by Alisha Rai
Glasses clinking on the bar behind him prompted him into turning around. He pulled out cash for the pinot noir and whiskey and thanked the bartender.
“No problem. Sorry for the wait. Always know it’s a good show when people rush the bar later in the evening.”
“It is a good show.” He hoped so. If Tatiana was fretting this much without knowing the sales, he feared she might be despondent if she didn’t do well. That would, of course, make all the attendees blithering idiots. He might be biased, but though everything Tatiana made was stunning, she had outdone herself with the pieces she had crafted over the course of the past year.
You’re my inspiration, she’d murmured against his ear last week. He would have chalked that up to cooing nonsense, had he not been testing a prototype for her at the time, running a string of pearls between her legs.
Such a clever girl.
“Hello there.” The husky female voice came from his right.
He sipped his whiskey and glanced over to find the woman who had been speaking to Tatiana. “Hello.”
She held out a hand. “Akira Mori.”
The name rang a distant bell. Her hand was slender, but there was nothing delicate about her firm grip. “Wyatt Caine.”
“I’m aware.” She tilted her head. “I’m a friend of Tatiana’s.”
Tatiana might have mentioned someone named Akira a time or two, but Wyatt couldn’t quite recall what those conversations had revolved around. “Good. She could use more friends here.” Here, in the room, as well as in Vegas.
He was a fan of anything that made Tatiana feel at home in this city. Persuading her to even consider living with him had been a herculean task. He was a bit of a loner, but she needed friends to be happy.
“I didn’t realize she was dating you. It’s a surprise.”
“Is it?”
“I’ve heard of you. You don’t seem like her type,” she said frankly.
He raised an eyebrow. Who did this blunt stranger think she was? “We’ve known each other a long time. I suppose Tatiana would know best what her type is.”
“She’s lovely.”
“She is.”
“Unexpected.”
“Unexpected?”
“She looks like she’d be a simple woman, but she has so many layers.” The woman’s black eyes were cold, merciless. “I don’t have many friends. I like to ensure the ones I have are taken care of.”
This was the most bizarre conversation he had ever taken part in. Was this woman warning him? In that case, he should probably tell her that Tatiana’s family had made pointing out his inferiority an art form. He was well aware she was a prize. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mori, but I really need to…” He trailed off. “Wait. Mori? Are you related to—?”
“Yes.”
“Your father is—”
“Yes.”
“That makes you—”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Akira Mori. I’ve been to one of your clubs.”
“Good. You have excellent taste.”
No wonder this was weird. He had heard Akira Mori was blunt to the point of being rude, and more than a little eccentric. He scanned his mental databank on the woman, stiffening when he recalled the context in which Tatiana had spoken of her. “You and Tatiana are close?”
Akira picked up the wine he had ordered for Tatiana and took a large gulp. “As close as I am to anyone.”
“I’ve heard about your parties.”
Her lips curled. “Most people have.”
Wyatt worked his jaw. “Tatiana will not be attending any in the near future.”
A delicate sneer crossed her face, freezing when he calmly continued. “Not without me.”
She stilled. “Oh really?”
“Yes.” He knew Tatiana was too passionate to have been celibate during their years apart, but whatever she had done then was her business.
What she did now was his business.
Akira studied him, her fingers tapping the glass. “You’re okay with that, then?”
Tatiana would enjoy herself, little exhibitionist that she was. Lately, his entire life was consumed with pleasing her. Giving her pleasure through sex? Easy. It was whether he was pleasing her in other ways that kept him guessing. Was he making the same mistakes he’d made before? Was she happy? He had tried to mesh their lives together while respecting her world, but he’d had to fly back numerous times during the one month they’d spent in San Francisco. Each time, he’d wondered if she’d still be waiting for him when he returned.
Or would she realize, like everyone else had always known, that she could do so much better? Yes. Sex was easy. It was all these other details that made him feel like he was trying to hold water in his hands. “I want whatever Tatiana wants.”
Akira watched him. “The gossip mill is pretty quiet about you.”
“Is it?”
“Except that you’re a cold bastard.”
“That’s deserved.” He was a cold bastard. Except when he was with Tatiana.
He scanned the small space. With his height, he was able to spot her amongst the sea of other attendees. Her honey-blonde hair was gathered on top of her head in a sexy, haphazard manner that looked like it was one pin away from tumbling down her back. Her tight, curvy body was poured into that simple white dress. The dress, under which she wore no panties. His fingers itched with the desire to wreck her.
She was talking to the gallery manager. Her eye roll was so subtle, if he hadn’t been watching her, he would have missed it. His woman was bored. Probably hungry, too, since nerves and fear her dress wouldn’t fit had kept her from eating before the show.
She shifted, and Wyatt glanced at her three-inch heels. Silly fuck-me shoes that provided little arch support. Her feet were paining her.
Tatiana gave a strained smile and nodded. The light glinted on the chain around her neck.
His eyes narrowed. The necklace was new, a delicate gold braid that was looped around her neck once. There was no closure on this necklace, as there were on most. Both emerald-tipped ends were left to dangle, though she had slipped them inside her bodice.
