Dragging in a frustrated breath, he punched in Jilly’s phone number. He had one duty here and he had to get the words out if it killed him. Or, in this case, if Jilly did.
She appeared in his office doorway a few minutes later and bit out, “You wanted to see me?”
Yeah, he wanted to see her. He wanted to haul her into his office, tear off her baggy black wardrobe and see every inch of her beautiful body. Only, that wouldn’t be happening, today or ever again. He knew better than to think she’d still want to sleep with him after this. He’d be lucky if she spoke to him. She sure as hell wouldn’t like him.
“Come in and close the door.”
She frowned, obviously hearing the guilt he hadn’t quite been able to keep from his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Close the door and take a seat. Please.”
She shut the door and crossed the room, dropping down in a chair across the desk from him with concern etched on her face. “You never say please, Brendan. Not even…you know, outside the office. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Faster was better. The sooner he got the words out, the sooner he could fix things. And he would fix things. Jilly was the first woman to make him want her for longer than a few days, to want her even when a bed or a couch or a table or any other conveniently flat surface wasn’t involved. To want her on an emotional level as well as a physical one. He’d accepted it these last few days: Jilly was simply “the one.” The one he’d never expected to find, let alone want to keep around.
Brendan sat forward and, leaning his elbows on the desk, bridged his fingers. Remorse turned his gut as he watched the anxiety building in her eyes. “I…don’t know how to say this.”
“You’re not the type to be at a loss for words.”
She was right; it was one of many things they shared in common. Normally it was, anyway. This situation was hardly normal. They weren’t normal coworkers, as they weren’t normal lovers. They were something else, had been something else from the moment he’d first spotted her. “I’m sorry, Jilly, but—”
“Hey, this must be for Jillian. Whatcha think?”
The loud male voice from somewhere outside Brendan’s closed door cut off short Brendan’s announcement. He glared at the door, then back at Jilly’s anxious look. He started a second time, only to be cut off again.
“I’d say Brendan’s taking care of that frigid complex of hers just fine. She actually smiled at me this morning and said hello. I didn’t know she knew who I was.”
“Frigid complex?” Jilly mouthed, the color leaving her face.
“I wouldn’t get used to it, man. You know his rep. It’s only a matter of time and he’ll be moving on. And Jillian the coldhearted witch will be back to stay.”
Brendan’s stomach clenched at Jilly’s expression. She blinked at him and looked away, but he’d still seen the way her eyes watered, the hurt the out-of-line words rendered. He was around the desk and tugging her into his arms before he had a chance to consider his actions. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. They don’t know you. Not like I do.”
For an instant she was still, barely audible sniffs the only sound to be heard, then she pushed from his chest and out of his grip. She took a step back and jutted out her chin. A vivid pink painted her cheeks. “Don’t you ever do that again! If someone were to have come in—”
“What, Jilly?” Shit, he was so sick of this pretense. Sick of hiding things between them. Sick to death of her allowing others to believe the worst about her. No matter how she might try to deny it, she was nothing like the callous woman she pretended to be. She was warm and kind and gentle. The way she held him, kissed him, the way she decorated her home in bright shades and comfortable, well-loved furniture, the way she took care of her dog as if it were her child, all spoke to the truth.
He had no idea why, what happened to make her think she had to hide who she was, but it was well past time she stopped. “What do you think would have happened if someone had come in? You heard what they were saying. They already know about us, or at least they’re speculating. I care about you, sweetheart. Too damned much to stand idly by while some ass-holes who don’t have a clue what they’re saying cut you down.”
An unnamable emotion passed over her face, giving way to icy determination. “You’re wrong, Brendan. They do know me. I am a coldhearted witch, and I’m not sorry about it. It’s gotten me where I am today.”
“Disliked by most of your coworkers?” No matter how truthful the words, he regretted them the moment they left his mouth.
