Wicked Torture

by J. Kenner

  "Of course. But--"

  "After that, I'm shutting down." Still distracted, he released the button and headed for the door.

  "Mr. Carter." Her voice rang out from the intercom speaker, and he frowned. He was halfway to the door, and she was right outside his office at her desk. Easier to just step into the waiting area. "What is--"

  The question died on his lips. It was Kiki. Standing right next to Carina's desk, her posture stiff and formal as her brown eyes looked accusingly at him.

  "Ms. Porter just arrived," Carina said, shooting him a sympathetic glance. "But since you're on your way out, perhaps I should schedule an appointment for next week?"

  "Oh, hell no," Kiki said, the formal stance sloughing off to reveal a woman he remembered only too well. They hadn't fought much, but when they did, it was loud and raucous, and always followed by intense make-up sex.

  Somehow, he had a feeling that wasn't the way today's encounter was going to wrap up.

  "I want an explanation, Noah."

  "Mr. Carter?" Carina's eyes were wide and her hands flat on the desk, as if she was about to lever herself up and leap into the line of fire.

  "Everything's fine," he said, deciding right then to give Carina a raise. It had missed the mark, but he appreciated that she'd thrown herself up as a wall between him and the angry, spurned candidate.

  He also wondered if she'd still be defending him if she knew the whole story. If she knew that Kiki presented the best proposal by far, but that he was hesitant to give her the job because there might be friction.

  Might be?

  He glanced at Kiki and sighed. He'd tried to avoid friction, and yet friction had marched right into his waiting room. "We need to talk."

  "Gee, you think?" She started to walk toward his office.

  "No, this way." He took her elbow, then turned her around, the touch too damn familiar.

  He yanked his hand away and caught Carina's expression in the process. Confusion, but with a tiny spark that might be understanding.

  He turned his attention back to Kiki. One woman irritated with him was all he could handle at the moment. "I'm leaving. If you want to talk, we can do it on the move." Not exactly a stunning example of wresting back control of the situation, but at least she didn't argue.

  Two minutes later--in the cattle car of an elevator--he was regretting his decision. His office would have been easier.

  Maybe Noah never left this early, but it seemed everyone else in the building did. The car was jam-packed. It hadn't been when they'd first stepped on. Just six people plus him and Kiki. He'd moved to the back, and she'd stood beside him.

  By the time the elevator had made three more stops, she was directly in front of him, and the car was so crowded that he was flat against the back wall and she was so close that he felt the brush of her against his slacks.

  There was a time when he would have hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, his lips in her hair, her scent enveloping him, and his cock hard against her backside as they rode down together, both of them fantasizing about what they'd do if they only had the elevator to themselves.

  "We're here," he said as the elevator glided to a stop at the lobby. The man standing in front of her stepped forward, and she practically leaped into the space he vacated. Coincidence? Or had her thoughts been traveling in a similar direction to his, and she'd rushed to get clear?

  "Do you want a coffee?" he asked as they stepped outside and into the brisk November air, raising the possibility both because he wanted something to say and because he could really use the caffeine jolt.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

  "Caffeine deprivation, primarily," he said as he stepped into the intersection, crossing Congress Avenue with the flood of downtown employees escaping their offices for home. He watched them enviously. There was a time when he'd wanted nothing but to be at her side. Now he just wanted to get to his condo, take two ibuprofens, and hope that tomorrow was a damn sight better than today.

  "Oh, no," she said, keeping pace with him. "I waited for you to drag me away from your starry-eyed protege, but enough is enough."

  He battled a smile. "You mean Carina?"

  "She looks loyal. Wouldn't want her to realize that her boss is a conniving prick who'll do anything to protect his own ass."

  Considering Noah himself hadn't decided if not hiring her was smart or idiotic, he'd expected her to challenge his decision. This, however, was nuts.

  "Protecting myself? Just because I want what's best for the project?"

  "Oh, that's rich."

