The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  I turn to him, and he takes my hand and puts it over his large erection in his pants.

  Electricity zaps between us, and our eyes are locked. My breathing becomes ragged.

  “Can I see you tonight?” he breathes.

  I squeeze his dick as my sex clenches in appreciation.

  “No, Jameson, you can’t.” I turn and walk out of his office with my heart hammering in my chest.

  I get into the elevator as my body screams for me to go back. Every molecule in my body wants that man.

  But he’s just an asshole . . . and I’m just another groupie.

  It’s not going to happen.

  It’s Saturday night, and we are lined up to get into Sky Bar. I’m with Ava and Renee, and this is our third club. It’s nearly midnight. I’m having the best time ever. We have laughed and danced and prick teased every stupid man in New York.

  “Why are we waiting here in line again?” I frown. “What was wrong with the last place?”

  “Nothing. This place is better, but it doesn’t heat up until eleven.”

  “Oh.” I shrug. Gosh, I know nothing about New York nightlife. The doorman removes the red rope blocking the door and ushers us in, and my breath catches.

  Wow, this bar is way up on the fiftieth floor and has a huge balcony overlooking the city lights. There’s a dance floor and numerous cocktail bars, and the girls are right—the men here are another caliber.

  I glance down at myself nervously; I hope I look all right. My long dark hair is down, and I’m wearing a cream-colored fitted dress. It has long sleeves and a plunging neckline. I splurged and bought myself a new dress for tonight; I wanted to look nice.

  It’s paying off; I’ve never gotten so much male attention in my life. Amazing what a tight dress and a little cleavage can do for a girl.

  We order drinks and go and find a space to stand as I look around in awe. I’ve never been in such a cool nightclub before. “This place is insane.” I smile at the girls.

  “Right?” Ava smiles. “The men here are off the hook.”

  “And filthy rich,” Renee adds.

  “Who cares about rich?” I smirk as I sip my drink.

  “Me,” they both reply in unison.

  “If you’re going to be with a guy, he may as well be wealthy, if you ask me. Fuck being with a poor bastard. I’m poor, and opposites most definitely attract,” says Ava.

  I laugh as I listen to them.

  “So who do we have here tonight?” Ava says as she looks around the club.

  “What do you mean?” I ask as I watch her eyes scan the room.

  “This place is a huge celebrity hangout.”

  “Really?” I frown as I look around. “I wouldn’t even know any celebrities.”

  Over the next hour, we dance and laugh, and Ava explains to me in great detail about who is who. Apparently, the men are all very impressive. None take my fancy, though.

  A gorgeous man comes up through the crowd and puts his hands on my thighs. “Do you want to dance?” he asks. He’s blond and big and totally in my space, but the way he looks, I think I can deal with it.

  “Yes, she does,” Ava stammers as she stares at the god in front of us.

  He grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor, and I give my friends a scared wave with my fingertips as my eyes widen.

  Ava blows me a kiss and jiggles on the spot in excitement.

  “What’s your name?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me.

  I put my hands on his shoulders as I stare up at him. “Emily. What’s yours?”

  “Rocco.”

  I smile up at him. What a weird name. Gosh, I feel tipsy. I need to stop drinking.

  “This is your first time here?” he says, as if he already knows the answer.

  “How do you know that?” I smirk.

  “I would have noticed you if you were here before.”

  I smile bashfully.

  His hands roam down to my behind, and I lift them back to my waist. “You’re very forward, Rocco.”

  “I know what I want when I see it.”

  I smile as he leans in and puts his lips to my ear.

  “I want you,” he breathes.

  Chapter 10

  Jameson

  “Hmm, not bad,” Christopher murmurs as an attractive redhead walks past us.

  We both watch her as she saunters over to the bar. She’s wearing a tight black dress, and she has a perfectly rounded ass. I scrunch my nose up in distaste. “Average.”

  “She is not average.” His eyes drop to her behind and stay firmly fixed. “Far from it, actually.”

  “Not doing it for me.” I sigh against my glass as I look around the crowded club. It’s a rarity that a woman catches my attention these days, with the exception of Little Miss Snarky. I can’t get enough of her . . . even if she is completely unmanageable.

  Our exchange in my office on Monday runs through my mind, and I exhale heavily.

  She’s so fucking difficult.

  It would help if I could keep my mouth shut when I see her. For some reason, she has me blurting out demands and grabbing her by the hair; it’s as if my body takes on a need of its own and completely leaves my brain out of the equation.

  Every time Emily leaves my office in a huff, I kick myself for handling her the wrong way.

  I know women; I know how they think, and I can usually get them to do whatever I want. Her . . . not so much.

  Christopher licks his lips as he watches the redhead. “I’m going in.” He strides across the club and says something to her as she stands at the bar, and in slow motion, she smiles up at him.

  I smirk and sip my drink as I watch him in action. He loves women—all women. It seems to be a family trait; we’re all wired the same way.

  Something’s changed for me lately, though. My appetite for variety has waned. Something’s off, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I glance over to Tristan and Elliot as they talk to two girls in the lounge. The women are being all animated and laughing on cue at everything that comes out of the boys’ mouths.

