Tough Sell (Tough Love Book 1) Read online

  As her stiff limbs relaxed, she felt him lapping at her slowly, his warm hands unhooking her bra, and then resting protectively over her breasts, holding them gently as he worked his way up to spoon her, her own smell floating to her. He tugged the comforter over them both and held her as she came back down.

  From where she lay curled on her side, she could see her alarm clock. It wasn’t even six p.m. yet. Something about that stunned her. How could she have been waiting years for great sex like this and have it arrive so quickly, only twenty-four hours after she’d met this man? She snuggled her ass back against his crotch and was a little mortified to find he still had his jeans on. She tried to roll over to face him but his arms tightened around her and he kissed the top of her head.

  “Just hold still and relax,” he muttered. “Let me come down too.”

  “But you didn’t, I mean you’re still … hard,” she whispered.

  Ed groaned. “Do not say that word right now,” he said.

  “But …”

  “Believe me, I got what I wanted.” He turned her chin toward him and kissed her gently.

  Dorothy thought about this. What did that mean? Why had he almost stopped? And what the heck was up with the nipples and shoes thing. She decided to start with the shoes.

  “So, do you have a shoe fetish or what?”

  Behind her, Ed grunted in surprise. “What?”

  “I mean, I’m the kind of girl who gets carried away, so I’m already thinking I need to stock up if I want to keep you interested.” Oh Lord. What an idiot she was, why had she said that? He would be running for the front door as fast as the wind now.

  Instead he laughed. “So, you want to keep me interested?”

  “Maybe,” she said, trying to recover from her TMI moment.

  He laughed again. “I don’t think you have to work at it, Dorothy. Believe me, I’m extremely interested.”

  “Then what’s with the shoes?”

  He blew out a breath. “Look, it’s not the shoes. Normally, I don’t care about shoes other than I like the way a woman looks in high heels. But you, you wear these bright colors, and they match. I mean, they match your underwear.” He hugged her closer. “It feels like a sexy secret … like I know what you’re wearing under your clothes by looking at your shoes. Like you’re sending a message anyone could read but I’m the only one that gets it. It just turned me on.”

  Dorothy considered this. Her shoes and underwear almost never matched, but by coincidence he thought they did.

  “I have to tell you, I’m not always that coordinated.”

  “Just let me believe you are.” He chuckled a little. “I mean, how often will I get to find out I’m wrong?”

  She thought about her current wardrobe. “Actually, I could make it be so. You know, just for you.” Against her ass, she felt his dick stiffen and she smiled to herself.

  Eventually, they roused themselves and returned to the kitchen to find cold Thai food waiting for them. Ed set about reheating some of it for them, while Dorothy set up her computer and laid out some of her sketches to show him. Every now and then, he thought about what had just happened. How the heck had he lost it so quickly with her? One minute he was relaxing, enjoying having her fuss over him and then next minute, he was standing over her about to rip open his fly and fuck her with his jeans still on. He knew what it meant to be taken without consenting and still it had been all he could do to button up and take a step back.

  Dorothy had gently taken over. He could sense her feeling her way, stroking his arm, teasing him, luring him back to her. Letting him know she was OK, that she wanted him.

  She had seemed fine afterward. Everything was OK, he told himself, shaking his worries off. They had bigger fish to fry so to speak.

  He brought a bowl of Pad Thai to the table and started to review her sketches.

  “These are the website redesigns?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she said through a mouthful of noodles. “And those there are some tag lines I was playing with. I’m still working on them. I haven’t found one that really resonates yet.” She turned her laptop to face him. “And here are some of my ideas for using social media. If we get enough of these out there, one of them might go viral.”

  Ed felt himself stiffen at the phrase.

  “You don’t like them?” she asked, looking up at him, suddenly vulnerable and young looking.

  “I do like them, but I don’t trust social media. Let’s just say I think it brings out the worst in people.”

  Dorothy looked at her food, stirring it with a chopstick. “Yeah, I can see the crazy in social media, but it can be helpful too. It can also open doors that would never have been there without it.” She looked at him. “Sorta like the twenty-four-hour news cycle did for me.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah, I mean when my story hit the news, it was, you know, a bunch of people just gawking at a car crash, type of thing I’m sure. But without that, I would never have met the Johansens.”

  He put down his fork. Had a video of this beautiful, thriving young woman gone viral? What was on it? And how was it she seemed so … normal? “I’m not following.”

  She blinked. “Didn’t you know? I’m Baby Dot.” She watched him closely as he struggled to remember why that name sounded familiar. “My whole family was murdered.”

  Holy fuck. She said that so matter-of-factly. How was that possible? Of course, he remembered her now. “You’re the little girl? The one that was left alive?” If that was so, she had been just a baby, spared by a mysterious gunman who had shot every person in her family, hunting them all down in a single night, killing the inhabitants of three different homes, all except Baby Dot and a lone dog.

  “Yes. That’s me. My whole family was murdered and everyone watched me on the cable news cycle, being pulled from the house, over and over. Yep.” She put down her chopstick. “Of course, I was too little at the time to know people were watching, and I didn’t understand what had happened, but if that hadn’t happened, Helen and Carl Johansen wouldn’t have known about me and they wouldn’t have offered to adopt me.”

