I’m fully hard again. Fucking hell. Harder than hard. Throbbing and hot.
I want her, in a way that’s messing with my head.
And what I want, I get. The fact that she’s playing hard to get is … cute. And for some reason, hot as fuck.
I don’t know if a woman has ever played hard to get with me, come to think of it.
Luckily I have an ace up my sleeve.
She handed me the keys to her life without even meaning to. The little honey is in a bind and needs a bail out.
The thing is, I play hardball. I don’t fuck around, especially when I want something—someone—this badly. I can’t remember this ever happening before. I go after businesses and investments like this: with singular focus that no one and nothing can distract me from. But not women. I don’t need to chase them. They lay at my feet. They offer before I’ve even asked.
Except one, so it seems.
Sassy, gorgeous Luna from Iowa, of all people, is the one who’s gotten under my skin.
Holding my bloody, beating heart in her hands.
That was just a dream, I remind myself. A nightmare, more accurately.
I take my laptop out of my bag and open it.
I do some preliminary due diligence and send a few emails.
Then I google her.
She doesn’t have much of a digital footprint. A Facebook account. Luna LaRoux. A very light Instagram with a few pictures of sunsets. @lunalarouxxx
Mine. Those x’s are mine.
Gage, you need to get a goddamn grip, son.
There’s an article about her business dated almost a year ago, when the two of them took over ownership of the restaurant. There’s a photo of Luna and Josie behind the bar.
Damn, she’s pretty. She looks young and happy.
Like she did in the dream.
I want to make her smile like that.
My heart does that thing again where I’m aware of its bloody, heavy rhythm.
I close my laptop.
It’s not enough.
I need more.
I lay back on the bed. I close my eyes and I think of her. In her yellow dress. Behind the bar. On the dream beach. I peel off her clothes more slowly this time, tasting every inch of that flawless skin. I kiss my way down her body. To her pussy. God, I want to taste her so much.
The fantasy is too much. I come hard and fast. Even harder than the first time. Harder and longer and more forcefully, like my cock is on superpowered overdrive.
Fuck. This is bad.
I lay there panting in the dark, covered in my own sweat and cum. My blood feels hot and rabid. Like an animal. That’s how I feel. Like a hungry, out-of-control wild animal who knows what it wants. An alpha beast who’s caught the scent. Who’s on the hunt now and can’t be tamed. Watch out, Luna LaRoux. You have no idea what you’re in for.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
Christ, Gage. What the fuck?
I take a deep breath, wiping myself with the sheet, trying like hell to calm the fuck down.
But it’s no use. My fantasies turn dark and I let them.
Much later, I finally succumb to sleep and the perfect surrender of her sweet, beautiful mouth.
I sleep deeply and when I wake again it’s 6:37.
What a nightmare I had.
I get up and wrap a towel around my waist. Fuck, I’m a mess.
My suite has a balcony that looks out over the pool and out to the beach beyond. I step out onto it and vaguely take in the view. People in white shirts are setting up loungers and blue umbrellas.
Then I go inside and take a long, much-needed shower. I order room service and check my emails. There are already a couple of replies. My investigators know I’ll pay whatever they ask so they’ll jump through hoops for me and work all night.
The girls’ names are Josie Farrell and Luna LaRoux. Both hail from the outskirts of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where Josie’s father owned a small building business that was sold after he died. Her mother died when she was young. She has three brothers who all still live in their hometown.
Luna’s family is more difficult to trace. My phone rings again and it’s Pete Clancy, the guy I use when I want hard-to-reach information about people. “Her parents divorced when she was six,” he says. “Up until then, she’d lived at their family home in Scarsdale, a modest three-bedroom ranch house that was sold when the divorce went through. The father remarried two weeks after the divorce papers were signed. He has two young children with his former secretary. He’s a lawyer but has been cited once for misconduct which got him demoted from partner and almost cost him his job. He recently made a couple of bad investments. His new house in Rye is mortgaged to the hilt. He uses a separate credit card under an alias to book his hotel rooms by the hour—several a week. Luna’s mother remarried several times and now lives in Los Angeles with her fourth husband, who runs a struggling movie studio. In the minutes of the studio’s last board meeting, filing for bankruptcy was discussed. The mother is currently doing her fourth stint in rehab for alcohol abuse. From what I can tell, there’s not much of a relationship between Luna and her mother. Luna’s last phone call to California was four months ago. That’s all I’ve got so far, but I’ll keep tracking and get back to you.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure why. Digging behind her back feels invasive, maybe. I’d rather she tells me herself instead. Not my usual style, but maybe it’s just Key West having its way with me again.
If all goes according to plan, she’ll be telling me her life story by the end of happy hour.
And I found out what I needed to know. She has no Plan B. No parents to call on and ask for money, since the relationships are frayed and they’re both financially hanging on by the skin of their teeth.
It’s a beautiful morning, sunny and hot and hazy.
I make a point of toning down my dream hangover. It was intense and I still feel dazed.
I try not to analyze it, aside from the way her dream body felt under mine. As I came hard inside her.
I try not to fixate on the blaring metaphor that it doesn’t take a shrink to point out. She was literally holding your heart in her hands. What does that mean? Does your subconscious think you’re fucking in love with her or something? After one glance and a brief, dismissive conversation?
I almost laugh at myself.
Pathetic.
It’s true that people in my family tend to fall hard. My parents did and now both my brothers seem to be suffering from the same affliction.
Good thing I’m immune to that kind of bullshit. I dodged that bullet. I’ve already acknowledged that I’m incapable of love. This weird meltdown is only because she didn’t fall in lust with me at first glance, like women always do. I’m not used to Luna’s reaction, that’s all this is. This is just a small bruise to my ego, which I plan on fixing pronto.
I have a plan. I’m bored with my usual investment portfolio. Dealing day in and day out with stiff suits and greasy bankers. I feel like mixing it up.
And showing her who’s boss.
Answering her brazen little come-backs.