Counting On You

  Counting On You

  J. C. Reed

  Jackie Steele

  Contents

  Counting On You

  Title

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Two months earlier

  PRESENT DAY

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  Coming Soon!

  Dear Readers

  Other books by J.C. Reed

  Keep in touch

  Note from the authors

  Acknowledgments

  * * *

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  * * *

  J.C. REED

  Jackie Steele

  I have everything I want.

  Success. Wealth. Women…and make that plenty of those. As a filthy-rich CEO, I would say I’m pretty much close to perfection. Except for that one weakness: I’m cocky as hell, and an irresistible magnet for women.

  * * *

  So when one tiny mistake lands me in hot waters with the investors, I have one hell of a choice to make:

  Restore my reputation…

  Or risk losing my company.

  * * *

  I’m a man of my word and failure is not an option. Not now. Not ever. I fully intend to uphold my responsibilities.

  * * *

  Sharing an apartment should be easy, right? And it’s only for six weeks.

  That’s what I thought before I found out that my new roommate is female.

  And wow.

  Vicky Sullivan is unlike any woman I’ve ever met.

  She’s hot as sin, and crazy.

  Definitely not my kind of crazy, but too hot to pass up.

  There’s something about her that makes me rage with want.

  I don’t like her, but obviously my dick does. And what he wants, he gets.

  * * *

  Six weeks…

  Living together shouldn’t be too hard…

  Until my best friend challenges me to a bet…

  I make it my mission to make her mine.

  * * *

  There’s only one problem.

  I have to break…Every. Single. Rule.

  And did I mention she’s completely off-limits?

  * * *

  It’s too late to say no.

  * * *

  A sizzling hot standalone contemporary romance!

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by J.C. Reed and Jackie Steele

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Counting On You

  Cover Design by Larissa Klein

  Editing by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Dedication

  This book is for those who believe in love. Here’s to believing in the magic of the moment, finding love in all the wrong places, and never giving up on your wildest dreams.

  * * *

  Part One

  Prologue

  Vicky

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter, frozen to the spot.

  The guy in front of me is standing in front of a mirror, his naked ass on full display.

  His back is rippled with muscles; his chest is broad, and even from my sideways position in the doorway, I can see the well-defined six-pack beneath the taut skin.

  My gaze skims over his broad biceps and lingers on the tattoo on the back of his neck. It looks like a snake engrossed in a battle with a lion. It’s powerful and fascinating in a scary kind of way. As though he’s one or the other and fighting his demons that are about to come to life.

  His back is sexy as hell, but I think the most beautiful part of him is his ass. It looks like it’s been carved out of marble.

  Oh, wait.

  My eyes widen and my jaw drops open as I realize what he’s doing.

  His hand is on his dick. There is no denying it. You can see his hard-on, the veins on his shaft, the slow movement as his hand goes back and forth.

  Oh. My. God.

  He’s jerking off, his face drawn in concentration. The shock at the picture before me is short but intense.

  But there’s more than shock.

  A wave of heat travels down my abdomen and settles between my legs. I can feel myself vibrating down there, my lady parts clenching and unclenching with sudden want.

  It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before. It’s the mixture of it all—his dark hair, muscular body, and the fact that he seems to be enjoying himself way too much—that’s turning my insides into jelly, and I don’t like it one bit.

  He must not have heard me because he neither turns his head, nor does he stop stroking himself.

  “Jesus. Get a frigging room,” I call out, my voice a little too breathy.

  His hand freezes in its movement. He turns around and shoots me an unfazed smile. “I’m taking care of basic needs here, if you don’t mind.”

  His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, a dark shade of brown, are hooded, giving me the kind of bedroom look that screams he’s not in the least ashamed of having been found jerking off.

  For a second, I think I see surprise on his face, but the fleeting impression is gone before I can fully grasp it.

  His brows shoot up as his eyes pierce through me, shimmering with challenge. “Want to join in, or why else are you still staring?”

  Heat rushes to my face.

  Jerk.

  “Why would you think I’d—” My voice breaks as utter humiliation and blinding rage render me speechless.

