by Larkin Rose
“You’re beautiful, Paige. Why can’t you find a normal person?”
Of course she could find a normal person. They were a dime a dozen. But could that normal person rock her world, give her sex that she would never forget?
Every woman was so far beneath the mystery woman now. Every sexual encounter was a slap in the face to what she could have. What she’d already had.
She didn’t fucking want normal. She wanted to claw the walls in complete ecstasy. Needed to weep while she pumped and came and screamed.
Why couldn’t she find that person? She had once. Why couldn’t she again? Where was the person who could bring home the bacon, then fuck her to sleep? Or just fuck her to sleep; she wasn’t too picky. Why, oh why, couldn’t she find that person? Why, again, had she fallen in lust with a masked stranger?
“Why should I settle for normal when I’ve already had pure rapture? I touched the twilight zone, Sam. I ran my hands over the Milky Way. I was taken…”
“Stop!” Sam shoved her fingers in her ears and started chanting. “La la la la la la la.”
Paige took a sip of her drink to cool down the spark of fire those memories held, the spark ignited once again by yet another masked woman. “Maybe I’m cursed to live alone for the rest of my life. Me and my sex toys and my thirty cats I can call by name. I’ll become that crazy cat lady.”
“That’ll never happen. You hate the cat you have now. I see you more of an alligator keeper. Or a lion tamer.”
Paige gave a fake chuckle. “Bite me.”
The waitress refilled their glasses while Paige thought about her predicament. She was a bundle of hormonal nerves from simply thinking about her time in that hotel room. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about her? It was years ago. Long gone now. Well, so she thought, until another stranger ignited those flames and cracked the portal all over again.
Her phone chirped the distinctive tone set for her blog. She dug it from her purse to inspect her newest comment. It was a private message. The sender was someone named Vinden Gudinna. She vaguely recognized the name as someone who’d sent comments to the blog before.
Vinden Gudinna: You up for a challenge, Fedora?
“Oh my God. It’s her.” Paige wagged her ass in the booth. “I think she wants to meet.”
Paige punched in her response while Sam grumbled her objections.
X: What did you have in mind?
Vinden Gudinna: 29°16'52"N 94°4'33"W…Midnight.
Paige frowned and turned the phone around to face Sam. “What the shit is that?”
“Looks like coordinates.” Sam withdrew her phone a bit too eagerly for someone completely opposed to this little game.
Paige wasn’t supposed to have this kind of reaction, but she couldn’t manage to control her emotions from scattering in all directions. Run. No, don’t run. Meet her. Fuck her. No. Are you crazy? Why the hell not? Hadn’t she already walked into a mysterious adventure and left with memories to burn her a lifetime?
Of course she was up for an adventure. What moron would she be if she didn’t? Her bloggers depended on her to do this. Depended on her to bring back every glorious detail for their reading pleasure. They’d been waiting for this. Paige had been waiting for this.
Could this woman take her outside the box? To a place she so desperately wanted to revisit again?
“Paige, I don’t like this. This isn’t normal.” Sam continued punching keys on her phone.
“Damn right, it’s not.” Paige’s soul screamed to take the leap. “Which is exactly why I need to do it. I don’t want normal. I want to be sexually ripped apart.”
Paige smiled. This was fun. Fun and sexy. Seemed her mystery woman was smart and fun as well as adventurous. But could she fuck? That was the most logical question. And the most important.
“If this app is correct, it’s the little ice cream shop a few blocks from the club.”
“Ice cream? Seriously?” Her adventure was to eat a damn ice cream cone? Or maybe she was supposed to be the ice cream cone. Hmm. That sounded promising.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Paige.”
“That’s so surprising.” Paige blew her an air kiss. “I’ll be very careful, Mommy, and will call you as soon as I get home. If I can walk, that is.”
Sam huffed while Paige typed in her response.
X: Ice cream parlor it is. Dark chocolate is an aphrodisiac…and my favorite.
