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  Just standing there was a challenge, requiring him to brace against the pleasure she delivered with her busy mouth. He could have easily toppled over from how good her tight little mouth felt hugging his dick. Her head bobbed back and forth in front of him, and he dared to let his hips sway to her rhythm. But a new surge was brewing, and he felt a need to have his cock buried in her depths. Coming in Rory’s mouth was nothing compared to the feeling of her pussy drinking him dry.

  He held out his hand and guided her—all ladylike—to the smooth surface of the ancient boulders behind them. His other hand wrapped tightly around his cock as it jutted though his open fly. Rory turned toward the sun-baked stone and draped herself against it, cradling the curving contours created by a prehistoric river’s caress. Spencer grabbed her under one knee and hauled her leg up against the granite. She let out a surprised giggle.

  “Now who’s the one who can’t wait?” she purred over her shoulder.

  Spencer bit her jaw, leaving a playful mark there, which faded in a matter of seconds. Then he plunged into her silken cunt with everything he’d been holding back. She was so ready for him, so open. So hot.

  “Mmmmmm…yeah…”

  God, how he loved to hear her moan. He rocked into her, hunting her pleasure, gaining leverage by entering her low. She let out a stream of ragged, feminine cries, mixing like music with the distant rush of water and the dozens of songbirds all clamoring to be heard. The sound of her alone was enough to pull Spencer to the edge of euphoria. He closed his eyes and felt her cunt pulsing around his cock. This was as good as it got. There wasn’t anything better in the world.

  Chapter Two

  Jack Rothman rolled his sleeves down and retied his necktie. Sunday afternoon or not, his father would expect him to look the part of the consummate professional. A stack of oversize papers dominated his retro, midcentury desk. Jack never really got the opportunity to admire the prized antique, which he had scored a few years ago at a flea market downtown; the entire surface was always covered with work.

  He checked the plans again, knowing it was pointless. Nothing had changed. Nothing was going to change. Staring at the blueprints wasn’t going to bring the project any closer to budget, nor would it make his father any less disappointed in him when they lost the contract. Disappointing his father he was used to. Disappointing himself was really getting old.

  A glance at his watch told him Jackson Rothman, Sr. would be winding up on the golf course by now. Eighteen holes with the mayor. Once they finished, Jack was sure to be invited to join them upstairs for scotch in his father’s office. Nothing could be more grating than another evening tossing back his father’s favorite aged single malt and forcing a smile past the ripe burn in his chest.

  When his cell phone rang he meant to send it right to voice mail without checking the ID. Whoever it was could try their luck later. His father had his own ring tone, so he knew it wasn’t him. But just to prove Murphy’s Law was in full effect, he tapped the wrong button. A few seconds later a distant voice inquired from his pants pocket.

  “Jack…you there?”

  Fuck. A look at the caller ID revealed a name. “Uh…yeah, Spencer. I’m here.” A straight shot to voice mail would have meant he was busy, but hanging up on the guy now would just be plain rude.

  “Good. So, listen. About tomorrow. I gotta say, I think you’re making the wrong call on how much manpower we need. I mean, I don’t want to tell you your job or anything, but only two teams working ten-hour shifts…you’re asking for a miracle if you want to keep on schedule getting that tunnel connected.”

  Jack sighed. “It’s not just the schedule I have to worry about. Election is around the corner. The mayor is pressing to keep this project under budget.” He paused, looking for the words that wouldn’t make him look like such a jerk. “We’re counting on you to know your job. Why don’t you leave my job to me?” Fuck. Those were not the words.

  He heard Spencer inhale, clear and long. The breath he released was slow and steady, sounding like static on the line.

  “You’re the boss,” Spencer said finally.

  Jack shook his head. Outside of the bedroom he was nobody’s boss, not even his own. “I’m sorry. This is how it’s going to be. Besides, according to anyone in the tri-state area, you’re the best demolitions foreman around. I have full confidence that you’ll get the job done.”

  Another short pause and Spencer spoke with a hint of sarcasm set into his voice. “So glad you’re full of…confidence.”

  Jack almost laughed out loud. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked this guy. “We get started at seven tomorrow. You can shock and awe me with your expertise then.” Was he flirting now? Jesus Christ.

  “I’ll be there,” Spencer replied.

  Jack allowed himself to linger over the memory of Spencer Hartley in his Carhartts and hard hat. The first time they’d met in person, Jack had been struck by his brooding blue eyes and sexy mouth. If they weren’t working together, he’d have investigated the possibilities. But Jack had had his fill of mixing business with pleasure for the moment. Things were complicated enough.

  Sixty agonizingly long minutes later his phone rang again. This time it wasn’t a mystery who was on the other end.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Mayor Daniels and I are here in my office. He’s asking about you. Why don’t you come up and have a drink?”

  Jack silently mouthed the words, even as his father said them. Of course he would be summoned upstairs to help butter up the mayor. They’d get the old bastard drunk, entertain his jokes—but what else would he have to do to ease the news about the tunnel project being $1.5 million over budget? The dirty job of breaking that news was sure to land in Jack’s lap. He chuckled sardonically, the acid raking the back of his throat from all the stress. One way or another, he’d have to figure out a way to make up the difference in the budget before the whole damn city council caught on, while keeping the mayor happily in bed with Rothman Development at the same time. Good old Dad; he always set the bar high on cleaning up his messes.

