by Naima Simone
“This is…unexpected,” he commented, following behind her down a hall to a set of stairs. Along the way, she stopped and spoke with people, poked her head into the arts and craft session, was greeted with a chorus of “Hi, Morgan,” in excited children’s voices.
Unlike the smile she’d given him in the outer lobby, hers for each person shone with genuine happiness.
She glanced at him over her shoulder as she mounted the steps. “What were you expecting? Bars on the windows? The stench of depression clinging to the air?”
No. Not quite. But definitely something less…cheery. “I half expected not to be allowed inside. Some places don’t permit men to enter the premises.”
“In a lot of women shelters, that’s true. But we aren’t a shelter. We provide support services and classes that help women and their children get back on their feet as well as prepare them for the work force,” she explained. “We still have security, though.”
“Good.”
“Good, huh?” She tossed him a smile that contained the slightest edge to it. “Careful, Alex. I might start to think you care.”
He didn’t reply as they crested the landing and headed down a corridor with several closed doors. What could he say? I do care, but I don’t want to. Or maybe, Caring is a short trip to getting attached, and sorry, not going to do that.
Either one would go over like a lemonade stand in hell.
She paused in front of a door halfway down the hall with “Office” stenciled on it, and opening it, stepped through. The large room contained two desks, chairs, lamps, and file cabinets. But in spite of that, it was surprisingly comfortable and welcoming.
“This is nice,” he said, surveying the room before settling his attention back on her. “You…fit here.”
Even as he voiced the words, he acknowledged they were inadequate. But true. As his executive assistant, she’d been incredibly efficient, skilled, and organized. She’d certainly smoothed the path of his transition as CEO of Lier Industries. There, she’d excelled. Here, in Phoenix House, she lived. He’d been in the building five minutes, and he’d glimpsed how people greeted her with warmth and admiration. Witnessed how she lit up when she spoke with them. In this place, she seemed to drop the facade of snark and ennui. Here, she didn’t seem to need it.
She glanced away from him, crossing her arms, and the defensive gesture didn’t elude him.
“I take it you accepted the assistant director position,” he murmured.
“No, I haven’t decided yet.”
Surprise winged through him. “Why not? Isn’t this where you spend most of your time?”
She returned her gaze to him, arching a delicate eyebrow. “You mean when I’m not following your schedule? Yes.”
He ignored the jibe, focusing on what she hadn’t said…or admitted to. “Still letting Gerald dictate your life, Morgan?”
She almost concealed the flinch at his blunt question. Almost. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m not stuck in an office taking orders from a tyrannical employer, am I? No offense.”
“None taken. Especially since you’re just deflecting,” he drawled.
Heaving a sigh, she tipped her chin up. “What brings you here, Alex?”
“Dinner,” he said, although until that moment, he hadn’t planned on inviting her out tonight.
“Really?” She shook her head, her ponytail swinging. “That’s not on the—”
“Schedule,” he ground out. “I know.” Screw that damn schedule and the day he’d sent it. “Regardless, I wanted to invite you to dinner.”
He had a business meeting scheduled, but in that instant, he decided to cancel it. The unprecedented move sent uneasiness flickering inside him, but he ignored it. One dinner. One deviation from the plan. Nothing to raise the panic flag over.
“Actually, I can’t,” she said, waving toward the office door. “We’re preparing for another clothing drive for this weekend. When you arrived, I was separating and tagging the clothes that have already come in. I’ll be here the rest of the evening.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Her commitments sent a surge of pride through him, even though, logically, he recognized it wasn’t his place to feel that. She didn’t belong to him. Didn’t stop the warm glow from pulsing in his chest though over this selfless, dedicated woman. Again, that sense of disquiet wavered, and again, he extinguished it. “I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. Do you need an extra pair of hands?”
The same shock that widened her eyes and parted her lips rippled through him as well. Where the hell had that offer come from? He should be back in the office working; instead, he stood across town offering to sort women’s clothes.
