“I haven’t looked at the selections. Feel free to pull out as many bottles as you need to,” he said as he turned around to look at me.

  My eyes snapped up from his bare chest to his face. I caught a knowing grin curving across his lips.

  “Your tattoo,” I began, trying to explain myself. I didn’t want him to think I had been ogling him, although I had in fact been doing just that. “I’ve never seen a Slacker Demon tattoo in person.” That was a dumb comment. One I had grabbed at to cover my staring. My face felt hot.

  “You want a closer look?” he asked, still grinning.

  I shook my head, feeling even more embarrassed. “Uh, do you walk around without a shirt often?” I asked, trying to turn the conversation on him and possibly get him to put a shirt on.

  “Yes. I was in my underwear before you texted. I pulled on the jeans for your benefit. Don’t you enjoy being comfortable in your home?”

  I chuckled softly. “Yes, I do,” I admitted. “But my idea of comfortable is a pair of pajama pants and a big, baggy T-shirt.”

  His eyes dropped to my chest. “But no bra,” he added.

  I inhaled deeply, wishing I hadn’t because he was staring at my boobs still. “That’s not your business,” I said, hoping I had sounded more annoyed and less breathless.

  He smirked at me. “Women hate bras. They’re confining. It was a statement, not a question.”

  I wasn’t going to talk about bras with him. He was doing it to make me nervous and uncomfortable.

  “Maybe I should go,” I said, thinking this had indeed been a very bad idea.

  “No,” he said, moving in my direction. “I promise to be good. I’m sorry. I am sure you wear a bra at home all the time. I’ll stop thinking about you braless and let you pick out a wine.”

  He then walked by me, pausing but a second when he was beside me before leaving the room. I turned and watched him walk away, thinking he was quite possibly the sexiest man alive. Even at fifty-three.

  eleven

  dean

  Why had I invited her inside? It was clear she was upset about the sofa, but once she had found out that Clara was the one in her apartment, her temper had quickly sizzled out. I should have agreed to getting her something less expensive and let her go.

  Instead, I was inviting her to pick out a bottle of wine for us to drink and offering her some of the pie that Mrs. Jo had given me. Brielle was in a relationship. She had already cheated on him once since I’d met her. She was twenty-eight years old. Those three facts alone were enough for me to stop finding reasons to be around her.

  I reached for a T-shirt I’d had on earlier, lying across the ottoman in the living room, and pulled it over my head. I’d done that too. Chosen not to put it on when she was coming up here. I knew my body looked good. I had to keep it that way in case Kiro wanted to do a concert or hit the road again. My damn vanity had wanted to show her just how good I looked.

  “I don’t know a lot about wine. Or at least, the kind you have in there. I buy my wine at the grocery store, and it’s whatever is on sale most of the time. But I know I like Zinfandel,” she said, holding out a bottle of wine to me.

  That particular bottle hadn’t come from a grocery store. She was right about that. She had good taste. Even if she didn’t realize it.

  I took the bottle and winked at her. “Good choice.” I headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll open the bottle and pour the wine. You can cut the pie and put it on plates. I’ll show you where to find things.”

  She followed me into the kitchen, and I opened the knife drawer, then pointed to the cabinet with the plates in it.

  “There,” I said simply, then focused on the wine and not the way she smelled or looked in the sleeveless blouse and navy linen shorts she was wearing.

  We worked in silence for a few minutes before I glanced over at her.

  “The cake was good last night. I forgot to mention it.”

  She smiled softly and placed a slice of pie on a plate. “Thanks. But it won’t be as good as this. I can see you’ve already had some, so you know of its deliciousness,” she said.

  I nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Mrs. Jo loves with this pie. Since she gave you one, that means, you’ve made it into her heart. She wouldn’t have made this for you otherwise. With her, a cherry delight pie means she loves you. That you’ve become family. Count yourself lucky,” Brielle said to me, then gave me a pointed look.

  “I’m glad to hear that. She’s a nice lady,” I replied, walking the two glasses of wine over to the table, setting them down. “How long have you known her?” I asked.

  Brielle smiled, as if having a fond memory. “Since I moved here. She was the first person in the building to speak to me. Actually, she came over and, uh …” Brielle paused, as if not sure if she should continue.

  I waited, more curious than before.

  “She introduced herself. She made me feel welcome.” Then, she stopped and said nothing more.

  She’d left something out. That was clear. I was good at reading her. The more I watched her, the better I got at it. Brielle had an expressive face.

  “She’s very excited about your new sofa. That might be why she gave me this pie,” I admitted.

  Brielle laughed and looked up at me through her lashes. “There’s a good chance you’re right.”

  The smile that spread across my face was easy. I wanted to smile. Hell, I wanted to fucking laugh. Brielle made me feel … happy. Why the fuck was that? Why did she make me feel anything more than lust?

  She took a bite, and I watched her swallow, then take a sip of the wine. My own was forgotten in front of me. I preferred the view over the food and drink.

  Brielle glanced over at me again and blushed. “Why are you looking at me? Do I have pie on my face?” she asked me.

