Play with Me (Novella)

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Human resources,” I say, and I don’t stop. My cell starts ringing and I dig it from my purse as I add, “I need to handle something for Mr. Ward.”

  “Hello?” I say, answering the call.

  “Are you there yet?”

  “No. Not yet. I can email it from my personal account if I need to.”

  “That’s okay. Just try to find the files. Where are you?”

  “Walking in to your office.” I open the door and flip on the light, and the scent of him rushes over me. I shiver with the impact but shove past it, ignoring the seating area. I round the conference table to my left, heading for the massive black-and-glass desk at the center of the room.

  “Are you at my desk?”

  “Sitting down now,” I say, setting my briefcase and purse on the floor and letting the cushy leather absorb me. “Let me put you on speaker.” I hit the button and then say, “Okay. Where do I look?”

  “Left drawer, in a file marked New York Ventures.”

  I thumb through the files. “Got it.”

  “Perfect. This is highly confidential. I want it sent on our server and email. I have a scanner attached to my computer, so power up.”

  “I have your email and documents,” Maggie announces at the door.

  “Oh, good,” I say. “Thank you. Can I bring you the documents in a bit? I just need the email immediately.”

  She rushes forward and, oddly, Mr. Ward says nothing, like he doesn’t want her to know he’s on the line. “Here’s the email.” She opens her folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. “If you want to power up, I’ll show you how to log in.”

  “Yes, please.” I punch a button of the computer, and for Mr. Ward’s benefit I say, “Powering up now.” Maggie’s gaze lands on the report on the desk, lingering a bit too intently it seems, and I get a funny feeling deep in my gut. She’s been around a lot longer than me so this shouldn’t bother, but it just feels like she’s being nosy. I shut the file and frown at the flashing green light on the computer screen. “What do I do now?”

  Maggie motions to the computer. “Key in your first and last name.”

  “Where?” I ask, thinking I must be blind or doing something wrong.

  Frowning, Maggie comes around the desk, and her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, my. That’s not good.”

  “What’s not good?” Mr. Ward demands.

  Maggie jumps and presses her hand to her chest. “Mr. Ward. I didn’t know you were on the phone. The screen is flashing with a green line. I think your computer has crashed.”

  “It’s not only his computer,” Dana says, appearing in the doorway. “It’s everyone’s.”

  “Call tech support immediately,” Maggie instructs.

  “That’s the first thing I did,” Dana quickly assures her. “They said the servers are down and they will be in touch.”

  “Take me off speaker,” Mr. Ward orders.

  I grab the phone and hit the button, then put it to my ear. “I’m here.”

  “Dana knows the airline I charter. Tell her my meeting has been canceled and to get the plane ready within the hour. I’m headed to the airport.”

  “Oh. Okay. So you don’t need the file?”

  “Get me the plane, Ms. Miller.”

  The sharpness of his tone takes me off guard. “Dana,” I say. “Get Mr. Ward a plane, please. His meeting was just canceled and he’s ready to be home. He’d like to leave within the hour.”

  “Okay,” she says. “What about the computers?”

  “I’ll get an update from tech support for you,” I promise, winging it, not sure what is happening but certain it’s far more than we all know.

  “On it,” Dana assures me, and turns to leave.

  “I’ll go check in with tech support in person,” Maggie offers, and she’s gone before I can reply.

  “Ms. Miller?”

  “Yes,” I say, pressing the phone fully to my ear. “I’m back.”

  “Text me your personal email. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He ends the call.

  I grimace at the phone. Something is off. Something is really off. I text him my email. He doesn’t reply. Until he does, I don’t even know what to do next. Nerves flutter in my stomach for no explainable reason.

  Intending to find a scanner not attached to the network, I gather the file and am stuffing it into my briefcase when Terrance appears in the door, his jaw clenched, eyes hard. Those nerves I had turn into stabbing pains. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “There’s been a security breach. The casino and hotel are going on lockdown. We hope to have the public areas cleared in a few hours. Anyone considered high risk will not be released until we have the source of the breach. You’re a temp and it’s your first day. That means you, Ms. Miller.”

