I—shit.” He looked at her, then away, grabbing the handle of the car door. “I gotta go.”

  And that was it.

  That’s all he said before he left her there. She would have stared after him if the windows of her car hadn’t been foggy, but they were, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Seconds later, she heard the rumble of his bike, the only inkling that he’d left her in the parking lot.

  Alone.

  Hot.

  And way too bothered.

  Chapter Eleven

  The door slammed angrily behind him.

  What the hell had just come over him?

  He’d gone there with one purpose, and one purpose only—and somehow, it had turned into him getting hard as a rock while she kissed the shit out of him. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had seen it. Hell, she had probably even felt it.

  He had definitely felt her.

  The heat, the arousal. She’d been hotter than a fire on top of him, and her heat had almost consumed him—and that was the last thing that he could let happen if he wanted to win the bet.

  Damn it. Sometimes he hated Chase with a passion. Someone must have stuck a stick up his ass recently, because he’s never been this cruel about a bet.

  But then, Noah wasn’t one to talk.

  He had taken on the bet, after all.

  Noah shucked off the leather jacket and laid it over the back of the couch, then headed to the fridge. He needed a beer. Or two. Or ten. Anything to drown out the thoughts of Bristol, the Ducati, and the bet. He wanted that damn bike, and he wanted to win a bet that Chase obviously felt he was going to lose, and for the life of him, he wanted Bristol.

  Bristol, a snobby, contemptuous, fiery woman who slept around with guys.

  Damn him if that turned him on.

  No, he thought, yanking open the fridge and pulling out a Bud. No, it doesn’t turn me on. You know why? Because I’m not a masochist.

  He couldn’t have everything, and which would make him happier long-term? The bike or Bristol?

  Bristol was a one-night kind of thing.

  The bike was a forever kind of thing.

  So obviously, if it came down to it, and he had to get an uptight woman jealous over a kiss to get said bike, then so be it. It wasn’t his beef—all he cared about was the Ducati, he told himself.

  That, and winning the bet just to spite his dickhole of a friend.

  He opened the bottle cap and took a swig of it, grimacing when it went down. Yeah, the bet was the most important part, regardless of how great it felt to watch Miss Priss get her panties in a bunch over him. He leaned against the counter, legs crossed at the heels, taking a slower drink of the Bud.

  Chase had said not to have sex with her—not that he couldn’t still play around with her. She might get pissed, but who cared? She’d be pissed and satisfied—up to a point.

  But then he’d be doing all of that with her, just to turn around and kiss Madeline in front of her?

  Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe she’d be the type of girl not to get jealous over that shit. Hell, maybe it’ll even turn her on.

  He shot the thought down the second it came up. Yeah, no, even as little as he knew her, he couldn’t see that happening. Honestly, Noah was best off leaving her alone, letting her have her peace. He should never have interrupted her chat with the guy in the suit, never should have tracked her down to her work parking lot.

  He never should have touched her—because even with all the high stakes to this bet, he still got hard at the thought of her.

  And he shouldn’t. She was nothing close to what he looked for in a woman. He liked someone with a backbone, but not the kind she had. It seemed like her strength came from the need to control, her need to be in command. The strength he liked in a woman was the fiery will they had to fight, to keep going.

  Almost like Alex, but a little less abusive.

  He took another swig and pushed away from the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  There was no use thinking about this in the kitchen. He had so much shit to do in the morning it was unreal. Bed—he needed to sleep.

  Taking the beer with him, he toed off his shoes as he walked to his room.

  His house was more like his cave. except he rarely had time to do much of anything except eat dinner, tidy up, watch a few games, and clean. Most nights, he didn’t leave the shop until late into the night.

  What really sucked about it all was he’d recently redone his home. He’d gotten the house in the will his dad had left behind, and there had been too many bad memories to keep it the same, but too many good to throw it away.

  The old green carpets had been ripped up, replaced with beiges. The walls, once a cheap maroon red, were now a gray-blue color, more on the paler, whiter side than anything, and the trim was white. When the sun shone, the house was open, airy, and it did feel like home.

  He rarely had the chance to see it like that.

  As he reached the threshold of his room, he undid the buckle with one hand, the other holding the beer and propping him against the wall when he kicked off his shoes.

  He didn’t bother to turn the light on. There was no use—he was going to finish his drink, then pass the hell out. That was all there was to do, all he could do, to get Bristol out of his head.

  She was out of his league—literally. When he’d learned her name and remembered where she worked, he’d done a little snooping—and he was glad he had, because it turned out that Miss Priss was one of the highest paid people in their city.

  If that didn’t put a damper on things, he didn’t know what would.

  It wasn’t that she made more—he couldn’t care less about that.

  It was the fact he could see how high she held herself above everyone else. And maybe she was up there, maybe she was the shit, but still—no one liked having that thrown in their face, and for whatever reason, anything he shouldn’t like about her instantly became a turn-on.

