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  “I think you’ll fit.”

  He brushed her hand away and crashed his mouth down to hers, grinding his pelvis between her legs. The edge of his open zipper dug into her thigh, but Darcy didn’t care about the bite of metal on her skin. Nor did she care that he’d pinned her arms by her sides while he feasted on her neck, rubbing himself against her. Her focus had narrowed to a pinpoint—to the one single thing her body needed to continue existing.

  “Reed,” she gasped, her lips at his ear. “I’m done with the foreplay.”

  “I don’t hear that too often.” He pushed back and toed off his shoes before shucking his shirt and pants. “Getting impatient, are we?”

  “Please.” Her hands fluttered by her sides. The need burned inside her, like an out-of-control house fire. If she didn’t tame it now, she’d be reduced to ashes. “I want you inside me so bad.”

  A satisfied smile played on Reed’s lips. “How bad?”

  “You want me to beg?” She narrowed her eyes.

  Chuckling, he pushed his boxer briefs down. His cock bobbed up against his stomach and Darcy’s breathing grew shallow. But it was nothing compared to the hard jolt of arousal that shot through her when he wrapped his hand around himself.

  “No need to beg. Your face is doing that for you.” He ran his fist up and down, slow and steady. “Your eyes are all wide and those sexy lips are parted just so.”

  “Maybe you do affect me,” she whispered.

  He reached down and shoved his hand into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. “Never a doubt in my mind.” He produced a condom and tore it open.

  “Arrogant.”

  Darcy scooted to the edge of the bed, her eyes trained on his hands as he sheathed his cock. There was something utterly delicious about the way Reed handled himself. He didn’t lack confidence in his body or in the way other people viewed it. He knew he was hotter than sin.

  “I am.” He stalked over to her, tilting her face up to his. “You’d do well to be a little more arrogant too.”

  “You’ll have to teach me,” she murmured as he scooped her up and sat with her in his lap. He yanked her into place, her knees digging into the bed on either side of his hips.

  The position offered no cover—no blanket, no hiding under his broad chest. All she could do was bury her face into his neck. But she was open. Exposed.

  “We should get the lights,” she whispered.

  “No way,” he growled against her ear. “I want to watch every bit of this. I have voyeuristic tendencies, Darcy. I feast with my eyes.”

  His hands smoothed up and down her back. When he cupped her backside, firmly kneading her, she turned pliable beneath his fingertips. It was like he knew exactly what to do to refocus her brain on the here and now, instead of the doubt swirling like a sandstorm in her brain.

  “Which one was your first?” he asked.

  “Huh?” She blinked.

  “Your tattoos.” His fingertip traced the open book with the letters spilling out that sat right below her shoulder. “Which one was first?”

  “The black cat and the moon.” She pointed to her thigh. “I got it here because it would be easy to hide from my mother. But it turns out tattoos are a little addictive.”

  “And you stopped worrying about hiding things?”

  “Kinda.” She rocked back and forth in his lap, feeling the latex-covered head of his cock pushing up against her. “I guess I still hide some things.”

  “Like how much of a bombshell you are.” He slipped a hand between them and brushed his thumb over her clit. Darcy’s body tensed in response.

  “I wasn’t hiding that. Just in denial, I guess.”

  “Lucky I put a stop to it.” His lips traced a line along her jaw. “Denial is the devil’s foothold.”

  Who was this complicated man? Darcy searched Reed’s face, but the flicker of seriousness had been replaced by a hungry, wolfish smirk. Distracted, Darcy almost missed that he’d moved his hand and was now curling two fingers inside her.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “That feels good.”

  “Rock against me.” His free hand snaked around her waist and he held her tightly as her hips swirled to some natural, silent rhythm. “I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”

  She’d never been so ready for anything in her life. All this buildup had made her positively combustible. “Yes, now. Ready.”

  “I’m sure there was a sentence in there somewhere.” His white teeth flashed, but Darcy’s attention was laser locked on Reed’s hand moving between them.

