Corporate Cowboy (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Not two minutes after I arrive at my apartment, someone raps at the door. I race back from my bedroom and unlatch it to see a deliveryman standing there with a large white box.

“Yes?”

“Delivery for Ms. Emma Lavender,” the young man says.

“That’s me.”

He hands me the box, steps back, and says, “Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Dumbfounded, I watch him head for the elevator and step inside the open doors. Should I have signed for it? No. He didn’t look like that kind of official deliveryman. This was one of the oddest experiences of my life. I’d never had clothing delivered before for a date. And
from
my date, no less. Of course, this entire day is one for the books, and it is not over yet.

Nevertheless, I step back into my apartment and latch the door. Glancing at my watch, I quell a momentary panic. Gage will be here at seven. I have an hour to get ready and not much time to anticipate what the evening may bring.

There is no way I will be late.

I head back to my bedroom, deposit the box on my bed, shower, and wash and dry my hair. Afterward, I lather my body with lotion and spritz with a light cologne. My teeth brushed, I slip on my robe then begin the mindless act of applying my makeup.

That’s when my brain begins to trip over itself recalling the past several hours. Signing the contract. Handing Gage my panties. Standing naked as a J-bird in the window.

I can’t believe I did that. Oh my. I actually did that.

My eyes close, and I lower my hands to the edge of the sink, makeup brush still in hand, grasping the edge.

I envision myself standing in that window, blindfolded, and Gage—a silent sentinel—behind me. My breathing comes heavier thinking about it, and my body immediately reacts, rushing into a heated state of arousal.

I put myself back there for a moment.

Naked and exposed, I’d drifted into a near meditative state, willing my body to comply with the order I’d been given, silently absorbing the intense power of Gage’s sensuality. I’d focused inward, breathing shallow and even, to prevent spontaneously combusting while standing and waiting.

Then stumbling backward when Gage told me I could move, and glancing up to see the look of concern on Gage’s face. At that moment, I felt not only confused but reassured the man
does
have a heart. He can feel empathy. For a while there I wasn’t sure.

And that makes him all the more sexy to me.

Of course, Gage would never admit the empathy part. He’d more or less told me that during the contract discussion.
I don’t caress, cuddle, or whisper sweet nothings in your ear. I fuck. That is all. Sex in my world is black and white. No gray.

I open my eyes and look in the mirror, catching my own fiery gaze. My eyes are wide open, ripe with a sexual intensity and wonder. Curious about what sexual doors will open for me the next two weeks.

This is what I want, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is. To prove I am a sexual being. Not cold and inexperienced and…

What was it Randy had called me? Sexually unsatisfying?

I stare deep into the eyes of the young woman looking back. She looks sexy and…well…ready. Eager for what comes next.

Eager to submit and please Gage, the man who put that fire in her eyes.

I watch my chest rise and fall with even, but quick bursts of breath.

It’s all I can do not to sprint to the dresser drawer beside my bed and release these pent-up sexual urges with the help of my new bunny vibrator.

No. I will not.

If I spontaneously combust today, I want it to be at the hands of one intense and powerful cowboy.

I shake myself and glance at my watch. Six-thirty.

I quickly finish my makeup and start fiddling with my hair.

Down or up? I wish I knew what kind of restaurant, then I’d know how to fix my hair.

Ah.
The box. Perhaps that will give me a clue.

Back at my bed, I slip off the pink ribbon then undo the taped edges on each side of the box. I lift off the lid and notice a small envelope sitting atop the matching pink tissue paper. Quickly flipping the flap, I remove the single card inside and read the words written with clear, bold strokes.

A man’s handwriting? Gage’s?

It reads: “Wear only what is in the box.”

I take a deep breath and push back the tissue paper. Inside, the neckline of a black cocktail dress makes me gasp. Beautiful. I lift it and the folds fall out of the dress. Immediately, I turn toward the wall mirror and hold it up against me, then unzip the back in order to slip it over my head.

Perfect fit. How did he know?

No bra. No panties.

He said only to wear what was in the box, right?

I struggle with the back zipper but finally get it up. The dress is form-fitting and flattering, hitting me a couple of inches above the knees—classy but sexy, and definitely sophisticated—with off-the-shoulder long sleeves and crystal embellishments across the low-cut bodice and cuffs. I turn to see the lacy crystal pattern also circles around to my back, and am pleased the fit of the dress does nice things to my derriere.

Shoes. Certainly, I can wear shoes?

I look back to the box and see a shoe bag at the bottom. Of course, he thought of everything. I smile and pull it out to remove a pair of black, strappy heels that nearly make me giggle. Perfect.

Twirling back to the mirror, I slip on first one shoe, then the other, bend to adjust the straps, and then rise up to smooth the dress and take in the complete picture. My hair is down and mussed, swirling around my shoulders. I’m still pondering, down or up?

My shoulders drop, and I look again into my eyes.

How weird is this? Really?

The doorbell rings, startling me.

“Shit!”

I finger comb my hair and decide to forget it. Down will just have to do. Then I rush forward, definitely not wanting to make Gage wait.

I open the door and there he is, staring down at his watch. Like osmosis, I immediately take in his overall essence—black jacket and pants, cowboy boots and hat. Sexy half-grin on his chiseled, drop-dead-gorgeous face. Musky scent of his cologne that reminds me of sex.

I gulp. How long did it take me to get to the door?

