My snappy remark stumps Alex for barely a second. His frozen state doesn’t last long enough to weaken the energy bristling between us the past ten minutes, but it gives me a moment of reprieve.
I'm so shocked, my mouth is bone dry from the number of times it was left hanging open in the elevator. Alex can't be an accountant. Nothing against them, I love my accountant, Jerry. He claims my excessively priced dresses and shoes as a tax write-off since it's my job to look presentable, but the portion of his stomach that sticks out the bottom of his polo shirt is hairier than his head. He drinks orange juice from the carton and talks when his mouth is full. He's a grommet.
Alex is not.
Seeing him tonight undid all the hard work I’ve done the past two months. You have no idea how impossible it was for me to decline Isaac’s numerous offers to run a background search on Alex when I failed to find him. I may have even ridden the elevator at my apartment building at the same time every day the past two months just in hopes of seeing him again.
I’m not desperate!
Well, I am, just not in the way you’re thinking.
I want to know why he spied on me. I get Isaac’s persona can be overwhelming, and he may have regretted his abrupt departure, but he could have manned up and entered the room as stealthily as he did the first time. He didn’t have to hide behind the curtain like a weasel.
His lack of assertiveness was why I sent the bottle of wine to his table instead of behaving like the pathetic ass I was in the elevator.
Josie was nice—bat shit crazy—but nice nonetheless. I should have never lumped her in the same pile of shit I wanted to rain down on Alex. I don’t know why annoyance was the first thing I felt when I saw him again. He’s a stranger who aided me after he hurt me. That makes us even. He doesn’t owe me anything, and I owe him sweet fuck all—right?
Right. Then why did I want to gouge out Josie’s eyes every time she laughed at Alex’s corny jokes?
Tequila.
I should have listened to my mother. No good comes from a final shot of tequila. If I had stopped drinking when I said I would, my every step wouldn’t be shadowed by a man I’m dying to see nude. Can you be charged with indecent exposure if your clothes are removed involuntarily?
My head emerges from naughty clouds when a gruff voice says, “Let me.”
Not waiting for a response, Alex snatches my coat from the doorman's grasp, then jerks his chin up, requesting for me to spin around. He barely touches me when he drapes my coat over my almost bare shoulders, but the spark of electricity shooting through me makes it seem so much more. The zap is so strong, my heart jump a few beats.
“How far down are you parked?” Alex asks as his eyes scan the populated street.
When I fail to answer him, he returns his eyes to mine. “Did you use the valet?”
“No,” I say with a shake. “I walked.”
“You walked?!” My ears ring from his furious roar. “In that?!”
His eyes drop to my scarcely concealed cleavage. Before I can laugh at his absurd reaction to my favorite LBD, he yanks me forward by the lapels of my coat before he does up the buttons. He grumbles several times under his breath, but I can’t hear a word he's speaking. I’ve once again been rendered stupid by costly cologne and the scent of a hot, virile man.
“I need to breathe,” I garble when Alex fastens the top button of my jacket. “No one uses all the buttons on a trench coat. They are there for symmetry—not comfort.”
“Not now, they ain’t,” he fires back before curling his hand over mine and marching for the exit doors.
I try to put up a protest, but a man as strong and sturdy as him is too much of a challenge. So, instead, I use words. “What are you doing?”
He ignores me. It should piss me off more than it excites me, but for some reason, it doesn’t. I have a fondness for blushers, but taming a wild, beast of a man is a challenge every hot-headed woman loves. He wasn’t on a date, much less carrying a weapon the last time we met, so I’m free to explore the brutishness pumping out of him.
See—you should always put down the last shot of tequila. It makes you stupid.
Alex hails a taxi before dropping his eyes to mine. They don’t have to wander too far. With the heels on my boots lifting me the extra four to five inches he has on me, we stand at a similar height.
“In.” He nudges his head to the taxi idling next to me.
After undoing the top three buttons of my jacket, I snarl, “Ladies first.”
Anger blisters across his face, but shockingly, he holds in his retaliation before sliding into the back seat of the taxi. Mojo killer! Peeved at his deficient backbone, I clamber in after him.
We only travel a few feet before the reason I decided to walk smacks into Alex. The traffic in Ravenshoe on Fridays is the worst of the worst. We’ve barely crawled an inch.
“Are you ready to call defeat yet?” I ask a short time later.
