Читать книгу The Billionaire's Fantasy - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 10

THIS WAS NOT the way he operated when it came to women, Jaiven had to acknowledge as he stood in the kitchen of his brownstone in the Bronx and wiped at the already-clean counters. His mother was coming over for her monthly dinner and criticism-fest, and Jaiven was making the pointless effort of cleaning up. His mother refused to be impressed by anything he did or had—not his global shipping empire, or his renovated brownstone, or even a clean countertop. Nothing he did would make a difference to his mother, Jaiven knew, because he’d broken her heart fifteen years ago and she would never forgive him for it.

He wouldn’t forgive himself, either. He couldn’t.

At least, he told himself tiredly, she was coming for dinner. These monthly meetings had been happening for less than a year, after over a decade of estrangement. He’d been trying to reconcile with her since he’d been released from prison, but for years his mother wouldn’t take his calls. Slammed the door in his face. Said he was dead to her, just as his father was dead. Just as an innocent woman was dead.

Jaiven closed his eyes, willed such thoughts away. He couldn’t keep his gut from churning with an all too familiar mixture of grief and regret. Mindless sex and a lot of antacids were the only things he’d found to help.

And mindless sex made him think of Louise. Four frigging days since he’d had her on her own desk and she still hadn’t been in touch.

He’d really thought she’d take him up on his offer. Fantasy sex, a no-strings fling. How much better did it get? He didn’t need to be Freud to know what was going on with his own little fantasy. Dressing up as a delivery boy and showing up at her office, making her want him? Talk about trying to rewrite history.

Still, he wasn’t going to go to her first. This time the ball was in her court, and he just hoped to hell that she hit it back.

Game on, Louise. Come on.

He’d told himself a dozen times that he didn’t need her. He could have just about any woman he wanted, anytime, and yet he hadn’t taken up any other offers since he’d been with Louise. Maybe she was just a challenge, he told himself, even though he knew she was more than that. So, fine. He actually liked her. That didn’t have to be a game changer. He’d just get her out of his system. She’d get him out of hers. They’d both move on, happy and definitely satisfied.

The doorbell rang, and he went to open it, dutifully kissed his mother hello even as she angled her head away from him, and then watched as she bustled into the living room of the boarded-up brownstone he’d bought five years ago. It had once been a crack house, and now it was a top-of-the-line residence, although admittedly in a less than savory neighborhood.

He might have moved on up, but he wouldn’t abandon his roots in a Dominican neighborhood in the Bronx. He would never pretend he was something other than he was or had been, which was a boy with an eighth grade education and a criminal record and a truckload of guilt.

Not that he advertised any of those facts. But he knew what he was, what he was capable of—and so did his mother.

He wondered what Louise would do with that information. Would it just add to the bad boy fantasy, or would it be a little too real for her taste or comfort? Everything inside him shrank and cringed as he imagined her horrified reaction.

In any case, he had absolutely no intention of telling her anything personal about himself. Their relationship was about sex and sex only, and he really hoped they had it again soon.

“Look at this!” Triumphantly his mother lifted her finger from where she’d been running it along the top of his TV cabinet. Jaiven briefly closed his eyes. So he hadn’t dusted there, and neither had his housekeeper.

“What can I say, Mama? I need you to keep me on track.”

She just pursed her lips, which was as close to a smile as Jaiven had ever got, because he was the screwup and his brother Marco was the saint.

“I brought empanadas,” she said, proffering a foil-wrapped casserole dish that Jaiven took with murmured thanks. His mother always brought dinner, because she refused to eat takeout and Jaiven’s cooking wasn’t up to scratch. He made a mean scrambled egg, but nothing his mother would be willing to eat.

“So you got a girl in your life yet?” she demanded as he reheated the empanadas.

“No.” But he thought of Louise. What, he wondered, would his mother make of Louise? She’d disapprove of her career, definitely. His mother believed a woman’s place was in her home, preferably in the kitchen. She’d probably turn her nose up at Louise’s clothes too, because his mother liked women who “dressed like women,” as she put it. For her, it meant a dress and heels, no matter what the occasion. But nothing too clingy or revealing. His mother had plenty to say about that, too.

