Keir

Dragging my razor across my lathered jaw, I meet my own gaze in the fogged bathroom mirror, taking a good honest look at myself.

Rowan shutting the door in my face after I’d dropped her sister off was a slap in the face that—for once—I didn’t entirely deserve.

Tapping my razor on the edge of the sink, I take a deep breath and place it to the side before reaching for my phone.

I’m calling Connor.

I’m calling him and telling him this girl is too much work and she’s not worth it. I’m going to demand they find me another perfect-on-paper Washington DC princess, and I’ll fucking pay her to be my arm candy if I have to.

Scrolling through my contacts, I’m seconds from pressing Connor’s name when my screen lights with a call.

Rowan.

Grabbing a towel, I dry my smirking face before answering. “Rowan.”

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry about last night … you caught me at a bad time.”

“It’s fine.” My jaw clenches as I attempt to sound understanding.

“No, it’s not. You were so kind to bring her to my place,” she says. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of her, Keir. Really.”

“Of course.” I reach for a bottle of Cartier cologne next to the sink.

“I was wondering what you were doing tonight?” she asks.

And just like that, the tables have turned.

“I thought maybe I could take you out for dinner? My way of thanking you?” There’s a smile in her voice.

I knew it.

I knew she’d come around.

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“I won’t allow you to take me out for dinner,” I say. “I’m a gentleman, not a frat boy. Let me treat you to a proper date.”

Gripping the towel around my waist, I head toward my closet as I brace myself for some smart-mouthed response. I fully expect her to point out the fact that I used the word “date” when she had only ever proposed dinner.

“You’re old-fashioned,” she says. “I like that.”

Stopping in my tracks, I ask myself if I heard her right.

Yeah. I did.

The sex worked. My plan worked.

Six days.

That’s all it took.

Six days for her to come around, to realize she can’t stop thinking about me. To realize she has to see me again.

“How about dinner at my place?” I ask. “I’ll borrow one of my father’s chefs. He owes me a favor anyway.”

“Ah, I’d have figured you’d want to go out,” she says. “You always struck me as the kind of guy who likes to get noticed.”

“That’s the problem,” I say. “Everywhere I go, I get noticed. And if I see you tonight, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself. You wouldn’t want my hand up your skirt with all those prying eyes, would you?”

I’m testing her.

Baiting her, really.

This is what she wants. This is all it took for her to boomerang back to me. I’ll gladly give her all the physical attention her body craves as long as it keeps her by my side.

Win-win for me.

“I like the way you think, Keir …” she says. “What time should I expect you?”

“Seven,” I say without missing a beat.

“See you then,” her voice is softer, sprinkled with a hint of giddiness.

Rowan wants me.

And I’m not surprised. At all.

* * *

“Romantic.” Rowan stands in my doorway as I take her jacket. The apartment is darkened, save for the flickering candles on my dining room table.

Our meal is covered in metal cloches, the chef long gone and my security positioned outside my door.

It’s just us.

“You look beautiful,” I say. And I mean it. Rowan’s a head-turner. A stunning beauty with high cheekbones, big blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and creamy soft skin.

“You like the dress?” she asks, biting her tongue between her teeth as she does a little twirl. It’s cute and I chuckle.

“I do,” I say, approaching her. “But I’d like it much better if it were on the floor.”

Slipping a finger under the left spaghetti strap, I slowly tug it down her shoulder, letting it fall.

Rowan’s mouth curves and her wanton eyes rest on mine, confirming my assumptions about her.

She wants this.

And fuck, so do I.

“Don’t you want to eat first?” she asks.

“It’s like you fucking read my mind.” Scooping her up in my arms, I carry her to the empty side of the dining room table, yanking the hem of her dress higher and tugging her lace panties down her smooth thighs.

“You don’t mess around when you’re hungry, do you?” she asks with a smirk.

Tracing my palms down her inner thighs, I press them apart. She exhales, her body melting with my touch.

The scent of her arousal fills my lungs as I glide my tongue along her perfect seam. When I begin circling her clit, her hand reaches lower, fingertips slipping through my hair before she grabs a handful, moaning for me to “keep going” and begging “please don’t stop” between asking how I got to be so good at this.

Taking her hand from my hair, I pin it to the table, bringing my other hand to the apex between her thighs and sliding two fingers deep inside her.

Rowan gasps as I fuck her with my tongue and my fingers while holding her down, refusing to let her out of my control for even a moment. When her soft sighs grow louder, I know she’s getting close, but I’m not going to finish her this way.

Rising above her and savoring her taste on my tongue, I kiss her soft mouth before climbing off.

Taking her hand, I lead her to the bedroom, where she wastes no time yanking on my belt buckle and helping herself to my swollen situation. Pumping my length in her soft hand, she rises on her toes to press her mouth against the underside of my jaw as she breathes me in.

