Make Me, Take Me

by Amanda Usen

  Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him down for a searing kiss. “Oh my God,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t stop. I’m still…I can’t…”

  “I’ve got you.” Every heartbeat took him closer to orgasm, but he wasn’t going to give in until he was absolutely certain she was done, not when she was gazing at him with undisguised ecstasy, not when she lay open beneath him, wet and welcoming, not when she held him so close he couldn’t imagine being alone.

  He pried her hands out of his hair and pinned them over her head, moving his hips a little faster. He’d loved watching her climax from the slow build of heat between them, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t also enjoy forcing her over the next ledge, screaming as she fell.

  He felt her ripple around him again and began to thrust harder, racing his climax, watching her breasts shake and her eyes glaze, hearing the slap of their hips. He felt a rush of heat, and her body gripped him hard. Stars exploded in front of his eyes. He blinked to clear them.

  “Come with me.” Her hoarse whisper freed him. He let go of her arms and poured himself into her with a groan. Intense spasms racked him, made sharper by her soft hands caressing his back and arms. He felt her lips on his neck. The sharp nip of her teeth on his chest sent another shudder through him, and he arched, driving into her and staying deep.

  When his muscles finally unlocked, he collapsed onto his forearms, still pulsing inside her. She looked as shattered as he felt, so he kissed her, and the tension he’d felt all day vanished, leaving him boneless, exhausted, and barely able to frame a coherent thought. He reached for the condom as he fell to the side, tied it off, and tossed it in the trash can blessedly close to the bed. He sighed, pulling her on top of him.

  “Do you want to get under the covers?” he asked.

  “Can’t move.”

  “Good.” He flipped the edge of the comforter over them, and then wrapped his arms around her waist and laced their fingers together. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter Eight

  Betsy floated in a haze of need. It was a familiar place. She woke up hungry every morning. Her hand moved to ease the ache and hit something warm and firm. She gasped. Arms surrounded her, and something hard slid against her hip. Her arousal increased tenfold as she realized where she was.

  With Quin. Not dreaming of him.

  He’d rolled her on top of him before she fell asleep. She’d meant to slide away, but he’d felt so good, and he hadn’t seemed to mind her weight, so she’d dozed, all night, apparently. Now she was awake, and so was he.

  “Lift up a sec.”

  “Huh?”

  “Condom.” One of his arms thrust the covers aside, and searched for something on the side of the bed. She clutched him for balance when he jacked her forward, over his shoulder, and then eased her back into place—right onto his cock.

  He settled the covers over them and closed his eyes.

  “Umm…”

  “Quiet.”

  His hands gripped her waist, adjusting their position while he rolled his hips back and forth. He inched her forward so her pelvis rested above the curve of his, crushing her clit against his pubic bone while the head of his cock moved in and out of her body. She collapsed on top of him, pressing her face into his neck, wondering if she’d been talking in her sleep. How else could he have guessed this was her favorite early morning fantasy? Except it wasn’t early morning. The light streaming in the window was bright, too bright. What time was it? “Umm…”

  “Hit the snooze, Betsy. Five more minutes.”

  She moved her hips in counterpoint with his, and he groaned. Satisfaction poured through her. She thrust faster, and he caught her hips, taking charge again.

  “Nice try,” he whispered into her hair.

  She tightened around him, helplessly aroused by his control. His low sounds of pleasure rippled inside her, carrying her up. The climax was gentle, a slow slide into heaven as opposed to the tornado that had her ripped her out of reality and made her black out last night. His deep groan ended in a sigh. He cradled her atop his big frame, and she started to drift again.

  “Let’s stay in bed all day.” The rumble beneath her ear startled her, and when his meaning sank in, she wanted to say yes.

  She rolled to the side and sat up.

  “I’m late for work.” She scrambled for her phone and discovered it was almost ten. She opened in an hour. Panic drummed. If today was anything like yesterday, losing two hours of prep time was a catastrophe. Ali was scheduled at ten-thirty, but if Betsy hauled ass home right now and got changed, she might get there first…

  “Want some help in the kitchen today?”

