Ropes of Lies

by Kathy Noumi

A shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “Wasn’t keeping count.”

  Definitely not getting anything out of him tonight. I wagged my finger at him. “Someone’s been very bad, Mr. Winthrop.”

  “Yes. Maybe I have,” he hummed, sexy as fuck as he eyed me.

  A delicious idea occurred to me. Christ. Depravity, meet Eden. Eden, meet depravity. His disheveled, freshly fucked look drove me wild. I pictured the taut body beneath the rumpled suit. God, I needed him. Wanted to have him watch me undress and see me fully naked, nothing left between us—not the way we’d been in his office with layers keeping us apart.

  What if I played a game with him? Because, God, did I ever crave his core-melting stare, his hands on my skin, his tormenting tongue.

  “Want to play a game?” I asked, biting my lip.

  The buzzed haze lifted, and his eyes burned with a deep, dark thirst for something sinful. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Yes,” he sighed.

  “Twenty-one questions?”

  “Mmm . . . but I want more than questions.”

  I grinned. “I’ll take a piece of clothing off if you answer my questions honestly. Will you do the same for me?”

  “Better,” he uttered, hungry desire in his stare. “And when you’re naked, I want you to come.”

  My pulse spiked off the charts. He wanted to watch me come apart for him. I bit my lip at his unabashed suggestion.

  “Why did you invite me here?” I continued. “Obviously it wasn’t to talk about business.”

  “I needed to see you.” His gaze traveled up from my heels, gliding over my body to land on my face. He crossed an ankle over his knee, chest rising and falling in slow, drawn-out breaths.

  Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Why did you need to see me, Jameson?”

  He stared me down. “You forgot to take something off—not answering the last question ‘til ya do.”

  I sat at the edge of the bed and unfastened the ankle strap on my pumps, slipping one off, then the other. “Now answer my question.”

  “You make me forget everything, and the only thing I need when I’m with you is to . . . to bind you, touch you, make you beg.”

  With this declaration, the vulnerability in his eyes showed. He fixated on me, and I stared back, remembering a time when he could glance my way and I’d dissolve at his feet.

  With my eyes glued to him, Jameson exhaled. “Eden.”

  A jolt sparked in my core. He wanted this, and every part of me begged for it, too. He watched as I slowly reached for the top button of my shirt, his eyes caressing me. I unfastened it, pop, then the next one, pop, and then a third, pop, lower and lower until it fell open and exposed my lace bra with a pearl bow at the center. I shrugged the shirt off my shoulders, letting it tumble to the ground.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. Leaning forward a bit, he asked, “Why did you show up?”

  I rubbed my lips with my fingers. “I don’t know. I thought we could talk about work.”

  He cocked his brow at me. “You’re not fooling anyone—you came here because you want more, Miss Black.”

  “Yeah, sure. Now off with the jacket.”

  “You said we had to answer honestly. Your last response wasn’t the truth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Next question . . . why do you hate me so much?”

  His pupils dilated and his jaw tightened. “You’re a tease and I can’t have you.”

  Could I be a more of a horrendous person for enjoying this? “You say that quite often, Mr. Winthrop, but I’m unsure as to why it’s a good enough reason to hate me—or, for that matter, steal my accounts?”

  “You use it to get what you want.”

  What the eff? Like hell I do!

  “Is that so?” I asked, leaning back on the bed and propping myself up on my elbows.

  Jameson didn’t say a word. He didn’t move a lash. He sat, motionless, like a lion waiting to pounce.

  “Do you miss our lil’ games?” he asked coolly.

  “Maybe.” I paused, biting the pad of my finger playfully. “Do you miss our games, Jameson?”

  I held my breath as he watched me on the bed. I didn’t even care that he hadn’t removed any of his clothing—his answers were more than enough to get me hot. Don’t you dare fuck him! But I want to so badly . . .

  When he refused to answer my question, I decided to try something else.

  “Why don’t you come here and touch me?”

  “I’m enjoyin’ the show from this chair, thanks.”

