by Christa Wick
That is, if Blake hadn’t kissed and sucked and licked me to post-climactic slumber. Falling asleep the night before, I had felt like I was floating in his arms, his strong, masculine scent surrounding me and making me feel safe.
I shook my head -- I was anything but safe around Blake Cross. “I really need to get into my office -- they probably think I've been kidnapped or something.”
“Oh, I think your employees know where you're at.”
Her tone had been completely innocent but reality slammed into me.
The Post!
“Do you have the morning paper?”
She hesitated a second and then shook her head.
“Was it that bad?” My stomach clenching, I started to look around for my clutch. “I really need to get into the office.”
What I really needed to do was get to a paper or the browser on my phone and find out just what horrid things they’d printed on page six.
Her face went all funny and I knew at that moment she was a woman who had been raised not only to be truthful but to keep her mouth shut if there was nothing good to report. Not answering my question, she turned and guided me with a tilt of her head and the disappearing cup of coffee into the next room. She set the tray down on a massive mahogany desktop, and picked up an envelope.
Handing it to me, she nodded at my clothes.
“Stunning outfit.” She followed the envelope with a warm mug of coffee that she pressed into my hand. “I'd wager Mr. Cross picked it out himself. I'm Abigail, by the way.”
Thanking her, I took a sip. Sumatra Black Satin Roast -- I kept fresh beans on hand at the firm for Blake's visits. Abigail handed me a small ivory card with her name printed above a cell phone number and email.
“Anything you want me to pick up for the kitchen, bathrooms -- whatever will make your stay more comfortable, just send me a little message and it's done.” She covered my stunned silence with an efficient grace. “I didn’t know what to buy for the bathroom yesterday, so I got a little bit of everything. Whatever you don’t want I’ll take to the women’s shelter.”
Opening the envelope, my gaze skipped over the rows of books lining the walls. Business, finance, design, art, psychology, tactical warfare. Not a volume of fiction or biographies that I could see.
“I'm surprised it's not all digital.” I nodded at the books as I shook out three keys. The first I recognized as my own. I assumed the second two were for the elevator and deadbolt to the penthouse. A sheet of paper held security codes and an address and time for the meeting with Blake's attorney to go over the prenuptial agreement.
Abigail pulled a book down from the nearest shelf and let it fall open to a well-worn page. “He'd have to get someone to transpose his notes first.”
She handed me the book and I looked inside to find margin after margin filled with the same bold hand that had written down the attorney's address. She practically beamed at me.
“He didn't finish his degree but he could teach all those fancy MBAs a great deal more than a thing or two.”
I nodded. I knew Blake's history -- on paper at least. Out of money, his father and grandmother dead, his mother long gone from his life, he'd quit college in the middle of his third year. He then sold pretty much everything he had to make samples of his first product. From there, he went from boutique to boutique, coaxing pre-orders out of the owners, most of them women unable to resist the charming, dead sexy twenty-something.
With the orders in hand, he sold a note on the receivables for half the value just to buy the material to fill them. Day after day he'd kept pushing that snowball up the hill, hoping it wouldn't finally roll back down and crush him.
I turned back to Abigail to find her moist-eyed and smiling. She reached forward, her hand brushing my shoulder for an instant before she dabbed at her eyes. My confusion must have shown in my face.
“I'm just so happy Mr. Cross has fallen in love. Seven years I've worked for him and...” She looked up, shook her head as if she was asking the Lord to have mercy on Blake Cross.
“A lot of women have passed through, I know.”
“Come now, you've seen through that facade of his or you wouldn't be marrying him.” Abigail laughed, shook her head again. “I just knew something was up, all the questions he’s been asking...would you believe I even found him reading an issue of Cosmo that wasn’t about him!”
I smiled. She had a soft spot for him, a mother's blindness almost. If the Blake Cross the rest of the world knew was reading Cosmo, it was because of the cleavage on the front. Still, I was curious. “What kind of questions?”
“Oh, you know!” She waved a hand at me and started moving around the room, straightening the rows of books. “Like when did I first know I was actually in love with my husband, what drew me to him...all of a sudden Mr. Cross went from having business on his mind 24/7 to love. It was like stepping into a room where a tiger has been living and finding a puppy has taken over. Adorable, really.”
Abigail looked me over, her gaze approving as a fresh smile lit her face. “I can see why he is so taken with you, too, if you don't mind my saying.”
She was either mistaken as to Blake’s feelings or the identity of the woman with whom he had fallen in love. Some masochistic streak had me itching to know which it was. “And when did you first suspect this?”
“Oh, a good six months I'd say.”
I swallowed the number down, its texture like broken glass sliding through my throat to slice open my stomach, my guts falling onto Blake’s polished slate floor. It was six months ago that Anna Burke had turned in her resignation.
Last night in the limo and in his bedroom flashed through my mind. I'd enjoyed every second of his touch but it had been a slow building consent. He didn't ask if he could kiss me or put his hand on my thigh -- he just did. Was that it? Had Blake confessed his love to Anna Burke, his hands and mouth roaming her body until she'd been forced to turn in her resignation to escape his advances?
