His arousal pressed against the underside of her thighs, and she wriggled against it. A groan seemed to be ripped from him, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “I knew you’d be the death of me.”
She smiled and kissed him. He tasted of champagne and heat, and she’d never tasted anything so decadent. After minutes, or hours, her lungs screamed for air, so she pulled back, gasping, but he didn’t miss a beat. He scraped his teeth across her earlobe, and electric shivers radiated out across her body. She’d never been this desperate for any man. There was something about Dylan Hawke that drove her to the brink of insanity.
“If we’re doing this—” he said, gasping between words.
Before he could finish his sentence, she said, “Oh, we’re doing this.”
He grinned against her mouth. “Then let’s move somewhere more comfortable.”
He stood, taking her with him and setting her on her feet, and began to walk her backward, through the living room and down the hall, expertly guiding her so that she didn’t hit anything, his mouth not leaving hers the entire time.
Once they reached his bedroom, she had no interest in looking around except to ensure there was a bed. Her gaze found a large one with a dark wood headboard and a navy blue comforter and pillows. Perfect. Dylan flicked on a lamp, and its soft yellow light joined the last rays of the sunset filtering through large windows that overlooked downtown LA. The sunset was stunning, but nothing compared with the man before her.
His hands explored her shape through her clothes, but she had less patience—she slid her hands under his cotton shirt so that she could feel his skin again. It had been only minutes since she’d touched his bare chest, but she missed the sensation. She worked up from the ridges of his abdomen, higher, until she found the crisp hair that covered his pecs. It still wasn’t enough, so she unbuttoned the shirt and began the journey again, this time with more freedom.
He groaned and pulled her closer, trapping her hands between them, and with palms cupping her bottom, he lifted her until she was standing on her toes, pressed against him. The ridge of his arousal pressed at the juncture of her thighs, the pressure only teasing and nowhere near enough. There was an ache deep inside her and it was only intensifying.
With a hand flat on his chest, she pushed him back. She reached out and unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loopholes until it came free in her hands, and then dropped it over her shoulder. It clattered on the polished wood floor, and Dylan let out a laugh.
“Seems like you have flair in more than one area of your life, Faith Sixty-Three.”
“Seems like you’re a smooth talker in more than one area of your life.” She undid the button at the top of his trousers and slowly lowered the zipper. With thumbs tucked into the sides, he gave the trousers a nudge and they fell to his ankles, along with his underwear.
He continued to walk her backward to the bed, but she put her hands on his shoulders, stilling him. “Give me a moment to appreciate you.”
Obligingly he nodded, but almost immediately he cradled her face and kissed her again. She moved in, closing the distance between them, feeling the heat of his naked body through his clothes. So much, but not enough.
When she didn’t think she could take it another second, he stepped backward until he hit the side of the bed and then sank down, bringing her with him to straddle his lap. She pushed up on her knees to give herself a little extra height and took control of the kiss. He ran his hands along her exposed thighs, up underneath her skirt, and then wrapped them around her hips. Her heart beat so strongly, she could feel the resonant thud through her entire body.
“Dylan,” she breathed between kisses. She’d never wanted a man this badly before. Couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone this badly again.
One by one, he undid the buttons on her blouse, and then peeled the fabric back to reveal her blush-pink demicup bra. He traced a finger around its lacy edges and over the slope of her breasts just before they disappeared into the cups. “So beautiful,” he breathed. “Every inch of you is just so beautiful, Faith.”
He hooked a finger into one of the cups, pushing down, seeking, and ran the back of his nail over her nipple. She shuddered. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he did it again, eliciting the same response. Then he pulled the lace down, exposing her breast, and her back arched.
His mouth closed over her nipple and she shuddered. He wrapped an arm around her back, holding her to him as his teeth scraped her skin, followed by his tongue licking her. Through the fog of desire, she was only barely aware of his free hand working deftly behind her to undo the catch on her bra. He finally pulled it down her arms and threw it to the side.
The knowledge that they wouldn’t have to stop before they were carried away this time created an intimacy that stole her breath. After all the wanting, finally being together without the barriers between their skin was almost too much to comprehend.
She pushed his open shirt over his shoulders, kissing the skin she’d exposed. The muscles of his shoulders bunched and tensed as first her lips made contact, then her tongue. The scent of his skin was intoxicating.
He fell back against the covers, taking her with him. She was still straddling his hips but now leaning her weight against his torso. She had a semblance of control, but her options for touching him were limited because most of him was either covered by her or hidden against the comforter. He, however, had full access and was taking most delicious advantage, his hands exploring her back, her sides, wherever he could reach.
Her skin was scorching, everything inside her so hot she thought she might explode into flames. And if that happened, so be it—being with Dylan would be more than worth it.
