He understood the feeling. Seeing her standing on his doorstep with her eyes decorated to look like she was about to go clubbing and her hair lying flat and lifeless around her face—well, it rendered him speechless. A surge of excitement raced through him as he realized the intent of her visit, enough to get his cock stirring in his pajama bottoms, but the intensity of his interest was overwhelmed by the hilarity of her appearance. She looked so gaudy. So overdone. So not Andy.
Knowing it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, Blake did the only thing he could do in a moment like this. He laughed.
It wasn’t a soft chortle, either. It was full-blown, rib-bruising laughter that ripped through him. He wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to contain himself to no avail. It was just too damn funny to stop.
Through the tears that clouded his eyes, he noticed Drea’s expression—humiliation warred with frustration for top billing on her features. He didn’t want that. Not at all. But before he could gather himself enough to explain his reaction, she’d turned and stomped away.
“Andrea,” he called after her, except it came out more of a muffled mess of sound. He tried again. “Andrea, wait.”
He was met by silence.
Somewhat calmer, he checked to make sure the door wouldn’t lock behind him and ran in slippered feet after her. He knew she didn’t have a car; she couldn’t have gotten far. Thoughts of her riding the subway in that getup nearly had him laughing again. And he was concerned for her safety.
No, he wasn’t. No one would hit on her in that outfit. Laughing it was.
But then he rounded his garage, and found her gone, the taillights of a cab racing down the street the only sign that she’d been there. All traces of humor left him with a splat, like the air disappearing from a popped balloon.
What the hell just happened?
It was obvious her visit hadn’t been business-related. Then why had she run off so quickly? Sure, his laughter had been a bit overzealous, but come on. She looked outrageous. Was he supposed to have reacted differently?
With each step back toward his front door he felt more and more certain that he’d made a grave error. And that meant he’d have to apologize. Again.
Dammit.
Chapter Eleven
Of all the ways she’d expected him to greet her, laughter had not been one she’d even considered. She was so humiliated. Her eyeliner was a smeared blob by the time she’d arrived back at the apartment. Sweet Lacy, ever the caretaker, had poured her wine and crawled into bed with her.
It took a good half an hour before Andy was calm enough to get the story out. Though she’d had every right to say I told you so, Lacy instead comforted Andy with alternative reasons for Blake’s awful behavior. “Maybe he was simply surprised to see you.”
“And that qualifies laughter? Full-on laughter, Lace. I’m not talking about a simple chuckle. He was thoroughly amused.” Humiliated wasn’t a strong enough word for how it had made her feel. Disgraced was more like it. Mortified to no end.
Tears having destroyed the work of the flatiron, Lacy swept the curls off Andy’s face in comforting strokes. “Some people have a hard time expressing strong emotions, you know.”
Andy did know. Lacy was one of those people. Unless she was singing it in a song, you only got surface emotions from her.
“From what you’ve said about Blake, I’d bet he’s got that problem.”
Wiping fresh tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her pathetic white nightie—she was burning the thing in the morning—Andy protested. “Blake has a problem all right, but that’s not it. His problem is he’s a complete asshole.” Times ten. Times twenty, even.
Lacy reached over Andy’s head to the nightstand, grabbing a box of tissues. “Is he really, though? Maybe he’s just a stranger to feelings. He may have reacted in the wrong way because he isn’t used to dealing. If he was completely taken off guard as well as completely turned on, maybe that would be enough to elicit an unusual response, such as laughing. And you did look completely un-Andy tonight. If you’d have shown up here looking like that, I’d have been surprised myself.”
And Lacy would have laughed. But that was different, wasn’t it? It most certainly was.
“You’re reaching, sis.” Andy sat up and blew her nose loudly then turned to look at her sister. Lacy’s eyes showed such compassion and understanding that it made Andy’s heart ache. Smiling past the sob bubbling in her throat, she squeezed Lacy’s hand. “But thanks for that. I appreciate the try.”
