SHE’S NERVOUS. She’s fidgeting on the seat of my town car next to me on our way to the restaurant. And talking incessantly. It’s actually adorable. Of course, it is.
I don’t know that there will ever be a time when Danielle Larkin won’t be adorable to me.
But I don’t want her to be nervous. I want her to want this date. To want to be with me.
And I really need her to stop moving. Because when she’s shifting on the seat like that, all I can think about is how it would feel to have her shifting like that in my lap. Naked.
“I can’t believe you found my favorite ice cream shop,” she says, for the second time. “That was just so…sweet of you. I haven’t had that ice cream in such a long time.”
“Three months,” I say.
Her gaze flies to mine. “What?”
“That was the last time you had it. July. At least that was the last time you posted about it.” I shift on my seat, trying to ease some of the pressure on my cock. “I suppose you could have had it since then. When were you last home?”
“I…” She trails off. “That was…the last time.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
She shifts again, crossing her legs, then uncrossing them. I finally reach out and clamp my hand down on her thigh, stilling her.
Her skin is smooth and without thinking, I let my fingers stroke over the velvety softness. “Stop wiggling,” I tell her, my voice husky.
“Sorry.” She’s breathless. “I’m…I’ve never been taken on a date in a town car with a driver.”
I give her a small smile. “That’s why you’re nervous?”
She wets her lips. “I–” She shakes her head. “No.”
“Then why?”
“I’m not sure I’m nervous, exactly. I’ve never been out to dinner with a guy like you. I thought we were going to a hockey game.”
Yes, she’d mentioned that on the phone when she’d called to thank me for the ice cream and respond to my note.
“As much as I love hockey, I can do better than beer and nachos,” I tell her.
She smiles at the mention of beer. If it weren’t for her asshole date and all the beer last night, I might not be sitting here with her right now, so I’m over my annoyance with Ben.
“Well, I was all ready,” she says. “I have a jersey now and everything.”
“You bought a jersey? I kind of liked that T-shirt.” I really fucking liked that T-shirt. I’d love to see her in it again. In only that. While I fuck her.
I have to shift on the seat again.
She smiles and says, “I didn’t buy it. Crew gave it to me.”
My hand tightens on her thigh and I have to consciously relax it. “McNeill gave you a jersey?”
She’s not smiling as brightly now. Probably because I just growled at her.
“Yes.”
“A generic Racketeers jersey?” I ask, knowing full well that’s not what he gave her.
“No. It’s got his name and number on it.”
Yeah. That’s what I thought. And exactly what I would have done if I was him. Hell, the guy told me that’s what he was going to do.
“Did he ask you out?” I ask her. He told me he was going to do that too.
“No. Not specifically.” She looks up at me through long lashes. “But, I think he might.”
I nod. “He will.”
I stroke my fingers over her bare thigh again. I love the little dress she’s wearing. It’s black, simple. I know it’s nothing outrageously expensive like what most of the women I date wear, but it’s probably the nicest thing in her closet. She’s also wearing heels. Hot pink ones. That she will definitely be leaving on when I fuck her later.
And I am going to fuck her later.
Unless she absolutely says no and that she doesn’t want me at all, I am getting this girl naked. Tonight.
“Does that upset you?” she asks. She rests her hand on top of mine. “That Crew might ask me out?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
“Why?”
“Because I want you.”
She smiles up at me. “You have me. Right now. I’m here.”
“I don’t want anyone else to have you.”
“Hmm.” She runs her thumb over the back of my knuckles, studying our hands. Her hand is so much smaller and paler against mine.
“Well, I don’t think you get to make that call,” she says.
I lift a brow. Is that what she thinks?
I don’t own her, no. Yet.
“I can make it so you don’t want anyone else,” I tell her.
Her smile grows and she looks up at me again. “I look forward to you trying.”
Is that right?
Does my sweet Danielle want us to fight over her? I study her closely. I don’t know if that’s it, exactly. I think she likes me bossy, though.
I test it out with another low growl and lean in, meeting her gaze directly. I also run my hand higher up her thigh. I cup her between her legs through her panties. “Be careful, little girl,” I tell her, low and gruff. “I don’t play around.”
