by Kira Blakely
“Shit… for real? How did I not know that?”
He quirked a brow. “Other things kept you busy?”
Shawna snorted out a laugh and for some stupid reason he found it adorable. “Yeah, right! I never even slept with him. I was going to actually, until I found him in bed with Skank and Skankier bouncing on him like a carnival ride. I definitely dodged a round of antibiotics with him.” Her smile was gorgeous but missed her eyes. She raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What would I have to do to get this help of yours?”
Gage smiled, leaning in closer until he could smell the sweet scent of her cinnamon breath. “I need it to look like I have a girlfriend I’m getting serious about, which is why you need to move in with me.”
Her emerald eyes darkened to an enchanting forest green but she scoffed anyway. “Ah, because everyone knows you don’t take your conquests back to your precious palace.”
“Exactly. In return, you’d be under my protection, and I have a lot more juice than Walter Worthington,” he promised in a suggestive voice. “I also need you to keep the gold diggers at bay.”
She frowned. “But I thought that was your thing.”
“What?” Gage didn’t think he liked where she was heading, but as usual, she was oblivious to the effect she had on him.
“Using your money and your good looks to get any girl you want to do anything you want.” She spoke so bluntly it was impossible to get upset.
But the more he thought about it, he was kind of offended. “That’s really what you think?”
She shrugged. “I do have eyes and ears, Gage, and you have slept with every cocktail waitress we’ve ever had, other than me.” She rolled her eyes. “So how long would you need me to do this if I were to agree?”
He smiled, because he had her. At least, he was pretty sure he did, but this was the tricky part, so Gage fixed on his most charming smile, the one that had landed a princess and a mayor in his bed. At the same time. “At least one year or as long as it takes to repair my reputation.” He had a meeting coming up with Steve Wilde, who was reluctant to sell to Gage because of his reputation as a party boy.
“What? No, that’s impossible. No one will believe that you’d go out with me for a full year. Hell, anyone really, but definitely not me.”
Was she blind or did she really believe that nonsense? He’d wanted Shawna since the moment she’d walked onto the floor in those tiny white shorts that hugged her curves and drew his attention to those thick thighs he knew it would be heaven to slide between. But she didn’t need to know any of that. That’s how women worked; give them the upper hand and they would use it to get everything they could from you. No, Gage always had the upper hand, so he schooled his expression. “I’ll expect an answer by the end of the week.”
She stood and glared at him. “So, you want an answer on Friday? As in two days from now? Fine,” she said, turning and leaving before he could even respond.
Chapter Three
Shawna felt like crap when she woke up on Friday. She hadn’t slept well after Gage dropped that one-year bomb on her, floating through a long shift like a zombie and finally dropping dead on her bed sometime after midnight. She got up fully prepared to turn down Gage’s proposition, because living with him was ridiculous. It would only lead to trouble. Hot, sexy trouble and that was just the type of trouble she was looking to avoid.
She hopped in the shower, hoping that the hot hard spray would wake her up and maybe knock some sense into her, but by the time she got dressed, she was still tired and without an answer for Gage. “At least I still have my health,” she sarcastically told her reflection.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, because she refused to wear her uniform outside the casino, Shawna stepped outside and found a giant orange sticker on her apartment door. “Double damn!” An eviction notice caught her attention, and she groaned.
This was the problem with month-to-month leases. They allowed you the freedom to get up and go at a moment’s notice, but that also meant she could be kicked out with just thirty days’ notice. And for no reason, dammit. She went to speak with the apartment manager and was stunned to find out he’d been told she’d been turning tricks out of her apartment. To her stunned amazement, nothing she said could convince him otherwise.
On her way back to her apartment, she caught a glimpse of Pearce’s familiar figure leaning against an equally familiar red Mercedes SLR in the parking lot. “Shit!” Damn you, Pearce! Everything suddenly made sense. Stomping back inside her apartment and slamming the door, she called the bar manager to let him know she wouldn’t be in today. “I’m sorry, but I have to deal with this right away. If you can’t find someone to cover for me, I can probably make it in later.” He grunted an answer, and she smashed the ‘end’ button before tossing the phone on the sofa.
Missing the tip money on a Friday would hurt her bank account, but the sooner she got out of this place the harder it would be for Fuck Face to find her. Getting him out of her life was a top priority, second only to finding a new place to live. On short notice.
She groaned when the phone rang again, diving on the sofa and grunting an answer. “Yeah?”
“I hope you didn’t think calling off work today would get you out of giving me an answer.”
Gage. “Of course, I didn’t, but contrary to what you seem to think, not everything in this world revolves around you and your enormous ego! I was prepared to text you a big fat no until I found this stupid eviction notice on my door. Oh, and a slimy ex-boyfriend with a gloating smirk outside my door, you jerk!” She kicked her door in frustration, crying out as the pain reverberated up her leg. He was silent for a moment. “Oh, now you have nothing to s—”
“Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”
“You don’t even know where I… live,” she said, even though he’d already disconnected the call. “Whatever,” she groused, unwilling to worry herself over Gage and his nonsense.
