by Naima Simone
“I guess I should trust your advice. Especially as a man who probably has his ego…fucked often.”
A ham-sized fist of lust slammed into his stomach. The word fuck on her lips was a blasphemy, a sin—an invitation. A sultry, dark summons to commit all kinds of dirty acts with her mouth, her breasts, her ass, the sweet, hot flesh of her sex.
He whipped around, grabbed her hips in a grip roughened by the need pounding in his blood like the constant crash of thunder across a night’s sky.
“Again you’re insinuating. Assuming. You have something you’ll be wanting to ask me, Khloe?” he murmured, grasping her chin, and whisking his thumb underneath the plump curve of her bottom lip. “Something you want to know?” She stiffened, but before she could jerk away, he tightened his hold. “Don’t pull away from me. You’re supposed to like my touch. Hunger for it,” he murmured.
She once had. Everything in her had craved it—him. From her expressive green eyes, to her trembling lips prettily begging him to “don’t stop”, to her gorgeous body, so soft, open, and vulnerable for him. Though he knew it was the last thing he needed—the last thing he should even think about—he wanted to see that desire again. Even if only for a second. Eyes narrowing, he grazed the pad of his thumb over her lip before settling on the flesh. And pressing. Firmly. Deliberately. Until her breath fluttered across the tip of his finger. Her gaze shot to his.
And there it was. Hesitant. Skittish. But, there.
“While I hate to interrupt… Well, actually, no I don’t.”
Slowly, Niall tore his attention away from Khloe and refocused it on the smirking blonde behind her. But not before he caught the flash of wariness and alarm in Khloe’s eyes.
Good. She should be guarded and distrustful of him. Because at the moment, with reality bleeding into pretense and muddying the already blurred lines of this damn charade, the only thing keeping him civil and off her was the six-foot, tuxedoed Bennett Charles. He was a breathing reminder that Khloe didn’t want Niall—she was using him.
The thought cooled the heat in his veins like a cool wind off Dun Laoghaire Harbour.
Khloe turned around. “Morgan.” She hugged her friend. “I’ve been looking for you. When did you get here?”
“Just now. And as soon as I stepped in the door, the first thing I hear about is this amazing transformation. Of the stunning brunette with the sexy Irishman.” Morgan grinned. “I’ve been primed and pumped so much, some of these people owe me a cigarette.”
Niall silently choked on a burst of laughter. Jesus. And they called the Irish ribald.
Khloe’s eyes narrowed on her friend. “You and I need to have a conversation,” she gritted out.
“Sure. Later. You look gorgeous, sweetie.” She kissed Khloe’s cheek and grinning, winked at Niall. “Just so you know, I’ve told everyone that Christian Bale here is your dirty little secret that you keep around to do bad things, very, very bad things to you.”
“Oh God.” Khloe groaned.
“Christian Bale? Batman?” He frowned, offended. “He’s English, not Irish.”
Morgan waved her hand. “Again with the semantics. What is it with you two?” Her eyes narrowed. “Ooh. Hold that thought. Showtime, folks.” Her smile brightened. “Hello, Bennett.”
Beside him, Khloe stiffened. Seeking to soothe her, Niall cupped the nape of her neck, gently rubbing his thumb over the sensitive spot behind her ear. The familiar, comforting gesture reached as far back as their friendship. How many times had he greeted her with a hug, kiss to the forehead, and squeeze to the neck? Or congratulated her on winning one academic honor or another? Comforted her after one too many critical lectures from her parents?
Of course back then, sexual undercurrents hadn’t swirled beneath the surface like dangerous, dark rapids.
“Hello, Morgan,” Bennett said before turning to Khloe. “Khloe. I’m so glad you decided to come tonight. You look…beautiful.” He reached for her hand and grasping it, lifted her fingers to his lips.
A primal urge to rip her hand away from the other man’s surged within him. As if the primitive instinct to possess and claim had slept dormant until this moment when Bennett Charles grazed his lips over the back of Khloe’s fingers. Fury and an uglier, alien emotion roiled within his chest, snarling to be unleashed. And the tremble that vibrated through Khloe and hummed against Niall only further strained the quickly unraveling tether. His grip on her neck flexed, and her startled gaze shifted to his. He hated it—both the wariness in her eyes and the emotion ripping through him. But he didn’t remove his hold on her either.
