Chapter 15
Quinn
I feel a warm, strong hand sliding down my back, seeking. Harlan grabs a handful of ass cheek and squeezes.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs in my ear, with that liquid-chocolate sex voice of his.
I grumble, face first in a pillow. “Nuh-uh.”
“Oh, my.” He squeezes again. “Is my sunshiny little friend a grump in the morning?”
“Very funny,” I grumble. “We are not friends.” I push myself up, turquoise hair everywhere. “And what did you expect me to do, spring out of bed singing ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’? I’m not Mary Poppins.” I toss off the covers. “I need a coffee and some breakfast. Then I’ll be a much better human.”
I start sliding off the bed, but he catches me around the waist and drags me back. Right up against his warm body.
His erection, long and eager, pokes me in the ass. “You were much nicer yesterday morning when you woke up in my bed.”
“Yesterday I was walking on eggshells, worried about pissing you off or making it awkward or hurting each other’s feelings.”
“And this time?”
“This time I don’t care. Because we already established that this isn’t happening again. Which means…” I squirm out of his grip, eel-like, and break free. “We’re done here.” I give him a winning smile that’s the equivalent of the middle finger.
He smolders at me.
I pick up my clothes and my purse from his bedroom floor. “So, thanks for the orgasms,” I add casually. “I’ll be going now.”
“Whoa. What about that coffee?”
I’m heading for the bathroom, but turn on my heel. “What coffee would that be?”
“The one I’m making for you in the kitchen right now?”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Okay. The one I’ll have my staff make for you. Do you want it or not?”
“When you put it so sweetly, how could I say no?” I say sweetly. “I’ll take it to go.”
He lowers his eyelids. “Are you sure you don’t want some more of what you had last night, first?”
“Oh, no time for that. I’ve got a busy day. Cakes don’t bake themselves.”
With that, I turn and breeze into the lady bathroom, shutting the door. He has two en suite bathrooms, and this one, which would be for his partner, is sadly unused. So, I go about making myself at home.
I really like the idea of making him question whether he made a stupid move telling me that it was the last time we’d ever fuck, while we were fucking.
I didn’t love it.
I’m thinking yes is the answer to that question, and he now knows it.
Since he screwed me when he woke up in the middle of the night, then woke up with a hard-on this morning and thought it would be a good idea to grope me again, maybe he changed his mind?
Nice try, buddy.
Let him miss my ass, when I take it home and keep it there a while.
This whole shtick of his—the one where he tells me over and over again that we’ll never see each other again, and then ends up inside me—is getting old.
I take my time in the bathroom, getting all freshened up to start my day. This time I came prepared, my purse stuffed with supplies for an overnighter, just in case when I showed up at his door he let me in instead of denying me entrance.
The man is all talk.
But actions speak louder than words. He doesn’t want to get rid of me as badly as he pretends.
I’m not sure who he thinks he’s fooling, but it ain’t me.
I take a long, luxurious shower, just because, then do my hair and makeup, and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes. I even brought fresh panties.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Harlan is gone.
When I emerge from the bedroom, I hear Tears for Fears playing.
I head downstairs, to the tune of “Head Over Heels,” which seems to be emanating from the back of the house. I follow the music through the foyer, and down the grand hallway in the middle of the house, the one that I know leads to a big family room at the back, because I stumbled upon it yesterday morning before finding Harlan in his office.
The music is coming from even farther back, so I continue past the entrance of the family room.
I smell fresh coffee.
The hall ends at the entrance to another room.
I step inside; it’s a giant kitchen that’s flooded with light from the big wall of windows along the back. It looks out into a lush, green backyard.
The room is gorgeous, and looks utterly untouched.
Except for Harlan, who appears to be making coffee at the counter. Actually, he’s making espresso at an espresso machine.
“What’s happening right now?”
He looks up, turns the music down to conversation volume, and continues watching the espresso pour into two latte-sized glass mugs.
“Just making your coffee.”
“What happened to the staff making it?”
“Thought I’d do it myself.”
Okay… he’s making coffee for me. I fucking love it when guys do that.
I don’t know quite what to do with this. Harlan, freshly showered and fully dressed in a fine black suit, making coffee for me. While Tears for Fears plays.
“What’s with the music? You don’t seem like a music guy.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure what that means. I like music.”
“This music?” I say doubtfully.
He shrugs. “Eighties pop seems to be your thing.”
I watch him pour milk into a metal jug, the kind you steam milk in, reeling a little over the facts that a) he noticed the music I listen to, and b) he’s playing it right now… for me?
“Actually, it’s my mom’s thing,” I say uneasily. “She’s been listening to the same songs for decades, which means they’ve been infused into my DNA. I can’t not listen to them.”
He glances at me. “You don’t like it?”
“I do like it. It reminds me of her.” I change the subject; that’s really all I’m willing to say. We got personal enough chatting in his bed last night. I don’t even know quite how that happened. “And by the way, where are we?”
“I thought you were a baker,” he says dryly. “Is a latte okay?”
