Mr. Stone (More than Money)

by Sarah Curtis

  “Who do you teach? Women who want to be strippers?” He was trying to wrap his brain around the fact there were actual classes for that kind of thing.

  She laughed even though it’d been a serious question. “Housewives mostly or career women wanting to express their feminine side after dealing with the corporate world all day. It’s a fun, sexy way to get a good workout in. You’d be surprised how many muscles are used.”

  He didn’t doubt that for a minute. His brain morphed to a visual of Emma, wearing nothing but a skimpy outfit, wrapped around a pole. Her body arching and flexing. What he wouldn’t give to see that in person.

  She polished off the last of her granola while his mind was off on its tangent. She took a sip of water, and he gently asked, “How did your parents die?”

  “Car accident.”

  She didn’t elaborate, so he prodded, “When?”

  “Three years ago. I was nineteen and Ben was fourteen.”

  “And you’ve been raising him by yourself?”

  “Yeah. Listen, can we talk about something else?”

  She dropped her head to look at her hands, clasped so tightly the knuckles were white, but he could still see the stark pain etched on her face. “Sure.”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and he got her eyes back. “Thanks.” She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. “I wish I could call Ben. Hear his voice.”

  He nodded. “It will probably be a while before they let calls through.”

  “I hate not knowing anything.” She tossed her phone on the table and suddenly stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To look out a window. I want to see how bad it is out there.”

  He stood and grabbed her arm. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you anywhere near a window if another aftershock hits.”

  “I’ll just peek out. If you’re so worried, come with me.”

  He saw he wasn’t going to sway her. “Fine. But only for a minute.”

  They used the clearest path to his office. Thankfully, all the perimeter windows survived the shaking during the quake.

  “Holy crap. It looks like an end-of-the-world movie.” Her nose was practically pressed to the glass as she looked down, and he kept a firm grip on her arm.

  She wasn’t exaggerating. The street out front was deserted with abandoned cars—some with doors left open—stopped right in the middle of the road. Chunks of concrete littered the sidewalks, and ground-floor windows were blown out. It had to be nearing eight-thirty. Dusk had set in, creating eerie shadows.

  “I don’t see a soul out there,” she said, mirroring his thoughts. “I wonder how long we’ll be trapped here?”

  “I’m sure someone will find us soon. Come on.” He tugged at her arm. He wanted her back where it was relatively safe.

  Once back in the break room, he pulled out another two granola bars and handed her one.

  She gave it a forlorn look. “What I wouldn’t give for a big bowl of ice cream right now.”

  “Ben and Jerry’s?” He took a seat and unwrapped his bar, taking a big bite. It tasted like honey covered cardboard, but it would do the job of filling the hole in his stomach.

  Emma wrinkled her nose.

  He raised a brow. “You don’t like Ben and Jerry’s? Come on, Cherry Garcia is the best.”

  Emma shook her head. “Their ice cream-to-stuff ratio is off.”

  Bewildered, he chuckled, “What?”

  “It has too much stuff in it and not enough ice cream.”

  He shrugged. “What about plain vanilla or chocolate?”

  She wrinkled her nose again, making him laugh.

  “You don’t like that either?”

  She sighed. “Plain is boring. I like stuff, but it needs to be a two to one thing.”

  “Meaning, two parts ice cream to one part stuff?”

  “Right. Or else why bother eating ice cream at all. Just eat a box of cookies.”

  He wasn’t sure why but for some strange reason, he found her idiosyncrasy fascinating. He also tucked the knowledge away for future use.

  “Then what’s your favorite—”

  His question was interrupted when another tremor hit. Stronger than the last aftershock. Emma’s eyes went wide with fear.

  “Get under the table. Now.”

  He followed her under, wrapping himself around her and tucking her head into his chest to protect it. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt again.

  Grabbing one of the table legs, he anchored them as the ground shook. Not as strong as the initial quake, but still damn fucking intense. Cabinet doors banged and shit rattled all to the backdrop of a hair-raising roar.

  Emma was trembling by the time it finished.

  He ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She raised her head from his chest. “Just wasn’t sure if that was going to be the one that brings the whole building down.”

  Her face was inches from his, her lips right there and so fucking tempting, he didn’t even try to stop himself.

  The thing about fantasies, they had a tendency to be better than the real thing. That wasn’t the case with Emma. Her lips were softer, her taste sweeter, her tiny little moans far more gratifying than any invention of his imagination.

  And with the hours he’d put into the endeavor, he’d had ample opportunity to get it right, yet they had still fallen flat in comparison.

  Hand at her nape, he angled his head and took the kiss deeper. He thought she would protest, but she fisted his shirt, pressing her body closer.

  His dick joined their under-the-table party, going from semi to hard in an instant, throbbing behind the fly of his slacks. He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted Emma right then. His dick had never been harder. Had never demanded to sink into someone more. Damon would take her under the table if given half a chance. Hell, he’d take her anywhere.

