I sat in first class enjoying my preflight drink--mineral water. I was still in my own private prohibition hell, or self-flagellation, depending on the day. As the rest of the passengers filed onto the plane, a pretty flight attendant was making chitchat with me. She had a beautiful smile and laughed at everything I said, funny or not. I eyed her for a moment, thinking about how long it had been since I'd inducted another member into my own personal mile-high club, but my thoughts immediately flashed to visions of being tangled up with April inside a cramped lavatory.
The flight attendant flashed her wide, baby blue eyes, but I was distracted by the thought of serious, darker blue eyes that hid all kinds of deep thoughts and secrets. Eventually, April filed past on her way to her seat back in the economy section. She overtly assessed the airline employee before meeting me with her frosty gaze.
I winked at her. I couldn't resist. Her gaze glanced off mine like a stone skipping across a glassy lake. She readjusted her hand on the strap of her carry-on bag, her middle finger poking out, as she had done that night at the martini lounge.
I laughed before taking a deep breath and looking away. I tried to suppress the feeling of guilt that had added itself to the complex soup of emotions I felt regarding this woman. So she was angry. Well, so was I. But at the same time, I also wanted her, yet I had to remind myself that I was her boss and therefore couldn't have her.
Goddamn, it would be easier when her internship was finished and she left the company. Only a few weeks to go...
But I had to hand it to her, she'd taken everything I'd dished out to her with quiet dignity and only lost it once--yesterday. Oh, and how glorious that little meltdown had been, too. I'd known there was fire under that serene surface, and part of me, the reckless part of me, wanted to see it again. And again.
An even more foolhardy part of me wanted to take the fire I knew was there, harness it and hold it in my hands. Just the abstract thought of it--of her--was making me hard again.
Shit. I was in trouble. I either needed to find some self-control fast or stay the hell away from her before I shredded every last bit that remained.
***
In less than three short hours, we touched down at Vancouver International Airport. We made it through Customs and were sitting together in the back seat of a town car while the driver took us to our hotel, located on the city waterfront near the convention center. Upon arrival, we were checked in by the concierge.
The Owner's Suite occupied the entire top floor of one of the towers of the hotel. The suite itself was two stories of floor-to-ceiling glass windows that gave a 360-degree view of the city, from Coal Harbour and English Bay to the North Shore Mountains, to Stanley Park, to the modern, lit glass and steel of downtown Vancouver--as pointed out to us by the concierge.
April listened to his entire spiel with interest but didn't say much as she followed his directions. He escorted her to a small room off the hallway on the lower floor of the suite. It was set aside especially for an assistant of the occupant of the Owner's Suite. It adjoined the penthouse but was not part of it, and appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary hotel room.
Before I could say a word, she disappeared into the clearly subpar room--when compared with mine, anyway. I spent at least five minutes arguing with myself whether or not to go talk to her and point out that there was another room in the suite. Maybe it would be best, though...the more walls and locks between us during this stay, the better.
Because I really, really had no idea how I was going to keep my hands off her. And if she stayed pissed off at me, even better. That much more of a barrier between us would be a good deterrent. But it felt wrong to let her hole up in there when I had this huge place to myself.
I sighed. Against my better judgment, I lightly rapped on her door, and after a long pause she quietly called for me to come in. I opened the door but remained standing in the doorway--she and I alone in a bedroom together would not lead to good things.
Well... good things, certainly, but not the right things.
I looked around her room and my eyes zeroed in on a suitcase on its stand. I caught a glimpse of some silk and lacy underthings peeking out, like they were winking at me, tormenting me. I met her gaze.
"Yes?" she snapped. "May I help you?"
I sighed. "You don't need to stay in here, you know. There's another room on the top floor." The one right next to mine. Why not? I was a glutton for punishment.
"That's okay. This is where the help goes, and I'm well aware of my place."
