by Maggie Wells
Nodding, he flipped back to the first page and re-read her proposal and business plan, this time, with the focus her hard work and determination deserved. When he was finished, Harley closed the folder and held the proposal out to her. Brooke wet her lips then took it, a wary look in her eyes.
“Well? What do you think?”
“Done,” he answered with quiet surety.
She shook her head a little, then gave him a puzzled half-smile. “What? Just like that?”
Harley lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “It’s your flower and candy money, but if that’s how you want to spend it—”
“Don’t tease,” she snapped. “This is important.”
“I agree, and I’m not teasing. I spent almost as much trying to get past your voicemail. If you need a leg-up, I’ll cover you.”
Turning her head, she slanted a suspicious glare at him. “Are you offering a leg-up for a leg over?”
He barked a laugh, stunned and amused by her audacity. “Now who’s the crude one?”
She drew a deep breath, and being only human, and a guy, naturally his attention wandered to her breasts. Steeling himself, he forced his gaze back up to her face. It was no real hardship. Wariness had given way to hope. Her skin was pale and smooth, her dark eyes luminous. “You’re serious.”
A statement, a plea, and a big, fat demand all wrapped up in two words. He loved every crazy, annoying facet of her. Unable to keep his hands to himself for one second longer, he gently removed the folder from her death grip and tossed it onto his desk. He plunged a hand into her hair, destroying the business-like twist and sending a couple of pins flying.
Laney yelped and grabbed the lapel of his jacket to steady herself. Pressing her hand to her head, she tilted her head back to alleviate pressure. “Ah! Ow! It’s attached, you know,” she grumbled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. And he meant the apology sincerely. He was sorry for every moment of pain inflicted on her by the people who were supposed to love her best. Including himself.
“Is this the tit for tat part?” Her breath was warm against his lips, but she didn’t pull away when he began to yank the remaining pins from her hair.
“Business is over. No tit for tat.” Dark, glossy waves tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. He pushed both hands into the thick mass and closed his eyes as the silky strands flowed through his fingers. “I’ll fund your start-up because I’ve done similar things for various friends over the years.” He dipped his head to nuzzle her ear.
“Are we friends?”
Her voice was breathy, but instead of sounding weak, it packed a husky punch that grabbed him by the balls. “No. We’re not friends, Delaney.”
She stiffened slightly. Apparently, his honesty surprised her. “Then what are we?”
“If I have my way, we’re about to be lovers again.” He spoke the words directly into her ear, and she shivered. Trailing deliberately lazy kisses along her jaw, he meandered his way back to her mouth. Her lips were damp and parted. He could almost taste her desire. He wanted—no, needed—to lay claim to her once and for all, but she had to give herself first. He slid one hand down her spine, over the little cluster of silk flowers marking the sweet spot in the small of a woman’s back, and grasped her ass. Holding her snug against him, he growled, “Lovers, and more.”
“I don’t know what more you want from me.”
“Bullshit.” But he rewarded the spirit behind the blatant lie with a ghost of a kiss. He made barely enough contact for it to count, but she bowed into him. Her eagerness to surrender to the physical might have made him laugh if he weren’t hard as granite and locked up in a damn straight jacket of a suit. Pride might go before the fall, but with Laney, she’d surrender her body first. He knew that much for sure.
Cupping her bottom, he turned so the intricately carved edges of the desk pressed into the backs of her thighs. She blinked slowly, her white teeth sinking into her full lower lip. Then she pushed his arm away so she could hop up to sit on the edge of the desk.
For the first time since she walked through the restaurant’s door, he cursed the slim skirt of her dress. The damn thing left no room for him between her legs. He looked up and noticed the fabric had pulled taut under her, which meant the dress strained to stay up on her shoulders. Bracing his legs on either side of hers, he slid one finger along a sleeve. Delaney wet her lips and stared up at him, challenge and desire darkening already fathomless eyes. With the slightest encouragement the dress slid over the curve of her shoulder and pooled at her upper arm. He did the same to the other side, his breath coming faster as he watched the modest neckline slide down to expose the delicate lines of her collarbones and the subtle swell of her breasts.
