?t allow either of them to have it.
Brock vowed right then and there that he’d get his lips on hers and her at his mercy before Colton and his woman said “I do” this weekend.
“Now, behave yourself, Scarlett, and I’ll give you a treat.”
“Darlin’, I never behave myself.”
She trailed her hands back up to his shoulders. “I’m counting on it.” As he strained not to touch her and break his word—again—she reached between them and pressed his cock to her entrance. “See, this isn’t so bad.”
He met her gaze as she sank onto his length, her wet sheath wrapping around him until it was everything he could do to keep his eyes open. She sighed, the sound so sweet he nearly did a double take.
She began to move, sliding torturously slowly up his cock and back down again. On every downstroke, that sound came out of her mouth, the one that made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
Shit, what the hell was wrong with him?
She gripped his shoulders, using the leverage to move more frantically. Her breasts caught and held his attention, the way they bounced, the bronze skin topped by dusky nipples that practically begged for his mouth. He leaned forward to answer that silent plea, but she maneuvered out of the way. “Nope.”
Motherfucker. He was beginning to feel like a conveniently warm blow-up doll. “If you’re not going to let me touch you, what the hell are you here for?”
“This.” She reached behind her with one hand and cupped his balls, squeezing lightly. The pressure nearly sent him to the moon. It was only made worse by the way she shuddered, her eyes closed and pure bliss on her face.
She squeezed him one more time, and he lost it, moving his hips as much as he could, pumping into her as his orgasm rocked through him. He had to close his eyes from the sheer intensity of it, though he opened them again almost immediately. He didn’t want to miss a second of this.
Regan kneaded his shoulders, a little laugh escaping. “That was fun.”
Fun? Fun? Brock shook his head and blinked a few times. As soon as he could move his legs again, he was going to show her exactly who had control of this situation.
After a long moment, she straightened and climbed off him. He tried not to be moved by the perfection of her body, but he was only human and he’d bet she spent a lot of time working for it. She turned around to grab her skirt and shirt, her rounded ass making him want to take a bite. Yeah, this was a woman familiar with Spin class.
Then he registered the fact that she was getting dressed. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” She fastened her bra and shrugged into her shirt. With every button, he lost sight of more skin—and his chance of turning the night around. She picked up her panties, seemed to consider, and dropped them on the bed. “I’m all for cherishing the memories.”
She started for the door and he lunged, grabbing her wrist. “Stay.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Stay with me tonight.” The sex had been hot as hell, but he wasn’t even close to getting her out of his system.
She bit her lip, looking indecisive for the first time since he’d met her. He pulled her a step closer, and then another. “I want to taste you.”
He realized his mistake as soon as she tensed, but it was too late to take the words back. She jerked her hand out of his. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She arched an eyebrow, once again the untouchable Regan. “Enjoy the afterglow, Scarlett. And just think, you didn’t even have to work for it.”
Holy shit. She was going to just walk out and leave him sitting there with his pants around his ankles? Brock glared. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Her flinch was almost imperceptible, but it was more than enough to make him feel like an ass. He made an effort to brush it away. She’d come in here, ordered him down, and fucked him, and hell if it hadn’t been one of the hottest experiences of his life. He didn’t like realizing that, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell her, but it was hotter than he would have guessed, being used for a beautiful woman’s pleasure. “Regan—”
“Let’s be honest here, okay? You just came harder than you thought possible—and my orgasm was pretty cool, too. So thanks, Brock. I had a good time, and I know you did, too. Have a nice life.” Then she turned around and strode out the door, her shoes dangling from one hand.
He sat there in silence for a few minutes, still trying to process what the hell just happened. With a sigh, he pushed to his feet, his muscles shaking. He didn’t like that she thought he was so worthless that she could just come in here and use him as a giant sex toy. Yeah, it’d been hot, but there was a level of dirty feeling he wasn’t prepared to deal with. It might have been different if their relationship was any less antagonistic, but he was reasonably sure she didn’t think much of him. Right now he wasn’t too fond of her, either.
Brock thought back over what just happened, to her flinch when he’d snapped at her. He’d hurt her. If he could do that with a few careless words, she wasn’t carting around nearly as thick a skin as she pretended. As he turned on the shower, he muttered, “Don’t go there. Woman is nothing but trouble, and you damn well know it.”
