by Tawna Fenske
“Where’s your bedroom?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Down the hall.”
“Want to show me that magical tie rack of yours?”
His smile gets bigger. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see.”
“Let’s start with the tie rack.” And the ties themselves, which would be just dandy for tying a control-freak CEO to his own bed and having my way with him for an hour or two.
If anyone needs a couple hours of loosening his grip on self-control, it’s this man.
He cocks an eyebrow at me like he knows I’m up to something and has a pretty good idea he’s going to like it. Placing a hand in the small of my back, he guides me out of the office and down the hall to the master suite.
It’s exactly what I’d expect it to be, all bold blacks and grays with a massive iron bedstead that has to be antique. I don’t ask, mostly because I’m busy eyeing the wrought iron headboard and thinking it’s perfect for what I’ve got in mind.
“The tie rack, madam?”
I turn to see him standing in a modest-sized walk-in closet that’s lined with perfectly-pressed suits and dress shirts and shoes all polished to a mirror-like shine.
At the center of it all is a tie rack like nothing I’ve seen before.
“Whoa.” I trail my hand over the rows of silk in all colors of the rainbow, lined up neatly like soldiers reporting for duty. “You weren’t kidding, you seriously have a freakin’ motorized tie rack.”
“I never kid about ties.”
“How many do you have?”
“Two hundred and sixty-two.” He fingers a silver and black checkered one like it’s a beloved pet. “No, two sixty-one. I spilled coffee on one last week and the dry cleaner couldn’t get it out.”
“You’ll definitely have to replace that. It won’t do to have you in possession of only two hundred and sixty-one ties.” I tap the control panel and throw him a flirty smile. “Can I push your button?”
“Be my guest.”
I press the silver switch and the ties begin to rotate, spinning like a Ferris wheel of red and blue and gray checkered silk. There’s a surprising amount of variety here, with a lime green and orange one I’m betting he bought for a costume party of some kind.
As the rack keeps spinning, something that’s definitely not a tie rolls toward me. It’s a piece of paper, with inky blue handwriting spelling out words I have to squint to read.
James, thanks for the fucking—
“That’ll do.” James reaches out and snatches the note. Stuffing it in his pocket, he rests a hand in the small of my back to herd me out of the closet. “Would you like something to drink? Or I can offer you—”
“Wait.” I turn so fast the hand that’s resting in my back ends up awkwardly cupping my navel.
He looks down at it like he’s mystified how it got there, then shoves it in his pocket. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I tell him. “Not for touching me, and definitely not for—well, whatever that was.” I gesture to his pocket, but it probably just looks like I’m pointing at his dick. “The note,” I clarify. “It’s none of my business.”
He closes his eyes, and I see a muscle ticking in his jaw. Any unspooling of tension I managed to achieve by having him ride that zebra is long gone now. I touch his arm, and he’s stiff as a flagpole. “Hey.”
When his eyes open again, they’re brimming with something that looks an awful lot like regret. I don’t have many of those in my own life, but I know it when I see it in someone else. “Hey,” I say again, softer this time. “It’s okay. Whatever’s going on, I understand.”
I don’t, totally. I mean, not at all. But I do get the fact that there are rooms in James Bracelyn’s head, in his heart, in his life, that I’ll never be invited into. I’m okay with that, I really am.
“It’s not—” He stops there, shaking his head. “Sorry. We should—”
“You need me to go.” I finish the thought for him, since I can see he doesn’t want to be the one to say the words out loud.
He nods slowly. “I’m sorry. I—” he rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I wish it could be different, but there’s something I have to deal with right now.”
“Understood.” I give him a smile. “Some other time then.”
“Absolutely.”
I stretch up on tiptoe to give him the softest, faintest kiss at the edge of his mouth. It’s meant to be a goodbye, a whisper-soft promise that there’s more to come.
But he catches me by the waist and pulls me close, dragging me against his body like I’m a buoy and he’s a drowning man. He kisses me hard and deep with an intensity that arcs through my whole body, curling my toes inside my strappy heels.
When he draws back, I look deep into his eyes. I watch the precise moment he shifts from a man going under to one who has everything under control.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you out.”
“So then he kissed me so hard it gave me goosebumps and I got insanely dizzy and oh my god, you just drooled on the chair.”
My dog cocks her head to the side and regards me with rapt interest. The string of drool connecting her thick jowls to my dining room chair probably has less to do with my description of James’s kiss and everything to do with the ice cream I’m spooning straight from the container into my pie hole.
“Here.” I scoop up the last spoonful and offer it to Magma, who practically swallows the spoon. “Gentle,” I caution as her teeth clank against the metal. “I hope you know I don’t share my Salted Caramel Core with just anyone.”
Magma wags her tail with gratitude, then licks the chair to be sure she got every last drop. More drool ensues, which is an apt description of how I’ve handled myself with James today.
More drool ensues, film at 11.
Every time I thought I had the situation in control, I ended up sprawled on his lap or spread-eagled on the wall with my hand in my panties.
“Not that there’s any shame in getting some,” I tell Magma, who swishes her tail to remind me she’s not judging. “I just usually have a little more control of the situation.”
