Gift Wrapped (13 page)

“When do you want me to wear it?” she whispered, heart pounding as his fingers ventured downward, inside her bra. The door was wide open. The bathroom was next door, the kitchen only ten seconds away. Yet she made no attempt to stop him.

“Tonight. Tomorrow. The next night. Whenever you’re free.”

“I’m not free.” She bit her lip to stifle a gasp when he rolled her nipple between his fingertips. “But I accept manual, oral and penetrative forms of payment.”

“Better keep all those nights open for me. Maybe a bunch more too. With those payment options, I plan on running up a hell of a tab.”

“It’s a deal.” One she couldn’t wait to keep.

Chapter Eight

Oh, the difference forty-eight hours made. Hard to believe that just two days ago, she’d been grumpy and frustrated with pretty much every aspect of her life. Fresh out of a shitty relationship that’d stripped her confidence with men to the minimum. So desperate to get the hell away from the Liam wreckage, she’d been willing to shoot herself in the foot, career-wise, yet again. Now everything had changed.

She always hurried through the parking lot to her car. Tonight she had additional spring in her step, extra motivation to hurry home. Only, once safely behind the wheel, she didn’t head toward her apartment and the tub of mint-chip ice cream in her freezer. Instead, her car was taking a direct route to Davis’s house.

Yes, she was blaming the car. Better that than admitting to following her heart as it galloped toward a man. Again.

This time was different, though. She was in control. Especially now that she had the details about her upcoming transfer. Davis wouldn’t break her heart because there wouldn’t be an actual breakup at the end of their fling. Just moving day. Then moving on.

No reason she shouldn’t fill the remaining time here with as much fun and sex as possible. He had told her to keep tonight—and many more—open for him. She had exactly one month available. Hopefully he’d want to make good use of those thirty days.

Handsomeness and great sex aside, she couldn’t wait to talk to him. To tell him her great news.

The mall had closed at five o’clock after being nonstop, wall-to-wall packed with people taking advantage of Boxing Day sales. Given the depleted state of her store’s inventory, she hadn’t expected to post big numbers today. But she and the two employees scheduled had been run off their feet from the minute they opened the store. Nobody had even had time to check the mid-afternoon numbers.

The end-of-day ring off had come as a very pleasant surprise—they’d not only made their target, they’d achieved a seventy percent increase.
Seventy.
Giddy, she’d fired off a message to her DM. That’d prompted an immediate phone call. Her district manager had congratulated her on the kickass day. Then more.

Brinn’s first thought—after
woohoo!
—was that she couldn’t wait to tell Davis. Yes, they were extremely new and only casual. So what? He was a nice guy, and he made her feel good. Physically. Emotionally. Who better to share big news with than somebody who made her feel special and important? Nobody, that’s who.

A few more turns and she reached his house. His car was gone and the interior was dark, but his exterior light was on, and she could see a note taped to the front door. For her, maybe? When they said goodnight yesterday, his kiss had made it crystal clear he wanted more. If they hadn’t both been scheduled for early starts today, she had no doubt they would’ve spent the night together. They could pick up where they’d left off soon enough.

She parked in his side of the joined driveway and hurried up the front path, not caring that his neighbor watched from the window next door. Alicia’s mother, presumably. Brinn didn’t blame her for keeping an eye out. She’d be wary of unfamiliar visitors too, if she’d been the victim of a break-in two days ago.

Brinn waved and the woman retreated from view. Okay, not a friendly neighbor. Well, whatever her name was, she could get used to seeing Brinn’s car in Davis’s driveway. For the next few weeks, anyway.

She stepped onto the low concrete deck and reached for the note, recoiling when she read the first line. Davis hadn’t left this note for her—another woman had left it for him.

I want to thank you for being the most thoughtful (and seriously sexy) man ever. Call me when you get home from work. I’ll come over and thank you all the ways I know you like, then maybe some new ones we haven’t tried yet. See you soon, hot stuff.

