Chapter Seventeen
Six weeks later
“You won’t regret it, Stan,” Noah said, grinning at Kevin, the TriCities sales guy. He grinned back.
“I owe you one,” Kevin mouthed when the regional buyer for a huge grocery chain turned away to address an employee’s interruption.
Noah nodded, mentally high-fiving himself over today’s victory when Kevin entered the sale into his hand-held computer. It truly was a major coup, since the store had been monkeying around with their craft shelves and some of the bigger players, including Fitzgerald Brewing, had been shoved to the hinterlands. In the cases of some stores, Fitzgerald had been usurped altogether. Which was one of the reasons he’d been added to the sales roster—to be another set of eyes on the rapidly changing beer horizon on behalf of one of the most successful Michigan-based breweries.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he realized the very sensation of it—of the distinct vibration against his thigh—was making his dick hard. “Hang on a sec, Kev. I need to check this.” Face hot, he pulled the device out and stared down at the message du jour.
I’m in the mood for dancing tonight.
“Hey, Noah,” Stan the grocery guy said, breaking into the insta-fantasy invoked by Gayle’s message. “Can I ask you about something?”
“Sure, sure thing. Give me a quick second. Gotta handle something on the home front real quick.” He rolled his eyes, indicating their mutual camaraderie as men with regards to the ladies in their lives.
As if, he thought, typing out a quick reply.
Sounds like a plan to me. Meet you there, 10:30?
He stared at the screen, watching the little ‘I’m answering’ bubbles flashing. His face got even hotter once her words populated the screen.
Actually, I have a surprise for you.
The last surprise she’d treated him to had involved a private jet, caviar and champagne, and him joining the mile-high club before they spent a sex-soaked weekend on some beach. It had been their first weekend together, which had been followed by more decadent, amazing experiences than he’d ever had—which had been a damn high bar to breach. The common thread was money. Trips, private jets, hotel suites, shopping trips to ‘fill out his wardrobe’—all of it wrapped around some of the most erotic sex he could possibly imagine.
Any man in his position would be thrilled. A gorgeous, virile, rich-as-hell woman at his fingertips, all the sex he could ever want, plus gifts? Pretty sweet set-up, he figured.
So, what was his problem?
As he typed out his answer, he tried to suppress the low-lying anger he’d been nursing for the past ten days.
If it involves another weekend away, I’ll have to get a raincheck. I have two events to cover for Fitzgerald.
He waited a beat, then softened it with—
Sorry. But I’m down for the nightclub. You know I’m always up for a night of dancing with you, sexy.
Her response made his ears burn. He turned further away from the two men behind him, who were chatting and waiting for him to handle his home front business.
Take the weekend off. I know your boss. I’ll write you a note.
Jaw clenched, he let the anger spill over into his next message.
Gayle, I have to work. I want to work. Can’t it wait? I’m free next weekend.
When the little answer-bubbles didn’t appear, he figured he’d pissed her off. It wouldn’t be the first time. The first week after the night—and the whole next day—spent in her condo he’d toyed with her a little, figuring she’d like it. But after he’d ignored her for a forty-eight-hour period, she’d showed up at his tiny cubicle at Fitzgerald dressed in her short skirt, silky blouse and sky-high patent leather shoes after having ‘a quick meeting’ with his bosses.
He’d swiveled his seat around and leaned back, hands behind his head, his body revving into the highest possible gear at the sight of her. He’d been dreaming about that night for so long, it still felt unreal to him, despite how sore his dick, or how scratched his back was. “Hi there,” he’d said, more than aware of all the eyeballs on him and the sex-on-a-stick woman most of them knew as the slightly ball-busting new sales director at TriCities glaring down at him.
“Come with me,” she’d said, before tuning on those fuck-me pumps and heading for the front door.
“Mama’s calling, junior,” some snide asshole had quipped.
“Dude, are your fuckin’ legs broken or what?”
Without a glance at any of them, he’d gotten up and followed her to the door, and to the parking lot where she already stood next to her giant German-made car, arms crossed, one toe tapping impatiently. He’d stopped several feet away from her, his innate sense of irritation fighting a losing battle with his inner seriously horny man. She’d looked devastating, so god damned fuckable it had taken all he had not to flip her around and bend her over the hood of the Mercedes.
“You drive,” she’d said, opening the passenger door and climbing him, giving him a breathtaking view of her thigh. He’d hesitated. When the horny man won the arm wrestling match, he’d climbed in behind the wheel, blind and deaf to anything but her—including the fact he’d just waltzed out of his office forty-five minutes early without shutting down computers or anything else.
“Where’re we going?”
“Your place,” she’d said, resting her hand on his thigh when he pulled onto the interstate.
He’d laughed. “Bullshit. My place is a pit. One step up from a roach motel.” It wasn’t quite that bad, but he wasn’t about to take her there.
“I don’t care,” she’d said, letting her hand slide up toward his crotch. He shifted to make room for his hardening cock. “Take me there. I want you to fuck me in your bed.”
“Okay,” he’d said. And he’d done it—several times. They’d ended the night on his ratty couch watching Netflix and eating popcorn. When he’d woken with her in his arms, both of them tangled in his clean but threadbare sheets, he’d experienced such a rush of happiness he’d let her call all the shots for the next few weeks.
But he’d been coping with a burgeoning sense of frustration over her unwillingness to do anything more than fuck. Not that he was complaining. But in a way, he was. Which only caused his frustration to make a full circle. He was obviously the woman’s boy toy, her plaything, her walking dildo. She called, he ran. She said jump, he asked if he could eat her out before he leapt.
It was fun, of course. Their libidos matched in a way that was a bit eerie. They’d had sex in her office—one memorable late night he’d surprised her by showing up with a pair of handcuffs, a crop and a bottle of cheap champagne. They’d had sex in her car, in the large beer cooler at TriCities—twice. They’d fucked on a plane, on the beach, in the pool, in various showers and her tub. It was amazing, incredible, any man’s fantasy.
But he was done. At least the way she was playing it. He loved her and he suspected she felt the same way about him. When they weren’t fucking they were eating, drinking, talking, laughing. She’d told him more about both Ethan and Liam. He’d told her about his months spent as a high-priced male prostitute, fulfilling fantasies for lots of wealthy women. They’d shared everything. But yet, she was holding back in a way that made him want to put both his fists through the wall.
“Noah?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He tucked his phone away and refocused on his day job.
“Women, huh?” Stan slapped him on the back so hard he coughed.
“Yeah.” His ears were still ringing with fury. He should stand her up. Let her cool her damn heels for a while so she’d be forced to come to him and ask what was wrong. But he knew he wouldn’t. Even now the tip of his cock was tingling in anticipation and his skin prickled with the memory of her touch.