by Nikki Chase
Still, in the back of my mind, I can’t help over-thinking and over-analyzing what Brock said about us getting engaged—for real, this time.
The idea of growing old with Brock . . . It’s wonderful. I can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of my life. But at the same time, the casual way he brought it up makes me uneasy.
Are we moving too fast?
Was Brock just teasing me?
Is this whole thing simply a joke to him?
Am I letting Dean get inside my head? I probably am.
I should forget about the whole engagement thing and enjoy this nice, fancy dinner.
As we finish our food, and Brock orders more wine, I protest, “Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes gleaming with obvious desire. He’s leaning forward in his chair now, our hands intertwined on the soft, white tablecloth.
I laugh as the waiter refills our glasses. When I try to reach for the drink, Brock doesn’t let go of my hands.
“I kind of need at least one of my hands if you want me to drink more,” I say.
“Sure,” he says, “but you’ll have to take off your panties.”
“What?” I cast a glance around us. “Here?”
Brock nods. Raising an eyebrow, he says, “I dare you.”
It’s a busy night at the restaurant, and there’s a bunch of people dining around us, but that means all the staff is busy. As for the diners, they’re absorbed in their own food and conversations to pay us any attention. The tablecloth is long enough to cover my legs.
“What do you say?” Brock asks, smiling. He’s obviously noticed me giving his little dare some serious consideration.
“Sure,” I say, shooting him a flirty smile. “Why not? You only live once, right?”
Brock’s eyes flash with excitement. “Exactly.”
Slowly, he lets go of my right hand, his gaze riveted on me. The lust in his eyes is so obvious I worry it’s going to give us away, but it also spurs me on.
I reach my hand under the table and thank my lucky stars I’m wearing the flared skirt instead of the pencil skirt tonight. My heart hammers as I hook my fingers under the waistband of my lace panties and pull them down to my knees. Once they’re there, I rub my legs together until they’re bunched up around one ankle.
“Done,” I declare.
“Really?” Brock’s smile widens into a grin. He’s holding my left hand tighter, looking like he’s about to bend me over the table and take me right here, right now.
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Give them to me. Your panties,” he demands.
Slipping off my shoe, I drag my foot up Brock’s leg, resting it on his chair between his knees. A deep sound comes from the back of Brock’s throat when he sees the panties wrapped around my ankle and takes them off.
The excitement of doing this in the middle of a busy restaurant makes my core clench. I can’t wait to get home and get Brock into bed.
Apparently, he can’t wait either. Because when I’m in the restroom, there’s a knock on the door. And when I inform whoever’s knocking that the restroom is occupied, I hear Brock’s voice.
“I know,” he says in a low, urgent voice. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”
“Brock?” I ask, turning off the tap.
“Yeah. Quick, open up,” he repeats. “Before someone comes.”
As soon as I crack the door open, Brock rushes in and shuts it behind him. He stares intensely into my eyes as he locks the door with a click.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, even though I know exactly why he’s here. My whole body is already reacting to his presence, my heart beating rapidly and my breaths growing deeper.
“We don’t have much time,” Brock says, ignoring my question.
He grabs my ass and lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him instinctively. I can feel him under his pants. He’s already hard.
Brock kisses me, hard, as he puts me down on the vanity, the cold marble penetrating through my skirt. He pulls back just enough to say, “I need you. Now.”
My hands are already working on his zipper. Electricity runs through my whole body, my need for him driving me forward despite how crazy this is.
“You’re wet,” Brock growls when his fingers find my slick, eager pussy.
“I need you too,” I whisper.
I guide Brock inside me, letting him fill me up with his thick cock—it’s already pulsing with desire for me. Wrapping my arms around him, tangling my fingers in his hair, I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning as Brock fucks me right there on the vanity—hard, fast, and desperate. His hands grab my ass, pulling me against him as he thrusts into me, again and again.
“Oh, Brock. Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Brock presses the pad of his finger against my clit, rubbing me furiously, making me explode around his cock. And then he lets go, pumping inside me one last time with a low grunt, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks.
Brock cleans himself up and slips out of the restroom, telling me to wait one minute before leaving, myself. “And we’ll do it again tonight, properly.”
I catch my breath and fix my makeup, grinning from ear to ear as I realize my whole face is flushed red.
Yes, Brock and I get along like a house on fire, and our bodies burn for each other too. It’s almost unbelievable how good we are together.
I don’t care what anybody thinks. Sure, it’s early days, but they say when you know, you know . . . right?
Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, or maybe it’s the wine, but if Brock comes to me with another proposal, ring or no ring, I’m saying yes. Yes, yes, yes.
Nina
Nina
I’m still smiling to myself the next day at just how naughty we were in that restaurant last night. I never thought sex in a public restroom could be sexy, but the sheer forbidden naughtiness of it has gotten me all riled up.
It’s hard as hell to keep my hands off Brock at work today, but I just about manage. He’s a little distracted anyway—he’s got his business face on for a meeting he has this afternoon.
