All evidence pointed in that direction. For some reason, her stomach gave a little nervous twist.
“Can you believe Charlie’s gone? And Ned?” Megan asked.
“There’ll be more, too, if Whitman’s running true to form,” Zach said, looking away from Audrey.
Megan swore pithily.
“You said it,” Zach said.
Audrey drank her wine and listened as Megan and Zach discussed the severance packages that appeared to be on offer. Then Zach said something about his previous company, and before she knew it an hour had passed and they were ordering burgers with the works and curly fries.
The conversation ranged all over, from the politics at play within the cooperative to their opinions of their competitors’ marketing and pricing strategies to Zach’s renovation plans and Megan’s pregnancy hopes. Audrey found herself talking about her own ham-fisted renovation attempts—the new timber venetian blinds she’d attempted to install the previous summer—and by the time it was pushing eight o’clock she was mellow from wine and animal fats and good conversation with people she enjoyed.
That one of those people was Zach wasn’t really too great a surprise. She’d already been well on the way toward liking him before the brown smelly stuff hit the fan at conference. Now they’d come out the other side of their disagreement and bonded over shared peril.
Powerful stuff, at the best of times.
“You want another drink?” he asked as Cameron cleared their sauce-and-grease-smeared plates.
Megan shook her head. “Gotta drive. In fact...” She checked her phone a split second before it began to ring. “There he is, like clockwork.” Sliding from the booth, she moved to take the call.
“Her husband,” Audrey explained for Zach’s benefit.
“I guessed.” At some point in the past few hours he’d shifted so his back was against the side wall of the booth, his elbow braced on the table. He’d undone a couple of buttons, too, and a triangle of golden tanned skin showed at his neck. He looked tired and relaxed and more than a little rumpled.
“Thanks for this,” Zach said suddenly.
She raised her eyebrows, not sure what he was referring to.
“I was going home to have Chinese on the couch.”
She understood then that he was thanking her for the company, for the chance to decompress.
“No problem. It was a horrible day. A bit of fellow feeling goes a long way.”
Megan returned to the table and leaned across to grab her handbag from where she’d stashed it alongside Audrey’s.
“That’s it for me, I’m afraid. I’ve been lured home with the offer of a foot massage.”
Audrey groaned with envy. “You seriously need to talk to Tim about hiring his services out by the hour.”
“You need to seek medical help for that foot fetish of yours.” Megan slid a sly look toward Zach. “Over to you, Dr. Black.” With that, she gave them both a cheeky wink before heading for the exit.
Audrey made a rude noise before calling after her. “I don’t have a foot fetish. I like a good foot rub. Perfectly innocent.”
“No crime against that. Not that I’m aware of, anyway,” Zach said.
She tore her gaze from her departing friend’s back.
“It’s mostly because I’m crap at wearing high heels,” she explained. In case he was inclined to believe she really did have a foot fetish. “If I could get away with wearing sturdy orthopedic shoes to work I’d wear them every day.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” He said it very confidently. As though he knew her inside out.
“What makes you say that?”
Zach shrugged as though it was self-explanatory. “You like to look good. There’s no way you’re going to ruin all that hard work with lace-ups.”
“Are you suggesting I’m vain?”
He laughed. “No. No more than the next person.”
“What if the next person is you?”
“Oh, I’m definitely vain. If I wasn’t I’d wear a hundred-dollar suit and buy wash-and-wear shirts and rubber-soled shoes.”
None of those things would dim his appeal one iota, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“So. I guess we should go, too,” she said.
Because it had hit her that it was just the two of them now. Alone in a dark, slightly seedy bar.
Probably not the best venue for one-on-one interaction with Zach, given the little fantasy she’d indulged in while they were away.
“Where is home for you?” he asked.
He was watching her with a warm intensity that was both unnerving and very flattering. She couldn’t maintain the contact, dropping her gaze to his mouth. It was decidedly sultry for a man, the bottom lip a little fuller than the top. She bet he could work magic with that mouth. Bring a woman to her knees.
Okay, not a helpful thought.
“I’ve got a little place in Ringwood. You?”
“Surrey Hills.”
“Right.”
She glanced toward the door, aware that she should leave but not quite able to commit to doing so.
“Sure you don’t want another drink?” he asked.
She did. Very badly. And not because she craved alcohol—although she was aware that it would make a great excuse afterward if anything were to happen. She wanted another drink because it meant she’d get to spend more time with Zach.
“It’s probably a bad idea,” she said.
He was silent for a moment. “You’re right.”
Neither of them moved.
“What would you have done if you hadn’t come here tonight?” Zach asked.
“Honestly? I probably would have defrosted a meal and gotten stuck in the work in my briefcase.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Do you ever give yourself a break?”
“No. Do you?”
He shook his head. “Can’t afford to.”
“Ditto.”
“I guess you must have a very understanding boyfriend.”
