The Other Side of Greed

by Lily Zante

  Have I overstepped my boundary?

  Did I read her signals wrong that night when she showed me the tattoo on her back? When she told me about the other tattoo further down?

  Her frown deepens.

  I take my chance and confess. “You all dressed up for city hall, Lewis. You with tattoos and those killer heels. I’m having trouble letting go of that image.”

  Her eyes widen, in confusion. I wonder if she can sense the sizzling simmering tension between us. Something in the air zings and zaps, and it’s too strong, too palpable to not be real.

  “I see,” she says, smoothly sidestepping my comment and reacting as if I’d told her we needed two boxes of crackers for the next food night. I try to think quickly but it’s almost impossible with her this close to me. It’s like wading through honey. My brain fogs up. I get a picture of her in my head. I see her tattoos. I can almost feel the velvety texture of her arms and shoulders. Except that she’s wearing her customary sweatshirt and sneakers now, and her arms fold together as she waits for my answer.

  I suck in a breath, scrambling to find the right words to say next.

  Tell her the truth.

  This woman has flipped every idea I ever had about her, she’s brought me to my knees to the point that I almost don’t recognize the man who came here under with evil intent.

  I can’t push her away. I don’t want to. I feel the connection between us so acutely now that her eyes are burning into mine.

  My doubts deepen.

  What I’m doing isn’t right; going undercover like a Trojan horse. Tricking her into leaving Greenways no longer seems easy. I don’t feel good about tricking her into doing something that will be so wrong for her, and so right for me.

  I need to confess.

  “What are you doing here, Brad?” she repeats.

  I try to buy more time, because telling the truth doesn’t come easy. Lying does. I’ve lied about who I am. Who Emma is. I’ve lied about the reason I’m at Redhill.

  I’ve even lied about my name. She will hate me when she finds out, and therein lies my dilemma: I want her to like me, but when she sees me for the devil I am, all hell will break loose. “Here specifically? In the storeroom?”

  “Here at Redhill.”

  Pinpricks needle in my gut. She’s onto me. “I told you,” I say, putting on my smooth exterior. Hands in pockets, charming her with my smile. Except she doesn’t smile back. She’s not so easy to charm. “I feel the need to help and do my part.”

  She opens her mouth, but I put my finger to her lips, making the boldest move ever. “But you want to know why I’m here, in the storeroom with you? It’s not because I give a damn about how many bottles of water you have. I followed you, because ever since I saw you that night, —which incidentally is why I didn’t write the note—I can’t stop thinking about you. I forgot about the note. It couldn’t have been anything important, otherwise I would remember. But you, looking the way you did, you blew my brains, Lewis.”

  She tilts her head, bites her lower lip, making me want to press my lips to hers and kiss her.

  I take a step closer. My heart is beating so hard and fast, she can probably hear it. “I wish I’d come to that event with you. You looked like a billion dollars.” I lift my hand to her face, a gentle caress more like, and she doesn’t flinch. She rolls her lips together, which only makes the air between us even more charged. I want her. I want to kiss every single part of her. I dip my head, almost making my next move. This is Lewis, and I’m aware that if she doesn’t want this, I’ll be rewarded with a swift kick to my already enlarged balls.

  She doesn’t squirm or tell me to get lost; she wants this too. I drop a kiss to the side of her mouth, then brush my lips across her skin, scattering kisses around her mouth but expertly missing her lips. She moans softly, in disappointment, it sounds like. And then my lips press against hers. She is warm and sweet, and the first touch, the first taste, is everything I expected. Heat charges through my veins as we deepen our kissing. My fingers slide and she leans into me, her chest pressing against mine as her hands flank my shoulders.

  And then the tempo changes. Urgency replaces calm, wet heat replaces sweetness. We’re like two hungry people who have held back for far too long.

  Sparks ignite. She moans against my mouth. Her sexy little sigh ignites all the feelings I’ve held in check, every image I’ve had of her at that event with Cardoza, except she’s here with me. It’s my hands around her slim waist. It’s my lips on hers. When she looks up at me with hooded eyes, her lips moist, looking at me as if she wants me, I throw caution to the wind. We tongue fuck. This is rough, and carnal. Willfully wild abandonment. No restraint, no shyness. No more furtive glances.

  We kiss as if this might be our first and last chance. Soon enough, she’ll feel my excitement. My desire for her mushrooms, making it almost impossible for me to pull myself away.

  We finally pull apart, come up for air. I press my forehead against her, feel her breath against mine. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” I ask.

  “How long?” She puts me on the spot. How long has it been? There definitely wasn’t any attraction when we first met. It built up over time. I could never see myself with someone like her, and knowing her as I do, she would never want to be with someone like me.

  We are so ill-suited, so different, and yet we are the same. Did my heart open, because the wound has opened, turning me soft? Or has she changed me?

  “How long?” she asks again, her eyes burning into mine. I trace my finger over her wet mouth. “Maybe from the first time I helped you with the homeless food night, when Fredrich was away.”

