Breaking All the Rules

by Cynthia Sax

  Nate faced this silent condemnation every day for decades. Alone. Today I’ll face it with him. My goal is to eliminate it from his life forever.

  I plunk my leather-clad ass down on my chair. “Hmmm . . .” I tap my fingertips against the tabletop. “Are you certain your Frederick is the best?”

  Viola gives me a haughty sniff, turning her shoulder slightly toward me. This must be the silent treatment Nate talks about. I struggle to contain my amusement.

  “Because my buddy L’ongle claims he’s the best.” I splay my fingers, gazing at my short blunt fingernails. “He’s always bothering me to get my nails done.” Nate bumps his leg against mine, his face blank, his mask firmly in place. “He has high-profile clients. I helped him with some privacy-of-information concerns,” I explain.

  “You protected his information?” Nate’s lips lift.

  “I do that sometimes.” I grin at him. “It throws folks off balance.”

  “And you didn’t charge L’ongle for your services?” Nate pours wine into his mom’s glass, choosing bottled water for himself.

  “It’s too much bother.” I shrug. “What would I charge him? How do I cost out a customer’s piece of mind? Some things like trust, beauty, love, are impossible to put a price on. Money merely debases their value.”

  “Careful.” He chuckles. “Your hippie is showing.”

  Nate’s mom stares at him. “Why are you laughing like a fool? She doesn’t know L’ongle,” she says, her tone icy. “She’s a liar.”

  “Viola.” Nate’s eyes flash a warning, his voice even colder than his mom’s.

  “It’s okay.” I place my hand on his arm, seeking to calm him. “I suppose I don’t truly know L’ongle. I believed him when he said he was the best, didn’t I?” I glance around the table, looking for inspiration, searching for another reason why Viola might wish to call me. “I’m famished. Should we ask for menus?”

  “I ordered in advance for all of us.” Nate motions to the waiter. The neatly-dressed young man nods curtly and disappears through swinging doors.

  “I have another appointment,” his mom flatly states. “You can’t expect me to sit here for an entire hour every single month.”

  They only spend an hour a month together and he has to bribe her to do that much. I rub Nate’s forearm, finding myself in the unique position of wanting to fix a relationship, not break it.

  “It’s nice that Nate knows your order.” I infuse my voice with an artificial perkiness. “My mom claims that boys aren’t attentive to the needs of others.”

  Viola doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at me. The silent treatment continues. I grin at Nate. His eyes glint, an unspoken dare I can’t resist.

  “My mom doesn’t know this from firsthand experience.” I lean back in my chair. “She only had one child. Me. But as we lived on a commune she had exposure to boys.” I talk and talk and talk. Nate adds very little to the conversation. Viola says even less, continuing her frosty silence.

  The waiter returns, places a huge steak in front of Nate and a salad that wouldn’t feed a bird before his mom. Viola pokes at her food, her top lip curled in disapproval, seemingly unaware I haven’t received whatever his son has high-handedly ordered for me.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I tell them. “I’ll just sit here and slowly starve to death.”

  The doors swing open and the delicious scents of curry, coconut, cinnamon, and garlic waft into the room. My stomach rumbles and my mouth waters.

  A man in a chef’s hat and a double-breasted jacket bustles toward me, a plate in his hands. “Specially made for the miss.” He sets it before me with a flourish. “Wattakka Kalu Pol maluwa, a dish from my country.”

  “No way.” My eyes widen. “You made me Sri Lankan pumpkin curry?”

  “Ahhh . . .” The chef beams. “Miss knows pumpkin curry.” He gestures to the plate. “Try mine, please.”

  I lift a forkful of the curry and white rice to my lips. The flavors explode in my mouth, exotic and authentic, combining heat and sweetness. “Mmm . . .” I close my eyes, savoring the experience. “This is Nirvana on Earth.”

  Nate shifts beside me, pushing his leg against mine. I open my eyes and meet his gaze, see his open need, his stormy eyes promising sexual delights. I shiver, warming all over, my taste buds tingling and my body humming.