  “Huh?” She glanced up, taking in his indolent pose in bed, arms above his head, knees bent, watching her. He hadn’t bothered to pull up the sheet she’d knocked off, and he lay naked. Glorious. Dangerous. She missed a button on her shirt and had to start over.

  “Since I’m the reason you’re late, can I give you a hand? I don’t want to find you sobbing into the fryer again when I come in for lunch.”

  He wanted to help? A flash of warmth shot through her, and she wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t dare. Everything about him beckoned, and she’d never leave the bedroom if she touched him. His rich soapy scent was on her cheeks and lips where she had slept on his chest. If she closed her eyes she could still feel him, moving inside her.

  She forced herself to shake her head. “Don’t you have big hotel stuff to keep you busy? A masquerade ball to plan? Checks to write? A kingdom to run? Surely you have important things to do today.”

  “Nope—that’s why I have staff.” He stretched out on his side and propped his head on his arm, looking every inch the wealthy hotel playboy. “You should consider hiring some.”

  “I would if I could, but I can’t afford it.” She jammed her feet into her shoes and threw her phone in her purse, not quite as sorry to leave this silver-spoon incarnation of Quin.

  “Because of the mortgage?” he asked.

  “What mortgage?” She looked up and saw the same shuttered expression he’d worn the other night. “What mortgage, Quin?”

  He stared back at her, impenetrable, and then stood, grabbing a pair of boxers from the drawer. “Last Call is mortgaged. I assumed you knew. Isn’t that why you’re killing yourself to get the café off the ground alone? A hefty mortgage payment?”

  She shook her head. “Last Call belongs to my mother, free and clear. It was a gift. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He stepped into a pair of khakis. “I must have gotten my facts wrong. Check with your mom. Meanwhile, I’m happy to help out for a while. Will you put me to work?”

  A trickle of unease rolled down her spine as he finished getting dressed. She doubted a man in Quin’s position got his facts wrong very often. Had her mother mortgaged the bar without telling her? She searched his expression, but his easy grin hid as much as his impassive stare.

  She shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep our association strictly unprofessional, if you don’t mind. I’ll see you later.” She turned toward the door.

  “I do mind, actually.” He caught her arm. “I know you don’t want to sell Last Call to me, but I could do a lot to help you get the café running more smoothly. I hate watching you struggle when I have the resources to help. Would you consider letting me invest?”

  His tone was all business, and it was the exact opposite of what she wanted from him. There were lots of things she could do better if she had help, more money, and time to spend on details, but she didn’t have any of those things. Her heart twisted, and she sucked in a tight, shallow breath. She couldn’t afford to take what he offered, but she was tempted for the first time in her life, and the realization made her angry. “That’s how it starts. Little things. Nice things.”

  “What starts?”

  She wasn’t aware she’d spoken aloud. His hand stroked her arm, and it felt so good she jerked away from his touch. Given the way she acted
around him, she shouldn’t be surprised he thought she needed help. “You can’t barge into my business and take over.”

  “I don’t want to take over.”

  “You don’t know how to do anything else.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take over in your kitchen yesterday. I followed your orders, and we were a great team. Let’s do it again. Let’s do more together. It’s clear you’re great at your job. In fact, if you ever change your mind about working at Last Call, I’d hire you in a heartbeat. I’ve got restaurants in hotels all over the country and plans to expand internationally soon. You could work anywhere you wanted.”

  She straightened her spine and put her hands on her hips, claiming her space and putting more distance between them. The attraction between them made it easy to forget their worlds were completely different. What was it like to have power like his? Money to make tempting offers? People to do his bidding and keep his kingdom profitable? She couldn’t imagine, but just for a second, she let herself think about what it would be like to work for him. His restaurants probably ran like clockwork, no scrambling around for ingredients, no shoestring budget, and no skeleton crew. Her heart skipped a beat, and then began to pound so loud she could barely think through the riot.

  “Earth to Betsy.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.

