Risk: Part 1 (The Vault)

by Nina Levine

  She takes a moment getting herself together, and then she bares a piece of her soul that only makes me want her more. “It’s true that my father loves the stock market, but he never shared that love with me. He was always too busy working. A lawyer has to stay on top of his game, he always told me. It was his father that made me fall in love with numbers, shares and the thrill of predicting the market. My grandfather spent hours with me teaching me everything he knew. He never made me feel like I was taking up too much of his time. I never felt as loved by anyone as I did him. It killed my mother when he died and left me most of his money. She had ideas for that inheritance and has held it against me for years that it came to me rather than her.” She stops talking suddenly and pulls a face. “God, I don’t know why I just told you that. I hate it when people talk about their money.”

  Murdoch Cohen Senior would have died with millions. Old money plus his skill trading shares would have ensured that. He’s been dead for five years, so I figure Charlize has added to that fortune with her talents. Frowning, I ask, “Why are you working for me if you manage a portfolio of that size?”

  She stares at me for a long moment before exhaling a long breath. When she starts talking, I sense that she really doesn’t want to be having this conversation. “I might be managing that portfolio, but I don’t have access to any of it until I hit thirty. My grandfather loved me dearly, and he ensured I had the knowledge to build on what he’d achieved, but he also knew I suck at budgeting. I guess he was hoping that by the time I turn thirty I might be better at managing my own money. At the rate I’m going, I’m wondering if he should have made it forty.”

  I work hard not to show my amusement, but I fail. My lips curl up in a grin. “So let me get this straight, I can put you in charge of analysing risk, but I should never put you in charge of my budget?”

  She pokes her tongue at me and smacks my chest. “Funny.”

  This is the second time she’s smacked me. The last time, she regretted it. This time I’m not giving her that option. I quickly flick my hand out to grasp her wrist and hold it against my chest. “Every time you do that, you move me closer to kissing you.”

  Her eyes widen a fraction. It’s almost unnoticeable, but I’m trained to notice every little thing about people. To figure out the risk involved with whatever they’re trying to sell me. I half expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shifts so she can bring her mouth almost to mine. Her eyes stay glued to mine as she says, “I’ve imagined kissing you. Every damn day since we met.” She traces my lips with her finger. “I think that kissing you would become an obsession. Kinda like swimming naked with you would.”

  Jesus.

  Fuck.

  Her voice is breathy as all hell. It fucking turns me on like I’ve never been turned on before.

  And swimming naked?

  I have no idea where that came from, but I’m down. She must love swimming, though, because she mentioned it the night we met, too.

  “Obsessions can be good things, Charlize. You should try it and see.”

  Her breathing picks up a little. Her desire fuels my own. Hell, at this point, I’m wondering if instead of kissing her, I’ll be spreading her out across this table and fucking her.

  “There’s this slight issue,” she says, her gaze dropping to my lips. “Fucking your boss is frowned upon.”

  If I thought I was turned on before, I don’t know what the fuck you’d call what I’m feeling now. Charlize only has to utter the words “fucking your boss,” and my body stirs like it hasn’t in a long time. A long fucking time to be exact.

  I want her in my arms, her lips on mine.

  I want her under me.

  I want my cock everywhere in her.

  I settle for my hand on her thigh, my fingers sliding under the hem of her skirt. “It’s a good thing I’m the boss and that I say fucking me would not be frowned upon.”

  She licks her lips and places her hands against my chest. “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, though. You might know facts about me, but you have no idea what I’m like when I’m fucking a guy. I mean, I might be a nutjob who goes to crazy town on you. And while I’m absolutely convinced that sleeping with you would most definitely become an obsession, I don’t know if you have stalker qualities. I am not about the stalker life.”

  This woman is blowing my damn mind and I have hardly touched her.

  I grip her thighs. “Charlize?”

  “What?” Her question comes out on another throaty breath.

  “I’m going to kiss you, so you need to be ready for that,” I growl, only barely managing to restrain myself from doing a lot fucking more to her than that.

  She doesn’t reply. The only thing she does is inhale deeply while watching my lips. I take that as a sign she wants this as much as I do.

  Taking hold of her face with both hands, I claim her mouth with a kiss I’ve been planning for days. Her soft lips respond to me in a way that kicks this up another notch. Touching her and tasting her is almost more than I can handle. I work hard controlling my urge to demand more than a kiss from her.

  When she moans and crawls into my lap, straddling me, I almost lose my shit.

  Her body presses hard against mine.

  Her fingers tangle in my hair.

  And she kisses me desperately, like the world is about to end and she needs to take everything from me that she can.

  Fuck.

  This is going to be so much more than a fucking kiss.

  I grip her thighs, pushing her skirt up. When my hands find her ass, I groan. And when she matches that groan with one of her own and grinds herself against me, I can’t hold myself back any longer.

  Holding her tightly, I stand and deposit her on the table.