Jilly flinched. She quickly recovered, steeling her gaze. “I don’t care if they like me. I don’t even care if they hate me. I just want their damned respect.”
“The two come hand in hand.”
“Not always. Not where I’m concerned. Whatever you brought me in here for, it’s going to have to wait. I need to find out what it is that’s so perfect for Jillian the Frigid.”
“Goddamnit, you’re not frigid!”
She’d opened the door in time for his shout to leak out and attract the attention of the two men standing several feet away. They looked to Jilly, then Brendan, then back at Jilly, neither saying a word.
Jilly glared at the man—Frank from the mail department, Brendan recalled. Frank held a large box of colorful clothing Brendan recognized as the costumes for the party this coming weekend; he’d obviously been on his way to deliver them. Jillian turned to the other man, jerked the shroud of black from his arms and held it out in front of her. Any other time the wicked-witch costume and the fact they’d associated it with Jilly would have made Brendan laugh. Now it pissed him off beyond compare.
Jilly cast the men a smile laced with bitterness. “Thanks, Keith, Frank. You’re both true gems.”
Keith shook his head. “I had no idea you were around.”
She lifted a shoulder and murmured, “Don’t mention it.”
It was amazing she could manage a calm tone when Brendan knew how upset she was. Even more amazing was the casual way she turned and walked away. The men stood there with Brendan, watching her go until she disappeared around the corner, and then they looked at him. The tightness of their expressions made it clear they knew he wasn’t done.
He didn’t let them down, but pierced the man Jilly had taken the costume from with a deadly look. “You had no idea she was around listening, is what you really meant, isn’t it, Keith? You might want to keep in mind that even if she hadn’t been around, I was. Since it would seem it’s my job to heat up her cold heart, it’s also my job to see that everything that’s said about her gets back to her.
“Just for the record, she isn’t cold. She’s warmer than anyone I’ve ever known, and you have my approval to share that bit of gossip along with everything else I’m sure is being said about the two of us.” He jerked the box from Frank’s arms, then before he could say or do something he’d live to regret, stalked back into his office and slammed the door.
Jillian wanted to stay home, lumped on her couch with Ginger’s gentle snoring for her only company. Her conscience wouldn’t let her. Neither would her self-conceit.
Rumors traveled fast at Nielson. She’d heard the way Brendan had stood up for her. She’d also heard that he’d said she was warm.
Warm!
What in the hell had he been thinking? He knew how much she valued her cool office persona. Maybe Frank and Keith didn’t appreciate it, but she knew others did. Larry did. Had. By now Larry would know the truth. He would know she was nothing but a two-bit sham. A gentle, caring woman in a callous, unfeeling witch’s clothing.
God, she wanted to kill Brendan.
He’d given her the perfect opportunity to do it. He’d left her a sealed envelope at Neilson’s front desk. Inside had been an address and the words Wear the costume. She had no idea why he wanted her coming to a strange address in a costume she felt more like torching than wearing. The only reason she would pull herself off this couch and go to the foreign address was because there were
things that needed to be said between them. Things that involved her yelling and him cowering in the dirt like the no-good bastard he was.
She would go, and she would wear the costume, and when she left, he would be sorry he’d ever agreed to be in Mike and Molly’s wedding, let alone come on that dance floor and make her want him.
The sound of tires crushing gravel filtered through the open windows of Brendan’s home. He stood and hurried to the door. It might have bothered him that he was so anxious to see Jilly, if he hadn’t already accepted the truth where they were concerned. However this night went, before it was through Jilly would know exactly how much he cared about her.
She stepped out of her car. He squinted against the late afternoon sunlight glinting off the front door’s small glass inlets. She’d worn the witch’s costume, though she didn’t look any too thrilled about it. Her lips were pinched together and temper filled her eyes. She glanced from side to side, taking in her surroundings as she made her way up the front walk. Slowly, the annoyance in her expression gave way to wonder.
