by Kendall Ryan
His eyes shoot open wide. “I never meant—”
“It doesn’t matter! Your intent doesn’t change the results. Maybe it never even occurred to you that I’d have a problem with your bullshit. I can give you that benefit of the doubt. But I’m standing here now, telling you how I feel. So, please knock it off.”
He covers his mouth with one hand, pulling down hard, and lets out a loud, harried sigh. “I . . . didn’t look at it like that. I was just trying to woo the client. Like I always do.”
Wow, he actually looks taken aback.
Somewhat shocked, I let my voice soften. “Well, if I’m in your life now, that can’t happen anymore.”
“In my life, huh?” He considers me with an expression I can’t quite read. “So that goes both ways, I guess. I’m in your life too?”
“Seems that way.” I sigh. “We’re stuck together for a good long while, at least.”
Now I can read his face—the first flickers of that familiar sinful smile. He reaches up, and at first I think it’s to cup my chin. But then he just runs his finger down my neck, that long stretch of exposed skin, all the way over the curve of my shoulder. I can’t help my shiver.
“You make it sound like a jail sentence,” he teases.
I smile. Only slightly, but it’s there.
He leans even closer and asks, “Are you sure you weren’t jealous at all?”
My two glasses of wine have lowered my guard. That’s my excuse for why, instead of telling him to shut up, I admit, “Maybe a tiny bit.” Then I regain my senses and add, “But that doesn’t change my original point.”
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.
My cheeks start to warm as he regards me. Why did the jerk even ask, if he was just going to stand there staring?
“What?” I’m starting to get embarrassed again, but it’s different from before—a ticklish, almost excited twist in my stomach, instead of an upset, painful tightening. And the defensive tone of my own voice only intensifies the feeling.
“Nothing. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”
I roll my eyes in an attempt to stop staring into his. “Come on, don’t give me that. You know the effect you have on women.”
That grin is full-blown now. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“No. I refuse to play travel agent for your ego trip.”
“If you want, I can take my turn first.” Before I can stop him, Noah starts listing my pros. “You’re the smartest, most diligent person I’ve ever met. Watching you work is fucking hot—in your element, poised and confident, the way your pretty blue eyes flash when you’re about to tear some poor schmuck apart. I can’t help wondering if you’re just as fierce and tireless and creative in bed. You’re honest to a fault . . . is your body honest too? Do you wear pleasure on your sleeve? Or would you try to hold back, make me work for it? Believe me, I’m up to the challenge.”
His words knock me breathless. What the hell just happened? And why does it have to make me tingle in the worst way?
The half praise, half dirty talk strikes a weak point I didn’t even know I had. Or maybe I only feel this way because it’s Noah who’s saying such sweet, filthy things, gazing at me so fervently. His husky voice softens and warms me, and I suddenly feel so exposed. Unshielded. But not in a bad way, not like a naked-at-the-important-meeting nightmare, because I know that Noah would never hurt me. He would never take advantage of my vulnerability.
Or maybe he would, but only in the ways that I secretly want.
Noah takes my hands, turns my palms up in surrender, his thumbs rubbing light circles onto the soft thin skin under my wrists. When I can’t repress the shiver that races through me, he grins like a wolf. Oh, he saw that reaction, all right. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I both hate it and love it.
“And I’d do just about anything to get my hands on your amazing body,” he continues mercilessly. “I’ve never seen a more perfect woman . . . every inch of you, tight ass and luscious tits and legs just made to wrap around my back. Kissing you the other night wasn’t nearly enough. I’d love to watch your expression change as I pound into you. Watch you give up control, turn off your brain and just feel.”
“Y-you don’t play fair,” I finally manage to stutter.
“Hey, that’s not how this works. Compliments, not insults. Believe me, I already have a pretty good idea of what you think my bad points are.”
“Uh . . .” I swallow. “You’re pretty cool too, but in a different way. Good with people and words and stuff, instead of numbers and strategy.”
