by Lindsey Hart
Those lips—edible—damn it anyway!—lips turn up in a shadowy smile. Like he doesn’t really want to admit it’s there, but we both know it is.
“You’re very honest, Rin Allen.”
“Just—just Rin, please. I actually detest my last name.” I want to lean forward and let my face topple onto the table hard enough to knock some sense into me. Why did I just say that? Oh, right. Because this whole thing needs to be worse than it already is.
“Well, just Rin, who detests her last name and everything her own company stands for and wants to make changes because a revenge plot and a douchebag ex has finally woken her up… I’m Aiden. Aiden Builder, and I like my last name. A lot, actually. It just so happens I am looking to make a move to Miami. So, you might be in luck. Stupid idea aside, I do like what you’re saying. About switching shit up. Getting real.” Those indigo blues sweep over me, assessing.
It sends another volley of shivers and heat straight to my stomach. Okay, to other—I hate to admit—freshly waxed bits too, but I am not thinking about that. Nope.
“It’s strictly a business deal.” I put it out there, and I’m glad my voice stays strong because I mean it. “The whole revenge thing was my friend’s idea. They want to stick it to Brad because they never liked him. They always thought he was using me, and they wanted me to dump him years ago.”
“Brad. That’s a classic douchebag name.”
I pinch my lips tight to keep from laughing. God. That’s exactly what Aria said. Amusement dances over Aiden’s face. He really does have a nice face. More devastating, I’m starting to suspect he has one of those wickedly dry sense of humor. There really is nothing sexier on this earth than a sense of humor. Seriously. See how far good looks get you when you’re in the heat of an argument or having a crap-ass day.
“I feel like now that I’m sitting here, I can’t even say this with a straight face. I’m not going to ask you to fake date me. I do want you to come and work for me. I could use a big name to launch the new line. People would sit up and take notice, and I want them to notice. I want them to see that we’re going to do something, something real. I’ve tried to do that in every other way over the years except for what was right in front of my face.”
“Something real. That’s kind of an oxymoron if you know what I mean.”
“I do. I do know the meaning of the word. I wanted to be a journalist, actually.” Okay, I just sunk to a brand new low here. Why the heck can’t I stop saying inappropriate things that have no bearing on this conversation? Oh right. Mostly because I grew up going to school with just girls, and then I buried myself in work, so I didn’t have to deal with actual real relationships with actual real men, and when I did, they were totally wrong for me because I didn’t actually want to risk anything. Yeah. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks.
“A journalist, huh?” One eyebrow quirks up in amusement. I notice, irrationally, that there are a few hairs at the end that aren’t in perfect line with the others or with the rest. That little mar in him gives me hope. The guy isn’t totally symmetrical, after all. Just mostly.
“Yeah. I guess so. There was a point in time when I was really naïve and wanted to make a difference in the world.”
“That’s a noble calling.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I snort, not at all offended. I grew up with Sabrina Allen as a mother. I have a pretty thick skin by now.
“Not at all. I truly think so. Anyway, I’m not one to talk. Look at what I do for a living.”
“Oh, I would say that plenty of women would think you’re making a difference. In their day, at least.” Shit. Damn it. Shiiiit double shit. Damn it. Fricking frick. I need to shut my mouth before I say anything else. Not one single word, because everything that comes out is straight-up too honest. I’ve never been a good liar, but this is just beyond ridiculous.
Aiden tips his head back and lets out a bellow of laughter so deep it rumbles through my bones. Delicious. That sound is delicious. Like I could devour it. Like rich dark chocolate. Damn. Freaking. It. What is wrong with me?
“God. I like that. I’ll remember it the next time I’m having an internal crisis about how little difference I’ve made to the world, or I’m panicking about what I’m going to do when the looks run out.”
“I’m pretty sure your looks are never going to run out.” I actually slap a hand over my mouth this time. Frick. Where is the damn tape? I need tape. ASAP. I need to tape my mouth shut because I can’t stop.
