Temper for You Read online

  “Guys, I don’t need—” I began but Griffin cut me off.

  “Eat.”

  “You know, if you were getting some, you would have less energy to focus on being a martyr. I guess I’ll have to redouble my efforts and find you something to sink your teeth into—or someone,” Sam teased…or was that a threat?

  I rolled my eyes and popped a bite of sesame chicken into my mouth. Yum! Speaking of yummy, an unbidden image of a certain modelesque lawyer reared its ugly head. I glanced at the wall of the great room.

  “What’s up?” Sam asked.

  There was no way to hide the identity of our new neighbor. It was only a matter of time before they ran into each other and Sam needed to be prepared. I just hated to be the one to deliver the news, especially since I fully expected Griffin to launch into alpha-protectinator mode. Aw hell, it needed to be done. I cleared my throat.

  “We have a new neighbor,” I announced, and they both looked at me expectantly. “He came over to get the number for the maintenance office last night. I didn’t realize who it was at first…and then I recognized him.”

  Sam waved her hand, urging me to finish.

  “It was that lawyer…Westly Black,” I finished quietly.

  I waited, but there was nothing. Crickets might as well have been chirping in the kitchen. Hmm, not quite the reaction I was expecting. I had braced myself for fireworks at my announcement. When I looked at Griffin, he was looking at Sam. When I looked at Sam, she appeared to still be processing the information. Finally, she raised one shoulder in a dismissive shrug.

  “Oh well, not much we can do about it.”

  Griffin and I exchanged skeptical looks.

  “Really?” I asked in disbelief. “Geeze, even I was shell-shocked when I realized who was at the door.”

  “That is because he makes your mouth water—along with other parts of your anatomy. You may hate him, but you still want him. I’m not stupid and you don’t hide your feelings nearly as well as you think. I knew you were still pining for him months later,” Sam replied.

  “But he’s a lying bottom-feeder! I can’t want him,” I argued.

  “Yes and no. I’ve had nine months to process everything that happened, and I’m not sure he was trying to con you. He looked genuinely shocked and upset when you gave him the epic smack-down. It’s possible he thought you knew who he was. Despite his tactics— which were shady, I’ll give you that—he never actually did anything wrong. We made some assumptions because of the threats I was receiving that proved to be inaccurate.”

  I was about to argue that his unethical behavior was a direct reflection on his character, but Sam raised a hand to silence me.

  “I’m not saying you should marry the guy. He definitely has some dubious personality traits. But there is nothing to say you couldn’t use him for a little hmmuna, hmmuna and then be on your merry way with no guilt, no strings, and no heartbreak. In a way, he’s perfect for what you need. Your moderate disdain would allow you to let it be only about sex. Plus, you don’t have to like a man to have sex with him. From the look of him, that is the only thing you should ever count on him for…mind-blowing, headboard banging, sweat induc—”

  “Ahem,” Griffin loudly cleared his throat, interrupting Sam’s vivid description. “I’m still sitting here, Lo. And despite a healthy dose of self-confidence, I’d rather my woman not openly recount her fantasies about another man. Call me old-fashioned.”

  “Oh please, why would I want him when I have all of that,” she said, gesturing to Griffin’s mountainous physique, “at my beck and call? I know where my bread is buttered. I know who greases my wheel. I know who licks my—”

  “Okay, we get it,” I interrupted, saving myself from a visual I didn’t need stored on the hard drive of my brain. “You are an exceptionally satisfied woman, who has no need to use her imagination when real life surpasses it. No need to elaborate further.”

  “Anyway…my point remains. Westly is definitely not relationship material, but he is the epitome of what a one-night stand should be. I actually feel bad that you didn’t get to ride that wave,” Sam sighed, sounding disheartened. “Then again, he’s probably a pro at the love ‘em and leave ‘em routine. You could still take advantage of his benefits package though, and there wouldn’t be any weirdness when you issued his pink slip.”

