A Week to be Wild

by JC Harroway

  Alex, by comparison, seemed calm, efficient and businesslike. The ultimate professional. While she longed to play hooky with him, forget marketing budgets and brand awareness strategies and spend the week holed up in her hotel room, living out every dirty fantasy he’d inspired.

  No. He’d definitely changed his mind. A cold, hard rock settled in her stomach.

  He led her down a corridor that was a carbon copy of the one housing his office, again holding open the door for her to enter ahead of him when they reached their destination.

  Libby stalled. ‘Office’ was a fairly grand term for what was essentially a small room with two desks, a single computer and a phone.

  A woman in her early twenties looked up from the screen and stood on their arrival. ‘Hi, Alex.’

  First-name terms? Of course.

  He smiled, and Libby glanced away.

  ‘Hailey, this is Olivia Noble. She’s agreed to help with our marketing campaign. Put us on the map.’

  He turned to Libby, the smile for his pretty young employee sliding from his face.

  ‘Hailey is the charity’s only full-time employee. The rest of the staff are volunteers.’

  Libby shook hands with the woman, noting the way her eyes lingered on Alex. She didn’t blame her. ‘Magnetic’ didn’t really cover his appeal. And her resentment of Hailey, a woman she’d just met, originated in disappointment. He hadn’t brought her to this quiet part of the building for a repeat performance of last night. He wouldn’t be laying her over this desk and redressing the orgasm imbalance.

  Damn.

  If they’d been alone she might have broken her number one rule. Might have dropped to her knees in front of him, taken him in her mouth, given him something other than work to think about.

  ‘Any progress on the mountain biking trip?’

  Alex took a folder from Hailey’s desk, his eyes scanning the contents.

  Libby shook the tantalising images from her head. She could do indifference too.

  Hailey nodded. ‘Some luck with the accommodation, thanks to the Welsh Tourism Board, but staffing is still an issue.’

  Alex traced his bottom lip with his finger and thumb, his attention held by the paperwork in his hands.

  Olivia cast her observant eye around the sparsely furnished and featureless room. One employee, an uninspiring space and staffing issues—hardly the picture of a successful Alex Lancaster venture. Why devote so much of his time to a fledgling charity? Time he could spend in more lucrative ways, building his empire. Surely Lancaster IT kept him busy?

  With conversation clearly over, Libby followed Alex to the room’s spare desk, where he pulled out a chair for her before taking the second and moving it so they sat at right angles, rather than facing each other. Damn. She’d hoped a block of wood between them would coax her hormones into submission, or at least remind her to stay professional.

  She busied herself with her tablet and her phone and then slid off her jacket, draping it over her bag at her feet.

  Cool, calm, professional.

  Right.

  Her thighs still felt the imprint of that stubble he wore on his chin.

  His low voice penetrated the lust filling her head as they faced off.

  ‘Are you okay? You seem...uncomfortable.’

  Damn him—how dare he be so...unaffected? Her gaze flicked down. At least her hands weren’t trembling.

  ‘Not at all. I...’

  She couldn’t confess the real direction of her lewd thoughts. Him. This desk. More orgasms good enough to make her forget her own name. Time for Plan B. Her trusty go-to—honesty.

  ‘I’m a little surprised, that’s all.’

  He leaned back in his chair as he had last night in that armchair. A lazy slouch, thighs spread, one eyebrow cocked...waiting.

  How was she going to get through today?

  She squirmed, swallowing hard, then pointed around the room. ‘I guess I expected something...more. Something flashier.’ She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her.

  He was silent for so long, she felt beads of moisture dotting her top lip. Silent and watchful.

  ‘I see.’

  He hardened his stare and Libby fought the urge to hide in the restroom. Fuck, was it possible that work Alex was even hotter than play Alex? He certainly carried an intense air of authority she hadn’t witnessed before. One that should leave her cold, and angling for a heated debate, but it only heightened the ache between her legs.