  I peer from his eyes to his cock. His hand is still wrapped around it. Instead of deflating, I think it’s just gotten even bigger, the veins pronounced, the crown glimmering with moisture.

  The temperature’s just increased tenfold.

  Either that, or a com
plete stranger has just made me lose it.

  Peeling my gaze away from him, albeit unwillingly, I cover my eyes with my hand to block the image of his glorious cock. “Who says something like that to a stranger?”

  His raucous laughter rings behind me as I slam the door shut and press my back against it, taking slow, labored breaths.

  Okay, Sullivan.

  This so did not happen.

  “Jesus.” I rub my eyes hard, as though to wipe away the image of his naked body, but that’s not possible.

  The harder I try, the clearer I can see his huge dick in his hand. Who has a dick like that? Thick, engorged, and oh, so wet.

  The slick sound of his hand moving up and down rings in my ears. Was it as loud before? Or has he just resumed his action?

  Pressing my ear against the door, I hold my breath and think I can hear his hard breathing.

  God, those low, deep moans are sexy.

  I move back down the hall, focused on getting away as fast as possible, and open another door by accident.

  It’s a bedroom with clothes scattered across the bed.

  Men’s clothes.

  Men’s shoes litter the floor.

  The scent of aftershave lingers in the air.

  “Changed your mind after all?” The voice is deep and husky. For a moment, I’m immobilized as he continues, “I think bedrooms are a bit overrated, but what the hell? If that’s your thing, I’m up for it.”

  It’s the same guy.

  I turn to face him, my gaze strangely drawn south, and find that a thin towel is wrapped around his hips, covering his junk.

  I let out an exasperated snort.

  It’s really tiny. The towel, that is.

  Not his tool.

  That one’s about the biggest I’ve ever seen, counting TV and Internet pop-ups.

  I don’t want to gawk, and yet I find my gaze glued to the clearly defined bulge beneath that towel.

  In the bright light spilling in through the large bay windows, I can see everything. There’s no denying he still has a raging erection, as though pleasuring himself wasn’t nearly enough to still his sexual appetite.

  “Seriously?” I ask, pointing to the towel. “Can’t you put something on?” My voice sounds strangled, breathy, which I attribute to the fact that I’m highly uncomfortable standing in front of a hot guy built like a Greek god and hung like a donkey.

  “What’s so important that you had to interrupt?”

  “I interrupted?” My jaw drops, and white hot flashes of anger begin to cloud my vision. “Oh, you’re talking about your date with your right hand. Sorry about that.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?”

  His brows shoot up. “Here?”

  “Yes, here, in my apartment.”

  Ignoring my question, he squeezes past me, his erection coming dangerously close to my abdomen. From up close, he smells of sandalwood and raw manliness.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  It takes all my willpower not to jump a few steps back to put some distance between us.

  He retrieves another white towel from his suitcase and wipes his face with it.

  Every fiber of my body is heating up at the sight of his naked back. Bruce is tall and a bit skinny. This guy is built like a boxer: tall with broad shoulders and hard muscles in places I didn’t know existed.

  As he turns to regard me, I notice the color of his eyes.

  Deep brown and broody with long, dark lashes.

  They’re the sort of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only woman in his world.

  It’s a pity I didn’t get the chance to watch him finish the act earlier.

  Why would I think something like that?

  I can feel my cheeks burning. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my face has just turned a similar shade to our counselor’s hair color.

  The guy steps in front of me, eyeing me with curiosity. He’s standing too close for comfort, sucking the oxygen right out of the air. “What makes you think this is your apartment?” His voice is low and nonchalant, as though we’re sitting in a café engaged in small talk about the weather. No sign of nervousness at all that he’s just exposed himself to a stranger.

  “The form in my folder says so.”

  “The form?” The corners of his lips twitch. “What does it say?”

  “2B.” I scan the room again, suddenly uncertain. “What apartment is this?”

  “2B.” He frowns, but for some reason I think I see amusement in his eyes. “Clearly a mistake.”

  “No doubt.” I stare him down. “Why don’t you start packing up again? Because I’m pretty sure this is my place.”

  “Is that so?” He crosses his arms over his imposing chest. I try not to stare at his bulging biceps, but it’s hard. “I’m not leaving.”

