I pointedly ignore his hand and shake Sheryl’s hand instead. My smile has gone all tight and forced around the edges. “So nice to meet you, too,” I tell her, trying to kick my brain back into focusing on the task at hand.
Lark doesn’t matter. He’s irrelevant. Sheryl’s the lead here.
As for her, she’s glancing from me to Lark and back, her head tilting in polite curiosity. “Oh, do you two know each other?” Sheryl draws out a chair and sits smoothly down. The more she talks, the more it’s dawning on me that I’ve heard her voice before.
This very morning, in fact. Over the intercom at Lark’s apartment. I mirror her, taking a seat, and pausing only to flick a glare in Lark’s direction. “Hardly.”
“We met last night when her car broke down,” Lark replies, which makes me want to kick him under the table for all sorts of reasons. “She needed help with a flat tire.”
Sheryl fires me a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry you got stuck with him, then. Lark’s useless at playing handyman.”
I laugh aloud, and Lark’s expression sours ever so slightly. “I noticed, believe me. Luckily, I know how to change a tire myself.” We both grin at him then, and Lark’s eyes linger on mine, a torrent of emotion visible in them.
I don’t care. He’s the one who put me in this situation. Hooking up with me right under the nose of… well.
I glance between his and Sheryl’s hands, both folded neatly on the tabletop. Neither of them is wearing wedding rings, at least. So maybe he’s not as huge of an asshole as I thought. But there’s clearly still chemistry there, something in the way Sheryl’s constantly glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, mirroring his posture, his motions.
Whatever this is, it’s messy enough without my getting involved. And I’ve had enough of messy to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.
“So, Cassidy. Why don’t we talk products,” Sheryl asks, and I bend down to reach for my briefcase, grateful for the excuse to think about something, anything, other than Lark’s eyes staring into mine. Or the way his tongue felt last night, lapping its way up my inner thigh, his fingers lingering at my pussy, parting my lower lips, stroking and stroking until I—
“Yes, let’s.” I place my briefcase on the table and pop it open. “I brought some samples of my most popular collections, although everything you see here comes in at least three other color palettes. Now, these are some of my favorites…”
I walk them through everything, one item at a time. My only saving grace is the fact that I’ve rehearsed this speech at least a hundred times before. To myself, to my friends, to my bathroom mirror. I’ve practiced so often, I’ve had dreams of giving this presentation.
So I make it through, despite the fact that every time I so much as glance at Lark, he’s still watching me so overtly, not seeming to notice or care that Sheryl’s noticing his stares, too. More than once, under the table, his leg brushes against mine, in a way that’s far too slow and lingering to be accidental.
But I force myself to remain steady, to not react. Like I said, I’ve had enough of messy, and this has mess written all over it.
But my tension only seems to amuse him. At one point, when I ask if they have any questions, Lark leans over to pick up one of the lipsticks, his hand brushing mine ever so slightly on the way past. “As the male investor in the room,” he starts, his gaze jumping from Sheryl to me, “I did have one question.” Those eyes pull me in. Call to me to sink into them. “What does it taste like?” He grins, and Sheryl elbows him discretely.
My face flushes. But I hold his gaze and raise my jaw. “To be honest,” I reply, “I didn’t give that much consideration. I make my products for the women who use them; not the men who consume them.”
Sheryl laughs out loud at that, and the two of us exchange faint smiles.
“Well, we’ll have to put the paperwork together,” she says, shuffling through some sample contracts we’d pored over, “but I think it’s safe to let you know this, at least.” She extends a hand. “We’ll be investing. A significant amount.”
My stomach does a whole ass backflip. I swear I can feel my heart rising up into my throat as I reach across the table to her and grasp her hand again, tightly. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I start, but she waves a hand, cutting me off.
“Please. We’re happy to do it. At Anderson Investments, we prefer to invest in quality products. Products that we really think will do well in the market. Between our marketing know-how and your vision for your brand, I think we have a real hit on our hands.” Her eyes sparkle with genuine excitement.
“Congratulations,” Lark adds, reaching past her to offer me a hand as well.
I take it, reluctantly, and almost immediately have to stifle a gasp. His touch sends shockwaves through me, like static electricity, but deadlier. One touch, and it’s like we’re right back in his bed last night, with him grasping my hands, raising them over my head to pin me down while he stretched along me, his hard, firm body digging into my soft curves, his cock hard as a rock, slipping up between my thighs…
I clear my throat and let go of his hand as if it’s too hot to touch. In a way, it is. “Thank you,” I reply, not quite meeting his gaze.
“As I said, we’ll be in touch,” Sheryl calls. Then she beckons Lark with a fingertip, turning to head from the room.
He follows her, although not before he glances over his shoulder at me. Just before he leaves, he tosses something onto the table. “My card,” he says. His eyes flash with meaning. He knows I left this morning without giving him my number, or taking his in return. “In case there’s any more business you want to discuss.”
Then he’s gone, closing the office door behind him and Sheryl.
I slump back into my seat, all the wind going out of me.
This is what you wanted, I remind myself. What I worked so hard, for so long, to achieve. But now that I’m finally right on the brink of getting the investment I need, what happens?
