His eyes glittered at her as he took up her challenge, hammering into her, each thrust pushing her closer to completion. Soon it was all too much. His hardness. Her wetness. The rasp of his stubble on her tender breasts. The firm pull of his mouth on her nipples.
She raced toward the end. The tension inside her clenched…and released, and she came with a gasping sob, her fingers digging into his back, her teeth sinking into the strong muscle of his shoulder as she tried to stop herself from falling apart completely. He stiffened almost instantaneously, every muscle tense as he found his own peak, his hands clutching her hips with painful intensity as he shuddered into her.
She felt boneless. Liquid and formless. Her head lolled back, her eyes closed, her ankles unhooked themselves and her legs slid down the outside of his thighs to the carpet. One breath, two. The tingling warmth of her orgasm vibrated outward to her toes and fingertips.
Then he withdrew, and the cold rush of air where once he’d been was like a slap in the face. She jerked upright as sense and comprehension returned to her in a rush.
What the hell had she done?
Dylan turned his back on her, and after a few seconds she heard the clink of his belt buckle as he dressed himself. She stared down at herself—skirt scrunched up around her waist, bra bunched above her rosy, flushed breasts. Her nipples were still hard and glistening from their contact with his mouth, her breath still coming in pants. She felt as though she was looking at a stranger.
She jerked her bra into place with shaking hands, reaching for her shirt the second her breasts were covered. At least she didn’t have to crawl around to find her underwear—they hadn’t bothered with such civilized measures as actually getting properly undressed, after all. Tugging her panties into place, she buttoned her shirt and took a deep breath.
He was waiting for her to make eye contact, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to more than anything in the world.
She’d just had sex with the man who had blighted her school years. The man who’d humiliated her and turned her into a laughingstock. She’d grabbed his erection and rubbed herself against him and demanded he give it to her. And he had. Hard and fast—exactly the way she’d wanted it.
From the moment she’d left her office she’d known what was going to happen, just as he’d known it the moment he looked up and saw her standing there. At the time, it had seemed right, the only possible outcome after all the sniping, tension and adrenaline.
Now, it felt about as reasonable and sane as taking a running jump into the mouth of a volcano.
Slowly, she raised her head. His dark gray eyes were unfathomable, but his harsh expression gave the game away. He was about as thrilled as she was that they’d had carnal knowledge of one another on his desk.
She combed a shaking hand through her hair as yet another horrible repercussion crashed in on her.
This man was her employee. She was his boss, for Pete’s sake. And she’d impaled herself on him like some hard-up nympho.
“That,” she finally said, “was a big mistake.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” he said.
She flinched at the absolute certainty and disgust in his tone, but was perceptive enough to understand that most of the disgust was directed at himself.
“At last, something we agree on,” she said, trying to find some way through the minefield she’d created for herself.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be expecting champagne and roses,” he said sarcastically.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Very astute of you,” she said.
His eye narrowed, his hands twitching by his sides. A sudden, hot flush raced up her spine as she remembered his long, clever fingers tracing her inner lips and she swallowed an incomprehensible, unexplainable lump of lust.
How could she want him again when she was standing here wallowing in regret that she’d had him in the first place?
She fell back on the practical to get her through the impossible.
“It’s well past six,” she said, checking her watch. “Probably everyone else has gone, but you leave first.”
He lifted a lazy eyebrow. “Any other orders, great leader?”
“Yeah—zip it,” she snapped.
To her consternation, he patted his jean’s fly. “Don’t worry, it’s staying zipped,” he said with cold finality.
She had no power over the blush that stole into her cheeks. Crossing her arms defensively over her chest, she tucked her hands into her armpits and stood to one side as he packed up his computer and stuffed notes into his satchel. All the while she tried to ignore the warm throb between her legs. While every other part of her was cringing with regret over what had happened, her vagina was lying back, smoking a cigarette and vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Traitor.
After what seemed a long time, Dylan crossed to his office door. He didn’t even bother to glance her way as he moved the chair, opened the door and stepped out into the open-plan area. She heard the sound of the cleaner’s vacuum, and some of the tension left her shoulders. Hardly anyone stayed until the cleaners were in the building. There was a reasonable chance that no one had seen her enter Dylan’s office, or heard anything they shouldn’t have.
It was a tiny sop, a small crumb of comfort. After all, Dylan still knew what had happened. He’d definitely been there to see how much she craved him, how hot she’d been for him.
When she was confident he’d had plenty of time to make his escape, she took a deep breath, smoothed her hair once more, and stepped out.
Except for the cleaner working away in a distant corner, she was alone. Contrary to her irrational expectations, no alarms went off to alert the world to her gross breach of conduct, and a neon arrow didn’t drop from the ceiling to mark her out as a shameless, out-of-control hussy.
Horribly self-conscious, she managed a tight-assed walk to her office where she quickly threw her things into her handbag. A Post-it note was stuck to her computer monitor. It was from Grace. “Will be late tonight. Hope 8:00 is okay?”
