Hooked: A Love Story on 7th and Main Read online

  Her mischievous smile returned. “Well, I don’t know. I might have to explore more.”

  “I love the outdoors, so”—he let out a hard breath when her hand glanced over his erect cock—“I’m a fan of exploration.”

  “A big fan?”

  “Fairly big.”

  Her clever fingers finished unbuttoning his shirt and spread it open only to find his undershirt. “You have way too many clothes.” She began to pull his undershirt up.

  “I can always— Ahhh.” He sucked in a breath when her fingers played in the soft hair below his belly button. “I can always take the shirt off, but that does seem a little unfair since you’re still dressed.”

  “I don’t want the shirt off.” She inched the undershirt up and pressed a kiss on his chest. “Ever since game night, I’ve had dreams about doing dirty things to you while you’re wearing a bow tie.”

  He slapped a hand hard against the door when her teeth scraped over his nipple. “I’m fully in support of all your dreams. Fuck.”

  Her fingers went to his belt and she slowly slid them under his waistband.

  “Tayla—”

  “You said you felt like a teenager sneaking around.” Tayla smiled when she unbuckled his belt. “Why don’t we do sneaky teenager things?”

  He looked down at her, her red fingernails scraping along his belly, scarlet lips curled into a wicked smile. Jeremy laughed. “I didn’t have a good enough imagination to dream you up in high school.”

  He leaned down and took her mouth as she slipped her hands into his boxers and pushed them down his hips. Her warm hand enveloped his cock and squeezed.

  Jeremy groaned. Tayla released his mouth and knelt down, kissing his belly once before she took his erection in her mouth.

  Fuck. Yes. Please. Good. So good.

  She hummed with his cock in her mouth, purring like she was enjoying the most delicious treat in the world, and all rational thought left his mind. All he could think was how good her mouth felt. He closed his eyes until he realized what he was doing.

  You idiot. You could be watching Tayla give you a blow job.

  He opened his eyes and watched her, hands holding his hips, her mouth around him.

  Fuck me, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  He came embarrassingly fast. Well, he would have been embarrassed if he’d been able to think about anything. His entire body felt the release and he sagged against the door.

  Tayla rose, running her hands along his thighs. “Mmmm. That was even better than I expected. And I have high expectations.” She walked to the bedside table and wiped her mouth before she took a drink from a water bottle. “Water?” She held the bottle out to him.

  “Later.” Jeremy followed her, hitching his boxers up so he could walk. He bent over behind her, laving his tongue along her neck and cupping her breasts in both hands. “I have something to do before I get a water break.”

  Her hips arched back, pressing her ass into his groin. “Is that so?”

  Jeremy squeezed her breasts, thumbing the erect nipples as he kissed behind her ear. “Does it turn you on?”

  “You playing with my breasts?”

  “No, giving me a blow job.” He reached down and inched her dress up. “Does it turn you on?”

  “Yes.” Her heart was beating fast. He could feel it against his lips.

  Jeremy continued teasing her dress up until he could feel skin. Skin and lace.

  He groaned against her neck. “I have to see.”

  She turned around and sat on the edge of the bed. “So see.”

  Jeremy knelt down and spread her knees. “Fair is fair, Miss McKinnon.”

  “I love that your pants are hanging open and you’re still wearing your bow tie.”

  “Yeah? I love…” He pulled her dress up to her waist and stared. “Fuck.”

  She was wearing black lace thigh-highs and even lacier panties. They were practically see-through. Her thighs were thick and smooth.

  She propped herself up on the edge of the bed. “You love what?”

  He blinked. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

  “That is exactly the right response.”

  Jeremy licked his lips. “Keep that water bottle close by. I’m going to need it after I get done with you.”

  Tayla woke up with a smile on her face. She and Jeremy had spent a couple of hours reenacting “everything but” teenage antics before he’d gone home for the night.

  It was perfect.

