DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) (35 page)

Chase

I didn’t get everything I wanted out of that first dinner meeting, not by a long shot. What my irrational mind had been hoping for was that Remy would fall so madly in lust with me that she would throw herself at me and let me have my way with her.

All through dinner, I’d thought about sweeping the table clear and throwing her down, ripping her clothes off and finally seeing her body before I touched her delicate skin and tasted every last inch, one last place in particular.

I didn’t do that though, and not because I’d have felt guilty but because she would've and I couldn’t have that. So despite my desire—God help me, I’d been hard since opening the door and all the way through dinner as she licked, moaned and totally devoured her food—I’ve sworn to slowly seduce her so that by the time she signs on the dotted line, she’ll be as ravenous for me as I am for her.

As planned, I’d kept the conversation light for the rest of the evening, amusing her with stories about restoring my first house singlehandedly and shooting a nail through the webbing on one hand.

She’d laughed her ass off and then some when I talked about Gabe and his absolute brilliance at making deals but his hopelessness with a hammer. For such a brilliant man, the guy is definitely all thumbs.

And when it was time for her to go, her eyes looked as sad as I felt when the car rolled up. For some reason, I’d had the urge to spill it all as she stopped and turned at the car door, a rueful smile on her face.

“You know we never got around to discussing anything important tonight.”

I’d smiled and cocked my head, holding my tongue, and just stopping myself from telling her that I am Alex, her best friend and the man who’s wanted her for years.

“Oh, but I think your life is very important, Miss Harrow.” I’d drawled, enjoying the fact that she never corrected me. Loving that despite years of marriage she doesn’t think of herself as Mrs. Carson.

“Thank you. I had a wonderful time. You kind of rescued me from my worst nightmare tonight. You’ll call me to set up meetings so we can get started on those programs?”

And then she left, taking the joy and light with her as the car pulled away, taking her back to a man who doesn’t deserve her…and won’t have her for very long if I have my say.

The best part of last night had been that I got to look at her, the real her, and not some photograph for hours. Gone are the highlights that she’d once confessed her mother made her get. Now she was crowned with a caramel-colored swathe of thick tresses that look softer than satin or silk. And her eyes, my God, so dark aqua they look bottomless.

They were warm though, definitely warm as we’d discussed everything from my college years to her confession that college almost killed her socially and mentally.

So, yeah, I’m high on success right now and trying to figure the best way to maneuver Remy into getting that divorce I so desperately need her to get, when the phone rings and I get the best news on earth.

“Neil.”

“Hey boss. Thought you should know, I followed your girl all the way to her lawyer’s office this morning.”

“Why?”

“Well, seems she went ahead and filed those papers without his signature. She’s going for irreconcilable differences, which I don’t think will get the job done, so I went on ahead and anonymously dropped those photos of Carson and the cousin in the lawyer’s in-box. She went racing back about an hour later and came out with a glory of a smile on her face.” He finishes, chuckling darkly. “My guess is that woman ain’t gonna let her family stop her this time.”

The smile that lights my face is a toothy grin, and I lean back with a burst of joy that reaches clear to my toes.

“It’s about bloody time.”

“Yup. Told ya you shoulda sent her those pictures a long time ago boss. She’d already be divorced by now.”

“I was hoping she’d make that decision by herself.”

So I could avoid more guilt, which I honestly wouldn’t have felt, but still, it’s the principle…

“Well, she went and did that boss. Her lawyer filed a couple weeks ago apparently, but she went in to give him that last push to speed up the court dates. Looks like your girl’s been planning this for a while and whatever’s happened recently gave her that last nudge.”

Me. I want to yell that it was seeing me that pushed her, that she’s attracted to me and likes me and that for once I’m being chosen over the popular guy.

I restrain my fifth-grade impulses and end the call on a high note before dialing her number and starting my battle plan full scale. I’ll get a judge friend of mine to speed up that divorce, and fucking quick because I’m banking on having Remy Harrow in my bed and under me in no more than six weeks, tops.

