by Joanne Rock
He tackled the glass shards with a vengeance, drawing the bristles over the hardwood, the bright lights making it easier to find all the pieces. She was quiet for a long moment, but she’d followed him into the work area with a towel in hand, careful to remain outside the ring of glittering shards.
“You remember me,” she repeated in a barely audible voice, almost like she was turning the thought over in her head.
Her tone was so...wistful, almost, that it made him look up from sweeping. She leaned a bare shoulder against one of the columns scattered throughout the room, her sinfully sexy dress clinging to a body any 1940s pinup would have envied. Something twisted in his gut.
He wanted to call it lust, but it sure as hell felt like something more.
“Definitely. You aren’t exactly the kind of woman a man forgets.” He wasn’t happy about it, either. He couldn’t help it if some of that frustration bled into his words.
She straightened from where she’d been slouching, her chin tipping higher as something defensive lit up her gaze. She folded her arms. “I am, actually. So excuse me if I found it momentarily flattering that someone like you would recall the meeting. But I can see I’ve disrupted your evening, Mr. Zayn.” Her Southern accent slid over his name, dragging out the vowel. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
Spinning on her bare heel, she presented him with her back again. The same view that had tied him in knots the moment he entered the loft. Only this time, he was close enough to catch her. Without giving himself time to think about it, he slid an arm around her to halt her.
Immediately, he recognized the error. Knew he was crossing a professional line. He hung his head in defeat.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he’d swallowed the broken glass. Once more, he took his hands off her with an effort, cursing his impulsiveness. Cursing himself for landing in a situation where he was alone with a woman he’d thought about too often. “You didn’t ruin my evening. I should have called Marcel before barging in here tonight.”
He tried to keep his eyes off the long ribbons that trailed down her back, but even when he wasn’t looking at them, he was thinking about trailing them over her skin. Would it make her shiver? The mere thought of it made his body react.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“You own the building, Mr. Zayn. I’m sure you don’t need to call when you want to visit your own company.” She scooped up a pair of jeans and a T-shirt lying over the back of an armchair. “I’ll just slip out of this dress and be on my way.”
He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: that he was responsible for her leaving, or that he wouldn’t be the one to untie those ribbons for her tonight.
Hell.
“Don’t. Go.” He articulated the words carefully, keeping his tone neutral-ish. “I’ve interrupted you, and you’re obviously doing a lot to help Marcel if you’re here at this hour. If it’s just the same to you, I’d much prefer you stay. Tell me what you’re working on.”
Slowly, she turned to face him. The anger had left her features, but she arched a skeptical brow. “You really want to know?”
She had no idea.
But now that he was here, the idea of Sable walking away from him tonight was almost painful. He knew this woman was the most talented stylist Marcel had on the payroll, so Roman couldn’t afford to scare her off. But he also couldn’t ignore the way she made him feel alive again after years of going through the motions of his day-to-day world. Now that he’d admitted as much, maybe he could figure out what to do about it.
“I really do.” His pulse spiked at the possibilities. “And please, call me Roman.”
Two
She shouldn’t let the owner of the fashion label sweep the floor. But when she’d stood close to the broken glass earlier, Sable had ended up wrapped in Roman’s arms as he transported her away from the mess.
Awareness of the fact that she wore nothing, nada, zilch, beneath the silk dress had made the contact even more intense. She was still feeling light-headed from his touch.
So she forced herself to wait patiently while Roman carried the dustpan of glass to the bin and stowed the broom. He washed his hands at the sink in the galley kitchen, the pendant lamp above the counter illuminating his high, sculpted cheekbones and the thick scruff along his square jaw. With dark eyes and dark hair that curled just above his shirt collar, he had the same Lebanese heritage that informed his brother’s good looks. And yet Marcel had never lit a fire inside her. No, that special explosion to her senses was reserved for Roman.
After he dried his hands, Roman set aside the towel and flicked open the buttons on his shirt cuffs, folding the sleeves up as he spoke.
“You’re very quiet for a woman who was about to tell me what you’re working on.” He lifted an eyebrow as he glanced her way.
Right.
No sense explaining she’d been distracted by his raw sex appeal. She’d already made enough of a fool of herself tonight. Setting aside the jeans and T-shirt she’d been ready to put back on, she crossed to the center of the room to turn off one of the spotlights.
“I’m working on some video content for the Zayn Designs social media accounts.” She headed to the tripod and released her cell phone from the clamp. “The back of this dress is so unique that I thought it would be fun for viewers to see it in motion. The video just follows me as I walk away from the camera.”
“May I see?” he asked, closing the distance between them to reach for her phone.
His fingers brushed hers.
She passed it to him, her body twitching with the memory of his arms around her. “Just keep in mind it’s not edited.”
“Of course.” Gaze fixed on the screen, he tapped the play button.
