by Fox, Logan
“You know what? Let’s just eat.”
So Elle went over. Sat down. And just ate.
Blake
Blake cast a quick glance over his shoulder and glared at the couch. Fucking traitor. When he turned back, Elle was still staring out the window, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
Well, if he’d ever had any doubts, now he knew. Whatever this was, whatever he’d thought it would be, it wasn’t anymore. He could feel the woman getting ready to leave, preparing herself to tell him that the food was nice. That he was nice. That she had stuff to take care of, like her recent divorce. Actually, since he doubted there had been any paperwork involved yet, it was more like her imminent divorce.
God, he was an idiot. He’d had a lust-fueled breakdown, had almost screwed the woman in his office in exchange for money owed on her car, and had then decided it was better — better! — to drag her to his house instead. A house that screamed ‘single’ and practically yelled ‘desperate’.
He was single, granted, but not desperate. He’d been perfectly fine by himself for the last seven years.
“Thank you for dinner,” Elle said, tearing him from his thoughts.
He turned to her, gave a nod and a small smile. They stared at each for a few seconds. Blake rose, gathering up the empty takeout containers and throwing them in the trash. When he faced Elle, she was walking to the corner of the room where the dryer still tumbled away at her clothes. She spent a few seconds staring at the controls, trying to figure out how to interrupt its cycle.
A few seconds later, Elle was in the bathroom, not having looked in his direction once on her way over. He didn’t have to strain to hear the sound of her putting her clothes back on. They were probably still damp. But putting wet clothes back on was preferred to hanging around with him.
His shoulders slumped. Well, what had he been expecting?
Elle
Elle paused in the act of tugging on her skirt. For some reason, she kept expecting to hear Blake’s voice, calling out to her, asking her to stay. Why, she didn’t know. He was obviously pissed about her finding his dirty magazines. About reading one of them. Who wouldn’t be?
She’d outstayed her welcome. The best thing — the only thing — she could do was leave. Go back to the hotel. Get warm, make a plan. Figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life. She didn’t even have a job. Hadn’t, for many years. She wouldn’t even know how to type up a resume if her life depended on it.
Well, her life did depend on it. So she’d better go and Google it the second she arrived at the hotel. And then she’d have to call her father. Hope he could talk his new wife into letting her stay at their place for a few days.
Maybe weeks.
All she needed was her car and enough fuel to reach him. How much would she need, for a five hour drive?
Elle shook her head, swaying her hips as she tried to force the tight, damp fabric of her skirt up her legs.
Blake would have to keep her car. She couldn’t pay for the repairs and still get to her father. There were busses, right? She could work out some kind of bus route, maybe get to her dad in a couple of—
“Everything okay in there?”
Elle started, and twisted half-around to stare at Blake’s shadowy shape.
“I… I have to go,” she said. “Home,” she added, in case he thought she’d wanted to use the toilet. “To the hotel.” Another clarification; home wasn’t home anymore. She, in fact, was homeless.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She forced them back with iron determination, straightening her shoulders and giving her skirt a final, hard tug.
It ripped. Loudly. Right along the side where the seam had been. Well, almost where the seam was.
Had it seriously been that tight on her? When in the hell had she gained so much weight?
“Uh… Elle?”
“Shit.” There was no getting the skirt back on. Almost no getting it off, she realized a few seconds later. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Is everything—”
“Fine!” She took a breath and tried to temper her voice. “I’m fine. Just… I tore my damn skirt.” And then, under her breath, “Fuck.”
“Shit. Okay… Well, look, I have a pair of slacks you could borrow?”
Elle squeezed her eyes shut. Forced her mouth into a thin line. And tried desperately to tug her skirt off her again.
It remained resolutely tangled around her waist. Digging into her fat thighs. Squeezing out dimples of cellulite she hadn’t even noticed were there before. Again, her stupid body wanted to push out tears. Again, she forced them back.
Not here, not now.
“Let’s see.” Blake’s cheery voice, a few feet away, came to her. “This one should work.”
He handed it to her around the corner of the cube-glass wall. Elle took it, pressed her eyes closed, and murmured, “I need your help.”
“My help?” Blake’s dark shadow paused. “With what?”
“With this fuck—” She blew out a breath. “My skirt’s stuck. As in seriously, seriously stuck.” She yanked on it again, hoping against all hope that it would simply tear in two and render Blake’s assistance unnecessary.
It didn’t, of course.
Destiny had decided it had a bone to pick with Elle Georgia. Somewhere, some-fucking-how, Elle had pissed it off.
“Stuck?”
“It won’t come off, okay?” This, with probably a bit more snap than the poor man deserved. “At this point, a pair of scissors — even a gigantic hacksaw — would really come in handy.”
Blake laughed.
The sound made Elle stiffen. Then her lips squirmed trying — astonishingly — to turn up into a smile. She forced them into a line, of course because there was nothing funny about this.
“You walk under any ladders lately? Broke a couple of mirrors, perhaps?” He stuck his head around the corner, and then hurriedly jerked it back.
