by Amelia Wilde
“It’s almost over,” I say.
“Tell me the truth.”
“There are ten more awards. Haven’t you been following along in the program?”
“No. I’ve been looking at you,” he says, his voice laced with a husky warmth.
“All this time? I look exactly the same as when we walked in.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got a very fancy crystal trophy for being such a successful fashion designer.” I laugh. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about all this,” he adds.
“What was I supposed to say? You never know whether you’re going to win in advance.”
“You had some kind of idea.”
“I didn’t decide to expand across the state for no reason. My designs are really quite popular. But what sets me apart from a lot of these people is that I’m managing all the aspects of production and distribution by myself.”
He shakes his head. “What other secrets are you hiding, Isabella?”
“I should ask you the same question.” There’s got to be something underneath all this, something that drives him to be the way he is.
“I’m an open book.”
I laugh out loud, but the sound is covered by another round of applause for someone who’s won the next award. “Jasper Pace, an open book? No.”
He drops his voice so I lean closer, my hand on his arm. “Here’s how much of an open book I am.” I breathe in, warmth already rising to my cheeks. “I don’t want to wait for another ten—nine—awards. I want to take you outside right now and get into my town car.”
“And then what?” I hear my voice laced with anticipation.
“Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
I bite my lip. “You want to leave…right now?”
“Yes. As soon as humanly possible,” he says, almost a growl.
“Me too,” I say and he starts to stand, but I keep a gentle pressure on his arm and he stays in his seat. “The thing is, it won’t look good if I bail on this after I’ve been presented with my own award.” I sigh. “I do want to go. But I can’t. We’re staying.”
He grits his teeth and forces a smile. “That’s not a problem. Come with me for a couple of minutes.”
Fine. I’ll bite. When he stands up, I put my hand in his and let him lead me away.
He clearly knows where he’s going—and where he’s going turns out to be a pitch-dark alcove down the hall from the main room. Jasper presses me up against the wall, my hands pressed back against it. He’s so close. “What is this? Some kind of punishment?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it trembles.
“Hardly. Spread your legs.”
It takes me a heartbeat to do it, but the energy arcing through me is so intense, so sexual, that the last thing on earth I’m going to do is disobey.
I brace myself against the wall and move my legs apart a foot.
“Farther.”
Another few inches, and I can feel the air moving up underneath my dress and between my legs.
Jasper reaches down and lifts the hem of my gown, sliding his hand up my leg until his fingers make contact with my panties. I can’t stifle my gasp.
“Shh.”
I press my lips together as he tugs my panties to the side, stroking along my now-exposed slit. I’m soaked. Jesus. My hands rise up to his shoulders so I can hold on for dear life. He leans down and presses his lips against my neck, gentle and hot.
“Yes. Yes.”
He works a finger inside of me and draws it back out. I’m surprised by the disappointment that tumbles through me when he moves away, but then his hand is back between my legs, pressing something inside. It feels smooth and cool, and when he takes his fingers back out it’s firmly in place. He kisses me softly on the lips.
“What—”
“We should get back to your ceremony.”
“Should we?” I move my hands away from his shoulders, taking his lapels in my fist, and throw my weight against him. He goes back against the opposite wall, making contact with a thud, and then I crush my mouth against his. Screw the soft, gentle kisses. I’m like an animal who’s been unleashed.
When I pull back, he’s the one who’s slightly out of breath.
“Okay,” I say, hooking a finger into his lapel. “Now we can go.”
I’m in mid-conversation with the woman next to me when I feel it—a buzz that radiates through my entire body, adding another layer to my already red cheeks. It takes me by surprise, making me forget what I’m saying in the middle of my sentence. I’m glad I’m not holding my wine glass. I’d have crushed it in my fist.
“Is something the matter?” the woman says, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.
“No. No, no.” I laugh, waving a hand in the air. “What was I saying?”
The second time, it lasts even longer, and I turn to glare at Jasper. He holds my gaze until he turns it off, hand emerging from his pocket a moment later. “It’s really a lovely ceremony.” He says it with a wicked half-smile and sips his wine.
“It is.”
There are still five more awards to go when he activates it for the third time, and I put my fingertips to my lips to stop any sound from escaping. Holy shit. I’m going to have a full-blown orgasm in the middle of an awards ceremony unless I can get out of here. Now.
When it turns off, I stand, murmuring apologies to the rest of the table. There’s enough time between the awards to escape from the hall, giving apologetic waves to everybody who makes eye contact with me. I know most of them. And I almost came in front of all of them.
Jasper’s town car is idling at the curb, and he holds the door open for me, letting me slide in and across before he climbs in and pulls the door shut behind him.
I can’t stop myself.
“You are the most sadistic—”
“Terrence. Go.” He doesn’t say another word. He reaches out and pulls me closer, wrapping one arm around my waist and raising his other hand to stroke the side of my neck. I gasp, and an inferno of desire rushes through me when he wraps one hand around my jaw. He tilts my head back, against his shoulder, and then I feel him reaching for the switch in his pocket.