  He rubbed his eyes trying to come to grips with this. Her most private moment had been played and replayed on cable. The world had lapped up her tears, eagerly waiting for video feeds of wailing relatives, interviews with town folks, pictures of the downtrodden and struggling Appalachian community she came from, gleefully feeding the voyeuristic and insatiable appetite of the viewing public and she could sit here calmly talking about the upside of it. A dull throbbing started in his temple.

  “It is weird though, that there are clips from the news out on the Internet. I mean, I lived it but I’ve only seen it online, just like people who weren’t even there.”

  He pushed his food away. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “All those people knowing so much about the worst day of your life? About everything about you?”

  She tipped her head, once more holding her chopsticks, stirring at her food. “I don’t think so. What happened was going to happen anyway. I think it used to scare Mom, I mean Helen, my adopted mom. I think she used to worry that someone was going to come after me, you know, finish the job, and since the adoption also got media attention, it wouldn’t have been hard to find me, but you know, no one ever did.” She set down the utensils again. “I don’t think I was important enough to come after.”

  Her face and body language belied her words, as if she was sad that she had been allowed to survive, but that didn’t make sense. He filed the observation away, still stunned that she was able to talk about this at all.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, so, after all that, you’re OK with media exposure?”

  She brightened. “Of course. I’m in marketing.” She waved her chopstick in the air. “Know thine enemy and all that. We can use this to help your company.” And with that, they were back on solid ground. They spent the next few hours going over the website changes, w
hich Ed promised to forward to his “IT team” to get working on immediately. She laughed when he told her that meant he’d start working on the website tomorrow. They discussed the social media campaign some more and Ed became more comfortable with the idea. All the posts and hashtags would lead back to the company’s website and Facebook pages which seemed safe enough. He controlled them all very carefully and none of them had pictures of himself or any of the employees on them. After they worked through all the slogans and Ed suggested a few more, Dorothy began to yawn. It was after eleven.

  He stood up and washed the dishes while she started shutting down her laptop.

  “We have to discuss the message you’ll be giving as the company spokesperson,” Dorothy said. “I think you’re going to be perfect at delivering the message, but I’m not getting that same feeling from others at the office.”

  He froze. What? “I’m not going to be the company spokesperson,” he said flatly. “We’ll have to hire an actor for any promotions.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she said incredulously. “You’re going to be the best spokesperson ever, and the cheapest I might add.”

  “I’m not doing it, Dorothy.” Even to him, his voice sounded sharp.

  She came and stood beside him trying to see his face. He put down the dishtowel and turned to face her, his hip resting against the cabinets. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her his most serious scowl. She better get this straight right from the get go. “Let me make this clear. There will be absolutely no pictures of me, no videos, no TV appearances or interviews unless they are radio. In no case will I allow my face to be photographed or videoed. Is that understood?”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she spluttered. “You, you, you’re being recorded every day. In the bank, on the street, on line at the grocery, why wouldn’t you use what you have to help your company? You’re so handsome and you’re so passionate!” She blew out a breath, pressed her lips together briefly but continued anyway, her chin held high, looking him right in the eye. “You are the perfect spokesperson and you are going to do this, or I’m not working on this for another minute.”

  Obviously, he needed to get this message through to her, but right now, she was on a rant. Besides, she’d said something very interesting. He put down the towel and walked toward her, crowding her back against the counter.

  “Oh no! Don’t try to change the subject, mister.”

  “Who said anything about changing the subject? I want you to explain more. For instance, you think I’m handsome?”

  She slapped at his chest. “You know darn well you are.”

  “Hmm. Maybe. But to you particularly? That’s what interests me.” He grabbed her by the hips and crowded against her further. “Let’s talk about how passionate I am.”

  She swallowed, her eyes fixed on his mouth, but what she did next floored him. She bent her knees and shimmied out of his arms, her hands sliding down the flat of his chest, down both sides of his abdomen and down the front of his thighs until she was kneeling in front of him, her hand curled into the waistband of his jeans. Eyes hooded and pink lips parted, she stared at his crotch. His mind sort of stuttered there. She wasn’t intending to suck him off, was she? Surely, she was just getting away from him. His mind emptied as she brought her hands above his fly and kinda tugged at his waistband again. She flattened her palm and cupped him through his pants. Holy shit. His dick was as hard as a rock and part of him was holding his breath and praying for her to take him out, to look at his dick, to suck it for fuck’s sake.

  In the back of his mind, he felt the fear coming, the uncertainty, suspicion. He hadn’t asked her for this, hadn’t given her permission to do this. She had no right to any part of him that wasn’t offered to her freely. And while he knew that he had just done anything he wanted to her, and she had welcomed it, that didn’t seem to matter. In the bedroom, he had solved the issue by bringing her hands to her own breasts, keeping them busy there and postponing the inevitable discovery, but here in the kitchen with her kneeling before him, a dream come true for one part of him and a nightmare for the other part, he couldn’t come up with any idea for resolving this. Before him, she ran her hand down to his balls, put her hand between his legs and squeezed lightly.

