The Do It List (The Do It List #1)

by Jillian Stone

  Bradley Craig was too good to be true.

  A tsunami of disappointment swelled inside me. Mentally, I demoted him to the same relationship status as Derek Moubin. Part-time, occasional sport fuck.

  I ran up three flights of stairs, stuck the flowers in the sink, and put the groceries away. I tried calling my art director and got her voice mail. Besides celebrity gossip and wardrobe styling, Sarah was also a trusted advisor when it came to men, sex, and dating. Not exactly therapist-level advice, but honestly, who wanted a therapist at a time like this? I ran a tub full of steaming-hot water and added plenty of rosemary-infused bath salts.

  Afterward, I slathered on body butter and gave myself a mani-pedi. When in crisis pamper thyself, something Leah used to say. How I missed my big sister. The one person in my life I could count on. I shut down my feelings for Leah. I couldn’t allow myself to miss her too much today. Today was taken up with another kind of heartache.

  I forced a smile, admiring my new pale-blue finger and toenails. I really did have a talent for nail polish application.

  A part of me wanted desperately to hear Bradley’s story. How he just happened to bump into Audrey while apartment hunting. Liars had a way of twisting things around, making you feel as if you were the crazy girlfriend. I wanted to confront him, let him know how badly he had fucked up.

  I didn’t have long to wait. Just after four o’clock, I received a text.

  On my way. Looking forward to my first fish tacos.

  Obviously, Bradley wasn’t taking no for an answer. In fact, his message seemed strangely confident. Why? Why would he risk pissing me off any more than he already had?

  Finally, I sent a return text: Be prepared for snapper tacos with bite ur head off hot sauce.

  My stomach growled and I thought about that nice piece of fresh fish in the fridge. It would all go to waste if I didn’t cook tonight. So I went to work peeling and chopping and very soon the kitchen smelled of mango, chilies, and cilantro.

  I mixed a light tempura batter, adding a hint of cayenne and cumin, salt and pepper. With most everything prepared, I killed time arranging the tulips that had begun to unfurl their curly, stripped edges. Gorgeous.

  The downstairs door buzzed.

  I caught a look at myself in the mirror. Hip-riding sweats and a burnout cropped top. Dangerous togs to be flaunting. They could easily lead to something that wasn’t going to happen.

  I thought about a quick change and decided against it. I wanted to see his face before and after he realized he wasn’t getting any of this.

  THIRTEEN

  “OPEN UP, GRACIE.” He continued to bang on the door.

  I stood in the hallway, anger simmering. Finally I wrenched the door open. “You need to learn to stay away.”

  He wore dark blue jeans, a loose V-neck tee and a really fabulous distressed leather bomber jacket. His eyes were bluer than I cared to remember.

  “What did I do, Gracie?”

  I backed away and let him in. An overnight suiter hung over his shoulder and he carried his gym bag.

  “You can park those right there.” I pointed to the bench near the entry.

  He stared for a very long time. Enough to harden my nipples, which were already visible under the thin cotton top. He set his stuff down and followed me into the kitchen.

  “It smells amazing in here.”

  “Mango salsa, one of my specialties.” I got out a muddler and cocktail shaker. “Can I interest you in a stiff mojito?”

  “Do you think we should drink before we sort this out?”

  I whirled around. The sharp end of my knife pointed directly at him. “I’m not very good at sharing, Bradley. So if I have to share, you have to learn to stay away.”

  Jeezus, I sounded like my niece having a tantrum. And he seemed to recognize the Hannah in me. The glimmer in his eye and cute smile gave him away.

  This wasn’t going right.

  “You can just as easily make a do it list with Audrey.”

  He flattened the grin, but his gaze never left me. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because…you obviously…” I was stammering.

  “Audrey moonlights as a real estate agent. I thought you knew.”

  Stunned, I shook my head.

  “I have quite a large sum coming from the sale of the flat in London. I thought I might start looking for a place. Audrey has a listing on Gramercy West, and a loft near Union Square.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You were sharing a waffle from the same fork.”

