Текст книги "Bad Boy's Baby"

Автор книги: Sosie Frost

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Chapter Four – Jack

I didn’t think a fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.

Except I forgot the most important thing.

Jesus fuck, this woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Leah had hips that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.

She gave me the address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home, I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar stocked with craft beers and co-eds.

Not anymore. Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was her.

With me at dinner.

Coming home with me.

Sleeping in my bed.

Waking inside of her.

Worst part was, I knew it’d never fucking happen.

I thought I’d be cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage idiot.

“Jack.” She clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”

And we’d be late for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately, studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for agreeing to this fake relationship.

I just wanted to use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing fun. I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.

A kiss that nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.

Hell if I could focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off the field should have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better reputation.

“Ready to go?” I found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently Leah found my head somewhere up my own ass.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I won’t help you.”

She didn’t invite me in. The door slammed behind her and she walked to the elevator without me.

How did I piss her off? I just got to her apartment.

“What the hell did I do now?” I asked.

Leah shook her head. The dress was low cut and everything else good and holy in this world shimmied too. “You didn’t even try.”

“Try what?”

“The apology?” She whipped around, and her hair caressed her cheek. I tried to focus on her scowl, but, God…even mad she was beautiful. “I spent an hour crafting you five sentences to express your remorse for what happened, and you couldn’t even make it sound genuine?”

What did I do wrong? “I read what you gave me.”

“Exactly. You read it like a PR person gave you a statement.”

“Do you want me to take acting classes now? I’m a football player, not Chris Pratt.”

“Yeah, as if I could get that lucky.”

“Fine…” I shrugged. “I’ll do better next time.”

That pissed her off more. “Jack, there better not be a next time. That was your last public apology. No one will listen to you next time.”

Touché.

The elevator delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she didn’t trust that the skirt wouldn’t ride up and show a scandalous amount of leg. I was praying it would.

“Why are we so formal?” she asked.

I was a jock, but even I appreciated a good meal. “I’m taking you to Le Meilleur.”

She stiffened, staring at me with widening eyes. “That’s the best restaurant in the city.”

I smirked, offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. “Now that sounded genuine.”

I helped her into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn’t my classic Camaro. Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury. She was probably a girl who didn’t mind a little class.

Well, there was nothing classier than getting fucked in the back seat of a sports car that cost more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn’t seem the type. That didn’t stop me from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my dick swelled thinking about her skirt riding up and my cock sliding in.

Let’s see her write a spin piece on the best sex of her goddamned life.

The restaurant needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets’ star near the dance floor. It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his longterm girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters. Every girl’s dream before slipping into bed with me.

But Leah didn’t seem the bed slipping type.

She folded her napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I would bring her somewhere nice.

“Thinking you were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate complexion of her skin. She turned my cock to stone, and she didn’t have a fucking clue.

“I didn’t know what to expect.” At least she was honest. Her voice shifted, taking on that professional, impersonal tone. “I’ve posted on social media about tonight. I have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets’ charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie together a little later, to pass around a picture of you that doesn’t include three drunken women and a totaled car.”

“Thanks.”

Her hands trembled. “I don’t know how to handle this from here. How to…make it seem like we’re an actual couple.”

Fucking her would convince me. “We’ll start by ordering an appetizer. I think a salad after that.” I leaned closer, voice low. “Then we’ll get real crazy and grab and entre.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I called over the waiter. “People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date.”

I tucked a hundred dollar bill in the waiter’s suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.

“Make sure the lady’s wine glass doesn’t go empty tonight.” I pointed to a variety of foods on the menu—not like I could read the French anyway. “That’ll be good for appetizers.”

The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.

“Please. Thank you. You’re welcome. Ever hear of those words?” She couldn’t look angry sipping a glass of hundred dollar wine. “You have to be courteous, Jack. You’re a public figure.”

Since when did throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a public figure? “Hey, I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman while you bill me for taking you out on the town.”

