She had known him for twenty-four hours and she was a desperate, sweaty wreck. There was something wrong with her.
Kenneth: I’ll send them to you.
Reese: Wait, use my private email.
She typed in her email for the blog and then gave him the direct link to one of her pages.
Reese: If you get some time, go through the self-affirmation list, see if any apply to you. Then repeat those to yourself several times during the day. This is an empowering exercise. Not best during work hours, but better than nothing.
No response.
He must be busy helping someone. She clicked on the project review she was working on, leaving the box open in case he came right back.
Her coffee was long gone when the box flashed.
Kenneth: Several lists are good for me. I can’t do lunch today. Hell is breaking loose. Talk to you later.
Hell was breaking loose? Had someone clicked on an email virus?
Reese: Sorry to hear it. Quick, are you wearing one of the new outfits and glasses?
Kenneth: Yes
Reese: If you have time later, you should come up to “check” something and we’ll test the new you with the other ladies. It will be fun.
Kenneth: We need to talk about your definition of ‘fun’ lol.
Kenneth: If I can get free. C U.
Reese sat back in her chair. Despite herself, she was excited for him. The new Kenneth could be deadly in the accounting department. For reasons unknown, the fates had stacked the accounting department with an inordinate number of single women—all shapes and sizes, ages, and cooking specialties for the potluck lunches. Hers was spiced melty cheese dip and organic purple corn chips from the local farmer’s market.
She was into her third cup of coffee and hip deep in project numbers when the box at the corner flashed again.
Kenneth: I’m here.
Where?
She rose prairie-dog fashion to check above the cubicle walls.
He lurked in the passage beyond the door, stiff and awkward. Despite having new clothes hand-selected by yours truly, he had managed to mismatch his ensemble. His shirt was buttoned to the neck, and his sleeves were tight at his wrists. But there was no horrible tie. Wrong pants. Good shoes. And hot damn, those glasses made a difference.
All right. Close enough. The ladies here were friendly, ready to accept the unusual and lonely, as opposed to the blood-sucking vampires he would encounter in marketing.
She motioned for him to lift his chest.
He cupped his pecs and mouthed boobs, confused.
No. She wagged her finger. Swiping her hands upwards from her chest, she ended by pretending to raise her chin. He nodded and looked upwards.
Reese collapsed onto her chair. A person could not be transformed into suave, sophisticated lover in four days. It was not possible.
But he didn’t need to be. He needed to be himself, and dang it all, brains were sexy to everyone, not only starved zombie hotties in bad romances.
Not that there was such a thing as a bad romance, or a bad zombie hottie.
Focus.
She stood and beckoned him forward.
He shoved his hands deep in his faded khakis pockets and sauntered in, going the wrong way first and then back toward her in the rat’s maze of cubicles. The engineer who had designed the cubicle layout had thought it would be positive to not have straight lines, making it better for coworker interaction.
You know what else made for good coworker interaction? Sending a 6’4 geeky Greek god through a cluster of available females late in the afternoon on a cloudy autumn day.
They followed him out of the cubicles like sparrows on a breadcrumb trail. Free butter croissants and Nutella wouldn’t have brought them faster. And that was a fact.
The glasses seriously made a difference. She could hear the cogs in her coworkers’ brains turning as they noticed piercing, glacier-blue orbs (no such thing as bad romantic descriptions, either), and chiseled cheeks. More than that, though—wide shoulders and hell, she had to admit it, a fine ass. There was a hint of je ne sais quoi about him, too, an aura of something.
Confidence. He was relaxed and confident.
Clem popped up in front of him two seconds before he reached Reese.
“Well, hello there! You’re Kenneth, right? The host of the sci-fi Friday nights starting up soon?”
“Hi,” he said and then shuffled a step backward.
Confidence slipping! No, no, no. Reese projected happiness to her face and slipped up behind her bouncy coworker. Keep it going, handsome!
“Yes,” he said, eyes on her. He swallowed. “Yes, that’s me. We’ll start up next month with the Matrix trilogy. Hope you can make it. I don’t have any female colleagues signed up yet.”
“Sci-fi is my kryptonite. Makes me gooey and weak. How long do we have to wait for a Firefly-slash-Serenity run?” Clem asked, propping her elbow on a cubicle wall. Half a dozen enraptured number-crunchers gathered around to hear the answer. Reese doubted many on them knew what Clem was talking about; she certainly didn’t. One more thing to Google as soon as possible.
“Funny you should ask. I plan on stretching Firefly out through the winter months come January. Followed by Serenity, and then on to space travel such as Alien or Interstellar.”
Clem nodded sagely, musing on the movie selection.
Reese heard the word “alien” and latched onto a memory. “Alien, like the funky face-hugger shirt?”
Kenneth snapped and pointed at her. “Exactly!”
“What shirt? That sounds great,” Clem said.
Utter astonishment transformed Kenneth’s face. The look he gave Clem was nothing short of a botanist discovering that not only was there a new life-form growing in his bathtub, but it could speak.
Wait a minute. Alarm bells were ringing. Kenneth’s stroll through Reese’s department was for his self-confidence, a practice run for real life this coming weekend. Not to pick up another date with the prettiest girl of the bunch.
