CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the snoring that woke me the next morning.
Cade, you are such a pain in my ass.
Rolling onto my back, I rubbed at my eyes … and the events of the previous night flashed through my brain. Squeezing my eyes shut, I cursed myself. I was an idiot—that much was without question. Why else would I make out with a guy I was intent on pushing away?
I couldn’t even say I just got swept up in that kiss he blindsided me with. No, I’d been as into that kiss as he had.
Then I’d hated myself, because who the hell kissed a guy like that when said guy thought they were a suicidal, attention-seeking, crackhead?
I did, apparently.
With another harsh curse, I edged out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and doing my business, I went to the kitchen and switched on the coffeemaker. I was only wearing a tank top and shorts, but they weren’t indecent, and it wasn’t like Cade hadn’t already seen all there was to see.
He wasn’t lying on the sofa, to my surprise. He was sprawled on the floor. From the small kitchen, I threw a balled-up dishtowel at him. It landed on his face, and he jerked.
“Wake up,” I called tiredly. His only response was a throaty groan. “Come on, Cade, I can’t deal with the snoring anymore. You have to be at work in an hour.”
A tanned hand lazily dragged the dishtowel from his face. “I shouldn’t have to work on a Saturday.”
“And yet, you do.”
“Coffee,” he slurred.
“I’m making it as we speak, but you need to get off the floor and come get it.”
He lifted his head, seeming surprised to realize he wasn’t on the sofa. With a groan, he let his head fall back down. “Coffee.”
“You can have it when you get up.”
With an indignant huff worthy of a rebellious teenager, he awkwardly struggled to his feet. “God, you’re mean.”
“And you’re going to be late for work if you don’t get your ass in gear.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stumbled his way to the kitchen, kissed me on the cheek, and took the mug I set on the counter. He took a quick sip. “Damn, I needed that. Thanks for letting me crash here.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I pointed out with a smile. “You were already settled on the couch when I got home. Want to tell me why you crashed here?”
“Had a fight with Kerri. Her apartment’s close to yours, so my drunken mind figured it made more sense to come here than go home.”
“A fight, huh? Was it a bad one?”
“Don’t remember. Just remember her yelling at me and shoving me out the door.”
I winced. “Sorry to hear that.”
He just shrugged, like it was nothing, and took another gulp of coffee. But I wasn’t convinced he was so blasé about it. I’d gotten the feeling that he liked her a lot.
“By the way, next time you stay over, could you make sure you close and lock the door before collapsing on my sofa?”
He frowned. “I did lock your door.”
“Well, it was open when I got here.”
His head jerked back. “Really? Huh. Sorry, Kenz. I could have sworn I closed and locked it.” He chugged back another mouthful of coffee. “Fuck, I need a shower. Do I have any spare clothes here?”
“In the closet from the last time you crashed here. Top shelf.”
“Awesome.” He disappeared into the bathroom, cup in hand. With a coffee and a bowl of cereal, I settled at the small breakfast bar and checked the emails on my phone as I ate. Nina Bowen’s email account had a few, but none were from Smith. I replied to each of the emails, typing—
A knock at the door made my brow pinch. Crossing to it, I looked through the peephole. My stomach plummeted. Shit. What the fuck was Blake doing here? And why did he have to come here when I looked an absolute mess? I had bedhead, no makeup, and looked half dead. Oh, the universe hated me.
With an inner curse, I opened the door and smiled wanly. “Morning.”
His eyes heated as they raked over me from head to toe. “Can I come in?”
“Well—”
He pushed his way inside, kicking the door shut behind him. And that was when Cade came walking out of my bedroom, freshly showered and slipping on his tee. Blake went rigid, and his glacier blue eyes iced-over. I winced. Naturally he’d assume that me and Cade had spent the night together—who wouldn’t? But then some of the tension slipped from Blake’s muscles, and I noticed he was looking at the pillow, blanket, and rumpled sofa.
Coming to a surprised halt, Cade blinked. “Blake.” His brow creased in confusion. “What brings you here?”
Blake planted his feet. “I need to talk to Kensey.”
Cade’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you want to give her shit about working at the bar?”
“No.”
Cade didn’t relax at that. If anything, he looked even more uneasy. “Then why?”
“That’s between me and Kensey.”
Oh, Cade didn’t like that. His brows lifted. “There’s a you and Kensey?” His focus shifted to me. “There’s a you and him?”
Rubbing at my nape, I said, “No. But there’s a you-need-to-get-to-work-before-your-dad-kicks-your-ass.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me? Nice.” He turned back to Blake. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, I need to talk to Kensey. In private. If she wants to later tell you what was said here, she will do. For now, I need to talk to her alone.”