  She sits on the edge and wraps her legs around me, pulling me close. Reaching for the top button of my shirt, she undoes it and says, “You are going to be so much more than an obsession. Just so you know.”

  “Thank fuck,” I mutter, lifting her top over her head and dropping it on the floor. I’m already obsessed.

  It’s fucking difficult to drag my eyes from her tits. Or from the sexy-as-sin red bra she’s wearing. Hooking my finger under one of the straps and sliding it off her shoulder, I ask, “Do you always wear these kinds of bras to work?”

  “What? Red ones?”

  I shift the cup to the side to reveal her breast and bend to suck her nipple into my mouth. When I’ve had my fill, I say, “No, bras that make me want to bend you over and slam my dick inside you.”

  Heat flares in her eyes and she rubs her hand over my dick that is still unfortunately inside my jeans. “Yes. I always wear bras like that. Everywhere. Life’s too short for ugly underwear. Wait ‘til you get to my panties.”

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter as I step back so I can lift her skirt. Work is going to become a whole new experience knowing Charlize is in the same building wearing underwear like this.

  Just as my gaze lands on the sexiest panties I’ve ever seen, my phone sounds with a text.

  Worst fucking timing.

  I’d ignore it, but I’m waiting on some information from Julian. Reaching for my phone, I say, “Give me a minute. This could be something I’m waiting for.”

  She nods, and I swipe to read the text.

  Julian: I’ve got the info you need. Just outside. Grabbing us a coffee first.

  “Fuck.” My eyes meet Charlize’s. “Julian’s downstairs. He’ll be up in a minute.” I bend to retrieve her top off the floor, silently cursing my right-hand man for being so fucking dedicated to his work.

  She puts her top back on and slides off the table. “See this is why fucking your boss is a bad idea. Cockblockers everywhere.”

  I snake my hand around her waist and pull her close for another kiss. I need more before I let her out of my sight. When we end it, I promise, “This will be continued.”

  As she scoops her laptop up, her eyes find mine again. “Like I said, your lips are obses
sion-worthy. I’m all for more of that.” She brushes another kiss across my lips and then she’s gone. And I instantly miss her presence.

  Obsession?

  She’s not fucking wrong.

  7

  Charlize

  “Stop it,” Dylan mutters on Wednesday night as we enter a charity gala my mother insisted I attend.

  “Stop bossing me around,” I mutter back. He can’t stand it when I ramble about useless stuff, and I’ve been rambling for a good half hour almost non-stop. It’s my go-to coping mechanism when stressed about seeing my mother. “Just because you don’t like me talking all the time doesn’t mean I should stop.”

  His hand locks onto my bicep to halt my walking. Turning me to face him, he says, “Char, it’s not that I hate you talking. It’s that I hate what your mother turns you into whenever you have to see her. And I know this incessant talking is because of that. I just want you to calm down and be the you that I love. Fuck what your mother thinks.”

  His words almost melt the armour I’ve clad myself in for the night. They almost make me think I could get through this evening without keeping my defences in place. I know better, though. Touching his cheek, I smile. “I love you, Dyl, but you know my mother. She pretty much blackmailed me into coming tonight, so that tells me she hasn’t changed. She expects me to play the part, and well, I suck at that, so tonight’s going to be rough.”

  After hardly talking with my mother for months, she’s phoned me twice since Poppy’s wedding. The first time, to tell me she was disappointed she didn’t get to say goodbye before I left the hotel the morning after the wedding. I managed to bite my tongue and not tell her that was intentional. I can be a good daughter when I try. The second time was to ask me to attend this function tonight. When I’d tried to blow it off, she’d told me she knew I was working for North & Co. and that she’d hate for anything to jeopardise that job. She’d said something about knowing Jill North very well. It had been a veiled threat, and not wanting to lose my job just when I felt it might be a turning point in my life, I’d agreed to attend tonight so long as I could bring a plus-one. My plus-one being Dylan who I knew would shield me from her as best he could.

  Dylan drapes his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close. “Okay, babe, let’s get inside, eat all the food, smile for all those fuckers and then get the hell out of here. After this, we’re hitting the booze. Fuck knows we’ll need it.”

  I grin. “Remind me again why you and I aren’t a thing. I mean, seriously, you’re hot as fuck, you earn a shit tonne of money from your art, and you always know the exact right thing to say to talk me off the ledge.”

  He chuckles. “Now you’re screwing with me, babe. You know exactly why we aren’t a thing. My balls are still blue from the last time I tried that.”

  “Let’s be honest here, you just wanted sex. You didn’t want a commitment.”

  “Okay, let’s be real honest here. I would drive you crazy.”

  He’s right. Dylan’s OCD personality is in complete contrast to my personality that doesn’t have a touch of OCD in it. There’s no way we could ever live together.

  I rest my head on his shoulder as we walk. Sighing, I agree, “I really would. But at least this way I get to have you in my life forever.” Unlike the women he does date who only ever stay in his life for a month at the most.

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Your mother is walking our way. You ready?”