  “First of all, I am not hooking up with someone who did you wrong. Secondly, any chance he would be receptive is long gone after I verbally assaulted him last night. And finally, I can’t start hooking up with him when I’m seeing Mark,” I concluded decisively. Surely these observations would mark the end of the conversation.

  “Pssht. Don’t be ridiculous. Using Wes to meet your needs is the perfect payback for him trying to use me to meet his. Furthermore, no man—and you can tell me if I’m wrong, love,” she added, looking to Griffin, “is going to turn down a hot piece of ass like you.”

  Griffin nodded his agreement. “Males are simple creatures and Black doesn’t even have the emotional functionality of a preschooler. Even if you could hurt his non-existent feelings, he would still bed you.”

  “See?” Sam resumed excitedly. “He would definitely still do you. Hell, he’d probably give his left testicle to have a night with you—but I digress. What was your last reason? Oh yeah, Mark. Four so-so dates over the course of six months does not a commitment make. You aren’t even into him. Four dates and I’ll bet you haven’t even considered sliding between the satin with him. He’s good-looking and all, but he doesn’t smolder like Westly. You are well within your rights to sample an undeniably tasty morsel. You don’t owe Mark anything. Do you think he’s been celibate for the last six months? No way.”

  “I’m not interested in Wes, and Mark is a nice guy—I couldn’t do that to him. He was wonderful to you when you were preparing for trial, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman when we’ve gone out.”

  “Bah. Gentlemen make good husbands; slick hotshots make good mattress dancers. Don’t forget, Mark had his own horse in the race. He wanted me to testify so the DA’s office could notch another win in their belt—it wasn’t altruistic,” she stated, bringing up a solid point. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. If the opportunity arises, don’t say ‘no’ right away.”

  “Whatever. I promise,” I lied, knowing Sam wasn’t going to let up until I’d complied. Despite my acquiescence, there was no way I was giving Westly a second thought. I was over him and his promise of sexual acrobatics. Really, I was. Not even tempted, not one little bit. Nope.

  Okay, I still found him irrationally appealing physically—and kinda-sorta wanted him in a disconcerting way. That didn’t mean a damn thing. I was a rational woman. My lady bits would not be making this decision.

  "A house divided against itself cannot stand.” -Abraham Lincoln

  Meg

  Clearly, my lady bits didn’t get the memo about who was running the show, because three days later they attempted a coup d’état. Stupid lady bits!

  I was pulling into the driveway after an unusually contentious meeting with my graduate advisor, Dr. Mesina, my frustration level already in the red zone, when I was confronted with the object of my unwelcome desire.

  As I exited my car and headed for the front door, my nighttime obsession exited his own abode. We both froze and our eyes locked in a moment that was made for overdramatized romantic movies. Needing to break the awkward tension, I offered a jerky nod before resuming my trajectory, now better classified as my escape route. A mere five steps from the sanctuary of the front door, I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I shivered as goosebumps rose on my arms, decorating my flesh with evidence of his nearness. His presence was electric, short-circuiting every nerve in my overcharged body.

  Uh-oh, this was not good. I didn’t want to have this profound physical response to his nearness.

  I debated ignoring him, but one clench from my disobedient southern hemisphere persuaded me to turn and greet him, if only to prove who was w
inning the civil war my body and mind were waging.

  “Mr. Black, what can I do for you?” I inquired, emotionless but not rudely. He didn’t deserve the expression of such strong emotion. Maybe if he believed his effect on me had dwindled, it would become truth. Fingers crossed!

  “For a brief time, you called me Wes…I wish you would again,” he finished, barely above a whisper, as if telling a secret he never intended to reveal.

  “I thought you were a different person then. I thought I knew you. I thought we might—” I trailed off, unwilling to admit the hopes I’d held.

  “I’m the exact same person, only your assumption has changed. Now, instead of the do-gooder knight in shining armor, I’m the villain…at least in your narration. But in reality, I am the exact same man you had dinner with nine months ago. The one who enjoyed every second of your company and wanted to see you again more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time.”