  Ms. Miller. Not Kali. My throat tightens and I rasp out, “What does that mean—lockdown?”

  “It means I’m going to give you a cushy room with free room service, where you can work until the breach is located or Mr. Ward arrives and decides differently.”

  I press my hand to my stomach. “I’m a suspect?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect in an incident this large. Some are simply classified as more high risk than others.”

  “Do I have to agree to this?”

  “You’re getting paid hourly. Why wouldn’t you agree?”

  Because it’s insulting? Because it feels really bad? I grab my purse and my briefcase. “Let’s go.”

  He gives me a nod and turns, expecting me to follow, and I do. We ride to the penthouse level in silence and he motions me out into the hallway, on my heels as he directs me to my left. At the door to the room, he faces me. “I need your phone, and all access outside the hotel is restricted. You can keep your computer, but Internet connections are blocked.”

  I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I was wrong. Vegas is not where I’m supposed to be. This is not where I’m supposed to be. I dig out my cell and hand it to him, and I hate that my hand shakes as I do. “If you need me, call the security desk. If you need food or anything else, call the front desk.”

  “Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

  He swipes the key to the room and holds the door for me to enter. Once I’m inside, it shuts behind me and I lean against the hard surface, staring at what is before me. I am in the glitz and glamour of luxury, complete with a grand piano, and all I see is a prison. And all I can think is, What just happened?

  Part Five

  Business or pleasure?

  The silence is deafening. Three hours into my confinement in the luxury suite, and I have not heard from Terrance or Damion Ward, nor have my attempts to contact them through the hotel reception yielded any results. I begin to question all my reasons for coming to Vegas, not to mention the insanity of trying a new career path. There is no way the entire casino staff is locked down in rooms like this, and I can’t help but read into the silence. I’m worried; I can’t help it. I don’t even get parking tickets, and this is unnerving enough to have me pacing the room in my stocking feet, willing the phone to ring.

  By the time I’ve been tormented by my scenario for a full four hours, I know I have to do what I swore I never would again. I attempt to call Texas for help, not sure if I prefer the pain of talking to my asshole father, the attorney, or my asshole ex, the attorney. I just need to find out if I can walk out of here without getting into legal trouble. Turns out that I don’t have to choose between hometown assholes: I’m forbidden any calls outside the casino even from the hotel phone they can easily monitor.

  Three more hours pass and I’ve exercised my in-casino calling privileges at least half a dozen times. I’ve even threatened to leave the room, only to be quickly assured that the floor is on lockdown, including elevators and stairwells. On another call, some employee named Derek instructs me to watch a movie On Demand as a comp from the casino. Right—comp unless they call me a thief. And no movie is going to make this wait bearable. Nor will a clearance from the crime save my job. Enough people know I’m on
lockdown that my reputation will be in tatters. If Natalie was telling the truth about why she was fired, I’ll probably be fired, anyway.

  And on that note, I decide to work out my frustrations by opening my computer and outlining research questions for an explosion piece on the Vantage properties and their CEO. Things happen for a reason, and maybe this is all about me getting my big story. I manage a full two pages of ideas and notes. I stare at them. I say I crave honesty and I have to start with myself. The words on the page are objective, but I am not. Despite how upset I am right now, I do not want Damion Ward to be worthy of me writing this story. I shut the computer with a finality I hope proves to be true.

  By seven o’clock, I am standing at the hotel window, watching the sun descend into the jagged line of high-rise hotels and mountains, when there is a knock on the door. I whirl and charge across the room, not knowing or caring whom it might be. It’s someone living and breathing who can set me free.

  I open the door and all but gasp at the unexpected sight of my soon to be ex-boss, looking intensely male and completely unaffected and perfect as ever. “We need to talk,” he says, as if this is a casual event requiring nothing more than a chat, as if I’m not being treated like a felon.

