The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Page 3

  “In those?” I nodded to the spike-heeled booties. “Just under six feet.” Even in my stilettos he stood several inches taller than me—a giant plus. Grinning, I added, “And you’re six feet two inches…?”

  “Close enough,” he replied, somewhat distracted. “Are those stockings or pantyhose?”

  “Stockings and garter belt—interested?” I unfolded the notepaper. “Never mind, of course you are.”

  Bradley had obviously added to his list many times over the years, hence the torn places along the folds. All of the encounters were numbered, some written in a hurried, masculine scrawl while others had been carefully printed. And quite a few items had been crossed off.

  “A bona fide catalog of male sex fantasies. From age twelve to…shall we say…thirty-three?”

  “Thirty-two. Nice pun by the way—bona fide”

  I cleared my throat, which didn’t exactly cover the twitchy smile on my lips. “One—first base. Two—French kiss a girl. Three—get to first base.”

  Scanning the items, I murmured bits and pieces of his wish list. “Go down on a girl…sex with anal stimulation. Have cock sucked by a female. Have cock sucked by a male. Both checked off.” I turned to him and arched a brow.

  He glanced at the list over my shoulder. “I know we discussed my education, but I believe I failed to mention boarding school.” A man who was man enough to admit he’d had a pubescent, same-sex encounter with a schoolmate.

  I continued to peruse, pausing here and there to read aloud. “Blow job while driving…dangerous…” I had to admit the list got more interesting as the numbers climbed. “Thirty-eight. Tell a beautiful stranger I’d like to fuck her.”

  “Check.” He swiped an index finger in the air. “See anything that interests you?”

  I held back a sigh. No sense letting Smokin’ Hotness know I was interested—yet. “Wish I could help.” I pointed to a hurried scribble. “Spank her, with a line drawn through it.” I tsked. “I’m too late. Mission accomplished.”

  “Just because I cross something off the list, doesn’t mean I never do it again.” His smile drove a spike of electricity down my spine. “I believe you might have overlooked one in the forties.”

  Again, I skimmed the list. “Nothing has caught my eye.” I lingered on the last number, seventy-one.

  Sex with someone I love.

  It appeared to be a new entry and I admit to being curious. He had just spoken to an ex named Claire. And there was a child, Olivia.

  I reversed course and started back up the column. “Get her to orgasm from intercourse alone in five minutes.” This one caused an automatic eyebrow arch. “Unchecked.”

  “According to a Brown University study, on average, it takes women ten to twenty minutes to reach orgasm. Men reach orgasm after seven to fourteen minutes overall—two to three minutes after insertion.”

  The obvious discontent in his voice caused a slight flutter in my chest or was it that leisurely smile of his that ended in a dimple?

  “Let me guess, you worked on the Trojan UK launch.” How on earth had I missed that dimple? A quick scan up the list brought me to the high forties. “Ah, it appears forty-seven is an invitation.”

  There was no avoiding the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Conveniently, we find ourselves in a lift.”

  I shook my head, adding a sigh. “This is my fault. I brought the subject up first.”

  “Which means you were thinking about it.”

  “I see you are not one of those men who confuse sex with intimacy, Brad or Bradley.” The man had issues, but he was clever. And aware. I held the proof in my hands—scribbled, crossed-off, and numbered—a veritable catalog of dispassionate, semi-public sexual encounters.

  “Tell me, which do you prefer? Sex with or without intimacy?” His gotcha grin widened, as he waited for my answer.

  I squinted at him for a long…long…moment.

  As the seconds silently ticked by I was seventeen again, sitting on the couch in the family therapist’s office. I well understood the appeal of Bradley Craig. He triggered all my own fears of intimacy, mostly because I wanted him so much. Perhaps I had found a sick, twisted soulmate—a man who was just as adept at using coarse language for its shock value as I was. No doubt he dated casually for sexual gratification with a friend or two to help with the loneliness between dates.

  There was only one way to find out. “I don’t fake orgasms and I never climax the first time.”

