by Christa Wick
Fueled by anger and a disturbing arousal, my body shook. "Why? They're her gifts to me. What's it to you?"
His brow lifted, his CEO facade firmly in place.
"They aren't 'gifts' until she shows me receipts, which she can't because that--" He pointed at the corset on the floor before continuing. "That is not for sale yet."
The tears I'd been holding back unleashed. I'd spent two years crushing on a cold-hearted, irrational bastard. Today, he had gone too far. Whether I was able to get Jake to confirm me as lead on the L.A. project or not, I was no longer Dylan Kehoe's Girl Friday. I would quit before I lifted another finger on his behalf.
I turned to circle the couch so I could leave the room, his big body blocking my direct exit.
"Joey." He grabbed my arm to stop me. "Wait...I..."
His chin jerked in the direction of my chest, my lack of undergarments evident by the unhindered swing of my full breasts.
"Sit down and I'll fetch something appropriate from your--"
My nails raked the hand that secured my arm. That only seemed to make him more determined to keep me in place. Catching my other arm, he pulled me to him.
"Calm down," he barked. "I'm not going to hurt you..."
I shook my head at him, unable to voice the thought running through my head.
You have no idea how much you already have!
"Joey, you just need to calm down." He rubbed at my arms like a parent soothing a distraught child. "You'll see that I'm right."
I stamped down hard on his foot and circled the couch before he could recover.
"I have never, not once in my life," I hissed, "met a man more wrong than you, Dylan Kehoe. I am no longer yours to command."
Somehow, my feet managed to get me to the door and I had it half open when I heard his reply.
"Joey, you've never been mine to command."
The last surviving fragment of my heart hit the ground at his reminder that he had no interest in me, that I was just staff who didn't deserve the expensive clothes his company manufactured and was only good enough to answer his phone and sort his mail.
Throwing one last glare at my former crush, I slammed the door behind me.
********************
Somehow, I managed to not march down the hall and bang on Jake's door. Mishka was gone, so I knew Jake had to be in there with Alexa. I expected -- and hoped -- he was already balls deep in the gorgeous redhead, whispering I love you into her ear over and over as he lifted her to some kind of sexual nirvana that would forever remain a mystery to me.
Like a good little mouse who had just escaped the lion's jaws, I returned to my room. I slammed the lids back on the boxes and stacked them near the balcony's sliding glass door. Remembering that I still wore the silky blue panties, I reached up under my skirt and pulled them off. They hadn't dried yet from the moisture my treacherous body had leaked after Dylan's arrival, but that wasn't my problem.
Walking toward my suitcase by the bed, I returned to the window and the boxes one last time. Riona's note and sweet words meant more to me than any pile of clothes could, no matter how expensive. I read it one last time then tucked it safely in my purse.
I dragged my suitcase onto the bed and pulled out a sedate nightgown. A lightweight cotton, dotted with small cherries, it fell halfway down my calves, had long sleeves and a modest neckline. That probably made it exactly the kind of appropriate attire Dylan thought a fluffy girl like me should wear when her fat ass crawled alone into bed for the night.
Rising to strip my clothes and put the gown on, I almost fell. The fight with Dylan had used up the last of my energy after a day too busy to squeeze in a decent meal. I stretched out on the bed, wiggled out of my skirt and blouse and into the nightgown before rolling onto my side and grabbing the menu.
I flipped indecisively through the sensible, healthy, you'll-be-a-size-six-in-no-time pages. I knew I should have a salad or similar, something that wasn't loaded with so much sugar it would fuel my stress and ensure I didn't sleep a wink.
Flinging the menu toward the waste basket, I swiped the phone from the receiver and called the kitchen service with my order.
"Room twelve-thirteen, give me a pint of cherry vanilla." I waited for the woman to write down the order.
"No, it's not for two," I snipped before she could finish her question. "Just one bowl, one spoon, thank you very much."
