by JC Harroway
I shiver. ‘Oh, wow—the weather’s changing quickly.’ I watch the many city lights of Tokyo’s business district, shimmering and distorted by the torrential rain now lashing the windows. Then I glance back at Hudson.
‘Yes. The wind has unexpectedly altered direction. Typhoon Kano is now headed directly towards Tokyo.’ He’s switched the wall-mounted TV to a news broadcast.
We watch the report, although my Japanese is virtually non-existent. His radiant body heat and his command of the language provide comfort against my growing uncertainty—I’ve never experienced a typhoon before.
‘Should I worry? Are we safe?’ Hudson’s office feels like a warm and cosy modern fortress at the top of a skyscraper. I inch closer, catching the clean linen smell of his shirt.
‘Japan is hit by several typhoons a year—more typically in the summer, though.’ He shoots me a reassuring smile and mutes the TV.
‘So you put this one on especially for me? You shouldn’t have.’ I smile but a relieved sigh escapes—I wouldn’t want to be alone in my hotel room right now.
‘I secretly hoped to trap you here.’ His laughter settles the butterflies in my stomach. I trust him. ‘Don’t worry, Dove. We’re perfectly safe here.’
He winks and my pulse trips with desire. We might be safe from the elements, but his proximity, the new awareness of him, makes me feel reckless.
We retake our places on the sofa. Only now his every move seems to brush against my sensitised skin. He’s removed his tie, revealing a tantalising glimpse of dark hair as his shirt pulls across his well-defined chest. I have a violent urge to snuggle into him. To press my face to his neck and see if he smells as good close-up...
Instead I select a mini sushi, dip it in the Japanese mayonnaise and pop it in my mouth. My stomach groans in appreciation at the delicious flavours and textures. The silence as we eat should be comfortable. It always has been in the past. Only tonight there’s a looming sense of anticipation heightened by the impending storm. It’s as if I’m a human barometer and he’s a low-pressure system, pulling me in.
Right, blame the atmospheric conditions for your reaction to him...
My appetite dwindles as we watch the storm and watch each other. I should distract myself with business small-talk about tomorrow’s schedule or the Japanese Business Awards dinner at which Hudson has been invited to speak.
But there’s only one distraction I want.
Hudson’s phone emits a bleep. ‘Excuse me.’ He pulls it from his pocket and reads the screen.
I sip my drink and watch his angular face, the dark swoop of his eyelashes, his sexy mouth. What am I doing?
‘Looks like my date has cancelled.’ He tosses the phone aside and returns the full beam of his attention to me.
‘What a shame.’ Fingers of delight skitter down my spine. ‘It does look pretty wild.’
As wild as I feel. Am I seriously contemplating crossing the very well-demarcated line between us?
‘It does—the situation is changing rapidly.’ He leans over me to reach for the remote control to un-mute the TV for an update.
Somehow it feels as if he’s sitting closer. I hold myself still, and licks of anticipation mixed with fear heat my skin.
Hudson translates the news report—strong winds, flooding, damage expected. My heart thuds. Fear of the impending typhoon, or fear of missing what now feels like the golden opportunity Mother Nature has presented?
Something major is happening out there in the dark.
We look back at each other at the exact same moment. My breath stutters. Something major is happening between us too.
‘I think you should stay here tonight, Dove.’ A small frown pinches his brows together. ‘It’s currently classified as a yellow warning, but they predict it will soon get to red. You don’t want to be blown off your feet and soaked through to the skin.’
The dangerous power of the elements is mirrored in the tumultuous veering of my resolve. The universe has delivered the ultimate temptation. I want him.
I cling to our banter, playfully rolling my eyes. ‘The lengths some people will go to avoid being alone.’ I hold my breath to correctly interpret his suggestive stillness and the lust in his stare.
‘I’m used to being alone.’ His pupils dilate. ‘But if I had to be trapped by a storm I’d want it to be with you.’
