by Claire Adams
I stripped off my clothes and headed into the bathroom. A hot shower followed by a brief period of meditation would be exactly what I needed before the evening began.
It was going to be a long and busy week, and it was essential that I approached it in the right state of mind.
I stepped into the shower, turned on the water, and sighed as the hot jets pelted my skin. Not only was it going to be a busy week, but it was going to be interesting . . . very interesting.
***
“That's it. That's the last touch. We're done,” I announced
A look of relief crossed Asher's face as he stood from his desk after having sent the final file through. He stretched and then chuckled.
“It's been a long week, huh?”
I smiled and stood from my side of the desk.
“It has. But we've been productive as hell, haven't we? I feel pretty confident that this campaign is as good as it can possibly be. I think they're about to see yet another spike in sales.”
“I think so, too, Lilah. I think so, too. Come on, shut your computer down and then we can get the hell out of here. I love working, don't get me wrong, but we've been cooped up in here for what, 13-14 hours every day this week? I think it's about time for some R and R.”
It was Friday, and Asher and I had yet to speak about last Saturday. We had both danced around anything personal the whole week, doing our best to stay totally focused on getting the job done, and getting it done well. And we'd achieved that with flying colors. But without that to focus on, I was feeling just like I could only guess he was feeling—a strange combination of exhausted, energized, and slightly awkward.
Something had to give. And, if past experience with Asher was any indication, having a drink could prove to be exactly what was needed to quell all of those.
“I don't know about you,” I ventured, “but I'm feeling like . . . I don't know, like doing something. I mean, I'm tired, but I don't want to just go home and sleep. I feel like it'd be a waste given that I'm still pretty pumped from the excitement of wrapping this thing up successfully.”
“I hear you,” he said. “Maybe we should be doing something to celebrate. But, to be honest, I don't really feel up to going out someplace where I have to deal with people. I’m psyched up, but not that energetic.”
“Well, I have a bottle or two of bubbly at my place that I shouldn’t open all by my lonesome. If you'd like to come over and have a drink, I feel like this is as good a time as any to pop it open. We do have something to celebrate, after all.”
Asher smiled that crooked smile of his that does something to my insides. “That sounds great. I'll shut everything down here and then meet you there shortly.”
A wave of unexpected excitement rushed through me. “I’ll go ahead then. See you at my place.”
***
“Another glass?” I asked with a sly grin, feeling all warm and tingly from the champagne I was definitely drinking too quickly. Somehow, though, I'd stopped caring about retaining absolute control. In fact, I was ready to lose control completely. Everything that had been so bottled up inside over the past few weeks was threatening to spill out and bubble over, and I was pretty damned close to being ready to let that happen.
“Fill it up,” he said with a smile.
I filled our glasses and took a seat next to him on the sofa. We'd been laughing and joking, edging closer and closer to each other on the sofa after starting out at opposite ends when we'd first opened the bottle.
“You did a fantastic job on the Harry Winston case,” Asher told me yet again. “I know I've already said it a thousand times, but seriously, you've impressed me. And, that’s not an easy task. Your work ethic and dedication are off the charts. I'm not sure how you came up with the concept you did, but it's been an honor to take it to its conclusion with you.”
I blushed. I couldn’t help it. It was obvious that his words weren’t mere flattery, but rather a true compliment that came from the heart.
“Thank you,” I replied quietly. It's been a real pleasure working with you. I've learned so much in such a short amount of time. I never dreamed I'd be given so many opportunities to improve my craft and hone my skills so quickly. And, being around someone as dedicated and inspired—and immensely talented—as you and your team have really given me inspiration to push and challenge myself.”
A smile tugged at his lips as he sipped his champagne. “I'm glad you feel that way,” he said. “The inspiration has been working both ways, I'll have you know. Before you came along, I felt a bit stuck on the Harry Winston thing. I'd hit some sort of rut. I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't feeling the fire in my veins the way I have in previous years and previous campaigns. But since you came along, you’ve breathed new life into this campaign—and my company. I've felt like my old self again.”
I wasn't sure how to interpret his last comment and even less certain how I should respond. What I was certain of was that it caused my heart to start beating a little faster and my breathing had quickened. I couldn’t help wondering if it was as obvious to him as it was to me. Because I was completely out of my element and the conversation was taking us to a place I wasn't sure I was ready to go to yet, to put it simply: I panicked.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” I blurted out. I clearly have the worst defense strategies possible when my nerves kick in.
“Sounds good,” he answered with a bit of a chuckle under his breath. Apparently, he recognized the abrupt subject change. How could he not?
“Let me have a look at what's on Netflix.”
I fumbled with the remote for a few moments and then brought up the Netflix menu and we started scanning through the list of movies.
“What do you feel like watching?” I asked.
“Oh, hmm. How about something classic?”
“How 'classic' are you talking? I mean, that's a broadly defined term in this day and age, you know. Like, black and white classics from the ’50s or ’60s? Or are we talking auteur stuff from the ’70s? Cult classics from the ’80s and ’90s?”
He grinned and sipped on his drink like he was stifling his amusement. “Sounds like someone's a bit of a film buff,” he said with a grin.