  “You will with me.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “You wouldn’t want me to brag about my sexual prowess. Eighty-five percent of single women, ages twenty-one to thirty-nine, consider it a turnoff.” He moved close enough to run a finger under the thin strap of my dress.

  I caught my breath. “You read Cosmo.”

  “For a living.” He slipped the deep-blue spaghetti strap off my shoulder. “You keep forgetting I’m a research wonk.”

  The neckline fell short of exposing my breast. “Hm-mm, yes,” I murmured. “Organizational dynamics.”

  After a raspy inhale of breath, he pried his eyes away. “Women’s orgasms are mysterious things. I will do everything in my power, but whether you climax is up to you. Men are simple creatures by comparison.”

  He was by turns, arrogant, brutally honest—in a funny, humble way—gentle and protective, and now, impossibly charming. I contemplated the intensity of my sexual attraction to Bradley Craig. Off the charts.

  He propped his forearm against the wall which brought him a breath away from my mouth. “Could you…move those pouty lips closer?”

  I delivered something soft and sensuous—barely a kiss—more like an exchange of warm breath. And when he pressed for more, I retreated.

  I received a faint smile for my deliberate tease. “Nice, Gracie.”

  Once again, my body stirred to his scent—one of those new intense Burberry colognes, with notes of something much more masculine and intimate. He nuzzled my cheek and ear lobe, drawing me against his powerful physique which included every rock hard inch of him.

  He didn’t ask so nicely for a second kiss. He planted his mouth and kissed me with a tender passion that escalated into a blissful assault on my lips. Equally ravenous, I slipped my fingers into thick tufts of sable hair and pulled him down hard. He plunged deeper, inviting me to tangle and chase. And I surrendered to every swirl of his tongue, every honeyed caress. Our tongues merged, slid, and stroked a mating dance that left me wobbly-legged, with a hot need burning in my belly.

  He pushed my dress higher. The pounding of his heart against my chest caused such a distraction, I hardly noticed the crackle and flicker of overhead light. I was exposed from the waist down, and he broke off his kiss to admire, and stroke. “Christ, you’re so fucking hot.” Lowering his head, he covered my mouth again—hard enough to bruise but soft enough to make me whimper.

  “You in there?” A familiar voice crackled through the speaker in the call box. “We’re gonna have auxiliary power anytime now.” Big Dan’s voice barely registered. “Gracie? If you’re in there, pick up the phone.”

  Bradley broke away, breathing hard. “How are you at multitasking?”

  Before I could answer he cupped my buttocks with both hands. “Wrap your legs around me.” He carried me across the small space, propping me against the handrail.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he lifted the receiver out of its compartment. “Hello? Yes—two of us. Grace Taylor-Scott and Bradley Craig.”

  He nodded. “She’s right here.” He held the receiver against my ear, adding a wink. “Say hello.”

  “Big Dan?”

  Bradley lowered my other shoulder strap and the dress fell in a puddle around my waist. Here I was, almost entirely nude on full display for his pleasure. And him? His tie was loosened. A divinely decadent arrangement.

  Me—wobbly, vulnerable. Him—strong, predatory.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, drawing a nipple into his mouth. First one breast
then the other, until I was forced to cover the phone. My breath caught in my throat and I gasped unable to control a low, guttural moan. For a moment I thought I might climax from the expert flicks of his tongue.

  Through a haze of sensation, I heard something about generators that needed priming. “Standby.”

  My hotter than hot elevator lover whisked the phone away as his thumb rubbed over a brown nipple, coaxing another whimper from me. A strong hand cupped my buttock cheek, pressing me full-body against him. “I’ve got to have you, Gracie.”

  A violent shudder shot through my body. My clit throbbed in sync with my pounding pulse, swollen lips, and tender nipples. He dug his fingers into my flesh.

  “Unzip me,” he growled, radiating pure, raw desire.

  I unbuckled and unzipped. His cock angled out, hard and thick, impressive and yet velvet to the touch. I held him with both hands and stroked. His torso quivered beneath my grasp as he sucked air through his teeth. “Ah, Gracie.” He flexed his hips and I gripped him tighter.

