by Julia Kent
He, unlike Laura, would never have to worry about getting to work on time again. Man, even letting himself think like that made him queasy. It was a sick, sick way to become rich – losing your soulmate – and he was still so angry at something – God? Cancer? Fate? His own helplessness? – that he just wouldn’t quit the fire station, preferring to act like a working class slob because until two months ago, that’s exactly what, and who, he had been.
The masquerade of normalcy was important. Necessary. Especially now that he was dating Laura. Until he knew she cared for him as the old Dylan – before the trust fund – he needed to play it cool.
Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head, willing blood to flow into his biceps, triceps, popping his elbows and slowly stretching out his neck. His hips ached just a little, the good kind of ache from a nice, deep, intense session of lovemaking. He grinned, the smell of her still on his sheets, her soft skin nearly still there, brushing against his chest. Laura was soft and sweet and sighed like it was all some kind of dream, as if his touch were new. He’d been tender with her, but detected a little something extra, a naughty streak. He’d been right and reveled in the discovery.
If he texted her now would that be seen as too pushy? Too stalkerish?
Who cares.
Grabbing his phone, he dug out her number and texted: So you went home and all I got was this morning boner. ;)
Silence. Give it five minutes, Dylan, he told himself. Standing, he let the sunlight stream in through the window and wash over him, his naked form tight with need. A bottle of lotion and a nice hot shower could kill off his arousal. Even better, though, would be a date tonight.
Nothing. He knew it seemed way too desperate, but he looked up her number and dialed. No answer. Not even a voice mail message. That was supremely weird, because the only reason you couldn’t leave a voice mail on someone’s phone was if they blocked you.
Cold rushed through his body, his flesh covered with goosebumps in seconds. Blocked? Why would she block him? He took a really good look around the room and let himself inhale, then exhale, a few times. Centered, he thought carefully through the last twenty-four hours.
He had found her online. Asked her out. Scheduled a dinner at the hottest restaurant in town. Found her attractive and the feeling mutual. Made a move, invited her over, hand mind-blowing sex (which he wanted more of) and had fallen sleep spooned with her in his bed.
Waking up, he was alone. He texted her. He called her – and now it appeared she had blocked him.
Blocked?
That had to be a mistake. He called again. It rang twenty-eight times before he hung up. Where was Mike? Oh, that’s right – at his cabin. He had decided to clear out so Dylan could have alone time with Laura. Except now Dylan had tons of alone time – with himself. Not the kind of private time he was hoping for.
He popped on the computer and opened a chat window at the dating site. She wasn’t in his “Favorites” any more. Huh? He ran a search – no Laura Michaels. It was as if she had vanished.
Blocked?
***
Beep-beep-beep! She whammed her hand on the alarm button, but it was elusive; a little too far out of her grasp, but instead she whacked the heel of her hand on the corner of her end table and listened to her own yelp of protest.
“Damn it.” She opened her eyes, giving the machine a glare meant to melt circuits. 6:00 a.m. – time for work. Really? Had she really only gotten two and a half hours of sleep at best? Shit.
She stood up, forced herself to stretch and then wondered why she felt so sore, so sticky, so
Oh. Dylan’s tongue on her clit, lapping in circles as his finger slid in and out, her legs on his shoulders and – That’s why. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, letting emotion wash over her and just feeling it, knowing that blocking it, denying it, or pushing it aside would do her no good.
Let it be and it would fade. Force it away and she’d carry the pain forever.
What she had thought might have been just wasn’t meant to be, and she had to accept that. Too good to be true, really – the night was some sort of magical, very authentic encounter with a hot guy way out of her league.
But that was okay. It was okay. It was a new day and she reached for her smart phone, confirming the time and then seeing that she had about twenty-seven texts from Josie, and she’d have to answer those later. Josie would make her spill everything, tell all, and would congratulate her for refusing to accept second best.
Right now, though, Laura needed to wallow. And that, like so much else, was okay.