I squinted an eye at him. “Don’t laugh, but it’s possible I was in Cinema Club at high school.”
“No, no, that's awesome! It's refreshing to meet someone who's into the art of film.”
“Yeah, well, I always have been. It was kind of my outlet from the real world when I was growing up.”
“I've met Martin Scorsese, you know,” he said with a smile. “Worked with James Cameron, as well. Great guy, James. He's very into saving the environment these days.”
I crooked up on corner of my mouth and then drank a sip of champagne. “You aren't trying to impress me by name-dropping, are you?” I asked with a wink.
He laughed. “Maybe,” he replied with a subtle smile. “Maybe I was.”
I edged a little closer to him on the sofa without thinking about it, instinctively. I didn't remember consciously choosing to do so. Still, it felt right, somehow.
“All right, well since you're in the mood for something classic, but you didn't say just how classic, I'm going to pick a decade,” I said. “And, I'm going to go with the ’80s. How does that sound?”
“I'm an ’80s baby, so, that sounds perfect.”
“All right, let's see what Netflix has to offer in that category. Hmm, we've got Groundhog Day, Batman, Sixteen Candles, Willow, Return of the Jedi, The Breakfast Club, Die Hard, The Terminator . . . Anything jumping out at you?”
Asher took a sip of his champagne before answering. “You know, I've never seen The Breakfast Club—and references to it get dropped so often that I feel like I'm missing out. It's one of those I’ve always meant to see, but never got around to.”
“Wow. I feel like I should be giving you grief right now. We must remedy this injustice. Jeez. I thought it was a requirement to have seen The Breakfast Club at least three time
s if you grew up in the ’80s.”
“Well, how many times have you seen it?”
“Hmmm . . . at least a dozen. And, I've been meaning to watch it again for ages. Tell you what, I've got some popcorn in the kitchen. I'll go whip up a batch—the old fashioned way on the stove, with loads of butter and salt, of course.”
He laughed. “That sounds awesome! Didn't take you for someone who enjoys spending much time in the kitchen.”
“It's not really my thing, but you need to understand how seriously I take movies! A movie is not a movie without real popcorn. Not that microwave, pre-flavored crap!”
“All right, all right. You go whip it up. I'll wait here,” he laughed.
I got up and headed to the kitchen. The weight of his stare followed me. When I'd gotten home, I'd changed out of my work attire into something more comfortable: a simple jeans and T-shirt combo. While I knew he’d stolen many a glance at me at the office dressed in my business suits—after all, I picked them to accentuate my curves—it was flattering to know that when I was dressed more simply, he still couldn't resist looking when he didn’t think I was watching.
While I was making the popcorn in the kitchen, his voice came echoing through from the living room. “Lilah, the champagne's done, and I'm still kinda thirsty. You got anything else here or should I have a courier deliver us something?”
I paused for a moment before I answered. I was already feeling a little buzzed from the two bottles of champagne we'd already had. With all these feelings starting to boil over, I wasn't sure what would happen if I got more alcohol in me and had my inhibitions lowered even more.
But I didn’t particularly care at the moment.
“I have some vodka in the freezer and freshly squeezed orange juice I picked up this afternoon. We could make screwdrivers, if you'd like?”
“Screwdrivers! I don't think I've had one of those in years. That sounds good.”
“I'll bring it all out with the popcorn.”
“Sounds great!”
I paused for a moment, taking note of how surreal the situation around me was. I had, sitting on my sofa, one of the most powerful men in the PR industry, a man who had become a billionaire by age 20, the CEO of the corporation in which I'd landed my dream job. We were about to eat popcorn and drink Screwdrivers together like a couple of broke college kids.
I couldn't help giggling.
“What are you laughing at in there?” Asher’s voice echoed from the living room.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” I replied, doing my best to stifle the laughs.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . if you say so,” he replied. “I can smell that popcorn, by the way! It's starting to smell like a movie theater in here!”
“You can start the movie,” I said. “The first bit is just a song and credits.”
“Okay.”
“Turn it up, though, it's a great song!”
I heard the open beat and chords of Simple Minds' “Don't You Forget About Me” echoing through my living room as Asher started the movie.
“You’re right! This is a great song!” he exclaimed. “Man, I haven't heard this in years!”
When the popcorn was ready, I put it into a bowl, grabbed a couple of glasses, got the orange juice and vodka, then placed it all on a serving tray and headed to the living room.
“Ah, that smells great,” he said.
He looked up as I walked in and smiled, then stood to help me with the tray. Once we were both reseated, he took the cap off the vodka.
“Single or a double?” he asked.
“Make it a double.”
No clue why I'd chosen that, or whether it was a wise course of action, but it was done and I had to go along with it.
“Feeling adventurous, huh? Well, I can’t be outdone by a girl,” he winked. “Guess I'll make mine a double, as well.”
He poured and mixed the drinks, and I settled back on the sofa even nearer to him than I had earlier. Our legs were practically touching, and all I had to do was lean a little to the left and I'd be in his arms. He handed me my drink and I immediately took a big gulp—probably a little too big. The champagne had definitely gone to my head, and a sober me wouldn’t think drinking a vodka double was the wisest thing to do under the circumstances. But sometimes you just need to let go and lose control for a while.
