by Libby Rice
He reached around to palm her ass, but when his hand touched the smooth globe of one cheek, she snapped her hips, wringing a surprised gasp from his scratchy throat.
Glorying in the fact that she might be ready for harder play, he placed his hands on her hips and bucked into her in quick, sharp thrusts. “Like that—”
She pulled up—all the way up—literally leaving him moaning the loss. “I take it back, I’m dying.”
“We’re trying something, remember?” With that, she slid down over his body and sucked him into the warmth of her mouth, her hot lips engulfing him without warning.
Alternate! He was so renewing her magazine subscriptions when this was all over.
“Your article was right,” he hissed when she feathered her wet tongue over his dick like a carnival treat. “I love it.” And you.
Fear that he might lose both set the fierce pleasure against the urge to be sick.
Again, just when he thought he’d explode, she pulled back, this time to inch back up his body and slide him inside her once more.
Sweat beaded on his chest. He let loose with a long, low growl. “How many times did your article tell you to do this?”
She flashed a wicked grin. “Lots.”
Half an hour later, Ethan had gone mad. She’d enslaved him, not that he hadn’t seen it coming. She finally rode him hard. As an insurance policy, he slipped his thumb between them to rub her slick clit on each downward stroke. In less than a minute, he felt her tightening. His ears devoured the sound of her helpless mewling, those innate sounds of pleasure she couldn’t hold back.
“Come on me, Scarlet.” His voice had gone guttural. “I want to feel you squeeze me when you let go.”
“Anything—” Her body convulsed in waves. He met her, letting loose into the reaching depths of her body.
Slowing down and breathing hard, it hit him too soon that he’d literally bathed her womb with his seed. No condom. The thought had him scrambling away in panic, the worst scenarios imprinting on his mind.
Scarlet in pain. Losing a child.
“Wait.” She reached out, tethering him.
“We didn’t use protection,” he said, hearing the desperate edge to his voice. “Shit. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s all right.” She clamped her knees to the sides of his thighs, holding him in place beneath her. “Ethan, we’re okay. You know the condom’s a safety net.” Stroking his cheek, she added, “We’re fine.”
Yeah, he would be fine. He didn’t risk his very life with conception. The thought of Scarlet facing an ectopic pregnancy—any kind of threat whatsoever—had his teeth playing bumper cars. “Never again.”
Her face went sad, eyes distant. “Not as long as that, but not for some time. We have to be convincing.”
Like this had been? Bitter laughter welled up. Yes, we have to be convincing, and I hope you’ll forgive me for making sure we are.
Even knowing what he had to do, his throat closed at the sight of her earnestness. Now or never.
Lifting a sensitive nipple to his seeking tongue, he drawled between licks, “You said you can’t be my ‘lover and my lawyer.’ Seems you just chose ‘lover’ in a pretty big way.”
“No,” she said, sucking her lower lip. Oh, how he wanted to do that for her.
He tilted his head, considering, then stated the obvious. “You’re still choosing ‘lawyer.’”
The accusation hung between them like he knew it would. Scarlet would be fine, was getting what she wanted, what she believed she needed. For his sake, he hoped she got it fast.
He stared at her wordlessly, preparing, and then gently wound an arm around her lower back to chain them together for the harsh road ahead.
******
Ethan clasped her chin between his fingers, urging her head around to face him. An hour ago he hadn’t been hearing her. In a move more desperate than she wanted to admit, she’d come to him again, determined to show him, in the most basic way possible, the emotions he’d refused to believe.
Her relief at having reached him dissipated when she saw his expression. The passion from moments ago had fled, leaving his features cold. Utterly remote and unyielding. Even the muscles beneath her bunched, going taut.
“You didn’t think to manipulate me with a bout of really acrobatic sex, did you sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, satin easing over blown glass. “Certainly you’re not that naive or that stupid.”
She froze at the accusation. Pain hit, then expanded in her chest. No, not this.
Mute, she squirmed on his lap, trying to break loose.
