by Sybil Bartel
Contingency plan B—distract. I smiled, put my arm around Olivia and used the first bullshit distraction that popped into my head. “Have you met my girlfriend, Olivia?”
Cougar went beet red.
Olivia stiffened. “Mrs. Pendleton, I’m sorry about what happ—”
Oh fuck no. She wasn’t going to apologize to Cougar. “You don’t have any reason to be sorry, Olivia. You weren’t the one throwing kicks and pulling hair.” I squeezed Olivia’s shoulder and gave Cougar a warning look.
Cougar’s glare swung to Olivia. “You stupid girl,” she spat out. “Do you know—”
I didn’t let her finish that sentence. No fucking way did she get to throw insults after she’d rolled around on the floor. Not to mention, I knew exactly where she was going with it. She’d tell Olivia who and what I was quicker than I could make a woman moan. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did, but for the first time in three years, I wished I was some asshole banker in a bad suit. “We’re done here.” I grabbed the whiskey the bartender set down.
Olivia’s hands went up in supplication. “Mrs. Pendleton, I’m so sorry about the incident. Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll replace your dress or whatever I can do. You know I’m good for it. I’ve worked for you for years, you know I’ll take care of it.”
She worked for Cougar?
Cougar fumed. “This charity will never—”
I whisked Olivia toward the farthest wall from the bar and stopped in front of a shitty painting.
“You told my boss I was dating you,” she growled. “After she fought over you.”
“She wasn’t fighting over me.” I tipped the glass of whiskey to her lips. “Drink.”
She didn’t have a choice if she didn’t want to make another scene. She took a sip but then pulled back and coughed, her face twisting as the alcohol slid down her throat. “That’s shit whiskey.”
I fought a smile and gestured at the painting in front of us. “How about this landscape?”
“You can drop the act. I know you’re not buying anything.” She shoved my arm off and half turned but then swore under breath. “Shit. Now she’s talking to two of my buyers.”
I glanced over my shoulder and Cougar wasn’t just talking, she was glaring and pointing at Olivia.
Opportunity was a beautiful thing.
“Make this look good, sweetness.” I leaned down before Olivia could protest and dragged my lips across her ear as I whispered, “Smile. Show everyone you don’t give a fuck about her or the catfight.” I kissed her cheek, lingering longer than I should because she didn’t just smell good, her scent was intoxicating as hell. Not like overpriced perfume but like purity… and challenge.
She bared her teeth. “You lied to her.”
“Is that supposed to be a smile?” I chuckled. “Come on, you can do better than that.” I pulled her closer. “Where’s the sweet innocence you had for Bob the Builder?”
Her eyes tight, her sneer upped a notch. “His name is Jesse and I’m not done talking about that stunt you just pulled with my boss.”
I turned the tables on her. “You sure you should be working for someone like that?” I glanced over my shoulder for effect then made a face. “She seems a little unhinged.”
“She’s not unhinged. She’s rich.” Her hands went to her hips and she said rich like it was a crime.
My gaze lingered on the lush curves her hands were getting to touch and I licked my lips. “So having money makes it okay to get down and dirty at a fundraiser?” Arguing with her was the most fun I’d had in months.
“No, but—”
I leaned toward her and lowered my voice. “No buts, beautiful.” Damn, she smelled incredible. “And no excuses. We all gotta play by the rules sometime.” I lingered a second longer to see if she’d pull away.
She didn’t.
I straightened, putting just enough distance between us so she’d notice. “So which painting do you like?” Women always wanted what they thought they couldn’t have.
She suspiciously eyed the half a foot I put between us then glanced at the painting. When she spoke, her voice was calmer but still had an edge. “I don’t have a favorite.”
Slow, calculated, half my mouth tipped up. “That’s too bad.” I waited until she looked at me. “I was hoping you’d tell me what turned you on.”
For half a second, she didn’t react. Then she crossed her arms, her tits pushed together and the million fantasies I was envisioning kicked into high gear.