  My anger flares. “This is my apartment. You’ve made a mistake.”

  “I assure you I haven’t. I’ve been here since this morning. Even had a counselor stop by to ensure I was comfortable.” His lips twitch again. I don’t know why his statement sounds dirty, but this isn’t the time to probe.

  My eyes widen and my legs begin to shake just a little bit. “Are you saying you’re staying here?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” He cocks his head to the side. “I assume you’re the love addict who’s going to be my roommate? My counselor told me a little bit about you.”

  Love addict?

  I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

  In all honesty, what could I possibly reply?

  The fact that he’s just called me a love addict is too much.

  Turning around, I bolt down the hallway as quickly as I can, then grab my luggage and head for the elevator.

  It has to be a mistake.

  It has to be a fatal mistake. There’s no way anyone would shack me up with a guy.

  I can’t live with a guy, not even for therapy purposes.

  Chapter One

  Kaiden

  * * *

  Three days earlier

  * * *

  My life sucks.

  I'm not a sex addict. Honestly, I’m not. That word makes me cringe. I’m not even sure why I’m here, but apparently the board thinks my healthy sex life is spiraling out of control…

  Well, they’re wrong.

  It’s not an addiction if I enjoy every minute of it.

  It’s not an addiction if I love what I do.

  But tell that to the thick-sculled fatties with no sense of humor on my board.

  “This is a catastrophe for the company,” Ben, one of the six board members, says. “We’ve already lost two million in revenue.” He slaps the paper for effect, then looks up, his gray-blue eyes meeting mine. “This cannot go on, Kaiden.”

  I cringe at the last word. Only my friends and family are allowed to call me Kaiden, and they never do so lightly.

  “What do you expect me to say?” I shrug. “That I’ll give up my private life to make you happy?”

  There is a short silence.

  My brother, Chase, leans forward.

  Now, let me tell you something about my brother.

  He’s a kickass attorney. He’s proven himself on numerous occasions. Whenever either of us needed to get out of a sticky situation, he always knew what to do.

  Except, now I’m not so sure.

  There’s a frown on his face, and he takes too long to reply. Either he’s preparing for a long speech, or worse, he agrees with the board.

  For the sake of our friendship, I hope it’s the first option.

  “Chase.” My sharp tone conveys a warning I hope he’s clever enough to heed.

  He turns to me and exhales a long sigh. “Kade, they’re right.” I stare at him with a mixture of shock and anger. “You’ve painted the company in a bad light.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” My mouth tightens in a line.

  Again I’m reminded that we thrive on opposites.

  I may have been adopted, but growing up in the same household
and being closer than real brothers, I would have thought Chase would agree with me for once.

  I guess I was wrong.

  “Those are serious accusations,” Chase continues. “As your attorney, I can tell you this could ruin your career. Your life. The woman in question—” Chase waves his hand to Ben. “—what’s her name?”

  “Brenda,” Ben says.

  “Brenda went to the tabloids,” Chase says, as though I’m not familiar with the outcome of my last sexcapade. “This 365-day, non-stop sex calendar of yours is earning serious attention right now—and not in a good way. We can’t afford for it to draw any more attention or else we’ll end up losing important deals and clients. If you don’t stop, we’ll soon be facing a crisis.”

  “You’re all a buzzkill.”

  When I came up with the idea of a 365-day, non-stop sex calendar, I didn’t realize it would be such a rewarding challenge. My best friend, Cash Boyd, owner of the famous Club 69 establishments, couldn’t agree more. In fact, he’s the one who’s been more concerned that I make it than even I am. He’s my wingman. Sometimes I wish my brother would be more like him rather than have the brain of an attorney.

  It’s not an easy task, let me tell you that.

  In a city of one million women, half of them are married. A small percentage is gay, widowed or retired. That’s already a small pool. What I’m looking for is the small percentage (of an already small pool) that actually wants to stay single and enjoys sex without any sort of commitment. The kind that just wants to have fun.

  I admit, that’s my favorite kind of woman.

  Unfortunately, they’re not easy to find. The majority are romantics pining for “The One.” I call them the “deluded lunatics.”