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  Tingles of hope ran up the back of her neck. Her heart was already convinced, screaming for her to turn, to run to him and find what she craved in his arms. But she couldn’t.

  Month after month, week after week, she had listened to the office gossip of the nameless, faceless women who shared his bed, each woman lasting a few nights of passion before he moved on.

  He was a player—a man incapable of commitment—and although she wanted to believe there was more to him, to convince herself this infatuation wasn’t a mere physical attraction, she knew better. Men were creatures of habit. They couldn’t go from eating a smorgasbord of top quality delicacies, day in, day out, to a set diet for the rest of their lives.

  He obviously loved his…menu.

  Her life, on the other hand, was stable. Predictable. She needed to maintain that equilibrium. He was only trying to lighten an uncomfortable situation, using his charm to make her feel better about herself.

  He didn’t truly like her, not the way she wanted, the way she needed. He was an unrepentant womanizer, and she was looking for a future.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she whispered.

  Chapter 4

  Beth woke to an alarming case of alcohol-induced embarrassment. Add a mild headache, a severe taste of gravel mouth, and she hoped the day could only get better.

  Please, God, let it get better.

  She sank further under the covers and groaned at the overwhelming memories of Dean. In less than an hour, she’d completely messed up their friendship and professional relationship. But at least she’d achieved it in her typical efficient manner, right?

  She cringed at the thought of how badly his opinion of her would have changed. He probably labelled her desperate for trying to kiss him. Or childish for the way she reacted to his rejection.

  No doubt he thought she was bat shit crazy, too, for mentioning his father’s proposition.

  She wallowed, holding the sheet over her head for long, suffocating minutes. There was no point worrying about something she couldn’t change. But achieving that feat was easier said than done.

  She needed to deal with the brain fade in a calm and professional manner—exactly the opposite of how she’d handled yesterday. Only the thought of seeing him again made her stomach roil.

  “Give me strength.” She threw back the covers and blinked the sleep from her eyes.

  Her room was still in darkness and the fuzzy red numbers on the bedside clock made her groan. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. Waking before sunrise on a weekend was sacrilegious, even when it was karma’s subtle way of giving her a kick in the ass.

  She rolled from the bed, blindly walking to her bathroom, hoping a long, steamy shower would wash away the niggling headache and self-pity.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was shampooed and smelling like an overripe strawberry. She’d even found a positive spin on the situation under the shower’s relaxing spray.

  Dean wouldn’t hold a grudge.

  He loved to tease and embarrass, and if goading remarks were the worst of her worries, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. They could move forward, remain friends, and she would continue to lust after him from a distance, praying her resistance didn’t wear down for a third time.

  First thing Monday morning, she planned on apologizing.

  She would brush off the kiss, claim it was nothing more than drunken stupidity, and move on with her life. Hell, she would even bite her tongue and let Dean enjoy the teasing torture she knew he would inflict, over and over and over again.

  She could deal with it.

  What she couldn’t deal with right now were thoughts of his father and the nightmare of a proposition. How would she let her boss down gently without risking her job?

  The search for the illusive answer made her hangover symptoms increase.

  Using a plush towel, she dried the excess moisture from her hair, wrapped the heavy material around her body, and secured it above her breasts. As she raised her gaze to the mirror, she bit her lip and smiled at the memory of Dean’s mouth on hers. It may have been a mistake—a monumental one—but it had been the most wickedly delicious mistake.

  At least when the embarrassment at work became too much, she could gain solace from the images she would never allow to dissipate from her mind.

  Soft, dominant lips.

  Strong, unyielding arms.

  Firm muscled pecs, and a scent sinful enough to intoxicate the gods.

  Only time would tell if those delicious memories would be worth the backlash. The images also left a heavy ache in her chest. Despite her rational mind knowing Dean wasn’t the one, her heart and body believed otherwise.

  She had to remind herself he wasn’t the type to settle for a white picket fence and 2.5 children. He liked fast women. The ones who sped in and out of his bedroom. The types who didn’t want a romantic future or commitment.

  She pasted on a bright smile, hoping a cheerful expression would be enough to initiate a similar emotion. It didn’t work. Her chest throbbed, her eyes glazed, and she had to glance away, unable to stand her own pathetic longing.

  Dean wasn’t the one for her. She knew that. The sooner her heart caught up to speed, the better.

  With a sigh, she flicked off the bathroom light and walked into her bedroom in search of clothes. She couldn’t see a damn thing in the darkness, only a dawning sense of unease accompanied her across the room.

  Her skin prickled. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She froze and did a slow visual sweep of her surroundings to determine the cause of her unsettled nerves while her eyes gradually adapted.

  Everything seemed as it should be. The curtains were still closed with the first rays of sun breaching the edges. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, just the way she’d left it. No furniture stood out of place. The clothes she threw off last night still lay haphazardly on the floor. But her skin still crawled with ominous awareness.

  Did Dean forget to lock her front door when he left yesterday?

