by Harper Ashe
Settling on a rerun of the Food Network’s Cupcake Wars, Abby eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened sometime later by a pounding on her door. Disoriented by the abrupt intrusion, she rubbed her eyes before peering through the security peephole to find a disheveled Mr. Blake standing outside her door.
His coat and tie were gone and the top of his starched white shirt was open, revealing a hint of dark, sexy chest hair. Abby’s pulse quickened. With his hair slightly mussed and his attire casual, he looked more handsome than ever.
“Miss Branson, are you in there?” she heard him say through the door. “I’ve come to apologize. Please let me in.”
Abby noticed that his words were slurred ever so slightly and his voice did sound apologetic. Was he drunk?
She unlocked the door and opened it just a crack. Stephen must have been leaning against it because he tumbled inside, grabbing hold of Abby’s thick middle as he steadied himself.
Even after he regained his footing, his strong arms lingered around her waist and it occurred to Abby that his grip felt pretty solid for someone who was clearly inebriated. She was close enough to inhale his scent, an intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and pricey liquor that made her feel almost as drunk as her boss.
Without thinking, she flattened her hands on his broad chest, exploring the muscles beneath the smooth white cotton. When she slid her palms across his nipples, they contracted under her touch and her own breasts responded in kind, poking out from the thin material of her tank top.
The sensation was enough to bring her to her senses and she pushed against him, separating herself from his firm embrace before folding her arms modestly across her chest. Although she was supposed to be angry with him, there was something endearing about the way he showed up on her doorstep, tipsy and apologetic. The gesture was enough to begin melting the wall of ice that had formed during their exchange at the restaurant.
“I brought you your dinner,” Stephen said contritely, grinning drunkenly while holding up a white to-go box sealed with a Gordon’s Steakhouse sticker.
The sight of the box was jarring to Abby and put her back on the defensive. “That was thoughtful,” she said, taking the box roughly from his outstretched hand and moving away from him to put it in the fridge. “But it doesn’t make up for your behavior in the restaurant.”
“I know it doesn’t,” Stephen said, following Abby into the small apartment’s kitchen. “And truly, if I knew what I did to upset you, Miss Branson, I would do anything in my power to make it up to you.”
She wasn’t sure if his innocence was an act, but if he really didn’t know why she was offended, he was about to find out. “Look, it’s no secret that I’m a big girl. Always have been, probably always will be.”
The look on his face became even more confused, and Abby groaned in frustration. “Are you really that dense? Women like me get offended when men like you treat us differently than the emaciated model-types you tend to date. To answer your question from the restaurant: plus-size women are motivated by the same kinds of things as skinny girls. Things like career, family, passion, love.”
“Is that what this misunderstanding is about?” he said, looking dumbfounded. “Your size?”
“Of course,” Abby responded with a huff. Stephen laughed, which wasn’t the response she expected.
“Your shapely body,” he said, looking her up and down with a drunken leer that left her feeling warm and tingly, “had nothing to do with my question about motivation.” He took several weaving steps in her direction and she uncrossed her arms, her modesty temporarily forgotten.
“It didn’t?” she asked.
“No, it did not. But since you brought it up, I would like to say that, for the record, I find your curves to be rather beguiling, Miss Branson.”
“You do?” Abby whispered.
He nodded, close enough now to reach out and encircle one of her large, firm breasts with his fingertips before trailing lightly down her belly and settling on her hip. Then, with one swift motion, his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her tight against his body.
“Oh!” Abby gasped.
“I most certainly do,” he responded, his voice low, deep, and very, very sexy. He slid his hand down and around her bottom, cupping her cheek in his palm and pulling her toward his rather obvious erection. “In fact, I find your curves more tempting than is proper.”
Abby leaned into him fully, feeling his entire length press against her belly as her taut nipples skimmed his chest. “As you’ve probably figured out by now, Mr. Blake, I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t always do what’s proper.”
“That’s what prompted me to ask my question about motivation, Miss Branson. By women like you, I was referring to bold, vivacious, spontaneous women.”
“Oh,” Abby said, feeling very foolish. “I thought...well, you know what I thought.”
“Indeed I do,” Mr. Blake said, pulling Abby tighter still. “Would you like to know what I thought when I saw you in the tasting room?”
Abby was trembling. “Y-y-yes.”
“I thought you were stunning.”
“Stunning? Me?”
“Oh yes. I was quite taken by how your soft, blonde hair caressed your shoulders and how your sparkling blue eyes danced with mischief. And your lips...”
“What about them?” Abby asked with a soft sigh.
“From the moment I saw your luscious, pink lips taste my dessert, I’ve wanted to taste them in return.” Stephen reached out and traced Abby’s mouth with his fingertip, slowly, seductively. “You have enticing lips, Miss Branson. Plump, succulent, and very kissable lips.”
“You really think so?”
With a sly grin, Stephen nodded as he brought his lips down on hers. Kissing her softly at first, he used his tongue to trace the path his finger took before slipping it inside her mouth to taste her fully, passionately.