Music blared from the speaker. She resisted the urge to arch up on her toes and look with him. Even though she hadn’t seen the playback yet and was curious, venturing that close again seemed dangerous to her sanity.
Besides, with his attention fixed on the device, she had the chance to study him. To try to work out what it was that drew her so completely. She’d been attracted to him the first time they’d met. Tonight—once she’d recovered from being startled at his arrival—she’d been even more fascinated, experiencing a shivery awareness that wouldn’t go away. And that was before he’d made that cryptic comment about not being able to forget a woman like her.
The remark had raised her hackles at first when she wasn’t sure it had been sincere. After all, her ex had made her feel entirely forgettable. Replaceable. But after Roman’s insistence she stay, she couldn’t dismiss his remark. If he found her so very memorable, had he felt the same pull as she had from the very first time they’d met three months ago?
Unobserved, she allowed her gaze to rake over him from his muscled thighs up to his narrow waist. From the flare of his back to his broad, powerful shoulders. By the time she reached his face, his dark gaze had shifted from the phone to her.
He was alert. Intense. And very, very aware of her attention.
“Like anything you see?” The sexy rasp of his voice skated over her skin like fingernails.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. Pooled between her thighs.
“Whether I do or not is hardly the point,” she managed, her voice a thin husk of its normal sound. Or maybe it was just difficult to hear it over the racket her heart was making, ricocheting around her rib cage like it needed a way out. “My job is too important to me to risk it with poor decisions.”
“Ditto.” He nodded amiably as he set her phone down on the back of a low-slung sofa. “I feel the same way about my job. Which is why I waited three months to return to New York after we met the first time.”
Her breath stuck in her throat. Had she moved closer to him? They were near enough to touch. Near enough for her to wonder at the texture of the stubble along his jaw. Would it leave a mark if he ru
bbed his cheek over her bare skin?
Along the more sensitive flesh between her legs?
“I don’t understand.” She needed him to clarify. Her senses were too high on him to make sense of words right now. “You stayed away from the studio on purpose?”
“I did.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, a ripple of movement even the facial hair couldn’t hide. “I told myself to respect Marcel’s workspace by keeping clear of his tempting new stylist.”
Would a more confident woman take that comment at face value? Sable couldn’t be certain. But when she heard it, she had the urge to look around the room for a hidden camera and someone to reveal she’d just been punked.
Maybe some of her thoughts showed on her face because he lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”
“You run a billion-dollar company in a city famous for its beautiful people. I have no doubt there are scads of tempting women who throw themselves at you on a regular basis.”
“Funny thing about attraction, it has to work both ways,” he countered, not backing off an inch. If anything, she felt like they’d gotten closer during this exchange. “Like it is right now.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. It took a superhuman effort not to lick her lips. Her throat was as dry as dust, and she couldn’t have spoken if she tried.
A small sound did escape her lips, though. A telltale, hungry whimper. His dark eyes narrowed. A growl vibrated in his chest.
His mouth hovered over hers, a breath away from kissing her. Yet not kissing her. They stood close together but not touching. And it took all her willpower not to grip his shirtfront and drag him the rest of the way to her.
“This is a bad idea.” Even saying the words put her lips closer to his. Had her breathing his air.
She didn’t dare look up to meet his eyes. She had the feeling she’d fall right into their dark depths.
“Probably.” He didn’t move away, his rough exhale fanning a loose tendril of hair that had fallen near her cheek. “That is. Unless—”
He broke off.
“Unless what?” She knew better than to grasp at straws. Didn’t she? Yet her body very much craved any scenario that would end with his mouth on hers.
Was it wrong to crave his healing touch after the blow to her ego and heart she’d received today? Memories of the call from her mother still lingered. Memories that made her feel inadequate. Unwanted.
“I could leave again tomorrow,” he finally continued. He clasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it to study her face and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Stay on the West Coast for a couple of months. Try again to let things cool off.”
“You’re going to leave already?” She felt bereft at the thought. Rejected even.
An old pain had split open inside her. But she was sure Roman Zayn’s touch could ease it. Unless he left her again.
“Tomorrow,” he reiterated with new emphasis. “That way we have tonight. A window of time together where we don’t have to think about work or Marcel or the consequences.”
The magnitude of what he was suggesting should have daunted her. But she was too hungry for his touch. Too desperate for forgetting. More than ready for any answer that would allow her what she wanted.
“We’d be walking a fine line.” The ethics were questionable. But they weren’t the first people to ignore professional boundaries to indulge in hot sex.
And she knew without question it would be hot. Even now his thumb stroked the underside of her chin, stirring a deluge of longing.
“Tricky, but not impossible,” he acknowledged. “It’s up to you, Sable. What do you want to do?”
She knew without question he could have convinced her with a kiss long ago. He hadn’t pressed that advantage, though. That he wanted her to make the call, to take ownership of what she wanted, spoke well of his intentions.
