Mogul

by Katy Evans

  Shivers dance up my spine, and I bite back a groan as I close my eyes, dizzy from both the wine and him.

  He frowns as he peers down at my profile. “Are you drunk?” He eyes me as if determining something important.

  “No. I promise. I just had a lot to drink and very little to eat.” I answer casually, but I wonder why it matters. “Why?” I demand.

  “I want you with all five senses.” His voice is rich and thick and lulling.

  “For the record, I’ve got six, and they’re all working on all five cylinders. And don’t assume just because it’s been an enjoyable evening that you’re getting any yet.” I scowl. “I’m easy with you, but I like to keep the mystery, so don’t think I’ll always be easy.”

  “Trust me. I’m not counting my blessings just yet.” He’s laughing at me with his eyes, letting me stand on my own two feet.

  I turn around and my toes curl over the smoldering look in his eyes. At first, when he sent the tickets, I sort of thought he just wanted to go out for us to get to know each other. I wasn’t sure he intended to get sexual tonight. But now I’m nearly sure I read him wrong. Or maybe told the safer side of Sara that nothing would go down even when my inner slut has been wanting this from the start.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted to sleep with me tonight,” I ramble. “I wasn’t getting that vibe when you invited me here.”

  He kisses me—hard, possessive, his hand engulfing my face as he does. “You feel that vibe now?” he asks, thick and low.

  I gulp.

  He smiles at me, that easy, gorgeous smile that warms every cell in my body.

  He lowers his head and whispers, in my ear, “Good. Stay the night then.”

  I shiver and face him. God help me. I really like him. Like, really like him. He’s kind to his grandmother, smart, hardworking, and a little too proud, but I like even that about him. He’s sweet to Milly, and the way a guy is with dogs tells you a lot about him. He’s also great in bed, and he got me tickets to Broadway. And let me dance for him, something I’ve always secretly fantasized my partner would like. I do want to stay. But I’m afraid of expecting too much, too fast, from a man who’s undergoing something as life-altering as a divorce.

  “I can stay for sex. We should try to be real about this and about what you can offer until you’re free to decide if you want more, and then I’ll decide if I want more.”

  For a second, Ian says nothing. But his gaze intensifies like a storm in the night.

  For another second, he lowers his head and takes my mouth with his again. As if he’s had a little Sara Davies hangover himself.

  He envelops me in his arms. The guy is hard all over: arms, chest, hands, jaw.

  I feel so hot inside my palms are perspiring as Ian eases back and runs his eyes along my features, as if absorbing my reaction to his kiss.

  And it was good.

  His kisses are always so good.

  I lick my lips, nervous, hungry.

  Damn him, I already miss his taste on my tongue. His lips on my lips.

  “Don’t look so impatient. I’m barely getting started with you.” He smiles down at me, and my stomach flips warmly as he scoops me up. “I know why you’re waffling on me, Sara.” He’s carrying me to the mattress. And the whole world is spinning and I don’t ever want him to set me down. “You’re scared, and that’s all right. I didn’t expect this either. Not now. Not anytime in the future. I’m scared of the same things you are. Are you planning to hurt me?”

  “No,” I gasp. “Of course not,” I say as he sets me down on the bed.

  “Good. I’m not planning to hurt you, either.”

  He pulls back, nostrils flaring, eyes hot as he secures my chin and tips my head back. “I know I’m in the middle of a divorce, and I know that’s not fair to you. I’ll be patient, Sara.”

  I’m so surprised by this admission, I feel myself gape. “I… thank you.” I sit up in bed, licking my lips and tasting him on them. “But I don’t know if it’s worse that you take your time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s confusing me.”

  He laughs, then sobers up and studies me. “You’re confused because you’re drunk, baby.”

  I shake my head, but he settles beside me and presses me back against his chest and holds me against his heartbeat, one hand on the back of my head, cradling me. “No. I’m confused because I don’t know what you want from me,” I say.

  “The same thing you do, Sara.”

