Duncan - The Deal (The Cocky Smiling O Series #1) (3 page)

"
S
hit
!" I take a step back, but Mr. Willis reaches toward me again. This time he grabs my hand. His touch is warm and brings that fire back to life.

"Are you alright? You look a little pale."

The amusement in his tone reverberates from my ears to my pussy, reminding me of the growl I'd heard earlier in the morning. No wonder I'm pale. My blood is too busy racing through my system, muting the world. I mean, I'm sure I misunderstood what he'd just said.

"Y-you agree? You do realize," I clarify, "that I'm talking a full weekend. Four days. My family." I pull my hand back. "Shit!" I remember my mother saying we would stay at my old house with them. This is a disaster.

Mr. Willis laughs. "Is that your favorite word? I should know, since we're involved."

I shake my head. "No," I answer too truthfully. "Fuck is my favorite word."

He laughs again, this time louder.

"No! This was a bad idea. I just remembered. Since I kinda forgot about this weekend, I didn't book a hotel. My mom wants us to stay with her and my dad, and I don't know, probably my brother and his wife will be there...and maybe even my grandma. Oh, Mr. Willis, this will never work."

"Duncan."

His name is electricity setting my pussy ablaze. I've made myself cum to that name. I've fantasized about it. Now Duncan Willis is inches away, his lips hovering near mine, saying his name, his warm cinnamon breath caressing my cheeks, and his spicy cologne filling my lungs. I swallow. "Duncan...yeah, right," I say stupidly as I lift my right hand to shake his. "I'm Kimbra."

Taking my hand, he laughs again, low and deep. "Yes, I know your name. Don't worry, I'll book a hotel. Where in Indiana are we going?"

"Indianapolis, and shit, you can't. It's race weekend. The hotels are all booked."

"Race? The 500?"

"Yes. My mom wants us there Thursday. Friday night is the bachelor party." I narrow my eyes. "Mr. Wi—, I mean, Duncan. There will be women. That's the kind of party it is."

He nods knowingly.

"If we're...
together
, you can't...you'll be with my brother and cousins and you just..."

He squeezes the hand he's been holding. "Tell me, Kimbra, will we be
together
?" He elongates the final word.

My breathing hitches. "We need rules."

He releases his grip and leans back against his desk. "Lay them on me," he says, looking fine in his custom suit with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The way he's staring at me looks like he's waiting for me to give him a report on the office morale, not like I'm about to tell him our plans and sleeping arrangements for the weekend...in my parents' house.

"We have to make them all believe we've been dating."

He nods.

"We'll need to stay at my parents' house. My mom wants us sharing a room. She thinks if she gives her permission, some day I might get married."

Duncan's eyes widen.

"I'm not saying that. This is
one
weekend."

"One. Got it. Still..." His eyebrows wiggle, and then he pushes off the desk and pulls me toward him, his arm around my waist. "So am I hearing you right? Your rules include sharing a room at your parents', where they want me to deflower their little girl?"

My neck cranes upward as heat fills my cheeks. "I'm not a
little girl
and well, that flower has already been picked."

He pulls me closer. "Even better. Too much responsibility. How about the other flower?"

"The other?"

The arm around my waist lowers, until his hand is firmly on my ass. While my mind screams inappropriate, I yearn to turn toward the window, wishing that it was opaque so that this could go further.

"So your pussy isn't virginal," he says. "How about your ass?"

I inhale deeply, my breasts now rubbing against his chest. "Mr.—"

He touches my lips. "Duncan. Come now, Kimbra. We're a couple. How long have we been
together
and how in the world have I had the restraint to keep my cock away from your tight hole?"

I try to articulate. "Th-this—"

"Your rules," Duncan interrupts. "I'm trying to understand."

"No."

His eyes widen.

Clearing my throat, I say, "That flower is still there."

"Good to know." He squeezes my ass again. "For now."

Heat floods my cheeks. "No. A weekend. This is pretend. That's all. We do this and I don't say anything to Mr. Buchanan, and if whoever that was with you, files a report, I talk her out of it." Before he has a chance to respond, I add, "I'll make plane reservations. What time can you leave on Thursday?"

Duncan brushes my cheek with his knuckle. "I've seen you blush before, but it's even cuter close up."

I nervously look toward the window. My breathing hitches as I realize it's no longer clear, but frosted. "How? When?"

He tips his head toward the desk. "A button, right after your interesting proposal."

"I-I..."

His lips stop my response. His warm lips. His sexy, full lips. The sensual lips that swallow my protest and zap my pussy, as it sends hot chills—yes, HOT CHILLS—straight through me. His kiss consumes. In merely seconds, I'm pliable, putty in his strong hands as he pulls me against him, his erection probing my stomach.

I should stop this.

I should pull away.

My brain is talking, but I'm not listening.

When we finally separate, I stare at his mouth before slowly moving my gaze to his eyes. "Flight?" I ask, remembering my earlier question.

"Noon. We'll leave from here. Bring your luggage and have Peter take care of it. If a hotel is out of the question, then I'll arrange the flight. We'll take a company plane."

I shake my head.

"Kimbra," he says, his tone like sandpaper, the perfect amount of roughness. "Don't make me play the boyfriend card."

Boyfriend!

"Pretend," I remind him. "And we don't need to be there until later."

He brushes his lips over mine. "Five months. A winter fling that I can't seem to get enough of."

I try to comprehend. "What?"

"It's how long we've been dating. It started at the company holiday party when I saw you in that stunning gold dress, the one with the slit that went all the way up your thigh. I couldn't stop thinking about how high it went, wondering if your pussy was covered or if it was available. If all I had to do was reach..."

