I shake my head. “Casual, remember?” I say lightly, pulling my t-shirt over my head and tugging my pants over my hips. “I’ll catch a cab home.”
Asher sits up. “What are you doing tomorrow? Would you like to get dinner with us again?”
My heart beats faster at his question, but then I remember I already have plans. “I can’t. I’m going out for drinks with my girlfriends.” I don’t want them to think I’m blowing them off, so I add, “It’s my birthday.”
“Is it?” Hudson gets to his feet. “Hang on for a second.” He takes off in the direction of the kitchen.
I give Asher a puzzled look. “What’s that about?”
He shrugs. “I have no idea.” He glances at the clock, then smiles at me. “Happy birthday.”
“It’s a big one,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why I’m chatty at four in the morning. “The big 3 - 0.”
Hudson calls us from the kitchen. “You two, come here for a second.”
Asher gets to his feet, comfortable in his nakedness. “Where did I put my pants?” he mutters, looking around the room, then he finds them and tugs them on.
Pity. I was enjoying the view.
We make our way to the kitchen in silence. I’m a little uncomfortable, but this situation isn’t anywhere near as awkward as I feared. Thank heavens for that.
“I thought I had one left,” Hudson says with a wide smile. He gestures to the counter, and I look down to see a large cupcake on a plate, with a candle in the center. “Happy birthday. It’s pineapple carrot. The bakery across the street makes them, and they’re delicious.”
“You found a cake for me?” I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone who even wished me happy birthday, let alone light a candle on a cake. Of course, that might be because I’ve never told anyone I’ve been involved with when my birthday was. I have no idea why I mentioned it to Hudson and Asher.
“Well, I would have got a real cake,” he replies, “but you did just tell us, so we’ll have to make do with the contents of my kitchen.”
Asher laughs. “Let us take you out for dinner for your birthday,” he says persuasively. “Thirty is a milestone year. You should celebrate it. If you can’t make tomorrow, how about the day after? Have you eaten at Tent?”
Tent, a small pop-up restaurant in the Village, is the hottest table in town right now. Their three chefs engage in a nightly competition to see who can serve the most delicious tasting menu in the city. Reservations are almost impossible to come by.
I gape at Asher. “You can get into Tent?”
He grins. “Hudson can. He designed the space. So, is that a yes for dinner?”
I shouldn’t see them socially again; things will get complicated. Except, I really want to.
“That sounds great.”
“We’ll pick you up at seven,” Hudson replies. He nudges me toward the cupcake. “Make a wish, Wendy.”
I blow out the candle. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
16
Asher
Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.
Helen Keller
We have dinner with Wendy on Sunday at Tent, and end up back at Hudson’s place afterward. Again, she refuses to spend the night. Though I don’t want her to leave, she’s probably making the right call. Casual sex is one thing. Getting involved is another.
Monday morning, Hudson and I accompany Wendy to her office at Hancock Construction. It turns out to be no larger than a closet, and it contains exactly one table and one chair.
“Seriously?” Hudson shakes his head. “How petty can Thorne get?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Wendy asks dryly. She tosses her handbag on the table and turns to the woman who accompanied us. “I’m supposed to meet with Jeff Choi at nine,” she says. “Can you let me know when he arrives?”
The woman, whose name is Amanda, flushes. “Mr. Choi was here earlier,” she says. “He suggested moving the meeting to his office. I can show you there?”
We follow her up three flights of stairs and through a set of glass double doors. On this floor, the dove-gray carpet is thicker and more luxurious, and the offices are large and expensively furnished. Jeff Choi, the Vice-President of Strategy of Hancock Construction, and our point person on the Staten Island project, is in one of them. “You must be Wendy Williams,” he says, giving her an appraising look as he shakes her hand. “Welcome to Hancock.”
“Thank you,” Wendy replies. I shut the door, and the three of us sit in front of Jeff’s massive walnut desk. “These are my associates, Hudson Fleming and Asher Doyle.”
