by July Hall
“Did you come?” he whispered. She shook her head. “Ah, lie down.” He stroked her shoulder. “Lie down with me, let me look after you.”
Look after her, take care of her—maybe those words meant something different now. Did he know she needed him? Not just wanted, but needed?
The thought made her head spin. Charles didn’t seem to notice. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a contented sigh. “Your wish is my command.” He skimmed his hand over her hip. “What would you like?”
Her nipples ached. She was puffy and sensitive between her legs, so aroused that he could probably finger her until she hit the stratosphere. Even her ass still seemed to feel the imprint of his thumb.
“Nothing,” she said.
Charles pulled back, blinking down at her. “What?”
Sandra looked up at him, into his eyes, green as emeralds. “Nothing,” she said. “Don’t do anything.”
“But…” His brows drew together. He looked up and down her body, saw her peaked nipples and her sticky thighs, her flushed skin. “You’re ready.”
“Yeah.” So ready. She licked her dry lips. Control. Get it back before she was lost for good. “I was like this all the time right after we met. I thought I was coming out of my skin.”
His eyes gleamed. But when he stroked her hip again, she stopped his hand. “You want to know if you make me crazy?” she asked.
“I…”
She cut him off by raising one knee so he could get a good look at her, how wet and red she was, his own come still dripping out of her.
“Oh,” he breathed, and stroked the inside of her knee. “Oh yes. Let me…”
“No,” Sandra said. She inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled while she looked at the ceiling. Keep it together. Get it under control. “Hold me. Don’t make me come.”
The satisfaction in his eyes had vanished, replaced with confusion. “But—”
“Just look at me like this,” Sandra said. Now she could meet his gaze squarely and watch the realization dawn on his face. “You just get to hold me. You just get to look.”
There, that should do it. With a deep sigh, she rested her head on his muscled shoulder. Next to her, he quivered with a new kind of frustration. “Come on,” he said.
“No.”
“Sandra.” He put his hand on her shoulder. She could hear the strain in his voice; this was not the kind of teasing he liked. Not at all. “For God’s sake.”
“I said no.” She took another deep breath and let it out. It was getting easier. She was still unfulfilled, still felt that heavy ache between her legs, but it was getting easier to bear.
“This is ridiculous. Let me satisfy you. I need to…”
Sandra shook her head and kissed his collarbone. “You needed to use me. You got what you needed. Didn’t you? That’s what you said.”
His grip on her tightened. “No,” he said. “No, it wasn’t enough. I want your pleasure too.”
“Wow. You really are greedy.” She closed her thighs. Visiting hours were over. He growled. “This is all you get.”
“Am I being punished for something?” he demanded.
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, this is a really terrible punishment. Poor you.” Yes, it was much better now. Her heart rate was back to normal. Her breasts had stopped tingling. She wasn’t about to fly into a thousand pieces and never be able to put herself back together.
“Is this about the toe thing?” At least he didn’t sound pissed off. Just frustrated. And maybe…
Huh. “Are you still a little turned on?” Sandra whispered.
He swallowed. Sounded surprised when he said, “I wasn’t. But now…” He shook his head. “Forget it. Come on. Let me.”
“No,” Sandra repeated. “A lot of guys would be happy to be let off duty.”
“I never shirk my duty,” Charles said firmly. “It’s one of my defining attributes.”
Yeah, and she loved that about him. She also loved that he could say defining attributes in bed. In fact, it made her laugh, and that was the best possible way to banish her fears. “Do some more of that sexy talk,” she teased. “I won’t be able to help myself then.”
He pinched her hip gently. Laughing again, she elbowed him. “You’re right,” he said. “You really are crazy. At least I know what to do with an orgasm when it’s offered to me.”
“I’m hopeless,” she agreed. She rested her chin on his chest and looked into his eyes.
Okay. This was good. They were together, having fun, and he hadn’t seen into the bottom of her heart. This was good.