  How jacked up was that? he asked himself, sitting back on the bed. He took one more drink, then leaned back—

  That wasn’t normal.

  His head had hit something firmer than a pillow, something warm. Something big.

  As he lunged forward, the voice that laughed in the dark became recognizable.

  “Alex,” he cursed, reaching over to turn on the nightstand. “What the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get in here? And why are you naked?”

  She laughed, the sound seeming too innocent to come from her thin lips.

  “We are going to finish our conversation,” she said, pushing herself up onto her elbow. She had a great figure. The curtain over his window was spread open, and the yellow lamplight fell into the room, spreading across the floor and covers. The yellow light streaked across her shoulders and hips, and from the glow of it, he could see the expectant grin on her face.

  He shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans. The last thing he wanted to do was be in his underwear near her. If she started something, and his thoughts were focused on another woman, he doubted it would end well.

  She had to leave.

  “Alex, I’ve had a really long day, okay? Right now isn’t the time—”

  “You should always have time for me,” she said, her throaty voice light, happy. Hopeful.

  And here he was, his hard-on for Bristol straining through his boxers.

  As he
tried to get his jeans on, he felt her hand on his hip, sliding forward.

  “Alex, you really need to—” He stopped talking. Her hand had gone from his navel and straight down to his cock. She felt him through the boxers, her touch firm but suggestive.

  His eyes closed on a sharp exhale.

  “Need to what?” she purred, removing her hand only to slide it beneath the fabric. Her fingers wrapped around him fully, no barriers, and when she began to pump, his head fell forward.

  He didn’t want her to touch him—no, all he could see behind his closed eyes was Bristol, her cheeks flushed, red hair wild and flaming. He pictured that smooth woman coming undone for him. He hated the thoughts. He couldn’t have her, not yet.

  Alex wasn’t Bristol, but as her hand started to pump around him, he realized that maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. He could get the sex out of the way, he could forget about Bristol. He only needed the relief, and maybe then he wouldn’t be so caught up on her.

  He leaned back into the bed slowly, and Alex adjusted herself accordingly. Her body moved to the side, and he looked at her, putting his hand on her back encouragingly as she pushed his boxers down and out of the way.

  “God, you are hard as a rock right now,” she said, giving him a quick grin before leaning down to take him in her mouth.

  He cursed, head thrown back. How well would Bristol give head? Did she give it at all? She had the perfect lips for it, pink, plump. Noah threw his arm over his face and held back his groan at the thought of his cock spreading her lips. As the fantasy played out in his mind, he pushed upward, pushing farther into Brist—Alex’s mouth.

  She sucked hard on the head, hand pumping around the length of his cock, and he felt the release boil inside of him.

  Fuck… By now, he’d be pulling Bristol away and shoving her underneath him. She’d be so wet. Wet, hot, and wild for him, he saw her willingly open her legs for him, her toned thighs pale and soft under his calloused hands.

  Alex sucked hard on him. She could tell he was close to cumming by the way he pushed up and thread his hands into her hair, holding her down there. He knew she could tell by the way her grip on him changed, becoming more determined.

  Bristol had been determined. In the car, the way she had silently demanded he kiss her, the way she’d taken him by the jaw. The fantasy came back with a vengeance. God, yes, he’d be holding her soft thighs open, watching the tip of his cock spread her wet labia.

  She’d be moaning, begging for him. Nothing like the tight bun, suit wearing woman she had been before. She would be completely undone for him.

  Alex tried to pull back, but he groaned—and she readily took the cue and returned to sucking him off. He was so close, so close to cumming, so close to ripping her off and finding Bristol so that she could live the fantasy with him—but he didn’t. Noah bucked, taking his hands away from Alex’s head to dig into the bedsheets.

  Bristol would be so tight, he thought, jaw clenching. The release boiled inside of him, his balls drawing up. Alex’s hand worked quicker, harder, and with that urgency, his fantasy took the same route. By now, he probably would have rolled so that Bristol was on top of him. She’d be grinding down on him, that mane of fire falling down to her shoulders, swaying with her movements. Perky breasts would be thrust into his face, and his hands...they’d be grabbing her hips, helping her bare down on him, helping him go as deep inside of her as he could.

  His hips jacked upward and he groaned, taking handfuls of the sheets in his hands.

  He was going to cum any second, and he needed it. Was dying for it.

  Would have gone insane for it, just as Bristol would have—no, just like she had. In the car, so desperate for him, demanding that he touch her, not taking no for an answer.

  “Bristol,” he moaned, jaw locking when the orgasm started to roll through him—

  It all stopped.

  Alex pulled back quickly and he looked down at her, only realizing what he’d said when he saw the complete and all-consuming fury raging in her eyes.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Who the fuck is Bristol.”

  He closed his eyes, groaning. “Alex, I—”

  She moved on the bed and his eyes flipped open, watching her cautiously. He would deserve whatever she did to him, but he still wasn’t going to let it happen. He’d told her in the beginning that she should have left. He had known this was a bad idea. He should have just kicked her out and taken care of himself in the shower, but no.

