One to Chase (One to Hold #7) Read online

  I can’t stop laughing at the ridiculous image, but his expression changes. Brows up, his posture straightens, and I feel the warmth of a body behind me. My first thought is Karen is right behind me. Turning, I almost wish she were.

  Green-hazel eyes sparkle from under light-brown brows, and my body floods with heat. Marcus Merritt is standing in front of me looking as sexy as ever and wearing that same grin that snared me in Wilmington.

  “Marcus.” The word escapes my lips on a hot whisper.

  “Hello, Amalie.” His low voice sizzles across my skin. Shit. I can’t believe how I respond to him.

  C.J. clears his throat softly and shoves a hand in his front pocket.

  “Oh—” It breaks the spell. “Marcus, meet one of my oldest friends, Carlton... C.J. Berman.”

  C.J. steps forward, catching Marcus’s hand and giving it a shake. “I know you by reputation.”

  “A good thing, I hope.” Marcus is still smiling, and his eyes only briefly leave me to acknowledge my friend.

  “A fantastic thing.” The note in C.J.’s voice tells me a follow-up call is in my future. “Hey, look who’s here. Don’t mind me.”

  He takes off before I can stop him. It’s a total bluff, and I know he’s trying to give us alone time. Panic simmers in my stomach. Being alone with Marcus is not a good idea.

  I turn back to face the man leaning against the bar beside me. He’s wearing a black button-down and grey slacks, very casual-chic. “Lucky running into you here.”

  Every word is a tingling stroke, and I catch his reference. We both got lucky the last time we shared drinks at a bar.

  “More like predictable. Chicago’s pretty small in certain circles.” I take another hit off my martini only to find it’s the last one. Marcus is quick to signal the bartender.

  “One of the same? I’m having vodka.” My stomach is so tight, and the sexual frustration I felt earlier in my bedroom makes my head hurt.

  “You don’t have to buy me a drink. I—”

  “Wasn’t that the deal? I’d buy you one, then you’d owe me one?”

  The bartender is waiting, so I shrug. “You’ll have to forget the referral, then. I can’t let my debts pile up.”

  “I don’t keep score.” His eyes travel slowly down my body, and I almost shiver. “Besides, it looks like I was right. You don’t need my help here.”

  “I don’t need your help anywhere.” That isn’t entirely true, but I’m certainly not conceding my power.

  Marcus’s eyes light with interest. “Maybe you can help me, then.”

  “I doubt that.” I hate how I love that my strength doesn’t scare him.

  “Actually, you can.” Our drinks are back and he hands a short tumbler of clear liquid to me. “Skal.” A quick clink of his glass on mine and he continues. “After you left today, I started looking at our firm’s website. It’s pretty dated.”

  So we’re talking work. “When’s the last time you updated it?”

  Eyebrows rise, he glances down and passes a hand across his chin. “That’s just it. Never.”

  “How old is it?”

  “Five years? It was one of the first things we did when we incorporated.”

  He cuts those smoky hazel eyes up at me, and my body definitely responds. “I’m sure I can recommend someone. Let me get my bearings, and I’ll figure out who’s the best and call you.”

  “I thought you were the best.”

  Gotcha. Or so he thinks. “I’m actually more on the planning and administration side of things.” My brain is fuzzy from the drinks. What’s the word? I find it. “Management. I’d farm out the design work anyway.”

  “Then manage it for me.” The way he orders me around is both annoying and exciting.

  Just then a rowdy patron pushes in at the bar behind him, sending Marcus forward into me. He slides a hand around to my lower back, and heat floods my core. Our bodies are touching. My lips are heavy with need. I want him to kiss me. I want him all over me. Damn you, Marcus Merritt.

  “I’m not sure working together is a good idea.”

  “Of course it is.” His voice is lower, and I know he’s feeling it, too. “You’re the best. I’m the best.”

  “But we have a history.”

  “We’re both professionals.” His hand slides lower to the curve of my ass, and a sharp ache registers between my thighs. I need this, but I fight it.

