Second Best, #1 Read online

  Second Best

  Noelle Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Second Best

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Third Life

  About Noelle Adams

  About Second Best

  WE MEET EVERY OTHER Wednesday night in a downtown hotel. No dates. No commitments. No hearts or flowers. Just his body and mine.

  Maybe I'm his second best. He's definitely mine. But second best has never felt so good.

  Second Best is a sexy, standalone contemporary romance.

  One

  I’M NOT THE KIND OF girl that bad boys want to screw.

  I’m the kind of girl that nice guys want to take home to meet their overprotective Catholic mamas.

  This was a fact of my existence that was never going to change. I’d reconciled myself to it a long time ago.

  In high school and college, none of the athletes or cool rebel types looked at me twice. It was the quiet, nerdy guys who would work their courage up and ask me out to dances or the movies. My social life improved when I started law school, but it was still only the nice ones that would show me any interest.

  I’m sure men never processed it consciously, but they’d take one look at my smooth, shiny hair and my clear, pale skin and my childbearing hips, and something would click in their brains. They could introduce me to their parents, but they wouldn’t proposition me for a one-night stand.

  I wasn’t hot-fling material.

  All this is to explain why it was so bizarre and unusual for me to be getting off an elevator in an expensive hotel and walking toward a corner room.

  For sex.

  I was here for sex.

  I’d never done anything like it before.

  I glanced in an ornate mirror halfway down the hall and paused, momentarily feeling like Jamie Lee Curtis in that old movie that still gets played on cable channels where she’s married to a spy and realizes she needs to sexify herself before entering a hotel room. I’d come here straight from work. All the women in my law firm wore stylish pantsuits in subdued colors, so that was what I wore too. I had a closet full of them. Mine was charcoal gray today, and I’d paired it with a pale lavender top. I’d spent a whole month’s paycheck on my designer heels, but they were barely visible under the hem of my trousers. I looked fine, appropriate for the hotel and almost any professional occasion.

  I didn’t look sexy though.

  Sean Doyle wasn’t waiting in that room to take me home to meet his mother. He was waiting to take me to bed.

  I tried to tousle my hair like Jamie Lee Curtis, but my hair was long and straight and strawberry blond, and it simply would not tousle. I couldn’t unbutton my top more—since there weren’t any buttons—and my neckline was too high to get any sort of cleavage action. I started to take off my jacket so at least my arms would be bare, but I decided against it.

  This was me. Pretty in a boring, good-girl way. Always on time for appointments and never causing a scene.

  Vanilla all the way through.

  Even so, Sean had wanted to fuck me last week. He’d had me against a wall in the back hallway of a bar, dry humping me, his tongue in my mouth. We’d both had way too much to drink that night, but he’d wanted me for real. If someone hadn’t come back to use the restroom, we probably would have gone all the way, right there against the wall.

  He’d wanted me then, and he’d asked me to meet him here tonight—well, he’d discreetly handed me a business card at yesterday’s meeting with the place and time scrawled on the back—so he must still want me tonight.

  Sean might not be the man from my romantic daydreams. That man had a very clear face, and that face would never be Sean’s. But it didn’t matter.

  I was here now, and I was going to do this. I moved away from the mirror, walked the rest of the way down the hall to room 1212, and I knocked on the door before I chickened out.

  The door swung open after about thirty seconds, and Sean Doyle stood in front of me.

  He was wearing a suit too—a much more expensive suit than mine. He had a Damien Lewis thing going for him (without the red hair). He was intensely attractive in a way you couldn’t really figure out. His features weren’t traditionally handsome, but his eyes were deep green, heavy-lidded, and intelligent, and his mouth was interesting, mobile, and undeniably sexy. His hair was brown, and he didn’t always shave.

  He arched his eyebrows with a little quirk of a smile. “Hi, Ash. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  My name is Ashley, and no one calls me anything else. But he’d called me Ash last week at the bar as well. I wasn’t sure if he had my name wrong or if he’d shortened it on purpose, but I didn’t correct him. I liked how the name sounded in his slightly husky voice. “I wasn’t sure myself.” When he just stood there looking at me, I felt self-conscious, so I added tartly, “Am I allowed in?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He stepped aside to let me into the big, fancy room.

  The only details I noticed were the lovely king-size bed and the huge windows looking out onto downtown Boston.

  “Do you want some wine?” he asked after we both stood for a minute in silence.

  “Yes. Please.” Last Thursday I’d had several drinks before I’d made a move on him. Maybe a couple of glasses of wine would help tonight.

  There was a bottle of expensive merlot on the table near the window with two glasses. Sean went to pour it out. When I saw a file folder next to the wine, I went over to see what it was.

  I was about to open the folder when Sean’s hand closed down on it. His fingers were long and strong and slender, and his fingernails were clean and trimmed but not perfect. He obviously didn’t get manicures. I wasn’t sure why I noticed it, but I did.