Then he rolled them over so that she was beneath him, his glorious weight pushing her into the mattress. But before she’d had a chance to appreciate the sensation fully, he moved down the bed, lifting her knee as he went. He ran his lips along the inside of her calf, stopping to press a kiss and then to bite lightly at the sensitive back of her knee. Electricity shot along her veins. His hands moved higher, capturing her skirt as he went, taking the fabric with him as his fingers skimmed over her thighs, her hips, until it bunched at her waist.
His fingers hooked under the sides of her pale pink underwear, pulling it inch by inch down her legs. Once it was removed, he covered her with one hand, applying delicious pressure, moving in patterns that were designed to take her to the brink.
Without pausing his hand, he moved back up her body to find her gaze and placed a tender, lingering kiss on her lips. “I feel as if I’ve wanted you forever. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“I can barely believe I’m here, either.” Her heart squeezed tight at his expression. “It’s like a dream.”
“It’s no dream,” he said with a wicked grin. “Let me show you how real this is.”
Breaking contact, he disappeared for excruciating moments before reappearing with a foil packet. He ripped it open, but before he could put the condom on, she took it from him and rolled it down his length. When it was on, she circled him with her hand and, taking her time, let herself learn his shape, his secrets. Air hissed out from between his teeth.
Abruptly, and with a pained expression on his face, he grabbed her wrists, freed himself and knelt between her legs. As he lifted her hips, she held her breath. Then he guided himself to her and filled her bit by bit until she gasped.
“Okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
She smiled. “More than okay.”
He returned the smile and then began to move. She met each stroke, wanting to make the most of every last sensation. But as the tension inside her climbed, she forgot to move, forgot everything but Dylan above her. His rhythm was driving her slowly out of her mind. She gripped frantically at his back, trying to find purchase, but it felt as if the world was slipping away and all tha
t remained was Dylan moving above her, within her.
Heated breaths near her ear drove her higher, his whispered words telling her she was beautiful, higher still.
His hand snaked down to where their bodies joined, and as he applied pressure with his thumb, she called out his name and exploded into a thousand little pieces, every single one of them filled with bright, shining light. He groaned, and a few strokes later he followed her over the edge before slumping his weight on top of her. She welcomed the heaviness as if it could keep her grounded here on Earth while her soul wanted to fly away.
Whispering her name, Dylan rolled to the side, taking her with him, holding her close. She nestled against his chest, feeling more safe and secure than she could ever remember.
* * *
Faith woke slowly and stretched, deep contentment filling her body, down to her bones. And before she was even fully awake, she was wary. It was the contentment that made her suspicious—she’d learned young not to trust the feeling.
The night before came back to her in snatches, then in its entirety. The sensation of Dylan’s hand caressing her face, the taste of him in her mouth, the sound he’d made at the back of his throat when he’d found his release.
She’d made love with Dylan, and it had been glorious.
And dangerous.
High moments had always preceded her lowest moments, and last night had been a huge high, meaning there was a low—just as huge—coming, whether she was ready or not.
She opened her groggy eyes to the early morning light and found Dylan lying a hand span away on the thick white sheets, watching her. No chance of sneaking away or not facing the consequences of what they’d done.
“Good morning,” he said. His voice was sleep-roughened and his hair rumpled, but his expression was guarded. She couldn’t get a read on him.
“Good morning,” she replied and gathered the sheet a little higher to reach her neck, as if that could give her a buffer between what they’d shared last night and the reality of the morning after. They’d gone too far this time and crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. She’d slept with the boss.
He arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the sheet she was clutching. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Memories assaulted her—of seducing him, of begging him to touch her. Even as her skin heated with desire, she recognized that this mess they were in was her fault, and she had to find a way to fix it.
“Dylan—” she began, gripping the sheet more firmly.
Before she could say anything else, he interrupted with a false smile stretched across his face. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
He swung his legs out from the bed, the sheet dropping away to reveal six feet of toned perfection. Her breath caught high in her throat. Dylan in the early morning light was just as impressive as Dylan in the lamplight in the middle of the night. Her hand demanded a chance to touch, but that was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place, so she resisted. Barely.
He found a pair of jeans in his closet, slipped them on and then pulled a charcoal T-shirt over his head before turning back to her.
He indicated a door to the left that she remembered from last night was the bathroom. “Feel free to use the shower or whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” she said, not releasing the sheet even an inch. She would have loved a shower, but more than that, she wanted to be home, safe and cocooned. Away from temptation that could ruin everything and these messy feelings that Dylan seemed to evoke in her.
After he left the room, she jumped up and grabbed her clothes from the floor where he’d dropped them after he peeled them off her. Maybe once she was dressed she’d feel more in control, though she had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be enough.
She’d been becoming more concerned about her attachment to this man every time she saw him. But in her experience, attachments didn’t last. Her family had shown her that no matter how sincere people appeared, they’d drop you like a hotcake when someone better came along. And Dylan had had a reputation as a playboy before they met.