*
Paige pulled to the curb outside Mayson’s mansion. She wasn’t ready to pull down the long drive. Hell, she wasn’t ready to be here at all, but Sam had left her no choice. Unless she wanted to run the show for the two weeks’ worth of vacation days Sam had accumulated, she better get this over with.
Another fact she had to admit: if she wanted her charity to take serious flight, she needed Mayson on her side.
And now she’d pissed Mayson off with her smart-ass mouth.
Yet wasn’t that a human reaction? To be hurt? To be upset? To lash out? To be a complete bitch?
Of course it was! She had every right to be pissed at Mayson. She had no business being here. She didn’t owe Mayson Montgomery a fucking thing, let alone an apology.
Would Sam murder her if she left? She could simply mail an apology card. Or she could go all out and ship Mayson a set of dumbbells to assist with those lickable biceps. Not that she obviously needed any help.
Samantha’s voice rang loud in her mind, threatening to leave her ass deep in paperwork and major responsibility, saying that the charity would sink if Mayson bailed.
Dammit to hell. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to back down this driveway, take her ass home, and get ready for a masked date. Was it too late to hire another manager? Was there a fat chance in hell she’d find one to put up with as much as Sam did? Fuck. No way. Sam was one of a kind.
“Just do it, you big ol’ chickenshit. You’re here now. Just spit out those two meaningless little words and be on your way.” Paige confirmed her decision with a nod then eased up the driveway.
A beige stucco mansion bloomed into view surrounded by tropical foliage and massive palm trees. Jesus. What the hell did people do in houses that big? Play rugby? Land a jet? Freight train? It was ridiculously huge, but Paige had to admit, she wouldn’t turn it down if someone gave her one just like it. She wanted to peek inside. Wanted to see how a billionaire lived.
Would there be furniture laced in gold? Bear rugs? Crystal faucets and chandeliers?
Paige had no clue. But she wanted to know. Wanted to see.
She continued along the driveway until she came to a guardhouse. Did Mayson think she was some kind of celebrity? Didn’t she design boring wind turbines or something equally uninteresting? For crying out loud, she was a normal person who happened to be the fucking bank.
The guard stepped out of the hut wearing a navy blue uniform and approached her window. “May I help you, miss?”
“I’m here to see Mayson Montgomery.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Wasn’t aware I needed one.” Had someone failed to mention to Paige that Mayson was actually the President of the United States?
“Miss Montgomery is out for the moment. Would you like me to leave her a message?”
“No, thank you. Just buzz me in and I’ll wait for her on the porch.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Unless you have an appointment, I can’t allow you on the property,” he announced, his voice stern and forceful.
“Look, mister.” Paige opened her door, forcing the guard into retreat, and stepped out of the vehicle. She refused to turn back now. Not when she was a car length away from getting this farce of an apology over with. This underpaid, wannabe, rent-a-cop wasn’t going to stand in her way. “It’s been a long day and I’m out of patience for games. Not to mention you’re about to make me late for a date, which will royally piss me off. So be a sport and click whatever little gadget opens this massive gate, and I’ll wait on her porch like a good little Sa
maritan. Okay?”
The sound of crunching pebbles pulled Paige’s attention away from the guard. She turned to find Mayson jogging down the driveway in a sweat-soaked T-shirt, red do-rag around her forehead, and a boxer on a leash leading the way.
Paige resisted the urge to fan her face. She was suddenly hot though the afternoon weather was perfectly cool.
Did the rest of the billionaire population look as yummy as this one? Could they turn a head as fast as this one? Dammit to hell. Why did she have to look so edible in those jogging shorts?
When Mayson spotted Paige, she slowed her jog to a walk. A confident, come-fuck-me walk. A smile slithered across her lips as if she’d expected Paige to be standing in this exact spot when she returned. She no doubt found pleasure in the guard standing rigid straight behind her, earning every dime of his wages.
