Thunder

by Taryn Kincaid

  “Good guess.”

  Sean snorted. Since Campbell’s 1Night Stand date with the great love of his life, a woman he hadn’t seen in ten years and thought he’d lost, he’d spent every spare moment with her at the place they’d recaptured their bliss: the expansive grounds of the old high school where they’d first met, and which By Jones was demolishing to make way for a new, exclusive waterfront community.

  “Actually, we’re on the boat,” Campbell told him. “Taking a lazy cruise on the Hudson. We’ll watch the fireworks downriver then come back. Thinking of spending the night on the Lily Flower. It’s cooler on the water.”

  “Keep the radio on,” Sean warned, “and don’t go too far from shore. I’m just at the New York City-Westchester line and there are clouds already. A thunderstorm’s supposed to be rolling in.”

  “Will do. So what’s up?”

  Sean hesitated. “I’m taking a run up to Sleepy Hollow. Veronica Hardwicke’s got some new bee in her bonnet.”

  “Veronica Hardwicke? A bee, huh? In her bonnet? I’d have said ‘itch.’ Much lower. One I think you’re hot to scratch.”

  “The woman is nutty as a bag of trail mix.” Sean glanced into his side view mirror and executed a quick lane change, zipping around the slow-moving minivan in front of him and pressing the pedal to the metal to return to the fast lane. “I’m steering the hell clear of her.”

  “Right. That’s why you’ve dropped everything to race up to Sleepy Hollow on the Fourth of July like your ass is on fire and she’s got the only hydrant in fifty states. And Canada.” Campbell paused. “And Chile.”

  “Chile?” Sean snapped.

  “Thought I’d throw that one in to see if you were paying attention.”

  “Fuck you and Argentina, too.” He waited for his brother to stop laughing. “Just want to know if I can use your house, in case I get stuck in Westchester. You know. With the thunderstorm blowing in and all.”

  “Sure, bro. Your house, too. You grew up there, same as me. You’ve got the key. But…it’s not like the foxy Mrs. Hardwicke doesn’t have room for you in the Belmont mansion.”

  “Fuck no. I’d sleep on rocks under a tree outside first. I’d rather tempt a lightning strike than stay with her.”

  His older brother hooted, as if at some private joke Sean did not understand. “There’s a lot to be said for lightning.” Campbell’s tone softened. “Can light up the darkest night. You should try it.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe being frisky with nature works for you and Lily, but I’m more of a luxury high-rise kind of guy.” He hesitated, but his brother knew him too well to let it go.

  “What’s the matter, Sean? I’ve seen the way you look at the woman. The way she looks at you. You’re both free, consenting adults. As long as you let her down easy without hurting her when you dump her, or do something that will fuck up the By Jones job. And…you never know. Lightning.”

  “We’re more like oil and water. Gasoline and…uh…and uh….”

  “A match?” Campbell helpfully supplied. “Interesting metaphor.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yeah. Right. Tell it to someone who’s not your big brother. I know you’re getting tired of the non-stop downtown club and party scene.” Campbell paused. “You’re that reluctant to leave your bevy of skinny bimbos high and dry for one damn night?”

  “Well, no, but….”

  “Look, I’ve got to go, man. Lily just got out of the shower and I love it when she’s…damp.” He chortled at his own witticism, in so infectious a fashion Sean was forced to grin. Only a short time ago, before he’d re-connected with Lily, Campbell did not laugh and joke that way. “Watch out for those thunderbolts, bro.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Have it your own way, you stubborn jackass. But I need to tell you something before I go. Just… in case.”

  “In case, what?”

  His elder sibling sucked in a breath. “Look, little brother, I’ve been worried about you. The way your social life’s been going. Lily has been, too. At some point the stud party has to end. You need to settle down. Like Lily and me.”

  “Not ready.” His words were automatic. But he wasn’t sure he believed them anymore.

  “I think you are. Lily and I talked about it. How 1NS changed our lives, brought us back together again. Remember how you tried to talk me into trying the service? Well, turnabout is fair play. Don’t blow a gasket, man. I signed you up with 1Night Stand.”