Alex mutters a curse word under his breath before digging his wallet out of his pocket. After throwing a handful of bills at the driver, he requests for him to pull over.
I laugh when we scramble onto the sidewalk. We’re literally half a block from the restaurant. After yanking me to his chest to ensure I’m not knocked over by a bicyclist zooming down the sidewalk, Alex scans the street. “Which way is your apartment building?”
“Ah. . . I think it’s that way.”
I twist my neck to the left, truly unsure. My uncertainty can’t be helped. Alex’s body is extremely firm, even firmer than his head that cracks open skulls with nothing more than a measly bump. He works out. That’s not an assumption. It's a fact. You can’t have a body like his without putting in an effort. My six mile run every morning ensures I can’t be mistaken.
When Alex curls his arm around my shoulders to guide me in the direction I nudged, I raise my eyes to his. “I don’t recall requesting a chaperone home?”
“I don’t recall needing permission to be a gentleman,” he snaps back.
My abrupt chuckle startles a couple standing next to us. After a whispered apology, I return my focus to Alex. “You’re being a gentleman?”
As we sidestep a homeless man begging for change, Alex makes an affirmative noise with his lips. His hum switches to a groan when I break away from his stride, spin around, then make a dash for it. I watch his reflection in the shop window. I swear he looks five seconds from throwing me over his shoulder and stomping to my building like a caveman. The only thing stopping him is the realization that I’m not fleeing. I’m merely bobbing down to hand the homeless man a twenty dollar bill.
“You shouldn’t give them money,” Alex cautions when I return to his side.
“Why? Because he’ll spend it on booze and cigarettes?” My voice is full of attitude. . . until the homeless man proves Alex right. My jaw quivers when he throws off his blanket and races into the closest liquor store.
“Save it as a life lesson.” Alex grips my elbow, impeding my mad stomp to the ass-peddler. I worked hard for that money. Perhaps not as hard as some people, but I still earned it. It wasn’t handed to me.
After a few more steps, Alex suggests, “If you truly want to help the homeless, donate to shelters. Whether it's an hour of your time or a monetary amount, they’ll put your generosity to good use.”
The knowledge in his tone slicks my skin with sweat. It also keeps my mouth shut for the next several blocks.
“I swear to god this place is a minefield. The town planner should be shot,” Alex grumbles when we pass the same pizza shop for a third time in a row.
I could put him out of his misery, but watching him sweat as he “takes charge” is too enticing. Once he finishes throwing around his authoritativeness, I’ll advise him my apartment building is half a block up. Until then, he can keep sweating.
“That’s cheating,” I mumble when he seeks directions from a cab driver grabbing a slice of pizza.
They only interact for a few seconds, but it's long enough for me to realize my ruse has been unraveled. Alex’s jaw is ticking more now than when a group of men on a bachelor party asked if I could be their stripper. They already had one in tow but were more than eager for another. I swear, Alex nearly burst a blood vessel in his hand from how fast he clenched his fists.
When Alex’s eyes drift from my apartment building to me, I push off my feet and make a dash for it. I weave through standstill traffic without any fear for my life. Alex is on my heels thirty seconds later.
“You play dirty.” His growl ruffles the fine hairs on my neck more effectively than the air-conditioning when I take off my coat. Add the full-blast AC to a three-mile trek through a human jungle, and you have a sweaty disaster. I can't remember the last time I've been this sweaty. . .
My inner monologue trails off when disappointment takes its place. I had no problems flicking the bean until a pompous, egotistical asshole walked into my life. Now, I can’t achieve half the thrill. You’d think Alex’s panty-wetting face would be sufficient to get me off, but no, for some frustrating reason, my body doesn’t want to play pretend. It wants the real deal.
Ugh! An accountant! Seriously, you could do so much better, I scold myself before entering the waiting elevator car.
I whip around so fast, I give myself whiplash when a pair of teenage shoes scuffle across the silver tracks of the elevator car.
“What are you doing?” I ask Alex, my voice brimming with snarkiness.
I’m not angry at Alex. I’m peeved at my lack of libido. Whether it's done by my own accord or with the assistance of a handsome suitor, I’m a sexually promiscuous person. The drought I’ve been crawling through the past two months hasn’t just made my vagina depressed, it’s made me an irrational, aggravated bitch.
If Alex enters this elevator, he better be packing heat, because concerns about being shot down by a man carrying an actual gun may be the only way I’ll handle him and his schmexy scent at the same time.