Her eyes are wide and I can feel how hot she is between her thighs. She swallows. Then says, “I’m not a little girl.”
I run my middle finger up and down the middle of her panties. She makes a little whimpering noise. She’s wet. Excellent.
“Have you fucked him?” I ask.
“Crew?” Her voice is soft as if she’s having a hard time getting enough air in her lungs.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What about Hughes?” I bite out.
“No.” She pauses. “But I’ve kissed them both.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t be surprised. Both of those men are intelligent. Given the chance to kiss this woman, neither of them would have passed it up.
“And I’m going to date them both.”
I narrow my eyes. “We’ll see.”
“I know what I want,” she tells me, but her attempt at sassy boldness is tempered by the pink in her cheeks and the fact that she’s breathing faster. And that her gaze is locked on my mouth.
“I’ll show you what you want,” I tell her. She likes competitiveness? Men trying for her attention? She hasn’t seen anything yet. Then I lean back, pulling my hand out from under her skirt. “Let’s go have dinner.”
We’ve pulled up at the curb in front of Loretta’s, my favorite five-star restaurant in Chicago. It’s on the top floor of a building on Michigan Avenue, so it has a fantastic view of the lake and downtown. It’s almost as good as the view from my penthouse. I know the owner personally and can always get a table, but I rarely bring dates here. I don’t wine and dine the women I spend time with.
I definitely have sex, pretty much whenever I want or need to, but it’s not romantic. I don’t need to impress the women I choose to fuck. We’re both there for one reason—to get off without any strings. There doesn’t need to be a lot of extras. Maybe some wine. Occasionally food. But not even much conversation.
They don’t ask me a lot of questions. I don’t ask them a lot of questions.
They’re attracted to me because of my money, and power. They sleep with me because I can give them exactly what they want—orgasms with no demands on their time or attention outside of the bedroom.
I don’t know where any of them grew up, their favorite ice cream, or even the exact address of where they work.
I already know all of that about Danielle and I had to find all of it out myself. I worked at it.
I never work at it with women.
Danielle is different in almost every way from the women I usually take to bed.
I want her with an irrational intensity. And I do want to impress her, but not with my money, or my penthouse, or my connections, or my power. I want to impress her with how happy I can make her, how well I can take care of her, and how special I can make her feel.
I don’t know if it’s because I met her when she was with that asshole Ben who was treating her like an afterthought, or because I witnessed her get injured, or because Crew Fucking McNeill wants her and I’m not sure that cocky little fuck knows what it means to take care of someone other than himself, but I have this absurd need to make Danielle feel like a princess.
And then fuck her brains out.
But then again, giving a woman an orgasm she can still feel the next day, is absolutely one way to take care of her.
“Oh, um, okay.”
Danielle is flustered and her cheeks are pink and I’m sure that for a moment there she forgot we were on our way to dinner.
“But first, take off your panties.”
Her eyes go round. “Wh–what?”
“Take your panties off.” I know she heard me perfectly before, but if she needs a moment to process that command, I can be patient.
“Why?” she practically whispers.
“Because I told you to.”
She might go out with McNeill and Hughes, but it’s going to be a very different experience than going out with me.
She wets her lips again and then my blood pumps hot and fast when she reaches up under the skirt, wiggles that cute ass on the seat of my car again, and pulls her panties down.
Yes. Danielle does like to be bossed around.
This will work out so very nicely.
When they’re down over her heels, she looks up. “Now what?”
I hold out my hand. She hesitantly hands them over. I tuck them in my pocket. Then I open my door and step out. I pull my suit jacket together, buttoning it, then take her hand, helping her out of the car. “Keep your knees together so you don’t flash anyone,” I say near her ear. “I’m the only one you’re spreading your legs for tonight.”
Her cheeks are bright pink as we enter the building.
Once we’re in the elevator on the way up to the top floor, she moves to stand near the back wall, her ankles crossed, her fingers clasped in front of her.
But I’m having none of that. I take her elbow and pull her to stand in front of me, her ass against my hard cock. I put a hand against her stomach, pressing her into me. But we don’t speak. She leans into me and after a few floors, I feel her arch her back slightly, rubbing against me.
I smile and say into her hair, “Yes, that’s all for you.”
She sucks in a quick breath.