Lacy returned the smile. “Would you like me to sleep with you in here tonight?”
“Yes, please.”
* * *
Andy chewed her lip as she rode the elevator up to Donovan’s floor. How she wished it were a Tuesday or Thursday. She could use her “shopping” day to curl up in bed and cry. But it was Friday, and on Friday she was required to be in the office. Under other circumstances, she was certain she could call in and say she had appointments with potential dates. Or even claim to be sick. If she’d done that today, Blake would know she was avoiding him, and he’d know why she was avoiding him.
And that would mean he’d win.
The last thing Andy would let Blake do at this point was win. Not after last night.
Morning, at least, had brought clarity as she remembered that she had rejected him first. She clung to that bit of knowledge, letting it propel her as she got ready and made her way to the office. At first it gave her a smug thrill of happiness. The closer she got to seeing him face-to-face, though, the more that happiness morphed into something else—anger. Wild rage. Because, how dare he? How dare the bastard make her feel so incredibly small? Sex had been his idea in the first place, not hers. And if he was at all unclear how pissed the situation made her, she was determined to let him know.
By the time the elevator opened on her floor, she was a new woman—determined and confident. With bitter and bold steps, she made her way to his office. She stomped past the secretary without a hello and was only somewhat surprised to see Blake waiting for her inside his door with a single red rose in hand.
For one fraction of a millisecond she considered accepting his truce.
Then she shoved the idea away. Hell no was he getting off that easy. She’d been hurt. Stripped raw. A stupid flower would not appease. Especially a lame-ass rose sort of flower. How unoriginal.
Without slowing her steps, she grabbed the rose from his hand and broke the stem in two, ignoring the sharp pain from the thorns. She tossed it in the trash can next to her work space, aware of Blake’s wide eyes following her as she did. Good, he could watch her all he wanted. Let him look at what he so harshly turned down.
It was after she deposited her purse in the bottom drawer that she noticed an entire vase with at least a dozen more roses sitting next to her phone. Those would have to go, too. She swept the whole thing into the trash. The sound of glass crashing and water sloshing echoed in the silence.
Andy could feel that Blake was stunned. Frankly, she was, too, but she wasn’t about to show it the way his gaping jaw did. His shock only fueled her more. What did he expect? That she’d smile and nod and pretend that nothing had happened?
Well, he wasn’t getting that. She wasn’t one of the docile chicks she set him up with. She was stupid to ever think she could be—even for one night. Never again. In fact, this weekend she’d begin applying for another job. Until she found one, she’d work her ass off to get Blake married off. But no more niceties between them. No more trying to understand him. No more attempts at friendship.
She’d just settled in and turned on her computer, prepared to dive into her work, when he finally spoke.
“Andrea, I’m sor—”
She thrust her palm in the air like a stop sign. “Don’t. Speak.”
“Just let me—”
Andy didn’t look at him as she delivered her edict. “I mean it, Blake. Do not speak to me. Ever again. Unless it’s related to work.”
“Drea, I have to—”
Slamming her hands on the desk, she swiveled to face him. “And my name is Andy. Or Andrea. When you speak to me, in relation to work only, you will use my name. My name! You don’t get to nickname me.”
“Come on, Andrea.” He stepped toward her.
Andy popped up from her chair. “And don’t come near me.” Scanning her desktop, her eyes settled on a tape dispenser. It was clear, but it would have to do. Holding the dispenser in one hand, she shooed Blake toward his desk with the other.
Surprisingly, he complied, taking several confused steps backward. When he’d crossed what she believed to be the center of the room, she got to work. Walking to the wall she fastened the end of the tape to the floor then paced it across the room before tearing the other end off. She traced her footsteps back over the line she’d made, pressing the tape into the carpet. It wouldn’t stick for long, but long enough to make her point.
She finished then turned to her boss. “You see that line? That’s your side.” She pointed to the side of the room that Blake currently occupied. “This is my side.” She circled back to her desk and deposited the dispenser in its place.
