Lynda Aicher
“Kiss Me” – Ed Sheeran
CHAPTER ONE
The pulsating warmth soaked into Tara McTavish the second she stepped through the doorway, the brisk autumn chill shoved aside by the heady beat of music, chatter and life. Damp heat pressed against her skin with the weight of expectation. Sex, lust, a start—everything was possible at the beginning of a night.
A sigh blew from the depths of her exhaustion, draining the tension from her shoulders. God, she needed this.
“There’s a table,” Stacy said, stretching on her tiptoes and pointing to a four-top on the far side of the crowded bar. She took off, weaving her small frame through the people with a focused intent that brought a smile to Tara.
“I love going out with her,” Jen said as she followed their resident table-spotter, leaving Tara behind.
She sucked in a bracing breath and made a quick scan of the room. Suits, smart dresses and heels were the predominant dress code with a collection of casual hip and sex kitten thrown into the Friday night crowd. The impression of overworked overachievers meshed with the upscale steel-and-wood décor to make it the hot spot for the successful and climbers—or the blatantly exhausted who wanted to blow off steam after a sixty-hour work week that wasn’t over.
Her gaze caught on a man leaning against a pillar near the sunken dance floor; a sweep of black hair cut short yet stylish, a black suit fitted to his broad shoulders, a square jaw highlighted by end-of-day stubble, cheekbones to die for beneath eyes that could darken when intense, or spark with laughter.
Tall, dark and too damn hot to be anyone’s boss—but he was.
He’d been her boss until twenty-four hours ago.
Her heart slammed into her throat in time with the deep dive of her stomach. Her last glimpse of Daniel Marks had been the formal handshake and nod that had accompanied his words of regret. Three years of blood, sweat and tears for a company had ended with a thank you, and don't let the door hit you on the ass as you leave.
Anger and resentment bubbled over to cover the hurt and betrayal, which were doing a piss-poor job of hiding the underlying embarrassment from being let go. The mass layoff that'd swept across the company in a broad stroke of indifference burned her pride and laughed at her gullibility.
She’d trusted Daniel. She’d thought of him as a friend—forgetting he’d been her boss. Stupid of her, really.
The urge to run, to fight, to cut loose with the string of curses she’d been too professional to set free yesterday, rushed up in a jumble of inaction.
She wasn't new to Corporate America, wasn't naive enough to believe a company—any company—regarded its employees as more than marks on a spreadsheet, but she’d been good at her job, and she’d thought he’d agreed with that assessment.
Apparently, she’d been wrong.
Her ex-boss stood by himself, a drink in his hand, his expression neutral but piercing in that direct way of his until the corner of his mouth hooked up in a half-smile. Her breath hitched. His focus was locked on her, exactly like hers had been on him—for way too long.
She jerked her gaze away, immediately flashed it back along with a smile of forced acknowledgement before she eased between two men still dressed in their suits with a mumbled “excuse me.” Her mood darkened as she skated past a full glass of beer that’d been swung into her path on the end of an exuberant gesture. This was not what she needed.
Her pulse drummed in her neck, every step she took a show of control she was far from feeling. She refused to look his way, yet the back of her neck burned with awareness, that sense of being watched prickling over every nerve ending.
He was the last person she wanted to see, especially on the night that’d been dedicated to drinking away the problems he’d delivered.
“There you are,” Stacy chirped when Tara finally made it to their table. Short, blond and perpetually happy, Stacy could run into the grumpy man on the corner and leave him thinking they’d been friends forever. “Where’d you go?”
Tara dropped her purse onto the table, the back of her neck still itching with the telling sensation she couldn’t ignore. Oh, she could. She probably should—but that wasn’t her.
“I’ll be right back,” she told her friends before she strode away. Their mutual calls of concern blended into the noise and pinged her guilt. She’d explain after she confronted her ex-boss. She had no clue what she was going to say to him, but doing nothing screamed of complacent acceptance or cowardice, and she refused to show either.
The sultry beat of the music mocked the casual pretense she tried to maintain as she wove her way around the edge of the dance floor. He didn’t move other than to lift his drink to his lips. His gaze was still locked in her direction, intense, studying and too scorching to be casual.
That damn awareness sunk deep, where it sizzled and hummed. It was an all-too-familiar sensation when it came to him. She usually ignored it, had refused to acknowledge it when there’d been no point to it.
Her heart did a small flutter she failed to control. Why was he here? Why was he staring at her? What did he want from her?
He’d been her boss—her boss’s boss, actually. Two levels above her and so far out of her dating pool, both ethically and socially, she hadn’t even sniffed in his direction. But in addition to being attractive, he’d been nice. Kind. Complimentary and less overbearing than her direct manager. His rich laugh could defuse a tense situation, his sharp mind quick to see through bullshit. He’d worked beside her during months of late nights until he’d become a vital part of her day.
And then he’d fired her.
Prick.
Yes, she was being irrational. Her sense of betrayal wasn’t based on logic. He owed her nothing more than he’d given her, just like every employee under him. Yet, it still stung.
