by RG Alexander
She knew about his father. That, when he was alive, he’d made work a nightmare for any woman who caught his eye. That he’d had more mistresses than houses and hadn’t tried to hide any of them from his wife and son.
Dean’s personal life was constantly being held up for comparison. Did the apple fall far from the tree? Was he going to backslide into his wicked college habits? Would he ever marry—and if he did, would it last?
She hadn’t deserved his doubt, but objectively, she understood it.
Was that because of his apology?
Sara shivered, thinking again about the things he’d done with his tongue. It had been one hell of an apology.
Ping!
Another small rock hit the glass, making her jump. “What the hell?”
She lifted the window and leaned out, her legs bent as she carefully kept her bare breasts out of view. What she saw made her wonder if she was still dreaming.
“Are you awake?”
“Are you kidding?”
Dean smiled as if he weren’t standing a few feet away from her first floor apartment with three men in white chef coats holding silver trays. As if he weren’t out of uniform again, in jeans and a faded black t-shirt with Henry’s band logo stretched across his broad chest this time. “Good morning, Ms. Charles. It is morning now, right? I sent Roy home a few hours ago so he could get some sleep, but these guys were kind enough to give me a ride. Hungry?”
She ducked lower. “I’m not sure yet. I’m not even dressed yet. I don’t think you and I have the same definition of morning.” She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “And I don’t think there’s enough room in my apartment for a party.”
Sara turned back in time to see Dean’s smile change. He licked his lips. “This isn’t formal, Sara. No need to get dressed on my account. Not for the breakfast I have in mind. Anyway, they’re just here to set the table. This will be a party of two.”
She shook her head and started to close the window. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You should come in before my landlord sees you and notifies the Times.”
A look in the mirror above her dresser had her groaning. Her face was flushed but devoid of makeup and a wrinkle from her pillow had ironed its way onto her cheek. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and her hair was a bird’s nest. She started to put it in a bun then paused, thinking of what he’d said last night.
She settled for a loose, sloppy braid instead.
Racing into the tiny bathroom, she threw some water on her face and brushed her teeth, grabbing her bathrobe and wishing she had something sexier than purple and white floral print cotton.
He knocked and she took a calming breath before opening the door. It wouldn’t do to look too eager. “When I said breakfast, I didn’t mean you had to go to all this trouble. I was thinking coffee and maybe a croissant. An orange if I was feeling sassy.”
Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again as he studied her. “You are sassy. If I’d known how good you look in the morning, I wouldn’t have brought company.”
She held the front of her robe together and stepped back, allowing him and his entourage into her small one-bedroom apartment. “The kitchen’s right through…well you can see it, can’t you? Sorry about the tight fit.” She laughed.
One of the men smiled back and nodded and she asked his name. His eyes widened.
Dean came up behind her and placed his hand on her back. “These are my friend Franco’s sous-chefs, Sara. He’s militant when it comes to silence and discretion. They don’t usually talk to their patrons.”
She tilted her chin, but kept her smile in place. “I’m militant about not letting strangers in my kitchen.” She turned to the man again. “My name is Sara.”
“Javier,” the man offered solemnly. “I think you will be pleased you let us in after you taste what Franco has prepared for you.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she assured him, leaning against Dean’s warm hand, every inch of her aware of him.
He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Good morning, Sara.”
She turned, her hand lifting to his chest, unable to stop herself from touching him. If only to make sure he was real. “Good morning, Mr. Warren.”
“You have a cozy apartment.”
“I told you it was too small for a party, but thank you. I like it.” She did. It was about the size of a closet with a bedroom, but she didn’t need much space to make a home. She’d made her own coffee table out of an old door, and covered her secondhand couch in soft, sky-blue fabric, adding enough stuffing to the cushions to make it decadent. She was still hunting for the right bookshelves, so her books were in neat, decorative piles on the floor. It was cozy and the rent made it possible for her to add to her fun fund each month. “You haven’t even seen the bedroom.”
Sara knew the men were whirring around her kitchen, setting her small table and rifling through her silverware drawer…and she didn’t care. She was too focused on Dean, already aroused as she thought about everything they’d done. Everything she still wanted to do.
“Stop looking at me like that or I’m going to open that robe and have you for breakfast in front of Javier,” he murmured softly. “I’m too hungry to be teased.”
Her lips parted on a gasp. She could picture that too easily. Poor Javier and the men with him frozen by their training, forced to watch in silence as Dean laid her on the table and buried his tongue deep inside her until they were both completely satisfied and Franco’s meal was cold and forgotten.
His fingers traced the neckline of her robe, slipping beneath it to caress the slope of her breast. “Do you think I won’t do it? Believe I’m too civilized? Or are you daring me to try? Franco has entertainment at his restaurant that’s made these men difficult to shock, but I’m more than willing to take on the challenge. ”
Sara lowered her head, her heart racing and her curiosity getting the better of her. “What kind of entertainment?”
Dean removed his hand abruptly, swearing under his breath. “Tell Franco I owe him one,” he said to the men in a brusque, authoritative voice that gave her chills and they immediately stopped what they were doing, nodded and walked out of the kitchen.
