by Ann Bruce
Maybe.
“Your boss told me that you’ve been working eighty-hour weeks for the last two months because of the auction. She and I both think you deserve a break before you burn out.”
“I’m fine,” Parker insisted, clutching the files more tightly, trying to banish the picture of him sans clothes from her head. “Nothing a little white wine and chocolate can’t fix.”
He came to a stop a mere two feet in front of her. With his forefinger and middle finger, he tipped her chin up. A corner of his mouth kicked up wickedly, as if he knew she was mentally undressing him. “My face is up here.”
Hers flushed with embarrassment, but it galvanized Parker into sidestepping around him. She forced herself to take measured steps until she placed her desk between them. He chuckled as he turned to visually track her progress across the room.
“White wine and chocolate are better when shared,” he said, casually slipping one hand into his pants pocket, taking a couple of steps in her direction. “And you owe me a date.”
“Yesterday didn’t count?”
“No.”
“Why don’t I write you a check for the amount of the bid?”
He shook his head. “You tried a variation of that already. It doesn’t work that way.”
And she’d bet he knew exactly which way it would work.
Oh, Jesus.
Parker discreetly swallowed. Very carefully, she placed the files on her desk and reminded herself that getting involved with the man before her would be a mistake she couldn’t afford. Not only would it be a mistake, but a betrayal of her sister and her niece.
New resolve stiffening her spine, she looked up at him. “Why are you interested in a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with you?” she queried coolly.
He froze, those blue eyes flaring with something volatile. A frisson of fear shot through her and a small voice urged her to flee. But Parker stayed put, telling herself that he couldn’t do anything to her in her office, not with thirty or so people just outside her door.
When he stalked across the room and around her desk, she found herself cornered. His thighs pinned her hips to her desk as he loomed over her, his heat surrounding her, mingling with hers to send waves of sensation curling through her. Breathing too fast, Parker braced her arms behind her on the desk and turned her head to the side. But she didn’t tell him to step back because she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.
A large, masculine hand rasped over the skin of her throat, cupped the back of her head and made her face him. His head descended. When she tried to pull back, his fingers tightened in warning. Then his lips were on hers.
Inside her head, Parker made a helpless sound, knowing that if she stopped fighting for even a single heartbeat, she’d be lost.
The mouth under his remained unresponsive and frustration fanned the flames of his anger. He hardened the kiss to the point of bruising. He pried her lips open and thrust his tongue inside the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. He ground his lower body into her belly, then ran a large palm down her subtly arched body, molding her to him, cushioning all his hard planes and hollows with her softness.
Parker made a muffled sound of protest, but Dean didn’t allow it to deter him. Instead, one hand slid up and covered her breast.
And he nearly came.
She was braless and the soft fabric of her dress was hardly a barrier. Her nipple budded instantly beneath his palm and he squeezed. He shoved a hard thigh between hers, and the next noise she made was of surrender.
Parker dug the fingertips of one hand into his side, crumpling his jacket. She used her hold to both pull him impossibly closer and steady herself as she rose onto her tiptoes. Understanding more than he would’ve liked, Dean found the hem of her short, black dress and ran his hands underneath. Her textured nylons gave way to soft, smooth skin mid-thigh. He flexed his fingers and found satisfaction in the tightening of her arm about his waist. He cupped her bare buttocks and lifted her onto the edge of her desk, her dress rucked up about her waist. Her whimper became a gasp, making his erection strain painfully against his trousers.
Dean broke the kiss. Parker protested, her hands clutching at his shoulders, his neck, trying to pull him back down, but he wouldn’t comply. Not yet. Impatiently he shoved the files and laptop to the side and, with one hand on her shoulder, he urged her to lie back on the hard surface of the desk. He grasped her knees, spread her legs apart and was instantly between them again, making her gasp and moan as he rubbed himself against her covered sex.
He found her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue deeply and repeatedly in an imitation of what he was doing to her with his lower body. She squirmed beneath him, seeking more, and fierce satisfaction tore through his body. His hands found her hips, his fingers curled around the elastic band of her thong—
Someone knocked at the door. Loudly, insistently.
Dean went still as fury roared through him. He lifted his mouth up from Parker’s and glared at the door. “Go away,” he growled.
There was awkward, embarrassed silence on the other side of the door, followed by a mumbled string of words that might’ve been an apology and footsteps hurrying away.
Dean turned back to woman underneath him—and found himself wanting to track down and strangle whomever had interrupted them. Parker’s head was turned to the side and her hands had released him. Her breathing was still shallow and her pulse racing madly, but her body language was loud and clear.
His expression dark, he thrust his fingers into her hair, loosening her chignon even more, and forced her to face him. “Don’t ever lie to me,” he said fiercely. “You want me just as much as I want you.”
Her kiss-reddened lips pursed, but she only closed her eyes against him, shutting him out.
Anger heated his blood once more. He could seduce her again and have her begging him to take her in under five minutes, but he had other plans.
Stifling a groan, he lifted himself off her and straightened up. He grasped her hands and pulled her up and to her feet. He smiled grimly when she had to lean back against her desk to stay upright.