For a few moments, Cade didn’t speak. His eyes cut to me. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.
With a grunt, Cade slipped on his jacket, kissed my cheek, and then shot Blake a warning look before striding out of the apartment. Leaving me alone with Blake. Which wasn’t good. Not at all. And I felt my stomach roll.
My eyes were drawn to the mess Cade had made. I’d need to return the pillow and blanket to the closet. Of course, I’d have to wash the blanket first. After that, I’d need to plump the sofa cushions and—
“Does he do that a lot?” asked Blake.
Snapping out of my must-clean daze, I blinked. “Stay the night? Not really. Why are you here?”
His hand delved into his pocket. “I believe this is yours.” He dangled a familiar earring in front of me.
“Thanks.” I took it from him. “You didn’t need to deliver this so soon. In fact, you could have just handed it to me at the bar.”
“I could have,” he agreed, settling on a breakfast stool. “Any coffee?”
Knowing by the set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to budge, I poured him a coffee and set it on the counter in front of him. I didn’t take the stool beside him; it seemed safer to keep the breakfast bar between us.
He sipped from the cup and groaned. My stomach fluttered, because he’d made that same damn noise when he kissed me last night. It made no logical sense, but I was wildly turned on … and he hadn’t touched me. Hadn’t smiled or flirted or anything. Just looked right at me, and those smoldering eyes drew me in. Like fucking quicksand or something.
I wanted to slap myself. Really. It was truly fucking annoying.
He looked around. “This place is … tidy. I didn’t take you for a neat freak.”
“Hmm. Why are you here?”
“To negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” I echoed.
“Last night, you said, ‘It can’t happen.’ You’re not fighting me just to be stubborn or because I made a bad first impression. There’s something else. You’re going to tell me what it will take to make you stop fighting me. Then we’ll see what we can do about it.” He went back to sipping his coffee, and I just stared at him, not sure what bothered me more—that his tenacious streak seemed endless, or that a part of me liked his little declaration.
On the one hand, it was kind of flattering that he wasn’t letting this go. He knew the dark details of my family situation, but that didn’t appear to matter to him. On the other hand, though, it was also kind of sad. Why? Because this wasn’t about me as a person. He simply liked what he saw.
I sighed. “This is damn ridiculous, Mercier. You can’t be short of offers from women. Maybe you like the chase, I don’t know, but there’s nothing so special about me that you can’t let this go.”
“My name is Blake—use it. I don’t find fun in a chase. I like having what I want when I want it. Am I short of offers? No. Nobody with money ever is. But I’ve already told you, I want you. Now tell me what’s holding you back from me.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, it boils down to three things, really. One, I have too much self-respect to sleep with someone who has a piss-poor opinion of me. Two, I don’t know you, and I’m not interested in fucking a stranger. Three, you don’t want anything more from me than a quick jump—I don’t do one-night stands.” And there was something about him that set off my inner alarms.
He arched a brow. “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”
“I’ve had them. I promised myself I was done with them.”
He frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll address your points one at a time. Let’s start with number one. I don’t have a low opinion of you—I have a low opinion of the picture that Libby Williams painted. I’ve watched you. Talked to you. Asked others about you. A different picture has formed in my head, and I like it. I like it a lot.”
Oh. Well, then.
He leaned forward. “To be truthful, Kensey, you fucking fascinate me. Life dealt you shit cards, but you’re not bitter and you don’t walk around with a chip on your shoulder. You’ve stuck by a mother who made a series of bad choices that have affected you in tons of negative ways—another person in your position might have abandoned her long ago, and no one would have blamed you for that. Despite the relentless bullshit you’ve received from the Buchanan Brigade, you haven’t let them drive you out of Redwater or make you miserable.”
The Buchanan Brigade … I liked that.
“You’re absolutely stunning, but you don’t play up your looks. You don’t use much makeup. Don’t wear anything revealing, flattering, or eye-catching. The only time I’ve seen you dressed up was at the Clubhouse, but I’ll bet you only did it because you would have stood out if you hadn’t. You like to blend, but it doesn’t work so well, Kensey. Someone who looks like you will attract attention with every step they take. You’d have guys cueing up if you didn’t have that indefinable quality about you that makes you seem … unattainable. Elusive. Out of reach. It’s very intimidating for a guy.”
I didn’t comment, but he didn’t seem to be expecting me to anyway.
“Back to the points you made. As for numbers two and three, they’re very much linked. You don’t hop into bed with people you don’t know and you’re not at all interested in a one-night stand, which basically means you’d want a relationship—even if it were only casual. In sum, you don’t want something impersonal and informal. Am I right?”
I gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
“So, in a nutshell, the only way you’ll stop fighting me is if I offer you more than a one-night stand.”
“In a nutshell,” I agreed, kind of pissed that he’d broken my case down and made it seem so simple.
He twisted his mouth. “I don’t do relationships, Kensey—not even casual ones. I’m not commitment phobic. I’m not emotionally stunted. I’m not stuck in the sowing my oats phase. But I’m a legitimately busy guy. I told you that I couldn’t give you a relationship even if I wanted to; I meant it. Being in a relationship means taking time for someone. I don’t have a lot of me time, let alone a lot of time to give to another person. I’m not going to lie to you, I like things that way. I’m not lonely or unhappy. I’m content with my life the way it is.”
Fair enough, although it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that he worked so much because he liked to do so rather than because he had to. I could easily imagine him to be somewhat of a workaholic. In any case … “Well then, I’d say we’re doomed.”
“Not necessarily.”
I frowned. “You don’t do relationships—not even casual ones.”
“That’s right.”
“And I don’t want anything cold and informal.”
He nodded. “Very true.”
“So I fail to see how we’re not doomed.”
He shrugged. “We can always meet each other in the middle.”
“There’s a middle?”
“There’s always a middle when you’re determined to have something. And I have to have you.”
There was something heady about the note of finality in his tone, about knowing he wouldn’t back down. And as the air crackled and my body heated, I felt myself caving. Felt myself weakening. And I realized just how much I wanted to cave. My life was so fucked up right now, and he was so far removed from the Ricky Tate situation that it made him a breath of fresh air—stubborn, dangerous air, but still.
At that moment, I knew for a fact that there was only so long I could fight him—or, more accurately, fight myself. I also knew that I’d feel weak and pissed off with both of us when I eventually gave in after promising that I wouldn’t engage in any more one-nighters. If I wanted to keep my pride, there was only one way around it … even if it involved breaking that promise.
“You know what, we don’t need to bother negotiating this,” I said. “After all, there’s no logic in me bemoaning that you can’t give me a relationship when I don’t even want one right now.” I had too much else going on. “A quick jump would be fun, so let’s just fuck.”
My stomach flipped as he fluidly rose from the stool. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he stalked around the breakfast bar looking every inch the predator. He backed me against the counter and, curving a hand around my chin, pursed his lips. “You don’t like giving up control, do you?” His mouth quirked. “It’ll make things interesting.” He planted a hand on the counter either side of me. “Now, before you started to metaphorically run, we were discussing the whole ‘middle’ thing.”
I gaped. “I’m not running, I’m offering you exactly what you want.”
“Because you know you’ll give into me sooner or later, and you want to be in control of when it happens. You figured you’d just back down now, get your kicks, and never have to see me again.”
I ground my teeth. Since when was I so transparent? “And you’re going to turn me down because you’re not comfortable with me having the control,” I guessed.
His smile was almost sympathetic. “Ah, Kensey, you’ll never have the control with me.” He seemed to find it amusing that I’d think otherwise. “I’m not going to take you up on your offer for the simple reason that I want a lot more than a quick fuck.” He snaked his hand under my tank top and splayed it on my stomach; it quivered beneath his touch. “I’m going to fuck you long and hard. I’m going to take my time with you. Going to taste and bite and devour you before I come deep inside you. I can’t do that here and now. But … that doesn’t mean I can’t make you come for me.”
“Wait.” But he’d already trailed his fingers down my stomach and smoothly slipped his thumb into my shorts and panties. I gripped his arms as his thumb massaged the skin just above my clit and, shit, that felt so good I shivered. Sexual chemistry sparked the air like static electricity, making little bumps rise on my skin. He smoothed his warm hand down my arm, soothing the prickle.
His other hand slid into my panties and cupped me. “I’m going to have this pussy, Kensey. Make no mistake about it. I’ll have you.” He ground the heel of his hand against my clit and, helplessly, I rocked against his hand. “That’s a good girl.”
He kissed me, and it was like lobbing oil on an open flame. Need roared through me, fast and hot. I dug my nails into his skin, kissing him back. He used his thumb and finger to slowly spread my folds, and I bit back a gasp. He didn’t move. Made me wait until the anticipation had me bucking my hips in demand. He thrust his finger inside me, curving it just right, and I moaned softly.
My head fell back, but his hand fisted my hair and yanked my head up. “Feel good, Kensey? Imagine how much better it would feel if it was my cock inside you.”
