by Rynne Raines
He shook his head and grinned wider. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“Okay. If you’re sure, then thank you.” Instead of stuffing the two singles back into her organizer, she tucked them into a fat porcelain cat tip jar beside the register and took the coffee. “You just made my day, kid.”
“You make my day too, sexy.”
Fiona glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I say, have a nice day, señora.”
“Right.” She laughed. “You, too.”
She chose the only table that wasn’t balancing on a sugar packet to enjoy her complimentary cup of java. The little cafe might be falling down around her and have a kid punching numbers behind the counter, but it was somewhere quiet and dry where she could wait out the storm before she made the trip back to the house for the last of her things. After their argument in the elevator, she wasn’t about to try and sleep under the same roof as Daniel, even if it was only two more nights. A hotel would do for a few days.
Maybe after coffee she’d take a trip to the Metropolitan Museum. They were featuring a new Roman mosaic from Lod, Israel. Although she didn’t know much about art, she enjoyed the ambience. Daniel hated the museum.
All the more reason to go.
No. She blew gently on her coffee. Something a little more risqué than a museum visit was in order. Something like hitting the Pravda, tipping back a few dirty martinis, and inviting the first man who caught her eye back to her hotel room for an afternoon of raunchy sex. Her lips quirked.
Oh yes, Daniel would hate that.
She closed her eyes and considered the idea. Hands. Mouths. Cocks. Naked, hot flesh. She swallowed hard and squeezed her thighs together under the table.
“Someone’s wet.”
Fiona’s eyes flew open, and her hands clenched the flimsy cup. Steaming hot brew gushed over the edges and scalded her fingers badly enough she dropped the coffee.
“Shit!” Bolting up from her chair to avoid her free coffee that was now flowing freely off the edge of the table, she lunged for napkins. Her ass collided with something that prevented her from bending any further. No, wait, not just something. Oh God. Thighs. Very muscular thighs. She swallowed hard.
“Let me get that,” the low voice said.
A set of large hands gasped her hips and maneuvered her back from the mess. Fiona’s heart fluttered. The physical contact was casual and lasted only a second, but the sensation of the strong fingers pressed into the shallow dips of her hips, the thumbs balanced just below her lower back caused her panties to dampen and nipples to perk. Her eyes rolled. God, how she missed the touch of a man.
It shouldn’t strike her as odd, that a stranger’s hands on her hips could evoke such a lustful reaction in her. She’d practically spent the last decade sexless as a nun. This guy should consider himself lucky she hadn’t burst into orgasm the moment he touched her.
Before she could get a look at him, he leaned past her, jerked several napkins from the dispenser, and proceeded to mop up the spill.
From where Fiona stood, only a partial of his profile was visible. His dark hair was trimmed neatly. Not military short but well kept, the back just barely brushing along the thick collar of a black wool jacket that stretched across wide shoulders. His skin was lightly tanned. If she tilted her head at just the right angle she could see crinkles at the corner of his eye that said he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. Judging by how confidently he’d handled her hips earlier, she’d guess mid to late thirties.
Although physical contact between them was brief, she was quite certain if those hands could speak they would say, “I’m old enough to know the geography of a woman’s body and still young enough to thoroughly enjoy it.”
So, not only did the shabby little coffeehouse give away free brew, but they had scenery you would gladly give up your customary grande, single shot, extra hot, light foam latte for. Fiona nibbled her lower lip and arched an eyebrow. Maybe once she returned from her trip to Maine for her parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary next week, she’d tell the real estate agent to expand his search to incorporate residences near this little hole in the wall.
Curious, she stepped closer and tilted her head to get a better look at the face who owned the broad shoulders in front of her. Then she froze.
“C—Councilman Lancaster?” she stammered, unable to hide her surprise. “Is that you?”
“Last time I checked, Mrs. Forrester.”
Harrison Lancaster. The sudden quiver in her belly confirmed it. In ten years, there’d only been one man who could speak and give her heart palpitations, not to mention turn her knees to water. The press often regarded him as the most influential and imposing Republican force to surface in decades. And it just so happened, he worked for city council in close correspondence with her husband.
Ex-husband, she sharply reminded herself. She was single now. Single and free to do whatever or whomever her little heart desired.
On that note, her gaze slid up Harrison’s muscular thighs and settled on his tight, perfect ass. Was it her imagination or had the bane of Daniel’s political existence never looked quite so good?
You can’t be serious? You just got rid of one uptight, pretentious, “holier than thou” politician. Not even ten minutes divorced and you’re already ogling another? Don’t even go there.
Okay, so the annoying voice in her head had a point. She’d been down the road of the proper politician before and discovered adventurous sex to most of them meant doing it with the lights on. That didn’t include the handful who liked to spend their time snorting cocaine off hookers’ asses, but Harrison Lancaster certainly didn’t fall into that category.
Along with being regarded as influential and imposing, Harrison was known as Mr. Serious. He never attended a meeting late, always came prepared, and addressed every concern that came his way with the utmost respect and attention. All commendable qualities when it came to electing a United States Senator, but would those characteristics translate well when it came to being a lover?
He probably irons his bed sheets.