I run my hand up the outside of her thigh, hiking her skirt with it. My hand rests on her upper thigh, but I don’t let her dress get high enough that anyone on the security camera gets to look at her. She’s all mine.
I slide my hand over her pussy, my middle finger brushing her clit.
Her head falls back against my chest. “Oh my God, Nathan.”
I move my hand lower, pressing my finger just barely inside her entrance. She’s so fucking hot and wet. “And this is all for me,” I tell her, my voice rough. “I can’t wait to feel this all over my fingers and cock, and to taste it with my tongue.”
She gasps and I feel her fingers wrap around my wrist. But she does not push me away. She holds on tight, as if afraid I’ll pull away.
I do pull away.
She doesn’t get this right now. She has to wait, anticipate, be on edge, think about this for the next couple of hours.
We have a romantic dinner to eat before I take care of any other feasting.
Twenty minutes later we’ve been seated at the private table I requested with a fabulous view, a private waiter, drinks, and the special private menu. And I’m not sure Danielle has noticed any of that.
She’s definitely squirming on her chair, her skin is flushed–not just her cheeks, but her throat and chest too–and she’s downed two glasses of ice water.
Maybe I overdid the pre-seduction seduction.
I smile as I lift my glass of scotch. I’m not sorry.
I am a little out of my element though. And I fucking hate it. I’m always in my element. I purposefully spend time in my damned element. Until this girl. She has me feeling off-balance. Not just because I’m not a dater, or a conversationalist, but because tonight I want to be.
She’s spent time now with two men who are interested in her and who she, apparently, is also interested in.
Yes, I want to take her to bed, but I also want to know more about her. I want to know what they know.
McNeill has known her for years. Danielle is his sister’s best friend. They have a history, though I don’t know much about it. He’s still known her outside of hockey and for much longer than just since the other night at the game.
And I know Hughes. The guy is the quintessential “people person.” It makes him a great doctor. He’s been not just a physician to the guys on the team, but also a mentor and, at times, another coach. I know the guys go to him for advice and help with things that go beyond their physical issues.
There is no doubt in my mind that he talked to Danielle the other night when he took her home from the arena. Hell, he probably knows her favorite color, her first childhood pet’s name, and all of her hopes and dreams.
Fucking hell, a little bit of me wants to know her hopes and dreams too.
Why? Why do I need to know her? Why do I care?
I have no idea. I could, obviously, take her home, fuck her, and then forget about her.
But I’ve been asking her questions for the past ten minutes.
I now know she’s an only child, that she met Luna in college, that her degree is in English, that she knows next to nothing about hockey, and that her mom is a nurse and her dad is a teacher in her hometown of Franklin, Indiana.
But every time I ask her something about her, she also turns it around on me.
“So, my parents are pretty great,” she says. “Typical mom and dad from a small town in Indiana, I guess. They don’t totally understand me. They’d love it if I would have gone to college and gotten a degree in teaching, or engineering, or if I’d decided to become a cosmetologist, or an astrophysicist, or something they understood. But running a bookshop that doesn’t make any money, and living with my best friend who runs a bakery seems kind of…frivolous to them.”
“Your parents understand what astrophysicists do?” I ask wryly.
She laughs lightly and I want to kiss her. Not run my hand up her skirt, but just kiss her.
“Well, no, maybe not. But it’s something they think other people would go “Oh, that’s impressive” about.”
“People know what bookshops are and do,” I say, frowning. “Why isn’t that something they can be happy about?”
“Probably because it’s actually Luna’s shop,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “Luna’s parents bought it for us. The bookshop also doesn’t actually make any money. I don’t actually write any of the books inside of it.” She sighs. “I think they’d just like to see me doing something that contributes. Either to my partnership with Luna, or to the world at large.” She gives me a sad smile. “I would too.”
I hate that. I hate that she’s sad about anything. This woman is not meant to be anything but bright and happy.
Well, maybe panting, screaming, and sweating from sex. But not sad.
“Your dad is a teacher. Surely he values books.”
“Of course. But using them for something. Or writing them. Not just owning a place where they sit on shelves and occasionally selling them to other people to use. The occasional being a big deal. It’s my dad. He worries about my financial security.” She ducks her head. “I shouldn’t have told him about loaning out my books.”
