A View to a Thrill (Masters and Mercenaries Book 7)

by Blake, Lexi

  Years had passed since that day she’d almost lost her innocence to violence. Years of fear and worry and confusion, and finally a sad acceptance that she wasn’t meant to have that kind of intimacy. Now she wondered if she shouldn’t at least try. Just to say she’d done it.

  It wouldn’t work with Simon. Not in the long run, but she did feel safe with him. He might rip her heart out, but he’d be polite about it and there wouldn’t be any awkward run-ins at work and family functions. No, never for the duke’s son. After he was done with her, he would likely try to convince her that he wanted to be her friend. He would never cause a scene. He would smooth everything over and wait the exact right amount of time before introducing a new girlfriend to the group. Chelsea would get to watch him find a girl he could really love and she would be alone but he would never try to push her out of their shared social circle.

  Simon moving on would happen one way or another. Would it really be so much easier to watch him with his perfect girl if she’d never slept with him? Or would she always regret not taking the chance?

  She glanced over to where his still form lay on the bed.

  It wasn’t like she was making love with the dude. She was merely scratching an itch she hadn’t even known she had before Simon Weston showed up in her life. She could get the whole deflowering thing over with and he probably wouldn’t even know if she brazened her way through it.

  God, she wanted to talk to Charlotte. She glanced down at her cell but decided against it. It was two o’clock in the morning. She would wake Satan up and he was a surprisingly gossipy demon. He would want to know what was going on and then everyone in the world would know her business.

  But she really wanted to ask her sister’s advice.

  “You should come to bed, Chelsea. It’s very late and we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” Simon’s deep voice rumbled through the room.

  How could just the sound of his voice make her heart pound? This was stupid. She was not going to get up and go to him.

  Her feet weren’t listening to her head. She stood up. How to handle this? It was best to just get it over with. She was a “rip the bandage off” kind of girl. It was best to take the hit and get the thing done quickly.

  Surely sex wouldn’t be so bad. She’d liked kissing him. She’d kind of loved kissing him right until the moment she’d felt his cock and then she’d shut down, her mind going to all kinds of bad places.

  She couldn’t live like that. She had to let it go or she would end up an old lady with a houseful of computers watching cat videos because she couldn’t even bond with a real one. Simon was safe. She could use him to get over her fear and then maybe she could find a more suitable man. A nice nerd who wouldn’t make her exercise. What was that about?

  Focus. She needed to be focused.

  “Do you need something?” He sat up. The room was dark, lit only by light from his alarm clock and what was streaming out from under the bathroom door. She could still see his chiseled features but maybe he wouldn’t be able to see her scars. Was there any way to have sex without taking her pants off?

  “Yes.” She tried her best to sound somewhat seductive. Her hands were shaking. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She needed to know that she could do this. She needed to not be such a flipping freak show. Maybe if she fucked Simon, everyone would get off her back about being pathetic. “I think I know what we both need.”

  He turned his body so he was facing her, swinging his feet around until they touched the carpet in front of her. “A throat lozenge? You sound a bit hoarse, love. Are you coming down with a cold?”

  So she wasn’t good with the sexy voice it seemed. Maybe he preferred forward women. “Look, Weston, here’s the deal. You’re here. I’m here. We signed the contract. I’ve thought about it. What’s the point in waiting?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and yawned a little. “Waiting? Is your leg bothering you? You want a session at this time of night?”

  Oh, he was slow on the uptake. “Sex, Simon. I want sex.”

  And then he wasn’t slow. She gasped as she found herself flat on her back on the bed before she had time to say another word.

  He loomed above her, his body pressing against hers. He weighed roughly two hundred pounds, all of it muscle. It should have made her feel pinned down, but in that moment she just loved being close to him.

  “You want sex?” He didn’t have the same problem she had in the sexy voice department. His voice was like warm honey sliding across her skin.

