by Liv Lane
Closing the book, he leans back in the seat. “So—” He picks up the book briefly to read the front. “Wilde Ride Three was your first foray into this genre?”
I nod.
He chuckles suddenly and rubs his fingers back and forth across his jaw. “Did you enjoy it?”
God, this is so awkward.
“Answer the question, Emma.” His amusement flees, his voice is firm and expression calculating. “Or I’m going to be pulling those wet panties down and spanking your naughty ass until you spill all your deviant little secrets.”
Ohmygod, I think I might have come a little. “Yes,” I say, my voice a little breathless.
He smirks. “Good. I’m keeping this. I’ll find some interesting parts for you to read to me later.” He nudges his head at the door. “Better get back to work before Andrew has a coronary.”
I flee the room, relieved that Susan isn’t at her desk.
Andrew is in a meeting, so I dodge that problem as well. And forcing my concentration back into work, I get through the day.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“SO, YOU’RE SCREWING things up with the new girl?” Dillon asks.
“Fuck off,” I mutter. I have a report to read on a new acquisition, and I need to focus on it. Not that I’m focusing on anything because I got called to an emergency meeting immediately after I took Emma on a wild ride, and now I’m back, and I’m never going to get out of this damn office tonight if I don’t finish this.
“Your communication skills are lacking,” he says cryptically, dragging my focus from the report. Dillon is lounging on my couch—the couch where I put Emma over my knee and spanked her ass. I absently rub at my forehead. What the hell was I thinking by doing that?
I wasn’t thinking, and therein lies my problem. Her book is resting in my top drawer. I should return it to her—I will…but I need to find out what kinky scenes happen in it first.
“What? Fuck off was in some way confusing?” I ask.
“I’m a bit worried about Kat.”
Dillon isn’t much of a worrier, so that brings an odd spike to my heart rate. “I’ve got a tail on the prick. He won’t get near her or the kids, and I’ve the best lawyer in the field investigating how to handle his claim. Has something happened I’m not aware of?”
He thumbs over his shoulder. “Andrew.”
I’m officially lost. “What does Andrew have to do with any of this?”
He makes a circular motion with his hand. “You really are distracted by this girl.”
“What the fuck is it?” I bite the words out.
The dickhead rolls his eyes at me. “Andrew and Kat. When did they get so chatty? Seriously, I like Andrew as a buddy.” He taps his fingers in an erratic rhythm on the arm of the couch. “But he’s got a reputation worse than yours.” He shakes his head emphatically. “Kat has enough problems in her life. She doesn’t need Andrew to make it worse. Five minutes ago they were chatting away like long lost pals.”
I’m having problems with much of this conversation. Andrew and Kat are possibly the least likely couple I could imagine. “She’s a brunette,” I say incredulously because Andrew is into blondes. I’ve never seen him so much as glance at a woman with dark hair. It’s like brunettes don’t exist. “And what the hell are you doing wandering around my building? What the hell is Kat doing wandering around my building?”
“I was looking for Susan,” he says with a scowl. “And Mom and Dad have the kids, so I’m guessing Kat was coming to talk to you.”
“Take Susan home and stop annoying the shit out of me. Also, talk to her about that dress.”
My door is shut, but it opens without so much as a knock, and Kat enters.
“Dress?” Dillon demands.
“Oh, it’s stunning,” Kat says.
“How do you know Andrew so well?” I demand.
“Andrew?” There is a faint darkening of Kat’s cheeks.
“Yes, Andrew,” I grit out.
“What the fuck is Susan wearing?” Dillion asks, but he’s talking half to himself as he stalks out the door.
Kat winks at me. “They make such a cute couple. I used to wonder what Susan saw in him, because, let’s face it, he’s annoying. But they do look cute together…and that dress.” She laughs.
“That was the world’s worst deflection,” I say.
She shrugs, and her smile drops. “It was worth a shot. And I got talking to Andrew at your company party last year.”
“No,” I say. And I’m saying no to a whole lot more than where they first got ‘chatty’.
She nods. “I was only talking to him. And I’m twenty-four.”
“You’re twenty-four, he’s thirty-six, and his lifestyle makes even me cringe.”
She shrugs and gives me an impish grin. “I doubt that. Besides, I have enough going on in my life. He was asking how I was. You were the one who told him about Kyle.”
“Fine, I shouldn’t have done that.” I’d been distracted at the time. I’ve been distracted a lot lately. I sigh—the report waits—it won’t read itself.
“I like her,” she says, and my report is once more forgotten. “And so do you. Really like her. I thought Dillon was joking—you know how he is. But now that I’ve met her…” she trails off.
I’m thrown by the fact they’ve clearly been discussing Emma. Although why I don’t know. I’m sure it was Susan who got that photo put on Instagram and past my usually diligent media team.
“Don’t.” I can sense scheming, and I’m not in the mood. I don’t know what’s happening between Emma and me yet, but it’s new, and I don’t want it under a spotlight.
It dawns on me then that I actually care about Emma’s feelings. Care whether she’s comfortable with all of this, any of this.