  “It’s too weird.” My voice is husky. “You’re Elaine’s brother. I’m Patrick’s sister...”

  His eyes are on my mouth, making it water. “I told you, there’s no blood relation between us. We’re no more related than step siblings, and apparently that’s a thing nowadays.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t heard.”

  Without even looking around the room, he says, “It’s too crowded. Come to my condo, and we can discuss a merger.”

  It’s a double-entendre, and I’m breathing so hard, I can’t say no. I need to say no to him. “You’re offering me a job?”

  “If you’re interested in seeing more of me.”

  “I... I don’t—”

  “Just say yes.”

  Chapter 4: Professionals

  Marcus

  Cinnamon and vodka and her.

  Amy Knight is the most delicious combination of my favorite flavors. I don’t even remember the short drive to my condo. We didn’t even make it up the stairs before I pulled her to me, holding her hips and claiming that mouth. She tried to resist, but it was a half-hearted fight.

  “I thought this was business.” She pulled back, but her luscious breasts were heaving.

  “A little business. A little pleasure.” Waiting for her response, I’d studied her hazel eyes, more green than brown, dark with desire. I’d let her go if she said the word, as much as it would kill me.

  A full, pink lip caught between her teeth, and just like that, slim hands were on my neck, pulling me to her. A little moan as I carried her up the stairs doing my best not to lose contact.

  Turning to unlock the door, I held her tight against me with an arm around her waist. She rose up to feather kisses at my collar as her fingers began unfastening the buttons on my shirt. I almost dropped the keys.

  “Fucking lock,” I hissed at last getting it open before we stumbled inside, bodies fused together.

  Everything fell to the floor where we stood. The door closed, my hands grabbed the waist of her jeans, loosening the belt and shoving down her zipper. My shirt was open, and her hands slid across my skin, pushing it off my shoulders and down.

  “Shirt. Off,” I said, lifting the hem of her black tee, and she reached around her neck to pull the ribbon-tie of her necklace before whipping the silky fabric over her head and dropping everything in a pile at her feet.

  Now we’re on my bed. I’m sitting and she’s straddling my lap in nothing more than a black lace bra and matching thong. The ends of her blonde pony tail dance along her slim shoulders, teasing her collarbones. Her eyes are on me, looking at my chest, lightly touching the lines of my torso. A condom waits beside me.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” I only take a moment to memorize the sight of her, gorgeous in lacy black lingerie, before I reach around her back to unfasten her bra.

  The straps drop down her arms, and I pull a tight nipple into my mouth. Her skin smells like warm fires and perfume, and I lift her, turning us so her back is on the bed.

  “Marcus,” she gasps as I make my way down the center of her stomach.

  “You robbed me.” I’m at the top of her thong, and I lightly run my tongue along the edge of the fabric. “I wanted you for breakfast.”

  She lets out a little cry, and one hand goes to her face while the other threads in my hair. Hooking my thumb in the side of her panties, I pull it away to reveal her bare pussy before sinking my tongue between her folds.

  “Oh, god!” She gasps as her hips arch toward me. I know she wants more, and I plan to give it to her.

  Pulling back a moment, I kiss the crease
in her thigh, letting her simmer in delicious agony for a moment.

  “Run out on me?” I tease, lightly running my tongue along the skin above her slit. “Never again.” I briefly kiss her swollen lower lips, sinking my tongue inside to give that little nub a sweep before pulling up again.

  She exhales a cry, and I know she’s on the edge. “Say it,” I order, waiting, two fingers at her slippery entrance.

  “Marcus...” Another gasp, and my cock is aching. I want to be inside her, but I’m not letting her get away with running.

  “Say it, Amy. Never again.”

  Her voice is desperate. “We can’t—”

  I cut her off with another kiss to her gorgeous pussy, slipping my tongue inside and swirling it over her clit while my fingers massage her deep inside.

  “Oh, god!” Her body is writhing, and the hand that had covered her face has joined her other one in my hair.

  I give her another slow sweep before dragging my tongue down, removing my fingers and taking a deep taste. Her back arches as she moans, and I slide it back up to her clit. I’m ready to put my dick where my mouth is, but I’ll get her close first.

