Play Thing

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Spoilsport,’ he muttered, sinking back into his seat, adjusting himself as he did so. ‘If I’m only allowed to look, how about you take off that bra?’

  He expected her to refuse. When she didn’t, flicking the clasp in front, tugging her arms out of the loops, and letting it fall to the floor, his hopes soared. This shy woman had untapped depths of sensuality he had every intention of exploring in minute detail.

  ‘Wow.’ He stared in reverence at her dark nipples clearly visible through the see-through chiffon. Her breasts were perky, the areola perfectly defined. He wanted his mouth on them so desperately his cock throbbed.

  ‘If you like that...’ She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and pushed them down to her ankles, kicking them off in a cute move that would have looked practised coming from any other woman.

  She straightened, her arms hanging loosely by her sides, her expression uncertain, as she let him look his fill.

  And he did. He stared at the neat thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. At those tempting nipples. Finally he reached her face.

  When she slowly raised an eyebrow, as if taunting him with a ‘what are you waiting for?’ he practically leapt off the couch and vaulted the coffee table to get to her.

  ‘What about the rest of the fashion show?’ She grinned, as if she knew exactly how much she turned him on.

  ‘Sweetheart, we’ve got a month for you to show me every goddamn scrap of underwear in those boxes but, right now, I need you real bad.’

  To prove it, he grabbed her wrists and held them overhead as he had her up against the doorjamb, her eyes wide pools of shimmering desire.

  ‘You are so frigging sexy,’ he murmured, a second before he claimed her mouth.

  She tasted sweet and decadent, like the after-dinner mints they’d enjoyed at the restaurant, her soft moan of pleasure firing his libido into overdrive. As if it needed the help.

  He slid his hands under the nightie, seeking her breasts. A soft handful. Perfect. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he plundered her mouth, loving how she strained against him, eager, wanton.

  Her pelvis ground against his cock and he slid one of his hands lower to find her wet and wanting.

  He delved between her slick folds, found the hard nub and rubbed, toyed a little, teasing her with his fingers, savouring the incoherent sounds she made. She was so responsive, so damn ready for him that it made his cock ache to be inside her.

  She made soft mewling sounds as her excitement built and he circled her clit faster, stunned by how fast she climbed towards climax. His fingers continued to toy with her, to delve, and when she came apart he swallowed her cry of release, needing to be inside her so badly his balls ached.

  When her body softened, his lips eased off the pressure, their kiss growing softer, gentler.

  ‘You make me feel so good,’ she murmured, burying her face against his shoulder, making something inexplicable tighten in his chest.

  He got that urge again, to wrap his arms around her and hold on. To protect her. To cherish her. Like a goddamn knight.

  To distract from the bizarre feeling in his chest, he got down to business. Unzipped. Condom on. Palmed her ass and lifted her a tad higher for easier access. Then he slid in to the hilt. It was tight, wet heaven, her glorious pussy clenching around him like it would never let go.

  She nipped at his shoulder as he withdrew and thrust again. Over and over. Swirls of pleasure pooling in his lower back. Making his balls lift. His cock so damn hard he felt invincible.

  Her soft pants spurred him on. She scored his back as he drove into her with the mindless intensity of a man hell-bent on reliving the mind-numbing release he craved.

  ‘So, so good,’ she whispered. ‘Amazing.’

  Then she bit his shoulder, hard, and he came with the force of a hurricane slamming into him, spinning him around, leaving him disorientated.

  At some point his forehead had connected with the doorjamb and when he could muster the strength he lifted it to find himself staring into Charlotte’s grey eyes glowing like molten pyrite.

  He wanted to speak. To tell her how damn unusual it was for him to have this kind of physical connection with a woman so soon.

  He liked sex. He’d had a lot of it since his late teens, when he’d lost his virginity to a farmer’s daughter three years his senior on a hay bale at the back of a shearing shed.

  Casual sex had never steered him wrong. So what was it about Charlotte that made him feel as if what they’d shared, twice now, went beyond fucking?

  ‘You’re something else, you know that, right?’

  Lame, as far as compliments went, but it had the desired result when she beamed at him.

  ‘So does that mean you’re up for another fashion parade tomorrow night?’

  He laughed and tightened his hold around her waist. ‘Babe, give me thirty minutes and you can model the rest tonight.’

  Her hand skimmed his chest to settle over his heart. ‘Make it fifteen and you’ve got a deal.’

  ‘Hot damn,’ he muttered, brushing a kiss across her lips, wondering how she’d managed to shatter his focus in just over twenty-four hours.

  Usually, when he started at a new company, he’d remain one hundred per cent focused on getting the job done. Since yesterday, when he’d strolled into that warehouse and seen this shy accountant in her raunchy get-up, his intentions to concentrate on work only had been blown to smithereens.

  He needed to get back in the game, ensure The Number Makers became a viable proposition again.

