by Jordyn White
In between everything he does, his eyes find mine and he gives me a soft smile. He’s being quiet, as if trying not to wake me too much, but my body is becoming more and more alert by the minute. He disappears into his massive, walk-in closet and reappears with a tie in hand.
He turns his collar up, and I watch him, my breath shallowing and my heart fluttering against my chest. I slowly start to sit up. This simple movement draws him to me. He drapes his tie around his neck and lets it hang.
I’m in nothing but my panties and one of his undershirts. It’s soft and worn and carries his scent. I settle cross legged, covering my bare legs with his fluffy, fluffy comforter.
“Aren’t you going to sleep more?”
My entire body is bathed in whatever it is that’s making my heart beat fast. It isn’t just that I’m turned on—because I definitely am. If he gets any closer I’ll be positively squirming.
But it’s more than that. So much more.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
He sits on the end of the bed so he can kiss me again. As our lips meet, I slowly bring my body against his. His tongue sweeps over mine, and our kiss deepens, slow and molten.
His hand brushes down the line of my neck, sweeps over the fullness of my breast, and follows the curve of my hips. The slow burn that’s been smoldering all morning morphs into brisk fire.
His fingers slide under the front of my panties. He slips into my folds, and my head falls back. I moan softly.
“Mmmmm.” He hums against the crook of my jaw. “You’re so wet.”
“I’ve been wanting you for so long.”
“For so long?” His fingers swirl over my clit. My hips mimic the circular motion. I don’t know if he realizes how close I am or how crazy he’s making me. The thought of him leaving right now is almost painful.
“All morning. What time is your meeting?”
“Two minutes after I get there.”
“It wouldn’t take long,” I plead. I’m throbbing against his hand already.
“Is that so?”
He works his way down the curve of my neck, nipping and sucking. He lays me back and my legs unfold. His fingers increase their speed and pressure. I bloom against him, slowly arching off the mattress.
His hand slips under my upper back as his mouth moves from my collarbone to the fullness of my breast. Maybe he would have kept going but I’ll never know because I’m quivering with a powerful release of ecstasy. He responds immediately, clutching me to him as he sucks hard on my nipple and firmly strums me with his fingers.
I pulse and throb, shudder and shriek, until at last I’m a puddle on top of his comfy, comfy bed, panting and grinning like a lunatic. The fluffy comforter is in a disheveled heap at my feet.
He sits up slowly, looking like he just conquered an entire nation. “You were right,” he says, slowly licking my juices off the end of his finger. “That was fast.”
I groan and cover my face. “I know. It’s embarrassing.”
There’s that low chuckle. My chest thumps hard, not because of what he did with this hand but because of what he does to my heart.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He leans in and presses his lips just below my earlobe, making me curl around him, grinning. “You make me feel like a god.”
You are a god, I think, as he gives me one last, lingering kiss. A god I’m falling in love with.
Those are the words that cross my mind. This tiny, sane part of me wonders how that can possibly be. How can I be in love with him?
But really, it isn’t my love for him that surprises me. I think I’ve known all along that I was going to fall in love with this man. I just didn’t know it would be so fast.
When he leaves, he leaves me with a smile on my face and so many questions in my heart, and more joy than I knew it was possible to feel anywhere but on the stage.
Chapter 32
Emma
We’re on day one of a four-day conference for one of the resort’s biggest clients, and I just fucked it up. Big time.
Maybe it all happened because I’m a little distracted by the fact that I’ve spent the last few weeks dating The Boss and enjoying it too much to even care that we’re having to keep the whole thing under wraps? I don’t know.
We’re in the middle of dinner service for over 400 guests, one of whom is a man who Rose and I have dubbed Mr. Obnoxious because he’s been loudly complaining to anyone who will listen about his recent demotion within the organization. Rose thought she saw him pull a flask out of his suit coat. I don’t doubt it because I caught a whiff of vodka as I was serving his plate. Even his poor tablemates seem sick of him.
The whole thing happens so fast I’m not even sure exactly what happened.
Rose and I are walking along the outer edge of the room, heading for the cluster of tables we’re each giving service to on the far side, getting closer and closer to the booming voice of Mr. Obnoxious. I’m carrying a tray with a pitcher of water, a few glasses of iced tea, and a carafe of hot coffee. Rose is ahead of me, carrying a tray of her own.
In front of me, Rose suddenly backs up, quickly correcting to keep her tray steady and I come to an abrupt stop to prevent running into her. I barely register that someone must have stood up right in front of her, but I’m not sure because my attention is drawn to my left.
Mr. Obnoxious, who is right by me, makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and upsets the tray I’m carrying from underneath. I grab it, managing to keep it from being upended, but several items on the tray are tipping over, including two glasses of tea and the hot carafe of coffee, all headed directly for Mr. Obnoxious’ lap.
Miraculously steadying the tray with one hand, I manage to grab the coffee with the other, then watch in horror as two full glasses of tea spill over the poor man’s shoulder and down the front of his white button-down shirt, drenching his plate and splattering the crisp, white tablecloth for good measure.
