Exposed by Fate

by Tessa Bailey

“Eliza?”

  “Hmm.”

  “You’re standing on my foot.”

  “Oh! Sorry.” She shot past him into the apartment, grateful he stood behind her and couldn’t see her red face. At least he was chuckling and not asking to take a rain check that would never come. The women who normally graced these four walls probably had a repertoire of moves. All she had was a dopey expression that said…you want zee sex, yes?

  She became momentarily distracted by his apartment. Or, loft, rather, since no walls separated any of the rooms. Kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom all flowed into one gigantic open plan. Above her, thick, wooden rafters moved along the expanse of the apartment. Windows lined the beautifully ornate brick wall opposite her, overlooking the East River. She could even see a hint of the lit-up Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. With her designer’s eye, she could see he’d taken care to make it homey and welcoming, without sacrificing style.

  She’d expected leather and dude colors, as she referred to them in her head. Black, blue, gray. Instead, he’d positioned plush white couches facing the window, a low-hanging industrial light in perfect contrast to the traditional furniture. Bright red and gold area rugs. The walls were mostly bare, except for the odd family photo and shelves containing a scattering of hardback books.

  With a gulp, she let her gaze move further down the apartment to land on the enormous four-poster bed tucked into the corner. Would they have sex in that bed? To her, you couldn’t get more personal than someone’s bed. It’s where they slept. Where they dreamed. They had already agreed this wouldn’t get personal. Perhaps he preferred the couch? Or a table. Her face heated once more at the thought.

  Eliza turned to find Oliver watching her, leaning against the wooden island in his kitchen. His eyes appeared dark and thoughtful, before he brightened. “So, do I pass muster with New York City’s new hotshot designer?”

  She scoffed. “I’m hardly that. But yes, this place is phenomenal.” A gasp escaped her throat when she saw the fireplace. She went toward it, running a reverent hand over the ancient, oak mantle. “Oh, pretty baby. You need some TLC, don’t you?”

  “Are you talking to me or the fire place?” Eliza jumped when Oliver’s gruff voice invaded her ear, lips brushing against the lobe. Slowly, he turned her. “It better be me. The fireplace didn’t just spend an hour making sauce.”

  This time, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze dropped to his sculpted mouth. She’d never noticed before how his upper lip flared at the top, almost stubbornly. Like it had been permanently molded that way from so much kissing. “Have you decided how you want to greet me yet?”

  “Yeah.” A dimple appeared on his right cheek, eyebrows waggling. “Wanna make out?”

  A laugh bubbled from her throat. “Really? That’s all I get from the famous Oliver Preston?” She gave a half-hearted shove against his muscled chest. “Do you think because we’ve known each other so long, you don’t have to try?”

  He gave a dramatic groan. “Aw, bunny. Don’t make me try.”

  Suspecting he just wanted to put her at ease, she couldn’t erase the stupid grin from her face. Funny enough, it had actually worked. “What about the sauce?”

  His eyes darkened. “I’d rather make a fucking meal out of you, Eliza.”

  Okay, so not at ease anymore. Not at all. Slow, rippling heat invaded her belly, moving lower until her thighs squeezed of their own accord to alleviate the ache. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  His quick, precise answer sounded almost angry. A nervous tingle moving up the back of her neck as she searched his expression. “I-is that still what you want?”

  He looked surprised by her question. With a sigh, he lowered his forehead to hers. “Of course, I do, babe. I’m just trying to do this right. Anything right.” His hand found hers, twining their fingers together. “Come on. We’re going to talk about this first, even if I’d like to pet you between your legs to apologize for that mean little ache I gave you.”

  She sucked in a breath, but didn’t have a chance to respond before he tugged her toward the kitchen, cursing under his breath as they went. His words echoed in her fevered brain, making the situation below her waist infinitely worse, as did the rippling of his shoulders beneath the material of his shirt. He picked her up to settle her onto a stool at the kitchen island, taking a moment to squeeze her tightly around the waist before walking away. When he rounded the island to pull two shot glasses from the cabinet, Eliza took the hint and uncapped the bottle of ouzo.

