So Not Meant To Be

Oh my God.

He’s so cute.

Derek, that is.

I mean . . . really cute.

Thick hair, just short of fluffy, but that’s okay. And his style is kind of preppy, but in a cute way, not in a wears-a-cardigan-over-his-shoulders way. His smile is adorable, his eyes are beautiful, and he has a lovely, deep voice.

Lottie was right . . . this guy is a catch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten as much as I have tonight,” Derek says, patting his stomach. “I hope I didn’t gross you out or anything with the way I took down that crab.”

I chuckle. “Not at all. It was impressive.” Mind you, I ate the same thing the other night with JP and still had room for dessert.

“Not sure if I should be proud that I impressed you with my eating habits.”

“Maybe a little.” I wink.

He glances at his watch and winces. “I hate to be that guy, but I have an early morning meeting tomorrow and I think it’s going to take me a long time to walk back to my hotel.”

“You’re going to walk? I hope it’s close.”

“A few blocks . . . uphill. And trust me when I say, I SHOULD walk back.”

I chuckle. “Burning some late-night calories?”

“I have to.” Since he already paid for the meal, he stands from his chair, and I do the same. Once my things are gathered, I walk toward the exit. He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the stairs and out the front door.

Chills run up my spine.

This was a nice date.

There was no arguing.

There was a constant flow of easy conversation.

And even though he’s a bit awkward in some ways, he’s great in others.

“I’m glad I came out tonight,” I say as we reach the pier. I wait for him to take my hand, but when he doesn’t, I settle with holding the strap of my purse.

“I’m glad you did, too. Ellie was telling me over and over that I needed to take you out for a meal. I can see why. You’re great company, Kelsey.”

“Thank you.” I smile up at him. “How much longer are you in San Francisco?”

“A week. What about you?”

“Same,” I say. “At least, that’s what’s on the schedule. Who knows, things could change.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it always seem like the schedule is changing? I was only supposed to be here for a few days, but the time keeps getting extended. This was the first night I’ve had that didn’t involve business. It was a nice reprieve.”

“I’m glad I could help with that.”

“You did.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” I say with a bright smile, because I have a feeling I know what he’s going to ask. He’s a bit shy, so his approach doesn’t surprise me. My answer will be a yes when he asks for another date. I’ve truly enjoyed myself tonight. We had some laughs, and even though there were some stutters in our conversation, overall, it was a great night. So, yes, I’ll say yes to a second date.

“I was curious.” He bashfully looks away. “Would you be comfortable with telling me how you like working with Cane Enterprises?”

“That would be great,” I answer before I can process his question.

Wait . . .

What?

Confused, he looks at me with a pinched brow, and that’s when I actually register what he asked.

Cane Enterprises.

Working with them.

Oh.

“Errr, that would be a great question to ask,” I say, trying to cover up. Not very smooth. “And the answer would be yes. I enjoy working with them a lot.”

He nods. “They seem sort of ruthless. Dave was telling me all about what Huxley and Lottie did. It seems they would do just about anything to score a deal, like they don’t care about the people around them.”

“No, that’s not the case at all,” I say. “They care deeply about their employees and the work they do. That entire situation stemmed from a momentary lapse of judgment on Huxley’s end. He felt awful and swore he’d never do something like that again.”

Derek nods. “That’s really good to hear. I know Dave can be sort of blind at times when working with other people. He has a heart of gold, and I just wanted to check. I hope I didn’t ruin the date by asking.”

“Not at all. I actually like that you asked. It shows me that you care about your brother.”

“I do. He can be a knucklehead, kind of weird at times, but he’s a good man and he’s built a solid business. I just want to make sure no one is taking advantage of him.”

I smooth my hand over his arm. “That’s really kind of you.”

He smiles down at me and sticks his hand in his pocket again just as we make it to a row of cabs. “I had a great time, Kelsey.”

“I had a nice time too, Derek. I truly did.” Such a good time that I hope he leans in and kisses me. I’d totally kiss him back. I think there could be something there between us.

But a kiss would tell me if we have the chemistry I think we have.

I wet my lips as he reaches for a cab door.

Kissing outside a cab, how romantic.

I step in closer to him.

And wait.

Wait for that kiss.

For him to bend over, pucker up, and lay it on me.

But just as I expect him to plant one on me, he takes a step away from me and offers me his hand.

His . . . hand.