  “Whenever you come to my restaurant I will make this for you,” the chef declares. “I must cook more, make more people happy.” He returns to the kitchen, moving quickly.

  “That looks disgusting.” Nate’s mom finally speaks, her perfect nose wrinkled.

  “It looks disgustingly good and it tastes even better than it appears.” I grin at Nate, touched that he ordered this dish for me, that he wanted to make me happy. “Here.” I offer him a forkful of pumpkin curry and rice. “Try this masterpiece, lover.”

  Nate’s eyes glimmer as he closes his straight white teeth around the tongs. My heart races and my pussy moistens. His sinful mouth is within kissing distance, tasting of spices and heat.

  Nate chews slowly, holding my gaze. I skim my tongue over my bottom lip and he swallows hard. “It’s good.” His voice is low and deep. “But it doesn’t have your secret ingredient.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Does he know the secret ingredient is love? I drift my fingers over the back of his hand, caressing his knuckles. “I’ll attempt to duplicate this entrée in the future using my secret ingredient.”

  “I’d like that.” His lips lift into his small smile and I glow.

  We eat. Nate cuts his steak into precise strips, listening as I chatter about the different curries I’ve tried, many nationalities having been represented at the commune. Viola says nothing, picking at her food, acting as though she is seated alone at the table, her indifference driving me bonkers.

  “You must have some stories to tell about Nate, Viola.” I try to include her in our conversation. “What was he like as a child?” I glance at the man by my side. “Was Nate naughty?” His lips curve around his fork.

  Viola’s gaze flicks to me. She wants to say something. I see the need in her frosty blue eyes. She merely requires a push.

  Pushing is my specialty. “He must have gotten into some trouble. Come on, Viola. Share.”

  “Why?” His mom sets down her utensils. “Why do you care what he was like as a child? Nathan’s not going to marry you. He’s like his father that way.” Her voice crackles with bitterness. “And don’t try the pregnancy trick. That doesn’t work with the Lawford men either. Naïve girl that I was, I thought I’d be set.” She shakes her head, not one hair on her beautiful head moving, the tendrils frozen in place. “I didn’t know he’d refuse to marry me or that he’d be so tight with his funds.”

  I reach for Nate’s hand and grip his fingers. His mom is telling this to me, a stranger. How many times has he heard the mercenary reason he was conceived?

  “He’s a real-estate developer. You’d think he’d buy me a house,” Viola continues her tirade. “But, no, I’m living in a penthouse in Pacific Palisades. He—”

  “Viola.” I interrupt her, having heard enough. “You won’t ever mention the pregnancy trick again, understand?” She opens her mouth. “It makes you look like a fool.”

  Her eyes blaze. “If Nate had been a better son—”

  “Nate is the perfect son. He’s handsome, intelligent, successful, nice. Anyone who spends two minutes with him knows that.” Crimson rushes up Nate’s neck, my executive adorably embarrassed. “And they also know who’s responsible. You raised him. On your own. That’s something to be proud of.”

  Nate’s mom turns her head and stares at the wall, twin spots of color high on her cheeks, her frail chest rising and falling.

  Nate wraps one of his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. He sips his water. I devour the last forkful of pumpkin curry. A scary silence fills our alcove. Did I break their relationship even more?

  “Do you have my envelope?” Viola’s voice is small. She doesn’t
look at either of us.

  Nate reaches into his jacket pocket and extracts the bulging white envelope. “This is for the month.” He slides the envelope to his mom.

  She stands, avoiding my gaze. “I’m free on the fifteenth.” Viola tucks the envelope into her purse and hurries away from the table, leaving him with no words of good-bye, no hug, no sign of affection, of love.

  Nate and I watch her leave. Yep, I made their relationship worse. I sigh. “Sorry about that.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Nate grins, his eyes glittering with genuine joy. “My mother suggested a date. She’s never done that before.”

  His mom has never suggested a date before. It takes me a couple of seconds to understand what that means. “She wants to see you again.” I beam. “See. Your mom does love you.” I bump against him. “But I lost the challenge. I don’t think your mom will call me.”

  “Mentioning L’ongle was a good try,” Nate acknowledges. “If she hadn’t told you Frederick was the best, you would have won.”