  A flash of lightning split the night sky. Seconds later, a thunderbolt boomed.

  Like an arrow straight to the heart.

  Sean hung up on his brother and flipped up the top of the convertible.

  ***

  Veronica paced back and forth in the grand entry foyer of the Belmont mansion, the kitten heels of her Prada mules clacking on the marble floors.

  The rest of the place might not be finished, but she’d insisted on having a few rooms completed, so at least she felt like she was living in a home, rather than a massive, never-ending construction project. Well, her contractor had insisted, even though working around the main entrance and central hallway created more work for him and his crew. But she was forced to admit he was right.

  Her cell phone chimed on top of the antique credenza shoved flush against one wall. She leaped for it. Probably Geneviève, to regale her with all the fun she was having in Paris. Or Sean, to advise her he couldn’t make it after all. She sighed and read the text message on the small screen.

  Congratulations, Veronica. 1Night Stand has found your date. Have a good time.

  With both anxiety and mounting excitement, she stared at the screen and waited. No other info. Outside in the night, thunder boomed. She jumped then laughed at herself.

  Ghosts are one thing, but freaking out at the weather now? Cripes, you really do need this date!

  She let her imagination run wild, then texted back for more details:

  When? Where? Who?

  An insistent pounding at the front door jarred her out of her fantasy. She swung the door open on another explosive crack of thunder. Sean stood on her doorstep, his soaked T-shirt molding sculpted pecs and abs, his drenched hair flattened over his brow. Rain poured down as he fiddled with his iPhone, a bemused expression on his face. Behind him, jagged arrows of lightning tore the dark sky. He glared at the screen, glanced at her in confusion, then back at the screen.

  Veronica’s own phone pinged again. Thunder roared. She read the message in disbelief.

  You’re looking at him.

  Chapter Four

  “So we’re taking phone sex to the next level?” he growled, as she grabbed his hand and drew him, dripping, into the grand foyer. The contact of his work-roughened palm and callused fingers against hers launched tingling sizzles of anticipation straight to her nerve center. Despite the imposing majesty of the large entry room, his unrelenting masculine presence seemed to crowd out all else, suck all the air from her lungs.

  Big. Tall. Brawny.

  Totally male.

  Totally Sean.

  His words gradually made it through the fog in her oxygen-deprived brain. “Phone sex? What are you talking about? We’ve never had phone sex.”

  “We—” He broke off before finishing his statement. A scarlet flush painted his cheekbones. “Well, one of us—” He stopped again, ducking his head as if to hide embarrassment.

  Had he thought of her in that way? Fantasized about her? The way she’d thought about him? Impossible.

  She’d never before seen the ultra-cool, sophisticated, super-confident man exhibit any signs of being flustered. Page Six and the other tabloids often printed photos of him with gorgeous supermodels or starlets on his arm. His construction crews made salty, risqué jokes about his tireless partying, his harem of celebrated beauties. They looked at him with awe and envy, as well as respect.

  He’d never so much as glanced in her direction.

  Had he?

  Fat droplets of rai
n water streamed down his sun-bronzed face. Outside, the summer storm howled.

  “I’ll get you some towels,” she said and fled.

  Her date was Sean Jones?

  Did Madame Eve have a direct line to the Great Mother?

  Was she the Great Mother?

  Veronica’s head spun and her knees wobbled so badly she had a hard time locating the closest linen closet on the second floor. Astonishment, panic and brutal waves of fierce desire nearly overwhelmed her as she grabbed an armful of fluffy bath sheets and a terry spa robe.

  A night of no-strings, no holds barred sex with Sean? The man dated the world’s most beautiful women every night. How could she possibly measure up to that?

  He’d peeled off the clinging black T-shirt and dropped the damp material on a marble square in the foyer, when she finally returned to him. A small puddle gathered around his feet, exposed in expensive-looking leather flip-flops. She’d only ever seen him in business dress shoes or steel-tipped construction boots, so that was a change. She stared at his toes to avoid ogling his bare chest, with its thick, taut muscles and light splatter of dark hair.

  “Is this 1Night Stand date the big emergency you called me up here for, princess?”

