Rock 'n' Roll Step Dads: School of Sex (Rock 'N' Roll Step Dads Series Part 1) (8 page)

That’s when I heard the voices. I crept around a long dining table, edging closer to the door on the other side, so I could listen.

“It’s over, Rex,” a smooth baritone drifted through the cracks in the rounded, wooden door. “We both know it’s been over for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” a deeper bass voice boomed. “We can work through this. For Loki’s sake, you haven’t given us a fair chance.”

The other man laughed a bitter laugh. “Haven’t given us a fair chance? It’s been six months since Kama died. We’ve grown farther apart in that time and we both know it.”

“That’s just your unresolved grief talking, Logan.”

“No, that’s the cold, hard truth, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pack.”

His footsteps made the cobblestone floor beneath me quake. I tried to skitter back from the door and out of sight, but I was too late. A towering giant with long, curling caramel hair and eyes that matched entered the dining room I hid in. He was at least two feet taller than me, and he gaped down as I gaped back.

“Well, what do we have here?” He smirked, making his baby smooth face look lecherous.

“I… I was sent by someone,” I blurted as I staggered back and my head slammed into a table leg.

Another giant entered the room. This one was a few inches taller than his partner. His hair was a shorter, shaggy mane of midnight black, and his eyes were a pale amber that almost shone yellow. A trimmed beard lined his lower jaw and a moustache slightly hid his upper lip.

“Who sent you?” he growled, giving me a suspicious frown.

“A woman. She was a giant, like you,” I rambled on about my encounter with the blue-robed giantess outside Aunty Macy’s bookshop. “She said I had to help you. Something about an old guy coming down from the mountain?”

The two looked at each other then back at me. “The ancient one,” the black haired man said.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” Caramel eyes, who was clad in tight brown breeches and a flowing linen shirt, raised an eyebrow at me, then looked back at his partner.

“Did the woman give you a name?” the one who appeared sullen asked this. He wore a vest that looked like it was made from tanned leather, and breeches that matched.

I shook my head.

“We haven’t seen a below dweller in a long time.” Caramel eyes stroked his chin as he regarded me. “It has to mean something, Rex.”

Rex, the brooding one, nodded. “Let’s put her in the cage until we figure it out.” A slow, wicked smile formed, and he reached for me just as I scooted under the table.

***

The pair of giants stuck me in a gargantuan gilded jail that reminded me of an oversized birdcage. Sadly the bars were placed close together, so there was no escaping my prison. At least not yet.

Logan AKA caramel eyes stayed with me in the spacious master bedroom where the cage was located. While Rex, the dark brooding one, left us alone. Now Logan sat on a big four poster bed, laid out with a silky plum colored quilt and matching curtains and pillows. He braced his fists on the mattress, leaned forward, and studied me.

“Why are you here really?”

“I told you.” I lifted off the multi-colored cushions sprawled across my cage floor and went to the door to return his stare. “A woman sent me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Kama?”

I wrapped my fingers around the bars. “I don’t know. She ran off before I got her name.”

“What did this woman look like?”

I gave him a description of the giantess.

His eyes went wide then his handsome, baby face pruned in distress. “That sounds like her, only that’s impossible.”

I tilted my head. “Why’s that?”

“Kama’s dead.” Logan drew closer to the cage and sat on the cold, cobblestone floor beside it. “She was our wife, and she was a diplomat with the Royal Council of Lowland Giants.”

“Lowland giants?”

He smiled. “That’s us. Mine and Rex’s people. Kama and some others went to have peace talks with the mountain giants, but it ended badly.” His smile dropped and he looked away.

I touched his arm through the bars. “What happened?”

“She and three others in her traveling party were killed by mountain giants. War scouts were waiting to ambush them.”

I grew more curious and more confused. “How would she expect me to help you?” A ghost had sent me up a beanstalk. This was just too bizarre.

Logan shrugged and his eyes drifted as he lost himself to thought. “I don’t know, little one. I just don’t know.”

I changed the subject then. “So…what do you and your husband plan on doing with me?”

His smile was gleaming, wide, and salacious. “Well, I have a few ideas.”