Choi nods in greeting. “Ms. Williams,” he says, once we’re done with the pleasantries, “I’m going to speak frankly. When Paul died, I was ready to resign. I had no interest in working for his son. Then I heard about the contest, and I changed my mind.”
“Why don’t you want to work for Thorne?” I probe. I talked to Stone Bradley over the weekend, who promised to dig up dirt on the man, but this is a chance to hear about Wendy’s half-brother from someone who’s worked with him on a daily basis.
“Let me tell you a story.” Jeff Choi leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “Three years back, Thorne wanted to bid on a bridge project in Barbados. Paul didn’t like the idea at all, but Thorne kept at it, and the old man eventually relented. The bidding process took almost a year, but we won.”
He sighs. “Thorne was secretive of the details, with good reason. He’d severely underbid the project, and the timelines he agreed to…” He shakes his head. “Insane. Of course, everything started falling apart. We were losing money, hand over fist. Or so I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
Choi fixes me with a piercing look. “When the numbers were finalized, it turned out that the project didn’t lose money, after all.”
The confusion I’m feeling is echoed in Wendy and Hudson’s faces. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Hudson asks.
“One week before that report came out,” Choi continues, “the Head of Finance, Jean Nakashima died and Stuart Fischer, one of Thorne’s golf buddies, was chosen to be her replacement. And one of the first things that Fischer did was run the numbers on Barbados and claim that the project had eked out a small profit.”
“How did she die?” I hone in on the most important detail. I don’t think Thorne is capable of murder, but the timing seems far too coincidental. What if I’m wrong?
He looks sober. “Her boat was found capsized a few miles off the coast of Nantucket.” He’s visibly upset. “She was an avid sailor,” he says. “But the storm came out of nowhere, and it must have caught her by surprise. They never found her body.”
“I’m so sorry.” Wendy’s voice is soft. “That must have been difficult for everyone here.”
Jeff Choi bobs his head in agreement. “Still, that’s in the past,” he says, making a determined effort to dispel the cloud of gloom in the office. “In the present, we have the Staten Island project and a team that’s ready to push forward.”
“I’m trying to get my bearings here,” Wendy says. She smiles at him warmly as she speaks, and he crumbles against her charm. “Can you tell me what’s been done so far?”
“We have a construction permit,” he says. “We’d hired a firm to lay the roads when Thorne halted the project. This was just before Paul went into the hospital.”
“The permit’s done?” Hudson looks relieved. “Good, that’s the most time-consuming part.”
Wendy gives the executive a puzzled look. “I don’t know anything about construction,” she says, “but if you don’t know what the buildings are going to look like and where they’re going to go, how can you lay roads? Am I missing something?”
“You aren’t.” Jeff Choi looks pleased with Wendy’s question. “Brad Pankratz’s crew is busy. We paid a deposit to get on his schedule.”
“Have you canceled the road crew?” Hudson asks Jeff Choi. “Officially?”
He s
hakes his head. “Call it wishful thinking,” he says, “but I hoped that Thorne might change his mind. Staten Island is a good project. It isn’t as flashy as building bridges and highways, but Hancock has always made its money in the commercial space.”
“Hudson,” Wendy asks, leaning forward. “If we get a rough design together, we can still get the roads built on schedule. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Hudson smiles at Wendy’s excitement. “Is that our next step, boss?”
She blushes a little, but nods. “Mr. Choi, can you verify that Brad Pankratz is holding our spot?”
Choi’s impressed, as am I. He rises to his feet as we prepare to leave. “Call me Jeff,” he says, smiling at Wendy for the first time. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Williams. I have a feeling that we’re going to do great things.”
She looks faintly embarrassed but smiles back. “I hope so too,” she replies. “Thank you, Jeff. And please, call me Wendy.”
We meet with a couple of other people in the morning. The guy heading up Legal, Mark Allen, is openly hostile. “I told Choi a million times,” he gripes. “Your project schedule is too aggressive. My team is already operating at peak capacity. We can’t take on any more work.”
