Marriage of Inconvenience

by Penny Reid

  He’d needed to heal.

  I’d needed to be patient.

  But now . . .

  Gone were the dark circles beneath his eyes, the pale sheen to his skin, the thin quality to his lips, and the ever present frown at his forehead. They’d been fading by degrees, slowly. But today, he looked great. So great. So, so, so great. Almost his old self.

  His lips weren’t at all thin. They were back to their full, gorgeous, luscious, lickable, biteable normal. And I couldn’t help but wish he’d unbutton me, like he’d done on Tuesday, and brush those lips over my exposed skin. Unclasp my bra, open my dress, lay me back on the desk and—

  “Kat?”

  “Hmm?” I blinked at him. Or rather, I blinked his eyes back into focus.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No. Sorry.” Stirring, I forced myself to stop thinking about his lips. “What where you saying?”

  He watched me, his gaze intense, probing, as though he were trying to peer inside my brain and discover my most recent thoughts. My neck heated. I said nothing, determined not to rush him again. If he wanted me, he’d have to make the first move.

  The barest of smiles tugged his mouth to the side and his eyelids drooped over eyes now darker, hot with intent.

  Oh. Well. Okay.

  Don’t let yourself get too excited.

  “Did you know . . .” he paused, his gaze dropping to the front of my dress, and then slowly climbing up to my lips. “I once asked Janie if she thought you’d leave your job at Foster? Come and work for me, as my Betty, at Cypher Systems?”

  “You did?” By “my Betty” I knew he was referring to Quinn’s longtime executive assistant. Betty was the glue that held that place together, the center of the clock around which everything revolved. She made it all happen, and she did so wearing pearls and a smile.

  “Yeah.” He leaned back further in my office chair, his hands behind his head.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Janie said they needed you too much. That the place would fall apart if you left.”

  “Well,” I shrugged, “I’m gone now. I turned in my notice last Friday.”

  “Yeah. But I think that’s not the only reason she advised me against it.”

  “Oh? Why else?”

  He shrugged lazily, his hands still behind his head, regarding me evenly. “I think she was worried about me.”

  A little spike of excitement shivered down my spine. “How so?”

  Dan paused for a moment, thinking. “Janie didn’t know Quinn was her boss until after they got together.”

  “Yes. I remember when she found out.” The hot, spiky sensation lingered, likely because he was still looking at me like I was dessert; I gave into the urge to rub the gathering heat at the back of my neck. “And he wasn’t her boss, he was her boss’s boss.” I gave Dan a pointed look, remembering how upset Janie had been.

  “Yeah. And I think it’s always kinda pissed her off, that he was her boss—excuse me, her boss’s boss— and he was making the moves on her.”

  “But he made moves on her before he was her boss.”

  “And he continued making moves on her even after she was hired. I think that’s why she didn’t want you working for me.” Dan turned in the swivel seat, coming forward and straightening, his hands dropping to his lap as his knee brushed mine.

  The look in his eyes sent warmth to my abdomen, lower, the beginnings of a pulsing ache.

  “She was worried you’d make a move on me? If you were my boss?” I lifted an eyebrow at him, fighting the instinct to regulate my breathing.

  So many thoughts.

  But I wouldn’t regulate my breathing.

  I needed to surrender. I needed to pant if I wanted to pant. I needed to moan if I wanted to moan. I needed to give myself over to sensation and not worry about looking or sounding silly, or disappointing him. I needed to enjoy myself, because I wanted to very, very badly.

  And I needed to love him, own it and feel it and not worry. I needed to trust him, that he loved me, that he wouldn’t bring me to this edge and let me fall by myself.

  He loved me and I loved him and it was time to surrender.

  Surrender.

  Dan leaned forward, sliding his large hand around my leg, his fingers just below the hem of my skirt at the back of my knee, sending pinpricks of sensation up my leg. “She was worried I wouldn’t make a move.”

  We traded stares for a moment and my heart increased in tempo. I allowed it to quicken, to race, to speed.

