“It is when you have that look in your eye.” She glances up at me, and heat surges through my veins at the memory of her bending over in front of me, crying out with pleasure.
Her lips part, and I know she’s remembering too. She moistens her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
I move a bit closer. “You’ve got to stop doing that,” I murmur, “or I’ll drag you back into my office and do it all over again.”
“Is that a promise?” The words are saucy, but she accompanies them with a shiver that makes me want to pull her into my arms and crush my mouth to hers.
My lips curve up. It doesn’t sound as if she regrets what happened last night. I thought she might—I wasn’t even sure she’d turn up today. I’m surprised at how pleased I am that she did.
Harry interrupts us, oblivious to any undercurrent, and starts talking about the ALD trial, so I step away from Colette and answer his questions, although I’m still conscious of her there. Out of the corner of my eye, I observe her moving around, finishing off the coffee. She’s wearing a short gray pinafore dress today, with a white blouse and black tights, very schoolgirl-ish. My libido doesn’t stand a chance.
“Seb?” Harry prompts me. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I accept the mug from Colette and have to force myself not to watch her walk back to her desk with her cup. It’s going to be a nightmare, having her near me with the memory of what we did last night playing on a loop in my mind.
But in the end, I’m too busy to obsess about it, and she surprises me by being professional and working hard through the day. There’s a lot to do, and she doesn’t constantly try to catch my eye, or say inappropriate comments that could make things awkward with the other guys around. She acts like nothing’s happened, although when we occasionally brush hands, or bump into one another, her cheeks flush, so I know she’s not unaffected.
At lunchtime, we gather in the boardroom again, and for the first time since Colette’s been working with the four of us, the conversation turns personal.
Harry starts it. “By the way, I broke up with Sarah,” he announces.
Elen puts down her sandwich and sits back, disappointed. “Oh, Harry.”
He takes a forkful of pasta from a tub. “Don’t start.”
“She was good for you. I really thought you two were great together.”
“She kept talking about Where This Is Going,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I swear, there’s not a single girl left out there who’s satisfied with just sex.”
“Yes there is,” Elen and Colette say together, and they both laugh.
“You say that,” Harry says, pointing his fork at Elen. “But you don’t mean it. You broke up with Danny because he wouldn’t commit.”
She opens her mouth to deny it, then touches her tongue to her teeth and gives him a wry look. “I guess. But we’d been dating for six months. You’d only been going out with Sarah for three weeks.”
“My point exactly. You can’t start pushing someone to commit after three weeks. I mean, Jesus. Let me get my boots off.”
Colette gives a short laugh and opens a box of chicken salad.
“What about you?” Elen asks her. “Are you going out with anyone at the moment?”
I give my sister a sharp look. She returns it with a twinkle in her eye. She’s doing this on purpose—she knows something’s happened between the two of us. Whether she’s aware it happened in the office I don’t know. Suddenly I remember that there are security cameras around the place. Is there one in my office? I think they’re only in the corridors. I hope they’re only in the corridors. Being visible across the city is one thing—having a security guard getting his rocks off in private while he’s watching you is something else entirely.
“Nope,” Colette says, spearing a large piece of chicken on her fork and eating it. “Haven’t dated for about six months. Got other things on my mind.” She searches in the bowl for more chicken, not meeting my eyes. It reminds me that I know nothing about this girl, not really. Not where she lives, who she lives with, whether she has family alive and in the city, or anything about her past. Normally, it doesn’t bother me—I’ve had the occasional one-night stand, and when both parties know it’s purely physical, conversation isn’t high on the list of priorities.
But it starts me wondering about Colette. And about what happened between us. It was a one-off, I tell myself. A hot fling on a dark night. It didn’t mean anything.
Her blue gaze flicks up to me, then back to her salad, and I feel hot all over. I want it to mean something. I want to see her again.
Elen’s watching me. I take a bite out of a roll I don’t really want and arch an eyebrow at her. Her lips curve up, and she looks away.
“What about you?” Colette asks Caleb. “Are you dating?”
He shrugs and takes a bite out of an apple. “Not at the moment. Thinking about it.” He smiles at her.
I wonder if he’s planning to ask her out, and my throat tightens. We’ve all known each other a long time, and the three of us guys have never gone after the same girl before. Would he ask her? If he did, what would she say?
Her glance slides to me, and it’s filled with such warmth that immediately I know she’s not interested in anyone else in this room. She wants me, and only me. I’m filled with a secret smugness, and an exultation at the thought that it’s not over.
And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.
Chapter Twelve
Colette
It’s hard to concentrate with Sebastian at my side, but I get through the day well enough. In the afternoon, Elen asks me to go with her to the hotel where the trial is going to be held, so we catch a taxi in the rain and splash through the puddles to check that the hotel manager has everything in hand for the following week. We talk about how they want the chairs and tables laid out, about the private booths, and where they will serve the food.