  Once again, Big Dan’s voice sputtered over the intercom. “Any time now—hold on.”

  I was holding on all right, and Bradley groaned, ferociously. The elevator hummed, then lurched before it began to move. I caught a flicker of light behind button twenty-two as our stainless steel cube shuddered to a stop.

  The doors opened.

  We clung to each other, two sets of eyes focused intently on the distressed leather satchel sitting smack dab on the floor of the exit. Ever so slowly, he eased away. “Fuck me.”

  “Not quite,” I murmured, tugging up spaghetti straps.

  He quickly and rather sweetly helped me back into my dress, stealing a kiss that caused a shiver. While I grabbed my shoes, he buttoned and zipped. Outside the elevator, he slung my bag over his shoulder and reached for my hand.

  “Stairs?” he asked, his voice still gruff from arousal.

  I managed to collect my thoughts enough to point in the general direction and we soon found the emergency exit.

  We didn’t speak much until we neared the lobby floor. I hesitated on a step.

  “Do I look a fright?”

  Studying me, he exhaled a sigh. “The Englishman in me would say delightfully beddable.” He reached up and arranged a few curls. “I think you should take me home and have your way with me.”

  All those stairs had given me shaky legs, or so I told myself. My physical attraction to this man was as strong as ever, but my head threw down a sex-spoiler. Take it slow, Gracie.

  Bradley backed up to the door marked Exit. “Ready?”

  I inhaled a breath and nodded.

  Instantly we were back on Earth. My nose twitched from the diesel fumes in the air. Portable generators hummed and safety lights glared. Everything seemed familiar and yet slightly off-kilter. Our footsteps echoed off marble floors and we cast long shadows across the foyer walls.

  Bradley steered us through a tangle of cables as we approached the security desk. Big Dan eyeballed my escort suspiciously. Uneasy or self-conscious, I let my fingers slip from his hand.

  Otis Emergency and Con Edison questioned both of us while New York’s finest took down names and contact info.

  “Bradley Craig. One seven six East Sixty-Fourth Street.”

  “Upper East Side,” I murmured, sneaking a look over the officer’s shoulder.

  The policeman turned to me. “And you, miss?”

  “Grace Taylor-Scott, hyphenated.”

  “Between Taylor and Scott?” The officer didn’t look up.

  “Yes, sir. One twenty-one East Nineteenth Street. One, triple-zero three.”

  The policemen thrust out a lower lip. “Not bad, yourself, near Gramercy Park.”

  I nodded. “Are there others trapped in elevators?”

  “So far, just you two and another group of four. Couple guys from Otis are fixing a short in their door switch.”

  I consulted Big Dan. “I guess the party’s over.”

  “Everyone on twenty-eight’s gone home. We’re clearing the building floor by floor.” The security man answered the squawk from a two-way radio device. “I believe Otis is up on seventeen, over.”

  Outside the building, I stepped into a fog of darkness. The only light came from a steady stream of headlights and taillights.

  “What time is it?” I asked absently.

  “Half past nine.” Bradley draped his jacket over my shoulders, and I caught a whiff of cologne and his scent.

  “So early?” I headed toward the sidewalk to hail a cab. “Seems like it should be later.”

  “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

  I backed away. “I’m going home—alone.”

  He grabbed my hand and whirled me around. “Gracie.”

  “Elevator sex with a stranger. Check.” I turned away without waiting for an answer.

  “Gracie.”

  Pivoting again, I shot him a hard look. “No one in the office can know about tonight. About you and I—none of this.”

  “Technically, we didn’t actually—”

  “Not negotiable.”

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about, we’re not even friends. We’re barely acquaintances.” When I glared he tossed up his hands. “All right, all right.”

  His gaze traveled up into a sliver of night sky. “Now there’s a rare sight,” he mused aloud.

  Stars twinkled high above darkened buildings. “Bradley,” I sighed, “you know we’re not good for each other.”

