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Authors: Jasmine Haynes

Hers for the Evening (30 page)

BOOK: Hers for the Evening
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She should have spit in his eye. The presumption. And yet. He was so right between her legs. Simon, so right in a way she’d never let herself truly acknowledge beyond a few fleeting thoughts she’d shoved away quickly. The command in his voice was like an aphrodisiac, setting her blood on fire. Even as she writhed against him, trying to wriggle away, he pinned her to the door with his hard body, slid his palms up her arms, and shackled her wrists in one big hand.

Her body wanted to come. Falling completely still against him, it took all her will not to allow orgasm to overtake her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk, couldn’t blink. Or she’d lose it all to him.

“I will give you want you need,” he seduced, his chest expanding with a breath, caressing her breasts.

She was afraid even to shake her head lest she lose control. “Let me go,” she managed.

He held her with his body, his gaze, his will. “Kiss me first.”

Her eyes were drawn to his mouth. She wanted to taste him more than anything in her life.

“Force me,” Haley whispered.

Simon took her chin in his fingers, his palm cupping her throat, her skin soft, fragrant, the slight musk of her arousal clouding his mind. His cheek still stung lightly with the imprint of her hand. He’d deserved it, taken his punishment. Now he wanted this. With the first taste of her lips, his knees threatened to buckle. 199

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He didn’t know whether she opened her mouth voluntarily or he plundered, but she took him deep, sucked his tongue. The groan was his, the moan hers. His body moved, rocking, fucking her with clothes between them. He was up and over the edge in seconds, wanting to tear her T-shirt to get at her luscious breasts, rip her jeans apart to ease his fingers into her pussy. He had to release her jaw when she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. Ah God, she tasted so sweet, her body clinging to his, her soft hair falling all around his face and shoulders in a cloud. He braced one hand on the door, the other beneath her ass, and rocked into her, taking her with his mouth, his whole body, everything except his cock.

Jesus, it was Haley, with twelve years of wanting launching into his kiss. He devoured her, but damn if she didn’t do the same to him, her fingers fisted in his hair, holding him as if she’d never let him go. She tugged on his hair, backing off to breathe, moaned, pierced him with her deep brown eyes, then attacked his mouth once more. Being above him, she controlled the kiss, angling her head for a deep assault. A firecracker? She was a tidal wave dragging him under, tossing him, drowning him in her scent and taste.

She groaned, tore her mouth away, her head thumping against the door.

“Put”—she had to breathe before the next words came out—“me down.”

No, please, no.

Yet he let her body slide down his, her legs, her breasts, her skin searing him. Her feet touched the floor, and she pushed. He didn’t move.

“I kissed you,” she said, unblinking. “Now you have to let me go.”

He wanted to shout his frustration, but he’d agreed. Simon backed off, his body on fire, his lungs working overtime, his heart shriveling. Without taking her eyes off him, she eased open the door, slipped out, and closed it behind her.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How could she walk away from the power of what had happened between them?

Because she couldn’t forget and she couldn’t forgive. He touched his cheek where she’d slapped him. Putting out that ad to get past her defenses was a worse mistake than all the others he’d ever made. This time, he’d lost her for good.

Maybe. Probably. Whatever. Simon was not giving up. 200

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5

OH MY GOD. THAT KISS.

Haley locked herself in the restroom, hunkering down on the closed toilet lid. A full bathroom with a stall shower, Haley had made it a girlie place, with a wicker stand containing extra tissue, TP, soap, and cleaning supplies, a flowered curtain tacked around the top edge to hide everything. Two bright prints of Mardi Gras masks hung on the wall above the toilet. In the mirrored cabinet over the sink, she kept her makeup. A pretty plastic curtain covered the shower. Working with all men, except Saskia, making the bathroom feminine was like staking a claim, or drawing a line in the sand. If you mess with my bathroom, I will mess with you. She fought to maintain that bathroom’s neatness with every guy that walked through their door, even Artie. They’d all knuckled under in the end, cleaning up after themselves, giving in because they finally figured out she’d never back down from this one thing. She hadn’t thought it was that much to ask, but men, they didn’t get it about not peeing on the toilet seat or wiping down the shower so it didn’t grow mold or gather soap scum. The only one who hadn’t put up a fight was Simon, not because he couldn’t win the battle. He was probably the only one who could win since he’d been the one to give her the most respect.

This was about the right of ownership. Simon and Artie owned the projects, made all the business decisions, got the job done. She owned that damn bathroom. And the books. She didn’t mess with the jobs, Simon didn’t mess with the bathroom or the books.

He’d trusted her with his accounting, trusted she’d pay the bills on time, collect the money, file the taxes. In return, he respected her desire for a clean bathroom. He never called her a neat freak, never tried to sneak money out of the petty cash, never wrote himself checks he conveniently forgot to tell her about. He respected her.

Mercy, there was so much more than that. The way he’d helped remodel the house, countless weekend hours, the thank-you dinners she’d made him, the fun they’d all had late into those evenings, talking, laughing, Artie telling his stories. Maybe she’d become so mad with Simon because he was a living, breathing object at which she could direct her anger. Because Artie was dead, and she 201

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couldn’t direct it at him.

Haley touched her lips. Simon’s body had imprinted itself all over her. His warmth, his smell. She could still feel the hardness of his cock between her legs, relish his sweet, cinnamon taste. He was like a glass of champagne sparkling in her mouth.

Artie had never—

She slapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d spoken aloud. She’d loved Artie when she married him. She’d loved him when he died. It was just . . . different. Every argument, every time you go to sleep angry or stomp out of the house, it changes how you love somebody. Yet Artie had never kissed her that way, not in the beginning, certainly not at the end. Never with a passion that quite literally stole her breath, suspended her in time where all that existed was him, his mouth, his body.