“I see that sharp tongue doesn’t end with me.” Mayson came to a stop entirely too close to Paige, completely invading her personal space on such a hot day. Cool day. Yes, it was cool. Mayson was the one who was hot. Fuck! “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Burton?”
Mayson let her gaze trickle casually over Paige’s face, stalling on her lips, before smoothing that rich inspection lower.
Paige could feel every mental touch, and she shifted to her other leg to ease the burn rolling between her thighs.
“I think we’re past the point of introductions.” Paige lifted her chin a little higher. “Call me Paige.”
Mayson’s smile deepened, curling up the edges of her lip and indenting a single dimple on her left cheek. “Paige.”
Paige shifted again as the burn between her thighs roared into an inferno. Her name sounded like an orgasm rolling off those lips. She’d never heard the syllable sound so erotic.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mayson was seriously hot as sin. Broad. Tall. Tanned. Sexy. And so fuckable. She didn’t remember this about her. The cool way she could outride Fredrick and his buddies on their bikes, yes. She’d been hell on that thing, tearing up the green lawn as if on a warpath. Funny that Paige couldn’t recall the tomboy in her back then. God, how she could see her now.
Paige hated that smile. She was furious with Mayson Montgomery. She’d made a fool out of her. Embarrassed her in front of those stupid rich kids, all for brownie points. She wanted to punch her. No. She wanted to gather all her strength through her back and shoulders, combine it into the palms of her hands, and then shove Mayson over the line of green bushes edging the driveway behind her. She wanted to see Mayson’s feet flailing in the air while her ass was slamming against the ground.
The image gave her a rush and she shifted again. Dammit. Why couldn’t she stand still?
Paige glanced over her shoulder simply to do something other than imagine those lips against her own and found the guard still staring at her. “What? Did you need to frisk me? Think I’m packin’ or something?”
Mayson chuckled. “Barry, I’m fine. You can return to your post.”
Paige turned back to Mayson and found she had stepped closer, the leash dangling like a promise from her fingertips. The boxer was prowling around the car.
“What can I help you with…Paige?” Mayson looped the leash around her wrists, and Paige forgot what she was there for.
Oh, yeah, to say she was sorry. What had she done? Oh, yes, implied that Mayson was an uneducated imbecile who could only multiply her weight in barbells. And something about mooching off her parents. Was that all? Oh, and that she owed her a fucking diary.
“I came to, say I was…to a…well, to talk about the park incident.” Oh hell no, she didn’t just stammer. She was a grown-ass woman, who was educated, who ran a clean nightclub. Did she seriously just act like a horny teenager?
Mayson’s grin widened, which only fueled Paige’s anger. “To apologize for being so rude to me?”
Did her dimple just sink deeper? Was that possible? How many women had she lured into her clutches with that charming indentation?
Had she always been this sexy? Paige couldn’t remember. What she did remember was feeling the cold water surround her and the embarrassment choke her. Worse, her diary, her little notebook of emotions, her daily prayers, was ruined. That silver spoon would never know what it was like to be abandoned. To not be wanted by her own mother. She was clueless to how it felt to not know who her fucking father was. She didn’t know what it was like to live with a sick grandmother, the only mother she ever knew, to watch her struggle every day.
This sexy bitch had ruined her privacy. She’d taken away Paige’s peaceful spot in the world, where she’d tuck herself away from all the others who didn’t accept her, and plead to God on every page to let her grandmother live long enough to see Paige walk across that stage, to hold her diploma, to prove to her grandmother that she’d done a damn good job where everyone else had failed. It was the only token of love she would ever be able to give to the woman who raised her.
Paige straightened her shoulders as cold anger ran down her body. “I don’t have anything to apologize for, Miss Montgomery. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here.” She shoved around Mayson and reached for the door handle.
Mayson tucked her arm around Paige’s waist and pulled her to a stop. “Hold up, fireball. Don’t go running off mad. Again.”
