All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 24

  I laugh at the thought of me easing someone into dating. The old Malcolm, the one Brian knew, was all about getting laid and moving on. Maybe that's what Brian wanted me to do, pop the woman's dating cherry.

  That isn't who I am anymore. That Malcolm hung up his skates and retired. I left him in Florida.

  It's all too easy to score in the sunshine state. Women walk around half-naked everywhere you go. It isn't just the beaches. It's the grocery stores and the movie theaters. I don't know how clothing stores don't go out of business down there.

  And the women who throw themselves at hockey players—at all pro athletes—are obnoxious and plentiful. If I were a gentleman, I could say I never took advantage, but after a game when the adrenaline is pumping, the best-known cure for blowing off steam is thrusting in and out of a warm, willing pussy—full-body aerobics with benefits.

  Those days are over. I'm no longer Pep—I'm Malcolm Peppernick. I'm not a player—in any sense of the word. I'm responsible. This new city and new career are supposed to cement that.

  Her phone pings.

  As she looks at it, I think about my old nickname, Pep. It came as a result of my energy on the ice and because it’s short for my last name. All it took was for a few broadcasters to use it and boom, it stuck. That is how it started, but with time it meant more. According to rumors, my pep was for more than hockey. They said I had pep in the sack too. Well, not always a bed. A bar bathroom. The hallway outside the locker room. The truth is that women like to talk as much as men. Those bimbos following the team had their own belts filled with notches. If one woman said I gave her two orgasms, the next one said I gave her three.

  At the time, my concentration wasn’t on counting their climaxes. It was more on my own gratification. As long as the rumors flew, there were plenty of opportunities and willing participants to satisfy my own needs. I may have used a few of those women, but it was a two-way street, and besides, they weren't complaining.

  All of that is history.

  That part of me is gone. Over the years, I left hockey behind. I had a good career, but it takes its toll on the body. I wanted something more. I went back to school and have dedicated myself to a rewarding career, one that is not conducive to a playboy lifestyle. I rethought my priorities and am happy about it. Right now, a woman or even contentment isn't on my list of goals. Getting my new career up and running is.

  Nevertheless, as much as I want to fight it, I can't deny my attraction for this beautiful woman. What I can deny is wanting to use her. Maybe it's because in the very short time since we've met, I can tell that she's totally different than the hockey groupies who used to throw themselves at me.

  There's something about her. As she frowns at the screen of her phone, I want to know more. I want to know her as I've never wanted to know anyone before.

  What makes this blue-eyed beauty tick?

  Watching her pink lower lip disappear behind her white teeth, I wonder what she's thinking. At the same time, I miss how close we were at the bar. I miss the sensation of her shoulder against mine.

  When she looks back up, she says, “Thank you, but you didn't need to buy my drink.”

  I just smile. It's not her sweet voice that makes me happy, though the sound of it is like a melody. It's the way she appears to have relaxed. We're too far apart to touch, but by the calm liquid in her glass, I can tell her trembling from before has stopped.

  “You can get the next round,” I offer.

  Her long lashes flutter over her eyes as pink fills her cheeks. “I-I probably should go. This was supposed to be...well, my friend just texted again. Her boyfriend has a work emergency. She can’t make it, so the blind date is off. I guess my night is a bust.”

  I lean closer. “On the contrary, you, beautiful lady, owe me a drink. You can't leave with a debt unpaid.”

  Her smile grows. “Then I better pay up.”

  “Do you always fulfill all your obligations?”

  She nods, making her dark hair move and flow in long waves over her shoulders. “Always.”

  “Tell me something about you,” I pry, wanting to know it all.

  “Tonight was supposed to be my reintroduction into learning how to have fun. I guess it fizzled.”

  I reach out. As the tips of my fingers contact the warmth of her arm, I pause. Our connection sizzles and crackles. It’s so strong I can practically hear it over the din of the bar. When I look up, I wonder if she's feeling the same thing. Her eyes are wide, but just as quickly the long lashes veil her true thoughts.

