Sure Thing Read online

  How far she could take me down her throat.

  Just everyday thoughts, really.

  “Jennings, darling, thank you for taking me on this trip.” Nan interrupts my musings as we exit the hotel and walk the short distance to the coach parked just out front. “I know how busy you are but I do so look forward to my annual trip,” she says with a pat to my arm. “Besides, it’s all quite informative, isn’t it?”

  “Very informative, Nan,” I agree.

  I’m only here to appease Nan. When the trip ends I’ll deliver her to my aunt Poppy in Connecticut for the remainder of the summer. Then I’ll be on the first flight to London.

  “Very good, and I’ve always wanted to take this tour. Time well spent for both of us then.”

  I nod my head in agreement as we board the bus. Her new Canadian friends immediately wave us over to some empty seats near them as the coach doors close and Daisy walks down the aisle taking a head count, her lips moving as she counts to herself, her eyes rolling as they pass mine. Not too worried about policy then, is she? I’d think eye-rolling customers must be prohibited, but Lord knows with the Americans. She returns to the front of the coach, signaling to George we’re good to go, and then turns on the microphone system with an enthusiastic, “Good morning,” to the group.

  “So, um, welcome again to Sutton Travel Highlights of History tour. Glad you all made it on time this morning, thank you for that.” She smiles brightly but her hand is gripping the microphone so hard her knuckles are white. As if she’s responsible for passing the baton during an Olympic relay sprint instead of delivering a few dull tidbits to a group of tourists. She clears her throat before continuing, reminding us what’s on the agenda before picking up a small notepad and glancing it over. Does she really need notes in order to do this?

  She nods to herself then tucks the notebook away before asking the group to pull the tiny radio-controlled boxes from the seat pockets in front of each seat. After handing each guest a set of cheap disposable earbuds, she runs the group through testing the headset. The boxes operate on a simple on/off switch and volume dial so that lesson goes quickly. We’ll use them as we walk and the local guide narrates via the headsets.

  Once that’s all sorted Daisy’s shoulders relax as she turns on a promotional video on the overhead monitors and drops into the empty row of seats directly above and behind the driver. I’m five rows behind her so I can’t hear her sigh, but I imagine she does. Is she nervous about this tour or about me? Neither makes much sense. Both intrigue me.

  “Jennings, would you mind if I sat in the empty seat next to Vilma?” Nan breaks into my thoughts and gestures to her new friends. “It’ll be easier for us to chat.”

  “Not at all. I think I’ll go up and join the guide. I’ve got a few questions for her.”

  “Oh, great idea, you do that!” Nan readily agrees, patting my knee just as she did when I was a boy. “I’m so thrilled you’ve taken such an interest in the tour.”

  So am I. But I don’t think it’s in the way she’s thinking.

  Daisy’s in the window seat, so she doesn’t have a chance to object when I slide into the empty aisle seat next to her. Her head snaps up from a notebook clutched in her hand, her expression turning into a scowl when she sees me.

  “You can’t sit there,” she says.

  “I think that I can,” I respond, unbothered by her sass. I slide my arm over the headrest behind her and lean into her ear. “Are you this rude to all the tour guests or just the ones you’ve slept with?”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen in shock before she recovers.

  “Just you,” she states, narrowing her eyes at me before returning her attention to the notebook in her hand. She quickly snaps it shut and holds it on her lap, her fingers curled around the edge.

  “What have you got there?” I nod to the notebook. In my mind it’s a journal, filled with dirty thoughts about me.

  “Nothing. Just notes about the trip,” she says with a shrug.

  “Ah.” I nod. The dirty notes were a long shot but still, I’m disappointed. “How long have you been a tour guide, Daisy?”

  “Uh, a few years,” she says, but she won’t look at me.

  “A few?”

  “Yeah, a few. How about you? How long have you been mooching vacations off of your grandmother?”

  “Mooching? What a brilliant word. I assume it’s an American term for getting a handout?”