  ‘You’ve made assumptions about me...developed preconceived ideas.’ He held up his hand, silencing the denial on the tip of her tongue. ‘The scruffy jeans and T-shirt have thrown you, and now this slightly shabby low-tech office has compounded those impressions.’

  Haughty. The word perfectly described his cold voice. Had she made assumptions? She tried to remain open-minded, unbiased—especially where business was concerned. But with her humble past and his reckless reputation... An oil-and-water combination. Perhaps she’d subconsciously doomed this opportunity to failure. And if that were true there’d be no more...recreation.

  She fought the weight on her shoulders.

  He leaned closer, capturing her rapt stare and holding her breath to ransom. ‘I told you on the phone yesterday—Able-Active doesn’t happen in an office.’

  Her eyes landed on his mouth. The hypnotic movement and the sound of his passionate voice were entrancing, luring her back into sensual waters. Waters that lapped at her, bringing every nerve ending screaming back to life.

  ‘It’s about adventure.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth. ‘Thrill. Adrenaline.’

  His lips caressed every word as they’d caressed her clit, and the phantom tingles there reminded her how good it had been.

  Were they still talking about the charity?

  If the hot billionaire and his business proposal had had her panting, this passionate philanthropist with his sleeves rolled up would suffocate her. How would it feel to be the focus of all that...passion?

  He continued while her brain reeled, trying to untangle his words from her overactive imagination.

  ‘Just because our clients are intellectually-disabled teens and young adults, it doesn’t mean they don’t want the same things from life that any other teen wants.’ A shrug. ‘That any of us wants.’

  He leaned back in his seat and Libby’s heart stuttered back to life.

  His finger and thumb traced his bottom lip in that way of his—a sign of deep contemplation. ‘Everyone deserves to experience that kind of...rush.’

  She shivered, convinced he was referring to last night and her display. But he’d said nothing, done nothing even remotely inappropriate. It was her mind stuck in the gutter. Her mind choreographing a repeat performance of that rush he’d described so eloquently.

  Alex steered her wayward thoughts back to business. ‘Have you visited the UK before?’

  Libby cleared her throat, pressing her thighs together. ‘No. This is my first visit.’ What was wrong with her? Last night should have cured her of this fervid need crawling beneath her skin.

  He nodded. Stared. ‘Let me show you what we have so far and where I’d like us to be in six months.’

  His voice had snapped out of that low, confessional tone, was brisk and businesslike again. He flipped open the folder, forcing her attention away from him.

  By the end of the morning he’d outlined his vision for the charity and, despite her best attempts at professionalism, Libby was as sexually frustrated as ever.

  * * *

  ‘Up?’ Libby quizzed Alex.

  His brief, decisive nod gave little away. When he’d suggested lunch she’d refused, preferring to work through and grab something later—alone—allowing herself some distance from his perplexing proximity. But he’d made a persuasive argument, stating that he’d missed breakfast, and her l
oud, rumbling stomach had chosen that precise moment to announce that she had too.

  He nodded, those dark eyes cryptic, penetrating. All morning, he’d kept his hands to himself, never once touching her, as if he was maintaining a professional line and refusing to cross it. While she’d lusted and leered, ashamed of the lewd direction of her thoughts. Clearly he was more adept at separating business from pleasure. Or maybe, as far as he was concerned, they were through.

  The slow simmer that gripped her every time she looked at him or thought about him drained away, leaving chills in its place.

  After a beat, he said, ‘Pinot Gris or Sauvignon Blanc?’

  The elevator arrived, interrupting her answer, which was still forming from the scramble of her thoughts. He ushered her inside, his hand finally finding the small of her back—the first time he’d touched her since his mouth had left her last night. The zing of electricity was so strong she expected to find her panties singed.

