If. Not when I kiss her.
And not if, either.
I’m not going to kiss her.
Keep telling yourself that, Mayfair. I take a deep breath and shove my hands in my pockets to keep from pulling her close to me.
“Hailey’s calling Cole,” she says as she stops in front of me. Even with her in those gorgeous heels, I’m tall enough that I’m looking down at her. She’s small enough that she needs to tip her face up to talk to me, exposing that long stretch of creamy skin from her heart-shaped face down to her—
First step in not kissing her would be not looking at her perfect tits and the intoxicating shadow between them in the cleavage created by that bra she teased me with earlier, and the dress that, upon closer inspection, looked like it was offering her breasts up for a taste.
Second step would probably be not inspecting her God damned dress.
I nod and glance over her shoulder. “I’ll wait until he arrives, then I can escort you wherever you want to go next.”
A small smile twists at her lips. “Do you…” She trails off, then squares her shoulders. The nerves flee her face. She may be young and innocent, but she’s strong as steel at her core. “I want a cupcake.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. That wasn’t it. “A cupcake? That’s all?”
She grins, her eyes crinkling, and she shakes her head. “Nope. That’s not all. But that’s what I want first. Can we do that?”
I glance back at her sister. Cole’s walking in the door behind Hailey. We make eye contact, and I nod, first at him, handing over his fiancée to his care, then again down at her little sister. “Yeah. We can get you a birthday cupcake.”
We hit a late-night bakery two blocks away, halfway back to the hotel, and end up buying a six pack because Alison can’t decide what she wants. At first it was lemon meringue, then chocolate raspberry, then vanilla bean… finally I just cut her off.
“We’ll take those four that she mentioned, and two of those Death by Chocolate ones.”
The girl behind the counter winks at Alison. “Your boyfriend likes chocolate, huh?”
Alison laughs and throws me a saucy look. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, her eyes dancing. “He’s just my booty call. I’m feeding him to be polite.”
I growl at her, which both women take as foreplay, and maybe it is. I hand over my credit card. “It’s her birthday. She’s not feeding me, it’s the other way round.”
“So that’s the only part of my statement you’re going to dispute?” she asks as we step back into the cold night.
I look at the cashmere wrap she’s holding tight around her body. “Are you warm enough?”
“No,” she says baldly. “But it’s not much further now.”
I stop and take off my jacket and sling it around her body. I’m not carrying my handgun this weekend, so I don’t need to keep it on, and two blocks of her shivering will just about kill me. “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”
“But I need a coffee to go with the cupcakes,” she says with an innocent look.
“I know what you’re doing,” I mutter, steering her into Starbucks.
“What am I doing?”
“You’re turning this into a date.”
She laughs. “This is the world’s worst date. I promise that’s not what I’m doing.”
I snort.
“You don’t believe me.”
I shake my head.
“Fine,” she says, her voice still dancing with laughter. “But for the record, you have zero imagination if forced date is the only explanation you can come up with. And that doesn’t speak very highly of me, either, that I need to manipulate you into spending time with me on my birthday.”
“You don’t need to—”
She cuts me off. “I honestly just want a cupcake and coffee. For real.” She steps around a display of coffee beans, pauses for a second to admire a Valentine’s themed takeout mug on sale, then moves to the cash, where she orders a vanilla latte. “And…” She glances back at me. “A dark roast, black, for my friend here.”
I lift one eyebrow at her.
“What? I just assumed you wanted a boring old-man coffee.”
I laugh out loud, because that’s honest-to-God the funniest thing I’ve heard all day. Given that I’ve spent most of the day growling and fuming and worrying about her and her sister, that’s not saying much, but I still appreciate it nonetheless. “Yeah, okay.”
She smirks at me as we move to the far end of the coffee bar and wait for her order. Mine is good to go immediately. And she’s not wrong, I do prefer drip coffee—just with lots of cream and sugar in it. Which conveniently, I can fix myself while she’s waiting.
