Hasty (Do-Over Book 4)

by Julia Kent

  “Some primal need to watch a man prepare to get dirty, perhaps?”

  I gasp. “I think you're onto something!”

  He reaches for his collar and loosens his tie.

  I bite my lower lip.

  One eyebrow goes up. “I'm sensing a pattern here.”

  I flutter my eyelashes.

  “Why don't you slip into the hot tub while I cook?” he asks, eyeing my overalls.

  “I don't have a suit.”

  “Do you need one?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I'm a man who finds you incredibly attractive, Hastings. As far as I'm concerned, you don't need to wear clothes, ever.”

  “That would make working with you and Irene very awkward. Plus, how would I make cheese? Hot milk scalds.”

  He unbuttons his top button.

  I moan.

  A quick slap on my ass from him makes me smile as he says, “Actually, I asked Irene to send swimsuits, in case you were modest. They're in the second bedroom, the one without my things. If you want, go put one on.” He runs a free hand through his hair before turning around to carefully lay a steak on the grill.

  I have a very fine view of his very fine ass.

  “Ian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What am I supposed to do here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve kissed. That's it.”

  “And...?”

  “And now you're inviting me to get naked in a hot tub.”

  “I am.”

  “Do you always go from zero to sixty in 1.3 seconds?”

  “Have you seen my car, Hastings? Yes.”

  Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the surprise of seeing him. Maybe I'm half addled by sheep's milk fumes. But I walk up behind him, caress his ass, and kiss him as he turns.

  “If I'm going to be naked in a hot tub, you have to be the one who undresses me.”

  “Is that how it goes?”

  My answer is another kiss.

  Guys like Ian are rare. Self-made billionaires are rare by definition. Rugged and hard, laser-focused and never afraid of being disagreeable, they are also fiercely single-minded in getting what they want.

  That's me. I'm what he wants.

  Right now.

  Lost completely in the kiss, I don't even realize he's deftly unfastened the overall clasps until denim pools at my feet, warm air turning my thighs to gooseflesh as his hands caress my breasts, each cupping me, thumbs at the nipples, his intent strong and unequivocal.

  The shirt I'm wearing under the overalls has buttons that he releases one by one as we kiss, eyes closed, the synchrony of his hands and my body a mystical phenomenon. Being led like this is a joy, no pretense or tentative elements to make it awkward. I'm free to want him right back, and I take his movements as license to match whatever he offers.

  So my hands roam to his waist, slipping under the thick belt, finding a man who is commando.

  “Mmmmm,” he groans in my mouth, my shirt peeled off me. I'm standing before him in bra and panties...

  And socks and shoes.

  I kick the shoes off, peeling my socks into balls that fall at my feet as Ian undoes his belt and unzips his pants. He undresses completely as I stand before him and just watch.

  Oh, how I watch.

  And then the fear hits me.

  I haven't had sex in over a year and a half.

  And I haven't had good sex in a whole lot longer than that.

  Even if my marriage was a sham, the vows–for me–were very real. Letting go of the vestigial shreds of it is so much easier as a very naked, immodest Ian McCrory reaches for me, kissing my neck as he undoes the clasp of my bra, pulling it off me like it's three feathers he strokes across my skin.

  “You're beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes combing over me with a reverence and lust that make me believe him.

  Fully.

  “So are you,” I reply, eyes doing the same.

  “Let's get in the hot tub.”

  My pulse is thrumming through my entire body, the searing of the steaks and salmon and the scent of cooking herbs adding to the wine buzz.

  “Hang on,” he says, reading my mind, walking over to the grill and very carefully leaning over it with a spatula, removing the food and turning it off. Such a practical, domestic act from a man who has all the money and power in the world.

  Taking thirty seconds to manage such a tiny detail somehow adds to the thrill of this.

  By the time he's done, I'm out of my panties and lowering my thighs into the steaming water, the normal relaxation that comes from this kind of soak most certainly not kicking in.

  “Tell me about Australia,” I say as I watch his thick legs climb in, his muscles grabbing my attention as each one moves under the skin, tendons popping out. His hands go behind him for the slow descent into the water, eight-pack of abs curling in, shivering just once before sinking down and sliding over to me.

  “It's Australia. What do you want to know? Or are you trying to make small talk because you're nervous?”

  “Nervous? Pffft. Why would I be nervous?”

  “Because I'm about to make love to you and until about eight months ago, you thought you were a committed married woman and I was a complete asshole.”

  “Just because both of those statements are true doesn't mean I'm nervous.”

  Pure delight fills his dark eyes. “That is why I like you so much, Hastings. You have no fear. You say what you're thinking, and it's always smart.”

  “I'm not so unique.”

  “That you assume the world holds more people like you makes you naïve.” His kiss is deeper, more intense, and definitely more intimate as we explore each other’s bodies, completely bare before each other, wet and enticing.

  “You have been worth the wait,” he says. “I never thought I had a chance. But fate gave me one.” He pulls back, eyes intent, hands cradling my jaw. “And I'm not a man who squanders chances.”

  Permission to let another person touch you is conveyed in verbal and non-verbal cues, my moan making it non-verbally clear exactly how much I like what he’s doing and please do more more more.