  Bimbos.

  I sip my drink as I look around the room. “Hey,” Tristan says as he comes to stand beside me. “Look who’s here.”

  “Who?” I mutter, uninterested.

  “Cream-colored dress, hair down, and looking absolutely fucking sensational.”

  I frown as I look over to where he is gesturing.

  It’s her. Emily is here.

  A broad smile crosses my face. “Well, well. The night just got interesting.”

  Tristan chuckles. “That’s if you don’t kill each other first.” He slaps me on the back. “I’m going to the bar.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She’s with two women I’ve never seen before, although they do look vaguely familiar; they might be from work. They’re talking and laughing. Emily is wearing a tight cream-colored dress with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. I can see every curve on her delicious body, and my cock swells in appreciation. Her hair is down, and she pulls it over to one side as she talks, and I see the curve of her bare neck; my stomach clenches in excitement.

  Fuck . . . she’s hot.

  I’ve never had such an intense physical reaction to a woman like this before. I just can’t get enough of her body. The more I have her, the more I want her. If only she didn’t have the snarkiest damn attitude I’ve ever seen.

  Maybe that’s the appeal?

  Most women fall at my feet; she seems determined to push me away. Hmm. That’s something to think about. If the truth be known, I should stay away from her. She works for me, she’s a firecracker, and who knows what she will do if we fight again. I smirk. I already know that we will fight again—the writing is on the wall. She has a way of pissing me off like no other.

  A song comes on that she obviously likes, and she starts to dance on the spot. Her ass slowly moves to the tantric beat, and I stand and stare, transfixed by the goddess in front of me.

  She has no idea how fucking sexy
she is.

  “New York sour,” Tristan says as he hands me my drink.

  “Thanks.” I take it from him.

  “You know, the way you’re looking at her is illegal in some countries, right?”

  I watch her hips roll, and I imagine them over me doing the same thing. I inhale sharply as my arousal starts to thump between my legs. “Have you ever been so physically attracted to someone that you lose the ability to think around them?”

  “No. Thank fuck,” Tristan replies as he watches her dance. “Although with that ass, I can imagine—”

  “Don’t even fucking look at her ass, or I will sit you on yours,” I say, cutting him off.

  He chuckles. “Look at you getting all territorial.” He sips his drink as mischief fills his face. “She did want to report to me with that story, you know.”

  I look at him flatly. “And you report to me, fucker. Go near her, and you will fucking die.”

  He throws his head back and laughs out loud.

  A blond man walks over to her and says something, and she smiles up at him.

  “Oh, look out,” Tristan teases. “Competition is on the horizon.”

  I watch as uneasiness begins to swirl.

  His hands go to her thighs, and I clench my jaw. I sip my drink as I watch.

  He says something, and she laughs out loud before he takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  Tristan turns and laughs when he sees my face. “Well, this is about to get interesting.”

  The blond slides his hands down to her behind, and she lifts his hands back to her waist.

  I watch as the sky turns red. Get your fucking hands off her. He says something, and she laughs out loud.

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  So this is what she’s here for, is it? To pick up a man. Fury begins to fill me.

  “Looks like your territory is about to be stolen.” Tristan smirks.

  “Shut the fuck up, Tris, before I knock you out,” I snap as my eyes stay glued to them.

  The blond leans down and kisses her neck. Something inside me snaps, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m on the dance floor beside them.

  “Fuck off,” I growl.

  Emily turns to me, and her face instantly drops. “Jameson,” she stammers.

  My arm goes around her waist, and I pull her from his grip. “She’s here with me.”

  Emily

  Oh my God, what the hell is Jameson doing here? I step back from the blond god, and he grabs me and pulls me back toward him. “Don’t,” he snaps.

  “Don’t you,” Jameson growls. He pulls me out of the guy’s arms and holds me against his chest. “I said she’s with me,” he repeats.

  The guy stares at me, and I nod softly. I don’t want any trouble, and I just want this guy to disappear. “I’m with him,” I whisper.

  With one last look between Jameson and me, he turns and storms off toward the bar. I turn my attention to Jameson Miles, the infuriating prick, and I pull out of his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What do you think you’re fucking doing?” he growls.

  “Don’t you swear at me.”

  “You came here to pick up a man?”

  I put my hands on my hips in outrage. “I came here to dance. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here with my brothers.”

  “So go back to your brothers and ruin their fun,” I huff. I go to turn, and he grabs my arms and pulls me to the side of the dance floor and pushes me up against the wall.

  His body covers mine, and I can feel his hard erection up against my stomach. We stare at each other, and instantly the air between us changes.

  “Don’t,” I whisper up at him.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Hypnotize me with that magical dick.”

  He gives me a cheeky wink. “You’ve got that the wrong way around, baby. I’m the only one who’s hypnotized around here,” he whispers as he leans down toward me. His tongue slowly slides through my lips. He kisses me again, with just the right amount of suction, and my knees begin to buckle beneath me.

  Dear God . . . the man can kiss.

  “Jameson,” I breathe against him. “We shouldn’t.” His hands roam up and down my body, and God, he feels so good.