  All morning she’d battled to stay professional while craving his touch. As he’d waxed lyrical about the Able-Active team, their inspirational clients and the multitude of ideas he had to expand their scope nationally, she’d fought to drag her eyes away from his animated features, lit up with an enthusiasm that had left her envious. Envious of his colleagues, who probably saw this side of him daily. Envious of his beloved clients, who inspired such heartfelt passion. And envious of the women who’d experienced that intensity transformed into a different kind of focus—one she craved like the next lungful of oxygen.

  What had he asked her? Wine...

  She lifted her chin, determined to appear as unaffected as him. ‘I prefer Pinot Gris, but I don’t mind. I’ll probably pass.’

  The last thing she needed was to add alcohol to the heady mix of hormones and endorphins bubbling through her blood. Any further lowering of her inhibitions in Alex’s presence and she’d start clawing at his clothes in public. How could he be so unruffled?

  But was she imagining the tension that built inside the elevator? He stood so close she could almost feel the tickle of the dark hairs on his arm, and the clean, soapy scent of him wafted over her on a cloud of warmth.

  The air thickened as the car ascended. Libby locked her knees; scared she might sway towards him, throw herself into his arms or just simply press the emergency stop button and strip.

  ‘I thought you said lunch? Is there a restaurant in this building?’

  It looked just like a typical office block. Still, this was his city. She merely hoped they’d arrive at their floor soon, so she could put some more space between them. Or persuade him to fuck her in the restroom...

  ‘I’m taking you to a restaurant I own. The Pinot Gris there is world-class.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, his tongue swiping his bottom lip.

  Was he thinking about wine, or tasting her?

  ‘You can allow yourself one glass, surely?’

  His mouth curled. Was he daring her? He’d lost some of that morning’s surliness, and his eyes danced with gold flecks. To say she’d missed relaxed, playful Alex would be an understatement. But she admired his ability to compartmentalise—a skill she normally shared.

  The car juddered to a halt, its doors opening to another bland, deserted corridor.

  Where was he taking her? Was she about to become a murder statistic?

  Hysterical laughter threatened—a side effect of too much adrenaline.

  At the end of the corridor Alex swiped a card through a lock and held the door open for Libby. The narrow concrete stairs were draughty, and the height from the windows spun her head and flipped her stomach into her throat, pushing the thought of wine and even lunch far from her mind.

  Alex took her hand and pushed open a fire door, escorting her onto the roof.

  Her feet stalled.

  No rooftop restaurant with views of the Thames.

  No murderer’s lair.

  Just a helicopter.

  Gripping her waist, he ushered her frozen with shock form towards the sleek white death trap.

  She dug her heels into the concrete, skidding them to a standstill. ‘I’m not going in that.’

  His brow dipped, puzzlement cloaking his amused eyes. ‘Of course you are. It’s only a thirty-minute ride.’ He cocked a brow, his mouth twisted in challenge. ‘You’ll love it.’

  In two strides he’d opened the door, was holding out his arm, enticing her inside a form of transportation she’d never experienced and never wanted to.

  The wind whipped loosened strands of hair across her face, blinding her. Her stomach fell, settling somewhere behind her wobbling knees. The height of this building alone was enough to drain her adrenal glands. Just like at The Shard yesterday, being inside this skyscraper was enough of a trial for her, let alone standing on top of it with the elements determined to send her plummeting to the ground.

  He strode back to her side, face contrite and eyes soft. ‘Olivia. I’m sorry.’

  He reached for her cold hand, his warm fingers clasping. She clung to the lifeline, some of her fear dissipating at his touch.

  ‘I should have warned you instead of trying to surprise you.’ His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.

  Her fickle mind switched. Now she prayed for the release of a ground-swallowing demise. She hated anyone seeing this weak side of her, but especially Alex. Fearless, sophisticated Alex, who thought nothing of jumping into a helicopter for lunch at his favourite restaurant.

  He was still talking, still cajoling. She forced herself to hear him over the ringing in her ears.

  ‘It’s very safe. Weather conditions are perfect. I have thousands of hours in the air and that Pinot really is worth it, I promise.’

