Lips On My Heart Page 3

Jesus, did I just say that out loud?!

  Her eyes bulge at my confession, but then quickly narrow. “I have an IUD; we’re good on the baby end, thank you. My last boyfriend didn’t want kids and insisted on it.”

  I glower. “He made you get an internal contraceptive device?”

  She looks agitated as she shrugs. “He was adamant.”

  What the fuck? What kind of man insists on his woman using an invasive contraceptive? Her ex sounds like a real prick. “But you’re not with him anymore?”

  She sneers with revulsion. “No. And I haven’t been with anyone since.”

  “Aside from me, and that’s exactly how it’s going to stay,” I sing with confidence, happy she seems disgusted with her last boyfriend.

  “You can’t be fucking serious,” she stutters.

  “Like a heart attack,” I confirm, cocky as always.

  She shakes her head again. “We don’t know anything about each other. This isn’t a realistic expectation.”

  “We knew enough to give in to each other though we met fifteen fucking minutes earlier,” I counter. “And that right there confirms there’s something between us.”

  Bewilderment spreads across her face. “You’re irrational!”

  “And you’re very rational, which makes this relationship fucking ideal because we balance each other out.”

  It looks like she’s considering my offer judging by the wild look on her face, and my heart swells with hope. She only needs to see it my way, and we can be together until we’ve had our fill.

  You’re a damn liar, Maceo. Considering how she fucked me, I’ll never get my fill.

  Fuck me. I want this woman for my own. Damn my rules.

  “I have to go. I have a business meeting I can’t miss.” She whistles for Hades, who finally gets up and pads toward us.

  My heart starts to jackhammer. This can’t be the end. I can’t let her walk away. “Don’t resist this, Josephine. We have something between us.”

  “You don’t know that,” she mumbles with a tremor in her voice.

  “I fucking feel it in here,” I say as I put my hand on my chest. “And you feel it, too. You’re just being stubborn. But I won’t let you ignore it. I’ll remind you every damn day and night what we have if you let me.”

  My pixie looks at me gobsmacked before she turns on her heels and dashes away with Hades over the crest of the hill.

  For a moment, I’m in shock.

  She’s fucking running! Oh, hell no.

  I’ve never seen a woman take off—that move has always been reserved for me. Shit, half the time I have to shake them off before I close the damn door.

  Snapping to attention, I recall there’s a parking lot nearby and I dash up the hill to confirm my suspicions. I arrive in time to see her climb into a white Subaru, and she peels out of the parking lot. Not fast enough to avoid me catching her license plate, though. My lips curl into a smirk. If she wants to challenge me, I accept.

  Chapter Two

  Josephine

  What the hell is wrong with me? I had sex with a complete stranger in a fucking nature preserve where any Tom, Dick, or Harry could have watched.

  Fear of jumping off the deep end after a chance encounter had me running for the hills—literally. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Good thing Hades was on my heels, or I might have left him behind.

  I speed out of the parking lot, but I allow myself one last look in the review mirror. Fuck if my heart doesn’t leap into my throat when I see him standing in the lot with his hands on his hips and a smirk on his handsome face. I force myself to accelerate when every fiber in my body is screaming at me to stomp on the breaks.

  Shame consumes me as I speed back to my condo, hoping and praying I can get ready fast enough for my morning appointment with my biggest client in over a year.

  This was not how I planned my morning when I set out for my daily run. I was up by five and out the door no later than a quarter after with Hades. Running is the only time in my schedule when I unwind and meditate. It brings me the peace I need to tackle the rest of my hectic day. I was minding my own damn business, not bothering a soul in the world, before everything went batshit crazy.

  I was running the trail wallowing in a pity party over the past year’s events. Over a year ago, I was a content woman working at the firm of my dreams, and on the arm of a man I was in love with. But the fucker broke my heart and didn’t give two shits about stealing my dream from me. I try to brush off the bad vibes while I weave my way along the trail.

