Visions. Part 8

Paige punched in her response while Sam grumbled her objections.

X: What did you have in mind?

Vinden Gudinna: 2916'52"N 944'33"W...Midnight.

Paige frowned and turned the phone around to face Sam. "What the s.h.i.+t is that?"

"Looks like coordinates." Sam withdrew her phone a bit too eagerly for someone completely opposed to this little game.

Paige wasn't supposed to have this kind of reaction, but she couldn't manage to control her emotions from scattering in all directions. Run. No, don't run. Meet her. f.u.c.k her. No. Are you crazy? Why the h.e.l.l not? Hadn't she already walked into a mysterious adventure and left with memories to burn her a lifetime?

Of course she was up for an adventure. What moron would she be if she didn't? Her bloggers depended on her to do this. Depended on her to bring back every glorious detail for their reading pleasure. They'd been waiting for this. Paige had been waiting for this.

Could this woman take her outside the box? To a place she so desperately wanted to revisit again?

"Paige, I don't like this. This isn't normal." Sam continued punching keys on her phone.

"d.a.m.n right, it's not." Paige's soul screamed to take the leap. "Which is exactly why I need to do it. I don't want normal. I want to be s.e.xually ripped apart."

Paige smiled. This was fun. Fun and s.e.xy. Seemed her mystery woman was smart and fun as well as adventurous. But could she f.u.c.k? That was the most logical question. And the most important.

"If this app is correct, it's the little ice cream shop a few blocks from the club."

"Ice cream? Seriously?" Her adventure was to eat a d.a.m.n ice cream cone? Or maybe she was supposed to be the ice cream cone. Hmm. That sounded promising.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Paige."

"That's so surprising." Paige blew her an air kiss. "I'll be very careful, Mommy, and will call you as soon as I get home. If I can walk, that is."

Sam huffed while Paige typed in her response.

X: Ice cream parlor it is. Dark chocolate is an aphrodisiac...and my favorite.

Paige pulled to the curb outside Mayson's mansion. She wasn't ready to pull down the long drive. h.e.l.l, she wasn't ready to be here at all, but Sam had left her no choice. Unless she wanted to run the show for the two weeks' worth of vacation days Sam had acc.u.mulated, she better get this over with.

Another fact she had to admit: if she wanted her charity to take serious flight, she needed Mayson on her side.

And now she'd p.i.s.sed Mayson off with her smart-a.s.s mouth.

Yet wasn't that a human reaction? To be hurt? To be upset? To lash out? To be a complete b.i.t.c.h?

Of course it was! She had every right to be p.i.s.sed at Mayson. She had no business being here. She didn't owe Mayson Montgomery a f.u.c.king thing, let alone an apology.

Would Sam murder her if she left? She could simply mail an apology card. Or she could go all out and s.h.i.+p Mayson a set of dumbbells to a.s.sist with those lickable biceps. Not that she obviously needed any help.

Samantha's voice rang loud in her mind, threatening to leave her a.s.s deep in paperwork and major responsibility, saying that the charity would sink if Mayson bailed.

Dammit to h.e.l.l. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to back down this driveway, take her a.s.s home, and get ready for a masked date. Was it too late to hire another manager? Was there a fat chance in h.e.l.l she'd find one to put up with as much as Sam did? f.u.c.k. No way. Sam was one of a kind.

"Just do it, you big ol' chickens.h.i.+t. You're here now. Just spit out those two meaningless little words and be on your way." Paige confirmed her decision with a nod then eased up the driveway.

A beige stucco mansion bloomed into view surrounded by tropical foliage and ma.s.sive palm trees. Jesus. What the h.e.l.l did people do in houses that big? Play rugby? Land a jet? Freight train? It was ridiculously huge, but Paige had to admit, she wouldn't turn it down if someone gave her one just like it. She wanted to peek inside. Wanted to see how a billionaire lived.

Would there be furniture laced in gold? Bear rugs? Crystal faucets and chandeliers?

Paige had no clue. But she wanted to know. Wanted to see.

She continued along the driveway until she came to a guardhouse. Did Mayson think she was some kind of celebrity? Didn't she design boring wind turbines or something equally uninteresting? For crying out loud, she was a normal person who happened to be the f.u.c.king bank.

The guard stepped out of the hut wearing a navy blue uniform and approached her window. "May I help you, miss?"

"I'm here to see Mayson Montgomery."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Wasn't aware I needed one." Had someone failed to mention to Paige that Mayson was actually the President of the United States?

"Miss Montgomery is out for the moment. Would you like me to leave her a message?"

"No, thank you. Just buzz me in and I'll wait for her on the porch."

"Sorry, ma'am. Unless you have an appointment, I can't allow you on the property," he announced, his voice stern and forceful.

"Look, mister." Paige opened her door, forcing the guard into retreat, and stepped out of the vehicle. She refused to turn back now. Not when she was a car length away from getting this farce of an apology over with. This underpaid, wannabe, rent-a-cop wasn't going to stand in her way. "It's been a long day and I'm out of patience for games. Not to mention you're about to make me late for a date, which will royally p.i.s.s me off. So be a sport and click whatever little gadget opens this ma.s.sive gate, and I'll wait on her porch like a good little Samaritan. Okay?"

