by Various
“Maybe he was looking at someone else.”
“Nope. He had his eye on you.” Her gaze focuses on my neck. She leans closer and her voice drops. “Umm. You have a mark on your neck.”
“A mark?” I choke out.
“Yeah, right there.” She points to the left side of my neck. The image of Storm nuzzling my throat, nipping it riots across my mind.
How could I have missed it? Easy. Deep in grief over Casey leaving, I’d gone on automatic pilot this morning, barely glancing in the mirror as I brushed my hair, smoothed on my makeup. I clamp down on the impulse to dig out a mirror and check out the ‘mark.’
“Yeah, you’ll need to put some cover up on that. In the meantime”—she takes off her scarf, a gorgeous turquoise with abstract motifs and hands it to me—“if you wrap this around your throat, no one will notice.”
“CeCe, that’s not my style. Someone’s sure to say something.”
“If anybody asks, tell them you saw it on that Models Gone Wild show. You know, the one where they scratch each other’s eyes out. Fun show.”
“Is it that noticeable?” I whisper as I tuck the cloth around my neck.
“Yeah, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear ...” A knowing look blossoms in her eyes. “Wait a minute. Did you have a date last night?”
“No.” It’s the truth. I didn’t. “I spent the night analyzing Storm Industries’ proposal for Mr. Carrey.”
“What? Do you mean to tell me that man piled on even more work on you?” And she’s off on another Carrey rant. A good thing, because it keeps me from obsessing about the ‘mark’ on my neck.
When we arrive at the office, we part ways. She heads off to the cafeteria, and I drop off my analysis on Mr. Carrey’s desk before heading for the ladies’ room. I follow CeCe’s advice and dab makeup over Storm’s love bite before rearranging the scarf, turtleneck fashion, around my throat. Somehow the scoop neck grey blouse and turquoise scarf complement each other.
Before I go back to my secretarial station, I check in with facilities to ensure everything’s ready for today’s meeting and, while I’m on the second floor, pick up a bagel and cream cheese. When I arrive at my desk, Mr. Carrey’s there, analysis in hand, waiting for me. “Come into my office, Liz.”
“Yes, Mr. Carrey.” He calls me Liz. I call him Mr. Carrey. Those lines can never be crossed. I grab my notebook and trail after him.
“Take a seat, please.”
A please from him. A first.
“I read your analysis, as well as Brian’s and Terry’s.” No surprise he’d asked his two senior associates to evaluate the report. “Yours is the best. You not only wrote a concise report about Storm Industries’ proposal but provided quite innovative suggestions to improve our deal. Great job.”
My cheeks heat up from the first compliment Mr. Carrey has offered me. “I’m promoting you to paralegal. Have to get it through Human Resources, but I expect they’ll cooperate. I’m making you an official part of the team so get somebody to cover your desk.”
Wow. Just wow. He believes in me enough to recognize my work. Officially. Dreaming of a future filled with promise, I figuratively float to the ceiling. But then reality intrudes, and I crash back to earth. Early this morning, I swore to stay away from Storm. Something that will be hard to do, if I have to be in the same room with him while negotiations are under way. But I have no choice. My career is on the line. “Of course, sir.”
After Mr. Carrey instructs me about the distribution of my analysis to the members of the Smith Cannon team, I call Human Resources and request my favorite secretarial floater, Rose, through the end of the week. She’s smart, energetic and knows our system almost as well as I do. As expected, HR does not voice the slightest opposition to my request. No surprise. They know the importance of this deal to the firm.
When Rose arrives, I give her the skinny on what to expect. Luckily, Mr. Carrey does not have any scheduled filings for the rest of the week, so it’s only a matter of answering phones and contacting me if something important pops up.
After stamping ‘Highly Confidential—Do Not Share’ on the analysis, I ask her to make paper copies, number them sequentially and personally hand them to each attorney associated with the project—a necessary security step we take to ensure no unsanctioned copies float around.
An hour later, I find myself in the conference room, except this time I’m seated at the table, and Rose, not me, is responsible for making sure everyone has what they need.