When I lowered my glass, he was staring at me. Our eyes locked and an incredible wave of desire rushed through my entire body, catalyzed by the alcohol. Timidly, I smiled and looked away. He shifted closer.
“Umm . . . Let's watch the movie,” I half whispered trying to avoid the pull between us as I placed my glass on the table next to the popcorn.
“Yeah . . . movie. Right. Let's watch,” he replied softly, a hint in his voice of what I could only guess was the same struggle I was facing.
I shifted on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. I ended up leaning ever so slightly against him.
His arm slipped around my shoulder and pulled me in closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, trying to focus on the movie playing.
The gentle touch of his fingertips stroked down my cheek as he brushed a strand of my hair back. It felt like a familiar touch, but still sent a shiver down my arm. I imagined my hair had wandered into his face and he was simply repositioning it, but then his fingers retraced their path and moved down until they came to rest under my chin. Slowly, he guided my face to turn toward him and then tilted my chin up until our eyes met. My pulse quickened.
His hand threaded through my hair as he leaned close, his lips covering mine possessively, but tenderly. I melted into his embrace, into the mad, desperate, passionate kiss I had dreamed about since our first one. Only, this kiss was hungry—more ravenous than that of a pack of winter-starving wolves.
Asher growled as my fingers drifted over his broad shoulders and chest, sighing as I finally touched bare skin at his neck. He groaned as I traced the column of his throat with my fingertips, excitement building within me. I wanted him under my touch more than I had ever wanted any man.
Through a fury of kissing and hands exploring, I began unbuttoning Asher’s dress shirt, tracing the contour of his well-defined chest as I did. It was more than I could handle.
I stood abruptly and disengaged myself from our mad embrace.
“Follow me,” I commanded, trying to catch my breath.
He nodded and followed me to my bedroom where things took a very different turn. A strange impulse came over me and, in a sudden rush of power, I took over. I wanted to make the most powerful man I’d ever known see what it was like to not be in control for a change.
“I'm in charge here,” I insisted as I removed my T-shirt to expose my black, lace bra. “And, you're going to do exactly what I say.” I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off, standing before him in matching boy shorts.
He grinned cheekily and reached out to touch me, but I slapped his hand away.
“No, no, no,” I said. “You were not given permission. Now, if you can’t follow orders, I'm putting my clothes back on. Do you understand?”
My blood was racing through my veins, hot and eager. Part of me wanted to give in and let his hands explore every inch of my body, but another part wanted to show Asher Sinclair that I was capable of power and dominance.
And that was the part that won.
“I'll do whatever you say,” he responded.
“That's what I like to hear,” I said. “Now take your pants off—nice and slow.”
He did exactly what I instructed—and that's when the fun began.
Chapter Fifteen
Asher
I awoke with a slight pounding in my head. We'd definitely had far too much to drink the night before. Lilah was lying next to me, sleeping soundly. My eyes roamed appreciatively over her exquisite curves—those that were revealed outside of the sheets, at least. I leaned over and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just after 5:00 in the morning: the time I usually woke up.
The l
ast thing I wanted to do was leave, but I needed to get back to my place. Bryce would be waiting to begin our training session in an hour, and he would have no sympathy for me being late for any reason beyond one that involved a life and death situation.
I tried to ease out of Lilah's bed, not wanting to wake her. Memories of what we had done together the previous night were blasting through my mind. Certain parts of my anatomy began coming to life rather quickly, but I didn't want to disturb her from what looked like a very restful slumber.
I gathered my clothes, crept out of the room as quietly as I could, and pulled the door closed quietly behind me. I got dressed in the living room, where I'd left my wallet and keys the night before. I thought about leaving her a note, but couldn’t find anything to write on and I wasn’t about to start snooping through drawers. I slipped out of her apartment, making sure the door was locked behind me.
The streets were quiet and relatively empty at such an early hour, so I was able to drive fast. To try to clear my head of the thoughts of Lilah and our steamy encounter, I focused on the speed and thrill of pushing my Maserati to its limits, which demanded sheer and utter concentration. I reached home just before 6:00. I managed to get to my gym, where Bryce was already waiting with a scowl on his face, just after the top of the hour. In Bryce’s eyes, even a minute late was late. And, I paid for it.
During my post-workout shower, my phone rang. Everything in my home was connected to a central media system, so I simply leaned across the shower and hit the answer button. I was hoping that it would be Lilah's voice that came through the quadrophonic speakers installed across the bathroom, but it wasn't.
“Mr. Sinclair, it's Carlos Cerros.”
I arched an eyebrow, surprised by the fact I was getting a call from Carlos. Carlos was the manager of an eco-tourist wildlife sanctuary I'd set up in Costa Rica. My grandfather had always been a benevolent man with his wealth and seeing all the good he had done. I felt it was my duty to use at least some of my wealth for good causes, as well, such as saving virgin rainforest and preserving endangered species. I visited every few months when I needed to get away from city life and work.