Manwhore Heir (The Heirs Book 2)

by Brandy Munroe

“I didn’t do relationships, until now.

  Can we do this?” I ran my fingers up her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

  “Mac can you do this?”

  Chapter 16

  Mackenzie

  “What is this, Richard?” I was still in shock, unable to process Richard’s last comment.

  “This, you and me, us, together. Only you, only me.”

  “You want a long distance relationship, or have you thought that far ahead?” I turned my back to him, afraid of what my face was revealing. Shock, indecision, excitement?

  “I want you to come home with me. Like I said, I want to wake up with you in my bed every day.”

  “Richard, we’re virtually strangers. We knew each other years ago, had some great sex, and that does not make a relationship.” Why was I reluctant to the idea? What was scaring the hell out of me? Wasn’t this what I had been obsessing about?

  “I would say we know each other very well, baby,” he professed in that sickly sweet tone he had been using.

  I crossed my arms across my chest and kept my back to him. I had no idea what I was feeling. No idea what my facial expression might give away.

  In an insolent tone I spit out, “Do I want children? I know your thoughts on them, yet here you want me to drop my life to move in with you, and you don’t even know if I want children. This is…crazy.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  Strong arms wrapped around my waist and a feeling of warm calm engulfed me.

  “Then I’m crazy.” His words were so sincere in my ear. His hot breath caused discomfort between my thighs. I squeezed them together, hoping he could not smell my arousal.

  I turned to face him, his eyes burning a hole to my soul, my core. My hands feathered through his hair. “Damn you,” was all I said before I pressed my lips to his, possessive and hungry.

  “Is that a yes?” he teased, pulling away from me long enough to take a breath.

  “It’s a, let’s talk about it,” I quelled, hoping he would drop the subject, for now, anyway.

  “How did you get here?” Why hadn’t that been the first thing on my mind.

  “I came in on my new boat,’ he proudly announced.

  “You already replaced your boat?” I was shocked at how quickly he’d been able to do that.

  “Want to see her? She’s a beaut,” his eyes were beaming.

  “She’s beautiful.” I was in awe. “Is she the same size as the last one? You will recall, by the time I got up close and personal all that was left was driftwood.”

  “She’s a twin of the other, size, layout, accessories,” he opened a door to reveal a king size bed nestled at the hull. “Now this is a bed,” he enticed. He laced his fingers into mine and led me into the room and opened another door, “With a fully functioning bathroom and shower.”

  “Are you telling me my cabin is no longer suitable to your needs, King Richard?” I teased. Then it hit me.

  “Is this Rick’s boat?”

  “Mac, we discussed this, it’s my boat. It doesn't matter what name I used, it’s still me.”

  “You took me to your whorehouse. To what, seduce me? A little late for that, aren’t we?” I said, my tone sarcastic.

  He pulled me close. “I can smell my sex on you, baby. I thought you might appreciate a hot shower while I cook you dinner.”

  I knew he was right. I could smell the combination of his musk and my sweet combined with the unmistakable odor of the sex we recently had. “You’re no bed of roses yourself,” I bantered, trying to hide my embarrassment.

  He leaned closer and ran his hands through my hair, releasing the band holding it into a bun.

  “I love how you smell.” His voice was low, seductive. “What I love more is how you smell when you become aroused. Like when I touch you here.” He slid his hand to the divot in the small of my back. “Your body becomes flushed, and I know you came with just a touch.”

  He led me to the bathroom. “We can always take that shower together.”

  “If we shower together, we are never going to make it to dinner.” I bit my bottom lip in anticipation.

  “Then I guess I’m making you breakfast.”

  I squealed as he cupped my ass and claimed my mouth before we undressed.

  I awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee, the bed beside me empty. I was going to need another shower. We had spend the night making love and my body was feeling the ache from his skill in being able to find my sensitive spot. The one that made me shriek and put me over the edge of sanity. It was a good ache. He knew the exact position to place me in and when I would be ready to comply.

  He was as skilled a lover as his reputation boosted. Could he leave that part of him behind if I accepted his invitation?

  I exited the bedroom cleansed and wearing a robe that was on the hook above the bathroom door. My mouth watered as I drank him in. He stood in the galley kitchen wearing nothing but an apron. He gave that smirky grin that had my insides boiling over and he didn’t even have to touch me.

  “Sit, I’ll get you some coffee.” He poured me half a cup then reached into the small fridge and handed me a small carton of half and half. He remembered how I drank my coffee.

  I took the contents and poured it into my cup. “Thank you.”

  He walked over and placed a plate with bacon and french toast in front of me. “Syrup or jam?” he asked and kissed me on the top of my head.

  I had a brief flashback of a time when Michael had made me breakfast and kissed me tenderly in that way. Pangs of guilt filled me.

  I had been a widow for a year now, surely I could not possibly think I was dismissing his memory with this small gesture of domestication.

  Having sex to fill a need was one thing, feelings of domestication was another.

  Richard had asked me if I could do this. Now I understood what this was and I was having doubts that I could. I would have to let go of a lot of baggage that came with this.

  Richard took the seat at the breakfast bar beside me. “Don’t overthink it, Mac — I can see that look in your eyes.