  “No. I—” She dragged her eyes upward. Oh. Goddess. His chest. Poets could write sonnets about it. She jerked her gaze still farther north, finally meeting the amusement in his eyes. He was laughing at her? Who did he think he was? She stiffened, putting more starch into her backbone. She was Veronica Hardwicke, after all. The world might consider her an eccentric widow, but she was his employer—even if he was one of the premier developers in the metropolitan area.

  Not to mention she could turn him into a toad. If she followed the spell precisely and tried really, really hard. She sighed. Maybe it would be better to kiss him. Or was that the other way around?

  Still.

  She would not crumble at this man’s feet. No matter how much she wanted him.

  Arrogant man.

  “No,” she repeated. “I only just learned of it myself. It’s a weird coincidence, that’s all.”

  “According to my brother—one very pleased 1Night Stand customer, I might add—there are no ‘weird coincidences’ when it comes to Madame Eve.”

  “Campbell gave me the referral,” she admitted.

  “And you asked to be matched with me?”

  Arrogance squared.

  Cubed.

  “No, of course not. I don’t think that’s allowed.”

  Sean shook his head. More drops sprinkled over the floor. “He signed me up without asking me first. Filled out the questionnaire for me. The whole nine yards. Wouldn’t have known anything about it if he hadn’t confessed half an hour ago. Lucky thing. Or I’d have thought the text from 1Night Stand just now was complete and total…um…spam.”

  Awkward.

  He hadn’t contacted the upscale dating service at all, let alone to be hooked up with her. Somehow she didn’t think “spam” was the first word that sprang to his mind. More like a word beginning with “bull” and ending in “shit” that he wouldn’t want to step in.

  But he knew now that she’d enlisted Madame Evangeline’s aid to boost her sorry love life. Mortification swamped her, spreading a flush from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

  “Oh. Okay.” She nervously nibbled her lower lip.

  His edgy features softened and he reached out, as if he couldn’t help himself, to twine a lock of her hair around his finger.

  She tried to ignore the torrid gaze that immediately focused on her mouth. She had to be imagining that. All she could think about right then was his mouth. The way his lips would feel on hers, bruising and commanding, as he plunged his tongue in and out, the way his mouth might travel downward, blazing a fiery path to her breasts, her inner thighs, her…. Another second under his scorching perusal and she’d spontaneously combust.

  “Clearly, it’s a mix up then,” she managed to strangle out at last. “So if you don’t want to….”

  “I didn’t say that.” He let go of her hair, hesitating briefly, as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. Instead, he blotted his own, towel-drying the rich brown locks with vigor. The chandelier hanging in the cathedral ceiling high above them picked up sunnier highlights she’d never noticed before. “And I’m damn sure it’s no mix-up. Madame Eve doesn’t make mistakes.”

  As if to confirm his words, another burst of thunder blasted her ear drums. She almost leapt into his arms. His absorbed demeanor told her he wouldn’t have minded if she had. A crystal bead of water meandered down his chest, matching the casual, erotic way his drawl deepened. “Besides, princess…I’m not going back out there in that storm.” His last words held the merest hint of sheepish ruefulness, as if he were offering her some sort of apology.

  “Afraid you’re stuck with me tonight.”

  She relaxed the tiniest bit, searching his blue eyes, their drowsy glint sexy and tantalizing. Cripes. In another second she’d be ripping off what remained of his clothes and tumbling him to the marble floor.

  “That blush is a good look for you,” he mused, as he took her in. As he took all of her in. “I wonder if you’re so rosy every—”

  “We should get you out of the rest of those wet clothes, Mr. Jones.”

  “Should we?” He grinned. “Eager for this date to begin?” He stroked a finger up the side of her neck with slow deliberation. The teasing caress jolted her with pangs of renewed hunger, heightening the growing ache inside her. She thirsted for his touch lower, deeper, at the greedy center of torment between her thighs. “And don’t you think we can drop the formalities under the circumstances, countess?”

  “Countess?” She raised an eyebrow. He’d only ever called her “Mrs. Hardwicke” or “princess” before.