She turned to tuck a sweater into the drawer by the bed. As she bent, flaunting her fine ass in my direction, the first thought inside my head was, Yeah, your place is naked and sweating underneath me.
With a huff of frustration, I tore my eyes away before she could turn back to me.
"Can we call a truce, please? We're both here in a foreign country. We don't know anyone..."
She scoffed. "Canada is hardly a foreign country."
"It's close. They talk funny here. I feel lonesome already. Please be my friend and fellow American?"
She clenched her jaw and released it, folding her arms across her chest. I forced myself not to remember how those tits had tasted. Fuck. What the hell was wrong with me? I was randier than a fifteen-year-old boy who'd been forbidden to whack off.
I backed away from the door. "Come on...let's go check out the view. And aren't you hungry? Come on, Weiss. Loosen up and cut me a break."
Her eyes narrowed, but her mouth curved into a smile. "I'd like to cut you... or break something."
"Very funny. I'll be sure to sleep with one eye open tonight. Now come on." I spun, hoping she would follow me. But deep down I knew it was in both our best interests if she didn't.
Chapter 17
April
I followed that sinfully hot--er--evil man down the hallway, through the suite and toward the back patio, which was at the top of one of the towers.
He turned to me, his face split into a heart-arresting smile. His cheeks were rough from the lack of shaving, and I wondered if he was going for some kind of hipster look for his speech. My cheeks burned and I looked away. If it were possible for him to be any more fucking gorgeous than he already was, he'd added scruff to the equation. Scruff was like my catnip. It made me weak-kneed. Oh lordy. I had to keep my thoughts clean and focused on how much I hated him, but the scruff wasn't helping.
It was making my hated but hot boss, who was the most amazing lover I'd ever had, even hotter. I blinked. It had been thirty-six hours since I'd discovered the identity of Falco the sex god of Comic-Con, and I'd been reliving that night ever since. But when I thought about sitting across his hard thighs, my own legs open to him, his hands squeezing my hips, I now saw Jordan's handsome face instead of Falco's helmeted head.
And when I thought about how he'd laid me on the bed then pressed down on top of me with his hard, solid body, I remembered the smell of him as Jordan's smell. And when I thought about Falco's sizable cock moving inside me--
"Let's order some dinner." Jordan stopped by the phone where the room service menu was propped up on display.
Oh yeah, dinner. That'd be good.
He handed me the menu and I picked out what I wanted--a Chinese chicken salad. Jordan ordered a steak and potato. So predictable I almost yawned.
While we waited for the food to show up, I opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto a shiny marble patio, where there was a private pool and Jacuzzi, a sauna and an outdoor fireplace. I glanced up at the sky, gray with darkened clouds. The forecast called for rain, unsurprisingly enough. The Pacific Northwest was known for its profuse greenery for a reason. Fortunately, it was September, so the weather wasn't too cold yet. A soak in the Jacuzzi might be fun, provided I didn't freeze my ass off during the run indoors.
After a few minutes, Jordan trailed after me, standing a little distance away, hands stuffed inside his pockets. I tried not to notice how that made his jeans hug his hard ass. Ugh. I h
ad to stop looking at him and most definitely had to stop lusting after him.
I was probably a blip on his radar now. The man bedded women left and right--actresses, models, socialites. I, on the other hand, had been told that I was boring in bed. And Jordan hardly seemed affected by my presence.
Sure, he'd kissed me at his house and had done some other naughty things at the martini bar. But I figured it was because he was bored, and he damn well hadn't tried anything since.
I took a breath and spoke to break the awkward silence. I was still pissed, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to be civil to the bastard. "So have you been practicing your speech? Are you ready for your eighteen minutes of fame?"
He shrugged a big shoulder. "I've been ready. I've recited the goddamn thing to myself in my sleep for the past three weeks."
"So you don't need to rehearse again?" I looked out over the view. Vancouver really was a lovely city, situated on a wide bay--all lights and ocean and dark green patches of lush forest.
