by Various
“I’m coming.” A scream swells in my throat, but before it can reach air, his hand clasps over my mouth in time to muffle the sound. The crisis strikes, and I convulse beneath him while above me, he comes and comes and comes.
Done spilling his passion, he collapses on me. “Bloody hell, Elizabeth.”
I tangle my hand through his perspiring mane and breathe him in. Hot, sweaty, delicious, Gabriel Storm.
He pulls out slowly. Just like last night. And just like night, I experience aftershocks.
It takes me a second to catch his wide eyes, his pale face. My gaze tracks downward to the torn condom in his hand.
“Sorry, love.” He grabs a napkin from the lunch tray, folds it around the condom and stashes the mess in his pants pocket.
I start to slide off the desk, but he stops me. “Wait.” He wets his handkerchief with a water bottle from the credenza.
Spread-eagled beneath him, I squirm with embarrassment while he wipes me clean. It’s only then I realize he’s spilled in me.
“I don’t have an STD,” he says.
“Neither do I. Do you always use a condom?” Please say yes.
“Every damn time.”
I have to believe him. What choice do I have? But I make a mental note to get me checked out. Sliding off the desk, I almost collapse.
“Easy.” He wraps his arm around my waist and holds me up.
I lean against him while my legs regain their strength. Only when I’m sure I won’t keel over, do I stand on my own and put my clothes to rights. “How do I look?” I ask, hoping it’s not as bad as I think.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Like you’ve been properly shagged, love.”
Figures. He looks like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ, while apparently I look like I’ve enjoyed the ride of my life. Which let’s face it, I have. I glance at my watch, twenty minutes until the teams get back from lunch. “I’ll grab a quick shower in the gym.”
“Gym?”
“On the other side of this floor.” The third floor holds visitor’s offices, the firm gym and a large multi-recreational room with a huge big screen tv where anything from business meetings to exercise classes are held.
His big hand tunnels under my hair. He pulls me to him and lays a soft kiss on my lips. “Meet me for dinner.”
I push against his chest, step back. “God, Storm, haven’t you had enough?”
He grins. “Of you? Never.”
If I say no, he’ll argue and my time will run out. “I’ll consider it.” Nothing to think about. I have a law review article and a legal memorandum to write tonight. Opening the door a crack, I listen. No noises drift in, so I’m safe to go. Wrong assumption as it turns out.
Chapter 10
ROUND THE CORNER, I run dab smack into CeCe.
She yelps, a hand flies to her chest. “Girl, you scared me half to death. What are you doing down here?”
My stomach plummets. Of all people, why do I have to bump into the firm’s gossip queen? “Mr. Carrey asked me to deliver a document to Mr. Storm.” It’s the truth.
She purses her lips. That opinionated brow of hers shoots up. “Really?”
“What are you doing down here?” My heart pounds with apprehension. Can she tell what I’ve been doing? Do I smell like I spent a half hour performing sexual acrobatics, butt naked, on top of a firm-issued desk? I lick my dry lips, hoping I can head off the suspicion dawning in her eyes.
“Meeting’s about to start. When Mr. Storm didn’t answer his phone, Carrey asked me to fetch him.”
His cell had buzzed, but he’d ignored it. Too busy screwing me. “They’re done with lunch?” I really need a shower, but with the meeting resuming, that’s a no-go.
“Yeah, they came back early.” Her probing stare sweeps up and down my body, no doubt taking in every one of my sins.
“Elizabeth.”
Gabriel’s voice. Behind me. Shit!
“You forgot your—” Briefcase in one hand, scarf trailing from the other, he comes to a screeching stop next to me “—scarf.”
CeCe’s gaze bounces from me to him and back again. “Oh, no. Oh, hell no.” I know what she sees. My top’s rumpled, so is my skirt. Storm’s tie is a bit askew. And his bottom lip is ... Damn. Did I do that?
I grow lightheaded. If she flaps her gums about what she’s seen, I will get fired. “It’s not what you think, CeCe.”
Her hand lands on her hip. “And how do you know what I think?”
Shoot. Shouldn’t have said that. If she didn’t know before, she surely suspects now. “I was only doing my job.” Doubt ‘boinking businessmen on the opposing side of a deal’ is in my job description. Still, I have to try.
“Uh-huh.”
Another uh-huh. How many of those am I going to get today?
“CeCe?” Storm steps forward and sticks out his palm. “Gabriel Storm.”
Eyes squinting, CeCe allows him to shake her hand. “Cecilia Collins.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Collins.”
“Mrs.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Collins. I’m married.” She wiggles her ring hand at him.
“Three kids.” She holds up three fingers.
What is that all about? A warning she’s off limits? No, it’s something else. An indication she knows an office screw when she sees one? Yeah, that sounds about right.
“Congratulations?” Seemingly, Storm’s as confused as I am.
Her gaze darts back to me. “Didn’t you hear your page?”
What page? “No, I was busy.” I instantly regret the ‘busy’ part.
She humphs. “I bet.”
If it gets out I spent my lunch hour with Storm, my job’s toast. “Please don’t say anything.”
“Elizabeth Watson, please dial 4000.” A mellifluous voice drifts from above.