And I get what I want.

Always.

***

Remy

“You may not do this, Remington. Think of the scandal!” my mother yells into the phone, her voice hard and shrill and so nasty I feel a momentary need to obey before I harden my resolve and keep moving my stuff from the master bedroom into a guest room.

I can’t afford to move out yet, so I’ll have to use the guestroom or hope that Brian gets the hint and gets packing. Somehow I doubt that will happen, but hell, a girl can hope.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but like I said, I will not stay in a marriage where my husband messes around on me constantly.”

I ignore her lecture and huff as I drop the last armload of clothes on the bed, wincing when I hoist them back up, hangers and all and attempt to get the whole enchilada into the closet in one go. It’s just as I hook the last hanger and release the load, my arms screaming, that she drops her last bomb.

“A woman stands by her husband through thick and thin, Remington. A few indiscretions must be tolerated. Why, I think it’s selfish to expect a virile man such as Brian to settle, especially when you haven’t made any effort with yourself whatsoever.”

That cuts deep, amazingly deep, and for a moment I’m shocked to realize that it hurts even more than the last time I’d needed her and she’d rejected me and blamed me instead of giving me the comfort a mother should lavish on her child.

For years I’ve wondered if she would ever live up to my expectations and be the mother I needed. It looks like that’s a big fat
no
now that she’s decided to take Brian’s side once again, despite the fact that my suspicions of his philandering are confirmed.

So I drop my next bomb, not caring one iota about her delicate sensibilities and really quite relishing the opportunity to upset her a little.

“While I would agree—cause, gosh darn, you’ve taught me so well, haven’t you?—Brian, my dear virile husband, has been fucking Helena for the last seven months, Mother, so please excuse me if I’m feeling a little put out by that fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really don’t have time for this since I have an hour to get to a dinner meeting.”

I slam the phone down on her shriek of outrage, a grin lining my face before it slips beneath the weight of other more pressing matters—the first being that I absolutely hate having to live here with Brian.

I told him about the divorce papers and the measures my lawyer has taken since he point-blank refuses to sign the papers, and I’d had to listen to two hours of his ranting, pleading, and then threats if I didn’t call it off.

Apparently he knows some people and my job could be in jeopardy.
Bastard
.

I can’t think about that though because I’m afraid that I may snap. Yeah, I don’t love Brian anymore, and he sure doesn’t love me, but come on! He’s doing my younger cousin and threatening my job! I’m afraid that elastic band will give and I’ll come to, standing over his very bloody corpse to see a hammer or equally deadly tool in my white-knuckled grasp.

And then there’s my other problem.

Chase Marshall.

Instead of being swamped with fear and sadness by my divorce, I’ve found myself thinking of him constantly. Those eyes, gosh golly, I don’t think I can ever forget the way his eyes held mine and promised something I can’t even describe.

And I’m not even going to allow myself to think of his lips because if I do I’m going to need to change underwear before I leave.

That’s the problem I’m having, because sure as hell it’s not saying anything good about me that I’m fantasizing about a man who is basically my boss at the moment, while waiting for my divorce to go through.

And now I have to sit through another dinner with him and attempt not to flirt, though I want to so bad I can almost taste those soft lips that I can’t stop thinking about.

Part of me revels in the thought that I can be attracted to a man so quickly after Brian—at all, really—if I consider what happened back in high school.

But as great as it feels to know that I have no residual fear left, I am not impressed by my lack of boundaries.

For instance, just two days ago I’d run out and used my meager funds to buy a new off-the-shoulder little black dress in case I should end up seeing him again—a dress I’m now wearing—and I know that has nothing to do with my wanting to look professional and everything to do with looking hot.

Why, I don’t know, since I will never have sex with another man while I’m still legally married to Brian, but there you have it. I’ve turned into a hussy and I so want to look good for Chase that I’m willing to ignore my inner voice.

