“But as my employer, that’s not your concern,” I insist.
Declan growls, slaps his palms on his desk, and leans forward with an irritated expression. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bailey. You’re creating an argument where one isn’t needed. I have a meeting you need to attend with me. If your mom’s health prevents it, I’ll make alternate arrangements. End of story. Now, can you attend?”
No mistake about it… I’ve managed to piss my boss off, which wasn’t my intention. It’s just… now that we’ve brought sexual banter into the office, I’m questioning if he’s granting me special favors because we’re intimate. He won’t give me a direct answer, though.
So I clear my throat, giving a confident nod. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood, I’ll be able to accompany you to the board meeting.”
I stop short of mentioning my mother. She’s doing well, but if she wasn’t… I would insist my dad step up to the plate. In my mind, there is a clear difference. My job and its requirements must be met. Unless my mom is more than just feeling unwell, my father will have to watch over her. But if it’s a choice between an evening at The Wicked Horse with Declan and watching over my mom, I’ll always choose my mom.
Some would say I should make my dad step up in those instances, too, but I love my mother and honestly don’t mind.
“Very good,” he replies with a curt nod.
“Um… do I need to make any arrangements?” I ask.
“No. We’ll take my private jet, and stay at the Blackwood in Chicago. There’s a family suite there for my use.”
“Family suite?” I ask, my throat going dry at the prospect of us sharing lodgings.
“It’s a three-bedroom suite,” he replies, his attention now on his laptop. “Nothing needs to be arranged.”
He says nothing more, summarily dismissing me. This is what Declan does when he has no further need of my assistance. He jumps into work, forgetting about me.
Good thing we have firm lines drawn, and we know to stay on opposite sides at work. Otherwise, feelings could get hurt. But I know when he’s concentrating on me and me alone.
Now is not the time, and I’m perfectly okay with that.
I am excited, however, to see Chicago. I’ve never been, and it’s been on my bucket list. Later, when he’s not so focused on work, I’ll inquire as to whether or not I might have some free time to see a few of the sights.
Quietly, I stand from my chair and glide across his office, thankful the plush carpeting silences the heels I’m wearing. I don’t want to disturb him when he’s working.
Still, I can’t help one last glance over my shoulder, because he’s so handsome, why wouldn’t I?
While his attention is still riveted to his screen and he seems thoroughly engrossed, I get the distinct impression he is well aware that I turned around for one last look.
CHAPTER 17
Declan
The board meeting goes no differently than expected. My father runs it with an iron fist. When he steps down and I take over, I’ll do the same thing. It’s not by chance the Blackwood name is the leader for luxury hotels in the world. It came with back-breaking work, sacrifice, and an unfailing commitment to valued principles of leadership, purpose, and accountability. My father’s father taught him, and he taught me. And I’ll teach my children if I have any.
Today’s board meeting reviewed the minutes, accomplishments, and normal reviews of key performance indicators such as revenues and expenditures, research and development, and marketing since the last.
Tomorrow will focus on expansion, much of which falls on my plate. While my father will run the meeting, I’ll mostly be the one explaining our upcoming plans to expand the Blackwood empire. Of course, my father has no clue I’m looking to step into the hotel business on my own, but he will before the conclusion of my visit. That will be a private discussion behind closed doors.
I doodle on my notepad while the vice president of domestic marketing presents to the board. I’m not bored, but I’ve always been able to keep half an ear on what someone is saying while reflecting on other things. I guess it’s called mental multi-tasking.
Currently, my mind is on the hot brunette directly opposite me. No, Bailey hasn’t been afforded a seat at the board table. The large oval table comfortably seats twenty-four, and it’s reserved for actual board members and the handful of VPs in attendance. Instead, she’s in a row of chairs set along the perimeter for the assistants who are diligently taking notes. Of course, there’s an official secretary to the board recording the minutes, but we keep records of our own notes so nothing can be misconstrued.
