Chapter Seven
Michael
I pull up in front of a Victorian-style house that faces Lake Harriet, complete with a fucking turret. It’s exactly what I expected for my princess. It’s got to be well over a hundred years old but, judging by the pristine exterior, I’m sure the inside has been remodeled with all the high-end updates. Claire Sweeney has to make a fortune to afford this place.
As I jog up the stone path to her front door, an upstairs curtain pulls open a few inches then swings shut, so I guess she’s been watching for me. I ring the doorbell, and lean back on my heels, anxious to see Cinderella’s gown and feeling like a rat for wondering how quickly I can get her out of it and taste her again.
The door flings open and she’s standing there—more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen—and all my bravado fizzles away. “Holy... Fuck... I’m sorry, but damn, woman. You look amazing.”
Her cheeks, already pink against her creamy skin, go rosier, and she touches her hand to her bare neck. Her dark hair is swept up into some complicated arrangement that I doubt she was able to pull off on her own. Her luscious body is wrapped in dark green silk, with a line of sparkly beads running along the deep V-neckline.
My eyes drift south and run from the slit at her mid-thigh down to the silver high-heeled sandal that encases her small foot.
“You, too,” she says with a smile that makes my cock throb. “You clean up good.”
I’m relieved she thinks so because even though I’m showered, slicked, and shaved (kept the mustache), we’re clearly not cut from the same cloth. “I might know my way around a razor,” is the best response I’ve got.
She looks past me to the street, and her eyes light when she sees my car. It’s small. Compact. Low to the ground. It screams sex, which is the reason I drive it.
“What is that?”
“Nineteen sixty-two Triumph Spitfire. A recent project of mine. I put the roof up so your hair won’t get ruined.”
She blinks once then laughs. The sweet sound of it stirs something else inside me—not lust, but the urge to simply make her...happy. Happy enough that she’ll give me that sound again.
“I might need as much help getting in and out of that car as I did with your tow truck,” she says.
“If it leads to a similar result, Princess, I’m there for you.”
She gives me a narrowed side-eye glance that says I might have overstepped, but the way she purses her lips tells me something a hell of a lot different. Yeah, this woman is into me. We may be very different people, but we’re equal players in whatever game we’re playing.
* * *
Less than twenty minutes later I’m pulling the Spitfire into a long line of cars in front of the Wellington Hotel. When we reach the front, I hand my keys to the valet. I don’t miss the glint in his eye at getting a shot at a vintage automobile. I might worry if I wasn’t so focused on the beautiful woman at my side—or the half dozen assholes in tuxedos whose eyes leave their own dates to look at mine.
I take her hand, and her shoulder jerks at the surprising contact. If we’re on a date, we’re doing it right. If every man here gets the idea she’s really mine, that’s just a bonus.
We walk up the red carpet and into the hotel. An archway of black and silver balloons greets us inside the doors and, as we pass through it, we’re offered champagne. I bet it’s the only alcohol that ever touches her lips, and it pains me to think how out of place she’d be at the roadhouse, hanging with me, throwing back beers and tequila shots.
“Now what?” I finish my glass quickly and look around the room.
She takes a sip. “Until dinner...? We mingle.”
“You seem nervous.”
She shrugs, and her voice is a little higher than usual. “A little.”
Before I can ask her why, and whether it’s about me, our conversation is interrupted by some guy saying, “Claire? I thought it was you!”
Claire stiffens. I instinctively tighten my hold on her hand.
“Steven,” she says, her voice changing from Cinderella to Ice Princess.
Ah, the infamous Steven.
I let go of her hand but only to wrap my arm around her waist. I pull her into me, tucking her against my side. My possessive gesture isn’t lost on the dude, and he turns his focus to me. Good. From the little I’ve learned about him, he doesn’t deserve to look at so much beauty.
“Steven, this is...” For a second I think she’s forgotten my name. I’m about to fill it in for her, when she says, “Michael.”
“Good to meet you,” Steven says, but I don’t think he means it.
“Same.” I don’t mean it either. “I’m afraid Claire’s never mentioned a ‘Steven.’ Are you two coworkers?”
His eyes tense at the obvious dig. “No. More often opponents. What line of work are you in, Michael?”
So here we go—launching into the human version of two rams clashing and head butting.
