@BettencourtBets: Wall Street’s Golden Rule: He who has the gold, gets the girl.

Reina

Shit, shit, shit.

After setting my champagne flute on the tray of a passing waiter, I scurried from the ballroom. Alex escorted me to the hotel’s lounge for a stomach-settling ginger ale, and I peppered him with questions about his work, his hobbies, his family—anything to keep from thinking about my parents just steps away.

It didn’t take long to realize that ginger ale wasn’t going to settle my stomach, and neither was a stilted conversation with Alex. What I needed was something—no, someone—to take my mind off the crazy soap opera that was my life. I needed Tristan.

Leaving the day-glo maraschino cherry suspended in ice, I asked Alex to walk me to my room. A hopeful look bloomed on his face, wrongly assuming he would be asked inside. Normally I wouldn’t have given a guy false hope, but the coward in me wanted someone by my side in case I ran into anyone whose last name started with Van and ended in Horne.

The locking sensor changed from red to green and I turned to Alex. “Would you mind telling Tristan I wasn’t feeling well and went to my room?”

His expression faltered, staring at me as if I was an empty ice cream cone whose scoop had just fallen to the ground. “Sure. Umm . . . feel better.” Nice guys like Alex didn’t push their luck, or take what wasn’t being offered. I felt nothing for guys like Alex. Been there, done that. They were too passive, too bland.

I’ve always peeked around corners, wanting things just beyond my reach. As hard as it was to land a job at Bettencourt, I’d always known I was smart enough to work on Wall Street. Landing a guy like Tristan, though . . . even I hadn’t considered aiming so high. He was the total package, clichéd as it was. And he made me think that having it all—a great guy, career success, an exciting life—might just be possible.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. Thinking beyond tangible aspirations—corner office, impressive title, fat paycheck—was unsettling. Without a doubt, Tristan was the kind of guy anyone would want to bring home to meet her parents. But I wasn’t welcome in my mother’s home, and I wasn’t about to trade on Tristan’s last name for an invitation. Ignoring the emotional component of my interest in Tristan, I clung to the physical. Lust was easy, simple. Uncomplicated.

Maybe uncomplicated was stretching things a bit, at least with Tristan. But to hell with it. We were both mature adults, surely we could separate business from pleasure. I’d heard all about affairs between co-workers while they were away from the office for a road show. Showmances, they were called. With a few more days before heading back to New York, a showmance was exactly what we needed to take the edge off our lust. Then we could settle back into work with no one the wiser.

Closing the door behind me, I ignored the wall switch in favor of opening the drapes. The lights of San Francisco’s skyline lit up the room like hundreds of twinkling votive candles, glittering as Tristan’s eyes had in the seconds before he kissed me.

I knew in my bones that he would come to my room tonight. Hopefully soon. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to have me alone, his impatience practically at the breaking point. Mine was too. I was tired of putting distance between us, and sick to death of not feeling close to anyone. Sure, I had friends from school, but after my mother left, I pasted a smile on my face and kept everyone at arm’s length. No one was going to hurt me again. And they didn’t, because I didn’t let them. Friends became interchangeable, and they came and went. Boys too.

Easy, simple. Uncomplicated. Maybe that should be my tagline.

But tonight, my arms were tired. All I wanted was to wrap them around Tristan.

Remembering the damage he’d done to my shirt, I unzipped my dress myself, hung it up in the closet. I hadn’t worn any underwear—the molded bodice made a bra redundant and even the thinnest thong would have left a panty-line.

The knock at my door was hard and insistent, so very Tristan. I answered wearing just black lace thigh-high stockings and stilettos. With the door open, anyone walking by could have seen me. I should have cared, but just then I didn’t care about anything but the man in front of me. I pulled the pins out of my hair one by one, watching Tristan’s face as each tendril fell onto my bare shoulders.

“I was feeling overdressed.”

Tristan

The elevator doors opened to reveal Alex just as I was about to step in. “Oh, hey boss. I was just coming to look for you.”

I forced my hands into my pockets, squelching an almost overwhelming urge to wring his neck. “Well, you found me.”

He blinked rapidly. “Reina asked me to tell you she wasn’t feeling well. She’s in her room.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Is that where you were, with Reina in her room?” Jesus, since when had I become a jealous schoolboy?

