Thrill Me (One Night with Sole Regret Book 9) Read online

  “I bought my husband out in the divorce settlement,” she said. “I probably should have let it go and purchased something smaller, but it was my dream house, so I couldn’t bear to part with it at the time.”

  “Was your dream house?”

  “We were supposed to fill all five bedrooms with our children.” She’d likely always feel sad and lonely in this huge house because it served to remind her that her dreams for a family had never been fulfilled.

  “Maybe someday you’ll have kids.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t want to have this discussion with Owen. He must realize that she was only seeing him for the amazing sex. She had been thinking of starting something a bit more long term initially, but then that pregnant groupie had shown up, and it had been quite an awakening for Caitlyn. The guy was a seasoned player, and she’d just entered the field as a rookie. If Owen brought up something like having kids again, she’d have to set him straight. She’d been warned about how easily he got his feelings hurt, so she hoped he caught on without her having to tell him point blank that she had no plans to get serious about him. “Have you had lunch?” she asked.

  His eyes lit up with interest. “Not yet. Did you cook?”

  She laughed. Her cook? Yeah, no. “I don’t cook much”—or ever—“but I am an expert at opening a takeout container.”

  He was pretty good at hiding his disappointment. “I could eat,” he said. “Thanks.”

  He kissed her again and pulled out, putting far too much space between them. She stumbled as she got her feet beneath her. Sort of. She definitely wasn’t accustomed to the kind of aerobics she’d just experienced. Her thighs were all shaky as she bent to retrieve her panties.

  “So do you often open the door in the nude?” Owen asked.

  She grinned. “Only if I’m hoping to get laid.”

  “Lucky me.” He removed the condom she hadn’t realized he’d applied and tied the open end into a knot.

  “D-d-did you put that thing on in the car?” she sputtered.

  He laughed as he tucked his cock into his pants and fastened his fly. “No, but I did open the package before I put it in my pocket. I hoped I’d need it upon arrival.”

  “So I guess opening the door in nothing but my panties was predictable?” They had been talking about how horny they both were for days, but they hadn’t even made it out of the foyer.

  “Appreciated,” he murmured, kissing her bare shoulder. “You know, we could skip lunch and head directly to the bedroom.”

  “We’re saving the bedroom for last.” With her most mischievous smile, she turned and walked away, forcing herself not to look over her shoulder to see if he was following. She wasn’t used to being a seductress, or even trying to be one, but she had a rich imagination and a long, detailed list of fantasies she wanted Owen to fulfill. She’d already set up each room of the house to accommodate a different sex act. She wondered, belatedly, if he’d find that odd.

  She smiled to herself when his footsteps padded first against the marble and then the dark hardwood floor behind her as she made her way through the great room to the kitchen. She didn’t look at the box on the coffee table as she passed, not wanting to draw his attention to it before the time was right.

  “What do you mean, save the bedroom for last?”

  “Considering it’s the only room in this house where I ever had sex with my husband, I thought we’d save it for last. It’s a big house, a clean house, and all the rooms could use a little dirtying.”

  “I do like the way you think.”

  She stopped at the counter and began to pull out the takeout containers from the bag she’d picked up from the deli on her way home from the sex shop she’d visited that morning. Not many locals went to sex shops at ten a.m., so she’d practically had the place to herself.

  “I can’t decide if I’d rather look at your tits or hold them,” he said, leaning against the counter beside her. He was no longer focused on her eyes—not even close—and while she might despise and fight sexism at work on a daily basis, when she was in her own home, with this man? She wasn’t fighting in the least. She liked that he looked at her as a desirable woman. Liked the way his tongue wet the corner of his mouth as if he were imagining her nipple between his lips.

  “Can’t you do both at the same time?” she asked. “I do have two of them.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I think that would result in sensory overload.”

  His befuddled grin made her laugh. “Maybe I should put on some clothes.”

  “I do feel overdressed,” he said, but instead of encouraging her to cover up, he stripped down to his boxers.

  She allowed her eyes to feast on his broad shoulders, firm chest, ripped stomach, and the devastating vee that drew her gaze from his narrow hips before unfortunately disappearing into his shorts.

  “Still overdressed,” she murmured, hoping he’d take a hint.

  He slowly tugged his boxers lower, showing more vee and a hint of the root of his cock. Just a tease. Just enough to remind her how glad she was he’d come to visit.

  “Enough?” he asked. She tore her gaze from his semi-peepshow to meet the challenge in his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “For now,” she said, inclining her head. “I wasn’t sure what you liked—besides pastrami and rye bread—so I got a little of everything.”

  She opened the lids on her favorite potato salad and on a variety of pasta salads ranging from creamy to oily to vinegar-based. She pulled out three bean salad and coleslaw, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. Next came the cheese platter, the meat platter, the veggie platter, and the fruit tray, followed by assorted dips and crackers.

  “Caitlyn?” he said, his eyes still on her breasts. “Would you be terribly offended if I changed my mind?”

  Her heart gave an unpleasant lurch. Was he already tired of looking at her? Jeez. At least it had taken her husband a few years before he’d started ignoring her.