Aiden laughs again. A true laugh. There’s real amusement dancing in his eyes. “You know, I should thank you. This was the most interesting morning I’ve had in a long while. I haven’t laughed, truly, in a very long time. You’ve made it happen twice. So, Rin-who-hates-her-last-name. I want a million per shoot, billboard, magazine, it doesn’t matter, even if it’s a cover deal. Two for the runway.”
I chew my lips so hard that copper bursts all over my tongue. I keep going, letting the metallic tang take me out of myself for just a few seconds. I don’t want to ask, but I can’t stop. The words flood out of my mouth, and since there isn’t any tape in the room, they escape and take on a life of their own.
“And what about the fake dates?”
“If you seriously want that,” Aiden snorts, “Then I’ll throw it in for free.”
My eyes fly open before I even realize I had them tightly closed shut like I’m watching a horror movie—one I’m starring in—and I’m afraid to see the bad parts. Or the whole thing. Because this is all pretty bad.
Short of the fact that I just scored Aiden freaking Builder. A man who had previously never agreed to work for me or with me. Not that we were in contact. We weren’t. It clearly wasn’t me he had issues with. I get it. Seriously. We don’t exactly design jeans, canvas shoes, or faded tees. Although we should. We will. We will because I suddenly freaking grew a backbone.
Note to self: Thank Brad for this kick in the pants I seriously needed.
“W-why?” I stammer. It’s completely undignified. About as undignified as the fact that my jaw is dragging on the floor, and I’m probably drooling all over myself.
“Because.” Those lips twitch again. Perfect. Edible. Lips. Lips I suddenly want to suck on and bite, and I have no idea why the heck I’m thinking about that because I’ve never thought anything like it before. It’s a little—well—dominant for my taste. Kink. I’ve never done kink. Biting is kink. I don’t have kinks. I’m not wild or sexy or kinky.
“Because?”
“Because you made me laugh. In my books, that’s worth a few fake dates.” Aiden thrusts out a hand. A perfect, bronzed, strong, veiny hand. That leads to a perfect, strong, tanned, muscly forearm with threads and ropes of veins twisting and twining all over it. My heart thuds to a standstill. I swear it actually happens. The shivers are back, and so is the heat.
I slowly reach out, my motions robotic because I can’t believe I’m doing it. I’m about to wrap my fingers in his and shake on this.
This whole, crazy, messed up, terrible idea.
Our fingers slide together, his skin warm and smooth. Flawless. Delicious. I think about licking him. His hands too. Just…just anything. I need to crawl into a cave where people like me belong. And never come out. It’s safer that way. The human mouth is a very dirty body part, and licking random strangers is not at all appropriate. I’m going to find a cave and save myself from getting my ass sued. I can see it now on the tabloids, even worse than the whole thing with Brad.
Rin Allen Sinks To An All-Time Low—Licks Male Model Like A Popsicle. Sinks Teeth Into Him Like Steak. Male Model Sues Her For Every Cent She Has.
They’ll write it on my gravestone. Here lies Rin Allen. Imperfect daughter. Hater of her last name. Licker of strangers.
That would be the end because I’m pretty sure that one taste of a man like Aiden Builder would be so exotic, it would kill me. Just…bam. Poof. Done.
I shake his hand and manage not to melt into a puddle on
the floor.
“Send me the details,” Aiden smoothly says when he reclaims his hand and sets it casually back on top of his knee. “I’ll be in Miami by the end of the week.”
And just like that. It’s. Done. Or maybe, it just started.
CHAPTER 5
Aiden
Exactly a week later, my plane hits the tarmac in Miami. No, I didn’t fly private, and yes, it was first class. That doesn’t matter. What matters is I have a job to do. A strange job. Different from anything I’ve ever done. Honestly, I don’t even know why I agreed to do it. And I have no fucking clue why I couldn’t stop thinking about it all week.
To my surprise, Rin Hates Her Last Name Allen is there waiting for me. Not some big wig from the company, but actually her. The biggest of big wigs.
Except that standing there in a purple flowy blouse and a pair of black slacks paired with kitten heels, her hair swept up into a French knot at the back of her head, she doesn’t look like a big wig. She looks professional, yes, but also beautiful in an unassuming sort of way.
