Chapter 2

THAT SHARP INTAKE OF breath Addison Williams heard from her neighbor was enormously gratifying. Gotcha, mister. He clearly had no idea she’d been there for the last five minutes after the girls left—nor that she’d been acutely aware of his presence for the fifteen before that.

She swore she heard him swallow before he spoke. So. Damn. Cute.

“I could say I didn’t intend to listen in, but it’d be a brass-balls lie.”

“Good. I hate liars.”

“What’s your opinion on eavesdroppers?”

Smiling, she let the moment ride for a few extra beats. “Not my favorites, either, but more understandable. It’s human nature to be curious.”

“All hail human nature.”

He still hadn’t moved from the sliding door, and no illumination filtered from the room. The Chicago city lights cast a fuzzy, indistinct glow over the hotel’s façade, but at fifteen floors up, that glow didn’t quite reach the balconies. She had a sense of him being big, over six feet, which a woman of her particular height always appreciated in a man.

When she remained silent, he spoke again. “In this case, I’d say it was a good thing I was listening in. Doing a service, really.”

“A service for me?”

“A service for humanity. Well, first for men, but women would ultimately benefit.”

Leaning back on the balcony’s sofa, Addison considered the next move. Why was she talking to this stranger again? She suspected neither Liz nor Harper had even realized he was there, hovering in the shadows, absorbing the slightly raunchy back-and-forth. Was that why she’d been so unusually vocal about her ex-husband’s failure to please her in bed? Was she issuing a challenge to this man, to any man listening?

I’m a woman and I have needs, dammit.

That sounded silly, silly enough to make her chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Softly spoken. Genuinely curious.

She couldn’t say what she was really thinking—what woman ever could?—so she fell back on responding to his earlier statement. “The idea that any man would perform a service for humanity. From my experience, men are mostly selfish.”

He tutted. “So cynical. And you haven’t seen me in action.”

“A doer, not a talker, are you?”

“No reason I can’t be both, Addy.”

Her breath caught at his use of her name. How did he know she was the one who’d remained behind? Had he been listening that closely?

“Your voice stood out in the group,” he murmured, offering an explanation she hadn’t sought aloud. “You have a voice like syrup, Addy.”

The way he said that turned her to syrup. Warm, gooey, treacley waves that pumped slowly through her veins, heating her body in anticipation.

But, of what? Nothing could happen here. This was just a harmless flirtation she’d use later when she slipped between the zillion-thousand-thread-count sheets in her hotel room. She was in town to meet with the marketing team for her lingerie line and to prepare for her official move to Chicago in a few weeks. Right this minute, whispering secrets in the sensual dark, she had zero regrets at turning down Harper’s offer to stay at her townhouse in Lake Forest, just north of the city.

She doubted Harper’s guest room came with a whiskey-voiced stranger as a perk.

The stranger stepped away from the door, a couple feet closer to the side near her balcony. Panic made her skin itch. She didn’t want that. If he saw her—the real her—the sexy vibe would be ruined.

“Could . . . could you stay back? In the shadows.” The request sounded ridiculous on her tongue, and she immediately regretted it. He’d think her a total nutjob.

“Sure, Addy,” he said, low, certain, his tone accepting in a way that made what she’d said not sound odd at all. “Okay if I sit for a while?”

“If you’d like.”

Not just okay. Wanted. Desired.

But, why? Because . . . it had been a while since her nerve endings had fired in the presence of a man. Since her skin had felt tight and her belly wriggled with want.

Awareness of his size as he moved to the sofa at the other side of the balcony made her doubly conscious of her own body. He might be an actuary or a spy or a kitchen gadget salesman, but it didn’t matter. Just as it didn’t matter that she was Addison Williams, ex-wife of a powerful magnate who had wanted a trophy not a partner. She should have known that any man who calls a woman after he spots her in a Victoria’s Secret catalog—and what was he doing with that catalog, she might ask?—was probably not interested in her scintillating conversation.

“So you were saying?” she asked the stranger next door.

“Was I?”

“About your services to humanity.”

He chuckled, raspy and glorious, and it shot a direct line to a neglected spot between her legs.

“Right. My services.” He paused, perhaps considering how to phrase what came next. “My bout of eavesdropping gave me precious insight into the female mind. I hate to think my people have been falling down on the job.”

Cheeks heating, she laughed, remembering what she’d said. “Just their tongues. Although now you mention it, there have been a few droopers in the last couple of years.”

“Droopers with you, Addy? Can’t believe that. A dead man’s dick would raise the lid of a coffin on hearing that voice of yours.”

