Page 37 of Hotshot Mogul

I pulled Anneliese into my arms. I caressed her soft shoulder and caught her unique floral scent laced with us as that damn bird cawed again. “I’ll have you back here by then, promise,” I said. “Please. As much as I love that we smell like what we did last night and just now, we could both shower and eat.”

Her stomach growled. She stepped away and crossed her arms over her perfect tits. “All right.” When I would have put the almost empty plate, which had been full when Callie brought it last night, into the tent, she stopped me. “Leave it. Let the fair…animals have what’s left.”

I stowed the folding chairs, table, and tablecloth inside the tent, as well as the empty wine bottle and goblets, then looked around for my shoes. “I’ll get this stuff later.”

My shoes were somehow by the stand of pine trees—filled with pinecones and little sticks. Anneliese studied them, frowned, then pulled the horseshoe out of her purse. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I will later explain.” She strode to the scooter, hiked up her skirt, straddled it, and started the engine. It was the hottest damn thing I’d ever seen. I climbed on behind her and took hold of her waist.

That was new. I liked to drive, to be in control. For her, I’d give this a try. “Head back toward Callie’s place. I’m not far from there.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Anneliese

Bruce poured soap into his hands. “Lean back.” I tilted my head into the spray of hot water. He worked the soap through my hair and scalp with gentle pressure. The soap smelled like he did, woodsy and spicy. Steam filled the room. When he finished, I tilted back to rinse it out. He lathered up again with a white chunk of soap and glided his hands in long, slow strokes over every part of my body.

My body—when had I taken ownership of it? I still had to decide if I would stay. I was here now, and determined to make the most of my time with him, whatever I decided that would be.

He crouched low, soaped up a washcloth and pressed it between my legs. Heat flooded my face at this intimacy. This was too much. Time to dry off, put some space between us.

He looked up. His tender concern halted my plan to leave. He stood. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to say. So, I soaped up my hands and glided them down the strong column of his throat to his shoulders, to his broad chest, through the smattering of hair, then lower to his hardness. I cleaned him everywhere, taking extra care of his erection. Then I turned him toward the spray to rinse away the soap and sunk to my knees before him.

“Anneliese.” His voice sounded strained. I explored him, learned what he liked best, until he pulled away, lifted me to my feet and shot his seed into the spray. I lifted my face to kiss him.

Chimes sounded, like Callie’s doorbell. “Fuck,” Bruce said, shutting off the water. “I’m not sure I locked the front door.”

“Bruce?” a woman’s voice called out. The color drained from his face. “Stay here,” he said. I shrugged. Where would I go without clothes? Isolde stressed I must always wear clothes. Bruce’s anger simmered from him like heatwaves in summertime. He gripped my shoulders. “Don’t shut down on me, Anneliese, please.”

Humans and their messy emotions. I pulled away. I was done with that so long ago. I couldn’t go back into all that pain. “You must tend to her distress,” I said.

“Bruce?” The voice called out again, sounding more anxious.

His distress spiked. “Beth,” he yelled. “For fuck’s sake, wait a minute.” He yanked a towel off a rack, wiped dry, then gave it to me. I did the same while he locked the bathroom door, strode into the adjoining room and locked that door, too.

He pulled on a thin white shirt, stretchy shorts and denim pants. “Here.” He gave me the same kind of white shirt and stretchy shorts and pointed to a big hairbrush. “That’s all I have.”

I pulled on the clothes and worked the brush through my tangled hair. When I finished, he brushed his hair off his forehead. “Would you come with me, please?”

Deer turds. I had the courage to turn my back on Étienne, my wedded husband, to be with Nigan. I could face this woman from Bruce’s past. I nodded.

That pleased him. He held out his hand. I slipped my feet into my shoes and took it. “I love you, Anneliese. Please remember that. I don’t know why she’s here.” He winced. “We weren’t…we only met up to…”

“Hook up?”

“You’re the only one I have ever said ‘I love you’ to, except Diana. She died.”

I held back my own words of love, fearful of what this Beth had brought through his door. He stared at me in tender concern, gripped my hand, unlocked and opened the door.

Beth paced. Her smile faltered when she saw me, and that that I held Bruce’s hand. I tried to smile at her. “I’m Anneliese.”

“Um, hello. I’m Beth.”

She was beautiful, like Isolde, with caramel-colored skin, soft, curly brown hair and golden lights in her dark brown eyes. She turned to Bruce. “We should talk in private.”

I let go of Bruce’s hand, moved toward the door, and grabbed my bag. “Anneliese?” Bruce sounded anxious.

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