Slowly, his gaze rises. Our eyes connect and I inhale. Deep.

“Am I late?” I squeak out.

Gage smiles. “No, Emma. You are not late. But you are, I must say, stunning.”

I exhale a nervous sigh. “I’m okay?”

He offers his arm. “You’re exquisite, my sweet Emma. I knew that dress was made for you the moment I set my eyes on it. Shall we go?”

I take his arm and step forward, then stop. “Wait. My purse.”

He shakes his head. “Leave it.”

“But I need—”

“I have everything you need, Emma.”

At the risk of sounding as if I was arguing, I said softly, “My key?”

Gage looks at me and repeats, “I have everything you need, Emma.”

Oh.
He closes my apartment door behind us.

****

“There are two reasons for our dinner tonight, Emma. One, to share the pleasure of your company. The second is to finalize some business between us.”

I nod and say, “Okay.”

I look at Gage and suddenly wonder how I arrived at this moment. A couple of months ago, I was a newly graduated college co-ed, enjoying my last summer of freedom while I search for a job, hanging with my girlfriends and plotting ways to break-up with my college boyfriend.

Today, I’m wearing this fabulous cocktail dress and having dinner with a dangerously sexy older man who not only intrigues me, but sets my panties on fire—that is, if I were permitted to wear panties.

I finger the stem of my wine glass and scan the restaurant. We are definitely dining with the upper crust of Billings. The high-end restaurant is classy and chic with a Tuscan flair. The menu is mixed, with American classics, along with Asian and European offerings.

“Do you come here often?” I remember the pictures of him on Google without women.

Gage sets the menu aside and says, “Rarely. When I travel I eat out every evening so when I am home, I generally eat at the condo or the ranch—unless there is a reason for me to have a business dinner.”

A business dinner
. Yes, I have to remember. That is what this is. I nod my understanding.
Fucking is business.

And all of this is incredible foreplay, I suddenly realize. Even if he doesn’t think so.

“Do you have any food allergies?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any food allergies, Emma?”

“I… No, I don’t.”

“Good.” His gaze lifts and I see the waiter coming alongside our table. Gage wastes no time in ordering.

“Ms. Lavender will have the Chicken Arrabiata and I will have the Beef of the Day.” While talking, he gathers my menu with his and hands them both to the server, who quickly leaves. Then he looks at me.

I stare back.

“I’m vegetarian.”

“Nonsense,” he replies.

“I am.”

“Well, the order is already placed, I suppose you can pick around the meat.”

I sigh. “I suppose I will.”

I am not vegetarian. I presume I said that because I’ve never had a man order for me before and find it quite unnerving. Then I remind myself—this is Gage. He is unnerving in any number of ways.

“I’m not vegetarian.”
Crickets.
Why did that come out of my mouth?

He eyes me. “Then why did you say that?”

“Because you didn’t give me a choice in ordering.”

Gage doesn’t miss a beat in saying, “Emma, when you are with me, you have no choice. I make the decisions.”

That is what this all boils down to, isn’t it? I watch his face, his gaze boring into mine. He waits for my response, and I know whatever my response is, it will further define our relationship. Of sorts. He’s still not sure of my commitment, is he?

I nod. “I understand, Sir.”

“Good.” He pushes back and sits straight up. We’ve both leaned far into the table. I relax and sit back too.

Then he begins. “Emma, tell me about your sexual experiences.”

“My…? What?”

“Your sexual experiences. I want to know about them. Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Here?” We’re seated at a small table in the center of the room. The main dining area is crowded. He wants to talk about my sex life
here
?

“Yes. Here, Emma. I want you to get comfortable talking and thinking about sex in public places.”

I gulp.

I’m afraid to ask this, but I do. “Why?”

Gage leans closer again, narrowing the space between us. Something brushes my knee. His hand. On my knee and snaking up my outer thigh. “Because sex in public places turns me on,” he says. “Talking about it, thinking about it, and doing it.”

A tremor of something sinful and sexual races up my spine, spills over my shoulders, and peaks at my nipples. I visibly tremble.

Gage increases the pressure on my thigh. I don’t dare tear my gaze from his, and manage to block out everything going on around me. His voice is low, sexy as he says, “And I can tell the thought of that turns you on too, Emma.”

A jagged breath escapes my throat.

“Right?” he taunts.

“I never thought about it until this minute.”

“But it’s true. Isn’t it?”

I give a quick nod. “Y-yes. I’m…intrigued.”

“You’re turned on.”

He holds my stare for a few more seconds, then again pushes back and releases my leg. Suddenly, my thigh feels cold.

“Tell me about your sexual experiences.” His iron gaze compels me to comply.

I take a breath and hold it to steady myself, then trudge forward. I mentally trace my sexual history and realize how boring this is going to sound. “I was a virgin until I was seventeen,” I tell him.

“High school boyfriend?”

I shake my head. “Prom date. One date. One time.”

His gaze narrows. “How did it go?”

I swallow. I hadn’t thought about this in a very long time. “Not well.”

His eyes shift back and forth, playing over my face, perhaps watching for a hint of emotion coming from me. I’m not giving it to him. I’m not ever giving that pain over to anyone again.

Then he says softly, “The first time rarely goes well, Emma.” Then he dropped it, and I was grateful. “And then?”

“And then I went to college,” I continue. “Where I met Randy.”

“College boyfriend.”