“I’m comin’, darn it!”
If that was a clown, I was going to murder his ass for sure.
The front door flew open to reveal not a slinky wannabe model, but a very tall woman, nonetheless. This one, however, was on the Rubenesque end of the spectrum. She was middle-aged with short red hair, wide shoulders, and eyes an interesting shade of periwinkle blue. The dogs loped past me into the house like they’d done it a million times and my blood pressure shot to the moon and back.
Periwinkle blue took in my bedraggled appearance––the bedhead, the flush of overexertion, the wild–eyed expression––and her glossy pink lips quirked.
“Who are you?” I snapped because––manners? Yeah, I’d left those back at the cabin.
“Who the fuck are you, sweetie?” the tall woman returned. Although she smiled amusedly and used a decidedly sweeter tone than I had. Then again, she hadn’t been subjected to cold showers and mood swings of a manchild.
“I’m Scott’s wife.” I tried to look around the woman to no avail. Tall Red kept moving in my way. “Where is the two-timing son of a bitch?”
“Ahhh, yes, the new wife.” Red thrust a perfectly manicured hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jan, Scott’s house manager.”
Whatever points Scott earned by hiring a trans woman paled in comparison with all the points I deducted for all the crap he’d put me through.
After a brisk handshake, I stepped closer. “Nice to meet you. I need to see him now.” When Jan didn’t budge from the doorway, I went for broke. “Jan, is it? I’ve been living in a cabin for three weeks with no hot water or heat because Scott lied to me. He led me to believe that the cabin was his home, not”––I gestured to the mansion we were currently standing in––“this.”
Jan blinked her bright blue eyes. “He’s in the master suite. Down the hall and to the right. Boots off. Don’t get any blood on the carpets please. They’re Tibetan.” Jan stepped aside.
Jan and I were going to get along perfectly well.
Kicking off the muddy Hunter boots, I made a beeline for his bedroom and barged in without knocking. It was empty save for the expensive designer furniture. The simple dark wood softened by natural materials in shades of gray and beige. An enormous bed dressed in imported Frette linens and a Scandia goose down comforter.
Let’s not forget the famous Hästens mattress I’d heard so much about––there it was, chuckling at my expense. All those cold nights hunkering next to the dogs for warmth. All those cold showers…
Ironically, it was the sound of a shower running that threw a monkey wrench in the wheels turning in my head. Crossing the room, I blasted the bathroom door wide open…aaand regretted it instantly.
On the opposite end of a very large bathroom with a heated stone floor (A heated floor!), Scott stood in the shower rinsing his shampooed head. Water sluiced over an intricate tapestry of muscle and bone. Not a spare inch of fat to be found on him anywhere. I’m ashamed to admit my attention went straight to the forbidden. His penis lay thick and long amongst neat dark hair until it started to harden under my seriously thorough examination.
“Had a good look?” he said with way too much sarcasm in his voice.
My gaze climbed until it reached his narrowed indigo eyes. His lips shaped into a smug little smile.
“If I was a dude, I’d knock your teeth out!”
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Without thought, I rushed him, got in his face. Oops, bad idea. I was forced to backpedal or risk getting plastered to his wet chest. Which wouldn’t have been such a terrible idea if I wasn’t so enraged.
Stepping forward, he invaded my personal space as he reached for a towel hanging on the hook, inches separating us. Eyelashes beaded with water, lips moist, gaze…full of trouble.
“If you were a dude, I’d be gay.” He smirked, his eyes glazing over with lust as he took in my flushed face and the nipples poking at my cable sweater. My arms automatically crossed.
“If you were gay, I might actually like you!”
“If I was gay, I wouldn’t be tempted to do this––” Dropping the towel, he took hold of my face, cradling it gently but firmly in his hands, and kissed me.
Kissed me like he was into me. Kissed me like I was his to kiss.
I was too shocked to do anything other than stand there and let him, my anger neutralized by ah, well, a litany of different emotions––none that I was very proud of.
Water-soaked, he pressed his body against mine, his hips pinning me against the edge of the counter, and I melted against him, let him tease my lips apart and slip his tongue into my mouth because everything about him felt so good I wanted to cry tears of joy. It was as good as I remembered. Better, actually. Resisting didn’t even cross my mind.
Unable to hold back any longer, my hands lifted slowly searching for a place to land. They slipped from the hot moist skin of his collarbone to the curve of his powerful shoulders, finally coming to rest on his biceps. Wedged between us, his erection, now at full throttle, pushed against the inside of my thigh. A hand dipped under the hem of my sweater. Broad fingertips skated over my hard nipples and I went up on my toes practically begging for more.
If I moved to the left just a little––
“This what you want?”
He rocked his hips against mine and I almost went into a full-body shudder then and there. In some distant part of my brain, I knew this shouldn’t be happening. That it was madness and I should be trying harder to dismember him and hide the body parts in the vegetable garden. I just couldn’t make myself do it when his lips were so soft, and his hands stroked my breasts so tenderly, and the thick, hard length of him pressed between my legs at the right angle. I couldn’t think of anything other than having him inside of me.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, sighing like I’d granted a starving man his favorite meal. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this…” He took hold of my butt cheeks and picked me up, placing me on the marble counter without once breaking the violent delight of his kiss. And once he sensed that I was all in and in no mood to stop him, the gloves came off.
He pressed right into my sweet spot––in case I’d misunderstood what he intended––and I completely forgot why I’d come over in the first place, not to mention all the reasons this was the worst idea ever.
“We shoulda been doing this from the start. That mattress was killing my back…” he groaned in my ear. Which was basically equivalent to a cold shower. I mean…wtf?
Reality came charging back to pop the bubble of lust we were floating in. Stiffening, I shoved at his chest and jumped off the counter.
“Sydney––” he said, shaking the desire off his face. His gaze alert and unwavering. He took a step forward, and I automatically retreated two more.
Breathing hard, we stared at each other. “I knew you were immature and selfish, but I never, ever imagined you to be this…this shady.”
His shoulders fell and he briefly glanced away. It was as close to an apology as I’d ever get, indicating some level of genuine remorse but not nearly enough to appease me. Then again, I could be wrong. He’d fooled me one too many times already and I wasn’t about to give him another opportunity.