“Don’t forget,” he growls into my ear. “You’re mine. Every inch of you, for the next twenty-eight days.”
I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.
He turns my head toward him and leans down, kissing me so fiercely I almost come in his arms.
It can’t get better than this.
18
Jasper
My fingers are too heavy on the keyboard, but I don’t notice it until Mike is poking his head in the door to my office. When I glance up, he’s looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Is something on your mind?” He tucks the stack of folders in his hand under his arm.
“No. Why?” This is a blatant lie, but the last thing Mike needs to know is that almost all of my focus is on Isabella. And Isabella’s not even here.
I kissed her in the town car like I wanted to kiss her all night at that awards ceremony. I gave her one orgasm. I could have given her a hundred.
But I didn’t take her back to my place. I’d given Terrence her address ahead of time, and that’s where he knew to drive. I was so consumed by her that I didn’t think to change the destination.
I shouldn’t have changed it, anyway. It was the right thing to do to draw this out, to commit to the slow build.
That doesn’t mean the decision hasn’t been eating me alive.
Isabella texted me yesterday morning, a little after eight. I normally don’t get up early on Sundays, but I was already staring at the ceiling by then, the thought of my lips against hers making me hard under the comforter. It seemed sad as hell to get off without her, but I was heavily debating it. Until my phone vibrated on the bedside table.
Not on Sundays?
My heart leapt in my chest as the ball rocketed right back into my court. I could say that yes, she absolutely needed to be at my penthouse on Sundays—and every
other day. There’s simply no way we could sustain that for a month, though, and if she was going to ask, there had to be some reason she wanted Sundays free. Something to do with her mother, I’d bet. So I told her no. No, not on Sundays.
Naturally, that meant I spent all day Sunday doing the same futile activities to try and forget her.
“You’re typing like you’re trying to press the keyboard right through your desk.”
I save the email I’m typing and swivel away from the computer. “Mind your own business.” I keep my tone light, and Mike grins, stepping into the office. “I take it you have that information.”
“I do.” He takes the seat across from me and puts the folders on the desk. “These are the summaries for the three properties you acquired in March.”
“And the Hamilton Heights property was one of those.”
“Yes.” He flips open the top folder. “Two of them—the one in Hamilton Heights and the one in Spanish Harlem, were sold to Pace, Inc. by the same company—Brilliance NYC. Owned by a guy named Howard Knight.”
I lean forward, crossing my arms on the surface of the desk. “And for both of these, he guaranteed us that the spaces were either unoccupied or that all leases would be finished by the first of May.”
Mike opens another folder, scans one of the papers, and nods. “Hamilton Heights is totally unoccupied. The other property should be by now, since it’s—” He glances down at my desk calendar. “—the second week of May.”
“I seem to remember this guy saying this to me—did you set up a phone call with the two of us for some reason?”
“I think so. It was during the last stages of negotiation, and you wanted to confirm some of the details, as far as I recall.”
“Okay. We might have a problem with these two buildings.”
Mike’s forehead wrinkles with concern. He was the one who found these two properties—among most of the others I’ve acquired in the past five years—and he does a good job. “What specifically? I vetted both of these for—”
“I know. I’m not sure how this…escaped our attention, but the Hamilton Heights building is still occupied.”
His eyes go wide. “What?”
“Two weeks ago, the current owner sent out a lease termination notice. None of the residents are being allowed to renew. In August.”
His face goes white, then red. “That’s sure as hell not what I was led to believe. I must have gone out there to check. I must have, otherwise—” He flips through the papers in one folder, then the next, like it will give him the answers he’s looking for.
“It’s all right. The Hamilton Heights property is a freak accident in terms of scheduling and visits, but I have a feeling this guy played us.”
“Jesus. For another few months’ rent, he let those people think—”
“Exactly.”
Mike stands up, gathering the folders into his hands. “I’m going to get more information about this. If there are still tenants living there now, it’s not going to look good if—”
Christine is hovering near the doorway. “Go. Let me know what you find out. Do you have a message for me, Christine?”
Her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “Not exactly.”
I’m pissed off about the Hamilton Heights situation. I’m not about to back out now—not a chance in hell—but I need to know if this company is screwing me in some other way I haven’t foreseen. “Then what is it?” I don’t mean to snap at her, but I desperately need to get off…my ass, and get Isabella out of my head, at least for a couple of hours.
With a barely perceptible shake of her head, Christine steps aside, and the doorway is immediately darkened by another figure.
“Hi.” Isabella steps forward as if Christine was never there. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
It’s a far cry from calling me an evil bastard, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “You’re interrupting. But nothing that can’t be rescheduled.” Christine crosses behind her, heading back to her desk, and I can tell by the set of her jaw that she’s not thrilled about rescheduling my meetings. Too bad. That’s her job. “Come in.”
