by Tawna Fenske
“Hey, Bracelyn.” Bradley’s on his feet, waving James over to our table. I stand, too, not sure how to handle making small talk between the man I used to sleep with and the man I desperately want to sleep with. Just once, that’s all, to get it out of my system.
“Bradley,” James says, shaking his hand. I’m almost surprised he didn’t greet him as Dr. Parker, and I’m not sure how I feel about the two of them being good buddies.
As James swings his gaze to mine, the edges of his mouth tip up just a little. It’s not quite a smile, and certainly there’s nothing suggesting he’s still thinking about that kiss. Still, there’s a warmth in those green eyes that I swear wasn’t there a few seconds ago.
“Hello, James.” I put out my hand just like Bradley did, and after a second’s hesitation, James folds his fingers around mine.
“Lily. It’s great to see you. Really great.”
I order my stupid heart not to do a happy dance. Really great. God, he looks good. I hate that I’m sittin here thinking like that when the fact of the matter is that James hasn’t called me. Not once in almost three weeks, and doesn’t that mean something?
“Pull up a chair and join us.” Bradley doesn’t wait for an answer. Just snags a white metal chair from the empty table beside us and sets it down between us.
James hesitates, then nods. “Thank you. I don’t have long, but—”
“Dude.” Bradley shakes his head, and I stuff back a giggle over a doctor calling a CEO dude. “You missed the last poker night.”
“Sorry.” His gaze flicks to me, then away again quickly. “I’ve had a lot going on.”
“Your brother just got back from his honeymoon, and he still managed to make it,” Bradley points out.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” James clears his throat. “I promise I’ll make the next one.”
“Uh, you kinda have to,” he says. “It’s at your house.”
“Shit.” James clears his throat. “Next month?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, I’ll just—I’ll figure it out.”
Neither guy is looking at me, and for once, I’m okay with that. I’m considering whether to make a run for it when Bradley’s phone buzzes. He picks it up, then frowns.
“Damn.” He glances at me with apology in his eyes. “I have to get to the hospital. We were wrapping up here anyway, right?”
“Of course.”
He stands up and grabs his wallet, dropping a few bills on the table. “Sorry to run. Duty calls.”
James flicks his gaze to mine, and this time he leaves it. “Duty has a way of doing that, doesn’t it?”
It’s an echo of what he said to me at the wedding, and I wonder if he remembers. Our conversation at the wedding, the details of his night at my place, the kiss on his walkway.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I repeat my own words, feeling itchy in my skin.
I’m stuck there in James’s cool green eyes, forgetting Bradley’s standing there until he pushes in his chair. “It was good seeing you guys,” he says. “Catch up with you later.”
And then he’s gone. And I’m alone with James.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone set this up. I pick up my barely touched glass of Pinot Grigio and take a sip. “What brings you here?”
“Bree,” he says. “I had an errand downtown, and she asked me to swing by to grab a couple bottles of this new Chardonnay they got.”
I try to recall if I told Bree I’d be here, since that’s totally something she’d do. James mistakes my puzzled silence for something else. “She’s not drinking, obviously,” he says. “It’s for a wedding we’re hosting at the resort.”
“Gotcha.” I drag the charcuterie tray closer, glad to have it all to myself now.
This probably isn’t a normal response to having my lover tell me he’s no longer interested in sleeping with me. Truth be told, I can’t seem to muster up a whole lot of feeling about that.
“Sorry about your date.” James’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and it takes me a second to figure out what the hell he’s talking about.
“Date? You mean Bradley?” I laugh and shake my head. “No, it’s not like that.”
“What’s it like?”
His question surprises me. The fact that he’s taking an interest in me instead of staring impassively with those cool green eyes. “Are you making idle chitchat, or you really want to know?”
“I don’t make idle chit-chat,” he says, plucking an almond off the edge of the tray. “I want to know. Truly. Desperately. Urgently.”
I wish those words didn’t hit me like they do. I take a breath, determined not to let him see he’s gotten to me.
“Well,” I say. “Bradley and I are friends.” I say the word with the faintest hint of implied italics, gauging his reaction. “Friends who used to sleep together sometimes with no plans for a relationship or any sort of long-term commitment.”
“I see.” James doesn’t flinch, doesn’t size me up like he’s judging or wondering how many men I’ve been with.
For the record, it’s not as many as most people think.
“So it’s a—friends with benefits kind of thing?” The curiosity in his voice is genuine, so I give him a straight answer.
“Was,” I correct. “Now we’re just friends who don’t see each other naked.”
“Good to know.”
I study his face and wonder what he’s thinking. No point beating around the bush. “Things cooled off a few weeks ago,” I tell him. “Right about the time another guy spent the night in my bed, then kissed me on his front lawn.”
The grin he’s been fighting spreads slowly across his face. “That guy sounds like a real jackass.”
“Hardly,” I tell him. “It ranked right up there with the top ten kisses of my life.” Top five. Top three, maybe, with two right below it, but I don’t say that out loud.
“It was rather—powerful.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He cocks his head. “What word would you use?”
“Fucking hot.”
“That’s two words.”
