Just to make matters worse, the jerk winks at me before turning around and going to reconfirm something with his father. A wink. A fucking wink.

A wink shouldn’t bristle me.

A wink is nothing. More condescension.

More… whatever it is he sometimes does to me.

God, I can’t stand being around the man. When he’s not making me want to gag on his toxic smug, he’s making my knees tremble from those quick looks and quicker grins.

I can’t believe it. Even after twelve years, I’m still hot for the bastard.

***

Hang on, let me back up a minute.

Once upon a time, back when a horny teenage girl named Kathryn was getting as much action as she could, she went to a gala hosted by Dominic Mathers.

Ian was there. Ian Mathers, the seventeen-year-old heartthrob that every girl in our academy was throwing themselves at. Rumor was he had a good dick. Of course, to a stupid girl, a “good dick” meant anything that we could at least feel. Since Ian is two years older than me, I hadn’t seen much of him at school outside of the soccer games I went to in the autumn. Ian never stood out to me until I saw him up close at his father’s gala.

Even back then he was clean-cut and muscular. Nah, he’s not a body-builder, but he’s got some nice, cut muscles that make most women salivate. I sure did when I was fifteen. Since our dads were school friends, my father went out of his way to introduce me.

I had met Ian before, but that was before puberty, when he was a scrawny kid who looked no more interesting than a beanpole with shaggy hair. Post-puberty Ian, on the other hand, looked like a young prince ready to sweep a girl like me off her feet. I was used to boys who thought they would get whatever they wanted from me. Sure, I indulged some. I wasn’t a virgin when I saw Ian that night. I’m not proud that I was having sex by fifteen, but I don’ regret it.

So there was this guy. Ian Mathers, the guy everyone said was sweet and handsome and well talented if you know what I mean. One of my friends said she was lab partners with his ex-girlfriend. “He makes her come twice in a row,” she exclaimed more than once. I was lucky to come from my own hand at that age.

Do you see where I’m going with this? When I shook Ian’s hand that night at the gala, I batted my eyelashes and made sure one of the sparkly black straps of my dress fell off my shoulder. Oh, trust me, he looked at it. And then he looked at my body as if he were going to devour it whole.

A half hour later he asked me to dance. His hands felt strong and sturdy on my frame, even though we danced a respectable distance apart. We didn’t say anything. I think he barely knew my name, and I didn’t care about any of his details. All I cared about were his eyes on my chest and his hand on my ass.

We were horny teenagers, okay?

Another half hour later, we were in a coat closet making out like bunnies. Or is that humping like bunnies? Either way, I was feeling things I rarely felt with any other boy. Like the burning need to fuck.

It was gonna be quick and dirty. The boy had a condom with him, and he was putting it on before I could offer him a blowjob.

Guess what? It’s a good thing I forwent that, because his dick had barely touched my thigh when he groaned and that was the end of everything.

That’s right. Ian Mathers, everyone’s bachelor darling, prematurely ejaculated when we tried to hook up as teenagers.

I shouldn’t hold it against him. Happens to the best of teen boys. Wasn’t the first time a guy did that on me, either. But holy shit, I was so incensed that night that I darted out of the closet, leaving him behind with his shame and embarrassment.

We didn’t see each other for two years, not until I graduated from school and went off to college. Neither of us brought up that night. We haven’t talked about it since. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers that it was me he did that to all those years ago.

It’s embarrassing. This man has only gotten hotter with age, and now here I am at ten on a Friday morning with a hot coffee in my hand and memories of making out with Ian Mathers in my head.

“Kathryn!”

I nearly drop my coffee. There’s that booming, commanding voice in my head. I turn, meeting Ian’s gaze from across the large conference table.

“They’re here,” he says, settling in a chair next to his father. “You ready?”

Fuck him. I’m never ready when he’s in the same room as me.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

IAN

 

Lana Andrews walks through the door, dressed like a runway model with hair as perfect as a movie star’s. That’s not unusual for the women around here, but you have to understand that Lana is about forty, a relative young age for someone with so much business power in this region.

I mention what a bombshell she is with her hip-hugging red pencil skirt and flowing auburn hair because the first thing she does is wink at me before extending her hand to shake my father’s. Lana Andrews is an infamous flirt, and she knows how to deck a man right in the groin.

So does her husband, Ken Andrews, a man barely older than her and as good looking. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed. They’re notorious swingers who even share a mistress, if the rumors I hear are true. Of course they’re going to flirt with me. I’m not into guys, but even I blush when Ken Andrews, carrying himself much taller than his relatively short stature should allow, flashes me a man-eating smile. Look, I have a college friend who said he and Ken got so drunk one night that a couple fantastic hummers may have been swapped.

These two gods of the Pantheon of poly-pansexual sex are currently the richest real estate couple in the whole area. Classic love story of two big-shot real estate salespeople ending their rivalry to join forces and take over the world – and a few asses, if I believe this same friend.

My dad’s got it in his head that we’re going to buy The Grand from them. Turn it into the best historical hotel this state has ever seen. That’s quite a feat when you consider how many other famous hotels there are around here that are more than a century old. May sound like babies to you Brits, but as Americans we get excited by anything claiming to be older than our grandparents.

“Dominic. Ian.” We trade handshakes with the Andrews, my father’s knees creaking as he forces himself to stand up. I tell the man he needs to retire to the Bahamas, or maybe San Francisco if he insists, but he won’t hear anything of it. I don’t think he’s that enamored with business anymore – I simply suspect that he doesn’t think I’m ready to take over everything. That and he doesn’t want his ex-wife to get more of her hands on assets.

“Lana,” I say with a stupid grin, as if I can’t help myself around a pretty woman like her. “Lovely to see you again.”

Her grip tightens around my hand. Well, I’m in trouble.

Behind me, Kathryn freakin’ Alison chokes on her coffee.

I had forgotten that she’s here, because…

Wait. Wait. I see that look on your face. What the fuck has she been saying about me? I know you’ve been talking to her.

What?!

Hang on. Back the fuck up. Why am I not surprised that she brought that up in her first conversation with you? Is that the first thing she thinks of when she thinks of me? When she sees me? That stupid time we tried to hook up in a closet and my dick got way too excited about it?

Uuuuuuggggghhhh!

I can explain. I will have you know that I am perfectly competent in that department. Sure, I get a little excited sometimes. But shit like that only happens every great once in a while. I hate to burst you ladies’ bubbles, but even we suave bastards get a little premature sometimes.