Chapter 11
I ’m unbelievably warm and comfortable with the softest hint of the sun on my face.
It’s the type of moment when consciousness is barely a tickle in the back of your brain and you snuggle in deeper, chasing the remnants of your fading dream, anxious to keep this feeling going before you’re forced to actually wake up and start your day.
That is until I realize I’m not in my hotel room, and the blanket and pillow surrounding my face smell like fresh laundry and man .
My eyes spring open only to immediately slam shut at the intrusive sun that’s reflecting off the water and just singed my eyeballs. For a moment, I don’t move. I hardly breathe. I listen.
No sound.
Other than the very faint hint of water lapping against something— the building? —outside.
“Kaplan?”
I bite into my lip, hoping, praying…
No response and I slowly peel myself up, adjusting as I go so I don’t fall off the large sectional in his crow’s nest as he calls it.
It’s actually a giant open room on the third floor of his condo, complete with humongous television, the aforementioned couch, a fully stocked bar, a pool table, a card table, pinball machine, and on the expansive deck directly off the room, a Jacuzzi. Can you say bachelor pad?
But thankfully, no Kaplan.
I don’t remember falling asleep. We were watching The Usual Suspects because even though I might be an innocent, naive little bunny, I do love a good suspense film with tons of action and brilliant acting. We drank wine and ate cannoli and talked about the film and how incredible it is and…
Now I’m covered in a blanket that’s softer than a baby’s ass with a down pillow beneath my head.
Kaplan Fritz tucked me in. Holy wow. That thought shouldn’t have me smiling, but it totally does.
Mostly because last night was… fun. Unexpectedly so.
He was still gruff and closed off and cold as a witch’s tit in February in Boston, but yeah. Fun.
And totally weird given our situation.
Which is why I need to go. Like now.
My watch tells me it’s just after seven, so after a quick pit stop to the bathroom up here where I pee, wash my makeup-crusted face, and throw my hair up in a bun on top of my head, I sneak down the stairs, quiet as a mouse.
I didn’t explore much of his place, but I can tell that it was once two side-by-side townhouses that he must have bought and ripped the dividing wall down between and completely renovated.
Why a single man needs this much space is anyone’s guess, but there are two wings to the second floor. It’s also mercifully dark and quiet with all the doors shut.
Phew! Blowing out a breath, I continue to creep down the floating stairs, anxious to grab my coat, my purse, my phone, and get the hell out of here.
My bare feet hit the first floor and I tiptoe back toward the kitchen.
Another ridiculously expansive floor with wings and doors, but I know where my stuff is. By the back where I left it.
My phone is plugged in on the table—something I’m positive I also didn’t do—and I pick it up, suppressing my groan at what I find waiting for me on it.
Shaking my head, I tuck it into my purse, slip on my coat, and just as my hand hits the doorknob a voice calls out, “I wouldn’t do that unless you want to set off the alarm and have the police come. ”
I scream, jolting back in place, my hand recoiling from the doorknob like it’s singeing the skin from my bones. “Fuck!” I hiss out, clutching my chest and spinning around. “You scared me…”
Only my voice dies out the second I get a look at him.
He’s shirtless, only wearing gym shorts, his entire broad chest, muscular arms and shoulders, rock-hard abs, and holy V-thing on full display.
As are his tattoos. And Dear Abby, his left nipple is pierced.
He’s drenched in sweat. Did I mention that?
Beads of it gliding deliciously down his body, over every ridge and valley of perfect muscle.
His dark-blond hair is wet, brushed back off his smirking face.
“I… um…” Yep, that’s all I’ve got.
He lifts a bottle of water to his mouth that I hadn’t noticed was in his hand—because who cares about his hands in a moment like this—and takes a drink and my mouth is so freaking dry right now I’m tempted to snatch the thing from him and down it all in one gulp.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and why is that so sexy? It shouldn’t be, right?
“I was going to make breakfast,” he says instead of commenting on the way I’m openly ogling him like a mindless, lust-addled fool who can’t help herself. “Do you like omelets?”
Omelets? I don’t even know my name right now.
Still, I find myself mumbling, “Sure,” in what is very obviously a breathy whisper.