Fiona wrinkled her nose. Yes, better to entertain the idea of the Pravda and dirty martini plan.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he replied, half over his shoulder as he finished drying the table. “Luis, please get Mrs. Forrester another coffee.”
“Sí, señor,” the boy replied obediently.
“Decaf, right?”
“Oh…um.” Fiona shook her head. “That’s not necessary. He gave it to me for free last time.”
“Free?” She didn’t miss the echo of disbelief in his deep baritone. “I’ve been coming here five years, and I’ve never known Luis to give away anything for free. His mother finds out, and she’ll have him scrubbing floors with a toothbrush for a month.”
Fiona glanced at the boy who quickly redirected his eyes and began whistling an innocent tune. “He swore he didn’t have an agenda,” she assured him.
“Oh, he swore, did he?” Again skepticism rang evident in his tone, but this time there was the faintest trace of amusement. “And you believed him?”
Harrison dumped the soiled napkins in the trash across the café, and as he made his way back to her, long stride after long stride, Fiona couldn’t do a damned thing to ward off the butterflies in her stomach.
It wasn’t just the size of him that was intimidating, although it helped that he stood half a foot taller than her even when she wore heels. His aura was intense. It didn’t matter what he was doing, whether it was throwing out the trash or giving a speech in front of a thousand people, if you were within a hundred feet of the man, you were affected.
“I didn’t think there was any reason not to believe him,” Fiona explained, and fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt suddenly feeling like she was under investigation.
“Mmmhmm.”
Now that they were standing face to face, their height difference forced Fiona to look up. She tried to focus on what t
hey were talking about, even though the scent of his cedar and oak moss cologne wreaked havoc with her senses. For once, he didn’t appear very focused himself. In fact, his gaze seemed transfixed on something that was lower than her face and higher than her waist. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was staring at her…her breasts. Directly at her breasts.
She swallowed hard.
His eyes only lingered a moment, but the flash of hunger she saw in them was powerful enough to tighten her nipples and moisten her panties. Her heart picked up speed.
God almighty, when was the last time someone looked at me like that? Like he wanted to devour me in one greedy gulp?
Her pussy throbbed, and she fought not to shut her eyes and savor the foreign sensation. She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the effect his hot gaze had on her body. “Maybe politics has made us both cynical. No one that boy’s age could or should have an agenda.”
Before she burst into flame, the flash in his eyes vanished, and he redirected his attention from her chest to the service counter.
“Everyone has an agenda, Mrs. Forrester.” He shrugged off his coat and held it out to her. “Put this on.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’d rather not get it soaked.”
He brought his gaze back to her.
“And I’d rather not be the one who has to drive a thirteen-year-old boy to the hospital when he faints from a lack of blood getting to his brain due to the condition of your blouse.” Ignoring her concerns about getting the jacket wet, he bundled the heavy wool around her shoulders.
“My blouse?” Fiona’s cheeks warmed. “I wasn’t aware my blouse had a condition.”
“Clearly not,” he agreed and arched a disapproving stare toward the service counter. “No agenda, eh?”
The grinning boy shrugged his narrow shoulders and went back to swiping a damp rag over the countertop. Confused by their exchange and by what Harrison had said, Fiona frowned and pulled her chin against her chest.
“Oh God,” she whispered, face heating.
The downpour had made short work of her ivory blouse. The lacy bra from her newest lingerie catalog appeared glaringly white even under the poor coffeehouse lighting. Her stiff, rosy nipples shoved against the cloth and left little to the imagination.
Mortified, she snapped the coat shut and squeezed her eyes closed. The floor seemed to tilt under her feet, back and forth, leaving her dizzy and unsteady. This couldn’t be happening. She did not just flash her ex-husband’s opposition for United States Senator.
Huffing a hard breath out her nostrils, she shook her head.
“Um…my…my blouse…is completely transparent.”
“I’m quite aware.”
At his frankness, a high-pitched whimper squeezed out of her throat. He hadn’t been staring at her breasts because he wanted her. He was staring because she looked like she’d just stepped out of a strip club after an afternoon wet T-shirt contest. Fiona cringed. So much for escaping scandal until the news of her divorce hit the papers.
Chapter Two
She’s taking this far better than I thought she would, Harrison Lancaster mused, impressed by the woman’s poise. Most of the socialites he knew would’ve screeched bloody murder at the top of their lungs and bolted in horror to the restrooms by now had they been caught in public practically topless.
Not Fiona Forrester.
She stood very still in front of him, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if she kept them closed long enough, she might somehow manage to wish herself off the continent. The knuckles on both her slender hands had gone white from how tightly she was clutching his coat closed.
Since she was doing so well controlling her reaction, Harrison decided he wouldn’t inform her that the rain and wind had also turned her strawberry red hair into a frazzled nest of curls and knots or that there were multiple lines of dark mascara streaking down her cheeks. She looked like a woman who’d been fucked sideways in an alley in the middle of a torrential downpour, and that was putting it lightly. She was a mess.
To be honest, he’d never wanted to fuck the farm girl turned political socialite more.
