Sophie

It was a beautiful day, already hot—well, hot for northern California. I was restless, so I took myself to the local beach and walked for a while, listening to the waves. There were a handful of people here on a Saturday morning, though the crowds would fill in later. At the moment, it felt like I had the Pacific Ocean almost to myself.

I thought about calling Dana. She’d flip out when she heard about what happened with Dex. But Dex didn’t want me to tell anyone he was here, and that meant I had to keep quiet, at least for now. Besides, I didn’t feel like telling anyone yet.

When I got hungry, I got back in my car and drove to one of the local coffee shops, where I bought a fresh-baked croissant and a coffee so rich and strong it nearly choked me. I was just turning to leave when a voice said, “Sophie!”

It was Chris, the junior lawyer from Wells and Anderson who had been part of the conversation in the lunch room. He was wearing neatly pressed chinos and a button-down shirt, his sunglasses propped on his head. He was just picking up his coffee. He smiled at me.

I smiled back. I hadn’t dealt with Chris too often at work, but he’d always been nice to me. “It’s nice to see you,” I said. “What a surprise.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he said. He looked around. “Are you here with someone?”

“No, just grabbing something to go.”

“Why don’t we walk for a minute, then?”

It seemed a friendly request, so I nodded and we left the crowded shop, strolling down the avenue as the day began to get warmer. “I live around the corner,” Chris said, gesturing to an expensive condo building down the street. “But you don’t live around here, do you?”

“Um, no.”

“Ah, right. You live in Shakerwood Heights. I forgot.”

I sipped my coffee. Everyone knew I lived in Dex Carter’s mansion in the richest part of town. “It’s just temporary,” I said. “I’m staying there for the summer, but in the fall I’ll get my own place.”

“Why?” Chris asked, smiling. “If I lived in a mansion like that, I’d never leave.”

I tried not to let my defensiveness take over. Most people, I knew, felt the same way. “It’s about standing on my own feet,” I said, feeling stupid. “Something like that.”

“Sure,” Chris said easily. “Me, I can stand on my own feet with servants and a pool.” He nudged me gently with his elbow. “Just kidding.”

I smiled.

“So you still haven’t heard from your famous stepbrother, have you?” he asked.

I shook my head, trying not to think of Dex with his knees between mine, his hand sliding down my stomach. “No, sorry.”

“Too bad. You know, I know you were called into Mr. Mullen’s office yesterday. And Sophie, I think I can guess what it was about.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“I’ve worked with Edward for over a year now, and I know how he thinks. It’s Edward who has made the firm as successful as it is. I’m guessing he made a pitch to you to bring in Dex Carter as a client.”

I shrugged noncommittally. There was no way I was disclosing what had happened in that meeting, considering how little I knew Chris. “Maybe.”

He nodded as if I’d learned a lesson he’d just taught me. “That’s smart, playing it close to the vest. But I know I’m right. And Sophie, let me give you a little piece of advice. If you can do what Mr. Mullen wants, then do it.”

Now I was getting annoyed. “What does that mean?”

“Just that Edward has a strategy for the firm, a plan. And if you help him with that plan, he can do amazing things for your career.”

For a second I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “You’re saying that if I land Dex as a client for the firm, I’ll get promoted?”

“At the very least,” Chris replied. “The senior clerk positions pay very well and have tons of perks. There are bonuses, too, for those of us who do exceptional service to the firm. I know Edward is too gentlemanly and old school to say these things.” He nudged me with his elbow again, as if we were buddies. “But I guess I’m not.”

“Look Chris,” I said, “I’ve never promised anything. I don’t know if Dex needs legal help.”

“I’m sure he listens to you,” Chris said smoothly, as if he knew anything about Dex and me. “I’m sure you can convince him of the severity of his legal troubles. And then you just tell him how you can help.” His smile had faded, and he gave me a serious look. “I mean it, Sophie. It can make your career.”