He couldn’t even claim to be pussy-whipped, because except for the night in New York, he hadn’t had any.
“Seriously?” she asked, not even bothering to hide her skepticism.
“Yes.”
“Why?” she pressed.
And wasn’t that the question of the day?
He could go with volunteering would make good copy for the company. And back it up by calling Kim and having her send a photographer and press over.
Or he could just tell her he needed something to pass his time.
Either would suffice as a believable excuse…
“You’re here.”
Damn.
Silence vibrated in the room, deafening.
She studied him, her expression inscrutable, lashes lowered.
Look at me. Keep those pretty eyes on me. I need to know what you’re thinking. He’d demanded that of her on their night together. And he wanted to issue the same order now. Let me inside…
“Do you know anything about manual labor?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
He snorted, removing his coat as well as his suit jacket. “Please. I’ve worked in the mail room of Bishop Enterprises before. I probably have more experience sorting than you do.”
“Hmm.” A corner of her mouth curled, and her blue eyes gleamed. “I sense a wager coming on. How about a bet to see who sorts the most clothes? If I win you have to…” She squinted at him, then broke out in a grin that would’ve struck fear in the most stalwart people. “Print out the damn schedule and burn it in your backyard.”
He swallowed a bark of laughter. “And if I win?” he countered.
“An hour of silence?” she suggested.
“Tempting,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “But no. If I win, you have to take my place with Kim at the opening of The Nutcracker next weekend.”
“Shiiiiiiiit.”
“Scared you’re going to lose?” he taunted.
“The ballet, though? That’s hell.” She shuddered. “But it’s a nonissue, because you’re going down, Alex Bishop.” She paused. Smiled. “And this time you won’t enjoy it,” she purred, before exiting the office.
Leaving him with the image of his face between her gorgeous thighs, his lips and tongue teasing the sweetest flesh he’d ever tasted.
From out in the hall, he caught her wicked chuckle.
Tossing his coat and jacket on one of the chairs, he followed her into the corridor, his jaw clenched, his cock throbbing.
Game. On.
…
“Yes, Kim. Morgan really longed to see The Nutcracker, so I couldn’t deny her the opportunity,” Alex lied to his sister, smiling at Morgan as she glared a hole into him from her side of the car. “No, I’m not lying,” he said, as Kim accused him of just that. “I have to go. I just wanted to let you know about the change. See you tomorrow.”
He ended the call, hanging up on his sister mid-interrogation. Kim had sounded suspicious about Morgan’s sudden desire to see the Christmas ballet. As she should. When Kim had told Morgan about attending the season’s opening night at Thanksgiving dinner the week before, Morgan hadn’t been subtle about her desire not to go. Who would’ve guessed he and Morgan shared the same aversion to the ballet?
Which made winning this wa
ger all the sweeter.
All was fair in ballet and war.
“The first time I see you smile, and it’s because you’re forcing me to go to the damn Nutcracker,” she muttered.
Surprise rippled through him. “What do you mean? I’ve smiled before.”
“I’ve never seen it until tonight,” she said. After a moment, she murmured, “And I’ve wanted to see it.”
He stared at her, shadows from the scenery passing by the car window playing peek-a-boo with her face. Once more, that unreadable mask that had hid her thoughts from him in the Phoenix House office smoothed her lovely features. And he wanted to remove it as much now as he had then. She wanted to see him smile? Then a memory filtered through his head. When they’d been in the hotel bedroom, and after her first glimpse of his tattoos, she’d made the comment about not knowing whether to look at him or read him, and he’d chuckled. Morgan had cupped his face and asked him had he just laughed. At the time, he’d chalked it up to her being, well, her, but now…
“Why?” he asked.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You seem so serious all the time. Like you’re not happy. After New York, I understand some of why. Still, you seem like you don’t enjoy life. And that’s a shame. Someone as successful as you…someone who’s endured all you have…deserves laughter and joy. It doesn’t seem fair that you don’t.”