Her clear blue eyes gazed up at me “Do you ever stop flirting?”
I dropped my half smile. “Not with you.”
She stared at me. No words, no pretense, she simply stared.
My heart rate kicked up and I fought to keep from taking her into my arms. All I wanted to do was touch her, anywhere she’d let me. “Want to know my favorite part of the evening so far?”
She ignored my question. “You do know you’re wasting your time, right?”
I moved a few inches closer. “You’re not a waste of time, gorgeous.”
“How would you know?” She didn’t move back. “You don’t even know me.” Her head dropped slightly.
She wasn’t protesting. She wasn’t pushing me away. She was curious and I saw my in. I handed the drink to a passing waiter and lowered my voice. “Right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“This.” I dragged my gaze across her lips then stared into her deep blue eyes. “This is my favorite part of the evening.” I was so close, I could feel her breath on me.
“I would’ve thought the catfight….” Her words died on her lips as she looked up and met my gaze.
I went for broke. “I kiss better than your boyfriend.”
Her expression didn’t change but she sucked in a quick breath. “He’s not my boyfriend and I’m not….”
Thank fuck. “Interested?” I slid a hand down her arm, barely touching her. Just like I knew it would, gooseflesh broke out across her soft skin. “You sure about that? Because I know how to kiss.” And fuck. “And lover boy? He didn’t do a damn thing right because he had no game.” I grasped her hand and put it around my neck as I walked her three steps back and around a corner for privacy.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She glanced around nervously.
“Showing you how I would’ve held you.” I cupped her face. “Told you how beautiful you are.” I held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Stunning actually.” I trailed my fingers down her back. “I would’ve pulled you in close and let you know I wanted more.” I grasped her hip and brought her flush against my semi. “Then I would’ve kissed you…,” I paused for effect before dropping the hook, “like I meant it.”
My hand tightened its grip on her face, my fingers dug into her ass and I kissed her, Alex Vega style.
I thrust my tongue into her shocked mouth and gave her something she’d never had. Something that netted me a seven-figure bank account and a lifestyle I wouldn’t trade for anything. I gave her the experience and control women paid thousands for. I gave her me.
Then shit went sideways.
Whiskey, purity and sweet fucking innocence reared up and punched me in the gut. Air left my lungs, my brain misfired and I surged like a tidal wave. Same as that fucking Bob the Builder tool, I grasped her face with both hands. But the similarity stopped there. I wasn’t timid. I dominated her sweet mouth and demanded her tongue in return. I swept through her heat and groaned out of sheer fucking need. My dick throbbed and I kissed her harder.
Small hands curled into the collar of my shirt as she went on tiptoe and kissed me back.
She kissed me back.
I ground my hips like I’d won the damn lottery and she moaned into my mouth. Every ounce of fire she dished out in attitude morphed into sex vixen and client or not, I wanted to fuck her right then and there.
I bit her bottom lip and spoke against her mouth. “That’s it, sweetness. Show me how good I make you feel.”
“You’re not,” she panted,
“a good kisser.” Her hands landed on my chest and she pushed me away.
My legs trembled, my thong was soaked and my nipples were hard. I sucked in a breath. Then another.
He wasn’t a good kisser, he was an amazing kisser.
But I hated guys like him.
That fucking kiss though.
Jesse didn’t kiss like that. He didn’t even come close to kissing like that. And I didn’t care what Douche said, my boss was fighting over him. And holy fucking shit, the equipment he was packing below the belt? If that was half as large as I thought it was, oh my God. But still. What the hell was I doing letting him kiss me like that?
He grasped my chin like he had a right to and swept his thumb over my bottom lip. “You’re sexy when you lie.”
His stupid words kicked some sense back into me. “Do those bullshit lines work on your cougar girlfriends? I would’ve thought with age comes wisdom. But what do I know? I’m only twenty-four, unlike your last conquest.” What a player. I couldn’t believe I’d kissed him back. I pulled away and stepped into the main space.