Confused, I take it, and he gives me a solid shake.

“Great meeting you,” he says, before letting go and taking another step backwards.

Errr . . . what’s happening?

Where’s the kiss?

Or the hug?

Or the offer to call me so we can do this again sometime?

I wait for a few heartbeats, but when nothing happens, I realize this is it. A handshake. That’s what I’m getting tonight. A freaking handshake and a nice to meet you.

What on earth is happening? This is the end of a business meeting, not a date. Did I miss something? Did I do something wrong? Does he not like me? Self-doubt fills me, causing an ugly set of emotions.

You’re not enough.

You’re not pretty enough.

JP has said I’m hot twice, but that was clearly just to get in my pants. Derek is backing away after a freaking handshake.

If this was Lottie, Derek would be figuring out a way to stay longer.

My throat grows tight, and before I can make a total ass of myself in front of him, I decide to bid him a goodbye and get into the car, where I can lick my wounds in private.

“Okay. Bye.” I wave at him.

“Bye, Kelsey.”

He shuts the door with finality and then walks away. Well . . .

I tell my driver the name of the hotel I’m staying at, then lean back in my seat and stare out the window.

Did I miss something?

I thought we were having a good evening.

I thought we were making a connection. We bonded over Power Rangers, for heaven’s sake, not something I’d want to bond over, but we had a conversation about them that made us laugh and reminisce about growing up.

He talked about his family. I talked about mine.

He touched my hand several times throughout dinner, and I know for a fact that when I went to the bathroom, he watched me walk away. The girl who followed me into the bathroom shortly after told me the guy I was with had it bad for me, with the way he tracked me all the way to the bathroom.

So, I don’t know . . . call me crazy, but I guess I read it all wrong. I guess there was something I did wrong that he didn’t like. Or maybe . . . maybe I just didn’t impress him the way that I thought I did.

Just like every other man who has taken me out . . . I didn’t make that lasting impression.

I’m not memorable.

Addicting.

I’m not someone a man wants another night with.

I consider texting Lottie, but I don’t have the energy to hash out everything, so instead, I stare out the window until I reach the hotel.

I’ve no idea where JP is right now, probably still at the ball, doing some sort of schmoozing that he’s probably hating. Or probably on his way back to a woman’s apartment because she was too gorgeous to walk away from. She will enjoy more than a handshake. And given our strange blowup this morning, why would he want to come back to the penthouse tonight?

But that’s probably a good thing.

I don’t think I could see anyone right now. I’ve never felt so unwanted in my life. First Edwin, now Derek. Is there something I’m doing that turns men off?

There has to be.

You’re too desperate.

Thank you, JP. That will stick.

Spirit broken, the elevator doors part and I walk down the hotel hallway until I reach the penthouse. When I open the door, I’m met with a dark room, just as I expected. He’s not here. I drop my purse on the table in the entryway and kick off my heels. I pick them up from the floor and head to my room.

“Enjoy your evening?” JP’s deep voice scares me so much, I squeal and bring my hand to my heart.

I look to where his voice came from and spot him sitting in the chair in the dark corner, a beer in hand.

“You scared me.” I catch my breath. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Didn’t feel like turning on the lights,” he answers without moving.

“Well, it’s weird.” I reach over to an accent lamp on one of the side tables and switch it on. It illuminates the room so I can fully see JP. He’s wearing only shorts again and his hair is a complete tumble of strands, pulled in all different directions.

He lifts the beer to his lips and, before taking a sip, he asks, “How was lover boy?”

“He’s not my lover boy.” He made that evident enough by offering me a sturdy handshake.

“Date not go well, then?” he asks, clearly in the mood to pick another fight. I’m not falling for it.

“It was great. Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“That’s none of your business,” I say, as I turn back toward him.

He stands from his chair and his face slowly comes into the light with every step forward he takes. Now only a few feet from me, he sets his beer on the end table and stares at me, examining every inch of my face. “He didn’t, did he? He didn’t kiss you.”

I’m not sure if he can see through the brave façade I’m trying to wear, or if he actually sees that these lips of mine are untouched, but he steps even closer and lifts his hand to my face, his thumb pulling on my bottom lip.

“He didn’t kiss this mouth, did he?”