Abby had been kissed by a handful of guys over the years, but none of them had devoured her mouth like Stephen. Closing her eyes, she moaned against his lips, responding without reservation, giving and taking with abandon.
When he slid a hand beneath her top and cupped her bare breast, she nearly swooned from the exquisite pleasure of flesh on flesh. And when she felt his hardness swell against her belly, a single thought surfaced through her haze of desire.
Ohmygod! I need to shave my legs.
With her lips locked with his, she inched their embracing bodies toward the couch, pushing Stephen down on top of the cushion. When he tried to pull her on top of him, she broke their kiss and whispered in his ear. “There’s something I need to do. I’ll be right back.”
He ran a lock of Abby’s hair through his fingers. “Don’t take too long,” he said with a sexy smile that almost made her forget about the quarter inch of stubble on her legs.
Almost.
There was no way she was going to make love to Stephen Blake with hairy legs!
In the bathroom, she stripped off her sweatpants while the sink filled with water. Slathering shaving cream on her right leg, ankle to thigh, she ran the razor across her skin as quickly as possible before repeating the process on her other leg.
Crap! The slinky black nightgown that Lois Carlyle had picked out for her was in the bedroom. Pulling her sweatpants back on, she exited the bathroom, calling out, “Almost done!” before ducking into the bedroom.
After changing into the nightgown, she shoved her discarded clothes into the closet and fluffed her hair. Taking a deep breath, she waltzed slowly out to the living room, striking what she hoped was an alluring pose. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”
Her question was met with a very loud, very unsexy snore. Stephen was fast asleep on her couch.
Chapter 7
In the back of the town car, Stephen Blake rubbed his painful temples, trying to piece together the events of the previous evening. He remembered that Martha had cancelled on him and Abby Branson was running late. When she arrived at half-past-six w
ith flushed cheeks and her hair cascading in waves around her shoulders, her beauty had left him speechless. Thankfully, she spoke first, which jarred him out of his schoolboy trance.
He also remembered that it seemed like they were having a nice conversation until he said something about ‘women like her’ that she misconstrued as insulting, and she left in a huff. After that, he doused his confusion with scotch before directing his driver to take him to her place where he...
Holy hell!
Where he kissed her! Good God, it was all coming back to him. Not only did he kiss her, but he fondled her amazingly full breasts, grabbed a handful of her shapely derriere, and told her that her curves were beguiling. He would have made love to her, too, if...what?
Ah, yes.
If she hadn’t rebuffed his advances by pushing him away and excusing herself in the heat of the moment, before he could fully ravish her soft, glorious body. After that, he was pretty sure he had passed out on her sofa.
At some point, he was roused by her tugging on his jacket. He thought she had reconsidered and was trying to undress him, but after embarrassing himself further by offering to help, she punched him in the gut and said she was just looking for his phone to call his driver.
Shortly after that, his driver arrived at her apartment, dragged him out to the car, took him home, and put him to bed. It was the first time something like this had happened to him, and he could still remember the look his driver gave him when he got into the car this morning.
Now he was on his way to the office, where he was not looking forward to the interrogation that Martha surely had in store for him. He also needed to figure out how to go about apologizing to Miss Branson for his rather inappropriate behavior and hope that she didn’t sell her story to the tabloids.
He could see the headlines now: CURVY TASTE TESTER ACCUSES BILLIONAIRE STEPHEN BLAKE OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT!
He hadn’t botched a simple business dinner this badly since...well, ever. Stephen Blake was cool under pressure and always in control. But that was before he met Abby Branson. Something about her made him forget that he was rich, powerful, and commanding.
Reaching into the small but well-stocked cabinet in the back of the town car, Stephen was searching for some aspirin when a folder that was wedged under the front seat caught his eye. Picking it up, he glanced through the contents, his hangover quickly forgotten.
The folder was filled with Abby Branson’s notes and ideas for reworking the Blake Foods diet desserts line. When his driver took her home the night before, she must have forgotten it. Her ideas were good. Very good. What had she said the night before? Oh yes.
“Amazing, even.”
Just like her.
Pulling his phone out of his suit pocket, he pressed the shortcut key to call Martha’s direct line.
“This is Martha.”
“I need you to schedule a meeting with the diet desserts project team.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Martha responded.
“I’m not in the mood for pleasantries.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or maybe just alone in bed. I take it your dinner with Abby Branson didn’t go so well. Is this where I should say I told you so?”
“For once, will you just do as I ask without all the commentary?”
“What’s the fun in that?”
If Martha wasn’t the best executive assistant that money could buy, he might consider reprimanding her. Instead, he chose to ignore her cheeky remark. “Also, I need you to schedule a one-on-one with Abby Branson prior to the team meeting.”
With his last directive, Stephen hung up the phone.
~~~
Abby glanced nervously at the clock on her computer. It was almost time for her meeting with Stephen and the anticipation was killing her. She wondered why he asked to meet with her so early – and in private. Maybe he wanted to apologize for passing out on her couch or set some ground rules about their relationship, like how they should act in front of the other staff. Or maybe he wanted to kiss her again...
