Dirty Thoughts

by Megan Erickson

  He groaned, stroking his cock harder, hating himself because he knew it was going to be a while before he was able to get himself off with anything but the memory of her.

  Her tans thighs, that tiny scrap of white lace. Why hadn’t he tugged it aside when he had the chance? Then at least he’d have the image of her—all pretty, pink, and wet for him.

  Instead, he felt her on his thumb. He’d driven home in that damn cab with the scent of her all around him. On him.

  He should have known a shower wasn’t going to do anything to get her out of his head.

  His balls tightened, and he breathed hard, his wet chest rising and falling as the water beat on his back, over his ass, and down his legs. If he hadn’t formed a conscience, he could be in the shower with her right now, with those long legs wrapped around his waist, her hands in his wet hair, her head thrown back, body quivering, as he plunged into her again and again and again until she made that sound he remembered and shuddered around him.

  He came hard and afterward, with exhaustion seeping into his bones, he leaned forward, bracing himself now with his forearm on the wall. He let his head fall with a thunk. He was breathing hard, and his legs were shaking. The water was beginning to lose heat now, and he knew if he didn’t get out soon, he was going to be suffering through a cold shower. Maybe he should have started with that.

  He snorted to himself as he quickly soaped down his body. That wouldn’t have mattered. He had to shower sometime, and Jenna was going to pop into his brain no matter how much he avoided it.

  He rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying off and then throwing on a pair of cutoff sweatpants. He crawled into bed, glad he didn’t have to work tomorrow, because he was fucking beat.

  He didn’t want to deal with people tomorrow. No fucking people. They were complicated.

  Cal hated complicated.

  THE SHRILL RING of his cell phone woke him up. Cal blinked and glanced at the clock. It was eight in the morning on a Sunday, so Cal knew perfectly well it was Brent. He didn’t bother glancing at the caller ID. “What.”

  “Wakey, eggs and bakey!”

  Cal almost hung up on him. Almost. He didn’t bother responding.

  “Hello?” Brent asked.

  “What do you want?”

  There was a crashing sound in the background. “Hey, Gabe!” Brent’s voice wasn’t even muffled. He didn’t bother covering the receiver. “Watch where you’re walking. There’s tools and shit, and I don’t want you dropping my doughnuts you’re carrying.” There was a shout, probably Gabe answering him. “That’s precious cargo!” Brent yelled and then said, “Okay, I’m back.”

  Cal massaged his temple. “You shouted in my ear.”

  “Really? Sorry about that.” Brent didn’t sound sorry. “So what can you tell me here about a seven-year-old Honda Civic that needs a new tire and is registered to a Jenna MacMillan?”

  “I left a note.”

  “Yeah, I see your note, but there isn’t a section for questions and/or comments, and that’s no good because I have a lot of both.”

  Sometimes Cal wondered how it was possible for one person to be so fucking irritating. “I’m not taking questions or comments.”

  “But—”

  “Put a damn tire on the car, and call her to come get it, Brent. There’s nothing to fucking discuss!” He hung up the phone. Like a grownup. And when his cell rang again, he continued on the mature path he’d set that morning and ignored it.

  And then he rolled over, tempted to break his one rule of “no fucking smoking in the house.” Because it wasn’t even nine in the morning on what was supposed to be his day off, and his nerves were already shot.

  Fucking brothers.

  Fucking high school girlfriends.

  Fucking feelings.

  Chapter Seven

  IT’D BEEN ONE week, and Jenna was only starting to scrape the surface of how much work she was going to have to do at MacMillan Investments.

  For starters, the morale was down. Even though Dylan had been cleared of any discrimination, the seed had been planted, and the three-hundred-plus employees—MacMillan was the biggest employer within a good seventy-five miles—were wary.

  And wary employees who weren’t secure in their jobs were not good employees, in Jenna’s opinion. Her father thought a little fear for their jobs was healthy, that it would spur them to work harder to keep their positions. And he could think that, but Jenna vehemently disagreed.