I grin. “Take your pick. Hot. Fucking. I’m good with either.”
He studies me for a moment, green eyes assessing. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it. A lot.”
I swallow hard, disarmed by his words as much as I am by his hands. He’s rolling the almond around between his thumb and forefinger, a slow, languid motion that should definitely not be a turn-on. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
“I could tell the kiss meant a lot to you,” I reply softly, “by how often you’ve called these last few weeks.”
He looks up. “I didn—oh. Right. Sarcasm. Gotcha.” He nods once, then sets the almond down on the table. “I’ve had a lot going on,” he says. “Family stuff. And I wasn’t sure how long you’d be in Guatemala, so—”
“Five days,” I tell him. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t waiting by the phone or anything.”
He nods and adjusts his tie. His gaze holds mine for a long time, longer than I’d normally be comfortable with. I order myself not to look away, not to blink or even breathe.
When he speaks, his voice is low and rough. “Tell me what you want, Lily.”
I blink. I can’t help it. Trying to hide my shock, I glance down at the charcuterie tray, pretty sure that’s not what he’s talking about. I meet his gaze again, and there’s fire there. Lots of it. Holy God.
“What do you mean?” Somehow, I manage to keep my voice from quivering.
“You said something a few weeks ago about relationships,” he says. “I believe your exact words were, ‘You could get down on one knee juggling watermelons with a six-carat diamond between your teeth and a twelve-inch salami in your pants and I’d politely decline your heartfelt—albeit, very weird—proposal.’”
As if to underscore the point, he plucks a slice of salami off the plate and pops it in his mouth. I stare at him as he chews, thrown off my game.<
br />
“H—how do you remember that?”
“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “So, I’m wondering about your arrangement. The no strings thing.”
“Are you propositioning me?”
“Would you accept?”
“Would you want me to?
He smiles. “Are we going to have an entire conversation consisting of questions?”
“Maybe.” I fold my hands on the table to keep myself from grabbing another piece of salami. “Is that what you want? Not the question-based conversation, but—”
“Yes.” He nods once. “I find myself insanely attracted to you. That’s not like me, by the way.”
“No?” I struggle to hide how flattered I am. I give up resisting and grab my own slice of salami, taking my time wrapping it around a thick nugget of cheddar. “You’re not looking for a relationship, either?”
“Not at all.” There’s a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. “I witnessed way too many of my father’s marriages crashing and burning. That’s not in the cards for me.”
“But your siblings.” I’m not sure why I’m defending romance, when that’s not my thing, either. “Bree and Austin. Or Sean and Amber, how cute are they?”
“Cute.” His tone is flat and humorless. “Do I strike you as someone who needs cute?”
We’ve been blunt with each other so far, so why stop now? “You strike me as someone who needs to be fucked hard by someone who knows what she’s doing.”
I expect him to flinch, or at least give one of those uncomfortable laughs.
James does neither. Just holds my gaze, not blinking at all. “I can’t disagree,” he says slowly. “And based on your response when I kissed you, the attraction’s mutual. Am I correct?”
I nod like an idiot because I seriously cannot speak right now. I’m the one with the man-eater rep, the woman known for addressing sex stuff head-on and asking for what I want. How the hell is Iceman Bracelyn beating me at my own game?
He continues like he hasn’t just knocked the wind out of me. “Given you appear to have an opening—”
“Wait, are you seriously talking about this like I keep a client list of fuck buddies?” I’m trying not to bristle, but what is he suggesting?
His gaze softens, like he’s realized he might have offended me. He didn’t, but I want to hear what he has to say.
“I don’t mean to imply anything,” he says slowly. “I’m simply unfamiliar with the terms of this sort of agreement.”
The uncertainty in his eyes undoes me even more than the heat did. I didn’t think it was possible, but here we are. “You’ve never had a FWB before.”
“Fwub?” He frowns. “Is that some sort of kink thing?”
“FWB,” I laugh. “Friends with Benefits.”
“Ah.” He nods, back on solid ground. “I’ve had flings, sure. But never with anyone so—open about it.”
I study his eyes, watching for judgment. There is none. There’s interest, sure, and lots of heat. But no judgment. “We’re really talking about this.” I don’t bother keeping the amazement out of my voice. “You, me, the possibility of taking each other’s clothes off and doing bad things to one another.”
“Good things.” There’s that smile again, turning my insides to mush. “Many, many good things.”
The way he says it makes it clear that while he may not be familiar with FWB slang, the man knows his way around the female body. Of that I’m sure.
“All right.” I fold my hands again, surprised to discover they’re shaking. “I’m certainly interested in knocking boots with you, or at least discussing the idea.”
“Excellent.” He reaches behind him and pulls out his wallet. For some absurd reason, I expect him to hand me a condom, so I’m startled when he slips a business card across the table. “My direct line is on the bottom. I have an opening in my schedule after five-fifteen tomorrow. You mentioned you normally get off at four?”
“Yes, but—” I stare at the card, not sure if I’m more surprised he remembered my schedule or that he’s handling a potential booty call like it’s a business meeting. “You want me to come to your office,” I say. “For—sex?”
