The Vault Box Set

by Eden Summers

  He beat back a grin. “You can’t ditch a classic.”

  She stopped in front of him, placing her hand-held clutch to her hip. “No. But it wouldn’t hurt to change things up a bit. You’re starting to look like a control freak with the constant stiff-suit ensemble.”

  Stiff suit? Control freak?

  She had no idea.

  He stepped toward her, hovering close, dragging her sweet scent of lust and beauty deep into his lungs. “You ain’t seen nothin’, sweetheart. Imagine how wet those panties would get if you had a full dose of my control.”

  She chuckled, batting away his arrogance with a sly tilt of her lips. “Well, we better not test that theory.” She pushed past him, pausing to whisper, “Because I’m not wearing any panties.”

  He snapped his mouth shut and took the sucker punch to his balls head on. She was messing with him. He knew it. She knew it.

  It didn’t stop his gaze from landing on her ass in search of a panty line, though. A non-existent panty line.

  Get a fucking grip.

  He wasn’t going there. Not tonight.

  “Get in.” He made his way around the car and yanked open his door.

  This excursion was about teaching her how to read men. To determine the wheat from the chaff. The sexually experienced from the ignorant.

  She needed to trust him, not only to get her laid, but to change her mind about the demonstration night. Time was running out, along with his patience, and there was no way he could miss next Thursday’s session in the Vault. He needed to be between those sordid walls. He craved the grounding. The connection.

  And, if he was being honest, he wanted to see if the image of Ella, naked and in front of a crowd, was as perfect in real life as it was in his mind.

  If he fucked her now, his limp-dick insurance policy would steal all that away from him. The class wouldn’t run with the enthusiasm it deserved. His interest in her would plummet, if not vanish entirely. There’d be no buzz. No thrill.

  He’d make a fool of them both.

  This constant state of arousal around her would work much more favorably. His intuition would be flawless with his current level of interest. All he had to do was keep riding this wave of erection-inducing torture until next week. Then he’d reward himself with one hot and heavy fuck and be done with her.

  His insurance policy would make sure of it.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him. “You ready?”

  “Do I have a choice?” She ran a hand down her thigh, straightening non-existent wrinkles in her dress. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “To a bar not far from here.” He started the ignition and pulled onto the street. “I know the guy who owns the place.”

  “Will there be music and dancing?”

  He could see her cleavage from the corner of his eye. The lush curves were enough to drive him to distraction. “You don’t want music. Dance floors are for guys looking for an easy lay. What you need is someone willing to hold a conversation. If they don’t bother learning who you are, they won’t bother learning what you want.”

  “But I like dancing.”

  And his dick loved the thought of seeing those hips sway. “Not tonight, you don’t.”

  She sighed and rested her head against the passenger window. “If you say so.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I say so.”

  The drive was quiet, the soft hum of her voice underlining every song on his playlist. This time he itched to fill the void. He had questions. He had suggestions. But every time he thought of something to say, he fell into a pathetic hole where he analyzed the necessity of every word.

  He questioned himself.

  Over her.

  What the hell?

  “So…” He pushed through the analytical crap like a motherfucker and focused instead on his building jealousy. “The guy from this afternoon, are you seeing him?”

  Her head snapped around. “What guy? Callum? No.” The questions shot at him. “He’s a regular at the cafe. This afternoon was the first time he’s spoken anything other than a drink order to me.”

  “He asked you out, right?” He hadn’t needed to hear the words to read the man’s shit-scared demeanor. “What did you say?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. I’m only trying to get a feel for how you vet potential lovers.”

  She focused out her window and spoke softly. “I politely declined.”

  “Good.” The guy wasn’t her type. Anyone with a spine as languid as a snake would be an unworthy match for her. She craved strength and dominance. Not a hesitant guy who rocked from foot to foot while talking to his crush.

  “For now,” she added. “I think I might need to reassess after tonight.”

  “Why?” He maneuvered through the light traffic, taking in side-glances of her as he went. “What’s going to happen tonight?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I think I need to stop focusing all my attention on a sexual connection. It’s time to lean more toward a mental bond.”

  “That sounds dreamy,” he drawled. “Let me know how it feels when your hymen grows back.”

  She gave a breathy snicker. “You’re such a dick. Just because you enjoy solitude doesn’t mean everyone else has to.”

  “One doesn’t have to be the loneliest number. To me, it’s the most reliable.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” She shot a glance over her shoulder, giving a quick inspection of the car’s interior.

  He held his breath and clenched the steering wheel when her eyes widened. For fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t he catch a break?

  “You kept the books?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to keep them to read or—”

  “I’m not. I planned on throwing them in the nearest dumpster, but turns out those books are fucking expensive. I read the price sticker on the back of one and couldn’t bring myself to trash them. So, I’m waiting for a spare afternoon to drop them at an oncology ward. Or somewhere else they might be of use.”

  She didn’t reply for long seconds that felt like unending months. In that head of hers, he figured she was creating a punishing reply.

