by Lynne Silver
“Cat…” Ian stood and stepped toward her, his arms reaching out.
It was so tempting—too tempting—to lean in and accept the comfort he offered. No one, other than the few men she’d slept with to relieve her loneliness, had hugged her in so long. She took a breath and stepped into his arms, breathing in his scent and resting her cheek against his tight pectoral muscle. His arms wrapped around her back as tears welled in her eyes and for once, she let them fall.
He held her as she cried for a few minutes and then she looked up, let her rational thoughts flee, stood on tiptoe and planted her lips on his.
Shock stopped his response for a split second, but then, because this was Cat, his body responded hungrily. It had been seven long years since they’d been this close, and she was the oasis to his desert. He soaked up her surprise gift, greedily tasting her mouth. The tang of her canned ravioli dinner invaded his taste buds, and his whole body hardened.
When her tongue hit his, his knees literally weakened like a pansy, and he clung to her, backing them up to the kitchen counter. With that as support, his arms tightened around her small body, bringing her up against his. Fuck, it felt good. His dick pushed against denim, and he groaned as her body rubbed against him just right.
“More,” she gasped out.
Hell yeah.
His palm cupped her tight ass, pulling her in against him. He was at risk of spilling in his jeans; he was that desperate for her.
She seemed to be in the same state, crawling up his body as if she couldn’t get enough. He was ready to give her anything and everything she wanted.
It’d been like this seven years ago. Only more innocent, ’cause she’d been a virgin and he’d yet to learn the true power of getting a girl off, guaranteeing serious reward for him. Now, he was mindless except to give Cat pleasure.
With his hands, his mouth. And yeah, his cock, which was begging for release. He’d never been with a virgin before Cat, and the memory of her tight around him had him squeezing her body harder.
He broke away from her mouth, to plant his face in her cleavage. Her gasp of pleasure echoed in his ear, spurring him on.
God, her taste. His tongue delved into her cleavage, and then he angled his head to gently bite her hardened nipple through the threadbare cotton of her clothes.
“Ian.” Her begging.
Her hands were all over his body. Her spare lifestyle made her strong as hell, and she was almost rough with him as she explored his muscles over the fabric of his shirt.
With a wrench, she tore the hem of his shirt out of his jeans.
“Hell yes.” Her soft palm flattened against his skin, caressing up his abdomen to his nipples.
She squeezed.
“Jesus, Cat.”
“Good?” she murmured against his neck.
“Better,” he managed, and let his own hands do a little more exploring, angling down and back. Oh, fuck… “Are you wearing…?”
“Thong,” she answered his unfinished question.
He groaned again. He had to get her naked. Now. If he survived her explorations long enough. Her hands had abandoned his chest and moved lower. As in below the waistband of his jeans and… He hissed.
“You want this,” she said simply.
Her hand squeezing his dick through his underwear? He nodded.
Cat experimented with different angles as her wrist wedged between the waistband of Ian’s jeans and his hard abdomen. What the hell had she been thinking, falling into his arms and kissing him? Obviously, she hadn’t been thinking. This was the direct result of acute loneliness that lasted for years. She’d attempted intimacy with other men to stave it off, but none of them had been the right man. None of them had been Ian.
He tasted as good as she remembered. No, better. At her eighteenth birthday, they’d both tasted of Publix cake frosting which was cloyingly sweet. Now, it was as if they both had alcohol on their tongues. She was drunk on his taste.
His cock was hard and smooth against her palm and she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be angry at Ian Lawrence. Only desperate girls attacked a man with kisses when said man had shown zero interest in seven years. Except Ian seemed very interested. Fight this, Cat. She’d given him her heart and soul once and been rejected. She couldn’t handle the rejection again.
“Cat. Why’d you stop?” His hand had stilled under her waistband.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Her heart hammered against her chest and she willed it to slow down as she looked up at him. His dark eyes were unreadable.
