by Cat Carmine
“Yes.”
“And who did you call, exactly?”
“A friend in the business.” Well, it’s sort of true.
“Really.” It’s not a question. The way he looks at me feels like a challenge. I try to meet his gaze, but there’s something too deep and dark in it. I can see why he’s as successful as he is … I find it hard to believe that anyone could come up against Logan Cartwright and come away unscathed.
“Fine,” I deflate. “My roommate has a friend who works in PR, and she hooked me up with a radio station that was doing a giveaway on tickets. All I had to do was be the twenty-ninth caller. And sing the first verse of Hakuna Matata live on the air.”
Logan snorts. It’s the closest thing to laughter I’ve ever seen from him.
“You sang? On the radio?”
“Yes. And then I think the DJ might have proposed to me. I’m not sure — the whole thing was very confusing.”
“Hmm.” Logan’s jaw ticks, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m impressed.”
Once again, I flush under the glow of his praise. I refuse to let him see that, though. “Well, someone told me not to bother coming back if I didn’t have the tickets. So I figured I’d better find a way to get them.”
“You did good, Blake.”
“Thank you.” My skin’s gone to goosebumps. I blame it on the lingering cold from the rain, but it might actually be the heat of Logan’s gaze. In the moment of silence that follows, I realize that we’re all alone here at the office. Everything is quiet, the hallways are dark, and I’m acutely aware of the thudding pulse of my own heart. I clear my throat. “Well, I should head home. I’m soaking wet and starving, and I have an entire unwatched season of Scandal waiting for me.”
“Right.” He swallows, his throat bobbing tightly as if it’s straining somehow. Then he blurts, “I ordered Thai food.”
“Great. Enjoy.” Why is he telling me this?
“I mean, if you’re hungry. There’ll be lots. It should be here any minute.”
“Oh.” The invitation catches me off guard. The idea of eating with Logan is terrifying and appealing all at once, which is probably a sign that it’s a bad idea. “I should really go home, actually. I need to change and …”
I would have made it out of there if the food hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. I smell it seconds before the delivery guy rounds the corner, accompanied by one of the building’s night security guards. He smiles broadly when he sees us standing there in the single, brightly lit office.
“Delivery from Jasmine Thai,” he announces, as if there’s any doubt as to who he is.
“Right here,” Logan says, gesturing to his desk while he fishes his wallet out of his jacket pocket.
As soon as the guy sets down the bags, I automatically start unloading them. My mouth waters. Even without opening up the containers, I can smell coriander, coconut, peanut sauce, some kind of charred meat …
By the time I look up, the delivery guy and his armed escort have disappeared, and Logan is watching me lay out the food across his desk.
“I told you there’d be plenty,” he says. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
“Well…” I peek under the lid of one of the containers and breathe in the fragrant green curry. “Maybe I could stay for a quick bite.”
Logan’s mouth twitches into something like a smile, and I can tell he’s pleased.
I, on the other hand, am wondering if this might just be a terrible idea.
Eleven
We go through a surprising amount of food. Well, mostly I do. I heap something from every container onto my paper plate, and then I have seconds of almost everything. Logan eats, too, but mostly he watches me. I should be self-conscious, but I’m too famished to care.
“I missed lunch,” I explain, around a bite of chicken satay drenched in peanut sauce. “What with all the running around trying to get your tickets.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice,” he says, and even though he’s not smiling, I can sense the sarcasm in his voice.
I point the end of my chicken skewer in his direction. “You should. I could have ended up engaged to a Long Island radio DJ, you know.”
“That would have been a shame.”
By the time we finish eating, my dress is almost dry, and I feel practically human again. What’s more amazing is that Logan has actually managed to be nice to me for an entire half hour. Other than a few subtly sarcastic comments, he hasn’t once made me want to scream. Why isn’t this the boss I come to work for every day?
