Personal Disaster (Billionaire Secrets Book 3) Page 5

  I trace a finger over his bearded jaw, then let it drop onto his shirt as I peel myself off his body. I really do like his uniform. “So let’s count our dates,” I murmur as I trace the buttons in a line. “Dinner last night—first date?”

  “Not lunch?”

  I shake my head. “That was work.”

  “But dinner…”

  It didn’t feel like work. “I think from the second you came to my room, that was a date.”

  His eyes darken. “Agreed. And coffee this morning. Not a great date, but we kissed. That counts.”

  I smile. “A mini date, and it was fantastic. That’s two. And lunch just now was date number three.”

  “Was?” His lips twist. “Is our date over? Because you’re in my lap right now. In my books, that’s a good sign for a date progressing.”

  I sigh regretfully—which takes some serious effort—and press my hand against his chest. “Was. Past tense.” I stand up and smooth my hands over my skirt. “If you leave food out on your desk, will the bears break in and destroy your office?”

  “I generally try not to leave food out, yes. Why?”

  I step back. “No reason. I just thought maybe our next date could start with a chase.”

  And I turn and sprint for the door.

  After I finished writing my story, I took a shower. I shaved my legs. Then I put on a dress, and by some small miracle, I chose my flats.

  I hear Marcus behind me. He swears under his breath, then he scrambles to pack up our lunch. That was mean of me. But I’ll need the head start, because I don’t know where I want him to chase me to. I stop at the rise and look left and right. Forest in all directions. It probably doesn’t matter.

  The door to the little log cabin office thumps open, and I take off again.

  I’m at the edge of the forest by the time he catches me. He swings he around, his arms banded about my waist as he hugs me from behind. I laugh as he brings me to the ground in a controlled tackle, then sigh as he rolls onto his back and pulls me, effortlessly, up to straddle his waist.

  “Just like this?” I ask as I wiggle against his erection behind me. “This is what you wanted to do to me yesterday?”

  He sets his hands on my knees. Warm, calloused fingers stroke my bare skin as he looks up at me with undisguised lust. “Pretty much.”

  “What else?”

  His grin is pure wickedness. “Show me your panties.”

  I lean just enough to catch the hem of my skirt. Instead of rucking it up my thighs, I lift it into the air.

  Beneath me, Marcus shudders.

  I’m not wearing any panties.

  My cheeks burst into flame as his fingers stroke up my legs, but I don’t move. I hold my delicate perch above him as his big hands curve over the tops of my thighs. His thumbs graze the sensitive skin where my legs meet my sex, and his fingers press into my ass as he urges me to shift forward.

  The first slide of his tongue against the swollen lips of my sex is unexpected, which is ridiculous. His head is between my legs and he’s pulling me toward his mouth. What did I think was going to happen?

  But this is so much better than I ever could have hoped.

  He’s giving head like he kisses. With disorienting thoroughness. Long, slow tasting licks and sweet, hungry pulls.

  He’s giving head like a committed pervert. He’s everything I wished for and more, and all of me throbs at the pleasure of his tongue between my legs. My breasts are heavy, my nipples tight, and deep inside me, arousal starts to pool.

  I could come like this. Out in the open, riding his face.

  My hands dip and sway as he urges my hips to rock against his mouth. Oh, yes. I will come come like this. He latches on to my clit and sucks, and the eagerness is enough to put me over the edge. It’s a bright, sharp orgasm that shoots through me. I topple forward, but his hands shoot up and catch me, holding my body with superhuman strength as he licks me through the rippling aftereffects.

  My head is spinning now. This isn’t real. This is some kind of lust-induced dream, the way he moves me around effortlessly. He sets me down on the grass, then twists around and tugs me beneath him as we kiss.

  He tastes like me, and my breath catches hard in my throat.

  He tastes like he feasted on my body.

  I push against him, first with my hips, then with my hands. I can’t decide what I want next. I want it all. But first I want him on his back, so I can crawl down his body and take him in my mouth and on my skin.

  “Not here,” he whispers, palming my ass beneath my skirt as I try to wriggle south.

  Right. We’re out in the open, and he’s in uniform.

  “Sorry,” I say, breathing hard.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” He laughs and hauls me up for another kiss. “Christ, that was perfect. Come on.”

  He leaps to his feet and gives me his hand. I stand, way less graceful—because I’m still shaking—and he scoops me into his arms.

  “Marcus!”

  “Yes?” He grins at me as he strides back toward the office.

  The porch creaks under his heavy steps, but he manages to swing the door open with ease.

  I guess I can’t protest his ability to carry me around.

  He locks the door behind us, and I immediately wiggle out of his arms.

  “Here, though, yes?”

  He groans as I push him back against the desk, sitting him where he sat me, because turnabout is fair play, and I drop to my knees. “Yes.”

  I make short work of his belt, his zipper, and then his erection bulges out at me from behind the now-tight black cotton of his boxer briefs. Oh, Ranger Boy is most definitely Ranger Man.

