The Proposition (The Plus One Chronicles)

by Lyon, Jennifer

  She stiffened.

  He caught her chin. “They’re just scars, Kat. Show me and get it over with.”

  “You really are a bully.”

  He leaned down, kissing her. “But you’re not the fragile baker your family believes. Time for show and tell.”

  Sloane watched her decide, watched her choose. He’d known it was a risk, but that was how he lived. He confronted and dealt with things, didn’t let them just hang there and grow. He attacked and conquered.

  Finally, Kat pushed off the comforter.

  A tightness in his chest eased. For whatever reason, this was hard for her. That’s why he wanted it out of the way now. He waited as she pivoted on her butt, turning toward him, then lifted her left leg, and keeping the knee bent, she dropped her foot high up on his thigh.

  Baring her pussy to him.

  His stare went right there, to where her thighs spread, the soft, trimmed curls parted and her slick pink folds on display. His cock engorged, his mouth watered.

  He drew his hand over her leg, feeling all the sleek muscles and smooth skin. Then he reached out, circling her swollen little clit.

  She sucked in air.

  Pulling his hand away, he lifted his gaze. “Excellent diversion tactic.”

  “I can think of more.” She rubbed her leg against his throbbing cock.

  He groaned. “Keep it up and we’re going to find out if you like sex spankings.”

  Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “You wouldn’t.”

  Damned if her nipples didn’t tighten, and that pulse at her neck fluttered. Kathryn Thayne had a bad-girl streak. But she was right, he wouldn’t until he had her full trust and only if she enjoyed it. The idea of making her secret fantasies come true was a hell of a turn on. “The way I see it, we can negotiate here. You can put your other leg up on my lap, and I’ll agree to hold off on bending you over my thighs and making you come with my hand on your ass until you ask for it—”

  “Ask for it?” She practically spit out the words.

  He shrugged. “Ask or beg, your decision.” He loved her outrage. “Or you can test me by refusing to show me your scars.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t tip his hand. Just waited her out as a new desire assaulted her, one she hadn’t known she had. That was so off-the-charts hot, he almost gave in and let her slide on showing him her leg.

  Kat shifted, putting her hands down on the bed to brace herself, and raised her right leg.

  A wince flashed across her face. He had to check the urge to help her.

  She rested her leg, slightly bent, on him.

  Sloane moved his hand to her foot with the slender arch, then lightly ran his palm over her ankle and partway up her calf.

  There he saw her scars. They ran six inches on the inside and outside of her leg from mid-calf up to her knee. The two scars likely meant two plates held in the bone with screws. Good incisions, some pulling from scar tissue, and there were some smaller, barely noticeable scars on her knee. Probably arthroscopic to break up scar tissue and clean up any bone fragments.

  He looked up at her. “How bad is your knee joint?”

  Surprise flared in her eyes.

  “I’ve had injuries, broken bones and physical therapy. No plates though, nothing this serious. Seen other fighters go through bad shit. Once a joint’s involved, it’s usually not good news.”

  Her eyes settled a bit, and her shoulders eased down. “Not bad enough for a knee replacement, at least not yet. Range of motion is better for flexion, but can’t get full extension. Could be the plates, the way the bones healed, the joint, or a combination.”

  “Without full extension to get your heel down to the ground, you limp.” He ran his thumb over the inside scar. They had lightened and weren’t all that obvious. From a distance, people would just see her toned legs, not the scars. “This is not the leg you want to kick with then. You can’t snap or get enough force behind it to do damage. But you can balance on it to kick with the other.” He lifted his hand to her face as he kept stroking her leg. He liked touching her.

  His cock liked it too.

  She glanced where he touched her, then toward his hard-on, and back up to his face. “They really don’t bother you.”

  “The scars? Nope.” He was good as long as he didn’t think about Dr. Dickhead leaving her at the mercy of two men with a baseball bat. He clamped his jaw to shut out the image. She was already getting under his skin, making him feel more than he wanted to. He needed to focus on the sex.

