The Play Mate Page 5

  “I started typing in M-A, and then I hit ENTER. Maggie’s name normally auto-populates. I don’t even have this Mack person’s e-mail address. I don’t understand.”

  Cullen swore under his breath, and Smith’s somber expression looked like he felt sorry for me.

  “You’re connected to the network, Evie,” Cullen said. “You have access to all the clients and contacts now.” He released a sigh through his nose, his jaw tense.

  “Right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “What was in the e-mail?” Cullen asked, his expression darkening.

  “Just our new logo . . . and some other stuff.” I looked down at my keyboard, my mood plummeting even further.

  Smith cleared his throat. “It’s first-day nerves. A simple mistake that anyone could have made. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t sweat it, Evie.”

  I released the breath I was holding.

  Cullen nodded. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself; it’s day one. You’ll learn the ropes soon enough.”

  I tried to smile and took another sip of my coffee. At least he didn’t suspect that the hulking six-foot-something man beside us was the real reason for my nerves.

  • • •

  Somehow, I survived my first day. After my disastrous morning, I kept my head down and my eyes on my screen, speaking only in one-word responses to Smith and Cullen, afraid I would somehow out myself.

  Smith’s playful mood from Paris had evaporated, and he’d spent the day brooding and despondent. I wasn’t cut out for this level of torture, which made me extremely thankful when I saw Maggie enter the bar after work.

  “Thank God you’re here,” I mumbled, curling my fingers around the stem of my wineglass.

  Maggie flashed me a gloomy frown. “Hey, sweetie. You’re going to need something stronger than that.” She tipped her chin toward my glass of merlot.

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter. Alcohol wasn’t going to solve this.

  I’d told Maggie the entire sordid tale when I got back from Paris. To her credit, she’d only laughed once at my ridiculous plan to break into Smith’s hotel room, and then winced when I told her how he’d pulled away and practically kicked me out as soon as he realized it was me. Since then, she’d offered sympathetic support and gentle encouragement.

  Her stance? It was time to move on. And didn’t I know it. I just wished there was a way to erase the past. What I needed was a time machine.

  “It was torturous. He’s sitting so close that I can smell his cologne. And he looks at me like he feels bad for me.”

  Maggie nodded. “That’s exactly why I have the perfect new plan for you.”

  “I’m all ears,” I said, then drained the last of my wine and signaled the bartender for another glass.

  “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

  Emboldened by the alcohol, we created a new plan—an online dating profile that Maggie typed up for me on my phone.

  “Ms. Fifty Shades of Sexy seeks lovable Christian Grey type for cuddling, misadventure, and more.”

  I snatched my phone back from her. “You can’t write that.”

  She smiled like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Oops. Too late.”

  By the time we’d polished off a bottle of wine and eaten a few tacos apiece from a food truck out front, I felt immensely better. On the cab ride home, anything seemed possible.

  Maybe I wouldn’t die a pathetic spinster with a cobwebbed vagina after all. I had a new plan, one that had nothing to do with Smith Hamilton. It didn’t matter that I’d been in love with him half my life . . . it was more than past time to move on.

  My failed attempt at seducing him was like a flashing neon sign from God to move on. Smith who?

  Tomorrow was a new day.

  Chapter Eight

  I stared at my computer screen. For the tenth time that day, I saw not a single number in front of me, in spite of the fact that they filled the screen from top to bottom.

  Nope, instead of eights, I saw the lush curves of one Evie Reed in all her glory, sprawled on my hotel bed.

  Instead of sixes and nines, my brain instantly supplied a dozen carnal images of the two of us doing exactly that. My mouth on that sweet, wet pussy, and her hot, juicy lips wrapped around my cock.

  Instead of ones, I recalled the secret knowledge that I was the only man to have been inside her.

  It had been a week since we’d left France to head back to the States and begun working together on a daily basis. I wasn’t an idiot—I’d known day one would be bad. And I was right. Monday had been the ultimate shit show, with the two of us steering around each other awkwardly like ships passing in the night.