“You can make a latte?” I exaggerate what is legit surprise. “And clearly it’s a kitchen,” I add, equally dry.
“There’s a machine,” he says, taking the jug of milk over to the steamer, where he starts foaming it.
“Since when do you have two kitchens?”
“Since the people who built the house put in two kitchens?” he says, deadpan.
“I don’t think I like you in the morning.”
The monster smiles at me as he foams our milk.
“I was thinking,” he says.
“Great.”
“What?”
“Well, last time you did some thinking, you decided it would be grand to blackmail me into being your fake lover. And we both know how that turned out for me.”
“It may surprise you to know, Quinn Monroe, that I’ve actually done other thinking since then. I do it daily.”
“How impressive!” I bat my eyelashes.
He frowns. “As I was saying, I was thinking. We could keep having sex. If you want to.”
“Oh. Wow. How generous. Thank you so much for that offer.” I could not put more sarcasm into that sentence if someone had a gun to my head.
He looks slightly affronted. “You don’t have to be rude about it. You can say no.”
“I can? Gee, thanks for the permission.”
His eyes darken dangerously. “You have no idea how much I want to put you over my knee right now.”
“Too bad I don’t have time for that,” I say breezily, running my hand over the waterfall marble island. Jesus. It must be nice to be rich.
“What I’m saying is, we could maintain a casual, just-sex situation. Nothing more.”
“Cool. An awkward, surface-level situationship. It’s the dream every girl dreams,” I say, distracted by the lovely brass faucet on the island sink.
“You can think about it.”
“Golly. So many choices.”
He seems to let that one go by. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to burn himself with any sudden movements. You’ve really got to keep an eye on that steamer.
“I was also thinking?—”
“I can’t wait to hear this one.”
He glares at me warningly. “You need a kitchen. I have an extra kitchen.” He stops there.
“Uh, I have a kitchen. As I already mentioned. There’s one in my house, as there is in most houses. I’m starting to think you may need to get your hearing checked. And your eyes, since you saw my kitchen yourself.”
“Yes, I saw it. Which means I know how badly you need one for your business. You can’t make cakes for clients in that place.”
I can, actually. It’s just extremely difficult and unenjoyable.
“So,” he presses on, “you can use this kitchen. For Quinn’s Cakes. You know… just for now.”
I’m shocked, truly. I can’t even believe he just said that.
“You want to trade sex for a kitchen?”
He glowers. “No, Quinn. I’m not mistaking you for a sex worker. The two offers are independent of one another.”
“How wonderful. Penis and appliances. It’s not even nine o’clock. This must be my lucky day.”
“How about this,” he says darkly. “If you sass me one more time, I’ll consider it an invitation to that spanking I mentioned. And it will be thorough .”
I ignore my lady parts as they beg me to sass him one more time.
“Look, I warned you that I need coffee. I’ll be much more equipped to handle the penis and appliances talk with caffeine and sugar.” He’s still glowering, so I add, “Sir?” There’s absolutely no deference in it, like there was when I said it while he was pounding me, but it’s the thought that counts.
He’s still frowning, but doesn’t pull me over his knee, so I think we’re good.
He pours the milk into our mugs, slowly. “So, sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
He stirs in sugar, then starts spooning in the foam like he’s gunning for some barista of the year award as I continue my wander around the room.
“So what do you think about the kitchen?” he asks me. “Will it work?”
Is he insane?
It’s absolutely gorgeous, and huge. The appliances are Miele. And the endless countertops, floor-to-ceiling cupboards, and ample shelves are a baker’s dream.
“I think I just need a minute.”
“Take all the minutes you need. I only have back-to-back meetings this morning.”
I guess I’m not the only one who can be sassy.
“How perfect do you need to make those? I really don’t need the foam.” I’ve barely gotten the words out when he hands me a beautiful foamed latte. “Oh my god, thank you.” I take a sip, and assess.
It’s divine.
I don’t tell him so.
He’s waiting, staring me down while he drinks his latte.
“Okay. Are you serious about this?”
He gives me this dry look, like When am I not serious?
“Because I’m not sure you’ve thought this through.”
“Try me,” he says evenly.
“Well…” I look around again. Am I even entertaining this? “I would need full access. I can’t be seeking you out to ask permission every time I need to get in here and work. I get orders sporadically, and often without warning. So one week it’s two cake orders and the next it’s five…”
As I’m talking, he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls something out. He lays it on the counter between us. It’s a beautiful antique key.
On a diamond keychain.
“This key opens that door.” He points at the beautiful French door that leads to a stone path through the backyard.
I don’t know what to say.
He actually thought about this, like, ahead of time?
“That actually works?” I hedge nervously. “I would’ve thought you’d have something more high tech.”
“Well, it’s prettier than the passcode you’ll need for the deadbolt, and for the front gate. I thought it would make a nicer gift.”
Did he just say gift ?
He’s giving me… a gift?
“But yes, it works to unlock the old doorknob, then you put in your code.”
“I see.” I’m still stuck on that word, gift .
