Authors: Sasha Gold
“I guess…I did,” he says distractedly, his gaze drifting over my breasts. “I was trying to figure out who was here.”
He arches his brow, turns away and starts grating the cheese. I watch, momentarily struck speechless by this small, mundane action. The kitchen implement looks like a toy in his hand and the metal handle bends. I half-expect it to snap off.
“You’re going to break that.”
He keeps grating the cheese, and lowers his voice. “You offering?”
His question drips with innuendo and his gaze rakes down my body once more. This time, the trail of heat he leaves in his wake starts a wicked simmer inside me. Heat sparks along the length of my thighs.
This doesn’t happen to me. Ever. When I used to dance, I went by the name of ‘Ice’. Some men like that bitch vibe and although I didn’t get up on stage often, I made a lot of money when I did. I was more comfortable serving drinks, but even then, I kept a chilly distance between me and the customers.
I wash my hands and start grating the damned cheese while he goes to the pantry. A moment later he emerges with a can of beans, jalapenos, and tortilla chips. I try to keep from watching him, but he’s making a cookie-sheet pan of nachos that look like it would feed an entire regiment. I never let myself near Mexican food. It’s deadly. My stomach grumbles.
“I hear you’re on leave from the Navy,” I say.
“I’m not on leave. I’m done with my service.”
“That’s exciting. Are you excited?” I sound like an idiot. When I’m rattled, I either clam up or babble. “What are you going to do now?”
He gives me a look of pure contempt. Why am I even talking to this guy? I’ve been up since dawn moving the last of my stuff out of the club and putting it in storage. I’m worn out, and I’m getting all this hostility from a guy who, moments ago, was groping me. I should throw the chunk of cheese at his head and call it a day.
“I joined the Navy because that’s what Thornton men do.” His voice drips with arrogance. “Go to college and then serve your country.” He dumps half the bag of chips on the pan, then uses a butter knife to fish out all the beans from the can, spreading them quickly and haphazardly, most of them on the chips but some on the counter.
The muscles in Luke’s forearm flex with thick bands of muscle. He’s wearing a watch, nothing fancy, just a regular watch. I find it oddly sexy because it accentuates his powerful build.
“I’m taking over my father’s construction business.” His tone is one of utter boredom, like he can barely summon the will to be polite. “I don’t run it. He has managers for that. I close deals. I show up to hammer out final numbers. I’m good at that. Want to know why?”
Mr. Ego is going to tell me anyway so I do my best to look fascinated. “Please. Tell me.”
“People don’t say no to me.”
Working with the public has taught me a thing or two. Before I owned
Strut
, when people were full of themselves, or full of shit, I found it hard to keep from rolling my eyes. Now I like to think I’m pretty good at keeping my eyes forward, but this guy’s seriously challenging the urge.
He flips on the oven and grabs a handful of cheese, which is essentially
all
the cheese, and carries it back to the pan. A trail of cheese falls across the counter. Typical man. He’s making something simple and he’s going to leave the kitchen looking like a tornado hit. When he’s finished piling the cheese atop the nachos, he grabs a fork and starts flipping jalapeno slices out of the jar, spreading them randomly atop the cheese. Finally he sets the pan in the oven. Next, he goes to the fruit basket and plucks the two avocadoes I bought. He squeezes them and grunts his approval. He slices them open and expertly cubes the creamy interior.
Those avocadoes cost three fifty. Each. They’re for day two of the cleanse. “You’re eating my avocadoes.”
His lips tilt and his gaze is sultry. “I’ll eat anything I want in this house.”
I shudder. This man has a gift for saying something ordinary and putting a dirty spin on it. I don’t even know what to say to that remark. I study his face and wonder if I know him. He looks vaguely familiar but obviously, I’m not going to ask if we’ve met. I can’t imagine the comeback he’d give me on that one.
“Have a beer, Olivia.”
He goes to the fridge and pulls out two bottles, twists the top off one and holds it out to me. A curl of mist lifts from the top. What is
that
? A little puff of beer essence? I don’t know, but it connects with my senses like a rampaging bull. My willpower crumples and I take the beer from him
After he twists the cap off his beer, he taps it against mine. “Cheers.” He lifts the bottle. “Here’s to new beginnings.”
Chapter Two
Luke
I take a swallow of my beer. She doesn’t remember me. At all. Not that she should. We only spoke a few words and it was in the dim light of the club. But, I remember her. All the way to Alaska, I tried my damnedest to stop thinking about her.
“How long are you staying?” she asks.
I shrug. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even notice me.”
A small murmur of dismay escapes her lips.
She looks a little lost standing by the counter. The girl wants to toss my ass out of the house but doesn’t quite know how to pull it off. She takes a dainty sip of her beer.
I tear my eyes from her and pretend to check on the food in the oven. Almost there. I’m so hungry I could eat double what I’ve made.
The last time I saw her was in the club, the club she later bought. It was right after my dad got married. I went with my buddy Nate under the pretense of seeing what sort of tramp Julia raised. I never expected a girl like Olivia.
The minute I figured out who she was, I saw red. She wore boy shorts that cupped her ass, a shirt that revealed her tiny waist and accentuated her lush breasts. Her hair, a mass of honey-colored tendrils, trailed past her shoulders, brushing the small of her back with every step. I couldn’t decide if she was aloof or shy. I kept my eyes on her the whole time, watching how she moved fluidly through the crowd, deftly carrying trays loaded with drinks.
When she brought our drinks, I paid the twenty dollar bill with a hundred bucks. Told her to keep the change. I made sure she saw the other hundreds in my wallet when I asked her what was on the menu that night.
I don’t ever proposition waitresses, but, something set me off. Probably because she was so freaking fine, walking around in heels and not much else, serving drinks to a bunch of horny fucks. She didn’t appreciate the not-so-subtle offer. She gave me a look that would have frozen boiling water, and counted back my change.