An image of the sleek, towering blonde rose up in my mind. Hair extensions, false eyelashes, surgically enlarged breasts -- she had a harsh couture appeal, beautiful even if one had an aversion to artifice.
Frowning, I tried to think the scenario through. It wasn't that I couldn't imagine Blake lusting after Anna. Hell, he’d been all over me last night and I wasn’t even his type. It was just that I couldn't imagine her turning him down. Maybe I was projecting my own desires, but even if she didn’t find him handsome and absolutely thrilling, Blake definitely had something Anna found irresistible.
Money.
Lots and lots of money.
“Is anything wrong, Miss Jones?” Abigail stared at me, her brows knitting together as she pressed one hand against her chest.
Realizing I was scowling, I forced a smile onto my face. I flashed the sheet of paper with the attorney's address on it. “I'm just worried I'll be late for the appointment, I need to call a cab. And please, I'd prefer it if you call me Pippa.”
“Oh, is that all, dear?” She waved her hand at me. “The limo is parked downstairs, at your disposal. No more smelly New York cabs for you!”
She was right. No more cabs -- at least until Blake no longer needed me in his little war against Anna Burke.
**********
The drive to the attorney’s office was a long one. My cell phone wouldn’t pull up a data signal and Carson politely told me he was under strict orders not to stop for anything once we left Blake’s building.
“I want to pick up a copy of the Post.” I tried to keep a smile on my face and not stamp my feet in the back seat like a two-year-old.
“Definitely not that, Miss Jones.”
Shit, it was that bad?
“Carson, public relations is my job—”
“And this is mine, miss. I’m sorry.”
Hell, was he really going to pull the Cross-will-fire-me-if-you-do card? That he thought he could was half my fault, I guess. I had to look like a soft touch, particularly compared to the fe
male barracudas Carson must have chauffeured home when Blake was done with them.
I settled back against the seat, staring out the window as I bit at my lip.
No phone, no paper -- that left me with too much time to think. By the time I arrived, I was positively seething. Not only was Blake controlling what I was reading, but he had also assured me Burke was in the wrong, neglecting to mention he was in love with her -- or with some other woman he wasn't willing to drag through the mud with a fake marriage.
Walking into the conference room, I had half a mind to punch Blake in the nose and march back out. Until he smiled at me and pushed his cell phone in my face. A picture of Gorman was on the screen. I squinted, trying to make out the words on the building behind him. I could just read the first few letters B-a-n-c-o d-o...
“Is that Spanish?”
He took the phone back and pocketed it as he led me to the conference table. “Portuguese. He's in Brazil.”
A legal pad and paper were on the center of the desk and I reached for them, my mind racing with possibilities. “Where in Brazil? Banco means bank, right? Does he have an account--”
“Slow down, love.” Blake put one hand on my wrist, the other plucking the pen and paper from me. He pointed at the suit that had just walked into the room. “I've got people following him and the firm is working with the Brazilian authorities to find out. There are a lot of people looking into this -- you weren't the only one he embezzled from.”
Maybe that was true but I was the only one who was going to have to either marry Blake Cross or lay-off my entire staff while Gorman spent my money on Brazilian hookers. I glared at Blake. Could I really go through with marrying him? Abigail knew him far better than I did and she thought he was in love with someone. Even if it was a fake marriage, some woman was going to be hurt by what I was going to do.
Fuck, I was going to be hurt by it -- and not just from remarks some asshole at the Post might publish. My heart had done a somersault at Blake’s smile even before I saw the picture of Gorman.
I folded my arms across my chest, determined to get the truth out of him. “About Burke--”
Blake lifted his hand, his open palm less than a foot from my face. “Focus on what's important, Pippa. The loan, getting Gorman, your business--”
“My integrity!” I shot back. “Why is Burke suing you?”
The suit I assumed was the attorney put his hand on Blake's shoulder. “Let me?”
Blake offered a terse nod, his steely gray gaze boring holes in my skull.
“Miss Jones, Mister Cross cannot yet discuss why Burke is suing him and the company.” He pulled a stack of papers from the folder he was holding and placed it on the table in front of me. “Not before you sign these and the marriage is legal.”
“But I understand your concern.” Moving around the table to sit opposite Blake, the attorney continued. “While Mr. Cross isn't free to discuss the facts with you, he has discussed them in detail with me. And I can ensure you, while Anna Burke's motives may be personal, the basis of her suit is one-hundred-percent business. I give you my word.”
I lifted a brow to subtly communicate exactly how little value I placed on the word of a thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney paid by someone other than me. “Why then does Blake need a wife?”
A look passed between the two men, the attorney's cheeks flushing. I glanced at Blake, but he was smooth-faced and unreadable. Recovering, the attorney pushed the stack of papers closer to me.
“Professional ethics prohibit me from discussing our trial strategy until you've signed the agreement and the marriage is legal.”
Blake handed the pen back to me. “Sign it, Pippa. It's the only way you're going to save your company.”
I glanced at the pocket he had shoved his phone in.
“Sorry, love,” he said, apparently adding mind reader to his bag of tricks. “Finding Gorman is just the first step to you getting your money back. You'll have to fight everyone else he stole from tooth and nail for months or years just to get back half of what you lost -- if you're even that lucky.”