“Loaning out what books?” I ask.
She shrugs. “In the bookstore.” She meets my eyes. “Sometimes people come in to browse. And they fall in love with the idea of a book. Or they read a little bit and want to read the whole thing, but they can’t because they can’t afford it. Or a child comes in with their parent and the parent has set a limit of two books, but the kid really wants four. So I let them borrow the books and bring them back.”
I look at her for two beats. “That sounds like a library.”
She nods. “I know. But…I love people who love books. The most important thing is people getting to consume stories. Things that will make them happy and teach them new things and take them to new places.” She sighs a happy sigh and gives me a smile that hits me right in the gut. “I just can’t say no.”
I sigh, frustrated with her father, a man I know almost nothing about and have never met, and with this woman…But even before I finish that thought I realize that it’s not Danielle I’m frustrated with at all. It’s my reactions to her. Her using her damned bookstore like a library–and being financially unstable because of it–makes me want to haul her into my lap and…cuddle her. And, of course, buy the bookstore and let her do whatever she wants with it forever.
Fuck. I’m not supposed to want to cuddle with her. That’s not what this is supposed to be.
“Do you like your bookshop?” I finally ask.
“So much,” she says without even hesitating. “But I do feel like maybe I’m not a part of anything that’s important.”
“But–”
She cuts me off. “What about you? Tell me about your family.”
“It’s just my grandfather.” I turn it back to her. “Books are important, Danielle. Don’t let someone make you feel bad about spending your time on something you’re passionate about.”
She waves that away. “Just your grandfather? Can I ask what happened to your parents?”
“Car accident,” I say shortly. I don’t talk about this. And I don’t want to make this woman sad. That story is definitely sad. “You are a part of something important, Danielle.”
“Sure, kind of.” She leans in, resting her chin on her hand. “Tell me about your grandfather. He owned the team before you, right?”
“Right. Tell me why you chose to open a bookshop if–”
“Does your grandfather still come to games?” she asks, interrupting me.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I blow out a breath. “He’s not able to.”
“Oh, why–”
I lean over, wrap a hand around the back of her neck, pull her in, and kiss her.
That will shut her up.
But I’m not prepared for what kissing her would do to me.
Her mouth is sweet and soft. So is the sighing sound she makes. My entire body goes hard and hot. My hand tightens around her neck and I pull her even closer. I open my mouth and taste her fully, my tongue sliding over her lips, then her tongue.
She makes a soft, needy sound and I want more of that. I’m ready to haul her up onto the table and spread her out for my meal when I hear someone clearing his throat.
Our waiter.
I pull my mouth off of hers. Maybe to fire the guy. But then I realize this interruption is a good thing. The things I have planned for this girl should not be done in a restaurant.
“I have your appetizer,” he says, moving to set the plate down.
“Thank you,” I tell him without looking away from Danielle.
She’s breathing hard.
I let her lean back, but I drop my hand to the seat of her chair and pull it closer to mine.
“I’d really like to know more about your family,” she says softly.
I look at her with a lifted brow.
“I don’t talk about my family.” I pick up one of the tiny portions of fig and goat cheese bruschetta and lift it to her mouth.
She gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m doing but she opens and I slide the hors d’oeuvre onto her tongue. She closes her mouth and chews, watching me the whole time.
After she swallows, she asks, “Are you close with your grandfather?”
She’s relentless.
“Danielle,” I say warningly.
She lays a hand on my arm and I tense, but she simply squeezes. “I’d like to know you better.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“You’ve been asking me questions. You know a lot about me. I just want to know you too.”
“You don’t need to know me,” I say firmly.
“I know Crew.”
I stare at her. I should not react to that. I do not need her to know that she can get to me so easily. But this definitely stokes the competitive streak in me that makes me want to win the prize. Her. She’s the prize and I want to win her.
And I can tell she knows it. She knows this is the way to get to me.
“What do you know about Crew?” I ask.
“I know that he skipped college to go straight to the draft. I know his parents. I know his grandfather, actually.” She picks up another piece of the bruschetta, pops it in her mouth, and chews watching me. Then she licks her finger and says, “I’ve even been in his bedroom.”
I lean in. “When?” Jealousy rips through me, hot and sharp.