  Step one was to make the employees happier. Step two was then to work on the firm’s image. Her father, Christopher MacMillan III, had groused about her plan, but she’d reminded him that he had hired her. If he didn’t like the way she did her job, he could find another publicity director.

  She stepped out into the parking lot, rolling her neck on her shoulders. It was a Friday, and she was leaving work a little later than she wanted to. She still had to meet her brother, father, and mother for drinks at Bellini, an Italian restaurant that was the nicest dining establishment in Tory. She considered trying to get out of it, but then they’d just reschedule, and she wanted to get it over with.

  The door to the building banged open behind her as she walked to her car in the almost empty parking lot. “Jenna!” said a male voice.

  She turned on her heel. Pete Connelly, a friend of her brother’s, walked toward her, a large smile cracking through his short ginger beard.

  She’d only met Pete a couple of times over the years, since he and Dylan had become friends, but he was always friendly toward her. She wondered what the hell he and Dylan had in common. They’d met at the office after Pete was hired.

  She smiled at him. “Hey there, Pete.”

  He stopped in front of her and gestured toward the office behind them. “You working late too?”

  She blew out a breath. “Just trying to get caught up.”

  Pete nodded. He was one of the managers and worked closely with Dylan. “Yeah, me too. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re here helping to get things back on track.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “So what you’re saying is that things are off track.”

  Pete laughed sadly. “You know they are, Jenna.”

  She sighed and said softly, “Can I ask you a question?”

  Pete eyed her but nodded.

  “Is the main source of this derailment my brother?”

  The big man looked at his feet, kicking a stray piece of gravel. “You know he and I are friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know that I’m not trying to bad-mouth him or get his job.”

  “I know that.”

  He looked up. “But he’s . . . changed. I don’t know what it is. He’s controlling and, frankly, he doesn’t play well with others.”

  Jenna rolled her lips between her teeth. It was amazing how two people could grow up in the same household and be so different. At least she hoped she was different from her brother. Jenna never reveled in the MacMillan name. She rebelled. At sixteen, Cal Payton had been one hell of a way to rebel. He was everything her family wasn’t, and in her mind, that had been a good thing.

  Cal had been a way to get back at her parents, but then she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

  Dylan, however, fed into the whole MacMillan name, demanding respect because of who he was rather than what he did. He’d been a bully growing up, plain a simple. A bully who used words and money rather than fists.

  “Do you . . . ” Jenna hesitated. “Do you think he should have won that discrimination lawsuit?”

  Pete looked sick. “Please don’t make me answer that.”

  “Shit.” Jenna felt as sick as Pete looked. That was all the answer she needed. She placed a hand on Pete’s arm. “I’m going to try to get this company back on track, in the eyes of the employees and of the community.”

  Pete nodded. “Your father is . . . well, he’s your father. But at the end of the day, he does good work, and this business supplies a lot of jo
bs. This place matters, but your brother . . . ” His voice trailed off.

  “It’s so hard because it’s family,” she said softly.

  “I know.” He sighed. “I need to get home to the wife and kids, but if there’s anything I can do, let me know, okay?”

  Jenna nodded. “I appreciate your talking to me.”

  He smiled as he backed away. “Any time.”

  Jenna watched him as he turned around, back hunched as he dug in his pocket for his keys. She sighed and continued walking to her car.

  Her relationship with Dylan had always been complicated. He was her brother, and the importance of family had been drilled into her every waking moment. Yet she had nothing in common with him except they’d been conceived by the same parents. And as time went on, Jenna even questioned that. She tried to find anything good in Dylan, but other than his work ethic and dedication to the family business; there wasn’t much. So to hear that his attitude was threatening the foundation of what her father worked for made her angry.

  This business mattered to a lot of people. It mattered to this town. And her brother wasn’t going to mess it up.

