The thought of her raising a child here twists my stomach.
“Do you want something to drink?” She moves to the far side of the room, clearly trying to keep as much physical distance between us as possible.
“No. I’m good.” I sit down on the futon that’s been folded to resemble a couch. I forgot how uncomfortable the damn thing is. It must be a nightmare to sleep on in her condition.
Her body language is stiff, forced, and she won’t meet my gaze when she sits down on the only real piece of furniture in the room, a brown recliner I bought for her two years ago. She’d fought me on it, until I convinced her I’d found it at one of those god-awful yard sales she was always trying to make me go to.
A white lie, but at least she took it.
She bites down on her bottom lip, hands moving protectively over her stomach.
I don’t know how far along she is, but there’s nothing to her. If anything, she looks like she’s lost weight.
Concern overrides my own unease.
“Have you been eating?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, and anger flashes there. “Is that what you came here to ask? To see if I’m capable of taking care of myself?”
“That’s not what I was implying. I just…”
“Just what?” With some effort, she stands, her back towards me. A quiver of emotion laces her words, “Don’t come here and act like you care. Just tell me what you want, then leave.”
The futon creaks when I stand. “I came… to…”
“To what?” She twists around, gaze hard on mine, almost daring me to say what I desperately want to.
When I don’t answer right away, she shakes her head.
The stubborn set of her jaw, the hurt and hostility emanating from her, tells me I should go, that she doesn’t want me here.
If I didn’t know her better, I’d believe the act.
Underneath the façade, I can tell she needs me. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it, she wants me here.
Her eyes are glassy from the tears she’s trying her best to hold back, and the small quiver of her chin tells me that the moment I walk out that door she’ll fall apart.
Not happening.
“I’m not leaving.” Despite her small protest, I remove the distance between us.
Cupping her jaw in my hands, so that my thumbs brush her cheeks, my fingers tangle in the silky, dark hair at the nape of her neck.
Forced to look at me, she sucks in a breath, and I see it—the spark.
The acceptance.
It’s real.
Always was.
I can’t believe her connection with Colin was ever this strong.
Or I don’t want to.
I tamp down the jealousy that threatens to boil up at the thought of him.
This is about her. About making sure she’s taken care of.
“I can’t…” Her eyes close and when they open again, I see the wall she’s built between us. She raises her hands, and places her palms on my chest like she’s going to push me away, but instead they just rest there.
“I’ve missed you.” It’s the truth. Despite everything, I can’t deny how much I care for her. How much I need her in my life. Even if it’s just as friends. I know that now.
Her body tenses, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and a small, almost silent sob escapes her lips. She buries her face in my chest, and I hold her until she finally lets the tears fall, and she melts into my body with the familiarity that has always been ours alone.
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THUNDERSTRUCK
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Chapter 1
Ross
The moment Brooklyn Walsh walked into my office I wanted her. No, scratch that, I wanted to fuck her. To pull up that tight little skirt she was wearing and drive myself balls deep into what would no doubt be the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.
But damn if it didn’t go against my one and only rule – never mix business with pleasure.
Despite the way my cock protests every time she walks into the room, my sweet little assistant would have to stay that. Sweet. Untainted by my perverse desires. Assisting me in every need except the one I can’t stop thinking about.
Today, Brooklyn’s curvy little body is snug in a little black dress, that while modest, screams fuck me, please. Hell, I swear the woman could make a burlap bag look sexy.
She tucks a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, and studies the tablet that she’s holding.
I’ve thought about firing her. That would solve my problem. But from the small details I know about her, she needs this job. And in all fairness, she’s a good assistant. One of the best I’ve had in the five years since I took over the company.
But with Brooklyn it’s like my cock has a mind of its own. Like I’m some hormonal teenager and not a thirty-two-year-old CEO millionaire who can have any woman he wants.
Any woman except Brooklyn Walsh.
Transferring her to another department crossed my mind. But I haven’t been able to make the call. The torment of having her around is nothing compared to having her assist anyone else.
She’s looking at me now, brows drawn down when she takes in my appearance. I can only imagine what she sees. Still dressed in yesterday’s suit, I run my hand across the scruff on my jaw, then through my mussed hair.
“What?” I bark, making her jump slightly.
She glances across the room towards the black leather couch and rumpled blanket, and frowns. “Did you sleep here last night?”
I grunt, refocusing my attention to the paperwork in front of me. Yeah, I’d slept here. Because the only thing that takes my mind off the tortuous ache in my balls is work. That and the bottle of bourbon that’s half-empty in the bottom drawer of my desk.
“Coffee?” The lilt of her voice makes me look up.
