Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) Page 12

  It intrigues me. That I could get to know her better. Date her. Keep her for myself. Me and only me.

  What a fucking prize, right?

  And even though I have no clue what Corporate was thinking when he set all this shit up, I don’t much care.

  I think I’d like to be the only man Ivy Rockwell ever fucks.

  It’s a dangerous thought. Dangerous. That’s how Claudette described me to Ivy. But once I get an idea in my head I’ll usually do whatever it takes to get my way. Even if it means bringing her here. Taking her places. Getting her addicted. Just like the people down there on that track. You don’t get addicted to one thing or another. You get addicted to all of it. You get addicted to the life. I want her to be addicted to my life.

  And it’s working, isn’t it?

  One look at her face as she gazes down at the ocean and considers my offer tells me all I need to know. It’s working all right.

  I’ve got her right where I want her.

  Chapter Twenty - Ivy

  I’m wowed. So if that was Nolan Delaney’s plan, he’s certainly succeeded. But… But. None of this makes much sense. Why is he doing this?

  Stop complaining, Ivy. He’s still interested, that’s why.

  I’m not putting myself down. I’m quite a good catch. And I did appreciate his blow job compliment. I fooled him, didn’t I?

  But.

  He wants to talk business. Which, in my book, is not compatible with being brought to his home.

  And he’s more than I thought he was. A lot more. This house. I didn’t see this coming. I pictured him living in some ultra-modern high-rise penthouse loft near downtown San Diego where all the action is. Where his clubs are. But this house. I don’t even know where to begin.

  Nora is rich. And she’s been my best friend for enough years for me to understand the word rich. They have a huge house in Greenwich, Connecticut. Ocean view, private dock. Worth millions of dollars. More dollars than I ever thought about having. Everyone at the Bishop School for Girls was rich. Everyone but me.

  And Nolan is up there in that kind of rich category.

  But how do I trust a guy like him? Accused of rape. Gang rape. They all were. He has this air about him that reeks of danger. I’m not sure why, because he hasn’t really done anything too unusual. So far.

  But.

  That one word echoes in my head.

  But.

  “Ivy?” Nolan presses.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Why is it taking so long to make a decision?”

  I turn to face him and almost wish I hadn’t. His looks. Damn. They are so distracting. Everything about him makes you want to stare. Take it all in and burn it into your memory.

  He’s not as intimidating now. Not like he was in his suit yesterday. I like casual Nolan. It puts me at ease a bit.

  But maybe I shouldn’t be at ease with Mr. Romantic?

  “I need to know more about you,” I say. “I don’t think all this stuff is appropriate, Nolan.”

  His smile appears. Like he’s got another trick up his sleeve. “But last night was?”

  “Last night I might’ve lost control a little, but the light of day—and your sister—have brought clarity to the situation. I don’t trust you.” There, I said it. “I just don’t trust you.”

  “I should be the one who doesn’t trust you. Maybe you did slip that fake résumé in the pile? Maybe Corporate didn’t fuck with it? Maybe,” he says, that sly grin still gracing his face. “Maybe you came here to seduce me? Get pregnant and trap me?”

  “Please.” I laugh. “I was the one who insisted on a condom.”

  “True,” he says, taking my long blonde hair in his fingertips and pulling the hair tie out so it blows in the wind. “But how can I be certain?”

  “I’m the one who needs to be certain, Nolan. Not you. I’m not dangerous.”

  “Because you’re a woman?” he asks. “I’ve met my share of dangerous women before, Ivy.”

  He’s got a point. “Well, I’m just not convinced this is a good idea. I like your house, and your car, and your view. But I’m not sure I actually like you.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds. Just the sound of the crashing waves and a low hum of people coming from the racetrack down below. “Would you like to know a secret about me, Ivy? Something no one else knows?”

  “What kind of secret?”

  “What do you need to know in order to trust me?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out. “What happened that night?”

  He shakes his head. “No, not that.”

  “Why not? If you have nothing to hide?”

  “Because we made a pact to never talk about it again. And to be honest, I don’t actually know what happened that night.”

  “How could you not know, Nolan? You were there.” What does he take me for? Some simpleton who will eat up his words and accept everything that comes out of his mouth as truth?

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you were there. Everyone knows you were there.”

  “I was…” But he stops.

  “You were what?” I’m dying now, and he’s not getting anything from me until I understand what happened.

  After a long silence he says, “I’ll tell you why they call me Mr. Romantic instead. How about that?”

  “I already know why. You’re a player.”

  “No,” he says. “I told you. That’s not why they call me Mr. Romantic. Claudette was lying. Well, not really lying. She has no idea either.”

  So. A real secret. About his nickname, no less. “OK, then tell me.”

  “Over breakfast,” he says, that winning grin back in place.

  I feel like I just walked into a trap. I feel like a rabbit looking up into the eyes of a wolf.

  “You want to take a shower?” he asks. “Freshen up while I cook? Come on, I’ll show you where.”