I wind up embroiling myself in just the kind of personal drama I want so much to avoid.
Shit. For a long moment, I sit there, staring at the business card on the table. Part of me wonders if I should walk away. If I could. But I know the money’s too good, the chance too perfect, for me to do something that insane.
So, after a long, pause, I reach across the table and pick up Lark’s card.
4
Cassidy
I’m halfway out of the building, only barely recovered from the meeting, my head still swimming with possibilities, when the sound of my name stops me halfway down the street.
“Cassidy.”
Of course, Lark is still here. He must have waited for me—there’s no sign of Sheryl in sight, but I can’t help checking for her. Can’t help wondering how she must be feeling about all of this.
“Thank you again for the investment,” I tell him with a tight-lipped smile. “Although I suppose I should be thanking your… girlfriend, I guess, based on the lack of rings? Or are you one of those married couples who don’t do jewelry.”
“What?” Lark blinks, staring at me.
I cross my arms. I’ve had more than enough of the innocent what-do-you-mean defense to last me a lifetime. “I heard her on your intercom this morning,” I reply. “That was Sheryl, wasn’t it?”
He hesitates. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Confident actually do that. When he speaks again, the confusion on his face has cleared, replaced by understanding. “I see. So, when you left in a hurry…”
“It’s because I don’t do cheating. I don’t do going behind people’s backs.”
“Something I understand and completely respect,” Lark speaks up quickly, “but Sheryl and I aren’t together, Cassidy. She’s my ex-wife.”
My eyebrows climb to my forehead. “Your business partner is your—”
“We started Anderson Investments together,” he interrupts. “Years ago. You know what they say about mixing business and pleasure?” He gives
a rueful laugh, then shakes his head. “Look, Sheryl and I split over a year ago. There’s nothing between us anymore, trust me. But we are still joint owners of this company, and we’ve been making the business relationship work, so…”
My shoulders, which I hadn’t realized were tensed up around my ears until now, slowly relax. That’s better than I’d been dreading, at least. So maybe he’s not a cheating asshole.
But he’s still in a messy situation. A messy situation that reminds me far too much of the one I finally disentangled myself from. I told myself that after Norman, I’d learn my lesson. Be done with anything not simple and straightforward. I meant it.
I run a hand through my hair, hesitating. Lark takes the opportunity to move closer to me, one hand outstretched, hovering in midair between us like he’s thinking about touching my shoulder, pulling me close. But I fire him one look, and he lets his hand fall again, a wounded expression crossing his face. A moment later, his features smooth, so quickly I might have just imagined it. But… I don’t think so.
“Cassidy, listen…” His voice drops lower. Softer.
God. Standing this close to him, I can smell him again. The same scent that enveloped me last night, heady and powerful. It makes me want to cave. To move closer, let him take me in those strong arms. Let him carry me back to his apartment like he did last night, toss me onto that big bed of his, and kiss my whole body, until I feel ready to burst.
Just the thought makes my thighs tighten involuntarily, my pussy giving a single tight throb. I’m still sore from his thick cock. Deliciously, delightfully sore. It’s an ache I should be savoring today; I should be riding high on that post-sex glow, enjoying life.
Instead, I’m standing on a sidewalk outside one of the most important meetings of my life, being made to feel utterly conflicted again. All because of this man.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his eyes catching mine. There’s fire in them. The same fire I allowed to burn me, ignite me last night. “All I wanted to do this morning was drag you straight back into my bed and keep you there as long as you’d let me.”
My pulse picks up at those words. God. I’m already wet again. How does he know how to do this to me so easily?
But it’s a trap. I know that now. I take a step backward, even though doing so takes all the willpower in my body. I start to shake my head, slowly.
“I can’t do this.” My voice comes out a lot stronger than I feel, at least, a lot more certain. Guess I’ve got practice at staying strong in the face of temptation now.
There’s that brief flicker of hurt again, marring Lark’s usual confident, I-get-what-I-want expression. But only for an instant. “Because of Sheryl?” Lark lets out a faint laugh. “I told you, there’s nothing there. Trust me, Cassidy.”
“Why should I?” I raise my chin, narrow my gaze. “You weren’t honest with me from the start.”
“So we were supposed to have the exes talk on night one?” Lark lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “All right, your turn then. Who’s in your past?”
I grimace. “Don’t try to change the subject. I don’t work with my ex. I never even speak to him anymore; it’s different.”
“If you did, though, I wouldn’t mind.” Lark shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve realized recently how complicated life gets. I don’t hold it against people, if they’re in confusing situations.”
Complicated. Confusing. “That’s just it,” I say. “Complicated and confusing are the exact things I swore off from now on.”
“I see.” He tilts his head. Takes a step toward me. I mirror him, moving backward, but not before I catch his scent again. My body reacts to his with an animal instinct. It wants him, regardless of what my head is screaming. “So, what I’m hearing is that you thought about me too, didn’t you? Otherwise, you could’ve just written this off as some harmless fun. A hot one night stand, no strings attached.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth,” I protest, my voice coming out high-pitched, too shrill, because damn him, he’s hitting far too close to the mark.