  She reached her car and slid into the front seat. She wanted to go home and not think about it until Monday, but unfortunately, she was going to have to sit across from her brother for an entire meal. Which would be hard, because right now, she wanted to stab him with a fork.

  Their relationship had always been tainted with a competitiveness that she hadn’t wanted to participate in. Dylan was always, always trying to one-up her, to make himself look better by making her look worse.

  She’d always wanted a close sibling, someone to joke around with about family holidays, someone she’d be happy to have as the aunt or uncle to her children. It was one of the reasons she’d been so attracted to Cal. In his own way, he was fiercely loyal to his family and to his brothers. They had a camaraderie she’d only dreamed of as a kid. A camaraderie she’d dreamed of replicating with her own Payton brood. A dream that would never come to fruition, especially after that disastrous make-out session in Cal’s tow truck.

  Jenna turned the ignition in her Honda and listened as the engine rumbled to life. She put the car in drive and made her way out of the parking lot to head home. The car was all fixed up now. Brent had recommended she get two new tires, and she’d give him the approval. Of course, she hadn’t heard a peep from Cal. He never called, and he hadn’t been there when she picked up her car.

  It’d been a week since that night Cal had dropped her off at her house, and she felt like she was going through the stages of grief. First, she’d been in denial. She pretended it never happened. That lasted for a whole couple of hours before her brain switched right into anger. That stage . . . well, actually she was still in that stage.

  She was pissed.

  Maybe this had been something Cal had to get out of his system. He had to show her he could still light up her body and scramble her brain. And then once he did that, he could wipe his hands clean of her and move on. One little last jab, like, Hey, Jenna, this is what you left behind.

  As if she didn’t know. As if she wasn’t aware that every guy who’d touched her since then had been held up to Cal’s standard and found lacking. Not just in bed but out of it too. She lived in a world of political correctness. It was her job to say the right words the right way. To get by without the whole truth or maybe a little embellishment. It was how she’d grown up and how she did her job.

  That wasn’t in Cal’s blood. He never had time to beat around the bush or say anything but directly what he thought. It was refreshing not to have to play games with him.

  Which is exactly why she’d thrown that statement about his brother in his face. She knew it’d piss him off.

  Good. She hoped he was still pissed. She hoped he was furious and had tossed and turned at night just as much as she did.

  She wanted to move to the next stage. Or skip right to acceptance. That would be great. She wanted to accept that what had happened wouldn’t happen again and then move on. But her brain—or maybe it was her body, which had a frustratingly accurate memory of how good Cal’s hands felt—wouldn’t let her.

  So stuck in anger she was, and there she would stay for the foreseeable future. Cal was lucky she hadn’t run into him at the grocery store this week, or she likely would have chucked a can at his head.

  She pulled into her driveway and took a deep breath. This was okay. She could do this. She parked her car, not bothering to pull it into the garage since she would be leaving again so soon.

  She hadn’t had much time to decorate the house. The belongings that had filled her tiny apartment in New York didn’t go far in this house, even though it wasn’t much bigger than about thirteen hundred square feet. She dropped her keys in a bowl she kept on a small table inside the door. She kicked off her heels and padded on her bare feet into the kitchen.

  Opening up the fridge, she contemplated having a drink before facing the gauntlet of an evening with her parents. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water and collapsed onto her couch with it.

  She wanted to take a nap. Or veg out on the couch watching mindless reality TV, but unfortunately, she had to drag her carcass to a restaurant, where she’d be required to uphold the MacMillan image.

  She made a gagging sound and hauled herself off the couch to take a shower and get ready. The only good thing was that maybe this dinner would keep her mind of Cal for one blessed evening.

  JENNA WORE A simple navy blue tank dress in a jersey fabric. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable. However, her mother clearly disapproved, because her eyes were doing that roving, disapproving thing. She pursed her lips. “Is that new?” Her tone showed she thought it was anything but new or appropriate for Bellini.