When Rin looks up and sees me coming, a shy, small smile plays over her full lips. Lips I haven’t been able to banish from my mind either. She steps forward as I walk out of the arrival gates. It’s during the short walk across the tiled floor, flanked by other travelers scurrying about and greeting loved ones at eight in the morning, that I finally realize what it is about Rin that makes her so different. So…so her.
An agenda.
Or rather, the lack thereof. She doesn’t have an agenda. She doesn’t, unlike the rest of the world, want something from me. She had proposed a partnership. She’s paying me for a job, yes, but she didn’t act like I owed her something for the opportunity, or that I should bow down to her, or that I’m somehow beneath her by default.
“Hey,” Rin says easily. She briefly glances behind her shoulder like she’s uncertain about something. The greeting is warm and easy. Friendly. Nothing fake about it.
“Hey.” Without stopping to ask her permission, I stalk forward. I place a hand on her shoulder, and even though she starts, I pull her in. I tilt her stunned face up with my other hand and plant a chaste kiss on her lips.
Lips that are incredibly soft. Warm. Lush.
For just the briefest second, her body melts against mine. Even more incredibly soft, warm, lush curves. She has a body I’d term as built for sin. It’s overly cliché to use the label, but it’s true. She’s streamlined where it counts and womanly in all other areas. And yeah. I was dead right about her ass, which I glance at as soon as she rips away.
“What are you doing?” She lets out an outraged whisper as her hand flies to her lips.
I keep my head bent like we’re exchanging a private greeting. “My job. Remember? Not sure if you’re aware, but people who are dating do generally show affection for each other, especially in a new relationship, and definitely after being parted for any amount of time.”
“Boundaries!” Rin hisses. “Ground rules. Not sure if you’re aware, but we need some.” She pulls back when I chuckle under my breath, her face awash with uncertainty. It’s her eyes that give her away. They burn and shimmer with heat.
So, she enjoyed that kiss. Good to know.
Instead of razzing Rin about a mere brush of lips, I step back and give her the space she needs. She calms down a little, though her cheeks are painted an adorable scarlet, and her eyes, wide and luminous, still shine, her pupils just a hair too big. She’d gone for minimal makeup again, and that’s also refreshing. She has thick, long lashes, a cute nose, and of course, those amazing lips. Her complexion could have been airbrushed. It’s that flawless. She doesn’t need to taint it with makeup. Not that she can’t. She very well could if she desired. She just doesn’t need it.
“Baggage. We should—you packed something, I assume?”
“What?” I frown at her, and of course, she takes the bait, her own brow creasing in confusion and wariness. “You mean you’re not providing me with a brand new wardrobe?” At her panicked look, I take mercy on her. “Of course, I packed something. I doubt you have anything that doesn’t look like a piece of wipe or isn’t a dress with an eighty-foot train in stock.”
“Jesus,” Rin snorts under her breath. “Tell me what you really think.”
“I think your label’s designs are pretty shitty, but then again, haute couture bullshit never was my thing.”
“Your thing?”
“Yeah. Never modeled it. Never will. You said you were doing a regular line. For regular people. I was down for that. Not for modeling the strangest concoctions your design team can dream of.”
Her gorgeous lips wobble into a smile. It reaches her eyes and transforms her face which is already beautiful in the most understated of ways, into a true masterpiece. That damn smile does the trick. My cock hardens in my jeans, so I have to angle away to make sure she can’t see the damn half-bulge half-tent going on in there. The jeans are pretty damn tight, and so are my boxers, but still. Not exactly in the mood to take chances.
I head off in the direction of the baggage claim just to cover up my own embarrassment. It’s not just that. I’m fucking astounded at myself. I’ve worked with some beautiful women over the years in some pretty intense settings. Think underwear here. Sex sells. I’ve done a lot of selling over the years in some suggestive ways. I’ve never been anything less than professional, meaning I’ve never sprung a boner during that shit. So, why the hell am I currently walking down a busy airport trying to hide the fact that I’m sporting wood the size of my effing arm? What is it about Rin? She looks nothing like a model. I mean that in the best way, since she could be one. She’s not tall, sure, and she’s curvy, but so what? The industry is changing. People actually care more about a healthy body now than they ever did, and that’s a damn good thing. She doesn’t look like any woman I’ve ever dated, and I use that term lightly because I don’t think there have been many actual dates involved in what I did over the years. Flying all over the country and into other countries kind of puts a damper on the relationship shit.
