by July Hall
A few seconds later, her phone pinged. He’d texted, You’re going to regret that.
This time Sandra replied with the kissy-face emoji. She regretted nothing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Charles’s office had a closet. It contained two suits, seven dress shirts, and four silk ties, plus extra underwear, socks, belts, and cufflinks. All of this came in very handy when he had to stay in the office overnight.
Which he’d had to do two nights this week. It was Wednesday now, and Charles hadn’t seen the inside of his own apartment since he’d returned to the city on Sunday night after the holiday. He should have come back earlier, perhaps, but somehow it had meant so much to be in the family home, with his actual family, after so long.
He was going soft.
And now he was paying for it, playing catch-up. It wasn’t just the wedding. Everything was converging on him at once. The end of the year was fast approaching. There would be a board meeting the week before Christmas. He was up to his elbows in financial statements. Since Magister Enterprises was private, he didn’t have to file an annual report to the SEC, but there were plenty of other factors that held him accountable.
He was probably going to spend Christmas composing Magister’s mission statement for the following year. He usually did. It wasn’t exactly festive, but it had to be done. And this year, Stephen had been making noises about how Charles should write a book, of all things, about his proactive approach to workflow in the company.
Maybe he should tell Sandra about that the next time they spoke on the phone. He’d say, Darling, I’m writing a book about proactive approaches to workflow, and she’d beg him to drive to her office and ravish her immediately.
Anything would be better than the current state of affairs. They’d spoken on the phone, but he hadn’t seen her since last Sunday, before the holiday. He felt it again; it was becoming all too familiar, this sensation of coming out of his own skin.
She’d promised him her mouth. Reminded him he hadn’t had it in weeks. He’d hardly been deprived of pleasure, but now that she’d put the idea in his head, it was all he could think about—her soft lips and wicked tongue driving him wild. She knew how to tease him, work him up until torture became ecstasy.
So much for that. Last night, they’d managed to talk for all of ten minutes between ten thirty and eleven, right after Human Resources had left, but before Accounting had staggered back in. Violet got to go home at nine, when a PA would show up to sit at her desk for the rest of the night. Magister Enterprises never slept in December, and thanks to the executive vice president going on love leave, it was even worse than usual.
Charles didn’t exactly begrudge Stephen some free time. Seeing him with Craig was a revelation. Thanks to that, and a few remarks from Sandra, Charles was just now coming to realize how unhappy his brother must have been for most of his life. Like every Magister, Stephen knew how to keep his chin up and do what had to be done. But Charles should have known better than to mistake that for contentment. Now he could see the difference. Stephen was happy, and there was no harm in letting him be happy while Charles took up the slack for a while.
This did, however, mean he was sacrificing his own happiness to his brother’s. Still, he might have managed to balance them. If Sandra had asked him to, even hinted, he would have found a way to get his ass out of the office by ten and in bed with her. No need to explain himself. But she had not asked. In fact, when they’d talked, she’d sounded downright exhausted, and few things were more pathetic than pushing for sex from an exhausted woman.
Maybe that was because it had been so late. Maybe it was because her time was filled with pandering to that ancient Greek. Maybe she was letting more days slip by without eating enough. Whatever it was, she’d insisted she was fine, that a good night’s sleep was all she needed. She’d even apologized for not being perkier and then told him she’d found a beautiful dress for the wedding. No tuxedo, she’d promised, which had been an unfair tease.
That had been last night. It was now eleven thirty in the morning. He was due to meet Bernard Hussman again at Smith & Wollensky within the hour, and he was currently alone in the office. Might as well. He texted Sandra, Feeling better this morning?
He hadn’t expected an immediate reply, but to his surprise, his phone pinged moments later. Yeah, I slept pretty well :) How’s your day going?
Typical. Yours?
OK. I’m actually downtown!
He blinked at his phone, and typed, Where and why?
She gave him the address, along with, Meeting ended way early. Omw back to my office.
Charles looked down at the display, and then glanced out his windows, where the East River flowed a dull gray. No sunlight today. The clouds hid everything.
No, he texted Sandra. Stay where you are.
??
I’m coming to get you. No arguing.
He set his phone aside and pressed the intercom buzzer. “Violet?” he said. “Cancel my lunch with Bernard.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Should I also cancel the car?”
“No,” he said. “I’m going to need the car. In fact…” He glanced down at his cell phone, which remained dark and silent. No arguments. “I’m going to need it right now.”
* * *
This was crazy.
Sandra lingered by the doorway of the side entrance to the building. No doorman stood here to pass judgment on her. The street was practically an alleyway. At least there weren’t any pedestrians wandering around to get an eyeful of Sandra doing something absolutely crazy, and stupid to boot.
Meeting during work? She didn’t do that. Sure, the appointment had ended early and there wasn’t anything on her schedule now. But she was on company time. Even in Hong Kong, she’d stuck to her guns on that.
But in Hong Kong, she hadn’t gone for over a week without seeing Charles. This was the test of her convictions, huh? Just the promise of a few moments with him and she buckled like a belt.