  When he spoke next, his voice was deeper, huskier. “Late nights with the boss, working closely together, it would’ve been torture.”

  “For you? Or for me?” Was that my voice? I sounded breathless.

  He flashed a quick grin—there and gone in a second—and he dropped his eyes to my stomach, tugging at my leg. I moved where he guided, until I was standing in front of him, my back to the desk, him sitting before me.

  “Maybe we would’ve found ourselves here, like this.” His fingers were on my thighs under my skirt, inching it higher and his eyes followed the upward progress as the lace bands of my stockings were revealed.

  My breathing had become excited, erratic, and I didn’t care because this was what I wanted and I trusted him.

  His fingertips trailed a light touch on the back of my legs as he fingered the lace. Dan encouraged me with a subtle movement to lean my bottom on the desk.

  Then he made a sound of disapproval, shaking his head. “Mrs. O’Malley.”

  Warmth engulfed me, spreading over my skin and unfurling low in my belly. This was role-play. Dr. Kasai had suggested it to me when I’d spoken with her privately last week. But I hadn’t mentioned it to Dan, and I hadn’t realized I wanted to do it until just now.

  I couldn’t think. And I didn’t want to.

  “Is there something wrong, Mr. O’Malley?” I shivered.

  Needing to steady myself, the base of my palms came to the edge of the desk on either side of my legs.

  His mouth curved upwards into a smirk, and he nudged my knees wider, his knuckles skimming the bare skin above my thigh-highs on either side of my panties.

  “You’ve been making me work late with no overtime pay.”

  I frowned, studying him, pulled out of the fantasy for a split second by his words.

  You’ve been making me work late . . . making me . . .

  My breath hitched and my eyes widened when I realized what he’d done.

  I was the boss.

  He was the executive assistant.

  “I feel like I deserve something for my efforts,” his eyes were on my underwear, where my legs were spread.

  He licked his lips.

  I felt my body tighten, clench.

  But I was unable to speak, so lost was I to the moment, greedily anticipating his next move.

  Dan lifted his fingers to hook into the waistband of my underwear, tugging it gently, slowly down until my body was revealed to him. Guiding them down my legs, he encouraged me to step out of my underthings, tucking the lace into the pocket of his jacket. He then straightened, his fingers sliding up my calves to my knees, thighs, higher.

  “Sit on the desk, Mrs. O’Malley.” Dan’s searing gaze flickered to mine, white hot intention piercing me. He pushed me gently backwards, wanting me to sit fully on the desk, then moved his hands to my knees and separated them, spreading me to his gaze, insinuating himself between my legs.

  Dan bent forward. He trailed featherlight kisses up my inner thigh, making me pant and squirm and moan. I was making a lot of noise, and maybe I sounded silly, but I didn’t care. I trusted him.

  “Shh . . .” He quieted me and blew against my exposed body at the same time. I shuddered, my hips tilting automatically, offering myself.

  I watched as he licked his lips again, wetting them, and then brushed them against my center, making me whimper.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  Torture.

  “You want th
is?”

  I nodded my head, it was a jerky movement, ungraceful. My fingers were in his hair now, urging him closer.

  He resisted.

  “What do you want?”

  “Kiss me,” I said, not thinking about it.

  He kissed me softly, too softly. I whimpered again, the pulsing ache unbearable.

  His fingers slid up my thighs, leaving trails of goosebumps and shivers in their wake. His thumbs came to my center, separating me.

  “This is my compensation for all my hard work. I’m going to suck you into my mouth, Mrs. O’Malley,” he said quietly, darkly, the sound more rumble than voice, the breath of his words hot against my exposed center. “And then, I’m going to fuck this sweet pussy with my tongue.”

  All the air left my lungs at the sordid decadence of his words, spikes of pleasure-pain erupting along my spine, arms, and torso. My legs began to shake. But before I could react further, he closed the scant inches between us and did just what he promised.

  “Oh God, oh god, oh god.” I couldn’t think. I didn’t know who I was, where I was. All I knew was the feel of his mouth devouring me, hungrily lapping, sucking, his luscious lips slippery against my body.

