by Addison Fox
When she had ten laid out, she pointed as she spoke. “This one’s too dark, even though I like the pose. And this one’s damn near perfect, but the model’s eyes have the slightest manic expression.”
“Stefano must have been flirting from behind the lens.”
“Likely,” Mayson agreed dryly. “It’s a shame, too, because the rest of the shot’s really outstanding.”
“Outtake?”
She shook her head. “I won’t embarrass the poor woman that way. We do want her to work with us again.”
With a quick glance through the remaining eight, she pulled three more and put them aside. “These. With this one,” she tapped the second photo, “as the cover.”
“Damn, you and Chris really are on the same wavelength. And for the record, he thought the same thing about the crazy-eyed photo.”
“Stefano loses points on that one. He should have held that one back.”
“Vanity run amok.”
She smiled at that. “No doubt. I’m also sure he thought the framing of the light over the backdrop would make up for it.”
“Not with the discerning eye of Mayson McBride.” Susan patted her back before pointing toward the desk. “Now finish your soup so I don’t have to give you my lecture on good nutrition.”
“I’ve seen the stash of cookies you keep in your desk.”
“Shh.” Susan smiled as she gathered up the photos. “They’re for emergencies.”
“I think I’m having one.”
The echo of Susan’s laughter lingered as Mayson came back around her desk to pick up her soup. The frenetic pace of the day was calming a bit now that she’d given approval on two of the three magazines headed to press that night, and she’d already been given the heads up the third wasn’t coming in for at least another hour. With the time for a real break, Mayson opened up her personal email and scanned what had come in since that morning. And felt her heart give a small lurch when she saw Holt’s name in her inbox.
It was stupid, really, this visceral reaction to an email, but she couldn’t deny the delicious shiver that ran the length of her spine as she clicked on his name. And then felt that shiver slide into a slow melt as she read the contents of his email.
Dear Mayson:
I enjoyed our time together this weekend and look forward to taking you up on an offer to visit Hands, Hearts and Hugs. I looked into their property issue and unfortunately the news is less than optimistic. That said, I’ve got a few connections and think we can work on a solution. Join me for dinner tonight and we can work through the specifics. I’d also like to talk to you about our merger idea.
Holt
Mayson re-read the email again. The fact that he’d followed up on something so important to her touched her even more than she could have ever imagined. But it was that last mention, of a merger, that had her stomach in knots.
How could she marry a man she didn’t even know? No matter what the reason—and a baby was a strong incentive—she still couldn’t shake the fear that marriage to Holt was a big mistake. She’d lived with the consequences of her parents’ mistake her entire life. Could she really consign her child to the same thing?
An impulsive streak of interest pushed against the unsettling thoughts and Mayson allowed her gaze to scan the email once more. The succinct tone of his note was oddly endearing in its brevity, but she couldn’t resist the urge to push against that formality a little bit.
With quick fingers, she replied to the message, a smile playing about her lips as that impulse overtook her reservations.
Holt:
My sincere thanks for your follow up on this. I’d love to meet you for dinner, but sadly we’re putting several issues to bed tonight, which means I’m unlikely to see mine until far too late. Could we raincheck until tomorrow?
Mayson
Even as she typed the words, she knew the mention of her bed was fraught with innuendo. So it was with no small measure of feminine power and pleasure that she hit the send button.
…
Holt rubbed his stomach, the image of Mayson McBride’s bed, with her lying tousled and sated in it, foremost in his thoughts. Damn, but the woman had him in knots.
Tight, twisted knots that gripped him in a fever of heated images and a desperate need to spend more time with her.
He’d kept an image of her, as she sat in the gazebo washed in moonlight, framed in his mind. The moment had caught him up, the surreal nature of it so surprising he would have thought he was dreaming if she hadn’t spoken to him.
Their conversation in the gazebo hadn’t gone at all as he’d expected, especially the direction once he’d suggested marriage. It was interesting to him she immediately took his suggestion to a place of business, but maybe she had a point. People married for many reasons, but anything between them would be a merger of interests.
Why did that idea leave him cold? And why was he suddenly so panicked that marriage was the only answer to keep their child safe?
He’d gotten word from his security firm that his mother was firmly ensconced in France, and other than daily strolls on the beach and endless demands of the villa’s chef, she’d been relatively well-behaved. So why was he loath to have her find out about the baby? And what would Mayson think of his mother? Of where he came from? If she did agree to the marriage, he could hardly keep something like that from her.
The knowledge of what he came from was a tightly guarded secret that even his closest friends didn’t know. Holt knew there were those who’d think he was ashamed, but he knew the reality went far deeper. He’d been raised in a family where life choices skated the edge—and usually floated over—what was legal. He’d sworn the moment he’d broken free that he was going to build a legacy. Something he could be proud of.
With determination burning under his skin, he hit reply on the email.