  Stroking her legs, he turned the conversation. “We need to talk about birth control.” He should have discussed this with her at the gym last Sunday, but his cock got in the way of his common sense. “Are you on it?”

  She nodded.

  He shot up an eyebrow. “Been planning, baker girl?”

  She laughed. “Absolutely. Planning on regular, and lighter, periods. Any other questions?”

  He slid one arm under her legs, then his other under her lower back, lifting her ass to his lap. Wrapping her silky hair around his hand, he looked into her eyes. “Would you like to see my clean bill of health?”

  “Yes.”

  Good for her. “Smart. I’ll use condoms until I get the report for you. Now get some clothes on. Something comfortable.”

  “Now? Why? Am I driving you home?”

  He stood with her in his arms and regretfully put her down. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” He leaned down, framing her face with his hands. “But you panicked tonight when David put his hands on you.” Did David’s touch always trip her attacks? The answer to that wasn’t as important as teaching her to overcome her panic.

  “I didn’t think of him as a threat.” She drew her eyebrows together. “Not exactly, anyway. More like I just don’t want him touching me.”

  Sloane didn’t want her doubting herself. “When a man doesn’t get his hands off you after you tell him to let go, consider him a threat. You hear me, Kat?”

  “Yes.”

  He swore something like relief surfaced in her expression. As much as he’d tried to let it go, he couldn’t. “Kat, the night you were attacked, what do you really think happened?”

  She turned away, heading toward a dresser.

  Retreating. Distancing. Because no one believed her. Sloane wrapped his arms around her, tugged her against him. “Don’t retreat. Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know. I just have random flashes.”

  Those flat words had him grinding his molars. She was stiff in his arms, her skin cooling. He rested his chin on her head, her hair silky against his neck.

  Gradually she relaxed into him. “Sloane?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Whatever happened that night, David is trying to cover it up. Has been for years.” She sighed. “That’s what destroyed us. The lie—it was always there between us until I couldn’t take it anymore. Stuff like his cellphone. He never left it in his car, he always had it with him. It’s a million little details that added up to one big lie. I don’t know what happened, just that it didn’t happen the way he said it did.”

  Kat turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. “If you’re still willing, I want to train. I panicked when David touched me.” Her eyes glittered with jewel-hard determination. “I have to learn to control that. Get past it.”

  That, right there, was it—the quality that slammed him in his chest and arrowed right to his cock. The fighter in Kat. She didn’t care that it was getting late, she wanted to train now. It’s what made him want to work her into an exhausted sweat then lick her into a blazing orgasm. “Let’s do it. Get your workout clothes on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was a man in her bed.

  Kat started the coffee machine in the predawn stillness, the familiar actions and scent comforting her. Something normal to grab on to as she struggled with her tumbling thoughts.

  She was deep in uncharted emotional territory.

&n
bsp; Like making coffee for a man. Oh, she’d done it for Kellen, but that was different.

  She’d had sex with Sloane. Not just sex, it had been…an awakening.

  Breathing in the aroma of the Columbian beans doing their magic, she worried that given the chance, Sloane could easily overwhelm her sense of self, who she was and who she was working so hard to become. Strong and independent, able to engage in a healthy sex life with a man, maybe share a few meals and laughs, but not lose sight of her own goals and dreams. She had worked for David in her family lab, and lost herself. Her biggest joy hadn’t been the ring or planning the wedding—it had been researching bakeries to find the perfect wedding cake. Her passion was creating recipes and making them works of art—but she hadn’t gone after it. Instead she’d tried to be what everyone else around her wanted. Her only outlet for that had been finding a cake for her wedding. Sad and pathetic.

  But she and Sloane were plus-one lovers for as long as both of them wanted it. As long as she kept that straight in her head, she could handle it.