He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Part of him longed to lash out with a cold verbal slap. Inform her she didn’t know what she talked about. But the other half snapped a muzzle on that side. Because other than Kim, she was the only person in his life who knew him. He’d confided in her, had shared with her on that balcony in New York, allowing her in when his MO was pushing people away. He’d lowered his guard with her, and now that she’d commented on what—who—she’d seen beneath, he had no right to throw a figurative haymaker like a hurting child lashing out.
“And there’s another reason,” she added. “I wanted what I haven’t seen you give anyone else.”
The admission took a blowtorch to his control. She’d just confessed that she wanted to be special to him. That shouldn’t be arousing.
“Come here,” he ordered, his voice low, pulsing with hunger.
She shifted forward, placing a palm down as if about to climb across the seat to him. But she didn’t move. Instead, she settled a shoulder against the leather cushion.
“I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”
“Why in the hell would you think that?” Incredulity punched him in the gut, and he reeled back from the impact. All the woman had to do was breathe, and he was hard.
“Oh, maybe because you pulled a Coyote Ugly in New York,” she purred, but he didn’t miss the note of hurt underneath the sarcasm.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That wasn’t about you, but me.” He paused, weighing his next words, but in the end, he couldn’t let her spend another second doubting that he desired her. That she was desirable. “You threaten one of the things I value most. My control. With you, I have none. And that had me running. No one or thing has ever made me run, Morgan. Just you.”
“But you’re not now?” she murmured.
He leaned forward, lowered his voice, heard the lust roughening it. “Oh hell yes, baby, I am. Just slower.”
Silence fell between them, only her soft puffs of breath breaking the quiet. And still, she didn’t move.
“I want children someday,” she blurted.
“Okay.”
“You still don’t want them, right?” she asked.
He shook his head, unsure where the sudden line of questioning had originated. But with his cock throbbing against his zipper, his mind operated on half its capacity. Still, he tried to keep up.
“No, I don’t,” he said. Yet even as he said it, the thought of Morgan fucking another man to have those children tightened his stomach to the point of pain.
“You don’t want love or a relationship. You refuse to get married again,” she continued.
“Right,” he replied, impatience to touch her sharpening his tone. “Morgan, where is this going?”
“I don’t want love, either; I’ve seen it hurt people too many times and have been too devastated by it to try it again. But, I do eventually plan on marrying one day. With my eyes open and without stars in them, yes, but I want a husband, a family. You don’t.”
“Where are you going with this?” he growled.
“You don’t, right?” she pressed, ignoring his question.
“No, I don’t. You believe in love, but I don’t.” Images of Helena and the parade of his father’s wives and mistresses intruded on his thoughts. “Marriage, either.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Good.”
Then she launched herself across the back seat, plastered herself to his chest, crushing her mouth to his. He groaned, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips, claiming, tasting, relearning. God, he’d missed her. Just one night together, and her flavor had become addictive. He wrapped her ponytail around his fist, angling her head so he could dive deeper. She whimpered, and it sounded just like the hungry sound his memory had supplied him with these last two weeks. Only better. Because that sexy little sound was on his tongue now.
The car pulled to a stop, and he planted one last kiss on her lips. A glance outside the window revealed they’d arrived at her brownstone.
“Let me come in,” he murmured, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “Say yes, baby.”
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
He didn’t wait for his driver to come around and open the rear door. Grasping her hand in his, he exited the car and guided her out after him. Though he longed to rush her up the stairs and into the house, he paused on the sidewalk, cupped her face.
“Are you certain?”
In reply, she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Like a flash fire, the heat flared between them, and if he didn’t get them moving in the direction of her stairs, her neighbors would get one hell of a show.
Taking her hand, he led her up the front stone steps. Impatience whipped through him as she opened the door and stepped inside. As soon as she locked it, he took her back into his arms and guided her backward until her spine touched the wall.