Oh, Jesus, I wanted that. Wanted it much more than I should.
Thrusting his finger in and out of me, he tugged my lower lip with his teeth. “Are you going to keep running from me, Kensey?” He sank another finger inside me, eyes boring into mine, daring me to lie. And I knew I wouldn’t fight him. Not anymore.
“No,” I rasped.
“Why?”
“There’d be no point.”
“There’d be no point,” he agreed, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. His fingers picked up their pace, rubbing my g-spot with each thrust. All the while, he kissed and sucked at my neck—I felt the sensations all the way down to the clit he was rubbing with the heel of his hand.
He bit my earlobe and whispered, “I’m going to fuck the absolute hell out of you, Kensey. Not now, but soon.” My pussy clenched around his fingers, and he let out a low, deep growl in my ear. “Very, very soon.” And then he was kissing me again. No, kissing just wasn’t the right word for it. He feasted—hungry and demanding. Like he’d been starved for me.
The friction inside me built until I thought I’d burst into a million pieces. My release was so, so agonizingly close. I felt my pussy tighten and flutter around his fingers.
He growled. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I want. Give it to me. Come all over my hand.” He ground his palm a little harder over my clit, and I imploded. His mouth closed over mine, swallowing every moan and whimper.
Shaking and panting, I kept my eyes shut as he dabbed light kisses on my face … as if gentling me.
He smoothed my hair out of my face. “You okay?” At my nod, he said, “Good. Now, let’s get back to what we were talking about. The middle …”
Did it look like I was capable of intelligent conversation right then? “Are you going to move your hand?”
The fingers inside me swirled. “No.”
It seemed like a message; that he was letting me know he’d release me when he was good and ready, not before. But my head was still spinning from the after-effects of my orgasm, so I couldn’t quite reason it out.
“I think we can make this work for both of us.”
I felt my brows draw together. “How?”
“What time do you finish work tonight?”
“I don’t work weekends.” Not at the bar, anyway.
“I’ll be here at seven to pick you up.” He slowly pulled his fingers out of me, his mouth quirking in satisfaction when my pussy clenched around them, trying to keep them. He then slipped his hand out of my panties and righted my clothes. “Be ready.”
“To go where?”
“I’ll tell you at seven.”
“At least give me a hint so I know what to wear.”
“Wear whatever you’d wear to a night out clubbing.” He kissed me again, his tongue licking into my mouth, and then he was gone. And I was alone. I scrubbed a shaky hand down my face. Damn it, what the hell had just happened?
I’d had my mental balance finger-fucked out of me—that was what happened.
I wasn’t gonna lie, I’d never come that fast. Then again, I’d never had someone take over that way before. He hadn’t coaxed, tempted, or teased. Hadn’t been careful or hesitant, waiting to see if I’d be receptive. He’d touched me like it was his right, sure and confident. Practically demanded the response he’d wanted. And I knew that was part of why I’d come so hard and fast. Blake Mercier wasn’t a guy who needed direction or assurance or who asked for permission. I couldn’t help but like that.
I also couldn’t help being annoyed at myself for liking that he took over. But I decided not to give myself a hard time about it. Instead, I’d put the whole thing out of my mind. I’d dive into my book.
After tidying Cade’s mess, I took a long shower and then dressed in my sweats. Settling on the couch with my laptop, I re-read the chapter I’d worked on the day before. And then I let myself fall into the book. Let everything else disappear as I immersed myself in that world. Fleshed out the chapter by adding more detail and emotion, and I made some editions here and there. I then did the same to the next chapter. And the next chapter. And the—
At the sound of a cell phone chiming, I surfaced to find that three hours had passed. I grabbed my cell from the table and saw that it was Sarah. “Hello,” I answered.
“So … I just talked to Cade,” said Sarah. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
I sighed. Damn Cade and his big mouth. “Blake came to return my earring.”
“And? Don’t blow me off, Kensey, there’s no way the guy went to your apartment first thing in the morning over an earring. And there’s no way he’d give Cade a death glare unless there’s something more to it.”
I scratched my head. “He might have, um, given me a hell of an orgasm with his fingers.”
“What? No way! That is truly awesome news.”
“Awesome?”
“I told you, I like the guy. Plus, it’s about damn time that something other than your vibrator brought you to orgasm. What now? Tell me you’re seeing him again.”
“We’re going out later.”
“On a date?” The question rung with excitement.
“No. Blake doesn’t date—not even casually. He knows I’m not interested in a one-night stand or anything impersonal. He thinks there’s a way he can meet me in the middle. He’s going to enlighten me later.”
