Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) (11 page)

I’m still reciting all the reasons why forcing Weston Conrad out of this house was a good idea when the lightning strikes and the whole place shakes so hard, I scream.

I’m still screaming when West comes back yelling, “Holy fuck! Are you OK?”

“What happened?” I have to hold onto the kitchen counter because my legs are shaking.

“The fucking house just got hit with lightning! I saw it. That antenna isn’t an antenna. It must be a lightning rod.”

“Oh, my God. It’s raining.” No, not raining. It’s pouring outside.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to swim to the other island,” West says.

“You were going to swim away?” That selfish fucker!

“Isn’t that what you—”

But another lightning strike booms through the house and I startle again. “How many times can it strike that rod before it sends us up in flames?”

“Tons,” West says, as he walks over to me and pulls me into his chest. “Like thousands of times, Victoria. Really. It’s fine. It’s just a good thing they have it, right? Otherwise the roof would be on fire right now.”

I pry West’s arms from around me and walk over to the window. That mass of purple clouds is still off in the distance, but that’s not stopping the rolling thunderheads directly above us from doing their thing. What are the chances that the pilot will come back for us now?

I can’t even go there.

“The power is out,” West says, flicking the light switch on and off.

“We’re stuck,” I say quietly. “For real. We’re stuck out here. What if that pilot guy thinks we got a ride home from someone else and just forgets about us?”

“Maybe the storm will blow over in a couple hours?” West says quickly. “Vlad will call the coastguard… or whoever the coastguard is in the Bahamas. Or our coastguard will call their coastguard and someone will come looking. Don’t worry. We’re not stuck.”

“I’m not going to flip out, West. So you can just stop lying to me.”

“Look, Victoria”—West laughs—“you flip out on a regular basis over the stupidest things. Do you really think I’ll believe that this won’t bring back your panic attacks?”

“Why are you so mean?” Really? Why does he have to bring that up every time something goes wrong?

West looks at the door and I realize he wants to walk out again. But he can’t. He’s stuck here with me. That’s what he’s thinking.

And can I blame him? I
am
a basket case when it comes to certain things. I have very good reasons for my panic attacks and I have very good reasons why I hate being alone. But I can be… a little… high-strung in certain situations.

I think I’m holding it together pretty well right now.

Until I realize my breathing is picking up and I’m sweating like crazy. The humidity in this house just went up like a thousand percent, so maybe that’s all it is?

But my pulse is racing and my palms are sweaty, and then my head is pounding to the beat of my heart and things go blurry…

“Victoria,” West says into my ear. “Listen to me,” he says in the other one. I wait for him to squeeze my shoulders the way he used to back when we were together. I want it. I want him to do all those familiar things that comfort me. I want him to slip his fingers into my bra and squeeze my breasts while his mouth goes to work on my neck, and my earlobe, and my lips.

I’m certain that he will not continue, but I’m wrong. He cups the round muscle of my shoulders and kisses the soft skin of my ear.

“What?” I say. It comes out as a whisper, filled with so many things like want, and need, and desperation.

“We’re fine. I’m here. You’re not alone. People know where we are. And even if we do get stuck on this island tonight, we’ll be back on the mainland by tomorrow. Do you understand?”

His hands lift off my shoulders, which just makes me want him more. “I want to believe you.”

“So just believe.”

I turn to face him, because if I don’t he’s going to back off and this moment will pass. I don’t want the moment to pass. And not because of my racing heart or my spinning world. I don’t want him to back off because… his
touch
. God, his fucking touch. It’s something I’ve missed so much and I didn’t even know it until this moment right now. “Why is it always one or the other with us, West?”

He looks down at me and smiles. His hands come up to my neck and he gently drags my long dark hair off my shoulders, arranging it the way he likes to do when he’s getting ready to kiss me. “Why are we so hot and cold? Why are we so on and off? So all or nothing? Friends or enemies?”

“Yeah,” I say, placing my hands on his biceps. He’s always been cut. His muscles have always been taut and his body lean. I stare at his eyes. Brown. They are brown, like his hair. So
nondescript
when I say the word in my head. But nothing about Weston Conrad is ordinary. His face is model-perfect, his jawline square and strong.

Even the stubble on his cheeks and chin is the perfect length to drive me crazy. I have felt that stubble between my legs more times than I can count. I have placed my hands on it to comfort him during those two years he was accused of things I know he’s never been capable of.

I know him.

He knows me.

“Because we’re equals, Victoria. You’ve never understood that. You’ve always thought I wanted to control you and I don’t.”

“Equals, huh?” I ask.

“On every level.”

I sigh and remove my hands from his arms. Back away. Because he’s pulling me into his spell. He’s charming me with his words and promises, and I know they are lies. If we’re equals then why does he have so many rules? If we’re equals, then why don’t I know everything about his past? He’s told me some, but not all. He gets this vacant look on his face, like talk-time is over, whenever I push too far.

So we’re not equals.

He wants the power and he only sticks around if he has it.

Chapter Fourteen - Weston

“Hey,” I say, reaching for her before she gets away. “Come here.”

Victoria puts her hands up to my chest like she’s going to push me back. But when they connect with my skin, they don’t have any force to them. They rest there, flat on my pecs, fingers splayed. Her head bows like she’s embarrassed and I take that opportunity to pull her into a hug.