I look around the large conference room while she talks to the manager. I still haven’t been able to add Liam’s name to the list yet, but I’m convinced I’ll get the chance before the week’s out. I’m filled with excitement at the thought that he’ll be able to try out the new device. From what Sebastian’s told me, it’s going to be revolutionary, and it’ll make such a difference to my brother.
“Thinking about Seb?” Elen’s voice is teasing as she walks up behind me.
“No,” I say truthfully, not adding that it’s the first time all day I haven’t been thinking of him.
“Did you go back to his place last night?” she asks, eyes dancing.
“Elen! Of course not.” Again, I’m able to be truthful.
She pouts. “Wow, you’re slow off the mark.”
I think about his glass desk with all the fingerprints over it and try not to laugh. “It’s a professional relationship. Besides, no banging the temps, remember?”
“Yeah. Stupid rule.” She sighs and leads me back out of the hotel into the rain. “Going back to your place doesn’t count though.” She flicks me a grin.
“My place?” I feel a swell of panic. I share an apartment with my brother. I’ve never invited a guy back, and I’m certainly not inviting the director of Hearktech there to meet the guy I’m trying to get on his trial.
She waves a hand. “His apartment is his castle, you know what men are like. He doesn’t ask women back to that hallowed ground.” She hails a cab, and we run toward it, holding folders over our heads to save our hair from the rain.
I fall into the cab beside her, panting and damp, and with my stomach in a knot. I scold myself for having been excited at what happened last night. It was a one-off. We were lucky that the office had been empty, but it’s unlikely to happen again. I’m certainly not asking him back to my place. In fact, I have to be honest, he didn’t give me any sign that it was anything more than a one-night stand anyway. It’s over.
I’m surprised at how much my heart sinks at the thought.
We return to the office, an
d I spend the rest of the afternoon working with Elen. I see Sebastian from time to time when he comes into the boardroom to check details with her—some of them seem a waste of time, and I wonder whether he’s trying to find an excuse to see me. Surely not? He’s quenched his thirst, assuaged his hunger. I doubt he’s even thought about me all day.
But at six o’clock, when I’m back at my desk packing up and collecting my things, I look up to see him standing there, hands in his pockets. My heart bangs against my ribs, and I forget everything I’ve been telling myself all afternoon.
“Are you busy this evening?” he asks.
I concentrate on putting my phone back in my purse. “Nothing planned.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I continue to put my pens in the drawer and straighten the folders on my desk. Finally, when there’s nothing left for me to do, I look up.
My breath catches in my throat. He’s watching me, his eyes filled with amusement, as if he’s perfectly aware that my nonchalance is feigned.
“Come on,” he says, and gestures with his head toward the door.
I stare at him, then pick up my coat and purse, and follow him along the corridor. What does he have in mind? Is he going to expect me to ask him back to my place?
He stops at the elevator and punches the button, and we wait in silence for it to arrive. When it does, we go in, and he hits the button for the basement.
He leans against the wall of the elevator, watching me. My heart rate has doubled, and my mouth has gone dry. He’s wearing a dark gray suit today, with a white shirt that makes me want to slide my hands over it to see if it’s as crisp as it looks. His eyes are at half-mast, sultry, and I know he’s thinking about doing something naughty to me.
I’m going to have to say something. This not speaking is killing me. It reminds me of how we didn’t talk last night, how we had no need for words. Oh God, last night, with all the kissing and the touching… I’m hardly breathing—I’m going to faint. I open my mouth, but the elevator dings, and Sebastian is walking out, so all I can do is follow him.
We walk across to a large dark-blue Chrysler 300 that looks brand new—jeez, that must have cost a fortune. He flicks a button on his keyring, and the lights flash. He goes around to the driver’s side, and gestures for me to get into the passenger’s. I hesitate, then open the door and slide in.
Instantly, I’m surrounded by him, by his smell, his aura of masculinity and confidence. The seats are leather, the dash all black and shiny. He clips in his seat belt and goes to start the car, but I put a hand on his arm.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
He looks across at me. Then he presses the button to start the car. “Back to my place. I’m going to fuck you senseless. I’ve thought of nothing else all day. Put your seatbelt on.” He stares at me, daring me to refuse.
I want to tell him to go to hell. That I’m not here at his beck and call whenever he feels like a quick fuck, and that I respect myself more than that.
But he’s taking me to his place, and Elen told me he doesn’t ask girls back to that ‘hallowed ground’. I’m different. This is different. He wants to have sex with me again, and I want him so much that I couldn’t say no even if you paid me a million dollars.
With shaking hands, I slot the clip in and sit back. He smirks, puts the car into drive, and pulls away.
Chapter Thirteen
Sebastian
We’re silent all the way to my apartment.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. I do—I want to have a normal conversation—I want to take her out on a date, to dinner, to ask her about her parents and her favorite movie and where she last went on holiday. But I have to get rid of this burning inside me first. It’s been there all day, gradually superheating me until I can’t think of anything else but Colette and her long legs and her pale breasts and her soft mouth.
Last night, I told myself as I lay in bed that it was nice to be on my own. I didn’t have to answer to anyone else—I had the whole bed to myself, and I didn’t have to worry about someone complaining that I wasn’t paying them attention, or stopping me from doing what I wanted to do.