I swallow hard, putting up a feeble last fight. ‘My hotel’s not that far away... But perhaps you’re right. I’ll text my date to cancel.’ Even if the tension building between us goes nowhere, I’d rather be with him than on a blind date.
‘Good, that’s settled.’ With a satisfied smile, he switches off the TV and retrieves something from a concealed closet near the door: a fine, cashmere throw. He shakes it out and drapes it over my lap.
‘I noticed you shiver,’ he says, pressing another remote so the contemporary fireplace built into the wall flickers to life. The heat and intensity of his stare could get a woman into trouble unless, like me, she knows what’s behind that sinful expression—the promise of a good time.
‘They’re shivers of anticipation.’ And delight. ‘Storms make me nervous.’ I retrieve my almost empty tumbler from the table, ridiculously touched that he thought of my comfort but a little disappointed I’ll have no excuse to snuggle and steal his body heat.
‘No need to be nervous. We could make some progress on tomorrow’s schedule to take your mind off it.’
‘I have a better plan.’ I hold the glass up between us so the liquid catches the glinting gold reflection from the fire. ‘How much Scotch do you have left?’ I take a slow sip and lick my lips.
‘Enough. But how else will we pass the time if not with business?’ He’s onto me and my thinly veiled seduction. He shifts, his body inching closer.
I have so many sexual suggestions, I almost choke on my next sip of Scotch. But we’re trapped here for the night. There’s no rush, unlike the last time we played with this fire.
‘Do you have a pack of cards?’
‘Of course.’ He opens a drawer in a low coffee table and retrieves a brand-new pack.
A thrill shudders through me as I exhale. ‘What better way to ride out a storm?’ I open the pack and shuffle. ‘Poker work for you, Black?’
‘I can think of more entertaining games,’ he replies with that trademark confidence and challenge sparking in his stare. ‘But bring it on.’
Oh, I intend to.
CHAPTER TWO
Hudson
I’M DEFINITELY ON board for whatever game she’s playing. She’s so damned sexy, she smells fantastic and she’s been shooting me signals ever since we finished our meeting. That feels like aeons ago, so thinly stretched is my restraint.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she shuffles the cards. I shouldn’t notice those telling gestures. Just as I shouldn’t be sneaking surreptitious glances at her cleavage through the open vee of her blouse. But she went into the bathroom earlier with two buttons undone and came out with three open.
I’m only flesh and blood.
The memory of the last time we crossed the line is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Our chemistry is pretty incendiary. I had to ignore it when we first met, when she and Sterling—a ballsy, engaged business duo—approached me to form a partnership that would go on to become Bold.
Monroe and I are similar. We’re both combative and we both hate to lose, which is why in our game of Texas Hold ’Em I’m fifty yen down, according to my diminishing pile of paper clips—a substitute for poker chips.
‘You are so bad at bluffing, so don’t even bother this time,’ I say as she deals the cards and I examine my hand.
‘Am I? Or are you just bad at guessing what’s on a woman’s mind...?’ She peers up from her cards, her eyes fringed with long lashes.
I grin; we both know I do all right with the lad
ies. But, damn, she’s laying on the innuendo pretty thick. I’m starting to think my halo and knighthood must be in the mail, because I bloody deserve them for my stellar display of self-control. Yet the night is young. The weather is wild. We’re going nowhere.
I glance at her long shapely legs, which are clad in sheer black stockings. The idea of a long night alone with her sends a kick of lust to my groin. We’d be stupid not to take this to the next level. We’ve exhausted our supplies of both conversation and Scotch. I’m done losing my hard-earned cash. And we know we’re good together. Last time we rushed it. I never got to explore her phenomenal body the way I wanted. This time would be different.
I take a cursory glance at my cards, so distracted by the thought of seducing my business partner that I don’t need to fake indifference for the hand I’ve been dealt. Edginess creeps over me. If Sterling had made the trip I wouldn’t even consider it, just like we’ve avoided a repeat for the past three years. Lying to Sterling through omission leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. He’s a friend. One of very few, and perhaps my closest.