  Nervous energy buzzed in her veins. She needed to go to work where she’d have a couple hours of quiet to process her feelings. Standing at her worktable in Sugar Dancer’s kitchen, her hands working the dough for cinnamon buns, would give Kat the calm she needed, and the purpose she craved, to keep herself centered. Getting down a couple travel mugs, she filled them with coffee. She doctored hers, put on the lids and carried them into the bedroom.

  Stopping in the doorway, she looked at Sloane sprawled across her bed on his stomach, arms spread, one leg bent. The sheet rested at his hips, giving her a tantalizing view of his back. Bronzed skin stretched over powerful shoulders, and the sexy narrow valley of his spine that she wanted to trace all the way down. He took up most of the bed with his large frame.

  Exactly the way he could take up too much room in her head if she let him. And her heart if she was stupid.

  “You going to keep leering, or bring me the damn coffee?”

  Kat almost jumped. “Didn’t know you were awake.”

  Rolling over with a ridiculous grace for such a big man, Sloane shoved to a sitting position and snatched his phone off the nightstand. His raven brows snapped together. “Jesus, it’s not even five a.m.” He studied her as she moved toward him. “And you’re dressed.”

  Dressed and wishing she could climb back into bed with him. “I have to get going, I’m late as it is. I need to get to the bakery.”

  “It’s Sunday,” he grumbled as he took the cup. “Thanks.”

  Awkward uncertainty twisted in her stomach. “I put it in a travel cup.”

  A flash of humor crinkled his eyes. “Subtle, baby.” He set the cup down, threw off the covers and stood.

  Naked. Powerful. She ran her greedy stare down his chest over his ridged stomach to his massive erection. A quick dip of her gaze revealed his strong thighs and calves, but her focus kept getting pulled back to his cock. Long, thick and so very enticing.

  “Looking at me like that isn’t going to get you to work any faster.”

  Right. Work. She stepped back but her knee buckled. It gave out completely, toppling her.

  Her coffee mug clattered to the wood floor just as Sloane clamped his hands beneath her elbows and stabilized her.

  A flush started in her chest and rolled up her neck. She hated when this happened–the utter loss of control over her own leg and balance. “Thanks. Sorry.”

  Continuing to hold her, he moved in closer, giving her a view of his concerned anger. “You pushed too hard working on knee strikes last night.”

  Because she wanted to learn, damn it. More and more, Kat was getting a sense that she needed to get control of her life now rather than later. So yeah, maybe she had overdone the standing and pivoting on her bad leg to kick at Sloane’s knee. But her knee giving out? This was her reality. “My leg buckles sometimes. It happens. I move on.” She had a brace and cane at work if it turned out to be a bad day.

  “I’m trusting you to call a halt when your leg needs a rest.” His jaw throbbed. “You should have told me before I fucked you in the shower and again in bed.”

  Anger overtook her embarrassment. “Fucking is all this is about. My leg is my business." Gritting her teeth, she added, “I shouldn’t have let you stay the night.” Pulling her arms free, she snatched the mug off the floor. She’d closed the lid, so there were no spills to clean up. All she had to deal with was her damaged pride and a naked man glowering at her.

  “Regrets?” he asked softly.

  She closed her eyes, amazed at how easily he saw through her bitchiness. Releasing her breath, she faced him. “More like morning-after jitters.” And a hell of a lot of confusion. “I just…I need to go to work.”

  Sloane touched her hair. “If it makes you feel any better, this is new for me too. I don’t usually spend the night.” He headed into the bathroom.

  Better? Try terrified. Did he want something more from her? No, why would he. She was a baker with a bum leg and enough baggage to fill his fancy limo. They’d agreed on terms. He’d just spent the night because it had gotten late. Or maybe he was pushing his own boundaries a little bit. Okay, that worked for her.

  With nervous hands, she quickly made her bed, though a part of her wanted to climb back into it and…no. If she was going to stay strong, she had to nip those thoughts in the bud.

  Sloane strode out of the bathroom and tugged her into a kiss. She tasted her brand of toothpaste and the richer, darker flavor of Sloane. He pulled back and smiled. “Morning. I used your toothbrush. Change it if you’re squeamish.”