  His honesty caught me off-guard, which is the only excuse I could offer for not fleeing after his declaration. Unsure of how to respond, I said nothing. He didn’t seem to share my loss for words.

  “Do you lie to yourself and pretend it wasn’t an amazing night? Have you convinced yourself you didn’t want me? Because I know the truth, Meg. I saw it in your eyes and felt it in your kiss,” he whispered, leaning in close, until I could smell his cologne and feel his breath against the shell of my ear. “Do you know what your kiss told me? It said you were ready for me, desperate to have me inside you. You craved me as much as I craved you.”

  His closeness was intoxicating and his words wove a spell around me, causing my breathing to shallow and my thighs to tense.

  Dammit! I wanted him and he knew it. No, I didn’t want him. I craved him…like a drug my addled body believed it was dependent upon.

  Steeling my spine, I raised my chin until our eyes met.

  “There’s no point in lying,” I admitted, shrugging dismissively. “Yes, I wanted you. All of me was determined to have my wicked way with all of you. And if you must know, I fully intended to see you again to find out if you could live up to the promise,” I said, waving my hand to indicate his alluring body.

  “Then I found out the truth,” I reminded him. “So while my body may be raring to go, my mind is firmly locked in the ‘not with a ten-foot pole’ position. I may lust after you, but I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. And worst of all, I don’t respect you. That’s not gonna change. So this thing,” I said, gesturing between the two of us, “is not going to happen. Not now, not ever. Just give it up.”

  He tsked quietly as he tucked a section of hair behind my ear, allowing his hand to brush against the side of my face as he withdrew. It was an intimate caress, inconsistent with our conversation, like choreography being performed to the wrong track. Yet the gentle touch unbound something deep inside me—the touch more tender than I’d ever received from another person.

  He fixed his eyes on mine, searching for something I couldn’t identify. With a nod to himself, as if satisfied with his discovery, a Cheshire grin shaped his lips.

  “This reminds me of something Abraham Lincoln once said,” he said with a chuckle, clearly entertaining himself. “You want to deny me and yourself? I’ll give you that play—for now. Let’s find out how much persuasion it’ll take for your house to fall. What’s between us can’t be ignored, Meg, and don’t forget, persuasion is my bread and butter. Make no mistake, it will happen, and when it does, I will enjoy every second. And so will you…All. Night. Long.”

  After delivering his breath-stealing promise, he brushed his lips against my cheek in a whisper of a kiss and walked away with all the confidence in the world.

  Shaken by his tenacity, it took several moments to mobilize my body and make my way inside. My mind protested every word that dripped from his delectable—no, despicable—mouth. Unfortunately, the dictator ruling my southern hemisphere was busy throwing in a dollar’s worth of her two cents. The sensible, intellectual part of me was screaming ‘run for the hills’ and ‘danger, Will Robinson, danger!’ But her royal naughtiness was shouting ‘open for business—24/7—Black Light special.’

  I desperately needed a prescription-strength dose of common sense…and a cold shower. Did it work for women the way it did for men? I planned to conduct some independent research. Between Sam’s encouragement to use and abuse all that Wes’ body had to offer, and Wes’ promises to make me forget my own name, my resolve was weakening pathetically. As was the pattern of my life, the greatest danger to me was myself. My own self-discipline and judgment couldn’t be trusted, and any progress I thought I had made was nothing more than an illusion.

  I stepped into the icy spray to cool what remained of my heated libido, but I suspected the realization of my ongoing weakness did far more to squelch the wildfire between my thighs than the water stinging my skin.

  Some people had memories that traced back to early childhood—even as early as three—and most had significant recollection from the age of seven onward. My youngest years were deliberately unremarkable and isolated, and therefore I remembered very little of my own childhood—likely because there was little to recall. However, the first significant memory I possessed could never be forgotten, regardless of what age it had occurred.

