Chapter Twenty-one
Megan
It had been two hectic months since Scott had surprised me at the farmers’ Market. I had been bowled over by his generosity, and his attempt, a serious attempt at that, to make amends for the way things had gone between us. Mom and I had talked it over and she had told me that as long as Scott wasn’t expecting me to make any commitment to him on a personal level, and if he was genuine about this being a business agreement, I should jump at the chance.
I knew that Scott didn’t want me to feel obligated, hence the business aspect. I did insist that we draft an agreement, and we had it signed and notarized. In that agreement, I stipulated that as soon as the bistro started making consistent profits, I would pay Scott back five percent of his initial investment every month, or as I could, for the funds he had put forward for the purchase of the store itself.
Scott and I worked hard getting the remainder of the interior of the storefront into shape. It appeared to have been some sort of pizza shop before it had been partially renovated into something else, God only knew what, but the plans for that had fallen through for the guy who’d bought the place before me. The location was perfect, the street running parallel to the main drag, so my guests would find plenty of parking, and if they wanted to sit outside at the tables, they could without being overwhelmed with gas fumes from too much passing traffic.
Out from under his father’s often-overwhelming presence, Scott seemed to bloom. His confidence soared. His business was doing very well, and in a couple of years, he might even be giving his father a run for his money. Just last week, he had told me that his father had reached out to him, not to “bring him back into the fold” so to speak, but to try to repair broken bridges. Scott was still locked out of his inheritance, but his father had hinted that it might not be that way forever. It was all the apology that Scott might ever get from his father for what he had done. I couldn’t fathom Mike Holbrook apologizing to anybody, least of all to his son. But from what Scott had told me, after he had broken up and called off the engagement with Kristin, she had thrown a genuine, old-fashioned, conniption fit and temper tantrum, especially when her father—appalled by what she and Mike had done—had told her it was time she started accepting responsibility for her actions, or something along those lines. I didn’t really care.
Scott had sold his mansion and found a nice house in Woodland Hills, out in the San Fernando Valley. Mom and I were still in the apartment, but I knew that if the bistro was successful, maybe we could find a two-bedroom, or even a bungalow in one of the outlying communities where I wouldn’t be spending half my day on the freeway to get to work. I would have to be patient, but I had plenty of practice at that.
In addition to the renovation work, both inside and out, I had spent hours, with Mom’s help when she could, designing a simple menu plan. Nothing too fancy to start out with. I planned with the basics in mind, and could always expand both menu and expenses for supplies after we saw how things went.
“Ready?”
I turned to Scott, smiling at his expression. He looked around the interior of the bistro, hands on his hips, a self-satisfied look of pride on his face.
“We did it, and on time!”
Tomorrow, we would open for business. I looked around at everything we had accomplished. Of course, we hadn’t done it all by ourselves. We had to hire some carpenters and plumbers, but with the help of an interior designer to put my ideas into action, the place was ready. I had wanted a vintage feel to the place, and as such, two of the walls had been bricked with banquettes along one side. Single, wrought-iron and cedar tables had been interspersed throughout the interior, the flooring a combination of wood laminate planks and faux octagonal marble tile floor. The upper portion of the far wall was covered with a huge, old-fashioned school chalkboard with our menu scrawled across it. Hanging plants dangled from the ceiling, a myriad of glasses hanging upside down from racks above the bar, behind which stood the grill. Along the front window stood a chest-high narrow table with simple barstools so that clients could enjoy a cup of coffee, one of my pastries, or light fare while watching cars or pedestrians go by on the street beyond.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “We did, didn’t we?” All of a sudden, Scott stepped toward me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me up, turning in circles. I melted into his embrace, knowing that none of this would have been possible without him. By the time he stopped twirling me, my heart pounded and my breasts tingled. Once my feet were firmly planted on the floor again, he gazed down at me, the grin on his face infectious.
My dreams started to come true. But would they come to fruition?
***
With a tired sigh, I closed the door and turned around the sign notifying any latecomers that we were now closed for business. Our first day had been an overwhelming success. While I knew the flurry of excitement of a new business opening would pass, I held high hopes. I had received numerous compliments not only on our simple variety, but on the quality of the food. Many customers had asked if I could bake up batches of pastries for them and their families, pre-ordered of course, or if I could provide catering services for businesses. Of course, I said yes. Mom, helping out in the kitchen, shook her head and laughed.
Scott had left the dining room after wiping down the last of the tables and headed for the small ‘closet’ that served as the office. I had hired a part-time cook and one server for now, but I had already sent them home after an extremely busy, long, stress-filled day. Scott was now busy counting out the register and preparing our first day’s deposits for the bank drop that he would make on the way home. I had just finished drying the last of the pots and pans and put them away.
I tossed the towel into the laundry basket beside the office and then turned to peruse the bistro, a huge sense of satisfaction filling me. With a kiss and a hug, Mom had left just a little while ago, as she had the graveyard shift tonight. I had told her to leave hours ago so she could rest up before going to work, but she demurred. Her hug had been long and hard, and I had returned her embrace, no words necessary to share in the aura of success.
I stood somewhat stunned that we had survived the first day as well as we had. I heard movement behind me and turned as Scott emerged from the office, took a glance at me, and smiled. He walked to the front door, locked it, and drew the blinds closed. Then he turned to me and gestured to a table and short booth in the corner. A bottle of expensive wine and two wine glasses sat on its surface.
“I’ve been saving that for opening night. I knew we’d have good reason to celebrate. If you’re not too tired.”