With one last look in the hall mirror, I go to my car and start the hour long drive to the inner city, my nerves as ecstatically excited as they are jumpy.

I’m going to have to start building a few walls and insert some professionalism into these meetings of ours, or I am very afraid I’ll do something I’ll regret.

But, God, just once I wish I had it in me not to care.

“So I think that setting up the park first will definitely be a better step than tabling it and constructing the Rec first. The little kids will have somewhere besides their own back yards to play together and I think it’ll be a positive step toward building community ties. The young people and their moms can get to know the retirees. Maybe we can promote a buddy program to provide company for the elderly.”

I’ve kept up a steady stream of purely work talk since I’d arrived at Chase—no, Mr. Marshall’s—house thirty minutes ago. He's prepared the same spread as the one we’d had that first night. Only this time the fire pit is blazing and we’ve been lounging against the cushions, sipping wine and talking.

I can’t deny the effort it’s taking to keep from looking at him and delving deeper, getting to know the man, but—

“Is everything okay, Remy?” he cuts in, his body turning into mine as he frowns down at me, his multi-colored eyes holding mine captive.

God, I shouldn’t have come tonight; I should have rescheduled and insisted on meeting for lunch or at his office, anything to keep from being in this intimate setting and alone with a man I find completely irresistible.

Sure, fine, my lawyer had called today and told me that Judge Clark has fast tracked proceedings and that it’s a possibility that instead of waiting another few months, my divorce could be through in a matter of weeks. Next week to be exact, but that doesn’t give me the green light to start an affair with this man, even one that’s just in my head.

“Yeah, fine. I’m just eager to get things done,” I say, swallowing and shifting back an inch when I realize his knee is directly beside my own and that his heat is seeping into me at that point, doing things to me I can’t allow.

Not yet—if ever.

“Eager to get done or get done with me?” he asks, leaning closer, his eyes holding me firmly in place.

Now, see, how am I supposed to answer that? The thought of blowing my way through these projects and leaving him behind when everything is done leaves a physical ache that I can’t deny.

We’ve been at this for just over a month now, and every time I see him I fall a little deeper under the spell. He’s so…unexpected; I can’t think past wanting to see him again.

We talk on the phone at least once a day, sometimes not even getting to the issues at hand, sometimes debating the best way to do things and sometimes just shooting the breeze because we can.

That’s all that’s kept me going since I told Brian about our divorce and slowly started moving things around and packing others.

And then there are these dinners…

We’ve met for dinner only four times now, once for every week of this last month, and it’s driving me crazy wanting him to the point of madness, to the point that by the time I slide into my car to drive home I’m wet and needy.

God, I’m already there now and all he’s done is shift his knee to touch my leg.

“Remy.”

Dammit
.

“All… None… God, this is not right,” I say in a burst of air. “Look, I’m married, and granted that won’t be for much longer, thank God, but I am still married and I am…this is so embarrassing. I’m attracted to you, okay?”

He smirks and I swear his eyes drill right into the core of me, their depths going smoky hot and lazy all at once, and I feel myself clench deep inside, my body readying.

“Good. I am attracted to you too, Remy, very much so. In fact, I’ve forced myself to sit through dinner with you and not make one move though my dick is so hard it pains me.”

Oh, wow
.

He moves closer and I smell his aftershave and what smells like clean man underneath. I feel my nipples bead beneath the fabric of my shirt, tightening to hard points that I know he can’t fail to notice.

He does, and when he looks back up at me he’s smiling softly.

“I want you so badly it hurts. I lay awake at night wondering what you smell like, taste like, how you’d feel wrapped around my dick as I fuck you hard and then so soft and slow. I think about what you’d look like waking up in my bed. Will your hair be a mess? Will you be grumpy or one of those infernal morning people.”

