I’m such a fucking idiot.
Chapter Fifteen
Harrison
I’m completely unprepared for the feelings that flood through me when I look over and see Gabriella standing there, watching me.
I let her go this morning with a gentle kiss, and told myself it had been a fun night, but that it was time to move on. I showered, got dressed, and forced myself to think about business, occasionally letting my mind linger on images of Gaby from last night, stretching out beneath me, her cries of pleasure filling the night. But I told myself it was just sex, and put her to the back of my mind.
My brain can say what it likes. The way my body reacts when I see her tells me otherwise.
I inhale, and my heart leaps into action, racing away and sending adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel like a star that’s suddenly gone supernova, and for a second, it feels as if there’s nobody else in the room except the two of us.
“Morning,” Colette says cheerfully, and I realize she’s left Gaby’s side and crossed to stand by me and my guest. “You must be Mr. Johns,” she says to my visitor, and holds out her hand for him to shake. “Would you like a tour of the marketing department? This is our creative team over here, where all our ideas start…” Still talking, she leads a captivated Brad Johns away, giving me a parting wink over her shoulder.
Gabriella picks up the two mugs on the table and takes them to the kitchen area in the corner. I follow her over and stand beside her.
For a long moment, we say nothing. I watch her rinse the mugs and dry them, her eyes downcast. Her blush has died a little, but my gaze lingers on the touch of color remaining in her cheeks, and the way she nibbles at her bottom lip.
“Good morning,” I murmur.
She turns her head and studies my tie, then lifts her eyes to mine. The look in them makes me catch my breath.
“Morning,” she whispers.
Last night, her eyes had looked black in the moonlight, but now they’re a beautiful violet again, and so unusual I find myself staring into them. I want to press her up against the worktop and slide my hands beneath her pink top and kiss her until her mouth opens under mine and her hands snake up into my hair the way she likes to do.
I don’t. But we do exchange a long, heated look that sends our lips curving in a smile of mutual appreciation.
“Thank you,” I tell her, because I can’t think of anything else to say.
“You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkle. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I can hardly walk,” she whispers.
I laugh. “I seem to recall that was what the lady ordered.”
She gives me a happy grin, and I smile back.
“It was a great evening,” I say. “I hope it helped you to move forward.”
“Oh, it definitely did that.”
“Now you can focus on travelling, and your new adventures.”
“Mmm. You too.”
“Yeah.” Except I can’t think of anything but Gaby and her warm, soft body.
I was so unprepared for last night. When I met her at the bar, I wasn’t really expecting her to come home with me, and even when she did, I thought we’d have sex once, twice if I was lucky, and hopefully it would be fun, and then we’d call it a day around midnight and she’d head back to her place.
I hoped to find physical pleasure with her. I didn’t expect to enjoy myself quite so much.
Still, it’s done. One-night stands are fun, but they’re like soufflés or meringue—they look good and taste sweet while they last, but have no substance.
“Have a lovely day.” I risk the chance that someone’s looking, and bend and touch my lips to hers. I feel rather than hear her inhale. I linger, wanting to deepen the kiss. It’s like she’s an incredibly strong magnet—I have to fight against the attraction I have for her, but I force myself to do it. I turn on my heel and, without looking back, I head off to rescue Brad Johns and complete the tour of the department.
*
For three days, I tell myself I don’t need her. I avoid the marketing department—in fact, I avoid the second floor altogether, and she doesn’t appear on my floor. But I feel acutely conscious of her presence in the building, of the fact that she’s close, but not close enough to me. I try to find reasons to see her, then scold myself for being stupid and walk away. I pick up the phone to call her, and hang up before she answers. I daydream about her in meetings, and tap her name into my laptop when I’m supposed to be taking notes. I search the net for recipes I know she’d like, print them out, then throw them in the trash. I think about her all the time, then get cross with myself for doing so. I irritate everyone around me because I’m grumpy and short-tempered.
I can’t talk to anyone about it, because I know they’ll just say I should call her and ask her out again, but that seems pointless. I need to get over this… whatever it is. I want to take two Advil and wake up better. I don’t want to think about Gaby—I want to get on with my life and not give our one-night stand a second thought.
But by day four, I’m even irritating myself, and mid-afternoon I take the stairs down to the second floor. I’m not going to talk to her, I tell myself—I’m just going to take a quick glance, to remind myself she’s only an ordinary girl, and nothing special.
I walk along the corridor, and then stop by the small stationery room.
Gaby is inside, apparently doing some kind of inventory as she counts the number of reams of A4 stacked on the shelves. She writes down a number, then stops, stares off into the distance, and sighs.
I freeze, tell myself to turn away, but find I can’t, and then she looks up and sees me too. I watch her inhale with shock, her eyes widening. She looks even more gorgeous than I remember, in a short navy skirt and a white top, with sexy high heels, and she’s pinned her chocolate-colored hair up so that wisps fall around her face.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Fuck it.
I walk into the room, close the door behind me, take the chair that sits in the corner, and jam it under the handle.
Then I stride up to Gaby and take her face in my hands. I wait a moment for her to exclaim or pull away. And when she doesn’t, I crush my lips to hers.
