by Jillian Dodd
We toast to the event and let the senator and his wife carry most of the table’s dinner conversation.
After dessert, the talk turns to travel spots of the rich and famous. Sissy and the senator are vacationing at their six thousand square foot “cottage” in the balmy Cayman Islands in a few weeks, and Allie is headed to Puerto Rico tomorrow for a popular sports magazine’s bikini shoot.
The senator and his wife excuse themselves, along with the actor and his spouse.
“We’re going to Montrovia,” Ari says.
“Montrovia?” Daniels replies. “I just happen to be pals with the Prince of Montrovia. Haven’t seen him in a couple years. I’ll tell you what, though. He knows how to party. I never thought I’d recover from our night out.”
“A prince, huh?” I tease.
“Don’t start dreaming of a royal wedding just yet,” Daniel teases back. “You’d have a lot of competition. Me, I’m easy.”
“So I’ve read in the tabloids.”
“Who is accompanying you on this trip?” Allie asks.
“It’s just me and Ari. We’re going to have some brother-sister bonding time.”
Daniel’s blue eyes smolder as he whispers to me, “Maybe it’s time to go visit my old friend. Although, if I go, you know we’re going to sleep together.”
“I do love a good slumber party. Maybe I can braid your hair,” I tease, tousling his dark, shaggy locks.
“When do we leave?” he asks.
“Tomorrow.”
“Mode of transportation?”
“Well, if you’re coming with, why don’t we make a splash in Air Force Two?”
“You know I could make that happen.”
“You talk a big game.”
“And I deliver the goods.” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at me. Gosh, this guy is a flirt. I love it.
“My prediction is that the Prince, who you claim to be friends with, won’t remember you.”
An amused smile plays on his lips. “I’m hard to forget.”
“So you go both ways, huh?”
“What? No!”
I grin. “I’m just screwing with you.”
“Not yet, Huntley, but soon you will be.”
He grabs my phone, enters his number as AirForce2 and says, “I’ll be in touch.” Then he excuses himself from the table.
Ari and Peter are talking exotic cars.
“That’s why we’re going, really. To hit the car show and the Formula One race. One of the things on Ari’s bucket list.”
“I’d love to go to Montrovia,” Allie gushes. “We should go too, Peter.”
“It’s race weekend. No way we’d find a hotel room.”
“You’re welcome to stay at our villa,” I suggest.
“That would be amazing!” she says, then turns to Peter. “Peter, you could come to my photo shoot, and we could leave from there.” She gives him a little pout. “Please, baby.”
Peter’s face softens, and he gives her a sweet smile. “I hate to say no to you, but I have other plans.”
Allie huffs at him then switches to Daniel’s vacated spot next to me and gives me a girly rundown of Montrovia. She seems to know all about the place even though she’s never been there. She goes on about what kind of clothes I should take, all the amazing yachts there, and how her publicist could get us into some A-List parties. I suppose when you have a body like hers, getting invites is probably easy.
“Have you and Peter dated long?”
“About three weeks. I’m not sure he’s all that serious about me, though,” she admits. “He likes models.”
“I’ve heard he’s a bit of a playboy.”
“Yes, me too. He’s so sweet though, and the lifestyle of a billionaire’s son is crazy. I grew up on a farm in Illinois.”
“I know what you mean. I just inherited that kind of money. I’m still in shock.”
“Well, better to have it than to date it, if you know what I mean. Your brother is pretty cute.”
“Uh, thank you.”
“You look alike. I see the family resemblance. Let’s go to the bar and get a drink. Meet some more people.”
I’m not sure, but by people, I think she’s possibly shopping for men. Peter may be using her for her beauty, but she’s using him as well. I guess I shouldn’t judge. My job is to use people to get what I want. She seems really nice, though. If I wasn’t who I am, I think we could be friends. Ari’s words earlier about this being our life play back in my head. I wonder if he’s right. Could there be more to this mission than I have been told?
Allie grabs my elbow and leads me to the restroom, where we touch up our lipstick and then head to the bar.
“That Daniel is quite a looker. He seemed very interested in you. Like, he didn’t even look at me. Which is something I’m not used to.”
“Do you believe his story about showing up with his parents? Looked to me like he just rolled out of bed.”
“I hope he wasn’t alone. That would be a shame. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“He’s like sex on a stick.”
“I do like a big stick,” she giggles, downing a glass of champagne.
“Care to dance?” a velvety voice says into my ear.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“Do you mind?” I ask Allie.
“Oh, no,” she says, latching on to Ari who is with Daniel. “Your brother can keep me company.”
“I’d love to,” I say to Daniel, taking his hand.
We dance close, his hard body pressed against mine and his lips nuzzling my neck. I suppose in some ways being a covert operative and going undercover is much like an actress playing a role. And although I know my role is to become friendly with Daniel, friendly takes on a whole new meaning when he lowers his lips to my neck and nips at it.
He turns me on. Plain and simple. While my mind is calculating different scenarios in which Daniel can further help my mission, my body is highly recommending that I sleep with him.
