by Alison Kent
She stifled a cry. His erection seized up; the ache became unbearable, the need for release a tension with a life of its own. His plan was going awry.
The sweet reality was she was responding to his touch, his touch, her juices flowing for him, her hand holding him and wanting the pleasure he could so easily give. He wasn’t sure he wanted to make her wait as much as he wanted to make her come.
He fingered her again, this time slipping both his middle and his index fingers deep into her heat. He used his teeth lightly on her earlobe, bathed the nips with the stroke of his tongue.
“You like that?” His fingers eased in, pulled out. His thumb took care of her clit. “You want more?”
“I want you to make me come.” The words were breathed more than spoken.
He felt rather than heard her desperation. One finger pressed forward into the pillow of her G-spot. Her fist tightened over his hand and she shuddered from the inside out.
“Is that what you want? Or maybe this is more of what you need?” He circled his thumb around the hard knot of nerves jutting from between the folds of her sex and drawn as tight as his own erection.
When she whimpered in answer, he found the will to move away and make his demand again.
“Chloe, look at me. I want to see you come. I want to watch your eyes flash. I want to taste it on your skin.” Who was he kidding? “I want to bury my face between your legs and smell you. I want you on my tongue.”
At that, her gaze cut to his. “Some kind of sweet talker, aren’t you, sugar?”
But she kept the eye contact, not even looking away when he slowly started to stroke, moving his fingers to the rhythm of her short choppy breaths. Her eyes expressed everything she was feeling—the fire, the ache, the surprise that she was giving up so much of what he was making her feel.
Putting so much trust into his hands.
What he saw was almost enough to make him believe she was reaching for more than her own completion. That she was giving him a release from his cynicism that anything about this encounter was smart.
She pulled in a sharp breath. He felt it jerk her body away, and then he felt her climax. The walls of her sex clenched around the fingers he had buried deep inside. Moisture rushed down his hand to soak the triangle of her thong.
He vibrated the edge of his palm into the divide of her swollen sex, his fingers feeling her spasms fade even as he pressed his thumb down against her knot of tight nerves. Her own fingertips gouged the back of his hand as she held him still for her finish.
Finally, she exhaled. Her body relaxed even as her disposition stiffened. Seconds ago she’d pulled him close; now she pushed him away, removing his hand from her clothing and straightening the drape of her skirt.
Despite the flush in her cheeks, her brows arched elegantly, dismissively. She cleared her throat. “Well, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, why don’t you wait for me in the lobby, sugar? I’ll be out in a minute.”
Eric couldn’t believe it. He was standing here with his dick on the verge of exploding, with Chloe’s cream all over his hand. He’d just concentrated on giving her the orgasm of her life, and had had a hell of a good time doing it. And now she was blowing him off?
He folded his arms across his chest. “In case you didn’t notice, princess, I didn’t get anything out of my system. Not that I’m complaining. Having you come in my hand was hotter than being inside most other women.”
Her deepening flush said she wasn’t nearly as cool as her expression implied.
“Still,” he added, stepping on eggshells, “you might want to work on being more…”
“Appreciative? Admiring? Full of slavish adulation?”
He frowned. “I’d settle for plain old-fashioned being honest. For some reason you hate to admit that you lost control just now. And that’s a damn shame, Chloe. Because if it feels so good for us to lose control separately, think what it would feel like to hold nothing back when we’re together.”
Walking away after that comment was as difficult for him physically as it was emotionally.
But her turbulent expression made it easier to bear.
6
LAUREN HOLLISTER HAD never forgotten a thing she’d once known about feeling self-conscious. Still, that seemed like another lifetime, and she no longer thought twice about standing alone in a crowd with nothing but her musings for company.
Here at the open house, she felt completely at home. She’d already visited with most of her friends, met and mingled with the firm’s employees, spouses and significant others in numbers equal to that of the media.
Lingering now near the lobby’s receptionist station, she sipped her champagne and people-watched, getting a secret little kick out of witnessing the professionalism projected by her gIRL-gEAR partners.
To think these were the same women with whom she’d discussed bikini waxes and hair-care products and flavored condoms, with whom she shared tales of sex gone wrong as well as sex gone right, with whom she indulged in chocolate and margaritas…though the latter two definitely not at the same time. Or either one when she was on a diet.
Like the rest of the gIRL-gEAR partners, Lauren was confident in who she was and what she wanted from life. She loved her work in multimedia design and especially loved being part of the team at gIRL-gEAR, though she was, admittedly, constantly amazed by the company’s success.
Lauren was lucky, as well, in her friendships, including what she shared with Macy Webb—a friendship that went beyond those bounds. Their bond was that of sisters, and Lauren didn’t know what she would’ve done without her best friend’s support over the past two months.
Breaking off her relationship with Anton had been one of the most difficult things Lauren had ever endured. She’d thought the pain of the loss would ease with time. She’d thought wrong.
She’d known that Anton would be here today. Neville and Storey, his architectural firm, had done the remodeling of the gIRL-gEAR office space. She’d known he would be here, but had yet to figure out if that knowing had made it easier or harder to come, to mingle…to see him approached by one woman after another. To see him give each his undivided attention which was so like the Anton she knew.