I knew I should say something. But what? I was just starting my career, and Wells and Anderson was important. Besides, I wasn’t naïve—this was the way the world worked. For most people, anyway. So I just nodded, mostly to get rid of him. “I get it,” I said. “I really need to get going.”

“Sure, sure.” He took the sunglasses off his head and put them on. The look he gave me from behind them was speculative, and I didn’t think it was only about our conversation about the firm. He was checking me out, and he was letting me see him do it. “Talk to you later, Sophie,” he said. “Have a nice Saturday.”

I was still shaken up when I got in my car. I sat there for a minute before turning the key, thinking. Chris had just looked me over like a piece of cattle—that should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Something told me I could handle Chris. The conversation about Dex bothered me more.

Sure, this was the way the world worked. But even over the four years Dex had been famous—even after Dan the Idiot had tried to hook up with me to get to Dex—it had never hit me this hard, just how many people felt entitled to use Dex for their own ends. Was this what it was like for him all the time? Everyone looking at him as a way to get ahead? Everyone speculating on him for their own angle? Was he always dodging pitches, people trying to get close to him? I was exhausted after just two encounters. I had no idea how he dealt with this all the time.

No wonder he’d come home for peace and quiet. And I’d given him a lecture about facing up to things.

The house was quiet when I walked in. The cleaners had been here for their weekly visit, and the house was spotless. I heard noise from the basement, so I dropped my purse and walked downstairs. There was a voice—Dex’s voice—and the sound of the TV.

“Fuck no,” Dex said. “I never fucking agreed to that, and I still don’t. I don’t really care what load of crap they’ve dumped on you. There is just no fucking way.”

He was in the rec room. I paused in the doorway. It was a big room, with a pool table at one end and a decent-sized mahogany table on the other for entertaining. There was a wet bar, and sofas and upholstered chairs. On the wall opposite the sofas was a huge flat screen TV, right now showing the World Cup. Standing, watching the TV while talking on the phone, his back to me, was Dex.

I had to take a breath at the sight of him. He was wearing worn jeans and an old t-shirt, the jeans riding low on his muscled hips. He was barefoot. The t-shirt stuck to his back where the fabric was damp, and a drop of water trickled down the back of his neck into his shirt collar. He’d just come out of the shower. He must have been working out.

“Fine,” he said curtly to whoever was on the phone. “I’ll talk to you later.” I was about to announce myself, but he hung up with the press of a button and auto-dialed another number without pausing, and put the phone to his ear again.

“Jesetta,” he said.

I froze. Jesetta Bibliona. He was calling her? Right now?

Jesetta must have given him an earful, because Dex listened for a long moment, leaning casually and gracefully on one hip, looking like a Renaissance statue. The arm that held the phone flexed, his tattoos moving.

Then he answered her—in Italian. The words came effortlessly out of him as if he didn’t even need to think. I stood staring, thinking, I am out of my league. He is calling a supermodel and talking to her in Italian. I don’t think I can do this.

Jesetta said something else to him, and he replied, his voice angry. Then he hung up and stood utterly still, watching the game on the TV in front of him without moving, without speaking, as if entranced by the sight of the players moving across the screen.

I couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Dex,” I said.

He turned and looked at me. For a second, all I got was his intense blue stare, as if he’d never seen me before. Then it softened. “Sophie,” he said.

I shifted my weight. “I, um, didn’t know you knew Italian.”

He frowned. “A little.” He gestured to me. “Come here.”

My feet moved of their own accord. He watched me come toward him. I was wearing shorts that covered the tops of my thighs and a loose cotton button-down shirt, and his gaze traveled my legs, my hair, my face. When I got close he reached out and put an arm around my shoulders, drawing me in to him. He kissed my forehead, and then he lifted my chin and kissed me, tenderly, once, then again.

There was something about that moment. I just melted. Dex was a puzzle in so many ways, but when he put his arm around me and kissed me as if I was the best thing that had happened to him all day—he wasn’t. He was just Dex, and I felt a crazy jolt of happiness that he was kissing me. He was also an amazing kisser, his stubble rasping gently against my skin, and I was instantly hot, a pulse of desire between my legs.