  “Sure, I’ll be right up.” Jack took the long way, up the stairs. Just the simple act of conquering the staircase, two steps at a time, made him feel a bit more empowered. God knew he’d need whatever edge he could get.

  The moment he stepped into the wood-paneled office, Mayor Daniels took a step in his direction and held out his hand.

  “Jack! Been a while since the ground breaking. How have you been?”

  Jackson piped in before he could answer. “He’s been working hard on tightening up those plans. Haven’t you, son?”

  Cue the shit-eating grin. “Absolutely. We’ll be on track by the end.”

  Daniels’s shoulders danced up and down. “I’m not going to ask too many questions. Believe me, I don’t want to know.”

  “We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” Jack wanted to tell them both to go fuck themselves.

  “You’ve got a good one here, Jackson,” Daniels said, holding up his tumbler and swishing the forty-year-old single malt scotch.

  Jack took the hint and poured himself a glass. The searing gaze of the one-time Hollywood sensation turned aging politician made a shiver run down his spine. Silver-haired and debonair, Thaddeus Daniels was every bit as smug as the tabloids claimed, every bit as kinky as the rumor mill hinted. Jack would never get used to being looked at that way. Like raw meat. Daniels cleared his throat and a crooked grin eased onto his lips. Jack averted his eyes toward the newly carpeted floor.

  Daniels wasn’t deterred. “Pull this off, Jack, and I bet I can scare up a board position on the engineering council for someone with your smarts. It would mean a lot for your dad’s firm to have you in place there.”

  Jackson clapped his son on the back, making him jump. He hadn’t even realized he was standing so close. That smooth-like-an-oil-slick voice tore into the air around him. “That’s mighty generous of you, Mr. Mayor. He’d be delighted for the opportunity.”
/>   The swig of scotch in Jack’s mouth took an unfortunate detour. He coughed into the glass, managed a quick breath, and coughed again. Powerful stuff to have go down the wrong way.

  “Excuse me,” he sputtered, making a quick and less than gracious exit. So what if he looked like an ass who couldn’t man up to his liquor? He was suffocating and it wasn’t from the fire in his trachea. He had to get out of there.

  He burst through the building’s doors in desperate need of fresh air.

  A wave of his hand at the corner and he was headed downtown in one of those new eco-friendly hybrid cabs. “Greenwich and Franklin.” Jack knew he would find the freedom to breathe in one of his favorite watering holes—or rather, the illusion of freedom. He would settle for that.

  He loosened his tie and scratched at the shadow appearing on his chin. The soft blond hairs weren’t noticeable to most. Only someone in his intimate space would see the long day on his face. That was exactly what Jack was looking for—intimacy. It would fill that pit in his gut, that haunting feeling he was powerless against, despite his so-called perfect life.

  No sooner had they pulled from the curb than he received a text from Daniels: Don’t be a stranger. Jack cursed and put his phone back in his pocket. There was that stifling feeling licking at his heels again.

  They turned into Tribeca, where Jack was certain he’d find a willing playmate in one of the trendy lounges. He tossed the driver a fifty and didn’t bother to wait for the change. The cabbie yelled after him with a heavily accented “Thank you,” but Jack hadn’t really intended to be generous; he was simply eager to get to a comfortable seat at the edge of the bar, where he could survey his options and make a beeline to his apartment a few blocks away in SoHo once he found the right body to fill his bed.

  Grey Flannel was an architectural masterpiece inside, attracting a snooty crowd that liked to feel down-to-earth when they ventured below Fourteenth Street. Iron trusses ran across the vaulted ceiling and contrasted with the polished chrome joinery on the bar. A rough brick wall spanned the back, with tufted chocolate velvet banquettes set against it, adding an air of comfort. Jack surveyed the crowd. It was still early; a few small parties huddled in light conversation around him. He tapped his credit card on the counter and got the attention of the bartender. Lately every lounge in Manhattan seemed to be favoring pretty young brunettes with straining buttons and kohl-lined eyes. The young man who had served him the last time was nowhere to be seen. It suited Jack fine, since he’d already had all the fun he intended on having with that guy.

  “Belvedere, dirty,” he said to her. The grit in his voice betrayed his desire. The bartender nodded and obliged with an eyeful of cleavage along with the martini. He appreciated it—appreciated the momentary distraction from his life.

  By the time the tight-looking blonde settled into the seat next to him and ordered a Cosmo, he was all in and determined not to leave there alone that night.

  It started, like always, with a simple question. “Alone?”

  She sighed. “My friend is meeting me, but she’s going to be late.”

  “That’s a shame,” Jack said with a disarming grin. He knew very well how angelic he could look when he tried. “Have one on me while you wait.”

  The blonde sized him up. He could see the dollar signs in her eyes as she estimated his worth. His custom-tailored suit plus the black card on the counter provided Jack with the keys to the castle and all the treasures she kept hidden within. She was his for the night or a few hours, or however long it took before he started feeling empty again. When the emptiness returned, he’d send her on her way.