  Circling and sucking, I feel the trembling start in her thighs, and I reach for the condom. My pants are unzipped, and I quickly shove them down and roll it on before rising up to sink deep between her thighs.

  “Fuck me,” I groan. She’s so tight, so wet and clenching and hot and beautiful.

  I’m on the bed above her, and her arms go around my neck, pulling my face to hers. One slow deep kiss, our tongues wrap together, and I turn my head so I can drive deep. It wasn’t the position I had in mind when I saw her ponytail earlier tonight, but damn if I care now.

  Her moans and wails are the perfect soundtrack to what’s happening, and I’m blacking out she feels so good. Slim legs wrap around my waist. She’s straining, pushing her body against mine as I slam deeper into her core. So deep, I feel the moment her orgasm breaks, and it triggers mine.

  “Amy, christ...” It’s all I can manage as my orgasm explodes.

  Her chin is raised, and my lips are at her breasts. I pull a tight nipple into my mouth and tug. She cries out, still shaking, every little clench flooding my pelvis with the most overwhelming pleasure.

  Releasing her breast, I cough out a moan. It’s too good. Or I’ve been without this too long. My forehead is slick with sweat, and her body is slick with me. It’s erotic and fantastic, and I want to do it again.

  Calm settles slowly on us, and I can feel her trying to withdraw, preparing to run. My order from before was lost in my frantic need to possess her, but I know what’s coming. I didn’t get a commitment before we came.

  “Marcus.” She slowly twists, moving her body in an attempt to get out from under me.

  I’m resting on my elbows, but I have her slim body locked against mine in a tight embrace. She feels so good against me, my cock deep inside her.

  “Hang on,” I whisper, craving one more hit from that luscious mouth. Stretching up, I take it, and I feel the hesitation before she softens and kisses me back.

  Her palms are on my shoulders, but she’s not pushing me away for the moment. I know it’s coming, and I’ll let her go.

  But I want to know why.

  * * *

  Amy

  Good god, Marcus Merritt is a fabulous lay. He beats Armand hands down. I wasn’t sure that was possible, as I’d decided Armand was the best lover I’d ever had... Only, now Marcus wants to hold me, and we both know that can’t happen.

  My mind is still hazy from that unbelievable orgasm. His warm mouth covers mine, his talented tongue caresses mine, my body molds to his. He’s still inside me. He’s bigger than I’ve had before, and it feels... so damn good. I needed this.

  Now it’s over, and I need to get dressed, collect my things. “Marcus...” I turn my chin away from his dizzying lips. “Please.”

  This time he releases me, reaching down to hold the condom as he comes out. He rolls away to dispose of it, and I sit up, sliding my hands to my now-loose ponytail. My thong is stretched and hanging. We should’ve taken a moment to remove it, but with his mouth on my clit, I wasn’t thinking about anything but him finishing the job, sinking into me, taking me all the way like I knew he could.

  I’d tried to dismiss Wilmington as something random made more exciting by the prospect of getting caught, but I couldn’t do that tonight. We came together as fantastically in his bed, missionary-style, securely far from any interruption, as we did in that tiny billiards room with me sitting on a bar stool—then slammed against the wall. Oh, god. The memory nearly weakens my resolve. Get a grip, Amy.

  Standing, I slide my useless undergarment down my hips and scoop my bra off the floor before heading out to the living room where I left my clothes in a black pile. Marcus will be following me in seconds, so I scoop the entire bundle off the floor and head to the small bathroom near the entrance.

  A quick cleanup, and all my clothes are back on. I texted the Uber service using my phone the moment I entered the lavatory. A car will be waiting out front in ten minutes or less.

  Pressing my eyes closed, I flinch, knowing what’s on the other side of the door. Still, I have to leave Marcus’s half-bath at some point. Deep breath, turn the knob.

  We just had mind-blowing sex, yet the sight of him leaning against his couch, smiling, now wearing a loose green V-neck tee and jeans, sends tingling shock waves through my stomach.

