Best Laid Plans

by Robyn Kelly

  . . .

  Dinner is a pleasant affair. The caterers are perfect and the presentation is delightful. Everyone enjoys themselves. Well, everyone except the birthday boy. I can tell he’s just waiting for it to be over. Thankfully, Monica is wonderful—taking his hand, keeping him distracted.

  I head back to the kitchen. I missed breakfast and lunch (thanks to the quail infestation). Hopefully I can get something to eat for dinner, but first I need to sit down for a minute. I’ve been on my feet all day, going nonstop. I pull one of the extra banquet chairs off the stack and collapse. I think about slipping out of my shoes when the kitchen door swings open, and Jackson enters. There’s no rest for the wicked, so I start to stand.

  “Don’t get up. You look tired.”

  “Weary. I look weary. Never tell a woman she looks tired.” I think he’s going to hover over me but he actually kneels so we are at eye level.

  “People don’t often correct me.”

  “That’s a pity. You’ve probably missed a lot of valuable lessons.” My filter is off. I need to remember that he’s the client.

  “I can think of a few lessons I’d like to give you. Lessons in being honest, being grateful, being submissive.”

  Submissive? Me? The nerve of this man. “The best teachers learn from their students. And from my point of view, I just got the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco down on one knee.”

  Jackson gives me a smile. A very dangerous smile. “That’s because I plan on using the other knee to bend you over and spank that pretty little ass of yours.”

  Is he serious? “As I remember, you’re the one who said no kink.”

  Before he can react, the servers bring the dinner plates into the kitchen, and we are clearly in their way. Jackson rises and offers me his hand. Reluctantly, I take it and stand.

  “That was an excellent dinner. I’m glad to know you didn’t spend all that money.” And at that moment, the walls start to shake.

  No matter how I try to manage things—how many checklists, how much research, and all the disaster recovery plans I imagine in my head—there is always something I forget. This time it was soundproofing. The DJ’s subwoofer blasts a bass line with such force it makes the walls vibrate.

  “What is that?” Jackson exclaims.

  “That’s the rest of your money.” I head out into the dining room and see Bryan’s eyes twinkling like Christmas lights.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have dancing and dessert in the church.”

  I walk the twenty guests through the courtyard and into the rear church entrance. It’s not quite eight o’clock, but based on the number of people on the dance floor, none of Bryan’s one hundred and twenty-eight other friends are fashionably late.

  I text Robert and in a few seconds, the beam of a spotlight swings to and fro near the entrance, searching for Bryan. Since the lighting guy doesn’t know who Bryan is, I’m supposed to stand next to him, and when the light finds me, pull him into the spot. That plan has one serious flaw, and his name is Jackson.

  I’m standing next to Bryan, waiting for the spotlight to land, and suddenly I’m not. How I got halfway across the room at the speed of sound is beyond me. All I know is that Jackson has both of his hands pinning both of my arms, so I’m not getting away.

  “Um, Jackson. You need to let me go. I’m working right now.”

  “I don’t remember asking for this,” he growls.

  “You wanted as little involvement as possible,” I say defensively. “Now, I need to find Bryan.”

  “You shouldn’t argue with me when you wear that dress.”

  He is standing so close I can breathe him in. I never believed in pheromones until now. He smells like expensive shampoo and a hard day at the office. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, but he smells delicious.

  He raises an eyebrow. Sometimes I think that man can read my mind.

  “You asked me to wear this dress. Now let me go or you won’t like what’s about to happen.”

  His eyes narrow. “And you really shouldn’t threaten me…in…that…dress!”

  They say bad things happen in threes. And the three things that happened at that moment were Jackson’s lips crash-landed on mine, the spotlight guy finally found me, and the DJ announced, “Let’s hear it for the birthday booooyyyyyyy!”

  While the crowd cheers, Jackson jumps back from me, cursing.