Paige backed out of Mayson’s strong hold, her pussy clenching like an erratic heartbeat. Heat burst between her thighs, and she swallowed hard. She seriously needed to get laid. Even if it had to be done on the tip of her vibrator. Mayson was too much. Too hot. Too fucking seductive even when she was clueless she was achieving that goal.
No. She was not too much or too hot or too seductive. She was the opposite of all of those things. She was a cold and uncaring bitch.
Paige squared her jaw. “I’m not running off mad. I’m simply running. Please get the hell out of my way.” She reached for the handle.
Mayson wrapped her hand around Paige’s wrist and tugged her to a stop. Even with the thin material of her shirt separating their flesh, the contact was electrifying. Holy shit. Paige was surprised to feel the strength of Mayson’s grip. Were all billionaires this toned? This strong? Was drafting and designing some kind of secret workout the rest of the population was unaware of?
Paige wondered what else she could do with those hands.
She mentally shook her head with the thought. Her hormones were whacked the hell out. She’d never had this kind of angry, please-fuck-me chemistry with anyone. She wanted to coldcock this bitch, then straddle her face. She wanted to spit on her, then come around her fingers.
She was twisted. Sam was right. She needed mental attention.
Did they allow vibrators in the nut house?
“Have dinner with me, Paige.”
Paige chuckled, mainly to hear something other than the blood rushing to her ears. “No.” She pulled out of Mayson’s firm grip and chuckled. The reaction was disturbing. “Now, if you would so kindly move out of my way, I have to get ready for my date.”
Mayson took a step toward Paige. Close enough that Paige could smell her musky sweat. Even her sweat didn’t stink. Figured that a billionaire couldn’t even stink like the rest of society. “Tomorrow, then? Dinner.”
Paige studied her. There was no indication that she was joking. “I can’t think of a single reason that having dinner with you would be a good idea.”
Mayson looked so serious. Seriously sexy. What would sex be like with her?
Fuck. She was doing it again. Thinking about sex. Sex that would turn out horribly bad. Paige could fall into a trap this deep very fast. The sex trap. Hadn’t she done it? Time and time again? Not to mention Mayson was rich. Like insanely rich.
People like Mayson thought that people like Paige could be bought.
Paige wasn’t for sale. No one could buy her. Ever. She’d never had a damn thing handed to her. Mayson had a family tree of money, rooting all the way back to great-grandparents. Their kind simply couldn’t mix.
Pai
ge cleared her throat. “Let’s just leave well enough alone, Mayson. Good night.”
A mischievous grin broke across Mayson’s lips as she reached for the door handle. She opened the car door and stepped back for Paige. “You’ll change your mind.”
Paige ignored her and dropped into the seat. Her job here was done. She’d said she was sorry. Actually, no she hadn’t. She’d thought about it. Did that count? She didn’t have to tell Sam it had turned into a catfight.
A catfight that had stirred her libido.
Now it was time to let a perfect stranger put out the flame. Again.
Chapter Seven
Paige paced outside the late-night ice cream parlor. Her nerves were a jumbled mess. She’d only been this horny once in her life. Here she was again, just as wet, just as ready, wondering what the night would hold, with yet another stranger. Praying her ending would hold an orgasm that didn’t involve porn and sex toys.
She needed unfamiliar hands taking her to climax. Wanted the feel of a hot mouth latched on to her, fingers driving to her core.
With a huff of heated frustration, Paige glanced up and down the sidewalk, positive her masked stranger was watching her. Probably from one of the alcoves between the buildings across the street. She stood a little taller and pondered if her outfit of choice was the right one.
Dark blue jeans rolled up to her calves, a pair of spiked pumps, and a loose shirt that dipped low on one shoulder. Her lucky Fedora completed the ensemble. Should she have worn something a little more accessible? Tonight was about the potential for sex, after all. If, when, she came in contact with her mystery woman, she didn’t want any obstacles in her way.
Shit. She should have worn a skirt. And no underwear.
Too late now. With her stomach tied in knots, Paige stepped into the cool, refreshing air of the ice cream shop.