  Except I wanted to fuck this particular ship so badly, I was in a near-constant state of arousal.

  By the time Tuesday had rolled around, I figured I had it on lock. I’d jerked off when I got home Monday night, and then again before I left for the office the next morning.

  Then Evie had decided Tuesday was apparently the appropriate time to roll out a brand-new pair of black fuck-me pumps, complete with freshly painted scarlet toes peeking out, and I was a goner.

  I got through the day, but barely.

  Cue Wednesday, when I had not only rubbed one out in the shower before work, but had also removed myself from the premises to work at the coffee shop downstairs, decreeing to all who would listen that I was doing something super number-y and super important, and was not to be disturbed. The truth was I just couldn’t make it another second in her presence without doing or saying something inappropriate.

  I’d made it to two in the afternoon without incident, until I had no choice but to venture out for a late lunch. It was like fate was working against me, because I stepped into the building’s lobby and directly into Evie’s path. She skidded to a halt, but not before her soft breasts bounced off my bicep and the papers she’d been holding went fluttering everywhere.

  I spent a full minute picking up the scattered sheets with her pert little pencil-skirt-covered ass mere inches from my face. I’d handed the papers over only to catch a whiff of her light, citrusy scent, and it was Stiffy Central all over again.

  Flash forward to today. Friday, the start of the weekend.

  Instead of planning some great activity—maybe a wine tasting, a dinner date, or a hike—I was prepping for a whack-a-thon. Cueing up enough porn on my laptop to fill my days and nights in hopes of coming into next week with the old tank on empty. I was a thirty-year-old man, but felt like I was sixteen all over again.

  I blew out a sigh and glanced at the clock. Five fifteen. I’d built in the extra quarter of an hour so as not to get stuck riding in the elevator alone with Evie, and it was finally time to go.

  I packed up my briefcase and snagged the file I’d barely gotten anything done on due to my distraction, vowing to catch up over the weekend. With one last glance at my desk to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I swept out of the office and down the hall.

  “Hey. No overtime on a Friday,” Evie murmured in a low voice as she stepped up beside me with a smile.

  She matched her stride to mine as we walked toward the elevators, and it was all I could do not to turn and snarl at her like a cornered dog. Did she have any idea what she was doing to me?

  I shot a glance her way only because I couldn’t seem to help myself, and swallowed a groan. She’d clearly made plans for after work, because in place of the fitted blazer she’d worn to the office that morning, she had on a peach cashmere sweater. It hung saucily off one shoulder, revealing about five inches of creamy skin that I wanted to lick more than I wanted to take my next breath.

  Her glossy peach-colored lips were tipped up in a smile as she cocked her head. “You okay? You look . . . weird,” she said, her brow furrowing.

  I had to bite back a bark of laughter at that. Weird, you mean like all I can think about is fucking-your-brains-out weird?

  But what I actually said was, �
��Nah. Just been a long week. Ready to get out and get the weekend started.”

  We slowed in unison in front of the elevators and both reached for the DOWN button at the same time. Our fingers brushed, and she jerked back like I’d burned her.

  “Sorry,” she squeaked. “Go ahead.”

  I punched the arrow and then shot her another quick look. I should have resisted the urge, because what I saw only made my struggles that much worse. All week long, I’d been caught up in my own misery. On the occasions I hadn’t been able to avoid seeing her face-to-face, Evie had seemed like she’d gotten past what had happened between us in Paris. But now, watching as a flush stained her cheeks and her pupils dilated, I wasn’t so sure.

  It was one thing for me to manage my own desire. It hadn’t been easy, but I was getting by, albeit pathetically.

  Now, though? Seeing that look on her face and realizing that, just maybe, she still wanted me too? Hard didn’t even come close to describing it.

  My cock took on a life of its own. Swelling and thickening in my pants like an entity entirely separate from my body.