“You’re meeting the execs in the Lindland Hotel restaurant at 12:30,” I tell him, straightening his tie. “It’s scheduled for ninety minutes, but I’ve cleared your schedule for the rest of the day in case you run over.”
Brock smiles at me. “Thanks.”
I use the time to run a few errands. Once Brock’s gone, I collect some important priority mail and make my way down onto the street, all the while fantasizing about last night. That one’s going to live in my memory for a long time . . .
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed Peter following me until it’s too late.
“Nina!” he shouts from behind me.
My heart sinks.
Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.
“Get lost, Peter,” I tell him, walking a little faster. “You keep this crap up, honest to God, I will go to the police and get a restraining order against you. I should be able to live my life without watching over my shoulder for you.”
He rushes around and matches my pace. He looks absolutely awful. His skin is pale and mottled, his hair greasy and lank, but his eyes are the creepiest of all—they glisten with jealousy.
“He’s been making a fool out of you,” he says, his voice manic. “Just like I told you he would. But you wouldn’t listen, would you?”
I pick up my pace a little, setting my jaw, determined not to rise to the bait.
“Look at these,” he rasps. “Look!”
He shoves a cell phone in my face, and there’s nothing I can do except see the images on them.
Images of Brock and Rosa. Peter’s scrolling through them rapidly. The two of them kissing. The two of them naked, the two of them . . .
Bile rises in my throat, and I push Peter’s hand away, knocking his phone to the ground.
Don’t get drawn into his sick, twisted g
ame. Those photos are from before when Brock and Rosa were together. Don’t let Peter make you believe otherwise.
“You think I’m a stupid?” I ask Peter. “You think I’m going to take your word over Brock’s? You’re nuts, Pete. Get lost.”
He laughs, a hollow sound entirely devoid of humor—it makes my skin crawl. He’s standing in front of me now, blocking my path. “I give you photographic evidence that he’s a scumbag cheater, and you still don’t believe me? What’s it going to take, Nina?”
I push past him as hard as I can. “Leave me alone.”
He doesn’t give up. “I know exactly where Brock goes for every single ‘meeting,’ Nina. And it’s not where he says he’s going. Believe me.”
I laugh contemptuously in his face. “Peter, I book every single one of those meetings. It’s my freaking job. You somehow think you can get me to believe that you’ve got some secret, insider knowledge? Don’t make me laugh. Stop being a creepy asshole, and leave me the hell alone.”
He doesn’t, of course—not that I expected him to. Like a dog with a goddamn bone, he just doesn’t know when to quit.
“Fine,” he sneers. “If you’re not going to take my word for it, I’ll just have to show you what Brock is really like.”
“Are you insane?” I tell him. “You think I’m going anywhere with you? Get the hell away from me.”
He grabs me by the wrist, and once again, I’m shocked at how strong his grip is, despite his unhealthy, emaciated appearance.
I cry out as he drags me into a quiet side street, but nobody even gives us a second glance. Fear spreads through me in a cold wave.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” he says in a serious voice. “All I’m trying to do is show you the truth, to stop this asshole from breaking your heart. Come with me down here, and I will leave you alone forever. I promise. You just need to see the truth. That’s all I ask.”
He stares at me expectantly, and I can’t help but feel a little pity, along with revulsion. He’s really in a bad way, and he needs professional help.
If I just go along with whatever crackpot plan he has, he might listen to me. When it all turns out to be nothing, maybe he’ll be receptive to getting some help.
“All right, Peter, you win. I’ll come see whatever it is you want me to see. But afterwards, you will promise to leave me alone, forever, and you will book an appointment to see a therapist. You need professional support. You aren’t well.”
“Sure, sure,” he mutters, not even listening to my words. “Come on. This way. It’s not far.”
And so, feeling like I’m making a terrible mistake, I follow him.
Brock
Brock
I check my watch as I enter the lobby of Lindland Hotel, ready for a big meeting.
We’re interested in acquiring a portion of this company’s logistics division. It’s doing well on paper but needs a little extra help with a re-shuffle and a larger client base, which is something InFini can help with.
I’ve been told previously they’re looking to offload some divisions and downsize their company a little. They’re suffering from over-expansion, and we’re looking to expand, so this should be a win-win deal.
Look at me with all of this technical business shit. I’m a regular Warren Buffet.
I’m a little early for our meeting, so I walk up to the reception desk.
“Hi, I’m Brock Evans. I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Mark Casey in your restaurant, but I’m a little early. Mind if I wait here for a while?” I ask the woman sitting behind the desk, glancing down at my watch again.
“Sure thing, Mr Evans. I’ll call through to the restaurant and let them know you’re here. Make yourself comfortable, sir,” she says politely, gesturing to the couch off to one side.
I settle down on the couch, smoothing down my tie and suit jacket.
This deal is pretty much a shoo-in. Still, I’m a little nervous. It’s still an adjustment for me, being the face of the company.
In my mind, I go over the details of the proposed acquisition.