He straightened his own clothes, then helped Parker smooth down her dress, his hands lingering on her hips, the swell of her bottom. While he re-knotted his tie, she pulled a compact and brush from a drawer and attempted to repair her makeup and hair.
“We’re going for lunch,” he announced when she snapped her compact shut. “Take your purse.”
She looked at him steadily, composure mended. “It’s almost two o’clock.”
“Yes, and I bet you worked through lunch.”
One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug, silently acknowledging his words. She exhaled softly. “Would this qualify for the date I owe you?”
He deliberately hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
Her gaze turned wary. “Really?”
He nodded. “You come with me now and I’ll consider your end of the bargain fulfilled.”
“Oh-kay.” She sounded hesitant and still looked like she was waiting for a trap to spring.
Dean allowed himself the merest hint of satisfaction. Just a little while longer and Parker Quinn would be without a single escape route. Then he was going to do his damnedest to convince her escape from him was the last thing she wanted.
Dean Maxwell was up to something. Parker knew it. She just didn’t know what that something was.
She gazed at the steel, glass and concrete jungle passing by outside the window, very aware of the man sprawled on the seat beside her as Gordon, who Dean had finally formally introduced her to, expertly maneuvered the ultra-luxurious sedan through the heavy Manhattan traffic.
“Do you ever wear anything besides black?” he asked.
“Black is slimming,” she said without looking at him. “And it’s never out of fashion.”
He chuckled. “Sweetheart, you don’t need any more slimming. A good wind would blow you away.”
She stiffened, then faced him over one shoulder
and drawled, “If you want someone with some…vavoom, I can set up several introductions.”
He lifted a brow. “You wouldn’t mind me being with another woman?”
Something dark and heavy and more than just unpleasant slammed painfully into her chest, making it hard to breathe. Was she jealous?
Parker deliberately backed away from that dangerous edge and told herself she had no right to be jealous. If Dean Maxwell fell into bed with another woman, did all the things to the other woman that he’d done to her and more, she had no right to want to viciously yank out every strand of hair on the other woman’s head.
“It wouldn’t be any of my business,” she said finally, the words a little hollow.
“It should be,” he said, his smooth voice low and intense and too serious by far. “If you were with another man, I’d mind to the point of breaking a few bones.”
Without waiting for her response, he bent and opened the refrigerator compartment, pulled out a bottle of water, and offered it to her. When Parker shook her head, Dean untwisted the cap and drank from it himself.
Parker reluctantly tore her eyes away from the ripple of his throat muscles and went back to the world outside the sedan. After a few minutes, the streets and avenues started registering. They were leaving Manhattan.
“Where are we going for lunch? Jersey?”
“We’re going to make a stop in Jersey.”
“Why are we driving to Jersey?” she asked, failing to conceal her alarm.
“Because I made lunch reservations on an island in the Bahamas and my jet’s at Teterboro.”
She whipped her head around to stare at him. “What? Are you insane? I can’t just take off like this. Unlike you, I’m not my own boss.”
“No, I’m not insane, though you have been driving me crazy since I first laid eyes on you,” he pointed out calmly. “And yes, you can just take off like this. I cleared it with your boss. We have her blessings.”
Anger stole her voice.
“I’ve taken care of everything,” he continued. “All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the trip.”
“This is kidnapping!” she finally burst out.
“You agreed to go for lunch.”
She nearly sputtered. “Yes! Here—in New York City!”
“For the check I wrote, I want more than an hour of your time,” he explained easily, as if they were discussing something as prosaic as the weather.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And just how long is this trip supposed to be?”
“Six days.”
“No,” she stated emphatically, shaking her head. “Unless you bind me hand and foot and carry me aboard your plane, I’m not getting on.”
Blue eyes glittered, and for a beat Parker thought he was going to whip out a pair of handcuffs. Then he blinked, and the moment passed.
“Six days,” he said, his voice low and even. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Give me six days and if after that you still want nothing to do with me, I’ll leave you alone.”
Indecision swirled through her. Indecision and excitement. Parker squeezed her eyes shut. She could ignore him for six days. Six days wasn’t that long. She just had to remember Savannah.
“Who’s Savannah?” Dean asked.
Parker’s eyes flew open. She’d apparently murmured Savannah’s name aloud. Her mind raced quickly for a response. “Savannah’s my niece. I promised her I’d visit her on Sunday.”
It was the truth. She did have an unspoken agreement to visit her family every Sunday.
“I’ll make sure you’re back in time,” he reassured.
Parker was already shaking her head. Before she could voice another protest, Dean captured her wrist and, like she weighed no more than a child, pulled her across the backseat until her knee bumped his, but not into his arms. Instead, he cupped the back of her head, messing her hair yet again, as his own descended. Parker tried to twist away, but he didn’t release her. However, neither did he try to kiss her.
He put his mouth close to her ear. “Say yes,” he coaxed softly, his breath stirring the fine hairs above her ear. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.”
And that was the problem, Parker thought, her lashes lowering again, as if to better savor the sensations he stirred within her.