  “What is that? It’d be nice if you told me because I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head and feeling a little dizzy again. He chuckles softly and raises himself from the bed. I groan as he leaves but feel swamped with relief when he comes back with a protein bar and a bottle of water for me.

  “It’s all I’ve got for now.”

  “I’m not hungry for that. I’m hungry for you, motherfucker.”

  He sets it aside and gets back in bed, pulling me against him with a chuckle that rumbles deeply up his chest.

  “Cordelia and I haven’t been together for a year and a half. It’s over. I have a right to start over, don’t I, baby?” he croons in my ear, tipping my head back so our eyes meet again.

  “Yes.” Of course he does. Everyone does. Especially after what he’s been through. “You do, Ian, you so do.”

  “Good you agree. Because you’re the only thing that’s made me want to start over—from the very beginning.”

  “Really?” I gasp, disbelieving.

  Ian smiles silently, a toe-curling warmth appearing in his eyes as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Ahh, Sara,” he part murmurs, part groans. “Looks like we’ll only be sleeping tonight, baby. Only because you’re drunk—and I do want you with all five senses when I’m inside you again.”

  Gulp.

  That sounds like a promise.

  A very exciting promise.

  I relax in his arms and shift on the mattress with all my clothes on. We have no blankets, just his arms around me and my arms greedily around his waist.

  He whispers in my ear, “First thing I’m getting tomorrow is sheets, satin ones. You deserve to get fucked on the best, don’t you, peanut?”

  “I’m going to let you dream about it, but that’s no guarantee that I’m coming back soon except for more of that wine.” I feign hard-to-get-ness simply because if things end up working out with this guy, which would be a miracle (but hey, I’m trying to believe), then I want to have a story to tell our kids where I’m not a complete slut in it.

  His chuckle rumbles under my ear. “I’m still getting the sheets.”

  I nod and press a little closer because he feels better than any sheet, and who would have thought I’d ever get to curl up with my Suit like this? He looks so handsome I could eat him up and lick the whole damn spoon.

  “Good night, Sara.”

  I stop smiling and force myself to stop the room from spinning, grabbing onto him as an anchor. “Good night, Ian.” My voice softens, and then suddenly for a tiny moment, I want to cry. I’ve always been such a sad drunk, all emotional and whiney.

  Right now I don’t want to whine, though. I feel… grateful. I don’t know if it’s to him, for making me feel so alive, so hot, and so interesting, or to the universe, for giving me hope that maybe love will find a way, after all.

  Not that I love him. No. Hey, I barely know the guy.

  But there’s an odd little tug in my heart whenever I’m close to him, and I’m excited to figure out what it’s all about.

  Sara

  I wake up disconcerted for a second until I peer through my eyelids to see him. He’s still in his suit. His lashes rest against his cheekbones. His arm is around me as I spoon his side. This is really nice, I realize. I should go home, but I don’t want to. I want this guy, even though there’s a dull thudding in my head. I can’t believe a guy who’s real flesh and blood—not an image on a movie screen, or in a magazine or book—can make me want like this.

  I hea
r him shift and turn his face to rest his chin on the top of my head. He inhales and exhales with a soft groan before easing his arm out from under me and stepping into the bathroom.

  I hear the soft close of the bathroom door and the sound of the shower turn on.

  I smile perversely knowing he’s probably taking care of himself in there, or at least turning the faucet to cold. He was hard against my stomach most of the night and I delighted in pushing closer to him. I love that he wants me like this.

  I drift in and out of sleep, and the next time my eyes pop open he is standing before me, in all his damp glory, his chest glistening wet, his dark hair slicked back, and a towel around his hips. My perverse smile fades. Now the joke’s on me. I ache all over, from my breasts to way down between my legs. My heart a little bit, too.

  He’s gorgeous, yes, but he’s more than that. He let me dance for him and appeared to love it. He took me on my dream date to a show. He is kind to his grandmother and her dog. He’s a hard worker. I even admire the fact that he’s not making false promises just to get me in bed. I respect that. I respect him.

  I sit up in bed groggily and push my hair from my face. “I hope you made the shower water very cold, Ford.”