  Whether she sensed it or not, I’m pleased that she doesn't pull away.

  “I don't know about you, but neither fizzle nor bust is a word I'd use to describe my night.” I continue, “Like I said, I was dreading this evening. That isn't a pickup line. I was supposed to meet a friend here, a person I knew a long time ago, a person who knew me a long time ago. I recently moved to town and other than work, I've been kind of a hermit. My friend and I were close once, but until recently I hadn't seen him in years. I've changed a lot since then.” I shrug. “I'm not sure if he understands that about me...he wanted me to meet someone nice who he knows.” I cringe. “You know how blind dates can be?”

  She shakes her head.

  “You don't?”

  “No.” The word comes out more as a sigh. “I've never officially been on one.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. They never pan out. When someone is described as nice, that’s code for uglier than shit. I’m a little afraid to look around in case there’s a nice woman looking for me.”

  Her laughter fills the booth as she shrugs. “Tonight was supposed to be my first.” Her eyes spring open wide as she clarifies, “My first blind date. But, well, my friend warned me that the guy has issues.”

  “Ew.” My nose scrunches. “That's even worse. You didn't get the nice guy speech?”

  “I think she was taking it easy on me. You know, easing me in slowly.”

  I scoot closer and nudge my shoulder against hers. “Go ahead. Spill. What is the guy's problem?”

  Her head moves rapidly back and forth. “I-I haven't had enough wine for that.”

  It's all the encouragement I need. My hand flies into the air catching the waitress's attention. “Two more drinks and...” I look my companion's way. “...menus?”

  There's but a second of hesitation. “Yes,” she says, “but I'm buying my own meal.”

  “You heard the lady,” I say to the waitress. “Menus and she's buying.”

  “I-I...”

  I've officially fallen for her little stutter. If I have her pegged correctly, it comes right before a burst of confidence.

  “Sure,” she proclaims. “Why the hell not?”

  Bingo!

  “I plan to learn the issues with the guy you were supposed to meet before the night is through.”

  “I plan to learn your name.”

  I lean back. How do I not know her name and yet the conversation has been anything but uncomfortable? It's been fun and relaxed.

  I extend my hand and she takes it. “Malcolm Peppernick, and you?”

  “Mandy,” she says with a grin. “Mandy Wells.”

  Her hand lingers in mine. It’s just like before: when helping her from her chair, I touched her arm and there was a pull—a magnetic force drawing me closer to her.

  Still holding her hand, my gaze goes to her lips. They're pink and plump. The shimmer is light and not obnoxious. It's like the hint of perfume that lingers around Mandy: sweet while not overpowering but still incredibly intoxicating.

  My willpower is waning by the second as I move even closer. I want to taste her lips and probe her warm mouth. I want to capture the lingering sips of wine and drink them down.

  Instead of pulling away, she allows her gaze to follow suit, dropping to my lips, intent on watching their next move.

  It's when her tongue darts to the surface that I know I can’t let this pass. I lean toward her. “Mandy, I want to kiss you.”

>   She doesn't say yes, and she doesn't say no.

  Another inch and our lips unite. I capture hers, tasting her shiny gloss as we kiss. It's the first kiss I've experienced in months, and I'm instantly a man deprived, wanting more—no, needing more.

  Like lightning to a dry grassy field, as our breath mingles, a fire ignites, rushing through me straight from my lips to my dick. It too has been on hiatus. No longer. Like Frankenstein’s lifeless body, Mandy’s bolt of lightning zaps my cock back to life. First with a twitch, but as our kiss lingers, it is growing by the second.

  This beautiful lady is the power and energy I hadn't realized I was missing.

  The restaurant disappears as we move closer, the front of her dress brushing against my chest. I reach for her arms, turning her until both of her perfect tits are smashed against me, until nothing but our clothes separates us.

  Chapter Six

  Mandy

  My nipples harden to painful nubs as they flatten against Malcolm's hard chest.

  Words aren't forming. They've been replaced with moans and whimpers as I squirm against the seat.

