Sultry in Stilettos

by Nana Malone

  Beckett would only screw it up. He had too many broken patches. He didn't deserve her.

  "Shit."

  Logic didn't stop him from wanting her though. As his whole body jerked with its telltale response to even a hint of a thought about her, he groaned and rolled over, trying to make his body obey the commands. "Down boy. You don't want to do this right now. We have work to do."

  Beckett climbed out of bed, then he grabbed a pair of shorts and T-shirt from his suitcase.

  Maybe he could run off this burning, gnawing sexual frustration. When he’d broken things off with Ricca, he’d known it would be difficult, but he hadn’t counted on that electric charge they shared. She’d avoided touching him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her so bad that he ached.

  Their suite had a private gym. If he could pound himself into the ground, he could get a little reprieve. Because the two of them would be here for at least a week, and he couldn't keep doing this to himself without a way out.

  As he approached the workout room, he heard the whir of the treadmill and stopped. Ricca was already in there. Damn. He turned around to go back, but she called out to him. “Beckett? Is that you?"

  ****

  Ricca knew Beckett was watching her. God, why did he have to be such a man? He wanted her, so why didn't he come and get her? Because you idiot, he thinks he's not good enough. But he was good enough. He just didn't know it. Whatever. Somewhere in all of this, she'd stopped looking for Mr. Perfect. And she'd started looking for Mr. Perfect for her. And Beckett was that guy.

  He just didn't necessarily know it yet. He’d been so hung up on not being what she needed. Well, maybe it was time she took matters into her own hands. "You going to stand there watching me all morning, or you going to come in and work out?" Listen to her. Sounding all ballsy and shit. Who knew?

  For a moment, he was silent. Maybe he'd gone back into his bedroom. Maybe she'd read the situation all wrong. But then there was a clearing of a throat. When he spoke, his voice was huskier than usual. "How much longer are you going to be on the treadmill?" He sounded pained. Like he was talking through gritted teeth.

  Micha was right. If she wanted something, she needed to go out and get it. No standing around waiting for something to happen. "I'm almost done. You might as well come in and not waste your workout time. We're headed to "Morocco landmark" at nine, and we'll want to make sure we confirm the rest of the day.”

  She heard the soft sound of sneakers shuffling. He started in the back corner, as far away from her as possible. Coward. That's okay, she had time. He couldn't hide from her forever. Especially not when they'd be attached at the hip for the next three days.

  As the treadmill slowed for her cool down, she grabbed a towel and wiped at the sheen of sweat on her exposed belly and arms. She might not have a perfect body, but her abs were flat, and her workout outfit showed off every one of her assets. Beckett didn't stand a chance.

  She sauntered over to him. "It's all yours."

  Looking up at her from the bench press, his eyes roamed over her body and settled on her chest. Her skin heated under his scrutiny. She could feel the hot infusion of blood under her skin. Oh yeah. He wasn’t immune to her. He wanted her. He just didn’t want to want her.

  Ricca watched intently as Beckett’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Sweat popped on his brow, and he cleared his throat. ”Um, yeah. You done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks." He got up.

  She wouldn't move back. She could feel her body warm to his and saw him suck in a deep breath. She smiled up at him, a full Cheshire grin.

  He cleared his throat again. "Um, Ree?"

  "Yeah, Beckett?”

  “About the other night. I never got the chance—I meant to say—things have gotten..." His voice trailed, and his brows furrowed.

  She put a hand on his chest and watched in satisfaction as his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. "I understand, Beckett. You’re trying to protect me or something." She could feel his heart lurch into full gallop as she rubbed a circle on his chest. "This awkwardness is just temporary. We’ll figure it out. Eventually we’ll both move on.”

  ****

  What the hell was wrong with Ricca? She was acting like a cat in heat, and it made Beckett nervous. He was already having trouble forming his gray matter together after that spectacular view of her ass on the stair master. And if he hadn't been mistaken, she'd deliberately stood there, forcing him to rub up against her. Thanks to her, he'd be hard for days. Even as the fleeting thought bounced around brain, his dick responded with such force his workout shorts chafed. He gritted his teeth.