  He gripped the base of his cock and guided himself to her entrance, moving slow and deliberate. Drawing the final act out until the very last second. The man was a master of anticipation—he stretched time until she wasn’t sure whether it had been minutes or hours since he’d started touching her.

  “Sink down on me, baby.” His hands bit into her hips as he helped her down.

  There was a brief flash of discomfort as he pushed into her, her body scrambling to accommodate his size. Holy shit, he was even bigger than he looked. Gasping, she clamped her eyes shut and willed herself to relax.

  “I’ll go slow.” He brushed the hair from her forehead and when she opened her eyes she found herself drowning in the endless warmth of his gaze.

  This was why women fell for him. This exact moment. Fantasy had weaseled its way into reality, tempting her to believe, to want. To think that maybe she could be his type. The way he looked at her was everything.

  “You still with me?” His thumb caught the edge of her mouth, opening her to a kiss as he rocked up into her.

  “God, Reed.” Sex had never been like this before. Sensual and a little dirty and filled with teasing and communication.

  He flipped them around, her back landing on the soft covers. “Yes, some people do like to call me God.”

  She swatted him, but with all the endorphins rioting in her body, she couldn’t be annoyed. In fact, his self-deprecating humor had charmed her. Or was that simply the way he plucked at her breasts as he thrust into her, creating a rhythm that was uniquely theirs? The muscles inside her sex fluttered, another orgasm building.

  Reed hooked his arms under the backs of her legs and encouraged her to lock her feet behind his back. The slight change made him plunge deeper, harder.

  “Holy shit.” Her head lolled back. “I’m so close. I can’t… I… Ugh…”

  “Shh.” He covered his mouth with hers. “Let it come.”

  His fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her deeply and passionately, like it meant something. Then the feeling burst like a bubble on a needle, light fracturing behind her closed lids as she quaked in his arms. A second later, he followed her.

  * * *

  Reed pulled up in front of Gabriel’s house, killing the engine on the car and sucking in a big breath before he pushed the door open. It was Tuesday evening, a whole day after he’d slept with Darcy. Vaguely, he wondered if she’d done her laundry yet. Perhaps he should send some panties to her house.

  Do you even know her address? Uh, no. That’s because you and her are not a thing. You’re not dating her and that means no fucking panty deliveries.

  His conscience could be such a little bitch sometimes. But it had a point. Yesterday, while fun, was a one-time thing. He and Darcy were working together, and the last thing he needed was for her to throw a wrench in the works. Especially now that he was going to use the fundraiser to hook Dave Bretton as a client.

  The plan was perfect really, since no other publishing industry events would touch him at the moment. The guy’s publicity opportunities had dried up, and Reed was going to leverage the hell out of it. Which meant keeping Darcy compliant with his plans.

  Still, he couldn’t regret what had happened last night. Seeing her blossom from the human version of Grump
y Cat into the sexy, little minx who’d cooed in his ear as she came was something he wouldn’t soon forget. But keeping the memory fresh and acting on it were two different things. And Darcy needed to be put squarely back in the colleague box. The woman was far too dangerous—and too damn good at seeing through his shit—to be anything else.

  He walked to the front door, the early-summer air warm on his skin. Golden light spilled out of the twin windows of Gabriel’s house, inviting and cozy. A family home in the making. The kind Reed had wished for growing up.

  He rapped his knuckles on the front door and smiled at the sound of chaos inside. There was barking, someone shouting in Spanish, music. A second later, the door flung open and a woman launched herself into his arms. Her big belly prevented her from getting too close, however.

  “Sofia darling.” He leaned in to kiss her once on each cheek. “You’re looking radiant.”

  “Suck-up!” Gabriel yelled from inside the house. The kitchen wasn’t too far from the front door, and Reed chuckled at the sight of his friend waving a pair of tongs in the air like a madman.

