by Amelia Wilde
Under any other circumstance, my jaw would already be tight right along with my chest, a disappointment that I would never give anyone the satisfaction of showing boiling in my gut. But this little movement from Angelica has me feeling something else entirely—warmth.
I want to take her hand, take her upstairs, and....
And what?
Order something she’ll think is extravagant to eat.
Show her the clothes I had delivered today, an entire wardrobe in her size, pieces for every fathomable occasion that could arise over the next couple of weeks.
I want my hands all over her, but on her shoulders, kneading the tension away.
And when it’s gone....
Then I’ll take her to the bedroom.
“Stressful day at work?”
Angelica blows her breath out through her lips, then smiles brightly up at me, shaking it off. Something about the way she’s so determined not to let it get to her makes my heart speed up. “Par for the course.”
Still, I want to know.
I put my hand on her elbow and guide her toward the elevator. “Your boss?”
“She was no picnic today.”
I press the call button and the elevator car arrives moments later, and we step inside. The seclusion of the car has my heart pounding in my ears, but I resist the urge to press her up against the wall and kiss her so fiercely it melts the foundation of the building.
Angelica stays close to me, taking another deep breath and letting it out.
“Hey.”
She glances up at me, and our eyes lock together.
“You wanted to know more about me over the weekend.”
This makes a little pink rise to her cheeks. “Still do.”
“I want to know more about you, too.”
Her laugh is clear and melodic. “I thought you said this wasn’t a romance.”
“It’s not a romance,” I say, but it feels like a lie. The elevator glides to a halt when we reach my floor, and we step out and walk across the hall to go inside my penthouse. “I can’t very well take you to the bedroom and fuck you if your head is still at work.”
Angelica’s eyes go wide and innocent. “You can’t?” She shrugs off her purse, setting it on the table in the foyer, and tilts her head, considering me. “What would you do instead?”
This woman.
I step closer to her and give her a roguish grin. “My original plan was to order in from Sasabune, then give you a massage and take you on a tour of your new wardrobe—”
“My new wardrobe?”
“Everything you might need to stay here while your place is repaired.”
She bites her lip, eyes shining. “Then what?”
“Then I was going to take you to the bedroom and have my way with you.”
Angelica unbuttons the top two buttons of her white blouse and purses her lips. “What if we switch the order up a little bit?”
“You want to see the wardrobe first?”
Angelica’s laugh is real, genuine. “Bed.”
I frown a little. “Are you absolutely sure that—?”
One half step, and Angelica has the lapels of my dove gray jacket in her fists, yanking me down and covering my mouth with hers, biting at my lip. It feels so good that a little groan escapes from my lips.
“Listen,” she says between passionate kisses. “We can talk about work today, but only after...” She comes in for another kiss and it’s both too much and not enough at the same time. I want to be inside her, damn these clothes, damn the bedroom, there’s nobody here today and I can have this woman anywhere I please.
I finish Angelica’s sentence for her the next time she comes up for air. “As soon as I take you. Now.”
17
Angelica
Jett pops the rest of the buttons on my blouse on the way to getting it off, and when those go it drives him a little wild. He’s tearing at the fabric, breaking the seams. By the time it falls to the floor, he’s already swept me up in his arms, striding effortlessly into the lavish living room, the city spread out in front of us through the massive picture windows.
I couldn’t be less interested in the view. I’m too wrapped up in wriggling out of my skirt while Jett shrugs off his jacket. In seconds, his clothes are strewn on the carpet next to my skirt. His body is absolute perfection. Ripped abs. Strong arms. And the green eyes with fire at the center...
Then his hands are encircled around my waist, pulling me in, and I breathe him in, his scent spicy and clean and manly.
I want nothing between us.
I run my hands down his bare chest, letting my fingertips explore every dip and ridge as he plants kisses down the side of my neck, over the skin of my shoulder. When his hands go lower, diving between my legs and stroking the slickness there, it feels like a flame that suffuses every nerve ending with an electrified warmth. His fingertips are pure pleasure gliding over my skin.
The kiss deepens, slows, until finally I can’t stand it.
“Give it to me,” I cry out hoarsely.
Jett responds by unhooking my bra and sliding the straps off my shoulders. My nipples peak at attention from the air conditioning, and Jett covers one with the pad of his thumb. The sensation takes my breath away, and then he leans his head down and swirls his tongue around the sensitive skin. I can’t help throwing my head back, pressing into him.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” he whispers, and the next thing I know he’s pressing me back into the couch, pulling my ass to the edge, and spreading my legs wide. Kneeling on the lush carpeting between them, he looks at me for a long moment, face focused with anticipation, like I’m a gift he’s about to unwrap on Christmas morning.
Then the moment stretches to its breaking point and snaps, my legs quivering, my insides melting as Jett devours me like an exquisite entree, his tongue ravenously exploring every fold, pressing inside me, licking, tasting.