  But when Charlotte’s hand drifted from his chest and slid lower in that quiet, determined way she had, he thought, tomorrow. I’ll regain focus tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHARLOTTE OPENED HER eyes at six a.m. every morning without the aid of an alarm. She’d do five yoga stretches in bed, a few ab crunches to get the blood pumping then head for the shower.

  But something felt different this morning as her eyes fluttered open. More light streamed through the blinds, streaking the ceiling with slashes of gold and sienna. She blinked several times, stretched. Only to encounter sore muscles. All over her body.

  What had she been doing...in an instant it came flooding back. Dinner. The crimson lingerie. Alex.

  Bracing for the uncharacteristic sight of having a man in her bed, she gathered her meagre courage and rolled her head to one side.

  Nothing.

  Alex had gone.

  Disappointment swamped her, making her choke up. Stupid, considering she understood the terms of their arrangement but when he’d agreed to spend the night she’d envisaged all sorts of crazy scenarios, like waking up next to him, cuddling, kissing, more...followed by breakfast.

  Annoyed by her sentimentality, she pressed her fingertips to her eyes, took a few deep breaths then opened them.

  To find Alex propped in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, holding a cup of coffee.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, sounding way too chipper as he crossed her small bedroom to place the coffee on the side table. ‘You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.’

  She wouldn’t have minded him waking her if he’d done it with his hands and tongue but she kept that gem to herself. Just over a day in this guy’s company and she’d turned into a sex maniac. Then again, considering what Alex could do in the bedroom...or the doorway...or the warehouse...a girl could be forgiven for focusing on getting down and dirty.

  ‘What time is it?’ The aroma of rich coffee beans tempted her and she reached for the cup.

  ‘Six-forty.’

  ‘Crap, I’m going to be late.’ She sipped too deeply and scalded her tongue. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Slow down, I hear the boss is lenient.’

  His lopsided grin made her want to say ‘screw work and come ba
ck to bed’ but he’d returned to the doorway and she didn’t know what this meant.

  Was he regretting staying the night?

  Was he in a hurry to leave?

  Was he second-guessing his decision to have a fling with her?

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said, blowing on the steaming liquid before taking a slower sip this time. ‘I can’t function without a caffeine hit in the morning.’

  ‘Same here.’ He gestured at the towel. ‘Hope you don’t mind, I had a shower.’

  ‘No problem.’ She cradled the mug, letting the warmth infuse her to stave off a sudden chill.

  Not that there was anything inherently wrong with their casual conversation but their exchange held nothing of the ease they’d experienced last night. Even during dinner, when she’d revealed all that stuff about her folks and her penchant for stability, there hadn’t been this stiltedness.

  She didn’t like feeling like this. She was awkward enough around people, especially men, without adding to it.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll see you at the office.’

  A statement, not a question, as he swivelled and strode back to the bathroom, where he would no doubt put his clothes on before beating a hasty retreat.

  The unexpected sting of tears annoyed her anew. What the hell had she expected? For them to go into the office together?

  She’d been the one to stipulate a strict privacy policy if they decided to indulge in this mutual attraction. The last thing she needed was anyone at work getting a hint of anything improper going on between her and the boss, not when there was a possible promotion in the foreseeable future.

  But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit to expecting...more from their first morning-after encounter.

  If they were this wooden now, how much worse would things be in the office? Had she been a fool to even contemplate separating business from pleasure?

  She could do it. Could he?

  Drinking the rest of her coffee, she waited for him to leave. The bathroom door opened in two minutes, indicating his desire for a speedy escape.

  He stopped in the bedroom doorway, wearing the same clothes as last night yet managing to look impossibly fresh and gorgeous.

  She waited for him to speak, to say something to banish the unease hanging like a pall in the air.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he gave her a brusque nod. ‘See you later.’

  She waited until she heard the front door close before slumping back onto the pillow and muttering some very unsavoury names under her breath.

  Whether directed at him or her, she had no idea.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALEX COULDN’T STAND people who brought their problems to work. He had a firm belief that what happened outside office doors should stay there, which was why he had more than a few qualms about indulging in a steamy affair with Charlotte and not letting it interfere with their working relationship.

  What a crock.

  On all counts.

  Because he’d certainly brought his mood into work with him today. An unsettled, God-awful mood he hadn’t been able to shake since he’d first opened his eyes this morning to find a sexy, slumbering Charlotte next to him, looking like an innocent angel he’d willingly corrupted.

  He hadn’t wanted to spend the night. He never did. Sex he could do. Intimacy, not so much. But he’d been so knackered after his first day at The Number Makers, not to mention two sensational bouts of post-dinner sex, that he’d dozed after their second time in her bed and slept right through.

  Another first, not waking several times. He never had a good night’s sleep. Probably because the phone call regarding his dad’s death had come through at one thirty-seven a.m. all those years ago and he’d slept fitfully ever since.

  He hated the phone ringing at night, but had learned to cope considering overseas business calls rarely happened during the day because of time zones. But the harsh jangle grated on his nerves, never failing to catapult him back to that night when he’d heard his mum’s tremulous voice imparting the devastating news.