  Then there was the first time I was given a choice. The first occasion where I was acknowledged as anything more than a decoration or something that might one day be of use. Like most young, when given the opportunity to direct my future, I made a bad decision—a very, very bad decision. Unfortunately, unlike most children, my choice wasn’t something as trivial as whether or not to steal a pack of gum from the local convenience store, or if I should lie about a broken trinket on the mantel. Nope, apparently I was the ‘go big or go home’ type of screw-up.

  At ten years of age, I made a choice that would shape the rest of my life and define who—or more accurately, what—I was from that day forward. And I chose wrong. I was foolishly naïve and pliable. There was no little cricket with a top hat and umbrella to climb on my shoulder and whisper words of guidance. Left to my own devices, I was ill-equipped to comprehend the significance of the moment or the decision I was expected to make. Desperate to be acknowledged by someone—anyone—I chose to speak the words expected of me to please others. This was my first and biggest mistake, the beginning of my deepest regrets and shame. At ten years old, my judgment proved to be shit, and my second greatest fear was that in the fifteen years since, it had not improved…not fundamentally, and not when it mattered most.

  So, regardless of what my body cried for and irrespective of my weakening resolve—or perhaps because of both—I was going to do the exact opposite. I would temper my will in fire and water until it was unbreakable.

  I would resist Wes.

  "I think I could fall madly in bed with you." -Author Unknown

  Westly

  I strode into my office, the only room in my new home with any semblance of completion, and settled myself into the oversized armchair, otherwise known as ‘solution central.’ I was wrestling with a problem that—for once—wasn’t the facts of a case, the questionable innocence of my client, or the overzealous ambitions of the prosecution. For the first time in—well, ever—I had to strategize how to make a woman want me. No, not want me—Meg already wanted me, that I knew beyond a reasonable doubt. I needed to be irresistible. Undeniable. This proved to be a more a challenging dilemma than anticipated.

  After an hour in contemplation, I was still drawing a blank. I’d never been forced to persuade a woman to fall into bed with me. It may be arrogant, but it was also the truth. Women wanted me…all women. I wasn’t husband material—the very thought made my skin crawl and my stomach churn—and women knew it, seeing as how I’d never been particularly subtle in sharing these feelings. I was, however, made for a night of pleasure that would wreck a woman for her future husband. They came to me eagerly with nothing more than a look or a nod. Provided they were single, it was ga
me on. It was one of my few—correction, only—examples of moral fortitude.

  Bottom line: I wanted it, I got it. Simple. The requirement of exerting effort to satiate my hunger was unfamiliar, and frankly, uncomfortable. How did normal guys deal with this crap?

  It was time to call in reinforcements…but who? I had no family, I worked in an environment more closely related to Jaws than Finding Nemo, and I hadn’t made the effort to keep in contact with any of my buddies from college. There was only one name in my contacts list I could call a friend, and I felt like shit that the only time I bothered calling him was to ask for advice or help. I was usually too busy to meet him for drinks or return his calls when he made the invite—damn, I was the asshole everyone accused me of being! He wasn’t even my ideal candidate for this particular roundtable, seeing as he was a good-looking bastard, too. He might have been my opposite in every possible way, but the ladies still fell at his feet or into his bed as easily as they did mine. But he was all I had, so it was time to suck it up and make the call.

  “Hey, asshole. What, you need me to help move some furniture? Borrow my pick-up? Donate an organ?” was the greeting I received. Okay, I deserved it.

  “Ry, you’re a funny bastard. How the hell are you?”

  “Doing good, man. How’s the new place working out?” he asked, offering his forgiveness of my shortcomings as quickly as ever.

  “Perfect. Thanks for the tip. I’m happy to be out of the old house…too many ghosts,” I replied with uncharacteristic honesty.

  “Understandable. That much history would fuck with anyone’s head. I’m glad you finally decided to get off your ass and make a change. It was time.”

  “What are you doing tonight? Want to come over and have a beer?”

  “Uh-oh, you do need me to help move furniture. Lucky for you, my appointment tonight canceled. Do I need to call my brothers to help us move shit?”