Page 35 of Wes

Stepping inside my bedroom, I pull the gray T-shirt over my head. When I get to the bathroom, I toss it in the hamper, where I also drop my jeans, socks and briefs. Turning the shower on, I get under the cool jets of water, careful not to wet my hair. This is a quick business just to get rid of the smell of fried garlic and onion.

Since I returned from Brazil, cold has been my temperature of choice for showers. It has proven to be a highly efficient way to keep my sanity. At least, when I can’t jerk off to memories of Maria. Or on those occasions when I don’t have time for that, such as now.

I turn the water off, brace my hands on the blue tiles, and hang my head between my arms. I relish the sensation of the goosebumps raising my heated skin as icy droplets run down my body. I clear my head of any sinful scenes starring a gorgeous, headstrong woman with blond pixie hair. After all, I want to get dressed before she arrives.

I straighten my back and grab the towel hanging from a peg inside the enclosure. I dry myself as I swing the glass door open and step out. I return to the bedroom and continue to the walk-in closet.

Before cooking dinner, I chose the clothes I wanted to wear tonight and laid them on the top of the counter in the middle of the closet. I picked a black silk shirt, a gray tie, a pair of black pants and black dress shoes. Now, I put them on in record time and begin to rush down the stairs when I remember I’ve left behind the most important item of clothing. I dash back to grab the jacket she bought for me and slide my arms into the sleeves as I go down the stairs again.

I get to the foyer as Fred is killing the engine. I swing the double wooden door open and watch him help Maria get out of the limousine. My smile rivals the horizon when I notice the defiant woman added a knee-length, black cashmere coat to the outfit I selected.

When she approaches me, I stretch my hand to hold hers. I bring her palm to my lips, bow my head, and kiss it. The tremble that rakes her from head to toes warms my chest.

“Welcome to my house,” I whisper, keeping my eyes locked on hers. I drop our hands, fingers still entwined, and step into her personal space. I run my nose along the right side of her neck, inhaling her perfume and grazing her earlobe. “You know this coat can’t hide you from me, right? Every little inch of your body is etched in my memory. I dream about our night every fucking time I go to sleep.” I hook my free arm around her waist and bring her front to mine. When her soft belly collides with my hard cock, she gasps. I swoop down until my lips dust hers as I murmur, “Tonight, I want the real thing.”

13

MARIA

This man’s superpower is melting my bones, heart, and panties. I drop my stare to his full lips. They’re so close I feel their heat. His words sound muffled because of the ringing in my head as blood zings through me. It would be so easy to give in to temptation, indulge in the sensations he wakes up in my body.

When my knees weaken, I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat before they buckle. Wes overwhelms my senses. I need a second to regroup.

Why is it that I shouldn’t kiss him? Oh, right! We’re not good for each other.

Snapping my eyes open, I take a couple of steps back to escape his tight embrace. He moves his hand from my back to my hip and keeps our fingers locked.

I arch an eyebrow, slide on a mask of annoyance, and remind him, “You should know better than to put on a show for the paparazzi.”

I hope he doesn’t notice my ragged breathing or the throbbing vein in my neck.

He drags his hazel eyes from mine to my neck and chest. Damn the man! He’s too good at reading me.

“This show is only for you,” he whispers, stepping aside, bowing, and gesturing for me to go in ahead of him.

I jumpstart my brain with a shake of my head and step inside a long hallway with five doors. With a hand on the small of my back, he guides me straight ahead. We stride past two closed doors to the left. On the right, I peek at a spacious living room, a cozy reading room, and a formal dining room.

The furniture and decoration in warm colors and subdue tones match to perfection the Victorian style of the construction.

“You’ve got a beautiful place.” I offer glancing at him over my shoulder. I look ahead and add, “I must confess I was expecting to meet you at an ultra-modern, state-of-the-art condo near Union Square or in South Beach.”

Wes laughs, but his fingers wrap around my upper arm, and we stop walking. “That would be Logan.” He leans until his lips brush my ear. “But don’t get any ideas. No fucking way I’d let him touch you.”

My stomach drops as if I were bungee-jumping. I lock eyes with him. I can’t mistake the dominating glint in his gaze, the possessive grip of his fingers, or the caveman-like tone in his voice.

I’ve always taken pride in my independence. I’ve never cared for overbearing people vying to control me. Why the hell do I feel gooey inside when Wes acts all bossy asshole with me?

My mind knows it’s a power play he excels in. Yet my heartbeats spike and hot liquid floods my sex at this fucking role-playing game.

I scold myself.Two can dance this tango.

Wrestling control of my emotions, I allow a slow smile to curve my lips. “Bet Logan wouldn’t starve me.”

In a blink-and-you-miss moment, his nostrils flare with a sharp intake of air. It leaves his ample chest in a huff, and he stirs me toward the kitchen.

My mouth waters with the delicious smell of freshly baked eggplant parmigiana as we come to stand by the narrow island between the stove and the sink. I welcome the chance to change subjects.

The smug expression on his face makes me knit my eyebrows. “How did you guess I love eggplant parmigiana?”

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