  She’d been more than satisfied while still hanging on to the delicious anticipation growing between them. There was something to be said for sneaking around like teenagers.

  Besides the sexual satisfaction, she was aglow with his sheer goodness. Jeremy was fun and funny. He told great stories and wanted to hear hers too. He was curious and imaginative.

  Yes. She smiled. Plenty imaginative.

  She reached for her phone and texted him. Good morning.

  A few minutes later he responded. Very good morning.

  Did you sleep well?

  I’d have slept better if I’d been able to use your thighs for a pillow. He followed that with a strawberry and a “yum” emoji.

  Tayla felt her face turn red at the memory. Plenty of time for that.

  Dinner this week? He sent sushi emojis.

  Did he want to go out for sushi, or was he just dirty texting now? It was impossible to tell. I’m going to SF this week, remember? Interview.

  Right. When do you leave?

  The reminder dulled her glow a little bit. Wednesday.

  You’re going to kill it.

  Thx. She included a blowing-kiss emoji. What are you doing today?

  In the shop. If it’s slow, I’ll do inventory and orders.

  Sexaaaaay.

  If I let myself think about last night, it will be. Might scare Jarrod tho.

  Tayla laughed. Jarrod was one of the college kids who helped Jeremy out a few times a week. He had a rotating staff of college students who were passionate about comics and games, but none of them stuck around for very long.

  The crack in her emotional armor was growing. She felt a soft ache that she knew would only get worse they longer they spent together.

  Why do you have to be such a good guy? She sent the message before she could think twice.

  Too much effort to be an asshole, he wrote back. I’m kind of lazy.

  You’re kind of perfect, Jeremy Allen. She didn’t type it. It was bad enough that she was thinking it.

  I better get some coffee.

  See u later.

  Tayla went to the bathroom and took a quick shower before she got dressed. Before she could make it out to the kitchen for coffee, she saw another message on her phone.

  You didn’t post any pictures last night. It was from Emmie. So???

  She’d forgotten to post pics? She’d looked amazing last night. She definitely should have posted pics. How could she have forgotten? She’d have to post pics this morning.

  Everything went great. Had an amazing time. We fooled around in the kitchen. I’ll clean up before you get back.

  You better be joking.

  I am not.

  You are.

  Tayla started her morning coffee before she started her makeup. She tried to go light since she’d kept her face on for too long the night before. She was a firm believer in giving your skin at least eight hours every night for it to breathe, but some days that just didn’t work out.

  When she was finished with her makeup, she sat at the kitchen table and sorted through her schedule for the day.

  A nine-thirty hair appointment and helping Emmie in the shop were the only things on her calendar. It was Saturday, after all. Most people didn’t do bookkeeping on Saturdays or Sundays, which meant she was free to help Emmie on the busiest day at INK.

  She scrolled through her pictures from last night. She only had five. Five? How had she slacked off so bad? She should have been promoting the clutch she’d wo
rn and the dress designer and shop. The escape room could have used a shout-out too. Had Jeremy taken any? Maybe. She’d have to ask.

  She was slacking. All she had was a selfie they’d taken in the escape room, holding old-fashioned magnifying glasses up to their faces, and a few more pics of Jeremy being sexy in his bow tie.

  “Nothing by the car,” she muttered. “Nothing in the restaurant.”

  What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been thinking about pictures or product placement or expanding her reach.

  She’d been thinking about Jeremy Allen.

  This was going to be a problem.

  Chapter Twelve

  The train from Metlin left at one thirty on Wednesday. Tayla had packed three carefully chosen interview outfits to match any unpredictable weather and a few casual outfits for a weekend in the city. She’d show up in Richmond during rush hour, but she could take BART into the city and get off at the Embarcadero to find a car to her parents’ house.

  If she was lucky, they’d both be at a social event and wouldn’t return until after she’d already hidden in her room. If Mena, the housekeeper, was in a sympathetic mood, she’d help Tayla.