—Barb

Bile crept up Brinn’s throat. She staggered backward, tripping over her feet and twisting her ankle as she stumbled off the snowy step. Fire streaked up her shin to her knee. She deserved the pain. A suitable punishment for walking around with a ring of cartooned, singing birds above her head. Even when she’d known Davis wasn’t interested in a real relationship with her, she’d still pictured them as dating. Some sort of temporary couple. She couldn’t pin the blame on a guy this time. The mistake was all hers.

* * * * *

Most people resented working on the holidays. In his five years as a chef, Davis had never asked for any of those days off. First, because he didn’t do any of the typical family-togetherness shit. Second, because he loved his job. Third, holiday pay.

He had a bit of cash socked away, but more was always nice. Unlike some chefs, he had no real complaints about his workplace. The owner paid him closer to the high end of the pay scale than the middle, the restaurant had quality management and serving staff, and the place was always busy. All good. The only thing that’d make Davis’s job better would be full creative control over the menu.

His boss had implemented some of Davis’s ideas.
Some.
Nowhere near all. And that’s how things would stay, unless he stepped out and opened his own restaurant. The food part he could do. The people part…not so much. Training up-and-comers who landed in his kitchen—yes. Dishing out reprimands when somebody fucked up in his kitchen—hell yes. That’s where his supervisory skill set ended. The thought of managing anything beyond the kitchen walls gave him a headache.

That kind of job belonged to people like Brinn. Listening to her talk about her job yesterday had left him in minor awe. He’d never considered how much organization, determination and leadership it took to run even a small retail store. When he’d spotted her in her store Christmas Eve, he’d mentally labeled her as “pretty blonde salesgirl with a great ass.” Hadn’t taken him long to realize she was a hell of a lot more.

So that’s what he’d do with the extra money he’d earned tonight. Take a certain pretty blonde manager with a great ass, wicked sense of humor, and head full of smarts out on a date. Because now that he’d made up his mind to keep seeing her until she moved, he wanted to see a lot more of her. Soon. Sooner than the old-school date he was planning in his mind. In fact, now would be good.

He pulled into the driveway and made tracks for the house. The wind had picked up since he left nine hours ago, and the gust currently pelting him in the face also rattled a paper somebody had stuck to his door. He flipped up the collar of his coat to block the wind. Then he was on the front deck, pulling the note from the glass while jabbing his key in the cold lock. The steel door opened inward, but he didn’t step inside. The message had his full attention.

I want to thank you for being the most thoughtful (and seriously sexy) man ever. Call me when you get home from work. I’ll come over and thank you all the ways I know you like, then maybe some new ones we haven’t tried yet. See you soon, hot stuff.

—Barb

Davis looked to his left. Barb’s lights were on—all of them, by the looks of it. Letting him know she was home. Available.

Right on cue, she appeared at her kitchen window. She gave him the “call me” sign, then unbuttoned her shirt and slipped her hands inside her bra.

He knew from experience what was happening beneath the black fabric. Barb was pinching her nipples, teasing the reddish-brown tips until they were hard enough to cut glass. A quick call and she’d be on his doorstep, then in his bed, giving him anything he wanted from the sexual menu.

That’s how they’d rolled for the past three years. Neighbors who occasionally fucked. Somebody convenient to scratch the itch. No strings or expectations, because neither of them wanted a commitment. The kind of setup any guy would envy.

He nodded and headed inside. Stowed his coat on a hook, tossed his keys in the dish on the side table, then dropped onto the couch, feet up and cell in hand. Call time.

Three rings, then it went dead. Not even to voicemail. Maybe in his hurry to get her on the phone, he’d hit a wrong number. He tapped the digits again, slower and precisely. One ring, two, a third and—

“Hello?”

Yeah. Soft and gentle as he remembered. “Hey. I just got in from work. Were you sleeping?”

“Sort of. Trying to, anyway.”

“I know I should say I’m sorry and let you go, but I’m not going to do either of those things.” He waited for one of her cute, quick comebacks, but got an earful of silence instead. Maybe he really had caught her on the verge of sleep. “Brinn, you still there?”

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “But I’m not good company at the moment, so you’ll want to rethink that decision to keep me on the line.”