But risk is what makes this so damned irresistible. All three of us live for that adrenaline rush—the thrill of spotting a good investment and watching our instincts come to fruition. Just because I haven’t touched Monroe since that one time doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it—like, every time I see her. Don’t I betray Sterling in thought whenever Monroe and I meet?
I place my bet and watch as she reveals her hand—four of a kind—her eyes alight with triumph. I toss down my straight in disgust. ‘You win, Dove. I’m done.’
Her playful chuckle twists my gut with hunger. ‘Oh, don’t be a sore loser.’ She scoops the paper clips into a pile and returns the cards to the box. ‘I won’t even hold you to the bets.’
I’ve often wondered if she’s the female version of me. Sterling used to call her ‘the terrier’—she’s relentless, and works almost as hard as I do.
But not quite, because unlike me she comes from a large, loving family. She has dreams and aspirations outside of work and lacks the demons snapping at her heels.
‘You know me. I hate to lose at anything.’ My voice is thick with tension and anticipation. We’re alone with our unavoidable attraction while the storm rages outside. What am I doing? There are multiple reasons to avoid Monroe’s brand of temptation, the most crucial being our invaluable business.
My life is a true rags-to-riches tale. I’ve been hungry, scared and alone. I’ve wondered where I’d be sleeping and how long my current set of foster parents would tolerate an angry kid no one else wanted.
Now, thanks to Bold, my life is the complete opposite. I control everything. I have everything I need. Money and success have removed every scrap of uncertainty from my life. There’s no way I’d allow sex to jeopardise that. Bold is my life. My security blanket. In another ten years I can retire early and maintain my lifestyle until I die without ever needing to worry again.
‘What shall we play now?’ Monroe flicks her hair over one shoulder and the neck of her blouse gapes open, flashing a tantalising glimpse of cream lace.
I ignore her question—there’s only one game I want to play with Monroe.
Under normal circumstances I could walk away and go for a run until I’m too exhausted to want her. Somehow knowing there’s no escape makes me crave her more.
But Monroe and Sterling are the only real allies I’ve ever had. Losing my partners could mean losing Bold. The idea of that is enough to keep me up at night. Certainly enough to have controlled the ferocious chemistry between Monroe and me these past three years.
In that second, my phone emits a blaring alert. We both jump, laughing as I silence my device and dismiss the civil defence warning that confirms what we already know—we’re stuck here for the night.
‘I’ll relinquish my bed if you’re tired. It’s very comfortable.’ The alert has shunted my pulse sky-high, but the idea of her naked body between my sheets, leaving behind her warmth and her scent, keeps it at such a punishing rate.
‘I’m not remotely sleepy.’ She shrugs. ‘Jet lag.’ Her eyes spark with sultry heat and she shifts, bringing her into closer proximity.
My muscles tighten. I’m aware of every breath she takes. Every movement of her body. Every swoop of her long eyelashes as she blinks. But am I really willing to go there? It could be a great night to rival the last time, or a damaging liability for everything in my life that I value...
‘Besides, where would you sleep?’ she asks.
I wrap my hand around my glass, my mind awash with the hypnotic motion of her lush lips, the sexy sound of her voice and the subtext of the unspoken. ‘I’ll probably work. Or the sofa’s reasonably comfortable.’ Of course, having her in the next room will add a new dimension to the torture. Why am I resisting? We managed to move on without any fallout the first time. Why would this be any different?
She nods, her seductive stare carrying her signature boldness. ‘Or we could share...’
So we’re definitely going there.
An inferno starts somewhere under my ribs. ‘Is that wise?’ I want to rip out my own cautious tongue.
She wets her parted lips. ‘Don’t you ever think about it?’
I tilt my head, flashing her a don’t be stupid look. ‘Memorable sex is hard to ignore.’