Nate grinned at me while she slapped down those bills on the table.
She ain’t for sale, man.
Everything’s for sale. Some things just have a higher price.
She’s not so chill and remote after being tackled in the dark. I didn’t mean to scare her, and I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t hurt her. My dad asked me to keep an eye on her and when I get a chance to talk to him, I’ll tell him how I almost decked her. Nice of him to forget to tell me she was house-sitting. I guess he wanted to make sure I kept a
very
close eye on her.
I take the nachos out of the oven and start to ask her if she’s hungry.
But she’s already there, pulling a chip from my masterpiece. “I really shouldn’t.” She twirls the strand of melted cheese around her finger. “I’m supposed to be starting a cleanse tomorrow.”
She closes her eyes as she slowly chews. I take a long look at her. Her dress is simple, elegant even. Not what you would imagine a strip club owner would wear. It’s more of a PTA look than T and A. She’s wearing pearls, earrings and a strand around her neck. I wonder what she did to get those. Or who, rather.
“This is terrible.” She takes another chip and sets a chunk of avocado on it before eating it. “I bought four bags of organic kale. Maybe you should do the cleanse with me.”
I lean against the counter. “I’m not dirty.”
She waves off my nasty remark. “One of my girls just finished ten days and her skin looks amazing. Flawless.”
“Your skin is already flawless.”
A blush colors her cheeks. “Thank you.”
She probably thinks I’m hitting on her. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m not trying to compliment the little witch, but it’s true. Her skin is perfect. Her hair is straighter than the last time I saw her, the ringlets tamed to soft waves. My mind’s eye sees her hair falling past her face, her eyes closed, while she rides me.
Shit, don’t go there.
“So…Luke, tell me about the sleeping arrangements.”
She helps herself to another chip. The girl is putting a serious dent into my masterpiece. She can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s putting away the nachos like she just did a ten mile run in full gear.
She takes a bite and closes her eyes as she chews. Watching Olivia eat and enjoy her food is flat out erotic. My cock was a fucking iron shaft a while after I grappled with her in the dark, and it’s at full attention once more.
I groan inwardly. I thought about this girl for the last eight thousand miles. When I planned the trip to Alaska, it was supposed to be a chance to have some fun, hook up with women who don’t know the Thornton name, and just fucking relax. But all I could do was think of
this
woman. And that was before I’d seen her lick melted cheese from her fingers.
She takes a sip of beer. “Because, I like that room at the end of the hallway. The bed is perfect for me. Not too soft, not too hard.”
I take a chip and eat it. I need to grab one or two chips before the whole thing gets demolished by Goldilocks.
“S’fine,” I say. I don’t care where I sleep. I didn’t expect to be staying here at all, but if Dad wants me here, then I’m here.
I have a cabin a half hour away. I’d planned on staying there. That’s where I’d rather be, but Dad made it clear he needed me here at his house. Ever since his heart attack, I can’t say no to the guy.
“You can have whatever you want.” I say the words casually, even though it’s a blatant offer.
Her lips part with surprise and she studies me for a long moment. If she remembers who I am, she’s not giving it away, but the wheels are turning, that’s for sure. I wait for an outburst.
Something behind her eyes shifts and I’m almost certain she’s got the connection. The soft look in her eyes hardens. She turns away, gets another beer from the fridge, and looks at me over her shoulder. “How’s that beer treating you?”
Her voice is soft, seductive and goes straight to my dick. She’s offering me a beer, but the tone is pure seduction. Like she’s offering something dirty. Little brat. I have ten years on her and if she thinks she has a hope of driving this thing, she’s in for a big surprise.
I nod. “I’ll take another one. It’s only eleven. Night’s young.”
She grabs two bottles and sets them on the counter. I pop the top off both.
“This is sort of weird,” she says. “In the morning, I should pack up my stuff and go stay with a friend. Maybe Sage would take me in.”
That
was not what I was expecting. “There’s nothing weird. I’m a gentleman.”
“Of course. I know. I’m not trying to suggest you’re not. I just don’t want to barge into your home. You just got back from…what…overseas? I’m sure you want a little peace and quiet.”
She’s twirling her hair. I want to swat her hand or maybe her ass. She’s messing with me in a big way.
“You’re not barging, Olivia. Even if you were, I wouldn’t mind. Plus, I’m supposed to help you with this deal you have going, and figure out who’s fucking with you.”
My voice is deep, rough. Women love it and I’m turning it on for her, but she’s not interested. At all. If anything, she looks bored. This is some sort of serious, high-stakes poker we’re playing here. I’m not sure when the conversation changed exactly, but I’m enjoying the back and forth.
The whole prospect of having her here is going to be torture, but I’m not asking her to leave and I’m sure as hell not going anywhere. She’d be in her room and I’d be in mine, of course, but she might wander down to the kitchen in some skimpy nightgown.
My body hardens at the thought. The girl has a thing for underwear and that type always have fine sleepwear. As my blood heats, I imagine her nightie, something soft and translucent, and something that would skim over her perfect, teardrop breasts.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Everything’s fine. I just need to sign on the dotted line in a few days.” She sighs heavily and steps out of her shoes.
Without her heels she’s short, maybe five foot two. My gaze drifts down to her bare feet. They’re small and delicate, like the rest of her.
Leaning against the counter, she continues. “The problem is, I have nowhere else to go. I could find some other arrangements but it might take a few days.”
“Stay here.”
Shit. If my buddies could hear me now they’d have a good laugh. For the last six months, they’ve been listening to me bitch about my father’s new wife and her stripper daughter. Now, I’m practically offering to tuck Olivia in. My mind goes there. Tucking her in. Just as quickly, I try to banish the thought.