“You’re saying that, but you haven’t let me go.”
Immediately, she held up her hands as if held at gunpoint.
Her message was loud and clear and he backed off.
“You know why we shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.
“You’re still angry with me,” he stated.
“That, and my brother,” she started, and shifted out from against him to go sit on her bed with the table between them.
“What about him?” Ian asked. “Danny’s problems shouldn’t run your life.”
He obviously didn’t get it. Her entire life was dictated by her brother’s addiction. She kept silent, because while Danny’s drugs were a part of why she and Ian couldn’t be together, the real reason was that Ian had offered her a lifeline tonight. One she’d heavily consider grabbing, even if it meant frequent contact with the man who’d broken her heart.
She looked from her lap up to his face. “Ian, my life is a mess right now. I’m not adding a relationship to the mix. I don’t have the energy.”
“I’m here to help, Cat. You can count on me.”
Could she?
He started toward her, his long legs eating up the tiny space. “You’re going to take my job offer, and you’re getting the hell out of here.”
Now he was overstepping. “You think I’m moving?”
“You’re not staying here, Cat. The place is a dump.”
She rose, arms crossed over her chest. How dare he? “You think I’m blind? Of course it’s shitty, but it’s what I can afford. You don’t get to waltz in here and start running my life.”
He gave a derisive look around the shithole. “Someone’s got to.”
“Get out.” She strode to the front door and flung it open.
He took his time meeting her at the exit. “I’ll see you in my office tomorrow, Cat. Take the job. We’ll discuss your living situation later.”
She didn’t answer him out loud, but she already knew her answer. She’d take his job offer, of course. What choice did she have?
Ian left Cat’s shitty apartment wanting to put his fist through a wall. He held back because her apartment didn’t look like it could take any force without collapsing. How the hell had this happened? He felt guilty as all fuck that the girl he’d been so close to had ended up in this situation.
He stalked down the sidewalk toward his car and hoped it was still intact after ten minutes in this neighborhood. He hated the idea of leaving Cat here for more than ten seconds, though apparently she’d been surviving here for longer than his car. He’d had to fight every instinct not to haul her ass over his shoulder and forcibly carry her the hell out of there.
Despite her teeny height, she gave off a don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and he found his first smile of the night. Catherine was all grown up and still kicking ass. She’d always been a bit of a brat. It was kind of part of the job description, really. She was the little sister of his best friend, and there had to be some law about bratty little sisters following you around and interfering. Catherine had been no exception. Until high school, when suddenly, her petite body had developed curves that looked good on her tiny frame. Ian hadn’t been the only one who’d noticed, but he’d been the only one who’d kept completely silent about it until her eighteenth birthday.
Remembering this now, he stared blankly at the tinted driver-side window of his car, silently trying to decide how to handle the situation. He only gav
e it fifty-fifty odds she accepted his job offer tomorrow.
Finally he slid into the car and pulled out his phone to call Drew. “Danny Ross’s sister. The Cat girl,” he stated with no preamble, “she gets any job. I want you to call her tomorrow. She might accept if the offer comes from you.”
Drew laughed in a way that told Ian he was going to get a shit load of questions later that would be anything but fun. He wasn’t after fun. He was after Cat. Sometimes life handed you debts that had to be paid, no matter how big, and he was determined to see this one settled.
“You sure you want to hire drama like that?” Drew asked.
“I’ve got my reasons,” Ian said automatically.
“Oh? Seems to me you might feel more than obligation to her. You regretting having only one night with her? You want more?”
“It’s not like that,” Ian said. “She needs my help, not my dick.”
“You want to give it to her though?” Drew laughed again. “I should remind you it’s not a good idea to fuck employees. Remember Marina?”
Ian kept quiet, though his fist gripped the handset tightly at Drew’s words. It was partially his fault Cat was in the situation she was in. If he hadn’t run from Cat, he might’ve protected her from her brother’s downfall. “Call her tomorrow and put the full-court press on her. I’ll pay her double the usual salary.” Hell, he was going to pay her more than double, but as he’d seen tonight, he couldn’t simply hand her cash.
