Bidding on Her Boss

by Rachel Bailey

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice a notch lower than it had been only a minute earlier. “I’ll get rooms on different floors. We’ll be fine.”

  Okay, that seemed reasonable. Different floors should be enough distance if they were both on their best behavior.

  He pulled up in front of her house. “You pack a bag and I’ll let you know the time of the flight.”

  “Sure,” she said and climbed out. As he drove away, she sighed and hoped she could trust herself to be on her best behavior if Dylan Hawke was sleeping in the same building.

  * * *

  The flight to San Diego was uneventful, and as soon as they arrived at the hotel, Faith excused herself to her room. She told Dylan she needed some quiet time so that her head was together for the show tomorrow, and that she’d order room service for dinner and read the book she’d brought.

  But it wasn’t that she needed quiet so much as a break from the tension of being with Dylan. Or, more precisely, being with him and not touching him as her body was screaming out to do. That particular tension was going to drive her insane.

  And going insane just before going on live TV representing Hawke’s Blooms would not help anyone. She tried to drag in a full breath but it felt as if there was an iron band around her ribs, stopping her lungs from expanding. It might have been okay to mess up last time, but tomorrow had higher stakes. It was the first of what could become a regular segment. The expectations would be higher. The crew would be anticipating someone professional. Could she be that professional?

  Her cell rang, and the sudden buzzing made her jump. She checked the screen and Dylan’s name flashed up. She took a breath and thumbed the Talk button. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Even over the phone, his voice had the power to send a shiver down her spine. “I’m fine. I’ve stayed in hotels before.”

  “About tomorrow,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You freaked out a little bit last time.”

  She sank down to the edge of the bed. “I’m older and wiser now.”

  His voice dipped, became serious. “Honestly.”

  “Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I’m probably not wiser. Though I’m not freaking out.”

  “Promise?”

  She lay back over the hotel bed and covered her eyes with the inside of her arm. “Maybe freaking out just a little bit. But nothing to worry about. I’ll have it under control in a moment.”

  “Try and minimize it in your mind,” he said, his voice like warm honey. “It’s no big deal.”

  She snorted. “It’s probably not a big deal for you. You’ve spoken in public heaps of times. This is still big and intimidating for me.”

  “If you worry about it all night, you’ll have yourself in a state by morning.”

  “Is it too late to cancel?” she asked, only half joking. “Or fly someone else up here?”

  “You’re the one they want.”

  There was something in the way he said the words that made her think he wasn’t just talking about the TV spot or about business. It was in the way he said want, as if he was on this bed beside her, whispering the word in her ear. Her pulse picked up speed. Part of her was longing to whisper it back. Longing to walk the corridor and stairs to his room and whisper it in person. But they’d made a decision, and she needed to be strong. She pulled herself up to sit against the headboard, piling the pillows behind her, trying to focus back on the real reason for this conversation. Having her eyes closed when talking to Dylan Hawke was probably not the best way to stay focused on work.

  “But if I ruin this, it’s Hawke’s Blooms that will suffer,” she said, shifting her weight against the pillows, unable to get comfortable.

  “You won’t ruin it. I have every faith in you.”

  He meant it, too. She could tell. What she wouldn’t give to have him here beside her right now, sharing his strength, his self-assurance. She always felt more anchored when he was near. Unfortunately, having him near would also kick her libido into action. What she needed was to stay on topic.

  “You said yourself I’ll have myself in a state by the morning. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’d be better off standing behind the counter back in Santa Monica.”

  “Think about something else.” His voice was cajoling, like the devil inviting her to sin. “Go to your happy place.”

  “My happy place?” she asked warily.

  “A memory or thought that always makes you happy. Do you have one of those that you can use?”

  Her breath caught high in her throat. Him. “Yeah, I can think of something.”

  “What is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, attempting to sound breezy. “I’ve got one.”

  “If you tell me, I can talk you through it. Work with me here. I’m trying to help.”

  “Okay, it’s...um...the flower markets.”

  “The flower markets?” he asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.

  Seemed she wasn’t as good at manipulating the truth as he was. Maybe more detail would help. “In the mornings, like at about two or three a.m., when they first open.”

  “Faith, I don’t doubt you like the flower markets. But that’s not the happy place you decided to use.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “Faith,” he said, his voice low. “What is your happy place, really?”

  “I can’t tell you.” She hoped that would be enough to make him drop the subject but had a sinking feeling nothing would make him do that now.

  “Why?” It was a simple question, merely a word, but when it was him asking, it became more potent, and she lost her will to resist.

  “Because it’s you,” she said on an anguished breath. “You’re my happy place.”

  A groan came down the line. “Hell.”

  There was a knock on the door, and she wasn’t sure if the interruption was good timing or bad. “Hang on, someone’s at the door.”

