Make Me, Take Me Read online

  She’d focus on that instead of her melting panties. That’d work.

  She closed her eyes and sagged against the counter. I’m so screwed. Why didn’t other men turn her on like he did? She’d dated a few times at school and gone out since she’d been home, but none of the guys had tempted her past first base. She’d been primed and ready for a home run after a few minutes in the alley with Quin. Why did she lose her mind around him? Was she as cursed as her mother and Kate?

  She didn’t expect anything from him. She didn’t want his money, and she certainly didn’t want him to fall in love with her. She just wanted…what? To spend another night as a sex zombie?

  The thought of being with him again made desire roll through her so fast and hard, her knees weakened. She braced her forearms on the counter and took long gulping breaths, waiting for the lust to pass. Her nipples tingled, and her breasts ached. She pressed her thighs together and bit her lip. The sharp pain reminded her of Quin, nipping at her lips in the alley this morning, which made her think of his mouth doing other things, the things she’d been dreaming of this morning.

  Not gonna happen.

  He’d blackmailed her into having dinner with him because he wanted Last Call, and she’d bet anything he planned to use her attraction to him as a bargaining chip. Quin might remember her as a yes girl, but she wasn’t—not even close—and tonight she’d prove he couldn’t push her around.

  Chapter Three

  Betsy ransacked her bedroom. Jeans were too casual, and a little black dress was trying too hard. A skirt? Two years spent living in uniform and ten months in the café didn’t give her much to work with. She reached for her phone to shoot a group text to Lila and Jenna.

  Going out to dinner, and I need to look invincible. What should I wear?

  Her thumb hesitated over the send button. She’d never mentioned Quin, and didn’t have time to explain, especially since she was already running late due to her wardrobe challenge. Plus, it was an hour later in New York and New Jersey, and Lila and Jenna were likely right in the middle of the dinner rush. She hit delete and went back to her closet.

  Finally, she unearthed something perfect.

  It was a thrift-store find, dark green crushed velvet, funky and fabulous, with spaghetti straps and seed pearl buttons up the front. It made her feel bold and confident, exactly as she wanted to appear. She twisted her hair on top of her head and secured it with a few pins. It was too hot for much makeup, so she swiped gloss over her lips and mascara on her lashes and then headed out the door.

  Excitement prickled her nerves as she walked toward the hotel, but she ignored it. This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting. Business, as in he wanted to ruin hers, just as he’d destroyed a beautiful building and built the monstrosity in front of her. No way would she bow before the Keystone machine. The glass doors whooshed open, and she saw Quin waiting for her in the lobby.

  “You look lovely.” He bent to kiss her cheek, and she held her breath until he moved out of sniffing distance. Just in case her panties melted.

  “This isn’t a date.”

  “Of course not.” He guided her into the restaurant with a hand on her lower back. Warmth radiated from the point of connection, so she focused on her surroundings. The sleek, smooth, minimalist décor in the dining room had a distinctly cooling effect.

  The art on the muted gray walls was modern, mostly line drawings. The seats were made from metal with black leather padding. The floor was tile. There wasn’t a touch of the warmth or old-world elegance that had characterized the former establishment. If this was what he had done with the restaurant, she shuddered to think about the plans his architect had drawn up for Last Call and the empty candy store. More of the same, no doubt.

  He led her to a table for two in the corner where a bottle of champagne was chilling. After he pulled out her chair and helped her into it, he took the seat across from her and poured the champagne.

  “Thank you.” She picked up her glass and took a sip. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but it was crisp and refreshing. She glanced around the empty dining room. “No staff? I expected servers fawning over every crumb.”

  “The restaurant isn’t officially open, so my chef will be serving us.” He handed her a menu. “Other than him, we have the whole hotel to ourselves. Whatever are we going to do with it?” He arched a devilish brow.