“Thank you, Bennett.” She lowered her arm, a faint pink staining her cheekbones. “I’d like to introduce you to Niall Hunter. Niall, please meet Bennett Charles, the Chief Operating Officer of System Solutions Unlimited.”
Niall nodded, and when Bennett extended his hand toward him, he grasped it, giving it a firm squeeze.
“A pleasure to meet you, Niall.” Bennett cocked his head to the side. “The rumor circling around is you’re an Irishman.”
“Guilty.”
“What part of Ireland, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Dublin.”
Khloe shot him a behave-or-else glare, which he returned with a raised eyebrow. He’d promised to escort her to this thing, not be feckin’ Emily Post.
“I love Dublin,” Bennett continued. “I haven’t visited in a couple of years. My great grandmother came from Cork City.” His brow wrinkled. “Wait…Hunter. Any association with Duir Music?”
Again, Niall nodded. “It’s my family’s company.”
“Niall’s being modest,” Khloe interceded. “He’s CEO of the label. Has been for about five years now. He took over when his father retired, and Duir Music remains the leading record label in Ireland and Northern Ireland, and it has very successful offices in London and New York.”
He stared down at her, surprise and pleasure careening through him. With the past lying between them like a dead, rotten fish, he wouldn’t have expected her to extoll his virtues. Hell, have anything positive to say about him at all. Khloe resented him, begrudged having to turn to him for help. And all with good reason. He’d abandoned her at her most vulnerable. Even if it was the best decision for both of them.
“My father loves traditional Celtic music and owns many records from your label.” Bennett glanced from Niall to Khloe. “Are you in town long, Niall?”
That unfamiliar emotion swelled once more, shoving against his sternum, streaming up his throat, and filling his head with white noise. Bennett watched her as if she would disappear in a cloud of perfume if he took his eyes off her longer than five seconds. Eyes on me, Niall wanted to growl. The thought of any part of this man—eyes, hands, fucking lips—touching her had him wondering if Ireland had an extradition treaty with the US.
“For a few days,” he murmured. Easing his hold on Khloe’s nape, he stroked his hand down her spine, grimly noting the tremble that shivered in the wake of his touch. Not unlike her reaction to Bennett’s clasp of her fingers, but yet different. It was subtle, yet deeper. More. Masculine, almost savage, desire surged in his gut, arrowed to his cock. He palmed her hip. “This trip isn’t for business, but pleasure.”
A silence descended between the four of them. Bennett glanced away, while Morgan shifted her regard between Niall and Khloe, a half-smile quirking one corner of her mouth. Khloe remained silent, not meeting his eyes. But he didn’t miss the soft, sharp intake of her breath. Or the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Bennett cleared his throat. “I see. Well…” He smiled, the edges of it appearing strained. “Have you found a table yet? I have room at mine, and you’re welcome to join me. You, too, Morgan.”
“Why, thank you,” the blonde said dryly.
Niall’s mouth twitched. He had a feeling she wasn’t as enamored of Bennett Charles as her friend. Which, again, showed how good of a friend she was to Khloe.
“Niall?” Khloe asked. “Do you mind?”
Hell yes. “Not at all.”
“Khloe, can I borrow your date for a quick second?” Morgan linked an arm through Niall’s, grinning. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“If it’s fine with Khloe, I’ll escort her over while you two talk.” Bennett addressed his offer to Niall, but his smile and eyes were all for Khloe.
She nodded, and Bennett turned and led them toward a table near the edge of the emptying dance floor. Niall ground his teeth together, suppressing the urge to follow and yank the other man’s hand off her lower back.
“Well, you do know how to make an entrance.” Morgan chuckled, tipping her head to the side. “First, let me apologize for all the assholes, bastards, and sons of bitches I’ve called you in the last few days.”
He snorted. “Forgiven.”
Morgan snickered, then shook her head, murmuring, “She’s gorgeous tonight.”