  Who the hell am I? What is happening?

  As heat and wetness flood my core, I contemplate how I went from nun to slut in a matter of forty minutes. This isn't the Amanda Wells my mother knows: the responsible mother and daughter, the hard worker and caring sister, the good friend.

  Who is this?

  I know the answer. This is a grown woman who’s been held captive in life and sees a chance for a small reprieve.

  No—not sees. This is a woman who feels that reprieve with everything in her.

  I push the thoughts of everyday life from my mind. I can’t think about the person I usually am. If I did, I’d feel a responsibility to ask Sally if Brian’s friend is here. I don’t want to. I want to live in the now.

  I do.

  I let all of that fade from my thoughts as I surrender to the sensations of this man: his masculine scent, the warmth of his embrace, and the heat from his hardening body.

  This is only one night: I mentally repeat the promise I made to my mom and Sally. Granted, it’s becoming more difficult to hear over the swish of my blood coursing through my veins. But as our lips continue their dance, I decide to follow through on that promise. For just this one night, I'm going to let myself live.

  Malcolm's heat consumes me, causing my body to melt in his grasp. Our hearts beat wildly against the other's as they pound out the rhythm of a song I'd forgotten. I relish his touch as his large hands skirt over my exposed arms. No longer foreign, his contact ignites sparks. The small hairs on my skin stand to attention as if waiting for lightning to strike. His fingers brush against the side of my breast.

  I push closer, wanting more.

  My mind and body battle.

  My mind screams its instructions: move away and protest. But instead, my body rebels, liquefying at his touch and longing for more.

  His lips bruise mine as his tongue probes their seam. Willingly, I open, gasping for breath as the lingering taste of beer mixes with my wine. The blend scorches my blood as his closeness sends the boiling fluid to forgotten parts of my body. I whimper as my insides painfully clench, and my thighs press tightly together.

  Though I want to hide my reaction to his kiss, to his touch...I fear I don't.

  What I really want to do is push my hips closer and allow more of our bodies to touch. It's been so long since I've felt this way, so long since I've wanted...really wanted.

  Malcolm's spicy scent surrounds me as it merges with musk. Suddenly, I'm blinded in his cloud.

  When we finally pull apart, before I can speak or even contemplate what happened, Malcolm's blue eyes shine down on me, taking me in and reading me.

  His voice rumbles through the background commotion of the bar. “You taste like sweet wine and smell like perfume and desire.”

  Warmth fills my cheeks. “You taste like good beer.”

  “Good? You're a beer connoisseur?”

  I shrug. “Mostly, I know cheap beer.”

  He lifts my chin, bringing his indigo eyes into focus. The room disappears, making those blue orbs all I can see.

  “I'm a connoisseur,” he says as his thumb gently rubs over my bruised lips. “And you, beautiful Mandy, if you were a beer, would never be a cheap one. No, you're a rich custom craft brew. I see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch, and smell it in the air. Kissing a stranger isn't something you do, is it?”

  I try to move my eyes away, but Malcolm's grip of my chin is unrelenting. Meeting his gaze, I reply, “No. I won't even bore you with how long it's been since I've kissed a real man.”

  His eyes sparkle. “You kiss fake men?”

  “Boys. Well, only one actually.”

  “You kiss boys...” And then, as if the reality of his statement hits home, he asks, “You have a son?”

  My heart flutters, its speed increasing by the second. “I do, but I don't want to talk about him. Not because he isn't important for he is—he's my world—but because tonight isn't about him. It's about me.” I can't gauge Malcolm's reaction. I can only guess that he's assuming that I'm some needy woman trying to get a man to take on the responsibility of a kid who isn't his.

  I reach out and splay my fingers over his chest. His heart is beating to match mine. “I don't want to talk about him,” I continue, “because he'll never know about you—I'll never tell him and never introduce you. Don't worry. I'm not after a man to rescue me. I'm perfectly content with my life as a mother. I just wanted to remember what it felt like to be a woman...for just one night.”