  Why don’t we spend the day sailing in the bay, talking, getting to know each other. I don’t need you to make a decision this morning. I can see in your eyes if I push it, your answer would be no.

  I am going to take a shower and get dressed.” He kissed me gently on the lips and left me to finish my breakfast.

  I suddenly lost my appetite. The minute I heard the shower, I left the boat and headed to the safely of the cabin. I would dress, then let him know I was heading back into town. I had come out for my cell phone; now that I securely had it in my possession, I had no reason to stay.

  Except I did not have it in my possession. It was on the boat in the pocket of my jeans. The jeans I had left on the boat when I fled in his bathrobe.

  I would not have left without saying goodbye. I would retrieve my phone and leave before he could convinced me to stay.

  A gentle tap on the door pulled me out of my musings. I opened the cabin door to find him standing there. Showered, clean shaven, his expression was somber, his demeanor stoic. This was the Richard I had seen in the papers. The one that left me wondering why he never smiled.

  “If you’re going to run away, you might need these.” He was holding the box he came with yesterday.

  I knew it was supposed to be meant as a joke. There was something sad in the delivery. I took the box and opened it. “I can’t believe you bought me new shoes.”

  “No Mac, I made you new shoes.” That wicked grin that made me melt returned. “Can I come in? I would like to explain exactly what this is.” He held up an invitation.

  “You don’t need an invitation, you are always welcomed here.”

  “I consider this your space, Mac. I would never invade it without an invitation.”

  “Is the boat your space? Do I need an invitation to invade it?” My voice was seductive, teasing, as I stepped into him, my breasts pushing against his rock hard chest. My nipples stood at a
ttention from the friction caused by our clothing. My nipples were not the only body part standing at attention.

  “That all depends on whether you are my girlfriend or not.” He placed his hands through my hair. “My girlfriend doesn't need an invitation.” He gently kissed me on the forehead. “Are you my girlfriend, baby?”

  I took the invitation dangling from his fingers. “First, you come in and explain what you mean by you made me shoes while I read this.” I stepped aside, holding the door open, inviting him in.

  “My business partner discovered this polymer to create a one piece shank.” I focused on his eyes and face. How they lit up when he was talking about his work. “Our original plans for it fell through. When I was here with you and wore those department store sneakers, I was amazed at how well they felt wearing them.” He finished explaining his discovery and that he planned on introducing them at his birthday party to get a jump on the spring showing.

  He turned the box. “They’re called Mackenzie.”

  I faced him. “When you said you made me a shoe, you actually made me a shoe.”

  “That’s why I want you there when they debut — as my date, as my muse.” He took my hand and kissed my palm, then leaned in and kiss my lips. “I know you feel it, Mac. Spend the day with me and tell me you don’t want this everyday.”

  “I don’t deny that physically we have a great connection.” I stared into his stoic brown eyes.

  “I will spend the day with you, and then we will talk about where to go from there. I can’t make you any promises.” I needed to make myself clear before we headed down this road.

  “One day, that’s all I am asking for, Mac. One day to get you to accept my offer.” He sounded hopeful and sincere.

  Was I doing the right thing, giving him hope? I was sure nothing he could do in one day would get me to turn my life upside down and leave everything behind.

  There was nothing he could do to get me to change my mind. What could it hurt to give him one more day?

  Chapter 17

  Richard

  The only thing on my mind was how beautiful she looked taking control of the helm, guiding us through the inlet, her windblown hair unable to keep hold in its restraint.

  I had not thought to ask if she had any experience sailing. I should have known being a fisherman’s daughter, of course she knew how to maneuver a sailboat. I bet she could maneuver just about any boat if she set her mind to it.

  I stepped behind her and took hold of the helm with her. “How does she feel?”

  “She’s smooth, graceful for such a large sailboat. I haven’t been sailing in a long time. I forgot how much I loved it.”

  “I didn’t know your father owned a sailboat.”

  “He didn’t, Michael did. Not as big as this; it was cozy and served its purpose.”

  I wanted to approach the subject of her husband. I was sure that was what was holding her back, keeping her from seeing how great we could be together.

  I had never thought it was my destiny to find love. Now that I knew it could be possible, I needed her to see it, too.

  “Let’s set anchor and stop for lunch. I didn’t get a chance to finish showing you the galley.” I hoped to impress her with my fully stocked pantry and bar.

  “How were you able to get everything done in less than a week?” Her blue eyes wide in amazement. I had accomplished my task to impress her.

  “You can get anything you want for the right price. Everything has a price, Mac.” I winked and tried to wrap my arms around her.

  She pulled back with such fierce force she almost fell on her butt.

  “Everything has its price.” Her voice was bitter, cruel. “Everything does not have a price, Richard. Why do all you rich men think you can buy whatever you want? Not everything is for sale.”

  I stepped away, ran my hands through my hair, took a deep breath and settled my hands on my hip. “If I hit a nerve, Mac, tell me I hit a nerve and let me know why so I don’t do it again. Going from zero to bitch in three seconds without warning is not going to accomplish anything.”