“No, we were in the lounge. I just walked her to her door a couple of minutes ago. She asked me to tell you, wouldn’t want you wondering why she wasn’t mingling with the crowd, I guess. I’m going to go back to the ballroom now.”

I nodded, wondering if Reina really was sick or she’d finally had enough of the cat-and-mouse game we’d been playing since the night we met. “I’ve got some calls to make and I’ll bet there are several potential clients downstairs who would appreciate hearing about your latest research report.” I stepped past him into the elevator car. “Stellar job, by the way.”

Alex brightened. “Thank you. I’m on it.”

I jabbed a finger toward the row of buttons. “You do that.”

* * *

“I was feeling overdressed.”

I don’t know what I expected when Reina opened the door, but the eyeful I got had me rock hard in an instant. She was backlit by the skyline shining through the oversized windows, and there was a palpable difference between the air where I stood in the corridor and the oxygen surrounding her in the doorway. The energy around her body practically pulsed. Reina’s skin was as white and smooth as marble, her figure so flawless it could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

“Clearly.” I took a step toward her, leaned against the doorjamb. Her breasts were just inches from my tux, their pointed peaks a nearly irresistible invitation. But after so long chasing her, I wanted an invitation. Hell, I wanted her to beg. “Nice view.”

Reina smiled, tilting her face up toward mine. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

“You knew I would.” I watched her throat convulse in a swallow. “There’s a pretty good view from the ballroom, too. I was just planning to check on you, then head back down.”

“Oh.” Her tongue swept out, licking at her bottom lip.

I clenched my jaw, waiting a beat. “Unless, of course, there was something you needed from me. Is that why you asked Alex to come find me, Reina? Because there was something you needed from me?” Although spending the night together was risky, we were both consenting adults. It was time we scratched the damn itch already. Then we could return to the office as co-workers, not fuck buddies. If she told me what I wanted to hear.

I saw the flare in her eyes as she realized what I was after, an aquamarine battle raging as she resisted surrendering to me. Reina St. James had spirit, I would give her that. She was no demure female, all simpering platitudes and thinly veiled promises. No. Reina was equal parts fire and ice, beauty and brains, saint and sinner. And every facet she revealed made me want her more.

Yet still not enough to move another inch. I would not wake up to recriminations. There would be no regrets, no accusations. Either she wanted me as much as I wanted her . . . or I was due for another cold shower.

Reina

Jesus Christ. Here I was, naked except for two scraps of lace (that didn’t even cover any of the important bits), and Tristan still wanted me to beg for it. For him. He stood close enough that his breath fanned my cheek, cool against my feverish skin. I stared at him, silently urging him on. Touch me, damn it.

But he didn’t.

Desperation was a new emotion for me. I didn’t like it, not at all. “I think I need you to come inside,” I said, throwing a lifetime of playing hard to get out the window.

“You think?”

Really? “Yeah. I think I do.”

“I’d rather you know for sure.”

I had a throwaway response on the tip of my tongue, but so many questions crowded my throat that it couldn’t escape. Was this a showmance or the real thing? Did I want more from Tristan than just tonight? Did he? But instead of a quippy one-liner, honesty won out. “Right now, I don’t know much of anything.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough.”

My breath hitched in the back of my throat, anger flaring in my veins. There was already a man in this building who wouldn’t acknowledge my existence. I would be damned if Tristan found me wanting too. “Too bad, because tonight it’s all I’ve got.” Hooking my finger around his bow tie, I pulled his face to mine. “And now I’ve got you, too.”

I stepped back, our mouths just millimeters apart, my fingertip still captive between black silk and starched white cotton. Tristan moved with me, letting the door close and gathering me into his chest. His hands left a trail of sparks as they moved from the base of my spine up to my neck, cradling my head as his mouth finally crashed into mine.

Tiny little explosions lit up inside me and I pressed my full length against his, pulling at his tie, too many buttons, then his zipper. I craved skin-to-skin contact like a newborn—even a stitch of clothing between us was unacceptable.

Tristan shrugged out of his jacket, his shirt. I yanked on his pants, my fingers pushing against the waistband of his boxer briefs, his shaft pulsing against my knuckles. Until Tristan’s hands wrapped around my forearms, stopping my advances.

A small cry was wrenched from my throat. “Tell me what you want, Reina.”

I laughed, pulling away to look directly into his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He shook his head. “Nothing about you is obvious.”

That one sentence, that perfectly curated grouping of words—it ripped down the last of my defenses. “You, Tristan. I just want you.”