Luck. I stared down at the paper, the words blurring. Luck and I weren't currently on speaking terms -- that much was clear. I thought about returning to my office -- everyone gathering around me after they had read the Post that morning. With Blake's line of credit at my disposal, I could nod and smile and tell them there was going to be a wedding or, without his help, I could tell them that the IRS had frozen my accounts and I wasn't sure I'd be able to make the coming payroll.
I looked across the table at the attorney one last time. “It's just about business -- the law suit?”
Nodding, the attorney frowned as if he expected me to have a better opinion of Blake. “Mr. Cross's behavior towards Miss Burke has always been exemplary. You have my word on that -- make of it what you will.”
**********
The attorney wasn’t the only one expecting me to have a better opinion of Blake. There was a distinct pout on Blake’s face once we were alone in the limo. Never, not on camera or during the dozens of meetings over the last year, had I witnessed anything approaching a pout on his face.
I called him on it.
“I am not.” He glanced my way, the pout instantly replaced by a scowl.
Good, I could deal with Blake being annoyed. It was the thought that I’d hurt his feelings that bothered me.
Reaching into his brief case, he pulled out a stack of paperwork and one thick mailing envelope. Seeing him intent on entertaining himself with something other than my body, I relaxed against the seat and watched him work.
Breaking the seal on the envelope, he looked up and caught me staring at him. My face muscles tightened and I realized I’d been smiling -- dare I say “dreamily” so?
His expression shifted, a dangerous light sparking in his gaze. Lips curving, brow lifting, Blake dropped the envelope back into the briefcase.
“What’s in it?” Pointing at the package, I swallowed nervously and cursed myself. I didn’t want him thinking I was mooning over him -- even if I had been. Worse, he looked like he wanted to devour me again. I wasn’t prepared and desperately needed more time to steel myself against his charms.
His hands closed around the top of the briefcase, ready to close it.
“Please.” I slid closer to my door. “What’s in it?”
His gaze sobered and I braced myself for another lecture on the charade being 24/7. Instead, he surprised me and pulled the envelope out. He looked at the sender’s address, his mouth quirking in irritation.
“Looks like another request to sell books in my store.” He turned the envelope upside down and shook it. A hardcover book landed in his hand, followed by one of the Cross neckties in Blake’s signature gray.
Laughing, I took the tie from him and ran it through my fingers. The sender had shoved the tie inside but it emerged wrinkle free. I smoothed my thumb along the edge. Fifty-ounce silk, British-milled in Blake’s own factory.
“Let me guess, you’re not thrilled by the idea.”
His nose crinkled as he looked at the book. “Well, PJ, should I be?”
I tilted my head, staring into his eyes and trying hard not to think about the book’s contents or the sudden change in the tie’s utility. “Are you asking your future wife or the head of your outside PR firm?”
“Both.” He looped the fabric around my wrist, the scowl that had started to surface replaced by a bad boy grin. He stopped me before I could shape my reply. “Wife, first.”
My blush answered for me. I couldn’t admit that the thought of Blake using the tie to bind me, to claim me as his, made me wet in an instant. If I did -- well, I had the feeling I’d quickly find myself tied in the back of his limo, my skirt up around my waist.
Suppressing a shiver, I decided to evade that part of his question as long as he would let me. “As your PR advisor, don’t do it. Vintage will be selling the books in Target, too, only next to polyester ties.”
He blanched at the
thought and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Unwinding the tie, I dropped it onto the seat.
“Not funny, love.” Pushing his briefcase aside, he reached for me. “Maybe tying you up will teach you not to tease me like that again.”
“I won’t. I promise.” I tried to slide away, but he was too strong and quick, agile where I was awkward.
Pulling me onto his lap so that I straddled him, Blake lifted my skirt. “I was going to hide your panties this morning.”
“Blake!” My mouth dropped open and he chuckled. Noticing that the clothes that morning were from the same boutique, his having selected a loose flowing skirt and a top with a plunging neckline, I’d guessed his intent and promised myself I’d retrieve clothes from my apartment as soon as possible. The man was impossible -- acting like a horny teenager in love for the first time. If he didn’t drop the act soon, I was in danger of believing him. And that would only lead to heart break.
I pushed at him, tried to leverage my weight to the side and break free.
He captured my wrists and pulled my arms behind my back, one strong hand hooking my thumbs to keep me trapped. Slowly he reached for the tie.
“Blake, no.”
Ignoring my protests, he started to loop the tie around my wrists once more. “I thought all the trendy New York ladies were fainting with the need to be tied up by a multi-millionaire.”
“I’m not trendy, Blake.” My wrists secured, Blake wrapped his hands around my bottom and slid me higher up his lap. I could feel him hard at the juncture of my thighs. My pussy contracted at the thought.
I had wanted him to fuck me last night, offered myself up. As wet as I was, I knew it wouldn’t take much before I repeated last night’s offer.
His mouth landed against my throat and then I felt the pull of his teeth. My nipples, already painfully hard, tightened. His lips sealed around my throat and I felt the wet push of his tongue as he sucked at my flesh.