  If she was unlucky, her mom would be sitting drunk and sad in the garden and guilt her into staying more than one night.

  Either way, her dad would be out, so he wasn’t an issue.

  She stowed her bag in the overhead bin and grabbed a seat by the window before she put her headphones over her ears and closed her eyes. She’d chosen the east side of the train compartment so she didn’t bake, but she wished she could close her eyes and lie in the sun. She wanted to soak in the heat of the valley before she reached the Bay Area.

  This time of year, it was just as likely to be cold and foggy as warm and sunny. Forecasts meant nothing there, hence the three outfits.

  She dozed intermittently as the train worked its way north. The rocking motion always lulled her to sleep. People sat next to her and left. The slow shuffle of humanity moved on and off as they wound closer to San Francisco. Families and singles. Elderly couples and college kids. She changed trains in Martinez, finally heading west.

  She owned a car, but it was impossible to park it in the city. When she lived in San Francisco, she’d shamelessly used her parents’ garage. They had room for three cars, after all, and she rarely used her car unless she wanted to take a weekend trip.

  Since moving to Metlin, she used her small car more, but she still didn’t like driving in the city. She’d rather take the train.

  She carried her bag from the platform in Richmond and looked for the Millbrae train platform, joining the few commuters heading her direction. The crowd of people in the station made her smile. She’d missed the energy and the pace.

  The train into the city was uneventful, and she stepped off at the Embarcadero just as the sun was setting. She walked across the street and caught a cab.

  “Russian Hill,” she said. “Francisco and Hyde.”

  The cab driver gave her a low whistle, but Tayla kept her sunglasses on and ignored him. She wrapped a sweater jacket around her shoulders and watched the flow of traffic out the window. The cabbie immediately turned right and started working his way through the financial district until he reached the Transamerica building and pointed the cab northwest on the familiar flow of Columbus Avenue, heading toward what was—for better or worse—her childhood home.

  Tayla turned her key in the lock and entered her personal security code, which let her parents, the security company, and the household staff know she was in residence. As expected, by the time she walked from the street entrance to the foyer, Mena was there to greet her.

  Mena Wright was a pale Englishwoman who was a professional household manager in the classical sense. Mena ran her parents’ home, had since Tayla was a child. She scheduled staff, arranged social events, appointments, meals, and everything else her parents might need. She was tall and rail thin with a regal bearing and impeccable grammar.

  “Hey, Mena.”

  “Miss Tayla, we didn’t realize you were coming for a visit.”

  “We” could mean the household staff—three were full time—or it could mean Mena and her mother, who were joined at the hip. Mena’s voice was cool—not because she was unhappy to see Tayla, that was just her voice.

  “I’m here for an interview. I won’t be more than a few days. Are my parents home?”

  “I believe your father is at the club tonight…”

  A sinking feeling in her belly.

  “…and your mother is in the upper garden.” Mena’s smile was tight. “Reading.”

  Drinking.

  “Got it.” Tayla started toward the stairs.

  “Let me get Charles for your bag.”

  “Please, Mena.” Tayla’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve got it. You don’t need to bother Charles.”

  “It’s his job,” Mena said quietly. “He’ll be irritated if I don’t call him.”

  “He’s got to be seventy now.”

  “And it is still his job,” Mena said. She got her phone out and sent a quick text message to Charles, who was the gardener, her parents’ chauffeur when needed, and general handyman around the giant Victorian house. “He’ll take your backpack and bag up to your room. Would you like a drink in the garden?”

  Tayla wasn’t going to get away with avoiding her mother, so she nodded and pulled her sweater more tightly around her body. “What’s she drinking?”

  “Red wine.”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  Red wine was her mother’s booze of choice. Bianca Reyes McKinnon had long claimed wine ran in her blood. And in a sense… it did. She’d been born in the Sonoma Valley to one of the oldest winemaking families in California. During Prohibition, her family had even fermented sacramental wine to sell to the Church in order to keep their vineyards.

