Tycoon Takedown Page 8

  He buried a hand deep in the curls of her hair at the nape of her neck. “That gives us four nights.” He arched her, exposing more of her to his hot lips. Wherever his mouth went, fire followed.

  She fought for sanity. Charles was a guilty pleasure, a luxury she shouldn’t allow herself. Hadn’t she learned the price of being impulsive? Of giving in to desire?

  Stop. This doesn’t have to be as dramatic as I’ve made it. I need to stop overthinking it and let myself have some joy for a change.

  Don’t romanticize it and you won’t get hurt.

  She dug her fingers into the strong muscles of his back. “I may not stay that long.”

  He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She righted herself into a seated position quickly as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the chair beside the bed. He flashed a wicked smile at her—one filled with dark promise. “Oh, you will, and I’ll enjoy every moment I spend persuading you to.”

  Melanie swallowed hard as he slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt and threw it on top of his jacket, then reached for his belt, never taking his gaze from hers. “Tell me to go and I will. Or give me four nights.”

  “All or nothing? You set the terms and I’m supposed to agree to them?”

  “Yes.”

  Bold. Unyielding. And sexier because of it. “Four nights. Then what?”

  His hand stilled on his belt. “I can’t offer you more than that.”

  There was a vulnerable and tormented undertone to his declaration that took Melanie by surprise. He wasn’t married. As far as Sarah had said, he wasn’t even dating anyone seriously. What was it that prevented him from being able to consider anything beyond their short time together?

  Was the pain in his eyes linked to the loss of his little brother? Sarah had spoken in length about how that tragedy had affected her life, but Melanie hadn’t looked at Charles in terms of how it may have affected his.

  Underneath his expensive clothing and arrogant persona, could he be as lonely as she was?

  She took in the powerful muscles of his chest, his broad shoulders, the lean waist and flat stomach. Her gaze dipped lower, long enough for her to blush as she remembered the satisfying size of him thrusting into her.

  He’s not promising me forever. Hell, he’s not even promising next week, but what if that’s okay? What if we can find something in our short time together that we couldn’t have found on our own?

  I’ve spent years locking everything away—this may be exactly what I need to put the past behind me.

  “Melanie,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

  She lifted her hips and slid her panties down her legs, crushing them into a ball in one hand before she threw them at him. He caught them midair. She said, “I swear on all that is holy that if you apologize for this tomorrow . . .”

  He was naked and beside her before she could finish her threat. Between kisses, he promised, “I don’t intend to do much talking tonight or tomorrow.” His hand slid down her stomach and cupped her sex possessively while he kissed his way across her collarbone and down to one breast.

  Thank God.

  Melanie arched her back with pleasure when his teeth closed on one of her nipples and tugged gently. His hand rubbed her mound, then moved down to stroke the outside of her thigh. His touch explored and warmed every inch of her. His mouth teased and worshipped. He laved her breasts with his hot tongue until she was writhing beneath him.

  He sat back on his heels and pulled her up into his arms, kissing the last of her reservations—as if there were any left—away. He moved onto his knees and took her hair in one of his hands, gently guiding her mouth toward his hard cock.

  Melanie struggled to accept the size of him. He waited, then pushed the limits of what she would accept and groaned when she started to suck him deeper still. He closed his eyes and moaned again when she cupped his balls and rubbed the sensitive area behind them. The power of being in control of such a man was such a turn-on, and Melanie whimpered and moved closer to him.

  Sucking. Licking. Loving the feel of him inside her mouth, jerking uncontrollably. His breathing became ragged, and he stopped her by holding her head on both sides. “I’m going to come,” he warned, giving her time to withdraw if she chose.

  Melanie didn’t stop laving her tongue around him. She felt him tense, heard him make an animallike grunt as he climaxed, then welcomed his release and swallowed, licking at him with the same feverish hunger he’d tasted her with earlier.

  He rolled onto his side and pulled her down with him, and there was a giddiness to their embrace. She kissed his chest spontaneously.

  He rolled on top of her, settling himself between her legs and holding both of her hands above her head in one of his. His cock was already coming back to life and nudging against her wet lower lips.

  “You make me feel like a teenager again,” he said and kissed her deeply.

  Melanie laughed. “Teenage sex was never this good.”

  He grinned down at her, so damn handsome. She felt her chest tighten. This Charles was even more dangerous than guarded and demanding Charles. He looked younger, more playful, more open. Not checking the impulse, she reached up and brushed her hand through his hair. Frowning when he pulled away, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and retrieved a strip of several condoms.

  “How many of those are you packing?” Melanie asked with a laugh. “Are you sure you brought enough?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said while expertly sheathing himself and bending to kiss her neck.

  Sweet Jesus, I’m in.

  He took one of her legs and put it over his shoulder, then rammed his cock in her readied pussy. He withdrew, then thrust powerfully inside again. Melanie cried out in pleasure as he drove into her again and again with increasing speed. He filled her, positioned her so his intimate caress found her G-spot, and took his time bringing her to the most exquisite orgasm she’d ever experienced. It came in waves, one heated tingle after the next, until she was sobbing from the intensity of it, grabbing at him to pull him deeper. He took her to the edge of what she could handle, paused long enough for both of them to suffer, then took her to the edge again.