  “It’s more comfortable over here.” He didn’t budge, so I ran my palm across the soft, silky sheets in an attempt to lure him. Still nothing. Maybe a different line of questioning was in order. “Tell me what you want me to do next.”

  “That wasn’t a question.”

  He was still sharp, even in a scotch haze. I bit my lip, admiring how delicious he looked with his hair messed and his suit all wrinkled to hell. “What would you like to watch me do?”

  Jameson licked his bottom lip and leaned forward, dropping his leg back to the floor. He appeared less buzzed at the sound of my question.

  “Take off the bra,” he whispered.

  He’d sobered up a significant amount since we’d begun this little cat and mouse game. I moved my hands back to the clasp, releasing my full breasts.

  “Now what?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, focusing on my nipples from across the room. They hardened without a single touch. “Squeeze them, tease each one ‘til—yeah, like that.”

  I brushed the taut peaks, then gave them a firm pinch, sucking in a sharp breath. When his gaze drifted over my body, I let out a slight whimper.

  He replied with a carnal groan that started deep in his throat. “You’re already soaked under those polka-dot tights, aren’t ya?”

  Dropping my head back, I shut my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Do you crave my tongue?” His bottom lip glistened from his slow lick. “How about when I tie you down and taste your sweet cunt?”

  Holy hell! Wasn’t I supposed to be in control?

  “Mmm . . .”

  “You taste like warm honey,” he murmured with a breathy sigh.

  I heard the sound of his heavy movements—Jameson was off the chair, gliding toward me. His steps ceased, and I opened my eyes to find him standing at the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight before him. The glimmer in his eyes had the air in my lungs feeling trapped. It said he wanted to ravage me, strip me down, and leave me bare, satisfied, utterly his.

  He knelt, grazing his stubble over my stockings, across my inner thigh. In a barely audible murmur, he said between kisses, “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.”

  Then, quicker than a lash of a whip, he tore through the nylon, exposing my flesh to the cool air. I shivered, eyelashes fluttering.

  With his lips on my skin, I didn’t care enough to think about what he meant. Jameson began skillfully tormenting my slick folds, and before I knew it, my core was tightening, my aching clit pleading for more. The way he teased me: pure agony. I tried to find added contact, bucking my hips as everything around me fell away. The pumping of my heart remained—loud, hurried, urgent—but his lips were my tether, the way a rope ties a boat to a dock. I could swag there forever if he’d let me.

  My legs trembled, my toes curled, and the ache at my center pleaded for release. Jameson’s relentless tongue held me at the edge for what felt like hours. He drank in all my body had to give, then stole what I wouldn’t give willingly.

  “Jameson, I . . .”

  “Shh . . . ”

  I gripped the sheets, balling them in my hands. “Please.”

  “Come for me,” he said between licks.

  His words made me fall over the edge into the abyss—I trembled, limbs shivering, skin hot to the touch—while the orgasm ripped through me. Every moan came louder than the one before, and I bit down on my lip to stifle them. I gripped Jameson’s hair, pulling tight. When my body slowed and my breathing evene
d out, my extremities felt floppy, lifeless even. I was categorically spent.

  Somehow, Jameson managed to get off the floor and pull me into his arms. We sat that way for I don’t know how long, possibly an eternity, his clothes still on while I remained bare. And yet, oddly, it was perfect.

  He nuzzled my ear and sucked the lobe. “I love it when you let go.”

  I turned to him. “And I love when you go down on me.”

  Jameson took my hand and intertwined his fingers with mine. I couldn’t make out what was behind the look in his eyes. Burning? Longing? He stared for a few more moments before speaking. “You cling to your control so tightly. It sometimes falls away, but those moments are rare. Why won’t you let me give you what you need?”

  “What is it you think I need?”

  Avoiding eye contact, he tilted his head back. “When you’re tied up, you have to surrender, but this—this is your choice. You want it, more than you even know.”

  “Interesting theory.” I rolled my eyes. What did he know about what I needed?