At least, she assumed it would be a few moments. She had no idea what he was planning. He’d just texted her again to say that he’d be there in a few minutes. He’d better not be thinking about whisking her off to some other international destination.
Because she’d probably go.
Their conversation last night had been so brief. She knew he was working around the clock. There was a reason why he had a shower in his office. So she hadn’t expected a real heart-to-heart, but still, only talking for ten minutes sucked. Even if she had felt so tired she was worried she’d pass out while he was speaking. He’d scolded her about looking after herself. It had felt nice. His high-handedness didn’t have to be all bad.
She’d felt a little off-color after she’d woken up this morning too, but it seemed to have passed now. Her system was probably still messed up from overeating all weekend. It hadn’t been bad enough for her to skip her morning run. And now she quivered with all the energy she’d lacked last night. Where the hell was he? What was this about?
She glanced around restlessly. Construction scaffolding surrounded the sidewalk, and the plywood boarding behind her was plastered over with posters. She saw news about upcoming concerts or events in Central Park, ads for local businesses, scam job opportunities. A cold wind cut through her and made somebody’s discarded paper cup skip down the pavement and over her shoe. She shivered.
She heard the sound of a motor and glanced to her left to see Charles’s Rolls-Royce turning the corner down the one-way street. As it got closer, a quick glance through the windshield told her that he wasn’t driving it himself. She realized she’d never seen him drive.
Sandra waited until the car pulled up to the curb and then darted out from the doorway into the car before the driver could get out to assist her. Nobody was around to see.
As she slid into the back seat and shut the door, she saw that Charles had raised the partition between the front and back seats. He’d pulled black shades over the windows. Oh.
O
hh.
He gave her a long look. He was wearing his overcoat, but he’d unbuttoned it. Then he pressed the intercom button on the console between the seats and said, “Phillip, drive until I tell you to stop. You choose the route, but I don’t want to get any closer to Magister than we are now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charles lifted his hand from the button. He looked at her with unconcealed hunger. And deep inside her belly, Sandra felt herself starting to melt and get weak. She still curled her fingernails into her palms and told herself that he knew better than to pull this. He couldn’t just get her to drop everything, just tell her where to be and when, and what to do…
The car drove away from the curb. It seemed to float as lightly as a cloud. And the backseat was totally soundproofed. Not a single noise penetrated the interior, which seemed hushed as a cloister.
Until Charles said, “I had to see you.”
Sandra’s eyes closed.
“I had to, do you understand?” he said hoarsely. “I don’t need anything else. I wouldn’t ask you to—not in a car, you might not want—but I had to see you.” Her cheek felt the warm touch of his fingertips. They made her tremble. “It’s been over a week.”
She kept her eyes closed as his thumb brushed over her lower lip.
“Sandra,” he breathed.
She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with that same desire she’d seen on the plane, when he’d seemed almost bewildered by it. She could imagine. Charles was used to controlling his impulses, not the other way around. So was she.
“What might I not want to do in a car?” she whispered. “And why might I not want to do it?”
His pupils dilated. His thumb moved away from her mouth to stroke over her jaw. “You might think it’s…tawdry,” he said. He watched his own hand touching her, stroking over her skin. “I wouldn’t blame you. It is.”
“What is?” she pressed.
“I don’t care,” Charles continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “We can sit here and you can tell me all about your fucking morning if you want to.” His fingertips slid around the back of her neck, into the downy hair there that tangled easily. “But I need this. You must let me have this.”
The windows were all made of privacy glass, and the black shades offered a second layer of protection. The partition ensured that they would have privacy from both the driver and anybody who might feel like looking through the windshield. Nobody could see them.
Sandra’s heart was racing. She’d never had sex in a backseat before.
There were some logistical issues. The Phantom was roomy, but it was still a car, and she and Charles were two relatively tall people. She couldn’t sit comfortably in his lap, and the console between the two seats made it impossible to lie down. There was only one option left, really. The car had an extended wheelbase and plush wool carpeting.
“I don’t want to tell you about my morning,” she said, taking off her coat.
Charles ground his jaw. “Then tell me anything, or just sit there and look beautiful, or do whatever you—”
Sandra slid out of her seat, scooted around the edge of the console, and knelt down in front of him. The plush carpet made it a lot easier on her knees than the stairwell.
Charles’s breath caught in his throat and then eased out in a long, shaky sigh.
She clicked the red button on his seatbelt and watched the strap slide across his body as it hooked back toward the corner of the seat.
“I didn’t ask you here to…” Charles began. Then he took hold of her shoulders and pulled her to him, bending down to kiss her.
Sandra put her fingers on his lips just before he could. “No,” she whispered, their faces so close that she could feel his breath on her mouth. She looked right into his eyes, which were hot with frustration and need.
She felt it too. She couldn’t believe how much she felt it. She was the top spinning toward the edge of the table, and if he made her come apart in the backseat of his car in the middle of the work-day, then that was just one inch closer to the fall.