  I’m madder than I should be, especially with a client. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it. Now keep your back to the spotlight and let me fix this.” I signal to the lighting guy to follow me. While the crowd whistles and laughs, I scurry back to the spot where I last saw Bryan.

  Thankfully he hasn’t moved. With my best Vanna White gesture, I point to him, and the DJ follows my lead, announcing, “Sorry, folks. That was just the opening act. Here’s the star of the show: the birthday boy, Bryaaannnnn!”

  All Bryan’s friends explode with applause and cheers as they surround him. I push my way through the onslaught, feeling like a salmon swimming upstream. I need to sit down, so I head for the little room behind the altar. It’s private and hidden. Hopefully, I’ll get a few moments of peace.

  I’m surprised to find Minerva at the altar, though I shouldn’t be. She arranged for the entertainment. I shudder a little when I think how Jackson may react to our performers. It’s not technically kink, but it does involve people hanging from the ceiling. Minerva is checking the rigging—rather, was checking the rigging. Right now she’s watching the corner of the room Jackson is in.

  “Party by the famous Jackson Hunter. Hmmm.”

  I’m curious, so I try to sound nonchalant. “Oh, you know him?”

  “I’ve met plenty of his subs.”

  His subs. Of course. A harem of submissives. That explains why he wanted to spank me. And why Pippa keeps calling him sir. I want to ask her how many is plenty?

  “I’d steer clear of him if I were you,” Minerva warns. She must think that kiss meant something. “He mindfucks his women. Like an emotional vampire. They give him all their love, all their trust. He drains them dry. Then loses interest.”

  At least I’m not in danger. I can’t ever see myself trusting that man. Or him trusting me, after this party.

  Minerva isn’t done with her tirade. “I see his women in the clubs. They try to fit in, but they’re like the walking dead. No one else is good enough for them. He’s heroin with a dick.”

  I better cut her off now. It sounds as though she’s just warming up, and I don’t want to be here all night listening to her take on Jackson’s shortcomings. I don’t think that man is a danger to my virtue. Just my sanity.

  “Thanks for the warning.” I head to my hiding place before she can reply.

  Slipping inside, I switch on the light. Only one bulb is working, leaving the back of the room in shadows. I look around for someplace to sit. There aren’t any chairs, but there is a table at the back, and I plant myself on it. The walls have no insulation against the music, so it won’t be quiet, but I’ll get some distance from Jackson.

  The two of us have been battling since we met, and I have to take some responsibility for it. I’ve judged him for being high-handed and manipulative, and then used the same behavior planning a secret party with his money.

  I owe him an amends. I hate the thought of giving him one, but I need to keep my side of the street clean. We’re both strong personalities that just clash. It doesn’t help that I also find him hotter than a propane tent heater. I think that scares me, and makes me combative around him.

  I’m surprised that he thought he could punish me by kissing me just now. I might have enjoyed a make-out session with Jackson. Too bad he’s into kink. That’s probably why he gets sex and punishment all mixed up in his pretty little head.

  My phone buzzes. A text from Robert. “Where are you?”

  I text back, “Behind the altar—hiding from Jackson.”

  He sends a “Stay there” reply. That’s fine with me. I can stay
here all night.

  I hear the door open and close. “I’m back here,” I call out.

  Suddenly, Jackson fills the narrow hallway, blocking my exit. “I know, hiding from me. Robert lent me his phone.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  Hold on, Jillian, I tell myself. In a few more hours, I won’t have to deal with this man anymore.

  “Does he know he lent it to you? You have a habit of stealing phones.” I try to sound calm. I don’t convince myself.

  “Add it to my bill,” he purrs, stepping closer.

  “There is a commandment about stealing, and we are in a church.”

  “Oh, I’ve broken so many of those, what’s one more?” He stops a few feet from me, thankfully. “This is quite a party. I didn’t know Bryan had so many friends.”

  “You’re too modest. You didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.”