  The kiss sparked a rush of desire, scrambled her wits, and made her forget her anxieties. How did he do that so easily? Don’t answer that! Focus on practical things. “Uh, I’ll drive you home.”

  He got out his phone and began texting. “You need to get to work. It’ll be faster if I ride with you to the bakery. Ethan can pick me up there.”

  That would work better for her. “Okay.”

  “I’m driving.”

  Like hell he was. “It’s my car. I’m driving.” Gathering up their coffees, she handed him his.

  He leaned closer. “Do you want my hands busy driving or on you while you’re driving? Your choice.”

  She huffed and led them down her hallway, through her tiny laundry room to the garage. “Do you even know the concept of playing fair?”

  He held out his hand for the keys. “I play to win, baker girl. Every damn time.”

  Kat gave him the keys and wondered if she was giving him too much. Too much of herself. She had to remember this as an arrangement, a proposition.

  Once they were on the road, she said, “I let you drive, you have to answer some questions.” She wanted to know more about him. They always talked about her.

  He glanced over at her. “That was not in the negotiations.”

  “Read the fine print next time.”

  “Cheater.”

  She laughed. “Since you met my family, tell me about yours.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. “Nothing to tell. Father was a hit-and-run sperm donor. Mom was around sometimes. Other times I was in foster homes.”

  Kat gripped the black travel mug she had resting between her thighs. “Foster homes? I’m sorry.” That had to be rough. Her family might be screwed up, but they’d been there when she’d needed them. Did Sloane have anyone to be there for him? “Is your mom still alive?”

  Guiding her small SUV through the streets in the quiet early morning, he kept his eyes on the road. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” She was making him uncomfortable, yet she wanted to know more, understand him better. Okay, she had to know that he had someone to take care of him if he needed it. “Are you close now?”

  “No.” He twisted his head, pinning her with a glare. “Let it go, Kat.”

  Fine. She shifted from his mom to other family. “Any siblings?”

  He flattened his mouth.

  The silence thickened until it almo
st hurt her. Relenting, she said, “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” It wasn’t. Yeah, he’d met her family last night, but she’d taken him there. She’d opened that can of worms, not Sloane. That didn’t give her a free pass to interrogate him.

  “I don’t like to talk about growing up.”

  “Okay.” Kat didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t answered her question about siblings. No idea what it meant though. They were in this for convenience and sex, not sharing personal and painful things. It wasn’t her place to worry about him not having anyone to help him if he needed it. “So what happens now? You call me when you want me to go somewhere with you?” If he still wanted to. Once she asked about his family, he’d gotten cold and distant, provoking her insecurity.

  His shoulders eased slightly. “Do you have a cocktail dress? If not, get one. There’s a wine tasting, appetizers and then dinner at a winery in Temecula Saturday of next week. It’s business. I’ll have my assistant give you the particulars on the event.” He pulled into her bakery parking lot.

  Kat went cold. “I don’t wear cocktail dresses.”

  He parked and faced her. “That’s just bullshit. You’ve got great legs. Get the damn dress.” Shoving open his door, he got out.

  Her chest tightened at the mere thought of wearing a dress. Gathering her purse and shifting her coffee, she reached for the door.

  It opened before she touched it. Sloane crowded in. “Swing your legs out.”

  “I know how to get out of a car.” She turned, then noticed Sloane’s dark gray limo sliding into the parking lot. It came to a stop on the other side near the street and idled, waiting.

  Sloane’s hands wrapped around her waist, and he effortlessly lifted her to the ground. She sucked in a breath.

  He slammed the door, handed her the keys and said, “You’re going to buy a cocktail dress and wear it.”

  Oh yeah, she’d get on that right after she set her hair on fire. “What are you so pissed off about?”

  He ground his jaw. “I usually don’t get pissed. But damn it, you do something to me.”

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one a little off balance. “I’m wearing pants or a long gown. And I don’t wear high heels.”