  He growled and bent over, putting his hands beneath her arms and lifting her back up, her feet dangling, toes barely touching the floor. He held her like that, her face above his, and kissed her before setting her down in front of him. He kissed her again and then, like the coward he was, he ran. Packed it in, got his coat, babbling the whole time about anything he could think of. The work they had to do tomorrow and hey, why didn’t he get her a few of the exhaust adapters for her presentation? Anything to get himself out the door before he had to explain, and through it all, she watched him, her pretty face sad, a small frown between her eyebrows. She even packed up half the food for him, even though he was practically racing away from her as if she was contagious.

  He was out the door in ten minutes flat. In twelve minutes, the self-recrimination began as he strode down the block, around the corner and headed for home, long legs eating up the blocks, the rhythm of his city stride calming him. What the heck was wrong with him? He’d had a beautiful woman kneeling in front of him, getting ready to do … well, who knew what but he was pretty sure it was going to involve her mouth and his dick, which ought to be good enough for any normal man. And then her face as he had lifted her up and pushed her away. That was the worst part. He knew he had hurt her feelings and left her feeling rejected, but this was just one example of why he should stay away from women.

  Dorothy especially. He needed her, his company needed her and if he hurt her feelings, who knows what would happen. Would she decide not to finish the campaign? It was all so risky. Nothing that would stay solid.

  But my God, she had looked so hot down there on the floor, palms flat on his thighs, blue-green eyes looking up at him, her pretty, shiny lips just inches from his damn zipper. And then he remembered the video and he’d just shut down. Like always. It was just a fact of life for him, the video had ruined him and he would never be whole again. He needed to keep that in mind and keep his distance from Dorothy. She was a good person who didn’t need to have a shell of a man wrecking her love life for her. She was so fucking hot that she could have any guy she wanted. Ed was more than sure of that.

  He slammed up the stairs to his apartment and retrieved the keys to the small compact car he shared with a community group in this area. He checked the online reservation board and reserved the car for the next couple hours so he could drive to Orange County and pick up the exhaust adapters he’d promised Dorothy for her photos tomorrow. He’d only offered it because he needed an excuse to leave her place but now, he had to admit, at least, that had been a good idea. He would get the adapters, give them to Dorothy tomorrow and then maybe they could work this weekend using video calls or something.

  The one thing he knew is he couldn’t be alone with her.

  Chapter 8

  The one thing Dorothy knew is that she couldn’t be alone with Ed again. She’d been hurt when he’d left last night but in the morning, it seemed to make a lot more sense. After all, he was her client for heaven’s sake. Who did this? What self-respecting woman hopped into bed with her client after knowing him for only twenty-four hours?

  This didn’t stop the humiliation from roiling in her gut when she pictured herself, kneeling in front of him, only to have him practically evaporate from in front of her. Had she been that slutty? Had he looked at her there, kneeling in front of him, and seen a woman with no dignity? She couldn’t begin to figure it out. He had been aroused, that she was sure of, the evidence had been right in front of her nose, so to speak. But just because he’d been aroused physically, didn’t mean he wasn’t also repulsed mentally, she supposed. Although, that certainly hadn’t happened to her when he’d told her to squeeze her breasts within an inch of their lives. And speaking of which, she’d done a good job at that sh
e noticed, now that she was showering. Good grief. What a good little do-bee she’d been for him. He was probably having a big laugh about it now.

  Ugh. Disgusted with her own thoughts, she finished up, dried off and did up her hair in a messy bun. She hesitated at her dresser. What shoes was she going to wear today? Fuck that. She wasn’t dressing for him. She grabbed the first bra in the drawer and out of habit, a matching pair of underwear … but only because she always did that. Black satin bra, black print underwear—matching yes, comfortable too. No freaking lace or thong today. She pulled out a red blouse and black slacks and could have smacked herself when she realized she’d be wearing black pumps. Forget him. She wasn’t changing to not do what he wanted either. Makeup and a cup of coffee and she was out the door. Allie wasn’t even home yet. Who would have believed she would be early for work two days in a row?

  She had one problem. She needed the exhaust adapters for her photo shoot today. And a loaf of bread or something else, but she wasn’t sure yet. Something that had been a game changer for cars in the past. First order of business, get the adapters. As she headed to the subway, she dialed Ed’s number and waited. He sounded groggy when he answered and his voice was rough. Blast her stupid V, she got wet just hearing his voice.

  “Dorothy? You okay?” And blast him too, as if he cared.

  “Yep. I’m good!” She sounded like a nut job, she was so falsely cheerful. No problem here, just left me sucking air on my kitchen floor last night, but hey, no worries. “I need to pick up those adapters this morning.”

  “Oh, um, right. Can I bring them to your office?”

  “No! Um, no. Please don’t … bother I mean. I’m heading out now … where’s your place?”

  He gave her the address and she had to repeat it five times to make sure she would remember it because she didn’t have a pen.

  “I’ll text it to you.” She felt completely stupid. Of course, he could text it.