The statement had him bolt upright, feet planted solidly on the floor. “Is it your dad? Do you need a lift down there, because I’m wide awake. I can be at your door in fifteen minutes. Twelve if I hit all the lights green.”

“You’d do that? Right now?”

“You have to ask? Of course I would.”

“Well, you’re off the hook. My dad’s doing fine. I appreciate the kind offer, though.”

He exhaled and leaned back against the couch, but the tension didn’t leave his neck. Something was off. He could tell by her tone. “I didn’t offer out of kindness.”

More silence.

“Okay, well, whatever the reason, thank you. But I have to work in the morning, so—”

“If it’s not your dad, then what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“The reason you’re in a shitty mood.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice had lost its cool, controlled politeness, these words coming out as a hoarse whisper.

“Then we won’t talk about it.” He leaned forward, wishing she were across from him, and he could get closer. “Let me come over and make you feel better.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to. And you want me to.” Seconds ticked by without an answer. Just breathing and the occasional sniffle. “Brinn. One of the things I like about you is the way you say what’s on your mind. Give me a clue here, at least. I really suck at the bullshit silence thing.”

“Fine.” She sighed again. “I can handle a casual relationship where we have sex and I know that’s all it is. But I can’t be part of a rotation. I guess I’m more old-fashioned that I thought.”

“Rotation? I told you I’m not interested in a serious, long-term relationship. To clarify, I’m also not a man-whore with a harem of active sexual partners. If you and I are fucking, Brinn, then you’re the only woman I’m fucking.” Jesus, did she get hit by double-strength PMS, or was her crazy-chick side finally shining through?

“I stopped by your house earlier. I saw the note on your door.”

Questioned answered. No PMS. No crazy. Just standard female jealousy, which usually bugged the shit out of him, but in this case, he understood.

“I saw it too. Then I crumpled it in my fist, came into the house and called you. Not somebody I hooked up with in the past who stuck a booty-call note on my door. You, Brinn.”

“Oh.”

He snorted. “Hell of an apology you’ve got there.”

“You told me to stop saying I’m sorry, or you’d put me over your knee.”

“And
you
told
me
you might like that.” He shifted where he sat, opening his legs wider to accommodate his thickening cock.

“Davis?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

“Totally understandable. Apology accepted.”

“No, really. I’m so sorry. Like, super-duper sorry.” Her soft voice and laugh floated through the line. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just can’t say it enough.”

“For a good girl, you sure are misbehaving.”

“Sorry?” she said, giggling again.

Yeah, that’s the Brinn he’d called to talk to. The woman he’d been thinking about throughout his shift tonight.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm on my lap while I warm your pretty ass with my palm.”

Her breath hitched. “What happens after you spank me?”

“I make you come so hard you beg me to stop because you can’t take anymore. Then I fuck you, babe. I slide inside your wet, tight pussy and I fuck you nice and deep. I hold your hips and rock into you from behind, so I can enjoy looking at the sexy pink ass I gave you. That’s what happens after I spank you.” His dick pressed against his zipper, insistent for release and relief.

“Are you on your way yet?” she whispered.

“I am now.” He was off the couch and out the door, coat in hand, before he’d even finished the sentence.

* * * * *

Despite seeing Davis’s car roll to a stop in front of her building, Brinn’s stomach leapt into her throat when she heard him knock. She’d been pacing the one-bedroom apartment since inviting him over. To spank her.

She smoothed the lace panties over her hips for the umpteenth time. Heart beating wildly in her chest, she turned the deadbolt, then the door handle. Moment of truth time. She just hoped the truth didn’t hurt. Too much.

“Jesus…” Davis didn’t walk through the opening. He stood on the other side, hands braced on the frame, his gaze moving up and down her nearly naked body. “How’d you know exactly what I hoped to find you wearing?”

“A bra and panties?”

He shook his head.

“High heels?”

Another shake. The door closed hard behind him, the sound of the lock amplified by the heady silence as he stalked toward her. “White.” He circled her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head. “White. Fucking. Lace.”