  “It is,” she confirms, unabashed.

  I grin. “Well, I have been the apple of Nan’s eye since the day I was born.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she agrees in a tone riddled with sarcasm.

  “So what do you need the notes for? If you’ve been doing this a few years it should be old hat by now, shouldn’t it?”

  “It’s a new tour,” she responds.

  “Is it?”

  She glances at me before quickly looking out the window. “Newish,” she replies with a shrug. “For me,” she adds.

  She’s evasive about the oddest things, which only serves to intrigue me more.

  When we reach the outskirts of the National Mall the bus stops and the group disembarks while Daisy confers with the local guide. George stays with the coach, which suits me fine. I still don’t like him.

  Daisy does yet another head count, then ensures everyone has their headset on and can hear. The guide takes off while delivering her spiel on the history of the Washington Monument. I watch the guests follow along for a few minutes while Daisy lags at the rear of the group, making sure she doesn’t lose anyone. Nan’s group has positioned themselves near the front, keeping a careful eye on the local guide, headset boxes clutched in hands. There’s a couple from Scotland with professional-looking camera equipment snapping pictures every few feet while the majority of the group just use their mobile phones.

  I pull the earbuds off and shove them into my pocket along with the radio box.

  “What are you doing?” She stops walking and looks at me suspiciously.

  “I’m more interested in observing you than the tour,” I tell her with a wink.

  She groans.

  I smile.

  “Do you have a job, Jennings?” She squares her shoulders and looks at me as if she’ll be able to assess the truthfulness of my answer.

  “I do.” I nod.

  “Do you live with your mother?”

  “I do not.” I shake my head once and bite back a smile.

  “Okay,” she says, then pauses. “Do you live with your grandmother?” she asks slowly, her brow arched in suspicion as if I’ve found a loophole to avoid an honest answer.

  “I do not live with my nan,” I confirm.

  “Okay,” she finally says with a nod.

  “Okay,” I agree though I’m not sure what conclusion she’s just drawn.

  “We can have sex this week,” she announces. “Because you’re good at it,” she adds and starts walking again. “And because that accent of yours drives me wild and because frankly, I don’t need another reason.”

  “Well then, glad that’s settled.” I don’t fight the smile this time. I can’t recall a woman ever telling me I was good in bed in quite such an… ineloquent way before, but it’s distinctly Daisy.

  “Don’t make me regret this, Jennings. You seem like trouble and I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “I’ll make you come with as little trouble as possible,” I promise.

  “And for the record, I’m still going to count this as a one-night stand. Unless I have another one-night stand in the future, then I’ll use that one, but if I don’t then this one still counts.”

  “Right.” I nod slowly even though fuck knows what that means.

  “Okay then. We’ve got a deal.”

  “A sex deal?” I ask, wide smile on my face. “How kinky.”

  “You said you weren’t going to be trouble,” she says drily with a tilt of her head and a lift of her brow in chal
lenge.

  “Fair enough, that I did.”

  “Go join your grandmother, Jennings. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Oh, I should hope so. I shake my head with another grin, wondering what just happened. I don’t normally have women so reluctant to give me attention. Or speaking to me like I’m a lost dog. Yet I’m smiling and curious about what she’s going to throw at me next.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jennings

  There was a group dinner tonight—included with the tour package. Billed as a premier dining experience or some nonsense. It was an agonizing affair that took up the better part of three hours. George was there, which I’m sure is customary but nonetheless annoying. He sat at a table with Daisy while I was across the room with Nan and a couple from Japan. Daisy spent the dinner looking anywhere but at George, which was somewhat mollifying. George for his part just looked confused.

  The restaurant was medieval-themed, complete with dim lighting and food served on wooden platters set in the middle of the table and drinks served in pewter tankards. It was awful. Nan, however, was delighted by the atmosphere and everyone else appeared to be having a good time as well so clearly the issues were mine. I’d have taken a godforsaken American chain restaurant with utensils wrapped in a paper napkin over eating with my fingers, but all that matters now is that it’s over. Thank fuck.