Blake scanned the line with his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.” She thrust out her chin and put her fists on her hips. “Do not cross to my side. Is that clear?” Perhaps it wasn’t her place to make such demands, but frankly, she didn’t give a hoot.
Blake, however, was not going to give in easily, it seemed. He squared his shoulders. “I’ll go wherever I damn well please. It’s my office.”
My, but didn’t he look hot when he was in charge.
Stop it, stop it, stop it! He is not hot. He’s horrific. She infused her anger at herself into her next words. “I don’t care whose office it is. You will stay on your side.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “What are you going to do to me if I don’t?”
Was that a challenge? Game on. “Try it and find out.”
With blazing determination set into his features, Blake lifted his foot and slowly placed it on the other side of the tape. On her side.
Andy’s eyes widened with rage. She wanted to hurt him. Physically hurt him. And maybe maul him a bit with her hands and her mouth as well, but mostly just hurt him. She bent to grab the first weapon that came to mind—her three-inch-heeled shoe—and chucked it at him.
Blake caught it with one hand. He chuckled. “That certainly worked the way you wanted it to.”
What a pompous ass! She huffed and bent to grab the other. This time she hit his shoulder. He didn’t succeed in hiding his wince. A minor victory, but a victory all the same.
Blake bent to pick up the second shoe from the floor where it had fallen. “So now I have both your shoes.” His eyes twinkled with sheer evil. Why the hell did devil look so good on him? “And it’s a rainy day. Good luck with your trip home this evening.”
“Dammit.” There were so many other things she could have thrown, why had she chosen her shoes? They were nice shoes, too. A pair of Pradas that she’d grabbed in a Filene’s Basement sale before it went out of business. Several years old, but the black style was classic.
She walked up to the tape line and put her hand out. “Give me my shoes back.”
“What was that?” He cocked his head. “It sounded like you were talking about something non-work-related and I’m not allowed to speak to you under those terms.”
Jesus Christ, she was not doing this with him. “Give them to me. Now.”
“Oh, you want these?” He held the shoes in one hand, dangling them above her reach.
Andy began to step toward him, needing to be closer to have any hope of retrieving them.
But Blake stopped her with a shake of his finger. “Uh, uh, uh,” he chided. “No crossing over the line.”
The damn tape line. If she stepped across it now, he would win. She would not be defeated. That left no choice but to ask for them again. Though she didn’t have to ask nicely. “Give me the fucking shoes, Blake.”
Again he dangled them, too high for her to grasp without stepping across the boundary she set. But though the shoes were out of her reach, his suit jacket wasn’t.
Like lightening, she stretched toward him and pulled his beloved Montblanc from his pocket. “Ah ha!” She stepped back so he couldn’t immediately grab it back. Wielding it like a sword in front of her, she taunted him. “Now what are you going to do? Huh, Donovan?”
He smirked at her. “Very cute. Give it back.”
Like hell, she would. “This pen? You want this?” She tossed it in the air, catching it in her palm before tossing it again.
“Would you please be careful with it? That’s a very expensive pen.”
Ooo, she had him. His tone was anxious and desperate. “Oh, I know what it’s worth. In fact, considering I got those shoes at discount price, I think this is a pretty fair trade.”
“You’re not keeping my pen. Give it to me.”
There was that alpha-male tone of his again. If she weren’t so mad, she might consider it a turn-on. “Not until you give me my shoes.”
He cocked his head, considering. “If I give you your shoes will you forget this nonsense about my side and your side and let me talk to you?”
She’d rather go barefoot. “Not a chance.”
“Give me the pen.”
“Give me my shoes.”
Blake stuffed one shoe under his arm and studied the other. He wiggled the heel, noticing it was loose. “You know, these seem to have fairly wobbly heels. It doesn’t look like it would take much to break one.”