Bad move. She’s standing in front of me, and when she reaches over to place a cup in front of me, I can see straight down the front of her dress to the pink satin bra she’s wearing.
Holy hell, I’m one hundred percent screwed.
I groan, and her gaze flashes to mine, eyes widening. So innocent, and yet so damn inviting, I swear my cock is going to burst through the seams of my pants.
Down boy.
“Sit.” The word comes out harsher than I intended.
She bites on her bottom lip and sits in the chair across from me, adjusting her dress nervously.
I know full well that I scare her. I’m a hard man to work with, but with her I’ve been even more demanding. More callous. I’m surprised she’s lasted as long as she has. Most people would have quit weeks ago.
But not Brooklyn. Despite the sweetness about her, she’s tough. Like there’s a steel iron inside her, under all those luscious curves.
“Your father called.”
My head jerks up at that, because I know the second part of that sentence will only fuck with my life one way or another.
I’d hoped he would take it easy when he handed over the company’s reins to me. With his high blood pressure, retirement was exactly what the doctor ordered. Not to mention that he’d let the business slip.
It took two years to get it out of the red, and another two to clean up the mess he’d created. So, when my father said that he was running for office, I thought it was some kind of a joke.
“And?” I demand, tapping my fingers on the edge of my desk waiting for her to drop the bomb.
“He wanted to make sure you were still going to the Gladstone Charity Event tonight.”
Shit. I’d forgotten all about it.
“When I spoke with him, he sounded pretty persistent that you be there. And…” She winces and looks away.
“And what, Miss Walsh?”
“That you bring a date and not the same…” She bites back a small smile. “…floozy you brought to the last one.”
I grunt and lean forward, forearms resting on my desk, and mentally
go through my backlog of women. But the thought of spending time with any of them is as appealing as shoving my hand in a blender.
Work is the only relationship I have time for. The last thing I need is another female trying to dig her claws into my bed and bank account. And that’s exactly what will happen if I invite any one of the women in my little black book.
I need something simpler.
The thought of calling an escort feels desperate. And I’ve already had one humiliating experience that I’ll never live down. The last time I hired a companion for the evening, most of the men at the event had rented her out before. She spent more time handing out cards than actually being my date.
She wasn’t the most expensive escort on the books because she was good. She was the most expensive one because she was popular. The whole fucking thing was embarrassing. The idea that everyone knew that my date was an escort is one scandal that my father has never let me live down.
I could go without a date, but that will only tempt the cougars and gold diggers to think I’m still on the market. Which I’m not. I’ve married myself to this company, and for now that’s all the companionship I need.
“Mr. White?” Brooklyn’s watching me. Her tongue darts out across her plump bottom lip and I almost groan out loud.
The little temptress doesn’t know what she does to me.
“What?” I snap, looking away and trying to think of anything but her.
“Would you like me to call one of your…female friends to escort you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Because the solution to my problem is staring straight at me.
No fucking way. I shake my head and focus on the contracts in my hand. Taking Brooklyn anywhere outside of this office is a very bad idea, because the minute I allow myself one touch, I know I won’t be able to hold back from consuming all of her.
She looks at me with those big green eyes, and I know she has no idea what I’m truly capable of. What kind of man is under the designer suits, and cold, calculated mannerisms.
I am the big bad wolf that her mother warned her about.
The girl is too fucking innocent.
And she’s my goddamn assistant.
Keep your paws off her, my brain screams, despite the persistent pulsing bulge between my legs.
But damn, as I’m giving her notes, watching her pink lips pout as I spill out a ton of chores for her to do by lunch time, I can't get the thought out of my head that her sweet little body was made for me.
I need to go through my black book. Try and figure out someone else to take to this damn party.
“Can you do all this before twelve? I need to leave early today.”
She sighs, but tries to hide her frustration at my tight deadlines.
My phone buzzes and I curse under my breath when I read my father’s text. Ella, my ex. The one that never seems to get the fucking message that we’re over is coming tonight. Even more reason why I need to find a date, and fast.
I was furious when I found out my father had hired her to help him run his campaign. But then he never could resist a pair of long legs and a pretty face. And Ella had both going for her. What she didn’t have was a heart.
Or if she did, it was made of pure ice. The woman was as cold and calculating as I am. The only difference is that’s all there is to her. She’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants, and what she wants is me on a leash, and a ten caret ring on her finger.
So not happening.
Another text pops up on my phone.
Please don’t disappoint me, son.
See you at eight.
I’m stuck going to this damn party, and playing the part of the dutiful, adoring son. And that’s all it is, a part to play. If I didn’t need to keep up appearances for the business, I’d tell my father exactly what he could do with invitation.
