by Amelia Wilde
By the end of it, on the cab ride home, I’m burning up.
I chatted with Dominic and Vivienne, warming up to Dominic’s dark-haired and whip-smart wife in the first two minutes. No surprise that she works for the FBI. I’m a little surprised that she and Dominic could sit and chat for so long. The way his eyes stayed on her, drinking in her every move—it’s clear he’s obsessed with her.
I hope they didn’t notice that it took a Herculean effort to keep my hands off Jasper. I didn’t want to let go of his arm when we sat down at the table. I wanted to keep my hand right there until it was time to get in a cab and go…wherever he wanted.
Not a chance of that.
I squirm against the seat of my own cab, waiting to finally move through the last two torturous blocks before my apartment. The moment the driver pulls up to the curb I’m out of the car, bill already paid with the credit card scanner in the back, and leaning in to shove a tip into his hand.
The elevator doors don’t have time to close behind me before I’m inside my apartment, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock on the deadbolt. My purse tumbles to the floors.
I have a date that I can’t put off any longer.
In my bedroom, I grab the vibrator from the top drawer of my dresser. I’ve been telling myself not to use it, not to get that deep into fantasies about Jasper, but I can’t.
I could have been with him tonight.
I could have been having hot, raw sex in the bathroom at the restaurant, and who knows what else in his penthouse…or even my place. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the tension slack between us, couldn’t give in. It’s like I’m being torn in two.
I hike up my dress, laying back against the comforter of my bed, and spread my legs wide, shoving the vibrator between the lace of my panties and my skin. My mind is flooded with Jasper—Jasper’s piercing blue eyes, the animal strength of him beneath his suits, the way I know he’d take me, command me, if I could give in...
It should be him, not a vibrator, but I ride it to a burst of pleasure, a hint of release, and curl up on the bed, breathing hard.
Three more days...
12
Jasper
Ten minutes, and everything starts.
Ten minutes, and this agonizing week is finally at an end.
As long as Isabella shows up.
From the red-hot glow on her face as we sat through dinner together at the restaurant opening that lasted a hundred years, she’s as interested in this as I am—although I don’t ever expect her to admit it. Still, this game—this push and pull that keeps me up at night—could end right now, if she chose.
All she has to do is stay home.
Or anywhere other than my penthouse, really.
Ten minutes before nine, and I’m forcing myself to stay seated in the living room, looking out over the Manhattan skyline. Spring is rushing into summer, and I’m barreling toward something with Isabella. Is it a train wreck or a smooth takeoff?
I laugh a little, even though there’s nobody in the room to hear it. Smooth is not the way we operate. With Isabella, every interaction is a battle that’s tinged with a desire so hot that sometimes I think it might melt my clothes off.
Which would be fine, as long as it melted hers off, too.
I kept contact to a minimum after the opening on Tuesday, texting her only once—nine o’clock, with the address to my penthouse. I didn’t give any instructions on what to wear. I want to see what she’ll choose for myself.
Another glance at my watch. Two minutes have gone by. Eight to go.
If I know anything about Isabella—and granted, what I do know about her is limited to a handful of charged interactions and a Google search that basically revealed that yes, she is a successful businesswoman in New York City—then she won’t be a minute early or a minute late.
Five minutes to go.
Even that assumption could be a toss-up. I know she must be doing everything she possibly can to keep me off balance. I know it because as much as I want to possess her, I can’t help playing her game.
So maybe she won’t be here on time. Maybe she’ll be late.
I put my hands over my face and take a deep breath in. I’m Jasper Pace. No woman should have me this rattled. I exhale slowly, absolutely in control of the air exiting my lungs. No. I won’t let it happen. A little infatuation, sure. A business deal that will get both of us what we want, even if the terms are a little unconventional—absolutely. Letting her run my mind like this? Not a chance. Not for another moment.
Three minutes to go.
I threw myself into work for the rest of the week to the point that Mike Ford, of all people, started to get a little testy when meetings ran over for the third day in a row. At the end of Thursday’s meeting he slapped his folder shut on the desk and stayed seated until the rest of the team filed out of the meeting room. Mike’s been with Pace, Inc. since I started, and he rarely puts up a fuss about anything.
He leveled his gaze at me. “What’s this about, boss?”
The boss was meant to inject a little levity into the interaction, I think, but his dead-serious look overpowered it. I spread my hands wide. “I have goals, Mike. That’s business as usual.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Business as usual? I thought you wanted two more buildings by July, not five. It was five total
last week.”
“You have a problem with picking up speed?”
“I have a problem with getting overextended.” He tapped his fingers against the folder in front of him. “Look, I’m seeking out the best possible properties for you. You know I am. I haven’t given you a reason to question my work—unless there’s something you want to tell me.”
I shook my head. “Flawless, as usual.”
“I don’t need to tell you that too much, too fast is a recipe for disaster.”
“You think even these preliminary plans are too much?”