“To discuss the possibility, yes,” he says. “If we’re considering entering into a mutually satisfying arrangement, I want to make sure we’re on the same page about expectations. And it behooves us both to have that conversation in a private setting.”
Mutually satisfying arrangement? Behooves us both? Who the hell is this guy?
And why do I want so badly to know?
I slip the card into the front pocket on my purse and lean closer. Close enough for my breast to graze his arm, and I watch the heat build in his eyes. Good. This impervious, all-business guy might be turning me on, but I want to know I can get to him, too.
I lick my lips, making sure I have his full attention. “How about a test drive?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A test drive,” I repeat. I hold his gaze like a challenge, waiting to see how he responds. “Maybe the chemistry between us was just a fluke. That kiss could have been—”
He pulls me to him, anchoring a hand at the base of my skull. Then we’re kissing, kissing like freakin’ teenagers in public. There’s a murmur of voices behind us, but I can’t seem to stop, can’t keep myself from threading my fingers into his hair and kissing back like I’m starving for it.
I press closer, fighting the urge to climb onto his lap. I can’t figure out how we went from a business negotiation to blistering kisses in less than six seconds, but I’m grateful. And I want more.
He pulls back, looking as dumbfounded as I feel. His hand stays cupped around the base of my skull as he looks deep into my eyes. “How was that?”
I nod because I’ve lost my voice again. “Fair.”
My voice cracks, and James smiles because he knows damn well it was way beyond that. Nuclear is more like it.
“Good.” He lets go of me and scoots back in his chair. “Let’s talk tomorrow about how it could be more than fair.”
I nod and lick my lips again, conscious of the taste of him, of the fact that he’s standing up and tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the pair of twenties Bradley left behind. He nods to the waitress, who’s eyeing him like he’s a piece of meat. As he turns his back, she glances at me and fans herself, giving me one of those “you and me both, sister” looks.
But I’m too stunned to respond, too shaky to blow it off as no big deal, too dumbfounded to think about what all this means.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter 6
JAMES
I can’t decide what’s more unbelievable: That my dead father is still staying in my guest room, or that I propositioned the hottest woman I’ve ever met with an offer of no-strings sex.
“You’ve got a clog in your sink.” My dad walks out of the bathroom and heads straight for the guest room, plucking a cigar from a box beside my wet bar as he moves past me in the hall.
“Do not smoke that in the house,” I yell. “Did you confirm the details of tomorrow’s flight?”
He waves a dismissive hand, but at least the cigar he’s gripping remains unlit. “Yeah, yeah. Ten a.m. tomorrow.”
“Six a.m.,” I remind him, already dreading the drive to the private air strip east of town. I’ll have to sneak him out in my backseat, covered in blankets like a fugitive.
Again.
But it’s the only way to ensure he gets on that damn private jet and doesn’t miss it like he’s done with two flights before this.
I’m getting the sense my dad is enjoying this break from being dead.
He was supposed to leave weeks ago, and he did. Got right on that private jet and flew to the Cayman Islands.
And then he flew right back because—actually, I have no idea. Just like I have no idea why he’s still here, in my goddamn guest room.
“Got any more Glenlivet?” he asks. “This b
ottle’s almost empty.”
I grit my teeth and head for the wet bar at the end of the hall. “I’ll get it,” I tell him. “Just stay where you are. And keep the damn blinds closed.”
“I know, I know,” he says. “Shit, I even used a pseudonym with that woman I hooked up with in Portland last week. Wore my disguise and everything.”
I grimace as I pour two fingers of scotch into an antique crystal tumbler that used to belong to—well, him, actually. “Please don’t feel the need to tell me about your sex life.”
“At least one of us is getting some.” He grins and sticks the cigar between his teeth.
I ignore the jab because I’m a mature professional, and also because the asshole is right. “The more people you interact with, the more you risk discovery.”
“Relax,” he insists as he accepts the glass I’ve handed him and takes a long sip. “I’m careful.”
That particular reassurance from The Inseminator plays a little thin.
I sigh, not sure how to get through to him. “Why are you doing this? Why do you keep coming back?”
For once, my father looks chastened. Or maybe he’s faking. “Being dead is boring,” he says. “And you kids have exciting shit going on now. Weddings and babies and—”
“And things you chose not to be part of.” My pulse ticks quicker in my ears, and I fight to keep my voice calm. “This was your decision.”
“I know.” He retreats to the guest room, signaling an end to the conversation, but he can’t resist throwing one last comment over his shoulder. “But sometimes I change my mind.”
The understatement of the fucking century, and probably a line he should have included in all his wedding vows.
I close my eyes, willing this to be over, willing him to go back to being dead. He’s always been an absent father with the luxury of popping in and out of our lives when he felt like it.
Leave it to Cort Bracelyn not to grasp that luxury until after he’d rendered himself permanently absent.
Thank God my siblings have stayed away. Even Bree, who’s the only one with a habit of stopping by unannounced. She’s been busy making wedding plans, scrambling to pull together some kind of Christmas in July shindig so she can be hitched before the baby comes. I’ve avoided asking too much about it.