“Guilt. I didn’t want to ruin your friendship with my…”
Yeah, I can’t say your father either. I should. But with her this close, with her so alluring, I can’t let myself think of my best friend.
The man who raised her.
“You hardly know me and you wanted to protect me. And him,” I say, kind of amazed.
“I know what it’s like to lose a friendship,” she says, her voice strong but forged from pain—that’s clear.
This woman. What she must have been through. I met Tate after he endured the hell of his youngest daughter’s death, something this resilient woman faced too—she lost a sister.
And here she is, trying to save me from hurt, from guilt, from loss.
I should walk away. I should take the gift she’s giving me.
Really, I should.
But I don’t. I close the distance, drawn to her.
She’s next to the ladder against the shelves, that shiny dress showing off her bare calves and her lovely throat and teasing me with the skin I want to kiss.
I should not want my best friend’s twenty-five-year-old daughter. “I should go,” I mutter, without making a move to do so.
“You should,” she says, not pushing me to go either.
I inhale her. That flowery perfume is driving me wild. It makes it hard for me to think straight. “It’s so goddamn frustrating that I’ve been thinking nonstop about having you, and now I can’t,” I say.
“I wanted it to be you,” she says, seeming equally annoyed, equally pissed at fate.
But then I replay what she just said. I wanted it to be you.
And I have to know. “You wanted what to be me, Jules?”
Her eyes blaze with truth and desire. “I wanted you to be my first.”
I close my eyes for a heady, hazy second. Holy. Shit.
That’s what I’d thought. I just needed to be sure.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I open my eyes. I’m not at all okay. I’m wound tight, strung like a high-wire electrical line as I weigh the terrible and beautiful choices.
On the one hand is loyalty.
On the other hand is…her.
What if she picks someone else for her first time and he treats her poorly? What if he doesn’t worship her body? What if he doesn’t take care of her?
Worst of all—what if he isn’t...me?
I growl from deep inside my soul. Something primal rips through me, declaring she’s mine. I huff out a harsh breath and hold her face tight in my hands. “I can’t stand the thought of another man being your first,” I say.
“You’re possessive,” she says, then nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Mr. Adams.”
Ohhh yes.
She’s playing again. Saying it like I’m her boss, perhaps.
I swallow roughly. “I am, Miss Marley. I want what I want.”
“And you want…your secretary.” It’s not a question. It’s a glove thrown down.
“It’s so wrong, but I do. I really fucking do.” I have never been more turned on in my life. My lips crash down on hers and yes, fucking yes.
I can taste my goddess again.
She tastes like midnight and gardens. Like flowers and heat. Like a woman who needs this man.
There is no one, not a man on earth, who can give her a first time like I can.
I kiss her hard, thoroughly, deeply.
Most of all, I kiss her with an absolute devotion to her pleasure.
When I let go, her lips are beautifully bruised and I’ve made my choice.
I adjust the strands of her jet-black wig. “Spend the night with me. No one will know. Just you and me. Come to my place. I’m in the West Village. I’ll make you come over and over. With my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Then, we’ll pretend it never happened. What do you say, Jules?”
She trembles, which looks like a yes. Except, her brow knits, which tells me a no is coming. “I need to know something first,” she says, clearing her throat.
“Okay,” I say tentatively. I don’t want to promise anything till I know what she’s asking.
With a wince like it hurts, she asks, “Does my father go to these parties with you?”
I laugh once, relieved. Of all the things she’d ask, I wasn’t expecting that. “No. Never,” I reassure her. “He doesn’t know I go either. Our friendship isn’t about…this.” I wish I didn’t have to acknowledge his existence at all right now, but I get her concern.
“Okay,” she says evenly, but she doesn’t sound enthused.
“Are you sure?” I ask, stepping back, giving her space.
She blinks like she’s fighting off something. Winces again. Finally, she exhales audibly, seeming resolved in whatever she’s decided. “Yes,” she says, then closes the distance between us and grabs my suspenders. “I’m sure you’re a very bad idea, Finn Adams. But I want you anyway. I’ve been wanting you since the other night. For the last two weeks, I’ve been planning on you fucking me.”
That is music to my ears.
“I’ll send a car for you later. Once you’re done.” I nod to the door. “Give me your number, then get back out there and finish playing.” I lean in, brush her hair over her ear, and whisper a seductive command, “Like a good girl.”
But she makes no move to go. Instead, she smiles like she has a secret. “I don’t always follow orders like a good girl though.”
I tilt my head, intrigued, especially since I think I know where she’s going. “Tell me what you did.”
“I’d rather show you,” she says, then takes my hand, slides it up under her dress, pressing my palm against the damp panel of her panties.
My bones vibrate with lust. All that sweetness will be mine soon enough.
“You disobeyed me,” I say as I trace one finger along the lacy fabric.
She shudders. “I did.”
I stop at her clit, drawing a circle over it with my thumb, making her gasp. “Then I’ll need to take these home with me.”
Her eyes widen with a wicked kind of excitement. I peel off her panties, stuff them in my pocket, then send her back out to play.
9
WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY
Jules
The Lyft can’t get me home fast enough. I have so much to do before the car Finn’s sending for me arrives.
As the driver swings through the city, I tap my toe against the floor of the Nissan. Traffic is light at this hour, but not light enough for me. I want to fly home.
Nibbling on the corner of my lip, I review everything I need to do in thirty minutes at my apartment. No way was I going straight to Finn’s place from The Scene. I’m wearing a wig and a wig cap, and neither are sexy to take off.
As the driver maneuvers past a double-parked cab and onto Seventh Avenue, she glances in the rearview mirror, wide brown eyes meeting mine. “How was your night?” She asks it with mild interest, perhaps eager to fill the silence of a boring drive.
Words flash through my mind like reviews on Times Square marquees, bright and brilliant.
Wild. Amazing. Shocking. Exciting. Dangerous.
Yes, my night so far has been all of those things, but none of those words are big enough.