“I don’t do jealous.” With each word, he undid a button, exposing another inch or two of my skin. “But when I opened that link and saw that picture of you, I wanted to take the first goddamn flight out of New York.”
“Why didn’t you just call and ask me?”
He freed the last button and stroked his thumb over the hollow of my throat, his breath catching when he traced between the valley of my breasts. Fingering the pretty white bow between the cups of my Agent Provocateur bra, he shook his head. “Because I needed to see your face when I asked you. I wanted to make sure.”
“That I wanted you?”
“That you weren’t lying to me.”
Suddenly ashamed, my chest caved in beneath his touch. Fuck. Why—why—did he have to say it like that? Here I was, the walking, talking epitome of a lie, letting him believe I was someone else. That I was nothing but a chance encounter. Choking on the guilt that bubbled in my throat, I laughed.
“I’m sorry about that picture.”
“Don’t.” He lowered his mouth to mine, and I closed my eyes as his warm breath fanned over my tender skin. “Don’t even mention it. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to fuck you in every way imaginable. We won’t need words.” Cupping my chin, he pinched my lips, his stare meaningful as I released a muted moan. “That’s what I want to hear.”
Shoving all thoughts of lies and deceit from my head, I reached for his zipper, but he let go of my mouth and grabbed my wrist. My brows arched together over my brown eyes. “Changed your mind?”
He pinned my arms over my head, causing me to knock a few magnets off the refrigerator. His expression was pained, and I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, unable to breathe except for with the shallowest of breaths. From the way he was looking at me, I felt like at any moment he’d leave me a mess like last week. “I didn’t fly all this way just to leave alone with a hard cock.” Sighing, he looked at me through hooded lids. “As much as I’d like to bend you over where we stand, I promised you dinner.”
“Funny.” I arched my back, the soft cotton of his tee shirt tickling my bare stomach and chest. “I swear I remember you saying you were having me for dinner.”
Nipping my lower lip, he loosened his grip on my wrists and growled his agreement. “There’s nothing that’ll keep my tongue from being inside you tonight.” Letting his words ripple though me until my pussy clenched with desire, I crossed my arms over my chest, pushing each side of my blouse together. I started to speak, but he shook his head. “Go get dressed.”
I watched him carefully, feeling an ache consume my body as he backed away from me and rested against the counter across from the refrigerator. “Where are we going?”
When he rubbed his hand through his light brown hair, all I could picture was seeing those tousled locks between my legs. I squeezed my thighs together. “If you get dressed, then you’d see.”
“What should I wear?” Or not wear.
He spread his muscular arms, gesturing to his own attire of jeans and a tee shirt. “Anything.”
Realizing I could probe for details until I was blue in the face, I started out the kitchen, struggling to breathe when I felt the front of his body brush against mine after I grabbed my purse from the dining room. “Give me half an hour, I’m just going to shower and—”
“You’re just going to get wet when we get there, so there’s no point,” he drawled, and I froze in the entrance to the hallway that led to my bedroom. He squeezed my ass, and I looked up to meet apologetic blue eyes. “It really was a nice skirt,” he lamented, dragging the material up until he was touching the part he had ripped. “I’ll replace it.”
Sagging forward against the wall, I studied his movements carefully while he walked away from me. “It was only a skirt,” I whispered, but he shook his head and eased onto my couch.
His focus never wavered from my face. “There’s no such thing as only when it comes to you, Lizzie.”
My legs trembling, those words teased me as I hurried to my bedroom. I tossed my purse on my bed and raked my hands through my hair. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I studied my flushed, heart-shaped face and the brown, amber-flecked eyes that glistened with unsuppressed lust. Realizing that when I left with Oliver, that desire would finally be sated, I wrapped my arms around myself.
My phone vibrated inside my Prada bag, and I dragged my focus away from the mirror. Walking into my closet, I looked at the new text from Pen.
Should I come home? Or should I, you know, go somewhere else?
Rifling through my clothes, I replied as quickly as I could with my left hand.
You’re safe. He’s taking me to dinner, so I won’t be here when you get back. Pen ... I meant what I said about talking.
While I awaited her response, I set my phone on a shelf and plucked a black, lace-trimmed shift dress from the rack. Holding it up to my body, I decided it was perfect—not formal, not too casual, and I wouldn’t freeze to death in the chilly November night. As I took the dress, the lace-up Alice + Olivia booties Pen had given me for my birthday, and my phone back into my bedroom, I received a new message.
You’re right. We do need to talk. But you NEED tonight.
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I threw the phone to the center of my bed. For a split second, my attention settled on the locked nightstand a few feet away. It was full of every ounce of information I’d gathered since I received that phone call more than five months ago, and I felt a pang of guilt as I looked at my bedroom door. Right outside of it was a man who was attracted to a façade.
A man I couldn’t resist wanting.
Tonight, I would have him. I would savor this single night he’d been promising me for weeks, and then—then I’d think about the contents of that bottom drawer.
Pressing my lips together, I kept my eyes straight ahead as I rushed into my bathroom to brush my teeth.
*
“I don’t know why, but I expected it to be ... bigger,” I told Oliver half an hour later. Swallowing back my anticipation, I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. “I guess that’s bitchy of me to say, huh?”
A sexy grin spreading across his face, he took my hands in his and pulled me out the Viper. “What were you expecting?”
Teasingly, I worked my lip between my teeth and stared up at the single-story Spanish hacienda-style home. When he’d sped the Viper onto the highway toward Malibu, I figured he was taking me to a seaside restaurant, but then to my surprise, he’d driven into a gated community close to Surfrider Beach. “A place like your mother’s, maybe?”
He winced. Spreading his fingers along the curve of my hip, he urged me toward the house, but then he paused in front of the mesquite wood door, stopping me between the two stone pillars. “No talking about Margaret.”
“I—” I began, but he held up a large hand.
“If you talk about her, you’ll leave with a red ass.”
“Mar-ga-ret.”
Pulling on the doorknob, his blue eyes flashed a warning. “I don’t forget anything, Lizzie,” he promised. He opened the door and gestured me inside, and I shivered when I stepped on the terra-cotta tile in the hallway and the cool blast from the air conditioner kissed my skin. “We’re going out back,” he said, leading me through the house, his hand resuming its place on my body.
His decorator had outfitted the place in rich, bold colors—deep oranges, browns, and reds, and rustic, handcrafted furniture that gave it a manly, comfortable vibe. The entire backside of the home featured floor-to-ceiling windows, and I pressed my palm to one and stared out at the grotto-shaped pool. “If I lived here, I’d never leave.”
“I bought it for the privacy.” He walked outside, moving through the pool and Jacuzzi area, and I followed close behind. “It’s almost three acres, so I don’t have to deal with the bullshit.”