“I won’t lay a hand on you if you don’t want me to,” he continued in that low, rumbling voice. He nuzzled her ear, taking the soft, fleshy lobe between his teeth. Parker inhaled sharply. Then he bit down with exquisite care. A fine shudder ran the length of her body. “Please.”
Her hands came up and braced against his shoulders. She took a trembling breath. “If I agree, you have to let me go.” Another breath. “Now.”
He stiffened. And a part of Parker wanted him to disregard her condition, take the choice away from her. The moment passed and he drew back, pressed a hard kiss on her lips and set her away from him.
His face could’ve been carved in granite. Her fingertips tingled with the need to trace the harsh profile of his face, to soften the hard line of his mouth. Despite knowing what he was capable of, she wanted to comfort him.
Oh, dear God, she was weak.
Feeling cold despite the warm interior of the sedan, Parker wrapped her arms about herself and turned back to the world outside.
It wasn’t until a Learjet, small and sleek and sitting inside an open hangar, came into view that the practicalities occurred to her and made her break the heavy silence in the Maybach.
“And I’m supposed to walk around naked for the next six days?” she queried, turning to him.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’d have no objections to that, but your suitcase is already packed. Your assistant packed it for you. He even remembered your passport. He said he’ll feed the fish in your office while you’re gone.”
“And how did he get into my place to pack my bags?”
“I let him in.”
“You have a copy of my key?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“I want it.”
“You can search me for it.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“I’m hoping you do.”
Parker glanced away. She recalled the devious smile her assistant had aimed at her when she’d accompanied Dean from the offices of Femme. “When I get back to the office, Owen is so fired.”
“He was operating under orders from me and your editor-in-chief.”
Her brows drew together in consternation. “Who else knows about this?”
He inclined his head toward the front of the car. “Gordon. The friend who owns the island.”
“Owns the island?” she parroted incredulously. “You’re taking me to a private island?”
“Yes.” His gaze became hooded. “I don’t want you trying to buy a flight back to New York before the six days are up.”
She flushed guiltily. That had been a consideration.
He correctly read her expression. “You’re a very resourceful woman, Parker Quinn. I couldn’t leave anything to chance.”
“And how would you know that? We only met two nights ago.”
He regarded her pensively until the sedan came to a stop beside the hangar and Gordon got out. A moment later, Parker found her door being opened for her, Dean’s driver waiting patiently for her to alight.
“We’ll finish this conversation on the jet,” Dean said. “After you.”
They didn’t continue their conversation on the private jet. Not a good flyer even in a Boeing 747, Parker spent the next three hours in the relatively tiny Lear drifting in and out of sleep in one of the plush leather armchairs bolted to the floor. When awake, Dean plied her with bottled water and aspirin. At one point when she’d managed to stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes, he’d offered her food, but she’d groggily turned away with a grimace, closed her eyes and promptly fell back asleep.
When she next awoke, she found herself floating midair. Her arms flailed, hit muscled flesh,
and she realized she wasn’t floating, but being carried in someone’s arms. She sleepily linked her arms loosely around a man’s neck, buried her face in its intoxicating warmth and, feeling safe and content, drifted back into oblivion.
Muscles warm and loose, Parker languidly stretched and twisted in the smooth cotton sheets that were warmed from her body. She yawned widely before opening her eyes. It was dark in the pleasantly cool room. When she glanced at the ceiling she could just make out a fan whirling slowly above the bed. She sat up and the sheet drifted down to her waist. Her naked waist.
Only one person would’ve stripped her clothes from her body while she was unconscious. The heat of anger crawled from her chest, up her neck and across her cheeks. She took several deep breaths, felt under the covers, found her thong still in place. He’d attempted to make her comfortable, not feel her up. Besides, she’d already allowed him that liberty earlier. And hers wouldn’t be the first female body he’d seen. Nor would it be the last.
Suddenly irritated, she yanked the sheet up to cover her breasts, then decided it was unnecessary since she was alone in the darkened room, and rolled out of bed. She found a lamp on a nightstand and, after a little fumbling, flicked it on. Warm, golden light spilled from the lamp. She found her olive suitcase and coordinating tote bag just inside a door that concealed a walk-in closet. Another door revealed an en suite complete with soaker bathtub and separate shower stall.
After closing the door behind her, Parker peeled off the thong. Sighing, she stepped inside the frosted glass stall, twisted the knobs and lifted her face to the water as it washed the sleep from her eyes and beat down soothingly on her tired body. She washed the makeup off with her own foaming cleanser, thoughtfully packed by her assistant. Maybe he wouldn’t be unemployed when she got back to New York after all.
She made use of the deliciously scented herbal shampoo, conditioner and body wash she found sitting on the ledge. Ten minutes later, she toweled herself off with a plush, cream-colored bath sheet that felt luxurious against her skin. With a hairbrush from one of the vanity drawers, she brushed out her shoulder-length hair and decided to let it air dry. Next, she brushed her teeth with the electric toothbrush and toothpaste she dug up from her own tote bag.