Promoted to Wife?

by Paula Roe

  His breath came out in a strangled gurgle and Emily whirled, wide-eyed.

  As he stared, a flush spread slowly across her cheeks, hands fluttering as if deciding whether to cover up or not. Blood began to pound thickly, expectantly.

  “Don’t move.”

  She froze, fingers laced demurely in front while he took in his fill.

  He ran his gaze unhurriedly down her lush body, paused on the shoes before coming back up to meet her eyes with a satisfied grin. She met his gaze, as if daring him to comment.

  The only thing that gave her away were those fluttering lashes.

  With slow deliberation he placed the takeaway bag and bottle of wine on his armoire. “Do you like the shoes?”

  She moved, her weight transferring onto her back foot. “I do,” she got out after clearing her throat. “They’re absolutely beautiful.”

  So are you, he wanted to add, but sensed that such an obvious compliment would only make her more nervous. Instead he poured the wine and offered her a glass.

  Trepidation slowed her approach. It amused him to see his normally unflappable assistant so wary, so out of her depth. Dressed in a skirt, a bra and a pair of high heels.

  It also flared something deeply male inside, firing his blood and quickening his breath.

  She was all his for the night.

  Oblivious to his heated thoughts, she took the glass, murmured her thanks, then took a sip. But when he reached out to run a finger over the curve of her bare forearm, she jerked back.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, first wiping the wine from her hand, then dragging a finger up the glass to catch the rest.

  “You missed a bit.”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” With a firm hand he pulled her to him, leaned down and gently licked the drops from her bottom lip.

  Her breath strangled out, her eyes fluttering closed.

  Zac grinned. He took a sip of his wine before placing both glasses down and going in for another kiss.

  Warmed from Zac’s mouth, the semisweet liquid slipped past Emily’s lips and she groaned, swallowing.

  His hands on her arms firmly pinned her as he deepened the kiss, spiked with the bite of alcohol and flamed by need. Her breasts began to throb, pushed up against his chest, and she let out another groan when he wedged one hard thigh between her legs.

  So hot. So, so hot.

  Through the haze of desire, she felt him nudging her backward, and suddenly her legs met resistance. The bed.

  They both went down, his grip tempering their fall, lips still tasting, teasing. The satin cover gave her goose bumps until Zac swept his hands over her stomach—her most sensitive spot—and she shivered in earnest.

  At his deep chuckle, she forced her eyes open.

  He was above her, that lock of too-long hair flopping forward, giving him a rakish edge. She couldn’t make out his eyes in the shadows, but as his palm slid firmly up her belly, the slant of his mouth revealed the utter seriousness of his intent.

  After months spent lusting after the Zac Prescott, he was finally here, in bed and touching her. This amazing, gorgeous man wanted her.

  Then his hand cupped one breast, his thumb finding her hardened nipple, and all thought fled. The half-curve of his smile twisted the hard knot of desire inside her.

  With slow deliberation, he peeled down one bra cup and her puckered nipple sprang free. His mouth swiftly covered it, the damp heat a mixture of joyous delight and shocking intimacy.

  When his teeth gently scraped the sensitive flesh she gasped, her back arching, longing spreading deep into her belly, then creeping lower, fanning the blaze of arousal.

  He nudged her back up on the bed, settled himself between her legs, then proceeded to lavish undivided attention on her breasts. He stroked the swelling curves, then teased the nipples into hard nubs with first his fingers, then his mouth. A myriad of sensations burst like small zaps of electricity over her skin, forcing her breath into a ragged gasp.

  “Zac. Please…”

  “What?” His grin was too innocent as his mouth closed over her breast. And his tongue…oh, lordy, his tongue danced a wicked rhythm over her painfully engorged nipple.

  “Can…you…ahhh…”

  “Keep going?” His thumb stroked her other nipple and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut, arch back and let the sensations ride her. “Stop?”

  “Yes…no… It’s…” Her breath strangled out as he licked the hard nub, then gently blew on it. Too wonderful. Too amazing. Too…

  “Too much,” she managed to gasp.

  “Hmmmm.” When he pulled back, her eyes sprang open. With infinite concentration, he slid his hand down, over her belly, skimming the indentation of her belly button, to finally stop at her waist where her skirt had bunched.

  Panic spurted as he rocked her hips, gently easing off her skirt. She hadn’t had time to change into anything remotely seductive, but as he peeled off her skirt to reveal white cotton bikini knickers, she needn’t have worried. His eyes were glued to her face, watching her expression, her reaction.

  Like the one she obviously made when he cupped the most intimate part of her and a wave of heat roared over her skin.

  He grinned again. “Too much?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he ran a knuckle over the elastic waistband before gently sliding inside, his ragged groan as he tangled in her curls a mix of delight and need, mirroring hers.

  The urgency in his bruising kiss was unmistakable, his lips, his tongue making her drunk with desire. She couldn’t resist when he nudged her legs farther apart, his skillful fingers easing firmly inside her with a purely possessive growl that rocketed through her blood. She was so very aroused, so very wet for him. And he knew it.

