Maneater (The Mavens, #1)

by Morgan Elizabeth

despite the fact that he seems utterly annoyed with me, I want to spend more time with him. I tell myself it’s because I love a challenge that I took my need to make people like me and shifted and molded it into a career. But deep down, I don’t know if I’m buying it.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, Josie,” he whispers, just as tempting as my own tone, but his is low and gravelly and hits me straight in my belly, sending warmth through my body. “What?” I’m dazed by him, lost in his eyes with their unfairly long, dark lashes. “All those other men, they fall for your act, hook, line, and sinker. Not me.” For the first time that I can think of, I’m speechless, a feat considering I love to talk, but there’s no time to add anything when he tips his head back toward where we came.

He shifts me, that arm bandaged around my lower back tightening and pulling me in closer before his eyes dip to my lips once more, and I think for a moment, he’s going to kiss me. I’d let him. It goes against every rule I’ve made for myself in the years since I’ve been a Maven, but I’d let Rowan Fisher kiss me right now.

“I’ll see you around?” I ask when we stop at my door. He looks at me and opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t let this door close on this easy target of information. I smile at him, knowing that while the answer is probably yes, since the resort is big, it’s not limitless. “Hopefully.” “Hopefully not.” I roll my eyes and shake my head before stepping back. “See you around, babe.” He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes burning, and I know I got under his skin. “Later, troublemaker.” A win is absolutely a win.

Rory is not great at this part of the game: playing stupid for arrogant men who can’t quite see past your tits, the ones who think you have barely two brain cells to rub together, so they have to spell things out for you like a toddler. It’s not for her, with her master’s in cybersecurity and a brain as powerful as a supercomputer. But me? I’m used to it. In fact, I thrive on it: using people’s shortsightedness against them and manipulating people to get whatever I need from them. It brings me a unique kind of joy.

I refuse to look over my shoulder to check if he’s approaching, though I don’t have to: I can feel him. In moments, Rowan’s presence is at my back, and then his hand rests on the back of my chair, reminiscent of so many other investigations he’s crashed, reminiscent of just a few nights ago. If I concentrate really, really hard, I can imagine them against the curve of my shoulder, grazing the skin there like a taunt.

His eyes lock with mine, and as seems to be the case with him, I can’t seem to read what he’s thinking. It’s unsettling, considering I can always tell what a man is thinking. Except for Rowan. I try to decode it, to figure out if the heat is annoyance or attraction or a mix of both, and as I stare at him, I realize it’s jealousy simmering there. A jealousy that he is very unhappy about feeling. In fact, looking back on numerous nights in dimly lit restaurants and bars, it’s the same look I’ve seen time and time again, some brand of irrational jealousy mixed with irritation. I’ve never seen it so clearly, but now that I recognize it, I know I can work with it. I smile wide, confidence flowing through me at this subtle sign I’m winning this battle.

His steps slow with my teasing words as we step out of the restaurant into a much quieter, empty hallway before he turns to face me fully. For a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. For a split second, I hope and pray he’s going to kiss me. To pull me into him, to press his body to mine. But then he blinks and shakes his head like he’s shaking the thought from it.

Rowan steps closer then, and I take one back until my back is to the wall, his body towering over mine in a way I remember from the bar, in a way I like, even if I think I should probably be nervous. Though he doesn’t touch me at all, I can feel the heat of him coming off in waves.

“There’s something about you,” he whispers, breath playing along my lips. “That I am frustratingly gorgeous?” I ask, my own words so faint I almost don’t hear them, but clearly, he does. “Yes. And distracting, but that’s not what I meant.” I like the idea of him finding me distracting and gorgeous, but I don’t have time for some flirty retort before he speaks again. “You have a secret, Josie Montgomery. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

I’ve never met anyone able to dissect tiny changes in movements and body language as well as I can, and at this moment, I can’t tell if it’s annoying or the biggest turn-on of my life. No one has ever been able to see past the intricate walls I’ve put up; no one has ever been able to see beyond what I allow them to see. Until Rowan.