Chapter Sixteen
Gabriella
I’m finding it difficult to catch my breath. Harrison’s kissing me, and it’s only been about ten seconds, but he’s already set me alight. He’s pushed me up against the shelves, and he’s sliding his hands beneath my shirt, and they’re skating across my skin, sending little shivers radiating out through me.
I lift my arms and slide my hands into his hair, tilt my head, and stand on tiptoes so I can deepen the kiss. Jeez, I want this man so much. I’m filled with an exultant delight that he seems to feel the same way. Since spotting him the other morning with Colette, I haven’t seen him for a few days, and I assumed that he hadn’t even given me a second thought. But when he appeared in the hallway just now, as soon as I looked into his eyes I knew he felt the same way I do.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, even though I know there’s no hope of this developing into anything. I can’t help it. It’s like he’s moved into the dusty corners of my mind and hung the walls with images of him and us together until it’s overflowing, crowding out every other detail of my life. I’ve been distracted, walking into rooms, and forgetting why I went in there, making phone calls without a clue as to why I’m calling, not wanting to eat, lost in a dream world.
And now, with his lips on mine, I feel complete.
Crap. One fucking night with this guy, and I’ve gone and fallen for him.
Actually, I think I fell for him the day I started at the firm, and I’m even more crazy about him now I’ve been to bed with him. He’s just so… manly. If the test for masculinity was like one of those fairground strongman machines where you have to hit a pad with a mallet, Alex might have clocked seventy to seventy-five, but Harrison would have sent
the puck ringing the bell and then shot it off into the stratosphere.
It’s dumb and idiotic and stupid and other words that mean the same thing, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I couldn’t turn around and walk out of this room now if my life depended on it. There’s no future in this relationship, but I don’t care. We could be blown out of the sky by an asteroid tomorrow. I could be hit by a bus. But right here, right now, Harrison is holding me, and that’s all that matters.
We haven’t said anything yet, but there’s no need for words. Our bodies are having a conversation of their own. Tongues delving, hands stroking, my nipples hardening, an ache growing between my thighs. This isn’t enough. I want more.
I glance at the door and double check the handle—yes, he’s forced the chair against it. Nobody’s coming in anytime soon, so I start fumbling at his belt.
He lifts his head and stares at me for a moment, and then his eyes light up and his lips curve. He helps me out with the belt and I push down the zipper, and then I release his erection from his boxers. It’s thick and long and hard as a rock, and I sigh with relief when he takes out his wallet and produces a condom.
While he removes the packaging, and rolls the condom on, I slip off my panties and hitch up my skirt. He sweeps the contents of the table onto the floor, lifts me onto it, and within seconds he’s inside me.
I gasp and my head falls back, and he just stands there for a moment as we both enjoy the sensation of being joined in such an intimate way. When I tighten my internal muscles, I can feel him, all the way up—it’s amazing.
Harrison groans softly and begins to move, and soon he’s thrusting firmly, while his hands unpop the buttons of my shirt to reveal my bra. He slides his hand inside the cup, and the feel of his warm fingers on my skin makes me shudder.
He kisses me, strokes me, moves inside me, and it’s only minutes before his thrusts become firmer, and I know he’s not far from climaxing. Luckily, I’m there with him, and I clench around him in glorious bursts, feeling his hot gaze on me, before he stills and then his fingers dig into my hips as he comes.
We’ve done it all silently, in a haze of sexual desire, and it’s only as it begins to fade that I blink and look around, and realize where I am. The floor is covered with boxes of paperclips, fold back clips, staples, rulers, and erasers where he swept them all off the table. It’s hot in here, and the light’s not particularly flattering. But it was the most erotic encounter I’ve ever had, and when he withdraws and then folds me in his arms, I can honestly say I’ve never felt happier.
“Come to my place tonight,” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod. There’s no point in a big discussion about how pointless this is or what our expectations are. We both know that we’re wandering through a maze and the turning we’ve taken isn’t leading anywhere. But neither of us cares. Does having no hope of tomorrow mean we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves today? Of course not. I decide that I’m going to make the most of whatever this man is willing to give me, and I have a feeling he’s thinking the same.
After a minute or two, he moves back. I button up my shirt, and he disposes of the condom and zips up his fly. He helps me pick up the boxes of paperclips from the floor.
Then he removes the chair from the door, opens it slowly, and checks outside. Giving me one final glance over his shoulder, a beautiful smile breaks out onto his handsome face before he finally disappears.
*
“In the stationery room?” Colette’s eyes nearly fall out of her head. “I was joking when I suggested that.”
“It was convenient.” I hadn’t meant to confide in her, but I must have returned to my desk looking as if I’d gone out into a cyclone, and she knew instantly that something was up. “I’m going to his place tonight,” I admit.
I’m not sure whether she’s going to cheer or give me a warning glance. She does neither. Instead, she gives me an appraising, interested look. “Your idea or his?”
“His. I didn’t need much convincing.”
She grins. “Hoping for another seven rounds?”
“Jeez, I don’t know if I’d have the energy. Maybe I’ll just cook him dinner.”