  When Emily’s tongue tangled gently with his, it nearly sent Zac over the edge. Her teasing hot mouth, those luscious breasts pressing into him, combined with the slick warmth enveloping his fingers. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  With a groan he wrenched away, feet hitting the floor as he ripped off his shirt, then fumbled with his belt and zipper.

  He pulled down pants and boxers, cursed as they got tangled in his shoes and socks, then finally kicked them into a corner of the bedroom with a grunt of frustration.

  Emily’s soft laugh dragged his attention back to the bed, but as soon as they locked gazes, amusement fled.

  Those suits had a lot to answer for, hiding such a superb body beneath their severely cut angles. Perfectly rounded breasts that filled a man’s hands. A curvy body with taut velvet skin. And a pair of strong muscular legs that would wrap firmly around a man’s waist as he drove deep inside, again and again.

  Swiftly he reached for the bedside table, pulled out a row of condoms and ripped one open.

  He rejoined her on the bed, hooking his thumbs in her knickers and yanking them down, grinning as she gasped.

  Desperate need bubbled up, quickening his movements as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, then took his position. And then, with a dizzying breath, he drove deep into her heat.

  She gasped again, but this one felt as if it’d been wrenched from her very soul. Her back arched, head back, neck exposed and vulnerable.

  He grasped her face in both hands and kissed her, urgent and hot, his blood throbbing, filling her up as he paused, fighting for dominance. Then she mewled beneath his lips, her hips bucking gently, urging him to continue.

  With teeth clenched, he began to move.

  Exquisite sensation. Hot friction. His breath raced, his heart pounding so hard he thought it’d explode through his chest. He thrust deep and was rewarded by Emily’s hiss of pleasure, her whisper of delight ramping up his lust to breaking point. She moved with him, meeting him all the way, her hands on his hips, her ragged breath in his ear. When he gripped her butt, angled her up and plunged deeper, she cried out, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t get any hotter.

  Her tiny bite stung, his sk
in slick with sweat and their loving. Her hips tilted up to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Zac…”

  She was staring right at him, her cheeks flushed, that lush mouth open in an expression of pure eroticism. “I’m…it’s…”

  “Hold on,” he murmured against her lips as he increased his pace. She did as he asked, her legs tightening around him as she buried her face in his shoulder.

  From deep inside he could feel her muscles contract, the threads of orgasm building. With a groan he went in for another kiss, unashamedly stealing her sounds of pleasure with his mouth, pulling them inside, then breathing them out.

  Then it happened. With a thick cry she threw back her head, her breath ragged and harsh. Deep inside her muscles squeezed, and in a sudden rush of incredible pleasure, he couldn’t hold on any longer. With his fingers digging into her flesh, he finally let go, the scalding lust engulfing him on one almighty wave as he clawed his way through the hot depths.

  The orgasm racked Emily’s body with almost unbearable force. He filled every dark corner with pleasure, and her entire body shook from the force of it.

  Elation bubbled from her throat as her body shuddered. She’d never been this close to this kind of…bliss. Yes, that’s what it was. She felt completely alive and totally, completely spent.

  “Wow.” She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Zac pulled back onto his elbows and met her eyes with a satisfied grin.

  “Thank you.” He gently swept her damp hair back from her forehead.

  They were plastered together from the chest down, still intimately connected. Inside, she could still feel the deep erotic pulse of him, his heartbeat echoing hers. Yet his simple act of stroking her hair had her whole body in a flush, her skin tingling, wanting more.

  She’d been without intimacy for way too long. And now she was overloading on it.

  As if sensing her change, Zac slowly rolled from her, back onto the pillows, hands resting lightly on his forehead. And a few minutes later, with the musky scent of lovemaking still lingering, she finally heard his slow, deep rhythmic breathing.

  She was glad he was asleep. It made escape easier.

  Cautiously she eased from the warm bed, groped around the floor for agonizing seconds until she found her clothes, then quickly dressed, all the while with one eye on Zac.

  It would be so very easy to crawl back between those sheets, back into his arms. Her body ached in a dozen intimate places, a satisfied, languid ache that eventually made up her mind.

  No sleepovers. No weekends. No personal talk.

  She’d made the rules, now it was up to her to follow them.

  With bags in hand she crept down the stairs, across the cool living room and out the front door without looking back.

  Ten

  You could learn a lot about a woman by the way her hands moved when she talked. Some waved them animatedly, some used touch either subconsciously or with deliberate effect. And some liked to keep their own personal space. Emily, Zac realized, was one of the latter. She made a point of avoiding any physical contact. No brush of the fingers when exchanging files. No accidental arm contact in the elevator or corridor.

  At first he thought it was her steely determination to keep that line drawn, but she retained the personal boundary even when they were alone in his office.

  He stared at his closed door, then down at the remnants of his devoured lunch burger before shoving it all in the trash.

  It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Her response was a pointed reminder of his position—him boss, her employee. Yet last night they’d been more. With him buried deep in her wet warmth, her legs wrapped around his waist as they rocked in that age-old rhythm.

  Yeah, it had been much, much more.

  With a soft curse, he ripped his mind back to the present. A hard-on at work was the last thing he needed, not when he had to deal with a hundred other things—like the upcoming Point One event. And then there was Cal, Victor and the whole VP Tech debacle.

