by Marni Mann
“I wasn’t feeling good.”
“Does it have anything to do with Reed?”
I sighed. “Yes.” I told her how Reed pulled me into a corner at the party and tried to explain our break-up…or justify it. Or apologize for it, for all I knew. I wasn’t sure which, since I hadn’t let him finish. “It wasn’t the right place to have a conversation like that.”
“But you do realize you’ll need to have that conversation with him at some point, right?” She was usually the sensible one. “For your own sense of closure, if nothing else.”
“Maybe.” I swung my feet to the floor gingerly, rested my elbows on my knees and held my forehead with my palm. “But I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Zack told me Mr. Block was there, too…” Her voice went soft.
My chest began to pound even more, this time from the sound of his name. I’d felt it when I had read his email and now it was even worse. He had such a hold on me…it had to stop. “He was, yes.” I wanted to tell her what happened in that office, how Reed had walked in on us before it went too far. But when I tried, the words wouldn’t come out. “Do you have plans tonight?” I asked instead.
“Nothing I can’t cancel. Why?”
“I have a dinner meeting with Derek, and I want you to come.” We’d scheduled this dinner in his office, for the purpose of discussing my team’s marketing ideas. Was that still his intention—or had it ever been at all? “I know the team put together some initial concepts. Let’s get those outlines printed, along with copies of the publications that we plan to run ads in so he can view them.”
“No problem.” I could tell she wasn’t finished speaking. “So…are you going to tell me about the party now…or later? Or now?”
That would have made me laugh if I hadn’t felt so horrible. “I will...once I stop throwing up.” I’d heaved when I woke up, so that wasn’t completely a lie.
“Hopefully you’ll be able to stop puking by tonight.”
I leaned back into the cushion, bent my knees and tucked my face into my thighs. “Yes, hopefully.” Once my hangover died down, my nerves would take over. Either way, my stomach was going to be a mess.
“Oh my God, can you imagine if you threw up on the table?” The sound of her laugh caused a sharp pain to stab through my head. “I’m not wishing for it to happen, but I’d like to see the look on Mr. Block’s face if it does.”
“You’re funny…and so supportive this morning. I don’t think Derek would appreciate that at all.”
“That’s okay. I’ll appreciate it enough for all of us.” She laughed again. “Text me the details about dinner, and I’ll be there.”
I told her I would and hung up, but I kept the phone in my hand so I could reply to Derek’s email.
FROM: Jordan, Frankie
TO: Block, Derek
SENT: April 21, 10:23am
SUBJECT: re: Dinner
I’ll be bringing Brea with me. Please let me know where you made reservations and we’ll meet you there.
-Frankie
I unrolled from the ball I was in and laid across the couch again, placing the phone back on my pillow. The stations flipped across the TV screen, but I paid no attention to what was playing on them. I couldn’t get my mind off Derek. When we were in that office—my legs circled around his waist, his hands all over my body—the desire I had felt for him was scorching. I wasn’t sure I had ever wanted anything as badly as I had wanted him in that moment.
Somehow, I had to bury those thoughts…those memories.
Those desires.
“Derek Block is a client,” I said out loud. Then I said it again, and again. And again. As if hearing the words come through my lips would trigger my brain to believe them, to believe he could be nothing more.
My phone chimed. I took a deep breath and looked at the screen.
FROM: Block, Derek
TO: Jordan, Frankie
SENT: April 21, 10:25am
SUBJECT: re: Dinner with YOU
Unless you want to give me your home address, I’ll be outside your office at 8:00 pm. I expect you to be alone.
I should have known better. He most definitely wanted to talk about what happened at the gala, and he couldn’t do that if Brea were there. That meant I would have to endure whatever conversation would inevitably happen tonight. Then I’d go home and give myself two fingers in a scalding shower, and I’d top off the evening with at least eight hours of sleep.
If only my head would stop spinning…
FROM: Jordan, Frankie
TO: Block, Derek
SENT: April 21, 10:26am
SUBJECT: Got it.
I’ll see you at the office.
-Frankie
FOUR.
DEREK
I COULD TELL Frankie was hung over by the way she staggered out of her office building. She was dressed in all black, with her hair in a high ponytail. Less put-together than normal, but still as ravishing. I wanted to wrap those long dark locks around my fist and pull her to me. The resistance she would show at first would be a turn on. And then, as she became reacquainted with my touch, she’d melt in my hands…
“Good evening,” I said as she got inside my SUV. Her scent was much fainter than normal, but it was a scent I could almost still taste.
“To you, too.”
I handed her the travel mug from the cup holder. “It’s a little late for this, but it’ll help.”
She strapped the seatbelt across her body and stared at the mug. “What is it?” She twisted off the cap. “Oh God, the smell…”
“It tastes just as bad, but it will fix the way you’re feeling.”
“How do you know the way I’m feeling?”
I glanced at her, avoiding her eyes and looking straight at those savory glossed lips. “I’d recognize that look anywhere.”