  My mouth waters. I’ve never wanted to give a sloppy blowjob quite as much as I do in this moment. But I still take a minute to appreciate this moment—the way his abs have pulled taught. The dark line of hair that disappears under the elastic I’ve hooked my fingers over. The veins popping on either side, next to those cut lines of muscles…

  I lean in and lick along one of those delicious looking trenches.

  He tastes like warm, clean man.

  Oh, this mountain air is amazing.

  “Poppy…”

  I smile as he groans my name, his voice dropping into a rough, guttural note that makes me wet all over again. I may not like a BJ to be expected on a date, but come on—there’s nothing better than the heady feeling of controlling a man from my knees.

  Epic. Power.

  I trail my finger down the same groove I’ve just licked, but I keep going. I tug his boxers down, and with my other hand, I catch his cock as it bounces out. Hello, Park Ranger.

  Heat pulses through me as I stroke him. He’s nice and heavy in my hand, warm and solid to the touch.

  My crush was not misguided.

  The mountain man appeal has delivered in spades.

  In my peripheral vision, I see him clench his hands into fists and push them into his hips. That’s nice. Polite. Considerate.

  But I wanted a pervert. I grab one of his hands and bring it to the back of my head as I lean in and take my first taste of his erection. I slide the tip of my tongue over the velvety hard crown, circling the thick head before finishing my slurp over the slit right at the top, where a small burst of something delicious gets me humming.

  Let’s be real. Not all guys taste good to me. That’s no reflection of them, just chemistry. Or lack thereof.

  Marcus tastes yummy. Like let me swallow him all the way down because yes, I want more of that essence in my mouth right now.

  And as soon as I suck him in, he tightens his hand around my ponytail and that’s even better. He doesn’t push on my head. He does one better, and holds me back. He makes me work for it a little, although that’s really a sham. His thighs are shaking from the first swallow, and it doesn’t take long to push him over the edge.

  I swallow that, too.

  It’s a brief respite from reality, but it’s a perfect one.

  I pre
ss my face into his leg and smile.

  “Ah, Poppy.” He groans and laughs and urges me to stand after he tucks himself away. “I was so wary of you when you arrived yesterday,” he says as he tugs me between his legs. “I guess deep down, I’ve been waiting for someone to track me down. But no joke, Poppy, I’m glad you drove halfway up a mountain to find me.”

  “Me, too.” I fold into his embrace.

  “It’s going to get worse out there, though.”

  “Shhh, be a buzzkill later,” I whisper, and he laughs.

  “I was going to offer you a place to stay out here. Should you need it.”

  I blink up at him. He’s serious. And I don’t think this is sex related, although I’d probably—foolishly—say yes just for regular access to his tongue.

  I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face into his neck. Stark sadness intrudes and I shove it away. Not right now, reality. You can intrude in a minute.

  “Here’s hoping the world stays upright enough that we don’t see each other until Thanksgiving,” I finally say.

  He nods against my head. “We’ll do our damnedest to make sure of it.”

  We stand like that for a while. He’s warm, and his chest is lovely and firm to lean against.

  But I have a flight to catch. And he has work to get back to.

  “Before you go…” He squeezes my hand and reaches across the desk. He picks up a National Park Service keychain and hands it to me. “A souvenir.”

  I turn it over in my hand. “Thank you…?”

  He chuckles. “Take out your phone.”

  Like we’re going to exchange phone numbers, but we already did that.

  I look at him carefully and do as he says.

  He covers my hand with his, and with a firm push of his thumb, extends the metal neck on the keychain fob. “Search for Bluetooth devices.”

  There’s one new device nearby. I synch to it, and an app pops up on my screen.

  What the what…?

  Marcus keeps going. “Now that keychain can’t be paired with any other device. It can’t be read remotely. And if you notch the fob out like that again, it will immediately disconnect from your phone and take all the data with it. To reconnect, you do the same thing again. It’s slick and safe.”

  I stare at him, then down to the keychain, then back to him. “Who are you?”

  I expect him to say something cocky, like Marcus Dane, park ranger. Instead he gives me a serious look, then leans in to kiss me. “I’m just a guy in the mountains,” he whispers against my temple as I slide my gaze over his shoulder to the bowl of keychains on his desk. “Trying to do the right thing.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  MARCUS

  POPPY HAS a rental car to return, so there’s no need for me to drive her to the airport. I want to anyway, and she laughs and kisses my face as she tells me she’ll see me soon.

  I have to kiss her goodbye on the top of my mountain, tug her ponytail and promise to stay in touch.

  Barely twenty-four hours have passed, but everything has changed.

  I stand beside the spot where she parked until I can’t hear her engine, then I stomp into my office.

  The first call I make is to Toby.

  “Long time no speak,” he jokes with the care-free glibness of a man who’s happy.

  I’m not happy. “We need to talk.”

  “Good that you called me, then.” He clears his throat and murmurs something under his breath. “Sorry, I’m in Toronto with Cara.”