  “I hope you will remember how many hours you tortured me with that pretty little bum when I adjust our accounts.”

  I laugh and lower my gaze to admire the rest of him. God, he’s even got great feet. His calves are muscular and strong, dusted with fine hair. The muscles all over his body are chiseled and hard like a granite sculpture. His abs are at my eye level as he plays with his phone.

  “I’m ordering us breakfast. What’ll you have?”

  “Breakfast in bed? For me?” I grin. When he only smiles and drags his eyes along my form on his bed, I add, “Just coffee.”

  “Two espressos,” he says, typing up the order.

  “No. No espresso. I can’t take espresso in the morning. It makes my stomach hurt. Just a regular with almond milk and a stevia packet. Please.”

  He smiles and clicks to complete the order, then heads to the closet to get dressed.

  “Your head hurt?” He drops the towel and slides into his boxers and slacks, and I blink at the sight of his muscular ass before he covers it.

  “No,” I answer, meeting his gaze as he turns. “Does yours?” I let my eyes linger down to where his dick is covered.

  He tsks and shakes his head as he grabs a clean shirt from the closet and starts buttoning it up, his gaze once again greedy as he drinks me in. “Get your lovely ass out of bed. I’ll get you something for that hangover.”

  When he steps out of the closet, I sigh and lie back. I slept pretty well considering he was my only sheet.

  I force myself out of bed and head to his bathroom to freshen up before I meet him down in the kitchen.

  “I used your toothbrush; is that okay?” I wince apologetically. “I don’t know if you’re the sort of guy who gets upset if…”

  “I wasn’t sure either.” He frowns as he considers his response. “No. It doesn’t upset me.” We spot the deliveryman by the window. “My wife got upset if I shared hers,” he adds before opening the front door, grabbing the bag and the coffee carrier and bringing them back to the kitchen.

  He hands me two Excedrin, grabs one of the coffees, and slides it down the counter toward me.

  I take it and blow off the steam. “I had a good time last night. Thanks for being a gentleman. I’m on three senses now, so we can talk,” I say, guzzling down the two pills.

  He chuckles and takes a sip of coffee as I boost myself up on the counter. He walks up to me and I instinctively part my legs to make room for him. He’s hotter than the scalding coffee.

  Our eyes lock, hold. “So you think you’d like to do this again?” He sets his coffee aside and meets my gaze. “We can take things slowly.” He watches me as he speaks, and I smirk happily. “You turn me on, Sara. Get me going.”

  “I know,” I whisper saucily, trying to hide my excitement.

  He continues, somber, eyes intent. “I have no feelings for my ex-wife, but I do need to legally wrap things up. Let’s have a period of fun with no commitments. Just so you know, I’m not dating anyone else. I’m enjoying my time with you. Let’s see where this takes us. What do you think?”

  I’m flustered, and impressed, but trying to hide it as I tease him sardonically. “Did you practice that?”

  “Maybe.” He sasses me back, taking my coffee from my grip and setting it aside. He gentles his voice.

  “I asked you a question, Sara.”

  I meet his gaze. “I’ll think about it.” I speak softly. “I never planned to get involved with someone who’s in the middle of a divorce. I need to be sure about what I’m getting into.”

  “We can keep it casual. It’s best for both of us.” He tips my face up to look at him.

  I smile and reach out to set my hand on his shoulder, the muscle tight under my palm. His entire frame tightens. His eyes darken.

  I’m chasing my breaths when we look at each other’s lips.

  He moves me closer.

  He tilts my face back and draws it to his, and when a gasp leaves my lips, he bends his head and takes it, that gasp, that moan, tasting his toothpaste on my mouth.

  “Think about it fast. We’ve been waiting long enough to test this out. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

  He looks intent as he eases back and I lick my lips. A sigh escapes me as I slide my hands behind his neck and raise my face for more. “Yummy motherfucker, what are you doing to me?” I breathe as he grabs the back of my head and takes the mouth I offer.