I’ve strategically kept my gaze averted from the gorgeous and incredibly sexy Bailey Robbins. I’m here as the heir to the Blackwood empire, and I’m in full-on work mode. It doesn’t mean, however, I can’t devote time to thinking about my beautiful traveling companion or the fact she and I will be alone in the Blackwood suite tonight.
I’ve never once dallied with an employee, and I’ve never had one stay in the suite with me. My former assistants were provided their own rooms, but Bailey doesn’t need to know that. She’ll soon figure out I have no intention of leaving her alone this evening.
Yes, our agreement states we will only fuck in the club, but I’m going to chalk it up to a lack of foresight on both our parts. I had forgotten about the board meetings she’d accompany me on, and she certainly hadn’t factored in business trips.
But circumstances are different, and we must adapt.
I intend to be balls deep inside my lovely assistant, assuming she doesn’t seem to think we need to hold with the strict meaning within the agreement we signed. Of course, I’ll give her the option, but I think I’ve come to understand Bailey well.
She loves me fucking her. She’s into it as much as I am, and she looks forward to our times at the club. Hell, the night after she stayed with her mom, she practically attacked me. She was starved for it. Frankly, I’m beyond fascinated with her.
Yes, I’ve been with women that like sex. Love it, even. Crave it, for sure. But there’s something about the way that Bailey and I fit together that makes all that desire seem more potent.
I’m pretty fucking sure that tonight she’ll be in my bed, and there won’t be any fight about it.
I risk a glance up at her. She’s sitting in between a matronly but stylishly dressed woman and an overly fussy looking man. All three of them are diligently scribbling notes down as talk continues around the board table. Bailey’s wearing one of the suits that I bought her weeks ago, and I make a note that her wardrobe really needs some new pieces. She had asked if she would have some time to do some sightseeing here, and maybe I’ll carve out an hour tomorrow so we can hit The Magnificent Mile. Perhaps an hour and fifteen so we can hit La Perla, too, and I can fill her lingerie drawer.
As if she knows my train of thought, Bailey locks her eyes with mine. I dare not give the slightest hint as to where my head is at, so I merely drop my gaze to my notepad where I continue to doodle.
We finish around six. Most of the board members plan to head out in small groups for pre-arranged drinks and dinner plans. I’d been invited to and declined several, including one from my father to join him and his two closest cronies.
I shake hands, exchange farewell pleasantries with a few, then move toward my father.
His eyes come to mine, the same silver-blue ones I bear. We have the same hair as well, but while my dad’s is still thick and wavy, he now sports flashes of silver at his temple. He’s a good-looking man, still muscular and fit, and I imagine his mistress appreciates it.
“Declan,” he says in that deep baritone voice I’ve also inherited. “Sure you won’t join us for dinner?”
“Regrettably,” I reply with a respectful dip of my head, “I’m going to pass.”
My father frowns, clearly displeased. It’s not that he wants to spend time with me. Rather, he wants me to watch him in action. He’s forever prepping me to take over my role as head of this empire, and
he believes I still need molding.
“Very well.” The flat press of his lips makes it clear he’s unhappy I’m bucking his authority. And because he has to leave me with the impression he’s in charge, he adds, “I do expect you at dinner tomorrow tonight. Your mother misses you.”
“Of course,” I reply with another dip of my head, fighting the urge to snicker at that last comment. “See you in the morning.”
No, my mother doesn’t miss me. It’s a nice sentiment to state in a boardroom where others might be listening. It makes it seem as if we’re a tight-knit family, but the truth is far from that. My parents led a very jet-set life as I grew up under Leonie’s care. They didn’t miss me then, and they sure don’t now.
It’s fine. I don’t miss them, either, but why would I? They’ve never given me a reason to.
Moving past my dad, I settle my gaze on Bailey, who waits patiently by the door. Her expression is coolly professional, her posture that of someone ready to leap into action if I request something of her.