He heads for the kitchen and at the loss of his sexy as all sin chest— that pierced nipple and those tattoos!
—I shake my head, clearing some of the fog.
“No. Wait. I should go.” Because if I stay, I might lick you dry.
“You know. Busy day and all.” I smack my hand to my forehead and that’s when his head pops back around the wall, catching me in the act of visually humiliating myself.
That damn cocky smirk is still there. “Take off your coat. Hang it back up. Set down your purse and come in and eat some eggs with me. I’m going to shower and if you want, you can do the same. After we do all that, I’m going to go with you to purchase your car.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s even done. “No. No way. Why on earth would I let you do that?”
“Have you ever purchased a car for yourself?”
I shift my stance, my eyes hitting the floor in front of his feet because now he’s standing here again half-naked, smelling like a sweaty, sexy god, and I can’t think or focus with him like this. “No,” I unfortunately admit. “But I can’t imagine it’s a difficult thing to do.”
“You’ll get ripped off,” he declares and that just pisses me off.
My eyes shoot back up to his.
He holds his hand up. “Listen, it’s not a female thing. It’s a you look insanely innocent and trusting thing. In case you missed it, my last name goes a long way in this city, and I can help you get a car without being taken for a ride. Pun intended.”
I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Why are you doing all this?” I honestly don’t get it. Any of it. Last night and now this? It doesn’t make sense.
“I just told you why.”
I want to argue that. I want to demand answers, but I don’t think I’ll get any.
He’s extremely careful with his words. With the things he says and doesn’t.
I truly should go. It’s clear by this point that he’s not going to recognize me.
And even if he does, our past obviously meant a hell of a lot more to me than it ever did to him.
I’m playing with fire. And not a fire that seals and binds, creating something new and beautiful. A fire that maims, destroys, and hurts, ruins recklessly and without care.
“Kaplan… I…”
I don’t want to go though. Even with the knowledge that this isn’t anything more than what he’s offering and that I could still potentially get hurt, I don’t want to go.
“Okay,” I say and for a flicker of a second, a genuine smile that makes his green eyes sparkle hits his face only to disappear just as quickly. A mirage in the desert, it was breathtaking for that second, if only an illusion.
“I’m going to run upstairs and take a quick shower because I’m nasty. Then I’ll make breakfast.”
Nasty is not the word I would have gone with. “You’re going to put on a shirt, right?”
“You’re blushing again, but thankfully the drooling has stopped.”
I flip him off and he chuckles.
“Yes, I’m going to put on a shirt. And pants, for that matter. There’s coffee brewing in the kitchen, or you can make yourself a cappuccino with the machine.” He jogs off back toward the stairs and I take off my coat, giving myself another few moments to get my head on straight.
He’s not even being nice, more commanding and domineeringly alpha than anything else. Maybe this is just how he operates, and the world follows whatever he says because he’s Kaplan Fritz. I have no clue. All I know is that this has the makings to be a very strange day.
* * *
“You look like an aging rock star,” I tell Kaplan as we head toward the dealership in some town outside of Boston.
He does minus the aging part since he looks a solid ten years younger than he is.
He’s wearing a black sweater, a black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots, a Red Sox hat, and dark shades even though it’s not all that sunny now that the clouds started rolling in.
Evidently, we’re to get more snow later today.
“And you look like a rich grungy hippie who didn’t realize that look went out in the nineties.”
“You mean when you were a teenager? Can you tell me what it was like to grow up with dial-up internet and no smartphones or tablets?”
“You’re prettier when you’re not speaking.”
I gasp. “Rude!” I punch him in the arm and all it does is make him smile. “God, why did I agree to this?”
He doesn’t get the chance to respond because instantly, there is a salesman in front of us. I decided to go the Jeep route because one, they’re sexy-looking, two, I can get one where I can remove the top and it’s like a convertible, and three it’s four-wheel drive, which you need living in Boston.
“Can I help you, sir?” the man says directly to Kaplan while ignoring me, and for real?
Kaplan smirks at me and again I’m tempted to flip him off. Him and that fucking smirk.
“Actually, he’s just my arm candy. I’m the one purchasing and if you’re going to be dismissive of the fact that women can purchase Jeeps for themselves, then I think we’ll shop elsewhere.”