  He reluctantly ended the kiss. Through the shadows, her dewy lips glistened, tempting him to kiss her all over again. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m fucking not.”

  She shook her head. “It was my fault, too. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It’s the adrenaline. It needed an outlet.” His arm wrapped around her tighter, pushing her tits into his chest. “We can always fuck and really get it out of our system.”

  Chapter Seven

  Emma

  Emma sat up so fast, her head banged the bottom of the table.

  Damon swore and covered her head with his hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulled her from their cramped quarters, and she sat down, plonking her elbows on the table to cradle her head in her hands. “I’m not sure my head will survive another hit.”

  And not just a physical one, but also another mental one. She honestly couldn’t tell if Damon had been joking or not.

  “Do you need more painkillers?”

  “No.” Emma raised her head. “But maybe a shot of your whiskey.”

  It had been a joke, but as she watched him scrounge two coffee mugs from the sink and grab the bottle by the neck, she started thinking it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe a few sips would do her good.

  “Not sure you should be drinking this after a head injury.” But nonetheless, he placed the mug on the table in front of her.

  He sat in the seat opposite her, then poured a liberal amount into his own cup.

  She stared at the amber liquid for a full minute before finally looking Damon right in the eyes and saying what was on her mind. “I don’t get you.”

  He raised a brow and his mug at the same time, taking a sip before asking, “What don’t you get?”

  “Since I started working here, you’ve walked around with a stony expression and an attitude to match, issuing orders like a tyrant, and, to be frank, just an all-around cold and unfeeling asshole. But now, you smile and laugh, make jokes, and have shown more emotion in the last few hours than in all the time I�
��ve known you.”

  She paused to let all that sink in before saying, “So, I ask, which one is the real you?”

  He set his cup down and leaned back in his seat. “I guess it would depend on who you asked. At my core, I’m both men.”

  “But what I don’t understand is why the sudden one-eighty, now, with me? I mean, I get we’re in a difficult situation, but I would think that would make you bossier and more demanding, not less so.”

  He sighed, breaking eye contact to stare at something beyond her head. She fought the urge to turn and look but the varied play of emotions contorting his features was something she didn’t want to miss.

  She saw the moment he came to a decision. Again, he threw her for a loop.

  “Let’s play truth or dare.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to play games.”

  “Humor me.”

  She huffed. If it would get her answers. “Fine.”

  “But before we start, we have to promise everything we say will be the truth.”

  “I’m all for the truth.”

  He shook his head. “You need to promise.”

  Rolling her eyes, she raised her right hand. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me…” She quirked her lips. “Damon.”

  He chuckled. “Cute and accurate.”

  She rolled her eyes again. Of course, he would think so.

  He nodded in her direction. “Ladies first.”

  “Truth or dare?” She asked.

  “Truth.”

  “Why the sudden change?”

  “I realized tonight that life is too short to play by the rules.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “That’s another question. It’s my turn.”

  Sneaky. But two could play his game. “Fine.”

  “Truth or dare?” he asked.

  “Truth.”

  “What’s so important that you need Friday off?”

  She hadn’t been expecting that. Honestly, she’d thought he’d ask what color underwear she was wearing, what she wore to bed, or something equally indecent. “My brother’s graduating. I don’t want to miss it.”

  Surprise hit his eyes. He hadn’t expected that answer anymore than she’d anticipated his question. Score one point for each of them.

  Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

  Instead of answering, he stunned her once again by apologizing. “I’m sorry. Now knowing how close you and your brother are, it was a shit move not to ask why you needed the day off. After this, I’m not sure if he’ll still be graduating on Friday, but you can have the day off whenever it may be.”

  Touched, she swallowed down a lump and blinked back tears. Where the heck had those come from? “Thanks.”

  He dipped his head. “Your turn.”

  Regrouping, she asked, “Tell me why the sudden change.”

  “You didn’t ask truth or dare.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she wouldn’t let him evade that question again.

  He must have sensed that because his chest deflated on a sigh. “I was trying to get you to quit. I have a moral compass and sleeping with my employees isn’t on it. If you were no longer an employee, I could take my shot with you.”

  No doubt shock was written all over her face. She felt it. From her wide eyes to her slack jaw. She closed her mouth with a snap. “That was your master plan? And you really thought that would work? You made me think you were an asshole. Why the hell would I ever want to sleep with you after that?” Red hit his cheeks and her brows flew up her forehead. “Holy crap. You’re blushing.”

  His lips twisted into a grimace. “I didn’t say it was a good plan.”

  “It was a shit plan.” She fell back into her chair and laughed. “The great Mr. Slone, brought low by his little head.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Tell me this. What would you have done once you had me? Drop me like a hot potato so I’d be out of a job and my panties?”