She drew in a breath. “You wouldn’t dare.” Not her classic Pradas. She couldn’t get a pair of designer shoes at that price again. And considering how fast she was about to be out of this job, she’d need nice shoes for interviewing.
“Give me my pen.”
Yet if it came to the pen or the Pradas, she’d choose the pen hands down. “Never.” She. Would. Not. Lose.
Eyes pinned on Andy, Blake pulled on the heel. With a snap, it broke free. “Whoops.”
“You … you … you bastard!” Andy searched the room looking for a method to destroy his pen in proper retribution for her ruined Prada. Spying the heating vent behind her desk, she ran to it.
“Don’t even think about it.”
She paused, her hand poised to jam his pen in between the slats. Pen or vent, something was going to go.
In three easy strides, Blake stepped over the tape dividing line and crossed to her. Before she could react, he grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. He pulled her so close that her inhale of surprise brought with it his scent of coffee and cologne and Colgate. His lips hovered inches above hers. She could feel his breath when he spoke. “I said, don’t even think about it.”
Next thing she knew, Blake’s mouth was on hers. He pressed against her fiercely. Without a pause to consider, she opened up to him, pressing back with equal fervor, inviting his tongue in between her lips to twist with her own.
The battle over the pen forgotten, Andy let it fall to the floor with a clunk and she wrapped her arms around his neck. One of her bare legs wrapped around his leg and Blake encouraged her to lift them both higher around his waist, his hands settling beneath her ass to help support her.
In this position she could feel what their kiss had done to him. With wild abandon, she bucked her hips against his hardness. Blake groaned into her mouth before nipping at her bottom lip. God, this kiss was fantastic. Better than fantastic. Nothing like the last kiss they’d shared—that one had been sweet and sensual. This one was frenzied and urgent and sizzling heat. That kiss was a first kiss—the type that ended. This one was a kiss that led to more.
At least, it was going to lead to more if Andy had anything to say about it. He owed her, and an orgasm would suffice as payment.
And considering the way he was entwined around her—or the way she was entwined around him, it was really hard to tell if ther
e was a difference at this point—she had a feeling Blake wasn’t in any position to protest.
Thank the Lord.
* * *
Blake could not believe this day. He’d had a sleepless night, tossing and turning as he bounced from regret to confusion to renewed amusement back to regret like a volleyball being thrown around on the sand. While he’d tried to dismiss Andrea’s surprise visit without another thought, he couldn’t get her obvious intentions out of his mind. Which gave him a raging hard-on. Added to the tossing and turning, it was no wonder his night had been sleepless.
So he’d come in that morning to the office determined to make things right. He’d bought roses—Drea had told him several times in her instruction over the weeks that women tended to respond positively to flowers. Her reaction to his purchase, however, had him momentarily wondering if Andrea Dawson was indeed a woman.
Then they’d argued, and hell if every furious word that came out of her mouth didn’t tighten the crotch of his pants. She’d driven him from sorrowful and horny to pissed-the-fuck-off and horny. Now, through a sequence of events that surprised even him, he was making out with her and clawing at her clothing like a sex-starved maniac.
And the way her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips rocked against his pelvis, he only knew one thing for sure—Andrea Dawson was very definitely all woman.
He also knew this wasn’t ending anytime soon. There’d been too much buildup. Now that he’d begun with her, he couldn’t stop until he’d finished. Or they’d finished, rather. He’d always been a gentleman in that area.
Mouths still locked, he carried her over to the edge of her desk. He pulled away so he could slip off his jacket, half afraid that the break in contact would give her a moment to reconsider what they were doing.
He needn’t have feared. Drea leaned forward and clutched onto his tie. She pulled him back to her, back to her greedy mouth. As their kiss resumed, she worked the buckle on his pants. His cock leapt against his briefs in eager anticipation. Dictated by that eagerness, his hands pushed her skirt up past her thighs. Then his fingers were dancing over the crotch of her panties.
Miss Match Page 14