  Before he returned to her, he scooped noodles and pasta sauce into a bowl, carrying it back along with shot glasses and a fork. He had a crease between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before. He twirled a bite of pasta around the fork and held to her lips. “Open.”

  As if her jaw were on a string, it dropped and a bite of pasta landed on her tongue. Oliver sat back on his stool and watched her mouth chew.

  “How is it?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Wonderful.” Oh God, how could she function under the weight of that sensual stare? “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  He merely shook his head. “Eliza, when you enter into these kinds of relationships, such as the one you want with…him…” he trailed off. Looking suddenly restless, he poured ouzo into the shot glasses. “You have to discuss terms up front. Outline your limits. Pick a safe word. Tell someone, even if it’s me, where you’re going to be in case something happens. Before we go any further, I want you to promise me that. It’s the most important lesson I can teach you.”

  Eliza nodded. She’d already understood the importance of taking those measures, but Oliver’s tone begged her to agree without equivocation. “I understand.” His hard expression still didn’t budge, so she ran her thumb over the valley between his eyebrows. “Terms, limits, safe word, phone buddy. I promise, playboy.”

  Instead of responding, he wound pasta around the fork and fed it to her again. Oh boy, she could seriously get used to this. No! No, she couldn’t get used to anything Oliver-related. Is that why he was frowning? Was he worried she’d get too attached? Schooling her features, she handed him one of the shot glasses and picked up her own.

  “I’ve got one more condition,” Oliver said slowly, as if he didn’t understand the words coming out of his own mouth. “You’re mine until all three lessons are over. No one else’s. Agree to it.”

  “There won’t be anyone else.” She’d said it too quickly, but she’d been surprised. Surprised by him wanting that with her. Surprised how much she loved the idea. “To no messes,” she murmured, hoping to make up for her eagerness.

  Oddly, her assurance didn’t make him look any less troubled. Finally, his signature smile moved back into place, and he clinked their glasses together. “No messes.”

  …

  One second she was looking at him like her savior, the next a hopeless player. Why did he like the former so much better? He’d never minded being written off as the irredeemable ladies’ man before. In fact, he’d enjoyed it. It had damn well saved him and his conquest some time. For some reason, hearing it from Eliza didn’t inspire relief as it usually did. It should, though. Hell, if he set aside the fact that the stunning blonde happened to be his sister’s best friend, this was his ideal situation. He would finally get the chance to act out the fantasies he’d had about Eliza over the years, secure in the fact that she wouldn’t try and nail down an engagement as soon as he let his guard down.

  Feeding the girl who had always been off limits to him, watching her unpainted lips close around food he’d prepared…it got him off way too much. For a split second, he thought he might be content just to do this all night. Talk to her. Listen to her sighing breathily over the taste, watch her eyes close as she chewed, tipping her head back to expose the smooth skin of her neck. Never mind. No way would he be happy until he’d gotten another taste of what she’d started to give him last night. Every look she sent him from beneath those eyelashes
felt like a squeeze of his cock.

  I’m going to make her mine. After a beat, his inner voice piped up with, for now, buddy. For now.

  Right. Of course, this would be temporary. By the end of their three meetings, he would be relieved of this inconvenient yen he had for her. He’d teach her everything she needed to know to be safe, to know what gave her pleasure, all the while catering to the instinct inside him that commanded him to rule a woman’s body. He’d been surprised to learn he had the need inside him. He loved women. Why would he want to hurt them? Withhold orgasm until they screamed and begged? Then he’d realized, it’s because he loved women that he felt the urge to do those things. He made the end result worth every ounce of frustration it took to get there. If somewhere along the line, it had stopped being worth it for Oliver…that was on him. Would it feel different with Eliza?

  He realized he’d been contemplating for too long when she started to look nervous under his close scrutiny. Jesus, how long had he been staring at her? He set down the fork he’d been feeding her with and poured another shot of ouzo, holding it to her lips.