“What do you know about my pleasure, Rowan?” I ask in a flirty whisper that I don’t even mean to put into my voice. He smiles then, all wide and devious, like he was hoping that’s what I would say next. “I think we both know how in tune I am to your pleasure, baby.” I lick my lips, suddenly parched under his hot gaze. “What are you going to do about it?” I whisper. “With your unique knowledge of my wants and needs?” I don’t know what my intention is for my question, but I ask it nonetheless. My heart drops when his demeanor changes as if a bucket of cold water is dumped over him before he steps back, cold air filling the space he just was. He shakes his head, running a hand through his carefully groomed, thick, dark hair and making a small clump fall to his forehead before he answers. “Nothing.” I fight the disappointment from showing on my face, reminding myself I am here for a job. I am here to solve a problem, not to flirt with the VP of Operations. “Then I guess you’ll just keep bumping into me and getting that jealous little frown on your face,”

“I told you, Rory. He’s not into me.” She lets out a small huff of disbelief before shaking her head. “Sure, he isn’t.” And I don’t even have it in me to argue with her. Because, despite the back and forth, Rowan clearly is into me. But I’m starting to wonder if that interest could come at a cost.

“You really do seem to pay quite a lot of attention to me and the people I spend time with, don’t you?” His tongue runs over his teeth, and his eyes flare with irritation. “Does it drive you crazy?” I ask, reaching over and touching the collar of his shirt, pretending to lay it flat. “That it’s never you?” My voice is low and sexy even to my own ears, and for the first time, I see it happen in real-time: my impact on him. Some guard he normally keeps slammed down is up for a moment, and I can see everything. I’ve burrowed so far under his skin, and he absolutely hates it.

we both know you’re into me, Rowan, and you don’t know what to do about it.” His jaw tightens, and I read every tiny shift of his body language that confirms my words. “It’s probably better you try and keep your distance, though.” I lean back into my stool, a playful, teasing smile on my lips. “You couldn’t handle a girl like me,” I say low, and even though I still have my mask on, keeping my sultry spy facade in place, it suddenly doesn’t feel like a mask. It feels like me, a playful, sexy woman flirting with a man, except there’s no hidden agenda for once. I just want to watch him squirm and feel the thrill of the back and forth with him. That thrill tightens when a wolfish smile crosses his lips. “Oh, I could handle you just fine, Josie.” “Is that a threat?” I ask with a laugh. “It’s a promise.”

He stares at me for another moment before, as if against his own free will, he says, “You’ve got something…” He reaches up and brushes a thumb along my upper lip, sending chills through my body, chills that pool between my legs. “…right there.” When he pulls back, there’s a small smudge of whipped cream on the tip of his thumb. I hesitate for the barest of moments before deciding fuck it. I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. Holding eye contact with him, I pull his hand toward me. Then I put that thumb into my mouth and swipe my tongue over the sweet cream with much more diligence than is required. Fuck, even I am turned on by the show I’m putting on for him. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s all a show, all some master plan to win him over, to win this game that we’ve got going on. To get what I need from him, ever the man-eater. When I release his wrist, his hand drops into his lap like he’s been burned, though his eyes are molten on me.

I shouldn’t be so aware of Josie and her different expressions, but the truth of the matter is, while I’ve been intrigued by this woman since she turned me down six years ago, I’ve been obsessed with Josephine Montgomery since Stephen Jones invited me to crash her date with him, since he walked off and she showed me her true self, since I realized this woman is the first I’ve met who can hold her own and never backs down. It only got worse each time I’ve bumped into her since, but my obsession came to a head when I heard her moan my name. She’s so unlike any other woman I’ve met, the ones who will do anything to impress me, to get a date with me, and try to lock me down, that I can’t help but be infatuated with her.

I also spent those thirty minutes watching Josie, who moved almost effortlessly through the group, chatting and laughing with nearly every person, making friends everywhere she went. I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t let myself have that part of her, couldn’t let myself be distracted by her when, for some fucked-up reason, that’s all I want right now: to let myself be distracted by Josie.

“Shit, Josie. Are you okay?” My heart is pounding with panic and concern as I look into her slightly dazed eyes. “I…Yeah. I think so,” she says, her voice unsteady. I don’t think she hit her head, but everything happened so quickly, I’m not sure. I look into her eyes to check for a concussion, though I have no actual idea how you check for that. I’m a fucking businessman, not a doctor, though in this moment, I’m regretting every life choice that led to me not being able to help her right now.