"I need to go over the slides before the rehearsal tomorrow. But not tonight. I'm too tired."
Our dinner arrived soon after and we sat down at the dining room table. We ate in silence for a while, facing each other across the table. The only sound was the clanking of his silverware as he cut into his steak and me crunching the greenery of my salad.
Jordan eyed my salad suspiciously. "You aren't very hungry?"
"I'm fine. I've never been the best flyer. Makes me a little queasy."
"Hmm. Maybe you can order something later if you're hungrier then."
"The salad's good. It's not your grandpa's Shepherd's Pie, but it's good."
Jordan smiled at the reference. "That's my favorite thing he makes. My grandma is the one who made it all the time, and he started doing it after she passed away."
My mouth thinned and I looked down. "He's such a kind man. Hopefully, you won't hold what happened at his house against him too long."
He shifted in his seat, appearing uneasy that I'd brought it up. He opened his mouth to reply, but his phone dinged and he picked it up. A smile crept across his sexy lips and he typed a message back before setting it down. He glanced up at me, noting that I was watching him.
"What?"
I shrugged. "Nothing. Just wondering if that was more supermodel sexting. Maybe a photo this time? If you get lonely tonight, you'll have some new material to wank off to."
He shot me a dirty look. "It was my baby sister wishing me good luck with my talk and saying she was going to tune in and watch it on the Internet as soon as it's posted."
I grimaced. "Oh." I cleared my throat and then chewed a few more bites of lettuce and tangy tangerine slices coated with ginger dressing. "She really is a sweetheart. You're lucky."
"You don't have a sister?"
I took a deep breath and let it go. "I do. A half sister, anyway. My dad's daughter with his second wife. They have a son, too. Like I said, the perfect family unit. Even the two-point-five children. I'm the 'point five.'"
"They're a lot younger than you?"
"My brother, Daniel, is six, and my sister, Sarah, is nine."
He frowned and then cut into his steak, appearing deep in thought.
"What?" I asked.
"Just wondering...so your dad moved on and got remarried after your parents divorced. What about your mom?"
I tried not to make a face at the reminder of her existence. I'd been trying to erase it for the past month. She'd been texting and calling and sending emails and messages on social media practically every day. I'd refused to acknowledge any of them. I had nothing to say to her and her new hubby.
I frowned, picking at my lettuce leaves about as carefully as I was picking my words. The silence stretched and then grew awkward.
"Sorry, didn't mean to pry," he said.
I took a deep breath. "My parents got married on a whim and they were completely wrong for each other. He was already successful, and she was young and pretty. The marriage was a disaster from day one. She screwed around on him while he worked all the time. I was so young when they divorced that I don't ever remember them being together, actually."
"Ah, so your mom's not the marrying kind."
I laughed. "Oh, she's the marrying kind, all right. She's just not the stay-married kind. She's on husband number four at the moment."
"So who did you grow up with?"
I grimaced at him. "What is this, the 'fifty questions about April' hour? If you want answers out of me, you should cough up some of your own."
He stopped chewing for a moment and watched me with those studious eyes. They looked more brown than green at the moment.
"Hmm. Okay. Ask me something then."
I continued picking at my lettuce leaves. I knew exactly what I wanted to ask him, but I couldn't blurt it out like I'd been wanting to do in the weeks that followed our Santa Barbara trip. I had to at least make it appear like I was searching for something to ask him.
"It's about that comment you made about your dad...that he's angry at you because you lied to him. What did you lie about?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's a long-ass story."
"Well, if you want any more answers out of me, you're going to have to pony up the long-ass story."
His eyes narrowed. I could tell he was deciding what to say and how to say it. He took a deep breath and let it go. "Grant Fawkes is obsessed with his legacy and passing on his vast amounts of wisdom and knowledge to future generations. And he was very careful about shaping his offspring..."
I nursed my water and watched him over the rim of my glass. This was getting interesting. Jordan and his daddy issues. I'd wanted a piece of this ever since that whacked-out family reunion.