  He groaned, the vibrations making me gasp, and I heard myself say, “I love you, don’t stop, I love you.”

  Somehow, one of my legs had been draped over his shoulder. The other was bent at the knee, the heel of my foot on the edge of the desk, my fingers still in his hair, now grabbing fistfuls and pulling.

  I had a fleeting thought. I wondered if I was being too rough, if I were hurting him, if his head had recovered, if his chest gave him pain. I hadn’t asked him specifically about his injuries. I’d meant to ask, but I hadn’t.

  But just as the thought occurred to me, another thought eclipsed it, You can trust him, he will tell you if you need to stop, just like he’s done in the past.

  Then the thought, the worry, was gone. Leaving me lost to every wicked and wonderful sensation caused by his mouth, lips, tongue, and teeth.

  I felt myself rushing toward completion, the coiling in my center, the hot, heavy weight of my breasts, the bursting stars behind my eyes.

  Preventing this didn’t occur to me. Stopping him didn’t even enter my mind. One moment I was rocking my hips against his mouth, inelegant curses and grunts spilling from my mouth as I begged him to never stop—wanting it harder, wanting him deeper, wanting him inside me—and then I was sighing his name on sharp cries of complete ecstasy. My body bowed, tensed, pulsed, and I shrieked—yes, shrieked—my pleasure.

  Unable to keep myself upright under the force of it, I swayed backward, wanting to fall forever.

  Dan caught me. Standing abruptly, his strong arm reached around my waist and brought me against him. He held me and I clung to him, my fingers tangled in his jacket, feeling like I’d just run a million miles and was now enclosed in a perfect, Dan-scented cloud of awesome.

  It took me a while—a long while—to emerge from the blissful fog. When I did I became aware of three things:

  1. Dan was placing light, loving kisses on my neck, jaw, and cheeks, as though he were using his lips to feel my skin.

  2. His arms were around me, his hands on my waist and back, and everything about the way he held me felt perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  3. While I’d been lost to the frenzy of passion, I’d told Dan that I loved him.

  It was this last realization that had me tensing, holding my breath, and wondering who was going to win between my racing heart and mind.

  He must’ve felt the shift in me because his lips stalled on my neck, just behind my ear.

  Straightening, his arms loosened so he could lean away and catch my gaze. On his face he wore a small, knowing, satisfied smile, and, apparently, our recent tryst had done nothing to bank the simmering desire in his eyes.

  “Hey there, Kat.”

  I stared at him, my mind calming. My heart also slowed, but each beat reverberated like a drum within me, my blood pumping thick and hot.

  “Dan.”

  “Yeah?” He pushed his fingers into my hair, closing his eyes and bending to place an achingly gentle kiss on my mouth.

  “Dan,” I sucked in a breath, and then blurted, “I love you.”

  The words were torn from me, from someplace wild and frenzied, and felt so raw and real that my throat burned.

  His eyes opened, blinked, and he gazed at me, as though he found me curious. Or maybe he found what I’d said strange.

  “What?”

  “I love you.” I held fast to his jacket, feeling an odd sort of desperation that he know—right now—that I loved him, that I loved him so much, that he was my love.

  His eyebrows pulled low as he stared at me. “Uh . . .” Reaching for my hands, he tried to loosen them, force me to release my death grip on his jacket. “Kat,” he laughed lightly, though there was no humor in the sound, more like irritation and bewilderment. “While I appreciate the thought, you don’t have to say that.”

  I shook my head, the desperation that he know becoming a rising tide. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. I lov—”

  Dan stepped away, shaking his head firmly. “Okay, okay.” Now he looked truly perturbed. “Maybe let’s talk about this later? When the last few minutes aren’t your most recent memory of me.”

  As I reached for him again, he stepped out of my radius and to the side. After a brief moment of hesitation, where he continued looking perturbed, he walked around the desk and to the conference table.

  “Are you hungry?” His voice was higher than normal. He sounded strained.

  And now I was confused. I blinked at him, at his back, because it was the only thing he was giving me.