  “Zero to bitch, let me show you bitch,” she took off her shoe and threw it at me.

  I ducked as it flew past my ear.

  “What nerve did I hit, Mac? Talk to me, or are you looking for a reason for this not to work?”

  The glare of those blue eyes froze me in place.

  “I met a man once who thought everything was for sale. Everything is not for sale. Everything does not have a price. I am not for sale, I do not have a price.” Her eyes were wet, she was shaking and I didn’t know how to help her, not yet anyway.

  “Everything is for sale, Mac. Everything, things, I didn’t say or imply everyone was for sale.” I stepped closer. “It sounds like this guy was a real jerk, and you can’t lump us all in one big pot.”

  I knew I was going to have to tread lightly. I wanted to know more, I wanted her to exorcise her demons. The demons that were keeping her from me the way I wanted her.

  I walked over, picked up her shoe and handed it back. “Let me make you lunch, something simple, then we can head back and if you want to leave, I won’t try to stop you.”

  I moved one hand to the small of her back; with the other I cupped her face. “Not even with this,” then I took her mouth with a force of hunger. I knew she would respond to the physical chemistry we shared.

  If I couldn’t appease her sensible side, then I would appeal to her sexual side.

  I pulled away. “No more until we’ve had lunch.” I took away the one thing I knew she would stay for. “I am going to make your favorite,” I told her as I pulled out a can of beans.

  She laughed. “I made those because it’s the easiest thing on a camp stove. You have a full galley kitchen and you’re going to make me a can of beans?”

  I braced myself on the counter, not sure of what her reaction would be to my response.

  “I made you a spectacular breakfast...then I had to throw it away.” I waited for the other shoe to drop, or be thrown, I wasn’t quite sure.

  “I deserved that,” she accepted, “and you deserve an explanation.”

  “I know I hit a nerve, Mac, I saw it on your face. Something I did reminded you of your husband. I won’t stop wanting to do things for you because he might have done them first.”

  I put the can of beans back in the pantry. I placed a bowl in front of her and pulled a ladle from the drawer. “I have chili in the crockpot, fancy beans, want some?”

  I turned to catch her wiping tears from her eyes. “Shit, I did it again,” I threw the ladle in the sink and turned my back to her, frustrated with myself for upsetting her again.

  “Why do you keep trying when I’m such a mess?” she confessed. Was she finally going to fully open up to me? “I come with a lot of baggage,” her voice was soft, vulnerable.

  “So do I, only you already know mine.” I wanted to know hers; I needed to know.

  “Can we start with how you met Michael?” I used his name. Up until now I referred to him as her husband. He was gone, he was not longer her husband, he was Michael. The man she loved, the man whose place I was trying to convince her I could take.

  Was that what I was doing wrong, trying to replace him? I should be trying to assume my own place in her life, not take over someone else's. I had been going about this all wrong.

  This was new to me. I had never been in love and was learning on the fly. I had always been in control of every situation except around her. My obsession with her made me lose all control.

  “Why are you smiling? What were you thinking?” she asked.

  “I was thinking what an idiot I am if I thought I could replace Michael. I need you to understand I'm not trying to replace him. I never want you to stop remembering what he meant to you, or the special memories you shared.” I stopped to gauge her reaction before I felt I could continue.

  “I want to make new memories with you. Some of them will overlap with your old ones. I am not trying to re
place them, nor do I want you to compare them. I want them to be our memories.”

  I could see her eyes shifting. “Look at me, Mac. The actions might be similar, but the feeling won’t be.” I could tell she was processing the information. She bit her bottom lip and lifted her head and gazed at me with her beautiful blue eyes.

  “I don’t suppose you have any of Dad’s favorite whisky in that bar of yours? For this story, I am going to need a drink.” Then she gave the most wicked of laughs. “Remember, you asked for my baggage. It’s not pretty, but it will explain a lot.”

  I went to the bar and brought back two glasses and a bottle of my favorite twelve year old Scotch. “Will this do?” I placed it in front of her.

  Her eyes were blazing. “This is what I mean. I ask for simple whisky and you have to up the ante and pull out this. No, this will not do, this is what spoiled rich brats drink.”

  I took the bottle and replaced it with the whisky she asked for. “This guy must have really did a number on you.” I shook my head, not sure whether to laugh at the ludicrousness of it, or sympathize not knowing what I did to set her off this time.

  She poured herself a shot, slung it back and did it again. “I worked my way through college working as a waitress.” She downed another drink. “In a strip club.”

  I was careful not to react or show any facial expressions. I was sure there was much more to this story.

  “I didn’t use my real name; no one who worked there did. I went by Lacy. I was good at what I did. I could have done better if I took part in extracurricular activities like some of the other waitresses. I didn’t have the physical assets they possessed. I didn’t get propositions as often as the others.”

  I led her from the barstool to the sofa and cradled her in my arms. ”I’m not one to judge, Mac. I know not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouths and had to work for living.” I hoped my words comforted her and gave her the courage to continue.

  “The owner came to me one day and said he had a way for me to use what little assets I had. He suggested that I could lie on the bar and he would line up six shots starting at my navel, finishing at my cleavage, clothes left on.