Sadie groaned as she remembered that Grace had arranged to return a stack of Sadie’s books that evening. How was she going to look her friend in the eye and pretend she hadn’t just had lowdown, grubby office sex with her new story editor? Scrambling, she headed out of the building. More than anything in the world, she wanted to close her eyes, stick her fingers in her ears, sing a nursery rhyme and wish the last hour out of existence.
But, as she knew from painful experience, life didn’t work that way.
She clenched her jaw as she unlocked her car. Sometime soon, she had to catch a break. She hoped she didn’t spontaneously combust or get hit by satellite debris or fall victim to a superrare jungle disease before then. Because the way her luck was going, all three were more likely than her life getting out of the toilet anytime soon.
WHAT THE HELL was wrong with him?
The question echoed around Dylan’s brain as he pushed the speed limit all the way home to his cliff-top house in Laurel Canyon in the Hollywood Hills. He slammed the door and threw his jacket viciously onto the couch as he strode through the living room to the deck that looked out over the panorama of tree and cliff and Hollywood that was the house’s best feature. He paced up and down the full length of the deck a half dozen times before his wild, chaotic thoughts began to settle. He’d bought this house for the view—it never failed to calm him and remind him of his place in the world. Now, as the fresh-for-L.A. breeze and the swish of trees worked their magic, he forced himself to examine what he’d allowed to happen.
He’d had sex with Sadie Post. Although sex was a very gentle word for the unarmed warfare they’d waged on each other’s bodies. She’d been…undeniable. The way she’d looked at him, pure hunger in her eyes. The way she’d taken what she wanted, reaching into his jeans to grab him with confident, greedy hands. And the way she’d wrapped her legs around him and demanded everything he had and more.
He swore, the wind whipping th
e words away. He was hard again, hot for a woman whom he genuinely disliked. Just from thinking about her.
He didn’t get it. How could he want to get that close to someone he had absolutely no respect for?
Even as he pondered the point, his rational self played devil’s advocate. He didn’t actually disrespect Sadie. For starters, the team she’d assembled and trained were top-notch—all incredibly talented, clever people who were right on top of things. And they all admired Sadie a lot. A hell of a lot, given the amount of time dedicated to Sadie talk around the table. If he’d heard one wacky Sadie tale over the past week, he’d heard a dozen. Like the time Sadie made a bet that she could jam a dozen donuts into her mouth at the same time, then spent a full ten minutes looking like a surprised chipmunk as she stuffed her face. Or the time she insisted they all wear their pajamas to work because they were plotting a sleepover for the show’s teen characters. And, of course, how could any of them forget the water pistol fight they’d had when the air-conditioning went down last summer? Sadie had turned into Rambo, crawling under desks and tables, leaping out from behind pillars to nail her team.
None of which corresponded to the uptight, punctilious, patronizing prig he’d sat next to in American Lit all senior year.
Then there was the show itself. He had great characters to work with. A well-balanced cast of women and men, ranging across all age groups. Someone had spent a lot of time ensuring that the show was well structured and set up for continued rating success. And, as much as it made him grind his teeth to admit it, he suspected that person was Sadie.
He thrust the thought aside as he walked into the house, aiming for the kitchen. So, she was okay at her job. She’d have to be competent to have been promoted into her current role after only four years on the show. Even someone with her expertise in sucking up to authority couldn’t get by on butt-kissing alone.
As for her coworkers, obviously she’d learned some people skills since school. That was all.
Dragging the fridge door open, he grabbed a can of soda and flipped the lid open impatiently. The burn of carbonated drink on the back of his throat didn’t do much to dispel the thought growing in the back of his mind.
Sadie wasn’t quite the monster he’d imagined. She might even be…human. He crushed the empty can in his hand and lobbed it into the trash can.
The memory of what she’d done to him in Lit class had been a never-ending source of fuel for the fire in his belly ever since he’d been diagnosed as a dyslexic. Once he’d understood that he wasn’t stupid or lazy as so many people had told him over the years, he’d gotten angry. If his learning difficulty had been recognized by even one of his teachers, his school years would have been incredibly different. He wouldn’t have wasted so much time, gotten into so much trouble. He certainly wouldn’t have been flipping burgers in a greasy spoon off the 405 freeway at the age of twenty, barely making enough to pay for the roach-infested shoe box his landlord called an apartment.
But he’d turned it all around once he understood the unique way his brain worked. He’d earned his high-school equivalency diploma at night school and gone on to study at N.Y.U. School of Film.
The memory of the superior, smug look on Sadie Post’s face as she systematically took him apart in front of the whole class had kept the home fires of his determination burning through every late-night study session and every setback. He’d been determined to prove her, and everyone like her, wrong. He was going to be a success.
Dylan moved through to his bedroom and started shucking his clothes. His movements were tense with self-directed anger.
Nothing was going to change the way he felt about Sadie. Not even the fact that he’d just been buried inside her, reveling in her heat and passion. It was irrelevant. Meaningless. A freak occurrence, never to be repeated.
Stepping into his ensuite bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. A half circle of pale red imprints marked his shoulder muscle, and he leaned forward to examine it. Teeth marks. A memory rushed up at him—Sadie coming apart beneath him, her body vibrating with pleasure and tension, her hands clawing at his back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.
