The Last Affair--A Hot Billionaire Workplace Romance

by A. C. Arthur

  “And that means you just sit in your house for four weeks?” Of course, he couldn’t believe that she found comfort in solitude and actually enjoyed being in her private space, since he was the party-going, fun-loving Gold sibling.

  Thankfully, an athletically built man interrupted them. “Good morning, Lovers.” He was standing at the podium with the brunette woman who’d been guarding the door.

  “Hush, they’re starting.” And Desta was glad. The last thing she wanted, after blurting out her family situation to him earlier, was to have him asking more questions about her personal life. It was none of his business for one, and besides that, it had nothing to do with what they were doing here this weekend.

  “Okay, we’re sure none of you have had a knock-down, drag-out fight yet,” the male speaker said. “At least, we hope not.” Now that she was staring at him, Mr. Athlete looked more like a hot sports model with his cool blue eyes and blond hair. The crowd of about forty chuckled at his remarks, and he gave a dazzling smile in return.

  “But just in case you do this weekend, or sometime later, we want to make sure you’re prepared with the best make-up sex tips,” said his sidekick, who was almost as attractive as he was. “And oh, we have mimosas!”

  Desta leaned over to whisper in Maurice’s ear. “Are they really about to give us sex tips?” Of course they were. Wasn’t that what this weekend was all about? It was much easier to accept that when she hadn’t known who her Dear Lover was.

  Maurice’s grin was back, beaming at her as he turned so their faces were only inches apart. “We probably don’t need ’em, but let’s play along, anyway.”

  The quick kiss to the tip of her nose was a surprise, and the uncertainty she’d been feeling momentarily dissipated.

  “So, the thing about having a fight is that all the anger you were feeling during the argument makes you really hot.” Ms. Congeniality—that’s what she was calling the woman—fanned a hand in front of her face. “I mean, physically hot.”

  “Right, so once you’ve given in and apologized...guys, this is usually us, especially if we know what’s good for us.” More laughter. Mr. Athlete obviously had jokes. “It’s time to get turned on. The feeling you get when you’re angry and when you’re turned on is very similar. Body heat rises, and shortness of breath ensues. It’s no big deal to just switch that around from anger to what could possibly lead to bliss.”

  “And it can all start with a touch,” Ms. Congeniality said. “So guys, touch your lover. Just something light but arousing at the same time. Assure them that even in the midst of this argument, they’re still the one for you.”

  Maurice was right on task. Desta had leaned back over to the privacy of her own beanbag chair, but now he was invading that privacy. Easing his body over to her, he reached out a hand and cupped her cheek. It was a soft touch, one that didn’t necessarily have to be intimate—damn, she really had feelings about that word. Still, she had to resist the urge to jerk back in surprise or pull away after the surprise settled.

  “Good. Now, how did that touch make you feel?” Ms. Congeniality continued. “Does it make you want more? Does it make you hotter? Ladies, it’s your turn to respond. He’s sorry now for whatever he did to piss you off. Don’t you want to make him pay by getting him so turned on he can barely see straight?”

  No. That was never how she’d felt when she and Gordon argued. Not after the first time when he’d put his foot through their patio door and warned she would be next if she didn’t get it together.

  But at this moment, at Maurice’s touch, a heated flush draped her body. She told herself it was involuntary. While her mind was still trying to keep this class and what was expected of her in perspective, her body was all in and ready to do what she was told. And since she’d agreed to spend this weekend with Maurice, leaning into his touch was simple. His thumb rubbed over her cheek, brushing past the edge of her lips, and a quick spurt of desire took over. She swiped her tongue over his thumb.

  His eyes instantly went darker, and before she could speak, he was moving from his bag to hers. Now their bodies were flush against each other, and he was exchanging his thumb for a finger that she promptly sucked between her lips. After all, her payback to him for any argument was supposed to be to drive him wild with desire. The sexual heat that morphed from anger, which Ms. Congeniality was currently describing in detail, was accurate as hell. Wearing a turtleneck today hadn’t been the best idea, because Desta was burning up. When Maurice began moving his finger in and out of her mouth, her breasts swelled with the need to be touched, and a tiny moan escaped her throat.

  Maurice gasped at the sound, his gaze dropping to her mouth as she continued to suck on his finger with the same fervent hunger she’d had last night when it was his dick in her mouth instead. Why did this feel so good, and how in the hell could she be thinking of stripping out of her clothes so that he could dive deep inside her while they were in this room full of people? None of this was what she’d ever imagined herself doing. But she didn’t want to stop.

  “That’s right, go with it. Let the making up and making out begin,” Mr. Athlete said, and she almost expected to hear the crowd cheering him on.

  Except the crowd was moaning and groaning instead. She didn’t want to glance away to see what anyone else was doing, especially not when Maurice was pulling his finger from her lips, leaning in closer to trade it for his mouth.

  His lips were warm against hers, his tongue slipping inside to tangle with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Obliging, he rolled until he was on top of her and the kiss deepened.

  What in the entire hell?

  She felt like she was forgiving him for something and repledging herself to him. Giving her all to this kiss, pressing her body against his, while his hands moved up and down her back in a way that conveyed compassion, longing, need.