When Storm steps into the room in another killer blue suit, my pulse soars. What is it about this man that makes my heart race?
He glances from me to Mr. Carrey and back again. That crooked smile makes an appearance as he strolls with effortless grace to his seat.
Before the negotiations begin, Mr. Carrey announces my change in circumstances. The senior associates don’t appear surprised. They know how much high level work I performed in the months leading up to this week, more extensive and complex than some of the work the junior associates produced.
During the morning session, the teams probe the variables in the financing of the deal. While I don’t offer my opinion, I jot down a possible solution to a tricky international financing issue. I’ll research it and shoot off a legal memorandum to Carrey by tomorrow.
During the morning break, Terry gives me a high five. Brian, the lead senior associate, smiles at me. He’s asked me out on a date or two, but I’ve turned him down, not wanting to muddy the waters. Fastest ticket out of a professional career is to date in-house. Inevitably there’s the nasty breakup and someone ends up leaving the firm.
In an effort to avoid him, I head for the coffee brewer intent on getting another cup of joe. A shot of caffeine will do me good. Seemingly, Storm thinks the same because he approaches from the other end.
“What’s your poison, Elizabeth?” He points to the array of coffee pods. In one day he’s mastered the coffee machine.
“The Kenyan.”
With the long fingers that last night trailed a scorching path across my skin, he plucks a pod from the storage tower and holds it out to me. “I thought you hated strong coffee.”
“Need the caffeine.” I take the pod from his fingers, and a zing travels up my arms, cutting short my breath. Hating the effect he has on me, I mostly ignore him while the coffee brews. After it’s done, I sip the strong brew. The hit almost immediately perks me up, and I sigh with pleasure.
“Long night?” he asks.
“Very.”
He purses his lips. “Must have been hard on you.”
I choke.
“Something go down the wrong hatch?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the ends.
Bastard. I wave him off. “I’m fine. Excuse me.” I walk away before he says something even more outrageous. But I manage only a couple of steps before Brian stops me.
“Just wanted to say your analysis is brilliant.”
“Thanks. But when did you have time to read it? We only circulated it this morning.”
“I made time, Liz.” He clears his throat. His eyes turn soft.
Oh, jeez. Something tells me he’s about to ask me out again.
“Want to go out for drinks after work?”
Crash! I whip my head around. A deluge of coffee cups are tumbling to the carpet from the glass shelf where they’re stored. By some miracle, none of them break.
Leaving Brian behind, I rush over, pick some up, place them on the round tray with the other dirty dishes from this morning’s continental breakfast.
Storm squats next to me and helps me deal with the mess, but before I have a chance to ask him how it happened, Brian’s secretary steps into the room and hands Brian a note. “One of your clients called. Says it’s urgent.”
Brian darts a quick glance at me before walking away. Just as well, I don’t want to shoot him down again.
Storm and I are far enough away from the other people in the room, who are confabbing in small enclaves, that we can’t b
e heard.
“What happened?” I ask Storm in a low voice.
“My elbow caught one of the cups. Clumsy of me, I know.”
He, of the faultless moves and languid grace, knocked over the cups? I don’t buy it for a second.
I lift my gaze to him and whisper. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did I?” He stands and turns. I do the same. We’re face to face and with his back to the room, no one but me can see the mischief in his eyes. “Now why would I do that?”
Because Brian asked me out and you didn’t like it. As soon as the thought pops into my head, I discard it. Silly notion. Storm’s not possessive of me. Not after one night. “No idea.”
“Meet me for dinner tonight. We can eat in my hotel suite.” He’s so perfectly beautiful standing there looking at me. His eyes telegraph desire, tenderness, and something more. An emotion I don’t recognize.
I interlace my fingers to keep from reaching for him. “Sorry. Can’t.”
I see he wants to say more, but the rest of the negotiators drift back into the room and everyone starts taking their seats, interrupting whatever he’s about to spout. Just as well. I don’t want to get into another discussion of why I can’t go out with him. Now that Mr. Carrey treats me like a vital part of the team, an associate position with the firm is almost guaranteed. As long as I don’t screw up. Which means keeping up my grades, making law review and staying away from Gabriel Storm.