  I spent most of the dinner forcing myself not to think about what Daisy looks like naked lest I get a hard-on. A mission accomplished, just barely.

  But now we’re back at the hotel for the night. Finally, blissfully back at the hotel. Tomorrow the tour moves to Williamsburg, Virginia for two nights. But tonight, Daisy’s tour guide work is just about done and I’ll finally have her to myself.

  I escort Nan to the lift and bid her a good night before retreating to the lobby to wait for Daisy. Circumspectly, of course. She’s busy answering questions for a couple from the tour so I pretend to be interested in a rack of promotional flyers located in the lobby. I pick one up for a duck tour—an amphibious vehicle that drives the streets of DC before splashing into the Potomac River and cruising the rest of the tour. I give thanks that I won’t be subjected to a ride on a hybrid car/boat and stuff the flyer back into the stand while watching Daisy nod along to whatever the couple she’s speaking with is droning on about.

  Watching her makes me think of my first job out of university. It’s been… what, fourteen or fifteen years now? Fuck, was I ever twenty-two? For a moment maybe, a lifetime ago. My dad’s voice rings loudly in my head, asking me if I have any intention of slowing down. I wonder if he doesn’t have a point when I realize how fast the years are passing.

  But they’re passing so damn enjoyably, I muse with a glance at the lovely Daisy. I catch myself smiling and I have to physically swipe a hand over my mouth to wipe it away. Why slow down when I’m having so much fun?

  Besides, work keeps me busy.

  My passion has always been success. At work and with women. Right now one very specific woman. I watch her talk to another guest from the tour and wonder if I can skip past offering to buy her a drink tonight. I know it makes me some kind of barbarian arsehole, but I don’t want to offer her a drink. I’ve been waiting for two days, I want her upstairs and naked.

  Finally the last of the tour guests head towards the lifts and I note Daisy on their heels, as if I’m not standing here waiting for her. As if she’s just going to slip upstairs without a word. I don’t think so.

  “Miss Hayden.” I lay a hand lightly on her arm to stop her from proceeding and she huffs a bit, a cross between a sigh and an exhale as she flicks her eyes to mine. “I believe we have plans,” I remind her.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she says with a tiny insolent shrug.

  Changed her mind? Bloody hell. She can’t be serious. I look into her eyes, trying to gauge the situation, searching for a hint of mischievousness, but it’s not there. She’s serious? Why are women so irritatingly complicated? Was I not just musing about how much I enjoy them and now this? Vexing is what they are. Each and every last one of them is a different sort of exasperating, with their own unique combination of things that piss them off. A man’s got to be a mind-reader to decipher what they’re on about half the time, for fuck’s sake.

  I stare at her for a heartbeat, thinking it would make my life easier if I abandoned this straight away and found a different woman to spend tonight with, but dammit if she doesn’t intrigue me.

  “Whyever would you do that?” I find myself asking her instead.

  “You’re a customer,” she replies, but her eyes fall to my chest and she swallows. A hint of a blush reaches her cheeks before she meets my eyes again. “It’s not proper.”

  “Proper?” I can’t help it, I laugh. “Are you living in Regency London now?”

  “People still use the word ‘proper,’” she scoffs at me. Literally scoffs. I’m not used to women being so transparent with me. She doesn’t give a single toss about impressing me and it’s sort of endearing in an odd way.

  “Sure they do, as in ‘I’d like a proper cup of tea.’ No one uses the word to describe a sexual liaison.”

  “No one uses the word ‘liaison’ either.”

  “I think they do. Should we continue this conversation in my room?” I nod towards the lifts in hopes we’re about done with this chat.

  “No, Jennings. I’m serious.” She stomps her foot a little when she says ‘serious’ and I’m not sure how I’ll keep myself from kissing her right then, lobby be damned.

  “What happened to you being a sure thing?” I question instead. “I quite liked you when you were a sure thing. Not that this little song and dance isn’t fun.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what exactly?”

