Easy Ride. Suzanne Ruby

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СКАЧАТЬ between them while continuing to kiss her. The friction against the inseam of her jeans rubbed her in the most delicious way, and with exactly the right amount of tension.

      All the while, an instrumental lounge version of George Strait’s “Baby Blue” serenaded the edge of her consciousness.

      The slow, confident movement of his hips combined with the softness of his mouth had her mind so twisted and stirred and shaken that she barely noticed his hands reaching underneath and cupping her behind.

      He moved her hips for her, pulling her into his deeper thrusts with a slow, smooth, effortless rhythm. The angle and intensity took her all the way.

      The pent-up tension and the subsequent release in full were almost more than she could handle, yet she somehow managed to hold in the heaviest groan. It had been so long. So long since she’d wanted a man and felt this wanted in return.

      With the final deep thrust against her, he softly moaned, “Oh, baby.”

      Her mind began to clear as he finished. Unfortunately, her clear mind always invited the most unwanted of thoughts. Now, her thoughts insisted this gorgeous man would ultimately reject her, as her ex-husband had done, even though she wasn’t here for personal reasons. Or, at least, she wasn’t supposed to be.

      Combine business and pleasure? Live in the moment? Those luxuries were for other people. Her choices had always been entwined with consequences.

      Consequences. So many of them in this particular situation.

      What have I done?

      * * *

      WHAT THE HELL am I doing?

      That was the first thought to cross Adam’s mind, once the blood rushed back to his brain. It was as if he had no self-control around this one. As in, zero.

      One thing was for sure, he couldn’t accept her money. Any of it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t insist he take it. If she did, her intentions would be clear.

      Awkward. The whole damn thing was awkward.

      After they both eased back to the upright position, he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on top of her gloriously mussed-up hair. If he wasn’t mistaken, she sharply inhaled, as if the casual familiarity were somehow inappropriate.

      “Next time, I won’t initiate,” he said, hoping to drive home that his intention had not been to ravage her. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous, I couldn’t hold back.”

      Her reluctance softened, and she embraced him in return.

      “It felt good. I mean, really good,” she said. “Thank you.”

      He relinquished his embrace when she stretched forward to retrieve her purse.

      “Did I call you baby?” he asked, because in the heat of it all, he couldn’t be sure.

      “Yeah. You did.”

      “Sorry. In my defense, I don’t know your name. Somehow 181 didn’t feel right.”

      Her hand welcomed his as they stood and walked to the exit, which was a relief. Some of the women simply charged out the door with a satisfied grin.

      The other guys were more than okay with that outcome. Even though Adam still felt bitter as hell about what had happened with Liv, he never liked to end an intimate encounter in such a crass way. Not even when it merely imitated the real thing.

      Once outside, he pulled her a little closer, creating as private a goodbye as he could. After all, this might be the last time he ever saw her.

      “I’m glad you were satisfied with the service. Be sure to fill out the online customer satisfaction survey at your earliest convenience.” Might as well add some levity to the situation. The worst thing that could happen would be his humor falling flat.

      “I thought you kissed me, and everything else, because you wanted to. But I’ll give you high marks on the survey anyway.”

      He gulped. Hard. Part of him wanted that type of response. The other part didn’t want the confusion of it. But he needed it, and it felt damn good to admit it. If only to himself.

      Did he have the right to ask her to come back? Or, better yet, go on a proper date?

      A chuckle rose in his throat at the absurdity of it. Why the hell would she want to go out with a guy who worked here? Who—she must have thought—does this sort of thing with other women? And for money.

      She must have picked up on his thoughts because she backed away.

      “I need to get home,” she said, her eyes diverting from his in favor of the valet, who had pulled her car around.

      “Call me if you encounter any problems along the way. Flat tire, that sort of thing.”

      It was an impulsive and potentially brilliant demand. And entirely true. Even though women could take care of themselves, he hated the idea of her out alone at night.

      “I don’t have your number,” she said.

      Adam sprinted to the valet to borrow a pen, then sprinted back. He turned her hand over and jotted his cell number into her palm.

      “So you change flat tires?” she asked.

      “One of my little-known talents.”

      “Perhaps you should have a business card. Something like ‘mends flat tires and broken hearts.’”

      A sense of humor, too. That made her a triple threat. Gorgeous, smart and funny.

      As she drove away, he had the most selfish thought imaginable.

      Please, let her get a flat.

      * * *

      “SHOULD I CALL HAZMAT?” Fabian asked.

      Had the guy really been standing by the back door the entire time?

      “Very funny, Fab. Issue her a refund.”

      Adam sidestepped his supposed best friend and walked back inside, toward the den of iniquity.

      The refund request implied an admission, but no way he’d take her money. Sure, they hadn’t broken the cardinal rule. But he’d initiated something and violated his own rule in the process.

      How did the other guys live with themselves, letting their clients pay for their sessions after the line was crossed? Collecting their fat commission for what could barely be considered work? And when they care nothing about these women?

      They do perfectly fine. More than fine, actually. They drove Porsches, rather than a beat-up Jeep.

      He’d been one bad decision away from buying a Porsche himself, until the false accusation from a client at his former job convinced him not to blow what little savings he had. The worst part of it wasn’t the car. It was how his boss didn’t believe his side of the story, even after their years of friendship and mutual professional respect.

      “Asshole,” СКАЧАТЬ