“You make me sound like an escort.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I winked. “Never needed one.”

Leah acted like she’d either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the indecision. Made her feisty.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “You’re the star quarterback of a professional football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become the best of all time. Not one of the best, but the best. Why would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?”

“You’re missing the big picture. It would have been a foursome.”

“Oh, whatever.” She crossed her arms.

“Give me my moment of glory.”

“Was that what it was? Glory?”

“It was fun, Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their asses?”

“I can have fun.” The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. “But I also know when it’s time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future.” She glanced at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her tits. “Have you thought about your future at all?”

“I have a plan for my future.” Two, if I counted getting her in bed. “Winning.”

“Winning?”

“Gotta win the first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the championship.”

She waited, as if I had more to say. “That’s…it? That’s your goal in life?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens when you get the championship?”

That was the kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me Daddy. “You think I’ll win it this year?”

“Yes…You’re Jack Carson.” She picked at a piece of bread. “Of course you will.”

“I didn’t know you were that confident in me.”

She perked an eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. “You never asked what I thought, just kept banging random women on your way to glory.”

“What could have been.”

“I can’t imagine a foursome being a life goal.”

What was with her? “I don’t have any other goals. I told you. I want my championship ring.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” I frowned. “Why? What the hell are you planning?”

She sucked in a deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. “I planned to be engaged while in college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven. Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one. Vienna at thirty-two. I’d have my last child when I was thirty-three. That’s as far as I’ve planned for now since I’m certain the best school districts will change by the time I’m ready to sell my starter home and move into a thirty-year house.”

Holy fuck, she was a freak.

Who the hell choreographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.

“Aren’t you my age?” I asked. “Twenty-four?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look pregnant. She didn’t have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.

“So what happened?” I laughed. “Where’s the lucky man you’ve shackled to a life of no surprises?”

“Sleeping with my best friend.”

Shit. I didn’t expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn’t hide the shame and picked at the bread again.

Who was stupid enough to cheat on her?

“What a prick,” I said.

She shrugged. The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. “Ironically, his wasn’t that impressive.”

“Well, that’s the real tragedy.”

Her wine refilled. She drank half right away. “It did the job before it wandered. I think.”

“You think?”

Leah caught herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. “That was just a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “Did he fuck you good or not?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“It shouldn’t ever just do the job. His should be the only goddamned cock you can think about.”

“You would know.”

“Damn right. Life is too short for bad fucking.”

She was embarrassed. Leah hid it by picking over the served appetizer. “It didn’t bother me. Passion wasn’t as much a deal-breaker as the marriage. I wanted the husband and the kids. The career was important too. Really important. I expected a good salary that could help me travel…” She sighed. “I wanted it all.”

She spoke an entirely different language from me. “What about that big cock and the great fucking?”

“That was always just part of the marriage.”

“Was it?” I asked.

She fiddled with her napkin. Didn’t like talking about sex, probably because she never had it good. I changed the subject.

“So now your grand plan is…?”

She nodded. “Ruined.”

“That’s easy enough to fix,” I said. “Change it. Live for the moment. Get fucked, have some fun, you’ll find there’s more to life than structuring it.”

“Oddly sensible coming from a man whose only goal is to win a game and have a foursome.”

“I don’t want a foursome anymore.” I stole the appetizer if only to brush her delicate fingers. “There’s only one woman I’d take to bed now.”

“And as exhilarating as becoming one of your sexual conquests would be…” Leah rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I think pretending to be your girlfriend is adventure enough for now.”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Don’t tell me you were a psychology major in college?”

I was. Didn’t go to any of the classes, but I won the college four bowl games. “You were hurt by the prick who cheated on you. Your plan is ruined. You think you have no time for fun, especially if you need to catch up on that big fancy wedding, the nice career, and make all those little babies.”

“Fooling around with you won’t get me any closer to my goal.”