Grateful for the break in the tension, I pick up the nearest wall phone, dial the number. The receptionist tells me Mr. Carrey wants me back in the conference room as soon as possible.
While I’m on the phone, CeCe gives Storm the hairy eyeball. Neither he nor his clothes scream ‘Afternoon Delight.’ Except for his swollen lip, that is, and he can always say he burned it on coffee. If anybody asks. Which no one will. They’ll just come to the right conclusion. Oh, geez. I’m totally fucked.
I thank the receptionist and turn back to the train wreck.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” Not shy about taking control. CeCe fixes a direct stare on Storm. “Mr. Storm?”
“Yes.” He leans toward her.
“You’re going directly to the meeting. Do Not Pass Go. Do not collect $200. And no stopping in the men’s room. We clear?”
“Crystal.” He winks at her.
Unbelievable. Does he think flirting is going to help?
“If anybody asks, you have no idea where Liz is. You”—she points to me—“come with me. We need to fix you up.”
She’s helping. She’s actually helping. A big wave of relief washes over me. “Any chance I can stop at the gym for a quick shower?” I ask hopefully.
She shakes her head. “No time for that, girl. But we need to do something about that bird’s nest sitting on your head.” She turns to Storm. “What are you waiting for? Go.”
“Mrs. Collins.” He kisses her hand. “Thank you.”
Her café au lait skin takes on a pinkish tone.
CeCe blushing. Now I’ve seen everything.
She snatches back her hand and waves him off. “Stop that nonsense. Now go on with you.”
He sprints toward the elevator, and when he arrives, turns and blows a kiss at me.
“Straighten your tie before you get there, and drink something cold for that lip.” CeCe yells over her shoulder at Storm before she turns to me. “You’re not going to pass out, are you? You’re white as a ghost.”
“No.” She’s right. My vision’s blurring, nausea churns in my stomach. Guess a vigorous sex bout on an empty stomach a
nd a fear of losing your job will do that to you.
She leads me to the ladies room, plops me down on a toilet lid and pushes my head between my legs. “Breathe.”
After the faintness passes, I look up to find CeCe’s concerned gaze on me.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
She helps me pin up my hair, rearrange the scarf around my neck. Once I tuck my blouse, smooth down my skirt, I glance in the mirror. Not bad. Just need some color in my cheeks. I pinch them, and they bloom a soft pink.
Looking into the glass, I connect with Cece’s gaze. “Please don’t say anything.” Okay, I’m begging at this point, but it’s my entire future on the line.
A warm light appears in her eyes, and she pats my arm. “Oh, honey. You got nothing to worry about. If management gets a whiff of this, you’ll get fired, and I’ll end up with Carrey. You think I want to end up with that hot mess?”
Carrey had four assistants the year before I was hired. Not one secretary in the firm wants to work with him, except for Rose. And she only does it because it’s temporary. I turn and hug her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But Liz, honey, don’t do this again. You might not be so lucky next time.”
“I won’t.” Somehow I know I can trust her with my secret, if for no other reason she really doesn’t want to work for Carrey.
On the ride up on the elevator, she pumps me for details. “Just answer me one question. How good is he in the sack?”
Although I don’t say anything, I can’t help a smile from breaking out.
“Damn, girl. That good?”
My lips twitch. I make the mistake of glancing at her and we howl with laughter, surprising the heck out of a senior partner when we emerge from the elevator on the tenth floor. Out of nowhere, my conscience pipes up. You’re sliding back girl, be careful. If only I had listened to that warning. But then, as matters turned out, it was already too late.
As soon as I enter the Potomac conference room, I know something’s not right. By now, the teams should be seated around the conference table, discussing the next item on the agenda. Instead, the Storm Industries’ enclave is huddling in one corner, staring at Storm who’s gripping his cell so tightly I fear it will break. “Get the plane ready. I want wheels up as soon as possible.”
Wheels up? Is he leaving? My breath hitches. He can’t go. Not now.
Rose rushes over to us. “Mr. Storm’s father had a stroke.”
Gabriel’s skin is so tight over his face, I fear it will crack. He must be devastated by the news.
More than anything, I want to comfort him, at the very least to say how sorry I am, but he needs to arrange things with his team. Besides what possible excuse can I drum up to be private with him?
As it turns out, help comes from an unlikely source, Mr. Carrey, who pulls me to the side. “You heard about Gabriel Storm’s father?”
“Yes, Rose informed me.”
“Would you see that he has everything he needs?”
“Of course, Mr. Carrey.”
“And please stay with him until he leaves. I trust you, Elizabeth, to make his departure as smooth as possible.”
I nod.
Storm turns to his second in command, Miranda Stone, his Vice President of Acquisitions, and gives her his orders. “Stay the course we planned and send me a status report every night.”
“Will do,” Ms. Stone says before turning to her team. She’s a model of efficiency, a forties something who rumor has it climbed the Storm Industries ranks through smarts and hard work.
“Mr. Storm?” I ask, all business.
For a second, he doesn’t seem to know who I am. And then his gaze warms and recognition dawns in his eyes. “Elizabeth.”