Oh, he was a smooth one. Yet, there was a boyish sincerity to him that scooped out a cavity in her chest. How old was he? He didn’t sound as old as her ex, but he didn’t sound too young either.

What the hell did it matter? It wasn’t as if she would ever see him face to face. As if anything would happen here in shadow-sheltered safety.

“Reports of my dick-raising abilities have been vastly exaggerated.” She might have lowered her voice to bedroom husky there. Just testing the waters.

“Like hearing that word out of your mouth, Addy.”

“What? Exaggerated?”

“You say dick and mine gets hard.”

She blinked at his provocative words, ones that left no doubt what they were both thinking. The honesty of it should have terrified her but instead, it toppled her. Time ticked, the air pressurized, an explosion waiting to happen.

“So, what are you in town for?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just casually mentioned his erection to a complete stranger. One who had admittedly provoked him, but still. Sure, let’s pretend that hadn’t happened.

She had been silent too long. Without visual cues, all he had was her words to go on. In the thick and sultry late July air, his regret was palpable, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad he’d backed off.

“I’m here on business.”

“What kind of business are you in?”

“Fashion. Selling into department stores.” Half-true, or at least that’s where her career was now headed. Deciding on bravery, she added, “Lingerie. That’s what I sell.”

She could sense his (sexy) grin, even in the dark. For a moment, she wondered if she’d overplayed her hand, but his next statement told her she’d made the right call.

“What I said before about how your words affect me . . . I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I was just thinking about what you said earlier. No games.”

That he’d remembered was either exceptionally creepy or extraordinarily evolved. She liked how he made her feel so she went with the latter. There was safety in the dark.

“You didn’t go too far. Straight talk is a virtue. Dirty talk is a goddamn blessing.”

So it was glib, a deliberate effort to lower the level of discourse and raise the stakes. His laugh was even more beautiful than his chuckle. Deep and resonant, making her breasts ache and her sex clench.

“Maybe that’s what’s been wrong with the fuckwits who need a map around your body, Addy. Maybe they need better directions.”

Suddenly, her jeans felt too tight, and not only because the generous ass that paid her bills and got countless horny teenagers and their fathers off was filling it a little too well. No, they felt like a fetter on the bloom between her legs. This was usually a male problem with the erections they could barely contain, but damn if her clit didn’t feel positively Grinch-like: three times too big.

“Are you implying I hold some responsibility for my orgasms, Mr. Eavesdropper?”

“Believe me, Addy, guys do much better with their woman telling them what they need. They love hearing her give instructions, showing them where his fingers touching work best, directing them to the spot that needs my tongue on it now.”

In the haze of his defense of all those poor misguided men who needed help, she almost missed it. That switch from the general to the particular. From the actions of all men to the action of one—the one who right this second was turning her on like a lamp.

My tongue, he’d said.

She bit down on her lip to throttle the moan aching to find its voice. He needed to be quiet now. If he said one more word, she’d have her hand down her jeans before she could say “Wanna come over and do me, Eavesdropper?”

A wayward hand found its way to her breast. Just a light glance to ease the ache.

“You touching yourself yet, Addy?”

Holy shit, way to crank it up, stranger.

She dropped that hand like it had burned her sensitive, forbidden flesh. Caught in this no-man’s land of pleasure and torment, unsure how to proceed, she shook her head. Because, of course, he could see that.

“Addy, sweetheart, you okay over there?”

“Fine,” she squeaked.

Another low chuckle, but this one sounded as pained as it did sexy.

“You lying to me, Addy?”

“Um . . .”

“No games, sweetheart. Straight talk is a virtue, remember?”

But only about things that didn’t matter. She’d tried honesty with her ex and it had wrenched them apart instead of bringing them closer. I need my career. I need to be someone other than a wife.

In this moment, she could be forthright about this. About her needs. Honesty would give her power.

“I—I’m not okay,” she managed. “I’m aching.”

His indrawn breath turned to a heartfelt groan that echoed in this world-away-from-it-all bubble.

“Addy, you’re killin’ me.” She could hear his shallow breaths and she wondered how warm they’d feel on her bare skin. Mostly, she wondered about his hands. She liked big hands. Blunt, coarse palms that would cover her ample ass—because even a woman with a booty that made her fortune appreciated hands that made it look smaller.

“I want you to tell me what you want, how you like it.” He was struggling to speak, each word fighting to find air. Fighting to find her. “I want you to imagine I’m over there, kneeling between your thighs, waiting for instructions.”

Instructions. Straight talk. Taking responsibility for her orgasms.

She was in charge here, as her imaginary, yet shockingly real lover bowed before her, ready to serve. How would he use those big hands? Would he be slow in moving from her ankles up her calves and finally between her thighs, every inch gained a mile taken from her resistance?