  All of a sudden—BOOM—this walking sex-on-a-stick barreled in to me and threw me over his massive shoulder like a bag of flour.

  I laugh through my tears thinking of how I pounded against his chest and kicked at his shins, making his arm constrict around me tighter than a damn boa. He explained himself—his only concern was to save me from Hades. Looking at Hades from an outsider’s perspective, I totally got his reasoning.

  And fuck me if Maceo wasn’t charming the pants right off of me like he wanted. His proximity was enough to make me drunk with need. His soft lips on my knuckles only made me want those lips all over me. The warmth of his arms holding me close sent shivers of pleasure all through my body and deep into my lower belly. His voice hypnotized me, and I gave into his charisma and unspoken sexual requests.

  Choking on my tears as I drive, I want to blame my rash decision—having sex with a total stranger—on not having sex for a whole damn year. I haven’t felt compelled to be involved with anyone else since I broke up with Jacob.

  It had only been Jacob since freshman year in college. If I’m being honest, Jacob didn’t bring much to the bedroom. Most of the time, I had to finish myself off in the bathroom after the fact; Jacob was a two-pump chump.

  Maceo—my stomach flutters and my thighs squeeze together—Maceo was a sex god who was clearly ready to lay me out. A voice in my head I never listen to—the irrational part that had me leave my life the last time I paid attention to it—was screaming at me to jump his bones.

  So what did I do? I took the fucking leap.

  Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were running all over his hard body and groping him through his shorts, where I could feel he had a frenum piercing. I never intended for things to get carried away the way they did. I should have stopped it right there, but his hand slid past my soaked panties, and his thick fingers were inside me, circling my clit. My body turned off my mind, and I pushed my hips forward to ride his hand like I was starving for his touch. His commanding voice was all I needed to go over the edge.

  Without hesitation, I stripped both of us and begged Maceo to fuck me bareback. Reasoning be damned. Not when he impaled me on his long shaft, or kissed me fervently, or in our final moments before we exploded together, I never belong anywhere else but with him.

  Our happy encounter ended right there. Reality came crashing down hard while I was still perched on his dick, which I swear never went soft. Shame and dread bubble up inside me. I fucked a man I just met and know nothing about.

  As if that isn’t bad enough already, the crazed look of possession in his dark eyes scared me more than anything else. But it was those small touches he gave me after I came to my senses which had me second guessing everything. His words about our partnering being inevitable had me painting a picture in my head with him by my side. And fuck me if it didn’t feel right.

  My mind drifts back to the present as another sob escapes my throat and tears prick my eyes. What the hell am I doing? Was Maceo right when he said not to fight this? I shake my head to clear the absurd notion.

  It’s not long before Hades and I are pulling up to the condo. I race with him up the steps, and I immediately go to the kitchen to put dog food in Hades’s dish. I grab a glass of water for myself, but I regret it instantly because I can no longer taste Maceo’s kiss on my lips.

  Enough! These ridiculous thoughts have to go.

  On autopilot, I navigate myself around my condo, pulling o
ut my best business clothes and highest stilettos before turning on the shower. I step into the hot blast and scrub any remainder of Maceo from my body. Thank God I splurged on waxing last week because I’m damn near out of time to get ready.

  Finished, I dry off quickly and throw my hair in a towel, brushing my teeth for the second time this morning, and beginning my daily moisturizing treatment. After stepping into my undergarments, I slip into my black pencil skirt and sheer white blouse—only slightly provocative, which never hurts in sealing a business deal.

  By now my hair is dry enough to blow out and throw up into a French twist. A couple of bobby pins, a dab of perfume on my neck and wrists, and I’m good to go. I step into my heels, grab my purse and computer case with my portfolio, before kissing Hades’ big head and running out the door.

