by Cari Quinn
Easy and wrong.
Rachel pressed her face into the crook of her arm. “So much for leaving me my choices.”
“I would have, if I hadn’t known your first choice would be to flee.” He cleared his throat, clearly amused. “Pity you’re so predictable.”
“That’s what happens when you screw your best friend. A lot of the mystery disappears.”
“You think that’s what we did? Screw?”
Though his tone was mild, uncomfortably so, she knew he was pissed. Good. At least she hadn’t handcuffed him to the frigging bed. “That’s exactly what we did. We let off some steam.”
“Stay with me, Rach.”
His voice in her mind and the accompanying warmth that prickled the back of her neck had her squeezing her eyes shut. They hadn’t made love. She didn’t do that. She had sex, the sweatier and less thought-inducing the better.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
As if. How was she supposed to face him?
Rather than ask her again, Shawn looped a handful of her hair around his wrist and jerked her head just enough for her to see him looming over her back. “Want it like this?” A wicked thrill shot up her spine, and her nipples tightened to painful nubs. “Fine by me.”
His hands caught her hips, and he pushed her onto her stomach. The trembling inside her became a full-fledged quiver with the first rough caress of his broad palms up the backs of her thighs.
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She could’ve fought him off. But she didn’t. Because she wanted -- needed -- him too much.
He drew her up to her knees, tearing her dress as he shoved it up over her ass. For one shocked second, she froze, wondering if he really intended to enter her from behind. The tip of his finger toyed with her rosette, building her suspicions.
Would she deny him that? She didn’t think so. Because, down deep, she trusted him enough to try anything. He’d make it good for her, just as incredible he’d made last night. She’d never have to worry he wouldn’t keep her pleasure at the forefront.
She’d chosen her best friend well. Attentive listener, amazing lover. He’d offer her anything she dared to take.
If only she could quiet the misgivings screaming in her head.
She waited to hear the ripping noise of a condom being opened, but there was nothing but the hum of his breathing, as if he were studying her from that angle. Her legs splayed wide, her ass thrust up in the air…
Instead, his hands slid down to where she was already slippery with arousal. Her body tensed, and she had to open her mouth to breathe, because just the slight wiggle and retreat of his wide thumbs at the very outer reaches of her pussy made her want to beg.
She didn’t care what he did, or how he did it. Just that he did it now.
“You’re ashamed you want me,” he stated, his fingers still darting over her lips, in, out. In.
Good grief, he wasn’t going to start badgering her when she was too weak to even spell her own name, was he? “Shawn,” she warned, on the verge of shuddering.
“My name, at last.” Now he gave her his thumb, dipping the crown into her slick opening, wedging it all the way in while her body adjusted to the welcome invasion. She tightened around him, her body reflexively sucking him deeper as his breath blew hot over her half-bared back. “Again,” he ordered, the seductive demand in his voice almost more than she could stand.
Again what? What the hell was he talking about?
His thumb began to move, and Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, her nails clawing at the pillows. When one of his fingers stretched up to flick her clit, she stared at the bedding clutched in her grip.
Thousand-dollar pillows, and she was going to shred them with her acrylic nails while Shawn --
“God,” she gasped when he removed his hand, only to feel the first shockingly warm, wet touch of his mouth.
He drove his tongue into her, prodding every nerve in her body to heightened alert. Her nipples pebbled, chafing against her ruined dress as she threw her head back to inhale giant gulps of air that did nothing to alleviate the strain on her oxygen-starved cells. She pressed against his mouth wantonly, reveling in the low growls he was making deep in his throat.
Questions trembled in her mind. The kind she’d never voiced before with a lover. Did he like her taste? Could he feel her inner walls tightening around his tongue? Would he swallow every drop when she came against his mouth?
Then the foghorn went off.
Shawn jerked back. “What the hell?”
Reality returned at once. And oh God, it hurt.