  He leaned forward, planted his forearms on the table, and clasped his hands in front of him. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far.” He speared her with his eyes. “I just knew I had to have you and would do anything to make it happen.”

  “Truth or Dare?” she whispered.

  His expression turned more serious than she’d ever seen it. “Truth.”

  “Why?”

  He stood from his seat, nabbing his cup in the process and downed its contents. He paced away a few steps, running a hand through his hair then cupped the back of his neck to stare down at his feet.

  Her boss had never been anything but completely confident until now. His vulnerability was extraordinary to witness.

  He still had his back to her when he started to speak. “Did you know, I made my first million by the age of twenty-five?”

  Holy crap. How rich was he if he’d made his first million so young? She cleared her throat. “Um, no. I had no idea.”

  “But it had come at a steep price. Working nearly a hundred hours a week didn’t leave room for much else.” He turned to face her. “But the funny thing is, I didn’t miss it. Until I saw you.”

  She sat mute, not daring to interrupt.

  “So, yes, thinking with my little brain, I set out to get you. I knew I wanted you, I just didn’t know how much until tonight.” He walked over to her, squatting down beside her. “Seeing you hurt,” he shook his head, “everything changed. And the earthquake put everything into perspective. Rules and propriety didn’t seem so important anymore.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “What if I had lost you? I realized how short time actually was and how much of it I had wasted. I don’t want to waste another minute. And I sure as fuck don’t want to waste any moments with you.”

  He stood and started pacing—something else she’d never seen her boss do. “I know you don’t know the real me.” He stopped to face her. “But I’d like the chance for you to. I want the opportunity to show you the Damon who’s been hiding behind your Mr. Stone. And I want to know the Emma who I’ve caught glimpses of hiding behind Miss Jones.”

  He came to her, took her hand, and lifted her from her seat, a small smirk twisting his lips. “Truth or dare?”

  She wasn’t sure the answer he wanted, but the glint of challenge in his eyes had her guessing… “Dare.”

  He smiled, and she knew she’d chosen right. “Take a leap with me, and let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

  Chapter Eight

  Damon

  Time seemed to stand still as Damon waited for Emma to answer. He was a man who made million-dollar deals before breakfast, yet there he stood, nervous as hell. He knew he wanted her, but until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he wanted Emma to want him, too.

  Watching her so intently, he saw the moment her lips started to part. Only it wasn’t to speak.

  She yawned.

  Her hand flew to cover her mouth as she eyed him sheepishly.

  “Don’t answer now. You’re tired and had a stressful and emotional evening.” He gave her hand a parting squeeze before releasing it and heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  He went to his office. Specifically, the sofa that was nestled against the wall. It was leather and expensive which equaled heavy as fuck. He pushed it from one end, maneuvering it out the broken wall of glass, clearing a path in the debris as he pushed it through the common area. Navigating it through the break room door was a bit trickier. He had to tip it on its side to get it to fit.

  While he struggled, Emma pushed the table off to the side to make room, and he angled the couch between two cabinets.

  He sat. She just stood there. “Come on, don’t let all that hard work be for nothing.”

  She stepped out of her shoes and sat.

  He patted his lap. “Head or feet?”

  She looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “It’s one or the other, but you a
re lying down.” He was firm on that.

  As slow as a scared kitten afraid to make any sudden moves, she laid her head on the cushioned arm of the couch and tucked her legs up, being careful not to touch him.

  He grabbed her ankles and placed her feet in his lap so she could stretch out. “Close your eyes and relax.”

  “I can’t. This feels weird.”

  “Try.”

  Sighing, she rolled to her left side.

  He captured a foot and started rubbing.

  Her eyes popped open. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you relax.”

  “That’s not helping. That’s making it worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my boss.”

  “I thought we were past that?”

  “We were until you started massaging my feet.”

  “I just kissed you less than an hour ago.”

  “That was different.”

  Truly bewildered, he asked, “How?”

  “This is more intimate.”

  He raised a brow. “More intimate than my tongue in your mouth?”

  She pulled her foot from his grip and sat up. “This isn’t working.”

  “It’s not working because you’re overthinking it. New plan.” He stretched out on his side, making room for her. “Come here.”

  She looked over her shoulder before tentatively lying down, her back flush with his front and using his arm as a pillow. He reached over, hugging his other arm around her waist.

  She was stiff as a board.

  “Would you relax.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are your eyes closed?”

  “No.”

  “Close them.”

  “This still feels weird.”

  He smiled against the top of her head. “Give it time.”

  Minutes passed, but then he felt her body loosen, giving him her weight. And a few minutes after that, her breaths evened.

  “Emma?” Damon hated to wake her, but he didn’t want her sleeping for longer than an hour at a time. With a finger, he swept aside a lock of hair from her cheek. “Emma?”