I survey Allen coolly. I don’t have to look too hard to see who is going to cooperate and who isn’t. Mark Allen is clearly on Team Thorne. “That’s fine,” I tell him. “My firm will handle the additional legal tasks.”
“You can’t do that,” he blusters.
“I don’t see what the problem is, Mr. Allen.” Wendy sounds implacable. “You said you couldn’t handle the workload. Asher’s firm can.”
The man stalks out of Wendy’s office without another word. “Well, that went well,” I say with a shrug. “You two want to break for lunch?”
“What do you have in mind?” Wendy asks.
“Well,” I lower my voice suggestively. “My office isn’t too far away. If you’re starving, we can pick up some Italian food on the way.”
She gives me a coy look. “And if I’m hungry for something else?”
We’d made love on Friday night. She was busy on Saturday, but we went to dinner on Sunday and ended up tangled in Hudson’s sheets afterward, sweaty and sated. I still can’t get enough. She’s like a drug in my veins, sweet and powerful, totally irresistible.
“I want to hear you say it.” My fingers trail over her breasts. “Tell me what you want.”
She bites her lower lip. “We’re at work.”
“So what?” Hudson grins wickedly and cups her ass. “The door is shut. No one can hear you.”
She hesitates. “This is so weird,” she mumbles. “I’ve never mixed business with pleasure this way. It feels so strange to be thinking sexual thoughts about my colleagues.”
I smirk openly. “Let’s go to my office, and you can tell me all about your sexual thoughts.”
We leave Hancock Construction and head to the downtown skyscraper that houses Doyle and Miller. Once we’re in my office, I shut the door and lock it, and turn to Wendy. “My office,” I tell her, “my rules. Understand?”
Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Yes, Asher,” she says meekly, spoiling the effect by winking at me.
Hudson chuckles. “Asher’s assistant is right outside these doors. Unless you want her to hear everything, you should keep your voice down.”
She lifts her chin up. “Challenge accepted.”
Good. I have her exactly where I want her. I survey Wendy openly. Her black blazer is buttoned up, and her narrow pencil skirt skims the curve of her ass and ends just above her knees. Underneath the jacket, she’s wearing a pale pink blouse. She looks like a sexy librarian, prim, proper, very much in control. I can’t wait to watch her unravel with desire.
Hudson sits down and leans back in his chair. I lean against my desk. “Stand in the center of the room,” I order, my cock hardening as she obeys.
Every teenage fantasy of mine is coming true in this moment.
“Unbutton your jacket.”
She bites her lower lip, her white teeth indenting the soft pink flesh. My cock immediately takes note. Hudson shifts in his seat, adjusting himself openly. “Is there a problem, Ms. Williams?” he asks sternly as she hesitates.
Her lips twitch. “No problem, Mr. Fleming,” she replies, giving Hudson a coy look from under her lashes. The little minx. We can pretend that we’re in charge here, but she knows we’re putty in her hands, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She starts taking off the jacket, but I stop her with a lift of my hand. “Did I tell you to take it off?”
“No, Mr. Doyle.” She flutters her eyelashes at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Doyle.”
Fuck me. I’ve never done something like this in my office. My cock is a steel shaft of rock-hard need. I ache to end this silly game, throw her over my desk and plunge my dick into her. I want to feel her slick heat around me, to touch her silky soft flesh and watch goosebumps break out on her skin. I want to hear her moan, her head thrown back, her need overcoming her fear of Vivian overhearing us.
You’re not an out-of-control teenager, Doyle. Pull yourself together.
She’s standing there, her fingers clutching the fabric, waiting patiently for the next instruction. Hudson gets to his feet, his expression hungry. He moves behind Wendy and eases the jacket from her shoulders. He hangs it up on a hook behind my door before stalking back to his seat. “Very nice,” he says appreciatively. “Very sexy, Ms. Williams.”
I have to agree. I can see the outline of Wendy’s bra under her blouse. White lace, if I’m not mistaken. My prim librarian has a naughty edge, but I knew that already.
“Now the top,” I say hoarsely.