  He shoved back his chair and stalked to the door, yanking it open.

  “Reschedule my one o’clock,” he said, knowing his voice came out too harsh. “I’m going out.”

  Emily nodded and picked up the phone. “Will you be back for your three-thirty?”

  No questions, just acceptance. Her composure rankled, her once-valued hyper-efficiency now just another thing that drove him crazy.

  “Yes.”

  He couldn’t escape the building quickly enough, the sudden desire to get behind the wheel and drive urging him on.

  So he did. He drove north, up the Gold Coast Highway, then turned right onto Waterways Drive and followed the signs to Seaworld. He passed Palazzo Versace, the Sheraton Mirage, the various takeaways.

  On the way he made a few calls and set up more meetings. He succeeded in not thinking about Emily or last night until he passed Seaworld itself, until the road became narrower, the surrounding vegetation thicker.

  The western arm of Gold Coast Spit appeared on his left, the sandy peninsula and watery inlet filled with yachts and recreational fishermen. The road continued, through the trees that formed part of Main Beach Park, until the Spit car park appeared.

  He pulled in, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and cut off the engine. The classic AC/DC song abruptly ceased, giving way to the familiar sound of pounding waves through the trees and sand dunes ahead.

  Easing from the car, he breathed deep, last night’s rain salty and wild on the air. He loved this spot, even more than the small strip of private beach that flanked his house.

  He grabbed a bag from the boot and pulled out a wetsuit before heading toward the small board-rental shed. Ten minutes later he was jogging down to the beach toward the flags, a surfboard under his arm.

  An hour passed before he finally called it a day, collapsing on the warm sand to let the sun dry him off.

  Depending on which direction you faced, you could see the high-rises of Southport, the wilds of South Stradbroke Island or straight out into the vast Pacific Ocean. He’d been surfing here for years, had spotted whales, been caught in powerful storms that were a stark reminder of the power of nature and fragility of life.

  How could he keep this thing with him and Emily out of the office when all he wanted to do was rip off her clothes? Hell, even in her usual office getup and those awful clunky shoes, he still wanted her. Yet if he wanted to keep her in his bed, he’d have to keep their after-hours affair a secret.

  He hated secrets. Secrets turned people into liars, and he liked lies about as much as secrets.

  With a grunt, he finally stood, his toes digging into the grainy sand as he made his way back to the car.

  The soft swoosh of the glass door drew Emily’s eyes up from her computer screen. Zac strode in, looking tanned and windswept. When he dragged a hand through his hair, leaving peaks in its wake, her heart did a little flip.

  “Your father called.”

  His brow dipped as he paused, hands going to his hips. “Right. Thanks.”

  “You didn’t give him your mobile number?”

  “No.”

  Emily paused, feeling as if she were missing something. “He says you’re not returning his calls.”

  “I know.” Zac continued toward his office, his mouth grim, shoulders rigid. She grabbed up some papers and followed him in.

  He stood behind the huge desk, his yellow smiley stress ball in one fist as he gazed out onto Broadbeach Mall.

  Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. They’d all had a laugh when one of his more difficult clients had given him that by way of apology. Everyone knew—especially the client—that Zac didn’t stress.

  Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. His profile was the very definition of contained frustration combined with deep thought.

  “Do you want me to give him a message next time he calls?”

  Startled, he turned to her. “No.” He tossed the stress ball back onto his desk. “I’ll call him.”

  “But
you don’t want to.”

  His silent frown told her she was right, even though he’d rather she not be.

  “Zac, whatever happened between you and your father—”

  “—is not something I want to talk about.”

  The shutters slammed down so abruptly that Emily took a step back. With warm cheeks, she said, “I understand that. But when I was ten, my sister ran out, and I spent thirteen years not knowing if she was dead or alive. When she finally found me, do you think I still cared about all those stupid arguments we’d had years before?”

  His eyes widened in brief surprise, weakening the frown.

  What are you doing? Shut up, shut up, shut— “People make decisions based on emotion, not what’s logical,” she said quickly. “That’s how they make mistakes. And if Victor’s trying to make an effort you should at least hear him out.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly appalled. Then without another word, she spun and headed out the door.

  Emily slapped her notepad on her desk before taking a deep breath. She didn’t know what was worse, revealing that small nugget from her past or Zac acting as if last night had been a complete fabrication of her overactive imagination.

  Well, she couldn’t take those words back now. But was it enough to sway him?

  With a sigh, she sat heavily in her chair. Yes, he had to maintain their professional boss-employee front to throw off any suspicion. But did it have to feel so real?

  She clicked through her e-mails absently.

  She’d finally managed to deflect Zac’s familiar non sequiturs that made her totally aware of herself as a woman, and then he went and did a one-eighty. After last night, she’d been prepared to fend off any intimate comments, to remind him they were at work and should act appropriately. But that had never materialized.

  What had happened to the flirty, good-humored Zac of before, the guy she’d been able to keep separate from her personal life?

  The vibe was all wrong. He was painfully polite. No, more like… She chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully. Disinterested.