“Don’t be cute,” I mumble, a hand moving to the stray lock of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail and tucking it behind her ear. “You think I’m cute?” I smile because I can’t help it. It’s probably the adrenaline, the relief that she’s okay, making me soft. Even in this state, she can’t fight the urge to taunt and tease me.

I don’t need any kind of medical intervention, Rowan. I’m fine. Really.” I sigh, taking her in and fighting the all-consuming desire to pull her into me, to feel her against me in order to reassure myself she’s okay.

Whether I like it or not, I’m intrigued by Josie. Not just because she’s gorgeous and funny and confusing in a way no woman has ever been, but because she’s hiding something, and I’m not the kind of man to let that kind of thing go. Not when she showed up at my resort right after a catastrophe and seems to be finding herself in the vicinity of every single sabotage since.

She reaches for a clip on her bag, then raises her hands and twists the hair up until it’s a dark mess on the top of her head. I force myself not to look at her breasts, at the way they perk up with her arms lifted like that, or the mouthwatering way right below that her waist dips in before flaring to her full hips, a perfect hourglass. If I had a type, it would be Josie. But I don’t because having a type leads to relationships, which I have negative time for—not these days.

She shifts closer to me, her arm brushing along mine. She lifts her arms, unpinning her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders. My eyes can’t help but follow the move, the way it lands across her tanned skin, and follow to where some of the strands fall between her breasts. She takes a deep breath in, making them rise and fall, and once again, my eyes follow. It’s intentional. Somewhere in my common sense, I know it’s intentional, some act she’s putting on to distract me, but I can’t find it in me to care. “I brought a really pretty dress,” she says, her voice a flirty whisper. I’m under her spell, and she knows it.

Our eyes lock, and the teasing look is gone from Josie’s eyes, replaced by full, parted lips and wide eyes and undeniable need that is echoed in my own body. “You can touch me, Rowan,” she whispers, and the words go right to my dick. I shouldn’t. There is enough complicating everything in my mind, enough shit on my plate right now. I don’t need to add a beautiful woman—a guest—who seems hellbent on getting under my skin to that pile. But I want my fingers on her skin. I want to feel her warmth, her softness, to hear her breath hitch. It’s becoming an all-consuming desire, a distraction, and I know she’s the only one who will ease it.

“You can kiss me,” she whispers, those wide green eyes nearly begging me to do as she offers. I let out a shaky laugh, my thumb starting to swipe along her neck. “I think that’s the worst idea I could have, kissing you,” I whisper back. “Now, why is that?” I should stop, but as seems to be the case when Josie is around, I can’t seem to find my filter. “Because everything in my life is already a mess, and you seem like the kind of woman who thrives off of chaos.” With that, she smiles. Some people might be offended by my words, but not Josie. No, she seems to take it as a compliment. A challenge, even.

Thanks for breakfast, Rowan.” And before I can even prepare myself, she’s leaning forward, moving to her tiptoes, and pressing a kiss to my cheek. I stand there dumbfounded as she smiles wickedly at me before walking away, hips swaying, that ass a target for my eyes. And when she turns to look back at me over her shoulder a few yards away, she smiles again, confirming that she once again caught me staring at her ass. I am so completely screwed.

Without my mind’s permission, I reach for her hand and tug her close. She stumbles but catches herself on me. Her hands fall against my chest as her entire body molds to mine. She’s short even in those heels, and I have to look down at her. Her chin tips up to look at me. Without hesitation, her hands slide up my chest, leaving a burning trail as they move to my neck, fingers moving into my hair, her nails scraping along my scalp. This woman is dangerous, and she knows it. I just can’t seem to find it in me to care.

I told her we wouldn’t be kissing again, and I think part of me knew even as I said it I was lying. I need to kiss Josie more than I need to breathe.

“My charm doesn’t work on you,” she whispers. “It never has.” “I didn’t realize you were so blind,” I reply just as softly. A small gasp leaves her lips, and I lean down, pressing mine to the pulse in her neck, feeling it pound against my lips. “I’ve been charmed by you since you turned me down six years ago.” Her body stiffens at my words, but I don’t let myself get too caught up in her, get distracted, not when it’s my turn to distract her until she confesses something. Anything.