  She stared up at him and felt something turn to ice deep inside her.

  Impossible things seemed like genius ideas when he touched her, but even if she were willing to leave her family, she would never work for him. If she did, he could fire her whenever he wanted. Or worse, leave her toiling to make money for him while he traveled the world meeting other women. He was a force of nature, a hurricane, a perfect storm. If she let him, he would leave devastation in his wake. Her devastation. Not gonna happen.

  She pushed him away. “I’m sure you’ve already got women waiting for you in all those hotels. You still want that courtyard, don’t you? I can’t imagine you’d make me such a sweet offer out of the goodness of your heart.”

  Something dark flickered in his gaze. “I won’t lie—I want a courtyard next to my hotel, but I don’t have to own it. I’m perfectly happy to compromise. Invest. Partner. Whatever you want. Think about it. It’s a good idea.”

  Panic surged through her, and she yanked the door open and threw herself out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he followed her into the hall.

  “Coming with you.” His voice was hard. “You were swamped yesterday, and now you’re late. You can’t handle that much volume alone without falling behind.”

  “Bullshit.” She hurried down the hall. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I can or can’t handle. I appreciated your help yesterday, but in the future, I’ll handle it myself. I don’t want your help—or your money.”

  “You’re understaffed, the dining room needs repairs, and the kitchen needs major updates. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, and you’re at least ten pounds thinner than you were two years ago. You’re strung so tight, you feel about five seconds from snapping like a rotten rubber band—”

  She punched the button for the elevator and crossed her arms to keep from taking a jab at him as well. “That’s a very flattering and accurate description of me, but some of us actually have to work if we want to make money.”

  “Not if I give it to you, but you don’t want my money. Why is that? Why won’t you let me make your life a little easier?” The elevator doors opened, but he pressed her against the hallway wall before she could step inside. “Answer the question.”

  Caught between the wall and his hard body, she should have felt trapped, but she didn’t. She felt secure, and the effort of not melting into his arms made her tremble. “Easy isn’t better.” She meant to spit the words, but they sighed from her lips. Her anger deserted her in a hot rush, and she clutched at the memory of her mother sobbing on the floor, hoping it would help her stay strong, but it made her feel weaker instead. Now she understood how a man could bring a woman to her knees. Her heart rose into her throat as he bent to kiss her.

  His lips moved softly, seducing, beseeching. Reluctantly, she opened to him. Her walls had come down last night, and he knew it. He’d watched it happen. Her surrender had been unmistakable—just like his—but it didn’t change anything. Crushing sadness made it difficult to breathe, and she turned her head, gasping. As incredible as it felt to share this accord with him, it wouldn’t last, and she had to make him stop pushing her. It wasn’t in his nature to take no for an answer, and the only way she could be with him was if he did. “Please don’t ruin this.”

  He gathered her against his chest and stroked her hair. “I don’t want to ruin it. I want to make it better. Why is helping you such a bad thing?”

  She tilted her head, resting it against the wall so she could look up at him. He didn’t get it. Why would he? And she wasn’t sure she could express it, not in a way he would understand, but she wanted to try. She stared at him for several longs seconds, breathing in and out of her nose with her lips pressed tightly together while her thoughts whirled. His hair flopped over his gold-flecked eyes, and she wanted to smooth it back so badly her fingers twitched. His jaw was shadowed by deep red stubble, and she wanted to touch it and taste it. She just wanted…him. This man could make me crawl.

  Suddenly, she knew exactly how to begin. Her heart clenched, and she took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful fresh-faced barmaid who fell in love with a wealthy man. She gave him everything and believed they would live happily ever after. But in time, the wealthy man grew tired of the barmaid, who wasn’t as much fun when she was pregnant with his child. So he bought her a bar and left her there. Brokenhearted. Until the next wealthy man came along. And the next child. And the next unhappily ever after.” She paused. “My mother’s romanticism is eternal, and my sister’s defies all logic. But mine is non-existent. This former barmaid doesn’t want a wealthy man to give her anything. She wants to make her own happily ever after.” She held his gaze and gave him a tight smile. “Does that answer your question?”