  An alluring mix of Spanish, Italian, and Hungarian blood, Bianca had been known as one of the leading beauties of San Francisco society when she was growing up, and she’d quickly caught the eye of Aaron McKinnon, a newly arrived financial genius who’d grown up in Philadelphia and attended school at Stanford.

  Her parents met, married, and partied through the 1980s until Tayla’s birth brought their high-flying lifestyle to an abrupt crash landing.

  Bianca had never been suited for motherhood, despite her traditional Catholic upbringing. And Aaron? Aaron worked. They did their social duties, sent their daughter to the right schools, and went through the motions even though it was obvious both of them were miserable.

  Tayla walked up the stairs to the third floor where a terraced garden had been carved into the hill where the house was built. Overlooking the deep blue of San Francisco Bay, the yard was Charles’s masterpiece, though her mother liked to putter around and pretend to tend it when the weather was nice.

  Tayla saw her mother sitting on the far end of the patio, a glass of wine in her hand, wrapped in a thick Pendleton blanket, watching the lights blink on the bay. Tayla ignored the buffet of wind and walked across the gravel. Her mother turned when she was only a few feet away, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Tayla!” The smile came quickly, as did the shadow at the back of her eyes. “I didn’t know you were in the city. When did you get here?”

  “Just now.” She bent down and gave her mother an awkward hug. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” She waved her wineglass in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge. “Beautiful night. Just watching the sunset. Enjoying a cab from 2005. Excellent year for deep reds in the valley. Daddy got some top-ranked wines that year. He won an award or two, I think…” Her words were only a little slurred. It was early. “Sit, baby. I like your hair. It’s not purple or anything.”

  “I know. I’m trying something more conventional.” Her mother’s approval made her want to dye it fluorescent green just for spite. Tayla closed her eyes and forced the contrary urge back. “I like yours. Did Charity add highlights?”


  “Just a few.” Bianca patted her dark brown hair. Tayla’s coloring came from her mother. Bianca’s vivid blue eyes were famous. “Our hair is almost the same now.”

  “Close.” Tayla glanced at her mother’s glass and the bottle, which was almost empty.

  “Where’s Mena?” Bianca craned her neck and almost fell off the bench. “Why isn’t she bringing you a glass? And this bottle is almost gone, but she’ll bring me another.”

  “I’m sure she’s on her way.” Because Mena was all knowing and accommodated every whim her mother had, including drinking massive amounts of wine and vodka.

  It was hard to fault the woman. It was Mena’s job to work for her mother. If Bianca ordered another bottle of wine, Mena opened a bottle, even if Bianca was roaring drunk.

  Mena came moments later with a fresh glass and a new bottle of red. She poured Tayla a glass and set the bottle on the garden table.

  “Is there anything else you need, Mrs. McKinnon?”

  “That’s all, Mena. Thank you.”

  “I’m going to retire for the evening.” Mena shot Tayla a glance that said your turn.

  “Fine.” Bianca waved a careless hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mena turned to Tayla. “Do you need me to arrange anything for your appointment in the morning? Gloria or I could press any clothing you might need. Will you need Charles to drive you?”

  “I’ll be fine, Mena. Thanks. I don’t need anything.”

  “Very well.” Mena left without a backward glance.

  “What’s she talking about?” Bianca poured herself another glass, nearly spilling the wine. “You have an appointment? For what? Are you finally moving back?”

  Her mother’s voice was the familiar odd mix of hopeful and reluctant. Bianca wanted to be happy Tayla was living closer, but in a way, Tayla living at a distance was a buffer.

  Your daughter avoiding you was easy to explain when she lived a couple hundred miles away. It was a lot harder to dismiss when she was in the same city.

  “I’m not sure of anything yet,” Tayla said. “It’s just an interview.”

  “What’s the company? Another accounting firm?” Bianca’s eyes went wide. “If you take another job at a rival company—”