  He shakes his head. “Jillian, you have been teasing me all night. And surprising me. The two things I hate most.” He moves to the table and puts his hands on the dress shoulders. The way he’s holding it, you’d think he wanted to rip it off me. “Add to that, all evening I’ve had to watch you in this dress.”

  “The harem uniform?”

  “Harem?”

  “Well, you had three of them in different sizes. Four, if you count the one Pippa was in that night. I just assumed you had women stashed all over the city wearing this dress.”

  “I am not interested in a harem. I prefer to devote myself to one woman.”

  “Until you grow tired of her?” I hope Minerva didn’t tell me that in confidence.

  “Oh, you think no woman would ever leave me?”

  If they were smart they would, but I can see getting stupid for this man. Speaking of stupid, it’s time to take responsibility for my own actions. “I shouldn’t have hid the party from you. That was unprofessional. We’ve been butting heads since I took your picture, even though I realize I was wrong. I don’t know if I ever apologized, but I am apologizing now. Let me know if you aren’t happy with—”

  At that moment, Men at Work start singing “Who Can It Be Now?” Jackson looks startled.

  “It’s Robert’s cell phone.” I pull it out of his jacket pocket. Just because I’m apologizing for my bad behavior doesn’t mean I have to put up with his. I answer and it’s the lighting company verifying the pickup time tonight. I use the phone call as an excuse to get off the table and put a little distance between the two of us.

  When I hang up, I realize something is peculiar. “You haven’t met Robert. How did you know to borrow his phone?”

  “I got his name when he called during our…misunderstanding. And there are plenty of pictures of you two on Facebook. I thought you were a couple.”

  Everybody thinks that. “How did you get this phone anyway?” I ask, as I slip it into my ditty bag.

  “I learned to pick pockets when I was a boy.”

  “Do kleptomaniacs run in your family?”

  “They have to, unless they want to get caught.” He smiles at his little joke while planting himself in front of me. “What about you? Would you like to be caught—by me?”

  I feel as if I already am. I also feel as though he’s trying to get me to do something stupid—like kiss him. “I thought you devoted yourself to one woman. Does Pippa know you’re here?”

  He closes his eyes and smiles. “Oh, that’s why we’re having this big, expensive party. You’re jealous of Pippa, and you want to teach me a lesson. Well, I have good news for you. Pippa and I broke up last month.”

  Oh, no. That means—in his office—he was…I can’t think about that right now. “Does she know that?”

  “I’ve told her. She thinks she can win me back by playing to my paternal instincts.”

  “That’s not the right way to play you.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize the blunder.

  “And you know the right way to play me? Maybe you do. You obviously know I like a woman to seduce me.” He closes the gap between us. I didn’t think there was a gap between us, but he got closer so there must have been. “You’re all I’ve been thinking of. Do you know how inconvenient that is?” His hands land on either side of me. I always feel pinned inside this man’s arms. “Since I broke up with Pippa, I have no outlet for all of this sexual energy. I’ve been a bear all week at work. So, as much as I’ve enjoyed your little seduction, it’s time I take back control.”

  “You think I’m seducing you?” Then I remember what I said in his office.

  “Oh, yes. You’re quite the expert. Acting bossy and defiant, and then turning nervous and skittish when I get this close. Then I touch you, and you’re suddenly so needy and submissive.”

  I swallow. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “You’re doing it right now. Your mind is racing and your breathing is shallow. And I step in, and take you in my arms, and I bend my head down”—and he does, and he does, and he does, so his head floats just above mine. His lips are so close—“and you don’t pull back. You don’t turn away. You want me. And I do like a woman who wants me. More than I should.”

  I suspect he thinks I’m into kink. I’m sure he got that from Facebook, too. I need to tell him the truth before we get any further. I’d do that right now if it was just my body that wanted him, but my mind betrays me. My mind wants to know what it would be like to kiss this man. It wants to know what passion tastes like. So I do something stupid. I move my head and put my lips on his. When his tongue finds mine, my mind turns off, and my body turns on.