  She smiles. It’s a soft, gentle, playful smile. Being this close to her, having tasted her lips, I see all too clearly how she and Jessica are so far apart. Jessica has done nothing but whine and bitch about Kyra. But Kyra hasn’t even mentioned her once, which is a shame because I want to get her take on that night, on Jessica and see what she has to say about her.

  I brush my lips against hers, wondering what it would be like to take this further.

  “Your friend, how is she?” There’s a questioning tone to her voice.

  I shift back a little, trying to buy some more time. “Getting better slowly.”

  “She must be very special for you to miss out on the chance of meeting Eli.” She suspects something.

  “Did the others say something?” I ask her, because Fredrich didn’t seem to believe me.

  “No. We just assumed you were busy.”

  I put my hands firmly around her waist and marvel at her slender frame. I like my women with more flesh. Ample and voluptuous. I like the lusciousness of their bodies. Kyra is nothing like that, but what I feel for her goes beyond mere aesthetics. She is slight, and slim, and so neatly proportioned; it’s not her body that caught my interest, it was her smartness and guts. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not.” And then I say something that surprises even me. “You can come and see her at the hospital if you want.”

  She blinks.

  The moment is weighted with anticipation. And then I’m left wondering why I made that insane suggestion. Kyra looks startled, even seconds later, as my request sinks in. “That’s not necessary. I understand you’re worried about her. She’s lucky to have such a good friend as you.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. I hate to think what I would have done if Kyra had agreed. It would have been selfish and inconsiderate of me to put Emma through something like that.

  Take, take, take. That’s all I seem to do. Always in it for me.

  She leans towards me and kisses me. It’s soft, and sweet, and seductive, which, I realize, is exactly what Kyra is, now that I’ve come to know her better. I claim her mouth again, and we kiss, reveling in the taste and touch of one another.

  “We should get back,” she says.

  “Why? You’re doing an inventory check,” I say, rubbing my lips against hers.

  “The others,” she
hisses. I sense her guilt at being caught. My hand slides down over her buttock, and I squeeze gently. “Careful, Hartley. You’ll have some explaining to do with that steel-hard boner of yours.”

  I lick her lower lip, and her tongue slides out and plays with mine. My insides are roiling. I wish we weren’t at work. I have the desire to do things to her that will make her mewl in ecstasy. “I want to see you again,”

  “I don’t sleep with people I work with.”

  “Me neither.” We exchange a flurry of tiny, playful kisses. Her hand slides down and squeezes my butt. I suppress a groan. I want her naked, stripped down so that I can worship every inch of her body.

  I see it in her eyes. She wants what I want. I’m in this, and I can’t back out. This doesn’t have anything to do with the deal. Me wanting her is because I want her. I try not to think about how this will complicate things. Or what the consequences will be.

  I can only live for now.

  Her eyes widen, and she moves her head to the side when I move in for another kiss.

  “Are you really not seeing anyone?” she asks.

  Her words make me jolt. “No, I’m not.” But then I remember what she told me about her last relationship and I understand her fear and hesitation. “I wouldn’t be standing here with a boner, kissing you like this if I was.”

  It seems to reassure her, because when I move in for another long, take-me-to-bed-and-fuck-me kiss, she mewls and grinds against me. We need a bed, not this goddamn storeroom.

  “You should go,” she tells me, her hot breath on my face making me want to do nothing but stay. I could kiss her for hours. Our foreheads are touching, her hands around my waist make me pull her closer. I need to be in bed with her, or somewhere private where we can’t be interrupted. I need to find that tattoo she teasingly dropped a hint to.

  “I want to see you, Kyra. Outside of the storeroom.”

  She pushes me away playfully. “You will see me. In the office.” Her gaze drops to my middle. She coughs lightly. “You’re going to need to take care of that.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  KYRA

  * * *

  I put a hand against the wall and take a deep breath, trying to still my heart when he leaves the storeroom.

  I kissed Brad.

  Or rather, he kissed me.

  There have been many days when I’ve imagined what it would be like; days when I have fought against my fantasies, thinking that me and Brad could never be together. And yet the reality is even better than I dreamt it would be.

  I don’t go back to the office right away, because the shame of making out is written all over me. I won’t be able to keep a straight face once I’m at my desk. I’m no good at hiding things or lying.

  Instead, chicken that I am, I walk around the factory floor, checking in on the employees.

  I feel like an oversexed schoolgirl. Fluttery heart, shaky knees. It takes a heroic effort for me to focus on my work when I finally make it back to my desk almost an hour later.

  During the next few weeks, Brad and I leave the room within moments of one another. It’s not always to make out. We make a hot drink, or go to the water cooler, or walk around the factory floor together.

  Small, simple things. A reason to be close to one another. I don’t want to get caught and be seen by the employees, and I would die if Simona or Fredrich ever caught us kissing.

  I don’t know what will happen next. How this will work out. He hasn’t said anything about meeting outside work, but it’s clear we can’t continue like this, sneaking around like schoolkids.

  On food nights we have more time. It’s a long evening, and at the end of it, when he and I return to the storeroom to put the supplies back, we wait until the others leave, and when they do, we make out again. Our pent-up frustration heats up the walls. It becomes more than kissing. In the dimly lit room, in the cold, against the walls and cupboards, we find warmth as we kiss and touch, mouths and bodies pressed together.