Burying both hands in her hair, he pulled her head back. The ivory column of her throat arched. Vulnerable, exposed, his for the taking. The bodice of her dress slipped down a little farther. Laney tried to reach for him, but the sleeves bunched above her elbows, limiting her range of movement. Slender fingers grasped his arms, but she didn’t push him away. Nor did she urge him closer. She sat there, ripe lips, creamy skin, and delicious curves.
God help him, he caved. He took her mouth first, angling to fit his lips to hers, not bothering to temper the raw want in his kiss. She moaned and opened to let him in. Any hope he had for self-restraint went flying out the window. No coaxing. No cajoling. No pretense of patience at all. Their tongues swirled, thrusting and parrying like well-matched dueling partners. Laney gave as good as she got. For as long as he let her.
Harley practically crawled up onto the desk, knocking things aside in his need to get closer to her. In her. He could have her here. Now. On his desk. The thought got its hooks into him and his mind whirred. She’d let him. Christ, she’d let him fuck her right then and there. In an instant, he pictured a half-dozen ways he could make it happen. Laney naked and draped across the glossy desktop...red dress hitched up around her waist as he bent her over the edge...her breasts bouncing as she straddled him in his chair and rode him for all he was worth.
He pulled the dress down farther and laid claim to those high, firm breasts. But something wasn’t quite right. He broke the kiss long enough to look at the treasure he’d uncovered and found her tantalizing tits were covered up with some kind of flower petal-shaped adhesive bandages.
“Just peel ’em off,” she whispered, her voice raspy with urgency.
“What are they?” he asked, fascinated and repelled, all at the same time.
“They’re kind of a bra cup thingy…for when you can’t wear a real bra.”
Curiosity satisfied, and never one to ignore a direct order, he did as she asked. She winced when he tore them off in one quick rip, figuring the Band-Aid rules applied to all adhesives attached to skin. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
He balled the sticky things up and tossed them over his shoulder, tipping her back farther, determined to kiss the hurt away. He nuzzled the underside of one breast in wordless apology, then ran the flat of his tongue over the pebbled nipple. Filling his hands with her again, he molded and shaped the soft mounds, teasing the hard crests with the pads of his thumbs. He licked alternately one then the other, then, because he loved to watch her squirm, blew cool air across the wet flesh. Delaney’s leg moved restlessly against his. Hampered by the snug skirt, she couldn’t get much momentum, but the stiletto heel of her shoe scraped against his calf, threatening the integrity of his suit pants and shooting lightning bolts of want straight to his groin.
“Touch me,” he growled, then covered one nipple with his mouth and sucked hard. “Jesus, I’m going to die if you don’t touch me.”
She blinked at him, her eyes clouded with desire, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Hm?”
He released her nipple with a pop and she stirred from her stupor enough to catch his meaning. Her dress hindered her ability to reach up, but she�
�d have no difficulty sliding her hand down to his crotch. He gripped her hand and guided it there.
“Oh.”
A low, strangled groan escaped his throat as her palm slid over his dick. Even through the layers of clothing, her caress felt indescribably better than his own hand. He’d pictured her like this hundreds of times. Played out this fantasy, or others like it, on a constant loop over the past six months with only his right hand for comfort. No more. From now on, he wanted nothing but her hands, her mouth, and her sweet, tight pussy wrapped around him.
He planted a hand and tried to press in closer, but whatever he had a handle on slid across the smooth surface of the desk. Groaning, he tried for better purchase, but his hand landed on the same slippery leather once more. Forcing himself to focus, he zeroed in on the object and hurled it across the room. When he realized he'd tossed the portfolio containing her business plan, time stopped.
His heart hammered as he lifted his head. She continued to stroke him through his pants, her tapered fingers molded to the fabric. The expensive suit did little to hide how much he wanted this to happen—now and every damn day of his life. But he didn’t want to wonder whether she was fucking him for any reason other than wanting him.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed up and away from her. “No. Stop.”