“What?” Elle glanced down at herself. She still wore the robe, but it had gaped open at the front, exposing a whole lot of bosom. “Oh, for shit’s sake. At this point?” Elle stuck her hand around the corner and beckoned Blake with an imperious flick of her fingers. “Please, just get me out of this thing.”
Blake came inside, making an obvious effort to avert his eyes while simultaneously trying to assess the situation with her skirt. It made him look like he had a serious eye condition. Elle felt that smile coming back, and decided to leave it on her mouth — just for the hell of it.
“You’re not the first woman to—”
“Shut it,” she barked, but not without her smile growing an inch. “Just…” her voice was unsteady now. “Just take it off.”
“Why, just the other night, I had another lady in here who—”
“Blake!” She was on the verge of laughter, but whether it would be the good kind, or the hysterical, way-too-much-shit-has-happened-for-me-to-keep-it-together kind of laugh… she didn’t want to find out.
The man stared down at her skirt, a hand going to stroke over the stubble on his chin. When last did he shave? Or was he trying to attempt a beard? It would look good on him — but it would be a pity to lose sight of that hard, square jaw of his.
Elle realized she was staring at the shape of his mouth and looked down at her skirt.
“If you wiggled a little, maybe I could yank it down while—”
“Don’t try and save it, Blake. It’s a goner. Just—can’t you like—” Elle made a tearing motion with her hands.
“Rip it off?”
“Yes, Blake,” Elle said dryly. “Please, I beg you. Rip off my skirt.”
He looked up at the sound of her deadpan voice, his own mouth squirming as if he wanted to smile. Perhaps deciding it would be inappropriate, the man gave her a firm nod, crouched down, and stuck out his hand.
“I’ll have to—kind of—you know—” He made a complicated gesture with his hand which could have meant anything from opening her like a can of sardines
to playing noughts-and-crosses on her thigh.
“Whatever, just do it.”
“Sally always—”
“Enough!” This, with a cut-off laugh.
Blake smiled up at her, slid his hand between her legs less than an inch away from her entrance, and tugged at the skirt. Tugged hard. Tugged so hard that Elle fell forward into him.
“Shit, sorry—”
“No, it’s okay.” Elle scrambled up, aware that the robe was doing a pathetic job at keeping her decent.
“Brace yourself,” Blake said, motioning to the cube wall beside Elle.
“You know, Sam’s never once told me that.”
Obviously, she’d done the joke wrong. Instead of the smile, or perhaps small laugh, she’d been expecting, Blake’s face flashed into a look of sympathy.
Elle cleared her throat, grabbed hold of the wall, and gave him a nod. “Bracing.”
Blake tugged.
Her skirt came free with a loud rip. Elle stayed upright this time, and gave her thigh a furious rub where the fabric had sloughed away her skin.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Always glad to take a lady’s clothes off.”
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, punctuated by Blake’s remorseful sigh, and then he handed her the slacks she’d dropped on the floor.
“Would you like a sweater or something?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He left the bathroom, stuck his hand back around the corner and flourished her torn skirt at her until she took it. She stared at the thing, shook her head, and stepped into Blake’s slacks. They were warm, incredibly roomy, and smelled like him.
When last had she worn something that smelled like a man? Her man? Elle looked up, blinking at her morose expression in the small mirror above Blake’s sink.
Not in a long, long time.
Blake
Blake tried not to do a double-take when Elle came out of the bathroom. It was weird, seeing someone else in your clothes. Even weirder having a complete stranger in your house, of course. But clothing was so personal.
“Blake, about the car—”
“Oh, listen, Elle, if you want to—”
“I can’t take it right now.”
Blake blinked at the woman. He took a step back, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter as he folded his arms over his chest. He wanted to prompt more, but from the skittish look in the woman’s face, she looked about to speak anyway. So he just watched her, trying to figure out what wheels were turning in her mind.
“I’d like to, but honestly, I don’t even know where I’d park it. I can’t stay at the hotel, and—” Elle shook her head. “You don’t need to know any of this,” she mumbled. Clearing her throat, she added in a stronger voice, “Is it okay if I come for it Wednesday? Or Thursday?” She finally lifted her eyes, hope glimmering in them. “Is there like some kind of stipulated period of time I need to collect—”
“Thursday. You’d need to have it out of there by Thursday.” The the cold tone of his voice gave him a small stab of regret. But business was business. The woman hadn’t paid. She was in financial issues as it was. He had no guarantee that, if he did give her his car back like he’d wanted to, that she would ever come back to him with the money. It wasn’t a ton of cash, but it would mean coming up short end of the month. Which would mean he’d have to take out of his savings to pay the guys. The shop did good, but not that good.
“Thursday,” Elle whispered, nodding and dropping her eyes to the floor. “That’s fine.”
He knew it wasn’t, and he knew she knew it wasn’t. But he forced a frigid smile on his mouth and waved a hand to the door.