  She took another step as a squeak of noise sounded from the hallway. Her heart exploded with erratic beats, the pulse pounding all the way up her throat.

  Someone was in her house.

  She scrutinized the doorway, staring with intent as the blackness turned to shades of gray. Her sight began to focus and a dark figure appeared.

  Someone was there.

  In her doorway.

  She didn’t pause to contemplate an escape plan. She opened her mouth and let loose with a piercing scream. The noise stung her ears but didn’t smother the muttered curse coming from the doorway.

  She rushed for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. The brilliant burst of yellow temporarily blinded her, cutting off her scream as she snapped her eyes shut. She threw up her arms in a lame attempt to protect herself and stepped back, blinking wildly.

  “Calm down,” the man demanded.

  With each blink her sight adjusted and the familiar masculine frame came into view. “Dean?”

  He leaned against the door frame in the same clothes from the day before, sans shoes and socks. His hair stood on end as if ruffled from sleep while those wicked eyes raked over her, head to foot. A grin pulled at his lips while he inspected her. A damn grin bright enough to light a stadium.

  She measured her breathing, trying to slow her heart rate, and lowered her arm to her side. Her wrist brushed the softness of the towel and her mouth gaped as she realized she stood before him half-naked, hair dripping.

  Oh, shit.

  She swung her hands to her chest, frantically reaching for the top of the towel to ensure her important bits were covered.

  His smile only widened, his eyes twinkling in barely contained humor.

  “What the hell are you still doing here?” The question came out in a breathy rasp, all feminine and meek.

  His focus intensified, gliding over her skin like a caress, the visual touch made her nipples tig
hten and tingle. He pushed from the door frame and took the first step toward her. “Like I said last night, I’m done waiting.”

  He stared at the vision before him, his heart melting. He’d anticipated this moment, had imagined it in his mind. All. Night. Long.

  She had made it clear she didn’t believe his declaration—As soon as you’re sober and thinking straight I’ll be here.

  In all honesty, he hadn’t meant the words literally. His intention had been to discuss their situation in a few days, a few weeks at most, when things settled.

  He’d wanted to change his approach. He’d been treading lightly since their last disastrous kiss, trying to get the relationship back to the way it was previously. His flirting had been subtle, his intent less obvious, while he waited for their friendship to lose the edge of discomfort.

  But it wasn’t until she scoffed last night, showing a complete lack of faith, that the determination to prove her wrong kicked in.

  This time things would be different. Instead of giving her time, he planned on taking the no-bullshit approach. He’d decided to handle her the way he was most comfortable and confident with. Through temptation and excessive charm.

  Not only would he literally seduce the pants right off her, he had no plan of giving her a few weeks to sort her shit out. He made the commitment not to give her a single day to contemplate.

  So, instead of heading to the office after she stormed to bed, he waited downstairs like a psychotic stalker. He’d remained quiet until he was confident she was asleep, then he started for the stairs to her room.

  It hadn’t been hard to find. A skylight in the middle of the hall lit the way, and all the doors had been closed except one. He had walked closer, taking the time to appreciate the family photos hanging on the walls. Each piece acted as a minor distraction as he worked his way to the open door at the end of the hall.

  When he reached her room, his breath caught. The light of the setting sun peeked over the curtains, bathing her in a soft glow. She had been entirely peaceful. No stress from work tightened her features. No flirty smile. Just calm, fragile beauty.

  His heart had hammered while he stood silently watching her sleep. Her hair splayed across the pillow, the pink feminine pajamas leaving little to the imagination as her bare legs straddled the cream silk sheets.

  Her barely audible whimpers made his dick pulse. He fantasized about those feminine sounds escaping her lips for completely different reasons.

  Dirty reasons.

  Filthy reasons.

  His vision blurred with the images of naked, entangled limbs until the need to glide his fingers over her curves became a consuming ache.

  With a shake of his head, he had retreated downstairs. He chose to spend the night on her couch, less than impressed with his cock that felt the need to point at the roof for hours on end.

  He couldn’t quit thinking about her—running his tongue along the delicate skin at the low of her back, how he would devour her mouth with heated kisses, the way he would savor her mewls and screams as he made her come with his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

  He would make love to her, hot and heavy, soft and sweet, long and languid, however she wanted—all day, until she quit questioning his motives.

  Every minute of that long-ass night had been torture. An unrelenting fight with temptation. The only thing that stopped him walking back upstairs to part her silken thighs had been his need to plot a plan of attack.

  By the time early morning arrived he was delirious from lack of sleep, and convinced he had visualized having sex with her in every fucking way imaginable.

  The Kama Sutra of Beth had engrained itself into every square inch of his mind.

  Every. Square. Inch.

  The sound of the running water from the upstairs bathroom had been a welcomed reprieve from the sexual delirium. She was awake, and although he couldn’t remember having slept, he felt alert, ready to run a marathon like the damn Energizer Bunny.

  Now she stood before him in nothing but a towel. Her skin glistened with moisture, her hair was dark and heavy over her exposed shoulders. She clung to the purple material like a lifeline and he wondered if he’d made a mistake in staying over.