“You knew,” he rasped out, “that I’d think you’d changed your mind, that I wouldn’t touch you otherwise. In your suite—before, when you were intent on leaving me behind—you were desperate to avoid my touch.”
She shook her head, frantic to change the loathing that distorted his features. “I wanted to show you—” She swallowed the admission. “I thought once more wouldn’t make a difference.” But she’d only considered whether her colleagues would find out about an extra round, not what it would do to them when, afterward, parting remained a reality.
“Honesty didn’t work, so you pranced in here without underwear. What, did you think making me come would make me more malleable? Make me agree to your temporary split?”
Her limbs shook, but her eyes remained dry, aching in their sockets. Hurt like this felt too immense for tears. Like her skin would rip apart at previously unknown seams. She tried to rise off his lap, but he anchored her in place.
“Please let go,” she whispered.
“With pleasure.” But his grip didn’t ease. “You know what, Scarlet? All kinds of women have tried to rule me with sex.” A sensual glint entered in his gaze. “They’ve used dirty, wet, sucking sex, like you, to bind and control. It hasn’t worked. It never will.” His body went pliant beneath hers, lids lowering. “But let me tell you, I enjoyed the effort. And if you ever feel like trying again, you know where to find me.”
“I see,” she whispered. But she only “saw” his mocking expression, laughing at her for giving him everything.
“You got your ‘once more,’ Scarlet. Now I want my ‘get out.’”
He’d asked her to leave the suite when she’d interrupted his shower earlier, and she clung to hope a saner person would have abandoned. “Of your room?”
The arm binding her relaxed, freeing her to go. “Of my life.”
The three words wound around her heart, squeezing in her chest until air became scarce. She had gambled and lost.
Sucking in a breath, she pushed herself up, then began to collect her discarded clothing, first her skirt, then her bra from behind the couch. Her lovely blouse lay crumpled next to him on the sofa. She decided to abandon it since most of the buttons littered the carpet. Another thing destroyed.
Pulling herself upright, she resisted a last look in his direction, afraid of what her face might reveal. Then, with his stare burning into her retreating back, she walked through the connecting doors left ajar upon her arrival. On the other side, she shut hers quietly behind.
Seconds later, his followed suit. A deadbolt slid into place with a low thud.
Unstable legs carried her into the bathroom. A harsh twist sent hot water streaming into the tub. Eyes darting around the room, she eased into a sitting position at the edge of her bath, bombarded with piece after piece of lingerie hanging from every available surface. Each bra-and-panty set screamed safety. Security. All the shelter Ethan had just taken away. Emptiness clawed upward and she fought to prevent herself from grabbing something, anything, to cover her body before she sank into the water.
But she didn’t. First one trembling arm and then a leg, she braced herself against the porcelain and lowered her body into the steaming heat, forcing down the instinctive rush of the old habit that rose to greet her.
If he never gave her another gift, Ethan would at least leave her with this, the strength to push forward. Raw, scared, fractured.
But less afraid.
Brave.
Chapter 20
So much for the valiant attempt to save her career and her love life. Instead, she’d overseen two slow deaths.
Scarlet shifted on the curb that fringed the d’Angleterre, gripping the handles of her rolling luggage and examining her cherry red manicure in mutiny. When that became a bore, all too quickly, she flashed Brian a tentative smile. “It’s coming, right?”
“I called, Scar.” He looked her over from head to toe. “Don’t be scuffing those Manolos in your enthusiasm. We’re taking our time, walking out of this shit show calmly, heads held high.”
She regarded the glossy heels Brian so admired, red to match her manicure. They stood out against the silk of her fitted business suit, gray to match her mood. If she decided to sabotage the only bright things on her body, let alone her mind, she’d hurl the shoes at Ethan’s thick skull.