  He’d known things had been rough for his dad, had witnessed his depression first-hand. The stifling atmosphere in the house he’d grown up in was one of the reasons he had escaped as soon as humanly possible.

  But the moment his mum had articulated the doubts surrounding the death, that it might have been suicide, the guilt had set in.

  Had he done enough when he’d been home? There had always been a wedge between him and his dad, an invisible barrier that had prevented them from getting close. He’d blamed his dad for being deliberately distant and he’d used that as an excuse not to visit home as often as he should after he’d left.

  Which of course led to the inevitable questions: would his dad be alive if he’d visited more often?

  Alex had refused to let the guilt eat away at him, but in the wee small hours, when he couldn’t control his subconscious, the guilt festered and manifested in the form of soul-destroying nightmares that ensured he rarely slept well.

  But last night with Charlotte curled into him like an affectionate kitten, he’d slumbered soundly. When he’d woken, feeling more rested than he had in years, the sight that had greeted him had taken his breath away.

  Dark, natural lashes fanning her cheeks. Her lips parted, emitting tiny puffs of air. And the sheet draped across her waist, leaving her breasts bare.

  He’d looked his fill, even though it seemed voyeuristic with her fast asleep, but he couldn’t help it. Something about her inherent innocence captivated him in a way he hadn’t expected after their first sizzling encounter.

  How could a reserved, introverted woman be so fiery and uninhibited in bed?

  Even though he hadn’t known her identity when he’d first entered that warehouse and seen her in that racy lingerie, something about her had captured his attention. He’d glimpsed a hint of vulnerability despite her bold outfit and that contrast had snagged his interest like nothing else.

  Interestingly, his desire for her hadn’t abated since. If anything, after last night, he wanted her even more and that was what had sent him running from her bed before she woke.

  Because while he’d been staring at her like a perv he’d started feeling...stuff. The kind of scary, terrifying stuff that confused the hell out of him, considering he’d known this woman for a grand total of two days.

  It didn’t make sense. He didn’t do touchy-feely. He never invested emotionally in any of his liaisons. Yet waking up next to Charlotte had him wondering what it would be like to do this more often.

  He’d hoped a cold shower would clear his head. It hadn’t. If anything, his heart had still pounded madly when he’d peeped in on her before making coffee. Perhaps what he’d needed was a caffeine shot to really wake up. If anything, that had been the beginning of his downward spiralling mood because all he’d been able to think about as he’d propped against her kitchen bench waiting for her machine to fire up was how for the first time in for ever this sense of domesticity didn’t frighten him.

  It had been enough to have him bolting out of her apartment asap. She’d seen it too, his fear. Had stared at him in blatant confusion when he’d handed her a cup of coffee and that confusion had given way to hurt when he’d retreated.

  He didn’t do morning-afters for a reason and having Charlotte look at him like he’d stabbed her in the heart reinforced why.

  He never should have stayed the night.

  Waking up next to her, battling the urge to linger, had discombobulated him ever since.

  He’d avoided her for the last four hours, not wanting to inflict his mood on her further. Thankfully, he had a shitload of work to get through so the employees thought nothing of him being holed away. But the fact he’d deliberately ignored Charlotte all morning after the evening they’d shared didn’t sit well with him.

&
nbsp; He wanted to make it up to her without giving her the wrong idea.

  What idea’s that, dickhead? That you might actually like her?

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he muttered, his inner voice not doing him any favours.

  Two days. He’d known her a grand total of forty-eight hours—he didn’t count the numerous phone calls to discuss business over the last few weeks. Because the Charlotte who’d sounded so uptight and prim on the phone that he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her was nothing like the real woman in front of him.

  In the flesh, Charlotte Baxter was something else.

  With a frustrated growl, he opened the folder containing the first lot of staff performance reviews. While he liked the freedom of moving from one company to another and the challenge of making it viable again, he hated this part of his job.

  Sitting across from long-time employees who weren’t performing to the best of their abilities; seeing the fear in their eyes; dealing with their overt hostility.

  He’d seen it all in his time, from new hires who’d told him to stick his job up his ass and walked out, to the desperate breadwinners who’d do anything to keep their job, to the old-timers who knew if they were sacked they wouldn’t find new employment.

  Doing performance reviews at The Number Makers wouldn’t be any different and, in the mood he was in, this had the potential to go pear-shaped. He’d be better off leaving the reviews until later and focusing on something less fraught, like client referrals.

  He stared at the phone, dithering over whether to call Charlotte. She could help. She could give him an insight into the current system beyond the obvious.

  Another thing he’d learned in his travels: figures didn’t always tell the whole story and he wanted to ensure he did this right.

  With a resigned sigh, he picked up the phone and stabbed at her office number. If the old manager had her on speed dial he must have conferred with her regularly. Then again, considering the hatchet job he’d done, maybe not. If the old fool had relied on Charlotte more often the company wouldn’t be ailing.