“Who needs goals when you can have fun?”

“There’s more to life than sex.”

I grinned. “You’re right. There’s kissing. Foreplay. Blow jobs. Blow jobs are my favorite.”

“One of these days, Jack, you’re going to meet a girl and fall so desperately and idiotically in love that you won’t recognize yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Do me a favor and call me on that day. Tell me what you think life is about then.” Leah thanked the waiter as he delivered our food. “I won’t even bill you for those hours.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Your biggest party will be the reception after the wedding.” She winked. “Guarantee it.”

She was delusional but pretty. Good company over dinner too, better than half the guys I usually went out with. No spilled beer or cat calls or molested wait staff.

I didn’t remember what the soup tasted like or what the hell I even ordered. Leah sipped her wine and giggled. I didn’t know if it was an act for those who recognized us, or if she was actually having fun.

Only one way to find out.

The live music strummed some soft melody that I figured she liked. I much preferred the bumping R&B at the strip clubs or the bars, but I offered my hand to lead her to the dance floor.

She accepted without checking the surroundings or ensuring anyone saw us.

The music wasn’t bad. She didn’t grind against me, but her body fit perfectly against mine as I wrapped her in a solid embrace. My hand drifted low, against her curves, feeling her heat through the dress.

I hardened before we even began to dance.

It was a goddamned crime that a woman like her didn’t want a fling. Somebody needed to drop her on the bed and give her the night of her life if only so she wouldn’t move stiffly, awkwardly, like she was afraid to get too close.

I knew why she was so resistant. It was the same reason my cock hardened for her.

I whispered in her ear. “Why won’t you admit you’re attracted to me, Kiss?”

Her nails jabbed me through the suit coat. “I’m not attracted to you.”

“Liar.”

“You’re not my type.”

“What? Successful, sexy men aren’t your type?”

“Maybe I like my guys with a little humility?”

The music swayed, and I spun her so I could check out her ass. “Humility’s boring. Especially when you have reason to be confident.”

“Cocky.”

“Nine inches of it, Kiss.” I didn’t let her pull from my arms. “What if I said that you were my type?”

“Is it supposed to be a compliment?”

“Well…yeah.”

Leah smirked. My cock twisted.

And she called me trouble.

Her hands grazed over my chest, as if poking me would shame the hardness away. “You’re attracted to anything walking on two legs.”

I spun her again, this time observing everything from her strapping black heels to the hemline of her skirt. “Your legs are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I should be insulted.”

“But you’re not.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, because I was right, and she fucking knew it.

“Kiss, you are an amazingly beautiful woman.” I let my touch drift low, brushing her arms, her waist, and hips as I tugged her closer with the music. She let me. What a tease. “I promised you the full Jack Carson experience. We ate dinner. We’re dancing. Now there’s only one thing left to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“My favorite part of the evening.”

“Dream on, loverboy.”

“Oh, believe me, Kiss. After tonight, that’s all I’ll be dreaming about.”

She would too. The little hitch in her breath gave her away. She wanted to know what it’d be like too. She could find out. I’d drag her from the restaurant, toss her in my car, and deliver her to my bed. I doubted she ever spent a night with her legs in the air and her inhibitions tossed on the floor beside her panties. I’d have her screaming my name and praising my cock before we were done.

And then I’d do it again in the morning.

Just how Jack Carson pleased the women lucky enough to attract him.

Fuck the music. I lifted her chin, staring at her full, parting lips. I only had to convince her.

I took another kiss. Not like the one at the practice facility. This wasn’t some juvenile posturing—overwhelming her just to crack that holier-than-thou façade. This was a kiss meant to promise everything she never planned to experience.

Passion.

Lust.

Excitement.

Raw, carnal fucking.

Her lips tasted sweet like wine. I never kissed a girl with lips as soft as hers. Then again, I hardly ever kissed women. Usually their puffy lips wrapped over my cock.

