IOU Sex

by Calista Fox

  “Wow.” That was all Jane could say, and I didn’t blame her.

  For several moments, I was completely dazed, the wind knocked out of me. She had some nerve, that little sister of mine.

  When I recovered somewhat from the blow, I handed over the package that contained the invitation to the engagement party, a photo of the happy couple and the RSVP card and envelope.

  “Trash.”

  Jane nodded as she took the odious materials and promptly left my office with them in hand. She was a good enough friend to not drop the invitation in my own trash bin, instead taking it far, far away from me.

  My gaze fell to the phone again. I really and truly wanted to call my mother and tell her I couldn’t make it tomorrow. What sane person would put herself through this? I’d been humiliated and devastated by my sister’s deception and my fiancé’s betrayal. But for the past year, I’d played the role of the bigger, better person. Rising above the mortification and pain to face my family with my head held high. Yet, it was definitely sagging right now.

  Tears stung my eyes. I’d never asked my sister or my fiancé how they could do something so deceitful, how they could hurt me the way they had. Instead, I’d said if Lizzie was who Seth wanted to be with, it was good we all discovered the truth before my wedding. I’d taken the high road. Pretended the entire debacle didn’t wreck me. Then I’d pushed it out of my mind, trying to imagine it’d never happened.

  I couldn’t deny it any longer, though. Nor could I keep the anger from returning full force.

  Brushing away the tears that streamed down my flushed cheeks, I stood and collected my purse and laptop. The Glenlivet was in the top drawer of my credenza. I added it to my laptop tote before slinging the strap over my shoulder. I grabbed the garment bag hanging on the back of my office door and headed out.

  The best revenge would be to go to that stupid engagement party looking as hot as I possibly could, my arm linked with someone more successful and definitely more gorgeous than Seth. Michael would fawn over me, playing it up because he knew all the sordid details too. I’d carry on the facade and appear to be unaffected by Lizzie and Seth’s impending nuptials. I wouldn’t let them, or anyone else, know how badly they’d hurt me.

  Stepping into the elevator, I caught the pained expression in my green eyes. The reflection in the shiny doors would have to be remedied. I couldn’t show up looking emotionally bruised and battered.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin a notch.

  You can do this.

  I prayed the mental pep talk worked.

  Arriving at the loft on the outskirts of North Beach, bribe in hand, I rang the bell and nervously tapped the toe of one pointy-tipped black leather shoe on the sidewalk. I heard Michael bound down the flight of polished wood stairs moments before the door swung open.

  “Hey, babe,” he said with a melt-my-heart-grin. My stomach did that crazy fluttering thing again.

  “Hey, yourself.” I’d always liked the term of endearment he used with me, though I’d never asked him if he called every former lover babe.

  As he stepped aside, I entered the foyer. Setting my laptop bag on the table next to the coatrack, where I hung my dress, I retrieved the Scotch and handed it over.

  “This is a little excessive for a favor,” he said as he eyed the label on the wooden box that contained the whisky.

  “Wait ‘til I tell you what I need from you before you say that.”

  One dark brow lifted. “If it’s photographing the opening of another fetish club, you can forget it. I now draw the line at snapping shots of men in studded collars and bare-butt leather shorts.”

  I laughed. “This is San Francisco. A very diverse city with very diverse tastes.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said with a snicker as he helped me out of my overcoat, “I have a ‘diverse’ enough portfolio, thank you very much.”

  “So narrow-minded,” I teased as I preceded him up the stairs to his loft.

  “Please. You were blushing from head to toe the entire night. In fact, I’m shocked you even took on the job.”

  “I’ve only been in business for a year. I can’t afford to be selective yet.”

  He crossed the vast living room to the wet bar. A fire crackled in the middle of one brown brick wall and jazz music flowed from hidden speakers. The exposed beams overhead added to the open and spacious feeling of the loft. In the center of the living room was a large bronze-colored leather sofa flanked by matching loveseats.

  I sank into the sofa facing the fire and kicked my shoes off. There was a chill in the early autumn air, so I tucked my feet under me on the cushion and reached for the cream-colored chenille throw draped over the arm of the couch. I covered my bare legs with it as he poured Scotch for himself and then opened a bottle of Chardonnay for me.

  “Want more flame?” he asked as he joined me.

  “No, it’s fine. I should have worn pants today. Little nippy out there.”

  He eyed the flash of bare thigh not covered by the blanket. “The skirt puts me in a more generous mood.” He wagged both brows at me.

  “No flirting,” I warned. It was bad enough that one look at him made my nipples tighten and my insides sizzle. He truly was a handsome devil, with chiseled cheeks, a strong jawline, straight white teeth and mesmerizing azure eyes. I didn’t need him adding more fuel to the fire with his suggestive comments.

  Nearly a year had passed since I’d last had sex, and I’d been feeling nature’s call of late. This weakened my resistance. Michael’s charm and stunning good looks quickly did a number on me, making me a little breathless and a lot restless. My instant reaction to him hardly supported my resolve to stay out of his bed.

  He took a sip of whisky then said, “I can’t help flirting with you. I’ve missed you.”