I take a step back, still clutching my heels. “Like I said, that’s none of your business, JP.” Before he can say another thing, I turn away from him and head to my room. I need to get out of this dress and into something comfortable so I can go to bed and forget this entire night. When I reach my room, I set down my heels and twist my arm behind me to undo my zipper. But, for some reason, even though I was the one who got myself into this dress, I can’t seem to reach it.

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But then I feel a strong hand touch my shoulder.

I nearly jump out of my skin as he crowds my back and whispers, “Allow me.” His voice feels like ripples of heat caressing my skin. I don’t dare move. I don’t dare say a thing because, I’m ashamed to say, I’m desperate. Desperate for a man to touch me. I’m desperate to know that I’m someone who can be treasured the way Huxley treasures Lottie, and how Jeff loves Mom.

But I think that’s why it’s been so confusing being around JP. He’s sexy as hell, and in the moments we get along, the moments I feel such a deep connection—as if I’m seeing the real JP—I’m so tempted to want more. But knowing he doesn’t want me for anything more than a sexy night has probably tipped me closer to this edge called desperation.

I’m just a hopeless romantic looking for someone to love her.

The zipper of my dress is gently pulled down until I feel the sides of my dress open. The grip he has on my shoulder tightens.

“What’s this?” he asks, his finger tracing over my lingerie. “Did you wear this for him?”

My strapless, one-piece black bustier. I didn’t, actually. It’s something I like to wear every day. Lingerie is the one thing that I splurge on, because it makes me feel special. It makes me feel good under my clothes. It makes me feel sexy, even though my sex life is at an all-time low for the moment.

I spin around and hold my dress up with one hand across my chest. “I did,” I answer, lying. I feel like provoking him. Misery loves company. It’s a shitty thing to do, but I’m not exactly thinking clearly right now.

“And he didn’t kiss you . . . that seems fucking stupid.”

“I never said he didn’t kiss me,” I shoot back. “You just assumed.”

He steps even closer, his hand now curling possessively around the nape of my neck. I have no idea what’s happening, what’s possessing him to do this, or possessing me to let it happen, but I stand tall—as tall as I can—and hold my chin up high, challenging him.

“I’m not assuming, I know.”

“Were you watching us?”

He shakes his head. “I know you, Kelsey. If that man kissed you, you’d have come barreling into this penthouse, happy. But that’s not the case, is it? There’s a droop in your shoulders, no joy in your smile. The date didn’t go the way you wanted it. And now, you’re back at ground zero, attempting to find someone else to take you out.”

Insult laces his every syllable, and it’s like a repeated strike against my heart.

“The date was amazing, actually,” I say. “And no, he didn’t kiss me, but he was also being a gentleman, something I’m sure you know nothing about.”

He propels me backward, and I’m so shocked that I brace my hands on his chest for balance, letting my dress slip to the ground, leaving me in nothing but my lingerie.

“What did I tell you about being a gentleman? I know how to hold a goddamn door open for a woman. I know how to make sure she’s well taken care of on a date with engaging conversation. Being a gentleman doesn’t mean you don’t take what you both want.”

“Are you saying you’d have kissed me?”

“I would’ve done more than kiss you,” he says, his voice so dark that I wonder if something happened to him tonight, but I’m so lost in my own world that I don’t have time to think about why he’s acting like this, what has caused this . . . aggression. “I wouldn’t have left you alone in a penthouse with another man, that’s for damn sure.”

He continues to walk me backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed.

“I know your MO, JP, your end goal.”

“Is that so?” he asks, his hand on my nape slowly dragging forward until his thumb is propped right under my chin, holding me in place. “And what exactly is my end goal, Kelsey?”

“Pleasure,” I answer.

“You would say that,” he says. He pushes me down on the bed and corrals me with a hand on either side of my shoulders. My breath gets stuck in my throat as he lowers his face mere inches from mine. “It’s not always about pleasure, Kelsey. It’s about the temptation.”

“Are you trying to say I’m tempting?”

“Do you want me to find you tempting?”

I wet my lips. My heart hammers so loudly in my chest that I can barely hear myself think. “I just want someone to want to date me, maybe fall in love with me one day.” I swallow. “And I think Derek could be that guy.”

His brows narrow, tugging together at the center of his forehead. “Bullshit. Stop fucking lying to me and tell me the truth. Your date was barely enjoyable and the fucking douche didn’t seize the opportunity to kiss you, leaving you unsatisfied.”

“I was left completely satisfied.”