Javier smiled at her again then disappeared, closing the door behind him. The instant it shut, Dean pulled her back into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as his wicked tongue scrambled her brains and made her thighs shake. His hand was already inside her robe, cupping her breast, thumb scraping across her nipple as his tongue sparred with hers.
She wasn’t prepared for this, already close to begging and he’d just started touching her. They would never have the conversation she wanted to at this rate.
Why did she care again?
“Dean,” she breathed as she pulled away from his lips. “Breakfast.”
“Yes,” he groaned. “I’m starving.”
He placed his hands under her arms and lifted her off her feet, carrying her to the table. With one leg he dragged out a chair, sitting in it and pulling Sara down to straddle his lap the way she had last night.
She’d at least been partially clothed then.
A deep sexy rumble came out of Dean’s chest as the robe splayed open above and below the knotted belt and he looked down at what was revealed. “Damn, you are gorgeous. Look at you. I can’t decide what I want first. These breasts I’ve been dreaming of or the honey between your thighs. I need a taste before breakfast, Sara,” he growled. “Only a snack. Say yes and I’ll tell you about the entertainment at Franco’s.”
She could get into so much trouble with this man. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes in relief and lowered his head to her breast, sucking and licking and nibbling her flesh while his palm flattened against her stomach and slid down. His fingers pushed past her damp curls and inside her sex, making her arch her back and groan.
“They do this at Franco’s?” She felt his mouth all the way
to her toes. And his touch was… “Lucky Javier.”
He lifted fingers glistening with her arousal and stroked her other breast, dampening her nipple until it hardened. Then he turned his head and covered it with his mouth, sucking roughly, greedily, his hoarse needy growls vibrating against her skin.
Sara whimpered. She was just as greedy. She wanted to finish what they’d started last night, what they’d started here as soon as they got their hands on each other. She was lowering her hands to his jeans when he lifted his head.
“Breakfast,” he ordered raggedly, lifting her off his lap and setting her in the chair beside him. “You said breakfast. And no, they don’t do that at Franco’s, but I don’t think I can tell you more just yet. I only have so much willpower, Sara.”
He served them from the silver trays, putting food on her plate and filling her glass with mimosas Javier had left in a glass pitcher on the table, and Sara couldn’t stop staring at him. Dean had more willpower than she did. The fact that he’d stopped was proof of that. She’d felt his erection, could see that his eyes were glittering with need and his movements were tense. Restrained. Why?
He was used to restraining himself, she answered her own question. Buttoned up in a suit with his nose to the company grindstone. She might have decided to take a vacation but Dean had the look of a man who needed one. Despite his wealth and status, despite the gossip about his conquests, she’d gotten a firsthand glimpse of all the bottled-up passion he was holding onto so tightly. She shivered, already knowing after last night and this morning what it would be like if he popped the cork.
Dean Warren needed the prescription she’d already given to herself—uncomplicated X-rated fun. And God knew she needed more of what he did to her. As much of it and as often as she could get it. She wanted to be the one to help him find his release. The thought was beyond tempting. Beyond arousing. And there were so many reasons why it was a bad idea.
Late last night she’d thought it was a brilliant plan, but she’d decided it wouldn’t work. The main sticking points were that they hardly knew each other and he might not agree. The first she could get around. The second she didn’t want to think about, which was why she had definitely decided not to bring it up.
The tic along his temple and his controlled movements made her change her mind again. “I’ve been thinking about skipping the tropical island for my month off.”
He paused as he was ladling some delicious-looking sauce over her eggs. “Oh?”
“Mmm-hmm. Of course, the other vacation option involves you, so I thought we should discuss it to see if you were interested before I made my final decision.” She glanced down at her plate. “Strawberries and cinnamon? How did you know?”
His hazel eyes remained focused on her intently. “Discuss what?”
“My new vacation plan,” she reminded him patiently, her heart pounding in her ears. “After my first Hummer experience last night, I realized there are several things I’ve never done before that I’d love to try a heck of a lot more than windsurfing.”
“What kind of things, Sara?” His voice had that sexy rasp she was starting to love.
“Sexual things.” She popped a strawberry into her mouth and groaned, feeling hopeful when he didn’t look away. “Fantasies. As in fulfilling them, preferably with an open-minded and energetic partner. You brought up the article that made me think of it, and you also mentioned you were good at deep tissue massage, so of course you were the first person that came to mind. Are you?” She swallowed again, reaching for her mimosa. “Interested?”
“Am I a man? Am I breathing?” he responded so quickly she smiled.
“Let’s find out.” She set her glass down again and shrugged off her robe so it pooled at her waist before reaching for another strawberry. Dean swore. Loudly. “Yes. You appear to be breathing in a very manly fashion.”
It was never a bad idea to promote your positive assets, her inner devil insisted. Put your best foot—or breast, in this case—forward before negotiations begin. “Let me tell you about my rules before you decide.”