It’s like I’m one of those cars, that all you have to do is push to start. And Daniel revs my motor further when he whispers in my ear, “I’m hungry. Would you want to go back to my place and order a real dinner?”
I know I’d like to feast on him.
I nod yes, tell Ari not to wait up, and before I know it, I’m in a limo staring at Daniel’s hella good hair, his perfect profile, and his jawline of delicious scruff.
I was taught to exploit an opponent’s weaknesses, and it’s quite clear I’m going to need a much closer inspection to find anything weak on Daniel. From his strong, chiseled jaw down to a thick neck and broad shoulders. All of him is hard and muscular.
Which is probably what makes his brilliant blue eyes look so sweet and his lips look so soft and lush.
X X X
Daniel’s town house is incredible, an old brownstone on a prestigious street lined with embassies.
“Is this your parents’ house?”
“No, it was my grandparents’. I inherited it last year. Isn’t it great?”
I nod. The home is old with thick crown moldings, wood floors, finials, wood and stone fireplaces, lots of wainscoting and marble. But all the furnishings are a healthy mix of modern and antiques.
“I like what you’ve done to the place. You’ve kept all the original details but brought in modern furniture.”
I’m rewarded with a smile and a peek of a dimple on his right side.
“I think it’s my new goal in life to see your other dimple,” I tell him.
He has a cocky smirk and a body built for all kinds of naughtiness, but his eyes are warm and tender.
At Blackwood, my professors couldn’t find my weakness, but I’m looking at it right now—a pair of intense blue eyes.
“I only have one dimple.” He holds a plethora of takeout menus in front of my face. “Pick one.”
“And here I thought that was just a ploy to get me back to your place. I’m a little disappointed. Allie wa
s regaling me with what she’s read in the tabloids about you. All your tricks, Air Force Two.”
He sets the menus down and studies my face, his blue eyes boring into mine. “I don’t need tricks to get a girl to sleep with me.”
And I don’t doubt it.
He lowers his eyes to the menus and pulls a few out. “Let’s get rid of the healthy options. I’m in the mood to be bad.”
Oh god, me too, Daniel, me too. I’m going to drag him back to the bedroom even if it means I’ll have to overcome and restrain him to do it. Those thoughts alone set my panties ablaze. And he’s yet to kiss me.
He finally settles on a pizza menu.
“Best thick crust in the city. Anything you don’t like on a pizza?”
“No anchovies. No onions. Other than that, I’m game for anything.”
My answer is rewarded with the single dimple punctuating a small smile. A line like that at Blackwood would have earned me a lot more than a smile. It would have either gotten me four hours of wilderness survival training or thrown on a guy’s dorm bed and wonderfully attacked.
I have a moment of self-doubt.
Maybe he really just wanted a dinner companion?
“So, Montrovia, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s first up on the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“Yes, of all the places and things we’d like to see and do.” I don’t mention that he has rocketed straight to the top of the all the things I want to do.
Preferably now.
Like, right now.
I consider stripping off my clothes just to see what would happen, but when his stomach growls I realize he really is hungry. And if—no, when—I end up in bed with him, the last thing I want is for him not to have enough fuel for that amazing body. With all those muscles, he must burn like a thousand calories a minute just staring into space. I remember reading an article that said he eats like ten thousand calories a day when he’s training.
“They said it will be about thirty minutes,” he tells me after placing our order. “Want to play some Xbox?”
The night is going downhill quickly. He wants to play video games with me?
I tap my perfectly manicured nails on the island in response. I look down at my evening gown, the red color a contrast to my blonde hair, the straps reining in my ample cleavage and the fabric floating over my curves.
If Daniel wants to be my friend, so be it. I’m going to be the sexiest best friend he’s ever had.
I remind myself I’m on a mission but, in my mind, sleeping with Daniel has just become an integral part of that mission.
And I must not fail.
He plops down on the couch and pats the seat next to him as he readies the gaming controls.
I stop by his fridge, grab a couple beers, and hand him one when I sit down in the exact spot he patted, allowing the silk covering my thigh to brush against him. He hands me a controller and points to a list of games on the screen.
“Choose one.”
I scroll through the list while he’s busy staring at my cleavage.
Fortunately, I find what I’m looking for. It’s a very popular game that allows you to go on missions either by yourself, with a partner, or as a team. Only a few people know that this game started out as a teaching and training program for students at Blackwood Academy.
And I’m the best.
When I click on it, Daniel’s eyes light up.
“This is a really complex game,” he says, probably expecting me to choose something like Mario Kart.
I shrug noncommittally. I’m pretty sure this game is some kind of a litmus test. Daniel’s way of screening girls. Which is odd. Never once in all the accounts I’ve read of his hookups have I read about there being pizza and Battleground involved.
We opt to go into battle together rather than against each other. And although the competitor in me wanted to go head-to-head and kill him in the game, my lady parts remind me that might be bad for his ego, which may have an adverse effect on his performance in bed.
I’m kicking butt in the game and, although we are partners against the bad guys, I’m amassing points at about a three-to-one ratio to his.
