Taking Liberties (Like a Boss Book 3)

by Serenity Woods

  She laughs and leans back, cradling the guitar as if she can’t bear to let it go. “Your favorite girl,” she repeats, scoffing.

  “Roxie,” I tell her, keeping my voice even, “if you don’t stop calling me a liar, I’m going to have to find a way to punish you.”

  She stares at me. Clearly, she can’t tell if I’m joking. “Punish me?”

  “I’m sure I can think of some form of sexual torture.”

  “Torture is supposed to make you stop, not beg for more.” However, her saucy words are at odds with her wide eyes and the pulse racing in her neck. Nobody has spoken to her like this before.

  I pick up my glass and take a long swallow of the whiskey, watching her do the same, her puzzled eyes surveying me carefully. I put down the glass, stand, and hold out a hand. She studies it for a second, then places hers into it. I pull her to her feet, pick her up, move back to the sofa, and sit down with her astride me. Then I lie back, so she’s stretching out along me.

  “I’m not being insincere,” I tell her, smoothing her hair off her face. “I don’t do that. I always mean what I say. And I’m telling you now that there’s something about you that’s captivated me.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “There’s nothing special about me.”

  “Apart from your guitar playing, you mean?”

  A ghost of a smile appears on her lips. “Apart from my guitar playing.”

  “Roxie, you’re fun, you’re gorgeous, you’re sexy, and you’re kind. I’m beginning to realize how your sassy, in-your-face attitude is a cover. I don’t know what’s happened in your past, and maybe you’ll never tell me, but I can see you’ve been hurt.”

  She rests her cheek on my chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s your prerogative, but I don’t know what you’re afraid of.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she whispers.

  “But I’d like to know more—that’s what I’m saying.” She doesn’t reply, though, and I sigh. “You said you’ve never been in love.”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And nobody’s ever been in love with me, Caleb. That’s what I mean—I’m nothing special.”

  I frown and caress her hair. I can’t believe that no man has ever loved this girl, but then again, she’s only twenty-one. Maybe if, for whatever reason she’s hiding, she’s kept her relationships short, no guy has been able to get close enough to her to fall in love with her.

  She turns her head and rests her chin on her arm so she can look at me. “I’m not being provocative. I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. I’m just stating it like it is.”

  “It makes me sad,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  She smiles. “You’re an old softie, aren’t you? I bet you like chick flicks and cute puppies.”

  “Who doesn’t like cute puppies? Actually, though, a few days ago I would have said I didn’t believe in love.”

  Her look turns wry. “And now you’re going to declare you love me?”

  “No, because I can imagine the reply you’d give to that. And you’d be right—you can’t love someone after only knowing them for twenty-four hours.” I kiss her. “My mother once told me that when she was pregnant, she thought that she’d somehow be able to knit—that the knowledge came with the pregnancy hormones.”

  Roxie chuckles. “I can see that.”

  “I felt the same about love. I thought it was the byproduct of being with someone for a certain amount of time. That it came naturally after you’d been together for, say, six months or a year. So I thought I loved Felicity. I assumed that because I’d grown to understand her, it meant I loved her. But now, I don’t think it did.” I stroke down Roxie’s back. “I can see how it might be possible to love a woman like you, though.”

  She blinks. She obviously doesn’t have a clue how to reply to that. In fact, a look of something like panic has filled her eyes.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her. “I’m not assuming anything or making any demands. But I like you. I enjoy being with you. And if you’d like to see me again, I’d be very happy about that.”

  She looks completely lost for words.

  Studying my chest, she traces a finger through the hair there. I can see her processing what I’ve told her, trying to make sense of it. Half of me expects her to get up and leave. She obviously doesn’t want anyone to get close to her.

  But she doesn’t. She places her lips on my ribs and kisses me. Then she kisses across to each nipple and touches it with her tongue.

  I sigh, and she moves and kisses down my body to my stomach, then follows the line of hair down my belly, where she lifts the elastic over my rapidly growing erection.

  She strokes me a few times, watching her hands sliding over the shaft, and brushes over the head with her thumb, spreading the moisture that’s formed there over the tip. Giving me a final, hot glance, she then lowers her head and takes me in her mouth.

  I understand. This is her way of saying she’s touched by what I’ve said. She can’t answer me, and she doesn’t want to confide in me yet, but she wants to say thank you, and to tell me she appreciates what I’ve said.

  Slowly, she runs her tongue around the head of my erection, and she slides her lips down, taking me deep inside. I slip my hands into her hair and prop my other arm beneath my head so I can watch her, enjoying the view, the sexy sight of me disappearing into her mouth.

  I hope she gives what I’ve said some thought. I know my friends don’t understand my fascination with her, and they’d probably say I was crazy. And I can only imagine what my parents would say if they met her. My father’s head would explode.

  But I don’t care. I like her. I want to see more of her. I just have to wait to see if she wants to see more of me.