But the man’s put himself center stage, once again.
Trust dad to want to run for office.
I shake my head as Brooklyn stares at me. When I don’t look away like I usually do, her brows turn down and she starts to fidget, nervously.
“What?”
“Are you free tonight?” The question comes out before I have a chance to stop myself.
“I can be.” She frowns. “Is there a project you need me to work on?”
I take my time to word this carefully, because for the first time in my life, I am worried about a rejection, something that I’m not accustomed to. But I’m fucking desperate, and I know that I can’t demand it of her. Because I need her help.
* * *
Chapter 2
Brooklyn
To say that I'm exhausted is an understatement. I start at eight every morning and if I’m lucky I leave by the same time in the evening, but I suspect that tonight's going to be different. The way he’s looking at me, tells me he wants something more than my usual twelve hour shift.
I'm tempted to say, ‘Yes, sir. Do you want anything else? Like for me to drive to Chicago and back before the end of the day?’
But sarcasm doesn’t go over well with my boss. Actually no type of humor does. He’s the most serious man I’ve ever met.
Dark.
Brooding.
And sexy as sin on a stick with whip cream on top.
Focus, Brooklyn. The man is way out of your league.
I smile at him, the same way that I do every single time he asks me to do the impossible.
The man’s a slave driver. Always wanting more than I can give.
He’s obsessed with work. Maybe that’s the role of being a CEO, being on top of everything. Or maybe it’s the perfectionist in him, driving him to always achieve more.
But how much more can one person seriously need? Or want?
He has staff. A lot of them, nearly two hundred employees and he is obsessed with micromanaging nearly everyone.
Including me.
But I won’t quit.
Because leaving means going back home or even worse, back on the road.
I haven't been home since I graduated from high school and I’m not about to go back now. It isn’t an option. Ever.
Getting another job seems like the easiest solution, except that it took me six months to land this one. Before that, I was working in a coffee house, barely able to pay my half of the rent.
Prices in the city are outrageous.
I need this job. And working with Ross White isn’t completely terrible. When he isn’t growling at me, or shouting orders, he can actually be kind of sweet. Well, maybe sweet isn’t the right word – more like civil.
It also doesn’t hurt that he looks like he’s been plucked off a GQ magazine cover. Dark hair that’s always mussed just right. Clear, intelligent blue eyes that smolder with promise.
Just not for me.
He’s made it very clear that our relationship is one hundred percent business. I’ve never had a man go so out of his way to make sure he doesn’t touch me.
It’s fine. I don’t do relationships. Or sex.
I’m just starting to get my life on track.
Nothing, not even Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deliciously Brooding will get in my way.
* * *
Chapter 3
Ross
“I need your help, Miss Walsh. But it’ll mean going beyond what I pay you for.”
Her expression goes from guarded, to intrigued, to full out suspicious.
“I want you to escort me tonight to the function.”
Her mouth drops open slightly. “You want me to be your date?”
“Strictly business, of course,” I add quickly.
“Of course.” Her tone is an echo of mine, stoic and reserved. But I can practically see the wheels spinning inside that pretty little head of hers. She thinks I’m up to something.
And I am.
“Why me?” Her green eyes narrow, regarding me.
“I don’t have time to call anyone else.” Knowing the words are a little too curt, I add, “And I thi
nk my father would appreciate you over the floozy I took to the last event.”
That causes a small smile to play on her lips.
I shake my head thinking about the reason that I’ve kept our relationship merely professional. She’s my assistant and apart from not wanting a sexual lawsuit on my hands, she’s way too young. Christ, the woman is practically a decade younger than me.
“If you’re busy–”
“No.” The word comes out in a rush, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink. “I mean, I’m free. If you need my help.”
This feels like a bad idea.
Because no matter how hard I try to deny it, I know this can only end one way. With her in my bed and my cock buried balls deep inside her.
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Chapter 1
Alicia
“Alicia, did you hear me?”
I set aside the design I’m working on and look up at the woman who’s currently hovering over me, blonde hair pulled tight in a bun, green eyes filled with malice as they rake over me.
Cynthia Briggs.
My boss.
The one that ignores every design I send her.
“Yes?” I force a smile, but one look at the woman’s pinched face and all the frustration that I let go of during this morning’s yoga session, slams into me.
I breathe out through my clenched teeth and try not to show my agitation.
The company I work for is Love Lace. The name implies that we sell sexy lingerie. Yet, she insists on proposing the same designs, season after season.
Boring. Unenticing. Granny-panties made from spandex, rather than lace. Not the racy, provocative pieces that I believe our customers are craving.
Owning Swan Page 13