He shook his head again, held me firm at arm’s length. “That’s what you had the night you came to my apartment. And you left the second you found out my last name. I’m not just Tristan. I’m a Bettencourt, and I always will be. Before we go any further, and I swear it might just kill me to stop what we’re doing, but I need to know you understand exactly who I am. Accept me as-is, or no deal.”

At least one of us was comfortable with their identity. Maybe someday I could own my past as confidently. I was so sick of secrets, so sick of hiding. And I wanted Tristan regardless of his last name. Not in spite of it, or, even worse, because of it. “I know exactly who you are, Tristan Xavier Bettencourt.” There was a smile on my lips as I added, “the fucking fourth.”

And then I dropped to my knees, breaking his grip on my arms. “You’re mine.”

Tristan

The look in Reina’s eyes as she slid to the floor nearly slayed me. I let go of her forearms, focusing all my efforts on simply standing upright. She eased my briefs down, away from my shaft, which bobbed and weaved in front of her face.

Her fingers wrapped around me, and I felt her breath on the bulging head, hot and humid, just moments before she gifted me with the teasing swipe of her tongue. All the breath left my lungs in a whoosh and I groped blindly at my sides for something to steady myself against. With a smack, my palm hit the wall at the same moment as Reina’s lips closed around me. As begging went, this was about as good as it got. I groaned, twisting the fingers of my free hand into her blond mane.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve wanted this.” My voice was a gruff rumble from deep in my chest.

She chuckled, the vibrations making my cock jerk and twitch in her throat. Twirling her tongue around the shaft, then the head, she pulled back. “I think I have some idea.” Her fingers closed around me, sliding up and down, her thumb pressing against the baseline like she’d been born knowing exactly what got me off.

Resisting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, I watched Reina move her mouth on me. Watched her swallow inch after inch until her cheeks and throat bulged. And then she reversed the slide. Fuuuuck.

Opening her mouth, Reina let my glistening tip skate past her lips. With one hand she held it against her cheekbone, looked up at me. And smiled. Jesus Fucking Christ. I could have blown it right then and there, exploding like a geyser just from the look on her face. She was exquisite.

I tugged on her head, but she wasn’t through. With a mischievous grin, she pushed my shaft upward, opened her lips and sucked my balls into her mouth. It was almost too much. “Enough,” I growled.

Reina

I could have gone down on him forever. I’d only done it a few times before, and I’d never really liked it. It felt like something I had to do, rather than wanted to. But with Tristan it was different. He smelled good, he tasted good, and even though his hand was on my head he didn’t try to set the pace, or push my face into his crotch. With each lick, each taste, I felt his thighs tremble, heard the lust quicken his breath.

“Enough.”

Even his gravelly one-word directive was more of a plea than a command. I let him pull me up, pressing my cheek against his chest as he kissed my forehead, my hair still wrapped in his hand. “My turn.” He leaned into me, my back arching as he bit softly into my neck. Kissing, tonguing, nipping at my skin, scorching a path to my breasts. They were already screaming for his attention, blood pulsing beneath the nipples. I cried out as his lips closed on them, sucking each one in turn.

One second I was in his arms, the next I was airborne. Covered by a down-filled duvet, the bed I landed on was soft. Tristan pounced, hard on top of me. Very hard. My breasts overflowed his hands as he moved lower, his tongue dipping into my belly button, leaving me gasping for air. Before I could catch a deep breath, his hands were on my knees, coaxing them outward. “Tristan.” I sighed, not knowing what to do with all the pent up yearning inside of me. But I was scared too. He was the only man I’d ever climaxed with. What if it was just a fluke? I could do it myself, sure. But an orgasm was so intimate, so personal—what if I couldn’t do it again? I’d always held back just enough that I never quite flew over the edge, not until I’d gone back to Tristan’s apartment the first night we met.

I soon realized tonight wouldn’t be any different. Tristan was no one-night wonder. He didn’t let me hold anything back, taking everything I had, whether it was offered it or not.

So I might as well just . . . let go.

At least, that was what I told myself as his lips trailed hot kisses up the insides of my thighs, as his thumbs held me open, as his mouth closed on my sex. His tongue explored every fold, every crevice, before seeking out my pulsing clit, bathing it with just enough pressure, just the right speed. Just . . . Ohmyfuckinggod. My orgasm broke over me, each wave pounding me into submission. I heard the quick rip of a plastic wrapper and then Tristan was inside me, sliding into home. I hooked my ankles around his hips, pulling him closer, tighter. I wanted to consume him, every last inch.