“Wha—what?”
Laney caught her weight with a hand on the desk. The move only thrust her breasts higher. Cursing himself seven ways from Sunday, he staggered back a step, his eyes locked on the dark tips of those creamy mounds. He ran a hand over his face, but the scene in front of him didn’t shift or change. He’d had the woman he’d loved for too long exactly where he wanted her, and he was the candy-ass who said “no” and “stop” like he was a virgin, and she was the one doing the violating.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a rush, upping his girly quotient by ten thousand. But he wasn’t a girl. He was a man. And he wasn’t feeling like a particularly strong man at the moment, so he reached for the sagging front of her dress and pulled the fabric up to cover those too-tempting tits.
Laney blinked rapidly. Whether she was beating back disbelief or tears, he didn’t know. All he knew was he had his own agenda and it had absolutely nothing to do with the proposal in her folder or a quickie on his desk. He tugged at the sleeves of the dress until they caught at least the very curve of her shoulder, then took a giant step back, raising his hands as if she were a force he needed to ward off.
“I just... Things got out of hand.”
Or in hand, he thought. He didn’t dare vocalize the play on words, though. The sharp gleam in her eyes as she slid off the desk told him this wasn’t the time for wisecracks. Gaze locked on him, she tugged and pushed and pulled until she was covered. For his part, he did his damnedest not to stare at her nipples, but without the cover of those little sticky flower things, they pressed against the fine weave of the fabric. His mouth watered—literally watered—at the mere thought of taking them again. Unfortunately, the hard set of Laney’s jaw was screaming something along the lines of “fat chance, buster.” Thinking fast, he determined his best defense was no defense at all.
“I didn’t bring you up here to attack you. I apologize.” He kept his expression solemn and sincere. “I want you so damn much.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he thought he saw her soften a bit. Since he wasn’t above blatant exploitation, he pushed on in the same direction. After all, the truth was the truth, and it was damn hard to argue against it.
“Let me try to be perfectly clear,” he said with a quiet calm he wasn’t feeling at all. “I’ll help you with your venture, Delaney, but because I think you have a good idea and a decent plan. I’m sorry I didn’t know what you were going through with your mom. We don’t exactly run in the same circles, so no one told me how difficult things were.”
“I bet you’ve had an earful now.”
Frustrated in every possible way, Harley shrugged out of the suit jacket and clawed at the knot in his tie. Once he yanked it down a few inches, he opened the collar button and gulped the first unconstrained breath he’d taken since he knotted the damn thing. Feeling more himself, he fisted his hands on his hips and attempted to gather his scattered thoughts. Everything boiled down to the two words he’d spoken to her outside her apartment. All in.
“I know your dad lost everything. That happened before I left, though his cronies tried to close ranks so it wasn’t too obvious.” He smirked. “I’ll give you blue bloods this much: y’all do try to take care of your own.” He rolled his shoulders back and turned to circle the desk. “I own much of the waterfront property Tarrington Industries once held. I made your daddy a decent offer for the parcels a couple years ago, but he didn’t want to sell to the likes of me, so I let him slide down the slippery slope to foreclosure. The minute the banks stepped in, I was able to pick it up for a song.”
Her chin came up. “I don’t blame you one bit. Daddy isn’t only a fool, he’s a snob. He’s also a drunk,” she added.
The defiant note in her tone told him she expected him to argue with her pronouncement. He was certain most polite people did, but he wasn’t well-bred enough to sugarcoat the truth when it was self-evident. Instead, he simply nodded and dropped into his chair. Opening the center drawer, he withdrew a checkbook. “As I said, I’m happy to give you the money you need to start your venture. I knew your mama to be a kind and fair woman.” He smiled a slow smile. “She was never above taking my money for a good cause, and I’m sure she’d consider you the best cause of all.”
“I’m nobody’s cause,” she shot back.