This feels personal. It’s his house, and he’s giving me access to it. With a beautiful key.
I don’t know how to process this.
I gulp my latte.
“So, you can come and go, use the kitchen anytime you need to,” he prompts. “You don’t need to check with me. Consider it a business professional helping out a start-up. I’ve done it before,” he adds, as if to make the offer seem commonplace.
“You’re trying to make this sound casual. It’s not.”
“It is. Don’t take it personally. It’s not personal.”
Uh-huh. Whatever he says, there is nothing casual about a man who fucked me three times in the last forty-eight hours giving me a key to his house.
“It’s a key to your house, Harlan.”
“It’s a key to this kitchen,” he corrects me. “Which no one uses.”
“Why?”
“My staff uses the chef’s kitchen. It’s the one that’s stocked, so if I need anything, I go in there. This is the family kitchen. I don’t have a family.”
Right. Okay.
When you think about it logically…
“I guess it is kind of a waste that it’s not getting used…”
“It’s up to you,” he says. “But it’s just sitting here. It’s a fifteen-minute drive from your place. Much closer than Crave was.”
That is true.
And it’s a way bigger space.
And it has free parking.
I pick up the key, examining the gold keychain laced with what appears to be real diamonds. They can’t be real, though, right?
Wait.
“This… matches the tennis bracelet. The one I lost. I mean, it literally matches it.”
He hesitates. Then he pulls something from his pocket again and lays it on the counter. “Then I guess you have to keep it. It’s a set.”
I stare at the diamond tennis bracelet he just pulled from his pants.
“Can you please stop doing that?”
“What?”
“Please tell me there are no more diamonds in your pants.”
“There are no more diamonds in my pants.”
I pick up the bracelet, and examine both items. “You’re telling me… this keychain is real diamonds?”
Now he looks insulted. “You seemed to like the bracelet.”
“Jesus.” And now I feel bad. “Um, Harlan… I should tell you. You paid for this bracelet.” My face heats with embarrassment. “I bought it with that prepaid credit card you sent me.”
“Okay.”
“Uh… aren’t you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I lost a forty-five-hundred dollar bracelet that you paid for, like the day I got it? And now you’re giving me this?” I hold up the keychain, as it really sinks in that I’m clutching close to ten-thousand dollars of gold and diamonds.
“You’re a grown-ass woman, Quinn Monroe,” he says, quoting me. Is he amused right now? “I’m sure you can handle it.”
With that, he finishes his latte, sets the mug by the sink, and starts toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I told you, I have meetings.”
“But. Where did you find the bracelet?”
“In the hallway.” His eyes darken a fraction. “Where I kissed you.”
“You had the keychain made to match it?”
“I had a jeweler customize a similar bracelet, make it into a keychain for you.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just treat this like you would any kitchen for your business. The only rule is, keep it clean. My staff will help with that. You can communicate with them regarding any comings and goings, and anything you need. I’ll put them in touch with you.”
“Um… okay?”
I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.
But how can I not agree to this?
I hear what he’s saying. I think. The kitchen serves no real purpose for him, so it doesn’t matter to him if I use it. And maybe he’s even pawning me off on his staff to deal with, so he doesn’t have to.
Maybe this doesn’t even mean we’ll have to see each other again. I’ll be here baking during the day while he’s at work, right?
And if things go south, I’ll just leave, no worse off than when I came.
I don’t know what else to say, except “Thank you.”
He frowns a little. I don’t know why my thanks always make him grumpy. “It’s no problem.” He hesitates at the door, his eyes holding mine. “I think we both know… this doesn’t change anything. Between us.”
Oh, god. This again.
“I think I made it clear where that line is drawn,” he finishes.
“Right. I know. Sex only. And coffee. And diamond jewelry.”
I manage that with a straight face.
But this man is ridiculous.
Maybe he’s been a billionaire too long to understand normal human interactions and boundaries.
He checks his watch, then says far too casually, “I’d have a lot more to say about your smart attitude, with my hand on your perfect ass and my cock in your throat, if I had more time.”
Heat flushes through me.
Perfect ass? I don’t want to be flattered, but damn.
I consider the kitchen he just offered me. And the preplanning it took to have this keychain made for me.
And the generosity with which he lavished me with orgasms over the last two days.
And this delicious latte.
I decide to reverse my position on denying him more sex.
You know, for now .
Because overall, considering how poorly mannered he is, he’s been quite nice to me lately.
I set my mug and the diamonds on the counter, and look him right in the eyes.
“What man doesn’t have time for a blow job, though? You might need to rethink your priorities, Harlan.”
He blinks at me, caught off guard. Perhaps I’ve stunned him.
I rather like it.
I walk over to him, get down on my knees, and unzip his pants—stunning him further, I’m sure.
He actually loses his balance for a second.
When I suck his thick, half-hard cock into my mouth and start going to town on it, he groans, loudly, hardening in my mouth. And he definitely doesn’t stop me.
He moans my name, almost gratefully, and sinks his fingers into my hair.
I guess those meetings weren’t so important after all.