She laughs. “Well the way to man’s heart is either through his stomach or his family jewels, so it looks as if you have both bases covered.”
“I’m not aiming for his heart,” I tell her.
“Of course.” She doesn’t look convinced.
I’m not convinced, either. But I don’t tell her that.
Not that I’m planning anything. Even though I’m crazy about him, I have no intention of having my heart broken. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make sure he’s crazy about me when we eventually part ways. If he’s going to haunt my dreams until my dying day, I want to make sure I do the same to him.
Chapter Seventeen
Harrison
Gaby arrives shortly after seven p.m. She’d texted me, once, asking what time she should come around, and I just texted back, How about 7? And she replied Okay, and that was the extent of the conversation. She doesn’t fuss, and she’s not clingy. I like that.
However, I find myself uncharacteristically nervous when she walks through the door. I’m excited to see her, but apprehensive about having asked her around. I don’t want her to think I’m pushing her for anything more. Neither of us wants that. Equally, I don’t want her to think I’m using her for sex, because that’s just rude, even if she seems to be doing the same to me.
All I know is that I want to see her, and I was thrilled when she appeared to feel the same way. But I’m not sure what to expect from this second date—if that’s what it is.
To my surprise, she comes in carrying two carrier bags full of groceries. “Hey, sexy,” she says, passing me, and going straight into the kitchen. “As a thank you for today’s orgasms, I’m going to cook you dinner. And yes, I did use the plural there, just so you know what to expect for dessert.”
I laugh and shut the door, and it’s as easy as that. All my nerves vanish, and I join her in the kitchen, and let her start directing me to chopping up vegetables while she prepares the meat.
I’ve always cooked alone. On the rare occasion that I’ve prepared dinner for a girl, she’s sat and talked to me while I’ve done the cooking, so it’s the first time someone else has taken over my kitchen. And I discover that I love it. Gabriella is moderately bossy tonight because it’s her meal, but we move around each other as if we’ve been doing it for years, retrieving knives and bowls, and when one of us suggests something to the other—you could cut those this way? or have you thought about adding Cajun spice to the chicken?—we take each other’s advice without quibbling, and discover the meal is better as a result.
We eat our Cajun chicken and bacon pasta at the dining table, talking about other recipes and meals we’ve prepared, places we’ve eaten and the best restaurants, and spend an hour afterward sipping wine while we continue with our favorite cooking shows and chefs we admire.
It feels odd, I think, as the evening wears on, to be sharing myself in this way with someone that I’m not dating—not technically, anyway. What’s the definition of dating? Surely, it’s seeing someone with the intention of the relationship continuing? That’s not what this is—this is a second one-night stand. I have no intention of asking her for a third.
Yeah, right. My heart knows what my brain refuses to admit. This isn’t going to be the last time I see her. In fact, I think I might see her every night up until one of us leaves, if she’s willing. What the fuck. Carpe diem, and all that.
This particular line of conversation has naturally come to an end. We sit sipping our wine, studying each other. My dinner has gone down, and I start to be aware of physical things—the pale curve of her neck, the way her eyes are darkening with the fading light, the fact that I can see the tips of her nipples through her shirt, which tells me they’ve hardened, possibly because she’s thinking about similar things.
She puts down her empty glass and ris
es. “Give me five minutes,” she whispers, “then bring in another glass of wine.” She bends and kisses me, just a press of her lips on mine, then walks away into the bedroom and pushes the door almost closed.
My heart racing, I sit there for the prescribed five minutes, finishing off my glass while I look out over the city, imagining what delights the next few hours are going to bring. I might repeat some of my favorite positions from the other night, I decide. Or maybe think up some new ones. I’d quite like to watch her make herself come—that would be fucking hot. Or perhaps I’ll tie her up. Maybe I will keep her as a sex slave until it’s time for us to part. Somehow, I don’t think she’d argue too much with that idea.
I wait impatiently for the five minutes to pass. Then, rising, I pick up the wine bottle and take it into the bedroom.
I find Gabriella naked, lying across the bed, her head resting on the edge, so her hair is hanging down toward the floor. I put the bottle on the bedside table, and go to walk around the bed, but she catches my hand and pulls me toward her.
I bend over and give her an upside-down kiss, and she holds my head for a moment, opening her mouth to let me dip my tongue inside. But when I go to rise, she lifts her arms up and holds onto my thighs.
“You haven’t fucked my mouth yet,” she says, her eyes glittering in the moonlight.
My heart immediately pounds like a jackhammer, and the erection that was already on its way appears fully formed in seconds.
“Strip,” she demands, not moving.
My lips curve up, but I do as she says, removing my T-shirt and pants, and then my boxers. Clearly, she has an idea of what she wants to do, and although I’m not sure what it is yet, I’m happy to let her think she’s in charge for a while.
I start walking around the bed, but she clicks her fingers and then beckons me back. Puzzled, I return to stand behind her head, and I watch as she licks her palm. Upside down, she takes my erection in her hand and begins to give it firm strokes. And then she wriggles a little so her head is tipped over the edge, and licks her lips.
Taking Over (Like a Boss Book 2) Page 7