Hottie (8 page)

She shook her head. If only he knew she’d had three measly lovers in her life—her cherry-popping sweetheart, the jackass, and her wonderful master.

“Good,” he replied. “Since I’m the only man that is going to get you naked for now, I’ll be delighted to bypass the gourmet dinner I’ve prepared and show you one of the finest eating establishments in our two-horse town.”

“We’re going out?” Her rear was sore. Even his touch, light as it was, had different parts of it stinging. No way could she sit on a hard dining chair.

“If you’d like, I’d be honored,” he replied.

Phoebe’s heart skipped. Hottie wanted to take her on a date—sort of—but she knew her limits. Her ass knew its limits. No way could she sit, without fidgeting and looking like she’d been spanked, for long. “Can I have a rain check?”

“Sure,” he said, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Does that mean you’re planning on staying?”

“Well, how could I drive off into the sunset without a car?”

“True, sweetheart. You do need a car to drive off.” Hottie shrugged and let her go. He walked to the fridge, opened the door, and retrieved two beers. “I guess you’re stuck with me at least until the parts get here.”

A jar of spaghetti sauce stood guard over a pot of pasta in boiling water, so she saddled up behind him and fit herself against his tight ass, reached past him, making sure the length of her arm brushed across his groin, and pulled out the Parmesan cheese. “I guess I’ll have to make the best of it.”

She could get used to him. Hottie was not only “hot”, but he was also addicting. With each little taste, she craved a feast. Her heart was in free fall. Her body still wanted more. Could she handle more?

“Not tonight,” he mysteriously answered her unasked question, straightening and turning to look at her.

“No more? You’re not interested in playing a little more?”

“Sex? Ah, baby, you’re going to be sore. So, no, no more tonight.” He grinned and rubbed up against her, lingering and teasing in a very playful manner. “I need to give you something to look forward to.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded and did a bad job at hiding his smile. “I can’t keep giving into you. Besides, my grandma used to say women won’t buy a cow that gives its milk away for free.”

“You stink at relaying sayings.” Phoebe had to laugh with him. He’d really messed that one up, but the real fun was in the feigned surprise in his eyes. They grew dark, the pupils dilated, and he managed to look demure and shy. “But, you’re cute.”

“Why thank you, ma’am.” With the two bottles of beer dangling between his fingers, he back-kicked the fridge door, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. The cold glass soothed her bum, so she arched closer to him. “You’re rather cute yourself.”

Hottie claimed her mouth, slowly, masterfully, and certainly turning her legs to jelly. Impossible to resist, she found a peculiar sense of safety and comfort in his kiss. Way too comfortable in his embrace, Phoebe questioned the wisdom of growing attached to a temporary fling. She placed her hands flat against his chest.

“I want you,” he groaned, his mouth dipping to her neck and setting her skin on fire. “But I’m happy to wait. So, I’m going to feed you, hold you in my arms while we watch the moon rise, then tuck you into bed so you can sleep with a smile on your face.”

“I’m not accustomed to so much attention,” she said, damning her caution and raising her hands to run her palms over his hair and hold him to her. “You need to stop, or you’re going to spoil me and never get rid of me.”

Groaning his own version of verbal restraint, he moved his lips to the swell above her chest, ran his tongue over the heated flesh, then suckled and caused her skin to tingle and her blood to rise to the surface. “I like your company, sweetheart. Who says I want you to go?”

* * * *

Repeatedly touching him during their candlelit dinner, Phoebe assured herself he was real. Truth was the day’s events were too good to be true, so she didn’t take it for granted they were sitting together at the kitchen table and gazing into each other’s eyes. The spaghetti was the most delicious meal she’d ever had, and the beer danced over her taste buds like champagne. The shrink-wrapped cupcakes proved to melt in her mouth, too.

They talked about everything and anything. Her brief job as a copy writer for a corporate monster, his multiple tours of duty, her plans to finish her novel and make chic-lit popular again, and his plans to restore classic and antique vehicles, then flood the market with the beauties.

Phoebe chose a movie On-Demand, and they settled on the couch to watch the sappy romance flick. When the credits rolled, he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. Covering her face with tiny kisses, he carried her into the bedroom. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to finish up the job I was working on this morning. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Hottie? Dane?” Phoebe’s voice trembled a bit, so she took a deep breath to collect her thoughts—or rather her courage. “May I ask you something real personal?”

“Sure,” he replied, walking back to the bed and sitting beside her.

“Why don’t you have a lady in your life?”

He dropped his head between his spread fingers and massaged his temples. His eyes shut and his jaw squared.

“Sorry. I was way off base.” She took back the question filling in the dark space between them. “I mean…I don’t need to know every detail of your life. I don’t even know if you do have a lady, and she’s simply not here. Sorry for overstepping your hospitality. It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t have a lady in my life,” he said, his eyes still closed. Silence hung in the air, but then a slow smile formed on his handsome face. “Correction. I didn’t have a lady in my life until a very pink Caddy clunked into my shop.” His eyes opened. “And I’d really appreciate my lady getting some rest so I could show her the sights tomorrow.”

He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep, my lady. Please.”

She closed her eyes and listened to him leave the room. She counted back from one hundred.

One hundred orgasms from Hottie.

Ninety-nine orgasms with Hottie.

Ninety-eight orgasms of Hottie.

Ninety-seven orgasms for Master Hottie.

Ninety-six…

Ninety-five…

Damn, anything and everything from, with, of, and for Hottie. She hugged a pillow to her chest and let the warm tingles inside her body lull her to sleep.