  We both stood stock-still as we waited for what felt like a year until the elevator dinged. When the doors finally opened, I waved her in, catching a glimpse of hard nipples poking against that cashmere sweater. My throat went dry as I stepped in beside her, making sure to keep a solid two feet between us.

  The second the door closed, the tension grew even thicker.

  People fucked in elevators all the time. Not just in porn or in movies, but in real life too. In my mind, Evie took one big step forward, smashed her hand over that red STOP button, and then walked right up to me. She crushed her lithe body against mine, covered my cock with her hand, and said, “Take me, Smith. Fuck me until I scream.”

  In real life, though, none of that happened. We stood there with only our combined labored breaths filling the tiny space until finally, the torture box stopped moving.

  God damn it, this is frustrating.

  When the doors slid open, we both practically dived out of the elevator and mumbled quick good-byes. It wasn’t until an hour later, behind closed doors and the safety of my apartment, that I finally got some relief from the agony she was putting me through.

  I stood in the shower, water rolling off me as I gritted my teeth, my cock in hand. I could have blown in two strokes, I was so hard and wanting. Instead, I drew it out, imagining Evie was in the stall with me. On her knees, droplets of water shimmering on her naked flesh as she sucked me. That long honey-colored hair wet beneath my hands as I used it to work her over my shaft. Slow and easy at first, then long and deep. Until the head of my cock butted against the back of her throat.

  My dream Evie didn’t pull away. She pulled me closer, murmuring encouragement, taking me deeper. She rose up higher on her knees, and her slick, wet breasts grazed my thighs as she bobbed rhythmically up and down.

  “Ah, fuck,” I groaned.

  I was coming. I could feel the hot liquid pooling in my balls, making them achy and heavy. One more firm stroke, and then it was over. I jerked, my legs quaking as every nerve ending came to life in a rush. Hot cum jetted out onto the dripping tiles, painting them glossy white as I sucked in a shuddering breath.

  I braced myself against the wall as I came down, slowly returning to the cold reality of the situation.

  I was alone in my shower, and while that had been an oh-so-necessary release, it didn’t even put a dent into the perverse thoughts I was still having about Evie. It had been nothing more than a bodily function, like eating or sleeping. My dick knew what it wanted, and it was already perking back to life as images of her floated back into my mind.

  “God damn it,” I muttered, shoving away from the wall in frustration.

  I washed up and hosed off the tile before stepping out of the shower, filled with a restless energy I couldn’t control. If I didn’t get a handle on this, it wasn’t just my own comfort and sanity at stake. Soon enough, Cullen was going to get his head out of his ass long enough to see what was right in front of him. There had to be a way for Evie and me to act normal in front of him, and I needed to figure out how to do that, and fast.

  I was just shoving my legs into a pair of gym pants to go for a run when my cell phone chirped to life.

  PAM: Hey, bro. Dinner tomorrow, turkey and all the fixings. Five o’clock. Be there or be square. And don’t mention Winnie’s missing tooth. She’s feeling sensitive about it.

  In spite of my black mood, the text from my older sister made me grin, and I tapped out a quick reply.

  SMITH: I’ll be there. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure not to mention the kid’s tooth.

  I set the phone down as I slid on my sneakers and laced up.

  Maybe I’d been going about this whole Evie thing all wrong. Maybe instead of being alone like some sort of hermit, I needed to get out and be around people I cared about. Once old Uncle Smith played tea party and was ridden like a pony for a few hours, surely he’d stop thinking about Evie.

  That decided, I set out for my run. I wouldn’t come back until my legs shook with fatigue. Then I’d get a good night’s sleep and head out to the mall to buy some toys for my niece and nephews, and leave all thoughts of Evie Reed deep down the drain of my shower stall, where they belonged.

  • • •

  “You look ridiculuth,” she stated flatly.

  I fixed a hurt expression on my face as I popped a squat to get eye level with my niece, Winnie. “That’s a little harsh. I think I look pretty good. Besides, I got lots of loot from the tooth fairy for this, so if I have to look silly for a while, I can handle it.”

