by Tasha Fawkes
“You’re sure you don’t have a concussion?” I ask.
He throws his head back and laughs. “I’m clear as a bell. So? What’ll it be?”
Oh, boy. I hope I don’t regret this.
Chapter 15
Jane
“I hope I don’t regret this. I hope I don’t regret this. I’d better not regret this. There’s still time to turn back and pretend this never happened. He can’t hold it against me. That would be sexual harassment, right? He can’t risk that sort of lawsuit.”
The words pour out of me in one long whisper that barely spares any breath. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I stand in the elevator. I should go home. This isn’t a good idea. I know it isn’t a good idea. I’m smarter than this, aren’t I? I may not have been born a city girl, but I know the way things like this work. I’m not the girl who wanders into her boss’ apartment, all wide-eyed and naive, thinking all he wants is an innocent night of conversation.
The thing is I don’t want innocent conversation. If I'm being honest, that’s the real reason I’m still on my way up to the penthouse in one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, right across from Central Park. I want more. Much more. That only makes it worse.
So here I am, in the private elevator car that goes straight to the top floor. Where he’s waiting for me.
“You can handle this, Jane. You’re a smart person. You can be strong and not do something you’ll regret.” I nod firmly to myself as I step off the elevator. His door is just in front of me, and it’s standing open. Am I supposed to walk in? Would that be rude?
I hate second-guessing myself.
“Hello?” I ask, knocking.
The door swings open further, revealing the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous apartment I’ve ever seen. Hell, it’s more beautiful than all the houses I’ve seen in my life. The entire far wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing a breathtaking view of the city. When I step inside, I see that all the exterior walls are windows, like a panoramic view. If I lived here, I would never do anything but stand there, staring out the windows. I’d lose my job. Then again, if I could afford a place like this, I probably wouldn’t need to work.
“Hello?” I whisper this time, like it's a reverent sort of place, the sort of place where everything gleams and people must speak in hushed tones. My apartment is roughly the size of a corner of the living room, with its shiny wood floors and the glass-walled fireplace in the center. There’s a fire flickering there, casting an amber glow on the tasteful leather furniture.
And I've only seen this single room. I can't even imagine what the rest of the place is like.
“Jane? In the kitchen.”
Like I know where the kitchen is. I follow the sound of Anthony's voice down a short hallway and end up in a spacious, bright room with shiny steel appliances. Surprise of surprises, Anthony is standing in front of the stove. I watch, slack-jawed, as he expertly tosses a pan full of vegetables in the air to stir them. Probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I didn’t know you were going to be cooking.”
He smiles over his shoulder. “What’d you’d think I meant by a proper thank you?”
It's a relief when he turns back to the stove so he can’t see my cheeks turning crimson. Here I am with a dirty mind that immediately went in the wrong direction. The man only wanted to cook dinner for me. He hasn’t lured me here to seduce me. I'm the one who's been seeing things that aren't there.
“I hope you like shrimp,” he says. “I guess I should’ve asked first.”
“Oh, that’s great.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.
He adds some to the pan with the vegetables.
“Have a seat at the island.”
I see he’s already poured me a glass of wine. White. It’s crisp and almost fruity. I guess he took a clue from all the vodka cranberries I’ve been drinking lately.
Minutes later, he turns around with a platter of shrimp, sautéed vegetables and pasta in his hands. I applaud, and he gives me a little bow. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. I’m afraid I’ll always be in your debt at this rate.”
“I’m sure you can think of lots of ways to pay me back.” Where the hell did that come from? I wish I could reach out and grab my words and shove them back in my mouth. What's wrong with me, saying something like that?
He only grins. “I’m sure I’ve already thought of a few ways.”
There go my cheeks again, burning like my face is on fire. I'm not any good at this sort of thing.
Time to change the subject. “What made you learn how to cook?” I ask.
He smirks. “Do you want the honest answer?”
“Um…I guess?”
“To impress women.” He shrugs as I laugh. “Hey. No shame in my game.”
I take a taste of the food. Wow. “Mm. Your game is strong.”
“You’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He winks.
A pang of jealousy goes through me, and I tell myself that it doesn't matter. “I bet I’m not. I half-expected to find a revolving door when I reached your floor.”
“The contractor’s coming next week to give me an estimate for installing it.” He shakes his head as he gives me a wry grin. “Smartass.”
Are we actually flirting? I know I shouldn’t, but it feels natural. There’s a strange sort of easiness between us, totally unforced. It’s completely new to me. Men like him normally leave me tongue-tied and wishing I were dead.
“Do you have any more dishes in your repertoire? Or is cooking a second meal never a concern for you?” I sip my wine, which of course perfectly complements the food. Because he knows about things like that. Meanwhile, I usually go for whatever’s cheapest since it's not like I have a lot of disposable income.
His chuckle sends a sexy shiver down my spine. “I’m pretty good with breakfast.”
Fuck me. I bite my bottom lip and tell myself to stay cool. I want to hang in and flirt and have a good time. Dissolving into nervous giggles won’t exactly do the trick. He’s used to sophisticated women, not the sort of simple person I am. I toss my hair over one shoulder and then feel like an idiot for doing it.