“When are you going to get married?” she demanded. “Be respectable, as much as you can?”

Because his past, Jaiven knew, made respectability a joke. Nothing he did would make up for his past sins. He knew that—of course he knew it. He lived with the awful truth of it every day, and every sleepless night. But stupidly it still hurt coming from his mother.

Sometimes he wondered why he endured these monthly rituals. His mother would bring dinner, heckle him to get married, complain about the state of his bathroom and clean while clucking about it all the while. He could handle all that, easily, if he didn’t feel her churning fury underneath all of it. His mother might come to dinner here at his brother Marco’s request, but she still didn’t like spending time with Jaiven. She refused to talk about the past because it was too painful, too terrible, but she muttered. Oh, how she muttered.

Once, only once, when she’d been angry at him for employing ex-cons as delivery guys, she’d said two terrible words.

Your father…

She hadn’t finished the sentence, but then she hadn’t needed to. That had been enough to make Jaiven hang his head, tears he’d never once shed stinging his eyes.

Usually she couldn’t bear to talk about his father, and neither could he. So he’d endure her visits and breathe a sigh of relief when she left, try to suppress the endless guilt his mother always called up in him.

And that was why he did it, why he endured. Atonement.

Too bad that wasn’t actually working out for him all that well.

They were just sitting down to empanadas, with his mother going on about his cousin Luis’s fiancée, when the front doorbell rang.

His mother’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Who comes calling at this hour?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Mama,” Jaiven answered mildly, although he had no idea who it could be. He rose from the table and went to answer the door.

And opened it, to his utter astonishment and delight, to Louise Jensen, wearing a belted trench coat and a pair of sky-high heels.

“So I decided to run with the fantasy thing,” she said, her voice high and breathless, and then she opened her trench coat to reveal what she was wearing underneath.

Precisely nothing.

* * *

As soon as Louise Jensen opened her trench coat she knew she’d made a mistake. A huge one, because Jaiven Rodriguez looked appalled.

Damn, damn, damn. What the hell had she been thinking, cabbing it to the Bronx in nothing but a coat and six-inch heels? Was she really that stupid?

Apparently, yes. Because Jaiven’s comment about sexual fantasies had lit a spark inside of her, and four days of celibacy—hardly unusual, yet now seemingly unendurable—had fanned it into raging flame.

She’d told herself she could use a little fantasy sex, the no-strings fling Jaiven had promised. She’d made a compelling argument inside her head that it would actually be good for her, that it would help her move on to a real relationship. This was the bridge between loneliness and hope, between marriage to Jack and a relationship with some stable, safe, boring man she might meet one day.

And she’d realized she’d always had a secret fantasy about showing up to a man’s place in nothing but a coat and heels. Being that sassy and confident and bold.

What an idiotic fantasy that was.

“So maybe not,” she said, choking on the words as she hastened to close her coat. Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t get the buttons and buckles fastened. Stupid coat. Stupid buckles. Stupid her.

“I love it,” Jaiven told her quickly, his voice low, “but my mother is here.” He sounded caught between amusement and alarm, and Louise let out a horrified laugh.

“Your mother? You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He sounded so regretful that Louise laughed again, albeit shakily.

“Who is that, Jaiven?”

Louise’s mouth dropped open and she took a stumbling step away from the door. “Oh no—”

“Oh, yes.” Jaiven rolled his eyes heavenward as his mother, a small, round woman in a cherry-red dress and matching heels came bustling toward them.

Louise smiled, or tried to, but she seemed to have lost control of her facial muscles. And her coat still wasn’t buttoned up properly.

She’d thought she’d been embarrassed before, but she’d had no idea what that even felt like. If embarrassment were a video game, she was the world champion, her initials on every glowing screen. Beat this score. Not.

“Who are you?” his mother asked, not precisely rudely, but close. She eyed Louise’s coat with suspicion, and who could blame her? The important bits were thankfully covered, but she was showing a lot of leg.

Louise tightened her belt, tried to close her coat a little more. It gaped at the throat and with her other hand she snatched at the lapels. His mother probably thought she was a streaker. Or maybe a prostitute.