  She ignored him and looked down at the menu. Images of all the places they could have sex played through her brain, but she wasn’t going to cave this time. After a few seconds of sightless staring, the words stopped crawling across the page, and she read through the five-course tasting menu. Given the Keystone’s reputation, she assumed the food would be amazing, but she wasn’t surprised to find the menu matched the hotel: contemporary and soulless. She looked up to find him watching her.

  “What do you think?”

  She hesitated. She’d shared her opinion of the hotel in the alley, but they weren’t arguing now. There was no call for being downright rude. “You have successful hotels all over the country, so you must be doing something right. Who cares what I think?”

  “Just curious. Aren’t you a recent culinary school graduate? You must have learned something about food.”

  His patronizing tone made her bristle. He wanted her opinion—fine. She tossed the menu on the table between them. “I don’t get it. There’s no soul. At all. With so much rich New Orleans culture to draw on, I can’t believe you didn’t incorporate some of it into your menu. You don’t have a single Cajun or Creole dish. It’s almost like you set out to deliberately snub traditional New Orleans cuisine. Do you have something against our fair Crescent City?”

  “Of course not.” It was like watching a gate close. His eyes became guarded, and his lips tightened. She got the feeling he was lying.

  He cleared his throat. “Consistency is the key to Keystone success. All of the Keystone hotels are identical, and the restaurants serve the same menu. If you’ll remember, I have plans to build a classic French Quarter courtyard. Give your mother permission to sell Last Call, and I will.”

  “Not gonna happen. You’ll have to work with what you’ve got. Why don’t you expand into your museum-like lobby instead? Food carts and a jazz band would give it some New Orleans style. Beignets to order? Maybe a cocktail kiosk? Roving performers? Add some fairy lights and wrought-iron furniture, and this place might actually look presentable.”

  He grimaced. “Not in a million years. We don’t need any of that—you’ll see. The hotel will be packed in two weeks. Give people what they want and expect, and they’ll keep coming back for more. I operate on the same principle, by the way. Can you guess what I want from you?”

  The sexy gold gleam in his eyes took her breath away. She shook her head. “You caught me off guard this morning, or you’d never have been able to blackmail me into having dinner with you. I’m not selling Last Call, and if you want to tell my mother what happened between us, go ahead.” But please God, don’t.

  “Would you have had dinner with me if I hadn’t forced you into it?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “You left me no choice. We have unfinished business.”

  “Wrong. We have zero business. Nothing you say or do is going to change my mind about Last Call.” Her heart pounded, making every pulse point throb. The words swelled inside her, a dam ready to burst. This was her chance to set him straight. “Men like you, with money and power, think you can get whatever you want, but you can’t. I know you think I’m a pushover because of what happened a few years ago, but I’m not. I made an exception because I was leaving the next day, and I thought I’d never see you again. I was living out a fantasy. The woman you met that night is very different from the woman I really am.” She met his hot gaze squarely. “I don’t give up. I don’t give in, and I’m sure as hell not going to roll over and sell the business I’ve worked for my entire life just because I let you fuck my brains out for one night almost three years ago. It was a
n anomaly. Are we clear?”

  He nodded.

  Triumph roared through her.

  Then he grinned. “We’re clear about Last Call—for now. But I have to hand it to you. That’s the best rationalization for a one-night-stand I’ve ever heard. How long did it take you to come up with it?”

  Her breath sailed out of her lungs. “It’s not a rationalization. It’s the truth.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s not even close to the truth, but nice try. You’re delusional if you think you aren’t the same woman who kept me up all night begging for more. Getting naked is like getting drunk. It makes you honest. Maybe you did things you wouldn’t normally do, but don’t think for a second you didn’t want to do them…or that you don’t want to do them again.” His eyes glinted with gold. “I know you still want me.”

  His words started a chain reaction in her core that made her dizzy as it swept outward. “Your arrogance is unbelievable.”

  “Or maybe I just know what I want, and I’m not afraid to admit it…or take it. I think that’s what you like about me. You enjoy being taken, don’t you?” His hand closed over hers on the table, warm and firm.