“Bwuf,” she offers supportively.
“Thank you.”
“Bwuf,” she repeats, louder this time.
“I know, I heard you the first t—oh, someone’s here?” I stand up as headlights swing into the driveway. It’s barely twilight, and I peer through the front window to see James’s black BMW gliding to a stop in my driveway. My heart does the same damn thing in my chest cavity.
I glance down at my pink and white striped pajama pants and cami top with its built-in shelf bra. No point scrambling to change, and besides, I look cute. “Not that we care what he thinks,” I tell Magma. “The value of a female is not in her appearance.”
“Bwuf,” Magma agrees as she trails me to the front door.
I yank it open before he has a chance to knock, and he ends up banging my forehead with his knuckles. “Ow.”
It doesn’t actually hurt, but James is mortified.
“Christ, I’m so sorry.” He grimaces and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Totally fine.” I’m doing my best to keep my voice cool and even so I don’t sound giddy to see him.
Magma has no such shame. She’s happy dancing at his feet, swishing her tail so hard she whacks me in the knees.
“Hey, girl.” James stoops down to scratch her ears, and she drools on his shoe. “Good to see you again.”
“Bwuf,” says Magma and whacks me with her tail again.
Having him crouched on the ground at my feet gives me a chance to check him out. He’s looking damn fine in dark linen slacks and a pale blue button-down with no tie. This is his version of casual, and it totally works.
When he straightens, his expression is sheepish. “Sorry about earlier today.”
“Which part?” I’m genuinely not sure. The botched hookup on his office couch? Riding a zebra while I rubbed one out in f
ront of him? Or—
“Hustling you out of my house like I did,” he says. “That was rude and uncalled for, and I apologize.”
“You don’t have to apologize, James.” Though if I’m being honest, I appreciate it. “Seemed like you had something to deal with.”
“Yes.” He presses his lips together like he’s keeping himself from saying anything else, so I’m surprised when he speaks again. “I had some family obligations that couldn’t wait, but that’s no excuse for behaving like a total boor. I truly am sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” This seems important to him, and his shoulders relax almost instantly. “Everything okay with the fan-damily?”
“Yes, it’s fine. Just—well, some paperwork and phone calls, and then Jonathan needed a ride to the airport.”
“He’s leaving already?”
“Just a quick overnight trip. He’ll be back tomorrow.” James makes a face. “I would have been here sooner, but he screwed up my stereo and it took me a while to fix it.”
“How did he screw up your stereo?”
“He set it so it would only play the Sound of Music soundtrack,” he grumbles. “Over and over again. At top volume.”
I laugh, impressed by the lengths Jon’s willing to go to in his quest to crack up his older brother. “I can see how that might be annoying.”
“I finally had to pull over on the side of the highway to fix it,” he said. “I had to take apart the whole damn stereo with Julie Andrews screaming at me about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.”
I grip the edge of the door frame and laugh my ass off. “Yes, but did it make you smile?”
The corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. “Not that I’m willing to admit.”
“I hope you’re plotting revenge.” I never had any brothers or sisters, but that seems like the appropriate response.
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he says. “I suppose I should.”
“Most definitely.”
James clears his throat and shifts into business mode. “Anyway, I wanted to stop by and apologize again for my rudeness earlier.” His eyes scan my pajama-clad body, lingering a few extra beats around the chest area before his gaze snaps back to my face. “And now I’ve been rude again, showing up at bedtime without calling first.”
“Nah, it’s not bedtime.” I swing the door open and gesture him inside. “I was actually getting ready to crack open a pint of Chunky Monkey.”
“That’s a beer or something?”
I roll my eyes. “Ben and Jerry’s? Only the best ice cream ever. Well, next to Salted Caramel Core.”
“Huh.” He reaches up to adjust his tie before remembering he’s not wearing one. “That does sound intriguing.”
There’s a silent pause, at which point his stomach gives an audible growl. “Sorry about that.” He puts a hand on his stomach, and I’m struck by the memory of those rock-hard abs pressed against me when I straddled his lap. “All this talk of ice cream, I forgot I missed dinner.”
“In that case, you should definitely come in.” I swing the door wider, and Magma dances with joy at the prospect of continued company. “I’ve got half a lasagna left that I desperately need to get through. I was going to bring it to the lab to share, but there’s plenty to go around.”
The hunger in his eyes is palpable. “If you’re sure it’s not an imposition—”
“Positive. Come on.”
I turn and stride toward the kitchen, trusting he’ll follow. Few men can resist the allure of lasagna, and besides, my ass looks great in these pajama pants.
“You, uh—look really good,” he says.
I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s looking at my ass. “Thanks.” I throw him a knowing eyebrow wiggle and continue to the kitchen where I take my time bending down to get the lasagna out of the fridge. “Have a seat anywhere.”
He surveys my small dining room and selects the chair closest to the kitchen. “Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate y—oh, Christ.” He stands up fast and stares down at the chair. “What did I sit in?”
“Whoops, sorry.” I glance at my dog, who’s busy salivating at the sight of the lasagna I’m shoving in the microwave. “That would be Magma drool.”