  “Yes.” She breathed him in. He smelled like soap. She had the strangest urge to run her nose over his skin so she could memorize his scent the way she’d memorized the feel of his face, the way his whiskers felt under the pads of her fingers, how silky his lips had been.

  His hips moved against hers. “You want my cock?”

  “Yeah.” She hoped he would stop talking soon and just take her. Get it over with so she could know it was done and then maybe he would hold her. That was what she really wanted. She wanted to be in his arms. The sex stuff probably wouldn’t work for her, but she’d liked kissing him and she thought she would like cuddling. She liked it when he touched her.

  He stared down at her. “Tell me how you like it.”

  “Like what?”

  It was his turn to sound a little impatient. “Sex, Chelsea.”

  She had no idea. She kind of thought she didn’t, but she couldn’t be sure. It seemed like a thing to get through to get to what she did want. She’d seen enough movies to at least have the lingo down. From what she understood about dudes, they didn’t want to take their time. She was cool with that. It would get her to the good stuff faster. “Hard and fast, buddy.”

  Rip the bandage off. Yep, that was the way to go.

  His face loomed over hers and she was almost certain he would kiss her again. “Chelsea? How many lovers have you had?”

  God, when did he turn into chatty Cathy? “A bunch. Come on. Let’s go.”

  His hand went to the waistband of her pants. “You’re ready? You’ve had a ton of lovers and you’re ready for me to just shove my cock in and start thrusting.”

  She was pretty sure that was some kind of trap, but she was committed at this point. “Yes. I know what I want.”

  His hand started to snake under her pants, moving quickly to get under her panties. She squirmed, trying to get away. For the first time, she felt some nervousness set in. She’d said she wanted fast, but he was moving at quantum speed.

  “Stay still. How am I supposed to fuck you if you don’t let me in? This is called getting into someone’s knickers where I’m from. You want a quick tumble? A little in and out?” His tone had gone hard and she could feel his erection against her hip. God, he was big. Maybe this was a horrible mistake.

  His fingers slid over her mound and she couldn’t help but try to move away. It was too intimate, too much, and it didn’t feel anywhere close to good. But she couldn’t get away because he was so heavy on top of her. He pinned her down and now it felt different. She struggled to breathe. He was so big and heavy. He could do anything he wanted to her.

  Why had she put herself here? Panic threatened to take over.

  “I’m just another cock, right?” The question came out on a hard grind. “You’ve had a hundred and one more won’t matter.”

  She nearly screamed as his fingers parted her labia. Tears blurred her eyes.

  Simon cursed and rolled off her.

  Chelsea could breathe again.

  “You’re not even wet. You want me to rape you? Is that what you want? You want me to prove what a bastard I am?” He was on his back, his chest moving up and down with the force of his breaths.

  Chelsea practically jumped off the bed. “You are a bastard, Weston. I don’t need empirical evidence. I just know.”

  He sat up, running a hand over his head. “Did you even know you’re supposed to be wet, Chelsea? How did you expect to take a cock when you’re not even aroused?”


  She understood the process. She’d had a couple of horrifically embarrassing incidents all involving him. “I guess I don’t want you after all.”

  “You’re such a little liar.” His head turned her way and she felt pinned again. “How many lovers, Chelsea. The truth this time.”

  She didn’t want him to know the truth. What would he think of her? “Fine. Not many. I’m selective.”

  He stood up and stalked her way, his body all lean and predatory lines. It took everything she had to hold her ground when what she wanted to do was retreat. “How many? I would like a number. I’ll give you an example. I’ve slept with sixteen women over the years. I started fucking at the tender age of fifteen, but despite what the British tabloids and my brother will tell you, I generally prefer to be in some form of relationship with the women in my bed. I don’t like one-night stands, though I have had a few. If you want to add in the number of women I’ve played with in some way, either oral or hand jobs, the number does swell a bit and I’ll admit to a few nights at Oxford where I’m not sure what I did. I’m disease free and I haven’t had sex in six months. Well, unless you count my right hand. Really it’s been my longest-term lover. Your turn.”