Deceptively calm, she dropped her chin and let her eyes blur until she saw two rosy blobs silhouetted against an indistinct backdrop of hot concrete. Squinting, the splotches stretched wide, giving her designer clown feet. Her fashion fixation had grown involuntarily as the Optik deal had dwindled over the last several days. Each time her confidence took a hit, her compulsion to perfect business-chic consumed the lost ground, eventually overtaking her drive to usher Atavos and Optik, not to mention her and Ethan, into enduring partnerships.
Now she looked great, meticulously groomed, in control, and worth every cent of several-hundred dollars an hour. Yet the deal smoldered at her feet, and she was out a client. She refused to dwell on what else she’d lost.
Lissa would say she’d reverted to type. Stress did strange things to people. A few ate. Some drank. Still others slept. She shopped for things she technically couldn’t afford, letting the thrill of the chase consume all the unsavory details.
Until the money runs out.
Ethan had told Arland Magnus to fuck off that morning. With one clipped obscenity, the deal had screeched to a halt. Atavos would go elsewhere, leaving her and the rest of the team on a sunbaked curb no less than two hours later.
Flights had been booked and cabs called. Now the fat lady sang a heart-wrenching good-bye in Scarlet’s ear, and that imaginary farewell appeared to be all she’d get.
Other than an hour-old e-mail from Ethan, her dismissal had been largely silent. His initial message had been addressed to her but copied several JTS colleagues in Copenhagen and, unfortunately, New York. First, Ethan had extended a tepid thanks for her efforts. Then he’d gotten down to business. Atavos will no longer require your services or the legal expertise of Jahn Tremane & Spellman.
Flinching in memory, she mentally reread between the lines. She’d asked for time and space to figure out how the two of them could sustain an above-board relationship. In response, he’d cut her from his life with all the precision of a surgical knife. At the same time, his devastating message had severed their attorney-client relationship and technically opened the door to the possibility of a legitimate love affair.
A follow-up e-mail, this time to her alone, made it clear that Ethan didn’t intend to pick up where they’d left off. I wish things could have been different.
Message number three had arrived hot on the heels of the other two, only it had come from a JTS partner who never minced words. The head of JTS’s corporate group had requested to see her upon arrival in New York and rubbed the whole wretched story in her face. An eventful trip, Ms. Leore.
The smarmy insinuation lent Ethan’s curt, professional set-down additional sting.
After sampling all she had on offer, Ethan had found her lacking, both the lover and the lawyer. Even her damn boss knew about her double-edged failure.
Snip.
“Scarlet?” Brian’s voice jolted her out of the untimely obsession with her well-shod feet. She looked up to see him haul his luggage to a waiting taxi. On a steadying inhale, she gathered the tattered reserves of her pride and trundled forward, bags in tow.
A hand on her shoulder halted all progress. Feeling no trace of fear at the sudden contact, she whirled to face the only person who’d dare such high-handedness. Ethan towered above her with his back to the hotel and the summer sun bombarding his aviators. Not a telltale twitch or squint in sight, he stood in a loose stance that emphasized the sharp cut of his three-piece suit.
For the first time in their volatile history, Ethan didn’t look at Scarlet when he spoke, as though he couldn’t be bothered to tilt his head in her direction. “Ride with me,” he said. As she’d come to expect, his low voice issued a command, not a request.
But she’d do it. Wanted to, in fact. Perhaps the simple act of yelling at him over the twenty-minute airport dash would prove cathartic.
“I’d love to,” she said sweetly. Then, with a dazzling smile, she turned to The Minion at his side. “You can ride”—she gestured over her shoulder to Brian with a quick jerk of her head—“over there.” Without awaiting a reply, she kicked the Manolos into gear and strutted past the two of them to slide into a black Mercedes that eased to the curb.
And screw you, Susan, for not sucking more. Sinking into the butter-soft leather seats, Scarlet acknowledged her standing reservation at the bottom rung of hell. But really, couldn’t The Minion have shown herself to be slightly corrupt? Maybe an itsy bit of backdoor dealing to reroute all those fingers pointing straight at the legal team?
