“Did I cause trouble?”
He gave me the slow-spreading, mischievous grin I remembered from the last time we were together, the one that had completely disarmed me and made me forget to be nervous. “More than you know,” he finally said.
I liked his answer, so I pressed for more information. “And what about when we were alone? What were you thinking then?”
He shrugged. “At that point, I just wanted to touch you, make you feel good.”
My smile widened. A tingling warmth spread from chest to my fingertips and low in belly. “And so you did.”
“Yes. I did.” His grin waned even as his gaze heated. Repo swept his eyes over me, or what he could see of me wrapped in the blanket. “And then you disappeared.”
I tilted my head to the side, again his stare feeling like a touch, like he was grabbing me with both hands. “I didn’t disappear. We live in the same place.”
He chuckled again, but this time it was devoid of humor. “No.”
“No?”
“No, Diane. We do not live in the same place.” He leaned forward, his elbows connecting with his knees, his hands clasped in front of him.
Lifting an eyebrow, I challenged, “We most certainly do. In fact, it’s less than fifteen miles between my house and your club.”
“Worlds apart,” he countered simply, but he looked amused.
I scoffed. “That’s nonsense.”
“Nope. That’s reality, gorgeous.”
“So that’s why you never—never tried to contact me? After?” I didn’t feel vulnerable or insecure about our lack of interaction afterward. But I was curious. Simply . . . curious.
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched me, and I noticed his breathing had become shallow.
I pressed, “Do you do that often?”
“What?”
“Have mind blowing sex with women and then move on to the next?”
“Mind blowing?”
“Yes. Mind blowing. Earth shattering. Life altering.” I stood, waving my hand through the air for emphasis, and crossed to the sideboard. I needed more brandy for this conversation.
He stood too, grabbing his glass which I hadn’t realized until that moment was empty, and shadowed my steps. I uncapped the liquor and turned, finding him closer—and taller—than I’d expected. But I didn’t miss a beat. I refilled his glass, then I refilled mine, then I clinked our tumblers together and angled my chin so I could catch his eyes.
As it turns out, I didn’t need to catch anything. He was giving them to me willingly.
“So, tell me, is this your modus operandi? If so,” I clinked our glasses together again, “on behalf of underserviced women everywhere, allow me to extend a sincere thanks.”
Before I could bring the glass to my lips, Repo set his tumbler on the side table and wrapped his large hand around my wrist, staying my movements. He shifted a step closer, and I noticed his gaze had grown hooded as it traveled from my lips to eyes.
“Diane,” he whispered, his other hand moving to the blanket covering my shoulder. “Are you drunk?”
I shook my head, my heart all at once in my throat, my chest both heavy and light. “Not yet.”
“Good.” He nodded faintly, guiding my hand to the table and placing my glass next to his. “Because I’m going to tell you something and I want you to remember it tomorrow.”
“Repo—”
“My name is Jason,” he said gruffly. “Call me Jason.”
“Okay. Jason.” I swallowed and nodded quickly as he gripped the blanket and tugged. I felt it slip over my shoulders and fall away, yet I made no move to grab it. I couldn’t. I was trapped, a thrilling sense of déjà vu holding me hostage.
“The answer is no.”
“No?”
“No.” He formed the word slowly, meticulously, as though imparting a profound truth with great care. “I do not entertain women often. Or at all. I do not take a woman to one of my rooms, and then kneel before her. I do not eat pussy—ever—and I do not wait for a woman to come three times before taking my turn and becoming crazy with how badly I want to do it again. All of it.”
By the end of his speech I was panting. And incredibly turned on. I wondered if anyone in the history of the world had ever been as turned on as I was right that minute. Probably not.
Not helping matters, Repo—I mean Jason—had replaced his hand on my shoulder as soon as the blanket fell away, his thumb pulling the strap of my nightie down my arm, baring my breast. He cupped me. I moaned.
“Now,” he said, no longer whispering; his deep voice wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t soft, “I’m going kiss you. Everywhere. But not because I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since last year, since last Christmas when you walked into my club.”
I shivered, my eyelids half blinking and I swayed towards him. “Then, wh-why are you going to kiss me?”
“Because . . .” He bent, turning me, pressing my back against the high table as his hands slipped down my body to my thighs. “We’re standing under the mistletoe.”
I stared at him. Then I lifted my eyes and saw he was right.
The mistletoe. My son-in-law’s mistletoe. The one he’d hid in my house. The one I’d missed. The one he’d predicted would deliver unto me a very merry Christmas.
I gasped just before Jason’s lips met mine, just before he captured my moan and my newly filled glass of brandy crashed to the carpet.
Chapter Seven
*Jason*
“Midlife: when the Universe grabs your shoulders and tells you “I’m not f-ing around, use the gifts you were given.”
Dr. Brené Brown
A nightie.
A fucking nightie.
That’s what she’d been wearing under the blanket, and nothing else. If our first time had felt like a fantasy, this moment was straight out of my dreams. God, she felt good. So fucking good. Her little whimper as I massaged her tits and claimed her mouth made me crazy. I must’ve been crazy, because this was never supposed to happen.
I’d promised her son and myself. I’d planned to keep that promise. I’d kept my distance for a year. And if I hadn’t spun out tonight on my way over here to check in on her, to walk her property in the snow and convince myself all was well, then I’d still be keeping my distance.
You never should’ve come.
I’d stopped following her. In September, I’d stopped. I’d made myself do it, volunteering for a shit job out of town, and when I’d returned, I’d broken the habit. But then two of the recruits said they’d seen Kip Sylvester’s mistress hanging around the Donner Lodge the week before Christmas. They’d been at the Lodge scouting a patch of land in the forest to the north as a neutral zone for a meet up with a different club.
My self-control wavered. I told myself I’d check in on Diane for one week, and then I’d stop again. That’s what I’d told myself.
She whimpered again and grabbed my wrist as I fingered her pussy, testing how ready she was, because I was more than ready. I was a year past ready.