  “You had no intention of reading them, but you took them anyway?”

  He ground his teeth.

  “Thank you, Bryan.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  She was back to using his name.

  “Don’t mention it,” he muttered and wanted to back it up with, “No, really, don’t fucking mention it. Ever.”

  “You can be a sweet guy, you know that?”

  “Yeah. The perfect gentleman,” he mocked. “Especially when I have my hands around your throat and your tight cunt around my finger.”

  She gave a breathy chuckle. “Are you trying to shock me with dirty talk?” She clucked her tongue. “Amateur.”

  He was. Around her, at least.

  “It’s hardly dirty talk.” He turned onto their street, thankful for the upcoming escape from the confined space. “I should give you a lesson on that, too.” No. No, he couldn’t. What the hell was he thinking?

  She sighed and remained quiet.

  Crisis averted.

  Thank fuck.

  “We’re almost there.” The looming threat of rain had made for less foot-traffic. Not many people were around. Then again, it was nine on a Tuesday night. Not really the hour for raving. “This is the place.”

  He took in the two-story building as he turned into the parking lot entrance. The front facade had received a facelift since he’d last been here. The dark brick was now matched with black guttering, giving a Gothic feel, while the warm yellow lights brightened up the interior.

  “You like it here?” She fumbled with the ends of her scarf.

  “Yeah. It’s a low-key version of Shot of Sin.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s booze, soft music, and rooms for hire upstairs.” H
e parked at the back of the lot and cut the engine.

  “Rooms for…?”

  “Privacy. Playing. Fucking. You name it.” He turned to her, taking in the slight hitch to her chin and her sharp inhale. The mental image had turned her on, which meant his dick wanted in on the action. “Are you ready?”

  She held up her clutch and nodded. “All set.”

  His palms began to sweat as he took in all the visible assets other men would soon be ogling. “Lose the scarf.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Why?”

  Because I want to see more of you. “It doesn’t match the dress.” And every time you touch it I think about tying you to my bed.

  Her hand shot to her throat. “I need to wear it.”

  “Because?”

  Her lips worked around silent words before she sighed. “Because I have marks on my neck that I couldn’t cover with make-up.”

  He scowled. “A rash?”

  “No.” Her focus shot to his. “I’m talking about your fingermarks all over my skin.”

  “I hurt you?” Snapshots of remembrance peppered his vision—his hands around soft flesh, her moans, the involuntary spasms of her pussy.

  He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Don’t think about it. Don’t picture it. Just forget the whole scarf thing and get the fuck out of this suffocating space.

  “Not enough,” she murmured.

  Jesus. It was time to bail.

  “Good.” He shoved open his car door and escaped the confines of the car.

  She followed and met his gaze over the roof. “Do you understand why I have to wear it now?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t need a reminder staring him in the face all night long, either. “It looks fine.”

  He didn’t watch her as he slammed his door. He didn’t need to confirm an eye roll accompanied her scoff; he was already sure of it.

  “You realize fine is far from a compliment.” She shut her door and rounded the hood. “Just for future reference, I mean.”

  It wasn’t like he lacked the ability to compliment her.

  He could praise the ever-loving fuck out of her if he wanted. He could tell her how the mere peripheral vision of her gave his dick an aneurism. He could point out how perfect those breasts were—plump and full. Or count on his fingers the amount of times he’d wanted to bend her over different objects and fuck the frustration from his system.

  Didn’t mean those words would ever pass his lips, though.

  “Duly noted.”

  He started for the front of the building, the gravel of the parking lot rolling under his soles. She wobbled with her first step, her thin heels losing traction.

  “You okay?” The instinct to reach out and secure an arm around her waist was a mistake. Yet another idiotic move when it came to this woman.

  “You don’t need to hold onto me.” She inched forward. “I can manage.”

  He didn’t doubt it. But now he had the feel of her embedded into his side, and he wasn’t willing to let go. He could smell her hair, the floral scent more of an aphrodisiac than a gut full of oysters. “I insist.”

  He held her gaze, catching every flicker in her expression as he tightened his hold. She swallowed. Straightened. Lifted her chin. Those lashes even beat with timid lethargy.

  “Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of trying to pick up another man if I walk in with your hands on me?”

  He didn’t care. “Doesn’t falling face first into the gravel and skinning your knees defeat the purpose of that sexy dress?”

  She blinked. Balked. Gaped.

  He had no clue why.

  “Sexy dress?” One perfectly shaped brow arched.

  He huffed and ignored the grin spreading those red lips. “Come on.” He led her forward, her waist burning a hole through his palm, until he dropped his grip at the start of the sidewalk. “Have you got it from here?”

  “I always had it, Brute.” She strutted those toned legs in front of him, making her way to the entrance before he snapped out of his stare and quickly caught up.

  “Where do you want to sit?” She glanced around the room, eyeing the booths along the back wall, then the cushion-lined sofas near the front windows, her attention finally coming to rest at the stools lining the bar. “Should we stay close to the booze?”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” A fucking brilliant plan.