His fingers graze my hip and slowly bunch my skirt higher and higher.

I can't speak.

Holy shit! Duncan Willis is lifting my skirt.

Not only that, he noticed me. I did wear a gold dress to the company party. I never thought he even saw me.

His fingers stop moving, the hem of my skirt still mid-thigh. His eyes lower to my breasts. "And your tits, both in that dress and now," he adds, "are breathtaking. But that night, you were with that guy from distribution, Timothy."

"W-we dated, but not for long." Not after I caught him with that slut from accounting. It happened right after the holiday party at a New Year's Eve get-together.

"Don't tell me any more," Duncan says. "If you do, you or others in HR may need to justify a wrongful termination."

"Pretend," I say again, less convincingly.

Duncan's fingers brush the skin of my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt. "You keep telling yourself that, but I'd bet if I lifted this skirt higher, I'd find you wet and ready. I bet in no time at all I could make you whimper, not like you did in the bathroom when you were listening, but this time loud enough that Peter could hear you."

His touch is electric and erotic. I sway toward him, before coming to my senses and taking a step back. "Pretend, Mr. Willis. One weekend."

Duncan smiles. "Miss Jones, you're lucky that I'm not a gambling man. If I were, I'd need to verify that I'm right"—He leans down until our noses touch—"about your pussy being wet. And for the record, since we've been dating you should know that I'm rarely wrong."

T
he last two
days have been hell. I've hardly slept. Every time I do, I think of him. I think of me. I think of us.

There is no us. I remind myself daily.

Pretend.

Thankfully, I convinced my mother that Duncan didn't need to be in the wedding. I also let her know that Timothy is out of the picture. I told her that I'd said it before and she probably didn't remember. It's an old trick my brother and I use to do. We wouldn't tell her what we were doing, but later we'd act like we had. I may be twenty-six, but old habits die hard.

"Miss Jones?"

I take a deep breath and turn toward Duncan Willis. "Mr. Willis."

The clock on my computer says noon, the exact time he'd said we'd leave.

"I believe we have a car waiting to take us to the airport."

I nod, hoping no one else is paying attention. Although I doubt that is true. This office is full of gossip-hungry people. That doesn't matter. I still love them, well, most of them. I tell myself not to worry. If anyone notices, they'll think we're doing something business related. Maybe it's a seminar or a conference.

Yes, right. There are so many seminars over Memorial Day weekend.

Duncan and I haven't spoken since I left his office two days ago, and now we're stepping into an elevator, just the two of us.

Once the doors close, Duncan turns. In one quick step, I'm backed against the wall and his hips crash into mind.

"O-oh!" I stutter.

Again, his lips capture mine. This time, his tongue joins the assault. Sweet and cinnamon. His kiss is warm and forceful. When the elevator stops, he backs away, leaving my lips bruised and eyes wide.

Shit, this man can kiss.

Without regard for those around us, he places his large hand in the small of my back and leads me through the lobby. Nodding at the doorman, we exit out onto the street and to a waiting car.

Once we're moving, he asks, "Shouldn't I know about your family?"

"My family? I mean we've only been together for..."

"Five months," he says.

"Right."

"You have a brother?"

"Yes. Kevin. His wife's name is Susan. My mother is Judy and my dad is Oscar."

Duncan's eyes widen. "Oscar? Cool name."

"It's my cousin Scarlet's wedding. We're about the same age and she's everything I'm not."

"So she's ugly and has no personality."

I fight the urge to lower my eyes. Pretend. This is just pretend. That will be my new mantra, an ongoing chorus for this weekend. "No, she's perfect. She's sweet and successful. She's great at everything she's ever done and is marrying her high school sweetheart. His name is Kurt."

"Let me guess," Duncan says, "they're waiting until their wedding night and she wants a hundred babies."

I shrug. "Yes, the bouquet at the wedding won't be the only flower picked Saturday night. And as for babies, I think it's more like four, but I'm pretty sure she's had them named since they started dating. You know, doodling their names in the margin of her high school notebook?"

I keep talking, telling him about Helen, my crazy grandmother, how she loves to play games, especially cards and how she's ruthless. "She doesn't like to lose."

"I like her," he says.

"The older she gets, the more direct she is. So don't be surprised if she asks you a million questions."

As we pull into the private airstrip, Duncan traces the edge of my neckline. "I think I need to ask some more questions."

His touch has me distracted. "Oh, OK."

"This is very important, so be honest."

"Yes?"

"Since you've been dating a CEO for the last five months, and since he has access to private planes, has he, Miss Jones, made you a member of the mile-high club?"

I grin. "No, Mr. Willis, you see, my boyfriend is kinda a jerk. Five months and he's never once taken me on one of his planes."

The car stops and he reaches for my hand. "I'd tell you to break up with that dick, but there's still time to rectify that issue. I hear the club is still accepting new members."

I shrug. "You asked if my
current
boyfriend has made me a member, not if I
am
a member."

Duncan's steps slow. His green eyes blaze as he asks, "And?"

I crack a smile that I feel all the way to my eyes. "And...I'm not a member."

Once we're seated in big leather chairs, our seatbelts secured, Duncan reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and removes a small silk rose.

"What is this for?"

"I may not get to pick all the flowers, but one by one I'm going to have a bouquet. Mile-high is the first one."

"Pretend," I mumble just before his lips crash with mine and his fingers splay over my thigh.

I drop the flower as he moves his hand higher. "Kimbra, no promises, but for this weekend, I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had. I'm ready to see if my imagination has been even close when it comes to what's under your skirt."

"Pretend." The word is barely audible.

"My cock isn't pretending."