“Is that why you’re blushing right now?”
In a way, yes. But his sculpted jaw, full lips, and piercing dark eyes are what make his words truly intoxicating. And the fact that he still hasn’t let go of my hands.
“You take charge, and sometimes I hate that, but sometimes . . . it’s nice to have a break.”
His smile turns mischievous. “Oh? I’ll be sure to make a note of that. Anything else?”
I retreat to safe, familiar ground. Harsh words, something I can deny later as just a joke. “Are you just trying to get me to admit you have a nice ass?”
But when his only response is a silky, dark chuckle, I realize my mistake. He wasn’t fooled at all—why did I ever think he would be?—and now I’ve backed myself into a corner. Literally and figuratively. As I talked, Noah slowly leaned closer, bit by bit, until I can just barely feel the tickle of his breath.
Suddenly, acutely aware of the rising temperature between us, I cut myself off. “Shouldn’t we get back? It’s rude to keep Miss Osbourne waiting.”
Noah’s stare is too intense for me to look away. “The only woman I’m interested in entertaining right now is you.”
I shift a fraction, needing to leave but wanting to stay, and I realize that my panties are soaking wet. Everything I never let myself feel or think about Noah rushes to the surface. My body doesn’t care that he’s a juvenile jerk. I hate that my libido is so totally out of my control. I hate that I’ve always had such a wicked crush on Noah. Fate must be laughing her ass off at me right now.
Noah leans even closer, stopping just short of contact. I can almost feel the brush of his lips against mine, and my stomach clenches with desire.
“Still only first base?” he whispers against my skin. “Or do you want more?”
I don’t answer. I’m not even sure I can speak. I just wet my lips.
That one tiny move is like loosening a coiled spring. Noah lunges forward to devour my mouth. My knees weaken with his expert onslaught. His strong arms wrap around me and his hands are everywhere, igniting my nerves, fingertips grazing what feels like every inch of bare skin. I feel a flash of frustration that my dress is so modest; I want his touch all over me, unrestrained.
He yanks our hips together and I feel his erection press into my belly. Something wild shoots through me, a fierce, territorial satisfaction. That hardness is all for me. Not Estelle, not any of his past conquests. I’m the one who’s making him feel this way right now. Such powerful, primal need aimed squarely at me and only me.
He’s all mine. The unbidden thought strikes deep into an animal part of me I never realized I had.
On fire, I cup his bulge through his pants, wanting to assert control and show off my sexual power. But that was a big mistake . . . emphasis on big. Feeling just how impressive and steely hard he is only makes me even more desperate. I groan and squeeze him in my palm.
“If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem,” he growls out.
I giggle, feeling almost tipsy with lust. “You sure it’s our problem and not just yours?”
He abruptly draws back, pulling an involuntary noise of disappointment from my throat. But my fervor spikes again when he takes my hand and hurries me toward the nearby restroom. He pulls me inside and locks the door. I drop my purse in the corner just as he shoves me up against the wall.
Our mouths crash together again, lips and ton
gue moving like they were made for this. Our making out intensifies as his fingers fumble at the back of my dress. He finds the zipper, tugs it halfway down, then abandons it to push my sleeves down past my shoulders, trapping my upper arms.
I squeal in shock—then quickly clap my hand over my mouth—when he kneels to swirl his tongue around one nipple and pinch the other . . . hard.
“No bra tonight?” he murmurs between licks and suckles and gentle bites. “Naughty girl.”
I want to explain that this dress doesn’t work with a bra. I want to tell him to shut up and fuck me. But all I can do is tremble at the sparks of sensation shooting from my breasts straight to my clit.
“God, these are beautiful,” he says on a groan, taking my nipple in his mouth.
I can only watch, desperate, as he kisses my breasts, and let out helpless moans.
“And so sensitive.” He moves to the other, giving it a wet kiss that ends with an audible sucking sound. He hikes up my skirt and runs his fingers along the center of my panties. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs. “Nice and wet for me.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Noah chooses that moment to kiss me again.