No. He didn’t get to do that to her.
“You didn’t ask me here at all,” Sandra said. She applied a little pressure with her fingers, pushing his head back. “You don’t ask people to do things, do you?”
“I don’t have to,” he growled. “Sandra—”
“You said, ‘I’m coming to get you,’ not ‘please meet me,’” Sandra continued. She listened to the pitch of her own voice like it belonged to someone else. It wasn’t the voice of a frightened girl. It sounded soft, almost seductive. “You never ask me to do anything. Not anywhere, not even in bed.”
“What?” Now he looked both aroused and outraged. “That is absolutely not true.”
She shook her head. “Yes, it is. You say things like, ‘Sandra, I want to touch you,’ or…” She slid her hands up and down his chest. “‘Sandra, I need to come’…”
He gasped and tried to lean toward her again. She turned her caress into a push. His eyes glittered dangerously.
“I don’t have to ask people to do things,” he whispered. Then his hand was back in her hair. He tightened his grip on it. “Neither do you. That’s what you’ve got to learn. Do you really need me to tell you what I want right this minute?”
He couldn’t frighten her. Not like this, not now. She kept looking into his eyes and put her hands on his thighs, smoothing them over the merino wool of his pants. “All you have to do is ask,” she said.
Charles was going red. It didn’t look like arousal or embarrassment. It looked like anger. He ground his jaw. “We don’t have much time.”
She looked at his lips and thought about all the magic they could work. “You can do nicer things with your mouth than order me around,” she said.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Charles tightened his grip on her hair. “Let me do those nice things to you. Come here.”
She didn’t move, although her neck hurt from resisting him. “Stop pulling my hair,” she said. He glared, but let go of her hair and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Why won’t you just ask me for what I want to give you?” Sandra asked. Oh shit, her voice came a little too close to breaking there. She cleared her throat. “Do you really think I’d say no?”
He kept looking at her. Charles’s eyes were so sharp, but not as sharp as the mind working behind them. She knew he frightened a lot of people with his eyes—when he narrowed them, when he glared, when he lowered his brows. But the eyes weren’t really the scary part. They were only the sheath to the sword.
What was he thinking about now?
“Do you really believe that you’d give me anything I asked for?” he said. “You must be more lacking in imagination than I thought.”
Ouch. “What the hell kind of thing do you want to ask me for?” Sandra said incredulously. It couldn’t be anything that outrageous. Charles’s tastes were pretty simple: he loved kissing and fucking. He’d turned down anal, said he didn’t want to watch Sandra with another woman, no way would he be into a threesome.
At her question, Charles finally looked away. He stuck his tongue into his cheek and did not reply.
“I ask you for things,” Sandra reminded him, trying not to sound hurt. He hissed, and a shiver ran through him, but he didn’t look at her. “What, does that make me weak or something? Less than you?”
That made him look at her. His eyes widened. “Lesser?” he said. “You?”
“I don’t know what else to think,” Sandra said. She swallowed, and to her horror, it hurt. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for what you want, Charles, not like this.”
“Not like this,” he repeated. He slid his hand around the back of her neck again and looked at her mouth. “All right,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Fine. Sandra, please let me kiss you.”
Sandra’s jaw dropped. She turned her head away before he could take it as an invitation. Seriously?
“No,” she said. “You know that’s not right.”
>
His nostrils flared. He snarled, “You told me to—”
“—ask for what you want.” Knowing that she probably looked more pissed off than sexy, Sandra leaned in until they were almost nose-to-nose. “I’m not stupid.”
“No,” he said. “You’re not.” She felt his breath on her mouth again. She’d never had such a good look into his green eyes. His fingers were digging into the back of her neck. She held her breath.
“Please,” he rasped, stopped, and swallowed. Through his teeth he said, “Please kiss me.”
God. She was moving before the last word was out of his mouth. She pressed her lips to his, and they moaned at the same time as her body lit up and everything made sense again. She kissed him like they had all the time in the world. She kissed him as if they’d just finished making love.
By the time she was done, she could feel Charles’s heart pounding. His hands clutched at her back. He’d closed his eyes.
When they parted, their lips made a soft prickling noise. He opened his eyes then. They were glazed with desire. “Again,” he breathed.
Sandra gave him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth.
“No.” He pressed a kiss to her chin. “Like before.”
She hummed encouragingly.
He groaned. “Sandra, please kiss me again.”
She did. She carded her fingers through his hair, stroked the flesh just above his collar. And she kissed him again while he growled in the back of his throat.
Blood roared in her ears. She’d never heard anything so hot as Charles just asking her to do something to him, something he wanted. “Oh, fuck,” she whimpered. “I’ll do anything you ask.” He went still against her, and her heart fell. “Is it really that hard?”
Charles took a deep breath. For an answer, he took hold of her hand and pressed it between his legs so she could feel the growing bulge there.
“Apparently,” he said.
“Oh, wow,” Sandra breathed. She squeezed gently, and his hips jerked.
“Don’t make me say it,” he said through his teeth.