  Karen MacMillan had never been what Jenna would call a nurturer. She raised her children to be proper little MacMillan children who ate with the right silverware and drank the right wine and always, always said the right thing.

  Her mother, of course, was wearing a nice pale-pink sweater, a cream-colored pencil skirt, and pearls. The cliché made Jenna’s teeth ache.

  Jenna took a sip of her wine. “No, it’s not new.”

  Her mother hummed under her breath and clinked her wedding ring on her wine glass. Her eyes continued to roam Jenna’s body, and Jenna wondered what her mom would pick on next—maybe her hair, which could use a deep conditioning, or her eyebrows, which could probably be waxed.

  Jenna’s father cleared this throat, drawing her mother’s attention. Jenna relaxed and this time, she gulped her wine.

  “So, Jenna, you mentioned something about an employee appreciation event?” her father asked.

  Jenna put down her glass. “I think that the first step to getting the company back on track is improving employee morale. I’m sure what they want most of all is a raise across the board, which you said you’d consider. But I also think throwing some sort of event, something that helps the community or gives to charity and involves the employees is a great way to create goodwill.”

  He was watching her, tapping his chin lightly. Dylan and her mother were talking about the recent construction to the local high school while Jenna’s father contemplated her idea. But Dylan was watching their conversation with one eye, she noticed, and a frown on his face.

  “Dad, we don’t have to talk about this now,” she said. “I’m working up a proposal with ideas on what we can do.”

  He blinked and then nodded. “No, I wanted to get a feel for what you’re working on. I do like this idea, and I think you’re right. I want my employees to feel secure in their jobs and proud of their company.”

  Jenna nodded. “And I do think this will help.”

  An uproar of laughter came from a table in the back. Multiple restaurant patrons craned their necks toward the sound as the noise continued. Jenna appreciated the reprieve from her father’s scrutiny and chugged more wine. Her mother was fingering her necklace, her face pinched. “Heavens, they
are loud. In a place like this? Maybe I should say something to the manager.”

  Jenna hid her eye roll. “Mom, they’re talking and laughing, not pole dancing.”

  Her mother gasped, and Dylan let out a bark of laughter.

  Jenna felt the blush rise in her cheeks. Damn wine.

  “Jenna Marie,” her mother said. “Since when do you talk like that?”

  Since forever? “Sorry, Mom.”

  Karen straightened her cardigan and murmured under her breath, probably contemplating where she’d gone wrong that her daughter mentioned pole dancing at a nice family meal.

  Jenna wished her mom would say, We can’t take you anywhere, and actually mean it and not make her suffer through these family meals.

  Midway through their meal, the loud voices from the back of the restaurant drew closer. Jenna took another sip of wine and what she saw over the rim of her glass nearly made her spit out the liquid across the table.

  Jack Payton, striding through the crowd, wearing a pair of old jeans and plaid button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows. Behind him was Cal, head down, fingers fiddling with a toothpick in his mouth. Then Brent, and a young man who looked like a grownup Max, arm linked with a small, dark-haired woman.

  Jenna set down her glass gently. The restaurant grew a little quieter as the family passed, like the calm before the storm.

  Jenna’s mother looked up, making a small gasp. She’d never liked Cal. Not one bit. He didn’t fit in with their family, according to her, never mind that Cal loved Jenna and treated her with respect. Dylan muttered something as the family passed, but it hadn’t been quiet enough, because Brent jerked his head up, eyes widening a fraction, before settling into his smirk. “Hey, look who it is! The MacMillans. Man, just who I’ve been waiting to see.”

  Jenna watched Cal as he lifted his gaze and swept it over the table—and over her. He wore his boots and a pair of dark blue pants with a light-colored button-down shirt. His hair was actually combed back, so his eyes glowed in the dim light of the restaurant. He looked handsome, although if Jenna was hard-pressed, she might say she liked his garage-look better. Because that was Cal.