He turns to look at the back of his pants, which bear a giant slobber stain the approximate shape of Idaho. “That’s an impressive amount of saliva for one animal.”
“She has her talents.” I grab a wad of paper towels and hurry over. “Sorry about that. It’s gross, I know.” I take a few swipes at the back of his pants, followed by a few more. Damn, James has a nice ass.
“It’s fine, it’ll dry.” He flexes his buns anyway, and I’m half tempted to suggest he ditch the pants altogether.
But then the microwave dings, and I remember the poor guy is starving. Food before sex, that’s the least I can offer.
I scurry back to the kitchen and wash my hands, then grab the plate and some utensils. By the time I return to the table, James has already washed up in the powder room and taken a seat at the table.
A different seat, I can’t help noticing.
“Thank you so much.” He digs in and gives a groan of appreciation that makes my belly flip. “God, this is amazing.”
“Thanks. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“The grandma with the antique shop?”
“That’s the one.” I shrug. “Well, really my only grandma. I never met my dad’s parents, and it was my mom’s mom who stepped in to help raise me after my mother died. We lived with her off and on even before my mom passed.”
“Was there a grandpa in the picture?”
I shake my head, not sure why I’m reluctant to admit this. “I come from a long line of women who weren’t interested in being tied down to a man,” I explain. “My grandma never married my grandfather—never even named him on the birth certificate. It was very scandalous at the time.”
“I imagine so.”
There’s no judgment in his voice, so I keep going. “I never met my father, either,” I admit. “My mom always said she didn’t have time for men’s bullshit. That we were better off just the two of us.”
And then she was gone.
I don’t say it aloud, but James must see something on my face. His voice goes gentle like he’s soothing a spooked horse. “Your grandma finished raising you after your mom passed?”
I nod and take a sip of water. “She did. She’s amazing.” I fold my hands on the table, eager to change the subject. “Tell me about your grandmother,” I say. “Your dad’s mom, the one who died fairly recently.”
I can’t recall if Bree told me this or if James did, but he doesn’t look surprised I know about it.
“You think I’m cold?” he says around a mouthful of lasagna, then continues before I can argue that I don’t find him cold at all. “My grandmother was a human ice cube. I’m still handling the details of her estate. She had her hands in so many shady business deals it’s mind-blowing.”
“You’ve sure gotten stuck handling a lot of family business stuff.”
He looks at me oddly. “It’s my duty. I’m happy to do it.”
Duty. There’s that word again. James Bracelyn’s operating principle. It makes me simultaneously sad and impressed as hell by him.
“God this is amazing.” He finishes his bite of lasagna and sips the ice water I’ve set beside his plate. “It’s no hardship having a Michelin starred chef for a brother, and I know I eat well at the resort all the time.”
“But?” I stifle a smile when I realize I’m still thinking about his butt.
“Really simple food hits the spot sometimes,” he says. “Just regular lasagna instead of fancy gourmet lasagna with lobster and organic arugula in a butternut cream sauce.”
“That sounds incredible.”
“It is, don’t get me wrong,” he says. “But this is just so amazingly normal.”
I laugh and tuck my hair behind one ear. “I’ll be sure to tell my
grandma you appreciate her normalcy.”
He studies my face as he finishes chewing a bite. “Sorry, was that poor manners? Calling someone’s food simple.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “This is after showing up unannounced to eat said food. I’m in rare form tonight.”
I push a folded-up paper towel at him, and he accepts it readily. “Don’t you get tired of being well-mannered all the time?”
He wipes his fingers on the paper towel, and I’m struck once again by what fabulous hands he has. “I never really thought about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Since I got here, you’ve urged me to consider revenge plots and eschew good manners,” he says. “At this rate you’ll have me hotwiring cars by sunrise.”
I laugh, but an idea sparks in the back of my brain. Something to help him kill a couple birds with one stone, as it were. “Stay here.” I jump up from the table and shove in my chair. “I have an idea.”
“An idea?” His gaze tracks my path to the bedroom, and I know I’m not imagining that flicker of interest in his eyes. “An idea that involves your bedroom?”
“Nope.” I can’t help throwing him a saucy grin. “It does involve me getting out of these clothes, though.”
“I like this idea.”
“And then introducing you to something you’ve never done before.”
James sets his fork down, hunger visible in his eyes. “I like this idea very much.”
He starts out of his chair, but I laugh and kick the door closed behind me. “Stay put, Iceman,” I call.
Then I peel off my top and get ready to show James Bracelyn a night he won’t forget.
Chapter 10
JAMES
“Shhh.” Lily puts a finger to her lips and stifles a giggle. “Second rule of TPing—be very, very stealthy at all times.”
“I’m fonder of the first rule.” I let my gaze sweep her body, which is clad head to toe in form-fitting black Lycra. The fuzzy black tail anchored on her backside doesn’t kill the sex appeal one bit.
Neither do the fuzzy ears stitched to the attached hood, which she’s pulled up over her bright copper curls “I never realized how little black clothing I own,” she says, adjusting the wrist cuff on her cat suit. “It was either the Halloween costume or an LBD, and I didn’t feel like busting out the matching stilettos for that.”