Drew whistled. “Double? You do like this girl. I’m starting the office pool on how long it takes before you get in her pants.”
Ian knew Drew was kidding, but he couldn’t let it slide. “Shut up, Drew. I mean it. Make the call tomorrow and hire her.” As for how long it took to get in her pants, it felt as if the timer had already gone off and he’d explode if he didn’t get in there soon.
Cat swallowed and tugged on the hem of her micro-dress. It was a shade darker than her green eyes and hugged her in all the right places, even dipping low enough to make it look as if she had cleavage. Her favorite part was the straps that were like a tank top, but instead of one thick strap, they separated into loads of tiny strings.
She’d been so proud of it yesterday when she’d showed it off to Suzy, but here on Washington Avenue, she felt as if everyone could tell it had come out of the bargain rack at the discount store. The women passing her in the street had stilettos with shiny red soles that looked as if they’d never walked farther than from a valet stand to a restaurant.
The only thing that kept her from running back to her car—parked nearly a mile away in the most affordable lot she could find—was her financial desperation. She needed this job. Money was the only thing that could get her to come to South Beach. The neighborhood was Ian’s territory. Not hers. She avoided it like the plague.
She double-checked the address Drew had given her on a scrap of paper and glanced at the matte black numbers on the door. This was it. Sucking back a breath, she pushed her way into the office and tried to act as if the job was no big deal. When Ian’s partner, Drew, had called, he’d claimed the interview was a formality. The job was hers if she wanted it.
As she pushed her way into Ian’s domain, she wasn’t sure if she wanted the complications that went along with accepting Ian’s assistance.
Twenty minutes later, she still stood in a sleek reception room despite the offer to sit. The black leather and chrome chairs didn’t look particularly inviting, so she chose to stand and pace. Every so often, the receptionist, who looked more like she belonged on the cover of Ocean Drive magazine than behind a desk, glanced over and smiled apologetically. “They’re almost ready for you.”
“It’s okay,” Cat said, lying through her smile. Why the heck had Ian made a job offer then made her go through a wringer of a job interview, one that was wasting her time in a waiting room?
Her toes clenched under the agony of squeezing them into the black stilettos with the strap that wrapped around her ankle twice. Wearing heels always reminded her of playing dress up in her mom’s shoes. At a shade over five feet tall, Cat was used to being the shortest in the room, even when children were present. But she needed every advantage around Ian, and if height gave her an advantage, she’d take it.
Finally, the receptionist nodded at her and pointed the way to a door behind her. Cat turned the brushed nickel handle with a sweaty hand and entered a small conference room with one man and a woman, both roughly her age. Maybe a year or two older. “Hi,” she said, thankful her voice didn’t sound as shaky as her insides felt. She wasn’t sure if she was happy Ian wasn’t present or not. He made her nervous, but at least she knew him.
The blond man, who’d introduced himself as Drew, gestured to a free chair. “Have a seat.” He was hot in a very stylized way. Cat preferred Ian’s more natural, rugged male beauty.
She slid into the chair and bent to pull her resume out of her bag. The room was quiet as the two employees of I.D. Productions scanned her resume, and then the questioning started. How old was she really? Had she ever worked in a bar on South Beach before? Had she ever slept with a customer? Had she ever been fired? What was her favorite type of music? Did she have a favorite DJ? A favorite drink? Favorite designer? It was hands-down the most unusual job interview she’d ever been on.
Cat answered as honestly as she could and tried to tell them things she thought they wanted to hear. But she stumbled a bit when she got to favorite drink. It was clear ginger ale wasn’t the drink they were looking for. They all had a good laugh, and she was just starting to relax when the door opened behind her and her interviewers smiled.