His elbows landed on either side of my head, his hands wrapping around my shoulders, holding me steady for his thrusts. If he hadn’t, I would have inched further up the bed with each powerful stroke, my skull smacking the headboard. But no, Tristan held me tight. Safe. Our eyes locked, burning into each other. That’s exactly how it felt to me. Like a smoldering match thrown onto an oil slick, instantaneous flames claiming the right-of-way.

Inside I was burning hotter, deeper. A fire more intense than I’d ever felt before. So intense it bordered on pain. “Tristan . . . Please.” I didn’t know what I was asking for, what I needed.

But he did. “Come with me, baby,” he urged.

My hips rose up to meet his. Again and again. My mouth opened. A cry, a sigh, a desperate groan. I cleaved apart, entirely open to Tristan as he roared his own release and collapsed on top of me.

Tristan

Jesus Christ. Before tonight I’d wanted Reina, sure. But until the moment I felt her tighten around me, I hadn’t realized how much I needed her. Still inside her body, I rolled, bringing Reina’s soft curves with me.

My heart raced, as much with fear as with exertion, and I tucked her head beneath my chin, making it impossible for her to look me in the eye. Sex had never been emotional for me, at least not until tonight. I cared for the women I’d slept with in the past, of course. Well, most of them, anyway. But I approached sex as if it was a game. There were rules: pay attention to what made her tremble, and especially to what made her pant and plead. Make her come first. And use all necessary safety equipment.

I went into each encounter intending to blow away the competition and come out on top—every time. And although I took my partner’s pleasure seriously, the act itself was no indication of emotional connection. Sex was fun, but it didn’t make me want to hold a woman close to me, dreading the moment we’d have to get out of bed. Sex had never made me want to study the shadow of eyelashes on a cheek, or the pattern of tiny veins on the inside of a wrist.

I’d followed all of my rules with Reina . . . and yet sex with her had been completely different than it had ever been with anyone else. Now that the act itself was over, I should have been sated, filled with that particular post-coital lethargy. But nothing about what we just did felt like an ending. And I could have sworn that my heart was beating inside Reina’s body. I wasn’t sure if I’d given it to her, or she had captured it herself. But it was hers nonetheless.

As a kid, I had a dog. A big, slobbering Golden retriever I christened with the wholly unoriginal name of Rover. He loved swimming. Lakes, pools, the ocean—any body of water was fine by him. That dog would swim until I worried his legs wouldn’t keep him afloat any longer. And when he finally made his way out, legs wobbling, snout practically dragging on the ground, he would shake his entire body so hard anyone standing within five feet would be completely drenched. And then Rover would stumble off to find a sunny spot where he’d lie down and doze for hours.

That’s what I wanted to do. Shake all the Reina off and find a place to recharge. She was everywhere. In my skin, in my blood. I could still taste her, and every inhale was laced with her scent. A man could drown in Reina and die happy.

But I didn’t feel happy. I felt exposed, and vulnerable.

I was a hedge fund manager—I didn’t do vulnerable.

I was also, always, a Bettencourt. Our motto was Frappez Fort Avec Tout. Strike Hard with Everything. We were predators—betting big, fighting powerfully, and winning, generation after generation. We didn’t go weak in the knees over a blond minx with a Mensa mind and a bombshell body.

Reina’s breaths deepened, becoming regular. Sleep tugged at my consciousness, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get some rest, see what happened when we woke up. Life had been such a whirlwind since meeting Reina, maybe I was overthinking things.

But I knew one thing for sure—I already wanted her again, even more than I had an hour ago. Now I knew what it was like to have her lips wrapped around my cock, hear the sound of her needy mewling as I thrust deep inside of her, see the look in her eyes as she climaxed. I didn’t know if I would ever get enough of Reina St. James. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to, either.

How would Reina feel when she woke up? Maybe once was enough for her. Or maybe it was one time too many. I had no idea, but there was a frisson of fear at the base of my spine. What if she was perfectly happy to end things after tonight? Continue on in a purely professional way? I wouldn’t like it, but could I live with it? Maybe.

But God help me, if I saw an ounce of regret shining from Reina’s cerulean eyes when she woke up, it might just kill me.