  “Yes, that was a bit awkward. I’m not sure why she insisted on that.”

  I crossed my arms under my chest, keeping the knife pointed forward. “Really? I’m sure I know why.”

  He reached over and gently removed the cutlery from my hand. “An angry female wielding a samurai knife makes me twitchy.” He set the blade down on the counter.

  I stared at him. “Why would Audrey need another income?”

  “Her husband hasn’t worked in months—had to take sick leave. Cancer, I believe. She says he’s going to recover.”

  I picked up the knife and sliced the lemons and limes for juicing. “There’s mint in the fridge and silver rum in the far left cabinet.”

  While Bradley fetched, I contemplated the waffle, apartment listing, cancer story. Definitely too bizarre to make up, but l felt little remorse. Mostly because I found everything Audrey said or did suspicious.

  Bradley set down the bottle and the mint.

  “She cheats on him.” My voice rose along with my agitation. “She fucked Derek twice, just to piss me off.”

  “It would seem Derek also fucked her.” His steady gaze met mine. “Twice.”

  I had to admire the sheer courage of his remark.

  He shrugged. “People do strange things when they’re frightened when they think they might lose someone they love.”

  I thought about my reaction to Bradley and Audrey. Was this one of my self-preservation moves, or a simple overreaction? There were times, especially with men, that I couldn’t trust myself. I was really good at pushing them away before they had a chance to hurt me.

  “Gracie, you came along at an awkward moment. The waffle thing appeared intimate—”

  “I can’t allow myself to get close,” I interrupted, “not if you’re just another horn-dog player.” The mint turned out to be cilantro. “And this isn’t mint—use your nose.”

  I got out the simple syrup while Bradley foraged. He set the new bunch of greens on the counter with a testy slap.

  I don’t know why that small show of temperament made me smile. Maybe it was because Bradley always appeared so perfectly self-possessed unless he was coming. I thought about his face during orgasm—jaws tight, eyes glazed over, so beautifully out of control and vulnerable. Like now.

  “Here—a bit of therapy.” I handed him a long-handled wooden pestle. “It’s called a bartender’s muddler.” I rinsed off the mint and shoved a handful of stalks into the cocktail shaker. “Pummel away.”

  “Gracie, last night was amazing, one of the best nights of my life. Why would I want to fuck that up?”

  The remark nearly sent me into his arms. Somehow, I managed to suck in a breath and get a grip. “Maybe because you thought you’d get away with it.”

  I added fresh juice and crushed ice to bruised mint leaves. “A quick pour of simple syrup, a bit more ice, and…” I measured out two jiggers of rum. “Shake well.”

  Bradley shook while I filled two tall glasses with ice and a sprig of green.

  He poured and I clinked mine against his. “Cheers.”

  The citrus mint cocktail tasted like a cool coastal breeze, and the rum went straight to work. Exactly what I needed.

  Bradley sipped, then took a long swallow. “This is brilliant.”

  He leaned back against the counter, cautiously taking in my expression. He appeared to be waiting for a signal, wondering if or when I might come around. And I liked that he hadn’t tried to touch me,
or come on too strong or desperate.

  At this point, all I wanted to do was eat fish tacos and watch Skyfall with him. Something about this small clash of ours had made me realize I wanted Bradley as more than a lover. I took another sip of my cocktail.

  “What if I agreed to let you sleep over, but no sex?”

  A smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “You really believe that’s going to happen?”

  I didn’t answer yes, or no, I surrendered without a word.

  Unzipping the bottom half of his jacket, I helped him shrug off the rugged leather, one arm at a time. A lovely bulge of arm muscle and a swirl of Maori tattoo led down to forearms covered in a light mat of hair. I had never really noticed his watch before, a black-faced Tag Heuer. The arm, the body, the face with its strong jaw covered in weekend scruff. Perfectly delicious—him and the cocktail.

  I resisted the urge to bite into that handsome flesh and forced myself to step away. I still had a few ground rules to cover. “I can’t do the list thing if we continue to see other people.”