  His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the muscles under the expensive suit. I’d love to see him naked, but settle for rubbing my hands along his hard lines under the soft cloth. His tongue explores my mouth with sensual intensity, and every stroke and thrust makes me want to take this further. My hands move to his head and I run my fingers through his soft, wavy hair. I’ve never felt this much desire for anyone in my life. I want him—all of him—and I want him now.

  His hands move down my dress and rest at my hips. He grabs a handful of the material in each hand, and the hem rises. One hand slips down between my legs and traces circles around the outside of my panties. I need to stop him—but I have an even greater need to find out where this is headed.

  His hand slips inside the elastic band. One finger entices me: stroking, circling, pressing until it works its way in.

  “My God, you’re already wet for me.” He turns his finger inside me and positions his thumb where he can draw slow, lazy circles around my clit. His mouth hovers above me, and I raise my head to meet his lips. He pulls his head back, out of my reach. I look in his eyes questioningly, and he lowers his head. I raise my lips and he retreats again.

  I see the smug look I’ve become accustomed to. He’s teasing me, and the flash of anger I feel gives me the willpower to break his spell. Before I can move, he slides a second finger into me, finding that sweet spot inside. My head rolls back, and now his mouth covers mine. My body responds as intensely as before, but I can’t get the image of his cocky satisfaction out of my mind. He’s a cold-blooded sexpert.

  He lifts his head again, and his hand continues to stimulate every nerve ending I have between my legs. My knees feel weak, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

  “Look up, Jillian. I need to see your face.”

  When I raise my head, he puts his free hand under my chin, and slowly wraps his fingers around my neck. His gentle grip steadies me, but also works like a brace, keeping my head upright and locked on his face.

  “I need to see how you respond to me. I need to know just how far I can go.”

  His voice is as smooth as a chocolate fountain, and I instinctively reach my arms out. I don’t know if it’s to stop him or to feel him, but he gently squeezes my throat.

  “Put your arms down. I know you think I want to be touched, but that’s not what this is about. This is a sexual position I call 68.” He moves his mouth to my ear. “I do you
, and you owe me one.”

  He relaxes his grip on my throat, as his other hand increases its rhythmic taunting. My knees buckle at the intensity, but the hand on my throat is immobile. I have to stand straight or it cuts off my air supply.

  “Poor Jillian. You want to let go, but if you do, you choke yourself. All those sensations, and you can’t give in. You can’t surrender. You have to keep your precious control around me. How long can you hold out until you don’t care about breathing? Until you stop playing your games with me? How long before you—”

  “Jillian, are you in here?”

  Oh my God, it’s Robert. “Back here,” I croak.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over—”

  As quickly as Jackson and I pull apart, Robert is quicker. He looks the two of us over. If he suspects something, he’s kind enough to keep it to himself.

  “I can’t find my cell phone—and we need to start the birthday toast.”

  “Yes, coming.” Robert’s too smart to be fooled but I decide to put on an empty show anyway. “Robert, I don’t think you’ve met Mr. Hunter.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Robert says, offering his hand.

  Jackson holds up his right arm. “My hand’s wet.”

  My face turns cranberry, and I spin toward Jackson so Robert can’t see. “Thank you for your feedback, Mr. Hunter. I’ll be sure to keep all of your suggestions in mind.”

  Jackson refuses to play along. “They weren’t suggestions. They were promises.”

  It takes all my concentration to turn around and push Robert toward the door. When I hand him his phone, he gives me a quizzical look.

  “Don’t ask. Would you check with the caterers about the cake? I’ll find Bryan and then text you.”

  Robert heads out the door. I take a breath, adjust my dress (and everything under it) and follow. I’m only a few steps over the threshold when a hand on my arm holds me back. I slam into Jackson.

  “I wasn’t done with your lesson.” His tone has lost the sensual edge, and he sounds annoyed.