  Pleasure is building inside me, and my sigh turns into a groan as she sucks, tugging on the sensitive skin. “I’m going to come,” I murmur, warning her, but she just continues, massaging me with one hand while her tongue works its magic. I let go and give in to the climax, filling her mouth with jet after jet of warm fluid, and I feel her throat constrict as she swallows me down. Jesus, that feels good, and I close my eyes and give myself over to the exquisite pleasure, until I’ve no more left to give.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Roxie

  “Tell me about your family,” I ask Caleb.

  We’re finally in bed. It’s around midnight, I think, although I haven’t checked my phone for a while. It’s been possibly the best evening I’ve ever had in my whole life. We’ve made love, played the guitar, raided the fridge, drunk whiskey, and made love again. What more could a girl want?

  Right now, we’re relaxed and sated. After Caleb’s declaration, I can see how it might be possible to love a woman like you, we kept the conversation light, and I don’t particularly want to start anything deep and meaningful, but I am interested in his family, and in particular his father.

  I wait for him to scowl and tell me to mind my own business, but he must be feeling talkative, because he trails his fingers down my back and says, “What do you want to know?”

  “Siblings?”

  “A sister and a brother, both older than me.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Cath is a doctor. Ben is a lawyer. Like his dad.” His voice is wry.

  “Did he pressure them to train in those careers?”

  “Oh, definitely. Only the best is good enough for Emmett Chase and his children. Anything less and he wouldn’t be able to boast about his parental prowess at his club.”

  “Ouch.” The vitriol in his voice makes me wince.

  “Sorry.” He doesn’t look it.

  “So, I’m guessing he didn’t approve of your choice of occupation?”

  “You could say that. When I was young, all I wanted to do was work on my computer. He hated it—he said I was a nerd and that I should be out on my bike and playing football like a
normal boy. He thought working with technology was a job for people who weren’t bright enough to take a traditional degree—he didn’t see it as a proper profession.”

  His gaze is fixed far off the distance, his face stony as he remembers. “When I told him that I wanted to study it at university, we had a blazing row. My sister and my mother were in tears. My brother thought I was mad to provoke our father.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No, never. But I was afraid of him, until I got to the age where I realized he no longer had control over me.”

  “What happened?”

  “I left home. He refused to pay anything toward the course, so I ran up a lot of debt, as you’d expect. I lived with Seb and Harry, and three of us survived on bread and noodles for four years. We all worked in the evenings, sometimes in bars or as waiters, sometimes in late-night office jobs, if we could find them, and I was proud of myself for managing to make it to graduation without having to call my parents for money. We set up Hearktech, and eventually our first tablet took off, and the rest is history. We paid off all our loans and things have just gotten better over the years.”

  That’s not the whole story, though. “And your father—do you talk to him?”

  “At first, I went home from time to time to see my mother. Inevitably, when we were sitting around the dinner table, he would say something scathing, and that would put my back up, and I ended up walking out most times. Once, he told me ‘you’re the worst son a man could ever have.’ That stung.”

  “Jesus.”

  He shrugs. “I feel sorry for Mum—it’s not her fault. She’s never stood up to him, and I can see why. But I haven’t been home for over a year now. It just brings me down, and I don’t need that.”

  He rolls onto his side. “I have more entertaining things here in the city. Like this, for example.” He slides his hand over my body and down between my legs. “Mmm, you’re so soft,” he murmurs, stroking through my folds, which are still wet and swollen from my previous orgasms judging by the easy way his fingers are slipping through them.

  I pretend he’s distracted me, and let him make love to me again. He seems happy, and I think that this is all most men want—food, sex, music, and someone who makes them feel good without making demands on them. It makes me sad, though, what his father has put him through. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have great parents. What do they say—you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family? That’s so true. Just being related by blood doesn’t mean you’re going to be a great mother or father.

  I drift away into the dream world I go to while Caleb’s making love to me—a world that should be filled with colored disco lights in a dark room, and chocolate and whiskey, and Barry White playing in the background.

  Caleb is right—it’s far too soon for us to love each other. But there’s no doubt there’s something between us I haven’t felt before. I’ve desired men in the past, but I haven’t felt… I’m not sure what I’m feeling.

  Ultimately, though, it’s all irrelevant. This relationship doesn’t have any future. I’m not stupid enough to believe that there’s a fairytale ending out there for me. Maybe one day there might be a man who’ll stick around, but he’s not going to be a university graduate with his own business who could have any classy, beautiful woman he lays eyes on. The sort of guy I’m meant for will be in another band, with tattoos and a bad attitude toward women, and we’ll probably be on-again, off-again until I’m old and gray, and I’ll always be thinking about the guy in the suit I could have had, if things had been different.

  I still think I’m a novelty for Caleb. He finds me exciting, because his friends will disapprove of me deep down, and I’m sure his family would supernova if they were to find out about us. That appeals to him, but it wouldn’t be long before that would wear off and he’d get irritated by the fact that I don’t know which fork to use at dinner, I swear all the time, I don’t own a pearl necklace or a twinset, and I have no aspirations to bake cakes for the school fair. We’re incompatible. I just hope I can escape before he realizes that.