  “I'm not anti-children—”

  I shake my head. “Stop. That doesn't matter.” It’s then that I notice the filled glasses on the table and laugh. “When did the waitress come?”

  Malcolm bows his head until our noses touch. He inhales deeply, his eyes closing as his hand falls to my lap. “I'd say just after you.”

  More heat floods my cheeks. “I-I didn't...”

  “Then we need to do something about that.” He looks again at the full glasses. “I think the drinks came while my tongue was busy getting to know your sweet mouth.” His hand splays over my thigh.

  My breathing hitches. “Malcolm?”

  “You said you want one night. One night doesn't end with a kiss. It begins with one.”

  Ignoring his lingering touch, I reach for my menu. As I do, Malcolm lifts my glass of wine with his free hand and brings it to my lips. “Drink, beautiful Mandy. You have secrets to spill, and we only have one night to do it.”

  I sip the sweet, fruity liquid, its alcohol going straight to my head. Or is it the kiss, the closeness, or just Malcolm?

  “You know,” I say as I turn his direction, “I had a blind date tonight with a man with issues. The poor guy may be here somewhere, and I'm standing him up.”

  Malcolm's fingers move higher up my thigh as he shrugs. “Poor shmuck. His issues will probably get worse.”

  “I'm not sure I can handle that responsibility.”

  Malcolm laughs. “So you're saying that you wish you were with that guy?”

  I don't have to think to respond—not that I could with his fingers moving closer to my arousal. I don't want to be anywhere—not with Sally and Brian, not with their friend Pep. For the first time since, well, for too long, I feel alive. I'm with the person fate intended and I'm not complaining. “No. I think fate had other plans, and who am I to argue with fate.”

  His fingers move below the hem of my dress.

  “One night,” he whispers.

  My thighs part as I suck in a ragged breath. As he brushes the crotch of my panties, the choices on the menu blur. Though my hunger grows, food no longer seems important.

  Malcolm speaks softly near my neck. His warm breath is the breeze rekindling the earlier blaze as his fingers stroke the flame. “Do you see anything you want?”

  My body is on fire as I writhe toward his touch. I turn until our eyes meet, purposely allowing my legs
to fall open farther to his desires. “Yes, I do see what I want.”

  “Me too and it’s not on that menu. Since we only have one night, how about we both stand up our blind dates and make other plans?”

  My breasts throb in anticipation as I try to take a breath. My words come out as a sigh. “W-what would those plans be?”

  “I have wine and beer at my apartment and a pizza app on my phone. How about we leave this crowded place?”

  My heart beats out of my chest as my mouth threatens to sabotage my one night. I made a commitment to Brian’s friend. The crowd is supposed to be my safety net, but as Malcolm’s touch lingers, I decide to live for me. One night. “I-I...”

  “If you spread those sexy thighs wider, we could finish what we started. We can do that here in front of this entire restaurant or back at my place.” He nips my ear, the jolt zapping straight to where his fingers are roaming.

  Fuck!

  “I promise you'll come.”

  My insides tighten. I haven't been so turned on in years. “Malcolm...”

  “Fate, Mandy, fate.”

  “Who am I to argue with fate? Besides,” I say with a grin, “I do love pizza.”

  Before I can comprehend that I just agreed to go to his apartment, Malcolm removes his hand, bringing his fingers to his nose and inhales with a cocky smile. “So close.”

  I want to argue, but what's the point?

  Malcolm pulls more bills from his wallet and lays them on the table.

  “Um, I was supposed to pay for that.”

  His eyes shimmer. “Oh, beautiful, if tonight goes as I hope, you'll repay me many times.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mandy

  While I was driving, the thought occurred to me many times to stop following Malcolm's car and head home. Though the thoughts came and went, I didn't.

  Like the gentleman he is, after I park beside his car, he opens my door, takes my hand, and leads me to his apartment. We chat pleasantly about the weather as the fireflies flicker in the darkness. Up the stairs and down the hall, we manage small talk. However, once the door to his apartment is barely closed, all pretense is lost.