  Winnie propped a hand on one hip and eyed my blacked-out front tooth that mirrored her own newly emancipated one, her cherubic face screwed up in suspicion. For a second, I was sure she was going to reach out and scratch at it, and I’d be busted.

  Instead, she asked, “What did you get from the tooth fairy?”

  “Loads of stuff,” I said with a grin. “A new video game and a remote control car, some cookies and—”

  “All I got wath a dollar,” she said mournfully.

  “Funny you should mention that.” I stood and pulled a wrapped package from behind my back. “The tooth fairy left this mixed in with my packages. I wonder if she forgot to leave it when you lost your tooth the other night?”

  Winnie’s chubby cheeks widened into a smile, showcasing one deep dimple that made my heart melt a little every time I saw it.

  “For me?”

  She was only five, but she was wicked smart. Smart enough to know every word I’d said was a lie, but opting to go along with it anyway because . . . presents.

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  She squealed and tore into the package like a starving rottweiler into a rotisserie chicken.

  “Hello, darling brother. You just won’t be happy unless she’s spoiled rotten, will you?” my sister Pam asked, rolling her eyes as she padded barefoot down the hall toward me.

  Her youngest, Mac, was parked on her hip in his preferred spot, and she wiped her free hand on her Wicked Witch of the West apron before pulling me into a one-armed hug.

  “It’s been too long, brother mine,” she murmured.

  The scent of fresh-baked bread filled my nose as I nodded in agreement, hugging her back.

  “I had that work trip and started the new job working for Cullen, so time has been scarce. But I’ll be around more now, so I won’t miss Saturday dinner again for a while.”

  She punched me lightly on the shoulder and tucked a long lock of brown hair behind her ear. She looked every bit a flower-child, go-with-the-flow hippie, but also ran a successful bakery. With three kids, a dog, and a husband who was a great guy but rather like a big kid himself at times, she truly was a marvel.

  It was only now, as I looked closer, that I noted the dark circles under her eyes, and concern pricked at me hard. She was usually like Wonder Woman, with boundless energy that helped her manage on five hours of sleep,
no sweat.

  “What’s up? Everything okay with you and Tim?” I asked gently.

  “Yeah, he’s great.”

  Her smile was strained, and my concern expanded into a sharp jab of fear.

  “You’re not sick, are you, Pammie?”

  She shook her head and patted Winnie’s head absently as she admired the gift the “tooth fairy” had brought her daughter.

  “Healthy as a horse, unless you consider morning sickness an illness,” she muttered for my ears only.

  I stared at her pale face and threw back my head and laughed, relief coalescing with excitement.

  “Are you fu—freaking kidding me?” I demanded, pulling her in for another squeeze. “Was this the plan or what?”

  Her semi-hysterical laugh told me more than words could, but as I looked harder, I could see the shine in her eyes.

  “We’re excited. It’s just a shock, is all. We have a lot to work out as far as trying to juggle everything. I know in the long run, it will be great, but I’m a little terrified right now,” she admitted, taking my arm and drawing me into the kitchen. The room was warm and cozy like the rest of the house, and smelled like roasting meat and sweet rolls.

  “Tim, Finn! Uncle Smith is here. Come down and let’s eat!” she called up the back stairs.

  Whoops and hollers rang out as my other nephew pattered down the stairs in a rush to launch his little body at me with glee.

  This was good. Exactly what the doctor ordered. In fact, I didn’t think about Evie for a whole forty-five minutes as the adults shared a bottle of wine and the kids slipped their peas under the table for Salvador Doggy, their constantly hungry dachshund.

  By the time dessert came, I was feeling confident and in charge. Yeah, so Evie and I had rolled around a bit. Big deal. It was just the unusual circumstance of wanting and not being able to have that had me all hung up. So long as I kept myself busy, I’d be fine.

  But when a luscious strawberry shortcake hit the table, piled high with mounds of decadent whipped cream, my mind went instant caveman.