  Sara

  Did I dream the hot kisses Ian gave me this morning? Did I dream his townhouse? Sleeping on a bare mattress on the floor? With my Suit wearing… well, practically, his suit?

  I didn’t dream it. I lick my lips and that taste is definitely Ian. I sniff my clothes on the train ride to the House of Sass offices and that smell is Ian’s cologne.

  Ian is all over me except on the one part that still aches for him. My sex.

  Oh well.

  Maybe he doesn’t know for sure that I’m interested. Maybe he believes that it was the wine talking last night. And oh yes, the wine talked quite a bit. I have a headache to prove it. But it wasn’t the wine—it was me talking. I wanted him. I still do.

  But this is a guy going through some very intense legal proceedings, and having my parents just go through a horrible breakup, I’m not too keen to jump into stormy waters.

  When I get home, I exhale in relief realizing Becka isn’t on the couch and the shower is running. She’s bathing, thank God.

  Nobody will know I was out giving private dances to Mr. Ford. I creep into my room and rumple my bed. I don’t want to tell Bryn about what’s happening with Dirty Workaholic. I feel like she will be the voice of my conscience. And I don’t want her to tell me what I already know.

  So I head out and pretend that I don’t have the hottest guy with the biggest dick waiting on the sidelines for me to casually date if I so choose. I pretend I don’t already know my answer.

  I told him I had a busy week and would think about it, buying myself a bit of time, but I already crave to see him again. Bryn has gone on a couple of dates from the Match.com account Becka opened for her. If things are too messy with Ian, I can join her on there, I suppose.

  But the thought makes my stomach cave in on itself. For months I haven’t been able to think of anyone but Ian. It’s hard to imagine anyone or anything being able to change that.

  Let’s see if you can bear a few days without him, Sara. Maybe you’re stronger than you think and can step back and evaluate things, I tell myself that weekend as Bryn and I head to Brooklyn in an Uber, to the warehouse that will be formally House of Sass.

  We arrive ready to work. Bryn looks like she means business, even though I heard her cry this morning, just like every other morning since the Big Breakup.

  “You’ll get over him,” Jensen tells h
er when he comes in to help. He sees her bleary eyes and hugs her.

  “Of course. I’m already getting hit up on Match.com.” Bryn tries to wave off her breakup as if it’s not important. “I’m such a good catch.”

  “Damn right, love bug.” Jensen rumples her hair.

  We start unpacking boxes, cutting open the tape with knives, pulling out clothes, and getting them up on the racks.

  “You’re good at this,” I grumble at Bryn with playful, open resentment. She’s on her third box and I’m still on my first. I tear a nail and curse. “You owe me a manicure. Pedicure too,” I warn, sucking on my broken nail.

  “You’re not even using your feet!” She laughs. “I’m good at this because we used to do this at my parents’ department store before it was sold.” She winks, but the nostalgia is clearly evident in her voice.

  “And now look at what you’re going to have, all for yourself.” I motion to the huge warehouse that we’re setting up to be her modern-age clothing store. It’s going to be fantastic.

  “Not just for myself. I have an investor, remember.” Her eyes shadow when she mentions Aaric Christos.

  “And you could have had him, too, if it weren’t for his floozy bimbo ex—”

  When Christos walks into the warehouse, I trail off.

  Bryn freezes when she spots him by the door. We all stare, and though I’ve only seen him on the internet, I know this is the man who’s broken her heart by the way he’s staring at her and she’s staring at him. Oh he’s gorgeous, all right. Powerful-looking. Confident.

  My Workaholic is hotter, I catch myself thinking, and push the thought aside.

  Bryn blinks furiously and continues opening boxes, moving more awkwardly now that he’s here.

  As if noticing her jumbly movements, Christos approaches Bryn and asks, “You okay?” He seems genuinely concerned.

  I watch them in interest, still sucking on my nail.

  “Yes.” Bryn is doing well at hiding how flustered she is, but I can tell, because she’s my roomie, that she’s battling to stay composed.

  “Good. Be careful. Where do you want these?”