Only Simon had ever made her feel that intensity. It scared the bejesus out of her. He was a man to stay away from if she wanted to protect herself from ever getting hurt again the way Artie had hurt her. Haley unfolded herself from the toilet lid. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She’d kissed him, touched him, wanted him. Now she was going to have to deal with it. Ignore it? Yeah, great plan. Simon leaned against the wall opposite the restroom door, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, the toe of his boot propped negligently. A relaxed, easy stance, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. All muscle, the man was enough to make any woman drool. His hair, the silver shot through with his original dark brown, didn’t make him older. As the cliché went, it only made him better. He’d turned fifty his last birthday, setting off the smoke alarm with all the candles Saskia put on his birthday cake. Fifty years on Simon was prime. Ignore what happened in his office? He’d flipped a switch she couldn’t turn off again.

Yet she made one last-ditch effort to pretend. “It’s all yours.” She flapped a hand in the bathroom’s direction.

Simon didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. He simply focused his smoky gray eyes on her. And waited.

His stare unnerved her. She swallowed. “It was a mistake.”

One side of his mouth tipped. It might have been a smile. Or a grimace. She glanced around the wall to the front office. Saskia still wasn’t in. Her 202

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watch read five minutes to nine. Shock. It seemed like hours since she’d sat at her computer. That’s what Simon did her to her, messed with her senses. Finally, the rock spoke. “Once.”

Her pulse skittered. “What?”

“We make your fantasy come true one time.”

Heat arced from his body to hers over the small space between them. Haley started to shake on the inside. He wouldn’t see, but she felt the quakes right down to her toes. “That’s not a good idea.” Dear Lord, she wanted it. He’d done a number on her last night. A total mindfuck, to use his word. Today, he’d turned it physical. If she hadn’t become such a horny slut on her fortieth birthday, she might have been able to fight his power. But she couldn’t fight herself.

“Once,” he repeated, his gaze piercing, like a predator with his quarry in sight. “If you don’t like it, you walk away.”

If she did like it? Oh no, she wasn’t stupid enough to ask that question. She wanted to close her eyes, but his scent would still envelop her, his heat surround her, and the images from his story would overwhelm her.

“I will give you what you want.”

She’d crossed a line with him. His voice would forever hold the power to seduce her now. Had he known that when he put out the ad like a cat setting a trap for a mouse?

Oh yes, she was caught. “If I agree, who would the other one be?”

His lip twitched as if he realized he had her right on the edge of surrender.

“I’ve got a lady friend who can find the perfect man to let you do the things you want.”

She couldn’t remember anymore whether they were sexual acts she’d wanted or merely what Simon wanted for her. Somehow he’d made his fantasy hers and vice versa. “ If I say yes, tell me exactly what I’m saying yes to.” She was afraid she’d give him more than she ever dreamed if she didn’t make him spell it out. His pupils widened, his nostrils flared, as if he were breathing her straight into his lungs. “You are my slave for the night. I tie you down, I find the man to pleasure you the way you deserve while I watch. We turn the tables on him and you take him with a dildo, giving you all the power. When it’s done, I fuck you.”

All the air was sucked out of the short hallway. She couldn’t form a word. The front door opened. Saskia loudly hummed a bombastic tune. “Yoo-hoo. Anyone here?” she singsonged, her words tinged with a Scandinavian lilt. 203

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“Haley.” With her name, Simon’s voice branded her.

“I’m back here,” she called out, then looked Simon full in the face. “Once. That’s all.”

“Agreed.” He smiled, a wicked grin that lit a fire in her core. “Unless you decide you need me twice.”

She was afraid she wouldn’t let him go at all.

SIMON COULDN’T BUDGE FROM HIS POSITION AGAINST THE WALL. She had him by the balls with the sweet sway of her delectable ass as she walked out to greet Saskia, the lingering scent of her shampoo or lotion or whatever the hell it was that captured him, and the phantom feel of her body in his arms. He was fucking seduced. Head over heels. A goner.

If she took him once and walked away, he’d die. He’d never thought himself capable of such depth of emotion. It was both a joy and a misery. She held his heart in her hand without a single clue. Was it a lie of omission not to tell her he loved her?

The truth would not set her free. Instead, it was a club to the head, shackling her with an obligation. Just as he hadn’t told her about Artie because the act would have been self-serving, revealing how he felt about her was equally selfserving. Love me or you’re responsible for breaking my heart. Emotional blackmail. He despised it when a woman tried it on him so he sure as hell wouldn’t use it on Haley.

No, his emotions were his own to deal with, good or bad. If she came to share his feelings, then he’d tell her.

In the meantime, he had one chance to show her how good they could be together. Straightening away from the wall, Simon went to his office, closing the door behind him. He dialed the phone, flopped back in the chair, and propped his boot heels on the desk.

“I do not book animal acts, Simon.”

He laughed from his gut. He’d once asked Isabel to locate a Great Dane for a lovely lady of his acquaintance who’d made the request of him. He always obliged a lady if he could. Though he was pretty damn grateful when Isabel said she didn’t have any Great Danes in her kennel, so to speak.

“You find me so predictable, Isabel, but this time I’m going to shock the hell out of you.”

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She snorted. “I doubt it.”

He liked the woman. She was striking, sexy, well put together, smart, and possessed a wicked sense of humor that snuck up on a man. As madam, she spent the majority of her time booking courtesans and making sure her customer base was completely satisfied. Not many were privy to the fact that she entertained her own private and very select client list. Isabel did the choosing, not the other way round. She’d taken Simon because she liked his attitude, respectful of women, but willing to try most any damn thing she proposed. She’d been known to pair him with her clients, too, if she couldn’t find a good match with one of her courtesans.

BOOK: Hers for the Evening
10.45Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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