  “Yes.” I nod my head. Nate’s mom is a proud woman. She’d never admit she was wrong. “I set that up incorrectly.”

  Nate pats my hip, silently agreeing with me. We sit in the small restaurant, watching the action around us, enjoying each other’s company. The waiter clears the table and Nate distributes more folded bills, paying for the service as he pays for his mom’s time, the touch he craves, and me.

  I yearn to tell my careful controlled man that I love him, that I never wanted his money, that he is all I need, but one soul-shaking revelation is enough for today. “Thank you for arranging the pumpkin curry for me,” I say instead.

  “I thought you’d like it.” Nate helps me stand, placing one of his arms around me. His hold on me is necessary. My legs tremble.

  “I loved it.” I love him.

  He leads me through the busy restaurant, his hand resting possessively on my hip, declaring to the world that I belong to him. Patrons and staff stare at us. I concentrate on the dynamic man beside me.

  “Every man in this restaurant wants you,” Nate murmurs, his lips vibrating against my earlobe. Blissful tremors roll down my neck. “They envy me, knowing I’ll soon be inside you.”

  “They can want me.” I press into Nate’s body, seeking to be closer to him, needing more of his delectable scent, his heat, his strength. “They can’t have me. I belong to you. Exclusively.”

  “You’re mine.” The car is waiting for us and more dollar bills exchange hands, Nate tipping the doorman and the valet.

  “I’m yours.” I settle into the passenger seat, the interior smelling of new car and freshly showered man.

  Nate closes my door, rounds the hood of the black sedan, fills the driver’s seat. He drives quickly, smoothly, silently. I open the windows and cool air flows over us, caressing my skin.

  “Will you be making an appointment for this afternoon, lover?” I stroke his thigh, relishing the contrast of soft fabric stretched over hard muscle. “Because I need you . . . badly.”

  “I can’t last until the afternoon,” Nate confesses.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  WE CONTROL OUR desires during the drive back to the office and the elevator ride to the finance floor. We exit the car, holding hands, sexual tension sizzling and snapping between us.

  Gladys, the finance department’s gatekeeper, studies us, her glasses balanced precariously on the end of her tiny nose. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lawford.” Her gaze drops to our linked fingers. “Miss Trent.”

  Nate doesn’t slow his pace, pulling me over the threshold and down the hallway. I laugh, thrilled by his eagerness. Employees stand in their cubicles gawking at us as we pass them, their mouths open and their eyes wide.

  Yes, he has definitely claimed me. Office gossip is faster than the Internet. The entire building will know about our relationship by the end of the day.

  Nate rushes me into his office and slams the door behind us. “Camille.” He captures my lips, crashing our bodies together, flattening my breasts against his chest, curving his palms over my ass.

  I submit, giving him total access, opening completely to him. He surges into my mouth and sucks hungrily on my tongue, his tug and pull setting off fires within me, moistening my pussy, tightening my nipples.

  This isn’t enough for Nate. He advances, forcing me to move backward until my ass collides with the desk, its unrelenting edge pushing into my softness.

  “I need to be inside you now.” Nate lifts me onto the hard wooden surface and spreads my legs, hiking up my skirt.

  “Take what you need, lover.” I shimmy out of my panties and open my blazer, freeing my breasts from the built-in bra. Cool air wafts over my skin and I tremble with excitement, anticipation. “You have me. You will always have me.”

  “I will always have you.” Nate lowers his zipper and pushes down his pants and boxer shorts, revealing his long rigid cock. Pre-cum already glistens on his tip. “Not for one month.” He positions himself between my thighs and clasps my hips, his grip firm, possessive. I wrap my legs around him, hooking my ankles over his ass. “Always.” He thrusts deep, burying himself completely in my wet heat.

  “Always,” I confirm, clinging to his shoulders, tilting my hips to take in all of him. His base presses against my soft feminine folds and he stills, allowing me to adjust to his invasion, to the delectable fullness.

  I stroke his nape, touch his handsome face, trace his defined chin. This man is mine, a part of me, today and tomorrow. He might never love me, likely won’t ever marry me, but our energies will be meshed forever, permanently entwined.