I push my chair back and pat my stomach in satisfaction. “That was great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
A moment of silence lingers between us. Logan is staring at me, as if he’s waiting for something. I don’t know what to do, so I push my chair back and pick up the towel that I’d been sitting on. “I’ll just put this back and then I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you have work to get back to.”
“Mmm. Yes.” He doesn’t exactly sound sure about that.
I push past him into the bathroom. I’d slipped my shoes off under the desk while we ate, and now they’re almost dry, so they don’t squeak when I walk. I’m actually feeling pretty good, but as soon as I step into the bathroom, I gasp in horror. My hair is a massive frizz ball. Actually, make that a massive frizz triangle. I look like Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries before she gets her makeover.
“Everything okay in there?” Logan calls from out in his office.
“Um, yes, fine.” I frantically comb my fingers through my blonde locks. I can’t believe I just spent the last hour with Logan looking like this.
Then again, I can’t believe I care. He’s my boss. Nothing more.
I stop combing. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, noting the light flush in my cheeks, the way my pupils are dilated. The way my pulse thrums in my neck. I look like someone who was just on a really good date. Except I was just eating Thai food with my boss. My boss. That’s all. Nothing more, I repeat.
“Nothing more,” I say it out loud to my reflection, as if that will help it sink in.
“Are you sure you’re okay in there?” Logan asks again.
This time I almost laugh. No, actually. I’m not really sure at all. I finish combing through my hair as best as I can — after all, there’s no reason to look like a complete ragamuffin, even in front of my boss-and-nothing-more — and emerge from the bathroom.
“All good,” I promise Logan, though I make sure to keep my distance from him. “I really should be going now. Thanks again for dinner.”
“Sure.”
He watches me as I go, but before I can reach the door, his voice stops me.
“Blake.”
I turn slowly, almost as if I know what’s about to happen. Maybe it’s the hitch in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he sounds too close, that I can almost feel his breath on my neck.
“Yes?” My voice is a whisper. A murmur. My eyes are locked onto his. Every breath feels like it’s being dragged, forcibly, from my chest.
Logan doesn’t answer. His fingers push through my newly-combed hair. There’s a single moment where we’re both breathing the same air, our lips just inches apart. Then his mouth covers mine. He’s hungry, searching. My breath sticks in my throat, and for just a second, I think about pulling away, about running far, far away from this office and never coming back. I don’t. Of course I don’t.
I let him in. I let go of that last bit of resistance. In this moment, I know I would let him have whatever he wants.
It’s everything our last kiss was, and then some. His fingers tug at my still-damp locks, while his tongue crashes into mine. His lips are soft, softer than they have any right to be, but his kiss is so firm and commanding that it makes me quiver.
That kiss leaves me breathless and wanting, like no other kiss has before. I know I should pull away, put an end to this, but I can’t. I physically can’t. My b
ody won’t let me move away, won’t let me put an inch of space between me and Logan. If anything, I want him closer.
I push against his body, which is so warm and solid and real. His hands run up and down my arms, over my back. My skin, which just minutes ago was cool, sizzles under his touch.
“Blake,” he says again. His voice is husky. His breath is in my hair. He runs his tongue along the shell of my ear. My entire body responds, folding against him, as helpless as an umbrella in a hurricane. Swept away.
Somehow, he turns me around, because when I take a few steps backwards, I bump up against his desk. He follows me, never breaking off the kiss, his hands still slanting through my hair. I let my own hands roam over his body, exploring the hard planes of his chest, the bulges of his biceps. I run my hand under his jacket, where his torso narrows.
“Blake,” he says again, his voice even more of a groan than it was before. He sounds like he’s coming undone. I know the feeling.
He pushes my hair back off my neck and presses his lips to my ear again. “You better walk out this door right now.”
I stop kissing him. Try to catch my breath. Blink at him.
He shakes his head. “Because if you don’t walk out this door now, then I’m going to fuck you right here on this desk. I’m not going to be able to stop myself. I could ruin you, Blake.”