  But his words give me permission, too.

  Worth the wait.

  “I really like you, too, Ian. You meet me at a level of being that I always felt I could see, but couldn't experience.”

  “Let's experience it together.” His hand dips between my legs, careful in the hot water. My muscles are loose now, blood racing, body on fire, and all I want to do is straddle Ian in bed and writhe above him as I make him explode.

  In me.

  And then it hits me.

  “Um, do you have something?”

  “Something?”

  I look down between us. “Do you have condoms? I'm not on birth control.”

  “I do.”

  My sigh of relief makes him laugh.

  He looks like he wants to ask me a million questions, so I tip my face up to him, the setting sun casting long shadows, the privacy of this unfamiliar backyard oasis making me feel like we're in a different world.

  “Is it really this easy?” he finally asks.

  “There's that word again,” I say with a smile. “Easy.”

  “I feel so relaxed with you. You let me let my guard down. Not many people can do that.”

  “Like who?”

  An expression of contemplation takes over his face, sweat breaking out along his hairline, making me tune in to my own body, which is overheating in the water.

  And from the naked proximity to him.

  “You. Irene. My grandparents, when they were alive. My mother.”

  “Not your dad?”

  “No. He was a hard man to be easy around.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Your dad seems friendly. Relaxed. Not a go-getter.”

  With any other guy, being naked in a hot tub and talking about my dad would feel like a bizarre experience, but with Ian it feels natural. We're going deep.

&n
bsp; Which means talking about all the ways we are complex human beings, with pasts, families, fears, friends–

  And inner demons.

  “Roy is his own breed. I used to think the insurance agency was just some generic business he ran on human automation–it wasn't until I got my MBA that I realized my dad is a salesman. And a financial planner. And a psychologist. And a community development team. And a business development department. He's all those, in a tiny local business, with Mom as his partner. So, Dad? He has ambitions. Just not–”

  “Not like you and me.” Ian stretches back and watches me as if we have all the time in the world to talk.

  Naked.

  In a hot tub.

  “Right.”

  Suddenly, he stands, giving me a full sense of how complete he is. “We're in the danger zone here.”

  “I like the danger zone. Might buy a condo here.”

  His laughter is infectious as he reaches for my hand. “Stand up, Hastings. We don't want to ruin the night by passing out in the hot tub.”

  “I'd rather pass out in bed.”

  “Great minds think alike.”

  “You're right,” I say as we grab towels, Ian checking on the steak and salmon he left to keep warm on the grill. “This is easy.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Shower? Bed? Food? Which comes first?”

  My stomach votes. Loudly.

  “Let's eat.”

  Without a stitch on, he goes to the fridge, pulling out a bowl of shrimp and two small salads. I go searching through cupboards for dishes. This is surreal, making me laugh at times, but it's also... cute.

  Endearing.

  The big, bad billionaire is naked and waiting on me.

  I kinda like this.

  Scratch that.

  I really like this.

  “Simple food. Easy and good,” he declares as we go back outside and sit at the small table next to the pool.

  For the next five minutes, we just eat. Flavors are enhanced when all the senses are engaged, or at least they are when I'm with Ian. The shrimp tastes like the Gulf of Mexico. The salmon reminds me of Pike Place Market. The steak is juicy and melts like butter in my mouth, the flavor triggering a good memory of my father's father, grilling at a tailgate party before a Pats game.

  “You are a fabulous cook.”

  “I turned on the grill. Others made my success possible, in the culinary sense.”

  “Then compliments to them all.”

  “Wine?”

  He stands, disappearing into the house, coming back with a bottle of Brunello and a wicked grin.

  “Stop,” I order him.

  He does, shifting his weight onto one hip, left hand holding two wine glasses upside down by the stems, right hand grasping the neck of the wine bottle.

  “I cannot believe you're the same Ian McCrory I've been butting heads with for all these years.”

  “You like my butt?”

  “Ian!”

  “What? It's a nice ass. Better be. I bust it at the gym enough.”

  Playful is the last word I'd ever have used to describe Ian. But here we are.

  As he pours me a glass, I reach over to test the merchandise. He jolts, then laughs, never breaking the flow of wine into the goblet.

  “I can believe you're the same Hastings Monahan, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I always knew there was a more earthy woman under that bitchy exterior.”

  I smack his ass.

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “That was a compliment, and I got spanked. How far can I go before crossing a line with you?”

  I roll my eyes while I sip the wine.

  “And does it go the other way? Do I get to spank you every time you cross a line, babe?”

  The babe does me in.

  No one has ever called me babe.

  Suddenly, Ian is smacking his own ass.

  “Now that's a turn I didn't see coming,” I say as he stands and looks up.

  “Dusk. Bugs are coming out. Let's head inside.” He grabs the wine bottle and ushers me ahead of him, whistling appreciatively as we walk into the house.

  I feel every part of my skin turn red.

  “Look at you,” he croons as he sets the wine down, pulling me into his arms. “You're a blusher. I had no idea.”

  “I’m not normally a blusher. I guess I am with you.”