“Umm…”

“Louise is a friend, Mama,” Jaiven said calmly. He looked weary and weirdly resigned, yet when he caught her eye he gave her a tiny quirk of a smile. “She just stopped by for a drink.”

“A drink?” His mother looked even more suspicious. Maybe in her world respectable women did not stop by men’s apartments for drinks. They certainly didn’t turn up nearly naked.

“That’s right,” she managed, still clutching at her coat. “But I didn’t realize he was with you. So I’ll just…”

“Stay,” Jaiven interjected. He tugged at her hand, which had her coat gaping open again. Now she was showing leg and cleavage. Perfect.

She tried to give him a covert glare. “No, really—”

“I’d like you to stay. We were just sitting down to dinner. You can eat with us.” He turned to his mother with an appealing smile, his hand still clasped around Louise’s like a vise. “Can’t she, Mama?”

His mother sniffed. “I suppose I made enough.” She turned back to the house and Louise leaned closer to Jaiven.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“Keeping you here, of course,” he answered, as if that were a no-brainer. “You are going to drive me out of my mind all evening, you know that?”

“And I’m supposed to wear—what?” Louise demanded.

“Just keep your coat on.”

She let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Jaiven, that’s going to look a little weird.”

“Have some confidence, Louise.” He gave her a wicked smile. “Be bold. Isn’t that what you coming here is about?”

She stared at him, once more unsettled by how well he read her. He knew exactly what this fantasy was about. And how better to own it than to see it all the way through?

And yet this situation was also very awkward. Potentially totally humiliating. And she did not do humiliation.

“Come on, Louise,” Jaiven said softly. He tugged her into the house, his eyes glinting with amusement and yet also hot with desire. “Drive me wild.”

And with a small, answering smile curving her mouth, she knew she did want to drive him wild. Tempt and taunt him all evening. But she was going to tighten the belt on her coat first.

She followed Jaiven upstairs to the main living area, the dining area open to the kitchen. His mother was already seated at the table. “So sorry to interrupt,” she told Jaiven’s mother. “Jaiven didn’t know I was coming. What’s your name?”

“Rosa.” The woman eyed her beadily as Jaiven pulled out a chair and Louise sank into it, making sure her coat stayed closed.

“So nice to meet you, Rosa,” she said, trying for a smile, and the woman just folded her arms.

Jaiven placed his hands on her shoulders and asked, “May I take your coat?”

A bubble of surprised laughter burst from her lips and quickly she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Sure?” Jaiven murmured, and she tilted her head up to meet his glinting gaze, tried to convey with her sternest teacher’s glare that he should not push it quite that much.

He just smiled back.

All right, fine. She could do this. Jaiven thought she could do this. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a smile back. “But if I get a little hot, Jaiven, I’ll let you know.” She trailed her fingertips along her cleavage, saw Jaiven’s pupils flare, heard his mother snort.

Okay, whatever. She didn’t care what this woman thought of her. She wasn’t going to cringe or cower or apologize. So she’d showed up to a man’s house in a trench coat. Her choice. And she’d see it through.

Jaiven went to the kitchen area to fetch her a plate and Louise sat in silence across from his mother, who had folded her arms across her impressive bust and was giving Louise a narrowed, very shrewd look.

“Your coat,” she finally said after nearly a minute of taut silence. “It needs to be buttoned.”

Louise glanced down and saw that her improperly buttoned coat was gaping so much at the front that Jaiven’s mother could nearly see her nipple. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out of sheer nerves and rebuttoned it.

“Oops,” she said.

Rosa made a huffing sound, her arms still folded. “You know my son well?”

Hmm, tricky question. What was she supposed to say? No, we’re just acquaintances really, but I showed up to his house naked. “We’re friends.”

“I just met Louise last week,” Jaiven said as he came back with a plate and cutlery and set her a place at the table. Oh, and that sounded better.

His mother said nothing, but then she didn’t need to. The expression on her face said at all. Clearly in her eyes Louise was a no-good slut of a woman.

Well, Louise thought with sudden satisfaction, maybe she was. That would make a change, at least.