  I could lie and tell her she did, but I didn’t. I decided honesty with her was best. “You’re hard not to look at.”

  Her big blue eyes widened, and she stared at me. My mind went to other things then. Naked things. Brielle spread out on top of this table kind of things. My cock hardened and pressed against the zipper of my jeans.

  “I, uh, should probably go,” she said, moving her chair back.

  “You’ve not finished your wine or your pie,” I pointed out.

  She looked at me nervously, then closed her eyes a minute and took a deep breath before opening them. “I’m sorry. This, we, it … I don’t think I should have come inside,” she said, standing up.

  I watched her struggle with something more to say before walking out.

  I tried to force myself to stay in my chair. Let her go. She was right to leave. We both needed her to leave.

  But I couldn’t.

  Jumping up out of my chair, I took several long strides until I was behind her. Reaching out, I grabbed her waist and pulled her back against my chest, wrapping one arm around her middle to hold her there. I closed my eyes tightly and inhaled her scent. Why did this one female make me so damn stupid?

  “Stay,” I said against her ear, and she shivered in my arms. I relished the feel of it. I wanted her as affected as I was. I didn’t want to be alone in this complete insanity.

  She inhaled deeply, then said in a whisper, “I’m not your type.”

  “The fuck you aren’t. What do you know about my type?” I asked, smiling as I pressed a kiss to her earlobe.

  She was exactly my type. Or at least, she had been once.

  She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what your type is,” she admitted. “But you told Mrs. Jo I wasn’t your type.”

  Damn.

  I ran the back of my finger down her neck slowly. “You ever told a lie, Brielle? One that you wanted to be true?” I asked her as I traced the neckline of her top.

  She shivered again, then nodded.

  “You’re young. I swore off younger women,” I whispered against her ear. “I was changing my ways.”

  I moved my right hand down to cup her breast through the soft fabric of her blouse. She sucked in a breath but didn’t move away from me.

  “But you make that real damn hard.”

  She stood so still that her quick intakes of breath were the only sounds she made. I cupped her other breast in my left hand and squeezed gently. They felt amazing. More than a handful—and I had big fucking hands. A soft moan came from her lips, and I wanted to see her. I wanted to watch her face. See those big eyes staring up at me. Full of the same need that was pumping through me. Owning me.

  I dropped my hands and grabbed her waist, then turned her until her back was against the wall. She let her head fall back as she looked at me. It was there. The same desire that was clawing at me. The want to know just how good this could get.

  Reaching up, I grabbed her chin between my thumb and forefinger and held her still. Studying the plumpness before lowering my head to claim those sweet lips. The softness was better than I’d dreamed up, and when she opened her mouth for me, I was lost. I grabbed her head with both hands, burying my fingers in her thick brown locks.

  She tasted like the wine and cherries. She made them a perfect combination.

  I moved a hand from her hair and slid it under her shirt until I could tug her bra down, freeing her breasts. When the soft, warm flesh filled my palm, I groaned and broke the kiss. The shirt had to go.

  “Take it off,” I growled, looking from her down to the shirt.

  She moved her hands up to the buttons and began unfastening them slowly, as if at any moment, she might stop. It was driving me crazy. I fought the urge to rip it free. When the last button was undone, her breasts were held up by the bra still under them. They looked like a fucking buffet being offered up to me.

  I touched them reverently. Her large pink nipples were even more beautiful than I’d imagined, and I had imagined them more than I cared to admit. I squeezed them gently before lowering my head to pull a candy-sweet nipple into my mouth.

  Brielle’s moans stoked the fire inside me. I was going to fuck her. No one else would do. It had to be her. In this moment, I didn’t care if she was engaged to Cam, whoever he was.

  “Dean,” she said breathlessly, “please.”

  I was afraid to ask what that please meant. If it was her asking me to stop, I was going to end up on my knees in front of her, begging. This couldn’t be all she let me have.

  I kissed down her stomach and went to my knees, then began unfastening her shorts.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I pulled the shorts down to her ankles and lifted my head to look at her as I pulled her pink satin panties down as well. I took her right leg and placed it over my shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she was panting.

  “Dean?” She said my name as a question.

  “Hmm?” I asked her, running my nose along the inside of her thigh.

  “What—what are you doing?”

  I ran my hand up her leg until my fingers slid along her damp opening.

  “Oh God,” she panted, and her knee buckled.

  I pressed her back so she had more support from the wall, and I gave her a wicked grin before pressing a kiss to the top of her thigh, then moved my head between her legs. With one long lick from my tongue, she cried out my name and trembled.

  I held her steady at the waist as I began to pleasure her with my mouth. She tasted fresh and sweet. The scent of her arousal made me throb in my jeans, but for the moment, this was all about her. Giving her an orgasm. Showing her how good I could make her feel.

  She pulled at my hair, one of her hands fisting it. I liked the sharp pain and growled against her clit before gently flicking it several times with my tongue. Her knee buckled again.

  I looked up at her and licked my lips. “You taste like fucking heaven,” I told her before going back for more.

  Brielle’s body was shaking as I tasted her and teased her with my tongue. She began begging me and moaning. I loved the sound of her voice. Knowing I had her so damn close. When I wasn’t sure she could take much more, I sucked on her swollen clit, and she exploded in my arms.