  He takes my hand and leads me inside. The furniture is sparse and there’s not much about it that’s personal. Maybe that’s how he is? Impersonal. And this place says a lot about him. Or maybe all this was left over from his friend and he never bothered to change it?

  He takes me through the large living area and back to the front foyer where we climb the stairs and walk down a catwalk that overlooks the view and the living room. It’s lined on either side with cables and steel posts. A very modern version of a railing.

  We end up in what has to be the master bedroom because it has the same view as the back yard, but better.

  “Here, Ivy. You can use my bathroom. I’ll bring your case up and leave it in the bedroom. Just come downstairs when you’re done and we’ll get started.”

  Get started. We’re making a business arrangement. I should stop this. He’s going to tell me some far-fetched story about that night back in college. Something ridiculous that will ease my mind so he can take advantage of me.

  Maybe.

  Maybe that is what he’ll do.

  But I can’t seem to stop myself. I feel a little bit like those people down on the track. Like I’m getting caught up in something. Something that might make me feel good in the moment, but be bad for me in the end.

  “Go ahead,” Nolan says as I hesitate.

  I stare out the window for a second, then look back at him, but he’s already walking away, pulling the door to the bedroom closed behind him.

  I would like to freshen up. I’m feeling pretty grungy after the sex last night. So I walk into the bathroom and… wow. It’s wow.

  A tall window on the far side looks out onto the ocean and my feet are in front of it and I’m staring down at the crashing waves before I even have time to think.

  What a life. What must it be like to live a life like this?

  I’ve never wanted for anything. I was well taken care of and I had access to the best education. If not in the world, then at least in this country. I grew up with nice things. But that’s all they were. Nice. The school was
not… this. It was not luxurious. Yes, we had everything boarding schools on the East Coast have. Swimming pools and modern classrooms. Stables filled with several millions of dollars’ worth of horses. Pretty uniforms and class trips.

  But luxury like this is not something I’m used to.

  The shower is so extravagant with all the shower heads and knobs, I don’t even know where to start. And the white marble floor complements the white marble tiles. The sparkling glass surround tells me Nolan either has a maid or he never bathes, because there’s not one water stain to be found. The sunshine from outside washes over the room in a soft, golden glow and the sheer white curtains and tall candlesticks make it feel romantic.

  Romantic.

  Is he… romantic?

  No. My laugh echoes right up to the high ceilings.

  I turn back to the shower and step inside so I can turn on the water. It comes falling down from the ceiling in a large square pattern, making me step out to avoid getting soaked.

  “Well, if one must clean up after messy sex the night before, this is not a bad way to do it.”

  I slip Nolan’s t-shirt off my body and his scent almost overtakes me. I wish I could keep this shirt on forever.

  The shorts slip down my legs and I step away, kicking them aside.

  It’s steamy now, and I can’t wait to get in and stand under that rain shower of hot water. But just as I’m about to step in, the door opens.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Nolan

  She’s talking to herself when I bring the case up to the master bedroom. I walk over to the bathroom door and press my ear against it, but she goes quiet again and all I hear is the water raining down in the shower.

  Is she under that water yet? I picture her wet body the way it was last night in the pool. And even though I said I’d cook breakfast while she showered, I’m not in the mood for food.

  I’m in the mood for Ivy Rockwell’s body.

  I just want to see it. Just look at her tits in the daylight. Take in the curve of her hips with my eyes instead of my fingertips as I grabbed onto them and fucked her from behind last night.

  So I open the door… and I’m immediately busted. She’s not even in the shower yet.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  I expect her to cover herself, but she doesn’t. She just stands there. So what can I do but look?

  “Fucking hell,” I say.

  “Get out, Nolan,” she says.

  But I don’t get out. I take a step inside and reach behind my head to grab the collar of my t-shirt. It comes off and I toss it near her shorts.

  “Nolan,” she says again. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “Can’t what?”

  “I can’t just walk away after seeing this.” I wave a hand down her body. She is only a few feet away, so I cross the distance and place my hands on her hips. My eyes can’t see enough.

  She wriggles, but I hold tight as I study her tits. Her nipples are hard, pulling her breasts up. And they are begging me to suck them.

  “Nolan,” she says again, but this time it’s a whisper. “Nolan.”

  “Keep saying my name, Ivy. It only makes me want to fuck you more.”

  “Nolan.” And then she stops herself.

  I look up at her face and she bites her lip. “What?”

  “I thought we were having breakfast?”

  “I can eat pussy for breakfast.”

  “Stop it,” she says.

  “Stop what? I’m not doing anything. Yet.”

  “We’re going to talk business.”

  “We can still talk business.”

  “You were going to tell me a secret over breakfast.”

  “I can tell you a secret in the shower.” She’s silent. “Come on, Ivy. Give me another chance.”

  “Another chance at what?” She’s exasperated. Uneasy. Unsure of what’s happening.

  But that’s OK. I’m very sure of what’s happening. “To make you feel good.” I grab her breast and squeeze. She sucks in a breath and makes a little moan. “Let me try again. I won’t hurt you this time, I promise.”