The guy sputters, turning to me as a flush rises up his cheeks. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I meant no disrespect. Typically, we get men here looking for Wranglers, not women.”
“Uh-huh. Well, not today.” I go about telling the guy precisely what I want, and he runs off to make a copy of my license and get the keys so I can test drive it.
I nudge Kaplan, who has been silent this entire time.
“Still think I need you, so I don’t get taken for a ride?
That I’m an innocent, too trusting woman? ”
He removes his sunglasses, tucks them on top of the rim of his hat, and pins me with a look that instantly has my heart rate jacking up.
“Since we’re not at work and I’m not playing the part of your boss in this moment, can I be honest with you without fear of repercussions or you reading too much into it? ”
Oh shit. “Yes.”
“The way you handled that guy was insanely fucking sexy and if you were any other woman and I were any other man, I’d drag you into the bathroom right now and shove my tongue and fingers inside your pussy until you screamed my name and came on my face.”
I squeak, practically swallowing my tongue, my eyes bulging out of their sockets as flames shoot up my face. My thighs inadvertently clench along with my empty core that is growing wetter by the second. No one has ever said anything even remotely as hot and filthy as that to me before.
“Back with keys, ma’am.” The now eager beaver rushes out as he flies back over to us.
“Guess it’s a good thing we’re us and not anyone else,” Kaplan drawls without even a hint of the dirty words he just said to me on his face.
He drops his sunglasses back over his eyes and takes the keys from the guy’s hand because clearly higher-level brain and muscle function escape me.
“Ready to go take a ride with me, Echidna or do you need another moment to collect yourself first?”
Bastard. He knows exactly what he just did to me.
I snatch the keys from him, stomping on his foot in my heeled boots as I walk past him, heading back outside toward the parking lot where there is a waiting Jeep for me to test drive.
His warm chuckle rumbles from behind me and I shudder ever so slightly, annoyingly turned on.
My nipples are at DEFCON 1, maximum readiness, and I know he saw that through my thin blouse.
I zip my coat and snarl out an expletive.
It’s not my fault. I’ve slept with four guys and only two of them have given me an orgasm and that was only one at a time.
Tod isn’t included in that two and I was set to marry the shitty lay.
I woefully just assumed this was the way it was and my cousin, who was my freaking BFF never discouraged my theory. Either Tod wasn’t giving it to her any better or she was enjoying the fact that he never got me off.
But Kaplan just talked like he doles out orgasms to women the way the Easter Bunny—no pun intended—doles out candy: in mass quantities and to everyone. And I mean come on, who couldn’t use a good screaming orgasm after the week I’ve had?
I tear open the front door of the Jeep and climb up, grateful that I’m not a small woman considering how high off the ground this thing is.
Shutting the door, I buckle up just as Kaplan gets in the passenger side.
The salesman isn’t with us. He’s standing back inside the doors of the dealership, waving to us.
“He’s not coming?!”
“Feel like you need a buffer from me?”
Ignoring his teasing comment and playfully sexy lilt, I put the Jeep in drive and with my hands gripping the wheel at two and ten, we start off. Praying I don’t get us into an accident.
I’ve never test driven a car before so I’m already nervous and with Kaplan sitting alone in here beside me, smelling all masculine and delicious, I’m a flustered mess.
Still, the Jeep is very cool, and I feel insanely high up and powerful in it.
I like it instantly. And my new place has an off-street parking spot which Greta informed me is Boston rental apartment gold.
He flips on the sound system, checking it out and I blow out a breath as music fills the space between us.
My eyes are laser-focused on the street I’m driving like ten miles an hour down and I can’t look at him.
Because I can’t stop thinking about what he said in there. Or the way his eyes darkened as he did.
“Relax, Bianca. Starting Monday, everything between us will be one-hundred-percent professional and after you purchase your new Jeep, I’ll be out of your hair.” He turns toward the window and murmurs so quietly I almost miss it over the music playing. “Instead of having my hands up in it.”
I swerve, practically veering us off the road only to correct the Jeep at the last minute. I sit up straighter. Clear my throat. Ignore the raging crimson staining my cheeks. “Not a word on that,” I warn.
A warm chuckle. “Promise. Despite how tempting teasing you is.”