“It might be a fine line, but I have excellent balance.” She lifted her hands to his chest, letting her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. She needed whatever he could give her tonight. “And I might die if you don’t touch me soon.”
* * *
Roman fused his lips to hers. Kissing. Claiming. The need to taste her had been a fire in his blood from the moment he’d stepped into the studio, so her acquiescence came not a minute too soon. She tasted like strawberries and champagne, her flavor going to his head faster than any drink.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, only to be reminded her dress had no back. A groan went through him at the feel of her smooth skin through the long, silky ribbons. He fought the urge to untie them and send the thin fabric to the floor in a heap. He didn’t want to rush things.
“You’re not wearing one damned thing under this dress.” He spoke the words against her damp lips, then nipped the lower one between his teeth. “Are you?”
She sucked in a startled breath before arching her hips into his. Robbing his brain of thought. Torching any restraint he might have salvaged.
“There was no room for anything but me.” She smoothed her hands down his sides and then hauled his shirttails free so she could tunnel beneath the fabric.
He ground his teeth at the feel of her nails gliding lightly over his abs, tracing the muscles, until the last of his blood rushed south.
“Don’t move,” he warned her, backing away to find the condom he needed. “And don’t even dream about taking that dress off without me.”
He spotted his bag and speared a hand into a side pocket, withdrawing what he needed before returning to her. She made one hell of a vision with her dress rumpled from his touch, her dark pile of hair slipping to one side of her head as if it would spring free of its confines at any moment. She caught her lower lip with her teeth, nibbling as she watched him.
He could swear he felt those teeth on him.
Tugging her by the hand, he led her to the suite in back, a tiny afterthought of a space with just enough square footage for a queen-size bed and nightstand. But he didn’t need much room considering he wanted her all over him. Or under him. All night long.
She started to reach behind her to shut the door, but he caught her in time.
“Leave it. I need to see you.” Though the lamp was off in the bedroom, the open door allowed the light from the studio to filter in.
Reaching into her hair, he found the clip that held the silky mass and undid it, watching the dark strands tumble to her shoulders.
“Good idea. I want to see you, too.” She was already at work on the buttons down his shirtfront, flicking them open one after the other. Her hazel gaze followed her progress, absorbed in the sight of him. Almost as if she found him every bit as fascinating as he found her.
Impossible. Yet it felt incredibly good.
He waited until she finished, then helped her by shrugging the garment off his shoulders. There was no sound in the room save their harsh breathing and the fall of clothes to the floor, noises that only amped him up when he wanted to take his time. Savor her. Especially if he was only going to get one night.
Her gaze fell to his pants and his need surged, throbbing an urgent beat in response to the growing want in her eyes. But he wouldn’t let himself get distracted from getting her out of that dress first.
“Turn around.” Hands on her hips, he spun her away from him until she presented him with her back, where her hair now tangled with the long ribbons that dangled from her neck. Carefully, he gathered it to one side before pushing it forward over her shoulder.
He traced one swath of black silk with his finger, watching goose bumps rise on her skin until a shiver undulated up her spine. Satisfaction pumped through him that he could elicit a reaction from her so easily. He couldn’t wait to catalog every single thing she liked. Every movement that made her breath catch and her body quiver. If he only had one night, he needed to make certain it was one she’d never forge
t.
Too bad he was so wound up to have her that it already took monumental effort to keep himself in check and make this about her.
Bracing himself for the feel of her against him, he slid a hand around her waist, palming the space between her hips to draw her to him. With the sweet curve of her ass pressed tight to his erection, the need to grind away the ache was fierce. Especially when she moaned at the contact, her hips doing a shimmy that had him gritting his teeth and seeing stars.
From somewhere, he gathered up enough restraint to refocus on her, the length of her lithe body visible to him over her shoulder. One ribbon still in his hand, he tugged the fabric until the front of her dress dipped low, clinging precariously to the swell of her breasts for a moment before falling to her waist. The perfect mouthfuls tipped with dusky nipples were begging for his touch. His tongue.
He licked a path down her neck while he molded the soft flesh in his hands, running his thumbs over the sensitive tips in a way that made her push back against him until they both groaned.
“I need my mouth on you.” He turned her back around, the dress falling the rest of the way down her body.
He stepped over the silk and laid her on the bed, her dark hair fanning out around her. Her breath came faster as he reached for his belt, and their eyes fastened on each other. With impatient hands he stripped off the rest of his clothes before he fell on her, keeping his weight off her with one arm while he feasted on her breasts. First one, then the other, sucking and kissing, tracing circles around the tight, pebbled peaks.
But she thwarted his plan to take his time by reaching between them to stroke him, her fingertips slowly exploring him in a way guaranteed to make him lose control if he didn’t stop her. Yet the sweet tentativeness of her touch forced him to endure the sexy torment. He remembered too well the way she’d bristled when he’d talked about not being able to forget her—as if someone in her life had made her feel forgettable. Unwanted.