“Catherine, you know our CEO…”
“Hi, Ian,” she said quietly, as her stomach which had begun to settle, fluttered again. She’d spent the last few days reliving their kiss and recalling the hazy, seven-year-old memory of having sex with him.
“He’s the I in I.D. Productions,” Drew said. “I’m the D, as you probably guessed.”
“Of course,” Cat murmured. She tried not to stare at Ian, but every few seconds, her gaze was pulled toward him as if he were a magnet and her eyeballs were metal. This was the second time she’d seen him, and both times he’d been in a well-fitted, collared button-down with the sleeve cuffs rolled up, revealing well-muscled forearms. A hint of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the fabric, but not enough skin was revealed to show what the tattoo was. He hadn’t had any ink when she’d seen him naked.
“Cat?” Ian said.
“I’m sorry, what?” She forcibly removed her gaze from Ian’s arm and turned back to Drew who’d asked her a question.
“When could you start?” he repeated.
Cat swallowed and stared at the pale wood and glass of the oval table. From the moment she’d slipped on the tight dress and heels, this whole thing had felt wrong. She’d come this far due to desperation, but taking Ian’s job offer would thrust her into a world she’d tried to avoid. It was a world that had sucked her once-responsible brother in and turned him unrecognizable.
And there was the Ian factor. From the time she was fourteen, she’d crushed hard on him, and then every wish came true after she’d blown out her candles on her eighteenth birthday cake. She’d cornered him alone, climbed into his lap, and more or less given him a lap dance.
A naïve part of her hoped that the one time would lead to two, and then way more, and Ian would drop down on one knee and present her with a flawless one-carat emerald-cut diamond—anything bigger was too large for her five-two-in-heels frame. Didn’t happen. Well, only in Cat’s dreams. In reality, they’d had sex that one time, then nothing. Nada. Zippo. For seven years.
He’d broken her heart, which had taken years of rehab to heal. She’d be a fool to risk damaging herself again by exposure therapy. Speaking of exposure, it was one thing to scrape to make ends meet and go to sleep dreaming of long-gone better days, but it was quite another to stare into the reality of the life she used to have.
Ian was her old life, a
nd the people who came to his parties weren’t worried about how to pay for a night out at a club. More than likely, her old friends from high school—the ones who’d ghosted after she could no longer afford college—would show up at Ian’s parties. And she’d be serving them drinks.
“You know what? I need to think about your offer. I appreciate the chance to interview, and I’ll let you know soon. Thank you.” Cat rose, grabbed her purse, and practically ran out the door before the room’s other occupants could react.
Ian stared across his glass-and-metal desk out his window thinking of the girl—no, the woman, because there was no mistaking adult Catherine for the skinny teenager she’d been—who’d run out of his office. She was still about as tall as a Cabbage Patch kid, but she was all woman. He suppressed a smile at the memory of how pissed Catherine used to get when Danny would call her Cabbage Patch, or CP for short.
Why the hell had she run out of the interview? Every muscle in his body had been tense, his pulse beating a faster rhythm at the sight of her muscular thighs under the barely there excuse for a dress. She’d given him a scant glance during the interview, while he couldn’t stop staring. Ever since their kiss on Sunday, his thoughts were occupied with Cat.
He’d started to race after her when she’d bolted, but Drew had grabbed his wrist, stopping him from sprinting after a woman in broad daylight down Washington Avenue.
Her dress was practically a nun’s habit compared to some of the outfits he was used to seeing on a daily basis, but still, he’d seen her, and his body went on high alert. Just like it had Thursday night when she’d been in baggy jeans and a bad-fitting T-shirt. Just like it always had when he was near Cat.
He turned away from the window and went to find Drew. He knocked on his partner’s office door, then poked his head through the doorway without waiting for an answer. Drew was on the phone, but Ian sat and waited. When Drew ended the call, he gave Ian the curious look Ian knew he’d been dying to give ever since Cat had run out of the room.