Alex’s head flops to the side like a little puppy when it’s in trouble. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Elevators are magnets for creeps. Who knows what you’ll be subjected to between here and your penthouse?” He smirks, acting smug.
His smile is wiped straight of his face when I ask, “Who said I’m going to my penthouse?” Pretending his balk didn’t create an earthquake in Japan, I add on, “Don’t act shocked. No woman on the planet goes to this much effort to eat and sleep alone.” My overemphasis of certain words ensures he can’t mistake what I’m referencing.
“Then I’ll make sure you get to the apartment you’re visiting.” Alex’s words fly out of his mouth like daggers as jagged as his final step into the elevator.
“Perhaps you can follow me to his door? You know, to protect me from the boogeyman hiding in the shadows.” The snark in my tone shocks me. Clearly, extreme horniness is more detrimental to my sanity than tequila shots. I’ve never been so unhinged.
It doesn’t help that Alex’s attitude is fed by my arrogance. “Uh-huh. That’s precisely what I’ll do. I might even stay outside his door until you’re done. Boogeymen don’t disappear when the sun rises, Rae. They just find a new shadow to hide in.”
He twists his body to face the elevator panel, hiding his flaming-with-anger face from my view. He shouldn't bother. I can feel the tension radiating off him. It makes his scent more masculine and pulse-quickening delicious.
“Floor?” he growls a few seconds later.
Incapable of backing down when challenged, I nearly mutter off a random number. I would if I weren’t concerned every man on that floor would be placed on Alex’s hit list if I did. I don’t give a shit if he crosses his heart and hopes to die, there's no way he's an accountant. He's too alpha to sit in an office all day crunching numbers. He craves adrenaline as much as I do. That’s why the heady scent of lust bouncing between us is so strong.
“Floor, Regan,” Alex demands again. His deep and dangerous voice increases the sticky situation between my legs.
Not wanting him to discover I’m a woeful liar, I lean across him to hit the penthouse button. My hand isn’t even halfway across his broad shoulders when he snatches my wrist, twirls me around, then pins me to the wall with his impressively firm body.
Kill me now. I’m a goner.
“There are only three men in this building who could come close to bedding a woman like you. One is married; the other is away on a business trip; so that only leaves one lone soldier—the owner of this building. Is that who you’re visiting tonight, Regan? Are you going to pay your rent in a lump sum payment?”
He doesn't look at me while speaking, not even from the corner of his eye. He just glances past my shoulder, acting as if it's perfectly acceptable to pin a stranger to a wall while interrogating them with an eye-opening amount of knowledge.
I know the three men to whom he's referring. At one stage or another in the past five years, they’ve been added and removed from my list of suitors.
“It’s the owner of this building, isn’t it? That’s why you were texting him on your way out. You were giving him time to prep for your visit.”
To a normal person, the possessiveness in his tone would be classed as borderline psychotic. Unfortunately for all involved, my fucked up head isn’t settling on the same theory. My body is thrumming with anticipation, loving the ownership beaming out of him.
There's only one way our exchange could get more panty-wetting: if I were given the devotion of his eyes. I want to see if they’re clouded with dominance or narrowed with anger. I can hear his heart thrashing against his ribs, smell the manliness pumping from every orifice of his body, and feel the thickness a pair of jeans and a winter coat can’t hide, but I want his eyes on mine—badly.
“Answer me, Regan. Who are you visiting?”
I moan before I can stop myself. His growl of my name was better than any fantasy I’ve had the past two months. It was thick and hot and utterly devastating.
My throaty groan grants me my final wish. I’m given Alex’s eyes. They are as devastatingly beautiful as I anticipated. He appears both angry and confused, torn between wanting to possess every inch of me and walking away. His fight or flight instincts have kicked in full force.
I save him from making a bad decision by slinging my arms around his neck and sealing my mouth over his. Worry I haven’t just lost my self-pleasing mojo smacks into me when he doesn’t respond to my boldness in the way I’m hoping. He seems willing yet alarmed by my tongue piercing his stern lips.
It's fortunate persuasion is one of my finer points.