Isabella steps further into the office, reaching out to pull the door shut behind her. My heart beats harder. We haven’t made any plans for this evening yet, much less the middle of the day. I have no earthly idea what her plan is, or what she’s about to do, and I relish it at the same time that I want it to be over. I want her to play her hand. I want to join in the game.
Her green eyes dancing, Isabella lowers herself carefully to her knees on the floor of my office, demurely casting her gaze to the floor as soon as her knees make contact with the hardwood.
“I’m sorry I missed yesterday.” Her voice is low and sexy and I could listen to her all day. There’s a strange ache in my chest at the sight of the sun in her dark hair. I’m going to miss the hell out of this when it’s over. It’s going to hurt like a bitch. I dismiss the thought, because she speaks again. “Is there anything you want from me now?”
19
Isabella
Jasper didn’t tell me to come in. He didn’t fight me on taking Sunday for myself, either. I don’t know what I was hoping for when I sent that text, but I sure as hell was disappointed when he caved. That’s not the kind of thing I’d expect from Jasper. Especially not after that sweet, sweet torture he put me through at the awards ceremony.
The hardwood on his office floor isn’t nearly as comfortable to kneel on as the carpet in his penthouse, which comes as no surprise. What is a surprise is how hard my heart is beating, the pounding traveling all the way up to my ears. That secretary is probably standing right outside the door, right now, and here I am, on my knees, pretending that yesterday was all my fault, that it was a misunderstanding.
Yesterday was its own special hell. If I’m going to admit it, I thought that Jasper might tell me to get to his penthouse within the next half hour. I wanted a little more punishment, if that was going to take the form of any kind of orgasm. The ones I gave myself weren’t nearly as satisfying.
He stands up from behind his desk and comes over to me, his footfalls sharp on the floor. His shoes have been shined recently, and the morning sunlight gleams on their surface. It’s all I can see of him, and a tremble goes through my body. “Is there anything I want?”
Jasper’s voice is a low growl, and I fold my hands together, locking them in the center of my lap. “Yes. Anything.”
“I want you to honor the terms of our agreement.”
“I am—” I cut myself off. Arguing with him isn’t part of the game, and it’s not part of my master plan, either. I need to keep him on his toes as much as possible while I figure out what the hell I’m going to do. I spent Sunday morning at a long brunch with my mother and sister, and she’s clearly not taking it well that the building is now owned by Pace, Inc., no matter how much I try to reassure her. And as much as I want Jasper, I keep the drumbeat repeating in my mind: he’s a cold, ruthless bastard. He deserves to be taken down a notch or three. It’s my own fault that I feel this conflicted about him. But all that is for another time. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You think that’s enough of an apology?” There’s a smirk in his voice, and in spite of myself my heart sinks a little. Rein it in, Isabella. You don’t care what he thinks. Getting sweet, sweet revenge is all that matters.
“No?” I let the word come out as a question.
“No. It’s not. I suggest you think of something better, if you’re going to interrupt my workday for this kind of thing.”
This kind of thing. I struggle to keep the smile off my face. This—all of this—is so hot I can hardly stand it, even if it is part of some big twisted game that we’re both using for our own purposes.
Jasper turns on his heel and strides back to his desk.
I don’t think about it. I already know what I want to do to him. I knew it the moment I hailed the cab outside my own headquarters.
I rise t
o my feet and follow him across the room. He’s already seated, pretending to look at something in a folder in front of him. He doesn’t look up at the sound of my high heels on the wood floor and he doesn’t look up when I’m next to his desk. He doesn’t look at me at all until I’ve knelt on the floor next to his chair.
“You’ve come to a quick decision.”
I don’t take my eyes off him. “How do you know it was quick?”
One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile that sends a wave of heat down my spine. “It must have been on impulse, showing up here without an invitation. There’s no other explanation.”
I drop my voice. “You don’t think I had this on my mind all day yesterday? You don’t think I wasn’t sorry the moment I sent that text?” I wasn’t sorry about sending the text—I was sorry that I didn’t lead him to making a decision that would have been better for me in the end. But that’s neither here nor there.
“How sorry were you?” He swivels toward me.
I don’t say another word. I reach for his belt. He tightens his grip on the arms of his chair, and makes no move to stop me from undoing the buckle. Or his zipper. He doesn’t stop me when I reach into his boxers, either, tugging his cock—rock-hard and standing at attention—out of his pants.
As it turns out, Jasper Pace is hung.
I keep the shock on my face to a minimum, but damn.
“This sorry,” I whisper, and then I finally tear my eyes from his gaze and focus on the task at hand.
The instant I swirl my tongue over the head of Jasper’s cock, he tenses. It doesn’t seem like a good sign until I flick my eyes upward. His blue eyes are bright with lust, and he’s looking at me like I might be an angel descended from heaven.
I don’t need any more than that to continue.
He raises a hand and works his fingers through my hair—purposely left loose today—while I lick up and down his shaft. His breath picks up, but he doesn’t say a word, even when I’m certain he wants me to get more aggressive.