Christ. I’ve had her on her knees, choking on my cock. What the hell is wrong with me? I haven’t even taken her on an official date. No wonder she keeps trying to avoid me. I’m screwing this up, and I don’t want to screw this up.
My sister’s smile is still firmly in place. “She’s genuine,” Kat says. “And genuine people are rare. The kind of woman who takes her elderly neighbor for an ice cream in her free time. I’ve seen you with so much fake, I wonder if you can even recognize the difference.”
“I recognize the difference,” I say. I’m not in the mood for Kat, and her questionable love life choices, to be dishing out advice.
“Mom and Dad bought tickets to the theater,” Kat continues ignoring my darkening mood. “They were going to take me, but I’m not ready to relax enough for a night out until Kyle, and his sudden desire to become a model parent, is resolved. Why don’t you go?”
“I’ll see,” I say, but my mind is on Emma, and I know I have some fixing to do.
It’s Friday, and it’s late, and tonight I have a hot date—with Betty.
She called it a hot date in her last text message and put a winking emoji at the end. She’s odd like that, but I like her odd. And I’m pleased I have plans for tonight because I definitely need a distraction from the wild events of the last two weeks.
Andrew has been giving me funny looks all day. There was definitely a heated undertone between him and Matt in the boardroom this morning.
Then Matt’s sister arrived, and Susan, who was on our floor, introduced us. His sister is charming, but I did feel a bit awkward. Maybe she has shares in the company? I can’t think of any other reason for Susan to introduce us.
I’m so confused by everything that’s gone on, I don’t know where to start. I’ve never met someone like Matt before, he’s in a different league to every person I’ve ever known. I take comfort from the successful presentation, which means we’ll be given additional funding for our project.
Two weeks—how can so much have happened in two weeks?
Rex and Kelly stop off at my desk to see if I want to join them for drinks, and I’m glad I’ve made plans.
I’m packing up my stuff to leave when my desk phone rings. It’s an inte
rnal number, Matthew Dexton.
I stare at it for six rings before I gather the courage to pick it up.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he says.
I can’t have dinner with him tonight, I’m going to the theater with Betty, but even if I wasn’t, I need time to process what the hell is happening between us. “I have plans,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time.
I want to fill the silence, but I don’t know what to say.
“Enjoy your evening,” he finally says and hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a long time after I carefully put it down. Matt didn’t ask me about my weekend—I wish he had. Maybe I was giving off ‘don’t bug me’ vibes. Betty says, I do that sometimes. Why didn’t I suggest we meet tomorrow? I could have done that. Could have taken the initiative.
My brain is fried, and I need to leave if I’m going to meet Betty in time.
This is probably for the best, I reason, but my heart doesn’t agree. I gather my coat and bag—he still has the damn book—and head to the elevator.
Here my finger hovers over the button that would take me up to where he is.
My cellphone vibrates, it’s a message from Betty, and I hit the button to take me down.
Something is going on between Kat and Andrew that my distracted mind can’t readily work out. I got a call from him just before I left to say he’s asking a friend of his, who’s in the forces, to do a little digging. Andrew’s a selfish prick, he knows he’s a selfish pick and that he’s putting himself and his friends out to help is a cause for concern.
But I’m not about to refuse the help if it will get Kyle dealt with sooner. And just as soon as I’ve got things straight with Emma, I’ll be having a long chat with Andrew about what the fuck happened between him and my baby sister at my office party last year.
That’s a worry for tomorrow because it’s Friday night, and against my better judgment, I’ve taken Kat’s advice and accompanied my parents to the theater. Not that I don’t enjoy spending an evening with them, I do. But there are matters between Emma and me that need to be resolved.
The theater is at capacity. The Regent is an older theater with gilded arches, crystal chandeliers, and gold-tasseled red velvet swags everywhere. It’s over the top, but it has a certain charm.
I should have gone and spoken to her, not used the phone. Instead, by the time I took the elevator to her floor, she’d left for the night—and her plans. For now, there’s nothing I can do.
Equus isn’t a new show, but the performance is outstanding, and it provides a distraction.
Until intermission, when I come face to face with the subject of my thoughts.
She is absolutely stunning.
Long blonde hair falling in waves over one shoulder, cherry lips, and a little black dress that makes me want to drag her somewhere private so I can rip it off and fuck her.
She blinks a few times, and her cheeks color with a pretty flush. Her friend is with her, the former owner of a red beanie, and an oversized shirt. She’s dressed attractively tonight, not that I spare her more than a glance. And with an impish grin, she abandons Emma to, “Visit the powder room.”
Who can say shit like that with a straight face?
“Mother, Father, this is Emma. She is—” I’m unusually lost for words. Emma is the woman I choked on my cock this morning, and who I bent over my board table and fucked like a savage yesterday.
Neither of those descriptions are appropriate, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that this isn’t the right way to introduce Emma to my parents. The trouble is, I don’t know what she is to me. I know I want her to be more than what she’s been so far, but in Dillon’s words, I’m screwing this up.