“Cars,” I tell him.
“Cars?” He glances at Claire, whose body is still tense and drawn up to her full height.
“Restoration mostly.” It’s largely true. The garage may be my nine-to-five, but my side projects are where the money is.
“I’m sure there’s a fair few collectors out there,” he says, “but I’m surprised there’s much of a market for that kind of thing.”
“It’s a tight-knit community, but there’s enough being bought and traded in any given year to make it worthwhile. Nineteen sixty-two Ferrari went at auction for seven mil last year.”
I pull Claire in close and kiss the corner of her mouth. Then I lay it on thick, loud enough for her ex to hear, “Enough for us to buy a few bottles of champagne, right, sweetheart? Maybe even a vineyard.”
She blinks at me once, and I slide my hand down to the top of her ass.
Steven looks like he’s reassessing my net worth, so mission accomplished. “You two been together long?”
Claire clears her throat, but I answer. “It’ll never be long enough. Every second I spend with this woman is a taste of heaven.”
Steven’s eyes widen, so maybe that was a little over the top, but fuck him. She did taste like heaven, and if this asshole was any kind of husband to her, he’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
Claire moves my hand from her ass, but she laces her fingers with mine again. “Steven, would you excuse us for a second?”
“Of course,” he says. His eyes are still on me, still sizing me up.
Claire takes my empty glass and sets it down, along with hers, on a passing tray. She doesn’t let go of my hand as she leads me across the hotel lobby and down a quiet hallway, where she turns on me with her eyes flashing.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
I can’t help the grin that’s spreading across my face. “Mingling.”
She looks left, then right, as if she’s afraid someone might be watching us. “I told you I wasn’t out to make Steven jealous.”
“Well, maybe I am. Maybe I want him in pain every time I touch you. He should suffer for throwing away such a beautiful woman.” I step closer and slide my index finger down the side of her cheek.
She slaps at my hand. “He didn’t throw me away. I left him.”
Oh, yeah? Well, all righty then. Seems Ms. Sweeney is rich, beautiful, and smart. The trifecta of women. “I have to say, Claire, that makes me even happier than I was before.”
“What?” she asks. “Why? What exactly is going on here?” Her voice is rising, and she glances down the hallway again.
“I thought it was pretty obvious. I’m flirting.”
“I thought you didn’t flirt.”
“Yeah, well.” I step closer and press my hips to hers. “I changed my mind.”
Her eyes widen with interest, and her cheeks get pink. “Why?”
“Because I just discovered that when I do...” I drop my eyes to her chest. “You get this beautiful flush over your skin that makes my cock hard and makes me want to drag you into the closest room available.” I tip my head suggestively at the door to her right. It’s an accessible bathroom, the large private kind.
She turns her head to look, then glances back at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Unless you want to go up to my room.” My eyes are back on her chest because it’s starting to heave with her shallow breaths.
“You booked a room? Here?”
“Yeah, Princess.” I lower my hands and encircle her waist. “First thing I did. Before I even unhooked your car.” We’re cheek-to-cheek now. I’m so close I can count some of the pins in her hair.
“I can see why all the guys in the shop think you’re arrogant.” Her voice is low; her breath is warm against the side of my neck. “That’s awfully presumptuous.”
“No. What it is, is wishful thinking.”
She tips her hips against mine, and she sucks in her breath at my obvious erection.
“Did you really restore a seven million dollar Ferrari?”
I pinch my lips together before answering. I had only meant to impress and intimidate her ex with that little misdirection, but I guess she’d be interested, too. “Someone did, but unfortunately that wasn’t me. My restoration projects are slightly smaller. My best one did sixty grand.”
“Still... Wow, that’s... How many do you restore a year?”
So, she’s doing the math, is she? Trying to figure out how much I make and whether I can move in her crowd? Or is she just trying to postpone the inevitable? Because at some point tonight, I hope to make use of that slit in her dress. Maybe wrap her legs tight around my hips. Get my cock so deep in her she can taste it at the back of her throat.
“Does it matter to you how many I restore?” I ask.
“Not really,” she says, her breath hitching as I press in. “No.”
I exhale, letting my shoulders relax. “Good answer, Princess.”
She swallows and glances over at the bathroom door again. “I don’t think we have time to go up to your room.”