He focused on her chest, but the material of her dress was too thick to see the chain. Best guess? Those emeralds were snug against her nipples right now. Teasing was what they were designed for, after all.
Bad girl.
A reckless urge rose within him. He couldn’t do anything about her shoes or her belly, but he could play the good arm candy. Boredom and stress were foes he was always up for vanquishing. It probably wasn’t the sanest idea, but sanity and rational thought generally fled when faced with the chance to play with Tatiana.
“You don’t look cold.” Akira leaned close to him, until he could feel her breath against his cheek. “You don’t look cold at all.”
Over a year ago, he might have been tempted by this strange, uninhibited, beautiful woman. But that was before Tatiana had stormed back into his life.
He glanced at Akira. “Excuse me.” He turned back to the bar, pulled out a pen, and quickly scribbled a note on a napkin. He folded it up and snagged a passing waiter. “Can you ensure that the woman…right there…in white gets this?”
The man nodded and accepted the napkin.
Akira waited for the waiter to walk away before speaking. “Funny. I can’t see Tatiana’s teeth from all the way over here. How do you know something’s stuck between them?”
Wyatt twitched his tie into place before smoothing it. Of course she had read over his shoulder. He’d be annoyed if he didn’t feel like she was some odd kindred spirit. And if he didn’t have to attend to his woman in the most delightful way. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” he said formally. “If you don’t mind, I need to find the restroom.”
A flash of amused mischief lit her eyes, replacing the icy speculation. “My, Caine. People have you pegged wrong, don’t they?”
“I try not to get pegged at all.”
“Hmmm.”
She shook her head. “You people and your layers. Take my word for it, it’s so much easier to be shallow and one-dimensional, you know?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He eyed her. “And I don’t think you do either.”
She merely smiled. He had only taken three steps when she spoke again. “FYI. The ladies’ room is in the opposite direction.”
Chapter Two
Tatiana bared her teeth in the mirror. What the hell had Wyatt been talking about? She’d made a horrified excuse upon reading the napkin the server had delivered and fled to the bathroom, but her teeth were perfectly fine.
The door opened, and she blinked at the man who entered. “Wyatt?”
He ignored her and walked into the ladies’ room, big and dark and far too masculine for the ivory marble and rose-gold fixtures. He pushed open both empty stalls and then came for her.
“Wyatt, what the hell are you doing in the—mmph.”
He sank his hand into her hair and yanked her close, taking her lips in a hungry kiss. It was rough and forceful, his teeth biting, his tongue rubbing against hers.
One hand slid down her back and grabbed her ass, kneading the flesh. She ripped her mouth away, breathing heavy. “Wyatt, this is the ladies’ room.”
“I don’t care.” Denied, he drew his mouth down her throat, latching on to the patch of skin at the hollow and sucking it between his teeth, hard enough that she knew she’d have a mark tomorrow.
Normally she sneered when a grown man left a hickey on a woman. Such an adolescent thing to do. However, Wyatt had never left marks in visible places when they were teens, for fear her parents would see.
She kind of loved it on the rare occasion he did it now. It was a sign of his lack of control. A sign of their mutual lack of consideration for whether the world saw his possession of her body.
“I know you don’t care.” Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head when he sucked harder. “I don’t think the women who have been drinking wine all night will be so blasé. Alcohol’s a diuretic,” she babbled.
He licked and kissed his way down her chest, where her dress made the most of her small assets. “Need this.” He scraped his teeth over the slope of her breast, and she jumped.
“Wyatt. I’m working.”
“You need this.” He raised his head until his gaze locked with hers. Those black eyes were glittering feverishly, almost glazed over. “Say the word. Or we fuck here. Now.”
The word. Their safe word, which thus far she had used exactly once, during a bout of overly energetic sex that had resulted in a leg cramp.
So she knew what the word meant. The word meant he would stop on a dime and let her return to the regular world, no questions asked, no hard feelings, no crankiness. She could walk out the door and rejoin the people milling around outside and commence worrying about her career and her life’s work.
Or…
Her stomach clenched, her nerves morphing into a dark excitement. “It’s wrong.”
His hand slid down her hip, wrinkling the pristine fabric. “So it’s perfect.”
“Wyatt…”
He passed his hand over her leg and pushed the skirt of her dress up. The silk slithered over her leg until his palm met bare thigh. “Hot damn. I love your body.” His hand squeezed her thigh, as if testing it for jiggle.
“I’ve gained weight since I started living with you, you know,” she admonished.
“Not at all.”
The man had made it his goal in life to get her to eat whatever it was he deemed a sufficient quantity of food. Once she'd accused him of trying to fatten her up so he could eat her.
He'd thrown her on the bed. And eaten her. “I have,” she insisted.
“But I give you such a workout.”
Those so-called workouts left her too satisfied to roll out of bed and make it to the gym. All she wanted to do was lie around and eat chocolates. So she did. And the scale went up. “Cardio only.”
“Maybe for you. Holding you down while I fuck you is killer strength training.”
“I should hold you down while I fuck you next time.”