  “I’m Jack.”

  She told him her name and he knew he’d have a hard time remembering it next week.

  He made her laugh, watched her eyes turn smoky as he feigned an interest in her bracelet. He tugged on it slightly, toying with the charm that dangled from it. She made no protest, offering her arm simply because he’d requested it. “It was a gift,” she told him.

  “From a boyfriend?”

  “Does it matter?” The husk in her tone was unmistakable.

  “You want to get out of here?”

  “My friend…”

  “Tell her something came up.” He waited, and when she didn’t respond, he shrugged softly, coaxing her with just enough indifference to make her worry that he might just give up and tell her never mind. That was always the clincher. Women wanted to be wanted.

  In a matter of minutes they were headed to his place and he didn’t even have a clue what her last name was; he didn’t care. The guilt of that crept through his mind, barely detected, like a scorpion.

  She acted suitably impressed with his professionally decorated apartment, designed to feel like a home even if it really wasn’t much of one. She sat in the large, structured sofa, among a smattering of gunmetal-and-copper-hued pillows.

  “Can I make you more comfortable?” Jack asked, unknotting his tie.

  She shook her head, suddenly bashful now that she was in his domain.

  “Can I make you more uncomfortable?” he inquired with a wink.

  “You don’t make me uncomfortable,” she said.

  He sat opposite her on the industrial-looking stone-and-steel coffee table, which the decorator had insisted he spend a small fortune on, and circled her knee with his fingers. “No? Not even just a little?”

  Her breathing changed slightly, enough for Jack to notice. He pulled the tie from his neck and draped it across her wrist, letting the silk drag over her skin. “Would you like it if I tied your hands with this?”

  She shrugged. Inwardly Jack wanted to yawn. He was so tired of the “I’m into what you’re into” games these gold-digger types played.

  He arched an eyebrow, questioning her one last time. “Only if you’re into it.”

  “I’m yours,” she said. Something about the simplicity of her words, the looseness with which she tossed them into the air, made it an obvious lie. She wasn’t his, no matter how tight he made the knot in the silk around her wrists.

  “Just say the word…” he whispered in her ear, sweeping his lips over the soft skin of her neck. She responded with a nod. He pressed his lips to her collarbone and began to unbutton her blouse, peeling it from her shoulders. Her bra was sheer with lacy edges, perfectly feminine. Jack enjoyed the sight of a woman in fine lingerie. He kept her bra intact, licking a nipple with languid strokes through the thin fabric. Reaching down, he pulled at the zipper on her skirt, and eased it over her long legs. The visual was right—a beautiful woman with her hands tied behind her delicate neck, writhing with anticipation on his sofa in little more than her bra and panties.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, drawing aside the sliver of lace that covered her cunt, and pressing two fingers to her, sampling her readiness. “I want to see what you look like when I make you come.”

  Soon, he’d fuck her hard and watch her bite her lip and scream out for more. Yes, the visual was good. It would do the trick for a few hours and help him forget about the trapped feeling he carried with him so much of the time. He grinned as she arched against his fingers and he added his thumb to make slow work of her clit. With his other hand he reached into his pocket for a condom, about ready to rid himself of his pants and be inside her.

  He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, hadn’t he? So why did it feel less and less like it was what he needed?

  Chapter Three

  Five o’clock. Not even the birds were awake yet. Spencer kissed Rory on the bit of forehead still visible among the swirling sea of auburn scattered across her face and pillow. Rory usually slept like the dead, but that morning she caught his thigh with seeking fingers.

  “Be careful,” she slurred, her mouth full of marbles.

  “Sure thing, sleepyhead.” He kissed her cheek and nibbled his way to her lips.

  “You gotta go right now?”

  He felt her lips purse against his as she spoke. Darkness blanketed the room, but he couldn’t miss
that pretty little pout that always made him melt.

  “Maybe I can steal a few more minutes if I skip picking up breakfast.”

  Rory giggled through her yawn. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

  Spencer lowered himself onto the bed. “Never that, baby.”

  When could he ever say no to her? When did he ever want to? Cream cheese bagels were overrated. A mouthful of Rory was the best way to start his morning.

  She kicked off the covers and stretched her long body against the mattress. He didn’t wait for her to finish yawning. He dived between those long, supple legs and saturated his taste buds. With a measured pace that disguised the frenzy boiling in his jeans, he ate her as if the nectar she spilled on his tongue would fuel him for the next twenty-four hours. She started to buck under his mouth when his teeth grazed past her clit. The only thing to do was to hook his hands under her ass and hold on tight. He latched his lips onto her clit, massaging her naked bud with the rough tip of his tongue. She grabbed his shoulder, driving her fingertips into his flexed muscle.

  He could make it last a little longer if he backed off his pace, took her to the place where she moaned long and heavy with the desire to come. Rory arched her back and Spencer slurped slowly, dipping his tongue into her channel a little deeper every time. She started to hum and croon. He swirled his tongue in a circle over her sensitive opening, savoring the taste of her.