I shiver. From the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, my body trembles. “I want that, Logan. I want it so bad.”
“You want me to fuck you, Blake? To destroy you?”
I swallow. Then, “Yes.”
He kisses me again. This time it’s harder, more ferocious. Like he really is preparing to destroy me. His hands trail down the length of my body and then around behind me, scooping me up and setting me back down on the desk. He steps between my thighs, forcing my knees open to accommodate him. My dress rides up, and he steps closer. I can feel his stiffness pressing against me, sending a shiver of anticipation through me.
His hands are on my thighs now. Riding dangerously close to my center, my heat. I try to wriggle closer to him. All I want is for him to touch me. It’s all I can think about. All I can focus on. My own breath and my unquenchable need.
As if Logan knows what I want, he stops. Moves back a fraction of an inch. Looks down at me. A barely suppressed grin.
“I’ll touch you when I decide to touch you, Blake,” he says. There’s that voice again. His boss voice. So powerful. So commanding. The voice of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. And now that includes me.
For a brief moment, I think again about snapping my legs closed, hopping off this desk, and running out of his office. Possibly never ever coming back to Cartwright Diamonds. But as soon as the thought occurs to me, I discard it. I already know that’s not going to happen. I’m in this, at least for right now. I couldn’t get off this desk if I wanted to, and even if I did, I’m not sure my legs would carry me as far as the door.
So instead, I look up at him. I run my tongue over my lips. “I’m waiting, Mr. Cartwright.”
His eyes darken. I can tell he likes the name. To be honest, I do, too. I watch the struggle play out on his face — he wants to make me wait, but he doesn’t want to wait any longer himself. He wants this as much as I do. Watching an alpha male struggle with his own desire gives me a giddy sort of high. I wrap my legs around his thighs, locking my ankles behind him and pulling him closer. Then I reach my hands up and run my fingers over his broad chest. “I’ll wait as long as you want me to, Mr. Cartwright.” Emphasis on the title.
That’s enough for him. For me, too. He slips his hand in between our bodies and palms my pussy. His fingers move against me, and I know he can tell exactly how wet I am, even through the lacy fabric of my panties. His touch is everything, and I’m already shuddering as he presses his thumb against my clit. Everything about this feels so forbidden, so wrong, so ...
Fucking delectable.
I reach my hand out to feel his length. Through his suit pants, he’s hard as steel. Hard and ... huge. I bite my bottom lip as my fingers travel inch after solid inch.
“One last chance,” Logan says darkly. “If you want to leave.” His eyes meet mine. I nod. He pushes aside the gusset of my panties and finds my warm, wet flesh. His fingers against me are pure fire. He works them expertly, circling my clit, then traveling further south to tease my entrance. I scoot my hips up and out, trying to give him better access. Trying to give him everything.
His ministrations alone are enough to push me over the edge, but Logan pulls back before I can cross over that peak. I whimper at the loss of his touch, but when I see him reach for his belt, I bite my lip.
I fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he undoes his belt, then the pants. I get about half the buttons undone, just enough to glimpse the perfect washboard of his abs. There’s a fine line of golden hairs that lead down below his waist. I want to rip off all his clothes, admire the sculpted body I know he’s been hiding beneath his suits, but this isn’t the time for long, languorous lovemaking. This is about pure need, and right now, what I need more than anything is Logan Cartwright’s cock inside of me.
He pushes his pants and his boxer briefs down over his hips in one smooth motion. He grips his cock at the base, and I get my first glimpse of how big it is. How towering and impressive. Just like Logan himself. He presses it against my core, the tip pushing against my clit, making me shiver in delight.
I grab his hips and pull him closer. I want to tell him to fuck me, but I know that he would only take more pleasure in making me wait even longer. He wants this to be on his say so. Part of me likes it that way, too. The tease, the control. Not knowing when or if he’s going to finally slide inside of me.