  “Fun.” But I say it in a hard way that makes it crystal clear I don’t care. I’ll care later. Cara’s nice, although the last time I saw her she was practically a kid. The math promises she hasn’t been a kid for a while, which is good, and probably the only reason Toby is still alive. Which is beside the point. “I—we—have a problem. Not an immediate one, but a future one.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “A reporter showed up here yesterday. She’d dug into my background, done some hard thinking, and was pretty sure I was a rogue Twitter tweeter.”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just saying, say that three times fast. Rogue Twitter tweeter.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It really is. Because you’re not a rogue—”

  “She knows that now.”

  “She? The reporter?”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a long, questioning silence. “Wait. You’re not mad at this reporter? And you told her the truth. Who are you and what have you done with my wary-as-fuck best friend?”

  I don’t answer that.

  “She must be some kind of something if you broke all your rules for her.”

  I sigh. “Don’t worry about that. She’s not the problem.”

  “Clearly not.”

  “Her name is Poppy, before you say something else that’s going to piss me off.”

  He makes a long thinking sound. “Okay. So I’m not sure what the problem is, then. You met a cute reporter, totally had a personality change, and convinced her you were a harmless teddy bear. Or something.”

  Fuck, that’s shockingly accurate. “That’s not the point.”

  “I—Okay. Sure. What’s the point?”

  “I haven’t done a good enough job of covering my tracks.”

  “You mean the tracks of anyone and everyone you try to help in a retroactive way? No, you can’t erase all of their blunders. That’s the reality of it, and we knew that when you had this crazy idea. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You’ll be implicated.”

  “I have plausible deniability, but beyond that, I don’t really care if anyone knows my politics align with well-intentioned internet rebels. That would probably do wonders for my stock price. Which you will benefit from, need I remind you?”

  “You don’t need to remind me, no.” I swear under my breath.

  “Make contingency plans. Meanwhile, we now have eight million people signed up for FishMail. Lemons, lemonade.” It’s his new fully-encrypted free email service. Like Gmail on protective steroids.

  While I’m hiding in the shadows, Toby is about to step onto the main stage in the battle for individual liberty and free speech.

  Poppy has a FishMail email address. I’m sure she uses it to protect her sources.

  But some of the ass-monkeys who would troll her have those accounts, too. It’s a double-edged sword that makes me uneasy because she needs to take self-defense workshops. And there I go again, worrying about Poppy when I’ve got business interests to protect.

  Priorities, Marcus.

  Except I don’t think for a second that my priorities are backwards right now. Not at all. There’s something special about her. I knew that the second her ponytail swished into view.

  “She wrote an article about coming out here. It’s not about me. It’s about…” I rub my thumb into the corner of my eye. “Fuck. It’s about a lot of good things, and I feel like a heel, and she’s just left. And I don’t know what to do.”

  “About the story? About the situation? Or about the girl?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m biased, but I like a good ‘go all in to get the girl’ approach. And as for the rest…have some faith. It’ll sort itself out. Maybe it’s time you slide out of hiding. Just a little.”

  I grunt. I hate that answer.

  And I think the worst part is that he might be right.

  Over the next few days, I manage to bury that thought under a pile of work. The week after Poppy leaves is a false return to normal. It’s the height of summer and we’re swamped with visitors, which means a lot of site inspections and too many rescues.

  Four days go by and she doesn’t phone. I start to regret leaving it open-ended when she left—call me soon, I’d said.

  I should pick up the phone myself, but something is holding me back.

  Is it a whole pile of secrets you’re still keeping from her? Yea
h, that’s part of it.

  But there’s some baser shit, too. Like she stomped into my life and with one flick of her perky ponytail she had me rocked with feelings I’d long-thought myself immune to. I’ve spent fifteen years closed off to anything other than casual, no-strings fun—and sporadic fun at that—because when I was in California, I knew I wasn’t sticking around.

  Deep down, I knew from the start I was leaving, which is why when I invested in Starfish Instrumentation, it was as a silent partner. I didn’t want to be part of Toby’s grand plan. I just wanted to ensure he had the means to make it happen. And that investment—our investment, because my cousin Astrid went in on it too, with part of her inheritance—has paid us back handsomely, many times over.

  Speaking of which…

  I distract myself from thoughts of perky ponytails by logging into my computer at home and pulling up the latest prospectus package for Dane Capital. Astrid’s the only person who calls it that, though. Officially it’s a numbered corporation, and the capital funds are managed by an environmentally-conscious firm who finds us projects to contribute venture capital and seed money to—always anonymously.

  We’re picky. We get this packet of investment ideas every quarter and we usually pick one, maybe two.

  Astrid has already read through it. There are digital post-it notes all over the files. I skim through them first. If she doesn’t like a proposal, there’s a slim chance I’m going to either, so those don’t need as close a review as the handful she does like.

  My cousin is hard to please.

  We have that in common.

  My phone lights up as I’m about to start reading the last proposal. Poppy’s name is on the screen, and the my mood shifts hard into hungry predator mode.

  “Hello, stranger,” I growl into the phone.

  She laughs like I’m no threat to her at all, and she’s got that right. After the way I’ve been practically panting over her—both while she was here, and in her absence—the truth is she holds all the power here. I don’t mind that at all. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I’ve been run off my feet since I’ve been back. Long days, short nights, zero time in between.”