Chapter 2 #3
“The cherry on the whipped cream, babe. You need to repeat that. Hold on.” She scrambled off the couch, almost toppling her wine over as she placed the glass on the table before rushing to the kitchen table that doubled as her office for now.
With her laptop in hand, she thumped back onto the couch.
With her fingers poised, she lifted her gaze.
“Go on. Repeat word for word what you said.”
“I can’t. I’m not even certain what I told you.” Whatever I’d told her had been from the heart. The only trouble was, there was no man in the world who could pass the Chelsea test.
Or my dad’s either.
“Oh, come on. That’s perfect for my book.”
“What’s the title again?”
Samantha made a little face. “He Owns Me.” When she cleared her throat on purpose, I knew what was about to happen.
“With his strong arms wrapped around me, he carried me into the kitchen. There was nothing gentle about his actions, simply a man deciding to claim what he believed he owned. After placing me onto my feet, he spun me around, lifting and bending me over the counter. With my naked butt in the air, I’d never felt so vulnerable. ”
I bit back a giggle as she continued reading, reminding myself just how long it had been since I’d even had a date. For whatever reason, the rush of heat from true embarrassment hit me, my face burning up.
“My God. You should see your face.” Samantha was in full riot mode, even nudging me with her hysteria. “Girl, you need to get out more.”
“What I need is to get laid.” I hadn’t realized I’d admitted something so private until I heard her sucking in her breath as if taking her last dying one. I snapped my head up, moaning while she doubled over with laughter. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually have such a potty mouth.”
“What? What in the hell is that?”
“You’ve never heard that expression?”
Samantha shook her head profusely. “Hell, no.”
“It’s something my mother used to say if she caught me cursing. She’d tell me I had a potty mouth, along with threatening to feed me soap for dinner.” I threw back the rest of my wine, now hot and bothered all over.
And why was it that in such an outrageous moment of vulnerability, the face of the hockey player who’d acted as if he was chasing after me came to the front of my mind? Yes, he was handsome, tall, and muscular with broad shoulders easily filling a doorway.
Even without his shoulder pads.
What had been so wrong with me that I’d blown him a kiss? What? That’s what heavy anxiety from singing in front of a packed crowd had done to me.
“Your mother is a hoot, but my mother would have brandished the soap first, then comment later. We need more wine.”
“Did you really write that?” As soon as she shifted the laptop onto the couch, I set my wine down, grabbing her computer.
“Hell, yes. You can’t write steamy romance without kinky sex.”
I found where she’d left off, even clearing my throat to read a paragraph or so out loud, dipping my voice to a nice, seductive tone.
“I struggled in his hold, his huge hand keeping me in position, pressing against my flesh in a way causing tingles to sweep all the way to my toes. His deep, dark laugh floated into the air as he pulled something from a canister by the wall. As soon as I realized what he was holding, I gasped. A wooden spoon.” I glared at her.
“What? Don’t tell me the hero is about to spank her. ”
“You’ll need to continue reading to find out.” She grabbed the wine bottle, daring me with her eyes. “You need more wine.”
“Just a little. Some of us need to work bright and early in the morning.”
“Party pooper.”
While my parents were rich, my father had decided to enact his concept of tough love after college graduation.
Why? Because I’d dared ignore his commands that I work for his company and that I allow him to fix me up with the son of one of his buddies.
The last thing I would ever want was to work for the man.
And marry some spoiled rich kid? Not a chance.
I had to deal with my father’s arrogance during every family event and I truly wasn’t masochistic.
That meant paying the bills on my own without a dollar from my dad. Fine by me. That meant no strings attached. I’d kept my integrity while remaining poor as a church mouse.
When I read the next two paragraphs, they turned the light shade of rose likely covering my face to bright crimson. Even the heat in my body was expanding, including shifting directly into the deepest, wettest parts of my core.
I snapped the lid shut. “Oh, no. Not a chance.”
“Well, that just adds to your idea of the perfect man.”
“I said no such thing about him being a spanker. Or whatever you call a man who uses punishment as some sexy tool.”
She walked closer. “You know what’s terrible about your description of the perfect hot guy?”
“What?” I had a feeling her answer would be very much like Samantha. Wild and crazy.
“My brothers, especially the single one.” She dared wink at me as if providing me with details of a sexy little secret.
“What about your brothers?”
“I hate to say it, but they’re the perfect hunky candidates. Don’t you dare tell them I said that.”
Not a problem, since I didn’t even know she had any brothers. Number one rule in my idea of the perfect man? Stay away from a bestie’s brother at all costs.
No matter how hot and sexy he was.