  “Drink.”

  She did as he asked, watching silently as he took another shot himself. “Does the second shot reverse the deal? I can’t remember.”

  “Should we take a third shot to reverse it back?”

  “Don’t ask, just pour.”

  Shit. She was fun. They threw back the shot and slammed their glasses down at the same time, the loud noise echoing through his kitchen. Her full lips tilted into a smile, still damp from the alcohol. The light hit her wet mouth, beckoning him closer, and his blood sped up in his veins. Oh Christ, what he wanted to do with that mouth. The sexual urgency he’d been missing lately had decided to make up for lost time, demanding he drag her off the stool and push her onto her knees. The image alone of Eliza staring up at him obediently as she sucked him between her lips was enough to make him groan. He watched as her mouth parted on a gasp, igniting the quick rise and fall of her breasts. A pink flush crept up her throat and ended at her cheeks, a sign of innocence that only made him harder.

  “Oliver, can you start teaching me now?”

  Her husky question nearly killed him. Could he start tonight? He felt a little too desperate, a little too heavy under the weight of his suddenly robust craving to fuck. Hard. Of course it would have to be Eliza who finally brought it back for him. The girl who needed patience and caution. If he came on too strong, turned her off to what was possible, how was he any better than Porter? The motherfucker.

  “We need to get comfortable with each other first,” Oliver managed, barely hearing himself over the pounding in his temples. He stepped forward, stifling a groan when her knees opened to brush the outsides of his hips. So easy. It would be so easy just to take her on this stool. He knew when a woman wanted to be filled up by him. Could almost feel the throb between her thighs, one he’d created. She would let him rip off her panties and plant himself deep, she’d love it. He’d love it.

  But if he took her simply because he wanted to, it would blur everything between them. She’d come to him for a reason, and it wasn’t for a quick, dirty romp. No matter how satisfying. No, she’d trusted him to teach her, give her the knowledge she would need to be safe. He wanted her safe.

  “Comfortable?” She whispered the word against his mouth.

  Oliver breathed deeply, immediately wishing he hadn’t when her white roses scent kicked him in the gut. “Yes.” He leaned in and ran his open mouth along her jawline. “You should always know the person you’re with. You can’t have trust otherwise.”

  “But I already trust you,” she protested on a whimper, tipping her head to the side. “We’ve known each other forever.”

  “No.” He dragged his teeth up the side of her neck, growling when she trembled. “You know me as Oliver, your friend’s brother. The guy who gave you platonic hugs and wished you luck on your exams. The guy who asked you about your college classes or whether or not you liked your professors.” With one hand, he wrapped her hair in his fist and tilted her head so he could speak very precisely beside her ear. “I’ve got news for you, Eliza. I didn’t give a fuck about your classes or your professors. I wanted to get you alone and screw your little college coed body silly.”

  She moaned loudly and scooted closer to him on the stool, stopping just short of his groin. “I—you did? I didn’t know…”

  He forced her to look him in the eye. “There’s your first lesson. You never really know anybody. So be careful who you trust. Say it, Eliza.”

  “Be careful who I trust.”

  “Not just with your body. With all of you.” He took a hungry pull from her mouth, the perfect taste of her making his thoughts go fuzzy. Struggling to get them back he said, “There’s more than sex at stake here. You’re abandoning your will…but you can always take it back. Remember that.”

  She moved ever-so-slightly closer, and the heat between her legs finally reached him, cradling his pulsing erection. They groaned into each other’s mouths. He caught her legs halfway on their ascent to his waist and jerked them high, tight. Out of control. This was getting out of control. Slow. Down.

  Oliver picked her up off the stool and strode toward the living room. Halfway there, her mouth had already tempted him half out of his mind, so he slowed to a stop at the edge of his couch and took what she’d offered, twining their tongues together mercilessly, not satisfied enough to stop until she was clawing at his back. Trying her best to climb higher on his body. He took one more step and brought her ass up against the back of his couch, rubbing his ready cock against her. No way of stopping himself. Eliza’s mouth broke from his on a sob. Her eyes were heavy with lust. Gone. So gone. He needed her. Just like this. How could he pass this up?