In that instant of renewed sanity, Rachel kicked out with her unchained leg, knocking him onto his side on the mattress. “Don’t you ever, ever think you can control me again, you smug bastard,” she hissed, diverting her balled fist an inch from his well-used mouth to slam it against her alarm clock’s Snooze button.
Grabbing her arm, he rolled her atop him, obviously not intending to give up without a fight. She was so flummoxed by the whole ridiculous situation she nearly laughed, at least until her gyrations brought her thigh against his sizeable erection.
Her pussy squeezed in protest. But she’d be damned if she’d give in again, not when her mind was perfectly lucid. Well, mostly. “Let me go, Shawn. Now.”
“Never.” He inclined his head until his lips were a whisper below hers. “You know you liked it.”
“So what?” The unholy gleam in his dark green eyes unleashed a flood of need inside her. “I like lots of things that are bad for me.”
He nibbled the inside of her arm, his eyes searching hers. “That’s not what bothers you. You’re afraid we’re too good together.”
“What?” Her feeble eye roll led to an even more feeble laugh.
“Your style is hit-and-run sex.” He scraped her wrist with his teeth, serrating her skin until the pleasure neared pain. “This is all or nothing, and that scares you to death.”
She ripped her arm free and narrowed her eyes as if she could dismiss the truth in what he’d said if she only focused hard enough. “Uncuff me.”
“Gonna run?”
“You got what you wanted. What do you care?”
Now he laughed, the sound as rich and velvety as a shot of whiskey straight to the gut. “Not even close, sweetheart.”
Her thighs shook at the heat in his gaze, but she drove her nails into her palms to keep from acting on the relentless need geysering up inside her. “You have ten seconds to uncuff me. If you don’t, I’m going to scream.”
Shawn cocked a brow. “That’d be some story for our families, don’t you think? Imagine how happy they’d be if you were found wearing a ripped dress and chained to a bed in a hotel room with me --”
“Everyone’ll know soon enough anyway. You’re so blasé about us screwing,” she said, drawing out the word deliberately, delighted to see his eyes fire in response. “What do you care?”
“You’re the one who wanted it rough, not me.” Shawn sat up, moving in close enough for his breath to ruffle her hair as she turned her face away. “I didn’t mind obliging you because, hell, at this point, I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
She let out a snort. “I suppose you wanted soft music and roses and candlelight?”
When he remained silent, her heart gave one painful lurch against her ribs. “Ten.” She shut her eyes. “Nine. Eight.”
She didn’t see his shrug, but heard it in his derisive laugh. “You’re the one wearing a ripped dress, not me.”
She ignored him. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier, before she’d allowed him to tatter her resistance with his wicked tongue and clever fingers? “Seven. Six. Five. I’ll do it, Shawn.”
Good-bye fancy hotel, hello humiliation. But embarrassment be damned, she was putting a stop to this.
She wanted to keep her best friend. After the friction one night of sex had created between them, she knew unequivocally her original assessment was right.
This kind of supposed friendship was
a very bad idea, even if it did come with multiple orgasms.
“Four. Three. Two. Last chance.” As their gazes locked, she let out a yell loud enough to loosen the rafters.
Unhurriedly, Shawn rose and slipped on his pants. “I forgot daring you is a dangerous proposition.”
A glittering smile was her response, one that widened exponentially at the almost instantaneous knock on the door. “Guess who’s screwed now?”
“Ms. Dawson?”
Rachel grinned while Shawn’s eyes hurled daggers at her. “Yes?”
“This is hotel security. Are you all right? We had reports of a scream.”
Shawn shrugged into his shirt, then left it unbuttoned as he strode forward to answer the door. He opened it partway, bracing his arm on the jamb to block the view of the bed as he affixed an angelic expression on his face. “I’m sorry about the noise. My wife gets a little…enthusiastic. She’s indisposed right now, or she’d tell you that yourself.”
Wife? Enthusiastic?