  He tightened his hold on my hand. “Has any other man made you come apart the way I do?”

  I didn’t give him an answer, but as much as I wanted to deny it, no one ever had. I hadn’t even been interested in trying. I’d been his since he’d first bound me six years ago.

  “And what do you want?” I attempted to change the subject.

  He exhaled. “You.”

  “I think you’ve had one too many scotches,” I chuckled.

  He smiled before he nibbled at my earlobe again. “Not enough to forget what you do to me.”

  “Now I know it’s definitely the alcohol talking, because I’m pretty sure we still hate each other.”

  Jameson kissed me on the forehead and then on the lips. “It’s not.” While his two little words lingered, he leaned back and rested his head on a pillow, shutting his eyes.

  Am I in the twilight zone? What in the hell was that?

  I stared at the ceiling. When his breathing slowed, I glanced over. He was fast asleep. After another ten minutes, I knew he’d be out all night. I finally wiggled out of his arms at a little past one in the morning. The warmth from his embrace cooled as I put my skirt, button-down shirt, and pumps back in their appropriate positions. Jameson would wake up without me there, but I needed to get the hell out—for the sake of my head and my heart. I couldn’t do this with him. Not again. Sex was one thing, but feelings couldn’t happen. We were still on opposing sides, and I couldn’t give up my dreams for any man, not even him.

  Quietly, I bent and kissed his cheek—a gesture he wouldn’t remember come sunrise—then turned and left.

  Goodbye, Jameson.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jameson

  Her warmth wasn’t there when I woke up, but her scent lingered all around, traces of honey and gardenia. Calling her while I’d been hammered wasn’t one of my shining moments, and now I was paying for it. The headache of the century throbbed between my temples, and my morning wood could crack a brick. When I lifted my head to glare down at my rumpled self, my phone pinged.

  You need to get here ASAP.

  A text from Charles. What could be so urgent? Charles normally embodied the word “calm,” so I knew this couldn’t be good. The fog in my head cleared as I typed back with lightning speed.

  On my way. What is going on?

  As soon as I hit send, three little bubbles appeared.

  Just get here.

  Fuck.

  I hoped to God it wasn’t the Uptown account, or, worse, the Feds. There wasn’t any time to shower or even throw on a fresh suit, but I managed to screech into the parking garage in record time.

  I walked into WSquared sweating bullets. When Donna spotted me, she ushered me to an empty room then closed the door, locking it from the inside. “Where have you been?”

  Catching my breath, I cleared my throat. “Overslept, sorry.”

  She exhaled a huff of exasperation. She shoved a memo at me. “Your father sent this email to everyone this morning.”

  My heart fell all the way from the thirty-fourth floor straight down into the earth’s crust, where it melted into magma. “Is this a fucking joke?”

  Donna crossed her arms over her chest. “I doubt it’s a joke,” she snapped.

  I clenched my jaw so tight I thought my teeth would turn to dust. “Why would he do this?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Rhetorical,” I grunted, rubbing my throbbing temples and closing my eyes. The bastard had balls, I’d give him that much. “A merger. Goddamn him. Son of a bitch!”

  Everything I’d planned had come crashing down into my lap. All of it would be on hold until after this went through.

  Donna shifted on her feet and stared at me. “What do we do now?”

  “Where is he?”

  “He got on a plane a few hours ago. I already tried to call his assistant, but she refused to tell me where he was headed. She blabbered on about how he didn’t want anyone to know. She did say he’d be back in a day or two.”

  “What does he think he’s doing?” My knuckles were whiter than snow. Then it occurred to me—I didn’t know who we were merging with.

  The only other firm we contended with, who could even be considered an equal, was Pryce & Leigh. Shit.

  “Donna, did you find out which company we’re set to merge with?”

  Her eyes went around, like she didn’t know what to say. “Um, uh . . . Pryce & Leigh.”

