by Sybil Bartel
I crossed my arms. “I bought your paintings, didn’t I?”
“And dated my boss.”
“I didn’t date her.” I didn’t date any of my clients.
“Date, screw, fuck, whatever. Why don’t you go back to your rich cougars?”
Goddamn it. “Because I’m exactly where I want to be.” My defenses kicked in. “You got a problem with money, or only with people who have it?” I recognized the disdain in her eyes. I grew up in shithole like her place and knew what it was like to look at life from the outside. I never had a steady roof over my head until I enlisted. But everything she was looking at now? I fucking earned.
“Not one problem.” She eased back a few steps. “You enjoy your paintings.” She pivoted and walked to the front door. “See ya around.”
Fixated on that heart-shaped ass in black spandex, it took me a half second longer to react. “Tell me one thing before you leave.”
Her hand on the door handle, she paused and turned. “Yes, your cock is huge. Yes, I came a bunch of times. Yes, I enjoyed every second of it.” Her voice turned drippy sweet. “And yes you were the best I ever had.” She dropped the pretense. “Anything else?”
Fuck me. “Where do you train the dogs?”
Infuriating, that’s what he was. Infuriating and controlling and he got under my skin like no one I’d ever met. Fuck his sexy day-old stubble and jeans hanging low on his hips. I told myself I didn’t care about his soft T-shirt stretched over his rock-hard abs. I just needed to get out of there before I did anything else stupid, like kiss him. Or sleep with him again.
“I was going to rent kennel space.” I opened the door but before I could walk out, a large hand landed on it and pushed it shut.
“Going to?” His breath touched the back of my neck.
Gooseflesh spread across my skin and my pussy pulsed in anticipation. “I’m donating the money to another charity.” It was easier than starting from scratch. And even if my bitch ex-boss would still rent kennel space to me, I wanted nothing to do with her or whatever past she had with Alex. I didn’t even want to think about that.
“You’re donating my money?”
“It’s not yours anymore.” There, take that, you arrogant jerk. Except, if I was being honest with myself, I’d acknowledge that he wasn’t a jerk. He didn’t have to buy all the paintings, he’d already gotten what he’d wanted out of me. But he’d bought them anyway. And he didn’t strike me as someone who’d be ruled by guilt, so that left what? He’d bought them so he could see me again?
His hand landed on the back of my neck and strong fingers worked muscles I didn’t know were sore. It was everything I could do not to sink into his caress.
“The money’s for PTSD service dogs,” he quietly reminded me.
“I know what it’s for and it’ll go to a charity that trains them.” I didn’t want to melt every time he breathed near me but my body wasn’t listening.
He lowered his voice. “I want you to train them.”
I stupidly looked over my shoulder. “Why?”
His deep blue gaze focused intently on me. “Because you’ll be good at it.”
Inhaling, I tried to not let the compliment find purchase. “Yeah? And what are you good at?” Besides fucking? “This penthouse didn’t come cheap.”
He smiled but it didn’t touch his eyes. “My investments have paid off.”
Cagey and aloof, I silently reminded myself, not dating material. Ex-boss revenge screw, catch and release, total player, do not get attached—I silently recited every damn reason I could think of to convince myself to walk away. “Great, good for you. Thanks for….” I glanced at the paintings in the hall and my traitorous heart constricted at the thought that this would be the last time I saw him. “Yeah, anyway, have a nice life.” I needed to leave right now. And find Jesse. And apologize and get back to my old life. This fancy penthouse wasn’t my reality, and every second more I spent in it, my brain twisted with dangerous thoughts of what-ifs. I yanked the door open
“Olivia.”
The command in his voice made a shiver dance up my spine and gooseflesh break out across my neck, but I wasn’t falling for it. “Good-bye, Alex.”
I walked out with as much dignity as I could because I knew his eyes were on me as sure as I knew what would be waiting for me in the garage. I stepped into the elevator that was bigger than my bedroom, and when I turned, he was staring.