“Where were you?” he asked when he broke the kiss.

“I went for a walk, and then to a coffee shop,” I said, catching my breath. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Fuck, I was tired,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. How do you know Italian?”

His eyebrows went up. “You’re surprised?”

“Just curious. You just said all these words. It was weird.” It had also been insanely sexy, but I didn’t add that.

He laughed a little. His arm was still around me, holding me close, and I felt the laugh vibrate. I snaked my arms around his waist, feeling his hard muscles and his hot skin through his shirt.

“I learned it from one of those audio lessons you can buy,” he explained. “I spend a lot of time on airplanes, so that’s usually what I do, sit there with headphones on. I did French and Spanish as well. I got tired of not being able to read the signs or talk to anyone in the countries I traveled to.”

“And now you can talk to more supermodels.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, amused. “She’s mad at me. She thinks I’m an asshole. Not that it matters.”

I wanted to say something else, but his attention was drawn away to the TV again, the players on the field.

“Is your team winning?” I asked.

He smiled at that. I really was clueless about sports. “No,” he replied. “The USA was knocked out in the semi-finals. This is the third place match.”

I only vaguely understood that, but I could see the tension in his jaw, feel the way his arm stiffened around my shoulders. “Are you upset?” I asked. “Would they have won if you were there?”

He watched the screen for a minute. Dex didn’t watch soccer the way other people did, I realized—his eyes moved to all corners of the screen, tracked every movement as if he were reading a book. “No,” he said finally, never taking his gaze away. “Argentina’s going to take it. Their strategy is better than ours, even if I’d been in. You see that?” He indicated something in the movement of the players that I couldn’t discern, then shook his head. “Fuck, they supercharged their team this year. We wouldn’t have taken the Cup, even with me out there kicking ass.”

“Does that bother you?” I asked.

“It should,” he replied. “It bothers my teammates, I can guarantee it. They were looking at me to carry them at least to the finals.”

“But you just said you couldn’t have.”

“Tell them that.” He shrugged, the motion hard, and I realized he was tense, unhappy, his blue eyes blazing with suppressed anger.

“What is it?” I asked, rising on my toes and leaning in, trying to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I just took your advice, that’s all,” he said shortly, still not looking at me. “I spent the morning facing up to it. A lot of people are pissed at me. I got dumped on a bit. I can handle it.”

“Don’t listen to me,” I said, feeling bad. “You were right, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“You do, though,” he said. “When I did what I did, I left everyone angry.”

“I’m not angry,” I said.

He broke his fascination with the game and looked down at me, worry in the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course not. Why would I be?” The din of the game was bothering me. I slid my hand down his muscled arm, took the remote from him, and clicked off the TV.

“I don’t know,” Dex said into the silent room. “I guess I realized that I had no idea how you felt about last night.”

I looked at him. He hadn’t shaved this morning, which of course just made him more gorgeous, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw and the hollows beneath his cheeks. He’d just come from the shower, and he smelled clean and soapy. Dex could have any woman he wanted, and I wondered why he had bothered with me. Even for one night. Even for a favor.

“What?” he said to me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I had so many questions to ask him, but I couldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure you out,” I said.

His expression closed down, as if someone had shut a window. “There isn’t anything to figure out about me,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“What does that mean?” I said. “Because you’re not playing soccer?”

“It’s what I do, Sophie. The only thing.”

That didn’t sound right to me. But this was the way he was—the way he had to be in order to be the best. Still, I didn’t like it. I leaned up and pressed my lips to his, softly, coaxing him, tasting him.

He took a breath, and then, with surprising swiftness, he gave in. He dropped the arm that was around me and cupped his hands on my face, deepening the kiss. He teased my mouth and I opened with a small whimper as his hands moved deeper into my hair, tangling there as he kissed me harder. I tugged his t-shirt up and ran my hands over his damp skin, feeling the flex of his stomach. He walked me back, his mouth still on mine, until I bumped into the table, and he leaned his body against me.