  Trying to get my head in the game, I focus on what I need to accomplish. I need to score this deal. My whole career is riding on landing stable projects, and right now I’m getting pretty desperate. I deserve better—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  To say it’s been a struggle would be an understatement—it’s been fucking awful. I’ve taken every single design job I’ve gotten my hands on, which has limited my creativity and often forced me to work with some shady-ass characters.

  Like Lorenzo Bianchi, the mob boss who hired me to build an illegal casino under his family’s Italian restaurant. The dude is still sending me flowers in hopes I’ll finally break down and take him up on his offer of a date. Hard pass. Or the freaky religious group I had never heard of before, who asked me to build a temple into the cliff face of the Rockies. I swear they were a cult. And countless sleazy landlords wanting cheap and shabby work, while asking top-dollar from tenants.

  At least I’ve had enough local clients now to have a decent portfolio, and some contacts for production around Fort Collins. This is not where I saw myself at twenty-seven, but here I am nonetheless.

  Today, it’s all going to change. I’m meeting with my first multimillion-dollar client on a project which is sure to take months to complete. My first stepping-stone in the direction I want to go: up.

  My client, who goes by the name Atlas—that’s it, one name, like Cher or Beyoncé—asked to go over my plans at a local diner, where he and his motorcycle pack have breakfast every morning. No problem. I’m more than accommodating to the needs of my prospective clients. Plus, meeting over breakfast seems like a relaxing way to learn more about this new customer’s needs.

  Pulling into the parking lot, I have to maneuver around a dozen motorcycles. Not unusual, since this diner is known for serving bikers. I’ve passed this place a million times, and there’s always a motorcycle gang gathered here. I park and climb out of my car, reaching to grab my belongings.

  A low whistle and a couple catcalls reach my ear as I’m bent over. I stand to my full height, which is helped by the four extra inches I’m sporting, and I straighten my back before glaring at the two MC members behind me.

  They snigger but otherwise don’t say anything to my face. I turn and head to the diner.

  “That one’s a hellcat,” one of the men says.

  I roll my eyes. Maybe taking this project was a mistake. I will not tolerate being sexually objectified, and I have had my fair share of it over the past year. Even though I’ve grown a thick layer of skin, there’s only so much I will take. This biker I’m meeting and the group he’s affiliated with may be beyond my comfort zone. I hope this isn’t my last straw.

  Minimizing the natural sway of my hips to avoid further harassment, I make my way into the crowded diner. Bikers and scantily-clad women pack the restaurant. As I take in the wardrobe choices of the women hanging on the huge men, I realize my sheer blouse will be less appealing than I originally thought.

  I pivot to see if I can pinpoint my client. He told me in our last email to ‘look for the biggest guy in the room, with the leather cut reading Atlas and President.’ His description does nothing to help, because all these men are huge, and I feel a little awkward staring at their chests to read their vests.

  It probably doesn’t help that my client has no idea who he’s looking for either. The fact we’ve only communicated through email has given nothing away about my identity.

  Most of my clients are shocked when they discover I’m a woman. I purposely shorten my name from ‘Josephine’ to ‘Jo’ in order to land bigger fish.

  In my industry, men are the dominating force, especially when it comes to clean lines and modern architecture. Women are always associated with the softer touches of design. It’s annoying as hell.

  Midcentury modern has always been my springboard, and it pisses me off I have to trick people. But until I make my mark in this industry, I fear I have no other choice.

  I turn in a half circle and freeze when my eyes make contact with the person I’d vowed—only an hour ago—never to see again.

  Maceo, looking sexy as sin, dressed in ripped jeans and a skin-tight faded black tee, sits in a big circular corner booth by himself. His inked arms drape over the back like he fucking owns the place. He looks so casual in scuffed combat boots, and his MC leather cut reads President followed by…Atlas. To add insult to injury, he’s looking right at me with a devilish grin and smoldering eyes.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  This could not be any worse if it were written for a drama TV series.