The next hour bordered on interminable. Louise didn’t really contribute to the conversation between Jaiven and his mother. She didn’t even think of someone like Jaiven as having a mother, and certainly not one who pestered and nagged him about all sorts of things: his work, his home, his lack of a respectable woman in his life—it was, she suspected, safe to assume his mother did not place her in that category.

What was even more surprising than the woman herself was Jaiven’s response to her. He took all her criticisms, implied or overt, with a careful equanimity that intrigued Louise because he certainly seemed like a man who didn’t take crap from anyone, not even his mother.

After an hour of only half listening, even Louise felt like telling the woman where she could put it. Instead she decided to have some fun, and slipped off her heel. Stretching her leg out under the table, she ran her foot up Jaiven’s leg all the way to his crotch.

She kept her face blank as she pressed her foot between his legs and felt him harden. Jaiven had gone still, his eyes narrowed as his mother yammered on about some cousin’s baby.

Louise pressed her foot against him and Jaiven shifted in his seat, ground out some response to Rosa. Louise bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

She’d never felt so powerful. This was sexual confidence.

She ran her foot down his leg again and then back up, and this time when she reached his crotch his fingers clamped around her ankle, keeping her foot in place.

Louise thought he would thrust her foot away but to her amazement—and delight—he didn’t. He met her gaze across the table with a wicked, knowing one of his own, and then brought her foot closer against him, his fingers sliding up her ankle nearly to her knee.

Desire sizzled through her. So two could play at this game, apparently. And Jaiven, she suspected, could play it very well.

They kept up their game of footsie through another half hour of Rosa’s company, and by the time she finally hefted herself to her feet Louise felt nearly liquid with desire. Jaiven rose as well, and Louise followed suit, one hand clutching her coat to keep it together.

Finally the door closed, and Jaiven turned to her, his eyes dark, his expression suddenly fierce.

“You’d better get that coat off now.”

And bold as she’d become, Louise couldn’t keep from teasing him a little more. “Didn’t you have a nice time?” she asked, her eyebrows raised innocently.

“I’m in pain, woman,” Jaiven growled. He reached for the belt of her coat and gave it one swift tug. “You’ve been torturing me for nearly two hours.”

“You were the one who invited me in.”

Her coat had fallen open and Louise found she didn’t even mind. She shrugged it off, stood before him in nothing but heels. She’d bought them especially, fire-engine red with a six-inch heel. She’d almost broken her ankle climbing out of the taxi, but they were all part of the fantasy. The fantasy Jaiven had understood, about feeling sexy and bold and on top of the world.

She felt that way now.

Jaiven groaned aloud. “You are the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Now come here.”

And laughing, she came, pressing her naked body against him as he kissed her.

“I bet the cabbie knew you were naked under that coat,” he murmured as he turned his attention to the curve of her neck. “Tell me you did take a cab, and not the subway, to the Bronx at night with nothing but a trench coat on?”

“Of course I took a cab. I’m not stupid.” And now that she thought about it, the cabbie had eyed her coat with something close to a smirk. “I bet he’ll remember me,” she said with satisfaction, and Jaiven let out a throaty laugh.

“Damn right he will. Best ride of his life, I bet, and all he got to do was wonder.”

He lowered his mouth to her breast, his hands spanning her waist. Louise let her head fall back, let the sensations overwhelm her. They felt so good. “I’m very, very glad you had this fantasy,” Jaiven said in a voice that had turned hoarse with desire. “Very glad.”

Louise laughed breathlessly, driving her fingers through his hair to anchor him more closely to him. “Even if your mother thinks you consort with disreputable women?’

“My mother already thought that. And she couldn’t think less of me if she tried, anyway.” It was an offhand comment, and Jaiven had already moved his mouth lower, his tongue teasing her navel and making it very hard to think, yet even so Louise felt a flicker of curiosity. Wondered about the heart and soul of the man whose body she craved.

Then she stopped thinking at all because he was shucking his clothes and reaching for her, and as his lips found hers again and her legs wrapped around his hips she wasn’t curious about anything but the desire deepening inside her, and how only Jaiven could satisfy it.