  He shook his head, which only exacerbated his growing headache. He pointed to the nearby Starbucks, as he continued that direction. "Coffee, then home. That's my current itinerary, and if you want me to alter it, then you need to give me a reason other than bullshit. You're the one who barged into my office because she's a sore loser."

  Shit. Had he really said that? What was he, stuck in middle school and yanking the ponytail of the cute girl who ignored him?

  "Me? I'm not the one who settled for second best because I can't deal with the reality of my own personal life."

  He stopped and gaped at her. "I can't deal? I can't deal? You're the one nervous about working with me."

  Her eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"

  "Oh, come on," he said, taking a step closer. "Don't pretend to misunderstand."

  "You're imagining things."

  "Am I?" He took another step, so that he was right in front of her. She could back up more--they were at least eighteen inches from the building's facade--but she held her ground. He stopped only inches from her. Close enough that he could smell her shampoo and see the pale ghosts of the freckles she'd tried to hide under her makeup. Once upon a time, he'd spent hours in bed kissing each and every one of those freckles. Now, he didn't even have the right to touch them.

  He wanted to, though.

  The realization slammed against him with visceral, powerful intensity. Their kiss on Wednesday had been a succulent appetizer. Now, he wanted the full course. They both did--he was certain of it.

  And that, of course, was the problem.

  "I think you need to get over yourself," she said. But she was looking at his face, and her words betrayed her, coming a second too late and just a little too breathy.

  "Don't tell me you haven't thought about that kiss, too." He reached out and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. But the caress was cut short when she jerked her chin with a sharp, "Don't."

  "You've played it over and over in your mind," he said, and saw confirmation in the guarded expression on her face. "And you were worried that we couldn't work together. That this thing between us would get in the way." He met her eyes. "Weren't you?"

  She swallowed, her freckles standing out against the pink of her rising blush. She started moving again, sliding back into the flow of pedestrian traffic. "There's no 'thing' between us."

  "The hell there isn't." Her legs were shorter than his, but he still had to work to keep pace. "There always has been. It was there the day we met. It was in the alley that night. It's between us right now. Lie about your marriage if you want to, but don't lie about that."

  "What?" The word lashed out like a whip. "Lie about my marriage?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," he countered. He wasn't proud of himself, but from the moment she'd said she was married, he'd needed to know to whom. He wanted to know what the man did. How long they'd been together. If he was worthy of having Kiki by his side.

  He still had access to the Deliverance databases, and even though he'd battled back the urge to check up on her for years, last night he'd succumbed. Now he knew she'd married Owen Porter, a professor at the University of Texas, six years ago. And he knew they'd divorced eighteen months after they'd exchanged vows.

  "You tossed your marriage up like a shield," he continued. "Problem is, you're not married anymore."

  "Trust me," she said, with a tone of self-
mockery. "That's really not a problem."

  He fought the smile that rose with the knowledge that she didn't regret her divorce. "Maybe, but you still put your marriage between us, just like building a wall."

  She paused long enough to look him up and down and shake her head. "You're delusional." She started walking again, not waiting for his response. "I mentioned my married name, which just so happens to be the name I use now. There was no hidden meaning."

  "Bullshit. You wanted to distance yourself. You were nervous about working together."

  She was picking up speed, but he was done with chasing her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her to a stop. They'd passed the Starbucks long ago, and were now at Third Street. A right turn and another block, and they'd be at his condo.

  "Come on, Kiki, admit it. You wouldn't have even responded to the RFP if you'd known it was me you were pitching to."

  For a moment, she simply stood there, her hand in his, her expression entirely unreadable. Then she sighed, her shoulders dipping as if in surrender. "Probably not," she admitted. "But I didn't know, and I did go, and when I saw you, I didn't pull myself out of the running. And we both know that my pitch was the best, don't we?"

  He stayed silent, and she rolled her eyes. "You think I don't know my competition's strengths and weaknesses?"