  “Before I realized how complicated this is,” she huffs, but she’s not looking at me and doesn’t seem that invested in her defense. I can’t help but feel like there’s something I’m not getting.

  “What’s complicated about this?” I run my fingertip along the bare skin between her elbow and wrist and she inhales quickly. “And what happened to the part where my accent drives you wild?”

  “It does,” she agrees. She says it entirely too primly for a girl capable of multiple orgasms, one whose nipples hardened from me no more than skimming her arm.

  Besides, I don’t care about her perceived rules.

  “Plus, you’re my one-night stand and if I sleep with you again then you’re not technically a one-night stand.”

  Come again?

  “Not technically a one-night stand,” I repeat back to her.

  “Right.” She nods and her brow is furrowed over this. “And it was perfect,” she says on a big exhale of breath and waves her hand while I smile, because yes, yes, it was. “Really, really great,” she continues. “So if we do it again my perfect one-night stand is shot and what if the next time I have a one-night stand it’s bad? Then my only one-night stand is terrible and then I’d have to keep having them until I had another good one and—”

  “Okay, stop talking.” I hold up a hand, hoping it’s enough to make her stop. I don’t even know where to begin with what just came out of her mouth, but since I don’t care to zero in on the idea of her with other men, I’ll start with the obvious. “You enjoyed yourself the other night?”

  “Yeah.” She looks at me as if I’m an idiot.

  “So much so that you don’t want to do it again?”

  “It’s complicated, Jennings.” She frowns. “This tour”—she pauses—”it’s just complicated.”

  “What if it’s better the next time?” I say, ignoring her tour nonsense.

  “Not possible.” She shakes her head.

  “What if it’s just as good as the last time?” I say, gritting my teeth. “What if we could have sex just as good as the first night every night for the next week?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replies, but she says it with a
hint of longing in her voice and a lingering glance at my lips.

  “Enough of this. I’m not done with you.” I say it firmly, perhaps a bit more so than I meant, but her eyes snap to attention with interest at my tone.

  “Not done with me?” she questions and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. No, I’m most definitely not done with her.

  “No, Daisy, I’m not. I need you again.” Her eyes widen and I know I have her interest. “I need to taste your sweet pussy again. I need to suck on those gorgeous nipples until you’re begging for my cock.” Desire fills her eyes and her breathing hitches. She wants this. I’m not done. “I need you to come until you’ve had more orgasms than you knew were possible and you’re limp from exhaustion. I need you to ride me until your thighs shake and then I’ll flip you over and taste your pussy all over again. Until you’re sated beyond measure. So no, Daisy, I’m not done.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she blurts out.

  “Don’t call you by your name?” This is a new one for me. Her eyes widen as I stare at her. I thought I’d uncovered every bit of crazy a woman could throw at me by now, but this is new.

  “It’s just that I really liked it when you called me ‘love,’” she says. She’s flushed and speaking faster than normal, the crazy flying out of her mouth at record speed. “It’s so British the way you did that, and the truth is I’m a bit of an Anglophile. My secret is out!” she adds with an odd little wink. “Let’s go to your room. Just call me ‘love,’ okay?” She spins in the direction of the lifts, not waiting to see if I’m following.

  Crazy or not, I’m following.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Violet

  That was close.

  Way too close. Don’t call me Daisy. What an idiotic thing to say, but I’m not cut out for this kind of subterfuge. I blow a stray hair off my forehead and jab at the elevator call button a bit more forcefully than necessary while I mull over my predicament.

  The thing is I do want to sleep with Jennings again—of course I want to. I’d have to be insane not to want a repeat performance. I spent all afternoon daydreaming about it, recalling the details from the first time over and over again. The scent of his skin and the way it felt moving against my own. The way his hair stood up in spots where I tugged on it with my fingers. His magic mouth and brilliant fingers. The tilt of his head when he thrust into me and the look in his eyes as he came.