“That’s a shame. I don’t normally eat breakfast.”
Yes, because that makes more sense.
His eyes travel over my face, then further down to the little bit of cleavage I decided was safe to expose. “It’s okay. That means more time doing other things.”
The way he’s looking at me is making it hard to breathe. I wish he would stop, almost as much as I wish he would never stop. Our eyes meet, and it feels like an electric spark crackles between us. I really hope he's feeling this too because I'd feel like an idiot if this is just me.
He’s not looking at what he's doing as he reaches for his wine glass, and the liquid spills all over his shirt.
“Shit!”
It soaks in instantly, revealing the shape of his chest with the sort of detail that makes my stomach clench. I’m going to suffocate right here on this stool in the middle of his kitchen. It’s official. This is how I’m going to die. Death by sexiness.
“I’ve gotta get out of this. Excuse me for a sec.” He goes down the hall to a room at the end, unbuttoning as he goes. I tell myself I shouldn’t look, even when he leaves the door open and practically begs me to watch as he slides the shirt over his shoulders and down his back.
Silly me, thinking it was hard to breathe before he was shirtless. There’s no way he’s real. His body is perfect, like a fucking fitness model or something. Like a guy from the cover of Men’s Health. Abs that are the very definition of washboard, a back just begging for my nails to rake up and down…
What’s wrong with me? It must be the wine. I don’t usually think this way about any man, although he’s not just any man. Maybe it’s him. He does affect me in a funny way. Or it could be the way the city seems to surround me as I sit there in the lap of luxury.
Whatever it is,
it’s all going to my head and making me extremely brazen. Brazen enough to slide off the stool and march down his hallway. Brave enough to walk into the bedroom, go straight to him, and take his face in my hands before crushing my mouth against his.
Chapter 16
Anthony
Damn. I didn’t expect that to be so easy.
Not that I planned on making a mess of myself, but leaving the door open was definitely intentional. A stroke of genius—that is, if the fact that she’s in my arms and we’re falling onto the bed together is any indication.
I can’t keep my hands off her. Her body feels amazing on mine, and she's so much more than the soft, mousey girl I thought she was. She writhes on me, the movement pushing her dress up her legs, and I nip at her bottom lip. She moans, her fingers curling in my hair as if she needs to hold me in place.
It’s not until I run a hand up her smooth, soft thigh that I realize how much I’ve been wanting to touch her like this, ever since that night in the bar. I wanted to see if her ass felt as good as it looked, and it does, firm and ripe, dying for me to squeeze it and hear the way she moans into my mouth as our tongues thrash together.
Fuck.
Her long nails dig into my shoulders, and she moans again, a desperate noise that seems to go straight to my core and makes my dick surge to life. There’s so much need in her, I almost don’t know where to start. She’s like a bomb just waiting to go off.
And I'll be damned if I let anyone else get to take advantage of that. Tonight, she's mine.
“Anthony!” she gasps when I break the kiss.
My mouth wants more of her. I need to see if she tastes as good as she feels. I trail kisses down her throat, feel the way her pulse throbs just under the skin. I lick that spot, then bite it hard enough to make her squeal. I like that sound, so I do it again, then suck the skin into my mouth until the blood rises to the surface. I mark her as mine even though I don't want to acknowledge what that might mean.
I move further down, hooking my fingers in the straps of her dress and pulling it down. She sucks in a breath when her lacy white bra is revealed and I glance up at her. She digs her nails in again. I’ll be marked up to hell and back, but I’ve never cared less. I want her to mark me. I want to know how good I make her feel. Just like I want to be able to look at her neck tomorrow, even if she covers it, and know that she remembered when she saw it.
She wraps one of her long legs around my thigh and pulls me closer until my leg is between hers. I hike up her dress until it’s around her waist and she undulates, back arching and hips pushing up against me. I press my thigh against her mound, my cock straining in my pants when I realize she’s practically humping my leg. A steady stream of cries come from her mouth as I mouth her breast through her bra. Her nipples are hard, and I take one between my teeth, the fine lace allowing me enough purchase to tug on it until she swears.
I've never been with a woman so responsive.
I need more.
I roll onto my side and take her with me, giving me access to the zipper along her back. She gasps when she feels my hand against her bare back, and then does it again when I flick open her bra clasp. One-handed, thank you very much. Now I can see that her pretty pink nipples are even more delicious than I imagined, and I immediately latch onto one of them. I suck hard on the sensitive flesh, alternating pressure and teeth as I gauge what she likes best.
“Yes…please, Anthony…oh, God…!” Her head rolls back and forth, eyes closed, mouth open as she gasps and cries out again and again. Her body trembles, and I wonder if she's actually coming.
I can't wait to hear the noise she makes when I finally sink inside her.
I work her dress down over her hips, then down her legs, pushing up onto my knees so I can pull the garment off. There’s an obvious wet spot on her panties, and my cock twitches. When I run a fingertip over the delicate silk, she bucks and throws her head back like it's the first time anyone's touched her like that. Fuck. I need to get to the center of her heat, the wet slickness I know is waiting for me.