  “Talk?” I demand, all the emotions of hours of confinement rising up in me to near bursting. “We needed to talk seven hours ago. Now? Now we don’t need to talk.”

  He steps forward, crowding me, forcing me to give him space or let him become a part of mine. I have a rare violent urge to shove him, but I retreat into the room instead. He steps closer and kicks the door shut behind him, and damn him, that delicious scent of him tickles my nose, and the teasing eruption of sensations in my body only serves to make me more angry. I don’t want to feel the way he makes me feel. I don’t want him to be the one man who sparks something in me that no one else does.

  “I couldn’t call,” he has the audacity to say. “Just like I couldn’t tell you I knew we had a security breach when you told me what the computer was doing in my office.”

  “So you knew what was happening and didn’t tell me?”

  “There’s a procedure to—”

  “I don’t give a damn about procedures, Mr. CEO, especially from the one who sets the rules I’ve suffered with.” The edginess in me results in me poking my finger at his chest, heat dashing up my arm. “Just tell me one thing. Am I free to leave?”

  He looks down at my finger and then his gaze lifts, but there is no anger in his face. There is something else, something I can’t identify. “I got you cleared, but—”

  Relief is instant, and I cut him off. “That’s all the talking you need to do.” I try to turn away, intending to gather my things, but he shackles my wrist, more heat ripping up my arm and over my chest.

  “Let go,” I snarl, hating a man I barely know who has put me through hell. It’s like I’m a masochist. Why else would I be drawn to yet another powerful asshole?

  His lips thin, and I wish I didn’t notice how sensual and perfect they are. “We have to talk.”

  “No,” I assure him. “We do not.”

  “We’re going to talk.”

  “You aren’t my boss anymore, which translates to the end of all conversation.”

  His eyes glint hard steel. “What does that mean, I’m not your boss anymore?”

  “I quit. Find someone else to treat like crap.”

  “I had no choice—”

  “There’s always a choice. I just want out of here.”

  “You’ll regret this later.”

  “I’ll take that risk.”

  “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, Ms. Miller. You aren’t thinking straight.”

  I all but growl at him. “Let me guess. I’m a woman and my emotions must be controlling me.”

  “Because you’re human.”

  “Why do you even care if I stay?” I demand, and I don’t know how or why, but the air around us shifts and thickens.

  “Because I do.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I want to know you.”

  I swallow hard. “Well, I’m sure you’ll know every piece of my DNA after seven hours of being trapped here. Goal achieved.”

  “Ms. Miller—”

  “Stop with the Ms. Miller. I’m not your damn employee anymore. Let go of me.”

  He doesn’t let go. His gaze flickers to my mouth, then lifts. “I won’t let you quit.”

  “Call Natalie. I’m sure she’ll come back.”

  He tugs me close, his hard body aligned with mine, and I can barely breathe. “What do you know of Ms. Duncan?”

  “If you mean Natalie, she was in HR when I was.”

  “There were circumstances.”

  “Yeah. I get that. Believe me, I get it.”

  “No. You don’t. She has nothing to do with you or us.”

  Us? What does he mean, us? And why is my hand on his chest? Why can’t I move it? “I’m done. Let me go.”

  “You won’t change your mind about quitting?”

  “No.”

  His fingers tangle into my hair, dragging me closer. “Then why would I let you go?”

  Both of my hands have now found the wall of his chest, and I intend to push him away, but I just … don’t. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? Finding out if you taste as good as I think you do.” And then his lips are on mine, his tongue licking seductively into my mouth, sending erotic sensations spiraling through my body. I tell myself this is insanity. To push away. We barely know each other. I don’t even like him. Except I know it’s a lie. I know that in the short time we’ve known each other, every shared moment, every mutual look, every touch and tangled word exchange, has been leading to this.