  When he finally increased his rhythm and came within her, she joined him in a vocal and convulsive release. This time, he didn’t immediately withdraw from her. He lowered her leg, released her hands, but stayed on top of her, intimately connected.

  After a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal. He got up and disposed of the condom, then returned to the bed.

  Melanie’s heart beat painfully in her chest as he did everything she’d hoped for the last time they’d been together. He slid in beside her, flipped off the light, and pulled her into his naked embrace.

  For a long time, breathing was the only sound in the room. Eventually he said, “I took the morning off, but I have a charity dinner I committed to before I knew you’d be here. Attend it with me.”

  “Like a date?”

  He hugged her to his side. “Whatever you want to call it.”

  Melanie stiffened against him. “I’d rather not. I didn’t bring anything suitable to wear to something like that.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to attend a public function with him.

  In the dim light of the room, he looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “It’s a formal event, but I don’t care what you wear.”

  He wouldn’t. His arrogance was part of what she found attractive about him. He didn’t give a damn what others thought of him. Still, she couldn’t help but test his limits. “Really? You’re okay if I go in jeans and my boots?”

  He took her chin in his hand and turned her face so she’d have to meet his eyes. She couldn’t read them in the shadows. “Why are you angry?”

  She tried to pull back from him, but he held her to his side. She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of attending something with him intimidated her. She told herself she didn’t care what others thought of her, but that wasn’t true.
And this was his world. She didn’t need to be reminded that she didn’t belong in it. “I’m not one of your fancy New York girlfriends. I don’t wear makeup. My nails are chipped from hard work. What will your friends think of me?”

  “These people aren’t my friends. I can’t promise you that no one will wonder why you chose jeans over a gown, but I can guarantee that none will have the nerve to say anything.”

  “Because they’re too polite?”

  A hard expression darkened his face. “Because you’re mine.”

  His words ricocheted through her in the most wonderful way. Her pride whispered that she should throw his words back at him.

  But the fact was, she didn’t want to.

  Yours? Since when does belonging to someone have an expiration date shorter than most lunch meats?

  I shouldn’t let him talk to me that way.

  Yep, I should stomp on out of here.

  And I would.

  Except for two things.

  It’s my hotel room.

  And I love it when he talks that way.

  When she didn’t respond, he nuzzled her ear. “We don’t have to go if you’d rather stay here.”

  Hadn’t caring what others thought of her cost her enough? She wondered what her relationship with her parents would have been if she’d celebrated Jace’s birth instead of hiding it away. Her old friends had said they supported her, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe they could. She’d judged herself and she saw now that her friendships had crumbled beneath the weight of her insecurities.

  Who cares if his friends accept me or don’t. I have to do this. I have to stop hiding. “I really don’t have a dress.”

  “I’ll have one delivered.”

  Melanie pulled back. “No. I’ll have time to find something. You don’t know my taste.”

  He ran his hand down her back, settling on her bare ass. “But I know mine. Tomorrow you dress for my pleasure.”

  “That is so wrong.” Melanie shivered as he lowered his head and kissed the curve of her shoulder. “And so hot.”

  In all her life, she’d never felt more beautiful or wanted.

  Having an end date to this may be a good thing.

  I could get lost in this feeling.

  That afternoon Charles leaned back in the chair at his desk and stared up at the ceiling of his office. Four nights will never be enough.

  Not with Melanie.

  Just the thought of her had his cock swelling with anticipation. And he’d only been away from her a couple of hours. He closed his eyes and tortured himself with how she’d looked beside him in the shower that morning. He groaned aloud as he remembered how deeply she’d taken him into her mouth and then the pleasure of releasing his load on those amazing tits of hers.

  Sex should have taken the edge off his need for her, but it had done the opposite. He wanted her more now than before. Although he’d managed to talk his way through a couple of conference calls so far that day, his thoughts kept returning to Melanie.

  He walked over to the window and unhappily stared at the skyline.

  There was a knock on the door behind him. He turned, realized his state of arousal, and returned to sit behind his desk before answering, “Enter.”

  June came in with her tablet. “I contacted Irene McKinney and she’s assembling a team.”

  Charles rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Who?”

  “The personal stylist I told you I knew? She’s on her way over to the Best Western to meet with your friend.”

  “Good.” Melanie hadn’t looked sure of herself last night when he’d invited her to come out with him. He didn’t like to see her that way. He loved the cocky smile she’d had on her face after hog-tying the purse snatcher. That’s how he always wanted her to look—confident and thoroughly pleased with herself. “What do you mean team?”

  The woman’s eyes widened apprehensively. “Her dress is being delivered within an hour, but you said she’d probably like her hair done. I asked Irene if she does packages and she said she does everything.”

  Charles frowned again. “What’s everything?”

  June chewed her lip. “I should have asked. I’m not used to doing anything personal for you, sir. I didn’t know if you wanted me to know. I agreed to the whole package. I can call her back and tell her no if it’s not what you want.”