  "Fine," he said. "You put up a rock solid proposal, but even while you were standing there pitching, you knew it would be hard to work together. And you know what? You were right." He dragged his fingers through his hair. "Christ, Kiki, do you think I don't know how much I hurt you? How much I owe you?"

  Her brow furrowed as her expression turned wary.

  "I do," he continued. "I owe you more than I can ever pay, but at the very least I owe you the courtesy of not dragging you in and disrupting your life all over again."

  For a flicker of a moment, her features softened. But even as he watched, he saw the tension return. "I can't believe you." With an exasperated shake of her head, she started walking again. "You're laying all this at my feet? What about you?" she added as he fell into step beside her.

  "Maybe you're feeling a little guilty for that kiss?" she continued. "Have you told Darcy or Daisy or whatever the fuck wifey's name is that you locked lips with your old girlfriend in a dark alley? Because I'm thinking you haven't. And I'm thinking she won't be happy when she learns it's your ex-girlfriend who's working late nights with you on this rollout. Better to avoid that problem entirely and just go with the candidate behind door number two."

  He drew a slow breath, as guilt, regret, and longing twisted together to form a thick, tight knot in his stomach. After a moment, he said simply, "I haven't been married to Darla for a very long time."

  "Oh." The word was soft and simple, and as far as he could tell, entirely devoid of emotion. She stopped walking and repeated. "Oh."

  He considered explaining. Telling her the whole horrible story. But now wasn't the time. Maybe there never would be a time. Instead he said, "All I was trying to do was make things easier on you."

  She winced a little, as if his words hurt her. "Maybe," she finally said, her voice no longer bitter, but gentle. "But that's not your call to make. If it hurt you to see me, then maybe that's fair. But you're not shutting me out because you're going to be uncomfortable, but because you think I am."

  She was only half right, but he kept that to himself. "Well, aren't you?" he asked instead. "Uncomfortable, I mean."

  "Of course." She squared her shoulders as she gathered courage, the posture and its meaning so achingly familiar even after all these years. "You said there was a thing between us, and you're right. Wednesday night in your arms was horrible and wonderful. And later that night--oh, my God, the dreams."

  He couldn't fight back his smile. "Oh, really? Care to elaborate?"

  She smirked, her expression suggesting that she was amazed they'd drifted into such dangerous conversational waters. To her credit, she didn't backpedal.

  "I didn't expect to see you again," she continued. "And I won't deny the shock when I walked into that conference room. And I won't lie about how hard it is to stand here with you. To be this close to you and know that we aren't what we used to be. Is the desire still there? Hell, yes. And maybe it would be better if we hadn't shared that stupid kiss. It was like flipping a switch, and bringing something dormant roaring back to life."

  "Kiki--"

  "No. Let me finish. It wasn't closure, but it also wasn't a beginning. It just was." She flashed a self-deprecating grin. "This may come as a shock to you, but I've passed the thirty marker. I've got a house. I've got a car. I have a brokerage account and a cleaning lady who comes every two weeks. I even own a life insurance policy.

  "In other words, I've been taking care of myself for a long time now, and I don't need you stepping in to unilaterally decide what's best and then yanking the things I want out from under me. I've been there with you, Noah. And we have most definitely done that. And I'm not going down that road quietly again."

  She'd switched from the present to the past, and he knew it. But he wasn't willing to talk about their time in Los Angeles, or Darla, or any of it. Not yet.

  The only thing on the table right now was this job. That, and the desire that sparked and crackled between them like a downed power line that they were both trying desperately to avoid.

  "I didn't yank it away," he said. "I made a decision. That's my job."

  "Your job is to decide on the basis of my work. Not because you're trying to soothe my poor little broken heart. In case you missed the key point on my resume, I'm a professional."

  "You're right."

  Her brows rose. "I am?"

  He nodded. She'd worn him down, but maybe he always knew that she would. After all, he hadn't offered the job to anyone else yet, either.