  Shaking my head, I slipped off the desk on to wobbly legs, pushing my skirt back over my hips as I watched him open the plastic bags and withdraw plastic takeaway containers.

  “I didn’t know which kind you wanted, so I got you both,” he said, his voice no longer pitched high. He sounded like himself, just . . . distant.

  Wait a minute.

  Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute.

  He didn’t believe me. Why didn’t he believe me? Had I done something wrong? What had I done wrong? And if I’d done something wrong, why hadn’t he told me?

  Dread, like a cold hand, slithered up my spine, threatening to close around my throat. I beat it back.

  No. You haven’t done anything wrong. You trust him, so trust him.

  The desk and most of the room was between us when I lifted my voice to a near shout, “I love you.”

  He tensed, his shoulders bunching, and he placed his hands on the conference table, leaning against it as his head dropped forward. Dan sighed again. It sounded frustrated.

  Then he turned, crossing his arms, his chin lifted, and I was not prepared for the remoteness in his gaze. “You just had your first orgasm without alcohol, right?”

  “So?” Mimicking his stance, I also crossed my arms, the desperation that he know I loved him became something else, a cold rock in my stomach gradually heating with anger. “So what?”

  He shrugged, giving me a little bullshit smile, like I should connect the dots.

  “So what?” I asked again, louder this time, sharper.

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw ticked, more distance, more frustration. “So, you’re not thinking straight. You’re confusing what just happened with something deeper.”

  I flinched, my mouth falling open. I almost looked down at my chest because I was 99.9 percent sure there would be a handle to a knife sticking out of it.

  “I’m not confused.” I shook my head, my words more breath than sound.

  “Kat . . .”

  “I’m not confusing love with lust. This isn’t something that just happened. I love you. I’m in love with you, I—”

  I stopped myself from saying more because he was shaking his head slowly, stubbornly, his eyes on the carpet. “We’ll ta
lk about it later.”

  A stinging swelling ballooned in my chest, clogging my throat, infecting my nose and eyes as I stared at him. A little voice insisted quietly, Why are you pushing this? You’ll still love him tonight, tomorrow, and the day after. Tell him later. Talk about it later. Convince him later.

  But I quickly silenced that voice, speaking my thoughts without thinking, “You want me to convince you? Is that it?”

  Dan closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “This is gratitude. What you’re feeling right now is gratitude. It’ll pass.” His hand dropped, his eyes opened and crashed into mine. “It’s too soon, too early for this kind of stuff.”

  Once more my mouth fell open. Once more I was gaping at him. Once more I spoke my thoughts as they occurred to me. “You don’t . . . you don’t.” You don’t love me.

  Oh God.

  The pain.

  “You told me to trust you. You said—you said—”

  The pain was sudden and unbearable. The knife in my chest tugged downward, pulling my heart with it until both lay on the floor at his feet.

  And do you know what he did?

  He laughed.

  He huffed a little laugh, this time sounding mildly amused, like I was cute. “Kat—”

  I saw red.

  How dare he laugh.

  How fucking dare he!

  Unthinkingly, I picked up the nearest object on my desk—I had no idea what, maybe a stapler—and threw it at him. It went wide, missing him by a mile, but it got his attention.

  His eyes bulged, he was no longer laughing. “What the hell?”

  “Get out.” My voice was firm and I meant it. I didn’t want to see him.

  Looking shocked as hell, he took a step forward, his hand extended like he wanted me to calm down. And that just pissed me off more.

  Grabbing objects indiscriminately, I lobbed them at him, eventually reaching for my shoes, coming around the desk to get a better aim and punctuating each item with a loud, “Get. Out. Get. Out. Get. Out!”

  “Stop it, what the fuck, Kat? Stop throwing shit at me and listen!” He didn’t get out. Instead, he dodged my missiles and moved closer.

  When he was very close, I hesitated. I wanted him to leave, but I didn’t want to hit him in the head. So I aimed for his chest, catching him in the stomach at close range with some kind of plaque or award of my father’s.