  Son of a bitch.

  As she pulled her hand back, the threat clear in her eyes, she repeated, “Who the hell is Bristol?”

  He sat up and took her hand before she could do anything, holding it tightly. She might be strong, but he was stronger.

  “Alex, I had asked you to leave.”

  “That’s not what you were saying when I was sucking your dick,” she snarled, trying to break free of his grip. When that didn’t work, she pulled back her other fist, taking a swing at his head.

  He knocked her hand away and she gasped.

  “I’ll fucking kill her, Noah. Whoever she is, you need to get her out of your head. You’re mine,” she hissed, jerkily moving away from him. She stormed away from the bed and kneeled, grabbing her tank top and sliding it on.

  “You won’t do shit, Alex. This is why I wanted to end things with you—”

  “For another woman? Seriously, Noah?”

  “No—because of this. It’s toxic. Shit,” he cursed, scrubbing a hand over his face. Even with all of this going on, he still had a boner and was still thinking about Bristol. What was wrong with him? Why wouldn’t she get out of his god damn head?

  “The only thing toxic here is you,” she accused. He looked at her as she balanced on one leg to pull up a pair of torn jeans. She had a great body, and she was a gorgeous woman. Yeah, her roots might need to be dyed from black to blonde, but that didn’t take away from her figure. She had wide hips and her ass was more than enough to fill a man’s hands, and her breasts were the same.

  If only the inside matched the outside, he thought, looking away when he noticed the tear in her eye.

  “You were thinking about her that whole time, weren’t you? I didn’t cross your mind once.”

  “Alex—”

  “No, no,” she said bitterly, holding up a hand. “Don’t worry about trying to get my name right. I’m sure you had a hard time figuring out who the hell I am.” Her stiff blonde hair, fried from all the times she’d straightened and dyed it, it barely shook with the movements of her head. “We were together for a year, and this is how it ends?”

  A year wasn’t that long of a time, but he didn’t say anything. He might be her longest relationship, but that’s because men just couldn’t handle her, couldn’t take the explosions. Granted, he knew this one was warranted, but...still.

  In his defense, he had told her to leave.

  She had been the one to stay and encourage it.

  Damn him if he didn’t have control over his thoughts where Bristol was concerned.

  When he didn’t say anything, the conversation ended. She gathered the rest of her clothes in furious silence, and when she left, she slammed every door she could behind her.

  Son.

  Of.

  A.

  Bitch.

  Chapter Twelve

  “....just came to bring you some coffee…”

  Either she was dreaming, or she was dying. There was no other option.

  If she were dreaming, then fine. She could admit she had dreamt about the man that voice belonged to—how could she not? He was in every waking thought, leaving her wondering when he would randomly appear in her life again.

  Now, if she were dying, that would mean she’s awake, and this is all real. Dying might sound a little extreme, but this was her work. If she opened that door and he was standing on the other side, her insides would melt into a puddle of mortified bones and guts, and she would, therefore, be dead.

  “Oh, thank y
ou so much—is that other one for Ms. Thompson?” Madeline’s sweet, happy voice was easier to hear than the deep timbre.

  “Yeah, but I also had something else…”

  The chances of this being a dream were slim. As she gingerly pushed aside the paperwork she’d been reviewing, she slowly came to her feet, preparing to die. Maybe she should page the janitor, have him come up with a bucket. At least then he could catch her mushy remains and save the carpet from being ruined.

  She almost tiptoed to the door, as if walking quieter would make the reality of what was happening outside the door less real.

  But it didn’t. As her hand latched onto the door, she closed her eyes, preparing herself.

  The door opened right as her eyes adjusted to what was in front of her.

  Noah.

  In her office.

  Leaning impossibly close to Madeline’s face, turmoil darkening his features. Madeline’s face was turned away from her, but when he noticed her standing there, he quickly stood, two coffees in the cup holder. Madeline’s shoulders seemed to drop, and then she was turning around with a bright smile as if nothing had been about to happen.

  Bristol couldn’t describe the emotions going through her, but she did not like them.

  It had seemed like something was about to happen between them, as if they were about to kiss.

  She wouldn’t put it past him.

  He was a tease, she thought with a frown. He was a horrible, irresistible tease—and he was in the one place he shouldn’t be.

  Her office.

  Her sanctuary.

  Her one place where they could forget about normal life and focus on her career.

  When she was at work, she could forget about the empty flat, the empty feelings.

  And Noah...being here… He was a clear representation of everything that was wrong with her life.

  “A word,” she said briskly. “In my office.”

  Regardless of what had happened last night, he had no right to be standing in her office, that sexy leather jacket spread across shoulders she’d been clutching the night before, his legs clad in dark jeans, and that hair...curly. Luscious. Soft.

  Her fingers itched to touch it again, and if she could have done it without looking like a psycho, she would have smacked her own hands.