It takes several strokes of my tongue to calm the tension in Alex’s jaw, but when it does, mayhem ensues. His fingers weave through my hair as he returns my kiss with so much passion, I feel as if I am being claimed. He takes advantage of all the strong points on his face to dominate our exchange. His teeth sink into my lip before his tongue glides along the area throbbing with aroused pain. His Viking beard tickles my chin and neck when he drags his nose down my cheek to coat my face with his delicious scent, and the strokes of his tongue are purposeful and sensual.
His kiss leaves my mind filled with only thoughts of him. I can’t escape the madness—I’m trapped by his smell, taste, and warmth.
When the elevator comes to a stop on my floor, we stumble down the hallway, all legs and arms, neither willing to surrender our mouths from the other. The crash of our bodies on my apartment door is loud enough to wake the residents of my building. My moans will take care of the ones we missed.
After splaying my back against my door, Alex buries his hand deeper into my hair before taking our kiss to another level. Wetness pools between my legs when he teases my mouth with precise strokes of his tongue and sweet, controlled movements of his lips. His kiss is anything but innocent, but he doesn’t seem to care—finally.
He holds all the reins in our exchange, and I’m happy to hand them over. I don’t usually encourage a change of guard in the bedroom, but only a fool would feign disinterest in exploring his sexual prowess. Furthermore, we’re kissing, not fucking, so until then, I can let him take charge.
My nerve endings zing with pleasure when Alex rocks his hips forward. Layers of clothes can’t hide the thickness throbbing behind his zipper, begging to be released. He's long and hard. His body’s response to our kiss isn’t surprising. It isn’t chaste. It's steamy and hot, a perfect opener for what's about to occur.
As Alex’s tongue strokes mine, I blindly hunt for my keys in my clutch purse. I find them two seconds later, but it isn’t quick enough for Alex. His hand has already slithered under my dress to cup my engorged breast. He twists my nipple, causing goosebumps of arousal to pepper my skin. He’s barely touching me, but a violent storm brews low in my core. This is the sensation I’ve been missing the past two months: the chaos that arrives with both devastation and relief.
“Not yet,” I throatily purr when his fingers sweep away the material clinging to my hardened bud, nearly exposing my naked breasts to his avid eyes. “There are motion-activated cameras in every hallway of Hector.”
Agitation spikes through me when Alex’s eyes lift to mine. I hear the million thoughts streaming through his head without a word escaping from his mouth—just as much as I can feel them. He’s panicked, yet confident. Ready, yet hesitant. Blinded by lust, yet still holding back.
I don’t know how he does it. From the instant his scrumptious taste engulfed my taste buds, I’ve been in a dream-like state. I’m not drunk. . . unless fumes of lust are classified as a drug? If so, sign me up for rehab.
My heart rate triples when Alex scans the corridor for the security camera I mentioned. The tightness our kiss removed from his jaw returns stronger than ever when he locates its dome.
He bites out a string of profanities. I wish that was the worst of the tragedy. Unfortunately, it isn’t. The removal of my legs from his waist is the biggest blow I’ve endured this year.
Actually, scrap that. Make it the past five years.
I don’t know whether I should be humiliated or pleased by his rejection. If a simple grind up against a door under a watchful eye is too far out of his comfort zone, how will he ever handle a woman like me?
In less than a split second, the magic is over, our spell undone. I’ve never seen such an array of emotions cross someone’s face as I am seeing now. Confusion. Shock. Anger. And perhaps even a little bit of resentment.
The final realization helps me regain the reins I lost while trapped by lust. This is the very reason I usually keep them firmly in my grasp. It's the only way I’m guaranteed to be free of burden.
With a shimmy of my shoulders, I return my eyes to Alex’s. The heat burning my veins simmers when I spot one thing in his eyes I never thought I’d see. Sorrow.
“It’s okay,” I assure him when he attempts to speak but can’t.
“You don’t understand, Rae.” His words are barely whispers. “This isn’t. . . I can’t—”
“Wait to get out of here. I get it.”
If I had any chance of fooling you with a declaration that my tone was confident, I’d tell you it was swimming in it. It's a pity my libido isn’t the only thing that packed up and left town a few months ago. My ego went right along with it.
My back splays against my door when Alex takes a step closer to me. His kiss-swollen lips, mussed hair, and dilated eyes are a brutal reminder of what I’m being denied. “That’s not it at all, Rae. It’s just. . .”
I save him the hassle of rummaging up a better excuse by dipping under his arm, jabbing my key into the lock and entering my penthouse apartment.
The brutal slam of my door drowns out anything he says next.