The sound of crunching pebbles pulled Paige's attention away from the guard. She turned to find Mayson jogging down the driveway in a sweat-soaked T-s.h.i.+rt, red do-rag around her forehead, and a boxer on a leash leading the way.

Paige resisted the urge to fan her face. She was suddenly hot though the afternoon weather was perfectly cool.

Did the rest of the billionaire population look as yummy as this one? Could they turn a head as fast as this one? Dammit to h.e.l.l. Why did she have to look so edible in those jogging shorts?

When Mayson spotted Paige, she slowed her jog to a walk. A confident, come-f.u.c.k-me walk. A smile slithered across her lips as if she'd expected Paige to be standing in this exact spot when she returned. She no doubt found pleasure in the guard standing rigid straight behind her, earning every dime of his wages.

"I see that sharp tongue doesn't end with me." Mayson came to a stop entirely too close to Paige, completely invading her personal s.p.a.ce on such a hot day. Cool day. Yes, it was cool. Mayson was the one who was hot. f.u.c.k! "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Burton?"

Mayson let her gaze trickle casually over Paige's face, stalling on her lips, before smoothing that rich inspection lower.

Paige could feel every mental touch, and she s.h.i.+fted to her other leg to ease the burn rolling between her thighs.

"I think we're past the point of introductions." Paige lifted her chin a little higher. "Call me Paige."

Mayson's smile deepened, curling up the edges of her lip and indenting a single dimple on her left cheek. "Paige."

Paige s.h.i.+fted again as the burn between her thighs roared into an inferno. Her name sounded like an o.r.g.a.s.m rolling off those lips. She'd never heard the syllable sound so erotic.

f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. Mayson was seriously hot as sin. Broad. Tall. Tanned. s.e.xy. And so f.u.c.kable. She didn't remember this about her. The cool way she could outride Fredrick and his buddies on their bikes, yes. She'd been h.e.l.l on that thing, tearing up the green lawn as if on a warpath. Funny that Paige couldn't recall the tomboy in her back then. G.o.d, how she could see her now.

Paige hated that smile. She was furious with Mayson Montgomery. She'd made a fool out of her. Embarra.s.sed her in front of those stupid rich kids, all for brownie points. She wanted to punch her. No. She wanted to gather all her strength through her back and shoulders, combine it into the palms of her hands, and then shove Mayson over the line of green bushes edging the driveway behind her. She wanted to see Mayson's feet flailing in the air while her a.s.s was slamming against the ground.

The image gave her a rush and she s.h.i.+fted again. Dammit. Why couldn't she stand still?

Paige glanced over her shoulder simply to do something other than imagine those lips against her own and found the guard still staring at her. "What? Did you need to frisk me? Think I'm packin' or something?"

Mayson chuckled. "Barry, I'm fine. You can return to your post."

Paige turned back to Mayson and found she had stepped closer, the leash dangling like a promise from her fingertips. The boxer was prowling around the car.

"What can I help you with...Paige?" Mayson looped the leash around her wrists, and Paige forgot what she was there for.

Oh, yeah, to say she was sorry. What had she done? Oh, yes, implied that Mayson was an uneducated imbecile who could only multiply her weight in barbells. And something about mooching off her parents. Was that all? Oh, and that she owed her a f.u.c.king diary.

"I came to, say I was...to a...well, to talk about the park incident." Oh h.e.l.l no, she didn't just stammer. She was a grown-a.s.s woman, who was educated, who ran a clean nightclub. Did she seriously just act like a h.o.r.n.y teenager?

Mayson's grin widened, which only fueled Paige's anger. "To apologize for being so rude to me?"

Did her dimple just sink deeper? Was that possible? How many women had she lured into her clutches with that charming indentation?

Had she always been this s.e.xy? Paige couldn't remember. What she did remember was feeling the cold water surround her and the embarra.s.sment choke her. Worse, her diary, her little notebook of emotions, her daily prayers, was ruined. That silver spoon would never know what it was like to be abandoned. To not be wanted by her own mother. She was clueless to how it felt to not know who her f.u.c.king father was. She didn't know what it was like to live with a sick grandmother, the only mother she ever knew, to watch her struggle every day.

This s.e.xy b.i.t.c.h had ruined her privacy. She'd taken away Paige's peaceful spot in the world, where she'd tuck herself away from all the others who didn't accept her, and plead to G.o.d on every page to let her grandmother live long enough to see Paige walk across that stage, to hold her diploma, to prove to her grandmother that she'd done a d.a.m.n good job where everyone else had failed. It was the only token of love she would ever be able to give to the woman who raised her.

Paige straightened her shoulders as cold anger ran down her body. "I don't have anything to apologize for, Miss Montgomery. I don't know what I was thinking coming here." She shoved around Mayson and reached for the door handle.