Just the thought of Leah on her knees, opening her mouth, worshiping me between the silky caress of her lips nearly had me explode.

Fuck.

Who the hell gave this woman such power over me?

And why hadn’t I tried to fuck it out of her before?

Her tongue darted over mine. I pulled her tighter, harder.

Then…a flash.

A quick, intrusive camera flash.

I knew the type. Heard the shutter before. I ripped away from Leah as the jackass with the camera stormed the dance floor.

A waiter and server pulled him back, but not before the asshole grinned at Leah.

“How ‘bout a picture for the Ironfield Almanac, baby? Jack Carson’s newest slut? Were you one of the whores from the accident?”

I saw red. Rage. The kind of aggression I only felt when the game clock ticked the seconds down after the championship game and my opponents celebrated in the end zone off my intercepted pass.

The bastard insulted Leah.

She shouted as I lunged for him, but I wasn’t aiming for his neck. That was the only reason he survived.

I grabbed the camera and spiked it onto the dance floor. The lenses shattered, but the equipment didn’t smash until I drove my foot into it. The photographer swore. I took Leah’s arm and hauled her away as the man broke down in ragged profanity.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.

“Getting you out of here.” I nodded to the maître d'. He’d know where to send the bill for dinner. “No one talks to you like that.”

And no one would again.

Even if it was a fake relationship. Even if we were pretending.

Leah Williams was a goddamned lady who deserved better than a label of a slut.

She deserved better than me.

Chapter Five – Leah

Jack was pissed.

More than pissed. Furious. The kind of rage that made my job as his publicist exceedingly difficult.

Usually his worst scandals were sexual in nature. Occasionally he had a minor issue on the field. Fortunately, he had only one physical altercation since signing with the Rivets, and even that was settled quickly and quietly.

Lucky for anyone who crossed him.

Jack was a huge, imposing, utterly dominating beast of pure animalistic strength. Had he wanted to hurt that tabloid journalist, Jack would have reduced that bastard to a pile of broken bones.

It was the sort of problem the league expected, and exactly the type of crisis he hired me to handle.

Unfortunately, his reaction to the journalist would get us both fired. I waited for the call that’d summon us to the police station.

My heart thudded in my chest. That was good. I thought I left it at dinner, puddling on the ground at Jack’s feet while he delivered the single greatest kiss of my life. Jack slammed his car door. The Porsche was too expensive to mistreat, but we were damn lucky he kept the vehicle on the road and under one hundred miles an hour as we launched from the restaurant.

 “What are you doing?” I reached for his arm, but I didn’t have the courage to touch him. “Jack, please calm down.”

Rage strained his voice. “I’m getting you out of there.”

“Why?”

“So that cocksucker can’t harass you anymore.”

I couldn’t take a deep breath, and Jack stared at the road only to jerk the wheel and pass the other motorists. Apparently, normal traffic laws no longer applied to a man who single-handedly led the city to their first championship game in twenty-five years.

I had no idea what to say. “I’m fine, Jack.”

“What he said wasn’t.”

“You broke his camera.”

“He’s lucky that’s all I broke.”

He jammed the car in a higher gear and headed for the highway. I thought he would settle down, but every agonizing mile only pumped him more. I knew he had a temper, but he white-knuckle gripped the wheel. Was he really that upset on my behalf?

I didn’t ask where we were going. He drove me out of the city and took the exit for Teagan Heights.

This was a section of town where I didn’t belong. There, the houses were worth millions, and the men inside worth ten times that.

Jack took me to his house.

The mansion wasn’t the gaudy palace I expected, but it was gated, huge, and wrapped with a pool, hot tub, and evergreen trees to offer privacy. He pulled into a ten car garage. Only four of the bays were filled. A Mercedes, one motorcycle he was restoring, a totaled classic car, and an old Toyota. Jack stormed past it, but I pointed. He didn’t look.

“My dad’s old car.”

He waited for me at the door to the house. I remembered his file. “Your dad passed away?”