But all I did was miss her. I lay there for hours thinking about what had happened in my office, going over and over it in my head.
I’ve never asked a girl back to my apartment. I moved in last year, and it’s my fantasy home, with everything a single man needs to make his life complete. It’s supposed to be an escape. There’s no room there—metaphorically—for a woman, and I’ve been happy with that. Rachel hated that I never asked her back and always took her to a hotel. It was one of the reasons we broke up. She said that if I couldn’t let her into my life, what was the point in us dating? And she was right, because when I considered taking her there, I knew I didn’t want her in my life, not really. She was convenient, a date when I needed one, and that wasn’t fair to her, so I ended it.
But tonight, I want Colette in my bed. I don’t know what it means that I’m asking her back, and I’m not going to analyze it too hard. All I know is that I want her there, and I didn’t have to think too hard to make that decision.
She clears her throat, which sounds loud in the silence of the car, and when I glance over, she moistens her lips and looks out of the window. She’s nervous. I can understand why. The tension between us is palpable. It’s like there are silk ribbons threading around us, pulling us together. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this for a girl. I’ve felt horny before, and I’ve lusted after women, but I’ve never felt this overwhelming hunger. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I think I have a fever, and my body aches. My heart’s racing so fast I can feel it in my throat. I’ll end up having a heart attack at this rate. If I’m going to be around Colette for any significant length of time, I’ll have to make sure I look after my cholesterol.
Luckily, it’s not far to the apartment, and I slide the car into my lot at the end and we get out. I lead her to the elevator, and three other guys follow us in, so I insert my card and dial in the code for the penthouse, and then we move into the corner to give them space. I nod at the other men, sliding an arm around Colette so they can see she’s with me. She doesn’t protest, although a flush appears in her cheeks. I lower my head and nuzzle her warm skin as the elevator rises and the men talk amongst themselves.
“Stop it,” she whispers, placing a hand on my chest. She’s breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.
I ignore her, entranced by the smell of her perfume, and I kiss up to her ear, touching my tongue to the soft skin beneath it. Her hand curls on my chest, and she clutches my shirt, so I do it again. She has her back to the wall, so I lift the skirt of her pinafore dress and run my hand up her thigh. She’s wearing opaque tights, and I follow the seam up between the cheeks of her bottom, then down, sliding my fingers beneath her. I don’t think she’s wearing any panties. Holy fuck.
The elevator shudders to a halt, and the three guys get out. The doors slide shut.
“The penthouse?” Colette asks as the elevator begins to rise.
“Mm.” I move in front of her, then stop at the look on her face. “What?”
Her blue eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open. “How rich are you?”
“I’m one of the directors of Hearktech,” I point out. “You must have guessed that I have money.”
“Yes, but…” She chews her pouty bottom lip, and that pushes me over the edge. I slide a hand beneath her chin and lift it, then crush my mouth to hers.
She exhales, and it turns into a long moan, and a shiver runs down me from the roots of my hair all the way to the base of my spine. I delve my tongue into her mouth, sliding my hands around onto her butt so I can pull her against me. Her body is all curves and dips and soft skin, and, as sexy as she looks in her clothes, I want to strip her so I can see her naked for the first time.
The elevator dings, and I grab her hand and pull her out and into my apartment, flicking on the light switch as we
enter.
Colette stops and gasps. I glance around, trying to see it through her eyes—the high ceilings, the open-plan living and dining area, the fantastic view across the city, even better than the one from my office. The walls are white, the furniture black, or chrome and glass, and the place is like a blank canvas for the huge, colorful paintings that hang everywhere.
“Jesus,” she says, and walks up to one. “Is that a Kovacevic?”
Stunned that she recognizes it, I stand next to her and nod.
“Is it original?” she asks.
“Yes. How did you know who the artist was?”
“I went to art school.” She doesn’t elaborate, but walks to the next one and admires it for a moment before passing on to the next.
I leave her to it and cross to the kitchen, flick open my tablet, and choose some folksy jazz to play quietly in the background. “White or red wine?”
“White, please.”
I take out the bottle of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet that cost a cool five thousand dollars and pour us both a glass. I’ve been dying to open it, and I was saving it for after the trial next week, hopefully to toast myself for a job well done, but I’m happy to try it out on Colette. I come back over to her and pass her the glass, and she sips it while she looks at the painting.
“Wow,” she says, dropping her gaze to the glass. “Is that a Chardonnay?”
“Kind of. It’s made from Chardonnay grapes.”
“I don’t normally like Chardonnay, but this is amazing.” She sips it, and her gaze rises slowly to mine. “You’re going to tell me this cost fifty bucks a bottle, aren’t you?”
“Something like that.” I smile.
She studies my face, maybe to see if I’m joking, then looks away, across the room to the dark night outside. “Why did you ask me here?” she whispers.
“I told you.” I move closer to her. “I want to fuck you senseless.”
“You could have done that in a hotel room. Why did you ask me here?”
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