She climbed into the cab and he slid in beside her. His long leg pressed against hers and his arm circled her shoulder. Last night’s make-out session flashed through her mind, flooding her body with heat. He gave the driver an unfamiliar address.
“Where are we going?”
“NightCaps.”
“Huh?” popped out. More brilliant banter. Boy, she was a real winner tonight.
“My bar.” He raked his eyes down her blouse, lingering on her breasts. Like good little girls, her nipples rose to attention for him.
His bar? “But I thought we were going to…” She stroked her hand along the length of his thigh.
His hand came down over hers and he squeezed her fingers around his muscular leg. The predatory look in his eyes awakened a nest of bees in her stomach.
“I like to get to know the women I sleep with.”
Giving him her best let’s-stop-fucking-around-and-do-this look, she said, “That didn’t seem to bother you last night.”
“We didn’t sleep together last night.”
Her eyes rolled before she could stop them. “I’m too busy to have a drink. I barely have time for a quick—”
Before she knew what was happening, he clutched her hip, angling her entire body toward him, and in a lethally calm, low voice he said, “You just visited your father in the hospital. I just visited a little girl who’s lucky to be alive. I sent you flowers and it took you twelve hours to thank me, and then you told me you’re not a flower girl. That brilliant mind of yours needs a chance to catch up before I obliterate your ability to think—and I need time to figure out what type of woman you are.”
He leaned in, bringing his lips so close she could almost taste them—and she wanted to. Desperately. He possessed a rare combination of sensitivity and dominance, and she liked it. A lot.
He bypassed her mouth, his hot breath brushing over her cheek as he whispered, “If you have time for a fuck, you have time for a drink.” He released her and eyed her vibrating phone. “Now answer your phone, Winters. Because I promise you, when we go back to my place, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember what the damn thing is.”
Chapter Five
NIGHTCAPS WAS PACKED, which Dylan had counted on as a breather between the heaviness of their hospital visits and the hot fuck they were heading for. His bar was the go-to place for businesspeople, celebrities, and just about everyone else beneath the Manhattan sky, and he liked it that way. He was fascinated by the challenging woman who didn’t appreciate gifts and accused him of using pickup lines. Maybe he should take Tiffany home, fuck the bossiness out of her, and be done with it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that her abruptness was a facade. They’d just come from the hospital and she’d avoided his question when he’d asked if she was okay after seeing her father. Maybe she was just keeping her personal life close to her chest. Or maybe she was a compartmentalizer. In his experience, women who shoved the emotional parts of their lives into neat little boxes were the ones who usually ended up crying I’m-so-fucked-up tears after sex. And that was not his thing. No matter how much he enjoyed being needed, there was a difference between wanting to treat a woman like a lady, lavish her with nice things, and take care of worrisome aspects of life, and wanting to fix a woman’s deep-seated emotional issues.
“Hey, Dylan,” Missy, a sexy redhead with a wide mouth purred as he brushed past.
“Hey, Missy,” he said without slowing down. He’d blown off her advances for two years. He had no interest in a woman who had sucked off half the men who came into his bar.
He pulled Tiffany closer, staking claim for the leering dudes at the bar and as a deterrent for women like Missy, of which there were many. Owning the bar had its benefits, but along with having more friends—and willing women—than any man needed, there were gold diggers and social climbers.
Right now all he wanted was a few minutes to figure out the intriguing woman in his arms, which hadn’t been on his mind last night after Mick’s wedding. That fuck would have been all about conquering the hot blonde who his brother had said would eat him alive. But now that he had some distance—and had just come from visiting Bethany, which always gave him a healthy dose of perspective—he was almost back to his old self. That guy who was usually up for a quick fuck, but there was no way a quick fuck was going to be enough with this sexy vixen. He wanted more, and that clearly wasn’t going to happen, which should put her in the no-strings department. But she lived in his building, which meant he should know who he was dealing with. Besides, he wanted to know more about the woman who had occupied his thoughts for the last twenty-four hours.
“Nearly every woman in here is salivating over you,” Tiffany said with a hint of annoyance.
“I didn’t peg you for the jealous type,” he said.
When they reached the bar, he pressed his hand to the small of her back, searching her eyes, because jealousy and this confident woman did not go hand in hand. Once again he was struck by the challenge and seduction warring in her eyes as he’d seen—and lusted over—last night. His eyes fell to the sexiest mouth he’d ever tasted. Willing, able, and demanding. Man, he liked that last part a whole hell of a lot more than he thought possible. It had been her aggressiveness that placed her front and center in his fantasies last night, lying across his bed with her luscious lips wrapped around his cock. Heat shot down his spine with the memory of how hard he’d come, and all his blood rushed south. His throbbing cock reminded him it was time to get this intriguing woman figured out once and for all, so he could take her to bed or be done with her and move on.
He preferred taking.
She pressed her index finger in the flesh between his open collar and ran it slowly down the center of his chest, stoking the fire her nearness caused.
“Don’t mistake being impressed for jealousy.” One slim brow arched for emphasis. “You’re a one-night stress reliever for me. It’s the other women who are jealous.” Her finger left his chest and chased her tongue along her lower lip.