He should be calling me Ms. Watson, but hopefully no one notices the slip. “Mr. Carrey wants to make sure you have everything you need. Is there anything I can do for you? Check you out of your hotel or arrange things at the airport?” Don’t know why I offer my help with the latter. Hotels I can handle, but I don’t know the first thing about corporate jets and private flights.
“My pilot’s handling the flight arrangements, thank you, and Samuel is taking care of the hotel. He’ll be here soon.”
His phone buzzes. He swipes his thumb across it and reads the text message before turning to me. “Samuel. He’s downstairs.”
“I’ll walk you down.”
He grabs his briefcase and shakes Mr. Carrey’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll be in touch.”
“Of course. If there’s anything we can do, anything at all, please let us know.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He strolls to his team, whispers some final instructions and with a swift “Carry on,” he says goodbye.
Together, we walk out of the room. But when I head for the elevator, he takes my elbow. “Let’s take the stairs.”
“You want to walk down from the tenth floor?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You don’t like elevators, and it will take longer.”
The thought he wants to extend the little time we have left warms my insides. We don’t run into anyone on the way down. Good thing because he holds my hand the entire way. A jumble of emotions riots within me—regret he’s leaving, relief I won’t have to fight him off anymore. Regret wins out. I wish he were staying. I wish we had more time.
“I’m so sorry about your father.” I squeeze his hand.
“Thank you.” He squeezes back.
“I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can for him. Nowadays, they have such great treatments.”
“I hope so.” He doesn’t offer anything else, but his hold on my hand tightens, as if I were some sort of lifeline to him.
After we pass the second floor, he rests his briefcase on the stairway landing and pulls me into his arms. “Wish you could go with me. It would make the journey less painful.”
I can’t. My life is here; my job is here. But I offer what comfort I can. “Please let us know how your father’s doing. I know Mr. Carrey will want to know.”
“How about you?” He tweaks my chin. “Would you like to know?”
“Yes.” A wave of sadness engulfs me, choking me, taking away my power of speech.
“Thank you for a wonderful time.”
I take a deep breath. “You’re welcome.” It has been wonderful. And scary and thrilling. Emotion clogs the back of my throat. I’ll break down if I don’t get away. “I better return to the conference room.”
“Will you miss me, Elizabeth?” He asks softly, as if my answer means the world to him.
Afraid of revealing too much, I toss off a flip answer. “Of course.”
That insouciant confidence of his vanishes in an instant.
Oh, hell. I hurt him. Tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying over this man? Could it be because for a space and time he made me feel alive, something I haven’t felt for a long time. And when he leaves, I’ll return to my hum drum existence with only memories of the great times we had. Yeah, that sounds about right. I can’t let him leave without telling him how much he means to me. Even if it means tearing off a piece of my heart and handing it to him.
I lay my palm on his chest, right over his heart, and whisper in a shaky voice. “I’ll miss you, Storm. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Elizabeth.” His lips brush against mine with such gentleness, I gasp from the sweetness of it. His tongue explores every corner of my mouth, caressing me, savoring me, imprinting the taste of him in me. As if I could forget.
I smooth down his lapel even though it’s not wrinkled. “Better go. Samuel’s waiting for you.”
“Yes.” He picks up his briefcase. No longer holding hands, we walk out into bright sunshine and the sweltering heat and humidity of D.C.
When Samuel sees us, he comes around to open the back door of the Lincoln. Today he’s wearing a white and sky blue pinstripe linen
jacket, white slacks and a snap brim Panama hat.
“Hello, Samuel,” I say.
“Ms. Watson.”
“Any problems at the hotel or the plane?” Storm asks.
“No. Everything’s ready for you. We’ll be at Dulles in less than an hour. Your pilot filed the flight plan and the plane’s being fueled.”
Storm hands his briefcase to Samuel. “Give us a minute, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Samuel slides back into the driver’s seat, leaving us momentarily alone. Well, as alone as we can be on a busy sidewalk with people ogling us as they pass by.
I stick out my palm. “Goodbye, Mr. Storm. Have a nice flight.”
He shakes my hand, but doesn’t let go. “You remember what I said this morning?”
I pin on a fake smile. Out in the open, I can’t chance anything else. “You said lots of things.”
“We’re not finished. You and I.” And just like he did the first time we met, he kisses my hand, except this time he turns it over and kisses the palm.
“Stop that.” I hiss out, snatching back my hand. The trouble I could get into if anybody saw that.
He flashes that devil’s own charm grin of his. “You know what I’m going to miss most, Elizabeth?”
He’s going to say something outrageous. I just know it. “No.”
“That mouth of yours, especially when you wrap it around my—“
“Will you just go?” I grit out. How can I be this turned on when he’s being this bad?
Still grinning, he slides into the limo.
Samuel pulls the car into traffic. And just like that, Storm’s gone.
I turn to find one of the new secretaries on my floor standing by the entrance to our building, staring wide-eyed at me. “Was that Gabriel Storm?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. That was quite a show.”
“Show?”
“Yeah, the way he kissed your hand. That was so romantic.” Her hand flutters to her chest.
Shoot. Gotta nip this one in the bud. “He’s British. They do that to all women.”