Once more he took her mouth, unable to get enough. Before her, he hadn’t been a kisser; he hadn’t grasped the allure of it. Until Morgan. He could plunge into her mouth, lick and suck her tongue all night. There was something…intimate about it. A precursor to how he hungered to take the rest of her.
“Alex.” She groaned, arching her neck back, curling her fists into the lapels of his coat. “Touch me.” Pressing her open mouth to his neck, she grazed his skin with her teeth. “Please.”
Hurriedly, he removed her coat and his own. But when he gripped the bottom of her sweater, he paused. Remembered how she’d wanted it fast and hard in the hotel room. And though his cock throbbed in time to his heart beat, he deliberately inhaled, then exhaled. He slid his hand up her torso, paused to cup her breast and strum a thumb over her nipple through the knit of her sweater. She whimpered, pressing her breast further into his hand, but he’d already moved on. Continuing his path up her chest and throat, he watched the course of his hand until it cradled her jaw.
Gently, he traced his thumb over her full bottom lip, tugging down. This time when he lowered his head for a taste, it was slower, wetter, and fuck, hotter. He swirled his tongue over hers, coaxing her to engage him in an erotic dance. And when she tried to speed the pace up, he pulled back, nibbled at her lips, licked the flesh. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, loosing an impatient whimper.
“Alex,” she murmured.
He didn’t reply. Not with words anyway. Instead he dipped his head and trailed a kiss over her delicate jaw, the elegant column of her neck. He just wanted to savor her; she deserved to be enjoyed and cherished. The woman he’d witnessed today deserved someone taking care of her, seeing to her needs.
This time when he grip
ped the hem of her sweater, he tugged it over her head and dropped the top on the floor. The sudden urge to see all that hair down, tangled around her shoulders and chest, rose in him, and he didn’t deny it. Reaching behind her, he gently removed the band and couldn’t contain his groan of pleasure when the strands flowed over his hands and lower arms.
“If you knew the fantasies I had about this hair, you would run and lock me out of your bedroom,” he growled against her lips.
Something hungry flashed in her eyes. “Do. Tell.” A wicked smile that had his dick jumping behind his zipper curled her lips. “No, wait. Let me guess.”
Slowly, she lowered to her knees, her hands falling to his waist.
Oh fuck. “Morgan.” He groaned as her fingers made quick work of his belt and the fastening to his pants. “Baby, you don’t have to…” But his hand thrusting in her thick, silken strands belied his words. Jesus, more than anything he wanted her mouth on his cock. Wanted to fill that pretty, smart-aleck mouth. Have her tongue tug on him, suck him… “This is about you,” he tried again even as his fingers tangled in her hair.
“I know. And this is my fantasy,” she whispered, tugging down his boxer briefs and dipping her hand inside.
“Shit,” he ground out as she freed him, squeezing him. God, her slim, elegant fingers looked so fragile against his cock. Pale against the ruddy, veined, almost brutish looking length. And it might’ve made him more of a caveman, but the contrast had him burning hotter, going harder in her hand.
She hummed, stroking him from root to tip, her fist swallowing the cap. Pleasure raced up his spine, then back down to his balls and up his erection. Her breath broke over the damp head just before she licked at the pre-cum smeared by her hand. Fire exploded inside him. That first touch of her tongue.
“Morgan,” he groaned. His grip on her hair tightened. “Please, baby. Take me in your mouth.”
She complied with a moan of her own. And then…heaven. And hell. Pleasure. And torture. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight of those beautiful lips stretched wide around his flesh. She sucked him inside her, sliding him over her tongue, engulfing him. When he hit the back of her throat, she drew back, treating him to a long, slow lick. Soft murmurs he wondered if she was aware of emitting vibrated against his cock as she took him again. She pumped the bottom half of his length, her lips bumping her fingers. His hips jerked in time to the pace she set, and in that moment, she owned him.