  “Ready to see the website?” His voice is playful, and panic simmers in my throat. “I’ve got a bottle of pinot gris and some cold cuts. It’s not much, but I could whip up an antipasti spread.”

  “That’s okay. I really should go.”

  “You just got here.” Pushing off the couch, he steps toward a large desk situated near the corner. I watch him move the wireless mouse and bring the large iMac to life before picking up a pair of brown glasses and sliding them on.

  He looks back at me, and he’s so damn cute, I almost melt. “Yes, but, I don’t want Sylvia to worry.”

  “Not your mom again. I expected a more creative excuse this time.”

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s late. I have a brunch date in the morning, and I’m tired.”

  “Where are you having brunch?”

  “The Drake.”

  “What time?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  “That’s only a few blocks from here. Spend the night.” Warmth simmers in his hazel eyes, and tightness pulls at my chest.

  “I don’t do the walk of shame.”

  “Of course you don’t. I’ll order up something for you to wear. You’re a size two?”

  He makes a move toward me, and it’s time to get firm. “Look, Marcus, this isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be mean.”

  “I’m sorry, but it already happened.”

  “We’re adults. We had an itch to scratch. That’s all.” Picking up my clutch, I step into my heels. “Make an appointment, and we can talk about your PR needs during business hours. In your... office.” I don’t say ridiculous office. I don’t really want to fight with him.

  As usual, he’s not backing down. “Why do I feel like you’re running again?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.”

  That’s it. Too far. I’m at the door, and I jerk it open, dashing for the stairs without another word.

  The door opens again, and Marcus is behind me. “Amy, stop.” I keep going. “You can’t stand outside alone waiting for a cab. Come back.”

  I see the car I ordered, and relief blasts through my chest. I exhale the tightness that was trying to choke me. “I’m not waiting.”

  I don’t look back, as I’m climbing inside. I notice his bare feet standing on the curb. He says my name one last time before I slam the door.

  Chapter 5: Old Friends

  Amy

  Karen Philpot sits across from me in the expansive dining room of the Pa
lm Court in the Drake Hotel. White, high-backed chairs facing small, round marble tables fill the space. The entire room is soft white, from the tall, Corinthian columns to the drapes to the enormous bouquet of calla lilies mixed with freesia and baby’s breath atop the quatrefoil fountain in the center of the room. The trickle of water adds to the soothing stringed-quartet ambience.

  I’ve come here regularly for high tea with Sylvia since I was a little girl. Today, however, it’s an opulent battleground, where I prepare for the woman sitting across from me in a lavender suit to pick me apart. (Yes, I said she’s wearing a lavender suit. It’s okay—I know how to play this game. Be cool.)

  Her eyes travel over my sleeveless, tan silk dress. The neckline is a low cowl that plays peek-a-boo with the top of my black bra. A chunky silver and black statement piece is around my neck. I tied my hair back in a French twist, but a few strands have escaped around my cheeks.

  “Thanks for inviting me to brunch, darling,” I say. Getting the first word is a sign of strength. Karen stirs her tea. I’m having espresso, of course. “What’s new since I left town? It feels like forever.”

  “It has been forever. You left what? More than six years ago?”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” I lift the tiny cup and take a sip. “We graduated high school, I moved to Cornell, then to Europe. What did you do?”

  Her eyes barely flinch, and in fairness, my tone was much less aggressive than it looks on paper.

  “The usual. Brown, volunteering at the Swearer Center, then home to succeed mother as president of the DAR.” Her eyes travel over my tanned shoulders as she sips her tea. “It’s our duty to be leaders in the community. Do something more with our lives than drift from scandal to scandal.”

  Now I fight my reaction to her words. I’m surprised she went straight for the jugular so fast.

  “Well, that’s very refreshing,” is all I say, reaching for my now-empty demitasse. I feel exposed, and I wished I’d brought a cardigan. “I’m surprised you’re still in the city and not Highland Park.”

  “We grew up in the city. It’s where everyone lives, where our houses are.”