  Subconsciously I’d already known that, which served as another hit to my determination to keep this a friendly, not sexual, visit. But I couldn’t dismiss the fact that his calls from the road, while he was on assignment, had become more frequent over the past couple of months.

  “I’ve missed you too,” I admitted. Dinner or drinks once a week when he was in town had almost become the extent of my social life since I was working most of the time.

  He studied me for a moment, his gaze slowly roving my body. His eyes lingered on my breasts, concealed behind a silver, satin button-down blouse tucked into my black skirt. He moved onto my bent legs and added, “Why don’t you curl up over here with me? I’ll warm you up.”

  “Michael.”

  “Fiona.”

  The battle of wills ensued once more.

  “I’m not here for anything more than a drink and to ask my favor.”

  “Let me unbutton your blouse, and you can have whatever you want.”

  A little prickle of desire along my clit made it damn hard to resist giving him whatever he wanted. Though he wasn’t dressed in black leather pants and a T-shirt as I’d envisioned when we were on the phone, he still looked unbelievably sexy in a pair of faded Levi’s and a white, button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his biceps, revealing the strong muscles of his arms. His hands were large, the fingers long and blunt tipped. I knew just how they felt on my skin and in my pussy, the memory making me bite back a moan.

  I couldn’t help but think of how incredible it felt to make love with him. The images of numerous torrid nights spent together were vivid in my mind, even close to a year later. Of course, I fantasized about him enough to keep the mental pictures fresh.

  Diverting my gaze so it didn’t land on his too-handsome-for-words face and those extremely kissable lips, I reached for the glass he’d set on the coffee table in front of us. I took a sip, hoping the chilled wine would cool my blazing insides. I even had to push the throw off my legs because I was burning up.

  Christ Almighty, the man was ridiculously gorgeous and evoked the most carnal sensations deep within me. Lust was not something I felt o
n a regular basis, but when I was with Michael, I couldn’t escape it. I had naughty desires in spades!

  When I turned back to him, one corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin.

  He said, “Feeling a little hot and bothered, babe?”

  “Do you call every woman that?” I countered, purposely ignoring his question.

  He didn’t call me on my cowardice. Instead, he gave a slight shake of his head and answered my query. “Just you.”

  I didn’t know if I believed him or not. He was, after all, as famous for his sexual exploits as he was his photos. His most recent conquest had been a lingerie model. At least, that’s what I’d read in last month’s tabloids. Thinking of this prompted me to ask another direct question. “Still with Lena Kensington?”

  Another shake of his head. “Not for the past couple weeks. I wouldn’t be coming on to you tonight if I were. I know better than that.”

  I had to give him points for being so astute. He knew my boundaries.

  We’d been good friends when I was engaged to Seth. He and Jane were the only people who knew how truly heartbroken I’d been when I’d found out about the affair. I’d confided in Michael because he was easy to talk to, and he’d been genuinely concerned about me. I trusted him with my secret pain, though not my heart. Once bitten, yadda yadda.

  “I’m not the one-night stand type,” I reminded him. “You’re not into commitment. I guess that resolves the sex issue. As in, we’re not getting it on tonight or any other night.”

  Oddly, I felt disappointment over that statement. But I had to stick to my guns.

  He seemed to contemplate my words for a moment before setting aside his drink and scooting closer to me. He took my wine glass and put it next to his on the coffee table.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded, my sudden panic echoing in the cavernous room.

  “Relax,” he said as he draped an arm along the back of the sofa. His fingertips grazed my shoulder, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the light touch. I could feel the heat from his skin and smell the faint scent of Hugo Boss, the cologne I’d given him on his last birthday. All of which made my body hum with a curious energy that was downright electrifying.

  He moved in closer, and I felt the alarm rise within me.

  Danger, Danger!

  I had the feeling he wasn’t taking no for an answer tonight. Feared he just might finally sway me to say yes. I was treading in very murky waters with no life preserver in sight. Was it possible I didn’t want one?

  Oh, Fiona, Fiona.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  He grinned down at me, giving me a look that said he knew exactly what I wanted. “Go ahead. Ask me your favor.”

  Chapter Three

  I stared at him. His sky-blue eyes mesmerized me as they glowed softly from the flickering light of the fire. The snazzy jazz tunes created a sexy mood. The fingers sweeping over my shoulder and brushing against my neck served as soldiers of seduction, entrancing me and drawing me further into a sexual haze I couldn’t escape.

  I could barely breathe as his gaze remained locked with mine, heat and passion swirling in his azure irises. My breasts felt a little heavier with my own desire. My nipples were impossibly hard and in need of his touch. I ached for him to reach over and unbutton my blouse. Unfasten my bra and palm my breasts before sucking on my nipples.

  How my wanting him had gotten so out of control so quickly was beyond me. Or perhaps it had something to do with knowing firsthand how thoroughly he could pleasure me. He’d scratch that itch, all right. And then some.

  “Michael,” I said in a voice that did not sound like my own. It was much too sultry and provocative to belong to such a sensible woman. Nor did it hold the protest I meant to make. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Let’s keep this on a friendly basis.”