“Let’s go,” I say as I reach the door. A few more board members stop me to shake hands and invite me out. I offer my preplanned excuse that I already have plans.
Which I do.
Between Bailey’s legs.
But there’s something that needs to be done first, and that’s dinner. When we reach the elevator, I ask, “Have you ever had Chicago pizza?”
“I haven’t,” she replies, clutching the strap of her purse, which is big enough to house her iPad.
“Then I’ll take you out for the best we have,” I reply as the elevator doors open. My hand goes to her elbow, giving the slightest touch to guide her inside. “Then perhaps a tour of the city.”
Bailey’s head snaps my way as I hit the lobby button. “Actually… I have work to do tonight. Surely you want these notes cleaned up and put into a presentable report for you to reference tomorrow, right?”
“Actually, no.” She blinks in surprise. “I won’t need them tomorrow. I’ll be running most of the meeting since it’s focused on expansion. So those can wait until we get back to Vegas.”
“Oh… okay.” She nibbles on her lower lip, clearly pondering something confusing her. I patiently wait her out. “So… a tour of the city?”
“Via car,” I clarify. “We’re not dressed for walking, and it’s far too cold without the proper attire. But I’ll be able to show you the highlights before we return to the hotel.”
She hadn’t seen the Chicago Blackwood yet. We flew in this morning, and our driver took our bags to the hotel. Our board meeting was at company headquarters several blocks from the original Blackwood, which was the foundation for our hotel chain. While there are many beautiful hotels around the world that sport my name, none compare to the original one in Chicago.
For three hours, I show Bailey all I can of the city I grew up in, including sharing a pie at Lou Malnati’s.
“Did you come here a lot as a kid?” she asks as she cuts her slice with a knife and fork.
I chuckle as I shake my head. “My parents wouldn’t be caught dead in here, but my nanny, Leonie, would bring me sometimes when I was a kid. I came a lot more when I was a teenager, most of the time with friends when I was back in the city.”
“Back in the city?” she queries.
“Home from boarding school,” I clarify.
“Oh.” Her low murmur makes it clear we grew up in different worlds.
When we finally make it to the Blackwood Hotel—initially founded in 1903—I give her a tour around the lobby, pointing out the artisan craftsmanship in the moldings, the custom period furniture, and the artwork that graces the walls, even though I’m eager to get her naked.
It’s only when she yawns that I gallantly offer, “Let’s get up to the suite. We’ve had a long day.”
Going to be an even longer night.
“Thank you for showing me the city,” she says as we ride the elevator up. “And the pizza was delicious.”
“You’re very welcome.”
We enter the suite. Three feet in, Bailey stops and looks around at the opulence with her mouth hanging open. Far more so than Vegas, the Chicago Blackwood will always boast the finest of everything. Silk wallpaper, imported Persian rugs, Italian marble flooring, hand-carved moldings, and precious artworks.
Without asking her preference, I walk over to the wet bar and pour us each a small glass of port. Not to stall the inevitable, but to relax us into the conversation that needs to happen.
She thanks me when I hand her the glass and takes a small sip. Holding my glass, I point toward a short hallway. “The guest room is in there, as are your bags. But you’ll be staying in my room.”
Bailey inhales sharply, taking a bit of port down the wrong pipe and immediately starts coughing.
Hacking really.
I help her along with firm pats to her back as she sucks in air. When she finally gets her breath back, she asks, “Say what?”
“Honestly, Miss Robbins… your elocution is much more refined than that.” I smile over the rim of my glass before I take a drink.
She scowls before pointing out, “Must I remind you that we have a very explicit agreement. In writing. Signed by both of us. That we have a sexual relationship within the walls of The Wicked Horse and everything outside of that is business.”
“I do recall that agreement,” I quip dryly.
“And furthermore, we are on a business trip, Mr. Blackwood.” She lifts her chin, her mouth pressed in a pinched, prim line. “I take my duties seriously.”
God, she’s fucking adorable.
Adorably fuckable.