  “You know what's so special about blushing?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Blood flow increases everywhere.” He nestles the top of his thigh between my legs, pressing up enough to make me gasp, proving he's right. What had been an acute sensitivity, an aching craving, now becomes a pulsing searchlight, seeking his...

  Lighthouse.

  I'm still holding my glass, mouth half full of wine, so I force myself to sequence, swallowing first, then setting the glass on the counter, body completely humming under his attentions. Ian's hands go to my ass, pulling me to him, hips moving in a light rhythm that quickly brings me to an unfamiliar place, an exquisite sense of pleasure rippling through me, my skin turning warm and liquid at the same time, his mouth finding mine, our bellies touching.

  He nips my ear, then licks the edge, my breath quickening as he brings me up, up, up, hands and tongue and the scent of him mingling with sensation until I'm gasping for air. My body is aglow with the rush of adrenaline as I come against his leg, in his arms, my mouth fighting for more of him as we kiss again, all wrapped up in one hell of an orgasm.

  And we haven't even made love yet.

  Instantly, I unravel myself and move down his body, long, powerful torso painted with thick, dark hair, a delight to behold–and hold.

  He stops me.

  I freeze, suddenly uncertain and shy.

  “How about we move to the bedroom?” he says as he pulls me back up to him, every inch of skin that can possibly touch pressing together as he kisses me again, hands roaming. Being appreciated like this, with a warm touch and a wanting hand, is filling a hollow inside me I didn't realize was there.

  “Of course,” I reply as he takes the lead, holding my hand, turning left at the first door down the hallway. An enormous king-sized bed awaits us, a single long bolster pillow stretching across it. The room is neat as a pin, just one of Ian's bespoke cashmere jackets draped over a chair.

  His navy blue pinstripe.

  My favorite.

  I expect him to pull back the covers, or that I'll do it, but instead he just kisses me. It’s a slow, sensual, reality-bending stretch of time that makes all my edges blur until I'm nothing and everything, his body meshing with mine, our hands learning each other's body, and making sure we feel known.

  It's such a good feeling.

  Being explored means the other person wants you. Wants to know you. Sees you. Touch like this is so gratifying, soul-filling and worshipful. Ian's kisses tell me he's right where he wants to be, giving me pleasure, taking my own offerings, and giving us both a chance to make something greater than ourselves.

  “Lie down. On your back,” he whispers in my ear, making me shiver, his hands on my shoulders, my hips, guiding me until he's on the ground, hands parting my legs, lips soft on my inner thighs and I gasp as I realize where he's going.

  “But I already–”

  “Shhhh.” He stops, but doesn't look up. “Unless you really don't want this?”

  The blush takes over my whole body again.

  I breathe. I breathe again. By my third breath, he moves up to look at me.

  “Hastings?”

  “I'm not used to this.”

  “It's okay. We can–”

  “Don't stop. I just… it's been a while.”

  “Right. The arrest wasn’t that long ago, and–”

  “No. It's been a long time, Ian. A long, long time.”

  He blinks rapidly, processing what I'm saying. One eyebrow goes up, obviously judging someone, and it's not me.

  “How l
ong?”

  “More than a year.” I don't even want to admit exactly how long.

  “That bastard.”

  “I do not want to talk about him.”

  “Hell, no. Neither do I. But clearly, I have to make up for lost time. Lost time with you, and lost time for you. Because you deserve to be worshipped, Hastings. And I can't change the past, but I damn well can make sure you're treated the way you should be, now and in the future.”

  The future.

  “Do we have a future?” I ask. Hey, if the gloves are off, I'm going for bold.

  “I want one with you.”

  “You do?”

  “Do you want one with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it's settled.” He kisses me, inhaling deeply, breathing in my scent.

  “It's that easy?”

  “There's that word again. Yes, it's that easy. Quit fighting easy.”

  The words I love you are right there, ready to be said, but it would be verbal premature ejaculation to say them, so I hold back.

  Guys recite baseball statistics to keep from coming. I recite kinds of cheese you make from sheep's milk.

  “Let me show you how easy another orgasm is with me, Hastings. And then another. And another. And...”

  His mouth moves down the hollow of my belly, pausing to tickle my navel, reaching my second pulse as his firm hands slide under me and cup my ass. Within a minute, I'm arching up for more.

  Two minutes, I'm pulling at the bedsheets.

  Three minutes later, I'm smothering myself with a pillow, because who knew I could scream like that?

  The racing thoughts that normally fill my mind during sex are gone with Ian, the sense of his full presence eliciting my own. We're in a bubble of our own making, and he's crawling up my body now, his lips tasting like wine and me, his powerful body hard and tight, erection thick and in need of attention.

  “I want you, Hastings,” he says as he kisses me. “Do you want me, too?”

  Being asked like this feels sweet and sultry at the same time, his words commanding and respectful, finding sensual balance.

  “Yes, Ian. Yes.”

  Turning to the bedside table, he finds a condom and does the necessary with it, moving back for a kiss, my legs falling open with eager anticipation. I want him in me, my legs around him, our bodies joined so I can know him better.

  And be known.

  Me. The real me. Not the me I had to construct for reasons I still don't understand.