I felt his body heat a second before his breath touched my ear. “Jealous?”
Intending to tell him to fuck off, I spun. But when he laid his sexy-as-hell smile on me and I caught sight of those eyes, eyes I could get lost in for days, the edge to my voice disappeared. “Of what? A disease?” From across the room, my boss glanced at me but she didn’t sneer. In fact, she looked smug. Really smug.
Mr. Perfect Kisser gently cupped the side of my face like I meant something to him. “It’s not the dark ages, sweetness. A little fun doesn’t mean you’re going to catch something.”
Oh, there was a whole lot I could catch from him, none of it good. I swatted his hand away. “You bidding on anything or were you just here to be some rich old lady’s arm candy?”
“Are you admitting I’m arm candy?” His eyes glinted with mischief.
He was a lot more than arm candy, I was sure. I knew my boss had a penchant for young guys. There’d been a string of them in the two years I’d been walking her dogs and volunteering at the kennel she owned through her countless real estate holdings. She couldn’t even be bothered to hide her infidelity from her husband—not that his mental acuity was as sharp as it was before the dementia set in, but still. I hated my boss. She had no respect for anyone, not even her dogs that she treated like accessories, but I needed to be in her good graces. She was the only one who was willing to rent me kennel space to get my charity going.
I shook my head. “Just leave.”
He leaned closer and his scent, clean and dangerous, surrounded me. “Pay me and I will.”
“Are you serious?” Shit. “I’m not paying you. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you.”
“For what?” He grinned like he knew he had me, because he did.
“Sexual assault, being an asshole, drinking and driving—pick one. I don’t care how good you look in your expensive suit, you’re not getting five grand out of me. This is a fundraiser, not a free-for-all.” The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. He’d totally used the catfight to his advantage. “In fact, why don’t you do something for someone else for once and buy a damn painting that supports the needs of veterans who actually served our country?” I glanced at his ridiculously well-defined chest that was stretching his perfectly pressed shirt in all the right places. “Looks like you can afford it.” I was over him and his sexy fucking smile.
“Not going to work. I already paid my dues.” He saluted me. “Eight years, sweetness.”
I’d heard his Semper Fi, everyone had heard it, but I’d thought he was bullshitting. He was cocky and arrogant and shit… his shoulders were parade stance straight. Damn it. I should’ve seen it. “Marines.” I didn’t have to ask. He was just like my brother used to be… before his last deployment.
“And here I thought you’d be impressed.” He held his hand over his heart as if he were wounded.
I scowled. The bids were shutting down and I needed to go. “I don’t have time to waste on you.” I spun and he caught my arm.
“What exactly is the charity for?”
“Canine Watch.”
He raised a sexy eyebrow and waited.
I sighed. “Canine Watch is a charity that will train and provide PTSD service dogs to veterans at no cost.” I’d said the name and explanation so many times over the past year, I’d lost count, but it never stopped being hurtful every time the words left my mouth, knowing my brother was gone.
Mr. Perfect Kisser had the decency to look impressed. “No kidding?”
I took in his flawlessly put together appearance. His clothes, his watch, his gym abs—he dripped money and composure. Not even my hands on him had left a hair out of place, but me? I probably looked like I’d walked through a swamp. And my stupid body kept tingling like it needed more of what this player was selling. “I don’t joke about my charity.”
“So it is your charity.”
“That’s what I said. Now if you’ll let go of my arm, I need to wrap up the bids.” And make sure every piece sold. And get away from him.
He tipped his chin at the painting he thought was a landscape. “How much for this one?”
“Thirty-five thousand.” At least, that was the bid last time I checked.
He turned to face the painting without letting go of me. “You think it’s worth that?”
“That’s not what it’s worth. That’s the highest bid. If you want it, you need to bid thirty-six thousand.”
He seemed to ponder this a moment. “Tell you what. You go out with me and I’ll forget about the five grand you owe me and I’ll bid forty for the painting.”