  Everything about the way she moved and what she wore and how she spoke to him put him on edge. If she gave him one more of those damn let’s-be-friends pats on his chest, he’d likely lose control and start screwing her on the gym floor. It was like she had caught him in a snare and was toying with him.

  Ricca wouldn't manipulate him like that, would she? She wouldn't reduce herself to using the heat between them to get the edge on him for this promotion would she? His Ricca wouldn't have done that, but the pod person that had replaced her ever since the promotion possibility had been announced, he wasn't sure of. Well, more like he wasn’t sure of himself and his ability to stay away from her. He couldn’t keep them in limbo, and he needed his best friend.

  He could keep his hands off of her. It was for her own good. Beckett blasted the music loud enough to drown out his brain and his heart. He didn't need this shit. He had enough to deal with.

  After thirty minutes on the treadmill, he checked the time. He'd have just enough time to shower and grab breakfast. They had a meeting with Lila after that.

  Ricca had a leg up on him there. She was great with the clients who wanted romance. Well, really better with clients in general. Beckett’s strengths were his creativity and his ingenuity. He was a problem solver.

  As he hustled in the shower, he could hear his phone ring. He quickly rinsed off and snatched up his phone, barely managing to get a towel around his ass. "Hey, Braedon. What’s up?”

  "Hey, Beck. So, I didn’t want to bother you with this, but I thought you should know—there’s a cleaning crew here at the building. Not to mention an architect and a contractor."

  Beckett used one of the smaller towels to rub the water out of his hair. "What? Who?"

  “Shawn Roland. He was one of the architects on the Atlanta Olympic Center.”

  “I know who he is. What the hell is he doing there? I didn’t call anybody. Did you call him?” Beckett had been about to give up until he could regroup with a new plan for cash. Who the hell had sent the architect?

  “I didn’t call anyone. He’s here courtesy of Adele Westhorpe.”

  Holy shit. Had Jaya called in a favor? He could use the help, but it didn’t sit well with him. She should have talked to him first.

  He frowned and shook his head, trying to force it to work. “What’s the deal with the cleaning crew?”

  Braedon sighed as if he’d already asked all these questions. “Some guy with a construction company. He brought a contractor over too, who’s talking to Shawn. Guy said Ricca had mentioned the place was in need of a miracle, so he wanted to help.”

  Ricca? Warmth bloomed in the center of Beckett’s chest. She’d done this? For him? Why hadn’t she told him? Maybe because you were too busy acting like an idiot. “Fuck. I can’t believe she did that.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I can sure as shit tell you she didn’t do it for me.”

  “Listen, Braedon, I have to get ready for a meeting. I’ll call you when I’m done, okay?”

  “Yeah sure. What do you want me to tell the crew?”

  “Hell, keep them there as long as they’re willing to stay. I’ll talk to them when I get back in a few days.”

  “Will do.”

  Hanging up with his brother, Beckett felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Ricca had done this for him.

  All he’d managed to do was
try and break her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ricca took a deep breath. She was in her element.

  "Sandra, make sure you have the water delivered ahead of time. Andrew, we'll need those portable freezers. It's hotter than Satan’s eyeball out there, and I want to make sure those misters are good to go." She could feel Beckett's eyes on her as she took charge of the overall logistics. He was different somehow. He didn't interrupt like he normally did, didn’t battle her all the way for control. He let her do her thing.

  And the way he was looking at her—holy shit. If she thought it was hot outside, it was nothing in comparison to the heat in her body. She tried to focus on the staff. "And the food. Can you confirm the list for me? Lila was very specific. She wants this experience to be as authentic as possible."

  The wind blew the wardrobe rack, sending gossamer pieces of the most elegant silk that Ricca had ever seen waving in the wind. "And you all have confirmed fitting and style?"

  The wardrobe team nodded with clipboards in hand. God save her from the billionaire with a harem fantasy, but even she had to admit it was a hot idea. She'd once been told by a date that she had a body for belly dancing. At the time, she'd been a little offended, but maybe she needed to be flattered.