  “Five.” That sounded like a good number. Why was he putting her in a corner?

  “Names.”

  “What?” Her skin heated, embarrassment flooding her system. Why was he doing this to her? Did he want to check them all out for STDs? Somehow she’d thought he’d just take whatever she offered.

  “If there were only five, then you should remember their names. Another example. Christina was my first lover. She was at the girls’ school about a mile from my boarding school. We had sex in the girls’ change room one night at a school dance. She told me I was quite terrible, by the way. I’ve thought about looking her up again to show her I’ve improved. Alicia came after that, and then the two Dianas…need I go on?”

  He was taking up all the air. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She didn’t want him to know. She tried to think of some names. Just throw out some names and maybe he would stop. “Alex.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. “Alex McKay? You slept with Alex McKay?”

  Damn it. It had been the first name to come to mind. “No. It was a different Alex. Alex Jones. And then there was Harold.”

  “You slept with a man named Harold? How bloody old was he?”

  “Damn it, it’s none of your business. Why are you being such a shit?”

  He crowded her, obviously using his height advantage for maximum intimidation. “It is my business. You told me you wanted sex. You told me you had many lovers. You lied on both counts because your pussy had zero interest in me, and if you’ve had more than one or two hurried encounters I’ll be shocked. So I want the truth. How many and why? Why did you crawl into bed with me when you didn’t want a fuck?”

  Every word felt like a little bullet peppered on her skin. She’d wanted some affection, but like all things in her life, it had gone utterly wrong. She’d been stupid to try and she just didn’t care anymore. He could think whatever he liked because he was an asshole. “None, okay. I haven’t had any lovers. Is that what you want to hear?”

  He growled and turned away and then somehow his fist was going through the drywall.

  The room got utterly silent and the moment seemed to linger. Chelsea stared, unsure of what to do. There had been more emotion in that single action of placing his fist through the wall than she’d ever seen from him. The trouble was she was pretty sure that emotion was pure rage. “Simon?”

  He pulled his fist out, cursing as he opened the door to the bathroom and strode through, leaving her behind.

  What the hell had just happened? Simon was always in control, always a gentleman. She’d never seen him less than perfectly courteous before she’d pushed him tonight.

  Not always. Sometimes he was a Dom, and he’d brought her as close to pleasure as she’d ever been in her life.

  “Go to sleep, Chelsea. I’ll spend the rest of the night in the guest room.” His voice floated out from the bathroom, a flat monotone, nothing like his usual lyrical tones.

  Why had he turned on her like that? Shouldn’t men want to have sex? He claimed he hadn’t had sex in six months. Shouldn’t he have been all over her?

  Maybe everyone was wrong. They’d told her Simon wanted her. Jesse joked about it all the time, but she’d offered herself to him and he’d turned her down in a deeply brutal fashion. What had he meant by asking her for a kiss?

  Maybe he wasn’t as nice as she’d thought. Maybe he was just like all the rest. He was just better at hiding it.

  He walked out of the bathroom, heading straight for the bedroom door, and she couldn’t stop. The voice in her head was telling her to let the man go. She could go to sleep and come up with a new plan in the morning. She could leave before he was awake. Hell, she could just accept the inevitable, head to her sister’s place and let Ian take over. Anything was better than picking a fight with Weston, who had just proven he was wishy-washy in the best case, a liar in the worst.

  So why did she follow him out? Why did she march right behind him as he strode into the kitchen and opened the freezer?

  He didn’t bother to look back at her. “I told you to go to bed, Chelsea. It’s late and I don’t want another fight.”

  He might not want one, but she was primed to start one. “What’s up, Weston? Does the mighty Brit not like sad little virgins?”

  He stopped for a moment, his head hanging down. “The bloody Brit doesn’t want to hurt a woman who has no idea what she’s asking for.”