  Nate covers my lips with his and reaches under my jacket. His tongue explores my mouth and his fingers blaze along my spine, rough and warm and sure. I shrug the garment off my shoulders, giving him more skin to touch, to claim.

  He rumbles his appreciation into my throat, his lips vibrating against mine. I gaze at him, at the thunderclouds of passion gathering in his dark eyes, and I quiver with excitement, gripping him tighter, ready, willing, and eager to ride the building storm.

  Nate rocks into me, his movements shallow and slow, gentle steady drops of pleasure eroding my control, wearing away at my restraint. I meet and match his rhythm, undulating against him, splaying my fingers over his back, touching as much of his body as I can.

  He rounds his spine, scattering kisses over my chin, my neck, my collarbone. I recline on the desk, drawing him above me, savoring the breadth of his shoulders, the power in his cotton-covered chest, the strength in his male form.

  Nate fastens his lips over my right nipple and sucks hard, pulling a cry of surrender from my throat. My inner walls close around his shaft, increasing the delectable friction, escalating my already wanton desire.

  He sucks on my breast as he pushes in and out of my pussy, synchronizing the tempo of his mouth and hips, the dual assault curling my fingers and toes. My nipples throb, my body clenches and releases, and my nerve endings dance.

  I rake his back with my fingernails, searching for skin, and lightning flashes in Nate’s eyes, a jagged bolt of electricity illuminating his soul, the force of his passion compounding my own. He drags his mouth across my skin and covers my left nipple, continuing his sweet abuse. I hitch my hips upward and dig my heels into his ass, encouraging him to move faster, to take me harder.

  He nips my skin and I arch my back, the pain exciting me. “More,” I urge, gripping his shoulders. “Make me feel you.”

  Nate drives into me with a heart-pounding force, slapping my ass against the desk, pushing the air from my lungs. I lift into his thrusts, matching his ferocity, his passion, his need.

  “Yes,” I shout with delight, flinging myself into the storm, no fear in my reckless heart. This is natural and right, our extremes and our rough edges smoothed by each other. I’m no longer fighting the universe, battling enemies only I see. I fit. I belong.

  Nate has also changed, warmed beyond recognition. He grunts against my neck, his
body folded over mine. There’s not one sliver of ice remaining in his muscular form. He churns with molten emotion, the fury of his passion fully unleashed, beautiful and real.

  A sheen of perspiration covers my curves, slicking our sensual slide. My thighs shake. My breathing grows ragged. I’m nearing release, a fulfillment I can only find with my unbending executive.

  Nate skims my neck with his teeth, sending bursts of pleasure down my spine. I grip his shoulders with my fingers and his shaft with my inner walls, torturing him as he tortures me. We struggle, two strong personalities linked together, having one purpose, one goal.

  “Camille,” Nate rumbles. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, the droplets glistening on his golden skin. He’s glorious and mine.

  “Not yet.” I cling to him, not ready to end this encounter, wishing we could fuck forever. When he’s inside me everything is perfect. I’m perfect.

  He ravishes me with his cock, mouth, hands, an all-elements assault decimating my resolve. I grit my teeth as the tremors rock my body, this storm too wild even for me to ride.

  “Fuck,” Nate curses. “Can’t.” He reaches between us, finds my clit, and rubs. I sob, my need for release nearing the point of pain. “Fuck.” His breath blows on my ear.

  I should give him the permission he requires, but that isn’t possible. I’m past talking, past thinking, barely hanging onto my sanity.

  Nate taps my clit and I scream, shattering, torn from the earth, lifting into the air. I clench down on his shaft, clutch his ass, suck his neck, trying to hold on, to secure myself to him.

  Nate roars and thrusts hard, bathing me with warmth, with his cum. I slide along the desk as he pushes, seeking to be farther inside me. My fingernails dig into flesh. He drives into me once more and holds his pose, his gaze meeting mine, a feral satisfaction reflected in his eyes.

  His shoulders shudder and he collapses, flattening my writhing body, forcing me to be still, to accept him, this. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.