  “He knows. That piece of shit knows we’re onto him. Get me Nate on the phone and Charles in my office. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”

  My father wouldn’t contemplate a merger if he hadn’t figured out I was plotting to take over. As I chaotically tried to fit all the little pieces together in my mind, a giant, Vegas-sized neon sign lit up, blinding me. Eden and I would be working together.

  I choked on my own saliva.

  No longer rivals?

  Two days went by without a damn word from my father or Eden. I stayed at the WSquared headquarters, navigating the day-to-day obligations while dear ol’ dad abandoned ship to gallivant off to God knows where.

  The business end I could handle. What drove me up the wall happened to be the woman I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. Eden hadn’t reached out after the other night—not to see if I was all right, not to ask about City Net, nothing. After what transpired at the Raffaello, I figured she’d at least text. I’d all but said I wanted to be with her that night. She’d laughed it off, thinking my buzz was the culprit, but it wasn’t.

  Nate made me realize I had fallen for her again—or maybe I never got over her to begin with. Either way, Eden remained the one woman I wanted.

  The merger hadn’t gone public yet, thankfully, so I could be the one to tell her. We wouldn’t be on opposing sides anymore, but that didn’t necessarily mean we’d be on better footing. Just when we were about to turn a corner, the merger might smash us right into a building. I couldn’t be sure how she’d react. Why hadn’t she called? And then it hit me that I hadn’t called, either. What the hell would I even say?

  I reached into the breast pocket of my blazer and retrieved my phone. The urge to hear her voice happened to be greater than my pride. Maybe the merger would solve all our problems?

  My breaths grew deeper with every passing ring. On the fifth ring, her voice came from the other end.

  “Miss Black, how nice to hear your voice.”

  “Jameson,” she replied brusquely.

  “Still hate me, I see.”

  Eden let out a muffled laugh. “Doubtful that the hate will ever subside, but it’s hilarious watching you try.”

  “I think you love hating me . . . maybe a little too much.”

  A rustling on her end of the line muffled the background noises. “You could say that.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called since—”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  The paperclips on my desk
called my name. I grabbed one, bending it to my will.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine.”

  Donna knocked on my door and popped her head into my office, but I waved her off. “Where did you go the other night?” I prodded, looking for a reasonable excuse for her departure.

  Something caught in her throat. “Went home. Had work the next morning and figured you needed the rest.”

  “Eden, I wasn’t as hammered as you assumed. I remember what happened.”

  She was silent—I hated when she held back. When the muteness stretched for more than a few seconds, I cleared my throat. Nothing. Did she hang up?

  “I called to make sure you were okay,” I said lamely.

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, Winthrop,” she snapped.

  I tapped my fingers on the solid desktop. “I’m well aware.”

  I pictured her face on the other end of the phone, all scrunched up while she tried to make sense of everything. Dammit! Why did I think this idea had merit again? Without a doubt, she must think I’d lost my shit.

  She sighed heavily. “I’m heading to a pitch meeting,” she said, sounding strained, “so I should go prep one last time.”

  “Are you free later?” I asked, crossing my fingers she’d agree. “I need to share something important with you, and I can’t do it over the phone.”

  “I’ll be here late.”

  “I can come to you.”

  “No. I’ll meet you at your place.”

  My overactive imagination did a touchdown fist pump. “I’ll text you the address.”

  “This better be strictly about work. If I smell a whiff of liquor, I’m gone.”

  “It’s definitely about work.”

  Her unabashed huff came across loud and clear from the other end, but she didn’t say anything. Then the rustling noise came back. “See you later.”

  “See you.”

  The phone clicked, inspiring an odd feeling in my gut that I chalked up to hunger. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted the conversation to end. Her tenseness didn’t make sense. I know I didn’t call, but, shit, could she be mad? I didn’t recall her being petty. I knew the hotel chat hadn’t gone according to plan, but it had ended on a good note, didn’t it? She didn’t know about the merger, and for at least a few more hours she didn’t have to know. I needed to tell her face-to-face. Eden deserved an explanation and some reassurance of her position in the company. Hopefully, she won’t slap me again.