Why didn’t I just assume this was a one-off thing? Why, even after I thought he had a wife he’d been cheating on, did I continue to daydream about the way he touched me, the feeling of his cock inside me, driving me all the way to the edge?
My throat feels dry. I try to swallow.
“If it was just meaningless sex, you won’t mind hooking up again.” Lark smirks.
“So it was just meaningless to you, then?” I counter.
His eyes flash. “I never said that.”
“There you go, then.” I cross my arms. My lips are dry too, so I wet them, and his gaze drops, tracking the motion. Shit.
I expect him to make another move. I’m not entirely sure I could resist him this time, if he did. But he takes a step backward, lifting his palms in the air, mock surrender. “All right,” he says, surprising me. “If you don’t want to do this, then I’m not into persuading women they belong in my bed.”
A sharp pulse of desire sparks in my belly at those words. But I hold my ground, keep my mouth shut, because if I don’t, I’ll blurt out something stupid. Something I shouldn’t say.
“I’ll see you around,” Lark says. Then he winks. “Business partner.”
I don’t stop holding my breath until he disappears around the corner. Even then, the very idea of breathing feels dangerous. What have I gotten myself into?
5
Cassidy
The next couple of weeks are a whirlwind of work. Thank God, because any time that I stop working for long enough to think, he drifts into my mind.
Every night as I’m drifting off to sleep—or trying to—I start to picture him next to me in bed. The taste of his mouth. The way his lips felt gliding down my chest, his tongue on my nipple, my belly button, tracing from my navel all the way down to my mound. The feeling of his thick cock buried deep in my pussy; the waves of pleasure that hit me as he fucked me, his strong hands wrapped around my hips, hard everywhere I’m soft.
Fuck. I have it bad. Worse than I ever had it with any guy I’ve hooked up with before. Even with Norman, I was into him as a person, but he was lackluster in bed. More interested in getting himself off than making sure I was having fun.
At the time, I told myself that was just how all guys were. That it was fine. If, every night after we had sex, I had to roll over and finish myself with my own fingers, well, that was just how life had to be.
Then I met Lark.
Lark, who make me come more times in a single night than I would have thought possible. Lark, who wanted to keep seeing me, who would have stopped at nothing to have me again… Except I made him stop. I drove him off. And why? Because I didn’t want anything complicated?
What’s simple about me right now? I’m daydreaming about him every night, every time I’m alone in the shower, my hands wandering down my body to stroke my own clit until I’m gasping his name.
But at least work is a distraction.
I’ve had more than a few phone calls with Sheryl since our meeting. Every time I see the Anderson Investments number pop up on my phone, my heart climbs into my throat and my stomach does a little backflip. But it’s always her perky, no-nonsense voice on the other end.
“Now a good time?” she always begins our calls. Just like the one we had earlier today, where she asked for an update on the new line.
She wound up investing a lot, far more than I ever could have hoped for. Well, they wound up investing a lot, I guess, although I haven’t personally spoken to Lark since our one conversation outside the office building just after the investment meeting.
But she’s also very specific about which products she’d like me to develop first. “I think there’s a real market for the lengthening mascara you showed us and the eye color palettes—you’ve got a great eye for colors. And that way we can focus on one specific product set to start off, and expand into other products later.”
She always words everything in a super co
mplimentary way. But it’s also the first time since I started my own line that I’ve had a boss of sorts—even if she’s not strictly my boss, she’s definitely calling the shots now. And while sometimes it’s reassuring to have another opinion to look for, another voice to rely on for the big decisions, at other times, like today, when I’ve got a great new idea for a lipstick color that I can’t play around with… well, it can be somewhat confining, creatively.
I remind myself it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m doing what my investor wants. Once we get this first line of products out, I’ll have all the time in the world to play around more creatively and figure out what the second line to launch will be.
Before my call for the day with Sheryl finishes up, she adds quickly, “By the way, we’d love to see how the prototype is coming.”
I hesitate for a second. I’ve been working for the last two weeks on the eyeshadow palette, and I’ve sent a few photos over the phone. “I can mockup some more pictures,” I start, but Sheryl cuts me off.
“A bit hard to judge it over the screen though, isn’t it? We’ll be there at noon, if that time works for you, just to have a look at the progress. Here at Anderson Investments, we like to stay, well, invested.” She laughs at her own joke, and I find myself grinning too, even though my heart rate has just kicked into triple gear.
We? Does that mean Lark will be coming with her too? “Okay,” I barely have time to squeak before she ends the call. And then I stare at myself in the mirror across my messy living room. My hair’s in a topknot because I haven’t washed it in a couple days, my eyes are puffy from another long night of no sleep, my brain helpfully filling the time with fantasies of Lark instead.
Shit.
I rush to the bathroom to get myself ready. A long hot shower and careful application of my best-foot-forward makeup look later, I’m ready to tackle the apartment itself. Normally I’m a pretty tidy person—I have to be, since my apartment is so tiny that any time it gets out of hand, it’s practically unlivable—but whenever I’m deep in the creative well, working hard on a project like the one I’ve been ensconced in this week, the whole cleaning thing tends to get away from me.
Kiss Me Now Page 4