“Need me to call a cab for you?”
“What?” Elle had been walking toward the door, turned and almost bumped into him.
Blake stopped short, dropping his arms back to his side. He’d wanted to grab her, thinking he’d bowled her over.
“A taxi. Should I—”
“Oh, no. Thank you. You’ve done more than enough. You’ve been—” She plucked at his sweater. It looked good, molded over her breasts as it was. “You’ve been too kind.”
“Don’t mention it,” Blake said.
She went to the door, opened it, and turned back again when he was less than a foot behind her.
This time, he did walk into her. She just moved so damn fast — there hadn’t been time to stop or back up. Elle rebounded from his chest, crashed into the side of the door frame, and hurtled back into him like a pin ball.
Blake caught her. Gripped her arms. She made a small, helpless sound, her eyes wide.
“My handbag,” she said, her voice strangled.
“Of course.” Blake wanted to take a step back. Wanted to release her so she could fetch her bag and go.
But he didn’t.
Because he’d just realized it had been years since a woman had been inside his house. Years since anyone beside himself had worn that sweater. Those slacks. Years since he’d been this close to a woman.
And dammit, Fate owed him one.
Elle
Elle stiffened, gazing up at Blake with wide eyes. He was trembling slightly, as if trying to stop himself. But from what? What the hell was he fighting? He was so warm against her. The shower had helped. The clothes too, of course. But she was still getting cold. Cold enough that, having the man pressed this close against her was delicious and infuriating and too tempting to resist.
Was he going to kiss her? Shove his hand between her legs like he had in the bathroom — this time with a more nefarious purpose? Or was he just going to step back and wave her out of his house again, like the stranger she was?
He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, his gaze darted to her mouth, and then back to her eyes again.
“I don’t know you,” he murmured.
Elle blinked at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “I… don’t know you either,” she said, just as quietly.
Blake’s lips parted, his words emerging slowly as if he was constructing the sentence word-by-word while waiting for the first indication of a negative response from her.
“I should never have invited you here. I don’t know what I was thinking. It seemed a good idea at the time but now…” his gaze dropped again, lifting an instant later. “Now I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Elle said. “You must think I’m some kind of… some kind of something, just agreeing to—”
But she couldn’t finish her sentence. Blake stepped against her, pinning her to the wall. It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Elle let out a small gasp that seemed to loud in the quiet loft.
“But,” he said, his dark eyes darting between her. “Now I don’t want you to leave. Why don’t I want you to leave?”
“Because—” Elle swallowed. “Because you want to… you want to—” She tried to get the words ‘fuck me’ out, but they wouldn’t come.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Blake said, his voice rough and low. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”
Elle stared up at him. Her arms were up in front of her, crushed to either side of her breasts where she’d lifted them in near self-defence when he’d advanced on her. Her hands were in fists, but instead she forced them open. Made them touch his shoulders. Made them hold on.
“So tell me,” she said.
Those eyes of his watched her, his lips parting again.
“Tell me what you want to do to me.”
He shook his head, eyes narrowing. He’d grabbed the top of her arms, was using that grip and the weight of his body to keep her pressed against the wall. His fingers tightened, squeezing her almost to the point of pain.
“One condition.” His voice was tight.
“What?” Elle drew a deep breath and tightened her grip on his neck.
“I’ll tell you.” Blake’s eyebrow twitched. “But then you have to stay. Stay… and let me do them to you.”
Elle’s breath falt
ered. His fingertips burrowed into her damp hair. He leaned closer, until their mouths were less than an inch apart and she could feel his breath on her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed. She tried to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart. The ice-cold electricity that washed over her skin and made her quiver for a second before she could control herself.
“It’s a deal,” she said.
V
Dirty Deal
Elle
She’d thought he’d move them — perhaps pour her some wine, seat her on the couch, and begin telling her a story like it was past her bedtime already.
No.
Blake, it turned out, didn’t operate like that.
Blake slid a hand into her hair, gripped her tight, and stared into her eyes with a sudden intensity that made her stomach coil and her legs go weak.
“I would have fucked you in my office,” he said. The blunt statement raked invisible fingernails down Elle’s spine. Blake bent his head, his lips now less than an inch from hers.
His body was still flush with hers, hard and hot and pulsing with an energy that her own body slowly began to mimic.
“But then it would have been over so soon. Too soon.” He grabbed hold of her chin, gripping her hard.
A tiny worm of panic burrowed into Elle’s spine and began working its way up. What had triggered this sudden change in the man? Had he really been trying so hard to keep himself at bay? Had it just taken her bumping into him to set him off? Or had it been her, saying she was leaving? Him, realizing he had one last chance to make her stay?
“I don’t just fuck to get off. I can do that easily enough myself. You’d know that about me, if you knew me.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, using the grip on her hair to draw her head back a little. Tipping her face up. He touched his lips to hers, but for less than a second before drawing back.
“For me, it’s about the whole experience. Foreplay. Afterglow. Whatever you want to call it.”