  He’d had good intentions. At least they had seemed that way from his perspective. What worried him the most was her expression, a look he tried to convince himself was merely shock, not utter terror.

  “What do you mean you’re done waiting?” Her voice trembled the slightest bit.

  For a second he couldn’t even remember what he meant either. His mind had become fixated on her creamy skin and the way the short towel made her legs appear ten miles long.

  “I told you yesterday that when you were sober and thinking straight, I’d be here.”

  Her mouth fell open, then snapped shut, pausing a moment before it opened again. “Y-you don’t have to do this.”

  She backed away and he had to admit he liked her discomfort. She always had an air of peaceful serenity at work, only ever showing emotion if he held her gaze a little too long, or flirted a little too much. It felt damn good to have her flustered for once.

  “To make me feel better, I mean,” she continued. “I know throwing myself at you was embarrassing, but it was a stupid drunken moment that we both need to forget.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t groveling at his feet just yet. No biggie.

  He hadn’t expected her to drop the towel, sashay her sexy ass over, and get on her knees…although it had been among a shitload of fantasies he enjoyed during the early hours.

  She had more class. She wasn’t a seductress, and even though she initiated the kiss yesterday, it never would’ve happened without the alcoholic confidence.

  Her unease didn’t ruin his plan. He could make do with her being flustered and apprehensive.

  He took a step forward, approaching with his heart hammering behind tightening ribs. Her eyes widened and her hand clutched tighter on the towel.

  He was close enough to reach out and touch her, to move his hands over the delicate lines of her collarbone and wipe the loose strands of damp hair away from her face. But he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the way her teeth bit into her bottom lip, the plump, crimson flesh calling to him like a beacon.

  “I don’t regret what happened for a second.” He should have wooed her, laying on a thick speech about his feelings and all that soft, sweet stuff.

  She deserved a man who could give her the words to back up the emotion. But that wasn’t him. He could only comprehend telling her how much he craved her like a drug. How her beauty surpassed comprehension. Or that her smile was the first thing he thought of whenever he woke up. “I’ve wanted you for so damn long.”

  She had to know her sexy mouth drove him to madness. Watching her teeth dig into that sultry lower lip made him wild.

  She retreated another step, bumping into the bedside table. Her eyes never left his while she righted herself, as if he were a predatory animal about to pounce.

  Maybe he was.

  “We can’t do this. You’re my boss, and your dad…” She cringed, glancing away momentarily before dragging her gaze back with focused determination. “We just can’t do this, okay?”

  Her words held conviction, but her eyes lacked the sentiment. She wanted this. Wanted him. She was only worried about the possible ramifications.

  Case in point—her gaze dipped to his mouth, her tongue poking out to moisten her lips.

  His resistance shot straight to hell. He closed the distance between them with one step and leaned his face into hers. He inhaled her gasp of surprise and took her mouth with his, strong and determined.

  The heat of her skin sank into him, rushing through his veins like liquid fire and shooting straight to his cock.

  He’d had the pleasure of experiencing her kiss twice, both times blowing his mind. Yet, they didn’t compare to this pleasure or intensity.

  Before, there had been doubts and second-guessing. Now, there would be no backing down.


  He gripped her arms, holding her steady. He continued to kiss and lick and suck at her lips, expecting resistance. She gave him none, opening her mouth to him, succumbing.

  His tongue coaxed hers in soft strokes of appreciation as he moved one hand up her arm, over her shoulder, around her nape. He threaded his fingers through her damp hair, his other arm trailing around to encase her waist. He pulled her close, thigh to thigh, pelvis to pelvis. The lightest friction of her body against his drew a moan from his throat, his hunger all the more palpable as he devoured her.

  She still gripped the towel, her hand confirming her reluctance to surrender completely. But her body softened and the tentative glide of her tongue increased.

  Gradually, she molded into him, one hand timidly climbing up his stomach, the simple touch enough to make his cock jerk.

  He lowered his arm from her waist, sending his hand on a path to firmly grasp her ass. He ground into her, their tongues tangling, hips rocking.

  He fought to remain in control as her needy whimper jolted his senses, the feminine sound drifting from her lips and into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her—the way her fingernails dug into his skin, the sweet, fruity smell of her, or how her tongue sparred with his in an erotic dance.

  She was perfect.

  Responsive.

  Greedy.

  Heavenly.

  He needed to have her. To take her to bed and concentrate on nothing except their lust until they were sated and sore.

  But no matter how much her touch consumed him, or her growing hunger demanded his attention, a thought still niggled at the back of his mind, pissing him the fuck off.

  His father wanted her.

  God. Damn. It.

  What perfect timing to think of his dear old dad. No way in hell would he allow his father’s hands anywhere near her. She belonged right where she was and he would do whatever necessary to make his father realize that.

  Not that this was the first time a proposition had been made to someone Dean cared about. The last time had come seven years ago when Max had unforgivably stolen the woman Dean had been sleeping with.