He leaned in, folding his hands on the table. “I think there’s something else behind this. You’re ruthless as hell, Jasper. Nobody’s disputing that. I don’t want to see these renovations get out of control and cause…” He pressed his lips together into a firm line. “There’s always a chance things turn out fine. But with everything we rush, we open ourselves up to a PR disaster or a building that comes in way over cost…or we miss opportunities. I want to do this right.”
Anyone but Mike, and I’d have taken it personally. My father never fired anyone for disagreeing with him, either, which is good business—but I knew Mike was sincere. “All valid points.” The truth, anyway, was that I’d been pushing so hard to find new buildings to keep my mind off Isabella. Fat chance.
My phone buzzes with a request from the private elevator. It’s one minute to nine.
My heart leaps into my throat.
I confirm the request from my phone and head for the entryway.
The doors slide open.
It’s her.
Isabella is a goddess in black. Her dress is simple—a sheath that hits above her knees—but the way it hugs her curves is anything but. Her dark hair is swept back into a bun on the top of her head, not a wisp out of place. My hands ache with the urge to take it down, to let it fall over her shoulders, to tug it through my fingers until her head is tipped back, her red lips parted, breath shallow while she waits to discover what I’m going to do next. She has a purse over her shoulder, and low heels on. That’s it. The weather has been very warm for May, even for the city, and she must not have needed a jacket, judging by the pink in her cheeks.
Her green eyes are alive with anticipation, and there’s a little smile on her lips. But I see her hand trembling around the handle of her purse.
“Am I on time?” Her low voice sends fingertips of heat over my spine.
I make a show of checking my watch as I move toward her, closing the distance between us, breathing more of her in with every step I take. “Right on time.” I stop half a step away from her. She bites her lip, looking
up at me, unflinching. “Are you ready to begin?”
Isabella nods.
“I’ll take your purse.” She extends it toward me, and I take it, setting it aside on the small table against the wall. Then I’m looking into her eyes again. “One last chance.” The suggestion is soft, gentle.
“I’m ready.”
“Good. Then get down on your knees.”
13
Isabella
My heart thuds against my rib cage, drowning out everything except Jasper’s words, echoing again and again in my head. Get down on your knees. Get down on your knees. Get down on your knees.
This is what I’ve been fantasizing about since last Friday, even if I’ll never, ever admit it to anyone. And now that the moment has arrived, it’s like I’ve discovered at the last minute that instead of jumping off the side of the pool, I’m going to be skydiving. I don’t even have the safety of my purse to hold anymore.
My muscles are tensed, and I suck in a breath, trying to steady myself. If this is what it’s going to take to save my mother’s home, then I shouldn’t waste any more time. I should do it. And deep down, in the darkest part of my mind, I want this. I’ve wanted it since the moment the energy between Jasper and me crackled through the air in his office and struck me like a bolt of lightning. Another thing I’ll never admit out loud.
I need to get down on my knees. I can feel how plush the carpeting is even through my heels. It’s not going to hurt anything, except maybe the last remnants of pride I’m still clinging to. And why? The idea of this has kept me wet and hot and bothered for a week.
I guess it’s different when it’s actually happening.
I look into Jasper’s eyes for another heartbeat. His jaw, which may as well be chiseled straight out of a flawless piece of marble, is set in a commanding line. I get the impression that he could wait all day for me to obey him.
He might expect me to linger over this, to hesitate, to balk at the last second.
No. I can’t have that.
I lower my eyes to the carpet and sink to my knees in front of him, my heart pulsing even louder, rolling thunder in my head. The carpet gives under my bare legs. It’s more luxurious than some of the nicer beds I’ve slept on since Gabriel Luxe took off.
“Good.” The single word from his lips sends satisfaction spreading through my chest, and I don’t even know why. I haven’t needed anyone’s praise in a long time. It looks like we’re through the looking glass. “You look gorgeous, on your knees like that.”
I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know the rules of a game like this, so I’ll let Jasper lead the way. I have the sense that I should keep my gaze lowered, so I do, right up until—
“Look at me,” he commands. I tip my head back, meeting Jasper’s eyes. An arresting blue, burning with lust, and a strange smile quirks the corner of his mouth. He thinks he’s won. He hasn’t won. I might want his hands on my body, but I haven’t forgotten the end goal—to take him for all he’s worth, and my mother’s building besides. No matter how molten hot my core is right now, I can’t ever forget that. And I never will.
Behind the blazing need lighting up his eyes is something darker, something without limits, without boundaries, but it doesn’t scare me. In fact, it makes me straighten my back. I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I have no idea if Jasper has some kind of sex dungeon in his penthouse, or if he’s going to take me right here in the entryway and send me back out. Things could get really kinky. The pulse in my throat gets stronger. Am I going to stroke out from the anticipation? Wouldn’t that be a pretty way to burn this deal to the ground. My body trembles in my struggle to keep from leaping to my feet and throwing my arms around his neck. I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or slap him for making me feel this way, making me feel so torn.
“You’re mine now,” he says it casually, like he’s reminding me to take an umbrella in case it rains.