  Turning her gaze back on Beckett, she sighed. "All yours."

  His lithe body glided out of his seat like the extreme heat wasn't getting to him. She loved everything hot, but Beckett lived more of a pampered life. Usually he looked like he was going to melt if it got over 75.

  "Thanks, Ricca. So far, I wanted to tell everyone, fantastic job. Ricca and I are super excited to pull this off. It'll be one of the best adventures that Fantasy, Inc. will have ever hosted."

  She tried not to watch his hands as he spoke, but every time he used them for emphasis she was drawn in. The size of them. The strength in them. The way they'd looked molding her breasts. Damn it. She shifted her legs as her body went on instant red alert, softening and heating for him. If she kept this up she'd be in serious trouble.

  "So the car is being delivered in an hour. The show room was more than happy to lend us a car for the experience, but let's take good care of her, yeah? I want this turning out better than the last car we used."

  The team of mechanics nodded, then asked a couple of questions concerning how often they'd have to clean out sand and check on the car.

  Beckett might have been talking to the group of Fantasy employees, but his gaze followed Ricca around the room. Something had changed, and she wished to God she knew what it was. Maybe if she could pinpoint it, she could diffuse it. Just like a bomb.

  As he spoke, his voice washed over her, making her remember all the times they'd spent time at his place or hers watching games or just plain hanging out. She wasn’t going to wait for life to happen to her anymore. She was going after what she wanted.

  ****

  Two hours later, Ricca had been dying to try on the harem girl costume. Beckett was down with the mechanic crew, drooling over the arrival of the Bugatti Veyron. It was a hell of a car, but Ricca had a feeling she lacked the anatomical parts to fully appreciate what was under the hood. She fingered the costume and all its intricacies with the shiny gold sequins and gold inlay. The silk was as soft as butter and gossamer sheer. She was so not into that whole owned, and dominated thing, but the outfit, yeah, the outfit she could get behind. So pretty. As gifts from clients went.

  As gifts from the wardrobe department went, this was one of her favorites. Notwithstanding the Jimmy Choos she'd been given after a Sex And The City fantasy from last year.

  She slipped into the harem pants, shocked at how low they hung on her hips. As it was, she was sure there was some Beyoncé booty crack appearing over the back edge. The front topped out at the very edge of her pubic bone. One slight shift, and her vajayjay would be out for all the world to see.

  She slipped her arms into the sleeveless top, dubious about the little jacket’s ability to hold in her double D’s. She'd never given her boobs much more thought than how best to cover them. But as Micha would say, she had a good rack. Considering their size, they were still firm and thankfully, not sagging.

  For the briefest instant, she worried they'd tear the delicate silk fabric of the top. She needn't have worried though—the midriff-baring blouse was made for sex and covered just enough of her ample breasts to be enticing. There were tiny little rope strings in front, in case she wanted to tie them in. She considered it, but knew there would be a boob rebellion if she did. Then she really would tear the material.

  Studying herself in the mirror, she gaped at the wide expanse of skin showing between the bolero and the pants, but damned if she didn't understand the fantasy. You couldn't help but feel sexy in it. Thank God, she’d been hitting the gym though. She'd never be as thin as Micha or Jaya, and her feminine curves would always be with her, but she could see the soft lines that hinted at a belly well worked out, so she was content. She did a happy little twirl, and the harem pants fanned out, making her look like one of MC Hammer's dancers. Scooping up the veil, she attached the piece de resistance to her head, covering her face in the customary manner. If Beckett could see her now, he'd probably pass out.

  The moment the thought of him intruded, she frowned. He hadn’t taken the bait, not once. Maybe she'd missed her shot. Taken too long. She’d had to be sure though. Jumping into a relationship with a friend was tricky business. Maybe he was gone forever. Or maybe you need to get over yourself and got get what you want. She eyed herself in the outfit and wiggled her hips. Maybe Morocco was the place for fantasies after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sawdust tasted like shit, but Beckett was eating a whole mouth full of it the moment he saw Ricca in the harem girl costume. Holy fuck. He needed to call the Moroccan police in or something, because she was officially trying to kill him. And come to think of it, what a way to go.