Her aunt had promised that she loved her and would always be there for her, but as soon as she’d gotten pregnant, she’d shipped the eleven-year-old Faith off to her grandparents.
Her aunt had been apologetic, saying she just didn’t think she could cope with a new baby as well as a child in the house, and Faith had understood that. She’d never blamed her aunt. Instead, she’d just felt stupid that she’d let herself believe this time it might be different. Had let herself hope.
Hope was dangerous.
After the way she’d felt in his arms last night, it was clear that if she let herself begin to hope with Dylan, it would end up devastating her when he left. She’d allowed herself to feel too much.
By reputation, Dylan Hawke was the last man whose commitment she could depend on. No matter how sweet he was being to her now, she’d never be able to hold his attention for long. Better they step back from each other now, before she was hurt by his straying attention later.
As she found her way down the hallway to the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hit her senses, promising that everything would be better after she was caffeinated.
She rounded the corner and found Dylan leaning back against the counter, tapping his fingers in a rapid tattoo. He looked about as confused as she felt, and that gave her the confidence she needed.
“I think we need to talk,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t wobble.
Dylan nodded and handed her a mug of coffee. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“If anyone’s going to apologize, it should be me.” She looked down into her steaming mug. “You held to your word longer than I did.”
“Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have given in at all.” He rubbed a hand up and down his face, clearly annoyed at himself.
“Dylan, I don’t want to get into the blame game. I’d rather we look at where we go from here.” She leaned a hip on the counter across from him. “First, I think we crossed a line.”
He coughed, almost choking on his coffee. “That’s pretty safe to say.”
At least they agreed on that. However, what to do about it was another matter entirely. She prayed for the strength to see this through. To avoid giving in and dragging him back to the bedroom now.
Interlacing her fingers in her lap, she focused on the cabinet over his shoulder as she spoke. “Crossing lines is becoming something of a habit for us.”
“A habit?” He coughed out a laugh. “More like an addiction.”
“And like all addictions, it’s not healthy,” she said reluctantly. “But clearly, I don’t know how to stop.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I guess that’s the exact reason why people struggle with addictions. The how to stop part is hard.”
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze squarely. “So what do you think we should do?”
“There’s only one solution. Cold turkey.” There was a slight wince in his features as he said the words.
“That sounds final.” And severe. Her body tensed just thinking about it. She imagined her reaction the next time she saw him, having to lock down her need as if they hadn’t shared the deepest of connections. “How would cold turkey work?”
He put his empty mug in the sink and was silent for a long moment, his gaze trained on the view out the window. When he spoke again, he didn’t turn back. “You’re still working on the project, so we’ll be seeing each other at meetings and at Liam’s lab. But in general, we give up spending time alone.”
“We haven’t gone out of our way to spend time alone up until now. It’s just kind of happened.” When said aloud, it sounded feeble, but since that first night, when she’d realized they had a problem, they’d both tried to be careful. Yet they’d still ended up i
n his bed.
He turned back to her, crossing his arms over his chest, a tiny frown line appearing between his eyebrows. “New rules, new level of caution. I’ll stay away from the Santa Monica store. If the opportunity arises to, say, attend a photo shoot together, one of us declines.”
She nodded slowly. “We become extravigilant.”
“Exactly.” But he didn’t meet her eyes as he said it.
It seemed surreal to be talking about this, to be more attracted to someone than she’d ever been but discussing ways to not act on it. Though it was the strength of that attraction that was the exact problem.
Hope was dangerous.
“So,” she said, seeking to disarm some of the tension that had grown between them in the last ten minutes, “I guess standing around in your kitchen early in the morning is probably not something we should be doing, either.”
“Nope,” he said, his lips curving in a tight smile. “Especially with the way my thoughts are heading, seeing you leaning against my cabinetry.”
She stepped away from the counter, which only brought her closer to him. In two steps, she could be in his arms again...
She bit down on her lip. He was right—there was no safe way to spend time alone together.
“Okay,” she said, feeling as if she was signing her own death warrant. But she wouldn’t give up this job or the opportunities Hawke’s Blooms could offer her at this stage in her career. And if she wanted the job, she couldn’t sleep with the boss. “I agree to your new plan.”
He held out a hand for her mug, and as she gave it to him, his hand closed around hers for a long moment. “Even though we’re trying to avoid repeating it, I want you to know I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve spent with you, Faith Sixty-Three.”
A ball of emotion rose up and lodged itself in her throat, and she had to swallow to get her voice to work. “I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you, too.”
“Come on,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll drive you out to get your car.”
He grabbed his keys from the end of the counter, and she followed him out, stopping only to pick up her handbag and, one last time, to look around the apartment where she’d glimpsed heaven.
Bidding on Her Boss Page 9