No, Lauren didn’t mind standing alone in a crowd, but now that Macy and Leo had run off—ostensibly to see that her office was in order, though Lauren wouldn’t be surprised to find the two of them in one of the rest rooms making whoopee—leaving Lauren at loose ends, she was having trouble keeping her eyes off of Anton and Poe.
Whatever had Sydney been thinking, hiring that woman? A rhetorical question if Lauren had ever asked herself one, because she knew the answer. Annabel Lee’s qualifications could’ve earned her a gIRL-gEAR partnership if there were any to spare, not that the six founding members had ever talked about taking on a seventh.
If the issue was brought to a vote any day but today, Lauren would truly have to weigh what was best for the firm against her own personal feelings for the woman, as well as consider the dynamics of bringing Poe into the long-standing inner circle of six.
If a vote was taken today, however, Lauren’s vote would have to be no, because Poe couldn’t keep her hands off of Anton. And though Lauren’s head had made the decision to end their relationship before it tumbled further into nowhere, her heart had not yet given him up.
Shaking off the unproductive thoughts best saved for what time she decided to earmark for pipe dreams, Lauren drained the remainder of the champagne from her glass. Her own companionship was growing desperately depressing, after all. Now, where was that Web design columnist who’d wanted to talk to her earlier?
“If you’re standing here all by yourself for a reason, I’ll leave you alone. But if you don’t mind the company, then I’d like to stay.” At the sound of Nolan Ford’s voice, Lauren turned and looked up into the steely-gray eyes of Sydney’s father.
At six foot one, he was an inch or so shorter than Anton, though he shared the same lean swimmer’s build.
His hair was cut fashionably short and was dark, a color between brown and not quite black.
The lines spilling out from the corners of his eyes spoke of a life made of mergers and buyouts and initial public offerings. A life that had made him a millionaire. A fantasy life that very few lived and right now appealed to Lauren in ways she’d never imagined.
Until faced with a very appealing reason to stay, she’d had no idea how close to the edge of running away she had come.
“Hello, Nolan,” she said, and smiled. A smile more genuine than any she’d delivered so far today. She even breathed a strangely appreciative sigh of relief. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t know Sydney allowed you in the office.”
Nolan chuckled, one hand holding an empty highball glass, the other tucked deep in the trouser pocket of at least three thousand dollars worth of double-breasted Armani. A tiny bit of gray touched his temples, though Lauren was sure she remembered he was only forty-three.
“What you’re seeing is role reversal in action. The good child. The bad parent.” Nolan stopped a passing server and offered Lauren another flute of champagne.
She accepted. “Thank you. And, yes. Knowing Sydney? I’d have to agree that good describes a lot of what she’s about. But whether or not you are bad? That I’ll have to take your word on.”
Nolan cupped Lauren’s elbow and directed her toward the bar where he ordered a simple club soda and lime. “I suppose bad is in the eye of the beholder. And since Sydney has a case of tunnel vision where I’m concerned…”
He let the sentence trail off, and Lauren so wanted to ask, but Sydney wouldn’t. Whatever was between Sydney and her father would stay there until she took their laundry public. “Well, even if you two don’t see eye to eye, you do share a remarkable talent for business.”
“Like father, like daughter. She might not like the way I handle my dealings, but she can’t deny that she inherited my work ethic.” He gestured with his drink, making a toast in Sydney’s general direction, before turning back to give Lauren a wry smile and his full concentration.
She felt the impact of his gaze and it caught her off guard. For a moment she feared stumbling over her recovery, but she managed to find her verbal footing. “You’re proud of her. That’s good to see, considering the way things stand between the two of you.”
“You’re right. I am proud of her.” Nolan swirled the liquid in his glass. The ice cubes clinked against the clear crystal. “But I’m well aware that Syd would reject the comparison if she heard me make it. Hell, she’d reject her paternity if she could.”
Lauren tried to recall what, if anything, she’d learned through the years about Sydney’s mother, but it seemed the only parent she remembered hearing mentioned was Nolan. She even cast a curious glance toward Sydney, hoping it might jar her memory.
But the jolt she received was less about old recollections and more about recently suffered sorrow. Seeing Anton’s attention was still captured by Poe, seeing the other woman’s hand resting on his shoulder, her fingertips lightly tapping his neck above his shirt collar, Lauren was reminded most of all of her earlier desire to scratch the other woman’s eyes out.
She turned back to Nolan, certain her sympathetic smile wasn’t entirely convincing in its sincerity. “I’m sorry for the way things are between you and Sydney. I’m sure your estrangement can’t be easy. Especially since your involvement in gIRL-gEAR keeps the two of you in contact.”
He lifted one Armani-clad shoulder as if to shrug off Lauren’s concern. “It’s just business. I like to keep an eye on my investments.”
“I’m sure Sydney understands that.” Though even Lauren didn’t believe it for a minute. If Nolan was keeping an eye on anything, he was keeping an eye on his daughter.