“Oh, my God.”
“You like that?” Jett says, and pushes one finger into my opening. My legs clench involuntarily, but they meet with the rock-hard resistance of his shoulders.
“Yes.”
Another finger joins the first, and then he does something—Jesus Christ, I don’t know what and I don’t care—that hits a space inside of me that I never knew existed until this moment. When he does, it releases the climax that’s been building since he kissed me in the foyer. As I start to come down from my high, he curls his fingers again and sends me back up to the top of the roller coaster, again, and again, and again.
By the time he pulls me to my feet, bending me over the arm of the sofa and slamming the full length of his steel-rod cock in to the hilt in one stroke, I’m jelly, I’m light, I’m his.
I’m so lost in him that I don’t hear my phone ringing, once, twice, three times.
After we’ve showered, Jett sends Stuart to collect our sushi from Sasabune, which is one of the priciest restaurants in New York. While he’s texting the order directly to the owner of the place—sometimes Jett’s lifestyle strikes me as completely unbelievable—I go hunting for my phone and find it exactly where I left it, tucked inside my purse on the table in the foyer.
My heart sinks into my toes when I see the missed calls from Adam.
“Angelica?” Jett’s voice floats over from the opposite end of the living room. “Where are you, sweet thing?”
“I have a call to make.” Does my voice sound shaky? Is it a giveaway?
Work. I can always blame it on work.
Stepping closer to the door, I dial Adam’s number. The fact that he called instead of texting makes me think this is urgent, and my heart pounds in my ears. Did Charlie come back? Did plans change again? He stayed at my place for about a week before he got sick of the commute and seemed fine when he left....
He answers on the second ring. “Angie?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t...nothing.”
My stomach contracts. “Nothing? You scared the shi
t out of me, Adam.”
“I needed—I wanted—”
“Spit it out.”
“Is everything going all right? Are you okay? He’s not...he’s not following you or anything, is he?”
I take a deep breath. If Adam is in the dark about all this, then Charlie hasn’t been lurking around making any threats. That’s good for Adam.
Not quite so great for me, because now I’m more certain than ever that somehow this is all on my shoulders.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, not after the way we grew up.
“How have you been sleeping?”
Adam lets out a bitter laugh. “Like shit. I had three extra locks installed on my door, and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder everywhere I go. Not that it would make any difference if Charlie decided to....”
“He’s got people everywhere,” I agree.
“Angie, it’s driving me crazy.” Adam’s voice pitches lower, tighter, and I know this is the absolute truth. He’s never handled stress very well. I’ve always been the one to sort things out for us.
It’s clear I’ve never stopped.
“Do you have any vacation time?”
“Vacation time?”
“Yeah. You’ve been at the bar long enough, haven’t you?”
“I guess....”
“You should go home. See mom.”
“I can’t leave you here by yourself.”
“Has Charlie been back to see you?”
“No.”
“I’m handling it, Adam. Go home for a little while.”
“But what if—?”
“I’m handling it.” I lower my voice. “It’s not dangerous, okay? I’m fine. Go away. Clear your head.”
“Okay.”
“Gotta go. Love you, brother.”
“Love you.”
18
Jett
At the office, I try to deny that having Angelica in the penthouse every night is having any effect on me. The illusion is ruined when, on Wednesday morning, I mistakenly call Emily ‘Angelica’ as she’s on the way back to her desk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon?”
I wave her away, keeping my face expressionless. “I’ll have a new set of appointments to arrange after lunch, Emily.”
Connor breezes in, saving me from another embarrassing round with Emily. “I think we’ve got everything straightened out.”
He launches straight into a detailed description of the outcome of the negotiations, and then outlines several solutions for bringing this godforsaken media company under our umbrella. I wanted to acquire it in the first place because they have a distribution platform that I think could reach Facebook proportions with the right amount of investment and development, but it’s been such a pain in my ass that I can’t wait to be done with this phase and move on to integration.
Who am I fooling? What I can’t wait to be done with is this work day so I can go home to Angelica.
She surprised me on Monday. Emerald would always dwell on a stressful situation or any perceived slight. The woman could devote an entire afternoon to being pissed off about a wait staff member who hadn’t thought she was as radiant as the sun or some other shit.
Not Angelica.
She wouldn’t allow her bad day to stick with her, and her tense mood seemed to be as easy to cast off as the blouse I’d ripped off her in my hurry to see more of her flawless skin.
Jesus, and the taste of her....
Connor finally finishes talking. “…put together a group that can weigh in on the transition period. Do you have the final documents for me to sign?”
“Yes, right here.” He flips through a leather portfolio that he’s brought with him and shuffles the papers. “Whoops. They must be sitting on my desk. I’ll be back in five.”
Three minutes later, I give in to the compulsion to text Angelica.
Out or in?
Get your mind out of the gutter!!