  “I know,” he said, and as she opened the door, she saw him leaning in the doorway as if he’d been there a while, his cell still at his ear, his eyes blazing.

  “You’re here,” she said. She’d never wanted him more than in that moment. She disconnected the call and threw her cell in the direction of a table, but she missed and it fell to the floor. She left it.

  Instead of answering, he reached out with his free arm and dragged her to him, his mouth landing on hers with a comfortable thud. Or maybe that sound was his cell phone dropping to the floor. He stepped forward, so she stepped backward, and he kicked the door behind them closed, blotting out all sound except breathing and the rub of fabric on fabric as they moved.

  She grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him to the bed. The pillows were still bunched in a pile at the headboard, so she maneuvered him to lie diagonally across the crisp white cover. Then she followed, not worrying about grace and finesse, just needing to touch him, to be as close to him as she could.

  His leg wrapped around hers, pulling her against him, and she almost melted, but she didn’t stop her frantic touching, exploring wherever she could reach. It was as if a fire burned deep inside every cell, and the only thing that could relieve the burn was Dylan. Her fingertips brushed over his jaw, his throat, needing to feel the stubble of his evening beard as if the roughness held the secrets of the universe.

  As they moved, his fingers worked at her buttons until the sides of her top fell apart. She shrugged out of it without missing a beat and was rewarded when his large palm covered a breast. She was rendered motionless, absorbing the sensations, the heat, the pure beauty of the moment.

  “Dylan,” she said without even realizing she was speaking.

  He pulled her bra aside and leaned down, covering the peak of her br
east with his mouth, using his tongue, his teeth, to make her writhe.

  When he began to undo the button and zipper on her trousers, she lifted her hips, glad he was the one doing it, because operating a simple zipper was probably beyond her. Once the trousers were off, she relaxed her hips, but his hand smoothed over the front of her and her hips bucked straight back up again.

  “I’ve been dreaming of touching you again,” he said, his voice urgent. His fingers caressed her over the thin fabric, then moved underneath. At the first contact with her skin, an electric current shot through her body and she shivered.

  “I’ve been dreaming of it, too.” Fantasizing, hoping, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

  She tried to wriggle out of the underpants but there were hands and intertwined legs in the way, so she made no progress until he grabbed the sides and pulled them down her legs. Then he moved down her body and rested his face on her hip, his fingers toying with her, driving her crazy. His warm breath fanned over her, and the world narrowed to just this moment. She felt the weight of his head lift from her hip a moment before his mouth closed over the center of her. She gasped and moaned his name.

  He moved her leg to accommodate his shoulders, and she offered no resistance—couldn’t have if she’d wanted to, since every single bone in her body seemed to have dissolved. His tongue was working magic, and she was on the edge of something powerful, something glimmering in the edges of her vision. When it hit, he rode it out with her, holding her tight, his face pressed against her stomach.

  Then he was gone and she heard his clothes dropping on the carpet, his belt buckle clinking as it landed, the heavy fabric of his sweater making a more muffled sound as it hit the ground. The mattress dipped as he came back into view, already sheathed, crawling over her, hovering, his features pulled taut with tension. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her, reveling in the feel of his body against hers, leg to leg, hip to hip, chest to chest.

  She scraped her nails lightly across his back, eliciting a shudder, so she did it again. He reared back, lifting himself above her, and stilled. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of you.”

  A faint sense of misgiving twinged in her chest—she suspected no matter how much time she had with him, it would never be enough. She pushed the thought away. She’d take the time with him that she could get.

  He began to move again, guiding himself to her, and she raised her hips to meet him. Then as he slid inside her in one smooth thrust, he held her gaze. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t see the green, just an intensity she’d never known. She was trapped by it, could only move in sync with his strokes, becoming more and more lost as if pulled deeper by an exquisite undertow.

  He changed his angle and the friction increased, becoming too much, not enough. He was above her, around her, inside her. Everything was Dylan. When the fever within her peaked impossibly high, she burst free, her entire body rippling with the power of it. And while she was still flying, Dylan called her name and shuddered, joining her, holding her close.

  Minutes later, she was still in his arms, trying to catch her breath. After her experience of being with this man twice now, she’d come to the realization that making love with him was nothing short of explosive.

  “We did it again,” she said, opening one eye to look at him.

  He reached for her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. “Perhaps it was unreasonable to stay in the same hotel and expect to keep our hands to ourselves.”

  She thought back over the evening, at her attempts to resist. “We almost made it.”

  He laughed. “We nowhere near made it. But at least you’re relaxed now.”

  “You’re right,” she said and stretched. “And if I tense up in the studio, my happy place is happier than ever.”

  “Tense up? Then you’re not relaxed enough. How about I do something about that...”

  He reached for her again and, smiling, she went to him.