  “He’s jealous because I’m so excited that you’ve come over.” Sofia draped her arm around his shoulders and led him into the house. “It’s been too long.”

  Reed had taken a while to get used to the affection Sofia doled out generously. It was like love seeped out of every one of her pores, and she was always hugging and kissing people, her vivacious laugh never silenced for long. She and Gabriel did everything with passion—cooking, fighting, making up.

  For a guy like Reed, who’d grown up with a father who believed that sweeping emotions under the rug was the only way to deal, the overt PDA had been more than a little uncomfortable at first. But he’d grown to accept Sofia and Gabriel’s way, and even looked forward to it from time to time.

  “It has been a while,” he agreed, crouching down to greet the baby of the family. Sofia’s Golden Retriever, Benito—or Benny, as they’d taken to calling him—whined with excitement. “Oh boy, you’ve missed me, haven’t you.”

  The dog slapped his paws over Reed’s shoulders, toppling him. The damn thing was the only creature possibly more affectionate than Sofia.

  “Gabe, Benny is making out with Reed. This is really getting inappropriate.” Her tinkling laughter disappeared as she swanned back into the kitchen and Gabriel appeared.

  He was wearing a black tank top under an apron that read I’m not yelling. I’m Hispanic in bold, white print. “Hey, man.” He slapped a hand down on Reed’s shoulder. “Glad you could make it. Did the corporate drones let you off early?”

  “I told them I had a meeting off-site.” He disentangled himself from the dog and brushed off the gold hair from his jeans. “Not that anyone gives a shit. I’m a dead man walking.”

  “That bad, huh?” Gabriel frowned. “I really thought this Bad Bachelors stuff would die down.”

  “Yeah, you’d think so.”

  Only, the closer he looked, the more he wanted to kick himself for not acting sooner. He’d gone through every review on his profile and made a note of who he thought wrote it. So far, he’d only accounted for half the reviews. A further dozen were so vague that he’d probably have no chance of figuring out who wrote them.

  Then there were the few that made alarm bells go off in his head. The ones that smacked of ulterior motive. He’d spoken with Bath and Weston’s IT manager to determine if it was possible to see who’d been looking at the site at work. But apparently, he was only able to request that information for his direct reports, which meant he’d need to involve someone higher up in the food chain, and he was a little reluctant to draw more attention to the problem than was absolutely necessary.

  “Can I grab a beer?” Reed said. “It’s been a long fucking week.”

  “It’s Tuesday.” Gabriel shook his head. “If you’re saying that already, beer’s not going to cut it.”

  They walked into the dining area, and Gabriel grabbed a bottle of tequila from the bar against the far wall. Don Julio, his favorite. He had a collection of glasses stacked on a silver tray that were his pride and joy. They were heirlooms from his mother that he was already planning to pass down to the little boy who hadn’t yet emerged from his wife’s belly.

  “This is the Reposado. It’s good,” he said, lining up two shot glasses alongside two tumblers. He poured the shots and handed one to Reed, holding his glass up. “Salud!”

  “Salud.” The glasses clinked and Reed tipped the liquid down the back of his throat, humming at the smooth, warming sensation. He’d always thought tequila to be a college drink, something you got trashed on once and brought it back up so hard you never drank it again. But Gabriel had proven him wrong.

  “Now the slow one.” Gabriel poured two fingers into each tumbler and handed one over. “Enjoy.”

  There was yelling from the kitchen, Spanish words. Reed wasn’t fluent by any means, but he knew the curse words. “What did she say?”

  “Dinner’s almost ready.” Gabriel grinned.

  Reed chuckled. “That’s definitely not what she said.”

  Ten minutes later, they were seated at the table. Benny had curled up on the floor, his big, silky head resting next to Reed’s sneaker. Sofia served the food from the center of the table, her dark, curly hair falling into her face. Her apron barely covered her belly, and she had some sauce splattered on her cheek. Gabriel grinned at her dotingly and wiped it away with his thumb, while she waved him away with a spoon.