She marched to her room and dug inside the back of her closet in search of the boxes she was now glad she’d kept. It was a habit leftover from childhood, as was quickly packing up the essentials when her mom’s latest boyfriend stole away with the rent money and they needed to be gone by morning. Oh, the memories, she thought bitterly and went in search of packing tape.
She refused to cry and instead focused on taping all the boxes before packing up the kitchen cabinets. I hate this crappy apartment anyway. That much was true, but it was also cheap and close to work and campus, which was why she dealt with spotty plumbing and the grease-ball manager who always talked to her boobs.
“Ow!” That’s what I get for not paying attention. She stared at her now-bleeding thumb, completely oblivious to the door opening behind her.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She turned at Gage’s deep hypnotic voice and swallowed around a lump of sawdust in her throat. He looked sexy as hell in those thigh-hugging jeans and a t-shirt with the Revolution logo emblazoned on one ridiculously sculpted pec. “Yeah, I am. You didn’t have to come.”
Don’t cry. Absolutely do not cry. The last person she wanted to fall apart in front of was Gage.
“Of course, I did.” He flashed that grin that made women go stupid. Speechless. Dumbstruck. “My girlfriend is being evicted, which sucks, but now it will be easy to convince her to move in with me. Where she belongs.” He flashed his best loving boyfriend smile and moved in for a hug.
Shawna couldn’t help it, she laughed.
“That was almost believable, Gage.” She appreciated the effort, even if there was no audience to see his performance. “Except I know that you’ve only come to gloat.” Keeping her tears where they belonged—inside her head—she released a shaky emotional breath.
His frown only made his rugged features more handsome. “Actually, I came to help and to give that douche a show.” Winking, he pulled her into his arms in the open doorway. She peeked over his shoulder to see that, yep, Pearce was scowling up at them. “Seriously though, are
you all right?”
Shawna let her arms wrap around his hard, narrow waist, enjoying the feel of his masculine warmth for just a minute. Only a minute. “I will be.” Eventually.
His blond brows rose in surprise, blue eyes scanning the boxes already assembled. “You already started packing?”
“Yep. I figured the quicker I was gone, the sooner Pearce would be out of my life.” Plus, she didn’t want to stay where one phone call could make her homeless when she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I tried calling the manager, but he made it clear he didn’t want ‘my kind’ polluting the place.”
Gage stared at her, obviously not understanding what she was saying. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means Pearce led him to believe I was selling myself and using this apartment to do business.” Talk about humiliating, telling all this to her billionaire boss.
He frowned again, darker this time. “My place will guarantee that jackass keeps his distance. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to deal with me. Pack a bag and let’s get out of here.”
“You may be my fake live-in boyfriend, Gage, but you are not the boss of me.” Pulling herself from his grasp, she smacked his hard stomach when he laughed. “I need to pack.”
“No, you don’t. Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He marched past her, leaving his masculine scent swirling around in her head and making her think crazy thoughts. “It’s a good thing you’re tiny, because this place is a shoebox,” he called from the back of the apartment.
“Well, it’s affordable and convenient, not that you’d know about that. What do you think you’re doing?” She stopped in the doorway, watching him throw her bras and panties into a small suitcase.
He stood and stared at her like she was the one who’d lost her mind. “Packing. Do you have a bathing suit in here?”
Finally, her brain started working again and she hip bumped him. “I am perfectly capable of packing my own bags, thank you very much. And why would I need a bathing suit when all I do is work and go to class?” She snatched a green thong that hung from his fingers. “Pervert.” She suppressed a smile because really, the man didn’t need any encouragement.
“Aw, honey, you say the sweetest things.” He batted his long, thick nearly-white eyelashes in her direction, which she refused to respond to. He was so damn potent she couldn’t ignore him if she wanted to, which she didn’t. But she needed to, dammit. If I bottled him up and sold it, I’d be a billionaire, too. He moved too close. Smelled too damn good. “Pack this,” he barked before he handed over several dresses.
“Stop telling me what to do!” Shawna knew she sounded like a brat, but the man had a knack for just taking over, whether his help was wanted or not.
“You’re extra hot when you’re feisty, Shawna.” Those blue eyes took a slow trip down her body before crawling back up, his look so heavy she felt it like an erotic caress.
She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out except a long low growl.
He laughed with that smirk that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Hurry up,” he told her, smacking her ass as he walked by.
Shawna squeaked at the feel of his big hand on her ass, telling herself it was an unwelcome touch. It didn’t feel good, and she definitely wasn’t turned on. Much. I won’t need a year shacked up with him, because I’m pretty sure I’ll kill him long before then.
In no time at all, they had three bags packed and Gage was ready to go, at least if his anxious pacing was any indication. “You can go, Gage, if you have someplace else to be. I can—”
“Take care of yourself, I know,” he growled, sending her a dark look she couldn’t decipher. “I’ll hire movers to come in and pack everything up and take everything to my house. Except the furniture,” he added casually.
“Too ugly for your place?” She was being a snot for no reason, but this was hard for her. Relying on someone else when she’d spent her entire life making sure she didn’t need to rely on anyone. When that person was a billionaire playboy, it was damn near impossible.