Mayson tucked her arm around Paige's waist and pulled her to a stop. "Hold up, fireball. Don't go running off mad. Again."

Paige backed out of Mayson's strong hold, her p.u.s.s.y clenching like an erratic heartbeat. Heat burst between her thighs, and she swallowed hard. She seriously needed to get laid. Even if it had to be done on the tip of her vibrator. Mayson was too much. Too hot. Too f.u.c.king seductive even when she was clueless she was achieving that goal.

No. She was not too much or too hot or too seductive. She was the opposite of all of those things. She was a cold and uncaring b.i.t.c.h.

Paige squared her jaw. "I'm not running off mad. I'm simply running. Please get the h.e.l.l out of my way." She reached for the handle.

Mayson wrapped her hand around Paige's wrist and tugged her to a stop. Even with the thin material of her s.h.i.+rt separating their flesh, the contact was electrifying. Holy s.h.i.+t. Paige was surprised to feel the strength of Mayson's grip. Were all billionaires this toned? This strong? Was drafting and designing some kind of secret workout the rest of the population was unaware of?

Paige wondered what else she could do with those hands.

She mentally shook her head with the thought. Her hormones were whacked the h.e.l.l out. She'd never had this kind of angry, please-f.u.c.k-me chemistry with anyone. She wanted to coldc.o.c.k this b.i.t.c.h, then straddle her face. She wanted to spit on her, then come around her fingers.

She was twisted. Sam was right. She needed mental attention.

Did they allow vibrators in the nut house?

"Have dinner with me, Paige."

Paige chuckled, mainly to hear something other than the blood rus.h.i.+ng to her ears. "No." She pulled out of Mayson's firm grip and chuckled. The reaction was disturbing. "Now, if you would so kindly move out of my way, I have to get ready for my date."

Mayson took a step toward Paige. Close enough that Paige could smell her musky sweat. Even her sweat didn't stink. Figured that a billionaire couldn't even stink like the rest of society. "Tomorrow, then? Dinner."

Paige studied her. There was no indication that she was joking. "I can't think of a single reason that having dinner with you would be a good idea."

Mayson looked so serious. Seriously s.e.xy. What would s.e.x be like with her?

f.u.c.k. She was doing it again. Thinking about s.e.x. s.e.x that would turn out horribly bad. Paige could fall into a trap this deep very fast. The s.e.x trap. Hadn't she done it? Time and time again? Not to mention Mayson was rich. Like insanely rich.

People like Mayson thought that people like Paige could be bought.

Paige wasn't for sale. No one could buy her. Ever. She'd never had a d.a.m.n thing handed to her. Mayson had a family tree of money, rooting all the way back to great-grandparents. Their kind simply couldn't mix.

Paige cleared her throat. "Let's just leave well enough alone, Mayson. Good night."

A mischievous grin broke across Mayson's lips as she reached for the door handle. She opened the car door and stepped back for Paige. "You'll change your mind."

Paige ignored her and dropped into the seat. Her job here was done. She'd said she was sorry. Actually, no she hadn't. She'd thought about it. Did that count? She didn't have to tell Sam it had turned into a catfight.

A catfight that had stirred her libido.

Now it was time to let a perfect stranger put out the flame. Again.

Chapter Seven.

Paige paced outside the late-night ice cream parlor. Her nerves were a jumbled mess. She'd only been this h.o.r.n.y once in her life. Here she was again, just as wet, just as ready, wondering what the night would hold, with yet another stranger. Praying her ending would hold an o.r.g.a.s.m that didn't involve p.o.r.n and s.e.x toys.

She needed unfamiliar hands taking her to climax. Wanted the feel of a hot mouth latched on to her, fingers driving to her core.

With a huff of heated frustration, Paige glanced up and down the sidewalk, positive her masked stranger was watching her. Probably from one of the alcoves between the buildings across the street. She stood a little taller and pondered if her outfit of choice was the right one.

Dark blue jeans rolled up to her calves, a pair of spiked pumps, and a loose s.h.i.+rt that dipped low on one shoulder. Her lucky Fedora completed the ensemble. Should she have worn something a little more accessible? Tonight was about the potential for s.e.x, after all. If, when, she came in contact with her mystery woman, she didn't want any obstacles in her way.

s.h.i.+t. She should have worn a skirt. And no underwear.

Too late now. With her stomach tied in knots, Paige stepped into the cool, refres.h.i.+ng air of the ice cream shop.

"Welcome to Creamy Dreams. I'm Sonia. What can I get for you tonight?" A brunette surely just out of high school looked up with a cheery smile and cheerleader chirp in her voice.

Paige approached the counter with hesitance and a double bout of adrenaline. "I'm X."

The girl gasped and dove under the counter. "I've been expecting you." She reappeared with a brown box wrapped in aqua blue ribbon. With that smile dominating her face, she pushed the box across the counter.

Paige gathered the gift, trying to look like the adult she was instead of going all out with a squeal topped with a hop, skip, and jump. Wouldn't the cas.h.i.+er get a kick out of that?