“I already told you I don’t owe you anything and I’m not going out with you.” Was he seriously going to pay forty grand just to get me to go out with him?
He let loose with his million-dollar smile. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, sweetness.”
Unbelievable. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
His hand coasted down his shirt and over his hard abs. “So I’ve been told.”
I pulled my arm free and walked away before I did anything stupid, like agree to go out with him. I made it exactly three paces when Franklin stopped me.
“Dude.” Panic leaked out of his pores. “You’ve got to anchor it. It’s like, falling.” His head started pendulum-ing. “I can’t….” His hands went thought his hair. “I can’t sell it like that. I can’t sell any of them. No, no, no, dude. I can’t hang.” He reached for the toilet water piece as if he were going to grab it and run.
“Franklin,” I warned. “You take that down and you’re not going to have anything happy to put in your pocket.” I glanced at his pants pocket. “You get me?”
His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. “Duuuude.”
“I’m not a dude, Franklin. We went over this.” I didn’t care who was watching. That painting had sold for the highest bid and I wasn’t letting him walk out with it.
He sighed and glanced at me but his eyes weren’t focused. “I need my happy. I can’t paint without my happy.” He dropped his gaze to his shoes. “But Cecile? She’s unhappy.”
Mr. Perfect Kisser stepped up beside me and I swore he was holding back a grin. “Who’s Cecile?”
Franklin nodded at the painting and sighed.
I pointed at the toilet water piece. “The title is Down Under.”
Franklin looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. “Well, yeah. Who do you think I went down on?”
Mr. Perfect Kisser choked back laughter. “You went down on a woman and painted a brown painting about it?”
Franklin swung his gaze toward him as if noticing him for the first time. “Have you seen Cecile? She’s like….” He mouthed whoa and made a waving motion with his hands. “Dirty,” he whispered.
Oh my God.
Mr. Perfect Kisser grinned. “Dirty talker, huh? She hot?”
Franklin started nodding again. “
Ohhh man, like every other word out of her mouth is shit. But she doesn’t say shit, she’s all, ‘shiiiiiiit.’” He threw his head back and moaned the word out like he was coming. A silence fell over the room, and he abruptly picked his head up and slapped his hands together dramatically. “And then she hits you.”
“Dude.” Mr. Perfect Kisser shook his head in disapproval.
“I know, right? It’s hard core, man. I’m like, I’m all beat up and shit.” Franklin glanced at me. “I need my happy. And Cecile? She’s not happy.”
Mr. Perfect Kisser tipped his chin at the two cases of water that sat under the painting that I’d hauled up and thrown a table cloth over. “What’s with that?”
Franklin looked accusingly at me. “I told you it should be sandbags.”
Mr. Perfect Kisser coughed over a laugh. “Sandbags?”
“Shut up,” I hissed. “Franklin, that’s your anchor. That’s the code inspector’s approved anchor.” I made every word up.
He scratched his head. “It’s like, official?”
I bit my tongue. “It doesn’t get any more official.”
Franklin inhaled deeply. “Cecile hurts me.”
Mr. Perfect Kisser slapped him on the back. “You need a new girlfriend, man.”
Franklin looked up at him like a little kid. “You think?”
“I know.”
“She makes my dick sore,” Franklin confessed.
“All the good ones do.” Mr. Perfect Kisser didn’t miss a beat as he commiserated with Franklin’s bizarre comment like it was normal as hell and as if a room full of people weren’t staring. “They don’t call it fucking for nothing.” He ushered Franklin toward the bar. “Come on, you need a drink.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and winked. “You coming, sweetness?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Be right there.”
“Olivia?”
I turned and the caterer I’d hired politely kept her eyes off the spectacle that was Franklin and Mr. Perfect Kisser. “I’m almost wrapped up. Do you need anything else? The bar is freshly stocked. You should be fine even if the guests stay late.”