  They were the kind of couple who were so in love it could have been sickening if they didn’t deserve one another so damn much.

  “So, Reed. I hear you’ve been having a stressful time,” Sofia said as she placed a plate in front of him.

  “You’re only supposed to tell her when I’m doing well,” he said, shaking his head at Gabriel. “You’re making me look bad.”

  Gabriel held up his hands. “For once, it ain’t me who’s making you look bad.”

  “How’s your dad?” Sofia swatted at her husband as she took her seat. “Is he feeling okay after what happened?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. Well…” He paused. “Not fine, exactly. But he’s doing okay all things considered.”

  “Did you find out what happened?” Gabriel asked between shoveling the paella into his mouth. The guy ate like every meal was his last. Though Reed couldn’t judge him—Sofia’s cooking was incredible.

  “All I know is that he fell and hit his head on the coffee table, but what caused him to fall is a little fuzzy.” Reed skewered a shrimp on his fork. “Donna wasn’t in the room and you know what Dad’s like…getting information out of him is like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. But the doctor said he was dehydrated, more than normal.”

  Ever since his wife left seventeen years ago, Adam existed primarily on cigarettes and coffee, to the point that he’d lost the taste for food. These days, there were no more cigarettes, but he guzzled coffee like it was about to become a scarce resource. Donna was supposed to keep an eye on his fluid intake—of the non-caffeinated variety—but some days, even she couldn’t get the old man to do what he was supposed to.

  “Maybe he tripped or got the oxygen tank caught on a piece of furniture like last time.” Reed shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You think he’s embarrassed to tell you what happened?” Sofia asked. “My abuela was like that. Stubborn like a mule.”

  “He’s stubborn all right.”

  Gabriel snorted. “Like father, like son.”

  “What can I say? It’s a family trait.” Reed reached for his tequila and took a sip. He could already feel the alcohol working its magic on him, warming his muscles so they didn’t feel as bunched. “But it makes it very hard to help him when he won’t say what’s wrong.”

  “And his breathing is still giving him issues?” Sofia frowned.

  If only his de
ar old dad could see all that sympathy in her pretty, brown eyes—he’d want to smash something. They were two peas in a pod like that. Sympathy was for other people. Weak people. The McMahons were tough and independent. Other people’s pity only made them work harder to keep their problems to themselves.

  “The emphysema isn’t going away.” Reed found his throat closing around the words, making his voice sound choppy and rough. He cleared his throat. “We can manage it, but he’ll be like that until…”

  The silence was filled with the scrape of cutlery against plates. Reed knew his dad was never going to get better—that was a fact. But saying it aloud made it hard to breathe, as though his body were mimicking the pain and struggle his father slogged through every day. His fists clenched underneath the table.

  “Have you ever thought about taking him to a therapist?” Sofia asked quietly. Gabriel shot her a look, but she waved him away.

  “It’s not in his head,” Reed replied.

  “Oh, I know that.” She reached out to place her hand over his, the gentle touch stirring something painful in his chest. “But chronic pain can be very tough to deal with from a mental and emotional standpoint. Maybe talking to someone—”

  “Sof,” Gabriel warned.

  “I’m just saying,” she protested. “There’s nothing wrong with getting help. He has a caregiver to help him with the physical stuff. Why not see a psychologist for the mental stuff?”

  Reed had wondered on and off if his father’s problems had grown outside the realm of the physical. Christ, he couldn’t even bring himself to think about his dad having depression. But any discussions about talking to someone were met with hostility usually reserved for election time. If there was one thing his father hated more than politics, it was the idea that a doctor was going to mess with his head.

  McMahons don’t talk about their feelings with strangers… It’s not the family way.

  His father’s words rang in his head. Hell, McMahons didn’t talk about their feelings, period. Not the men anyway. They packed it all down and gritted their teeth, moving on without showing the world they were hurting.