Last night’s activities put me behind on writing the article for the law review competition my law school conducts at the end of each school year. But I still have four days to get it done. I will spend the rest of the night researching the case law after I write the legal memorandum on the international finance issue for my boss. I absolutely will not allow Storm to derail my plan.
At the midday break, I hand the typing pad full of Mr. Carrey’s hieroglyphics to Rose and ask her to type them. Mr. Carrey invites me to lunch with the team at a nearby French restaurant, but after this morning’s events, I need a break to regroup, plus I don’t want an accidental slip to reveal Storm’s love bite. Claiming I have a personal errand to run, I thank him but decline.
Storm turns down the offer as well, providing the excuse he has some calls to make. I arrange for lunch to be delivered to the private office the firm assigned to him, and suggest to Rose she take her lunch hour, and I’ll cover the desk while she’s gone.
I run down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich. But no sooner do I sit at my desk that Mr. Carrey rings. Would I mind delivering a copy of the International Transactions article he wrote to Gabriel Storm? He’d like to read it before the afternoon session.
“Sure thing, Mr. Carrey.” Darn. Last thing I want is a private moment with Storm. But I’m a big girl. I can handle this. I grab the article from Carrey’s credenza and head down the stairs. Along the way, I plan my strategy. Knock on the door, hand Storm the report, turn around and leave. No chit chat, no exchanging pleasantries. A simple transaction. Piece of cake, right?
Chapter 9
AT FIRST THE PLAN GOES SMOOTHLY. I knock and Storm yells, “Enter.”
On silent feet, I creep into the room and head for the desk. His lunch tray rests on a side credenza, untouched. He’s seated on the office chair, cell phone glued to his ear, fingers racing away on his laptop, so engrossed in his conversation, he doesn’t notice me.
I put down the article, turn, and am almost home free when the typing stops.
“Elizabeth.”
Damn. What is it about the way he says my name that hardens my nipples? I whirl to find his focus on me. Knowing all I need to take are three lousy steps, I go for it.
And am stopped cold by two words. “Don’t go.”
With that maddening lazy grace of his, he rounds the desk to stand in front of me. He’s in his shirt sleeves. His jacket’s draped over the chair. “Please accept my apologies.”
“What for?” For the altercation with Casey? For barging into my house? For haunting me until all I can think of is you?
“This morning. I should have given your flatmate time to identify himself before I swung a bat at him.”
I shrug as if the whole thing is no big deal. “Casey can defend himself. Besides, he was more worried about his precious Louisville Slugger than anything else.”
“I think he was worried about more than that, love.” He steps closer and my trembling lips part. He overwhelms me. Not only is he taller and bigger than me, but he’s so very much a man. As I have good reason to know. His scent reels me in, entraps me, seduces me. The apex at my legs aches for him, for what I know he can give me. Matters go from bad to worse when he tucks a loose curl behind my ear.
“Stay and have lunch with me.”
Oh, hell no. “I’m not hungry.” A blatant lie for I’d barely bitten into my sandwich before Mr. Carrey called.
“I am.”
“Then eat. Nobody’s stopping you.” My gaze’s focused on the beige carpet beneath my feet. If I don’t look into those ocean-blue eyes, I’ll make it out of here without doing something monumentally stupid. My hand’s on the door handle. All I have to do is turn and leave.
“It’s not food I crave.” He strokes one finger across my skin and tilts up my chin. His gaze finds me, and the hunger I see there almost brings me down.
“Please.” I beg.
“Please what. Elizabeth.”
“Please, don’t do this.” I’m outright shaking now. My legs wobble. I can barely hold myself up. And all he’s done is lay one finger on me. One lousy finger.
“Don’t do what? Touch you?” His hands cradle my jaw, and my nipples tighten into hard little nubs. “Kiss you?” He loosens the scarf and presses a kiss to my throat. I blow out a desperate breath. “Make love to you?” He suckles the edge of my lobe, and everything that’s important to me ceases to exist. Except for the madness he calls from deep within.