“Hey, Barb,” Reese called. “You remember Kenneth who came by yesterday, right? From the help desk?”
“I remember someone tall and helpful,” Barb said, leaning against her wall to poke her head into the action. The wall swayed dangerously.
“Help desk?” Clem asked. She snorted in laughter. “Is that what they call it?”
Kenneth cleared his throat and did his shuffling step again. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Oh, and these are a few of my other colleagues,” Reese said, continuing on. Something was up whenever help desk was mentioned around Kenneth, but damned if she could guess what it was. “Carol, Bethany, Lucy, Shavon, Tara, and Wanda. And this is Clem, who loves sci-fi shows. I had no idea.”
“Hi, everybody,” he said, making brief eye contact with the ladies, exactly as Reese’s coaching sheets explained. He landed and stayed on Clem, though.
“It’s short for Clementine,” Clem said. The warning bells in Reese’s head went berserk. This was Clem’s showstopper test. Any man who made fun of her name was black-marked for life, but any man who didn’t was potential mate material.
“But you prefer Clem?” Kenneth asked, not losing a beat.
He passed the test.
Clem was radiant, and Reese broke into a sweat. Her logical side tried to convince her that this was good. He was making serious headway on his chatting skills. Her illogical, hormonal side, which had been throwing fits since Kenneth first proposed to hire her, was, once again, going feral. Clem would sink her kitten claws in her client if she didn’t save him pronto.
And for some reason, the thought of another woman getting it on with her hunky nerd sent Reese off the edge of calm.
10
Kenneth
There were too many women. Too many females crowded around Kenneth, and he had to double down on his fight-or-flight instincts and remind himself who was the master.
He was the master.
He was the king of this h
ill, he was—another woman was coming.
He was out of there.
Reese came to his side as he shifted to go. In the next instant he recognized Melanie, the department CAO with her usual bustling walk, her shoes swishing on the carpet, and her nose was buried in a file. She stopped short upon seeing the crowd.
“What’s this all about? Did you need something from me, Kenneth?” she asked.
Reese’s mouth popped open and her frown lines appeared. It would seem she suspected he wasn’t from the help desk. He’d been meaning to mention the truth.
“No, I was checking up with Reese on an issue and then we got into Sci-Fi Friday nights. Fully stocked snack bars, bring your own pillow, and take a peek at the geek side. All right. I’ll see everyone later.” He turned and nearly stumbled over his feet in his rush to escape.
Reese caught up to him. “Kenneth, let me walk you to the elevator, there was one more thing I needed to ask,” she said, hooking her arm through his elbow.
He shortened his steps to match hers. A wave of warmth hit him. With her arm in his, he could face anything. He would follow her down to the pits of hell, across a lava flow, over half-frozen lakes, into a supernova, and through spider-infested barns if she asked it of him. Hell, he’d go back to the clothes department and stay alone for five minutes if she asked.
“Come over here,” she hissed.
You got it.
She craned her neck to see if anyone was watching and then guided him off to the side where the copier stood. They crammed behind a huge potted plant next to a closed door. There wasn’t much room for the two of them, they had to squeeze together to fit.
The scent of her perfume reached his nose and he breathed it in. “What did you think? How did I do?”
“You were top-notch. Really. I’m sorry if Clem came on a bit strong with the sci-fi stuff, pay her no mind.”
“I’m not.”
She let out a whoosh from her lungs and her shoulders dropped. “In that case, let me fix your shirt.”
“I mean, it is reassuring to know there are women out there who love Firefly and would like to have an Alien Face Hugs t-shirt, but she isn’t the only woman in the world.”
Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.
She did understand she was not just another woman to him—right? Sure, he had the date planned with Amanda, and his mind was dead set on impressing the hell out of her with his PhD and new jeans, but there was something he couldn’t put into words about Reese.
That name on his lips. Reese. First thing this morning. Last thing as he unwound the night before.
Reese screwed up her face and chewed on her bottom lip. “Other women. Of course. Can you get the button—”
Women’s voices came closer. Reese reached for the door handle, and before he could ask where they were going she pulled him into a small pitch-dark closet.
His normal nervousness from confined spaces or not being able to see evaporated at the press of breasts on his chest and warm thigh against his leg. Claustrophobia? Nope. Not a problem.
“We’ll give them a minute to leave,” she breathed.
“What if they come in here?”
“We’ll say you were getting the toner for me from the top shelf. It’s such a stupid place to keep it. In the dark.”
“They keep it in the dark because it would be a waste of energy to have the lights on.”
“No, I meant you are helping me in the dark. Which doesn’t make sense, but too bad.”
He had to nod in approval at that logic. She stepped on his foot.
“Sorry, so sorry!” she whispered, jumping back and hitting the metal shelves behind her.
He reached around her back to protect her from the metal bar. “Are you all right?”
Reese mumbled something, then said, “Maybe they went to the elevator. I’m going to check and see if the coast is clear outside.”
She slid sideways. Her hip bumped his cock, half hard from her nearness, and he bit his tongue from the shock through his gut.