Dean groaned, his attention firmly focused on her assets. “Rules? You want to talk to me about rules with that kind of distraction?”
“You’ll like them, I think.”
“I love them.”
“The rules, Mr. Warren,” she chided playfully. “For one month, instead of me vacationing on a sandy beach and downing umbrella drinks until I fall for the first Casanova in a Speedo with a good line, I stay here at home. We share our sexual fantasies with each other the way we did last night, no holding back, and we take turns making them a reality.”
He didn’t respond right away so she kept talking. “Before you start to worry about the fine print, I don’t want anything but your body.” She winced. “That came out wrong. I mean there’s no need for getting-to-know-you dates or wooing. I have no desire to go to any red carpet premieres, charity balls or fancy cocktail parties—unless you have a fantasy related to that. And, though it’s delicious, I don’t expect breakfast ala Franco every day, trips to Venice or diamonds. I’m more a pizza and beer at the park kind of girl. And when the month is over, I won’t even expect a thank-you card, so you don’t have to be concerned about unwelcome attachments.”
Sara had to admit to a certain amount of trepidation. He wanted her—after last night and this morning there was no way she could doubt it. It was a wonderful adrenaline rush, a dream come miraculously true, but did he want her enough to give her a whole month? What if her bold proposal sent him running in the opposite direction instead of seeing it the way she’d thought he might last night—like a welcome relief from constant expectations?
She had to try. She could always go to the Caribbean. How many opportunities did a girl have to live out every naughty daydream she’d ever had with the starring attraction himself?
“Just to be clear…” Dean lifted his coffee cup to his lips and took a drink before continuing, “You don’t want me to take you out or buy you things. You don’t want romance or commitment. You want to spend your fun-fund vacation fulfilling my every debauched, depraved fantasy, in between you using my body like your own personal ride at Warrenland. Have I got that right, Ms. Charles?”
She tried to hide her smile. “That about sums it up, Mr. Warren.”
“You’re doing it again you know.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Saying exactly what I want to hear,” he said softly, his gaze rising to her lips. “What are your limits?”
Her smiled disappeared. “What do you mean?”
Dean leaned back in his chair, breakfast forgotten. “I’ll give you a few examples. If my fantasy involved tying your wrists to my bed so I could enjoy your body without distraction, or taking you to one of those premiers you say we don’t have to go to and ordering you not to make a sound while I touched you in the dark. If I craved sex in public, having you ride me in the dark corner of a crowded nightclub, or taking you home and spanking your ass and pussy until you came, etcetera. Do you want to set limits? Are there things you have no desire to do?”
Sara bit her lip, feeling the air conditioning brush against her sensitive nipples. All of those sounded…
Exciting. Arousing. Forbidden.
She aimed for nonchalant, even though she was squirming in her seat a little impatiently. “We’ll add a rule that if either one of us has a fantasy we don’t want to fulfill, we can say no and move on to the next one.”
Dean grinned. “Don’t want to or can’t feasibly do without endangering ourselves. For example, I would say my first fantasy is that you go topless for every meal, but we’d both die of hunger and you’d never get any dessert.”
“Do you want me to cover up?”
“Now?” He lowered his gaze to her nipples again. “Don’t you dare. You’ve definitely aroused my interest. Your offer is generous and sounds too good to be true. Something I believe in as much as I do coincidence.”
She shook her head, not
trying to hide her disappointment as she reached for her robe. “That’s too bad. In my experience, occasionally those things can be better than you ever imagined.”
Dean’s hand shot out and stopped her from dragging the fabric over her shoulder. “I’m willing to test your theory. I accept. However, I do have one condition before I agree to your erotic vacation plan and we start sharing our secret desires.”
She held her breath. “What is it?”
“I need something from you.” He stood up and started to unbuckle his belt, watching her reaction carefully. “I haven’t been able to sleep or think about anything but getting inside you since our ride home last night. I can still taste you in my mouth. Still feel you. I don’t think I can start this project of ours until we deal with the problem at hand.”
That was his condition? All he wanted before he agreed to spend the month with her was…her?
She stood and her robe dropped unnoticed at her feet. “Deal.”
He moaned and reached for her, pulling her into his arms to kiss her. Sara unbuttoned his pants frantically, desperate to touch him. To feel his thick, hard—
“Fuck,” he rasped against her lips. “I wanted to take my time. I imagined it for hours—my tongue fucking that sweet pussy again and again until you were sobbing for more. I was coming up with ways to keep you naked for the rest of the weekend, and then you offer me this.” He lifted her up again, spinning them both around to press her back against the door. “Wrap your legs around me, Sara.”
She did, surprised and thrilled at how easily he controlled her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel this sexy. This powerful. He swore, shifting her in his grip as he searched his pocket and pulled out a condom, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth.
“Hang on,” he muttered as he rolled it on before gripping her thighs in his wide hands. “Hang on tight.”
Sara opened her mouth on a soundless moan when he started to fill her. Oh God, he felt good. Her body was stretching around his thick cock, welcoming him with a new flood of arousal as he thrust inside.