  Eleven

  Dylan had fallen asleep, sprawled across both the bed and her, but Faith was wide awake. She wouldn’t let herself fall asleep with him. She’d glimpsed heaven with him tonight, and it had made her face something.

  He wasn’t just her happy place. He was more than that.

  She was in love with him.

  Sleeping in his arms was her idea of paradise, which was why it would be emotionally reckless. How could she stay ahead of the eight ball and protect her heart if she indulged herself in sleeping beside Dylan’s warm body? She couldn’t let her guard down and lose her independence in whatever it was they had between them.

  From the experience of her childhood, she knew she had a tendency to become attached more often and more deeply than other people did, and she’d done it again by falling in love with Dylan. He would be moving on at some point—people always did—and in the meantime the idea of coming to rely on him for anything, including letting herself fall into a routine of sleeping beside him, frightened her witless. Anytime in her past that she’d started to feel that she belonged somewhere, it had all been ripped out from under her. The path toward letting herself relax and get sucked into the belief that this could be permanent held only heartache.

  She slipped out from under his arm—pausing when his breathing changed and he rolled over—and picked up her clothes. After she was dressed, she grabbed her purse and, with one last look at his sleeping form half draped by the covers, quietly slipped out of the hotel room.

  She checked her watch. Ten past two a.m. The flower market would be open. She headed down to the lobby and caught a cab. Checking out the San Diego flower market had been on her list of things to do while she was here—perhaps not this early in the morning, but she was grateful for this way of keeping her mind off the man sleeping in her hotel room. The man she loved.

  An hour later, she had a call on her cell from Dylan.

  “Where are you?” he asked, his voice raspy from sleep but with an edge of concern.

  She covered her other ear with a hand to hear better. “Down at the flower market.”

  “On your own?” Suddenly he sounded fully awake. “Jesus.”

  “I wanted to check them out.”

  There was scuffling on the line as if he was dragging on clothes. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have come with you.”

  Because that would have defeated the purpose of finding some breathing space. “I’m fine, and you needed the sleep.”

  “I’ll come down there.” From his tone, he was already set on his course of action.

  “No need,” she said quickly. “I was just about to leave.” It was true anyway—she was about done, and she wanted some time back at the hotel before having to head to the studio.

  “Hang tight. I’ll send a car for you.”

  “I can catch a cab.”

  “The car will be there in a few minutes. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve ordered it, and we’ll stay on the line till you’re back here.”

  “You know,” she said wryly, “this isn’t my first visit to a predawn flower market.”

  “Indulge me.”

  She sighed. He wasn’t going to give up, and in all honesty, it was nice that he was trying to ensure her safety. “Okay.”

  By the time she made it back to the hotel, Dylan was waiting in the lobby. He hauled her into his arms and held her until she could barely breathe.

  “Hey,” she said. “I need a little air.”

  He loosened his grip and led her to the bank of elevators. “Sorry. When I woke and couldn’t find you...and then found you were out in the city in the middle of the night...” He punched the Up button and the doors swooshed open. Once they were inside and he’d hit the button for her floor, he gathered her against him again. “I can’t remember the last time I was that scared.”

  She’d
had no idea that he’d be so worried. That he cared that much. She rested her head against his shoulder and let him hold her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Tell me honestly.” He tilted her chin up so she met his gaze. “Why did you go down to the markets?”

  It was as if she could see the universe in the depths of his green eyes, and in that moment she couldn’t lie, not even to protect herself. “I needed a little space.”

  A bell dinged and the doors opened. Neither of them said a word until they were in her room again. Dylan headed straight for the minibar and grabbed two orange juices. He handed her one, then took a long drink from the other bottle before asking, “Space from me?”

  “From us,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Sometimes when I’m with you, it’s intense.”

  He thought about that, putting his juice down and taking hers as well. Then he found her hands and interlaced their fingers. “What if we decided to give this thing between us a go? What would you think about that?”

  Her pulse jumped. He cared enough to try? Although it was impossible, it meant so much that he wanted to. “We can’t.” She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “The fraternization policy.”

  “Screw the policy,” he said without hesitation.

  She coughed out a laugh. “It’s your company. You can’t be that cavalier.”

  “What’s the point of being one of the owners if I can’t?”

  “You want to change a policy that’s doing some good in creating a safe workplace and protecting staff from unwanted advances, just because you want to get involved with an employee?”

  “Okay, it doesn’t sound good when you put it like that. But I want to spend more time with you. I want us to be together.” His eyes were solemn as he cupped the side of her face with his palm. “Is that what you want?”

  Was it what she thought was in her best interests? No. What she thought would last? No. But he’d asked what she wanted. And she wanted nothing more than to be with the man she loved, so before she could stop it, a whispered “yes” slipped from between her lips.