  “You don’t want . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it: me?

  “I’m hungry for only one thing in this kitchen.”

  “Pastrami?” she guessed.

  He chuckled. “No, beautiful. Earning my pastrami,” he said. “With you.”

  She flushed with pleasure. She hadn’t felt desired in so damned long, but he made her feel desirable, wanted, and beautiful. She did want to spend a little time with him that didn’t involve him buried inside her. Granted, she hoped it was very little time, but still, some.

  “I skipped breakfast,” she said. “I’m starving.”

  “I had a big breakfast. Homemade.”

  Not from a restaurant, a deli counter, or a microwave? “You cook?”

  He examined her spread of prepared foods and avoided her gaze. “Some.”

  She got the feeling he wasn’t telling her the entire story and knew he was a bad liar, so she rephrased her question. “Did you cook yourself breakfast this morning?”

  He reached across the counter and fixed himself a cracker with cheese and summer sausage before stuffing it into his mouth. “Uh, well,” he said, still chewing, “Lindsey cooks, I guess.”

  “So Lindsey made you breakfast this morning.”

  “It didn’t mean anything,” he said. “She was just being nice because I gave her a place to sleep.”

  “At your house,” Caitlyn said flatly. And when he nodded slightly, she added, “I thought you were taking her to a hotel.”

  “We got home really late.” He met her eyes steadily. “Nothing happened.”

  She wanted to believe him, but the unwelcome vision of her husband fucking some nubile young college student on his desk invaded her thoughts. Lindsey appeared to be both nubile and college-age.

  Caitlyn grabbed a paper plate and began filling it with food that no longer looked appetizing.

  After a moment, Owen covered her wrist with his warm hand. “Look at me.”

  She glanced at him so swif
tly, she didn’t even register his expression before turning her attention back to her plate.

  “Look at me, Caitlyn.”

  She took a steadying breath and forced her eyes to meet his.

  “Nothing happened. She slept across the hall in my guest room, and I tossed and turned all night aching with thoughts of you.”

  “She’s very pretty.” The image of the gorgeous pregnant blonde clinging to Owen when she floored him with her news was permanently etched in Caitlyn’s mind. “And young.”

  “But I don’t want her. I want you.” He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She wanted to believe him. She did. But some stupid part of her expected every man to betray her, every man to prefer a young, hot blonde with perfect firm tits and flawless skin. Every man to find her lacking.

  “And I’d say it’s only your body I want,” he said, “but that would be a lie.”

  She moaned quietly as her body began to throb beneath the light, persistent stroke of his thumb.

  “In addition to being beautiful, you’re smart and funny and open-minded and beguilingly humble. Someone with your success should have a bigger ego.”

  She opened her eyes and found him watching her face. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “I’ll try not to be jealous of the gorgeous, young, pregnant blonde living under your roof.”

  “Oh, she’s not staying with me anymore.” He shook his head. “She’s staying with my mom.”

  “Your mom? So you told her the baby is yours?” Why else would she take in a pregnant stranger?

  He snorted on a laugh. “Uh, no. It’s just my mother likes to take in strays—stray kids, stray animals, stray pregnant groupies.”

  “So you often drop off your pregnant groupies at your mother’s house?”

  He laughed again. An anxious laugh. “What? No, of course not. Lindsey is the first.”

  “But she’s yours,” Caitlyn pressed.

  “Quit twisting my words,” he said. “I could have let her stay at my place, but I didn’t think you’d like that arrangement.”

  Fighting down the jealousy eating at her, she stared at him for a long moment. This was just a fling, she reminded herself. Sex and fun and nothing more. “Why would I care if she stays at your place?”

  Yes, Caitlyn, why? Because she did care, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She wasn’t very good at this frivolous, meaningless relationship stuff. Maybe she’d eventually get the hang of it. But when he said all the right things and made her feel good about herself in addition to being an all-around great guy, keeping him at an emotional distance was difficult. And they hadn’t even been together an hour.

  “Can we not talk about Lindsey?” Owen asked. “I came here to spend time with you. To get to know you better. She’s enough of an invasion into my life without me letting her dig her claws into me here as well.”

  “So you don’t think it’s your baby?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I just want to be irresponsible and self-centered for a few more months. Is that too much to ask?”

  She forced herself not to laugh. Maybe he had a reputation of being irresponsible and self-centered, but she never felt he was either of those things. He was kind, considerate, and thoughtful. And just the right amount of dirty and dangerous. But mostly he was nice.

  “I don’t want to talk about Lindsey either,” she admitted, dipping a carrot stick into ranch dressing and biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

  “Good,” he said, his shoulders relaxing as the tension in his back eased.

  “I’d rather talk to you about my list.” She kept her eyes fixed on the countertop before her.

  “What list?”

  “A list of my fantasies.”

  “Ride a unicorn in a crystal forest fantasies or sexual fantasies?”

  She met his gaze and grinned. “Well, I meant sexual fantasies, but do you have a unicorn?”