Finally, his expression softened. He stroked her hair, his fingertips catching in the damp tangles. “One thing I know,” he said.
“What?” Sandra asked.
“I’m a lucky man. I do know that.”
Heat flooded her again, but of a different kind—not lust, but joy and self-consciousness all at once. She almost hid her face against his chest, almost squirmed in embarrassed delight.
Charles wanted to sweep her off her feet with luxurious presents and trips, but nothing was ever as good as hearing him say something like that and knowing he meant it.
“Oh,” she said, and gave him a shy smile.
“But,” he added, “I’m a lucky man who’s somehow found himself stuck to a crazy woman.”
Stuck to could be literal at this moment. Ick. Sandra laughed anyway. “Definitely crazy,” she said. “Crazy like a fox.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the whole, Charles was pleased.
The trip was going well so far. They’d arrived in Hong Kong at nearly 11:00 p.m., local time, on Thursday. Jet lag seemed to throw Sandra off, but Charles never experienced that. It was simply a matter of powering through.
She hadn’t appreciated that nugget of wisdom, but at least she hadn’t worried about what the chauffeur and bellboy might think. Charles had tipped them both handsomely and thanked them for their discretion.
The personal assistant was another matter. Andrew Huan had shown proper form in sending a Magister employee to meet Charles’s plane. The young woman had taken one look at Sandra and said that the office thought Mr. Magister was arriving alone. Accommodations would be made for his assistant immediately. They were very sorry for the mistake.
A direct subordinate of Andrew’s, hungry for advancement, could not be bought with cash. She was no doubt under orders to tell Andrew about everything that transpired from the moment they met at the hangar.
“Miss Dane is here to assist me with a family matter, not company business,” he’d said. Thankfully, Sandra had been too off-kilter to fidget. “She’s liaising with a private party in Macau on my behalf.” The assistant had nodded with her very best professional face.
Charles had given her a direct look. “Things have been unstable in our Hong Kong branch,” he said. “I hope Mr. Huan’s performance is up to scratch. Anyone can come or go.”
The assistant had blanched, nodded, and sat in complete silence during the half-hour drive from the airport to Hong Kong Island. She seemed to be an intelligent person. If that were so, then she would know that Andrew Huans came and went, but Magisters were forever.
Sandra had been quiet too, though she appeared fascinated by the drive—even compared to New York, the skyline of Hong Kong was something to see. And if she’d had reservations, they’d vanished the moment she’d seen the Presidential Suite. She’d stared in delight at the marble entryway, the dining room with its crystal chandelier, and the private spa.
“Oh look, there are two bedrooms,” Charles had told her. “That should suit you.”
“Ha-ha,” she’d said, kicking off her shoes. “I’m going to put on my blue silk and sleep for a year.” Charles maintained that was a waste of blue silk, but he chose to sleep naked, and it did feel pleasant against his skin.
She’d cuddled up next to him, kissed him, and gone out like a light. He’d spent the night drifting in and out of consciousness. He kept waking to make sure she
was still in his arms. She always was, and he felt a bone-deep satisfaction every time. He would lie for a few moments in perfect bliss before dozing off again.
He wasn’t sure what she’d been playing at on the flight over—denying him her pleasure. He’d discover it in due time. He could wait. Ever since they’d met, he’d been fascinated by what hid beneath her polite façade. How long had it been since anyone had dared to challenge or puzzle him?
Italy, he thought, for New Year’s. He was indeed a lucky man.
That was last night. This morning had brought a full day at the Hong Kong branch of Magister Enterprises. There was a tour of the facility, four presentations, and that was all before lunch. During lunch, everyone drank iced water or green tea and sat through Andrew’s speech about new horizons. After lunch, Charles and Andrew went over reports for hours.
He could tell that Andrew was nervous; this was all very last minute. Nobody liked drop-in visits from the boss. Perhaps next time Charles would give more warning. For now, he liked seeing the day-to-day operations as they were, no Potemkin villages.