  “Don’t fight me on this,” he murmurs as he grinds me up against the wall with his hips.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will. Why would you deny your body what it so desperately needs from me?”

  Oh God, he’s so right. My body does need his body . . . hard. So fucking hard.

  Our kiss turns desperate, and my hands go to his hair. I know this is crazy, but I want him . . . all of him, and not just his body.

  For a long time, we kiss like we’re the only two people left on earth. Hidden up against the wall, his body grinding on mine. Two bodies chasing their own pleasure in the darkness.

  “I need you,” he murmurs against my lips.

  I pant as his open mouth drops to my neck. God . . . the way he touches me is just so . . . “Jameson.”

  “Now.” He pins me to the wall, and I feel his cock pulse.

  Jesus, he’s close. He does need me.

  “My place,” he pants against my lips.

  “My place,” I fire back.

  “No, my place,” he demands.

  I pull back to look at his face. “It’s my place or nothing. Take it or leave it.”

  He clenches his jaw; it’s obvious he hates losing a fight . . . any fight. “Fine.” He grabs my hand. “This way.”

  “No.” I pull my hand out of his grip. “I don’t want anyone to see us.”

  He frowns in question.

  “You’re my boss,” I remind him. “I’m here with work friends.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Go and say goodbye, and I’ll wait for you downstairs. You have two minutes before I come up and drag you out.” He gives me a long, lingering kiss, and I turn, and he swats me on the behind.

  Adrenaline courses through my veins as I walk over to my friends.

  He’s here. I’m going with him. It’s on.

  Excitement fills me, and I try to act casual.

  “Hey, where’s the god?” Renee asks.

  “Oh.” I frown. “He was a dick,” I lie.

  Ava rolls her eyes. “Typical. Men who look that good can’t be blessed with brains too.”

  I smirk. I know someone who was blessed with both, but I’ll just keep that under my hat. I look over and see Jameson walking toward the elevator, and he gives me the hurry-up look. I smile; the pull to him is strong.

  “Guys, I’m going to go.”

  “What?” Their faces fall. “Why? The night is young.”

  “I know. I’ve had such a great time, but my feet are killing me. These stupid new shoes are hell on earth. Next weekend I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll just jump in a cab downstairs.”

  “Okay.” They roll their eyes and kiss me on the cheek.

  “Text me when you get home,” Ava says.

  “I will.” I smile, grateful that they aren’t bothered at all. “Thanks for asking me to come.”

  Two guys walk up to us, and the girls both smile broadly. I take that as my out. “See you,” I call as I walk toward the elevator.

  “Bye,” they call.

  I jump in the elevator. “Where to?” the attendant asks.

  “Ground floor.” He pushes the button, and we make our descent. My heart is hammering in my chest. Jameson Miles makes me nervous as all hell. I can’t remember when a man made me this excited to get him alone.

  Act cool . . . just act cool.

  The elevator doors open, and I walk out and look around. Where is he?

  I continue through the foyer and peer out to the busy street; I can’t see him. What the hell? Did he leave without me?

  “Lose something?” a deep voice asks from behind me.

  I turn to se
e Jameson leaning up against the wall, and my heart somersaults in my chest. I walk over, and he takes me in his arms. “I did, actually.” I smile up at him.

  We kiss softly, and it’s different from how we normally kiss; it’s tender and sweet, as if he’s been waiting to get me alone too.

  “Let’s go home,” he whispers.

  I smile. That sounds so good. “Okay.” We walk out the front, and he hails a cab. Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment.

  “Thank you,” I say as I climb out. I turn and hand Jameson twenty dollars, and he shakes his head as if annoyed.

  “I’ve got it,” he says.

  He climbs out, and we walk through the foyer, hand in hand, as he remains silent.

  “Where are the doormen?” he asks as he looks around.

  “There are no doormen.”

  “There’s no security in this building?” He frowns in surprise.

  “There’s security.” I point to the intercom on the wall. “Nobody can get up without being let in.”

  He frowns as he assesses it. “Any fucker could walk in here.”

  “You are said fucker tonight.” I smirk.

  He chuckles as he wraps his arms around me. “That I am.”

  We ride to my floor and walk down the corridor; my heart is beating so fast. This is different from the other times we’ve been together. Normally we’re so blinded with arousal that we don’t even remember walking through the front door. I open the door and lead him into my apartment, and I hold my breath as his eyes scan the space.

  My apartment is tiny—it would literally fit into his bedroom.

  “It’s nice,” he says.

  I giggle. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  He chuckles and takes me into his arms. “Anywhere with you is good.”

  Our eyes lock, and something changes between us. The anger and animosity between us has been replaced with tenderness.

  The man I met in Boston is here.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. “We could get some Uber Eats. Caramel cheesecake.”

  “What the fuck? You don’t actually get Uber Eats, do you?” he asks, horrified.

  “All the time.” I shrug.

  “Are you serious?” he stammers. “You actually give strangers access to your food?”

  “They’re delivery drivers. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “They see a meal for one. Put some Rohypnol into your food, wait for half an hour until they know you’ve eaten it and are unconscious, and then come back, break in, and take advantage of your body.” He dusts his hands in front of him. “Boom, easiest crime in history.”