She leans in as well. “About a year ago.”
“You slept with McNeill a year ago?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “I slept in his childhood bedroom about a year ago when I went home with Luna to visit. He wasn’t there.”
I take her chin between my thumb and finger, pulling her in until our noses almost touch. “You’re playing with me, little girl.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I’m kind of an asshole sometimes. Okay, I’m often an asshole. Yet, this sweet, caring, beautiful girl wants to know me. She’ll do whatever it takes to break down my walls. She’s not intimidated by me. And it makes me want her even more.
I kiss her. Partly to shut her up and partly to remind her who’s in charge. But again, I’m lost in the kiss. Her mouth is hot and so fucking sweet. I drink her in, I taste every inch of her mouth. And I want so much more. I hear a moan and realize the deep, needy sound comes from me.
“Dammit, Danielle,” I say against her mouth.
“You know, at some point my mouth won’t be busy or full and I’m going to keep asking you questions,” she whispers.
“Oh, I’m going to work very hard to keep your mouth full and busy.” My body heats just thinking about that.
“I just want to know as much about you as I know about them,” she whispers.
Fuck. She’s got me figured out. Making me compete with McNeill and Hughes is maybe the one thing that could make me talk.
No one pushes me. No one asks me questions. Unless it’s things like, ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Armstrong?’ or ‘Can I get you another drink, Mr. Armstrong?’
I tell people what to do.
I definitely want to tell Danielle what to do.
But this girl is pushing other buttons of mine.
Still, I can’t snap at her, or be mean to her, or completely shut her down.
She’s too sweet for that.
And…fuck. I want her to know me, too.
I take her chin again and look her directly in the eye. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was twelve. I was in the accident too. I was badly injured but survived. I miss them every day. I went to live with my grandparents after that. My grandmother died about ten years ago. I’ve run the team with my grandfather since I graduated with my MBA. I took the team over entirely eight years ago. My grandfather is now in a care facility. He has Alzheimer’s and many days doesn’t even know who the Racketeers are. But for the days that he does, I’m determined to do my best with this team and give him a championship before he doesn’t remember them, or me, at all.”
I say it all in one big monologue, in a low, determined voice. I watch her expression go from pleased that I’m sharing, to surprise, to pity because of what I’ve told her.
I let her go. I pause only a beat before I ask, “What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A writer,” she answers without blinking.
“Why aren’t you a writer?”
“I am a writer. I’m just not making a living from it yet.”
I nod. I like that answer better than her not writing at all.
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” she asks.
I shake my head.
She sighs. “Just so you know, if we keep going with whatever this is, I’m going to eventually break down your walls.”
“Who says we’re going to keep going with whatever this is?” I ask.
She flinches slightly. If I wasn’t staring at her I wouldn’t have even seen it. But that little flinch makes my heart twinge. Dammit.
But it’s true. I’m not making any promises about anything after tonight. Or about any walls coming down.
Finally she nods. “You’re right. No one said that.”
I bring another piece of bruschetta to her mouth. “Eat.”
“I’m already getting full. This is going to be a problem.”
“But it’s good, isn’t it?”
She complies but then says, “It’s amazing. This restaurant is very impressive but I don’t even know what half the things on this menu are. You know I would have been fine with Chinese takeout from your favorite neighborhood place.”
That isn’t surprising to me and I don’t think she’s just saying that. Money doesn’t seem to be a priority to Danielle. It also means she’s willing to go home with me.
“That would have been a fantastic idea,” I say. “Let’s do that.”
This restaurant is designed for conversation and a slow, leisurely meal of several courses of top-rated cuisine. That’s not what I want right now.
“It’s going to be a while before we eat dinner.” I lift my hand and gesture to the waiter.
He immediately comes to the table. “Yes, sir?”
“When our dinners are finished, wrap them up, and deliver them to my building. Leave them with the doorman. Don’t forget dessert.”
“Yes, sir.” He turns on his heel and leaves.
I push back from the table, stand, and hold out my hand to Danielle.
“What’s happening?” she asks as I tug her to her feet.
“You know exactly what’s happening.”
She lets me lead her back through the restaurant, into the elevator, and out to the car without saying another damned word or asking another question.
But that’s all the consent I need.