“Is that so?” he asks, then lowers his head so his nose runs along my collarbone. A wave of goosebumps springs up on my skin as his breath caresses my chest. “So, you’re telling me you wouldn’t want more?”

God, I want so much more.

I want to feel something.

I want to know what it’s like to be kissed again.

To have a man control me with his hands, with his mouth, with his words.

I want so much more than the date I had with Derek. I wanted him to want more of me. To tell me he wants to call me in the morning, ask me out again.

I want more than a freaking handshake at the end of the night.

But I can’t tell JP that. I can’t admit to him what a failure the end of the night was, so I keep my mouth shut. His nose rides up the column of my neck until he reaches my ear, where he asks, “Do you want to know what I would’ve done if I took you out on a date?”

Yes.

Desperately.

“No,” I answer. “Because you didn’t take me out, JP.”

“If I took you out, you wouldn’t be home this early. I’d find every opportunity I could to keep you out. I’d extend our night as long as I could until we had no choice but to say goodbye. And when we did”—he nibbles my ear, causing a tidal wave of lust to strike me—“when I said good night to you, it would be by leaning you against my car, stroking your cheek, and then holding you in place as I finally kissed you, the way I’d wanted to kiss you all goddamn night.”

“And . . . and how would you kiss me?” I ask.

“Slowly, at first”—his hand slides to my jaw, just above my throat—“so you get a taste of me, and when I felt that you were comfortable, content, I’d part your lips and demand more. I’d press my body against yours, slip my hand into your hair, just at the base of your skull, and then tangle our tongues, pulling more and more from you until you’re absolutely breathless.” His nose runs along my cheek. “Just like you are now.”

“I’m not breathless. Don’t flatter yourself,” I say.

His grip on my jaw grows tighter as he asks, “When are you going to learn not to lie to me? If I slipped my hand down your body and between your legs, I know you’d be wet.”

I am.

I am wet, throbbing, and so full of need that I can barely process his words.

“Not every woman is won over by what you call charm.”

He releases my jaw and sits up from his position, now standing in front of me looking down. His eyes scan my body, wrapped in black lace. That’s when I take a second to let my eyes wander his body. Broad, straight shoulders; boulders in his biceps, so thick and veiny, leading all the way down to his impeccable, inked forearms; and fingers that seem to curl toward his palm when anger sears through him. His chest is thick, strong, cut, leading down to his abs, which are stacked one right on top of the other. His belly button is the start of the metaphorical arrow that points down to the bulge in his shorts, the very prominent bulge.

He’s turned on, just like me.

And instead of listening to his voice, letting him dirty talk his way over my body, I’m provoking him, pushing him away, making him impossibly angrier.

Eyes on mine, he says, “Touch yourself. Show me you’re not wet.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe you. Show me you aren’t won over by my charm.”

My teeth run over my lip, my heart wildly beating. I know I’m wet. I know I’m turned on. And I know it’s from him.

I move my hand down my body to between my legs. I slip my fingers past the lace and against my clit. My eyes instantly shut from the pressure, and I hate myself for giving up how I feel, for showing him that I’m exactly where he wants me to be.

My eyes fly open as he seizes my wrist, and I find him bent forward, one hand propped on the bed, the other bringing my fingers toward his mouth. He parts his lips, drags my fingers over his tongue, and then releases them.

Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sexy in my life.

“Fucking liar,” he says, tucking my hand back under the lace between my legs. When I try to remove my hand, he keeps me there, pressing his hand against mine. “Why are you lying to me?” I don’t answer him, so he says, “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m not concealing how I feel.” I glance down at his bulge again, the fabric of his shorts outlining his cock.

“You are by wearing those shorts,” I say. I don’t know why I say it, maybe because I’m so far gone at this point, but I’m desperate for something, anything.

With his eyes still on mine, he reaches to his waistband, pulls his cock out, and strokes his length right in front of me.

Girthy.

Long.

Promising.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks. “You wanted this cock?”

Yes.

I also want your lips.

Your hands.

Your body.

“Tell me why you’re hard.” I attempt to remove my hand from under my bustier again, but he stops me once again.

“Touch yourself,” he demands. “I know you want to. I know you need to. Touch yourself, and I’ll tell you why I’m hard.”

I seal my lips together and slip my fingers along my slit until they press against my clit. With two fingers, I gently massage it while my legs spread on the mattress.