I hung up before I could apologize. She didn't deserve my attitude any more than I had deserved Dylan's callous disregard. But doing the right thing and apologizing would have made me feel like the wimp I was.
Hooking my laptop bag with my foot, I maneuvered it onto the bed, pulled out my computer and opened up the note application. I began drafting my side of the conversation I would be having with Jake tomorrow. I was done being Dylan's doormat and either Jake would give me a position and project I wanted or I was gone. If I had trouble finding a new job, I'd just put up all the damn crystal vases I'd gotten from Dylan over the last two years on eBay.
It was that or smash them to pieces, which would have been more satisfying but didn't put a penny toward my rent.
Almost done with my first draft, my cell phone jarred me from the task. I looked at the display before answering to make sure it wasn't Dylan.
It was.
I mashed the decline button then hit Jake's number in my contacts. Getting no answer, I hung up and called his room directly. I knew it was possibly the worst time for me to pull him into the drama, but I was just one word or look from Dylan away from exploding. I needed an intervention and I could not wait until morning.
"Jo-jo, this is not a good time, and tell that brother of mine--"
"I'm not telling that jackass anything," I barked into the phone. "You're giving me the L.A. project or I'm gone."
A knock at the door meant my ice cream had arrived. I stomped toward the outer room, ignoring Jake's attempt to calm me. I flung the door open and turned back toward the bed, interrupting Jake mid-sentence.
"This isn't up for negotiation," I fumed. "You will let me lead the L.A. pro--"
Someone pulled the phone from my hand. I didn't think it was the bell hop and I didn't have to turn to confirm my suspicion.
"She's not going to Los Angeles, she's going to Zurich, with me," Dylan growled at his brother. "Take care of your own woman and leave me to mine."
A second later, my phone landed on the bed. Mortified, I hadn't turned to face Dylan.
He tapped a finger on my shoulder. I remained motionless.
"You will turn around and look at me," he ordered.
Nope. Not gonna do it.
"I'm not leaving until you do," he pressed. "And until I know this idea you have that you're getting the L.A. project is out of your head once and for all."
That was too much. Not only was he saying "no" right then, but he planned on saying it forever. And somehow he'd gotten the wrong impression that I was his personal property, that he could change his mind about my never going to another club opening and drag me to Zurich.
I turned, hands on my hips, and glared at him. "I earned it."
He had a folder in his hand, the one I'd taken to his room. He waved at at me. "You have none of the requisite qualifications on paper."
Tossing the folder on my dresser, he advanced on me, my heart beating louder with every step. I tried to control my reaction -- couldn't. It didn't help that he had changed before coming to my room, the suit giving way to skin tight black jeans and an equally black cashmere sweater that moved over his body like water in a stream.
Stopping less than a foot in front of me, his hands found his hips and he leaned in. "You're going back to Chicago tomorrow and staying put until you leave -- with me -- for Zurich at the end of the month."
Oh, I was, was I? He really thought he could order me around at this point?
I closed the last few inches between us on my own, tilted my head up and pulled the trigger.
"You want me in Zurich, you need to earn it."
> A predatory smile spread across his face. "And how do you suggest I do that, cupcake?"
Cupcake?
My mouth dropped open and my heart skipped a beat...or ten.
"No suggestions, eh?" His hands curled around my elbows. "Guess that means I decide."
I didn't like the tone of his voice or the gleam in his eye. Someone had taken my rude, obnoxious, but non-threatening, boss and replaced him with....
My head stopped spinning as I realized what Dylan was doing.
Sort of...I mean, the sensual threat in his gaze wasn't real. He wanted me to retreat, to promise that I would continue to stay out of the clubs, fetch his coffee and answer his phones.
"Nice try," I started.
A knock at the door interrupted me. My ice cream had arrived. I stepped around Dylan and tried to order the bell boy away.
"Take it back. I've changed my mind."
"No." Dylan's hand appeared over my shoulder, a folded twenty used as bait to pull the boy in. The kid put the tray on the dresser and took the twenty.