  “Thought we might vary things up tonight, all things considered.” His grin broadened. Devilish. Evil. Totally sexy.

  Perspiration beaded on her brow, dripped into her cleavage, between breasts swelling with longing. The pointed intensity of Sean’s eyes caused her nipples to strain against the thin jersey of her halter top, the exquisite friction sending her body temperature into the red zone. She stepped around his imposing frame and advanced toward the front door. Fumbling along the edge of the avant-garde piece of artwork that cleverly disguised the thermostat and security alarm, she cranked the central A/C up a notch.

  “Mr. Jones. Sean….” She could not face his amused gaze. This devastating man teasing her? With off-color innuendos? Goddess. What a dope to fall for her builder, her contractor. She lived in a huge white elephant of a money pit and the construction project was only three-quarters finished. Much as she wanted it, this dream date might rapidly morph into nightmare territory.

  What was Madame Eve thinking?

  “I-I—” Another blast of mortification struck her, strangling her words. Sheesh. Grow a pair, Veronica. She took a deep breath and glanced back to him. Her jaw dropped. His jeans had joined the T-shirt on the floor and he was swathed in the white spa robe she’d given him. Instant and immediate awareness flared between them, brilliant and bright as an explosion of fireworks.

  “I’m eager, duchess.” The lower portion of the robe tented, proving the truth of his words. Her mouth watered at the sight.

  He dropped the used towels on top of his discarded clothes and took both her hands in his, his eyes never leaving hers. Slowly, he stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands. The purposeful caress stoked the simmering fire in her belly, shooting unexpected bolts of desperate desire through her.

  “Ready. Willing. Able.” He glanced down at himself and winked at her. “Too bad you don’t have a working bathroom in this mausoleum. We could play in the tub. Pretty lousy contractor you’ve got there.”

  “He’s thorough,” she corrected.

  “Tries to be. Doesn’t like making mistakes.” He tugged on a strand of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. “Wants to get this right. Tonight.”

>   All the oxygen left her lungs, her heart pounding so fast and erratically, she thought she might faint. Great. Hyperventilate now. Her legs wobbled as if they were suddenly too weak to hold her upright. “I’m sure he will.”

  “Anything you don’t like, just give him a punch ticket and he’ll try again. And again. Until you’re completely satisfied.”

  She sucked in a gasp at the suggestive hint, the outrageous promise. This was a new Sean from the serious, impatient man who barely masked his irritation when she came up with off-plan ideas that stalled the renovation project. He joked easily with his brother, with his crew. Used crude, blue language with them. Never with her.

  But she adored the way he teased her now, easing his way into a night in her bed, helping her relax and enjoy herself during the one-night stand, as if it were his new mission in life. The sparks flying between them crackled palpably, so powerful, the anticipation of the evening to come left her breathless.

  “Well, I might have one or two rooms operational.” Drool on the man why don’t you? She swept her hand toward the staircase. “My contractor insisted. He’s the best there is.”

  “What do you say we reserve judgment on that a few hours?” He grinned again. Wider this time. More wicked.

  “There’s a bathroom in the master bedroom.” The moment the words left her mouth, she could have smacked herself. As if he didn’t already know the location of every nail and screw in the mansion.

  “I suspected there might be.”

  “With a Jacuzzi.”

  “You don’t say.”

  They stared at each other. The air snapped with unrelieved tension. She didn’t know what to do. What to say.

  “You’re not sorry?” she managed at last.

  “Fuck no. But don’t ever tell my brother that.” He hooked an arm around her waist and jerked her against him, locking her to his body.

  “Can’t keep my professional distance from you anymore,” he admitted. “I’ve tried. The hell with that. I’ve wanted you in my arms a long, long time, princess.”

  Thank Goddess for the steely power of his grip, or she would have toppled over with surprise. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck. His face was smooth against her cheek. He’d banished his five o’clock shadow before he’d gotten into his car, even though he hadn’t yet known of the 1NS date. He’d shaved for her, anyway. And he’d come when she’d called, despite what he’d said on the phone. Despite his other plans. He wanted to be here. Her heart did a little backflip. Maybe a couple of cartwheels.