Then he lifts the side of my panties and his fingers slide in. No fumbling at all now, no fooling around, no teasing—he knows exactly what I’m dying for. One long finger parts me, petting me, putting just the right amount of pressure on that swollen bud. I mumble some unintelligible groan. Noah’s tongue continues working against mine. Then two deft fingers crook deep inside me and the heel of his hand rubs my aching, swollen clit. Heat surges through my core and I choke out a cry of relief. Yes . . .
Noah growls with possessive satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear, baby. This pussy is mine now, and we both know it. I’m going to take damn good care of my wife . . .”
His dirty talk pisses me off and sets my body on fire all at the same time. I don’t know what to feel. I can’t think at all. I just hang on to Noah, struggling to keep standing while the white-hot pleasure coils tighter and tighter. I bite my lip hard to muffle my moans.
“Fuck . . . Noah . . .” I moan, rolling my hips hard against his hand. I’m so agonizingly close. Just a few more seconds . . .
Someone knocks at the door.
We both freeze in place, me topless and clutching Noah’s shoulders, Noah with his hand up my skirt. The absurdity of the picture suddenly strikes me. I might have laughed if I weren’t so terror-stricken—and teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing climax. Even with the fear of getting caught washing ice through my veins, I’m still burning up.
“If you move your fingers, I’ll kill you,” I whisper frantically to Noah. No way would I be able to keep this orgasm quiet. It’s been six long months in the making. And I want it more than I want my next breath.
“Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Oh my God. That’s Estelle’s voice. Our client is standing less than three feet away, and my stupid sexy boyfriend’s hand is still down my panties.
“It’s Noah and Olivia,” Noah calls, pulling off a perfect casual voice. “We just had a few things to talk about.”
“In the bathroom?” she asks with obvious skepticism.
Is she suspicious or just confused? Damn it, I should just throw myself out the window right now.
“Private family matters, you understand. We’ll just be another minute.”
After a heart-stopping pause, I finally hear her footsteps move away.
“Stop touching me,” I hiss under my breath.
Noah gives me a hey, not fair look. “You told me not to move my—”
“You know what I meant, smartass! Now get out of my panties!”
Chuckling, he withdraws. “I think that’s the first time a woman’s ever said that to me.”
“If you want to hear worse, that can be arranged. Now, zip me up.”
After Noah helps me yank my clothes back into place, I check the mirror over the sink. Jesus, I look like a train wreck. Lipstick smeared everywhere, hair rumpled. My appearance practically screams I just humped a guy in the bathroom! What a great bargain . . . all the public embarrassment of sex with none of the “actually getting to have an orgasm” part.
I retrieve my purse from the corner, pull my travel brush through my hair a few times, then start scrubbing at my lips. As I apply a fresh coat of lipstick, I notice that Noah hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s straightened his tie and rebuttoned his jacket, but other than that, he’s just been waiting patiently for me.
He could at least have the decency to look ashamed about tempting me into this mess . . .
“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” I snap at him. One of them was just buried in my you-know-what, after all.
With a wicked grin, he lifts that hand to his nose and makes a show of smelling his fingers, inhaling my scent, and my face flares bright red.
“No way,” he says simply.
I tear my hungry eyes away and huff, “Whatever. Let’s just get back to the table and hope we haven’t already ruined this deal.”
“Uh, sweetheart . . .”
I glance back at him. “What?”
He releases a deep breath slowly through his nose. “If I go back out there like this, I’ll be arrested for indecency.”
I follow his gaze, which has dropped to the front of his slacks.
Holy hell. It looks like he’s smuggling a pineapple in his underwear.
“Get that thing under control.”
He squeezes his eyes closed and takes another deep breath. When his eyes open again, he looks slightly more composed. “Let’s roll.”
As we leave the bathroom, I try to pull myself together. With Estelle in my sights again, I get my head back in work mode.