We agreed to forget it out of respect for each other, respect for our business and respect for Sterling, who deserves better than a shitty friend like me. I sip my Scotch, hoping the burn will erase the recrimination. I should never have touched Monroe in the first place, or at least should have come clean about it. But there was no point risking our professional relationship over one rushed fuck against a wall.
‘Yes.’ She nods in agreement.
Lust clamours to be heard in the space between our bodies.
‘And I’m sure without Typhoon Kano our nights would have involved less clothes and more orgasms.’
She’s right. My ‘date’ was a hook-up. Fresh desire knifes through me. I want to act, not talk. Monroe tilts her head and the silk of her hair falls across my hand, which rests on the back of the sofa. I rub a lock between my fingers, wanting to bring it to my face and inhale its scent.
‘So...what do you want to do about it?’ I ask as my temperature soars. It’s just sex. One more time. Same rules apply.
She reaches for my glass, slowly takes it from my hand and finishes the last swallow. ‘I think we’d be foolish not to take advantage of the storm and the one bed.’ She places the glass on the table and touches her index finger to one of my shirt buttons, leaving it there to linger.
The air grows stifling with pheromones. I sit stock-still. Waiting. Weighing the pros and cons. But this couldn’t be more risk-free. We work, physically and professionally. We’re too similar to allow sex to disrupt the good thing we have. Fuck, I just want her, and can’t come up with a single convincing reason why I shouldn’t have her.
Monroe extends her hand to my shoulder as if stroking away an imaginary crease from my shirt. Her touch is considered but bold. Exactly the way I know she makes her business decisions. It’s a serious turn-on.
Even as my fingers twitch to reach for her, habit forces me to hesitate. I don’t want to cock-block myself, but we stopped after one time for a reason. I rarely sleep with a woman more than once. Monroe knows what a dead end I am dating-wise, and she’s always wanted more than I offer.
‘Stop overthinking it.’ She slides closer, her fingernails tracing a pattern through my shirt until my skin feels as if it’s been lashed by the needles of rain.
She dips her face close and runs her lips along my jaw. I suck in a breath; I’m not made of stone. Still I hold off, the pressure building. The tip of her tongue touches the skin below my ear and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation, the anticipation, the way I’ve learned to enjoy all of life’s good things. And Monroe,
like top-class liquor or luxury cars, is something to be savoured slowly.
The fight in me dwindles. Tomorrow a new day will dawn. The storm will have washed away today. We can go on as if it never happened.
‘Dove...’ A warning or encouragement? I pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. Her skirt bunches up her spread thighs, revealing the tops of lacy black stockings. I fist the fabric of her skirt at her hips and search her aroused stare while my heart thuds in time with the waves of rain smacking the glass.
‘Come on, Black, it’s just one more night,’ she whispers seductively. ‘A wild and stormy night. I’ll even let you be on top.’ She bites her bottom lip, subtly thrusts her breasts in my direction a fraction more and I give up any remaining shred of opposition.
I don’t need convincing to re-explore our chemistry in this opportunity delivered by the weather gods.
‘You don’t have to seduce me, sweetheart. I’m all in.’ I’m rock-hard, struggling to think beyond the demands of my dick.
Her eyes sparkle with challenge. ‘Good. But just remember whose excellent idea this was.’ Her fingers glide through my hair at my nape and I drop my head back, looking up at her.
I want to argue the point. To declare that a part of me hasn’t stopped thinking about her this way since the last time. But I’m strung too taut with lust.
Now I’ve committed, my pulse flies with panic—we’ve already wasted two hours playing stupid poker. How much time do we have until dawn and can I legitimately keep her awake all night?
‘Oh, fuck it.’ I crush her to my chest and taste her mouth. A mouth which, in my brutally honest moments, I’ve fantasised about a million times.
She whimpers. Laughs. Groans.
Her lips are soft and plump, her kiss just as I remember. Her arms lock around my shoulders and she shunts her hips forward to the ominous sound of ripping fabric. But Monroe doesn’t seem to care about her skirt, only about kissing me back with equal desperation.