It was such a blatant fishing expedition that she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“That’s an interesting concept, but no.”
“No boyfriend?” He was smiling a little, too. The faintest curving of his lips.
“No.” She hesitated, aware that a smart woman wouldn’t ask the question on her lips. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nope. Apparently I’m a bad bet. A workaholic.”
“Right.”
“Always on the phone or bringing work home with me. Too serious.”
“You’re not too serious. You’re funny.” The words were out before she could stop them.
“Next time I need a character witness, I know who to call.”
“I’m pretty sure you can handle yourself without my help.”
She suddenly registered that she was leaning forward, instinctively trying to close the distance between them.
Bad move. Really bad move.
“I should go,” she said for the second time.
“Yeah. I need to get home, too.” He slid to the end of the booth and stood.
He pulled his wallet out and she opened her mouth to let him know that she wanted to pay her own way. He nailed her with a single, sharp look. She swallowed her words, knowing without him saying a thing that it would be pointless to protest.
“Okay. But it’s my turn next time,” she said.
Something flared in his eyes at the mention of a next time. She gave herself a mental kick. There would be no next time. Not if she was as savvy as she prided herself on being.
She gathered her handbag and hovered uncertainly while he settled their tab at the bar. Her heart threw out an extra beat as he turned and started toward her.
He had a really lovely body, and he looked incredibly sexy, all rumpled and disheveled and tired.
Her palms were suddenly damp. She eased them subtly down the sides of her skirt.
Dumb to be nervous because they were walking out the
door together. This wasn’t a date, after all, this was an accidental meeting between work colleagues. In sixty seconds’ time they would both be in their cars, heading to their respective homes, and this evening would be history, important only because it marked the day they’d both survived the first descent of the ax at Makers.
“Ready to go?” Zach said.
“Yep.”
They stepped into the dim fuzziness of twilight. She knew without asking that Zach intended to escort her to her car. They walked silently across the gravel lot. The nervous sensation intensified with every step, to the point where she could feel her pulse thumping away in her neck and wrists and between her thighs. Her breathing was shallow, almost choppy, and she had trouble swallowing past the tightness in her throat. She was hyperaware of Zach at her side—the height of him, the breadth, the scent of his aftershave, the rhythm of his walk. It was almost as though he generated his own gravitational field, his presence was so compelling.
“This is me,” she said as she stopped by her car. A pointless comment, since he knew her car.
Her hands were shaking as she searched through her keys for the right one. Dear God, what was wrong with her? Anyone would think she’d never been walked to her car before.
“I’m really glad—” She lost whatever she’d been about to say when Zach took a step closer. Her gaze found his and a voice in her head told her to take a step back, or push him away or cut him down in some way. Whatever it took to prevent what was about to happen. What his eyes told her he was going to do.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He took another step. She could feel the heat of his body, could see the individual whiskers of his five o’clock shadow. Her heart thrashed in her chest. Without consciously willing it, she tilted her head.
He brushed her temple with his thumb, his touch whisper-soft, before sliding his fingers into her hair. For a moment he simply held her in the palm of his hand, his gaze locked with hers. Then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
In that split second she understood that it hadn’t been nervousness that had made her jumpy and edgy during the short walk to her car. It had been anticipation. Excitement.
Because she’d been hoping he’d do this.
He tasted of beer and desire. His tongue stroked along the seam of her lips and she gave way easily, eagerly, stroking his tongue with hers before allowing him into her mouth. The feel of him inside her even in such a minimal way sent a shudder of pure need through her. He responded by curling his hand around the nape of her neck and closing the remaining distance between them. The press of his body against hers was an electric, visceral thing, as revealing as the first touch of his mouth had been.
She’d been waiting for this—wanting it—for a long time. Even though she’d known it was stupid and wrong and inadvisable for so many reasons.
He was already hard, his arousal a hot pressure against her belly. The ache between her thighs demanded that she rub against him, that she slide a hand around his waist and grip his backside and haul him closer still.
He muttered something urgent against her mouth, then his hands were on her breasts, cupping and squeezing them through the thin cotton of her shirt. She gave a small, inarticulate moan when his thumb grazed her nipple, and when he caught it between thumb and forefinger and squeezed she almost dissolved on the spot.
A tidal wave of need threatened to swamp her. She wanted him inside her, slamming into her. She wanted heat and a hard male body bearing down on her. She wanted sweat and sex smells and mouths and tongues and fingers and hands.
She felt dizzy with it, intoxicated. Overwhelmed.
Panicking, she broke their kiss, her hands flat on his chest as she pushed him away.
She needed space. She needed air. She needed to think.
He took a step backward and the world snapped into sharp, harsh focus.
She was pressed against the side of her car in the parking lot of a seedy bar situated mere meters from her place of employment.
And she was with Zach.
For a long moment they stared at each other, breathing heavily. Despite the power of her wake-up call, a treacherous, reckless part of her still urged her to fist her hands in his shirt and jerk him against her so he could finish what he’d started.