When he opened the door, Brendan expected the first words out of her mouth to be far from friendly ones. At the very least a comment on his pirate outfit and the fact he’d asked her to wear a costume, as well. Instead, they were, “This is your house?”
He nodded. “Do you like it?”
“Yes. I’m just…surprised, I guess.”
“You thought I was still living in the hotel?”
Jilly shrugged as if she hadn’t given the matter any consideration. The truth was in her eyes. She didn’t expect a man with his reputation for bouncing from place to place and woman to woman to own a permanent residence. If that surprised her, the rest of this night was going to shock the hell right out of her. “Let me guess, I don’t seem the homeowner type because of my reputation for getting around.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it. As much as I valued my freedom, and in many ways still do, I also appreciate the worth of having a place to call my own.”
Her lips firmed again. “Why valued? What’s changed?”
Brendan bit back a laugh. She had to know the answer, was guessing by now the whole office knew. It was simple; one word. One woman. “You.”
Shock filled Jilly’s eyes, quickly subsiding as she fisted her hands at her hips. While the witch’s costume was far from flattering, it was still a hell of a lot more formfitting than the clothes she wore to work, and her action had the black gown pulling tight across her breasts. “I haven’t changed, Brendan,” she grated out. “You might have people believing I have, that I’m some kind of warm, tender woman they’d be honored to call their friend, but I haven’t and I won’t. I’m still the same callous woman I’ve always been.”
He pulled his attention from her chest and met her gaze, which wasn’t cold the way her voice had suggested, but devoid of emotion altogether. She was attempting to block him out, to make him believe she was unfeeling. The effort was futile, and one he wasn’t about to let her get away with.
Mindful of the plastic hook attached to his right hand, he reached out with his left and caressed his knuckles over the soft rise of her cheek. She flinched with his touch, but otherwise remained still. His strokes continued, the mossy green shade of her eyes darkening. He grinned with the acceleration of her breathing.
If she was unfeeling, then he was a saint. “You’re such a bad liar, sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because you are.” Sweet. Kindhearted. Warm. Mine.
Jilly jerked her face away and narrowed her gaze. “No, I’m not. The only thing I am to you is a coworker and…a lover.”
“Are you still?”
Indecision flickered in her eyes, but then she nodded. “Yes.”
Brendan sighed. Her answer to that question was liable to change before this night was over, but for now it was everything he needed to hear. He raised an eyebrow and said in a terrible excuse for a Caribbean pirate accent, “I was hoping ya’d say that, me pretty. In case ya haven’t noticed me clothing, I’m feeling quite jaunty, like finding me some sweet young thing to plunder. Avast, the sweet young things have run thin, so I’ll have ta make meself happy with a witch.”
He reached out with his right hand and slid the curved end of the plastic hook between the row of buttons that started at her throat and ended midway down her torso.
Indignation flashed over her face. She took a step back, knocking his hand from her dress. “I didn’t come here to have sex with you, Brendan!”
As if she really thought a few terse words would sway him. She knew him better than that, just as he knew her. The one and only guaranteed way to draw the real Jilly out, and hopefully get her to listen to him, was physically. “Then when did ya change yer mind, me pretty?”
“I haven’t.”
“Ar, but ya have.” Brendan grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her into his arms, up against his chest. He slid his left hand between their bodies and filled his palm with the softness of a breast. She squeaked out a gasp.
He lowered his mouth to hers, hovering centimeters from the lushness of her lips, already imagining their sweet taste. “You can’t lie to me, Jilly. I know you better than that. Better than what you want anyone else to know you. I know the feel of my hand on your breast, stroking over your nipple, makes you wet.” He released his grip on her breast and drew her nipple between his fingers, toying with it as best as her clothing allowed. “I know when I rub my tongue over this spot beneath your ear,” he bent his head farther and licked the spot where her pulse beat hard, “it makes you squirm. I know that when I move my hand lower and cup your sex, it makes you want to scream.” He freed her nipple from his fingers and brought his hand to her mound, cupping her in his palm. “You want me, sweetheart, just like I want you. And I know you’re going to let me take you, because as much as you want to, you can’t tell me no—”
“No,” she breathed out frantically.