I’m breathing so hard as he says these things that I wheeze when he leans in and cups my face with both hands, bringing his lips so close I feel the heat of his them seeping into mine.

“But I won’t touch you like that until you’re free and clear of…your husband.” He growls, closing his eyes and pulling my breath into his lungs.

The way he says that is so snide I blink to clear my vision and shake off the unsettled feeling it evokes.

“Uh, listen Chase, I don’t—”

“Don’t say anything till I finish. Please,” he interrupts, pulling back only far enough that my eyes don’t cross when I look at him. “I know that you’re married and also that you’re in the middle of a divorce. I’ll wait, just don’t tell me you don’t want more before you even give this a shot.”

I nod and look away, feeling giddy and terrified all at once. This is so…natural, I guess. Guy meets girl, guy likes girl, guy wants to sleep with girl.

And I feel exactly the same. I just don’t know how I’d feel if I—

“So where are you staying? or has your soon-to-be ex moved into some crappy dive?” he asks, looking like he’d relish Brian’s suffering at the hands of some flea-infested motel.

“Uh, well I’ve moved to the guestroom, and I’m hoping the house sells quickly so I can afford an apartment.”

He rears back—his eyes losing the seductive light—and looks at me hard, seeming almost angry at my words.
Way to kill the mood, Rem
, I think, almost cringing because part of me did that on purpose to put some distance between us.

Having a guy tell me that he lays awake nights thinking about my body, and then my imagining him jerking off to thoughts of me, makes me so hot I’m afraid to stand up I’m so wet.

Not good, not yet, not till I’m free to do something without feeling like a whore.

“You need to leave,” he snarls, and I feel my heart stutter—not only at his words, but the pent up fury in them.

Surprisingly, it hurts a lot when those words filter into my sinking brain. I say that because it shouldn’t hurt this much; I hardly know him. No that’s a lie. I’ve learned more about Chase Marshall in the short weeks we’ve been talking and meeting than I know about my own husband.

I know his favorite color is green, that he loves hotdogs and Haggis equally—gross—and that he likes really dirty jokes and thinks it’s weird that I don’t.

I know that he’s kind and giving and fierce about keeping his charity projects alive.

Mostly, I know that it was only after meeting him and feeling his respect and interest that I finally got the balls to tell my lawyer to force the divorce.

I want him as I’ve wanted no man in my life, and the fact of the matter is that I would have him, guilt or not. Except that it now seems that I’ve pissed him off past the point of pulling back.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” I croak, standing shakily to my legs and smoothing down my dress before grabbing my purse.

“Where are you going, Remy?” he barks, standing in one swift move to tower over me, his much taller presence dwarfing my five-foot-three-inch frame, making me feel so small and delicate.

“Er, you just told me to leave.”

“No! I meant you have to leave that house, Remy. You can’t stay there with him,” he snarls, pulling me back down and taking his seat. And this time he’s almost pressed up against me he’s so close.

“Chase, hon, I hate to break this to you, but not everyone has bajillions to throw around. I have exactly three-hundred dollars in my bank account right now, and Brian is sabotaging every house viewing, so I don’t see it selling any time soon. That means I’m either in the guestroom or homeless. Since it’s coming on winter, I’m kind leaning toward the guestroom since I don’t want to die of exposure.” I say with a little more snark then is truly necessary. I close my eyes at the frustration I feel.

I understand his point, really I do, but the guy is so loaded I doubt he even knows what a coupon is. I do, boy, do I know.

According to Brian, the husband takes care of the mortgage and utilities, while it’s my job as the wife to pay for groceries, the maid he insists we have, and even the pool guy.

Needless to say, I never have any money; hence my sparse wardrobe and the fact that I only get a wax every three months because it takes me that long to save enough money.

And know what he does about my legs being hairy? He complains. Constantly.

“Move in here.”

That has my thoughts stopping so suddenly I crack my neck with whiplash.

“Um, that is not even…”