Mayson
While the image of your bed will no doubt leave me in knots all afternoon, I’d still like to see you before you get into it. I’ll pick you up at ten. Although I’d normally suggest a rich Bordeaux as a reward for a hard day’s work, all things considered, I’ll bring hot chocolate instead.
Holt
Satisfied the missive would make his point, he hit send, already envisioning her expression when she read the email. And with that vision ripe in his mind came another, far less lush and tainted with the rotten stench of resentment. His mother, smiling at him with that greedy look that was never far from her features.
Why was he thinking of her? He wasn’t like her. Had made very deliberate choices to not be like her. But her blood still beat in his veins.
He knew if he was going to pursue something with a woman like Mayson McBride, the truth would come out. And how did you tell a woman as bright and vivacious as Mayson that you came from something dark and dangerous and so very, very ugly?
…
Mayson stepped out of the McBride Media building and Manhattan’s bustling street noise faded into nothingness at the image that greeted her. Holt leaned against his limo, his button-down shirt open at the collar and the sleeves rolled up at the forearms. His hands were shoved into his pockets and a cocky grin lit his features.
“You weren’t kidding on the pick up.” She crossed the sidewalk toward him. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
“Too long.” The words came out on an almost growl as he dragged her into his body.
Before she could even think to find her balance, Mayson was wrapped in his arms, her own banding around his neck in a tight hold designed to pull him as close as possible. The stress and worry about their relationship faded as the attraction that pulsed between them took over. It was nearly impossible to form a coherent thought as Holt plundered her mouth with his, inciting a wash of sparks over every inch of her body.
Had she ever been kissed like this? Like she was the most important, most precious—most desirable—woman in the world? Colors danced before her eyes as his mouth plundered hers, drawing, teasing, demanding
a response.
“Holt.” She whispered his name against his lips as the storm continued to whip around her body, empowering and disorienting all at the same time. How had she ever thought one night with him would be enough?
“Mayson.” He smiled against her lips, his infectious enthusiasm pulling a smile from her in return. “Long day?”
She glanced up at the night sky, dusk a distant memory. “Clearly just as long as yours. You still up for that dinner you originally offered? The restorative properties of a steak can’t be underestimated.”
“No, they can’t. And yes, I’d love to go to dinner.”
Within moments they were ensconced in the back of Holt’s car, facing each other across the bench seats, their driver headed toward a Chelsea restaurant that was one of her favorites.
“Have you thought about our discussion this weekend?”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“And?”
“And I think marriage is too big a step.”
She saw the strangest set of emotions flit through his gaze and couldn’t fight the very real sense that he was scared about something. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You can’t be upset I’m not ready to say yes to marriage, are you?”
“What happened to the idea of us making a merger of interests?”
“It’s so cold. Functional. Practical.”
“Hmmm. Practical. Really?” Holt leaned forward, his gaze never leaving hers as his fingers played at the hem of her skirt. “Because I’d say that kiss we just shared was way more than practical.”
Mayson’s entire body clenched as his index finger stroked over a particularly sensitive area of her inner thigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” His hands moved higher and the breath caught in her throat came out on a hard exhale. “Would that be considered practical or functional?”
“Um…” she bit her lip, the teasing torment of his fingers shooting sparks through her body. “I’m not sure.”
His hands moved to her waist and pulled her close, until she straddled his lap. “Let me give you a few things to think about, then.”
Whatever thought was on the tip of her tongue evaporated in the heat of his body. Mayson hung on as he pulled her close, then sighed when he shifted one hand to her upper thigh while the other stayed firmly pressed to her lower back.
“Holt—” She half whispered it, half moaned it against his mouth. “We can’t do this here.”
“We can and we will.” His fingers inched higher and she felt the tip of one finger pressed against the elastic of her panties.
“Your driver.”
“Is behind sound-proof glass and knows I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“But…” Her head fell back as she tried to muster up another argument, all the while pressing herself into those clever, devilish fingers of his. Heat consumed her, roving over her flesh to settle at the core of her body. The need to writhe against him was great as the pleasure built like quicksilver, but he held her still with the steady pressure of the hand at her back while the other played against her body. Sharp, desperate need coursed through her, nearly bringing her to peak before she could catch her breath.
A heavy moan escaped her mouth and he leaned up and nipped his way along her jaw, the light touch of his lips on her flesh in direct counterpoint to the hard, demanding thrust of his fingers. He’d already slipped past the wisp of silk against her core and had taken full advantage, stretching her entrance with first one finger, then a second.
She fought to maintain control as the sensations battered her, drawing at her release despite her best efforts to hold back. There was no way to remain aloof when she was in his arms. The same magic that had rocketed between the two of them after the wedding came rushing back. Like a fire that had merely been banked and waited for the slightest push to blaze once more, the passion that hummed between them had turned on them both.