Brendan chuckled and pressed his hand harder against her pussy. Wet heat permeated through the thin material of her dress. His cock throbbed to life. “I wasn’t done, Jilly. I was going to say, ‘You can’t tell me no and mean it.’”
“I do mean it. I don’t w—want you.”
He smiled against her neck, hearing the way her voice broke when he moved his hand beneath the hem of the gown and caressed the softness of her inner thigh. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her, and not just in the physical sense. “What was that? I couldn’t quite understand that one word. What don’t you want, sweetheart?”
“I don’t want th…is.”
He moved his hand higher until it met with the damp crotch of her panties, then went beneath that barrier. He slid his fingers through her curls to tease the outer edges of her pussy lips. Her breathing grew faster, her breasts thrusting against his chest with each ragged inhale. His balls drew tight with the sound. His heart accelerated. Inhaling the heady scent of her arousal, he plunged two fingers into her cream-filled sheath.
The breath cruised from Jilly’s mouth with a low cry. Brendan turned her in his arms and rubbed his stiff cock against her ass. “I can tell you don’t want this,” he rasped in her ear. “You’re not wet at all. Your pussy isn’t contracting around my fingers, begging me to push them in even farther. Your breathing isn’t coming too fast. Your nipples aren’t hard, throbbing with the need for my mouth.” He pulled his fingers from her, ceased his grinding and stepped back. “Since you don’t want me, I guess there’s no reason to invite you inside.”
She spun back. Fury and passion blazed in her eyes. “You…”
“What? What am I?”
“You’re a bastard.” Her tone held no bite, only acceptance. “I hate you for making me feel this way.”
He could guess how she felt by her expression, like she’d lost both control over the situation and whatever else it was she’d hoped to gain by keeping her real self from him. Still, he wanted to hear the word
s. He needed to hear one thing come out of her mouth that was the truth. “How do you feel, Jilly? Do you want to run away? Do you want to go home to Ginger and cry because the big bad pirate took advantage of you?”
“I want…”
“Yes?”
“I want to make you pay.” Her eyes glimmered with challenge. She was on him in an instant, her hands pushing at his chest, knocking him back inside the doorway.
Brendan swaggered with the surprise of the attack. The feathered captain’s hat fell from his head to the floor. He righted himself and caught her in his grip as she came at him a second time. He grabbed hold of the ugly black gown and pulled her flush against him. She tipped her head back and eyed him with need, with desire. With a longing he knew only too well.
They’d spent one night apart—one goddamned night—and he wanted her so badly his dick felt ready to burst from its skin. “Is this how I pay, Jilly? You plan to punish me with sex?”
In response, she licked her lips and rubbed her breasts against him. The action was completely un-Jilly–like—or at least un-Jillian–like. While he’d planned to reach the real Jilly by way of her body, he hadn’t planned for it to be aggressively. He’d wanted a slow, sweet seduction. That was not what she appeared to want. He was willing to meet her on her own terms.
His cock growing harder, his heartbeat faster by the moment, he crushed her mouth with his. She met his tongue with frantic strokes of her own while her hands pushed past his waistcoat to work free the buttons of his ruffled shirt. She tugged until two let loose, and then her palms touched down on his bare chest. She greedily licked at his mouth, and he met her thrust for thrust. Her short fingernails nipped into the muscles of his chest. He burned to have his hands on her as well.
He released her for an instant, long enough to free his hand of the hook, and then recaptured the bodice of her gown and gave the material a yank. The sound of ripping cotton filled his ears followed by Jilly’s startled cry. Then the gown was gone, pooled on the floor at her feet. His hands touched down on the softness of her bra and, beyond that, her smooth, supple skin.
After Hours Page 8