She waits until I set my cup back down on the bar next to her hand before telling me, casually as can be, what else she wants for her birthday. “After we eat the cupcakes, I’m going to suggest we have sex. Again. I mean, I’m going to suggest it again.” She turns to the barista who is about to hand Ali her latte and adds, totally unnecessarily, “We haven’t had sex yet, of course. It wouldn’t be sex again. I imagine once I wear down his defences, I won’t have to make such a big production about it the second, third, and twentieth times.”
She leaves me standing there, speechless, as she takes her latte with a grateful smile and goes to find a lid for it.
Fuck. Me.
“This was a trap,” I mutter under my breath as I hold the door for her. As soon as we get back to the hotel, I’m leaving her with her cupcakes and barricading myself in my room.
Except it’s her birthday and those are her birthday cupcakes and…Fuck. Me.
“It’s not a trap,” she whispers. “It’s me being ballsy and just saying what I want.”
“You weren’t being ballsy earlier when you dangled panties in my face?”
“Apparently not ballsy enough. That was more…teasing. Hailey said I should just tell you what I want. No games. So I want coffee and cupcakes, check, and then we can talk about what kind of sex we should have.”
Jesus. “We’re not going to have sex.” Even as I say that, my balls ache at the thought of getting naked together. Tasting every last inch of her and burying myself deep in her body.
“You’ve got the wrong idea about me, you know.”
“I do?”
“I’m not romanticizing you.”
“Good. I’m not a romantic guy.”
“I just want sex. Nothing else.”
I want to tell her that there are a million guys out there that could help her with that problem, no strings attached, no drama, but the words die in my mouth. I grunt instead, a neolithic sound that should turn her off if for no other reason than it reveals me to be an idiot incapable of speech.
“Literally, just a booty call.”
“No.” We’re at the hotel now, and I hold up the cupcake travel box as we head into the lobby. “And not another word, or I’m withholding your treats.”
She gasps, her eyes twinkling, and she presses her lips together.
She keeps that promise of silence the whole way up in the elevator. I hand her the cupcakes when we get to the room, and pull out the keycard. She knows the protocol now. She’s supposed to stand at the door while I do a quick sweep of the space.
Instead, she follows me through the suite. She sets her coffee next to mine on the tray on the leather ottoman, drops my jacket on the couch and her wrap on the floor, then trails after me into her room, where she kicks off her heels.
I ignore the desperate, horny thud in my groin at the sight of her bare feet—feet, for fucks sake, but they’re gorgeous, and that’s like her third step to naked. I stalk back to the living room space and wait for her to follow, because I’m not leaving her in her room, which is a trapped space, until I’ve verified the entire suite is safe.
She smiles as we clear my room, and she’s practically vibrating by the time I check the closet and the balcony and declare it safe for her to go to bed.
She doesn’t go to bed.
Instead, she throws herself onto the couch and pats the cushion beside her. I grab the cupcakes and set them on the couch between us.
She picks up the lemon one and swipes some of the icing with the tip of her tongue.
When I don’t react, at least not outwardly, she rolls her eyes and proceeds to eat the rest of the cupcake in the most delicate way possible. A swipe of icing, then a nibble of cake. Not a crumb falls as she consumes it, and my cock thickens as my brain readily transcribes what I’m seeing in front of me into an X-rated fantasy of Ali on her knees in front of me, lapping at my throbbing dick.
I shift in place and her gaze drops to my lap.
Aw, hell.
I cross my legs.
She laughs.
This is not happening. I grab one of the two chocolate cupcakes—I don’t count the raspberry one, because fruit has no place in a chocolate cupcake—and I peel back the wrapper.
I am not capable of eating it daintily. A crumb falls on my tie and before I get it, she’s leaning over the cupcake box and snagging it for herself.
“Yummy,” she whispers as she licks it off her finger.
“Stop it.”
“Make me.” She winks.