Rin is classic. She’s like getting a piece of cake that looks like boring old chocolate or vanilla or something and then cutting into it with your fork and taking a bite and finding out there are all these unexpected layers hidden away. She’s beautiful, but it’s not in the way most people would recognize. Her beauty is enhanced by the mystery that is her. By the fact that she has a heart and a brain, and she really wants to use them both, as evidenced by the charities she’s supported since taking over from her mother. She’s definitely pretty, but it’s the other stuff that takes it to a different level and transforms what could be termed almost ordinary into something extraordinary.
You know, not that I’m looking or anything. Not that I’ve thought about it or anything. Not that I’ve lost sleep over trying to figure it out.
Even though there’s a crowd around the baggage carousel, I spot my bag easily. Here’s a tip for the unseasoned traveler. Don’t buy black luggage. If you’re going to do that, tie something around the handle or around it that is easily recognizable and tie it to survive a zombie apocalypse because if that shit falls off, you’re going to be there a while, or worse, take someone else’s bag.
I’m not saying this ever happened to me.
I did not open up a suitcase to find eight pairs of white granny panties and a strange-looking sex toy. I’ll leave that one with you because I prefer not to think about it. In fact, it does the job of effectively deflating my boner. Good to know.
I retrieve my luggage, which is a large bright green and blue duffel bag, and heave it over my shoulder as if the thing is filled with air. It’s not. It’s filled with clothes and shoes and everything else I’ll need for over a month.
Rin eyes me up like she can’t decide if I just landed from another planet. She glances at the bag. Back at me. She seems nervous. No, not seems. I can tell she’s nervous. She’s also awkward, rubbing her palms on her pant legs. Usually, I’d find that annoy
ing, but there’s something about her that makes me feel an odd mix of lust and protectiveness at the same time.
“I have my car parked here. I mean unless it’s been towed.”
“Why would it have been towed? Did you park it in the wrong spot?”
Rin flushes again. She glances down at the white airport tiles. “No. I—never mind. Just—follow me. I think I can find my way back. The airport is really huge.”
“Yeah, it’s huge. Then again, it’s also Miami.”
She lets it go, and I follow her. I follow her as she walks, changes direction, and walks some more. I don’t complain about the bag’s strap biting into my shoulder, even though it’s probably going to leave some lasting damage. She walks. I follow. She walks some more. Changes direction. Finally, after letting out a huff and consulting one of those you are here kiosk things, she takes off at a faster pace. This time, we find the parking lot.
Miami is one of those cities that always hits you with a blast of wet heat. It’s different from the heat of LA. Even when it’s hot in LA, it’s not like the heat of Miami. I’m instantly drenched when I hit outside. Even the bare skin of my arms breaks out with little beads of perspiration.
Rin keeps going, unflappable, like she doesn’t mind the heat at all. She picks her way easily through the parking lot now that she’s found it, and smiles in triumph as she indicates her car. It’s a black sedan. Not sleek. Not sporty. Not expensive. It’s domestic with a capital D. What the fuck? Not what I expected. I took her to be more of the hundred grand, tinted out, black SUV types. With a driver.
What I didn’t expect was for her to produce a set of keys from a normal-looking white tote bag with no designer name that I can see on it, and unlock the trunk. Then the doors.
After I wedge my bag in, and I mean wedge because the trunk couldn’t fit more than a wishful thought and a fart together, I slam it shut, and it stays shut, because I’m known to be a lucky bastard when it counts.
Rin slips in behind the wheel, but she doesn’t start the car up right away. It’s not even a push-button start for shit sakes. The ignition has an actual key. She sets her hands on the wheel, steady hands, hands with square, neatly filed nails devoid of polish. Capable, beautiful hands.