  He returned to me, eyes blazing. “On the contrary, we’re more than good, we’re smoking hot. You know we are.”

  I waved at a passing cab and Bradley nailed my ride with an ear-piercing traffic-stopper. The taxi pulled over to the curb ahead of us.

  “You’ll go far in this town with that whistle.”

  He opened the door, wearing that infuriating grin of his. “If I can’t interest you in sex with a stranger, we could get to know each other while we’re having sex.”

  I stared at him. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s say we make up a mutual list—ten sexual encounters.” His raw exciting gaze had returned. “Pure sex. No dates. No expectations. No attachments of any kind. We fuck until the list is complete and then we…”

  I stepped off the curb and hesitated. A faint smile tugged at my lips, betraying my own intimacy issues. I turned back. “And then we walk away.”

  Moving closer, his tall, imposing frame filled the space between the cab and the open door. “I was about to say, then we renegotiate.” He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “Maybe it turns out we actually like each other.”

  He almost had me with that line. “I’m seeing someone.” I lied.

  “So am I—kind of.” If I had lied, he had just kind of lied.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can.” He raised both brows. “Aside from the blackout, did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  “You know I did.” I backed into the cab.

  He rested his palms on the roof of the vehicle and leaned in. “Well then?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We’ll see.” He flashed an electric smile.

  “That wasn’t a yes.”

  “But it wasn’t a no.”

  FOUR

  “WHERE TO, MISS?” The driver glanced at me through his rearview mirror.

  I didn’t need to look back to know that Bradley watched the yellow cab ease into traffic. Something about this parting gave me the shivers.

  Unfinished business. Frustration, maybe? I played back that mind-blowing, stand-up elevator sex. Strong hands cupping my ass cheeks, his tongue tangling with mine while that clever finger circled…jeezus.

  My body trembled at the mere memory of my almost orgasm. Stimulating and unsettling, but not the cause of my discomfort. Something else bothered me. It was as if…

  I missed him.

  The realization so disturbed, I cried out. “Pullover, stop the cab.”

  Br
adley hesitated a moment before stepping off the curb.

  I lowered the window as he approached the car. Not knowing what to say, I managed a greeting. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  I swallowed. “In my haste to run away, I was rude. Can I drop you at home, or a bar?”

  He ducked lower to speak. “Only if you’ll have a pint with me.”

  I hesitated for a nano second and opened the door.

  He settled in comfortably beside me. “Since I live uptown, why don’t we find a pub closer to your place?”

  Unsure where we should go, I queried the driver. “How’s Gramercy Park?”

  “Everything east of Fifth Avenue and north of Union Square is back on.”

  “Pete’s Tavern, Eighteenth and Irving Place.”

  The driver stepped on the gas and I returned to Bradley. “So, no blackout up in your neighborhood.” I continued to stare at him, curious about his tony address.

  “I’ve got a few weeks before Mother tosses me out.” His grin was contagious.

  “I see.” A muffled ringtone came from deep inside my designer mail pouch. I scrounged for the phone and slid back the lock. It was my brother-in-law. “Hey Mitch, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got an emergency surgery. Gunshot wound to the head. Can Hannah sleep over?”

  “Meet me at Pete’s. And don’t forget school clothes for tomorrow.”

  “You’re not on a date, are you?”

  “No, I’m not on a date. I’m having a drink with…” I hesitated on a descriptor for Bradley. Friend implied friendship. Stranger with benefits—too close for comfort. “I’m with a coworker.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Definitely male.” I glanced over at Bradley and resisted the urge to hike up my skirt and straddle him.

  “Ah, jeez, Gracie. I swear I’ll make this up to you.”

  “Not likely.” A lock of hair fell over my eyes. “See you in a few.”

  Mr. All-Maleness swept a spiral of curl off my cheek and drew me close enough for a breathtaking, electrifying kiss. Vaguely, I was aware that Mitch had signed off.

  “The best kind of kiss,” I murmured, “is an unexpected, unplanned kiss. The kind that comes in the middle of—”