  Those piercing blues eyes brightened. “You’re pretty adorable when you get possessive.”

  I laid his jacket over a kitchen stool and flashed a not-so-adorable glare.

  He chuckled softly as he shook his head. “Gracie, I honestly never considered any other arrangement.” He tilted his head to make eye contact. “I apologize for not being clear.”

  “No need to apologize,” I huffed, feeling a bit defensive.

  “That’s what men do—we apologize. When I was married, I learned to apologize well and often.”

  He reached around my waist and yanked me against him. “You fuck me exclusively.” His gaze turned primal. It appeared Bradley had a whole lot of possessive in him as well. “And I fuck you exclusively.”

  “What about Sappho?” I whispered.

  A side of his mouth curled. “I believe I get to participate but not fuck Sappho.” He wrapped me in his arms. “If we hit a rough patch neither one of us sleeps around. Not until we meet and call it off formally.”

  The thought of calling it off with Bradley so disturbed, it left me a little breathless. “And once we complete the list, we agree to part ways or renegotiate.”

  “I’d like to add one more condition.” He kissed me softly. “We see each other twice during the week and spend weekends together whenever possible.”

  “Twice a week and weekends,” I mused out loud. “We could finish the list in no time.”

  He wove his fingers through my curls. “Not if we keep adding to it.”

  He covered my mouth and delivered a kiss that sent an electrical charge through my body. His free hand slipped into my sweatpants and under lace panties. He cupped a buttock cheek as he pressed that impressive hardness into my belly.

  While his lips ravaged and bruised, his tongue delved deep. And when we finally came up for air, his entire expression seemed lighter, happier. “I’ll be better prepared next time.”

  “M-mm.” I murmured. “For what?”

  “You fight dirty.” His predatory gaze shifted lower, to the dark, hard tips visible beneath my top. “I’m supposed to defend myself while staring at these two? Christ, Gracie, I’m hard as a stone. All I can think about is—” His mouth closed over a nipple, moistening thin cotton. He stretched the fabric until I could feel every flick of his tongue.

  “Oh, Bradley,” I moaned, arching into him.

  “Arms up.” The tee shirt came off in one swift move. He took a moment to peruse the goods and do what he was so good at doing—making me feel sexy and naughty and vulnerable. “God, I’ve missed you, missed touching you.”

  His hands cupped my breasts, rolling nipples between index fingers and thumbs until my chest and throat burned with arousal.

  “Do you realize your whole body blushes? You really need to see this.” He took me by the hand and stood me before the mirror in the entry. “Look at yourself.”

  He rubbed up behind me, pushing my sweatpants lower until they barely clung to my hips. A hint of smooth Venus mound and labia could be seen—more provocative than I could ever imagine. We made eye contact in the mirror.

  “You’re going to get some hard fucking tonight, young lady.” He kissed my neck. “Look this blush—peach, like your cheeks that first night in the elevator. I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and there we were, alone together. I wanted you so bad—wondered how I could have you. Then you stuck your hand in my pocket to answer my phone.” He shook his head. “You have no idea…”

  I leaned back against his broad, muscled chest. “We both wanted each other.”

  I studied our reflection in the mirror and had to admit we were smoking hot together. My breasts had grown heavy from his fondling, and my lower belly quivered as his finger played with the diamond piercing.

  He caught me up and turned me around, lifting me up by my buttocks.

  “Wrap your legs around me.” He carried me into the kitchen, pushing off sweats and panties as he set me on the edge of the counter top. “I’m going to get you so wound up, you’re going to come the second I lick your clit.”

  Tossing my clothes aside, he positioned himself between my legs. “And after you come, you’re going to give me another, straight away.” Husky words brushed my throat, then traveled lower.

  Dark, primal desire rippled through my body. “You know that’s impossible for me.”

  “Lesson two, Gracie, in multiple orgasms.”

  He laid me back on the cool stone counter as he licked then suckled. Slowly at first, until I begged for more.