  Before she could figure out what was actually happening, a bell sounded loudly throughout the room. Maurice jerked away from her, and when she looked around many of the other couples looked equally confused.

  “I know it’s just getting good,” Mr. Athlete crooned. “But there’s more. Now, there’re bound to be instances when the argument you have with your partner is warranted, and a real discussion needs to be had about whatever that issue is. But sometimes, fights can be about something dumb. Maybe someone forgot to clean the shower when they were done and didn’t empty the dishwasher in the same day, and the other is fed up.”

  Maurice had settled back, still on her beanbag chair, his arm now wrapped around her shoulders.

  “But here’s the thing,” Ms. Congeniality chimed in. “You love him. You most certainly love the way he goes down on you.”

  Oh, hell no! She was definitely not spreading her legs in this room with all these people so that Maurice could put his mouth on her already damp pussy the way he had last night.

  At the sound of appreciative murmurs from the crowd, Mr. Athlete nodded and grinned. “Yeah, you know he brings it home every time he sets his mouth on you. So when it’s a little disagreement, it might be a better use of that energy to let him prop you up on the kitchen counter and have you for dessert.”

  Desta pressed her thighs tightly together, then eased them apart when she thought Maurice might’ve seen her reflexive reaction.

  “I’d love having you for dessert.” The words sounded so husky and so hot coming from him she almost came right then and there.

  Instead, she focused on the steady movement of his hand on her shoulder, so strong and possessive. That last word gave her pause. But then his other hand moved to her thigh, resting there with a punch of searing heat.

  “You ever have make-up sex that made you forget what the argument was even about?” he asked. “I mean, sex that just took away every coherent thought from your mind?”

  Why was he doing this? Why was he making this so difficult
for her?

  “No,” she said after inhaling a shaky breath. “I haven’t had a lot of make-up sex.” Gordon’s apologetic gestures came in the form of a delivery guy handing her a gift—a diamond necklace, a pair of Louboutin pumps, an Yves Saint Laurent bag. “Sometimes people should have to work harder for forgiveness.”

  She shouldn’t have said that last part. When she looked at him, it was to see him giving a knowing nod. But he didn’t know; he couldn’t. She’d never told anyone what had truly happened between her and her ex-fiancé, not even her family.

  “I don’t get a lot of make-up sex, either. Disagreements rarely arise when you make your position clear right off the bat.” That’s right, he wouldn’t have a disagreement about not doing the dishes because he never stayed with anyone long enough to dirty dishes in the first place. “But I’m beginning to think I’d like making up with you.”

  Okay, this wasn’t going well for her. The volleying back and forth between her past and these new and strange feelings his presence was evoking in her were going to drive her nuts.

  “Whew! That was something for the first round. Let’s take a break before anyone starts to get naked.” Ms. Congeniality offered a smile that Desta wanted to smack right off her cute face. “Go grab yourselves a mimosa, and we’ll move on to the next round in a few minutes.”

  “Thank goodness,” Desta mumbled, forgetting Maurice was still close enough to hear her.

  He chuckled. “You thirsty?”

  She shook her head. She was horny and confused. “Not really, but I could use a break. This session is giving a lot of information that I don’t think I’ll be forgetting anytime soon.”

  “Really? My kisses are that memorable, huh?” He was smug and arrogant, and too damn sexy when he was being both.

  “Hush up and go get us a drink.” She really needed some space from him, even if for just a few minutes, to clear her mind.

  “Cool. I get it if you need a few minutes to gather yourself after that great kiss.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, it wasn’t that great.” Of course, she was lying. “But that line’s getting longer for the drinks.” His kiss had seared a hole straight through her soul and made the insistent memories of Gordon during this time even more puzzling.

  Maurice didn’t believe her, anyway. She could see it in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. But he did get up and walk away, and she watched him go, all the while wondering what she’d gotten herself into and how the hell she was going to train her body not to respond to his touch come Monday morning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SOMETIMES PEOPLE SHOULD have to work harder for forgiveness.

  Did she know about India and the guilt he carried for months after the accident? She couldn’t have. No charges had been filed, and as soon as India was out of the coma, her parents had flown her to some hospital in Switzerland for extensive therapy. As far as Maurice knew, she’d never returned to the States. Which meant he would never have the chance to tell her how sorry he was, again.

  No, he was fairly certain Des had no idea of just how reckless he could be. After the accident, he’d spent the remaining years in college—and all of his adult life—trying to forget that night had ever happened. And in doing so, he’d created a totally different persona, the one that was too carefree to look for love...because he didn’t deserve to find happiness after what he’d done.

  If Des wasn’t talking about his past issues, she had to be referring to her own. Had someone done something to her that she couldn’t forgive? Or had she, like him, done something unforgivable? It was more than likely the former. Des wasn’t reckless, nor was she selfish or inconsiderate. Watching her with staff and his family, whether at his parents’ home or when they were out at work functions, she was always the same—calm, cool, compassionate and sometimes funny.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it this time,” she said, and he directed his full attention to her again. He tried to shake off the memories that had crept to the surface. It was a beautiful afternoon on the slopes, and he was helping Des with her skiing.