“Day of the league draft.” He toughened, intentionally, hiding the pain. “He didn’t live to see the Rivets take me. Come in.”

Jack’s extravagant living room was too classy for both of us. The parlor was a fancy, untouched slice of what a millionaire was supposed to like, complete with chandeliers and paisley patterns. He showed me the kitchen and dining room with a wave of his hand, but he steered clear of the sitting room that had probably gone unused since he purchased the home.

His den was downstairs, and it was a true man cave. He installed a wet bar and leather seats, a fireplace and every game system imaginable for the wall sized TV. It was dim, cozy, and served as an award room. He didn’t hang trophies and accolades, but jerseys and photographs. I lingered near the newspaper articles from his high school and the letters from old teachers and friends who congratulated him on everything from his college bowl games to getting drafted by the one of the most prestigious teams in the league.

This was the real Jack, but even in his familiar setting, he hadn’t recovered his temper. He poured a drink and downed it immediately. He had another before offering me anything with a grunt.

“Jack, it’s okay,” I said.

“He called you a slut.” He abandoned the hard liquor and opened a beer instead. The bottle shook in his hand. “I’ve been with a lot of girls. Most of them are easy, but you aren’t like them. I won’t let anyone talk about you like that.”

I wished my heart hadn’t fluttered a little harder. “I can handle my own PR.”

“That wasn’t good PR. He just wanted to snap a picture of me getting in trouble with a new girl.”

I raised an eyebrow. “But that’s exactly what we want. People have to see us together. Those pictures will sell the story. It’ll be proof that we’re a real couple.”

And the kiss the reporter captured on camera was evidence enough, damning or otherwise. Every part of my body still buzzed with the intoxication of Jack’s lips. My skin heated. My tummy flipped. Parts of me that should never have pulsed for a man like Jack suddenly came alive.

“We aren’t telling people like that,” he said. “Not with a big fucking headline calling you a slut. Christ, I’ve tried to get you into bed since the day I hired your damn company. If you’re a slut, you’re the slowest score I’ve ever had.”

“Isn’t that sweet.”

He set the beer on the bar and walked to me—long, confident strides that trapped me before I could position the couch between us. “Look, Kiss. I’m a little…protective of you.”

“Since when?”

“Since some asshole photographer with a blog decided to flash a camera in your face!” Jack bit his words. I pretended not to flinch, but he saw. Apologized. “You aren’t some random girl with me. Even if this wasn’t fake, even if we were a legit…you’re not like the other girls. You’re…Kiss. You’re Leah.”

I swallowed. It didn’t help. It was the first time in a year he actually called me by my real name.

I had no idea he was so protective, so valiant to defend my honor.

Craziest part of all? I don’t think he realized it either.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He stood so close, close enough to shield me with his muscular body from any threat to my virtue in this world—except for him. I looked up, meeting the stunning gaze of his eyes, the striking blue pinning me in place.

“Did I ruin the night?” he asked.

“It won’t be a good morning when the story breaks…” I didn’t move as he reached for me. “And now I’m expecting a call from Jolene or the league or the police…but I don’t think you ruined anything.”

His hands fit over my waist, tugging me closer to him. His words rumbled deep inside me, shuddering my core, my heart, my mind. Nothing made sense this close to Jack Carson.

I had no idea he could even touch someone so gently.

“I lost a chance at my dance.” His voice melted me again.

“You were trying to seduce me.”

“Was it working?”

Like he couldn’t tell by how eagerly I’d parted my lips and accepted his kiss. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not dating.”

His hand trailed over my side, twisting in my dress, edging the hem into his curling fingers. “What’s the problem?”

“It’ll get too complicated.”

“Like faking a relationship isn’t complicated…” He leaned down, skipping my lips and aiming for my neck. “We can still be professional.”

I held my breath, capturing his spicy cedar scent. “There’s nothing professional about sex.”