“When the media gets hold of this story, I’ll forever been known as the woman who flashes minors for free coffee.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and whimpered again.
The image of her wet, perky tits resurfaced in his mind and his cock jerked to life. Harrison clenched his jaw. Since when had his dick decided they were fifteen years old and susceptible to instant hard-ons over the simple sight of breasts? Not that she didn’t have a nice rack, but he’d seen better.
There was only one explanation for his body’s eager response. Abstaining from his weekly visit to the fetish club was beginning to grate on his nerves.
“Fucking vanilla pussy until the campaign is over won’t kill you,” his brother, who was also his worrisome campaign manager, had insisted. That might be true for a man who enjoyed fucking vanilla pussy. Unfortunately, in his opinion, screwing a woman who didn’t at least share some of his exotic tastes for kink was like jerking off into a gym sock. Anticlimactic.
“God, I should’ve just stayed in bed today. Why did I get up?” Fiona babbled, drawing him out of his personal pity party. “Why? Why did I leave the house?”
Harrison frowned. As well as she’d done to temporarily keep it together, the spool was beginning to unravel.
“You can relax, Mrs. Forrester.” He went to the counter and grabbed the fresh coffee Luis had set out for her. “The media won’t be hearing anything from me, and believe it or not, Luis is very selective when choosing the paparazzi interviews he does. Isn’t that right, Luis?”
The kid grinned.
“Sí, señor.”
“There you have it,” Harrison said casually. “Nothing to get worked up over. These things must happen all the time.”
One of her green, mascara-smudged eyes popped open and slowly shifted from him to the boy, and then back to him. He could almost hear the screech from the wheels turning in her head as she weighed his sincerity. Well now, wasn’t she just a cautious little bunny?
Amused and mildly intrigued by her guarded nature, he patiently waited for her to take the cup he extended to her, knowing whether she wanted to or not, she would eventually accept it. It would be poor etiquette not to. In his experience, people raised in the political machine since birth were a unique breed. It was almost as if they couldn’t be impolite. Being the governor’s daughter she’d be the type to remember good manners at all times. Briefly, he wondered what she would do if he gripped a handful of her ginger curls, guided her to her knees and brushed the tip of his stiff cock against her pretty lips. Maybe she’d suck his dick because it would seem rude to refuse him—
“Thank you,” she said, cutting off his depraved thoughts. “It really wasn’t necessary for you to replace it, but I appreciate it.”
Her slim fingers closed around the paper cup and he fought the urge to smirk. Instead, he inclined his head then approached the counter where Luis was holding up an extra strong, large.
“It’s just McBride now.”
He finished doctoring his coffee and turned to her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You keep calling me Mrs. Forrester,” she said, toying with the plastic lid of her cup. “As of ten minutes ago, it’s just McBride.”
Blowing gently on his coffee, he followed her gesture to the high rise across the street, and what she was trying to tell him sank in.
Well I’ll be damned. She finally divorced the bastard.
Harrison surveyed her with a watchful yet thoughtful eye, trying to interpret her body language. He liked to consider himself one of the more perceptive people voted to office, but her father, the governor, had taught her well to hide her emotions. The walls around her were transparent yet impenetrable. He couldn’t quite get a read on whether she was pleased about the end of her marriage or not.
“It seems my informants aren’t very informative,” he replied diplomatically.
“Your informants are fine.” She removed the lid completely and ventured a cautious sip. “We just signed the papers this morning.”
Part of him wanted to hold his cup in the air and offer her a cheers, but he still wasn’t sure where her head was at so he remained on the sympathetic side of the fence. “I didn’t realize things were headed down that road. I’m sorry.”
But he really wasn’t sorry. Daniel Forrester was a pathetic little prick who’d sell his mother’s soul for a seat in Senate. She was better off without him.
“Please, don’t be sorry,” she insisted, avoiding directed eye contact when she murmured, “It was a long time coming.”
Longer than anyone will ever know, the dark circles under her eyes and frown lines around her mouth said, putting uncertainty to rest. For a moment, those features had Harrison wondering how bad her marriage to Daniel had been. Few things in life were ever what they seemed. Public persona was generally a sham. He knew that better than anyone.
Sometimes, he wondered if that wasn’t what had drawn him to the BDSM lifestyle in the first place. With the right partner and the right circumstance, men and women could be challenged and pushed to the point where faking it was no longer an option. Nerves could only withstand so much stimulation before there was a vocal reaction. An ass could only be spanked for so long before tears flowed.
In the fifteen years he’d been a Dominant, he’d only ever come across one submissive who tried to pull one over on him. Thinking she wasn’t reaching orgasm fast enough to please him, she faked her climax and then tried to lie about it.
As a result, he’d tied her to a spanking bench, strapped a dildo in her ass and a vibrator in her pussy, and then spanked her to orgasm into the early hours of the next morning. When he finished with her, his palm had burned like the devil, and the little minx hadn’t been able to sit for a good week without hissing. To this day, he was damned sure she never faked an orgasm again.
Considering that was easily months ago now, the memory left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. How in the hell was he supposed to steer clear of the club until the election was over? He craved BDSM like a junky craved heroin. He’d gone way too long without a fix.