  “I could probably find one.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. Even rock stars couldn’t find a unicorn.

  “Are you truly all-in on the threesome with another woman?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, crinkling her brow. She felt that she was missing something important.

  “Then I’ll find us a unicorn. What’s your type? I’m assuming no young blondes.”

  “Aren’t all unicorns white?”

  He lifted a brow at her. “Do you have something against women of color?”

  “What?” She shook her head vigorously. She was of mixed heritage herself; how could he even ask her that? “Of course I don’t. Are we even talking about the same thing?”

  “A unicorn.”

  “Right.”

  “A woman who enjoys having sex with a committed heterosexual couple,” he clarified.

  She blinked at him. “They call that a unicorn?”

  He chuckled. “Well, they are incredibly rare, but I’ve run across a few of them in my, um . . . adventures.”

  She massaged her forehead. “I feel so dense. I thought we were talking about an actual unicorn.”

  “Actual unicorns aren’t real, but the kind I prefer are.”

  So he preferred two women at once, was that what he was saying? “A threesome with a woman is on my list, but it’s not at the top.”

  She went to the refrigerator and pulled her fantasy list from its magnetic clip. She’d hung it between her grocery list and her to-do list.

  “You made an actual list? And wrote it down?” He chuckled, but his laughter died when she glared at him.

  “You can’t make fun of me for this. I’d be mortified.”

  “I won’t make fun.”

  She cozied up next to him at the kitchen island, her list pressed against her bare belly.

  “I did some research.”

  “You did research?” He pressed his lips together, but managed not to laugh.

  She nodded. “I did, and I ranked a handful of fantasies in accordance to my interest and then assigned each to a room in my house. If they required props, I went out and bought everything we’d need and set it up.”

  “I take it you’re a planner?”

  She flushed, trying not to be embarrassed. Focusing on every detail had seemed like a great idea at the time. Now she felt foolish.

  “I, yeah, well, I can’t help it. Is it better to just be spontaneous?”

  He would know. He was the expert.

  “Let’s see the list,” he said.

  “You won’t laugh at me?”

  “I won’t.”

  She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she begrudgingly handed over the list.

  He read the first item and glanced at the wall clock. “Seems we’re already off schedule,” he said.

  Her face flamed. “Those are just guidelines. And we added sex in the foyer. I hadn’t planned for that one.”

  “You didn’t appreciate my spontaneity?”

  “Oh, trust me, I did. And this isn’t set in stone. I’m flexible.”

  His grin was oh so naughty. “How flexible we talking here, Caitlyn?”

  This double entendre didn’t go over her head the way the unicorn one had.

  “Well, if you’ll skip down to number . . .” She glanced at the list and pointed to a line near the center of the page. “. . . seventeen, you’ll recognize that I’m fairly flexible.”

  He grunted softly. “I see. What if I’m not that flexible?” He lifted his gaze, a worried scowl on his face.

  “We can improvise.”

  “This is a lot of pressure to put on a guy,” he said.

  She hadn’t even considered that when she’d been devising her list, but she recognized that he was right.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling the paper from his fingers. “It was a stupid idea.”

  “It’s a brilliant idea,” he said, grabbing the page and crinkling it in his haste. He laid it on the countertop and smoothed it out. “How about we meet in th
e middle here?”

  “Start with number twenty-five? I’m not sure we know each other well enough to do that just yet.”

  He read number twenty-five and actually blushed. “I think you might be right. That is pretty intimate.” He tore his gaze from her list and met her eyes. “I meant, I have your list of fantasies, and I’d love to work at making them all a reality, but do we really need a schedule? Do we have to go through them one by one like a script, or can we be a little more spontaneous?”

  “I know this might come as a huge shock to you, but I’m really not that spontaneous. The most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done in my life was have a one-night stand with you. Well, I’d thought it would be one night at the time,” she quickly amended.

  “And was it a truly terrible experience?” he asked.

  “A bit unnerving,” she admitted. “But no, not terrible.” It could have gone terribly wrong, though. Thinking back, she wondered how she’d ever convinced herself to enter that sex club in the first place. “It was wonderful, actually. But I’m not sure I could do anything that spontaneous again.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m positive that you can. And I’d be more than happy to work near the edge of your comfort zone. Especially now that you’ve spelled it all out for me.”

  She licked her lips nervously. “Charles would have made fun of me for making a list. Caitlyn, Caitlyn,” she said in his typical condescending tone, “you wouldn’t know fun if it rode in on a hippopotamus playing the trombone.”

  Owen laughed and pulled her into his arms for a hug. And maybe his hands did drift down to squeeze her ass, but she honestly didn’t mind.

  “You know how to have fun,” he told her.

  “But I don’t. Not really. I haven’t had any real fun in over a decade.” Her night with Owen the one major exception.

  “Did you ever consider that your lack of fun wasn’t a personal problem but because you were with the wrong man?”

  She shook her head. “Charles was always having fun without me.”

  “What kind of fun?”

  “He’d play golf or read the classics or go to the theater or screw freshmen on his desk.”