Everything looked adequate. It was a far sight better than Andrew’s predecessor had managed. He’d need another quarter or so to get everything really shipshape, but he was making sufficient progress. Charles was satisfied.
He had no time to check in on Sandra, but that morning he’d seen her safely off with her contact at the rare trading brokerage. Tomorrow afternoon, he would meet with Richard Zhou. Making all the arrangements would eat up Sandra’s entire day. She’d seemed both nervous and excited, ready to grab the opportunity with both hands.
She was hungry too, ready to make her mark on the world. Charles saw a great deal of himself in her—though she hadn’t needed to grow up as fast. She’d never had his responsibilities, so she hadn’t developed his cynicism. Her optimistic determination was a joy to behold.
Charles didn’t give a fuck what Zhou wanted in exchange for the Ru ware. He’d trade it. Sandra was giving him her most valuable gift: her time, her thoughtfulness, her desire to heal an old wound. Charles had nothing in his home more precious than that.
The day sped along and concluded with dinner at Lung King Heen in the Four Seasons. Andrew made a point of paying for it himself instead of using the corporate expense account. The party was smaller than Charles had expected—and he soon realized it was because none of the guests had brought a spouse or date.
This wouldn’t be a matter of expense. The last thing Andrew wanted was for Charles to feel like the odd one out. And Charles’s reputation preceded him: Andrew had known not to provide him with a pretty escort. Instead of that, he’d told everyone to come alone and make it a work gathering.
A month ago, Charles would have approved. Tonight, he only wanted Sandra at his side. He could picture it. She would observe everyone keenly, make polite conversation, and keep her thoughts to herself. Afterward, she would tell him what she’d seen, what she thought of it all.
No, he told himself, not now, not yet. Maybe not ever. She doesn’t want it.
By nine thirty, he was beginning to flag. His body thought it was eight thirty in the morning. Two glasses of an excellent red hadn’t helped. Just as he was about to excuse himself, though, his phone beeped with a text.
It was rude as hell, but he told the table, “Pardon me. I’m expecting to hear from my brother.”
Andrew said immediately, “Oh, by all means.”
Sandra had texted him. Back at the hotel. OMG so tired. Still being wined and dined?
How tired was “OMG so tired”? Charles replied: Just about to leave. Then he looked around the table and said, “This has been a pleasant evening and a productive day. I’m afraid the time difference is getting to me, so I’ll bid you good night. Thank you all very much—especially you, Andrew.”
“Not at all, Mr. Magister,” Andrew said with a look of profound relief. He was nine years older than Charles. The world was a funny place. “Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”
Sandra was going to be busy all morning working out the final details of his meeting with Zhou. Charles said, “Yes. I’ll expect the driver at eleven forty-five.”
“Of course. I don’t know what you have planned for the morning, but if there’s anything you need in the city, I have an excellent concierge. And of course, my PA is at your disposal any time.”
Charles shook his head. “You’re too kind. I’ll see you at noon.”
And that was that. Sandra should definitely be here. She could see firsthand how much easier life was when you didn’t bother explaining yourself.
When he returned to the hotel, however, he saw that she’d adapted to the good life in other ways. She was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, watching the news and wearing one of the hotel’s bathrobes. A tray sat in front of her on the table, covered in plates. She was eating something that looked very odd.
“What in the world is that?” Charles asked.
She jumped, said, “Oh!” and reached for the remote. “I didn’t hear you come in. It’s a lobster burger.”
Charles eyed it. “You don’t say?”
Sandra turned off the TV. Wolf Blitzer’s face disappeared. “Yeah, it’s something they serve at the hotel bar. I was like, when else am I going to eat a lobster burger? It’s really good. Want a bite?”
Charles did. He sat on the floor next to her, took her in his arms, and nipped at her throat. She laughed. “Delicious,” he said, and took another nibble.