  Her belly flopped again. She glanced down at her stiletto-clad toes, almost expecting to see it there on the concrete. Decision time. Ride in a helicopter or get blown from the roof? Accept his challenge or admit defeat and concede the bargaining chip? It was a close one.

  She willed her breathing into submission as her mind dithered. At least he’d dropped the cocky smirks of moments ago and the hard, inscrutable stares present all morning and seemed genuinely concerned.

  As if he’d made the decision for her, he turned back towards the door to the stairway. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I was wrong. We’ll go somewhere else for lunch.’

  He slid his arm around her shoulders, as if guiding a child or an old lady safely across the road.

  ‘No.’ Her declaration surprised both of them. ‘I’ll go.’

  What was she saying? She didn’t need to impress him. She could admit she’d prefer not to put her life in the hands of a man she barely knew inside a chunk of flying metal. There’d be no shame in that. He didn’t need to know why she had an aversion to death traps, or to anything she considered risky. It was an aversion founded in past experience—one that had changed her life for ever.

  No. That labyrinth of sickening memories wasn’t going to help her get off this roof with her dignity intact.

  ‘You sure? There’s no pressure.’

  He pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, his eyes tracing her features but his fingertips failing to make contact.

  ‘We’ll do whatever you want.’ His voice was low, sincere, calming.

  The echo of those words from last night reminded her of the power she held. It surged through her veins, dispelling fear, forcing steel into her skeleton and redirecting her thoughts from all things death-related.

  Latching on to her attraction for him, she blurted out the thought that had occupied most of her mind since the minute she’d walked into his office that morning.

  ‘I want you to kiss me.’

  In an instant his face hardened, as if she’d slapped him. She swallowed, her cheeks hot. Why had she said that? If the deal was off, their sexual exploration over, she’d just set herself up for rejection.

 
Rejection and humiliation all in one morning—way to go, Libby.

  Her gaze fell to his crotch, saw the bulge there expanding before her eyes.

  No. He was still in this with her. The chemistry was still alive. She straightened her spine, the surge of power, of control, imbuing her limbs with courage.

  ‘Kiss me and I’ll go.’

  Wow—pushy, much? But she was already so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a map to locate it again. She might as well get what she wanted from this situation.

  He dropped his hands to his sides and made fists, his fingers flexing. Still trying to keep things professional? Acting the gentleman? Having second thoughts?

  She took a half-step closer until his clean, soapy scent reached her, giving her a head rush that had nothing to with dizzying heights or stomach-dropping rides.

  ‘Kiss me like you’re telling me that you wanted to fuck me last night instead of leaving.’

  Please—before she came to her senses and fled, or passed out.

  His nostrils flared as he sucked in a harsh breath, focussed his intense stare on hers.

  ‘I did.’

  His voice, full of gravel, scraped her raw—as raw as the hunger she saw flare in his eyes.

  ‘I did want to fuck you last night. You told me to watch.’

  Yes. She’d got what she wanted—but the hollow victory had left her cold.

  He closed the gap between them by another half step. ‘I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth.’ His gaze flicked down, scorching her from head to toe. ‘The image of you lying there, your hand working between your legs...’

  He dropped his head back, closing his eyes for a second before he pinned her with his penetrating stare once more.

  ‘Believe me, I’ve wanted to kiss you all fucking morning.’

  His admission knocked the air from her lungs, and a surge of triumph banished the last of her doubts.

  ‘Why don’t you then?’ Barely a whisper.

  His lips thinned, air gusting out of flared nostrils. ‘Fucked if I know.’

  They reached for each other, closing the distance with a lurch. He slammed his mouth over hers and she practically jumped up to meet him. His arms locked around her waist to catch her in mid-air. Her fingers delved into his hair as he pressed her close, their mouths opening and tongues sliding with ravenous need. The icy fear of moments ago trickled away, replaced by the sluggish thrill of euphoria. Her limbs liquefied, and the thud of her heart was loud enough to block out all her reservations.