Her coffeemaker gurgled, the telltale signs that the cup was just about finished. She had forgotten that before the date she’d set it all up just like she always did, had come home from work and set up the coffee for the next day. Grateful, she sloshed the coffee into her mug and sat down, booting up her computer to check email, today like any other morning, although she knew deep inside it really wasn’t.
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.
Laura popped into her email, ignored a bunch of ads, found nothing of real value in there until suddenly she noticed that the online dating site had sent her a message. “You have a new request to chat.” Yep – boom, boom, boom, boom. A hugely full inbox.
She had 17 new requests to chat. Yeah, right – they wouldn’t be chat requests, but rather fuck requests. Thanks, guys, I’m all chatted out and my fuck request meter is broken.
She knew it was all right, deep down. That’s what she wanted – she wanted more of last night. The magic. The thrill. Being charmed and charming someone back. Falling into that special knowing and feeling warm and safe and excited all at once, the heady passion of the new.
The image of the pictures all over Dylan’s room filled her brain – that woman, his girlfriend, his wife, his whatever. He didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She had learned that within her second or third date after college. The married men always lied and they tended to be the slickest – and this guy was pretty slick. Laura took a deep breath and it almost tasted like he was in her, as if his scent had permeated her lungs, as if it coated her trachea, as if –
Inhale. Exhale. She breathed in, she breathed out – breathed in sadness, breathed out happiness, breathed in sorrow, breathed out joy. No matter how hard she tried, though, it wasn’t cutting it. Caffeine would have to do what meditation could not, no matter what her yoga teacher said about the evils of coffee. You can pry my caffeine from my cold, dead, outstretched hand.
She sucked down the cup of coffee, poured herself another and thought what the hell and clicked on one of those chat messages in email. Hmmm. Hey there, Mike, she thought to herself. Some guy named Mike wanted to meet or wanted to chat with her. Mike – let’s see, he’s 32, 6’5”, 180, okay he sounded like a runner. Online dating was devolving into ordering from a menu. Would you like fries with that?
There it was: “likes to run marathons and works at a ski resort.” Oh, dear – her idea of running was waving madly at the bus driver and sprinting when she was late for the morning bus, and skiing? Lodge. Hot toddy. Not snow.
Deleting his message would have been the easiest thing in the world, and her finger even hovered over the button, but something stopped her. If Josie had been there and asked, Laura couldn’t have explained it. She just…stopped. Clicking to his profile, she read up on him. He looked kind of like the opposite of Dylan. This guy had sandy blonde hair and Nordic features while Dylan was Italian and dark and swarthy. Mike looked long and lean with pictures of him riding a bike, shots of him crossing finish lines, and pictures of him camping.
Camping. She shuddered. Her idea of camping was no mint on the pillow. She wasn’t sure this was going to work. And then she read his little intro about himself:
“Hi, my name is Mike Pine, I am 32 years old. I am really new to this online dating thing. I am very active and athletic, work at a ski resort, I teach skiing and also work on the first aid team. In my spare time, I like to run and camp and bike, an
d I’m looking for friendship or more, whatever and would like to chat with other people who are interested in the same thing – ”
Beep-blip! A little chat window popped up and Laura splashed coffee on her hand in surprise at the unexpected sound. “Ow!” she shouted, grabbing a kitchen towel and shaking it out. “What the hell!?” She peered at the now lit-up screen, a familiar chat window open in the right lower-hand corner.
“Oh, geez,” she sputtered, her words echoing through her empty apartment. Somehow he had figured out she was online, ‘cause this was a chat from Marathon Mike himself.
Hi, there. Are you on right now?
Oh, God, she still had the smell of Dylan on her and now she had some new guy coming after her? What a slut she was. She thought about that for a second. The word slut didn’t really apply to her, ever. It was more that she was trying on new behaviors. Let’s try this one on for size, she thought.