  “I can be very friendly,” he said as he moved in for the kill. His lips hovered over mine, and I couldn’t rally the strength to move away. “Tell me you want me. The rest will work itself out.”

  Was I really that transparent? Had he known when I’d called that I was in need of more than just a favor from him? Did men like Michael Houston have a sixth sense when it came to secretly horny women?

  Likely.

  Oh, boy. Now I knew I was in way over my head.

  “This really isn’t the direction I wanted this conversation—or this visit—to go.” I was pleased with my determination to regain some control. Too bad my still-sultry voice undermined my words.

  He grinned again. He was so close to me, I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. He smelled of expensive Scotch, the cologne I loved and pure male heat. An intoxicating combination that made my mind reel and my pussy ache.

  His lips brushed over mine. A whisper of a kiss. A hint of wicked things to come. It made my stomach flip and my pulse race. My eyelids suddenly felt heavy and lowered slightly of their own accord.

  “Michael,” I said on a soft, shallow breath.

  “Yes, Fiona?” His low tone matched mine.

  The fire snapped and popped like my insides. The sizzling sensation between my legs was almost unbearable. I knew he could provide the relief I needed, and I found myself wanting to ask him to do just that. Hell, I was almost ready to beg for it. The words were there, on the tip of my tongue.

  As he leaned forward that last inch, so that my breasts pressed to his hard chest, I was nearly a goner. The arm along the back of the sofa now draped over my shoulder, holding me to him. His other hand rested on my bare thigh, right at the hem of my short skirt.

  “You make me hard,” he said, filling the silence I’d left because my train of thought had derailed. “Just by looking at you and thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”

  I swallowed down a moan. How easily he swept me away. When his lips grazed mine again, my eyelids made their final descent, closing as my mouth opened. His tongue delved deep to tangle with mine. I reached a hand up and twined my fingers through his thick, silky hair. My other hand slid around to his back.

  I let him kiss me the way he had the first night we’d gotten together. It was hot and demanding. A purposeful kiss that conveyed how much he wanted me. Impossible to miss.

  When I finally dragged my mouth away, he groaned.

  “I want to be inside you,” he said as he dropped featherlight kisses along my neck.

  My fingers were still in his hair, my breasts still pressed to his chest. My head fell back as he continued to tease the skin on my throat with his lips and tongue.

  I let out a sigh. One of want and need. One of obvious frustration.

  Oh, if only I could say to hell with my good girl ways and be bad with him. Right now. For one night. But I knew that come morning, I’d regret having to leave his bed. I’d want more. I always did when it came to him. Thankfully, he’d given me quite a lot when we’d gotten together in the past. He’d wanted me night after night.

  By the third week, I’d realized I’d held his attention longer than any other woman I’d known of, and that’s when the panic had set in. I’d instantly started to doubt my ability to keep him satisfied much longer and had begun obsessing over when, exactly, he’d start cheating on me. I’d had to end it before he did, or before he slipped. My fragile ego—thanks to The Lying, Cheating Bastard and my sister—couldn’t take another beating.

  These memories were like throwing water on a fire. I moved away from Michael. Unfolded my legs and stood. I grabbed my glass and took several sips of wine as I put both physical and emotional distance between us.

  He scowled at me. “Running away? Really, babe?”

  “Yes. And maybe you shouldn’t call me that. We’re just friends.”

  “Are we?” he challenged. A legitimate question, but one I didn’t dwell on.

  “Yes. Go be bad with someone else. My heart can’t take it.”

  His scowl vanished. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

  “Not on purpose, no. But let’s face it, you’re…into wo
men. A lot of them. Whereas I’m…in need of focusing on my career. Building my business.”

  A hollow laugh from him told me what a crock he thought that excuse was. An easy scapegoat I’d created for myself. “You’re terrified to date. I get that.”

  “We’re not talking about dating. We’re talking about sex. And I just can’t have it one time with you and not feel used.”

  He stood as well and pushed a hand through his hair in apparent frustration. “You’re the one who believes it’ll just be a one-time thing. What if I want more than that? What if I want to try a relationship with you again? Only this time, you don’t get to step out of it simply because you’re afraid I’ll cheat on you.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. My mouth even gaped. Not only did he stun me into silence with his talk of a relationship—this from Michael Houston?—but he also shocked me by calling me out.

  I’d been perfectly honest with him come week three, when I’d explained I couldn’t continue to sleep with him because I was too fearful of winding up in the same boat as I had with Seth. Walking in on him and another woman would be the death of me, for sure. Knowing that had alarmed me back then—it alarmed me still. It meant, true to his point, he was more to me than just a friend.

  But again, that was dangerous territory to navigate.

  “Look,” I said as I crossed to the wet bar and poured more wine for myself. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you tonight, but all I want is for you to attend a party with me tomorrow. In Napa. Three o’clock.”

  He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You realize you’re the one who’s always putting a wedge between us, not the other way around?”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Are you available for the party or not?”

  “Depends. First, answer my question.”

  “Michael.”

  He didn’t let me off the hook. “You claim I’m the one with the fear of commitment. Maybe it’s the other way around. With good cause, I’ll admit,” he was quick to say. “After Seth, and also knowing my track record with women.”