I step closer, take her glass, and turn to the wet bar to set them down. When I face her, her expression is wary, but she holds her ground—chin still lifted in what I’d almost term to be defiance.
“Miss Robbins,” I murmur, taking another step, placing a hand on the side of her neck. “Bailey,” I clarify. “We’re off duty in private. I am dying to fuck you. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re dying to fuck me, too. I’m sure we can make a little exception to our agreement.”
“Slippery slope,” she points out, trying to be a voice of reason where reason is simply not needed.
“I hope some things get very slippery indeed,” I say in a low voice, and there it is… her lips quirk upward.
Still, she takes a step back from me. “Declan… this is moving past the boundaries we established.”
“Fuck boundaries,” I growl as I take two strides to put myself right back in front of her. Her head tips back, her lips part, and I can see it in her eyes. She’s ready to toss them out the window, too.
But letting this play out just a bit more may be enjoyable, and I also think it would be fun to spice it up.
“Now,” I say to her in a low tone laced with warning. “You can fight me on this if you want. But I’m stronger than you are, and you’ll lose.”
Something flashes in her eyes—a story plays out. First shock, then realization we could have a bit of a scuffle if we wanted, and, lastly, heat. Pure, unfiltered heat as she imagines how it might go if she were to actually fight me.
Game on.
I move fast, bending at the waist, and she gives a tiny shriek as I hoist her over my shoulder. She makes the mistake of wiggling, an attempt at escape, so I slap her on the ass with just enough of a bite she gasps in a good way.
My long legs get us into the master suite quickly, and I toss her onto the bed. She bounces once, makes as if she’s going to roll away from me, but I’m on her fast.
I straddle her waist, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand as I stare down at her. “Got yourself in a pickle, haven’t you, Miss Robbins?”
Her hips buck in a pathetic attempt to dislodge me.
“Now, what will I do with you?” I ponder, my eyes traveling to the V of her silk blouse. “Rip your clothes off and ravage you?”
“Try it,” she growls, so cute and kitten-like, her defiance an act.
&nb
sp; “Maybe pull my cock out and stuff it in your mouth,” I muse, that idea appealing to me. Her eyes flare, and I know she likes it, too.
“Or,” I drawl as if struck by an idea I need to turn over a few times in my head. “I could rip these pretty and expensive clothes off you, turn you over on your hands and knees, and eat your pussy from behind. Then fuck you savagely while I spank your ass red for even thinking about fighting me.”
There is no fight in her expression after that. Her face goes slack, eyes go dreamy, and she replies in a breathy voice. “Yes, please. I’ll take that option.”
I can’t help but laugh, letting out the burst of joyful humor she instilled in me, a feat few have accomplished.
Dipping my head, I take in her flushed cheeks and expectations. She not only wants me, but she also needs me in this moment. Needs what I suggested. For the first time I can remember in the presence of a woman, I like the feeling of being needed.
Releasing her hands, I glide my fingers down her arms, across her collarbone, and to the edges of her silk blouse hiding pure beauty underneath. I grip the sides of the delicate material, then I rip her shirt open with a loud noise.
Bailey gasps and arches. I stare greedily at her breasts, which are hidden behind an expensive lace bra I bought for her weeks ago. I decide I can rip that, too, since we’ll make a trip to La Perla tomorrow to replenish.
CHAPTER 18
Bailey
“Close your mouth before a fly lands in it,” Declan teases as the car we’re in pulls up to what has to be the most incredibly opulent home I’ve ever seen. The fact it’s in the thick of the city is mind-boggling.
Declan had told me his parents lived in Lincoln Park, but it meant nothing to me. I assumed in a city of tight spaces and high-rise buildings, they’d live in a penthouse apartment or something.
I was not prepared for the mansion set on a sprawling piece of property that Declan informed me was actually eight city lots.
At my audible gasp over the sheer size of it, Declan informs me, “It’s almost 25,000 square feet in size.”
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