His eyes fall to where I’m pleasuring myself and then back up. He wets his lips and lowers one hand to the mattress, bringing him closer while he continues to stroke himself.

“That’s it, keep touching yourself, Kelsey. Tell me how wet you are.”

“Tell me why you’re hard, first,” I counter.

“I’m hard because of the way you walk through this penthouse, acting as if you don’t have any interest in me, but your eyes tell me differently. I’m hard because you have no fucking clue just how alluring you are, how fucking sexy you are. I’m hard because the taste of your pussy is lingering on my tongue, and if I truly had my way, you’d be stripped naked, tied to this bed, waiting for me to pleasure you.”

“If you had your way?” I ask, a hitch in my voice. “What does that mean?”

His thumb reaches up and traces my face, down my neck, and across my arm. “You aren’t mine.” He lets go of his cock and moves me on the bed, making room so he can kneel in front of me. Then he removes my hand from where I’m pleasuring myself and brings his cock to my slit, running it against the fabric. The sensation is absolute torture, feeling him this close, just a miniscule fabric blocking our connection. “If you were mine, there would be nothing between us.”

That light pressure, the barely-there feeling of his cock mixed with the erotic nature of what he’s doing, sends an intense yearning through me. A need so strong that my mind starts to black out. The only thing it’s focused on is relief.

Relief from the buildup.

Relief from this night.

Relief from the tension between us.

He lifts his cock and taps the head right on my clit.

“Fuck,” I whisper as I drape my arm over my eyes and breathe heavily.

“You like that, don’t you?”

My teeth roll over my bottom lip.

“Tell me you like it and I’ll do it again.”

God, I hate him . . . why is he making me admit things I don’t want to admit?

“Say it, Kelsey.”

“I . . . I like it,” I stammer, and he taps his dick on my clit a few more times.

My pelvis rises, my skin breaks out in a sweat, and my control starts to slip. And then to my surprise, he pulls the fabric covering my pussy to the side, exposing me, and lets the head of his cock lightly rub against me.

“Oh God,” I moan as my legs spread even farther. “Oh yes . . . JP.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“More,” I beg. I want more.

He glides his cock over my clit two more times and then with a groan, he pulls away and resumes pumping his length vigorously above me.

“If you want more, you need to fuck yourself,” he says, his voice strained. My eyes follow his gestures, the slide of his hand over his thick erection, the veins running down his length, the tension in his chest as he breathes heavily, staring down at me.

It’s so freaking hot, so sexy, that my fingers find my clit again and start massaging in fast circles. The first inkling of my orgasm starts to wrap around my muscles, through my back, along my ribs, into my stomach.

“Fuck . . . you’re there, aren’t you?” he asks. “You’re almost there.”

I nod, keeping my teeth clenched as my chest heaves, my fingers moving faster. My eyes stay focused on his hand that’s pulling, tugging on his length, the thick veins in his tattooed forearms straining just like the rest of his body.

“God,” I mutter as my body starts to seize on me. The overwhelming sensation of pleasure is at its early stages, pulsing through my veins and zeroing in on the spot between my legs. “Yes,” I whisper, my eyes shutting as I let myself fall into the hands of my orgasm.

“Look at me,” JP says, his voice so commanding that it makes me snap my eyes open. “Look at me when you come.”

The tone of his voice.

The meaning behind it . . .

It’s like a bolt of lust zapping right through me. My muscles stiffen, my legs shiver, and my fingers fly over my clit as I moan louder than I can ever remember vocalizing before, and I come, a ferocious orgasm breaking me into a million pieces right there on my bed.

My eyes still on JP, I ready myself to see him come, but to my utter disbelief, he puts his surging cock back in his shorts and then leans down so close that our noses are nearly touching.

“You . . . you didn’t come,” I say, breathless.

“Because that’s not for you to see, so I’ll do that in private. If you want to watch me come, if you want to see my body shake uncontrollably when I think of your sweet fingers gliding over your cunt, then you’re going to have to give me a lot more than you gave me tonight.” He moves down my body until his head is right between my legs. My breath is so heavy that I can barely register what’s happening until his tongue is gliding over my pussy, one smooth swipe before he lifts up, standing straight. Satisfaction on his face, he says, “Next time, you’ll be coming on my tongue.”

He turns and heads for my door, slipping out before I can say anything.

Breathless, I stare at the door, entirely too turned on—still—wondering what on earth just happened and how we took it this far.