He broke the kiss, leaving me breathless, though he still held my hair in his hands. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he rasped, “that this is a terrible fucking idea?”

“Yes,” I said.

His hands dropped to my shorts, and he undid them in a quick motion, his fingers brushing my skin. “You still want to do it?”

I needed him touching me everywhere. Right now. “Fuck yes,” I said.

“Good.” He hooked my shorts and my underwear down so they pooled on the floor at my feet. “Me too.”

He kissed me again, hard, as he undid the buttons on my shirt and dropped it, then undid my bra. I was completely naked now, and he propped me on the table, stepping between my legs and kissing my collarbone, my breasts. His stubble was sharp on my skin and I flinched and panted at the same time.

“Feel good?” he said against me.

“Yes,” I said.

He kissed his way down my body as I leaned back on my elbows on the table. Then he hooked his hands behind my thighs, pulling them up and apart, and kissed down between my legs, his tongue in my pussy.

I gasped. The sensation so intense I could barely breathe, and I let my head fall back, my eyes closing, as it throbbed through me. His hands were firmly pushing my legs apart, and his stubble rubbed the skin of my inner thighs, the sensitive flesh of my pussy, making every part of me prickle. I was so aroused, so fast, it was almost scary. I could feel my flesh swelling, getting wetter and hotter as he moved his tongue.

“Oh, God,” I said, flexing my hips up toward him as he licked me harder.

I forced my eyes open and raised my head. The sight of him between my legs was so erotic it made me gasp. When he heard the sound, he flexed my knees higher and changed his angle, his tongue sweeping over my clit, again and again, and I came, fast and helpless, my hips jerking, a cry coming out of my throat. The entire thing had taken only minutes.

He kissed the insides of my thighs as I came down, then he trailed his mouth over my hip, lightly scraping the tender skin. “That,” he said, his voice low, “was incredibly hot.”

My body was still shaking. “I’m dying,” I moaned.

Dex laughed, his mouth moving to my nipples. “Sorry, babe. You just came really hard.”

He was still dressed. It was an outrage, illegal. I pulled at his t-shirt and he let me pull it over his head. Then I ran my hands down his body and tugged at his jeans.

He kissed my neck. “Are you sure?” he said against my skin.

I snapped the button open. “Are you kidding me?” I said.

“Thank fucking God.” He reached down, pushed down his jeans and his boxers, and thrust inside me in one swift motion. It was harsh on my sensitized skin, and I cried out in pleasure, bucking against him. He pinned me to the table.

“Sophie,” he said softly, his lips against my neck. “That is so fucking good.”

He was filling me, every inch of him. “More,” I panted, squirming.

He withdrew out of me and pounded hard into me again, pinning me to the table. I cried out.

“I didn’t make you come enough last night,” he said to me. “I’m going to fix that today.”

I dug my fingers into his shoulders, feeling the steel of muscle beneath the skin. “Fuck, Dex, please,” I begged him. “Please.”

He began to thrust in me, each movement pressing me into the hard surface, and I felt the pleasure spiral again as he moved against my raw skin. I dug my heels into him and felt him against me as my body opened up, entirely his. I looked up at the ceiling and thought, He is fucking me hard on the rec room table, and the thought was so dirty and exciting it made my heart pound.

Dex’s movements were swift and harsh now, and he hooked one of my knees almost over his shoulder. “Deeper,” he growled. “Fucking deeper.” The angle changed the way his cock hit me, and as he kept thrusting I started to come, crying out. As my orgasm crashed his muscles flexed, his chest and his biceps, and he let out a harsh breath near my ear. I felt the heat of him coming inside me.

“I swear,” he said when he finished, out of breath, “I’m going to do that to you in every room of this house.”

My body was going boneless. “There are over twenty-five rooms in this house,” I said, lifting my head and looking at him.

He smiled at me, a look of pure challenge. “You got anything else to do?”