“Really? I’m intrigued. Where’s he taking you?”
“I don’t know. He said to wear whatever I’d wear to go clubbing.”
“Clubbing? Hmm. Wear the black lacy, diamante dress and the lace-up strappy high heels—the outfit goes great with your wrist cuff tattoos.” There was muttering in the background, and Sarah huffed. “Reed needs me. Call me in the morning, I want to hear everything.”
“Will do.”
“Make sure you don’t lose track of time while you’re working,” she warned before hanging up.
But I lost track of time. It was much later, after having lunch and working for a few more hours, that I realized I was running late. On the upside, the second draft of my book was done. But it was no easy feat to shower, primp, apply makeup, dry my hair, and then slip on my clothes before seven pm finally made its way around.
I was just tossing my phone, keys, cash, and lipstick into my little purse when a knock sounded at the door. Straightening my shoulders, I blew out a breath and looked out the peephole. Blake. Purse in hand, I opened the door. My breath caught in my throat. Fuck, the guy looked edible in his dark cobalt blue shirt and black slacks. I wasn’t sure whether it was his sensual cologne or the pheromones he was giving off, but it was enough for a girl to feel drunk.
Eyes intense, he moved toward me, pushing into my personal space. “You’re ready. Let me get a good look at you.” Hand smoothing down my back to rest on my ass, he dropped his voice into bedroom territory as he said, “Beautiful. Truly fucking beautiful.”
My cheeks pinkened. “Um, thanks.”
He tucked his face into the crook of my neck. “Hmm. You smell good.”
Damn, he was good at this. “So do you.”
He lifted his head. “You have everything you need?”
I nodded. “Where are we going?”
“The Vault.”
I supposed I should have expected him to take me to one of his own clubs. “Okay, let me just lock up.” Minutes later, we were in his Maserati, en route to the Vault. “I take it you don’t plan on drinking, considering you’re driving.”
“I don’t drink much,” said Blake. “If need be, I can call Rossi to pick us up later.”
Silence then fell between us. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. But it was thoughtful. Weighted. The air pulsed with anticipation. And I just had to say … “I don’t understand how you think we can find a way to—”
“You’ll understand soon.” His hand gently squeezed my thigh. “Just wait.”
Sometime later, we finally arrived at the Vault. If it weren’t for the fact that only paying members could enter, I suspected that there would be a long line of people waiting to get inside. Blake didn’t park in the lot. He drove to the attached private indoor garage, punched a code into a keypad, and then drove inside. My heart began to beat that little bit faster. What I hadn’t told Blake was that the attempted mugging two years ago had happened in a parking garage. The low roofs, narrow lanes, and endless rows of cars had never bothered me before. Now, it all made me feel squashed and trapped. Vulnerable.
He smoothly whipped into a reserved space. “Wait,” he said, sliding out of the car.
I didn’t wait. I needed to get out of there. Hiding my anxiety, I unclipped my seat belt and hopped out just as he reached my door.
He raised a reprimanding brow. “I told you to wait.”
“Did you now? Well, see, I can open my own door.”
“Can you now?” He took my hand and guided me across the garage to a black door. With a swipe of his card, it buzzed and there was a snick of sound. Blake pushed it open and ushered me into a long corridor that led to an elevator. Through the gray walls, I could hear music thumping, people hooting and singing, and the DJ shouting over the loudspeaker.
Taking possession of my hand once again, Blake led me to the elevator. I frowned, asking, “Are we going up to your office or something?”
“We’re not going up,” he told me, pressing the button for ‘down.’ And then I remembered what was rumored to happen in the basement. My stomach took a dive.
There was a loud ding just before the metal doors slid open. My feet took me forward, despite my reservations, and I frowned at the glare of the overhead lights of the elevator. He pushed the ‘B1’ button on the operation panel and, yep, my pulse went crazy.
Did I want to find out just how true the rumors were? Yes, I did, because I was a terribly curious creature—it had been my downfall many times. But he’d caught me off the back foot here, and I didn’t like surprises.
I’d be okay, I told myself. It was said that nothing hardcore happened down there. Even if some kinky shit went on, Blake wouldn’t try forcing me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I knew that instinctively.
“You’ve got yourself all knotted up.” He cupped my face. “Let it go. You’re safe. I just want to show you something, and I want you to keep an open mind. Can you do that?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
His face went lazy with approval. “Good.” He turned me to face the doors and stood behind me, massaging my shoulders; the feel of his breath on my nape almost made me shiver. Moments later, there was a soft chime, and then the shiny doors opened.
With Blake’s hand on my lower back, I stepped out of the elevator.