Laughter burst outside the door and the copier lid banged.
“Nevermind,” she muttered. “I’ll stay here. Give me your hands, and I’ll fix your sleeves.”
In the dark, and after only touching one of her breasts very briefly by accident, she took his hands in hers. He felt her unbutton one sleeve at the wrist, then she rolled it back twice.
“Of course, you could do your own sleeves,” she said, her voice ragged. Her fingers tickled his inner wrist.
Hands slid up his chest to his shoulders and he froze, not believing his luck. Shit. She wanted him. Her fingers fluttered at his neck, and then his collar squeezed tighter.
Was that good?
“I guess I might as well fix your buttons if we are stuck in here. You aren’t supposed to do them all if you aren’t wearing a tie.”
“I’m not supposed—all right. Noted.” He couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t the collar.
The first button came undone. He inhaled the whisper of her perfume and the tangy fresh scent of her body. She smelled like a hazy vacation in the summer: hot nights and cool breezes by the sea.
His erection sprang so hard he had to say a guilty prayer for the safety of his zipper. He was acutely aware of their legs tangled together and the soft rub of her body as she shifted.
“There. Done. And speaking of notes,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “Speaking of notes, I was meaning to give you a few more tips on seducing your date. This normally goes against my principles, but I trust you to not abuse the information.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve heard guys call it the game of seduction, but I call it the art, because this isn’t a fucking game.” She swallowed.
Her warmth radiated from her body in the dark, filling the few empty spaces between them.
“All right,” he said. It had never felt like a game, no problems so far.
“There is no secret tip to getting a woman in bed. Sorry. There is nothing you can do to make her want you if she doesn’t want you. However, there are a million things you can do to turn her off. That’s what the coaching is about—I help you navigate the pitfalls. I will try to give you confidence to let your true self shine. If she doesn’t like the best you have to offer, then you part ways after the date. End of story.”
“But if she likes what she sees?” He had to hope she liked what she saw, but his own mind was blurring the pictures of Amanda with Reese’s face.
“Then you take it slow. Step by step. Believe it or not, she knows what she wants and there is nothing hotter than a slow seduction. Give her the opportunity to say yes. Multiple times.” Reese paused.
Kenneth couldn’t say anything.
“Ask her if she wants to come to your place. Touch her hand. Keep your eyes on her. Help her with her jacket. Brush her hair from her face or neck. Be a gentleman. Be thoughtful. Let your arms touch, or your knees.” Her breath grazed his face.
“What else?”
“Ask what she would like to drink. Let her make a move.”
“Such as?”
She shifted in the dark to trail her fingers up his forearm. “She might do this.”
He suppressed a groan. “What next?”
“She might lean in closer, she might turn towards you. Watch her eyes. Are they watching you as well? Are they dilated? If she moves in, you have permission to move in closer, too.”
He reached above her to clench the edge of the metal shelf. “Noted.”
“Then she might touch you again. She might even move to unbutton the top of your shirt, like I did just now. You can test for a kiss by stroking her cheek, like this.” She touched the tips of her fingers to his jaw and ran them down to his chin. “Or brush your cheek to hers and place a tiny kiss”—she moved her hand and then touched the corner of his lips—“here.”
“A kiss to test if she wants to kiss. All right.” His voice was graveled and low, and he gripped the shelf harder.
“Put you
r hand on her hip to draw her in, or your arm around her waist. Place little kisses along her neck. This is one of the most sensitive spots on a woman before getting too sexual. Intimate, tender, hot, but not aggressive. Tell her you want to kiss her more.”
“I want to kiss you?” he asked.
“Yes. But say it, don’t ask. Let her respond. Move gently into her space, unless she moves fast. She’ll set the tempo she wants.”
“Reese,” he started, but paused. They were in a dark storage closet, and he was supposed to be getting lessons for his upcoming date. Reese’s words were a siren’s song, but he had to resist. “What if I can’t read her signals? I want her, but it isn’t clear if she wants me?”
“Trust me, the signals will be clear. With that in mind, I want to remind you to plan ahead like the ants do, not the grasshoppers, and make sure you have a condom with you at all times. Keep it dry, safe, not too hot, replace it frequently. And I should go,” she said, all in a breathless rush.
She pushed past him and threw herself out the door.
And she was gone. He was left alone in a closet next to the copier on the accounting level, the white-hot burning in his body slowly cooling. As consolation, he had a rough map to follow now to get a woman in his bed. It might not work for all women.
But it would work for at least one.
11
Reese
Wow, that really didn’t go as planned. Not in the least. Not a smidgeon. Thirty more seconds and she would have been stripping for him. Tips on seducing a woman—the hell? She had given him a play-by-play on how to get Reese, the idiot colleague, in bed, and she had made herself hot imagining it. She was a walking flash-fire hazard.
Once again, she had set out to do right by her client and royally screwed up. She reached her desk without anyone talking to her, and she hunched over her keyboard.
Last chance. She clicked in the message box.
Reese: We should do some quick decorating work on your place in case you get lucky and Amanda goes home with you.
Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection Page 36