A moment later, she pulls my slacks to the floor, falling to her knees and gazing up at me with those angelic eyes that have no business doing something like this with someone like me.

“Get up,” I say. “I’m not done with you.”

I’ve had enough blow jobs in the last decade to last a half a dozen men a half a dozen lifetimes.

It’s her pussy I want.

That tight, wet, sweet nirvana.

“God, I’ve missed this.” I pull her toward the bed after tugging the rest of her dress off.

“It’s only been six days,” she says, teasing her finger along my collarbone. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Never make me wait that long again.” I silence her smart mouth with a kiss.

“You’re lucky you’re good at this,” she says, climbing over my lap and straddling me as she unfastens her black bra. A moment later, she rises just enough so her perfectly round breasts are in my face.

Little minx.

Cupping one of them, I bring it to my mouth, swirling my tongue around the pink budded nipple before grazing my teeth across her delicate flesh. Her head tilts back. She likes. I tend to the other breast before sliding my hands down the curve of her sides, stopping at her ass and giving it a tight squeeze so she knows who it belongs to tonight.

Grinding her hips against mine, the wet warmth of her pussy slicks against my aching cock.

“Such a tease,” I whisper in her ear before grazing my teeth across it.

Leaning back, I lean across the bed, grabbing a rubber from my nightstand drawer and ripping the packet between my teeth.

Rowan smiles, taking it from me and rolling it down my cock with her pretty little manicured hand.

“I was wondering when we were going to get on with it,” she says, returning to straddle my lap.

“You made me wait six days,” I say. “I think I’ve more than earned the right to take my time with you.”

If she were any other woman, I wouldn’t have devoured her before dinner. I’d have enjoyed my wagyu steak and Malbec while she sucked me off under the table, then I would’ve fucked her until I came—either on the counter or the sofa—never in my bed. The night would then end with a called cab and a fifty-dollar bill to cover the fare.

Rowan has no idea how fucking lucky she is.

My hands explore her body as she lowers herself onto me, her mouth working into a smile as she slides down.

“Oh, god, that feels good,” she says, voice breathy as sin. Her hips circle as she grinds against me, her back arching until her tits bounce gently in perfect view.

I could tell her how amazing her pussy feels, how tight she is. I could tell her I’ve never been so hard.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

The second she thinks I like her, she’s going to run for the door and never look back. Rowan needs to believe this is purely physical, and then she needs to decide she wants more.

“Get on your hands and knees,” I tell her, my hands circling her waist and guiding her off of me.

She lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t question me as she takes her position. From behind her, I glide my fingers up her inner thighs, dragging the tips along her slick seam until her body shudders with delight.

The arch of her back, the little indentation above her ass, the way her creamy skin glows in the moonlight … it’s perfection.

And with one thrust, I’m inside of her all over again, stretching her walls and filling her to the hilt.

This is what I love about this position. I can hit it harder, faster, deeper …

Rowan’s hands grip the covers, her head turned to the side as she bites her bottom lip every time I thrust.

“You like that?” I ask, gathering her blonde hair in my fist and tugging it back.

“Mm hm,” she moans. “Don’t stop.”

I’ve never been a fan of women telling me what to do in bed, but given the circumstances, I’ll let this one slide.

My cock plunges inside her again and again, until I lose track of time. Until her hair is a disheveled mess and the sheets of my once neatly-made bed are lying in a heap on the floor. As soon as Rowan whispers that she’s getting close, I let go, my seed jetting so hard I almost forget my own fucking name.

Pulling out, I head to the bathroom to clean up.

Rowan follows, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright and hair in her eyes.

Even disheveled and out of her Lilly Pulitzer dresses and Chanel ballet flats, she looks like an eleven.

She might possibly be the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucked, and it’s not because of her perfect ass or that sweet pussy of hers that fits my cock like a fucking glove. It’s her confidence, the way she walks, the way she saunters around here like she doesn’t need me.

No other woman has ever been that way with me before.

I suppose it’s all about to change though.

A few more “dates” and fuck sessions and she’s going to be practically begging to wear my last name.

Washing my hands, I resolve to enjoy it while it lasts, and when I turn around, I find her lying on my bed, still naked, her body bathed in moonlight as she peers out the window toward the sparkling city below.

“Lay down with me,” she says, patting the space beside her. I move toward my dresser first, grabbing a change of clothes, but she waves her hand. “No. Just the way you are.” She studies me, sensing my hesitation. “Don’t you ever just … sit around naked?”

“By myself? Yes. With other people, no, it’s not exactly a pastime of mine,” I say.

She rolls to her stomach, resting her chin on her forearm as she glances up at me with a coy smile on her mouth. “If I’m home alone, there’s a ninety-five percent chance I’m naked.”