  This Goliath of a man is too damn good-looking for his own good. His huge rippling muscles are barely hidden underneath his T-shirt. His tan skin highlights his long black eyelashes and dark brown eyes—those eyes, nearly black, have the power to reel me in and make me disappear. His shiny raven-black hair is shaved close to the scalp on the sides, but longer and flipped back on top, making me want to run my hands through it—again.

  Early morning dark scruff is the only facial hair on his strong, chiseled jawline. His corded neck makes me want to press my lips there and feel his pulse. Legs as thick as my waist, and strong as hell, are stretched out in front of him.

  Hot damn! I’m pretty sure I’m staring with my mouth hanging open for the second time today.

  The way his eyes scan my body convinces me he’s remembering our previous tryst, and his tongue snakes out along his full bottom lip, showing me a hint of his barbell piercing.

  With the tightest smile I can muster, I walk toward him ‘till I’m standing at the head of his table.

  “Atlas,” I say as casually as I can, but I can still hear the growl in my voice.

  His grin spreads to cocky. “Jo,” he purrs. “Or would you prefer Josephine?”

  My eyes narrow. I both like and dislike him using my full name. It sounds lovely coming from his lips, but it’s too intimate. “Jo is fine, thank you.”

  “I like Josephine better. I’m sure you won’t mind, seeing as the customer is always right, yeah, Josephine?” he says wickedly, raising one full, dark brow as if to challenge me.

  My fist clenches around my computer case, but I maintain a casual face. At least I hope so. “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Maceo stands from the booth ‘till he’s hovering over me, and fuck me if he doesn’t smell like our earlier lovemaking.

  The asshole never washed me off. My nostrils flare, and I swear he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Sorry if I smell musky. I ran out of time this morning, too preoccupied. Please have a seat.”

  Rat bastard! I pucker my lips and raise my eyes to the ceiling to gather my composure before I slide into the booth. He follows beside me and plants himself against me, his leg grazing mine. I scoot over to break the connection, but his body fills in the vacant space.

  Keeping distance from him while I sit here is fruitless—he’s not going to settle on giving me personal space. I give up and allow his body to brush against mine, hating and loving the connection all at once.

  A waitress approaches our table. “What can I get ya?”

  Frazzled, I grab the menu and quickly skim it.
The gyro omelet with feta cheese and spinach is right up my alley. I order it along with a coffee. Maceo chuckles to himself before looking up at our waitress with a proud-ass smirk. “You know what I like, Bonnie.”

  “Two gyro omelets and coffees coming right up,” she clucks before returning to the kitchen.

  I close my eyes and shake my head. Of course, I had to order his favorite off the menu. The smug sonofabitch is gloating right now, probably thinking this is one of many things connecting us, adding to the list he rambled on the trail this morning.

  Bonnie returns with our coffees before disappearing again. We both reach for the creamers at the same time, grazing each other’s fingers, sending little shocks of electricity up my arm. I pull away quickly and Maceo smiles, grabbing a creamer cup. “Want to share? I don’t use half of this thing.”

  I nod. “Yes, actually. That’s perfect.” No point in being wasteful.

  Maceo tops off our coffees and we both stir our mugs. I raise the cup to my lips and blow before taking a long sip, while Maceo watches me over the brim of his own mug.

  I clear my throat. “Well, Atlas, I—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

  “No, Pixie. To everyone else I’m Atlas, but to you I’m Maceo.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from arguing. It’s bad enough he’s using my given name, but it’s a whole other ballgame making me use his. It connects us on a deeper level. Why does he insist on my use of his first name? We had sex one time. It’s not like we’re a couple.

  “Maceo.” It comes out like a caress around my tongue, reminding me of the last time I used it. He was balls deep inside me, making me scream his name through my climax. My face heats from the memory.

  The smug asshole knows exactly what I’m remembering from the way his grin widens. Now I know why he wants me to call him Maceo—it’s a reminder of what occurred between us.

  He drapes his arm behind my backrest, encasing me without actually touching me. The gesture is far too personal, but I don’t pull away. What the fuck is wrong with me?