  He hasn’t mentioned anything about us going back to his place, and I’m careful and tread slowly, unsure about suggesting that he comes back to my place. It has all been slow and sneaky, our being together, as if an air of illicitness taints us.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this in here, Brad.” My boss alter ego tries to rationalize, as I lift my face towards him but he responds by giving me a long, hard kiss—the type of kiss which leaves me undone and begging for more.

  “I know,” he whispers, as my head rolls back against the wall. I’m soft and boneless, needing to catch a breath. He won’t stop. He’s as desperate as me, but he feasts on me, now that we are alone, hitching up my t-shirt and sucking hungrily at my breasts through the fabric of my bra.

  “We need privacy. A bed would be nice.” My voice is raspy with need. Why doesn’t he ever suggest it? He never talks about going to his place and even though my brain is fogged by lust, his refusal to bring it up makes me hesitate offering him an invitation to my place.

  When we are apart, I need him and can’t stop thinking about him, but I also have the presence of mind to view this situation with some level of objectivity. What am I doing? A twenty-eight-year-old woman behaving like this? This is what I did when I was a teen. This isn’t the behavior of a grown woman, or a grown man. And the doubts creep in again and I wonder why my brain cells vanish whenever he’s around.

  And then I see him again, the next day or the day after. His days are all changed up ever since his friend had her accident, and he doesn’t come in on fixed days. It leaves me hanging because I don’t know when I’ll see him next. It’s torture. And then I wonder what he does on the days he isn’t here.

  What is he doing?

  And still, who is Emma to him?

  His explanations don’t convince me.

  But then I see him again, or get another text or email from him, all of these thoughts get pushed to the back.

  In no time at all, I don’t recognize the woman I have become. Like now, up against the wall in the storeroom, trying to catch my breath from the kiss he’s just given me.

  Simona would be shocked.

  Fredrich would look at me as if he didn’t recognize me.

  Tonight, Brad goes a step further. He unzips my jeans and snakes his fingers into my panties. We stare at one another through the haze of our desire. I moan as his finger slips inside me, and I suck in a breath, forcing myself to face reality, confronting the gritty cold, hard facts—we’re in the storeroom, he has me pressed against the wall, and his fingers are doing the most delicious things to my clit. I can’t move my legs. My jeans bind me like handcuffs around my ankles. I am his for the taking.

  His lips half-kiss, half-talk against my mouth. “We can get a room, but don’t you like the risk and the sleaziness of it?”

  His wet lips, his scent, his warm breath are like an aphrodisiac. I can only comply and, like a drug addict, want more of him without contemplating the consequences. “This isn’t me, doing things like this in secret.”

  “But you’re enjoying it, no?” He slips in another finger, making my breath hiss out. Before he had stroked only the wet fabric, and now his fingers slide down, slipping in between my private places. I jerk at his electric touch, my hands tugging his hair as his fingers pleasure me. He hooks his finger in deeper, and I come apart, biting my lip in an effort not to cry out.

  If he can bring me this much pleasure with his fingers, I can only wonder what he can do with the rest of him. He won’t let me unzip him, or stroke him, or pleasure him. He seems to take the utmost pleasure in making me come like this.

  “Why don’t we get a room? Or you invite me back to your place?” There, I said it. He thumbs my clit in answer, and I collapse a little against the wall, my body sagging as he tries to support me.

  “I will invite you back to my place,” he says, smoothing the hair away from my face. “But before that, I want to take you out on a proper date.” My heart is almost ready to explode with happiness.

 
Chapter Thirty-Two

  BRANDON

  * * *

  “Where are we with this, Brandon?”

  I wish I hadn’t taken this call. Neville's been calling me a lot lately, busting my balls about Greenways. He doesn’t have to spell it out. I know what he’s referring to. “I’m still taking care of things.”

  “You've got a lot going on, with Emma in the hospital. You don't need to do this. Your time would be better served here. The company needs you, Brandon.”

  “I'm doing my best.”

  “You don't need to continue with this farce,” he insists. “We're still working on the eminent domain. We can still seize the land through other means.”

  I grit my teeth. “I told you to hold off.”

  “You were all pumped up at the start. What's the holdup?”

  “There is no holdup.”

  “Doesn’t seem to me that you’ve made any progress,” Neville growls back.

  Things have become complicated. It’s no longer just a black and white matter. Not now when feelings are involved. Try as I do, I can’t let them go. Kyra has a hold on me that is hard to shake. “Give me time. Didn't you say that if you have to use eminent domain to take the land then you'd have to explain what the new project is?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Wouldn't that expose me? Wouldn't I have to take part in the public hearings? Why the fuck would I want that? I want to avoid there being a big public hearing so that Kyra doesn't figure out who I am.”

  A grunt of displeasure comes across the line. “Okay, we'll do it your way, but Stagg can only wait on us a little while longer.”

  “Like I told you, we might not need Stagg or any government intervention. No eminent domain bullshit. That's purely a backup. I've got this, Neville. I'm working on her.” He doesn’t need to hear the truth, I just want him off the phone, and off my back.

  “Did you find anything on her?” he asks.