Mark Casey thinks he’s holding all the cards. He thinks he’ll get me to overpay. But I’m getting pretty good at this negotiation business. I’ll be the one walking away smiling, that’s for damn sure.
Then, a figure approaches—a familiar figure. I raise my eyes, my fears realized as I recognize who it is.
Rosa.
What the fuck?
“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly.
“So rude,” she pouts. “Not even a ‘Hi Rosa, how are you?’”
“What are you doing here?” I repeat my question. I’m not in the mood for her games right now.
“Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, Brock. You know me, always about here and there,” she says, a sly smile on her face, her fingers twirling her dark hair.
“Bullshit. This place isn’t a five-star hotel. And I didn’t see any designer stores on my way here. You followed me.”
Rosa sighs, tapping her lips with a finger as she looks off into the middle distance thoughtfully. “Well, what was I supposed to do? You didn’t even have the manners to text me back.”
“Does your husband know you’re here?” I ask. “I don’t think he’d be happy to know you’re stalking your ex, would he?”
She grimaces, and I smile at her reaction to my words.
“He doesn’t own me, Brock. I can go where I want,” she hisses, waving her hand indignantly at my words.
“For Christ’s sake, Rosa. You’ve only just gotten married. To my fucking cousin. Why would you even marry the guy if you’re going to pull shit like this?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice calm in case my business client suddenly shows up—should be any minute now.
Rosa pouts, looking like a schoolchild who’s just been scolded by an angry teacher. “I just think it’s a shame that we can’t even talk anymore. We used to be so close. We used to talk all the time.”
Yeah, well, that was before you cheated on me with my own cousin, I think to myself.
I should thank her, though, because I wouldn’t want to be my cousin right now—poor idiot’s stuck with her now, and I couldn’t be happier that I’m with Nina.
By looking at Rosa, most people would think she’s in great distress. Her eyebrows are drawn together, her eyes filling with tears, her hand pressed over her temple like she’s trying to massage a splitting headache away.
But I know it’s all a show, a performance. Rosa is crazy and will do anything to get what she wants.
It probably has something to do with her upbringing—her dad’s a mobster who gives her anything she wants. That means most people let her have her way out of sheer fear of getting into trouble with her family.
She thinks I’m her toy, her plaything. She was bored of me when she thought she had ruined me for other women. But now that I’m happy with someone else, she’s jealous.
I don’t want this woman anywhere near me, interfering with my shit.
“Leave me alone, Rosa. I don’t have time for this. I’m busy.” I look past her to check if my client has arrived yet.
“Well, can’t we just be friends, at least?” she purrs softly, settling down on the couch next to me, brushing my knee with a hand.
I can’t believe she’s doing this.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I remove Rosa’s hand and toss it onto her lap.
She stares at me, a shocked expression on her face. Really, how did she think I was going to react?
“I told you. I just want us to be friends.”
“There’s no chance in hell we’ll ever be friends, Rosa. What makes you think I’d ever want that?” I ask, rage rising within me. “Just leave me the hell alone. Go away. Now.”
“Fine,” she replies tersely, half turning as if she’s about to rise.
I’m halfway through a relieved sigh when, suddenly, she whirls back around to face me, grabbing me and planting a kiss on me, pressing her lips hard against mi
ne.
I push her off as suddenly as she kissed me. “What the fuck, Rosa?”
Her smirk only fuels my anger. What has she got to be so damn happy about?
She glances toward the hotel entrance as she rises from the couch—just for a split second, but I know her tells. She’s up to no good.
I follow Rosa’s gaze, my heartrate rising with anxiety.
Fuck.
I can’t see her face, but it’s Nina.
I recognize the clothes she’s wearing—I watched her pick them out this morning, standing in front of her open wardrobe in her underwear, fresh from the shower and looking sexy as fuck.
I don’t know if I’ll get to see her like that again tomorrow morning.
Because Nina was standing just outside the big, glass panels.
She saw us. She saw Rosa kiss me.
She’s walking away now, her shoulders hunched and her hands at her face, like she’s wiping away tears from her eyes.
I turn to face Rosa, shooting her a glare. “You knew she was there didn’t you?”
“Who?” she asks, craning her neck to look out the glass panels. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brock.”
“You fucking crazy, selfish—”
Right at that moment, Mark Casey and two of his associates walk through the door.
Just what I need. A crazy stalker messing up my shit, making Nina cry, right before my big meeting.
Nina
My heart stops for a moment when I see him there, lips pressed against Rosa’s.
I can’t look at this, I think to myself, turning away in disgust.
My heart is breaking, and my world is crumbling down around me. I struggle to drag air into my lungs. It’s as if the air has thinned.
I need to get out of there, as far away as I can, as fast as I can.
I’m vaguely aware of Peter’s voice nearby, crowing victoriously.
“I told you!” he’s saying. “You never listen to me, but I was right! I was right all along, and now you see! He’s a cheating, scumbag asshole!”