  “What is that?” I demanded, lifting my eyes from the file folder to his face.

  “That’s for after.”

  “After what?”

  His eyebrows arched again, and his green eyes took on that hot look I remembered from last Thursday.

  I felt my cheeks flushing. I knew exactly what he wanted to happen before we looked in that file folder.

  Despite the complete lack of seduction or romance between us, I felt a little clench between my legs. Sean might not be the man I loved, but there was something so tangible and intense about him—like there was an energy radiating from his lean body that I could feel down to my core.

  That I wanted to feel even more.

  But I was curious now, so I waited until Sean lifted his hand to pick up his wineglass.

  Then I reached over and snatched up the file folder.

  “Hey!” he objected, trying to grab it from me.

  I’d already taken three steps away and was starting to read the papers inside the file.

  It was a contract.

  A contract.

  I stared down at the top sheet, my eyes wide with amazement.

  “I told you that was for after.” He slanted an almost sheepish look at me and glanced away when I met his eyes.

  “You want me to sign a contract for our one-night stand?” I asked when I could finally speak.

  �
�If it’s a one-night stand, no. If you want it to continue, then yes. That’s why I said it was for after.”

  I stared at him for a minute. Then I stared at the contract. Then I stared back at him.

  He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but there was an ironic amusement glinting at the back of his eyes.

  “I do what my lawyer tells me,” he added. “You’re a lawyer. You know what they’re like.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter.

  Sean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to sign it. It’s just if you—”

  “Want it to continue,” I finished for him, still giggling a little. I was scanning the pages of the contract one by one. “So if I want more than this one night, we’d meet here every other Wednesday night. No contact of any kind between our evenings together—no calls, texts, emails, meetings, nothing. We can’t tell anyone else about us. And we can end it at any point without explanation.” I paused, looking up from the pages. “If we don’t keep in touch between Wednesday nights, what happens if we can’t make it one Wednesday but we don’t want to call the whole thing off?”

  Sean stepped over so he was beside me. He reached over to flip a page and point to a clause halfway down the page. “We leave a message at the front desk of the hotel.” He studied my face with narrowed eyes. “I know it probably sounds ridiculous to you, but I have to be careful.”

  I believed him. I was just a normal person. I’d never even imagine signing contracts for sex. Sean, however, was incredibly rich, incredibly successful, and incredibly well known—at least in the Boston area. A local boy made good. Instead of becoming a cop like the rest of his family, he’d gone to college and then gotten an MBA and started a real estate development business that had taken off beyond all expectations. If the news got out that he was dating—or even meeting some random woman for sex—it would be hot gossip all over town. I could understand why he’d want to avoid that, especially for a relationship that was obviously intended to be no strings attached.

  I was still trying to suppress a smile. “How many times have you signed this particular contract?”

  His fiancée had died two years ago, so he could have had any number of contracted liaisons since then.

  He flipped another page and pointed toward a paragraph I hadn’t yet read.

  I giggled. “No personal questions about our sexual pasts. Got it.”

  When I looked back up at him, I realized something else, something new.

  He might realize how crazy it seemed to someone else, but he was serious about the contract. And it wasn’t just to protect him from stalkers and the gossip columns.

  It was to protect him emotionally.

  He’d loved a woman once, and he’d lost her. He was the only man I’d ever met who had a tragic origin story like Batman. No one knew who had done it—if it was a targeted hit or a mugging gone wrong—but both he and his fiancée had been shot walking home from a play two years ago. She’d been killed, and he’d been in the hospital for almost a month. The story had been front-page news for weeks, so I knew all about him, even though I’d only met him for the first time last month when I was part of the legal team representing the other party in a huge property deal he was working on.

  I’d only finished law school four years ago. I’d been the junior member of the team from my firm, and so I hadn’t said a word to him. I hadn’t even realized he’d noticed me at all until he came up to me at the bar last week and offered to buy me a second drink.

  Sean was thirty-eight—ten years older than me. His heart might have been forever crushed when his fiancée died, but he was still a healthy, virile man, and he would want to keep having sex.

  So this contract allowed him to have sex without any emotional complications, without ever putting his heart at risk.

  I’d been correct from the beginning—when I’d first seen him across the conference room in his fancy downtown offices. He was completely unavailable to me, and he always would be. His body was all he was offering.

  It was fine. My body was all I had to offer too.

  After all, I was in love with someone else.

  I closed the file folder. “Okay. I wouldn’t be opposed to signing this, assuming the sex is good enough for us to want to do it again.”

  Sean’s expression changed, became hot. His eyebrows arched again in that slightly smug way. “You really doubt it’s going to be good?”

