Insatiable. Leslie Kelly
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why she’d cut him off, not even needing to hear the rest of his question. The answer was yes to anything he cared to propose.
There was one thing, however. “One night,” she said, wanting to make sure he knew where she stood.
“What?”
“I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. One night is all I’m interested in, and since you’re here from out of town, hopefully that’s all you want, too.”
He stared at her, intent, assessing. Finally, he replied, “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“Why?”
“Why am I acting like a guy, wanting just a one-night stand?”
“Nobody could mistake you for a guy.”
“Not in looks, maybe. But my attitude—about this, anyway—is probably more in line with a man’s.”
He didn’t deny it.
She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. Would she turn him off by admitting she was a woman who wasn’t afraid or ashamed to go after what she wanted?
“My life is too convoluted right now to consider any kind of relationship.” Lifting her finger to her mouth, she licked off the condensation, eyeing him wickedly, making promises about what kind of night they could have. “But I want you. I want one hot night with somebody I won’t have to deal with tomorrow when I start picking up the pieces of my life.”
He appeared indignant. “Deal with? You don’t want to have to deal with me?”
She shrugged, not repentant. Better to lay things on the table now. “Well, not you personally. I just don’t want to care about any repercussions or expectations. I don’t want to worry about whether you’ll call, or have you worry whether I will.”
He nodded slowly. “I can understand that. And yes, I’m here on business, and I won’t be in town for too long.”
“Perfect.”
“And, for what it’s worth, I don’t do the love-and-relationship thing anyway. I don’t have the right genes for it.”
Fine by her. “So we’re good?”
He held up a hand, palm out. “Just to make sure I’ve got this straight, you want me to fuck your brains out tonight, make you come in a dozen different ways, bring you breakfast in the morning and then go away?”
Wow. She swallowed hard, noting that he could give as good as he got. His words scooped out her insides and replaced them with boiling lava. Just the idea of the kind of night he promised made it hard for her to think.
So she didn’t. She merely agreed. Finding her voice, she said, “Yeah. Pretty much.”
A brief hesitation, and then he nodded. “All right.”
Her heart leaped. Though she’d known he desired her, she was glad he hadn’t been turned off by a woman who was so nongirlie about sex. Some men couldn’t handle women who were blunt about what they wanted—and what they didn’t want—and felt as if their masculinity was threatened, or something.
She suspected that had been partly why she and Dale hadn’t worked out, though he’d used any number of other excuses when he’d dumped her. And she also imagined it also explained the ridiculous bet among her former coworkers.
Fortunately, Damien was an unusually confident man. He would never be threatened by a strong woman who was unafraid to admit what she was really thinking. He’d be challenged by her.
It was almost too bad they would only have one night. She suspected they were pretty spectacularly matched.
She quickly squelched the thought, because she’d set out the parameters and he’d agreed to them. They were both out for a one-night stand, and no possible future. She couldn’t change her mind—or try to change his—ninety seconds later.
Licking her lips, she murmured, “So, a dozen different ways, huh?”
He gave her a confident smile.
Viv did a quick mental calculation, and could only come up with seven ways previous lovers had brought her to orgasm. Adding in what she could do with her own fingers, a sex toy or a handheld showerhead brought her to ten.
A dozen would be very interesting indeed.
Just picturing a few of them made all that lava boil over inside her, dripping down to her sex. She was swollen and sensitive, so wet she might leave a stain on her damn skirt.
Imagine...ninety minutes ago, she’d been at one of the lowest points of her adult life. Now, well, as the saying went, things certainly could turn on a dime. Or on a broken-down car.
“Maybe thirteen,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. Something wicked. But oh so good.
“I could live with that,” she mumbled, halfway to her first climax without a single touch from the man.
Before she could say another word, however, his cell phone beeped, indicating a message. He glanced at the screen and said, “It’s Jed. He’s had a chance to check out the car.”
If anything could cool off her rapidly burning self, it was that. She reached for her glass and sipped her drink. She could not afford any pricey car repairs. Part of her wished somebody had just stolen the thing before the mechanic had gotten there, but she knew it wasn’t much of a temptation. Compared to most of the cars in this upscale Arlington neighborhood, hers was a top-of-the-line piece of crap. Nobody would want it.
“All fixed,” he said, reading from the screen.
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Dead battery, that was all.”
“Finally something goes my way.”
“You mean things weren’t going your way?” His tone was silky; his eyes gleamed. “And here I thought your day had improved tremendously.”
She licked her lips. “I’ll clarify—things are continuing to go my way.”
“As they should.”
“Spoken like someone who’s used to things always going his way.”
“Not always,” he admitted.
“Ninety percent of the time?” she asked, teasing him.
He shrugged, not smiling in response. “I didn’t get where I am because of luck.”
“Are you a workaholic?”
“Would I have blown off a business meeting to spend the afternoon with you if I were?”
“Thought you didn’t have a meeting.”
“I didn’t, not officially. Sometimes I pop in on my staff by surprise.”
“Your staff.” She stiffened, recognizing the implications. “You run a business that has offices in this part of Arlington?”
Another shrug. “Just a start-up, and it’s not entirely mine. There are other investors. I’m not even sure if it’s going to last a year. It could all blow up in my face.”
Just a start-up. In this zip code.
Viv found herself wondering if she’d gotten in over her head. Judging by his clothes and his self-confidence, she’d already pegged the guy as wealthy and successful. She hadn’t, however, banked on him being a one-percenter. She’d had experience with a few überwealthy men. They were usually spoiled, and could be petulant when they didn’t get what they wanted.
Of course, Damien was going to get what he wanted, as was she. And considering he wasn’t an arrogant jerk, she suspected he was only moderately well-to-do, which suited her just fine.
He