“How are you getting home?”
“Jogging,” I lied.
His gaze strayed to my legs then crawled back up my body. “I know a better workout.”
“I’m sure you do.” The door slid shut and I exhaled. “Holy fuck.” I needed to get a grip. And a life. Jesse was right. I’d been hiding for two years and it was time to change that.
I rode the elevator to the garage instead of the lobby because I knew Jesse wouldn’t leave me here without a ride home. At least, I didn’t think he would. But by the time the doors slid open, I was down to thinking I had a fifty-fifty shot that he’d still be here.
Apparently, the odds weren’t in my favor. His truck was gone.
Damn it, I really didn’t want to jog home. I was a lot of things, but insane wasn’t one of them. This was Miami and it was sunny, which meant it was only ten degrees cooler out than the surface of the sun. But no wallet and no phone meant no options.
I sighed and rode the elevator back up to the lobby and told myself I was winning at life because I’d worn sneakers today. Sneakers that squeaked on the shiny travertine floors as I walked across a lobby that had more glass than my entire apartment building. It was also air-conditioned to a healthy arctic chill so that when I stepped onto the sidewalk, the difference in temperatures made me instantly soaked with sweat. Three blocks later, the humidity a hundred times more oppressive than usual, I was downright disgusting when an expensive sports car cut in front of me as I tried to cross a street.
My middle finger went up as the tinted window slid down.
Alex grinned at me. “That doesn’t look like jogging.”
“I’d tell you to fuck off but it has zero effect on you.” It worked on everyone else, why the hell didn’t it work on him?
“How about you just tell me to fuck you?”
A bead of sweat dripped down my back and joined its friends on my waistband. My hair was stuck to my forehead and my tank top was darker between my boobs because giant tits made special hiding spots for sweat. “If you were any good, I would. But you’re not. So fuck off.” Maybe if I kept saying it, it would pile up and stick.
He laughed. “Get in, babe.”
“Do you know that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of women hate the word babe? It’s a proven cockblocker.”
“Never had a problem with it. Now get in the car before you have heatstroke, sweetness.”
I wasn’t getting in his fancy whatever-it-was car all nasty and sweaty. The last thing my ego needed was him smelling me like this. “Tempting, but no thanks. I’d rather take my chances than get in a car with a stranger.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “You know what happened last night?”
I was drunk, not passed out. Of course I knew what happened last night. I’d stupidly fucked him. Or he’d fucked me. Whatever. “You prematurely ejaculated?”
“DNA swapping. You know what that means?”
“I’m a crime scene?” My aching pussy sure felt like one.
“We’re not strangers. Get in the car, because I promise, the alternative will be worse.”
Not gonna lie, all the possibilities of his idea of an alternative had my mind running through a whole litany of scenarios, all of them X-rated. I shook my head. “Yeah, not happening.” I pivoted and went the other way, trying to convince myself an extra block in my walk home was better than another roll in the hay with Mr. Wrong.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow, and two blocks later, I was wondering just how insane I really was for giving up an air-conditioned ride, when footsteps came up rapidly behind me.
<
br /> Normally I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but no one was out walking in this heat and the hair on the back of my neck rose as if my body knew who was coming.
“Like I said, sweetness, that isn’t jogging.” Alex passed me then ran backward as he delivered his comment. Running shorts, shirtless, more muscles than looked humanly possible, he grinned. “Come on, you’re picking up the pace.” He came to my side and nudged my shoulder. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“What?” The hell?
“One foot in front of the other. Pretend you’re running from me if it helps.” Not even out of breath, he chuckled.
Where the hell were his jeans? And his car? “You’re stalking me now?” Was I flattered? Was all the money he’d spent on the paintings a warning I needed to get a restraining order stat?
“Making sure you get home safe. Come on, sweetness, let’s jog this out.”