  She continued forward while he hung back, waiting in case those gravity-defying heels slipped out from beneath her as she slid onto the closest stool.

  “So, tell me your type.” He positioned himself beside her and swung around to face the room. It took less than five seconds to deem every guy here as an unworthy conquest. “What are you looking for?”

  “Well…” She followed, placing her back to the bar. “Sexually speaking, I want someone confident and—”

  “I know what you need sexually.” The reminder was a mental stroke along his dick. “What are you after outside the bedroom? I’m talkin’ looks, income, race, religion.”

  “None of that matters to me.”

  “Looks don’t matter?” He raised a fuck-off brow. “Looks always matter.”

  She shrugged and jutted her chin to the left. “The guy in the back is attractive.”

  “The one with the Van Dyke beard?”

  “Yeah. I don’t mind a bit of facial scruff.”

  His hand itched with the need to palm his jaw. He’d bet she’d prefer a full beard when it was grazing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. “How about his wedding ring? Does that bother you?”

  Her nose wrinkled, her gaze snapping to his. “How did you even notice that?”

  “It’s not what you notice, it’s what you need to look for. Wedding bands or a tan line on the appropriate finger are a good place to start.”

  She nodded and sat up straight, ever the eager student. “What else?”

  He became fascinated by the way her attention strayed around the room, scoping potential lovers. “The guy you’re looking for will be paying you attention. Watching you. Trying to work you out before you even notice him.”

  Just like I am.

  She continued with her search, her shoulders drooping moments later. “Well, I guess I’m out of luck.” She turned to face him. “Nobody in here is looking at me.”

  He wasn’t going to prove her wrong. Pointing out all the men who’d already mentally stripped that dress from her body was a conversation for later. When he’d had enough time to determine who would be the right fit for her. “It’s early. Don’t give up yet.”

  She nodded, the defeat still a slight groove between her brows. He itched to smother the expression. Wipe it away. With his hands, his mouth, his dick.

  Goddammit.

  “What do you want to drink?” He yanked his gaze away and raised a hand to call the bartender.

  “Tequila sunrise, please.”

  He placed the order and focused on the drink preparation to ensure he didn’t drag her ass out of here for his own fulfillment. He’d already started contemplating the possibility of a different demo assistant. Someone who could take Ella’s place so he could sate the rabid hunger tonight and let his insurance policy kick in before this got out of hand.

  He didn’t care about the female Vault members boycotting the class. Or how Leo and T.J. would want to kill him. All the reasons from needing her assistance disappeared under the chokehold of lust.

  His level of investment in this woman was too fucking high. He was beginning to enjoy being around her. The rollercoaster rise and fall of her smile kept stealing his attention. And that dress…

  Shit. This wasn’t right.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like you’re sulking. If you want to go home…”

  Take the offer. Get out of here. “We’re not leaving.”

  “Then cheer up, buttercup. You’re scaring away any potentials.” She waggled her brows and the sultry curve of her lips pummeled another meaty fist into his crotch.

 
“Here you go.” The bartender slid over their drinks.

  “Thanks.” He snatched at his beer and enjoyed the liquid solace gliding down his throat. He needed to take the edge off. To snuff the burn.

  “What’s the craziest thing you’ve done, Brute?” Ella nibbled on the straw sticking from her drink, her head cocked as those eyes bore through him. “I bet you’ve got a lot of stories to tell.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “You own a sex club and nothing comes to mind?”

  He took another long pull of beer. Conversation became difficult—the grasp for coherence almost impossible when her lips were a tempting breath away. “Sex isn’t crazy. It’s natural. People have been screwing since the dawn of time. What I find hard to justify are those who skydive or participate in adrenaline-fueled sports.” He pointed a finger at her. “Or those who get married. Now, if you ask me, making a commitment like that is fucking insane.”

  She stared at the bar, a far-off gleam in her eyes as she smiled. “My marriage was far from conventional.”

  “Why is that?”

  Her lips parted and silent words hovered out of reach until she sighed. “Hold on a sec.” She leaned forward and focused on the bartender. “Excuse me. Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”

  “Shots?”

  Her fingers tapped against the bar, her leg jolted.

  “Have I missed something?” he asked.

  She gave a bark of laughter and grasped the shot glass sliding toward her. She downed the contents in one winced gulp and kept her focus on the bartender. “You might want to fill that up again, please. I think I’m going to need it.”

  “What’s going on?” He didn’t like the change in her demeanor. He also didn’t like the rapid approach of lowered inhibitions. He was already battling enough for them both.

  She licked her lower lip, sweeping the remnants of alcohol away. “There was no commitment when I married.”

  “You had an open relationship?” Her husband must have been one laidback motherfucker. To share a woman as beautiful as Ella was a risk. You’d never know when another guy would throw club etiquette to the wind and steal her right out from beneath you.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Then hurry up and get on with it.”

  She eyed him, up and down.