He held up a hand in immediate surrender. “You’re right.” He opened the checkbook, uncapped the crazy-expensive fountain pen his mom thought made him look like a real businessman, and began to write. Her name flowed from the nib as if he’d written it a million times. The amount was less than he paid for plasterwork on a single job, but it was a lot for her. A veritable fortune to a person who thought she was out of options. This was the closest she’d ever come to making a deal with the Devil himself. He only needed to convince her, no matter how block-headed he’d been in the past, her heart and soul would be safe with him. “But I think we can admit you’ve been something of a crusade for me.”
“Listen, this whole thing was a bad idea—”
Signing his name with a flourish, he ripped the check from his book and waved the paper to set the ink. “This was an excellent idea,” he countered, rising from his seat. He extended the check to her. “Call it an investment, loan, or a gift, I don’t care, but I see this as the beginning of a partnership.”
She blinked, her eyes darting from his face to the check and back again. “A partnership?”
“Yes.”
Pursing her lips, she eyed the piece of paper in his hand again. “What kind of partnership?”
Rumpled and on edge, she never looked more desirable to him. He wanted to hold her and promise she’d never have to carry the weight all alone again, hide every hairpin in the world so she’d never attempt to tame those decadent dark locks again, and strip her bare so he could worship every inch of her body with every inch of his. The ache to taste her first thing in the morning was almost as sharp as her tongue. But he could make her laugh. Shock her with his audacity and make her gasp in mock dismay with his uncouth behavior. Scandalize her and everyone she knew with public displays of affection. Give her everything she was born to have.
He came around the desk to stand right in front of her. “The check is yours. Cash it or tear it up, but it has no impact on us.”
“Us? Is there an us?”
Her question set him off. “Yes, Delaney. Exactly my point.” He slipped the check into the portfolio and turned to face her, all question of money literally and figuratively set aside. “You said something had to give, and this is it.”
He caught a rogue wave of dark hair and drew it to his lips. Her breath hitched and her pupils dilated. Smiling, he tucked the hair
behind her ear, then smoothed his knuckles down her cheek. Someone knocked at the stairwell door, but he ignored it. This was one message he needed to be sure came through loud and clear. “No more games. This is going to happen, you and me.”
“It is?”
This time, her question wasn’t loaded with challenge or doubt, but tinged with caution and, if he wasn’t fooling himself too badly, hope. “Yes.”
Silence stretched between them, but for once it wasn’t charged. It was simply quiet. Comfortable. The knock came again. Laney glanced at the door, and her lips curved into a smile. “I think that’s our lunch.”
“Say yes,” he commanded, unwilling to let go until he’d closed the deal.
“Yes to lunch?”
“Yes to everything,” he corrected. “Or no lunch for you.”
“Well, if you’re going to resort to blackmail...”
“You have no idea how far I’d go.”
She licked her lips, a flash of something unreadable in her eyes. “I think I might.”
“Then what’s your answer?”
He’d give her credit. She hesitated only for a second. “Yes.” Their gazes held. “Now hurry up and get the door. My lunch is getting cold, and a girl gets fickle when she’s hungry.”
Grinning, Harley stepped past her to cross the room. “While we eat, I have a few suggestions and ideas to run past you. I may know some ladies who might be able to help you out with production.”
Her laugh bounced off the walls, filling the empty space with a sudden burst of light. “There go any hopes of you being a silent partner.”
He flashed a devilish smile as he reached for the door handle. “Sugar, if I get my way, neither of us will be anything remotely approaching silent.”
Chapter 6
The hours since Laney left Harley’s office were a muddle. Her mind whirled with ideas. When it came to breaking down business plans, the man was like a centrifuge. Drop in a chunk of big picture, and within minutes, he’d have it dissected into pieces far less daunting than even the simplified plan she and Brooke had cooked up. But her brain wasn’t the only thing keyed up. She’d gone home from lunch braless, thanks to his callus dismissal of her Fashion Forms. Even after changing into an old Auburn University T-shirt and matching boxers, she could feel the gentle abrasion of wool against super-sensitized skin.