I laugh out loud.
Dinner, sweet thing. Out or in?
Up to you. I’m the houseguest.
How’s the repairs coming?
:/ They found mold, so the drywall has to come out. It’ll probably be another couple weeks.
I have room.
:) No need, Jett Brandon. I can find a hotel near the office.
I wasn’t giving you a choice
I wait a moment, then send ;).
So demanding...
You like it.
I love it.
My heart beats hard in my chest.
“There.” Connor slaps the portfolio back down on my desk, and it’s open to the page with the dotted line waiting for my signature. “Neat and tidy.”
“No surprises this time around?”
He gives me a cheeky grin. “Not if you’ve got your head in the game.”
I glare at him, then laugh. “It’s in the game, Connor.” The pen I pull from the narrow drawer under the surface of my desk feels weighty in my hand, final.
“One of those big-name pop singers is going to be at the Swan tonight,” Connor says while he waits.
“I’ll be there,” I say absently, scanning the document one final time to make sure there’s nothing out of place. “Wait—no, I won’t.”
“Why, do you have a date?”
“Not at the Swan.”
“Where at?” Connor can’t help but pry. He loves gossip as much as anyone in our circle of friends, even if he’s smart enough to keep it to himself.
“It’s not really a date.”
“Make up your mind, Brandon.”
“I have a guest at home.”
“A guest?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say, or go back to work so you can keep earning your very generous salary?”
“Who’s the lucky girl?” Connor’s eyes are sparkling. He knows about the shit that happened with Emerald—the failed business deal in London, the bitchy double personality, and the older man she was screwing around with behind my back. He was the very first one to suggest that I come back to New York and get back into the scene.
Because Connor is a black hole in the gossip world, I can be positive that Angelica won’t end up in the tabloids on his account. “A woman named Angelica.”
“Did you meet her at the Swan?”
“In the elevator.”
“Let me guess—you pulled a Jett Brandon and had her panties off before you even got to your floor.”
I sign my name across the line in big, bold strokes.
“You think I’m going to kiss and tell?”
Connor laughs, and I close the portfolio and slide it back across the desk to him. “You don’t need to tell. I can tell by the look on your face that you’re doing more than kissing.” He leans forward, resting his knuckles on the surface of the desk. “So she’s hotter than the surface of the sun, then.”
I grin up at him.
He nods, shaking his head. “You never take long, do you?”
“I’ve never had a problem with timing.”
“You seemed pretty dead set on swearing off women when you left London.”
“Not women—on time-sucks disguised as relationships.”
“You’ve got someone waiting for you at home! What do you call that?”
I shrug. “It’s a story, man. Her apartment got flooded. I own an entire floor of my building. Best of all, I can do whatever the hell I please with my personal life.”
Connor bursts out laughing at my menacing tone. “You think I’m telling you to kick her out? No way. If you’re letting her stay, she has to be a ten. I wouldn’t mind coming home to that every night. How long is she staying?”
“Couple weeks, maybe three at the most.”
He whistles. “That’s a deal at twice the price.”
I roll my eyes at him.
Connor tucks the portfolio under his arm and turns to go. “What a letdown, though, when she’s gone,” he says over his shoulder, before disappearing into the outer office.
&
nbsp; 19
Angelica
Hadley’s micromanaging is going to drive me insane.
She spends most of Thursday morning “checking in” with me every six minutes to make sure I’m “managing my time effectively,” which is honestly a new low for her. Something must be going on in her life to make her this neurotic, because as long as I’ve worked at Sisterspark, she’s always been the type to bark out instructions and then correct your work after the fact.
It gets so bad that before lunch, she stands behind my chair and dictates an email that I’m sending to one of my sources. It’s for a post on organic smoothie recipes. It’s not like we’re handling state secrets. I have no idea why this kind of attention to detail is necessary. Yet the rent is due, so I type out the stilted email and let Hadley proofread it for any errant typos.
“Good,” she says with a firm nod. “Send it. Get back to me when there’s a mockup with images, all right?”
“No problem.” She turns to go. “Hadley?”
“Yes?” Her gaze is immediately locked on my face, her mouth framed in a thin line.
“Is everything all right?”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that?”
I give a little shrug, being sure to keep my face open and innocent. “You seem like you’re spread a little thin this week. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Hadley’s jaw works, but then her face softens. “I shouldn’t get into it.”
I nod my understanding. I start to turn back to my computer, but Hadley stops me.
“Advertising revenue has taken a hit over the last couple of weeks.”
Oh, shit.
We spend a minute in thoughtful silence. I’ve been with Sisterspark for almost three years, which in New York City might as well be fifteen. I know what happens when ad revenue drops. We might have a floor in a fancy building in the Garment District this week and be out of business by next Tuesday. Bigger websites than Hadley’s have been toppled overnight by inexplicable shifts in ad revenue.