He pauses the game and slides out of his jacket. “I can’t move in this monkey suit,” he says. “Undo my tie, will you?”
I oblige, as I’m sure any girl would when asked to remove an article of his clothing—although, I was hoping for his pants.
He undoes his top two buttons and rolls up his shirtsleeves, getting comfortable. And serious.
Which makes me smile.
His forearms flex as he takes the controller and continues the game. This round our score is more even, mostly because I’m obsessing over his muscles and not giving the game my all.
He’s cursing, banging on the controller, and pulling up his weapons cache trying desperately to even the score.
My dress becomes increasingly uncomfortable and, in theory, could be hindering my performance.
I pause the game.
“What are you doing?”
“Give me your shirt,” I instruct.
He just squints his eyes at me, so I lean over, unbutton it, and strip it off him.
And I’m trying hard not to drool.
Fine. A photo much like this one, where he’s lounging on a couch shirtless may, in fact, be hanging in M’s dorm room.
I stand and turn my back to him. The back of my dress is cut low and held in place by a short zipper that dives from my waist down to my ass.
“Unzip me, please.”
He curses under his breath but complies.
I slide out of the dress, my back still to him. I’m wearing a minute red satin G-string and nothing else. I was going to put my hand across my chest but decide not to. I mean, we’re friends, and they’re just boobs. No big deal.
Besides I can do a few litmus tests of my own. If it weren’t for the testosterone that oozes off him in waves, I’d think maybe he was gay.
I give him an eyeful of boobage as I lift his shirt off the couch and put it on. It covers my undies nicely and looks hot with my heels. I plop back down, even going so far as to unfurl my legs across his coffee table and cross them in a way that shows off my sky-high black pumps, whose red soles match my dress and lipstick.
Daniel is studying me closely. A quick glance at the semi he’s sporting under his pants reaffirms my intel on his testosterone levels. I’m contemplating commanding him to remove his pants, so I can put them on, too, when the doorbell rings announcing our pizza delivery.
Make that pizzas. He ordered two.
Upon seeing my quizzical expression, he shrugs and throws one in the fridge. “One for now. One for breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t you be eating egg whites with spinach or something?”
He chuckles and sets the box in front of us then holds a gooey piece up to my mouth. I take a bite, savoring the combination of cheese, spicy sausage, roasted red peppers, and sweet pineapple.
“Mmm. This is my new favorite pizza,” I groan.
He hands me the piece and takes his own, ripping into it.
His ferocity is hot.
I savor another bite then pull my legs up onto the couch crisscross style, being careful not to stab myself with my heels. I mentally kick myself realizing this is probably not nearly as sexy a position as having my long, tan legs sprawled across his table, but when he glances down and the dimple forms, I stay put. My underwear are skimpy and don’t cover all the parts. I’m pretty sure he just got flashed.
I demolish piece number one and reach for the box. I might be amassing points faster, but he’s winning the eating game, having mowed through three pieces already.
His appetite for food seemingly quelled, he holds a piece to my mouth again. His cerulean eyes remind me of the deep blue of a starry night sky. He is staring at my lips, wrapped around the crust.
“I’m glad you like the pizza,” he states, his gaze returning to my crotch. “You’re good at Battleground. Yo
u should know I don’t like to lose. We may not be leaving this couch tonight.”
“Fine with me,” I say, my desire growing as I care less about this stupid game.
I unzip his pants to find his hard-on peeking out above his boxer briefs and proceed to straddle him.
Our lips collide, and he annihilates my mouth with his tongue. He’s treating my mouth much like he did the video game—full on siege.
He bites his way down my neck, and I can practically feel the steam rising from my crotch. As he unbuttons his shirt to expose my breasts and assaults them, I move my hips against his.
He holds me up in the air with one hand while sliding his clothes off with the other. Then his fingers move inside me. Slowly at first, which is a contrast to the harsh, hot kisses moving across my chest and the sucking and biting of my nipples. I throw my head back, not able to silence myself. I let out a string of curses mixed with moans muffled by his neck. I weave my fingers into his hair, and I force his mouth to meet mine. As he’s making love to my lips, he pats the couch for his pants, finds his wallet, rolls on a condom, and then plunges inside of me.
His hands tightly grip my hips, surely leaving bruises, as he guides me up and down.
I orgasm quickly, shocking myself and sounding like a sex phone operator. The number of naughty words coming out of my mouth are no act.
They surprise me, but seem to please him. I can feel him smile into my neck when I practically collapse into a heap on top of him.
My tiredness is quickly abated when he picks me up, flips me over, wraps my legs around his waist, and cups my ass. I shove my heels into the sides of his legs to hold myself in place as he slams into me—until we both are spent and panting.
Which as you would expect from a well-conditioned athlete takes quite some time.
After a few precious moments of his face snuggled into my hair, he picks me up and carries me into his bedroom.
When he is finished with me and passes out, the sun is peeking over the horizon.
I throw on his shirt, belt it with his tie, slip on my shoes, and then steal the pizza from his fridge on my way to catch a cab.