He wasn’t even sweating. What the fuck was that about? Did serial stalkers not sweat? And why was his body so goddamn perfect? “No.”
Before the word left my mouth, he picked me up. Except he didn’t just pick me up, he tossed me over his shoulder, fireman style, and slapped my ass. “You jog or I carry you.”
Holy shit. “Put me down!”
“You gonna jog?”
“No!”
He slapped my ass again and started walking. “Then I’m not letting you down.”
Sweating all over him, my ass jiggling in the air, I caved. “Fine! Put me down. I’ll jog!”
He didn’t put me down like he picked me up. Oh no, the fucker grasped the back of my legs and let me slowly slide down his bare chest and feel every stupid ridge of his model-perfect abs. Showing me his blinding white teeth and showstopping smile, he set me on my feet.
If he breathed near my lady bits right now, I’d come. “I hate you.”
He winked. “You want me.”
That too. But I still gave him attitude. I yanked my hair out of my ponytail, redid it into a bun then put my hands on my hips. “Where’s your car?”
“Parked in my garage.”
“You drove back, changed, then jogged to catch up with me?” Definitely stalker material right there.
He grinned. “You didn’t make it very far.”
Him and his stupid smile. He didn’t even look like the humidity was bothering him. I hated him more. “I’m just getting started. Think you can keep up?” I didn’t know why I was egging him on, except everything about him brought out the worst in me. That is, until he touched me, then I was just a pathetic heap of wanton desire, ripe for the taking. My only choice was no more touching. I turned and started jogging.
“You gonna warm up, sweetness?”
“I’m already warm.” Between my legs and everywhere else. But nothing was going to reduce my hatred of all things exercise. I’d taken up jogging three years ago and I still hated it with a burning passion. Almost as much as I hated his smug expression as he matched my stride.
He casually glanced around us. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, but ask one more time and it’ll make me change my mind.” Another half block and I wouldn’t be able to speak, the humidity was that oppressive today.
He laughed. “Is that a threat?”
I grunted and tried to pretend I wasn’t dying.
“Do you really think it’s a smart move to piss off your charity’s main supporter?”
“I don’t owe you anything.” But I kinda felt like I did, and I kept thinking about his stupid comment about me being good at training dogs. I was. I was great. But the only other person who’d ever told me that was Jesse and he didn’t count because he’d said I was throwing my life away. Not even my mom encouraged me to pursue this. I’d spent so long telling myself it was the right thing to do, I no longer knew what was right. Or wrong apparently. I glanced at Alex. “Return the paintings, get your money back.”
“Nice try. And for the record, I’m a little pissed about the Cecile painting. That would’ve looked great in my bathroom.”
I stopped jogging and put my hands on my hips.
He went two more strides before he halted and came back. “Problem?”
“Why are you here?”
He grinned. “I have a proposition.”
I’d thought about this all of twenty minutes, but every successive minute, it made more sense. I was either losing my mind or dangerously close to becoming a pussy-whipped male escort. Either way, I’d convinced myself this was all about a tax shelter and not three years’ worth of burnout. Or worse.
I smiled my money smile. “We’ll partner on your charity.”
Her eyes closed for a second and she sighed. “Fuck.”
My smile faltered. “You got a better offer?”
“I knew you were too good to be true.” She dropped her hands from her hips. “No one fucks like that and is normal.”
“And Bob the Builder is normal?” That fucker left her without a ride or a phone. Twice.
“You don’t even know me.” She shook her head and muttered, “You’re batshit crazy.” She started walking away.
“I’m offering you money.” What the fuck was wrong with her?
“I don’t want your money.”
“Hey,” I barked, suddenly pissed. “I bought those paintings. I gave you capital. Why the hell are you walking away?”
She pivoted and her tits bounced as she stomped her sexy ass right back to me. “You think you can throw money at whatever flavor du jour suits you and the world’s just gonna be grateful? What do you even know about charities? Wait. Let me guess. You read in some financial magazine how it’d be a great tax write-off.” She scoffed. “I don’t need or want a partner, especially someone like you.”