  Her body tightened in expectation. “You don’t know me at all.” She could barely get the words out, and when she did, her heart pounded out the lie.

  He stroked the racing pulse at her wrist. “Yes, I do. Better than you know yourself, apparently. How long do you think it would take me to make you beg? I haven’t forgotten a single thing that drives you crazy. I bet if we went up to my room, and you let me touch you, you’d be begging within fifteen minutes.”

  She wanted to flee, but instinct told her if she ran, he’d chase and chase hard. Plus, bolting would give her zero chance of convincing him to leave her and Last Call alone. He’d never believe she wasn’t a pushover.

  Guys like him were accustomed to getting everything they wanted handed to them on a silver platter. She’d certainly given him everything two years ago—but she thought she’d never see him again.

  Now they were neighbors, and denying the attraction between them was like denying it was hot outside. She couldn’t do it anymore, but maybe she could turn it to her advantage. He thought she couldn’t last fifteen minutes? She would do better than that.

  “I’ll take that bet.” She drew her hand from beneath his and laid it on top. “But when we get upstairs, the only one begging will be you.”

  …

  Surprise rocked through him. The steely determination in her gaze was a challenge he couldn’t resist, but he hadn’t expected her to say yes so fast. “What’s the catch?”

  Her fingers drew distracting patterns on the back of his hand, and the fire in her eyes mesmerized him. Gray eyes, banked coals, and memories of her burning for him made him impatient for her answer.

  She licked her lips and swallowed. “When you start begging, Last Call is off the table. You leave my business alone.” Her voice was husky, and it sent vibrations straight to his cock.

  He didn’t for a second believe this was about business, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He’d never ask her to sell the bar on the basis of a sexual bet—this was personal—but he could get something else he wanted. “I want the entire night when I win. You’ll be the only one begging, well within the fifteen minutes, but I don’t want you sailing out the door and leaving me high and dry when you do. I want to fuck you until we’re both exhausted, and then I want to wake up in the morning and say a proper good-bye.” He’d end up with blue balls for a week if she said no, but it wasn’t in him to accept a deal with uneven terms. He wanted to replace the memory of waking up without her with its exact opposite: waking up inside her.

  His chef opened the door to the kitchen.

  Quin squeezed her hand. “What’ll it be, sweetheart? Dinner here or room service?” The air felt charged with electricity, snapping and crackling between them.

  Luc arrived at the table with two bowls of soup, but before he could place them on the table, she said, “Room service.”

  Relief and anticipation brought him to his feet, pulling Betsy with him. “Change in plans, Luc. Could you pack everything up and leave it outside room twenty-seven twenty?”

  “I live to serve.”

  Quin gave him a sharp look. His smartass chef had camped it up to play his role tonight, towel over his arm, black shirt and dress pants instead of his usual jeans, white T-shirt, and stained chef coat. His hair was combed instead of hidden under a baseball cap, and his tattoos were covered. He looked almost presentable, and the change was startling. Quin felt guilty for Luc’s efforts for a half-second before he remembered how much he was paying the guy to work overtime.

  He led Betsy out of the restaurant. Déjà vu smacked him hard as they reached the elevators. The last time they’d ridden an elevator together, the best sex of his life had followed. Sometime in the next fifteen minutes, he had to figure out a way to get her to stay, and he didn’t see any reason they couldn’t both win. Just because she didn’t want to sell Last Call didn’t mean he couldn’t have his courtyard. He’d just have to figure out a deal she would accept. Or maybe she’d change her mind…tomorrow.

  The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. He hit the button for his floor. As soon as the door closed, he pressed her against the wall. “This doesn’t count toward my fifteen minutes.”

  She grabbed his wrist and twisted it so she could see his watch. “Yes, it does.”

