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Aiden blinked in confusion at Daisy, realizing that he’d taken so long to respond to her “spice” comment that she’d moved on to another topic and he had no idea what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”
“Mallory,” she explained with a quirky smile. “You know, a new woman every week, hence, the phrase flavor of the week. I would have bet money that the two of you would have hooked up tonight.”
He was still wrapping his mind around the whole flavor of the week thing, because all he could think of was what flavor Daisy would be. He imagined her mouth would taste like sweet ginger from the Moscow mule, her nipples like cherries, and her pussy like warm honey against his tongue.
He swallowed back the groan that nearly escaped and tried to reply in a normal voice. “The offer was definitely there, but I just wasn’t into it. Or her.” That was the flat-out truth, and these days, sex was far more enjoyable if he was into it, and the woman he was with. “So, flavor-wise, she just didn’t interest my palate.”
“Hmm,” she said, the contemplative sound making him wonder what the heck “hmm” meant.
Before he could ask, the bartender stopped by, and when Daisy ordered another drink, he did, too. A few minutes later, they were sipping on fresh Moscow mules, and he was still thinking about the whole flavor thing, and decided to put an interesting twist on it and see what happened.
She currently had her head turned away, and he wanted to be able to look into her eyes when he asked his next question to gauge her reaction. He reached over and tapped his fingers on her knee, which was covered by the modest hemline of her skirt. He figured it might have been more effective if he’d caressed her bare skin, but he still got the startled reaction he was looking for because he’d never touched her so intimately before.
He heard her suck in a quick breath that was arousing as hell, and her gaze jerked to his. Beyond her initial shock, he didn’t miss the heat and awareness that flared in her pretty green eyes and gave credence to the desire that seemed to be simmering between them tonight.
“So tell me something, Daisy Parker,” he said in a low, deliberately seductive murmur as he skimmed his fingers a few inches up her thigh. Just enough to make her chest rise and fall a little more rapidly. “In terms of flavor, on a scale of vanilla being a woman who strictly enjoys traditional missionary sex, chocolate representing adding in some light, playful fantasy elements, and strawberry being dirty, x-rated foreplay and fucking, where do you personally fall on the spectrum?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as her mind seemed to process his suggestive question, and he waited for one of two things to happen . . . for her to reprimand him for being so uncouth and offensive—because, let’s face it, his question was the equivalent of a proposition—or banter back with a reply that gave them both permission to take that walk on the wild side tonight that he’d mentioned earlier. With each other.
She didn’t disappoint him. The look in her eyes turned hot and daring in a way that filled him with anticipation of what her answer would be. “If I had to choose, I’d have to say that I’m a Neapolitan kind of girl. I like a mix of all three, depending on the mood or the situation. Tonight, I’m definitely craving chocolate with a generous side of strawberry.”
Jesus. Who the fuck was this sexy, brazen woman? Certainly not the Daisy Parker he’d worked with for the past three years. Not that he was complaining, because it appeared that tonight they were on the same page and wanting the same thing.
He raised the hand resting on her leg to the collar of her blouse, then boldly slid a finger down to where her top was buttoned so primly, well above the swells of her breasts. He didn’t have to look down to know that her nipples were probably hard as little pebbles against the front of her shirt. “In order to enjoy strawberry to its fullest, most pleasurable extent, it would require you to not be so buttoned up and to let your hair down, literally and figuratively.”
She arched a brow at his subtle dare, and he could see her mulling over a response to his provocative challenge. After a moment, she broke eye contact with him, took a long drink of her second cocktail, and slid off her chair.
“Excuse me for a minute,” was all she said, and headed to the ladies’ room.
He watched her walk away until she disappeared from his sight, confused as hell at what just had happened and why she’d abruptly left him in the middle of what he’d thought had been a reciprocated conversation. Had he gone too far? He couldn’t imagine that he’d offended her after her own flirtation, and she probably just had to use the facilities, but he spent the next five minutes finishing off his drink and pondering her unexpected reaction and how she’d just left him . . . hanging.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approaching again, and he turned
his head to look at her and groaned at the woman heading in his direction. His brain and his dick immediately registered the changes she’d made in the short time she’d been gone, and now he understood exactly why she’d hadn’t answer his comment. . . because she clearly wanted to make a statement, and holy shit, he was blown away. For the second time tonight, she’d knocked him for a loop.
She’d taken out the pins holding up her hair, and for the first time since knowing her, he finally knew how long the rich chestnut strands were. The light in the bar caught the reddish highlights he hadn’t even known existed. The soft waves fell over her shoulders, the curled tips ending just above her breasts . . . and speaking of her tits, the buttons on her blouse were now unfastened low enough that he was able to see her mouthwatering cleavage and the creamy, smooth swells peeking through the opening.
Even her walk was different. What had always been a clipped, purposeful stride was now slow and sultry, with an inviting sway to her hips that drew his gaze down to a pair of long, slender legs that prompted a plethora of dirty thoughts to run through his head of where he’d like those legs . . . hooked over his shoulders, wrapped tight around his waist . . . the possibilities were endless.
By the time she reseated herself next to him, his mouth was bone-dry, and pure, unadulterated lust had his body strung tight with the need to get this woman up to his room as soon as possible so he could strip off her clothes and taste and explore every inch of her until they were both desperate for him to bury himself deep. His cock strained against the front of his pants and pulsed at the thought.
A knowing, sensual smile appeared on her lips, and her eyes danced with female satisfaction. “My hair is down and I’m no longer buttoned up. Does this work for you, Mr. Stone?” she drawled huskily.
He swallowed hard and somehow, someway, found his voice. “Fuck yes,” he replied, appreciating this woman’s bold, adventurous side.
“Then let’s establish some rules before we go any further,” she said in a more businesslike tone, the practical woman in her coming through. “Just to make sure we’re in agreement about tonight.”
He gave her an understanding nod. “Okay.”
She exhaled a breath, the look in her eyes serious as she absently played with her drink napkin on the counter. “Tonight is a one-time deal and just about sex. Whatever happens once we leave this bar and go up to your room, we never talk about it again. I don’t want anything complicated and messy to interfere with our working relationship, or any expectations from either one of us beyond tonight. That won’t be a problem for me, and I’m assuming, based on your track record with women, that it won’t be an issue for you, either.”
She was speaking his language. Her spiel was very similar to the one he, himself, imparted to a woman before sleeping with her—no strings, he didn’t do commitments, and he certainly didn’t do all that emotional crap that came with forever promises. All he’d ever seen love do was break hearts and tear families apart. Specifically, his family.
He’d learned by example that love didn’t come with guarantees, and neither did marriage, but the one thing he could commit himself to one hundred percent without the risk of failure was his career. He’d long ago decided that’s where his time and energy were best spent, since being successful at his job was something he could control and didn’t require any emotional involvement. Women and sex were just a fun extracurricular activity that made his dick happy.
But as he listened to Daisy deliver his own views on relationships and protecting emotions—because basically that was the purpose of casual sex—he heard something more in her voice . . . the sound of vulnerability. As if she’d been through something in her past that had made her equally cautious when it came to letting down her guard with a man during sex and keeping it all about physical pleasure. Hence, her rules, which he totally agreed with and respected—even if it did leave him curious as to what had made her so jaded.
“And just so you know . . . it’s been awhile for me,” she said candidly. “Also, I’m not on birth control, so I hope you have condoms with you.”