And at the mention of his ideas, I had one of my own. Judging by his carnal up and down perusal of my generous curves and breasts, my plan to spring this prison just might work.

I tugged my tank top farther down, exposing ripe, round cleavage. “Really? What did you have in mind?”

Part of me wondered what kind of chance I was taking here. After all, who knew what size of penis a giant would be packing. I wasn’t too worried about protection since I was on the pill, and maybe giant’s had condoms. Who knew? It was a risk I was willing to take to get down that beanstalk and back home.

As if reading my mind, he said, “There are some things you should know about a giant first, love.” Through the bars, he brushed my cheek with big, rough fingers. “We’re big everywhere, and we like rough sex games. Are you up for that?”

I swallowed and steeled my courage, jutting my chin and breasts higher. “I can take anything you can give.”

***

Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release
The Executive’s New Clothes: 50 Shades of Fairy Tales
by Roxxy Meyer

The Executive’s New Clothes

By Roxxy Meyer

Ethan snuggled up behind me and we spooned after our usual dynamite sex. He kissed my ear and I shivered, smiling sleepily as I nestled my head deeper into the pillow. I was warm and comfortable, and in a perfect world I’d never have to move.

But this isn’t a perfect world, and my cell phone picked that moment to trill its Donna Summer ringtone—
She Works Hard for the Money
.

Ethan groaned, and I wiggled my bare butt against his growing erection.

“Hey.” He swatted my thigh. “Not fair. You’ll end up answering that, and—”

“I don’t have to.” I turned in his arms and swept my fingers down his lightly haired chest, smiled up at his boyish Jude Law face.

He stopped my hand just before it curled around his hard on. “But you will.” He smiled, and I tried not to see the disappointment in his expression. “You’re Katey Kitteridge, fashion designer and creative director extraordinaire. It’ll kill you to let it go.”

I kissed the tip of his nose, ruefully edged away from his irresistible, lithe body and warmth. “Just ten minutes,” I told him as I bent to grab my cell from my pants pocket.

“Right.” He grinned. “And pigs will fly this Tuesday, or so I’ve heard.”

I shook my head and threw a stray sock at him before I punched TALK. “Hello?”

“Katey, I need you at the office STAT.” My no nonsense boss and longtime friend, Lynette Perkins, had just ruined my morning quickie.

“What’s up?” I asked her, casting an apologetic look at my best friend and amazing photographer, Ethan Whittaker.

Ethan nodded knowingly and got out of bed. My gaze followed him to the bathroom door, not missing the guilt-tripping pout he sent my way before he disappeared inside. Before he did, I mouthed, “I’m sorry,” again.

Lynette cut through my guilt, giving me details that had my heart racing and my anger climbing. “Blaine Devereux wants to personally commission you to make a suit for him,” she said in a rush, her usual calm, cool voice rising with excitement. “This is big, Katey. Real big. This could put us in the ranks with brands like Gucci, or at least get us rubbing elbows with them on a more frequent basis. This will make your name as a designer. You could open up your own house.”

I tried to quell the anger rising in my gut. Lynette and her husband Jake were not only my bosses, they were my best friends. We’d worked together in the fashion industry from day one, and we’d gone to college together. People called us the three musketeers. I knew this was big—Blaine wasn’t someone you said no to, but I truly detested the man, solely based on reputation alone, and I had no desire to work with him.

“Blaine Devereux,” I simply said, trying not to give the depth of my loathing away. “But he hates women.”

Ethan emerged from the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at the name. He looked delicious, his lean chest still sprinkled with shower droplets, his golden blond hair wet and slicked back. Once more I regretted having to leave.

“He doesn’t hate women.” Lynette snorted, bringing me back to the present conversation once more. “You can’t believe everything you hear from models and read in gossip rags.”

“Well, I won’t pretend I’m happy to work with him, but I’ll do it.” I let out an annoyed sigh. “It’ll help me, it’ll help Well Dressed Man. We can’t say no.” I could almost see Lynette’s corporate shark smile when I agreed. One of the reasons I loved the woman. She was ruthless, but she also had an ethical compass. Like me.

“That’s my girl,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t wimp out. Oh, there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked as I fished a silver hoop earring out of my Brazillian thong.