“Yes.” I can’t look away from him, and I can’t say nothing—it’s not as if he’s commanded me to stay silent, or anything. Now the grin on his face turns wicked before it flickers back into a serious expression.
“There’s so much we could do.”
I swallow hard, another cascade of images tumbling through my mind, another burst of wetness between my legs. “Yes.” He’s got to be testing me, to see what will make me snap, make me laugh, make me say no. I don’t do any of those things. Yet.
“And here you are, kneeling in my entryway in your pretty dress, looking up at me with color in your cheeks…does this turn you on, Isabella?”
Not that we’ve gone over every detail, but part of this has to be honesty. Otherwise the entire thing is going to crumble under the weight of wildly mismatched expectations. I haven’t been in the habit of lying to Jasper—or anyone else—no matter how we might be dancing around each other, pushing each other’s buttons. So I go with the truth, the only embellishment a little more shame in my tone than I actually feel. “Yes.”
That smile, that wide, smoldering smile, spreads across his face. “Good. That’s exactly how I want you to feel when you’re with me.” He steps closer, and I can’t catch my breath. It’s going to start, and it’s going to start right now. I press my hands against my thighs. What is he going to tell me to do next? I have a feeling that no matter what it is, I’ll do it. Hesitating is making me so wound up I’m cutting off the air supply to my own brain.
Jasper reaches down and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, his touch feather-light but leaving a trail of burning skin behind it. He traces all the way around to the back of my head, where my neck is bare, and draws one finger down my spine toward the neckline of my dress. Goosebumps rise along the skin there, trailing all the way down to the base of my spine.
He toys with the zipper.
Holy shit. My cheeks are so hot they must be beet red. Is he going to strip me down right here in the entryway? It’s not as if I didn’t wear a lacy bra and matching panties, bought today at a boutique down the block from my headquarters. I’d expected…I don’t know, a bedroom.
Then he steps to my side, and the next thing I register is his hand extended down toward me, palm up. “Come with me.”
I put my hand in his and get carefully to my feet, trying to ignore the little wobble in my knees.
Jasper steps forward, into the penthouse and I take a deep breath.
Don’t hesitate. Not even a little.
14
Jasper
Isabella’s hand is shaking in mine, and the sensation has me harder than steel. My own anticipation is getting difficult to contain, but at least we’re in my territory. For the first time since we met, I’m calling all the shots.
It’s a welcome opportunity, at least for the moment, to keep her on her toes.
We step into the living area. “Wow.” The word is a whisper, her eyebrows raised. “That’s an incredible view.”
I shrug playfully. “It’s not bad. I prefer the view out of my villa in France.” Villa hardly does justice to the property, which I only get to a few times a year, but it’s true—the Mediterranean sparkling below a summer sunrise beats Manhattan any day.
Isabella rolls her eyes, a flick of her gaze toward the ceiling. “I would have given anything to even visit a place like this when I was growing up.”
It’s such a genuine statement, not a hint of a double meaning, that I take a second to look at her. She’s still looking toward the windows, the last of the sunset reflected in her face. Isabella catches me watching. Her green eyes go serious again. It was probably a way for her to buy some time, let her racing heart slow a little bit. The pulse fluttering in her neckline isn’t quite so hard now.
At least it wasn’t until she looked at me.
Isabella Gabriel might be the most audacious woman ever to shove past my secretary and demand a meeting with me—if I’m honest, she’s the only woman who’s ever done that—but this cannot possibly be what she thought she was getting
into. Hell, I’m not sure I even realized what we’d be getting into. It’s a sheer delight watching her cheeks heat up.
“Now your dream has come true.”
Isabella laughs, but there’s an element of her nervousness there that she can’t hide.
“Moving along.” She hasn’t pulled her hand away from mine, so it’s a simple matter of tugging her in the direction we’re going—through the sunken living room, to the left, and up another two steps into the hallway there. Isabella takes a big breath in and lets it out slowly as we move down the hallway. Energy is radiating off of her, heating up the corridor, and it’s like she’s dying to ask me where this leads.
The hallway opens into...
...my dining room.
Isabella hesitates for the first time as we cross the threshold. She does more than hesitate, in fact. She stops dead, two steps in, her eyes flicking suspiciously across the space.
Because the dining room isn’t exactly empty.
My massive dining table, which can seat twelve, has been replaced with a smaller one in front of a window boasting another spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. The rest of the space has been converted into a kind of sitting area, a sofa and a wingback chair arranged around a glass-top coffee table reflecting the light of the gas fireplace, turned on low.
If she was expecting the master bedroom, or some kind of playroom, this is not it.
The final touch is the uniformed waiter bending over the table, pouring white wine into our respective glasses.
Isabella presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile, but her eyes are narrowed as she takes it all in with another sweep of her gaze. It’s all I can do not to keep from laughing. The arrangement we made was not for a private meal, although I never said it wouldn’t include one. This has to be the final straw, the thing that pushes her into full-blown confusion. There’s no way she was expecting this.