Even beyond annoyed at him, she had to admire his chutzpah. “Shawn, you better can it.”
“See, there she is, calling me back to bed again. You must understand how hard it is being apart.”
Their visitor cleared his throat. “I was under the impression Ms. Dawson was traveling alone.”
“She was. But I was able to join her last night, and well, the separation’s been harder on both of us than we realized.”
Defeated, Rachel slumped against the pillows to listen to Shawn spin his magic.
Shawn pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to display an impressive wad of green. “Let me reimburse you for your trouble.”
There was a lengthy pause, doubtlessly caused by the flash of all those Franklins. “You assure me Ms. Dawson is safe and sound?”
“Of course.” Shawn cocked his brow at her over his shoulder, his smile blade sharp. “Aren’t you, darling?”
She wasn’t scared of Shawn in the least. But she was scared of her parents discovering she’d been found chained to a bed in a hotel room, clad in nothing but a torn dress and most likely bearing a vivid assortment of bruises and hickeys.
Some indignities were a bit too much to suffer, even in the name of justice.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, repeating the statement when the security manager asked her to raise her voice.
Within two minutes, Shawn wrapped up the situation in a pretty bow, sending the manager off with a promise to keep things down and a proliferation of thank-yous.
Once they were alone again, he crossed his arms across his chest, drawing her gaze unerringly to the trail of golden hair that bisected his washboard abs. “Do you have any idea how bad that would’ve looked?” His voice didn’t hold a whit of amusement. “Our families have reputations to uphold, not just in Calvin Bay but nationally.”
“Get bent.” She yanked on her ankle so hard it cracked. “Next time, keep your cuffs in your pocket, and we won’t have a problem, now will we?”
She waited for his snappy comeback, but all she got was a view of him shooting his cuffs --the ones attached to his shirt -- before he began doing up buttons. Then he retrieved the key to his handcuffs and freed her without sparing her a glance.
Surprisingly slighted by his silence, Rachel rubbed her abraded ankle as he sat at the opposite end of the bed and put on his shoes.
That’s it? He was just…leaving?
“We had sex,” she reminded him. Great sex. They would’ve had more -- probably a lot more -- if the alarm clock from hell hadn’t restored her sense.
She didn’t know if she was grateful or pissed.
He rose, collecting his gold watch off her nightstand and sliding it on to his wrist. “Screwed each other, you mean.”
“Whatever.” She tunneled her hands through her tousled hair. She’d be doing battle with her blow-dryer and pick for hours this morning, she just knew it. “So what, now we pretend it never happened?”
“You pretend what you want. I’m going to get some breakfast.”
What about me? she wanted to ask as he moved to the door. In the days before rough sex and oral favors, sharing his blueberry pancakes would’ve been a nonissue. Now she got the distinct impression she wasn’t invited.
She grasped the handcuffs sitting forlornly amid the tangled sheets. “Don’t forget your toys,” she said, tossing them to him.
“Yeah.” With his hand on the knob, he hesitated, not looking at her but staring fixedly at some point on the wall just above her dresser. “I get that you’re not happy about what happened last night.”
“And this morning.”
“And this morning,” he agreed, his lips lifting briefly. “If you’d prefer I go back to Calvin Bay --”
“No.” That the answer tumbled so fast from her mouth shocked even her. “That isn’t necessary. We’ll just…go on.”
“Tell me how,” he murmured.
Before she could formulate a response, he closed her door behind him.
Chapter Five
“You better have a damn good explanation for going AWOL, Shawn, especially right before one of our biggest presentations. Lee was counting on you to show your designs to the investors, as was I.”
Shawn pushed his blueberry pancakes around his plate, diligently trying to sop up copious amounts of syrup. “I needed to be with Rach. It couldn’t be helped.”
If his father found his statement odd, he didn’t comment. Besides, as Rachel herself had stated, most of their friends and family would twitter with joy if anyone got an inkling they’d screwed.