  *

  I lift up and check my phone. It’s nearly two a.m. We finally made it to his bed, and after a super-long lovemaking session that left us both sated and exhausted, Caleb has fallen asleep.

  I sit up and look at him. He frowns a lot when he’s awake—I only realize that now, when he’s sleeping. He’s quite a serious guy. I know he works very hard. Colette has commented on how focused the guys all are, and how the women who snag them have to realize how important Hearktech is to all of them.

  I hope he finds a Felicity who understand that. He deserves it.

  I roll to the edge of the bed, rise, and creep out into the living room. I dress quickly, and gather my jacket and purse.

  I allow myself one final look at Caleb in bed, sprawled out across the covers, his face serene in sleep.

  Then, as quietly as I can, I let myself out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caleb

  On Monday, I’m waiting by the mailroom, leaning on the doorjamb with my arms crossed, when Roxie arrives at eight thirty.

  She stops when she sees me, her eyes widening, and she gives a little gasp of surprise.

  “Morning,” I say.

  She gathers her wits and lifts her chin. “Morning.” She slips by me into the room, puts down her purse, and takes off her jacket.

  I follow her in and perch on the edge of the desk, watching her. She hangs her jacket on her chair, puts some envelopes into a pile, refills her printer with paper, and turns on her computer.

  Finally, however, she looks at me. “Caleb…”

  “I missed you,” I say mildly.

  She drops her gaze and fiddles with a paperclip. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, even though it isn’t, and we both know it. “I suppose I’m to infer by it that you don’t want to see me again.”

  She continues to fiddle with the clip. “I think it’s best.”

  “Why?”

  “Caleb…”

  “I thought you liked me,” I murmur.

  Her expression softens. “I do.”

  “But not enough.”

  “It’s not that.” She sits suddenly in her chair. “There are reasons it won’t work.”

  “Like…”

  “I don’t want to go through it all now, not here.”

  “Then meet me after work tonight, and we’ll discuss it then.”

  “No, Caleb. But thank you.” She looks up at me. “I had a great time. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  I want to demand an explanation. I want to make her explain why she thinks we’re so wrong for one another. I want to know what terrible secret she’s hiding, so I can say it’s nothing and prove to her that I don’t care.

  But I can’t make her do any of that. If she’s made up her mind, maybe she’s right, and we’re not right for each other.

  “Do you want me hand in my resignation?” she asks. “I’ll understand if you do.”

  “Of course not. I don’t come down here usually. We won’t see much of each other.” I hesitate. “I’m sorry if I made things awkward for you by coming onto you that night. I hope you don’t regret it.”

  “I don’t,” she whispers.

  I get to my feet. “All right. Stay safe, Roxie.”

  “See you.”

  I turn to leave, and she calls out, “Caleb?”

  I stop and look over my shoulder at her.

  “He was wrong. You’re the best son a man could ever have.”

  I pause, then leave the room and take the elevator back to my office.

  *

  The next three days are the longest of my life. I spend most of them dreaming about her, and wondering what she’s doing. It’s like she’s haunting me. At the most inopportune moments, images of her flash through my mind—her red lips curving as she teases me; the sof
t, pale skin of her thighs; her green eyes staring into mine as I move inside her.

  On the fourth day, after work, I drive over to her place and park just down the road.

  I’m not sure yet what I’m going to say to her. I just need to talk to her, to ask her to see me again. I need to know why she thinks we won’t work.

  I’m just about to get out of the car when I see her come out of her apartment. She closes the door and then, walking quickly, she sets off in the opposite direction.

  I get out of the car and follow her. Maybe she’s playing with the band tonight, I think, and I might be able to watch her perform.

  Ignoring the fact that technically I’m stalking her, I swallow my unease and follow her for several blocks. Eventually, she stops, not at a bar, but at an Italian restaurant.

  Is she meeting someone for dinner? My gut clenches with jealousy, and I stand in the shadows, hating myself for doing this, but unable to move. I watch her disappear into the restaurant. She’s gone for five minutes, and I’m about to move to see if I can find which table she’s at when she appears again.

  She’s wearing a black mini skirt and a white shirt, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She picks up a notepad and approaches a nearby table, and stands there listening as the customers talk.

  She’s a waitress. She works at Hearktech during the day, and here at night, and occasionally plays in a band too. I remember the law books I saw in her apartment next to the computer. I think she’s studying as well, possibly taking an online law degree. Jesus. She puts even my work ethic to shame.

  I watch her for a few minutes, entranced by her small, slim form moving around, and then I walk slowly back to my car.

  *

  Friday night, I have to go to a function with Seb, Harry, and Elen, some charity thing we’ve been part of, so it’s Saturday before I have time to see Roxie.

  Early this time—just after nine—I drive out to her apartment again, park up, and get out. I go up to the front door, almost bumping into a woman coming out. She looks at the huge bouquet of roses I’m holding, smiles, and holds the door open for me, so I slip inside.