  He reached to grip her arms. “Except sex. You want two weeks of sex from me.”

  She nodded slowly. “And I don’t want you to ruin it.”

  “What if I sent someone over from the Keystone? Some lovers buy clothes and jewelry. I could help you with payroll.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  “Not if you want to get laid. If you interfere with my business in any way, I will end this.” They’d reached another standoff, but this time she couldn’t afford to yield. She wanted two weeks with him badly enough to beg, but that was as far as she could go. Would it be enough?

  “Then I’ll see you tonight.” He pressed her against the wall, staking another claim on her mouth. His kiss went deep, stroking into her, filling her with relief, swiftly followed by a hollowing stab of despair. He’d given up; she should be happy. Instead she felt the prickle of tears because the tenderness that had grown between them last night was gone, leaving only the heat. That’s all I want.

  She opened her mouth, abandoning herself to the kiss. Her lips burned from the scrape of his stubble, her breasts ached for his touch, and her sex felt heavy with need. Just that fast, she was ready for him again.

  She heard the sound of his hand slapping the wall, and the elevator doors opened. He carried her into the elevator, set her on her feet, and stepped back. She staggered slightly before she caught her balance on the wall.

  They rode to the lobby in silence, not looking at each other.

  “I’ll text you later,” he said.

  Her eyes began to sting, but she pasted a smile on her face and held it until he walked away.

  …

  Quin headed for his office. Betsy didn’t want anything but sex from him. Paradoxically, he wanted to give her a whole lot more, and the irony wasn’t lost on him. Her taunt about him having other women was right on target, but he couldn’t remember a single face or name at the m
oment. All he could think about was her—and the way she kept pushing him away.

  The lobby stretched out before him like a foreign land, and it seemed to take forever to cross it. He had a ton of work on his desk, but instinct propelled him out the front door.

  He looked over his shoulder as he stepped outside, and the sleek facade of the Keystone looked flat and plain to him after seeing the ornate mansions and hotels along St. Charles Avenue last night. What he had once thought was stylish and elegant now seemed cold and sterile. Boring. Unremarkable. What was the word Betsy had used? Soulless.

  He crossed the street and sank onto a bench to stare at his hotel. Consistency was the key to Keystone success, but maybe it was time to change more than the menu. The idea took hold inside him, growing fast. He could add New Orleans grace notes to the existing hotel structure fairly easily. What was that word again? Lagniappe? Not quite that, but something like it. The wrought-iron fence surrounding Jackson Square served as an impromptu art gallery every day. If he replaced the modern art in the lobby with canvasses purchased from local artists, it would help. He could also switch the classical music in the elevators and restaurant to jazz. The song he’d played with the old man vibrated through him, and he sucked a hot breath of noon air into his lungs to fight off a shiver. Yes, that would be perfect.

  He pictured the monochromatic lobby, the severely elegant guest rooms, and the contemporary restaurant and dropped his head into his hands. What had he been thinking? But he knew. He’d wanted to replace the past with something that didn’t give him nightmares. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked. He still woke up in an ice-cold sweat every morning.

  Not this morning. He’d woken up with Betsy, warm and rested. Something had changed last night. But only for him. Betsy might have stayed the night, but she’d disappeared again this morning. His heart lurched, so he forced his mind back to the hotel renovations. What would it take? How hard would it be? The grand opening masquerade ball was in two weeks.

  For the first time, he noticed how out-of-place the enormous windows of the Keystone looked in comparison to the smaller, more protected windows of the surrounding buildings. Many of the businesses even had wooden shutters that could be closed and locked with hooks. He growled under his breath as he remembered how many times his architect had said the word hurricane. He hadn’t wanted to hear it then, but a storm ripping through the Quarter could wipe out most of the first floor. He typed a quick search on his phone, and was relieved to discover he had months before hurricane season started. Plenty of time to shore up the windows and make a whole lot of other changes, too.