“She’s gorgeous, period. Always has been,” Niall argued.
“Agreed. It’s just nice for everyone else—including Khloe—to finally realize the truth.” She stared after her friend. “She deserves this night…and many more like it. And since you’ve already started the ball rolling, I think you should keep it going.”
Niall frowned. “I agreed to come tonight. It’s what you paid twenty-thousand dollars for.” The lie tasted like ashes on his tongue. He could’ve easily paid the Rhodonite Society the money he’d intended to spend to cover his date. But it hadn’t been an obligation to her that had brought him across the Pond.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s the only reason you’re here,” she drawled, arching an eyebrow. “But what about tomorrow? And the next day? Next week? She needs this transformation to be for more than just one night.” Before he could interrupt, she plowed ahead with her explanation. “I’ve set up an appointment with one of the best hairstylists in Boston and convinced an exclusive boutique to close for a couple of hours and cater to Khloe, fitting her for a whole new wardrobe.” Pause. “For tomorrow.”
“Morgan, I have a business to run…” Niall scowled.
“God rested on Sunday; surely you can call in on a Saturday.” She pursed her lips, tapping a manicured fingertip against her mouth. “I would, but I have a thing. And I mean, you are the boss. The head honcho. The baller, shot caller.”
Niall barked out a crack of sharp laughter. “Did you really just quote Lil’ Troy to me?”
She beamed, patting his arm as if congratulating him. “Yes! Look at you, catching those lyrics! I knew you had some thug in you.” She snickered. “But back to the plan. If you’ll take her tomorrow, I’ll pay for everything. And also, I’ve done my homework, so I know your company sponsors an art foundation for underprivileged kids in Boston, Dublin, and Cork City. I have a donation ready to send if you’ll just stay and do this for me. For Khloe. A donation with enough zeroes to make you blush…and considering what I’ve read about you, I have a pretty good idea how difficult that would be.”
“Bribery, Morgan?” Niall growled, offended.
“Me? Bribery” She gasped dramatically before heaving a loud sigh. “That’s such an ugly word. I like to call it incentive. Besides, if you’d stop balking at staying and helping her, I wouldn’t have to allegedly bribe anyone. From what Khloe told me, you were best friends with her brother and even close with her at one time. If that’s true, you owe her for then and for the hit-it-and-quit-it from years ago.”
He set his jaw, locking the words in his throat. What could he tell her? That the longer he remained in Boston, the closer he came to jeopardizing the same vow that had kept him away? But…he glanced toward the table where she sat, talking and laughing with Bennett. Lovely. Sweet. Confident. By staying, he could give her more. He could cultivate and tend that confidence by making sure when he left, she didn’t revert to the woman who hid herself in drab clothes and timidity. He could help her get the happily-ever-after she deserved.
He’d just have to keep his hands off her to do it.
“I’ll take her tomorrow,” he said. “And I’ll pay for everything.”
“Aaw.” Morgan sighed, the sound as exaggerated as the batting of her lashes. “And they say chivalry is dead.”
“Not completely,” he stated. “No more emotional blackmail after tomorrow. I’ll take her to the appointments, and you keep your planning and schemes to yourself.”
“Emotional blackmail?” Outrage flashed across her face before a winsome smile and wink replaced it. “Meh. I’ve been accused of worse.”
“So have I.” Covering her hand over his arm, he started heading for their table. “Oh, I’ll still take your generous donation to my foundation, though.”
“Of course you will,” she said, dryly.
“And I’ll match it. So try really hard to make me blush.”
“Right, boy-o,” she teased, laughing.
For the next hour, Niall sat next to Khloe, ate the dinner of prime rib, asparagus tips, and baked potato placed before him, joined in the conversation that flowed around the table, and played the part of besotted lover. He casually toyed with one of the diamond pins holding her hair in place. Trailed his fingers across her shoulder and base of her neck. Whispered inane comments in her ear about the food or another person at the table, knowing the interaction appeared intimate, seductive.
And the object of Khloe’s affections missed none of it. Bennett watched every light touch, every murmured conversation as if they were actors on a brightly lit stage, and he was the enraptured audience. And wasn’t that just damn apropos? Because this whole act was for his benefit.