  “No, it’ll be fine,” Charles said dismissively. “Thank you, June.”

  After his secretary left, Charles smiled wryly and shook his head.

  The whole package?

  I wonder what Melanie will think of that.

  Chapter Eight

  “What are you, a sadist? No.” Clutching a thick terrycloth bathrobe around her, Melanie did something completely uncharacteristic of her—she retreated a step. One of the large curlers bounced against her temple as she did. “Absolutely not.”

  “Let me just see it,” the petite woman in a white cosmetologist’s coat who had introduced herself as Irene said as she advanced.

  Melanie clutched the robe tighter. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Shaking her head, the petite woman said, “My reputation depends on the quality of the work. Aren’t you happy with your eyebrows?”

  Melanie instinctively raised a hand to one perfectly shaped arch. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “I am not showing my hoochie-coochie to everyone.”

  Irene looked around impatiently and clapped. “Go. Everyone take a thirty-minute lunch break. But do not come back without my grande, quad, nonfat, one-pump, no-whip mocha.” She turned to Melanie. “Do you want anything?”

  Feeling like she was caught in a strange dream she couldn’t wake herself from, Melanie merely shook her head. The three women Irene had brought with her had spent the past two hours adding highlights and trimming her long hair, adding gel to her nails, and applying all sorts of lotions to Melanie for reasons she’d lost track of.

  The same woman who had done her nails had also waxed her legs and eyebrows, and had suggested something called a Brazilian.

  “Never heard of it,” Melanie had said.

  When the woman explained what it was, Melanie had sprung from the chair and drawn the line. Yes to the dress. The hair had needed a trim and the highlights were beautiful. But Melanie was not budging on this final point.

  What kind of stylist doesn’t take no for an answer?

  One that Charles hired, apparently.

  Irene folded her hands over her chest and said, “We’re alone now. Drop the granny panties.”

  A red flush of outrage went up Melanie’s neck and face. “Excuse me?”

  Running her eyes over Melanie critically, Irene said, “You’re a beautiful woman, but those are a dime a dozen in the city, honey. You want to keep a man like Charles Dery, you have to step up your game. Now drop them.”

  Maybe it was the authority with which the woman spoke, but Melanie opened her bathrobe and stepped out of her underwear. It was a little like being at a doctor’s office, but a whole lot more embarrassing. “Happy?” Melanie snarled.

  “Oh, Lord. Did you trim that in the dark? You do need my help.”

  Melanie whipped the robe closed. “You are the rudest, most insulting woman I’ve ever met.”

  “It’s called honesty and I get paid for it,” the woman said confidently. “If you’re a complete wimp, choose a partial wax, but I’d go for the full if I were you. Men love it.”

  “They do?” Melanie asked, suddenly uncertain.

  Both of Irene’s eyebrows rose. “He sent me, didn’t he?”

  Not giving Melanie time to change her mind, Irene took her by the arm and led her toward a table they had set up in one corner of the room. Melanie stood beside it, her eyes wide. “So women do this all the time, right? It can’t hurt that much, then. It’s like having my eyebrows done, right?”

  “Sure,” Irene said and instructed her to lie back on the table.

  An hour later, alone again, Melan
ie stood in the bathroom of her hotel room. Draped in a floor-length, form-hugging black dress, she eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. From the sophisticated updo to her freshly manicured toenails, the woman who stared back at her was a complete stranger. Her brown eyes stood out, expertly accentuated. The red lipstick made her lips look fuller, pouty. Any imperfection in her complexion had been artfully concealed.

  She winced as she remembered how intimate some of the makeover was. The soothing lotion had taken away the sting, but Melanie still winced whenever she remembered the pain—as well as the names she’d called Irene from the first strip to the last. Irene hadn’t so much as blinked, so Melanie figured she wasn’t the only one to express her feelings about having a Brazilian vocally.

  They don’t make fairy godmothers like they used to. Whatever happened to the painless wave of a wand? Or did they simply leave these details out? Did Cinderella get a Brazilian? No one ever talks about what was going on under that dress.

  Melanie turned and studied the low-cut back of the dress, admitting to herself that the tiny black thong fit beneath it better than her white, flowered cotton panties would have. She felt like a gift that had been carefully wrapped with one purpose in mind: pleasing the man who had paid for the makeover.

  That thought sent a shot of excitement through her stomach. He told me that today was about dressing to please him. Is that what tonight will be about, too?

  Teetering on strappy shoes with ridiculously high heels, Melanie walked out of the bathroom and over to a small pile of papers near the TV. She picked up the one with the phone number of Todd’s parents and closed it in one fist.

  She should have called them that morning and already gotten her answers. Instead she’d been distracted by her unexpected makeover. Is Charles the ultimate act of procrastination?

  She reached for her cell phone and dialed Sarah’s number.

  “Melanie, are you wearing makeup?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold the phone back from you. I need to see what you’re wearing.”

  Melanie smiled self-consciously and did as she was asked. “It’s just a black dress.”

  “Just a dress? Have you looked in the mirror? You could be a model. I always knew you were pretty, but oh my God, you’re gorgeous.”