I’m just drinking my coffee and getting ready for work and I logged in and saw your message, so hi!
Oh, good morning! Yeah, I’m not really functional without two or three cups of coffee myself.
He added a little grin icon.
Hmph… yeah who isn’t, she thought.
Laura chugged the rest of her mug’s contents and typed, one-handed,
So I see you’re, like, Mr. Triathlon and ski dude, and my idea of exercise is walking across the room to get the remote.
He wrote back several lines at once:
lolol, yeah don’t be afraid, we could just go for a hike if you want.
Oh, I think I just asked you out.
Yeah I did.
?
“Oh, man,” she muttered. She stared at the glowing screen, dumbfounded, her empty coffee mug dangling precariously off her right index finger as she absorbed this. What was this? Did she hit the good-looking guy lottery? Out of the blue, she just – oh, she had just totally ditched Dylan in his bed last night, and now she had some guy who looked like a lankier version of the actor who played Thor hitting on her, but deep inside she decided she was trying on this new act, and she would just go for it.
Just go for it, Laura. What can it hurt? A swell of physical memory from last night made her warm between her legs, made her skin flush with the recall of Dylan’s hands. She wanted more. And if she couldn’t have more of him, she might as well have some of Mike.
A hike, yeah, I’d like that. That sounds really cool.
And she breathed in opportunity, and breathed out rejection, breathed in despondence, and exhaled chance.
Chance favors the prepared. Laura was more than ready.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
About the Author
Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates! Or sign up for my email Mailing List!
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
She loves to hear from her readers by email at [email protected], on Twitter @jkentauthor, and on Facebook. Visit my blog at http://jkentauthor.blogspot.com
Also check out my author page!
If you liked this book, check out the whole story!
Her Billionaires (Boxed Set)
COULD SHE REALLY FIND THE RIGHT GUY ON THE INTERNET?
“Hot, luscious woman who can suck a golf ball through forty feet of garden hose seeks rippling-ab’d firefighter who has a tongue that thrums like a hummingbird and enjoys painting my toenails and eating Ben & Jerry’s out of the carton while watching Orange is the New Black.”
Curvy business analyst Laura Michaels stared at the online dating site’s registration screen and frowned. That’s what she really wanted to write. By the time her best friend, Josie, edited and clicked “Send,” her personals ad was more fantasy than reality.
OR WOULD SHE GET MORE THAN SHE BARGAINED FOR?
When two different guys — Dylan Stanwyck and Mike Pine — replied within two days, she seemed doubly blessed. After a first date with model-turned-firefighter Dylan that ended in bed — and with a huge misunderstanding — Laura came home from her Walk of Shame to an invitation for a hike with ski instructor Mike. The Great Outdoors became the setting for so much more…
Caught between two men — literally — who turned out to be roommates and secret billionaires, Laura makes a startling discovery about her own capacity for passion.
And, maybe, long-term love in an unconventional romance with two men that pushes every boundary.
Including her own.
THE WOMAN OF THE BILLIONAIRE’S DREAMS
By Krista Lakes
Tracy sighed to herself. Another month had passed, and another month she was stuck here, doing this crummy job. She looked at her surroundings. In a fancy restaurant like this, a waitress should be making at least minimum wage. If not for the tips, she’d probably go under.
A couple of years into medical school, she had recently failed out after working a few late shifts too many and failing an important exam. Now she was stuck with a gigantic student loan bill. Just the thought of how long it would be before she could claw her way out of that debt was enough to bring her to tears sometimes.
She sighed again while wiping the spilled wine off of a table where one of her rich patrons had got drunk and spilled half the $200 bottle of wine all over himself and the floozy he had brought to dinner. Only a couple years older than Tracy, Paul Hayes ran his own company, and was rumored to soon be one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires.