That didn’t stop his curiosity from perking up and taking notice. He wanted to know more about Regan and what made her tick. If he could get under her skin and clothes in the process… Well, he was okay with that, too.
…
Regan didn’t breathe easy until she was back in her room with the door shut safely behind her. All she could picture was the look on Brock’s face right before she left the room, the anger and determination blatant across his features.
He thought this was just the opening match.
No way. They’d had their fun, as two consenting adults did from time to time, and now it was over. She had no place in her life for a too-sexy-for-her-good country boy who liked to cruise through life on his daddy’s coattails. The McNeills were known in Tennessee for buying up all the mom-and-pop stores and streamlining the businesses while still “preserving the cultural flavor” or some shit, and their name had been popping up more and more as time went on. Brock hadn’t had to work for the lifestyle he had. She’d bet he hadn’t gone hungry once in his life.
She glanced at her computer, and actually took a step toward it before she caught herself. No. There was no reason to do research on Brock. She was done with him, and he wouldn’t know what to do with her even if he caught her. Honestly, judging by the comments she overheard him making to Reed—something about the ass on the bartender and then, in the next breath, about the set on one of the other wedding guests—he was a player with a capital P.
And she wasn’t interested in being a notch on someone’s bedpost unless it was on her terms.
Satisfied she was well and truly done with Brock, she crossed to her computer for an entirely different reason. Logan, the best man.
He was everything she was supposed to want—brilliant and cultured and driven. The kind of man who fit right into her life plan. Her friends might laugh at how rigid said plan was, but it had been the thing to keep her in line in college, and keeping to her plan was what made her as successful at her job as she’d been. She had her eye on the prize, and she didn’t let anything get in the way of obtaining it.
Her parents had given up a hell of a lot to get her into college and make sure she graduated without the plague of debt so many of her alumni suffered from. It gave her the freedom to make slightly riskier career choices—which had all paid off. She wouldn’t be where she was if it wasn’t for her parents, and she owed it to them not to throw it all away.
Which is where her plan came in.
Married to a corporate man by thirty. At twenty-seven, her options were slowly starting to dwindle. And her friends were moving on with their lives. Kady was the first to actually settle down, but the other women were sure to follow.
But that was neither here nor there. She had her plan, and her plan wasn’t going to b
e altered just because she was suddenly starting to feel lonely. Maybe the right guy would walk into her life and change all that.
The right guy could very well be Logan McCade.
She typed his name into her search engine and cruised through the results, determined to take more than the five minutes she’d managed before she got on the plane from NYC. Most of them concerned his company, Defy Gravity, and its many successes. Nice. He got his MBA at Yale, and had been doing well for himself ever since, conquering one barrier after another and making his company a raging success. Honestly, he was borderline disgustingly perfect.
What could it hurt to get to know him a little more? She couldn’t have drawn up a man who fit her plan better if she’d tried.
Against her better judgment, her thoughts slid back to the man she’d just left, bringing up a side-by-side image of him and Logan. Damn it. What did it matter if Brock was the one who made her toes curl? He was the love ’em and leave ’em weeping and clutching their skirts type.
They’d had their fun and now it was over.
Then again, what could one more little Google search hurt? And if she called in a favor with Addison… It was totally justified. She had just slept with the man, so there was nothing wrong with finding out a little more about him. Addison had all the best connections for finding out everything regarding new clients before she took them on. Regan had never figured out how she found all the dirt on people so quickly, but Addison was a mother hen when it came to her clients. She refused to take on someone she wouldn’t be able to back 100 percent. It was part of the reason they got along so well—Regan understood and respected the kind of drive and dedication it took to be a success.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard before she could talk herself out of it. Brock McNeill, younger son of Vince McNeill, owner of the biggest corporation south of Kentucky. His oldest son, Caine, currently held the CEO position, and Brock was listed as the VP.
Shockingly, the information hadn’t changed since the last time she did this search. Further down the page there was a link to a prominent gossip column. Regan rolled her eyes. An art gallery opening—just the place rich men liked to show up with gorgeous women on their arms and pretend they knew what the hell they were looking at. As expected, when she pulled up the article, there was a picture of Brock and a woman whose chest sure as hell wasn’t the one she was born with. She leaned against him, smiling up as if he were the most interesting person she’d ever met.