God, the way she smells almost drives me insane. When she doesn’t resist and places her head on my shoulder, I bury my face in her hair.

“I’ve missed this,” I say.

She sighs. I know she’s missed this too, but there are so many things between us. The sex was never the problem. It was our opinions and ideas about the future that came between us. Not to mention all her pushy questions about my past. Sometimes a guy just needs a few secrets. Why is that so hard to understand?

I’m just about to pull away, back off and give her some room, when she turns her head and kisses me on the cheek.

I turn my head too, just enough to find her lips. And then… and then… my hands have her face and my mouth has her tongue. Her hips push into mine and I walk her backwards a few steps, until she reaches the couch and has to sit.

I drop to my knees, my fingers eager to slip under the waistband of her panties. And then I am pulling them down her long—so fucking long—legs. I toss them over my shoulder as I lick my lips and stare into her eyes. She wants to close them, I can tell. She wants to close her eyes, and lean her head back, and let me lick her pussy until she comes.

But she wants to watch too. Her fingers thread through my hair, urging me to keep going. So I open her legs, lift her knees up towards her tits, and sweep my tongue up and down her pussy until she lets go of my hair and digs her fingernails into my shoulders.

“Keep going?” I ask. “Or am I smothering you with my expectations?”

“Shut up,” she says, digging her nails into my skin. “Just shut up.”

I laugh as I dip back down between her legs. “Tori,” I murmur as I kiss her wet folds.

“No talking, West. I’m serious.”

“Tori,” I say again. “Tell me you missed this or I’m going to stop.”

Her thighs squeeze together, clamping down on my face, and she bucks her hips, trying to get more friction, more tongue, more everything. “You’re not stopping. You’re just trying to be an asshole.”

“Say it,” I choke when she squeezes tighter. I lick her, flicking my tongue across her clit until her grip on my face loosens. “Say it or I’ll rub my stubble all over the inside of your thighs.”

Her foot smacks my lower back. “Why are you such a jerk? Stop talking and start licking, Mr. Conrad. Or I’m going to get up and walk away.”

“No, you won’t,” I say, reaching up with one hand to squeeze her tits as my other hand dips between her legs. I push a finger inside her, making her moan. “I know every way to make you melt, Miss Arias. So don’t challenge me during sex.”

“We’re not having sex. Because you’re still
talking
.”

I pinch her nipple and her whole back arches.

“Say it,” I demand, lifting my head up and withdrawing my finger. “Say it or we’ll stop.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Weston. Just shut the hell up!”

I pull back and let her legs drop.

“Don’t,” she says, pointing her finger at my face.

I smack it away. “What have I told you about that fucking finger?”

“I swear to God, West. If you started this to piss me off, I will never let you touch me again.”

“Let me?” I laugh. “Shit.”

“Yes, let you. I’m the one in control—”

She stops talking, because I’ve got my dick out and I’m thrusting it inside her before she can finish.

“Let me, Miss Arias? Say no. I dare you.” I pump her hard three times. I lift her knees back up and lean my chest down onto her full breasts and kiss her mouth.

“I will,” she whispers, her words nothing but a soft breath that passes between our lips.

“I dare you,” I whisper back. “I dare you to tell me no. Because I’ll stop. Don’t think I won’t.”

She moans as I continue to fuck her.

“Say it,” I command. “Last chance, wild thing. Last chance—”

She slaps my face, gets her foot in between herself and my chest, and kicks. I go flying back on my ass, my hands reaching out to prevent my head from hitting the hard floor, and she bolts.

I’m up, chasing her, before she even makes it to the kitchen. I grab her around her waist and lift her off her feet, planting her ass on the counter as she squeals.

She slaps my face again, but I grab both her wrists and hold them tightly together.

“Say it, Victoria. I mean it.”

“I don’t have to say it.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I don’t have to, Weston. Because… Because…” Then she deflates and softens. Her head rests on my shoulder and she whispers, “Because you know you’re the only man I get off for.”

Oh, I’m not even going there. If I start thinking about how many men she’s fucked since we broke up, I might kill someone.

“So,” she continues, “every time you make me come I’m saying it, West. Can’t you just be happy with that?”

I let her win because that’s the kind of guy I am.

Generous. Magnanimous. Benevolent.

And I want to fuck her hard right now.

So I lift her up and carry her back to the couch, placing her in front of me the same way she was before she ran. The couch is the perfect height for me to lick her pussy. It’s the perfect height for me to ram her good while I’m on my knees. It’s the perfect mixture of soft and hard, comfortable and cramped.

Just like us.

Victoria is all feminine fluff and I am every bit the dominant male she hates.

“I have the power here,” I say, shoving my cock inside her again.

“Shut up,” she moans. Her hands grip my neck and pull me close. Her mouth finds mine and we kiss it all away.

All the hate and all the fear goes out of her in an instant.

But I won’t stop there. I like it the way I like it. And she can protest all she wants, she likes it that way too or she wouldn’t be participating. So I say, “Tell me you missed this, Victoria. Or I’ll bring you to the edge of ecstasy and leave you hanging.”