“Can you guess what I hunger for?” And just like that he drops to his knees.
Oh, sweet lord.
His hands steal beneath my hem and shove the skirt to my waist. Somehow I retain enough presence of mind to lock the door behind me. He hooks a finger around my thong, rips it off. The shredded wisp dangles briefly from his fingertips before it disappears in his trousers’ pocket. In the next instant, his scorching mouth is on my pussy, licking, sucking, making me wild. I give thanks this office is isolated from the rest of the floor and no one is likely to come by. Because I can’t control my body’s reactions. My moans are bad enough. But when Storm tongues my pearl and sucks it into his mouth, I jerk back, rattling the door, once, twice, many times. “Please, oh please.”
“You want me to stop?”
“No.” I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming while his clever tongue licks my juices, nibbles my clit, and I pump my hips against his greedy mouth.
He looks up at me, his lips glossed with my dew. “You’re delicious. So creamy and hot.” He circles my nub with his thumb and thrusts two fingers into me.
Oh, jeezus! “I’m coming.” I warn him, like he doesn’t know.
“No.” He stops what he’s doing and everything in me howls. “Not until I’m deep in you.”
My knees buckle, but before I hit the floor, he picks me up and lays me across the dark oak desk. Something buzzes. His phone?
Whatever it is, he ignores it. He’s too busy staring at my body, bared from the waist down. “Widen your legs. Show me how much you want me.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but, shameless, I obey him and allow my legs to drop to the side.
He thumbs my clit and my honey flows, drenching his fingers. “You’re creaming for me.”
Yeah, I am. I wish I didn’t want this, but I do. I crave the man.
The sound of his pulled zipper rips through me. I gulp and lay an arm over my eyes. Am I really going to allow Storm to fuck me on top of this desk? At my job? If we’re discovered, I’ll be fired on the spot.
“Don’t hide from me. I wa
nt you to see me screwing you. Every thrust, every grunt, every stroke.” His erection rims my folds, and everything in me goes liquid. My fears wisp away. I lower my arm and give him what he wants.
“So obedient.” He smirks. The son of a bitch actually smirks. I’d slap him if I didn’t want this so much.
Not even the slightest of protests issues from my lips when he fishes out a condom from his slacks and rolls it over his erection. Propping his elbows next to my shoulders, he leans over me. We’re so close I can see the myriad of colors in his eyes—gold, black, aquamarine. Beautiful.
The bastard circles his cock against my clit. “You want this, don’t you?”
More than my next breath. But I’ve had enough of his games. I clutch his face and bite down on his bottom lip. “Fuck me, Storm.”
Jerking upright, he grabs my ass, pulls me to the edge of the desk, and in one powerful stroke, thrusts deep into me. We both grunt from the power of it. Same as last night, he’s big and hard and almost too much for me. I shift on the hard surface to accommodate his size, but the wood is unforgiving. He’s just this side of hurt.
With impatient fingers, he jerks up my blouse, pushes up my bra. When my breasts pop out, he suckles one nipple. My sheath ripples with pleasure, squeezing his cock.
He groans. “Christ on the cross.”
Pushing my breast farther into his mouth, I sink my hands into his hair and breathe him in. His scents surround me. His cologne, his sweat, him.
Once more, his mouth lands on my lips, his tongue curls around mine and sucks. Hard. He tastes of coffee, him and me.
He stabs into me, and I bite on my lip to hold in a scream while he piston rods me. My breasts, slap, slap, slap against my skin while the wet sounds of his cock in my pussy fill the space. He’s no longer the sophisticated lover but an earthy, primal being intent on only one thing—fucking me.
The desk creaks beneath our exertions, and I grasp its edge to keep from sliding off. He surges in and lightning streaks through me. I gasp for breath. Everything in me shakes—my legs, my arms. A climax builds, so strong I will scream the place down if I’m not stopped. Desperate, I stare at him, silently begging him to cease. But he’s lost in the same insane rhythm of sex and passion and lust.