Jesus. He didn’t need to look down to know that he was fully erect. Again. It was as though she’d made a secret pact with his penis that he didn’t have any say in.
Turning, he checked his back and saw that there were two distinct sets of scratches on either side of his spine.
She was wild, that was for sure. Wild and off-limits.
Flipping the water on, he stepped into the shower cubicle. Warm water eased over his tense shoulders, and he closed his eyes and lifted his face into the spray. If only he could wash away the memory of how sinuous and alive she’d felt beneath his hands.
Between his thighs, his erection twitched as though to remind him that it was still down there, wanting another taste of Sadie. Dylan regarded his rebellious member with a curled lip.
“Never again. Get over it,” he said.
Then he flipped the water to icy cold and gritted his teeth. Whatever it took. Because Sadie was the enemy, and they were never fraternizing again.
“WHAT HAPPENED to you?”
Sadie flinched and stared at Grace as her friend stood on the threshold of her condo holding a carrier bag full of paperbacks.
“What do you mean?” Sadie hedged.
Grace frowned. “Something’s happened. I can tell,” she said. “Lucky I bought ice cream.”
Sadie shrugged her shoulders in what she hoped was an adequate simulation of someone who didn’t know what her best friend was going on about. But she did. She so did.
She’d had a shower, trying to wash away the memory of Dylan’s hands on her body. But it was as though he’d branded her. The water on her skin, the brush of the towel, the faint, silky friction of her underwear and clothes when she got dressed again—all of it was an echo of his touch. The way he’d cupped her breasts and squeezed them. The way he’d tongued her nipples, then bitten them gently. The way he’d filled her completely, the most welcome penetration of her life.
Her face was flushed with remembered desire, her eyes dark and glittery. No wonder Grace had taken one look at her and known immediately that something was up.
Because she was deeply ashamed and uncertain about what had happened, Sadie kept up a steady stream of innocuous chatter as she collected spoons for the two different types of ice cream Grace had bought—cookies and cream and triple chocolate.
Grace waited until Sadie was digging her spoon into the untouched surface of the chocolate ice cream before probing again.
“What’s going on, Sade?” she asked, her wide green eyes searching.
“Nothing. All good here,” Sadie lied.
Grace arched an eyebrow disbelievingly. Sadie gave in to the urge to come clean.
“Or I may have just screwed Dylan Anderson’s brains out on his desk,” she confessed in a rush.
She watched Grace closely, waiting—hoping, really—to see a reflection of her own self-disgust at what she’d done. But Grace only looked thoughtful.
“Well. There’s a turn up for the books,” Grace said, digging into the cookies and cream.
“Don’t you mean ‘hello, dirty slut, sleeping with the biggest asshole on the planet because he’s got a hot body’?” Sadie said, not even bothering to hide how miserable and confused she was.
“No. I’d have said that if that was what I meant,” Grace said mildly. “I am, however, slightly curious about how you got from ‘I hate him’ to ‘take your clothes off, stud.’ Just as a student of human nature, you understand.”
Sadie swallowed a delicious, creamy lump of ice cream and wrinkled her forehead in acknowledgment of her own confusion.
“We’ve been fighting since he got here. Not obviously, but every decision is a struggle. And there was all this tension. Suddenly it seemed like the natural way to go, and the next thing I knew we were kissing. And stuff.”
God, it sounded so…prim
al when she put it like that.
“And stuff. That’s the good bit, right? The bit single, hard-up women like myself only get to fantasize about,” Grace said.
“It wasn’t good. It was…out of control,” Sadie said, shaking her head as she remembered the way her instincts had taken over.
“Yeah? That good?” Grace said, eyes wide as she popped another spoonful of cookies and cream into her mouth.
“I bit him, Gracie,” Sadie confessed in an embarrassed almost-whisper, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks. “And I think I may have scratched his back. I definitely ripped his fly open to get at him.”
Grace made a fanning motion in the air with her hand. “Yow! You vixen! I’m impressed,” she said admiringly.
Sadie glared at her friend. “This is serious, Grace. Not only do I not like the man, but he’s my employee. I can’t believe I let this happen.”
Grace shrugged philosophically. “Something had to give, Sade, after the way you sucked it up when the wedding went wrong. All that emotion had to go someplace.”
Sadie paused in the act of delving for another scoop of ice cream. She hadn’t thought about the wedding, or Greg, all day. In fact, she hadn’t thought about any of that stuff since the moment she’d recognized Dylan standing behind Claudia in her office doorway.
“I think you’re right,” she said, relief washing through her. “Of course! This was my way of freaking out over what happened with Greg. Oh, thank God.”
Sadie shook her head and waved her hands in the air to indicate how relieved she felt. “Oh, I feel so much better.”
Grace raised a single eyebrow. “Hmm.”
“What now?” Sadie demanded.
“Well, I think it’s totally understandable that you were on edge and that something had to blow. But I find it interesting that you chose Dylan to do the blowing with, so to speak.”
Sadie frowned impatiently. “He was there, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Grace said, clearly unconvinced.
“Trust me, Grace, I am not attracted to that man,” Sadie said emphatically.
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