“But you didn’t know I was hung over when you were making this for me, did you?” Before I could respond, she said, “Don’t answer that. Thanks…for whatever this is.”
She was sick and hurting. I’d forgive her for having a little spice.
“I saw how much you drank last night, Frankie.” I looked at her mouth again before I turned at the stop sign. “I tasted the wine on you.”
“About that…” Her body stiffened; tension radiated from her. I expected that she’d be insecure and unsure about what had happened in that office.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” There was relief in her voice. “I’d like it if we could move forward and just forget what happened.”
“We don’t have to talk about it…yet.”
She pressed her cheek against the passenger side window, placed the mug between her thighs and gripped the seatbelt with both hands. “Shit.”
I smiled without letting her see it. My stunning little pink ivory. The cool of the glass was settling her, the belt was steadying her hands.
I hadn’t even begun.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“You will be after you drink that. Trust me.”
She brought it to her mouth slowly, filling her cheeks before she swallowed. Her face scrunched and she let out an unpleasant moan. “Do I want to know what’s in it?”
The recipe had been in my family for years. When my father had to go to work early on Saturday mornings, he’d drink that concoction instead of coffee. It restored him from the beers he had shared with my mother the night before. Those were the days I’d tagged along to the jobsite. I remembered the smell of it on his breath as I helped him unload the supply trucks.
I shook the thought of him away and slid my hand down the wheel to turn on the signal. “Nah. Best that it remain a secret.”
“So where are you taking me? Hopefully, I’m dressed appropriately.”
I’d looked at her plenty of times since she’d gotten in my SUV, but my eyes had yet to meet hers. She hadn’t been ready to submit to the
heat of my stare.
It was time.
I started at her thighs, gradually traveling up her body, using the same speed my hands would if they were grazing her. When I landed on those fierce gunmetal eyes, she let out a soft gasp. “What you’re wearing is perfect.” True perfection would have been to have her undressed, her thighs spread wide over the seat and my face buried between them. It wasn’t time for that yet.
She placed the rim of the cup between her lips, emptied it in one go, and set it back in the holder. “There are no words to describe how awful that tasted.”
“Give it about fifteen minutes and you’ll be glad you drank it.” I backed into a vacant spot parallel to the curb on the same side as the restaurant.
“Are we here?” She glanced across the street and behind us. If she was looking for a sign, she wouldn’t find one.
“We are.”
“What’s it called?”
“The Hole.” That was what I called it, anyway.
She almost choked. “Interesting.”
I’d named it after my favorite place to be in. It seemed to fit given that was also my favorite place to eat. It wasn’t the type of restaurant Reed Reynolds would take her—not stuffy or pretentious like him. I preferred restaurants without fluff, where there was nothing frilly or fruity covering my plate. Just a slab of something rich and tasty, something I could really sink my teeth into. Not surprisingly, The Hole satisfied my needs.
Frankie met me on her side of the SUV and walked beside me to the front door. I held it open for her, then led her to a booth that was in the back and away from the other diners.
“I’ll be right with you, darlin’,” a waitress said as she passed our table.
Frankie’s eyes traveled over the bar and across the walls. The décor was a little bit heavy metal, mixed with some country jams and a huge dose of redneck. “How did you find this place?”
“The owner is a client.”
Her brows rose. “Really?”
“You look surprised.”
“I am.” She looked around again. “Very.”
The house I’d built the owner had set him back a few million, not including the six-figure lot that was directly on the water. When it came to his business, he preferred to keep things a little more raw and unvarnished. Wealth didn’t always have to be sanded and glossed. The same could have been said of me. I had more money than I needed, and more splinters than I cared to admit.
“So you wouldn’t expect to find someone like me in a place like this?”
She shrugged. “Your clothes fit the…rustic charm.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, holding in my laughter. “Not a fan of flannel?”
“Not really.”
“If I used a flannel to tie your wrists to my headboard, would you be bothered by it then?”
Pink filled her cheeks. “Derek…” She no longer had an icy window next to her to cool down her skin.
“If I poured wine all over your tight, quivering stomach and drank it out of your navel, would it matter if it cost ten dollars a bottle or a hundred?”
“I didn’t mean…” Her tone changed before her voice trailed off. It was raspier, more sexual. I could almost smell the thickness of her desire in the air.
“Because when I tie you up and lick every inch of your body, things like whether I’m wearing flannel or a ten thousand dollar suit aren’t going to matter. You won’t be aware of anything other than my tongue. I promise.”
She leaned her head into the back cushion of the booth and closed her eyes. I felt the deep breath she inhaled. “I need to be your realtor, and nothing more. That’s the only way this is going to work.” She finally opened her eyes. The look on her face didn’t line up with her words.
“Agreed.”
“It doesn’t sound that way.”
When I went to answer, the waitress appeared. “Here are some menus.” She set two on the table. “What can I getcha to drink?”