  The white pants, jacket and matching boots she’d changed into after the Make-Up and Mimosas workshop made her look like a sexy ski goddess. Whatever she wore looked great on her, and after years of being surrounded by beautiful women, he knew that meant something.

  “You just want to keep your feet firmly planted, bend your knees a little and then...” He paused, watching her blink repeatedly as she tried to take in every word he was saying. Deciding it’d be much better if he showed her, he dragged his feet in his skis until he was standing right beside her. “Like this.” He demonstrated the way he wanted her to stand and waited while she mimicked him.

  “I’ve skied before,” she said while adjusting the poles in her hands and trying to line her knees up with his. “It’s just been a while.”

  “It’s just like sex. Once you’ve done it, you never forget how to do it.” The last words were exaggerated, but he chuckled, as he often did whenever he cracked a joke, because the people around him rarely appreciated his sense of humor. He was caught off guard when she leaned in to nudge him with her elbow and instead turned her leg and subsequently the ski.

  He had seconds to reach out and grab her, then try to resituate them both before catastrophe struck. His attempts were a failure, and they tumbled over, falling onto the snow-covered ground with a thump. Both sets of skis clanked together as they rolled a couple times before stopping by a tree.

  “Well, I guess my sex comment put some thoughts in your mind, huh? But if you wanted to have sex outside, I’d suggest it not be on the slopes. I don’t do too well in arctic temps.” She wiggled beneath him, but she wasn’t smiling when he stared down at her. In fact, her brow was furrowed, lips pursed in irritation. Sort of how he’d caught her looking a few times during the workshop.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Everybody falls sometimes. I mean, it could be that I’m not that good of a ski instructor. But you don’t have to share that with anyone.” Still trying to keep things light, he watched her warily, waiting for the tension to melt away from her features and the stiffness from her movements.

  “No. I’ll get it.” She pushed at him again. “Just let me up. I can do this.”

  Maurice rolled off her and sat on the ground as he watched her get to her feet. He could’ve gotten up first and helped her, but instinct told him to let her be. When she was upright and he followed, she adjusted the sticks in her hands once more. He stood close enough to help if she fell, and just far enough away that she didn’t have to give him one of her you’re workin’ my nerves looks.

  Adjusting her hood, she stared straight ahead. Determination was clear in the serious lines of her face as she bent her knees, planted the poles a short distance in front of her and pushed off. At first all he could do was watch, admiring her tenacity, before finally following her down the rest of the hill. She’d been doing fine until she tried to stop and swerved her body a little more than was required. When she toppled over this time, he wasn’t close enough to catch her.

  She got up cursing.

  Maurice moved in to help her. “Doesn’t have to be perfect every time, Des. You did good coming down.”

  Once she was up on her feet, she pushed his arms away. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

  There was no mistaking the anger that laced her tone nor the definite scowl she was giving him now. He was used to attitude—Riley gave it to him all the time. He knew independence and confidence were really important to both his sister and Des, especially in the workplace. But this was different. Des was always in control at work, and whenever she was angered, her responses still came calmly, laced with deadly accurate aim. He’d never seen her react to anything or anyone in this way.

  “Are you okay?” Because this wasn’t just about being rusty at skiing.

  She glanced away, then stabbed her poles into the sn
ow and shook her head. “I apologize,” she said, returning her gaze to him.

  He didn’t want her apology; he wanted to know what was going on with her. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help?”

  “You can’t.”

  “You won’t know until you trust me enough to tell me.”

  Shock filled her gaze now, and he realized he’d just said the T word, which could sometimes carry as much weight as the L word.

  “It’s not a big deal. And you’re right, neither is skiing perfectly. It’s not like I’m trying out for the Olympics.” Her lips curved in a tentative smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s just head back to the hotel. It’s getting cold.”

  It had been freezing since they’d come out here an hour and a half ago, so he knew that wasn’t the only issue here. But he shouldn’t push. It was only fair that she have her secrets. After all, he had his.

  * * *

  On Saturday evening, Desta touched a hand to her stomach and closed her eyes as she stood at the door of her room. Just a few minutes more, some quiet time to get her thoughts in order, that was all she needed. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. Count down from twenty. Start again, this time from fifty.

  She had to get Gordon out of her mind. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure why memories of him were popping up left and right during this trip. It had been a long time since she’d thought about him and what had happened between them, and it was irritating as hell to have it coming back now like a tidal wave. But she could do this. She could get over him, just like she’d done before. All she had to do was focus on Maurice and the reason they were here this weekend.

  That was so much easier said than done. First because, for whatever reason, so many things Maurice was saying or doing were direct leads to specific memories about Gordon. Like the elevator. For the second time, Maurice had sent her a text telling her to meet him at the elevator. Gordon always gave her instructions: be dressed at seven; have dinner ready at six; call me as soon as you get in the house. So much so that after a while she’d started to feel as if he were a drill sergeant and she was a soldier he had to keep in line at all times. Demeaning didn’t begin to describe how that made her feel, even now. And while she knew this wasn’t Maurice’s intent, it still opened the window to those damn memories.