She didn’t know what to do next. She knew what she wanted to do, but could she?

You’ll never see him again. You’ll never see him at all. Just listen to that voice and let him listen to you.

Listening . . . that’s all she’d ever wanted.

The hiss of her jeans zipper was louder than she expected, probably because it was the sound of no return.

“Good girl. Make sure there’s room for me. For my greedy mouth. All the way down. Now, what should I do next?”

Take off your pants. Take your cock in your hands and stroke it from thick base to shining tip.

“Addy?”

Oh, God, she was doing this. They were doing this.

“Um—take my panties off? They’re silky—”

“What color?”

“Cream. It’s my favorite color. It looks good against my skin.” She shoved her jeans to mid-thigh, the rough jerk taking her panties so they lay half-on, half-off.

Poor, confused panties.

“I love this part,” he said, his voice rasping barely above a whisper. “When I catch that first glimpse of you. Are you bare or do you keep yourself warm with a little strip?”

She smiled at his turn of phrase. “Not completely bare.” After years on the modeling circuit, she’d gone back to nature—or nature with a landscaped trim. She pushed both her panties and jeans down and kicked them both off with her heels. The soft thud made it clear that clothes removal was in progress.

Sanity removal wasn’t far behind.

She was naked from the waist down on the darkened balcony of a downtown Chicago hotel, because a stranger had urged her on.

This was fucking crazy.

Then she heard it, a scraping sound from his side. He was unzipping, too.

Even among the cavalcade of emotions hurtling through her veins, she was able to pluck out the one that signified relief. She wasn’t alone in this madness. They were a team—a horny, reckless, fuck-it team.

“Now, Addy, what would you like me to do next?”

Inhaling a ragged breath, she moved tentative fingers to her thigh. If she’d thought removing her panties was one step toward the ledge, this next one would hurtle her over into the abyss.

“I want your—” The words refused to form.

“What, sweetheart?”

“I want—” Nope, can’t do it.

“Tell me what you need, Addy. Tell me what I can give you.”

His generosity sealed her fate. “I . . . I need your fingers to part me. To stroke softly.”

He hummed, deep in his throat, and that sound did something to her. Something wicked and wanton, and oh so wild.

“How will I find you?”

Say it say it say it. “Wet.”

And she was. Oh, God, the sparks that flew through her on that first contact lit up her sex-starved body. No man should have this much power. She’d spent two years recovering from a man who’d exercised terrifying control over her.

She shook her head, annoyed at her thoughts for going there. This was no power trip. The stranger didn’t know a thing about her except that she had high standards for oral sex and that her voice apparently did things to him. And hell, if his voice didn’t do something for her. Something she’d never experienced before.

Absolute abandon.

Accept this as your due. Enjoy what this one-time, never-to-be-repeated experience offers you.

“My mouth’s watering, just thinking of how you taste, Addy. Give me a preview. Tell me how good you taste.”

Did he mean that she should . . . do that? Needing a moment to wrap her head around this request, to just enjoy the pleasure of his voice urging her on, she continued to stroke. Each velvet swipe coiled her belly tighter. Eddies of pleasure swirled, ever-tautening, and she took care to avoid her clit. One touch and she’d shoot off so fast it would embarrass them both.

Was he touching himself, too?

“Addy,” he moaned, and she listened for noises of—there it was. That muffled sound of soft/hard tugs. He was jerking off, and just that confirmation, hiked her pleasure to untold levels.

“How do you taste, sweetheart? I need to know. Need to know so badly.”

She raised her fingers to her mouth and swiped them across her lips, flicking her tongue out to taste herself. Could he see that? Hear her movements from core to mouth?

“I taste good,” she murmured, surprising herself, because she did. She’d never done that before. The action thrilled her, fueling her boldness. “You’re going to love it.” When your tongue glides between my legs and finds me wet for you, you’re going to love it.

She wished she could say that out loud but judging by his reaction, she may as well have. He swore roughly. Score.

“Bet you’re pretty and pink, right, baby? Bet you’re a work of art. Those beautiful folds swelling under my tongue, that tasty cream gushing into my mouth, that hot little clit throbbing in my mouth.”

Oh, God, her fingers shoved between her legs, roughly, her need mindless and grasping. His tongue inside her, his mouth hungrily eating her out was all she could think about, and the lightest glance across her clit was enough to make her come madly on that sofa in the dark. There was no stopping her cries of pleasure, no stopping the waves of sensation, no stopping the need he had stirred in her.

On her descent, she slumped boneless and listened for him, her only regret that, as he shouted her name when he released, she didn’t know his.