When she’s a few feet away, she looks over her shoulder at me and smiles. “Next time you pin me against a wall, I really hope you’re ready to make good on your promises, Rowan. I’m tired of the teasing.” And then she’s gone.

I’m lost in thought, battling over my decision when I watch Dax press his lips to her neck. It’s not excessive, just a gentle brush of lips on skin, but it sets off something in me, snapping that final tether on my restraint. Fuck it. Fuck this game we’re playing. Fuck keeping my distance. Fuck whatever secret she’s hiding away. God, right now? Fuck this job if it means I lose the first woman who has made me feel this wild and untamed.

my hand reaches into my pocket for the universal keycard that will open the door. The lock gives a satisfying whir and click when I scan the card, and then I’m whipping the door open and pulling Josie inside before closing us in. Then I’m pressing her against the wall with my body, no longer having any reason not to. Something in me calms at the feel, at having her alone, at her being mine, if only for this moment. That’s when her smile goes wide and cunning, like she knows she just won it all.

“Kiss me,” I order. “Excuse me?” “Kiss me.” Then I give her more, a confession of sorts. “Because if I’m the one who breaks, I think I might never stop.”

“Were. You. Jealous? Watching me dance with that man?” There’s a moment of silence, and I know in my gut that this is the turning point between us. This is the moment where I can either confess the truth and win her, or I can lie and lose her. And I don’t want to lose Josie. “I’ve never wanted to hit someone more than I did watching you flirt with him on the fucking CCTV. I’m so fucking lost for you that I’m stalking you, scraping through soundless camera feeds for the smallest snippet of you.”

“Every time I saw you sitting across from some asshole we both know didn’t deserve you, all dressed up and beautiful and way too fucking tempting for your own good, I’d be pissed it wasn’t me. So yeah. I was jealous tonight. And I was jealous of Jeff on the hike and at the pool bar, and when you were flirting with Horace, and every single time I saw you out with someone who wasn’t me. Is that what you want me to tell you? Is that⁠—” But suddenly, my rant is over, cut short. Because then she’s kissing me. Somehow, it’s even sweeter than the time in the coatroom, hotter than the time in Dante’s office, because she’s the one taking the reins.

“I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again until I spilled some deep-seated secret,” she murmurs against my skin, and I laugh at how I completely forgot about that threat of mine. “I don’t fucking care if you’re in the CIA right now, Josie, not when the promise of tasting you is fucking suffocating me.” She moans at my words, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips. And in that moment, I know it’s true: I don’t care who she is or what she’s doing here, because in my gut, I know she isn’t here to mess with me or my hotel. I don’t know why she’s here, but right now, I don’t fucking care.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he growls against my lips. “What are you going to do about it?” I whisper, my pussy clenching, a dozen possibilities of what Rowan Fisher could do to me rushing through my mind. Finally, he pulls back from the kiss to look me in the eyes, a wide smile on his lips. “Whatever I want.” My heart skips a beat. Men like this don’t usually do it for me. Men who are all ego and swagger. Men who think they can get any woman with a mere smirk. It’s why I’ve been confused by my attraction to Rowan since I met him, but suddenly, I get it. He doesn’t think he can get any women. He thinks he can get me. And that makes all the difference.

“Does this…does this mean you’re done avoiding me and pretending you’re not wildly into me?” I ask as he peppers kisses down my neck, my skirt now bunched around my waist. He steps closer, so his body is against mine. The only things between us are his pants and my underwear. He lets out a laugh, the full, free one that I’ve only ever heard him use when he’s talking to me. “Yeah. I guess it does. There’s no point in it, after all.” His lips move down my neck as his hand slides up my thigh, his thumb brushing along the gusset of my wet panties. We groan in unison as he does. “I can’t seem to resist you.” “You’re stuck in my trap,” I whisper, my hand moving to his neck to pull his face to mine. “Gladly.”

It’s all-consuming, the pleasure. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before, so perfect and skilled, not like he’s done this hundreds of times to hundreds of women, but like he was trained on exactly what my body wants. Like he knows what I need, what I crave, and just how to give it to me.