“Sex is just sex, Kiss.”

“Not to me.”

His lips traced along my neck, nipping where my pulse beat and delighting me with every shiver he could force through my body. “That’s no fun. Sometimes you just gotta fuck. Ever felt like that before?”

No, but I was starting to.

Still, that didn’t make it right. Or good. Or anything I should have wanted from playboy Jack Carson and his conquests.

“I won’t be just another girl you take home,” I said.

“Afraid of being the one I keep here?”

Yes, because it would never happen. A man like Jack was trouble, especially when my life was already in shambles. The only plan I had anymore was to slink home and soak in the tub. I often pretended I hadn’t received the engagement announcement from Wyatt and my former best friend. Jennifer was pregnant.

She had conceived while I still wore the ring Wyatt gave me.

Jack wanted sex for sex.

I looked for stability. A relationship. The promise of romance, marriage, world-wide travels. Kids.

We couldn’t have been more wrong for each other. No one would believe we were dating.

But my head fell back. I offered him another taste of my neck. The shiver was distressing.

Amazing.

His kiss fluttered my eyes closed, and, for a long moment, I imagined what it might be like to be swept in Jack’s embrace. To let myself go. To take that desire and have sex for…fun. For pleasure. For myself.

I twisted, meeting his lips. The kiss was as sensual as the one in the restaurant, as powerful and confusing and absolutely necessary. His tongue flicked once, twice against mine, and every stroke shocked me completely, buzzing deep into places I wasn’t prepared to admit.

He loomed until the back of my knees struck the couch. Jack pinned me with the promise of something so frighteningly sexy I might’ve crashed into the leather from the sheer anticipation of where else he might’ve touched, kissed, explored.

“Such a bad idea…” I whispered. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can.” Jack’s fingers tangled in the hem of my dress. “What would it hurt?”

“It’d ruin everything. We have a professional relationship…”

“Come on, Kiss.” The material tickled as he drew it over my thighs. He exposed the sheer, red panties I wore only because I didn’t think anyone would see that I matched my underwear to my wrap. “I drove you crazy every time I came to the office. We didn’t have a professional relationship to ruin.”

“We have one now.” The dress slipped too high. My flat tummy revealed to him, and the underside of my bare breasts peeked from the bound silk. A bad night to not wear a bra. “Don’t you think this will make pretending to be dating hard?”

“I’m used to things being hard around you.”

“I’m not.”

He smirked. “That’s because I behaved myself, Kiss.”

“And now?”

“What’s my nickname in your office?”

“…Trouble-Maker.”

“You’re the one in trouble now.”

I sucked in a breath as the dress slipped off. Jack surveyed my body, nude save for a pair of sheer panties that left none of my cocoa skin to the imagination.

Jack tossed me onto the couch, falling over me only once he tossed away the sport coat and ripped through the buttons of an expensive shirt. The bright, ragged ink on his chest peeked through, swirls of dark and expressive tattoos that seared through the façade of respectability he wove for the dinner we enjoyed.

Jack wasn’t appetizers and cocktails and fancy French restaurants.

He wasn’t gentle dances and soft whispers.

He was fierce—raw and passionate. Sex for sex and enjoying every last second of debauchery.

His lips feasted on mine, his tongue stealing my overwhelmed murmurs and creating a wild moan in their place. My skin chilled in the air conditioned house and cool leather, but every swipe of his tongue heated me until the warmth consumed me and I begged for a moment of air, of peace, of anything that would alleviate the intensity.

Jack delivered. He grinned and seized my nipple within his greedy lips, nibbling against the mocha nub just hard enough to make me squirm.

“A little chocolate kiss.” He murmured with his mouth full and indecent and stuffed with my breast.

I loved the sight.

I savored the shivers, the absolute decadence of letting a man touch where my fingers hardly ever satisfied. He suckled and twisted, pulled and nipped, and the enthusiastic pop from around the seal he created on my tip only excited me more.