it didn’t mean anything that his heart was in fast gear, that he just couldn’t push his foot farther on the
pedal. It didn’t mean anything except they were friends, fucking, for the second time in twenty-four
hours.
But it meant more than that, this booty call.
It meant Monica Davenport wanted him so much more than she was letting on.
* * *
Monica couldn’t understand this hot, reckless excitement. She paced around her beautiful apartment
and she just couldn’t stop staring at the clock. She’d never expected to break down and call Daniel so
soon. In fact last night, she’d even hoped her first session would have been enough.
Instead, today she’d felt charged and edgy at the office. Her sex pulsed and clenched when flashes
of him interrupted her, even when she was speaking to her assistant, reviewing the new designs for
next year.
She’d stared at e-mails while only thinking that she wanted his fingers, his mouth, his voice
whispering in her ear. A strange hunger yawned open in her body. Suddenly it seemed imperative she
appease this need, and the only way she could think of was to give in to exactly what it wanted.
When you were hungry, there would be no way to satiate your appetite but by eating. And Monica
wouldn’t be able to sleep with this … this … sexual anxiety. But now that she’d called him, a wild
tension gripped her every muscle, her nerves almost overwhelming her.
She gazed around her apartment, everything perfectly in order, the light earth tones having always
calmed her. But she was anything but calm. Once again, she padded into her enormous marble
bathroom to eye herself in the full-length mirror.
She’d never worn something so … sheer before, especially when seduction had been out of the
question and the last thing she’d wanted was to invite a man’s sexual advances. But today, she had
herself a new arrangement, so she’d stopped at the Saks lingerie department to make a couple of
extravagant purchases.
Trying on this flimsy sheer white peignoir at the store, she had imagined Daniel removing it,
talking to her like he had last night, and her nipples had throbbed as they rasped against the material,
just the thought of him getting her aroused.
The skirt fell in a waterfall down to her feet, parted in the middle and held only by three
strategically placed satin ribbons, one at her collar, one between her breasts, and one at her waist.
The style was designed for her legs to peek out top to bottom as she walked, and if he dared to part
the material, he would get a perfect view of her bare pussy. Which was already wet in anticipation.
She didn’t know if other women dressed up for their special friends, but then there was no way
anyone had a friend like Daniel Lexington. He was the man every woman wanted to land, and he was
on his way to Monica.
He, who’d been called “one of the country’s most eligible bachelors” by People magazine and
“Prince of Chicago bluebloods” by Forbes, was on his way here. He, who’d held her when she was
nineteen and had made her have every kind of fantasy a girl her age could have. All of them starring
him. All of them scaring her to death.
Her body liked him. Very much. Too much.
And she did not like the uncontrollable urges this aroused in her.
This was exactly why she enjoyed the peace and tranquility of a more mature relationship, based on
shared tastes in lectures, food, interests, rather than sexual attraction. She mentally didn’t enjoy the
lack of discipline in such passionate responses to a man. In fact, it made her nervous to feel so …
strongly toward anyone. But if she ever wanted to consolidate her relationship with Roland, she had no
other choice but to venture into this unchartered territory until she had it down nicely.
A week of this and she’d probably no longer cringe when another man put his hands on her. When
Roland begged to get her back, she would be able to kiss him without seizing up inside.
In fact, he was going to flip with the new and improved version of Monica Davenport when he saw
her at the gala—where they were supposed to “talk” once more. He’d wanted her to decide whether
she really wanted to be with him, and she had loathed to see him so hurt the last time they’d attempted
to have sex. She had methodically decided that she did want him; he was perfect for her, and she was
going to prove it to him with Daniel’s help.
The phone trilled, and the doorman alerted her he was on his way up to her penthouse. Flutters
spread through her system as she went to pour wine, dismayed to find that she had to take a quick
drink for courage.
Ding.
Holding her breath, she turned as he stepped out of the elevator, and at her first sight of him, her