His secret smile, the one that turned up the corner of his mouth when he let his guard down, had meant nothing. Just like the rave reviews in her HR file and the late-night conversations they’d shared over Chinese take-out.
He shifted away from the pole, set his glass on a random table. Music pulsed through the room and flooded the space with an erotic intent that matched his movements. Direct, composed, a purpose to his stride as he moved toward her.
Her feet stalled, along with her heart. She couldn’t look away. Hell, she couldn’t even blink. His suitcoat was open, tie gone, collar unbuttoned. He was pure, dark sexiness stalking his prey.
She wet her lips, trapped by the want that blazed unchecked from him. Could that really be for her? He’d been her living wet dream for the last year, and not once had he indicated he had any interest in her outside of work, especially sexual.
But the smoky, scorching heat in his expression now was definitely not professional.
Warmth blew through her, leaving her breaths short and her muscles clenching around the lust she’d buried for so long.
He didn’t spare a glance for anyone before he stopped in front of her. He stood too close to be impersonal, too far to be intimate. He didn’t touch her, but his presence wrapped around her and lit up every cell that ached for him. “Tara.” The deep rumble of his voice was hauntingly sexy and far from his office tone.
“Daniel,” she managed through her tight throat. They’d dropped the professional formalities when he’d rolled up his sleeves and dug into the Haskin project alongside her, only now it felt way too personal. Especially when his eyes were filled with longing and the same hunger she’d suppressed since he’d walked into their department, the shiny title of VP stamped on his new job.
She knew better than to trust the hope that flooded her, but she was powerless to stop it when the message he was sending was clear.
Daniel Marks wanted her.
CHAPTER TWO
Daniel studied his former employee, their surroundings vanishing until every thought, longing and suppressed desire boiled in his groin and hammered at the wall of resistance he'd s
tood behind for months.
Months of wanting what he couldn't have. Of admiring her intelligence. Of relying on her capable efficiency and dedication. Of getting lost in her smile that could light up a room. Of yearning for her full laugh and breathy sighs. Of wanting to rub the tension from her shoulders, brush the exhaustion from her brow, kiss every emotion from her lips until she forgot everything but him.
But she wasn't his employee anymore.
His restrictions were off. His restraints severed. The freedom to pursue her pulsed in time to the slow, sultry music. It vibrated up his legs and into his groin on a beat meant for long, slow fucking.
“Dance with me.” He held out his palm. He didn’t ask. He should’ve, but he was so damn tired of holding himself back.
A dance was only a start, an introduction to what he really wanted—if she was willing.
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted just enough to have him longing to run his tongue between them, to taste the sweetness that cuddled next to the fiery passion she was struggling to hide. Her hair flowed loosely over her shoulders in a wave of silky brown. Was it as soft as it looked? Would her eyes flutter if he ran his fingers through it? Would the tension drain from her shoulders if he cupped the back of her head and drew her in?
He tracked her tongue as it made a slow pass over her bottom lip. She swallowed, indecision flashing beneath the want in her eyes. She hesitated just long enough to constrict his heart and have him cursing every corporate rule and moral code that’d prevented him from showing any sign of personal interest in her.
He’d held strong against the temptation she’d presented, until he’d let her go in a wave of dismissals that’d cut corporate expenditures by thirty percent and gutted productivity by sixty. A stupid, short-sighted, budget-focused move forced on him by imbeciles who’d dismissed his concerns and suggestions.
Her throat bobbed with another hard swallow before she laid her palm in his hand. “Okay.” Her consent brought a wave of relief that opened the door to possibilities.
He didn’t give her a chance to rethink her response or question his intent. He wanted Tara to himself. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow.
For as long as she’d let him have her.
He led her to the middle of the dance floor before he pulled her close. Her sweater was soft beneath his palm on her lower back, her hand warm where she clasped his. Questions flew over her expression. It didn’t take a mind reader to decipher her confusion. Twenty-four hours ago, this would’ve been taboo.
“I’ve wanted you since that first department meeting when you told me why the quality process was bloated and illogical,” he told her, inching her closer as he made a slow turn. “You were the only person willing to speak honestly and that never changed. I respect that. I respect you.” He lowered his voice, shoving every ounce of honesty into it. “And I want you even more.”
Her mouth formed an O that wasn’t quite surprise. Her hand twitched in his before her lips curled up in a confused smile. “I didn’t know.” Her voice was throaty and layered with sultry wonder. It eased through his chest and wrapped around his heart as she relaxed a little.
“I couldn’t let you know.” Not when she’d been his subordinate.
“And now you can?”
He leaned down until her hair tickled his nose and her soft floral scent teased every erotic thought that spun in his head. “Yes,” he whispered by her ear.
A subtle shiver vibrated down her spine and into his palm. She turned her head toward his, her lips so close that he could almost taste them. Did she know how much she’d tortured him? How he’d memorized every dip and curve of each expression? How he could measure her emotions on the arc and fall of those very lips?
“You’re serious?” She searched him, her doubts and hesitation displayed in the depths of her deep blue eyes. He knew those too. How they lightened when she was happy and darkened when she was deep in thought.