Ron Michael had staged a veritable inquest, and Susan had come out smelling like roses—an ordinary bitch, not a double-crossing one. And apparently one that enjoyed the occasional European tryst. Admittedly, given Susan’s revealing little “pep-talk” over Scarlet’s first return itinerary, the woman’s enduring loyalty to Ethan hadn’t come as a surprise. The news that Susan had most likely been getting laid the night she’d aroused Ethan’s suspicion had, on the other hand, been the surprise of the summer.
Nope, parting ways with Optik had been a run-of-the-mill breakup. Like thousands of companies before them, Atavos and Optik simply didn’t suit. The Danish company would move on to the next sucker, looking for a buyer with a different management style, fewer questions, and a higher—though completely unwarranted—offering price. While the same story played out daily in boardrooms the world over, this particular flop had run at least a week long and a hundred grand high, an easy failure to chalk up to Scarlet, the sub-par negotiator.
To boot, Ethan believed she’d used her body to coerce him into a sham breakup for the sake of her career.
The idea was laughable. She didn’t possess the sexual confidence to manipulate a man like Ethan with her charms. From the insults still batting around the inside of her skull, Ethan agreed. “Certainly you’re not that naïve or that stupid.”
Ding! Ding! Ding! She knew her limitations well, and a man-eater she wasn’t. But she was naïve enough to follow her heart into his bathroom to work at repairing the rift between them and stupid enough to follow her libido into his bed, or at least onto his couch, after seeing the searing way he’d touched himself beneath that sheet of water.
He also thought—and this time he was right—that she’d always choose a modest independence over turning to a man for a pampered existence. Even if the man was Ethan. Because he was Ethan. The only person her money had ever hurt.
If she needed something from him, how could offering love be considered anything but payment?
Staring out the tinted window, she saw a hint of a smile crack Ethan’s face when he picked up her luggage and passed it to their driver. She’d left it there to piss him off, blatantly implying he lived to serve and mentally rubbing her hands together over the little indecencies men had to suffer when they pissed the wrong woman off.
And he found it funny.
Opening the door, he peered into the comparative darkness of the car’s interior. In a slow drawl, he asked, “Anything else I can do for you, Ms. Leore?”
Tell me you can’t live without me. Then take off your clothes and give me a
real ride to the airport. “Not particularly,” she said, busying herself with the seat belt.
With those and several equally uplifting thoughts, she pulled her attention back to the harmless peep-toe heels that, if she said so herself, totally elongated her petite legs. Another pair—same style, different color—might be in order.
She’d nearly coaxed herself into rock-solid indifference when he crawled into the back seat, resting his thigh a tad closer than necessary given the spacious quarters. That come-hither heat she’d come to expect from his nearness radiated between their bodies.
Despite the closeness, he didn’t reach out. For the first time, his touch wasn’t a sure thing. She ran a clammy palm over her legs, skimming the shoes, but it didn’t do the trick. When he touched her, she felt a jolt of emotion—calmed, aroused, desired, cared for. When she touched herself, she felt like a pretender, a loser groping her own leg in an attempt to emulate her ex-lover’s hands on her body.
And here she’d planned to rebuff the advance she’d “known” would come, to make it clear that while he panted after her, she’d grown immune to his charms.
Wrong again.
“I got your messages,” she said quietly, staring down at the beautiful shoes.
“Yes.” Paper rustled, and the dry sweetness of newspaper ink permeated the car’s interior. “Now you’re free.”
Free to do what? Not sleep? Get fired? Want him more than ever?
She didn’t turn. “You, too.”
More rustling, then a gentle stroke swept along on her jaw until she turned her attention from her feet and looked his way. Like a doctor examining a patient, he trailed a finger beneath her eye, tracing the dark circle she hadn’t been able to conceal with any amount of makeup. He gently turned her face a bit further, then traced around the other eye. “Not sure I’d call giving you up ‘freedom.’”
“Then what?” she asked, refusing to let his meaningless banter matter. Ethan had been the one to cut her loose, after all. Veiled hints that he hadn’t liked the role only engendered false hope.