  I gave him a playful little shrug. “Well, all you’ve done so far is give me a glass of wine and review a contract, so I’m not sure why I’m supposed to believe you’re some sort of sex god or—”

  I couldn’t finish my sentence because Sean had grabbed me and pulled me into a hard kiss.

  The sudden move was startling, so I was motionless for a moment, letting him kiss me.

  I don’t know if you’ve ever kissed a stranger, but it’s weird. Very weird. Without alcohol to cloud your brain, it feels almost unnatural, like your body is doing something that doesn’t match your reality.

  That was how it felt then. I’d only had a few sips of wine. It wasn’t nearly enough to throw off inhibitions. Sean was a good kisser. His mouth was skillful, agile, and his body was warm and hard against mine. He must have brushed his teeth after work like I had since he tasted slightly of toothpaste. And he smelled good—really good—a faint mingling of natural and expensive, which was exactly what I liked.

  But still. It was so incredibly strange to be kissing him in this hotel room at six forty-five on a Wednesday evening.

  He pulled back after a minute, his eyes searching my face. “No?” he asked softly.

  I was nervous and uncomfortable and a little dizzy, so I did what I always did. I covered it with tartness. “Not no. But I’m not half-drunk today. You’re going to have to try a little harder.”

  His mouth made that sexy little twist of amusement, and he pulled me toward him again. This time he went a little slower, his tongue tracing the line of my lips as his hand stroked down my hair to my back and then even lower.

  It felt good. I started to respond. My tongue slid out to meet his, and I reached out to feel his firm back, his thick hair. And before I knew it, we were walking over toward the bed, still tangled in an embrace.

  I started to pull off my jacket as he kept kissing me. I couldn’t help but be a little thrilled that he didn’t seem to want to let go of me. His body was getting tenser by the second, so I figured he must be getting turned on.

  When I got stuck in the sleeves of my jacket, he helped me pull it off. Then he tugged off my top, his eyes moving with a hot urgency over my bare skin and pretty bra.

  I’d worn my best underwear set—lavender satin and lace—and Sean seemed to like what he saw as he stared at me.

  When I began to feel self-conscious, I leaned over to slide off my shoes and then my trousers.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. Sean reached over like he was going to take off my bra, but I distracted him by grabbing the lapels of his jacket and working it off over his shoulders.

  I wasn’t going to be completely naked while he had all his clothes on. No way that was going to happen.

  We got rid of his jacket, tie, shirt, belt and shoes, and then he seemed to get impatient all of a sudden. He sank into another kiss, and it was so enthusiastic that we ended up tumbling onto the bed.

  He rolled us over so he was on top of me and gave me a little smile. “What do you like?” His green eyes were still raking over my face and body. I was always trying to lose the same ten pounds, and I’d never gotten a tan in my life. My skin was pale and smooth and tight, and my breasts were full and rounded, but I’d never been comfortable showing off my body. Even in bed. Even with men who weren’t strangers.

  “What do you mean, what do I like?”

  “I mean, what works for you?” He raised his eyes to meet mine.

  “Normal things.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I like normal thin
gs. What do you think it means? I’m not into chains and whips, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  He chuckled, and the sound shook his body deliciously. “That’s not what I was asking. I’m trying to be a nice guy here and find out what works for you.”

  I’d been with four other men in my life—all of them relationships that had lasted at least six months—and no man had ever come right out and demanded I tell them what I liked in bed.

  I had absolutely no idea what to say.

  “I like foreplay,” I finally responded, trying to sound confident, which I wasn’t at all feeling. “But nothing too weird.”

  His eyes glinted as he lowered his head toward mine again. “Foreplay it is. And nothing weird.”

  I almost laughed. I really did. But then he was kissing me again and I forgot about laughing. He kissed me for a long time before he started to trail kisses down my neck. He teased me over my bra for a while until I was tense and gasping. When his face moved down to my belly, my whole body clenched.

  “And I don’t really like a guy’s head between my legs until I know him better,” I said, panting slightly.

  He glanced up at my face and gave me a small nod as if he understood.

  He was probably relieved. I mean, surely he hadn’t been too excited about going down on me, although it was nice he’d been willing.

  Raising his body again, he reached around to take off my bra. I could see the reaction in his face and body when he looked at my bare breasts. It was like something inside him had jumped in excitement.

  He was hard in his trousers now. His whole body was tight. But he’d been serious about doing what I liked first, and he hadn’t yet made a move to take off his pants.

  We kissed again, and I could feel desire clenching between my legs. I still felt kind of self-conscious and uncomfortable though, and I was a little afraid I wasn’t going to be able to come, even with Sean’s purposeful attention.

  “You could say something, you know.” I wasn’t sure why I’d spoken. Just that I needed to break the tension I was feeling.

  He lifted his head to meet my eyes. “Dirty talk?”