“Very,” he assured her. Another turn, and he brought her closer. His dick ached for contact where it lay hot and hard beneath his briefs. “Do you believe me?”
A low laugh tumbled from her. “I don’t know.” But there was amusement in her eyes, a hint of “yes” that overrode a possible “no.”
The slow, steady beat of the music taunted his imagination with the many ways he could prove he was speaking the truth. “I’m hoping you will.”
“It’s a little hard, given you fired me yesterday.”
His grin stretched wide in appreciation for her directness. She waited, a brow lifted in challenge that was so her. He forced his laugh into a stunted chuckle. “I see your point.” He’d been that bastard. The one who’d stood at the head of a conference room full of people and calmly told them their employment had ended. Who’d watched the shock and disbelief overtake some, the anger and resentment on others. And a few, like Tara, had simply left, no emotion shown—at least to him. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you? Really?” Her spine stiffened as she stopped all pretense of dancing. “Do you honestly care about the people you fired?”
That challenge remained, reinforced by a fiery defiance that covered the underlying hurt she was trying to hide. But he saw it. Felt it. In the dark pain in her eyes, the pinch of her lips. The slight tremble of her hand before she curled it into a fist on his shoulder.
Her doubt added to the bitter disgust that’d festered since the reduction order had come down. The fact that she could ask him that question, that she thought him that heartless, gutted him.
Objections piled up in his throat, but he swallowed them back. They were nothing more than his own anger at being put in that position. He’d disagreed with the decision but had been forced to implement it anyway. Did that make him a coward or a survivor?
He released her hand so he could slide his palm along her jaw. Her breath hitched in a quick inhalation. “You know I am.” His tone left no room for doubt, opening himself up to her scrutiny. “I would have hoped you knew me better than to think I don’t care.”
Guilt and regret flashed in her eyes before she closed them, her head falling forward. The knot in his stomach cinched tighter as he questioned each step that’d led him to this point.
“I do care,” he told her. “Too much.” If she only knew how much.
He shifted her the last few inches until her head rested on his shoulder. Every inch of him ached for her touch. She didn’t resist or protest, instead melting into him, her free hand settling on his chest.
A sigh blew through him, his heart expanding to absorb the perfection. He started moving again, small steps that simulated dancing but were barely movements. Her hair teased his cheek, the light undercurrents of her perfume tempting him closer, holding him captive. His desire simmered with the slow unpinning of possibilities.
Her low hum reached him on a husky rumble. “Daniel?”
“Yes?”
She lifted her head. Her eyelids were lowered, lust edging her deep intake of breath. He understood every question this time. What is this? Is it real? What are we doing? Why now? Why me?
“Trust this,” he murmured. He pressed his lips to her temple, savoring her small gasp and slow sigh. His eyes fell closed as the pure sense of rightness hit him. “Something this strong can’t be wrong.”
Not when he’d waited thirty-six years to find it.
CHAPTER THREE
Something this strong can’t be wrong.
Tara didn’t have the will to contradict him. Not when his head was slowly dipping toward hers. Her lips parted, breath stopping in the single beat before his mouth brushed over hers. She closed her eyes, savoring the first touch, the glide of innocence that hinted at the passion burning so close beneath. It ignited the ragged wonder she’d long ago crushed and stunted her doubts.
That simple brush of lips warmed every inch of her down to the tips of her toes. How? This man. Her boss—former boss—was kissing her, and it wasn’t enough.
Her
heart caught when he eased back. His breath feathered against her oversensitive lips, teasing her with everything he was holding back. She glanced up, unsurprised to find him watching her. Desire flowed in a checked ripple that pulsed and tempted her with its siren strength. Yet there was more at play than a night of passion. He hadn’t said that, but the truth writhed in her chest beside the panic scrambling to break free.
He slid his hand up her back, then down, pressing until her hips were locked to his. His leg grazed her thigh as he made a slow turn, his eyes holding hers as firmly as the hand along her nape. Liquid heat raced up her inner thigh to taunt her pussy with promises and awaken a hunger that left her aching for more.
She refused to put words to the emotions fluttering around her heart and twisting in her stomach. It was too much, too fast and somehow still right.
The tiny lines between his brows only appeared when he was intent on something. She’d studied those lines when he’d been focused on reports, caught in the matching flex and pull of his lips, just like now. Add in the dark coffee color of his eyes that only occurred when he was passionate about something, and she could barely breathe.
To have all that intensity leveled on her was overwhelming.
“This scares me,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She’d dated plenty, but nothing had ever felt this . . .dangerous. It scratched beneath her skin in warning yet lured her closer.
The slight flinch of his hand on her neck was the only sign that he’d heard her before he shifted back. The loss sucked at her fear, her pulse jumping in an erratic beat in her neck. His lips pressed, soft but firm, to her temple once again, the tension a living thing that wound around them. It insulated them and drew her in until there was only Daniel. Only this dance. Only the two of them despite the crowd surrounding them.
The music shifted to something faster but just as sensuous. Thoughts of hot, passionate sex curled through her mind. All the things she’d kept herself from imagining, from even thinking of, unwound to burn her from the inside out.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 45