“Not my skirt?” Her eyebrow rises as she pulls the hem of her shirt free. “I thought you’d want the skirt next.”
“Perhaps you’re focusing on the wrong thing, Ms. Fleming,” Hudson says silkily. “Shouldn’t you be thinking instead of how you’re going to keep quiet when Asher and I lay you back on the desk, spread you open and feast on you? Shouldn’t you be wondering how you’re going to bite back your screams of pleasure?”
She squirms in response, her legs rubbing together. She pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it on a chair next to Hudson.
I inhale sharply as I see her breasts, covered in creamy lace. God, she’s a tasty treat. Her lush curves spill out of her bra, and her pink-tipped nipples are clearly visible underneath the lace. I can’t decide if I want her to lose the bra or keep it.
Keeping it wins out. “Now,” I instruct, “pull your panties down.”
Her eyes glaze with need. She bends down, and the view of her bountiful cleavage makes me dizzy.
Hudson growls deep in his throat as she wriggles her hips and her fingers emerge with her panties. “Where should I put these?” she asks, every syllable coated with desire.
“Come here,” I say gruffly, my self-control snapping when I see the tiny scrap of white lace she holds in her hand. “Sit on the desk.”
She sits down on the edge, demurely, smoothing her skirt, so it doesn’t ride too high over her thighs. Hudson is having none of it. “Oh no you don’t,” he breathes. He yanks the skirt up to her waist, and tips her back so she’s lying on my desk, her legs spread, her pussy already slick with her juices. My heart almost stops at the sight, and the blood leaves my head and rushes to my cock.
Hudson doesn’t waste any time. He slides his fingers into her slick channel and bends his head over her clitoris, sucking at that erect nub until she’s gasping and biting her knuckles to keep from screaming out.
I unzip my trousers and pull my dick out in my fist, stroking it as I watch her respond to Hudson. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are hazy and unfocused.
I have to touch her. I pull her breasts out of the cups of her bra, kneading the soft flesh in my palms. I thumb her pink nipples and watch them swell in response. “Asher,” she groans. “This is crazy. We’re in your office. What will people t
hink?”
“The advantage of being the boss,” I tell her, “is that I don’t care.”
She writhes and wriggles under our combined onslaught. Hudson’s hands move to her knees, parting her legs wide. My fingers tweak her nipples, pinching them and watching the rosy nubs darken to a deeper hue.
“Oh my God,” she cries out, grasping Hudson’s hair between her fingers and pressing his head into her pussy. “Don’t stop, please… whatever you do, don’t stop.”
Fuck. I’ve never been this hard in my life. I’m aching for release. My hand flies over my cock, pumping.
She notices. “Come here,” she breathes, her mouth falling open in invitation. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven as she envelops me in her warm wet heat. Her tongue swirls over my head in little teasing strokes and her hand fists the base of my cock.
I groan, louder than intended, as she slides her palm over my length. She removes her lips from my dick long enough to sass me. “Finding it hard to keep silent?” she asks mockingly. “Not so easy, is it?”
I bite back my smile. I love her attitude. “That’s it,” I tell her, hoisting her up by the waist and flipping her over so she’s on her hands and knees on the desktop. Hudson gives me a ‘what the fuck, dude’ look, before recognizing the undeniable advantages of her new position.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” I tell her. “You’re going to wrap those pretty pink lips around my cock while Hudson slides his dick into your sweet, slick pussy. And you’re not going to have any time for smart ass remarks, Wendy because you’re going to be busy giving me the best fucking blow job you can.”
She grins. “You’re hot when you’re bossy,” she quips. Though her words are joking, her lips are half-parted, and her eyes are glued to my cock.
I grab a condom from my desk drawer. Though I’ve never had sex in my office, I believe in being prepared. Just like a Scout.
Okay, maybe not exactly like a Scout.
I throw the condom to Hudson, who catches it and tears it open. He yanks at Wendy’s creamy thighs and buries himself in her to the hilt. “Oh fuck,” he groans. “You are so fucking wet for me, aren’t you, Wendy?”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 73