"That will be all," Dylan said, following the bell hop to the door and then locking us in. Grabbing the tray, Dylan took a seat at the edge of the bed and motioned for me to join him as he scooped the ice cream into the bowl.
"I don't want any." I stayed where I was. That bed, with him on it, was as close to a real minefield as I would ever come.
"Cherry vanilla," he said, his tongue darting out to curl along the inside curve of the spoon. His sharp gaze swept over my nightgown with its cherries on white fabric. "Perfect flavor for you, isn't it?"
My mouth started working with all the things I wanted to say to him, but my brain couldn't marshall them into anything remotely coherent. I watched him take another lick of the ice cream. The image translated as a wet whisper against my flesh -- my already aching nipples and feverish clit simultaneously sensing the motion.
"I want you to sit next to me, Joey."
I shook my head, my pride bristling at his constant use of such a masculine nickname when addressing me.
"This is no way to spend our anniversary." He set the bowl on the bed, reached into his jacket pocket, pulled something out and placed it next to the bowl.
It was the white satin box that had held the brooch and the notecard. I had locked the former in my drawer and swept the latter into the trash bin shortly before we left the building.
"I saw you take it off," he said, answering my unspoken question. "I guess I deserved that."
My brows jumped halfway up my forehead. "You guess?"
Retrieving the ice cream, he loaded more of it onto the spoon and slowly licked the cold surface. His gaze floated between my face and the pattern of my gown. His attention shifted to the boxes piled up by the balcony door.
"That's everything," I blurted. "You can rest assured I won't be leaving with company property."
His gaze returned to me -- to my hips -- as his tongue delivered a fat chunk of cherry into his mouth. "Even the panties?"
My cheeks started to burn and I hissed. "Yes."
"So what are you wearing now?"
I felt a sudden dizziness, as if every drop of blood had drained from my body, followed by a rush of heat to my cheeks. I had nothing on beneath the nightgown, had been too humid after leaving his suite to put on a fresh pair of panties.
"Stop," I begged. I couldn't take this calculated act despite knowing that's all it was, all it could possibly be.
"Not until you sit down and have some of this delicious ice cream." He scooted a little closer to the headboard to open up a bigger space for me.
Bigger, but not safer. I didn't want anywhere near him. I sat down anyway, willing to play just long enough to get him to leave. I reached for the bowl but he wouldn't relinquish it. He loaded the spoon and held it to my lips.
"What are you doing?" I asked before I took a small bite.
"Earning it," he whispered. "Surrendering to what you've wanted for quite a while, Joey."
What I wanted -- not what he wanted. He couldn't have phrased it worse than that.
I shook my head, refusing to admit that I had a crush on him.
"Deny it all you want," he said, holding the spoon to my lips again.
I took another bite, the cream smearing at the corner of my mouth. Dylan put the bowl on the nightstand and cupped my face. I closed my eyes, my body trembling from his touch. He leaned in, his mouth millimeters from my own for the second time that night.
"You're too innocent for the likes of me." His lips brushed against that little trace of ice cream and then his tongue captured it. "I see the way you look at me and I have to look away. The temptation to corrupt you is too much if I don't."
I tried to pull back, my confidence that this was nothing more than a ploy to keep me in line shattered to pieces. Unable to escape, my hands moved restlessly over the bedspread until I bumped against the satin box.
He had retrieved that box before we left the office, before the day turned crazy and I started doubting that this was the same man I'd been working for the last two years.
My mind seized that last fragmented thought. It hadn't been two years.
"You're early," I said, pushing the box at him and hopefully changing the subject. "It's still three weeks away."
He shook his head. "It was three weeks from the day I interviewed you before you transitioned from the secretarial pool to my office. Today is the anniversary of the interview."
He took the jewelry box and placed it next to the ice cream on the night stand. Sliding closer, he curled one arm around my lower back and placed his other hand on the top of my thigh.