I ignored the spot-on tax write-off comment. “You’re making a mistake.” It was the first stupid shit that came out of my mouth. I was staring at her lips and wanting to kiss her so fucking bad, I was getting a semi standing in the middle of South Beach.
“Seriously? A partner? What are you gonna do? Clean up dog shit and hose down kennels?”
Hell no. “I’ll hire someone to—”
She threw her hands up. “Who the hell do you think that someone is?”
Fuck this. I stepped into her personal space, grabbed the mess she’d made of her hair, and tipped her head back. “You’re sexy as hell when you’re pissed.”
Her nostrils flared but her body bent toward me. “Let go.”
“No.” I held her gaze. “Go out with me.”
For three heartbeats, she stared at me. “That’s why you bought the paintings.”
It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation and I wasn’t going to acknowledge it. “Dinner, tonight.” I had back-to-back clients booked. It was easily a fifteen-grand night and right in that moment, I couldn’t care less.
“No.” She swallowed and her legs pressed together.
Sweet fucking victory. She may have said no but her body was telling me everything I needed to know. I fought a grin and touched my lips to her temple. “I’ll pick you up at eight, beautiful.” Then I forced myself to release her and step back.
“Alex.” She stood perfectly still. “Wait.”
“Eight o’clock.” I winked then jogged away. Before I hit the corner, I glanced back to see her still standing there. A stupid grin spread across my face.
High on the thought of getting her under me again, I breezed through five miles and made my way back to the penthouse. The cardio should’ve kicked some sense into me but all I was doing was plotting. I made the first call before I hit the shower.
Sounding out of breath, Jared picked up after the fifth ring. “What up, poser?”
“You booked tonight?”
“Is it Saturday?” he asked sarcastically.
“Clear your clients. You’re gonna make fifteen grand tonight.”
“Bullshit,” he grunted and a woman groaned.
“Jesus Christ, are you fucking a c
lient right now?” Had I taught him nothing?
“No,” he growled low. “Ahhh, damn. Hold on.” The woman moaned loudly. “That’s it, baby, right there… fuck… fuck… fuuuck … damn that was good.” He exhaled. “I’m back. Not a client.”
I shook my head. “You’re still fucking for free?”
“Best kind of fucking,” he countered. “What’s going on tonight? I don’t do bachelorette parties. Or any kind of party.”
He hated crowds. Ever since the Marines, he didn’t do a lot of things. Like crowds, Fourth of July, concerts, or even a movie theater. “No parties. I got three clients tonight.”
“What’s the matter?” He laughed. “Losing your stamina in your old age?”
I was only one year older than him. “Fuck no. I got a scheduling conflict. You’re taking all three and I get thirty percent.”
“Ten.”
“Twenty.”
He sighed and I heard a door close. “I’m not fucking your old-ass cougars for eighty percent.”
“Define old.”
“Fifties and shit.”
My oldest client was forty. Ish. “Stop being a pussy. You’re off by a decade and the second client tonight is young.” And inexperienced. Jared would scare the shit out of her.
“She hot?”
“She pays five grand, what do you care?”
He laughed. “I don’t.”
“That’s what I thought. And don’t be an aggressive dick with her, she’s shy.”
“Aw, come on, Sarge. You know I can’t hang with that shit. I’m not a fucking pussy.”
Jared was anything but a pussy. His game was rough and his clients ate that shit up. I’d sent a few women his way over the years and they never looked back. “Just take it easy and don’t scare the shit out of her.”
“She should fuck a woman if she wants gentle.”
I didn’t care what she did when she wasn’t paying me five grand to pound her missionary style. “Suck it up.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I will.”
Christ. “I’m texting you the details now. Stick to the script and don’t be late.” Jared was notoriously unpunctual. “Let me know if you have any issues.”