Chapter Eight

Damn, the Sun is Hot

Bright rays of heat caressed her face, and Phoebe smiled as the morning seeped through her pores. She was hugging a pillow against her stomach, but it was the memories of sleeping in Dane’s arms or pressed against his hard body that gave her comfort. Treasured and safe, she’d slept better than she had in years. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to leave the peace and rest of the night. But the sun insisted, so she reached across the bed, disappointed to find it empty.

She inhaled his lingering scent on the sheets, savoring every sweet image it evoked. “Damn, Hottie. I miss you already.”

Showered and dressed in her khakis and tank, she went searching for him, but Dane had left for some kind of work thing. A sticky note was pasted to the fridge.

Morning, sweetheart,

I need to deliver the truck from yesterday.

Be back around noon and we’ll go for lunch.

If you want to use the Wi-Fi, the password is Ofuro321.

Enjoy your morning.

D

Phoebe crushed the note against her chest. How nice it was to be considered. She had a few hours before noon, so she decided to take his advice and enjoy her morning. Running back to the bedroom, she pulled her computer from her bag and searched for the power cord. She was going to listen to her Hottie and enjoy her morning for the first time in a long time.

Arranging her workspace at the kitchen table, she glanced at the coffee pot and found a second sticky note, instructing her to hit the button to the right.

“You are spoiling me,” she breathed, smiling and reaching for a mug. Once again, Phoebe wondered why Dane lived alone. He was more than handsome—he was Hottie—considerate, handy, and smart. Women should be lining up and breaking down his door, but there was no trace of a female anywhere in the house.

She shrugged. Better for her. Maybe she could find a job and a little apartment in town? Maybe they could actually have a chance? A girl could dream, and she was going to do just that in full color.

Sipping on fresh coffee, she sat by the computer and typed: Wanted!

Phoebe worked until just before eleven o’clock. She’d written two thousand words in less than two hours, and even if it wasn’t the next chapter in her novel, it was definitely the newest chapter in her life. Hottie
wanted
her, and she
wanted
him. Reciprocated desire, simply for what it was and with no professional benefit, was new to her.

Eric had not only used her as a housekeeper and cook, but as arm candy when he was out on business. Too bad his affection didn’t extend behind closed doors. Compared to Dane’s heat, Eric was a cold fish that totally sucked in the only kind of sexual activity he engaged in—headboard banging, rabbit-style fucking, with a small and insignificant penis. No wonder she’d preferred masturbating to him.

An instant message chimed, pulling her back to the present.

Bitch. You’re going to pay.

Fuck off!
She typed, then lowered the cover.

Bad enough she’d ditched her phone because he’d harassed her for the dumb bracelet, but now he was stalking her on-line. Creepy. He was the one who wanted to end things, yet he couldn’t leave her alone. He wanted to humiliate her and make her feel like crap…to make it look like she took advantage of him and his money. Cheap bastard didn’t really want his ridiculous bracelet back. As if the thousand dollars she’d gotten for the shit would make a difference for him.

She lifted the cover and blocked him before he had time for another attack.

“Good riddance,” she muttered to her nonexistent audience, then stood and took her mug to the sink. That part of her life was over, and no matter what the asshole said, he wasn’t going to find her so far off the map. She’d emptied the bank account on the first day and hadn’t used a credit card since she hit the road. “No fucking trail, douche bag.”

Phoebe washed her hands, and took extra care in drying them. She searched the cupboards and fridge, but came up empty with any possibilities for cooking a decent meal for a man she wanted to please. There was a tiny pantry off the kitchen by the back door, but the contents were extremely limited—tons of seasonings and spices, two fancy bottles of oil, a box of Frosted Flakes and three packages of Oreos. She’d have to go shopping.

“Let’s see if my pink POS will start,” she mumbled, grabbing her keys off a nail inside the pantry, sliding into her flip-flops, and slipping out the back door.

The scorching sun was ruthless. She tented her hand over her eyes and squinted as she spotted the Caddy and prayed the old vehicle would take mercy on her and start.

But once she was seated behind the wheel, the car wouldn’t cooperate.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and pooled between her breasts, moisture sleeked the back of her thighs, and her disappointment grew. All she wanted to do was grab a few things from the grocery store and make a nice meal for her hottie.

“Damn Piece Of Shit!” Phoebe slapped the heel of her palm against the steering wheel and called it quits. Slamming the door and schlepping beneath the steamy shade toward the door, she practically tripped over a bicycle with a milk crate attached behind the seat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at the cloudless sky. Such a tiny thing made her day and made her hope. She felt in her pocket for the twenty-dollar bill, and as soon as she found it, she mounted the bike and peddled in the direction of the small town Dane had spoken about the day before.

Making good time, she found the little store on the one and only main street—Main Street. The town seemed to have three roads running parallel to each other, Main Street and two sort of no-name alleys, plus a single street running perpendicular to the other three, allowing people to walk from one to the other. She’d stepped, or rather peddled, back in time and arrived in an adorable romance novel of a town. The quaint food store even had a covered wooden porch with rocking chairs and window planters on the railings.

Leaning the bicycle against a tree, not a bit concerned she didn’t have a chain and lock, Phoebe glanced over her shoulder to check who the older lady was waving at from inside the shop. Finding no one behind her, she smiled back and lifted her hand. The woman was waving at Phoebe. How cute was this woman Phoebe wished was her grandma? Actually, everyone in the town seemed to know each other, and everyone seemed very friendly.