  Shit, what had he come in here to say to her? He couldn't think. He tried to get his brain to reboot, but all he could see was the pastel pink, gossamer fabric as it slung low, so low, on her hips, and the insufficient blouse as it tried to cut off circulation to her breasts. Dinner. Oh right. Dinner. He cleared his throat. "Um—"

  She whipped around, shock in her eyes. Embarrassment was quick to follow. "I um…Wardrobe had an extra. I just…Um. Thought I'd try it on…Um..." Her voice trailed off, and her cheeks flushed.

  He wasn't any better. His brain attempted to use mental telepathy to get the pants to drop. God, she looked beyond sexy, all that cinnamon skin on display. Soft and spicy. He knew just how she'd taste and feel. So did his dick. His skin felt itchy and tight with need.

  Good God.

  She ducked her head. "Um. What did you need?"

  Again, his brain failed to turn over. Like a faulty car starter, he tried and tried several times before thinking finally kicked in. “Dinner. The team was going to go down to the restaurant by the pool. I already passed. I need to call Braedon, so figured I'd just room service it. Wanted to—" Again, his eyes strayed from her face to focus on the swell of confined breasts.

  The sawdust effect finally gave way to full on salivating. He cleared his throat again. “Check with you to see if you wanted to go." There, he'd gotten it all out. He wondered why something that could have taken less than a minute to say had somehow morphed into a fifteen minute broken speech.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  When she spoke, her voice was low. ”Beckett? You’re staring."

  Well, fuck yeah, he was staring. Did she have any idea what she looked like? "I…I'm sorry. You just look like every guy’s I Dream of Genie wet dream.”

  Ricca started to move toward him, and he knew there was trouble.

  "Beckett, can you help me with the zipper? I think it's stuck.”

  Oh shit. He narrowed his eyes. Was this all an elaborate game? He said he wasn’t going to sleep with her anymore and endanger their friendship, and she paid him back by torturing him?
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  He reminded himself that this was his Ricca. She’d always been up-front with him. She wasn’t playing him. She stood in front of him, back turned. He could smell the spicy oils she'd been using as they mixed with her own unique scent to make his blood stir and his cock pray for attention.

  Hands shaking, he slipped the back of his left hand into her pants. Both of them jumped at the skin to skin contact. Gripping on to the soft silk to brace the zipper, the tried tugging the zipper loose with his other hand. It didn’t budge. The harder he tried to tug, the more contact his hands had with the sinful expanse of bare back. He really wasn't going to survive. "I…" he swallowed. “I don’t know what you did, but it won't budge.”

  “Oh, God. You can’t tell me I'm going to be stuck in this thing. Serves me right for trying it on.” She reached behind her back to her zipper and tried to tug at it herself. Their hands intertwined and collided, sending sharper zings to the center of his raging desire.

  "Ricca, wait, you'll tear the fabric."

  She batted at his hands. "I need to get this thing off of me. I..."

  He stilled her hands. "Chill out. It's okay. Worse comes to worse, we'll cut you out." If she kept moving her ass in those shakes and wiggles, he'd tear her out of the damn thing.

  "Beckett, we can’t cut me out of it. It was a gift from Lila. I know I shouldn't have bothered trying it on. There was no way it was going to fit. But I couldn’t help myself. I just—"

  Another deep breath. Another wiggle of that God given ass. Fuuuck. The soft flesh came into contact with his cotton shorts, and they both gasped.

  "Beckett,” she squeaked.

  He inhaled deeply. He had an opportunity to be a good guy. Get the hell out of her room and go get the wardrobe team to help her out.

  Too bad he didn’t have a good guy bone in him. So much for reformed. He was going to have Ricca. Screw the consequences.

  ****

  Ricca felt the zipper finally give, and she exhaled a sigh of relief. It wasn’t until she tried to step away that she realized Beckett still held onto her. "Hey, what are you doing? You were pretty clear you didn’t want to do this. And I respect that.” My ass.