“No,” he sighed, seeming annoyed by her question. “I figured you’d want to keep it for later, so they’ll take it to my storage facility.”
“Oh.” Yeah, I’m an ass. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you, Gage.”
“Yeah, that’s me, a real fucking peach.”
She tossed her head back and laughed at his grumpy demeanor. “There are worse things to be, Peaches.” She laughed again when his scowl darkened. “Come on, nice guy. Your secret is safe with me.” She pulled him outside and locked the door. “He still there?”
“Yep. Come here.” Gage’s voice was low, deep and thick with something that sounded a lot like desire. She opened her mouth to question him, again, but he cut her off with a hungry kiss that stole her breath. His tongue slicked against her lips, first the bottom and then the top before sliding inside.
This shouldn’t be happening. At least according to her mind, but her hands held on to his large firm biceps, her hips pressed against his denim-clad ones. Her mouth acted like a hussy, opening and letting him inside to explore, torture, and tease until she moaned in response. One hand settled in her hair while the other slid over her shoulder and down her back until it cupped her ass and pulled her against where he was hard—and very large—against her. Shawna pulled back, because self-preservation demanded she do so. Sucking in a deep breath, her heated gaze met his midnight-blue eyes. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” he agreed and stomped off, wearing a dark scowl.
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Sample
One Hot Daddy
*Amazon Top 15 Best-seller, 4.5 stars, 300 reviews!*
I want to shove her against the wall and fuck the innocence right out of her.
There’s just one problem.
She interns for my company and we have a no fraternizing policy.
As a single dad, I don’t have time to get wrapped up in scandal.
This is going to be… hard!
Imagine my shock, ok, desire, when I stumble upon her in the elevator where I live and find out she’s just moved in.
I’m screwed!
I can’t take it anymore. Her firm breasts, peeking out beneath her business suit. Her bright smile, greeting me, making me hard the minute she looks at me.
It’s too much!
This is so wrong. And WTF was I thinking making a no-fraternizing policy?
Well, we know which head will win this battle. I’ve been wearing the good guy hat too long.
Fuck being Mr. Nice Guy. Nice guys finish last.
I’m going back to the old me. I’ll show her what a real man is like.
I’m going to finish again, and again.
Chapter 1
Charlotte shuffled up the front steps of the downtown Manhattan office building wearing black, pointed shoes. She held her head high, her chin sure and firm, her eyes glazed with false confidence. After moving to New York City just a week before from her small, sleepy town in Ohio, she was beginning her first “adult” gig as an intern at Mad Music Magazine—MMM—a writing gig she’d coveted since she was a girl. Peeking at her figure in the side mirror of the building’s foyer, she inspected her taut, tight waist, her firm, rounded breasts, and her long, swirling brunette hair. If she hadn’t chosen to write about bands and music, she would have been welcomed as a groupie, unquestionably. But she felt herself to be too intelligent for that.
The rest of the interns were huddled, quivering, in the far corner of the MMM offices, wearing similar black business jackets and standing unsteadily in heels. Redheads, blondes, a few quirky gay guys wearing dark, thick glasses, all stood like deer in headlights, peering up at the woman who’d hired Charlotte. Maggie. The intern-organizer. The woman who’d half-bragged about her outrageous party days in her twenties, when she hadn’t thought for a moment about taking a job in any office like this. Not until Quentin McDonnell took over as editor, of
course. That’s when Maggie had known the magazine was going to take a turn. That’s when she knew the street cred would shine. Of course, Quentin wasn’t who he was when Maggie had first known him. He was grown up. Older. Responsible. No longer the rock star he’d been before he’d become editor.
Quentin McDonnell had been editor of MMM for the previous two years and had virtually revamped the magazine, giving it back to musicians and artists, moving away from supporting top-tier labels and other “moneymakers.”
“Man, fuck those guys,” Quentin had been quoted as saying, ten years before. And he’d stuck by this statement, obviously.
Charlotte slipped in line beside a redhead named Pamela, gripping her notebook tightly against her breasts. Maggie took attendance with sharp jolts of her pen across a white sheet of paper, her eyes piercing across the top of their heads. Charlotte leaned quickly, rabbit-like, toward Pam.
“Have you seen him yet?” Charlotte asked.
Pam shook her head lightly, not allowing her eyes to sway from Maggie’s gaze. “Haven’t spotted him. Think he’s in his office. Had a meeting with a band this morning. The Morning Stars.”
“Shit. They’re huge,” Charlotte murmured, impressed. “Of course, he collaborated with them, back in the early ‘00s. Must be how he knows them.”
“Right,” Pam said, her eyes dancing, as if she were pretending to know this.
Charlotte had been studying Quentin McDonnell for several years, since she’d been a ragtag teenager and constant listener to his grunge rock band, Orpheus Arise. Back then, he’d been a drug-addled sex-addict, with long, black, scraggly hair, taut muscles, and wild, black eyes. He’d had those kissable, pink lips, hidden there against his dark black beard. He’d been anxious, destructive, dominant, going through every model, female rock star, and actress throughout the ‘00s. Charlotte had followed his every move, becoming a kind of fan girl, obsessing over his hot body and his clearly tormented mind.