  Another lick of his tongue and I am unable to hold back a moan or the desperate need to be closer to him. I arch forward, desperate to feel him against me. Desperate to have him naked and touching me. Me touching him. Desperate to be naked and have him inside me. He is a drug, a wicked, wonderful drug that will finally be the end of my sanity if I allow him to be.

  That idea sends a burst of panic and adrenaline through me, and I shove at his chest. “Stop. We can’t.”

  His mouth leaves mine, and I am one part relief, one part painful need to pull him back. “Why?” he demands, and his voice is rough, affected.

  “You’re my boss.”

  “You quit.”

  “Right. Which means I leave now.”

  “You want to leave?”

  No. “Yes.”

  His eyes darken to deep pools of green fire and stormy torment, telling me he knows this is a mistake. He knows. I know. Why are we still here? “Tell me you really mean that and I’ll let you go,” he vows. “But just know this: If you stay, I absolutely will fuck you senseless and then do it again.”

  “I … you … we can’t …”

  “We can. I’m going to kiss you now, Kali.”

  “Kali?” I whisper, unbelievably aroused by my name on his lips.

  “Yes. Kali.” And then he is kissing me, his tongue caressing into my mouth, seeming to touch every intimate part of my body, stroking deep, and burning through me. Sensations roll through me, teasing my senses, torturing me with how much I want him and how wrong I know this is. But then his hand caresses my backside, pulling me closer, hard against his hips, his thick erection pressed to my belly, and I can’t remember why exactly it’s wrong. I am lost. Lost in him. Lost in what I feel, and I don’t want to let anything else in. Not the past. Not the last few hours. I don’t care anymore.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, crushing my breasts to his chest, and gasp as he tears his mouth from mine. Then he is staring at me, searching my face for something I don’t understand. And I don’t know what he sees, or what he finds, but his eyes soften, and he strokes the hair from my face. “I was right. One kiss isn’t even close to enough.” His mouth comes down on mine again, and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt,
holding on to him, willing him not to stop. This time the kiss is deeper, a dark demand that I answer willingly, eagerly, my tongue stroking against his.

  Suddenly his fingers wrap my waist and he lifts me, setting me down on the wooden dining room table, spreading my legs to step between them.

  “What are you doing?”

  He reaches up and tugs on the front zipper of my dress. “Undressing you.”

  A moment of clarity comes to me, and I grab his hand. “You need to know this changes nothing. I’m still furious about today. I don’t even know if I like you.”

  “But you want me. That’s a start.”

  He tugs on my zipper and I don’t stop him, my hands going to the table, trying to stabilize myself, though I’m not sure that is possible. This man is shoving my bra down and ravishing my breasts with a hot inspection that makes my sex clench and my thighs ache.

  “I …” I pant, and forget what I was going to say. He’s cupping my breasts, pressing them together, and stroking my nipples with his thumbs.

  “You what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He nudges me backward. “Let me try to figure it out,” he offers, lowering his head, his dark hair tickling my chin, his tongue flicking against my nipple, sending darts of pleasure through me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting for sanity, but his mouth closes down over one of my nipples, sucking deeply, and I am arching my back, offering myself to him. Silently begging him for more. It’s just been so long, I tell myself. So very long since someone touched me like this. So long since I felt like a woman. This isn’t me radiating toward men who like to hurt me. This isn’t me torturing myself. It’s him torturing me in all the right ways.

  My hands go to his hair, but he slips away, going down on a knee and caressing my dress up my thighs. “Now I’m going to officially apologize for what happened today,” he vows, his thumbs stroking the bare skin above my thigh highs, then whispering over my panties.

  I barely recognize the sound that slides from my lips, but he likes it. He smiles, and it is a sexy, seductive promise of more of this wonderful, delicious something he is doing to me. Caving to pleasure, giving myself to him, I let my head drop backward, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. Not when he is shoving the silk of my panties aside and his fingers are stroking the wet center of my body, flicking my clit, sending waves of desire through me.