“Next time,” he says. “Next time, our phones are getting locked out of the room. No interruptions.” I let out a laugh and shake my head. “Deal.” His eyes flare with desire, and I wonder if he thought I would argue that. I guess with this game we’ve been playing, that’s the tactic I should have taken, but I’m over it. I’m over the game, over pretending I don’t want him, over running through hoops to find excuses not to give him to him. It’s complicated and it’s messy, but I want to make whatever this is work.

“Tomorrow. Breakfast.” “Tomorrow?” I ask with a smile, “Yeah. So long as this isn’t world-ending.” He lifts his phone, which starts ringing again, and he laughs. “Then I want to have breakfast with you.” A wide smile spreads across my lips, and fuck, I don’t know the last time I felt this light, despite the fact that I know another shitstorm is waiting for me the second I leave this room. “Okay,” I whisper. He pulls me in tight, a puff of air leaving my lips with an oof before he kisses me, long and deep, but quick.

I am in much, much deeper than I had been telling myself—not just for the last week, but for the last year. Still, there’s something about finally crossing that line in my head, of admitting that I don’t care whatever her agenda is, I just want her, that makes me finally admit it to myself. That realization, mixed with the way rage simmered in my veins at the sight of her dancing with someone else, brought me to the conclusion that there’s no fucking hope in staying away from her. What’s the point of pretending? I’ve spent the last week and a half trying to avoid her, and last night, at seeing her in the arms of Dax, something snapped. Fuck decency. Fuck what is “right.” Fuck work and needing to focus on nothing but hitting some invisible milestone I’m starting to understand I’ll never truly be happy with.

It’s wild how light I feel when it’s just Josie and me, how when she looks at me like that, I forget that my world is on fire and nothing makes sense. For a split second, the world revolves around Josie and her smile and the warmth radiating from her.

“If I weren’t completely entwined by you, I might have started to wonder if you were behind at least some of the issues plaguing the resort a long time ago.” Every molecule of blood leaves my face. I knew this was coming. Rowan is smart and attentive. But still, there’s something about hearing the accusation out loud that turns my stomach. I had convinced myself, I think, that if we could just get past the last few days of this mission, if I could just close the case without any real questions, it would be fine. But that clearly was wishful thinking. It’s a double-edged sword, after all: I’m into Rowan because of how attentive he is, how he notices things…but it’s his attentiveness that is coming back to bite me.

“I need you to trust me, Rowan. I can’t tell you right now, but as soon as I can, I will. I promise.” It’s more than I’ve ever given anyone, on a mission or not. I’ve never told anyone I was casually seeing or hooking up with someone about my job, but Rowan isn’t either of those. That’s the conclusion I’ve been slowly coming to terms with over the past few days. I finally found a man who I want to give a chance to, who I want to prove to me that not all men are liars and cheats, and now, because of this job I love, I might have fucked it up before it even started.

I stare at him for long, long moments where I wish things were different, where I wish I was allowed to tell him everything, but that’s part of the job. If I spilled it all now without talking to Rory and Gabriel, I could lose my job. I could blow the case. I would lose the trust of people I care about. So I nod, and I turn away, hoping to hear him call my name to try and work this out. But I never do. And as I’m walking back toward my room, I realize that while I may have kept the true nature of the mission safe, I may have ruined all we might have had.

“Are you still mad at me?” I ask, desperate to know the answer. I realize that I need to know before I can even think about relaxing. “I was never mad, Josie,” he says, his lips brushing along my neck, sending a thrill through me. “I was confused. I was stressed.” “And now you’re not?” “Now I want you more than any of that matters.” I can work with this, I tell myself. I can handle that. I can deal with the rest of it…later. Right now, I’m going to live in the present. And present me wants Rowan Fisher.

never in my life have I felt as gorgeous as I do right now, naked in front of Rowan Fisher, his fingers roving over every inch of my body. He’s looking at me like I was carved out of the most precious material with him and him alone in mind. Like he wants to keep me, to preserve me. To make me his.

“You’re such a good girl,” he groans, and then he slides into me all the way. He’s long. He’s thick. He fills me in a way I’ve never felt, so completely and perfectly. I moan as he does it, something he mirrors. Once he’s deep inside of me, he holds there, eyes locking with mine, and I see it all there. The trust. The adoration. The need. The desire. The connection we’ve had for longer than either of us has been able to admit. It’s all there, out on the table, my secrets and his, and finally, it’s just us.