Emma saves me from this failure by holding out her hand and saying, “I work at Matt’s company. They sponsored my degree program. I started at the company a few weeks ago. I’m really enjoying it, and very grateful for the opportunity.”
Her smile is bright and genuine, and her words equally so. Predictably, both my parents melt. There’s nothing fake about her charm, it’s natural, and it shines through.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear,” my mother says, taking Emma’s hand. “I was so excited when Matthew told us about that program.”
My father gives me a raised brow as the two women begin talking. I smile; it would be hard not to.
“What do you like to do in your spare time, dear?” I hear my mother ask.
“She likes to read. Thrillers,” I say because Emma’s flush has deepened, and I know she’s thinking about the dirty biker romance book I still have in my possession.
“Oh, wonderful,” my mother gushes. “I adore Tom Clancy myself. We went along to one of his evening talks last year. I do love his British accent.”
My father guffaws at this. “Had us waiting for an hour so she could get a signed copy of his book!” He grumbles good-naturedly.
I’m a little scared by how right all this feels. I’ve been burned before, and I might not recover if Emma turns into that kind of woman.
Then she’s giving her excuses to my parents, and returning to meet her friend.
I miss her presence instantly. She’s nothing like any woman I’ve ever met before. She’s not clingy or needy, she has an independent streak. Most women would have changed their plans if I asked them to join me for the evening, but she kept her plans with her friend…who I’m delighted is a woman.
I wish I’d asked her what she was doing tomorrow when I spoke to her on the phone. Better yet, I should have spoken to her while she was still in the office. It’s not like I give a damn who sees me talking to her anymore. I want her, and her crazy books that she takes from her crazy neighbor because she’s too polite to say no.
Who does stuff like that?
She does, and I can’t help but find it adorable.
She’s the kind of woman who can’t be trusted with hot drinks, and who takes her eighty-year-old neighbor for ice cream on her weekends.
And who blushes when she drops smutty books.
She’s hot, sweet, and utterly beguiling.
I want to know her, to learn what makes her happy, and all the facets of her life that made her who she is—I also want her beneath me in a bed where we won’t be rushed, where I can have her and her mumbled gasps of pleasure.
As we take our seats for the performance, I catch a glimpse of Emma sitting on the opposite side of the theater. As if sensing my silent study, she throws a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes find me with unerring accuracy, and I can’t help my smirk.
Quickly, her head snaps back to the front.
I see you, little deviant, and I’ve got you in my sights.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE SHOW WAS amazing, and I wish I hadn’t bumped into Matt during the intermission because I lost most of the second act to daydreaming.
His parents are so lovely. I thought I was handling the shock of seeing him well until he mentioned how I love to read thrillers!
Also, he still has my book, and a little piece of me is glad he does because it gives us a reason to talk.
Or he could mail it…
I hope he doesn’t mail it.
I want to escape the moment the show is over, but Betty persuades me to go for a drink, which is how I find myself at The Sparrow, a tiny bar half a block from the theater. It’s an intimate little bar with low ceilings and lots of wood. They do cocktails, and after my introduction, courtesy of Susan, Rex, and Kelly, I’m delighted to try some more.
Also, I figure it will help me to sleep.
The theater crew are so much fun that I manage to forget my Matt woes for a while.
But the universe is not my friend, and I stare between the cocktail and the mirage before me and wonder if I’ve finally gone crazy.
No, I’m not crazy, he is standing there, and he looks mad as freaking hell.
I’m not the kind of man who can sneak into an intimate bar and observe. It’s
not arrogance on my part to say I have a presence and when I enter a room, people have a tendency to turn and stare.
She does look. She’s laughing, and the tall guy who I’m sure was the leading man from the show has his arm around her shoulder.
I always thought the phrase ‘seeing red’ was a metaphor. It’s not—when I see Emma with him, a red haze envelops my world. I’m sure he’s a great guy who will probably treat her better than me, but I want to pummel his head into the wall.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
I don’t do this caveman shit, and I’ve never felt territorial toward a woman in my life.
I’m over there before I can work out what the fuck I’m going to do or say, and when I do speak, it sounds like a growl. “We need to talk.”
Her lips pop open, and her eyes grow round.
The tall guy with his arm around her shoulder gives me an up-down appraising look, then quirks his brow. “You know this man, sweetie?” he asks Emma.
…And he’s one-hundred percent gay, and now I feel like an even bigger nut marching over like a jealous prick.
Still, I’m here now, may as well roll with it.
“You want to talk?” She phrases it like a question, and I don’t blame her. There wasn’t much thought involved in this plan of mine. Scratch that, there wasn’t any.
I notice Betty is standing on the other side of the group wearing a shit-eating grin.
I’m all in—I cannot screw this up any worse. “Yes, I want to talk to you now, Emma. Alone,” I say. “You good with that?”
She nods slowly, and for the first time since she left my office this morning, a smile takes my face.
Betty takes the drink from Emma’s hand—Emma barely notices because her attention is all on me.
There’s only one way out of this that I can see. She squeals as I haul her over my shoulder, and a loud chorus of whistles and cheers follows us as I carry her out.