  So that was what he thought of her. “Really? You think I don’t understand the mechanics of sex. Wow. You do think I’m an idiot.”

  He pulled out a handful of ice and quickly deposited it on a kitchen towel. “I never said anything like that. Though you’re naïve if you think that wouldn’t have hurt. Don’t try that on the next bloke. He’ll take you up on the offer and you won’t like it. You can’t tell a man you want him to take you hard and fast and expect to not get hurt.”

  The next bloke. Not him. He was done with her. Somehow that hurt her deep. So damn deep. She hadn’t been aware that she could ever ache like that again. She’d been sure she’d buried that part of herself so deep she wouldn’t see it again, but Simon brought it out of her. He was her kryptonite, her weakness. Something nasty welled inside her. She wasn’t going to let him see her hurt. She’d done that when she was a child and it had only made her tormentors happy. She wasn’t going there again. “Maybe the next bloke will be able to get it up around me.”

  She turned, but didn’t get more than a step away from him before he was whirling her around, her wrist caught in his hand.

  Arctic blue eyes stared down at her and his jaw was as hard as granite. “I would suggest you tread very carefully for the next few moments. I’m a bit on the edge, love, and you’re acting like a righteous bitch. You’re rewriting history so I come out as badly as possible. Let’s not forget. You came on to me.”

  “I won’t again. Trust me. I learned my lesson. You can be quite mean when you want to be.”

  He dropped her hand and sighed, turning away. “I wish you would figure out which box to fit me in. It gets exhausting. One minute I’m pure evil and the next I’m some sort of neutered brother figure. This isn’t going to work, is it? I’m being a bloody fool again.”

  Her anger deflated like she’d released a valve, and all the bad shit slowly leaked out in the face of his slumped shoulders. When she looked at it without the filter of her embarrassment, she really had been hard on him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t want her. It wasn’t exactly hers either. She’d always known he didn’t really want her. He had a hero complex and there was nothing wrong with that. “I’m sorry. I thought I could see what it felt like. I really didn’t mean to piss you off.”

  “You don’t understand me at all.” He slumped into the kitchen table chair.

&nbs
p; Probably not. She wasn’t good with people. It was why she should never have even tried. She’d spent most of her life hiding from people. Still, she couldn’t walk away. She picked up the discarded cloth and sat down across from him. His hand looked all right, just a few scrapes. “I don’t understand much of anything, Weston. Can I see your hand?”

  He sighed and let her take his hand in hers.

  She put the ice over it. “I know you’re not evil.” She’d seen pure evil and he didn’t even come close. “And I certainly don’t think of you as my brother.”

  A long moment passed. He allowed her to hold the ice to his hand. His eyes finally found hers and she saw a deep weariness there. “Why the heavy pass, love? I wasn’t pushing you.”

  Because he didn’t really want her. She’d misunderstood him. “It’s not your fault so don’t blame yourself. I guess I just got sick of being the virgin.”

  His mouth turned down in a fierce frown. “Ah, so you’re curious.”

  Only when it came to him. She was pretty sure she’d go back into her shell now. It was better than the alternative, which was finding anyone other than Simon. She didn’t want anyone but him and that might be her downfall. She latched on to anything but her humiliation. “Why did you go all berserker on the wall?”

  He chuckled but it was a frustrated sound. “I think we can blame that on my unruly cock.”

  So he wanted her, but he didn’t want to want her? Or he hated that he wanted her? She was confused about everything. It had all been one massive mistake. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you a virgin?”

  Oh, she so didn’t want to go into that with him. “I was busy with my amazing career of being the world’s information broker. Not a lot of time to hook up.”

  He sighed. “Why can’t you ever be honest with me?”

  “I am.” Partially. “The only person I trusted was Charlotte. Charlotte spent five years pining over Sat..Ian. There weren’t a ton of double dates. We kept to ourselves. I was on the run for most of my adult life. Charlotte and I were always on the move. We never stayed in any one place for more than a couple of months.”