  I take a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Charlize,” she greets me coolly, her gaze appraising my outfit. I know she won’t approve of my short, fitted, strapless black dress. It’s covered in bling, which she’ll label as too glitzy and tacky for her gala. Plus, she detests black.

  My bad.

  I’d like to say I considered other options, but what I really considered was how much I could irritate her.

  Yes, I really am twenty-seven even though I sound fifteen.

  I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Mother. You remember Dylan.”

  Her lips flatten as she finishes taking in my dress, and I fist pump on the inside. She then glances at Dylan. “Hello, Dylan. So good of you to ensure my daughter made it here tonight.”

  Now, I love Dylan. A lot. Like, I can’t even count the ways, but one of my very favourite things about him is that he has no time for fake people or shallowness. His bullshit detector is the best I’ve ever come across. I think it’s because he comes from way across the other side of the tracks, and he had to scrap to make his way in the world.

  He doesn’t let me down now.

  A sexy grin spreads across his face as he pulls me even closer to him. So close that my boobs are smooshed against him. He then splays his hand across my stomach, pretty damn close to my vagina. “I’m happy to be of service, Joan. I’ve got plans for your daughter later tonight, though, so we may need to leave early, if you know what I mean.”

  My mother’s eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly. Looking across the room, she says, “I’m sorry, Charlize, but I must keep circulating and touch base with everyone. I will need you to stay for as long as the speech. Your father and I would like you and Nate on the stage with us for that. Don’t let your father down tonight.” Nate, my older brother. He’s the favourite, but only just. We’ve both screwed our lives up as far as our mother is concerned.

  Insert eye-roll.

  She doesn’t give a toss about my father. This is all for her and her display of a happy family. She wants to prove to her friends—if you can call them that—that she is as successful at parenting as she is at organising lunches and dinners.

  Before I can respond, Dylan says, “I’ll make sure Char is here for the speech, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to restrain myself much after that.”

  Mum’s lips flatten again.

  Two fist pumps in one night.

  We’re setting all new records here.

  “Very well,” she says before stalking away from us.

  I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to Dylan’s cheek. “You are the motherfucking bomb. I owe you big time for this.”

  He grins again and glances at the bar. “I aim to please. And now it’s time for a beer.”

  I motion for him to walk that way. “I’m right behind you, but you need to promise me you’ll cut my supply after three drinks.” I may want to irritate my mother, but I don’t want to embarrass her in front of her friends. See, good daughter here.

  Still with the grin in place, he asks, “Where would the fun be in that, babe?” He winks before turning and heading towards the bar. It’s that wink that always—always—does the girls in. They fall at his feet when he throws one into a conversation.

  I follow him and am still smiling when my world slows as I catch sight of Owen at the bar.

  He’s dressed in a black suit, hair styled into that almost-messy sexy look I’ve fallen hard for, and just the right amount of scruff on his face.

  And he’s staring right at me with hungry eyes.

  If his looks weren’t enough to make my heart stutter, the way he’s watching me like he wants to eat me would do the trick.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur. I’m not sure if I’ll be capable of uttering any other words when I reach him.

  Dylan stops and looks at me. “Did you say something?”

  Owen’s eyes shift to take Dylan in, and I catch a slight clenching of his jaw before I drag my gaze from him to focus on Dylan. Shaking my head, I say, “Fuck… No… No, nothing.” The words don’t want to come out of my mouth, so I’m forcing them here.

  Dylan frowns. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, my boss is here. That’s all.”

  Understanding crosses his features. “Ah, the guy who wants to fuck you, but then leaves town without another word for three days? That boss?”

  Dylan’s wearing his protective pants tonight. Actually, he’s been wearing them all week ever since I told him what happened in Owen’s office on Sunday. He’s wary of me doing anything wit
h Owen because of the impact it may have on my job. But he’s doubly pissed because I haven’t seen or heard from Owen since we kissed.

  I’m disappointed not to have heard from him, but to be fair, he hasn’t been at work all week, so I guess he’s been busy with something. Or sick. But looking at him now, he doesn’t look sick. He looks as far from sick as you can get.

  And well, he’s my boss.

  Sure, I kissed him and almost fucked him.

  But there aren’t any promises between us.

  I place my hands on Dylan’s chest. “Can we please not have a scene tonight?” He has a track record for taking shots at the guys I date if they let me down. Tonight’s not the night for that.

  He doesn’t agree to my request, but he does say, “I’m keeping my eyes on him, Char. He upsets you, I’m stepping in. Simple as that.”

  I figure that’s the best I’ll get. Dylan’s protective streak knows no bounds. “Okay.”

  With that, he turns back around and we continue heading to the bar.

  I meet Owen’s gaze again, but I don’t go to him because he’s in the middle of a conversation with two men. He might be talking, but he doesn’t stop watching me. By the time I hit the bar, my legs are weak and butterflies have taken over my tummy. The way Owen watches a woman he wants to fuck should be banned if there isn’t consent from all parties involved.