  My name was a scream from her lips, and her body jerked several times as the orgasm flooded through her. When I was sure she was done, I stood back up to hold her, but then I heard something from behind me.

  “Oh good. Did you bring her to join us? I love threesomes,” Maegan said.

  I saw the second Brielle’s pleasure turned to horror in her eyes. She looked stricken as she pushed me away and grabbed her shorts, tugging them back up her legs before buttoning up her shirt.

  “What the fuck?” I barked at Maegan, barely containing my fury.

  She looked so sincere in her confusion, but I knew better. Maegan had waited for the perfect time to speak up. To send Brielle running. Fucking Maegan was one of the worst mistakes I’d ever made.

  “I have to go,” Brielle said, pulling away from me.

  I reached for her, but she jerked away from me. Unable to even look at me.

  “NO!” she shouted, then turned to run toward the door.

  “Brielle, listen to me,” I begged, going after her.

  She shook her head and opened the door. “Just let me go,” she said in a pleading voice. “I’m so stupid,” she added. “Just let me go!”

  I stalked after her, and when she reached the elevator, I grabbed her arm.

  “Brielle,” I said sternly, “you have to listen to me.”

  “No,” she said as she began pushing the button over and over, as if that would make it open faster. “I can’t believe I let you …” she said, then covered her face. “No one has ever done that to me. And I just let you …” She let out a sob as the doors to the elevator opened.

  I started to follow her inside, but she held out a hand. Unshed tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t,” she said forcefully. “Let me go. Please.”

  The doors started to close.

  “I need to explain,” I told her.

  “I don’t care,” she replied, and then she was gone.

  I stood there, angry with Maegan for screwing this up for me. Angry with myself for hiring Maegan and fucking her. And angry with Brielle. She hadn’t given me a chance to explain.

  I slammed both hands against the closed elevator doors. “DAMMIT!” I roared.

  Then, I turned and stalked back toward the open penthouse door.

  I didn’t stop to look at Maegan, who was standing there, waiting.

  “You’re fired. Get your shit and go. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. You broke the contract,” I said and continued heading to my bedroom.

  “Dean! I didn’t know,” she called out after me.

  “Fuck that! You knew exactly what you were doing. You have twenty minutes, and then I’m calling the police. Leave.” I slammed the door behind me.

  My next building manager was going to be a man. A straight man.

  twelve

  brielle

  The rest of the week was uneventful. I went to work, I came home, I made myself an easy dinner and started reading the pile of books beside my bed. I’d once again canceled my date with Gavin, but after what I’d done with Dean, there was no way that I could go on a date and even have a conversation.

  That girl, the one I had turned into up in his penthouse, was not someone I wanted to be again.

  He’d thought I had run because his building manager had shown up and said what she did. But that wasn’t it exactly. I knew that was the kind of lifestyle Dean had. He’d probably had orgies with the band and groupies. A threesome would be wholesome compared to the things he’d done. I wasn’t a naive kid. I knew better … yet in that moment, it hadn’t mattered. Dean Finlay made me stupid.

  Maegan’s voice had snapped me out of whatever spell I’d been under. I had just let Dean take my bottoms off and … lick me down there. In his hallway, against a wall.

  Who was I? When had I started acting like that? I wasn’t some wild-ass groupie. I had a kid. I was a mom.

  Dean expected those things from women. He expected exactly what I had turned into. But I wasn’t that girl, and since he hadn’t tried to talk to me again after the day I fled his penthouse, then I figured he must have come to that conclusion too. I wasn’t his type after all. Something we had both known but ignored. My actions had been so unlike me that I couldn’t even tell Clara about what we’d done. What I’d let him do.

  Luckily, Clara had a date tonight, and I wouldn’t be pressed to go out with her. It was Friday night, and I was craving a night in with ice cream, Chinese food, and pointless television. The food order had been placed, so I sat down with a pint of chocolate fudge ice cream and began flipping through the stations on my television.

  I missed Cam. He’d told me yesterday that he wouldn’t be able to call again until Sunday. They were prepping for a battle of the bands at camp. I also felt like he needed me to give him more independence. Having to call your mother daily had to be getting old.

  I stuck another bite of ice cream in my mouth just as I reached the entertainment channel. I paused. I knew that back. I leaned against the overstuffed cushions of my sofa, which still hadn’t been replaced with something more affordable, and watched.

  Dean’s hand rested on the lower back of a tall, willowy blonde, wearing a dress that dreams were made of. The red carpet under their feet and the screaming fans on either side, being held back as they walked up to the large backdrop of the movie premiere they were attending, made Dean appear untouchable. I wondered if Dean ever wore a tux. Even now, he was dressed in black jeans that hung low on his hips, a black leather vest with nothing under it, a thin silver chain around his neck, and black boots.

  I studied the blonde on his arm. She was older than me, the kind of stunning beauty you’d expect to see on Dean’s arm, and I was jealous. I shouldn’t be, but I was. I would never look like that on his arm. Of course, I’d never be on his arm.