He stroked his hand up her leg, his fingertips finding the lips of her pussy, the thick digits catching the hairs there. “Good luck with that.”
She pushed her hips the slightest bit forward. “We shouldn’t.”
“Mmm.” His finger flirted with her pussy. “You don’t sound sure about that.” Wyatt’s words were absent, his eyes on his hand between her legs. “Spread those thighs for me.”
Against her better judgment, she obeyed. His middle finger sank inside her.
She choked out a laugh. “Casanova. I feel like we’re back in that old Honda of yours and you’re wooing me into giving you what you want.”
“I did some fine work in that Honda.”
“But only with me,” she said archly. He had been a senior when they met, and she knew he’d had girlfriends before her, but they’d mutually picked each other’s cherries.
“Of course. You inspire me.” His lips teased hers, the delicate touch a sharp contrast to the thick finger buried unmoving inside her pussy. He liked to kiss like this, bare brushes of his lips against hers, not because he wasn’t eager to taste her, but because he liked it more when her hunger eclipsed his and she forced a deeper touch.
He’d started like this the first time in the backseat of his Civic, though then it hadn’t been deliberate, but a sign of his nerves and uncertainty. He'd leaned in a bit, and she'd cradled his cheeks and brought him closer, both of them clumsy and filled with hormones, nervous someone would discover them parked on the side of the road.
She’d slipped her tongue inside his mouth, and he’d grown bolder, drawing his hands up from her waist, palms brushing the sides of her breasts. It had taken multiple make-out sessions before she could convince him deepening that illicit touch was okay.
He was comfortable reading her silent cues now. That was one of the best things about Wyatt—they might play he was the greedy barbarian, but at the end of the day, it was always about what she wanted. What she needed.
All she ever needed was a man like him.
She sank her fingers into the hair at his nape, which was too freshly cut to get a good grip on. She scraped her nails over the skin there and brought him closer, pressing her tongue inside his mouth, the first aggressor.
With her silent permission, the rein he kept on his control broke. He thrust once with his finger before pulling it away, leaving her open and empty. One big hand wrapped around her throat to tilt her head, angling it. He bit her bottom lip as he drew away, scraping the flesh and soothing it with rough licks when she whimpered.
“You taste like champagne and strawberries,” he rasped. He licked his lips. “And maybe some of those bacon-wrapped scallops.”
She snorted a laugh. Only Wyatt could make her laugh when he was fingering her. “Not as romantic.”
“If you want romantic, you came to the wrong man.”
Another lie. The man was a romantic down to his bones, though he concealed that mushiness well.
He must have seen the smirk on her face, because he scowled. “I am not romantic.”
“Okay,” she soothed.
“Stop using that tone. Like you're humoring me.”
She made her eyes very big. “Okay. I'll stop humoring you.”
An adorable growl ripped from his throat. “Would a romantic man bang you in a bathroom?”
He would if he knew her. Romance was a subjective thing.
Wyatt left her to unbuckle his belt and unbutton and unzip his pants. His dick looked thick and delicious when he pulled it out, engorged and curved. The tip flared wide. She knew what that cock felt like in her mouth, her pussy, her ass, and she’d never be able to get enough.
She swallowed, not surprised that he had her salivating. Oh man. She loved his cock.
If only she could hide her appreciation. Arrogance coated his every word. “Change your mind?”
She pouted. “I can
control myself.”
“Liar.” He stepped closer and worked her snug skirt up farther. He pushed her legs wider, until the tip of his cock brushed against the hair on her mound. “You’re panting for it.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. There was no maybe about it, as he would find out when he discovered her rapidly dampening pussy.
He guided his cock so the flared head pressed against her clit and rubbed it there in a small circular motion that had her moaning. “You’re right, Tatiana. Maybe we should stop. Someone will miss you soon. Maybe come looking for you.”
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. “They could.”
“That would be terrible for business.” He brushed the back of his hand over her nipple, silk and emeralds rasping against the engorged tip.
“It would.”
“So what’s your decision?” He teased her by sliding his cock between her pussy lips, the wet glide forcing her up on her toes to seek a deeper connection.
She struggled for the space of one second. She had made the rounds and mingled, and the crowd tonight was accustomed to eccentric artists. If she disappeared for fifteen minutes, no one would remark upon it. “Make it quick. And don’t mess me up.”
He wrapped his big hands around her waist and lifted her. The room spun in a dizzying circle before her back was pressed against the door. “Done.”
“Oh my God.”
He sank inside, letting her weight and gravity do its job. Her head dropped back, but his hand on her neck prevented her from rapping her head against the door.
And it kept her hair from getting mussed. Talented, this man.
He sucked her earlobe before worrying it between his teeth. “Good?”
“Damn it, Wyatt. We could have waited.” She pressed her hips forward, seeking more of him, but he held her too tightly for her to find satisfaction.
“Even a second would have been too long.”
He pulled almost all the way out before shoving deep, not giving her a chance to get accustomed to his size. She was wet, but not enough to make it easy for him. He had to work to get her to accept him, and he was up for the challenge, twisting his hips to get her to take more of him.