The thought, the reminder of his employment simmered inside him like a banked fire, steadily glowing brighter and hotter with every sound of Khloe’s soft laughter at one of Bennett’s comments. With each slash of pink that stained her skin when the other man paid her a compliment. By the time they all rose from the table, the simmer had flared into a crackling blaze, licking at his skin, kindling the need to claim, dominate…to fucking take.
Bennett rounded the table, glanced at the dance floor that was thick with dancing couples. “Khloe, I—”
“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.” Niall wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “We’ll be right back.”
Leaving her boss with surprise etched across his face, he pivoted sharply, his implacable hold granting Khloe no choice but to follow.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped. He didn’t reply, cutting a path through people with determined strides, and not slowing until he cleared the open glass doors at the end of the ballroom. “Damn it, Niall,” she demanded, whirling on him as he ushered her into a shadowed corner.
“Lesson number two,” he growled, curling his hand around her nape and grasping her silk-covered hip. “What a man thinks he can’t have, he wants even more.” And crushed his mouth to hers.
The sweetness of the chocolate soufflé served for dessert. The tartness of the white wine she’d drunk with dinner. And her. The undefinable flavor that called forth memories of her lips clinging to his as he plunged deep and hard into her body, dragging out whimpers not unlike the one she released now.
He swallowed the vulnerable sound, already hungry for another. The kiss wasn’t gentle, considerate, or innocent. He fucked her mouth. Took it in an erotic parody of the more carnal connection his cock throbbed for. With a groan, he tilted his head, tangled his tongue around hers, remembering what she liked: open, wet, a little rough…a lot wild. And was rewarded with another of those needy moans. Each one like a damn blue-ribbon he’d worked hard for and won.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, her fingers clutched his waist. God, the taste of her…the feel of those luscious curves. He rumbled a curse, jerked his head up. Then returned for a hard nip at her bottom lip, followed by a long, slow lick to ease the sting.
Staring at her flushed cheeks, glistening lips, and passion-glazed eyes, he retreated a step. Then another. The desperate need to claim her hadn’t dissipated. Not by a single degree. But u
nderneath the hunger crept a wariness. A guarded caution. He hadn’t come to Boston for this.
In the years he’d been away, he’d convinced himself that night with her had been an aberration. That the gut-tearing, consuming lust had been blown out of proportion by his memory and alcohol. But one evening with her—one kiss where he fought not to drag her deeper into the corner, yank her dress up around her waist, and bury himself balls deep inside her fist-tight flesh detonated that notion to hell and back.
She threatened his resolve, his personal beliefs, his promise.
Niall had broken it when he’d taken her like he’d done so many times with other women, though the reasons had been vastly different. He’d never run from the others, just simply walked away unencumbered by guilt, shame, and fear. Now, he had the opportunity to set things right and honor his friend’s last request of him. And here he was fucking it up.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded in a low, soft voice. Eyes narrowed, she clenched her hands at her sides and seemed to vibrate with fury.
“I already told you why,” he said, slipping his hands in his pockets. Either that or put them back where he really wanted them…back on her. “Right now, Bennett is out there imagining what I’m doing to you—what you’re allowing me to do to you with a ballroom full of people only feet away. When you walk back in there, he’s going to take one look at your flushed face, your lips damp and swollen from my mouth, and figure out what we’ve been doing. Then he’s going to wonder if he could make you this hot. What you would look like for him. And he’s going to want to find out.”
Surprise flashed in her gaze—surprise and a whisper of pain. He frowned, shifting forward, the command for an explanation on his tongue. But before he could ask, she shoved past him and stalked back into the gala. Back to Bennett.
After several moments, Niall followed, instinct informing him of what he’d find. His intuition had guided him in signing new acts, warned him when a new business venture had failure written all over it, or gauged the timing and market for an album’s release. The one time he’d failed to heed his instinct, he’d married a gold-digger. So, no, he wasn’t shocked to find Bennett talking to Khloe, his blond head bent over her darker one, her face lit with a lovely smile.