Chapter 9
“We need another experience.”
Summer was boneless and sated after amazing phone sex with Knox, a sheet thrown over her, the night breeze stirring the air in her overheated bedroom.
But Knox’s words penetrated the sensual fog. “What do you mean, another experience?”
Seeing him at today’s strategy meeting had made her edgy.
She imagined she could smell his aftershave, scent his arousal, the way she did at night when they were on the phone, when she could almost taste his come in her mouth.
He’d been at West Coast every day that week, tormenting her.
While at night, he gave her the climaxes she craved.
Lee was turning out to be right—Knox was a dangerous man.
And Summer was addicted to him.
“An adventure, like we had Saturday at the park. We meet somewhere. I watch you. I stalk you. Maybe it’s dancing at a hot club in San Francisco.
You’re wearing something short and sexy and hot.
I watch you dance with this guy and that guy.
Then, like a predator, I pick up your scent, how hot you are, how wet you are. ”
Oh God. He was doing it to her again, turning her inside out. “Saturday was a one-off. We can’t keep doing stuff like that.”
“Why not?” he shot back.
“Because it’s against the rules.”
“Hot sex isn’t against our rules. It’s like any other fantasy that we tell each other over the phone. It’s just that I get to watch you. And you get to know I’m watching you.”
“It’s dangerous. At this morning’s meeting, I felt Finn Rafferty looking at me like he knew something about us. Have you told him anything?”
“I haven’t said a thing. But you’re a sexy woman. Of course he’s gonna look.”
“He’s got the hots for Lia Ferroni. He doesn’t even see other women.”
“Your imagination is working overtime,” he whispered seductively. “Which I totally enjoy. And we need another adventure. The last one was so fucking hot.”
God help her, it was. She was wet all over again thinking about it. Wanting it. And wanting a new adventure. But… “We can’t let this drift into some sort of relationship.”
“It’s not a relationship. It’s hot sex. Fucking hot sex. And you love it as much as I do.”
She was addicted. If she kept her cool about it, didn’t let it take over her life, didn’t bring it into the workplace, didn’t let it become a relationship, she could still keep her career on track.
She could make up for the time lost while raising the girls.
Spence Benedict liked the changes she was making in the department.
She could see her way forward, moving up, taking on more responsibility, a promotion, her career gaining momentum.
“It would be just an experience,” she said. “It’s not a date.”
“Of course it’s not a date. A date makes it boring. But an adventure makes it fucking hot.”
“All right. Tell me when and where.”
It could be exciting. It could be perfect.
As long as she didn’t let Knox derail her career.
She was so crazy hot in that little black number that his gut burned with need.
Knox had dressed in all black to match Summer—black jeans, black shirt, black jacket.
He’d wasted no time setting up their adventure for Saturday night.
He’d instructed her to take an Uber rather than drive herself and chose a dance club in San Francisco that was exactly what he wanted, loud, the beat of the music pounding in his chest, the dance floor crowded with bodies gyrating in the colored lights flashing over them.
He staked out two tables overlooking the dance floor, one for her and one next to it from which he could see all the action.
Then she headed out to the dance floor as if they weren’t together.
That was the plan; she would act as if she were alone here. And all he could do was watch her.
It was sexy as hell.
After only two minutes, some guy spotted her dancing alone and made his way to her. Knox saw flashes of creamy thigh when she twirled in that sexy short black dress. Sipping his scotch and soda, he watched, he got hard. He might even be getting a little crazy too.
The song ended, and she left the guy on the dance floor, heading back to her table and her drink, which Knox had been watching over, making sure no one slipped a Mickey into it.
Whenever someone sidled up to her table, he told them it was taken.
He watched over her clutch purse too, which presumably contained her phone, her license, some money, and a lipstick.
That was the deal. He watched, made sure she was safe, and she went out to have fun.
And that was his fun, taking in the way she attracted men, flirted with them, turned them on.
She looked at him, winked as if he were any other insect caught in her web. Picking up her champagne, she held it a moment, looked at him. He nodded, indicating it was safe, and she tipped her head back for a long swallow.