Everyone knew about him, the way he loved to throw around money, the way he had to be in control. He insisted every time he came in that Tracy be his waitress, and why not? She was the smartest and most competent waitress in the whole restaurant, not to mention one of the prettiest. He had often hinted, sometimes quite strongly, that she could be one of his floozies if she wanted to be, but Tracy always smiled and easily managed to stop his advances. It’s not that she couldn’t do it, she thought to herself.
She had often looked at her body in the mirror and wondered how she continued to be blessed with such a fit physique even with her infrequent trips to the gym. She still had the tight legs she had had since high school, and though she had filled out a little, she was still quite pleased with how she looked. Her breasts were a B cup but pushed together nicely to give her cleavage when she wanted it, even though they were covered completely by her waitress outfit. Her ass was nice and round, filling out every pair of jeans or skirt that she wore, especially when she wore heels.
No, it wasn’t her body that made her hesitate. It’s that she had no idea what Mr. Hayes wanted. She knew that if she slept with him and didn’t give him exactly what he wanted, he would be done with her and probably this restaurant as well. He was a real good looking guy who kept himself in great shape, with broad shoulders and a nice chest, but he was also her biggest tipper and she couldn’t afford to trade the short term high life for the long-term tip dollars that he could offer. It was a pragmatic decision which sometimes disgusted her, but she knew that everyone works for someone else, and that she was no different than anyone else who made these types of decisions.
The thing he wanted had to be something that none of these girls would give him, since he was with a different girl almost every time he came in, but it was surely nothing that Tracy could offer him. She was prettier than average, sure, but nowhere near as hot as some of the girls he came in with. If she got a little more desperate for money, though, then perhaps…
She put the thought out of her mind, and finished closing down the restaurant. As she waved goodbye to her coworkers, she again lost herself in ideas about how to make money. Maybe she could start her own restaurant…
In a moment, her life changed forever. A drunk driver came around a corner and lost control, driving onto the sidewalk. Tracy jumped but her head hit the car’s windshield and she tumbled over the top of the car. She lost consciousness just after she hit the sidewalk, and the driver never even slowed down to see if she was okay.
***
Tracy awoke a few hours later. Her whole body ached and she was pretty much immobile from all the wires and the IV in her, but otherwise she felt like nothing was broken. A nurse was in the room with her, and soon a doctor came to visit her. A few scrapes, many bruises, and a few stitches in her forehead, but nothing major. The doctor said it was practically a miracle, that she seriously had a guardian angel watching out for her. Tracy might have believed that if she wasn’t already thinking about how much this was going to cost her without insurance. Just one more thing, she thought.
She returned home that very evening, refusing to spend a night in the hospital bed that would have just cost more money. She wondered how she would ever fall asleep with as much pain as she was in, but as the taxi dropped her off, she realized she could barely keep her eyes open. Must have been that pain medication they gave me, she thought. She managed to get inside and lock the door before stumbling to her bedroom and falling into bed. Instantly asleep, she dreamed strange dreams for a while, but eventually fell into a deep slumber.
***
Tracy called in sick, or rather injured, to work the next day, but she knew she couldn’t take much time off work. She agreed to come back in on Friday and Saturday night to make up for it, and knew she’d be doing that an awful lot over the next few months. Kiss my life goodbye, she thought to herself. Friday night she rousted herself out of bed, took some pain medication, and made it to her waitress job only fifteen minutes late.
The manager, while mostly an uncaring prick, let it slide this one time, making it clear he thought he was doing her a huge favor. A great way to start the night, she thought. She was mostly slow and stiff doing her job, but she could do it. The three days she had taken off ended up being a life saver. All of her bruises were gone, and the stitches had already dissolved, leaving a small scar that ran from the edge of her right eyebrow to the middle of her forehead. It wasn’t too noticeable, and in fact she thought it looked kind of cool. She had thrown a little blush on to mask it, but otherwise didn’t think it hurt her appearance whatsoever. She was a little slow serving each of her first customers, but soon she was back into the swing of things, with just a little creak of pain here and there.