God, he hated that word, especially in connection with her. How had he gotten stuck being the romantic in their relationship? He didn’t know, but guessed it probably stemmed from the repeated viewings of Titanic he’d been subjected to.
“Shawn, are you there?”
“Yes.” He dropped his fork with a clatter, then pressed his fingertips against the dull ache in his forehead. “Dad, trust me, if I’d had any other option, I would have taken it. You know how seriously I take the company.”
Otherwise he wouldn’t have been thisclose to reaming Rachel for siccing hotel security on him. Sometimes he thought his father’s goddamned company meant more to him than anything else, even his own needs.
Except her. She won every competition, every time.
“Yes, I do. I also know how seriously you take Rachel.”
Busted. “I feel responsible for her welfare --”
As always, Dillon Griffin had no patience for bullshit. “When are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?”
Shawn reached for his ice water. After three gulps, he felt no more capable of speech. Was he really that transparent?
Yes. Yes, he really was.
“How long have you known?” he asked finally, when the lies and evasions he’d expected to come readily to hand just…didn’t. His father’s hearty laugh made him wince. “That long, huh?”
“My first suspicions arose when you carried her home the day she took a spill from her tricycle. Your mother said you looked more shaken than she did.”
“She’d skinned both knees.”
“A tragedy, to be sure.” His father inhaled, no doubt drawing hard on his ever-present pipe. “She’s perfect for you.”
“No kidding.” Shawn resumed his meal with all the enthusiasm of a man facing the gas chamber. “But she doesn’t want the sure thing. She wants the not-so-struggling writer who probably rides his Harley to black-tie publishing events.”
“Way I see it, you’ve got two options.”
“And they are?” Shawn asked, surprised that his all-business father was letting him off the lecture hook with a little advice. Of course, he could probably scent his son’s desperation through the line.
“She meet up with Halston yet?”
“Who told you?” He fiddled with his fork as he answered his own question. “What am I saying? Mom told you, after Alexis told her.”
“Actually, Morgan got t
o your mother before Alexis had a chance to. Apparently, her sister’s not answering her phone -- and as of late last night, neither were you.”
“You don’t say.” No wonder their respective family’s involvement in their love life had Rachel so freaked. Next, the lot of them would insist on installing surveillance in her hotel room. “To answer your question, yes, she’s seen Ryan. I think.”
Whether she’d just seen him or actually been with him, he refused to speculate.
“She didn’t tell you?”
“We didn’t talk much.”
Thankfully, his father let that avenue of conversation pass. “Two options,” he repeated. “Either you tell her the truth and risk scaring her right into Halston’s arms, or you sack her with indifference.”
And so began the football references. His father liked to compare most things to the sport, especially areas related to business and women, two subjects the elder Griffin considered himself an expert on. “Yeah, indifference always works.” Bitterness coated Shawn’s tone. “Ignore a woman, and she’ll come running.”
“A sad truth, my boy. Pretend you don’t care what she does, or with who, because you’re busy living your life. If she’s interested, she’ll seek you out.”
“Brilliant plan, Dad. What happens if she shacks up with Halston while I’m ‘living it up’?”
“Then you weren’t meant to be together anyway.”
Shawn’s knuckles whitened around the fork he’d impaled in his half-eaten pancakes. His father might well have said, Worst case scenario, the world ends tomorrow. “And I’m supposed to be okay with that?”
“You’ll deal with whatever outcome arises.”
Shawn had a feeling his father’s voice had strengthened more to demonstrate his faith in his son than due to his own unswerving beliefs in that area. At the moment, Shawn couldn’t say he blamed him.
“In the meantime, build your offense. And submit the sketches you owe me. You brought your laptop?”
“Of course.” He preferred pen and paper to using software, but he didn’t exactly have a drafting table handy in his suite at the Barclay. “I’ll get you something tonight.”