“Holt.” She heard the plea as she said his name, knew the tension that built in her body was about to win, when he whispered against her throat. “Now.”
That one word was all it took.
Her orgasm crashed over her, hard and fast, whipping through her system like a hurricane. She clutched at his shoulders as the storm raged, felt the hard bunch of muscles underneath her fingertips as he fought to maintain his own control. And then he pulled her close, cradling her against his chest as the aftershocks of her response continued to quake and settle in her muscles.
“I’m forced to repeat my question. Was that practical or functional?” His breath floated over her ear, sending another shockwave through her system as she shivered.
She stared up at him, cocking an eyebrow. “I may need a few more test trials before I can fully decide.”
…
The quiet hum of the restaurant surrounded them as the maitre’d left Mayson and Holt to their seats. A warm glow suffused her body and she couldn’t quite shake the feelings of disbelief and a small shot of pride as she stared at Holt across the table.
“What are you thinking?”
“Was the glass in the car really sound proof?”
A sexy smile greeted her, but his voice was very matter-of-fact. “I insist on it. I trust my driver, but anyone can be tempted. The deals I take part in require maximum secrecy, and I won’t allow anyone to overhear. Or to be put in a position where what they might overhear could be enticed out of them.”
“Smart.”
“Necessary in this day and age. The car is also swept for bugs on a daily basis.”
“No way.” She felt her eyes widen over the rim of her ice tea glass. “Really?”
“I can’t be too careful.”
“No, I suppose not.” Mayson thought about a recent hire to their executive board—a Chief Security Officer—and knew the challenges Holt faced weren’t unique to his business. “Technology has made it easier than ever for those on the hunt for information to find it. It’s a shame, but people can always find a way to do something illegally.”
“Some people are just wired that way.”
“I don’t understand it. Why spend all the energy it takes to do wrong and not just put that toward doing something worthwhile.”
“It takes all kinds.” His voice had dropped and taken on a flat quality she hadn’t heard before. She was prevented from saying anything by the arrival of their waiter, bearing their salads.
As she dug into hers a few moments later, she probed further on their conversation. “Have you ever lost data?”
“No, but I’ve got a rather paranoid sense of corporate security.”
“Why? Usually people don’t get paranoid until they’ve had an episode.”
“You can’t be too careful.”
“Did something happen to make you think that?”
The easy joviality faded and she didn’t miss the avoidance. “You hit the nail before. Technology has made things too easy, and I’ve seen others not recognize its necessity. My business is based on the trust I build with my clients. I can’t risk that for anything.”
“You face the loss of trust. We face missing out on a big scoop.”
“A key component driving your business. And while our issues may be different, the underlying issue is the same. You lose out on enough exclusives and you won’t have a successful company. I piss off too many clients and I won’t, either.”
She nodded, pleased at his understanding. In her experience, those outside the magazine industry viewed it as either frivolous or far more glamorous than it really was. His ability to discuss it as a business, with all the issues that faced any other company, was refreshing.
Movement in her peripheral vision pulled her attention away from Holt, and, as she shifted her gaze, the response on her lips faded entirely. All she could see was her father next to their table, a woman younger than herself by his side.
“Dad. Hello.” Shock, embarrassment, and a proprietary annoyance at having h
er evening interrupted all coalesced in her stomach like too much dessert. Only she’d had none of the fun on the way to the stomachache.
“Mayson!” His outstretched arms demanded attention, and she was up and out of the booth before she could check herself. “How’s my baby girl?”
“Good.” Her glance flitted to the other woman before skittering back to Holt. “Good.”
She moved out of her father’s embrace and extended a hand to where Holt now stood. “Holt Turner. My father, Andrew McBride.”
The polite hellos felt interminable, especially when she got her introduction to Betsy. Even as she shook the younger woman’s hand, she couldn’t shake off the sense of embarrassment. Or the horrifying sense of cliché the moment held.
“I talked to Keira earlier. Let her know I’d be in for the shareholders meeting later this week.”
The quick change in subject caught her even farther off guard than she already was. “Don’t you want us to take care of your proxy?”
Her father shook his head, his smile so bright it bordered on clueless. “After what almost happened a few months ago, I’d like to get in there and see what you all have been up to.”
“What happened, Andy?” Betsy had shifted from foot to foot up until the opportunity to get in on a slice of possible gossip had snapped her attention.
“My girls nearly had a takeover last fall. Could have lost the company.”
“We didn’t. The company was fine before and even better now.” Mayson gritted her teeth. Not that you’d know anything of it.
“I’ll be there anyway. Never hurts to check in from time to time.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.”
That bright, clueless smile continued to beam at her, and Mayson regretted her words. His unexpected visits hurt quite a bit, both professionally and personally, but as usual, his oblivion was absolute. The fact he’d completely missed her sarcasm was only further proof of that fact.