She was so fucking sexy he had to fight the urge to drag her to his office and bend her over the desk. He was beginning to think one night with Tiffany Winters would never be enough.
She lowered her voice to an even more alluring tone and said, “By this time tomorrow night I will have had my fill of you and moved on.”
Challenge accepted.
“You keep telling yourself that, Summers.” He gave her ass a smack and moved behind the bar. “What’s your pleasure?”
Leaning across the bar, and giving him a clear view down her blouse, she said, “You want me to divulge that across the bar?”
Oh baby, he liked her sassiness. So did the two guys flanking her. Giving them a back-off glare, to which they abruptly looked away, he returned his attention to his smart-tongued temptress. “No. I prefer you show me. When you’re on your knees.” Loving the flush rising on her cheeks, he said, “Drink-wise, summer girl.”
“Tequila añejo,” she answered with a coy smile, pronouncing on-yay-ho with impressive perfection.
Dylan poured them each a glass. “Not exactly a woman’s drink.”
As he came around the bar, she took his arm and said, “Do you have something against a woman who likes the taste of tequila?”
“I have something for a woman who knows what she likes.”
On the way to their table, he asked if she was worried about her father or wanted to talk about what he was going through. She explained that he had kidney stones, and once they passed, he’d be released. She didn’t elaborate, or seem overly concerned, and Dylan realized she wasn’t compartmentalizing after all. He’d been looking for a weakness that wasn’t there. Another hard habit to change.
An hour and a second snifter of tequila later, Tiffany was tucked beneath his arm in a booth in the back of NightCaps, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t say what exactly, because he was too taken by the lighthearted sound of her laughter to remember.
“So, let m
e get this straight.” Her fingers were on the move again, pushing beneath his shirt and creeping up over his pecs. Better there than on her phone. She’d already answered a handful of texts. “You don’t like after-sex criers? I hate whiny women, too. Sex is sex, right? It’s not an open door to dump all your problems on some unsuspecting guy. It’s great for stress relief, but who needs all that cuddling and nonsense afterward?”
Ah, yes, that’s what they were talking about. Sexual pet peeves. She hated cuddling—something Dylan loved. Another challenge.
He curled his fingers over her ribs, brushing his thumb along the side of her breast. “How about you? What’s your deal breaker?”
“I don’t need one. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t have time for more than a quickie.” She brushed her fingers over his nipple and he stifled a groan.
They’d had enough time to clear their heads from their hospital visits, and her frigging phone hadn’t stopped vibrating all night. He was ready to get out of there and make her forget the damn thing once and for all.
“I don’t do quick,” he said. Moving his hand to the nape of her neck, he slanted his mouth over hers, taking the kiss he’d been dying for since he’d seen her standing outside the elevator.
He kissed her slowly, enjoying the delicious taste of her, the feel of her tongue teasing over his, and the heat of her hand against his chest. As he deepened the kiss, she curled into him with a sexy moan. Her phone vibrated again, and when she reached for it—never breaking their connection—he placed his hand over hers.
She drew back, eyeing her imprisoned hand. “Dylan.”
“When you got the call about your father it was a different ringtone. Is there any chance that’s about him?”
“No.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t believe you noticed that.”
“That ringtone could be heard a mile away. Then what could possibly be more important than this?” He nipped at her lower lip and used his free hand to tug loose the pen that had kept her hair knotted on the top of her head. A tumble of gorgeous blond locks cascaded around her face and over his fingers, bringing with them the oceanic scent of her shampoo. Christ. He wanted to see that view while he was flat on his back with her riding his cock.
“I’ve just moved from L.A. to New York and I’m opening my own agency here. It’s more important than ever for me to be available for my clients.” The phone vibrated again, and she tried to dislodge her hand, but he held tight.
“At eleven o’clock on a Sunday night?”
“Twenty-four-seven,” she said without hesitation.
Releasing her hand, he made a mental note to circle back and ask about her move. As she scrolled through a long list of messages and began texting, he focused on her luscious neck. Kissing and sucking as her fingers flew over the screen. His annoyance turned to amusement, underscored by admiration of her drive and determination. Another challenge, and one he was definitely up for.
“Ending world hunger?” He licked the shell of her ear.
“Something like that,” she answered breathily. “My assistant, Miranda, needs some answers.”
He continued kissing her neck, her shoulder, and then he went for her mouth again. She kissed him back while lifting her phone to eye level, looking over his shoulder as she typed. She was an excellent multitasker, which made Dylan laugh.
“Seriously?” he said between kisses.
“I told you,” she said with a soft laugh. “This is why quickies are all I have time for.”
He stepped out from the booth, pulling her up beside him. “Come on, Summers, time to go.”
“Where are we going?” She hurried to keep up, clutching her phone and bag as he dragged her toward the entrance.
“My place.” He nodded as customers called out greetings, and pushed open the door. With an arm around her waist, while she was busy texting, he flagged down a cab.
“I’ve got no problem with you handling work if it’s that critical, which for the record, I find slightly disturbing. But if you insist on doing it when you’re with me, you’re going to do it naked. One way or another, I will make you forget about that damn phone.”