  He held her hands above her head, bending his knees so he could press against her. He knew this woman. She couldn’t help surrendering to him any more than he could help his driving need to get inside her. “In that case…”

  He dropped her hands and held her against the wall with his body while he caught the bottom edge of her dress and lifted it. He saw a flash of black lace panties and thrust his hand between her thighs, cupping her sex. The bet gave him no time for finesse. He didn’t think she’d hold him to the fifteen minutes if she was about to come, but he needed to make the most of every second and elicit the quickest, rawest response from her he could. She was hot and damp, making his fingers curl.

  The elevator door opened, and she pushed him away. “The clock is ticking.”

  She pulled him into the hall, but he took the lead, guiding her to his suite and opening the door. He locked the door behind them and followed her into the bedroom, sucking in a choked breath when she climbed on the bed, kneeled, and began unbuttoning her dress. He’d suspected she wasn’t wearing a bra, and as she shrugged her shoulders and shimmied out of her dress, his suspicions were confirmed.

  Her breasts were the perfect small handfuls he remembered, and her pale brown nipples were tight. He bent to suck one into his mouth, caressing her other breast with his hand. She reached for his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and pushed him flat on the bed. She grabbed the waistband of his pants, yanked, and then swiftly eased his boxers over his erection.

  His heart pounded, and his breath felt harsh in his throat. She straddled him, leaving his clothes around his knees, trapping him, and her smug smile told him she knew exactly what she was doing. He’d been so sure he’d have the upper hand, but she’d swiftly wrested control from him. Maybe she had changed, but this take-charge Betsy was just as hot as the version he’d met two years ago. Under other circumstances, she probably could make him beg, but he couldn’t beg now. If he did, she’d leave. Think, you idiot.

  He decided to take a page from her book and taunt her with naked skin. He jerked the knot from his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. When her eyes followed his fingers, he stifled his own smile of victory, but as soon as he bared his chest, she bent to rake her teeth over his nipple. He bucked beneath her, groaning as she licked and sucked his stinging flesh. So much for that tactic. Plan B?

  He reached for her, rolling her under him and holding her there while he threw off his jacket, shirt, and tie. She squirmed to the side when he lifted his leg to shuck his pants. When her hand grasped his cock, he froze. Stars
shot in front of his eyes as she slowly worked him up and down. She was merciless, thumbing the wetness at his tip and cupping his balls with her other hand. He blinked, clearing his vision just in time to see her wicked smile.

  “I know you want me to suck you, so I don’t know why you’re putting up such a fight.”

  If she took him into her mouth, he could not be responsible for the words coming out of his. He’d beg. In seconds.

  As she scooted forward, he tugged her hands from his jewels, instantly missing her touch. “Nothing on earth I want more, but this is my fifteen minutes. The bet is for me to make you beg, so it’s time for you to lie back and start thinking of whatever it is women think of when they’re trying not to plead for mercy.”

  Her mouth fell open, and he took advantage of her surprise by kissing her. She tasted of champagne and her own sweetness. He toppled her to the bed, momentarily losing his focus as their bodies aligned. Her nipples were hard points against his chest, and her hips cradled him. He was frantic to be inside her, but he glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

  “Do your worst.”

  He chuckled softly as he drew her lacy panties down her legs. He pressed her thighs wide and settled himself between them, inhaling deeply and blowing softly over her curls, watching her clench and quiver. He loved seeing evidence of a woman’s desire. There was nothing hotter than knowing you were wanted.

  “Nine minutes.”

  “Just enjoying the view.” He looked up, caught her gaze, and winked. Her eyes slammed shut. He teased her inner lips apart with his tongue. She was drenched, slick beneath his lips, and her salty-sweet musk made him grind against the bed. He swept through her folds, reacquainting himself with the territory for a few minutes before he went in for the kill. He chased her clit, then trapped it with the tip of his tongue, sucking and nibbling. She swelled beneath his mouth. Her thighs tensed against his shoulders, and when he thrust his hands beneath her to grip her ass, he found her muscles flexed and straining there, too.