“An IPA on tap,” I said. I looked at Frankie. “I’m sure they’ve got a bottle of red, unless you’d rather stick with water?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said.
The waitress didn’t bother to write anything down. “They’ll be up in a sec.”
“You look surprised by my order,” Frankie said as the waitress left the table. She was using my words against me.
“I am. Pleasantly surprised, actually.” Her body was starting to relax, and the glimmer was returning to her eyes. “Looks like my concoction is kicking in.”
“It is,” she agreed. “And to clarify: wine is my drink of choice, but a cold beer once in a while is great, too.”
“Good to know.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know, Mr. Block.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I glanced down to read the menu, but still felt her gaze on me. I chose what I wanted to order and peered at her again. We caught eyes briefly before she looked at her menu. “Don’t look away on my account.” Her cautious stare returned. “I don’t plan on looking anywhere but at you tonight.” She began to play with the chunk of hair that was resting over her shoulder.
The waitress delivered our drinks and stayed long enough to take our dinner order. Frankie had gulped a quarter of her beer before the waitress left our table. She wiped the foam from her lip and said, “So…we were talking about professional boundaries.”
“Were we?”
“It was two minutes ago. You’ve forgotten already?”
“No. I didn’t forget.” Her nipples were hard, poking through her shirt, taunting the hell out of me. “I just didn’t think that was the topic.”
“Well,” she bit her lip and released it, “it will be now.”
“I thought you’d want to take a break from the heavy talk.”
“And what would make you think I needed a break?”
She squirmed in her seat. I could tell my eyes were too much for her. She wasn’t used to my intensity, my hunger…and she hadn’t even gotten a real taste of it yet. “Intuition.”
She took another sip. “Maybe we can just move on. Please?”
She’d learn soon that she wouldn’t be determining the direction of that. “We’re looking for the same thing, Frankie. You want to represent my building, and I don’t want anyone but you to sell the units.”
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the whole deal?”
“Because there’s something I want from you in addition to being my agent.”
“What would that be?” She glanced to her side to make sure no one was passing, as if she knew what I was about to say.
“I want your pussy.”
She blushed immediately. “Derek—”
I didn’t hold back. “I have to know what it feels like to have my dick completely buried in your wetness, to hear how loud I can get you to scream my name when I fuck you, to know how your juices taste on my tongue when I lick you to a squirting orgasm.”
She wrapped her hands around the frosty mug and squeezed. I’d noticed her wrist when we were in the SUV, but now it gleamed under the light and caught my attention again. She was wearing the bracelet, the one I’d requested her to wear during our last meeting. She wore it again tonight without me asking.
She wore it for me.
I reached forward and brushed my fingertips over her wrist. It was delicate, soft…the perfect size to grip between my teeth. She didn’t pull away, and I didn’t expect her to. She shivered from my touch instead, and her mouth opened. I could almost picture her legs spreading under the table.
“Frankie…”
She hesitated, looked away from me toward the bar and down at our hands before answering. “What?” It came out in a whisper.
“Tell me,” I insisted. “Tell me you want this, too.”
Her eyes glistened as she stared back at me.
FIVE.
FRANKIE
I COULD BARELY PROCESS what Derek had just said. No man had ever been so forward with me,
telling me in detail the things he wanted to do to my body. And my body had never responded quite like this…aside from last night, when his hands had been all over me. I thought about the desires he’d just expressed in no uncertain terms and wondered how it would feel if he actually carried through with them. There was enough pulsing and tingling and longing running through me to make me want to reach across the table, grab his delicious face and kiss him as hard as I could.
But then what—a sexual relationship…with a client? That was counter to everything I believed in, and everything Jordan International stood for. I was reminded yet again of Reed’s accusations at the gala, and how he had compared me to Julia. But I couldn’t forget how, before coming to this restaurant and after the hangover had mellowed, I had masturbated in the shower, with Derek’s face staring back behind my closed lids.
I couldn’t explain my attraction to him.
And I couldn’t explain why my need for him persisted despite my fear of what would happen if I ever gave in. Thankfully, the last bit of self-control I held onto stopped me from reaching for him. I wasn’t sure how long it would hold out. But I knew before I gave him an answer, I needed a few of my own.
“What made you choose blue flowers for Brea?” I asked, referring to the bouquet he had sent to the office during our contract negotiations.
His fingers left my wrist and came to rest on top of the table, finally allowing me to take a deep breath again. “Will found Brea’s social media profile. She listed blue as her favorite color.”
“And what made you choose pink for me?” I wasn’t on social media except for the profiles Brea managed, which were all work related. He had no way of knowing anything personal about me from an internet search. Whatever he knew beyond my professional profile he’d either dug out of someone, or he’d known intuitively.
Only his eyes moved, narrowing as his stare deepened. I hated that I couldn’t get a read on him, and yet he seemed to see right into me. “You remind me of a piece of wood I carved when I was younger.”