He was that good. They were that good together.
She clenched her hands, clinging to self control.
“Well. I guess that answers a few questions.”
It was so not what she was expecting that a gust of laughter escaped her. He smiled, and she didn’t feel quite so appalled by what had almost happened.
“That was really dumb,” she said.
“Yes.”
“We work together. There’s too much at stake. Especially at the moment.”
“I know.”
Neither of them moved. Her knuckles ached.
“I’m going to go now,” she said.
“Okay.”
He still didn’t move, which meant it was up to her. She slid along her car until there was space between them, scared of what might happen if she walked too close to him. Zach was still standing where she’d left him, watching her, and she had to concentrate on the simple act of sitting behind the wheel and guiding the key into the ignition. Finally the engine fired and she wound down the passenger window and tried to think of something to say that didn’t include the words Come home with me. She couldn’t, so she offered him a wave before taking off.
The fog of lust began to clear as she hit the freeway. What had seemed highly desirable a bare handful of minutes ago suddenly looked exactly like what it was—the sort of rash, ill-considered misstep that could seriously damage her career.
Thank God common sense had made a belated appearance. Thank. God. Otherwise she had no doubt she’d have her knees around her ears right now as Zach took what she’d so eagerly, willingly offered.
Cold relief washed over her as she turned onto her street. She could all too readily imagine the horror of having to look Zach in the eye tomorrow morning after doing him in the backseat of her Honda.
She’d rather chew glass. As for sitting through hours-long meetings with him on the other side of the table... No. It was too awful to even contemplate.
They’d dodged a bullet tonight. They’d taken the step toward safety and sanity in the nick of time.
It had been close, though. Too close. The taste of him... The strength of his beautiful body... The urgent caress of his hands on her breasts...
Yeah.
It had been pretty damned amazing, and it had taken serious willpower to push him away. Even now she felt thwarted, but that wasn’t an insurmountable problem. After all, she was a resourceful, imaginative, dexterous single woman, and there were other ways to scratch the itch Zach had created. Safe, private, non-career-threatening ways that wouldn’t require her doing the Walk of Shame the next morning.
Of course, there was always ice cream. Fortunately she had a tub of honey macadamia in the freezer.
Smiling grimly, she took the elevator upstairs and served herself a big bowl of frozen consolation.
CHAPTER NINE
AUDREY HAD BEEN right—kissing her had been a mistake. Not for the reasons she’d stated, though. Kissing her had been a mistake because he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her. About the needy, wordless sounds she’d made when he’d stroked her tongue with his. About the way she’d rubbed herself against him. About how good she smelled. About...
Swearing, Zach rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head, the better to stare at the ceiling in his bedroom. He resolutely ignored the hard-on tenting the sheet. He was not going to lie here in the dark and fantasize about Audrey while he took care of business like a sweaty teenager. Not tonight, anyway. It smacked way too much of defeat and desperation—and he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit defeat where she was concerned.
A dangerous admission, given their mutual circumstance. Mere hours ago, six of their c
olleagues had been shown the door. There would be more sackings, too, as sure as night followed day. Having an affair with a coworker was a surefire way to garner exactly the wrong sort of attention from the executive team. Especially if that affair turned sour—and what were the odds of that happening?
He mentally reviewed the three office romances he’d witnessed firsthand. None of them had ended well—one in divorce, one in a sexual-harassment charge, the third with tears and public humiliation and rejection. People did weird stuff when their hormones and emotions were involved. Was it any wonder that things went pear-shaped when all of that high drama was wedded to the can’t-get-away-from-each-other pressure-cooker of an office environment?
So it would be self-destructive in the extreme to pursue this...heat between him and Audrey. An act of gross folly. He should stop thinking about her, stop dwelling on those few minutes when she’d been his. He should definitely quit staring at the ceiling and thinking about the warm, welcome weight of her breast in his hand and think about work instead.
No sooner had he started reviewing tomorrow’s schedule than a sense memory hijacked his brain: the small hitch in Audrey’s breathing when he’d closed the distance between them.
She’d felt so damned good. Too good.
That was the problem. He’d been thinking about her for so long, a few minutes with her in his arms was never going to be enough. It might be stupid, but he wanted more.
His hard-on throbbed in agreement.
“Bloody hell.” He rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom.
One flick and the cold water was running in the shower. He stared at the flowing water for a long beat, knowing it would be a painful solution to his problem. Then he stepped beneath the icy stream.
Sixty seconds later, he flicked the water off and toweled himself dry, his “issue” momentarily resolved.
Long-term, though...
He needed to get over her. That was the only sensible, smart solution. He needed to exorcise her from his fantasies and move on.
He returned to bed and closed his eyes resolutely.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, he dragged himself out of bed after a restless night and was at his desk by seven. Audrey, however, was not.
Her Favorite Rival Page 12