Although last night hadn’t ended the way she would have preferred, knowing that Stephen was attracted to her made her so giddy that she couldn’t sleep. Granted, he was pretty drunk when he showed up at her place with food and an amazing apology. But he had revealed a sweet, sensitive, and very sexy side of himself, a side that made him seem more like the man of her dreams.
Who knew that underneath that smooth, polished, and very handsome exterior was a man who was passionate about her curves?
While she was looking for his phone in his jacket pocket, she accidently elbowed him in the stomach with an “Omph!”. He had stirred just enough to grope her in all the right places, and it was pretty clear that he was trying to pick up where they had left off. But Abby could tell that his performance would be compromised, which wouldn’t have been good for either of them. To her regret, she ended up calling his driver to help him home.
Still, the memory of last night made her smile. Ever since the meeting request appeared in her email inbox that morning, she had been looking forward to this meeting and was glad that she had unknowingly dressed up for the occasion.
Her navy blue faux wrap dress was simple, but sexy, and used small details to conceal her trouble spots. The Lois Carlyle special selection gathered attractively around Abby’s full breasts and nipped in her waist, effectively creating the illusion of an hourglass figure. The color of the dress was the perfect complement to the pink undertones of Abby’s creamy skin. Instead of pulling her hair into a businesslike bun, she had purposely left her blonde waves down, just the way Stephen seemed to like it.
The meeting reminder popped up on her computer screen, signaling that it was time to head upstairs to his penthouse office. After applying a fresh coat of lip gloss to ensure that her lips were pink, plump and kissable, she strode confidently from her office and toward the elevator bay.
The top floor of the Blake Foods building had a full-time security guard and reception desk. Nobody got through to Mr. Blake without an appointment. Luckily, Abby had one so she was quickly ushered past the gatekeepers to Martha’s desk, where she was greeted warmly by the older woman.
“Abby! How lovely to see you. I’m sorry about dinner last night. I hope you had a good evening.”
“Nice to see you too, Martha. The evening was...interesting. I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Blake.”
“Stephen’s waiting for you,” Martha said, gesturing toward a large office at the end of the hall.
“Thanks,” Abby responded, smiling more courageously than she felt. After knocking on Mr. Blake’s door and hearing his voice telling her to enter, she turned the knob slowly and entered his private oasis.
His office was bigger than her apartment. Floor to ceiling windows flooded the large space with natural light, highlighting the high-end art and furniture that tastefully filled the professionally decorated room. Stephen’s desk was artfully positioned to provide a full view of the door and the cityscape. He stood up from behind the desk and motioned for her to come forward and take a seat.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Branson.”
Abby was hoping that, after last night, they could skip the formalities. But it looked like Stephen was back in business mode. “No problem.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll get right to the point of this meeting. I have a confession to make, Miss Branson.”
Was he going to confess his love? No, that would be profess...
“It must be a doozy if you’ve invited me all the way up to your penthouse first thing in the morning,” Abby responded with a wink. Her joke fell flat; Stephen didn’t even crack a smile.
The reserved man before her was nothing like the one who showed up at her apartment last night. If it wasn’t for the faint scent of his heady cologne, she might have wondered whether the man in her apartment had been an imposter. A delightfully charming and seductive imposter.
Mr. Blake pushed a business folder tow
ard her. “I’m not quite certain what, exactly, would constitute a confessional ‘doozy,’ but if I were to guess, I would imagine that mine doesn’t quite reach that proportion.”
“What’s this?” Abby asked, already knowing the answer.
“Your notes. I found them in my car this morning.”
“Oh yes, I must have left the folder in there when your driver took me home.”
“While the folder does belong to you, I must confess that I read the contents without your permission.”
THAT was his confession? That he read her notes?
“You’re right,” Abby said, completely flustered. “On the confessional scale, that’s definitely not a doozy. It’s fine that you read my notes. I was going to share them with you during dinner anyway. But the night didn’t really go as planned.”
“I agree,” Stephen said, “and I owe you an apology for that as well. My behavior was completely unacceptable. I’m terribly sorry.”
“You already apologized for being a jerk at dinner,” Abby responded. “Only it turned out that you weren’t really being a jerk at all. In fact, the whole argument was really my fault since I’m kind of sensitive about my size and jumped to conclusions.” She knew she was rambling and forced herself to stop.
“I meant that I’m sorry for my forward behavior in your home. I’m afraid I had a bit too much to drink and crossed the line. I will understand if you feel the need to file a sexual harassment complaint with the human resources department, but if you’re willing to overlook my indiscretion, I promise that it won’t happen again.”
A mortified Abby sat back in her chair, trying to process what she was hearing. “That’s what this meeting is about? Your attempt to avoid a potential sexual harassment lawsuit by issuing an apology for groping me when you were drunk?”
“Well, yes, in a way. But no, not really. That’s not it at all. This meeting is about my confession and your brilliant ideas for the Blake Foods diet desserts line.”