He continued, "We were homeschooled. I finished high school at sixteen, started college before I turned seventeen--"
"Wow. I knew you were a brainiac, but that's over the top."
He pushed his plate aside and shrugged. "Not all it's cracked up to be. I was way too young to be starting college. And he should have known that."
I nodded, completely understanding what it felt like to be wiser than my own parent. Knowing how it felt to be at their mercy when they should have been watching out for you. A brief memory flitted through my mind of my mom's second husband, Cliff, backhanding me across the face when I'd accidently broken his prized golf trophy. I was eight years old and went to live with my dad full-time for years after that. My mom hadn't said a thing--hadn't wanted to disrupt her cozy living situation or the promise of future alimony.
Yes, I understood what it was like for a parent to look out for their own best interests over that of their child's.
"He probably did know that," I finally said. "But his goals were more important to him."
He tilted his head, looking at me as if trying to size me up from a different angle. "Yeah...he had me earmarked to become an environmental engineer, like him. As far as he saw it, it was my entire purpose in life."
"That's a lot of pressure at a very young age."
He clenched his jaw and then released it. "That's why I went to Caltech to study. He footed the bill for my tuition and it wasn't cheap. He had to sacrifice a lot, even with my partial scholarship. I was too young and scared to tell him I didn't want his vision for my future. So eventually... I changed my major without telling him."
I traced a finger along the edge of my drinking glass, afraid to look up because it might break the spell and he'd stop talking.
He fiddled with his plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "As you can imagine, he was pissed when I announced a week before graduation that I'd be walking the stage with the Business and Economics Management department instead of the Engineering class."
I let out a long breath. "That must have been a hell of an explosion."
"My dad's non-confrontational and passive-aggressive. He holds grudges. It's a slow burn."
"So he's held this grudge since you graduated? You're twenty-five now... how long ago di
d you graduate?"
"It's been five years."
Ah yes, Jordan and Adam, the Draco wunderkinder who achieved so much at such young ages. Their bios and impossibly gorgeous faces were about to be spread across the covers of every business magazine now that the IPO was almost a reality. They were young, hot, brilliant, and soon to be even more incredibly rich than they were now. The world was their oyster.
"That's a long time to hold a grudge..."
"Yep. There's other stuff too, though." He seemed about to say more and then shrugged. "We haven't seen eye to eye for a long time."
Sounded like something straight out of a Steinbeck novel to me...
He reached for his glass and swirled the liquid within. "Jesus, this water just isn't cutting it..."
"Still teetotalling?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Hell, yes. I lose all functioning brain cells when I'm drunk."
Something about that seemed to trouble him. But he looked away and then back to me. "So about you..."
I raised a brow. "What do you want to know?"
"Your parents. If they split when you were a baby, where were you growing up?"
"My parents had fifty-fifty custody for a while, so I bounced back and forth between them. Then my mom found another sugar daddy and couldn't be bothered with having me around. After that, I lived with my dad and a nanny, and sometimes my grandma."
"But you said you and your dad aren't close... yet you spent most of your time with him growing up?"
"Well...there was my stepmom." I sipped more water.
Understanding dawned on his features--probably the wrong understanding. It's not like I was some fairytale princess with the requisite evil stepmother. Nope, no Cinderella here.
"It's not what you think. My stepmom is generally a nice lady, but I was a preteen when she married my dad and she's only fourteen years older than me. I wasn't the easiest person to get along with. By that time, my mom was back in the picture because she wanted someone to shop with and go get mani-pedis. I was more interesting to her then, especially since she was between men.
"Rebekah, my stepmom, was ready to start her own family with my dad and was at a loss for what to do with me. Plus, she's pretty religious and I wasn't interested in any of that. She tried, though, but the Gentile ways bred too strongly in me, or something like that. So that's about the time I went away to school."
For the Win Page 19