I smirk. “Good to know.”

“You grow up in a huge family, you come to appreciate privacy,” she says. “I take advantage of it every chance I get. You should try it sometime.”

I take the spot beside her, stretching out and resting on my side, propped up on my elbow. “I’m never alone, Rowan. Not truly. There’s always someone watching out for me. Someone waiting for me. Someone calling me. Someone stopping by.”

She shakes her head. “I could never live like that.”

“It’s not that bad. You get used to it,” I say. “I’d rather be the person someone needs than the person someone’s never heard of.”

“Anonymity is a privilege,” she says. “You don’t realize that until you’ve been on the other side of it.”

I reach for her face, cupping her pointed chin because for some inexplicable reason, I can’t resist not touching her. She smiles, laughing through her nose.

“You’re sweet when you want to be,” she says. “I bet not many people know that about you.”

“There are a lot of things people don’t know about me.”

“You and me both,” she says.

I let my hand fall. “Tell me something nobody knows about you.”

She gazes around the dark room, blowing a breath past her pink lips. “Oh. Um. Okay … I guess, most people assume I’m this buttoned-up goody-two shoes Mary Sue type. And that’s kind of the image I’ve always projected. But that’s not who I am. At all.”

“I believe it.” I wink.

“There’s this whole other part of me that’s been oppressed my entire life,” she continues. “My parents had our childhood scheduled and organized and there was never any room for fun, for living a little, for making mistakes. I’ve been making up for that my entire adult life.” Rowan rolls her eyes. “If my parents had any idea I was into one-night stands and …” she gasps, “alcohol … they’d have heart attacks.”

“I didn’t realize they were so prudent.”

“They’ve built an entire empire based on raising the perfect family,” she says. “And news flash? It doesn’t exist. My mother has a degree in Human Development and my father has a degree in Marketing. They’re just really good at selling bullshit that makes people feel good.”

“Damn.”

She hides her face. “I’m selling out my own family. I’m evil, aren’t I?”

“Every family has their … complexities.”

“Tell me something about you, about your family,” she says. “Something nobody knows.”

“I don’t speak to my brother,” I say. “Most people don’t know that. He doesn’t speak with my parents either. The First Family of the United States is about as dysfunctional as the rest of them.”

“That almost makes me happy,” she says. “Not that you’re not speaking to your brother, but that you guys are normal.”

“If normal means broken and fucked up, then yeah.”

“Tell me something else,” she says, eyes wider as if we’re playing a game and this excites her. “What’s your biggest secret?”

“Biggest secret?” I half laugh.

“I won’t tell a soul,” she says, crossing her heart. And for some reason, I believe her.

“All right,” I say, clearing my throat. “I don’t care if people like me.”

Her expression falls. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Shrugging, I nod.

“How is that a secret? That’s more like a personality quirk,” she says.

“It’s a secret because it’s my secret to success,” I say, point blank. “I don’t care if people like me.”

“Sounds more like a defense mechanism than a secret to success.”

“Did you just … read me?” I ask, silently accepting that she sort of has a point.

Rowan laughs. “Yeah. I think I did.”

“Tell me your biggest secret,” I turn the spotlight on her.

“I hate being an Aldridge,” she says. “Growing up, I used to daydream that some nice, middle-class family from Omaha, Nebraska would pull up in their Dodge Caravan and haul me away to live a normal life with family dinners and barking dogs and a treehouse and public school.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Are you making fun of me?” she asks.

“I just don’t understand running away from something,” I say. “When I don’t like something, I run toward it. I try and change it, change what I don’t like about it. Prove people wrong.”

“Is that why you’re suddenly a relationship guy?” She uses air quotes.

I hesitate. How someone who knows so little about me has me figured out so quickly blows my mind.

She’s good, this one.

Smart. Savvy. Doesn’t miss a thing.

“Aren’t you just proving yourself wrong?” she asks. “Denying who you really are? Denying who you’ve always been?”

I know she has a point, but I can’t tell her any of this is related to the campaign because her freakishly sharp brain will see through everything.

“It’s more complicated than that,” I tell her. “Anyway, I’m tired of talking.”

Leaning toward her, I cup her face and crush her busy lips with a claiming kiss before pulling her over top of me.

“Keir?” she asks.

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.” Her mouth lifts on one side. “Like for food. Not for …” her fingers circle my chest before trailing down my abs. “… this.”

“Stay here.” I climb out of bed and head down the hall, grabbing our dinner plates and reheating our meals before carrying them to the bedroom. Eating in bed has never been my thing, nor has allowing a woman to sleep over in said bed, but I’ll make an exception.

Just this once.

And just for her.

Because strangely enough, I kind of actually like being with her.