I pull aside the crotch of her panties and mutter a curse under my breath. She's pink and glistening, with only the thinnest bit of hair. As much as I want to be inside her, I need to taste her first.
I cup her ass and pull her up to my mouth so that she's balanced on her shoulders and the top of her back. Her eyes lock with mine as I put my mouth on her. I lick with short, quick strokes, focusing on her clit until she begins to whimper, her hands pushing at my head. Only then do I give her a respite.
But not for long, because I'm sliding a finger inside her. She is so fucking tight and hot that I know it's going to be a fight for me to keep from coming the moment I'm inside her.
I use my finger and thumb together, working all those sensitive places. She’s almost screaming now, riding my fingers as I stroke her clit and drive her closer and closer. I think she comes, but I can’t be sure since she’s raking her nails down my back and over my ass, bucking and writhing and breathless.
And so gorgeous.
I stop just long enough to pull off my pants, then settle back between her legs again in only my shorts. She groans when she feels my hard, hot length driving against her pussy as I run my tongue all over her skin.
“I need you,” I groan, driving my hips against her. I just need to find a condom…
Suddenly, everything changes. Just like that. She goes stiff against me, and not because she’s having another orgasm. It all stops like I flipped a switch or something.
“No.” She pushes me away, palms against my chest. “No, I can’t.”
“What?” For a second, I’m sure she must be joking, but then she pushes again, harder this time, and I automatically sit up. I can be a bastard sometimes, but I’ve never and will never force a woman.
She scrambles to her feet, fixing her bra before pulling her dress on with shaking hands. Her face is white, except for two spots of color high on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry.” She won’t look at me.
I just want her to look at me. I've never seen a woman behave like this before, and the fact that it’s this particular woman bothers me more than I'd have thought possible.
“Jane, what the hell happened? Did I do something? Did I hurt you?” That’s the last thing I want. I’ve never cared so much about whether a girl is happy or sad or hurt or whatever. Not that I’m a total ass, but I’ve never been the guy who cuddles and asks if it was good for her. This girl? She’s done something to me.
I follow her down the hall, not caring that my dick is still standing straight out in front of me and I look completely ridiculous. “Just wait, okay? We can talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I have to go.” The next thing I know, she’s out the door and on the elevator. I’m not one to beg or to follow a woman out of my apartment in just a pair of boxer briefs. Especially since that could possibly cause an arrest for public indecency. I have no choice but to let her go.
What the hell did I do wrong?
Chapter 17
Jane
Once again, I wish I could call off work. And I thought yesterday was bad. I only wish the worst I had to worry about today was fatigue. A night spent crying and reproaching myself didn’t do me any favors in that department. So not only am I consuming more caffeine than is probably healthy, but I'm an emotional wreck, too. This is so far beyond that slight embarrassment that his rescuing kiss had been. This is total and utter mortification.
Like why won't the earth open up and swallow me sort of humiliation.
I’m sure he must hate me. If he doesn’t, he must think I’m a hopeless prude who isn’t worth his time. I can’t explain why I froze up the way I did. I know why I did, but I sure as hell can’t explain it to him. Not without exposing things I prefer to keep private. There's a good reason I keep people at arm's length.
It’s times like this I wish I was never born, when I remember that I’ll never be normal. I never even had a chance
. I don't like to think of myself as pessimistic or particularly maudlin, but I can't see any way out of this that isn't bad.
Maybe he’s too angry to speak to me or even see me. And while I hate the idea of him being upset with me, I actually prefer it to the alternatives that mean I'll have to actually talk to him. That he'll want to avoid me as much as I want to avoid him is the only bit of hope that sustains me as I walk to my desk. I try to be as quiet as I can, not wanting to draw any extra attention to myself. I'm still the new girl, but I've had a lot of practice at fading into the background. I hoped this would be my new start, but it seems I can't ever truly outrun my past.
When I reach my desk, I can't really say I'm surprised to see that my typical luck is holding.
The pink Post-It note he took from my desk with MY OFFICE scrawled in capital letters sticks to my monitor telling me he’s not going to simply pretend that nothing happened. Terrific. This is exactly what I need in my life.
I hold onto that little flicker of anger, letting it give me strength. I hope he only wants to talk business as I march into the room without knocking. Better to get it over with while holding my head high. I didn't do anything wrong, and I refuse to let him shame me for changing my mind.
“Good morning,” I say when I enter.
He’s standing with his back to me, facing out the window, and the only bit of his expression I can see is the reflection in the glass. His hands are clasped behind his back. He looks like he owns the world in his expensive suit and shiny shoes. Everything about him screams confidence, success. So why should he care about someone like me going cold on him at the last minute?
“Care to tell me what happened last night?” He doesn’t turn toward me when he speaks.
I must have really struck a nerve. Male ego much? Sure, we were having a good time, but it wasn’t as though I laughed at him, or fell asleep in the middle of things. And still, he doesn't have the right to treat me as if I did something wrong. People need to stop acting like stopping in the middle of something is somehow wrong. Wrong would be if he didn't stop when I asked him to, or if I went through with things and then blamed him for my choice. Or if I planned on filing a sexual harassment suit against him for how far we did go.