She cleared her throat, and I knew something I wouldn’t like was about to spill through the phone. “He wants you to live with him until the suit is finished.”

I dropped the earring and nearly dropped the phone. “Say that again?”

***

Well Dressed Man International is a business suit brand that my friend’s Lynette and Jake Perkins own, and I’m their creative director for it and Well Dressed Woman International, our partner company. We launched the brands five years ago, and in that time we’ve won awards for our innovative designs. We’ve been profiled for Apparel magazine and our fashions are often found in Vogue.

But as I took the elevator up to our studio and offices, I didn’t feel the usual joy I did when coming to work. Instead I simmered at the thought of having to do business with an egotistical ass like Blaine, but this was about more than just me, and I wouldn’t run away and be completely unprofessional. That just wasn’t my style. Still, asking me to live with him while I designed the suit was completely unacceptable, and I planned on telling him just that. After my meeting with Lynette, I’d march right over to Devereux & Parker and tell him he could have the suit, but he couldn’t have me.

However, when I entered Lynette’s office, I found I wouldn’t have to wait that long. Blaine was sitting in one of the two ergonomic office chairs in front of my friend’s thin, transparent modern desk.

He turned his smoky grey eyes on me, tented his long, thick fingers in front of his square jaw. “Ms. Kitteridge. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I put a hand on my hip, wrinkled my nose, and blurted, “I wish I could say the same.”

Lynette went into ‘smooth the tension and save the deal’ mode. “How about we take some coffee into the studio? I’m sure Katey would like to show you some design samples.”

“No,” I retorted. The man instantly rankled me, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I have something to discuss with Mr. Devereux first.” I turned my focus on him, taking in that sensuous, pouty mouth, large eyes, cheek bones that weren’t too sharp but nicely defined. Steeling my resolve against his immaculate beauty, I continued. “I’ll design your suit, but there’s no way I’m going to live with you.”

Not missing a beat, he slid from the chair like a sinuous snake and flashed an innocent look at Lynette, then at me. “But wouldn’t it make the haute couture so much easier? I can pay you all very well for the time, I assure you.”

He was on his best behavior today, and it was unnerving. The Blaine I had heard about from many a source, jilted and otherwise, was never accommodating or compromising. When you had his kind of money, you didn’t need to be.

I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I’m not living with you under any circumstances.”

Lynette gave me that look that was part begging, part demanding. The woman knew how to persuade. She did what I thought of as her ‘faux pee dance.’ A shifting of hips back and forth that made it seem like she had to go to the bathroom, but really she was stressing the outcome and trying desperately to sway me.

“Fine.” I huffed a defeated breath. “It shouldn’t take long to finish the job. I’ll stay with you until it’s complete.” When he smiled, letting the mask slip so I caught a glimpse of the predator beneath, I laid a firm hand on his equally firm chest and made him keep his distance. “But there will be rules, Mr. Devereux.”

His wolf smile grew wider still, and the mask fell off. He took the hand from his chest and kissed it. “Of course, Ms. Kitteridge.”

***

In the limo, three days later, on the ride to his country estate, he pinned me with those smoky eyes and said, “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Kitty, and yet we’ve never met.”

I stared at his silk Armani tie rather than meeting those too penetrating eyes. “No one calls me Kitty.”

He shrugged. “I do.”

I crossed my arms over the polka-dot bodice of my spring dress. “That, right there, is why I don’t like you.”

He quirked an eyebrow up. “You have a problem with self confidence?”

“No,” I said. “But with dripping arrogance? Yeah, I’ve got a little problem with that.”

He gave me a sideways smirk and chuckled. He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetie.”

“Don’t call me sweetie, either,” I snapped, brushing his hand away.

He held his palms up in a gesture of surrender that surprised me. “Is this about the hating women thing?”

I felt my face heat, and I covered it with one hand. “Lynette told you that?”

He plucked some ice from a round chest in a mini bar in the back of the limo, plopped it in a glass, and poured amber colored scotch over the clear cubes. All the while, he smirked smugly at me. “You shouldn’t believe rumors and tabloid gossip columnists.” He took a sip.