Sandra pushed him away, giggling, and gave him a kiss. “How was today?” she asked.
Charles exhaled. “Long. I want a shower.”
“The shower is amazing,” Sandra agreed. He could smell the traces of her body wash, and her hair was still damp at the ends. “I thought about a rose petal bath, but I was scared I’d fall asleep in the tub.”
“We can’t have that.” He stroked her cheek. “Finish your lobster. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She smiled, and then blushed. “I love the flowers. Thank you.”
“Good.” Charles kissed her again and headed toward the master bedroom, where he got a look at the bouquet he’d ordered for her. Peonies, camellias, and chrysanthemums, all exquisitely arranged. A hint of China in a city she’d had little time to explore.
By the time he emerged from the shower, wearing the second bathrobe, Sandra had finished her dinner and was waiting for him on the bed. She had a small bottle in her hands.
“What’s that?” Charles asked.
“Massage oil,” she said, and gave him a hopeful smile. “I found it in the private spa room. I am super tired and achy.”
He sat down on the bed next to her. “Did you know that you can get a masseur to come visit the private spa? Crazy, but true.”
Sandra gasped and looked dismayed. “Oh God, that’s so sad! I didn’t know your hands were broken.” She took one of his hands and kissed the knuckles. “You should have said something.”
“It would be the height of luxury,” Charles said, enjoying himself immensely. “I hear they can wrap you up in seaweed and put hot rocks on your back. How can you say no?”
“I’ll take the rocks if you do the seaweed.”
“Pass.” Charles stretched out on the bed. After a very long day and a hot shower, sleep would be a sweet relief. But Sandra had worked all day too, and she didn’t often get to enjoy places like this. He stroked her knee. “I mean it. Get a massage if you want one.”
Sandra blinked at him. She’d already wiped off her makeup, and there was nothing to conceal her freckles from him, or her red eyelashes. She tossed the bottle of oil back and forth between her hands.
Then she said, “You’ll pay for me to go in there, lie on that table, and moan while another man puts his hands on me?”
She might as well have put a fork in his hand and jammed it into a light socket. It felt as if an electric current jolted all the way down his body, and a sudden, instinctive fury roiled through him.
Her eyes s
parkled, the minx. She knew what she was doing.
“That man,” Charles said evenly, “would be a licensed professional.”
“I took a look in the spa downstairs before I left this morning. I don’t think they employ anybody who doesn’t look like a model.” She looked innocent. “There was this one guy who should have been on the cover of a magazine.”
“They all look like models?” he asked. She nodded. “Then let’s get one of the women up here. I could handle watching that.” She laughed and smacked his shoulder. “What? A beautiful woman rubbing oil all over you? I’d suffer through it—” He shielded himself from another smack. “If it would make you happy.”
“Hmph. No thanks.” Then she frowned at him, but she sounded more puzzled than angry when she asked, “Would you really want to watch me with another woman?”
For a split second, the idea aroused him. That wasn’t surprising. Two beautiful women? Of course it turned him on. And Josephine Banks, whom he’d liked very much—Josephine could have offered to put on a show, and he’d have bought tickets.
After the split second, he wasn’t aroused anymore. Watching Sandra with another lover? Who cared what private parts they had?
Not her. Never her.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said through his teeth.
Sandra looked satisfied. Apparently there had been a correct answer to that question. Now, as if in reward, she took off her robe and raised her arms in a glorious stretch so he could ogle her breasts. “Oh, well,” she said. “Who needs your hands, anyway? Not me.”
This was only going to end one way. Might as well accept defeat sooner rather than later. He said, “Give me that bottle, and keep your hair out of my way.”
She beamed as she spread her bathrobe beneath her to keep stray oil from getting on the coverlet. Charles surveyed his kingdom: her shoulders, the slope of her back, the firm ass and thighs of a runner.
There were worse ways to end a long day.