“Understands?” He arched a well-shaped brow, meeting Lauren’s gaze over the rim of his glass as he drank. Once he’d finished, his mouth gave a self-deprecating quirk. “More like alternately accuses me of not trusting her or of spying.”
Why had Lauren never noticed how easily he laughed at himself? And how his ability to do so made him that much more attractive? She grinned, determined to enjoy herself and his company. “And I’m sure you’re guilty of neither.”
“She’s my daughter. I’m guilty of both.”
At that, Lauren laughed. “Well, if you’ve been spying lately, then you’ve got to be applauding her for the work she’s put into organizing our first gIRL-gEAR gIRL competition.”
“She has been busy, hasn’t she? I understand donations were enough to fund the entire scholarship.”
“With money to spare. The response from our vendors was amazing. And the girls who entered…” Lauren shook her head, still blown away by the originality and creativity of the entrants. “Absolutely incredible talent. You should see some of the designs that were submitted. What am I saying? You’ll see them at the awards ceremony. You are coming, aren’t you?”
Again, Nolan spared a glance at Sydney, frowning slightly as he said, “I’m sure Sydney wishes I wouldn’t.”
“You have to come.” Lauren tilted her head to one side, not sure why she felt compelled to add, “I insist.”
Once again cupping Lauren’s elbow, Nolan turned her to face him while putting his back to the rest of the room. “Not that it’s any of my business, Lauren, but you do know that one of your co-workers is moving in on your territory, don’t you?”
Lauren kept her eyes on the bottom of her empty flute—she didn’t even remember tasting the champagne—instead of glancing beyond Nolan toward Anton and Poe. “Anton and I aren’t together any longer.”
Nolan squeezed her elbow before letting her go. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
Lauren gave a small careless shrug and tossed back her hair. “I wouldn’t expect you to know. But don’t worry about it. The split was amicable enough. Anton and I are still on speaking terms.”
His gaze holding hers, Nolan finished his drink, then continued to consider her silently as he returned his glass to the bar. Lauren brushed off what was a strange discomfort. She wasn’t sure what it was Nolan was trying to see. Or if he was looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.
Finally, needing a viable distraction, something to do with her hands besides threatening to crack the crystal, Lauren set her empty flute next to Nolan’s glass on the bar. “I suppose I’d better make a last mingling circle through the room. It’s been very nice seeing you again.”
Nolan waylaid her by gently trapping her hand beneath his on the bar. “Lauren, would you have dinner with me?”
“Now? Tonight?” Lauren wasn’t sure she could remember how to breathe.
He smiled, nodded, leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “Now. Tonight.”
“Well, actually, I’d love to.” To hell with mingling. To hell with business. To hell with Anton and Poe. She’d just been asked out to dinner by the Nolan Ford.
“Great.” Nolan glanced at his watch. “I’m going to borrow Sydney’s office and make a couple of calls while you mingle. Why don’t I give you, say, twenty minutes, and then we’ll find a nice seafood dinner and an even better bottle of wine.”
Lauren doubted she’d be able to swallow a single bite. “Sounds perfect,” she said, because it did.
CHLOE DECIDED THAT even if she managed to restore any public semblance of respectability to her reputation at this afternoon’s open house, the save would be offset by her loss of dignity in private. Eric’s refusal to keep his distance was wrecking her legendary cool.
Every time she turned, he was there, on her left, on her right, seeming to anticipate her every move and making sure he was there for any assistance she required. He was taking his escort duties too far.
Annoying it was. Chivalrous it was not.
Chivalry required he go away and not remind her constantly, repeatedly—with every touch of his hand to the small of her back, to her elbow; with his insistence on leaning toward her and whispering into her ear—both obse
rvations of the room’s goings-on and naughty reminders of where he’d had his fingers and his thumb. Of what they’d done in her office.
What they’d done in her office came from no movie she’d ever seen, and she’d been caught totally off guard by the passion, seized by a desire she’d never known. Her hunger had stemmed from a lust that was primal and raw.
A lust for nothing, she told herself, but the physical bliss that had shuddered from the center of her body. Her own personal earthquake, she thought, and chuckled under her breath at the comparison that was all too incredibly spot on.
“Hey, I thought it was my job to humor you,” Eric said, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair.
Chloe lightly shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms for warmth, certain her nipples were now hard enough to be seen by everyone in the room. “It seems to me what you’ve been doing is more a case of humoring yourself.”
“If that was the case, my hands wouldn’t have been on you.”
They stood to the left of the receptionist’s station in the lobby of the gIRL-gEAR offices. Each of the partners was there, caught up in conversation with various members of the press. This reception was important to Sydney, Chloe knew. Important to the partners as a whole, yes.
But Sydney had a more personal stake on the line involving the company’s start-up and her relationship with her father. Those details hadn’t been shared, for whatever reason. And until Sydney was ready to talk, Chloe respected her privacy, both as a friend as well as a partner in business.
And it was the latter that concerned Chloe at this moment—this very moment Eric had chosen to start again with the suggestive one-liners that were making her regret she’d ever hatched this scheme.
She considered the bubbly champagne in the flute she was holding. “Your idea of cleaning up my image is going to cause me more trouble than I’m already in.”