The Last Guy

“Then show me.” I don’t know what I’m talking about now.

“Like I said . . . movie marathon at Cade’s tonight,” Trent chimes in.

We speak at the same time.

“Shut up,” Stone says.

“Give it a rest,” I say.

We look at each other and burst out laughing. Something . . . small . . . seems settled between us. I don’t know what it is. Maybe she’s forgiven me for getting her assigned to the petting zoo debacle or maybe we’re just having fun. Whatever. I go with it and grab her another Diet Coke when I see she’s empty and looking around. She takes it and smiles. “Wish this was gin and tonic.”

I grin. “If it was, this night would end very differently.”

She giggles.

The conversation moves from Disney to current events and before I know it, I look up and the entire place is deserted except for the three of us.

Then Trent leaves—and we’re completely alone in the quiet room.

We chat for a few minutes longer about inane stuff. It’s just regular, mundane conversation—but so fucking comfortable. Before long, I’m sitting next to her on the barstool and our faces are close.

She gives me a thoughtful look. “I had these assumptions about you, but you’re so different. You cook. You volunteer to help kids. You have a cat.” She bites her lip. “I like it.”

The air in the room thickens.

She swallows. “What are you thinking right now?”

I shutter my face. “You really want to know, Stone?”

She nods.

I lean across the island until we’re nose-to-nose.

“I want to fuck you again,” I say softly.

A small gasp of air comes from her parted lips. “What?”

My lids are heavy as I gaze at her. “We have an hour before I have to be at my desk. We can go to my office right now and shut the door. I’ll strip you out of that tight-as-fuck skirt, take your underwear off with my teeth, toss you on my desk, and eat your pussy until you forget your own name. Then, I’ll fuck you so hard and good that I’ll have to cover your mouth when you scream. And when I’m done, you’ll suck your cream off my cock like it’s candy.”

Her eyes glaze over as she clutches the side of the island. Her chest is rising rapidly.

I smile. “Or we can just finish our drinks here, head on to wherever we’re going, and forget I ever said a goddamn word.”

Rebecca

WITH EVERY WORD from Cade’s lips, my scalp grows tighter, and I can’t seem to breathe properly. He’s watching me, waiting, and I slip off my stool, putting my face right at his chest.

“Cade . . .” His name is a burning wish on my tongue.

He stands, and his scent of warm fires and citrus is all around me, flooding my brain with every memory of our night together. I’m vibrating with need. If he actually did rip my panties off with his teeth, he’d see they’re already wet . . .

“Are you with me?” His large hand cups my jaw, and he touches my bottom lip, lightly pulling it with the pad of his thumb.

My mouth falls open, and I can see my breath coming fast. “I-I . . .” I can’t seem to form a sentence.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice is low, husky.

My lips are heavy with need, and I can’t meet his eyes. If I do, I’ll forget everything. I’ll forget all about anchor positions and good decisions and the future. Oh, God, I want that kiss so much.

“Look at me.”

My eyes flicker up, and when our gazes clash, it’s all over. His mouth covers mine, hard and fast, pushing my lips apart. A little noise escapes my throat, and just as fast, I’m kissing him back, chasing his mouth, hungry for everything him.

My hands are on his face. My fingers scratch through his beard, moving into the sides of his hair, threading in his soft, dark waves. He groans, and it’s a shock of sheer pleasure to my core.

Cade Hill is the most amazing kisser. He pulls my top lip between his teeth for a gentle bite before that delicious tongue sweeps inside again to curl with mine. I’m on my tiptoes, holding him, my body burning as I strain into his chest.

His large hands squeeze my arms, pressing my softness against his hard. They move from my shoulder blades down to my narrow waist, farther down to cup my ass. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, pulling me flush against him.

I can feel his length straining in his pants, and my knees are liquid.

“Oh, God,” I gasp as his mouth moves into my hair, hot breath sending chills skating down my body.

I can’t resist. I slide my hand to the front of his pants and rub it up and down over that amazing muscle. I remember riding him. I remember him stretching me, filling me, blowing my mind.

He releases a low groan, and it seems to get bigger.

“We need to go to my office. Now.” His hand is on my breast, cupping and squeezing it through the thin fabric. “I want these perfect tits in my mouth. I’ve wanted them for three days . . . even more since I saw them at six o’clock.”

“I had no idea . . .” I try to speak, and he kisses me again. Tongues collide, and I grab his shoulders, holding on through the electric swirl of sexy Cade Hill. Tipping my chin up, I moan as he kisses my neck, that luscious beard scuffing my skin. “You fell asleep on me last time.” It’s a breathless tease.

“Trust me, it will not happen again.”

I start to laugh—it’s more of a purr—when I hear a voice that throws ice water all over everything. Marv is speaking loudly and he’s headed our way fast.

“Shit,” I hiss, pushing out of Cade’s arms and turning fast to where our leftover plates sit on the counter. Scooping everything up, I run to the sink and crank up the hot water full blast.

“You don’t have to—” Cade starts, and I look over my shoulder at his rumpled shirt, his sexy waves all mussed from where I’d just run my fingers through it.

“Smooth your hair,” I say, and he reaches up to comply.

Come on . . . come on . . . Finally the steam starts to rise, and I lean forward, hoping to mask the flush on my cheeks and the bright red scuffmarks I know cover my neck.

“Yes, I talked to her about it,” Marv says. “It was clearly an accident. I appreciate that. It’s just bad timing on top of . . . I’ll call you back.”

He’s in the room, and I keep my back turned, quickly opening the dishwasher to load it. “Cade,” he says. “Savannah said you were back here. You still here, Becks?”

“It’s my fault,” Cade jumps in. “We were . . . discussing the Deadrick story and possible ideas for coverage. I guess I lost track of time.”

“Don’t spend too much time on that.” Marv’s voice is dismissive, and his lecture this afternoon in his office echoes in my mind. Viewer complaints . . . Indecency during the family hour . . . One more screw-up and you’re out.

I have a hard time breathing through the tightness in my chest. What happened at the zoo today was clearly an accident, and my contract is still in effect—breakable only by gross misconduct or negligence on my part, which will never happen. He can’t fire me. Still, he can put me on the bench, give me all the shit stories, and take me out of the running for an anchor’s seat, effectively sinking my chances of ever doing anything more than being a reporter, the lowest of the low, one step above being a camera guy.

“You forget, I choose the stories I spend time on.” A definite edge is in Cade’s voice, and I sneak a glance in their direction.