Tangled (The Tangled Series)(44)

This doesn’t sound promising. I start to sit up, my Y-chromosomal instincts telling me to turn the machine off. Now. But I’m not fast enough. And a sultry female voice comes out of Pandora’s Box. “Dreeewwww…it’s Staaaacey. I’ve missed you, baby. I want to take another taxi ride. Remember that night when I sucked your dick so g—”

My hand slaps down on the off button.

Then I glance sideways at Kate. Her face is frozen on the TV, her expression indecipherable. I should probably say something. What the f*ck should I say? “Sorry, one of my other come-dumps called?” Nah, for some reason, I don’t think that one would go over very well.

She sits up stiffly. “I should probably get going.”

Shit. Frigging Jack.

Kate gets up, holding my pillow close against her, covering herself.

Well, that’s not a good sign. An hour ago she was pushing her snatch against my face. Now she doesn’t even want me looking at it.

Goddamn it.

She walks past me toward the bedroom. Even with my stomach churning, I can’t help but admire the sway of her tight ass as she goes by. Predictably, my cock springs up like Dracula rising from his coffin.

When I was ten, we had a dog. He humped everything and anything—from the maid’s leg to my parents’ four-poster bed. He was insatiable. My parents were mortified whenever company stopped by. But now I realize he really wasn’t a bad dog. It wasn’t his fault.

I feel your pain, Fido.

I sigh. And get up to follow Kate. By the time I make it to the bedroom, her skirt’s on and her blouse is buttoned. She doesn’t look at me when I walk in.

“Kate—”

“Do you know where my other shoe is?” Her eyes gaze at the floor, the bed—anywhere but at me.

“Kate—”

“Maybe it’s under the bed.” She kneels down.

“You don’t have to go.”

She doesn’t look up. “I don’t want to get in the way of your plans.”

Who has plans? The only plan I had was to gorge myself on the juicy buffet between her thighs. Again.

“I don’t—”

“It’s okay, Drew. You know, this has been nice…”

Nice? She calls what we did last night and all day—in the bedroom, the kitchen, the shower, up against the hallway wall—“nice”? Is she f*cking joking?

She must see the look on my face, because she stops mid-sentence and raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, was that the wrong adjective? Did I insult your fragile male ego?”

I stutter indignantly, “Well…yeah.”

“What word would you prefer?”

FYI—I’m still naked, and if my dick’s posture is any indication, it doesn’t take Einstein to figure out what I’d really prefer at the moment.

“Stupendous? Transcendent? Unparalleled?” I punctuate each word with a predatory step in her direction.

She matches my forward momentum with nervous steps backward, until her ass bumps up against my dresser. I smirk down at her. “You’re a graduate of the most prestigious business program in the country, Kate. My honor demands that you come up with something, anything, better than ‘nice.’”

She stares at my chest a minute. Then she looks up into my eyes. She looks serious. “I should go.”

She tries to walk past me, but I grab her arm and pull her back. “I don’t want you to go.”

No—don’t ask me why. I won’t answer. Not now. I’m only focused on here—and her. The rest doesn’t matter. She looks at my hand on her arm and then at me. “Drew…”

“Don’t leave, Kate.” I pick her up, sit her on the dresser, and step between her legs. “Stay.” I kiss her neck and nibble her ear. She shivers. I whisper, “Stay with me, Kate.” I look into her eyes. “Please.”

She bites her lip. Then smiles slowly. “Okay.”

I smile in return. And then my mouth is on hers. The kiss is long and slow and deep. I push her skirt up, skimming the skin of her thighs with my fingertips. She’s still not wearing any underwear.

You’ve got to love the easy access.

I kneel down in front of her. “Drew…?” It’s a half question, half moan.

“Shhh. If I’m going to top ‘nice’ I need to concentrate.”

And there’s not a single coherent word between us for the rest of the night.





Chapter 16

EVERY SUPERHERO HAS A HIDEOUT—a sanctuary. At least all the good ones do. I have one too. My own personal Bat Cave. It’s where the magic happens. Where I’ve built the legend that is my career.

My home office.

It’s a male haven. A *-free zone—in the good kind of way. Every guy should have one. I decorated it myself—each piece, every detail. If my car is my baby, this room is my firstborn. My pride and joy.

Mahogany floors, handmade oriental rugs, English leather couches. A stone fireplace and built-in bookshelves line one wall. Behind my desk is a full picture window that offers a priceless view of the city. And in the corner is a card table where the guys and I drink aged Scotch, smoke Cuban cigars, and play poker once a month.

It’s the only time Steven is allowed to come out and play.