I laughed softly, shook my head, and gratefully made my way to the booth, every bone and muscle in my body thrumming with weariness, but my mind too excited to feel ready to leave just yet. I watched as Scott opened the bottle, admiring every move as he poured each of us a half glass of wine, then lifted his in a toast.
“To your success, Megan,” he said softly.
His gaze met mine, and once again, I felt as if I was disappearing into the depth of his eyes. My body tingled, but not from weariness. “To ours.”
We sipped, and then he suddenly stood, held out his hand, and pulled me into his embrace. We hugged, and then he turned me around, my back against his chest, as we both looked around the bistro. It looked so cozy, so friendly, so… I felt his lips touch my neck, just above my shoulder. I turned my head and he kissed me, achingly tender at first. Heat emanated from his body. We stood like that for endless moments before I turned around again in his arms, my body pressed close to his.
My nipples tingled and then hardened into nubs. Damnit! My body ached for his touch. Looking up at him, I stared at his lips, and then, without thinking, I lifted myself up onto my toes and kissed him, not quite so gently. Hungry. Aching. My tongue darted out and stroked those lips. He grunted, low in his chest, and returned my kiss, his lips firm and more demanding. When we broke off the kiss, we started at each other. I noticed that his pupils had dilated. I felt his burgeoning erection against my groin and felt the heat flare in my own.
He backed us into the booth. He sat down, and I straddled his legs.
“You smell good enough to eat,” he grinned.
Warmth blossomed in all the right places, making me wet for him. I instinctively rocked my hips. I stared into his eyes for several moments until he kissed me again. I didn’t stop him. He kissed me deeply and thoroughly, his tongue slowly and gently stroking my lips and then delving inside my mouth to caress my teeth. I followed suit and for several moments our tongues played tag as our breath grew harsher. My heart kept pace with my rising excitement. I felt wet and hot and ready, but I broke off the kiss.
“We can’t do it here,” I gasped. “There’s not enough—”
Without a word, his hands caressed my shoulders, leaving trails of heat. I shifted and without hesitance, pulled my sundress upward and over my head, allowing it to flow to the floor where it lay in a puddle. He stared at my breasts, then nuzzled his face in my cleavage. I needed to feel his tongue on my nipples, on my skin… I quickly divested myself of my bra, inviting his touch. And touch he did; his fingers worked their magic, followed in short shrift by his tongue—teasing, sucking, stroking. My breath came in harsh gasps. His hands left my breasts long enough to stroke my back and cup my ass, pressing me even closer to his hardness. “Scott,” I moaned, throwing my head back as his hand dipped between us and found my wetness. I braced my arms against his warm, rock hard chest, tugging at his T-shirt until, moments later, I had divested him of it. I focused my attention on the sensation racing through my body and his sensual heat, cock nearly bursting through his pants, the desire I felt for him, aching for the feeling of his warm hands on my breasts.
Another kiss, and then I found my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, grunting with frustration that I couldn’t do it fast enough to please me. He leaned his head against my shoulder, a soft chuckle erupting from his throat.
“Allow me,” he murmured.
I rose a little, squirming as I tried to remove my panties, but I didn’t want to lose his warmth. In seconds, he had his fly open, his hard, glistening cock throbbing darkly with desire. I felt his warm breath on my neck, then my breast.
I reveled in the feel of his body so close against mine. Every nerve in my body was on fire, so much so I couldn’t think, nor did I want to. Every nerve in my body tingled with desire and I wanted his touch everywhere. I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, pastries, and a tinge of manly sweat.
My passion only increased as one of his hands lifted between us, his fingers teasing my nipple. While those fingers toyed with my nipple, his lips met mine, tongues swirling together again. I wasn’t sure quite how he managed it, but soon his other hand cupped my mound. I shifted again to give him access. A finger slid past my panties and into my wetness. My heart pounded. Of their own accord, my hands also sought their way to his nipples and I teased them as mercilessly as he teased me. Then I lowered a hand and wrapped it around the warm, throbbing, silky yet hard smoothness of his cock.
Our hands pleasured each other, our lips and tongues caressing and swirling. His ragged breathing matched my own. As his fingers worked their magic on my slit and my nub, my own swirled around his slick head. His thumb stroked my clitoris gently while his finger slowly surged in and out of my cleft while my hips responded of their own volition. My hand continued to stroke his shaft, which had grown incredibly hard. I felt myself rising to a climax and my grip of his cock tightened, my thumb caressing his head. Slick wetness met my manipulation. I felt the pulsations of a climax building, and at the same moment, we reached our peak. Warm, hot liquid surged into the palm of my hand as our hips rocked in tandem. His mouth found mine and we kissed again, his sucking gently on my lips as my ears rang and my breath left my chest in harsh gasps.
The pulsations of my pleasure gradually faded and my ears buzzed, and finally, I pulled back slightly. I found him gazing at me with a smile.
He pulled his hand from my mound and reached for the napkin holder on the table. Without a word nor a hint of embarrassment or chagrin, he gently wiped the semen from my hand, and then quickly cleaned himself. I quickly clambered off his lap and reached for my bra and sundress. In moments, we had straightened our clothes, though my cheeks still felt warm and my body tingled with the aftermath of our… what could I call that?
“What do you say we continue this at my house tonight?” he asked.
I thought about it for all of a second before I nodded. Everything was right with the world, at least for this moment in time. I knew, sensed deep inside, call it instinct or whatever, that what Scott and I shared was on the right track. We both had some growing to do, both had to focus on our goals, but we could reach them together, just as we had both reached our climax together. We belonged together. Now, and into the future.
Of that I had no doubt.
I hope you enjoyed Not For Sale. Turn the page to start reading The Playboy’s Secret Virgin.