  His brain raged at him to reign in his need, take things one step at a time, but his hands weren’t listening. They dragged her skirt higher, higher until it was bunched around her waist. White panties…wet at the center…fuck. Rife with anticipation, he reached between their bodies and cupped her pussy.

  “Oliver,” she gasped. “Oh my God.”

  A tide rose inside him. He didn’t recognize the feeling that was suddenly choking off his oxygen, but his confusion didn’t decrease its potency. Something about the way she felt in his hand, looked at him with absolute trust. He didn’t feel like himself, but at the same time, he’d never felt more at home in his skin. In the midst of it all, a storm raged. One he didn’t see coming until the clouds had darkened ominously, directly overhead. Eliza writhed against his hand, a sight he demanded his overwhelmed conscious commit to memory. Watching her reaction closely, he pressed a firm thumb to her clit.

  “Yes, there. There.”

  Such an easy action and she acted like her world would implode if he stopped. Oliver tried to laugh, but it only sounded like pain escaping. She had no idea what he was going to do to her. What he’d make her feel…

  Only, it wasn’t just him. He would merely be getting her ready for another man. If not Porter, someone else. A denial broke from his lips. The storm clouds exploded, raining scalding hot drops over him, burning his skin. He’d lost his ability to filter his words, and they fell from his lips now as they moved over her cleavage feverishly. “He didn’t deserve this. I told him to stay the fuck away from you, babe. He didn’t deserve you. No one does.”

  It took him a moment to register that she’d gone still against him. Why wasn’t she begging anymore? Her hands were no longer busy in his hair. She’d just shut down. No, please. No way he would survive if she asked him to stop this. His cock strained against the fly of his pants, seeking her heat, but she let her legs drop from around his waist. Feeling his first frisson of panic, Oliver searched her eyes and found them free of the desire he’d seen banked there. Heat had been replaced with shock, anger.

  “What did you do, Oliver?” She yanked her skirt back down when she saw his obviously starved gaze tracking over her toned thighs. Gorgeous. So gorgeous. “Answer m
e.”

  “What did I—” His memory caught up with the situation. “Ah.”

  She looked ready to slap him upside the head. “Ah?”

  He breathed through his nose, trying to regain some sense of control, but it was hard to do when she still stood so close, smelling and looking like heaven. “You don’t know Porter, Eliza. You don’t know what he’s into…what he’d ask you to do.”

  “And you know him?” She didn’t want for his answer, but pushed on, affront evident in every line of her body. “No. You don’t. And we had talked about it, actually.”

  “Really.” Now he was getting pissed, too. Why were they standing there talking about another man when moments ago she’d been moaning his name? “You discussed hard limits? A safe word?” When her gaze darted away for a split second, he had his answer and it infuriated him. “I didn’t think so.”

  “We were getting there,” she grated.

  “Bullshit. When I showed up, you were getting ready to go upstairs.”

  Before the harsh words had even left his mouth, she’d sailed past him toward the kitchen, snatching her purse off the kitchen island. “You had no right to interfere, Oliver. I make decisions for myself. Me.” She turned back to face him. When he saw her chin tremble, he wanted to crumple. “I liked him, Oliver. Dammit.”

  As she stormed out of the apartment, he made no move to stop her. Couldn’t. His feet felt glued to the ground, his entire body once again loaded down by the ten tons of cement on his shoulders.

  It didn’t even occur to him that he’d just struck out for the first time in his life.

  Chapter Six

  Eliza plopped into her desk chair and pulled up her email. As soon as she saw the horrifying number of unread messages, she whimpered and let her forehead hit the desk. Sleep last night had been elusive, like the golden ring you try to grab from the carousel, shiny and unattainable for someone with short arms. What? She wasn’t even making sense today. And it was only ten o’clock in the morning. The scene with Oliver had replayed in her head so many times she could probably perform both of their parts in a stage play.