"Two years of those blue doe eyes and that soft, pink mouth." His lips brushed mine, his eyes open and his gaze penetrating. "Two years of keeping you near while trying to pretend you don't exist beyond your desk."
He nipped lightly at my bottom lip and then his tongue demanded entrance.
I shied away, knowing I couldn't let him inside.
"Why ignore me?" I asked, my will to flee slowly draining from me.
He shushed me, coaxed me onto my back. His hand skimmed the generous curves along the side of my waist, over my hips and down to the hem of my nightgown. Under it he went, his fingers slowly making the return trip up my leg.
"You're too sweet for what I need, Joey." His fingers found the wet flesh between my legs. Softly, he stroked the silky hairs of my mound, my thighs trembling but pressed together. "For tonight, I'm willing to pretend that's not true because I want you beyond a level I can no longer control."
Tonight? What did that mean for tomorrow?
His hand slid between my thighs. My brain blanked at the contact and my hips lifted. A finger made its way between my labia to run slick against my clit and the tight circle below. His mouth covered mine and then his tongue curled slowly against my upper palate with the same sensuous licks he'd taken with the ice cream.
I started to shake. He broke the kiss, found the curve of my neck and started to suck. His fingers drove me crazy with their gentle bullying of my clit and that small jewel concealed under its hood. He bathed it in my cream, stroking, circling. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he slid a knee between my thighs and coaxed my legs apart.
Inexperienced and wanting him for so long, I bucked with my first climax before he had the night gown pushed all the way up over my hips.
"That's just the first one, Joey. I have two years to make up for." His hands traveled under the fabric to curl along the underside of my breasts as his head dipped and he pressed a kiss directly against my mound. "First I'm going to suck you until you scream, then I'm going to take this sweet hole and fill it with my cock until we both come and I suck you again."
My second orgasm tore through me at his dirty, roughly voiced words. He bit at my thigh, his eyes smoky as he looked up at me over the curve of my stomach.
All those times he had looked away from me, denied me this hot gaze because he was hiding from me -- I coul
dn't fathom the level of self-denial he claimed. I didn't care to prove him a liar, not when he was with me, would stay with me for the night. The truth would be exposed all too soon. Morning would cast her light into the room and I would have only my memories of this brief interlude.
When morning came, I didn't plan on being in this bed, in this room, or with this man.
But for tonight, I was willing to work on getting Dylan Kehoe out of my system.
His thumbs parted the curtain of my labia. He ran one pad up and down my clit, so slow and light that my pussy tightened in on itself. He stared at my body's reaction down there, between my thighs, my clit pulling short, my ass and leg muscles squeezing toward one another, the almost gulping contractions there at the opening to my core.
"Oh, baby--"
"Don't call me that!" My hands hit the mattress, my elbows bent for leverage so I could back away from him. I couldn't let him touch me if he called me "baby." He used it on all his paid for lovers so he didn't have to remember names.
He grabbed my wrists before I could draw away. His gaze, so unfocused a few seconds before, sharpened. "Joey..."
I shook my head, the violence of my denial shocking me. "That wasn't a dick you were just stroking."
I had always hated him calling me that, but had never told him. The confusion that covered his face was understandable, just not forgivable.
"Don't call me anything," I said, uselessly trying to free my wrists from his hard grip. "In fact, try not to talk at all. You're good at giving directions, I'm good at taking them. I don't want to hear that I smell good or taste good or my skin is soft..."
I stopped there before I exposed my heart to him. Most of all, I didn't want him to say I was beautiful or sexy. We both knew I wasn't -- not in his eyes. Otherwise it wouldn't have taken him two years to land in my bed. If he said it now, I would only feel manipulated and exponentially weaker for allowing anything that happened next.
Growling, Dylan pushed quickly up the bed to capture the sides of my face. His lean hips kept my legs wedged open and his torso crushed mine.
"You're getting out of hand."
His gray eyes glittered dangerously at me, but I didn't care.
"Leave if you don't like it."