He strokes his cock along my seam, coating himself in my juices. I can only imagine the wet puddle I’m leaving on his desk — but right now I’m trying not to think about anything but the feeling of Logan’s skin against mine. The wet puddle and everything after is Future Blake’s problem.
Logan teases my entrance again, pushing the tip of his cock against me. When I look up to his face, I find his brow furrowed in concentration. Like he’s trying not to lose control completely. Clearly, Logan Cartwright isn’t a man who’s used to losing control. Maybe I should be flattered that he seems to be as at a loss as I am. That he seems to be coming undone.
He withdraws again, and I let out a strangled breath. I want to touch my clit, or tweak my nipples, or stroke his cock, or do anything to move this train along, but something tells me to wait. So I do. I hold my breath, and I wait.
Then the moment comes. Logan pushes his hips against my thighs, his long, thick cock sliding fully inside me. The sensation is exquisite. Tight and full and just this side of painful. As he starts to move, slowly at first, that pain melds fully into pleasure.
My eyes roll back in my head as Logan pumps his hips against me. I clench the muscles of my pussy, trying to grip him to me, greedy for the feel of him inside of me. Every stroke rattles me, every thrust pushes me against the desk. I have to let go of his arms and brace myself against the desk, otherwise I’m pretty sure I’d go flying off the other side.
It doesn’t take long. The way Logan is pounding against me sets all my nerves on fire, and soon all my blood is racing towards my pussy. My skin is aflame.
“Oh God, Logan. Mr. Cartwright.” My breath is a girlish whisper. It makes him pant. He thrusts against me, over and over, his face contorting. Pain. Pleasure. Everything.
I wrap my legs around his hips as I chase the climax that’s so close to my reach. It feels like the dreams I used to have when I was a kid — the dreams where I was flying. This feels like flying.
When the orgasm finally hits me, it loosens all my muscles. My arms give out, and I fall backwards against the desk. Barely human anymore, just a writhing puddle of Blake. Logan grabs my thighs and yanks them up, drawing me closer to him and somehow thrusting even deeper inside of me. I moan and squeeze my muscles around him. I can feel
the moment he lets go, the moment he pours everything inside of me.
For a second, his expression is pure bliss. A mask of calm that I’ve never seen on his face before. He reaches one hand up and pushes my sweaty hair off my forehead, then leans over and kisses my lips. There’s a bead of sweat in the small cleft above his upper lip, and I use a fingertip to wipe it away, then lick it off my finger. I want to taste every part of Logan Cartwright, but this will have to do for now.
For about a minute, there’s nothing between us but mutual satisfaction. Our breathing is in sync, our hearts pulse at the same rapid pace. Logan’s eyes are glued to mine, and something seems to pass between us, something that’s so much softer and more tender than I would have ever expected.
But it only lasts a minute. A single, fragile minute. Then he’s standing up, yanking his pants back up, fastening his belt. I feel morose, almost, as I watch him re-button his white shirt. Reluctantly, I sit up and straighten my dress.
“Let me get you a towel,” he says.
“That’s okay. I’ll just duck into the bathroom and clean up.”
He frowns, then nods. I hop off the desk. I’m too embarrassed to look back and see if there is, indeed, a wet spot on the desk. Instead, I hightail it into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
For a second, I just lean against it, trying to catch my breath. Now that the moment has passed, now that the orgasm has eased some of the lingering tension, all I’m left with is an overwhelming sense of ... what the fuck was I thinking?
Twelve
“Drink?”
“Oh God, yes. Please.” I cast my pleading eyes at the waitress, who gives me a polite smile. “I’ll have a dirty martini. A double, actually.”
“Blake, slow down, we just got here,” my sister Rori teases. “You’ve got all night.”
“I know, but you have no idea how badly I need this.”
She laughs. “Is the new job really that bad?”
I purse my lips. I don’t answer until the waitress has taken all of our orders and disappeared back into the crowd, towards the bar. “It’s not that it’s bad, exactly. It’s just a bit ... much.”