“Promises, promises,” she quipped.
IN THE CAB, the heat of Dylan’s gaze blazed a path from Tiffany’s mouth to her breasts and to the juncture of her thighs. He didn’t say a word as she answered her anxious client’s emails and Miranda’s texts. Didn’t move his fingers from where they had taken up residence on her thigh, and the anticipation was unbearable. She waited for him to either yank the phone from her hands and kiss her breathless, or tell her he was out of there, like other men had. She knew her job presented a problem in the dating realm, which was another reason why she never dated, but she couldn’t afford to lose this client. Greg Taylor was a rising star, but like many sports figures that found fast fame, he was a little out of control. He’d signed with Tiffany after his rookie contract ended and she’d secured a one-point-five-million-dollar ten-year contract for him. She was a ruthless negotiator. Unfortunately, Greg had lost his cool coming out of a restaurant and threatened the paparazzi, and now she also had to be a shrewd and compassionate babysitter. It was all part of the game. She advised him to lie low and prepare a formal apology in case it blew up in his face, which would jeopardize the very lucrative sponsorship deals she’d spent weeks hammering out for him. Then she zipped off a text to his public relations rep to nip the situation in the bud.
She drew in a deep breath, Dylan’s masculine scent infiltrating her senses. The tequila had warmed her from the inside out, and kissing him had made her want to forget everything and drag him under the table at the bar. And this strong, silent thing he had going on was making her increasingly flustered—and frustratingly turned on. She lowered her phone to her lap, trying to ignore the clenching of her sex with every silent second that passed.
“Did you stop the alien invasion?” he asked, using one finger to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart as he touched his lips to the sensitive skin just below her ear. “I hope so.”
“Good,” he whispered.
Her phone vibrated again and she glanced at it, then at Dylan. His eyes were dark and mysterious. She liked dark and mysterious. She wanted to feel dark and mysterious all over her naked skin.
He squeezed her thigh and winked. “Go ahead, Winters. Let’s get all that stuff over with.”
Winters. Suddenly she longed for one of his other, playful nicknames. But who was she kidding? She hadn’t been playful in years, and right now she hated herself for being so driven. She read the text, relieved it was a quick thank you and didn’t require a response.
Turning her attention to the very attentive man beside her, she felt bad for putting him off again. God. What was it about him that made her…care? The emotion took her by surprise as much as the entrancing way he was looking at her did.
“I’m sorry, Dylan.”
He traced the line of her jaw with his finger, mesmerizing her with his steady gaze, featherlight touch, and the look of lustful promises swimming in his eyes.
“Don’t apologize for being ambitious. You gave me fair warning. I could have taken you right home after the hospital, but I wanted to spend a little time with you when you weren’t coming off the heels of visiting your father.”
That was so thoughtful she wasn’t sure how to respond, so she remained silent. The cab arrived at their apartment building, and she was sure he’d say good night and they’d go their separate ways. The man gave near-orgasm inducing kisses and could have had any woman in that bar with the snap of his fingers. Why would he waste any more time on a woman who was glued to her frigging phone?
He paid the driver and placed a hand possessively on her back. She liked that, too, which was strange, because she normally rebelled against possession of any type. He fell silent again as they went inside and waited for the elevator, but she heard every breath, felt the press of his fingers at the base
of her spine, and she was sure he could feel, or at least sense, her sprinting pulse.
When the elevator arrived, he followed her inside and pressed the button for the eighth floor. Was she too hot and bothered to think straight? Maybe she was misreading his touch, his silence.
She should end this civilly and climb beneath her sheets with her ego still intact. Reaching for the control panel she said, “I’m on the fifth floor.”
He took her hand and dipped his head, gazing into her eyes. “I know. Have you changed your mind?” He stepped forward and her back met the wall.
“No,” she said breathlessly. “I thought…I wouldn’t blame you if—”
His mouth was on her neck again, stealing her ability to think and sending rivers of heat beneath her skin. His hands moved up her back, beneath her hair, and he cupped the base of her skull, angling her face beneath his. She breathed long, surrendering breaths as his beautiful lips hovered just above hers.
“If you want me to stop, tell me now, because once we get going, you won’t be able to utter a word.”
Already too revved up to form a response, she grabbed his head and went up on her toes. The force of their kiss electrified her, flooding her entire being with desire. Their tongues tangled, teeth clanked, and their bodies ground together. She clawed at his arms, his back, any and everywhere she could reach. She wanted all of him—his sexy comments, his talented fingers, his hungry mouth, and the thick cock trapped inside his jeans. The feel of his rough whiskers on her cheeks spread fire to the depths of her belly. Their kisses were messy and urgent, and when the elevator doors opened, they stumbled into the hall, slamming against the walls and gasping for breath as they both strove for more.
“Keys,” he panted out, and shoved one hand in his pocket, holding her with the other.
She cupped him through his jeans, earning a guttural groan.
“Not my keys,” he said, smiling against her lips.
Bad Boys After Dark: Dylan (Bad Billionaires After Dark Book 2) Page 4