  “I want what you promised me downstairs. I want to know why they call you Mr. Romantic first.”

  “OK,” I say. “But I can do that at the same time.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I place a finger over her lips to keep her quiet. “Trust me for a minute. Let me tell you my way. It’s so much better than revealing my secret over pancakes.”

  She’s so out of her league with me. I know that. She’s inexperienced in almost every way. And I’ve got all the experiences she craves.

  And since she doesn’t try to stop me again, I push my shorts down and fist my cock. She stares at my hand as I pump. And it occurs to me, she hasn’t gotten a proper look at my body either.

  “Do you like it?” I ask, reaching for her hand. Releasing my hand and replacing it with hers. “Do you like how big it is?”

  I never take my eyes off her. She swallows hard and all I can think about is how it felt to be in her mouth last night. The way her muscles moved against my dick when she swallowed. I wish she was facing me when I unloaded my come in her mouth. I wish I could see the way it must’ve dripped out when I took her by surprise.

  Ivy nods her head yes to my question and that’s all the permission I need. I take her hand and lead her into the shower, pushing her under the water, and then pushing her some more, so she has to bring her hands up and place them on the wall if she doesn’t want to crash into the marble.

  I press my body against her back, my dick so hard it slips between her ass cheeks, and now it’s my turn to moan. “Do you remember asking me to fuck you in the ass last night, Ivy?”

  “I take it back.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “I’m not gonna, you silly anal virgin. I just wanted to remind you how horny you were. So turned on, you almost begged me for it.”

  “I couldn’t help it, I was scared.”

  Awww. I actually feel bad. “I can make it up to you.”

  “I’m sore, Nolan. I don’t think I can.”

  “I’ll be careful this time,” I whisper in her ear. “I promise.”

  She hesitates as I wait. “Tell your secret first. I want to know why they call you Mr. Romantic.”

  “You know that will change things, right?”

  “Why?”

  I start kissing her neck, my lips pressing against her soft skin, my teeth unable to stop the small nibbles. “Because it actually is romantic,” I say. “The name isn’t ironic, Ivy. They call me Mr. Romantic because I was doing something very romantic back in college.”

  “What?” She turns her head, and I take the opportunity to kiss her on the lips. She opens for me and all I want is to put my cock back inside her. Inside her pussy. Between her lips. But I settle for my tongue. For now.

  “I…” I want to laugh. Because it’s ridiculous. “I had a thing for drawing girls while I fucked them. And you know what?”

  “What?” she whispers into my mouth. “Tell me what.”

  “They liked it. They thought it was romantic. I was good at it. And it got around school that I liked to do this. And that’s why they call me Mr. Romantic.”

  She pulls back and turns around. I let her because I want to look at her tits again. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “I swear.” I squeeze both nipples at the same time and she closes her eyes. “But there’s more to it than that. Everything has a catch, Ivy. When you stepped into this house there was a catch.”

  “You want to fuck me.”

  “Hell, yes. And I’m going to.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “You won’t. Now listen to the catch, OK? Because this is what makes all the difference. The catch was…” I can’t believe I’m talking about this again. It’s not good. I should shut the fuck up.

  “What?” Ivy asks. “Tell me. Tell me what it was.”

  “The catch is that I like to do
things to them during sex. Rough things. And so after I pose them in just the right way, and after I draw most of it, I add those rough things to the drawing and ask them if they’ve ever done it before. Ask them if they’d like to try it.”

  “What kind of things?” She’s afraid. I can tell. Her eyes are wide and she’s breathing faster.

  “Choking, for one.”

  She gulps air as my palm rests on her neck. Her eyes flutter as my thumb presses against her jugular vein.

  “So I dangle the bait and see if they bite. Does it turn them on to see the drawing? Or do they walk out?”

  “How many walked out?”

  I lean into her ear and whisper, “Only one.”

  I take my hand off her throat and she opens her eyes. “Why do you do it?”

  “It turns me on. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never really been with a guy.”

  “I was with you. Last night.”

  I shrug and step back. “I was holding back. Plus I don’t do it much these days.”

  “You still draw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “I can’t. I burn them afterward. I don’t keep the pictures.”

  “Then draw me. And prove it.”

  “I will, Ivy. If that’s what you want. But I like to fuck hard afterward and you need it soft.”

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying. I think you’re the one responsible for my fake résumé. I think you brought me here.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. But it was you. I know it.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  She has no answer for that.

  “I know why you’re here, Ivy.”

  “Why?” She straightens her shoulders like she’s trying to be brave. Like I’m scaring the shit out of her and she’s forcing herself to remain calm.

  “You told me. You want me to fuck you. So let me. Let me fuck you again and this time, you won’t cry afterward.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You knew I was crying?”

  “No. But I’ve thought about it. I’ve run the whole thing back in my mind and I get it. I hurt you. And it wasn’t my intention. I just like to fuck a certain way. And if I had known you were a virgin, well…” I laugh.