He wanted her to swallow him.
An older crowd frequented this place. No techno-pop, no rap, just good, hard rock.
He hadn’t wanted to mix with the young crowd, and he didn’t think she’d want the young ones either.
When she picked someone, he wanted to pretend it was him.
He wanted to imagine those ruby lips and Cleopatra eyes were only for him.
He hadn’t told her what to do. If she dragged some guy off the dance floor and into a dark corner, he hadn’t told her not to.
They didn’t have any of those rules. But he didn’t know what he’d do if she wanted someone else.
Maybe he’d have to fight to get her back.
Maybe that’s what she’d want. And maybe he’d enjoy the hell out of that too.
She looked at him, smiled with those ruby lips, making him ache with the need to feel them around his cock.
Then another guy led her off to the dance floor, this one older, gray-haired, but in shape and up to dancing his ass off on the floor.
But rather than looking at the dude, she was looking at Knox, making sure he was watching.
He raised his glass to her. When her partner tried to keep her on the dance floor after the song ended, she held up her index finger, as if saying he would get only one dance.
Then she came back to Knox, smiling, her gaze flirty. He was sure he could smell her arousal. She loved stringing these guys along, loved stringing him along, loved flaunting her feminine power.
A succession of men seemed willing to do her bidding, but she was capable of turning them down flat too.
Some guy who hadn’t even bothered to wash his hair before he came out for the evening got the thumbs down.
When it seemed like he might protest and Knox thought he’d have to intervene, she said something that made the guy slink away.
He enjoyed watching her, the way she danced with abandon, sometimes twirling away from her partner and getting lost in the crowded floor.
It was a crush out there, a mass of writhing bodies.
What he missed was her voice. He should have made her put her earbuds in so he could talk to her.
A tactical error. That’s what made last Saturday so good, when she’d strolled with his voice in her ear and her words in his.
Her phone was probably in the little clutch purse on the table. She probably hadn’t even put her earbuds in there. And he didn’t have his.
Her dance partner reached for her, tried to grab her hand, maybe to drag her away, and Knox almost rounded the table, ready to jump into that throng of thrashing bodies and rescue her as if she were a damsel in distress.
But she laughed at the guy. Knox imagined he could hear her over the cacophony, that sexy musical laugh as she danced out of the man’s reach.
She floated back to Knox then, breathing hard. Looking at him, smiling, she leaned on the table and said, “Dancing makes me wet.”
Her teasing damn near made him lose control.
Then she flounced back out there, all by herself.
In the crush of dancers, she didn’t even need a partner.
As the lights flashed, one moment she was with that man, and the next she danced with a woman.
It didn’t matter what sex they were or what they looked like.
She zoomed in and out. One second he could see her, the next she was gone.
At some point, she’d have to crash. She’d been going for over an hour, and he’d ordered another glass of champagne for her, along with water, half of which she’d finished.
“You want to dance?”
He’d been so focused on the dance floor, on her, that he’d neither seen nor heard the woman approach. She was attractive, though overly made-up. Still, she was drop-dead gorgeous, with burnished brunette hair cascading over her shoulders and breasts that could make a man salivate.
Any man but him. “Sorry, I’m waiting for a friend.”
She moved right into his line of sight, blocking his view of Summer. “But you’ve been waiting a long time,” she said. “Maybe your friend’s not coming.”
He moved in order to see the dance floor again, but she sidestepped with him, coming closer. Again, he cut her off. “I’m a very patient man, and I don’t mind waiting. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t take the hint. It made him think of how a woman felt when a man just wouldn’t leave her alone.
“I bet you can spare one dance,” she said in a husky, seductive voice.
“Maybe she’ll miraculously materialize when you return.
” She raised one questioning eyebrow, which might have been sexy if she wasn’t blocking Summer.
Still, he remained polite. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Suddenly she sneered at him. “What, do you think you’re too good for me?”
“No.” He tried to remain civil. “But I’m waiting for my friend.” His words came out clipped.
“Asshole,” she hissed at him and stalked away. Again, he thought of how women felt when men didn’t get the answer they liked.