  It would be okay. They'd worked together before, hadn't they? They could do it again. So what if he wanted to touch her? What did it matter if he wanted to feel her against him again? To discover if the memory of her body pressed against his was as rich as he remembered, or if time had painted everything with a glossy sheen. So what if just looking at her still sent shocks of amazement through him, and a longing so deep he felt it in his core?

  So what, right? Because God knew, Noah was an expert at not getting what he wanted. He'd survived this long. He'd go on surviving.

  He nodded again. "I'll expect you at ten o'clock on Monday."

  "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure. Welcome to the team."

  She hesitated, then took his extended hand and shook it formally. And damned if that touch didn't send the entire rational and reasonable lecture he'd just given himself right into the goddamn shredder.

  Fuck surviving, and fuck wondering. He wanted to know.

  He wanted her.

  Maybe he'd regret it. Maybe she'd slap his face. Hell, maybe she'd walk away from him and The Project and everything. But right then he knew in his gut that this was his best chance. Possibly his last chance. So when she started to pull her hand back, he tightened his grip and urged her closer.

  "You said I shouldn't decide for you," he began. "I won't. I'm not."

  Her brow furrowed. "What are you--"

  "I'm leaving it to you. But I'm telling you flat out what I want. What I've fantasized about for years. I won't push. I won't demand. But just consider what I'm asking. Because I want this, and I think you want it, too."

  She licked her lips, but she didn't pull her hand free. "You haven't asked me anything."

  "No," he said, pulling her closer, desperate to claim her mouth with his own. "But I'm asking now."

  7

  Oh, dear God, I'm melting.

  His mouth burns against mine as his hand cups my chin, holding me in place as he nips at my lower lip, taking exactly what he wants, and silently promising more. So much more.

  And all I have to do is yield to him.

  I can't. I shouldn't. I need to pull away.

  Any other respon
se and I'll regret this tomorrow. We both will.

  Yes, maybe there is something between us--lingering attraction, intense lust, unfinished business, I don't know. But it doesn't matter, because we have to work together starting Monday, and this isn't good. It really, really isn't good.

  Except it is.

  It's so damn good.

  He's like a drug, making my head spin. Stealing reason. Replacing responsibility with need and longing.

  I slide my fingers up, then grasp his hair, and urge him even closer. If I'm in, I'm going to be all in, and I want no distance between us.

  His teeth tug on my lower lip, and I moan, then part my lips in response to his silent demand. He doesn't hesitate. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me, and I drink in the taste of him, all heat and male and decadent longing.

  I don't know how long we're like that, glued together on the sidewalk in this shameless, passionate reunion, but it's long enough to provoke a smattering of applause and a few whistles. I pull back, feeling self-conscious and sheepish. But that emotion fades when I look at Noah's face. He's not embarrassed at all. On the contrary, he looks like he's just won the lottery, and it's more than a little humbling to realize that I'm the prize.

  "Tell me that wasn't a tease," he says. "Because I'm not sure if I could stand it if you walked away right now."

  I should--I know I should. But like before, any protest I might raise is beaten back by the ferocious intensity of my desire. I want him touching me again. I want to close my eyes and feel his hands on my body.

  And I damn sure don't want to be on the street when he does that.

  "My house is miles from here," I say. "Way South Austin. Where do you live?"

  He turns and points at the steel-and-glass building that rises behind us.

  I raise a brow. "You're kidding."

  His smile is slow and very, very sexy. "Right about now, I'm thinking that condo was the best damn purchase I ever made."

  "Right about now, I'm agreeing with you."

  He takes my hand and leads me across the driveway to the contemporary-style entrance. Austin has a booming downtown area that's becoming known for its urban living. Most of my friends from the music scene can't afford a high-rise condo, but several of the clients and colleagues I've met through Crown Consulting live downtown, and I've seen the interior of a few of their luxury condos.