  But he took his time, sucking, nibbling—mercilessly teasing as he moved from one breast to the other.

  Delicious, torturous arousal.

  He deliberately fondled, kissed and licked me everywhere…but there. And the longer he stayed away, the more I wanted it.

  “Lower, baby.” I gasped, between shallow breaths.

  He held me dancing on the edge of climax, as both my legs trembled.

  He returned to my lips and plunged deep, fucking my mouth. I could barely breathe, and still he refused to touch my clit.

  Finally, he spread my legs. “You’re swollen.” He moved lower but didn’t lick me. “And wet.” He carefully pulled back my labia and blew cool air over the throbbing female parts. “How badly do you want it?”

  “Badly.” I moved to touch myself.

  He caught my hand and I met his ferocious mating stare. My entire body was on fire. “Please, Bradley.”

  He buried his head between my legs. At last, his tongue was right where I needed it—had begged for it. The moment he licked my clit I exploded with pleasure. “God, yes,” I screamed, coming so hard my body shuddered out of control.

  He held me close while I rode descending waves of orgasm. His hand moved between my legs, and he circled a finger, triggering another sharp spasm.

  “Stop that!” I slapped his hand away and he smiled down at me.

  “We’re going to go again, love.”

  I couldn’t imagine coming again, not so soon after. But then—I was with Bradley.

  My hand went to his belt and he let me unbuckle and unzip. His cock strained beneath knit boxers.

  “I want to see you naked,” I whispered, still short of breath. I could barely function after such a powerful climax.

  He raised his arms as I pulled his shirt off. He had a great chest with a light mat of hair, sculpted pecs and nipples that were sensitive. I sucked one gently, flicking my tongue until he groaned.

  Strong arms lifted me off the counter, and I slid down his body. He held me against him and rubbed my back. “I’m going insist you come a few more times, Gracie.”

  He led me into the bedroom, stopping at my dresser. “Stockings?”

  “Top drawer.”

  He looped a pair of sheer black hose around one hand. “Lay down in the middle of the bed, and hold onto the rungs behind you.”

  I stared at him, eyes wide, heart racing.


  He stood there in all his half-naked glory wearing the Bradley stare that sent shivers through me.

  He unbuttoned his jeans. “Do as I say, Gracie.”

  FOURTEEN

  “WHY SHOULD I, Bradley?”

  “Because you need to be taken firmly in hand. We have trust issues, rather large ones. If I can get you to trust me in bed, then perhaps you will learn to trust me in other ways.”

  I reminded myself to breathe. “I’m just a bit…shocked, I suppose.”

  “Is that what you want? Predictable sex. A man who asks permission? Or will you trust me enough to let me bring you to a higher state of arousal?”

  Like every red-blooded girl in America, I’d read a few erotic novels and was curious. But I also wanted assurances. “Shouldn’t we agree on a safe word?” I shifted my eyes, slightly. “Like…maybe…?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me spank you.”

  Master of the dark sensual look, his stare spoke of discipline and the promise of screaming orgasms. Besides being such a hot specimen of rock hard manhood, Bradley Craig had the power to command and control.

  I should have been in the throes of a full-on anxiety attack, but I wasn’t. Beyond a bit of rough sex play, Bradley would never overpower or hurt me. There was a constancy about him, a solidness. He was the kind of man who would prevail no matter what, and that quiet strength drew me, inexorably, to him.

  He was also wildly exciting—alpha male to the bone. And alphas were almost impossible to tame.

  My gaze swept over a curve of groin muscle that disappeared below jeans that hung low on his hips. The waistband of his boxer briefs read Emporio Armani.

  I smiled, because I understood perfectly why I resisted him. I wanted to be taken by him, tossed over his knee. I was feverish for the feel of his hand on my ass. My desire for this spanking to happen became so intense, I could barely breathe.

  Bradley searched my face, a silent assessment of what I needed, what I craved. What I couldn’t bring myself to ask for.

  “Have it your way, Gracie.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Over my knee.” His cool, quiet domination made me want to comply, but for some reason I hesitated.