Sure, Noah may be unfairly attractive—and now I know he’s good with his hands too, on top of being a skilled kisser—but I still need to stay frosty here. He’s an arrogant, cocky, immature playboy who doesn’t take business seriously enough.
So, keep your head in the game, Olivia, I remind myself.
But the unsatisfied ache between my thighs is almost too much to bear. This dinner will definitely qualify as the longest evening of my life.
Chapter Thirteen
Noah
“Well, that went well,” I say as I maneuver my sleek black Tesla out of the parking garage. I give the gas pedal a modest tap and we fly off down the street.
I feel ten feet tall, as smug as can be, and I don’t give a shit right now. Not even the way my cock is aching like a motherfucker can ruin my mood.
Olivia shoots me a questioning glare, and I know she’s wondering what I’m referring to—the business meeting with the new client that we’ll probably land, or my favorite part, almost getting her off in the bathroom. My body is still primed and ready to deliver.
“I can’t believe you didn’t wash your hands,” she snaps.
“I may never wash this hand again.” I smile and make a lewd gesture with my fingers.
She turns away from me with a huff and looks out her window in silence the rest of the way home.
When we arrive, the penthouse is dark and quiet and my hormones are still raging. Olivia sets her purse and cell phone down on the entry table, then turns, putting her back toward me.
“Will you unzip me?”
I drag her zipper down her back, letting my fingers graze her skin, appreciating the twin dimples in the small of her back and the very top of her lacy thong.
Torture. This is pure torture.
Taking a chance, I lean forward and place a soft kiss against the back of her neck. “We could finish what we started at the restaurant.”
Her breathing has grown shallow and I can practically smell her arousal. I know her panties are still soaked. The idea of touching her again has me nearly overcome with desire.
“It’s probably not a good idea. We should keep this strictly professional from now on. We need to focus on the business, don’t you think?”
But she sounds the sl
ightest bit unsure, and that’s all I need. It tells me that it’s only a matter of time until I get what I want. And what I want is her tight cunt wrapped around my cock, where I can pound away for hours. Days, even.
“You were so close back there. I could feel your pussy gripping my fingers, that swollen little clit pulsing in time with every heartbeat. You were about to come,” I whisper.
The heat of my breath sends a rash of goose bumps racing down the back of her neck. I know a woman’s body well, how to read all the signs and signals, and everything about Olivia is blaring that she needs to be fucked. Stripped down, laid on the bed, and worshiped like the goddess she is.
“Noah . . .” Her voice is almost a groan, and my cock hardens instantly.
“What do you do for fun, Snowflake? Everything can’t be about work. Sometimes blowing off some steam is a good thing.”
“For everything there is a season.” She straightens her posture. “And this is our season to buckle down and focus on business, not play grab-ass games. I’m sure that’s a foreign concept to you, but—”
“Believe me, I’m dead serious about Tate & Cane. But business is for the workday. After hours is for playtime. And in case you failed to notice . . .” I trail one fingertip down her spine, lingering at the waistband to her panties. “It’s dark outside. And we’re two consenting adults.”
“Two? Try counting again.”
The ice princess takes a step away from me and heads toward the bedroom, where I drink in one last glimpse of her bared back and hips before she shuts the door. I can just imagine her letting the dress slip down her long legs, the fabric pooling around her still-heeled feet, her firm ass covered only with a scrap of lace . . .
God. Fucking. Damn it.
I rake my fingers through my hair and blow out a frustrated sigh. For a second, I don’t know if I’m frustrated because I’m horny and insanely attracted to her, or because she’s making it impossible to win our bet.
No. Fuck that. It’s just because I want her. I want to take her in my arms and understand that we could really have something here. She’s just so damn stubborn. And her secret dream of a romantic wedding—I may not be her first pick, but I want to at least meet her halfway, as more than friends. I’ll just have to find a way to pull this off and keep everyone happy.