He gasps and his big-bodied frame bolts upright, knocking the entire tray out of my grasp. Glasses, tray, water pitcher and all fly against the back wall where a cacophony of shattering glass brings the entire room to a halt.
Dread pulses through me as I stare open-mouthed, first at the wreckage that used to be my neatly organized tray, then at the man whose tea-drenched self is the center of everyone’s attention. I’m still holding the carafe of hot coffee. I’m grateful he didn’t get burned, but oh my god, what a mess!
“Sir, I’m so sor—”
He spins on me, his face a dangerous shade of red. “You idiot!”
I flinch, heat blooming on my face too. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going?”
His tablemates are bringing their napkins into service, mopping up tea on the table before it goes any farther or offering him the ones on their lap—his is drenched. Rose and other nearby servers are scuttling over to help.
I try to retrieve his plate—his food is swimming in tea—but he’ll have none of it. “No, thank you!” He thrusts his chest in my direction and I step back. “You’ve done enough!”
“Walter,” the woman to his right snaps, “it was an accident.”
“Accident? She ran right into me!”
Another server steps in to take the plate—which he permits—and I back up as Alice zooms over and steps in, trying to get a handle on the situation.
He continues to bluster at her. Not knowing what else to do, I join my coworkers in trying to clean up the mess on the floor. Which is substantial. Broken cups. A shattered pitcher. Bits of glass everywhere. There’s even a huge dripping tea stain on the wall. A man who I gather is the president of the group has come over as well. It just gets worse and worse. My cheeks are flaming hot.
Rose leans in to another server and whispers wide-eyed, “Mr. Rivers is here.”
I spin and sure enough, here comes Rayce. Wearing a suit and approaching us with long, purposeful strides, he takes in the situation with one sweeping
glance—three of us kneeling down cleaning up the glittering shards of glass, Alice and the other guests trying to calm down Mr. Obnoxious, who’s pointing at me and shouting at his tablemate, “No, she bumped into me!”
God, it’s mortifying.
Rayce glances at me. Our eyes lock for a split second before he returns his attention to the man and steps forward. Rayce is such a powerful presence that even in the midst of the chaos we all stop for a moment to see what will happen next.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stewart,” Rayce says with that way he has of garnering someone’s attention. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he knows this man’s name, if he used to be a leader in the group and they’re long-standing clients.
Mr. Stewart turns toward Rayce but is still preoccupied with the front of his shirt. “Look at this!”
The president speaks up. “They already said they would replace—”
“This is a $300 shirt!”
I squint at it. I’ve seen $300 shirts before and if that’s what he paid, I do believe he paid too much.
“We’ll take care of it,” Rayce confirms. “We can send someone to—”
“And what,” Mr. Stewart says, shocking me because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone dare to interrupt Rayce when he’s in command of a room as he is now, “—do you plan on doing about her?” He points a finger at me.
Rayce glances in our direction and we jolt back into action. I pick at a shard of glass with shaking hands. My heart is thumping in my ears. God, I can’t believe this happened. What a disaster!
“Let’s get you taken care of first,” Rayce says firmly. “Then I’ll speak with my employees.”
Fuck.
“Well, I trust she won’t have a job after this!”
“It was an accident, Walter,” the woman at the table hisses at him. “Be reasonable.”
“Oh excuse me, I didn’t know they made a habit of hiring—” and here he turns to glare at me, “—such incompetent morons.”
“Enough,” Rayce says in a frightening tone that brings the room to silence once more. He’s still as poised as ever, but those blue eyes of his have turned to flint.
Mr. Stewart blinks, finally speechless. He looks like he still wants to rage at someone but is now thinking better about doing it to the man standing in front of him.
“I will not stand for the abuse of my staff, Mr. Stewart.”
Mr. Stewart blinks again. He glances around as if finally realizing the extent of the scene he’s caused. “No,” he says, looking contrite. “No, of course not. I apologize.”
Rayce does not move or respond. I instinctively know what he’s waiting for, and I guess the man does, too.
He turns to me and says in the softest tone I’ve heard out of him all day. “I’m sorry.”
I nod, wanting to apologize again myself but sensing I’d better keep my mouth shut. In the next minute Alice has ushered Mr. Stewart out of the room to arrange getting him a replacement shirt and the room has slowly spun back into motion, the sound of conversations rising in hesitant waves throughout the massive ballroom.
My cohorts and I go back to cleaning up the last of the glass as quickly and quietly as we can. Rayce approaches us. “Meet me in the staging area when you’re done,” he says quietly to the three of us, then walks away.
The other two exchange ominous glances, but I keep my burning cheeks aimed at the floor. Someone shows up with a small vacuum, an additional disruption to the dinner but it can’t be helped given all the little pieces glittering in the carpet.
“I’ll do it,” I say, grabbing the one unbroken iced tea glass left on the floor to put it on the tray. It must’ve been cracked though, which I didn’t notice. At the slightest pressure, it collapses in my grip and the sharp edge slices hot across my palm.
I drop it on the tray and ball my hand into a fist, wincing. God, what next?
“Are you okay?” Rose asks.
“I’m fine.” I open my hand to examine it. It’s smeared with blood.
“Oh geez,” someone says.
Rose stands with the tray and I stand with her. “Let someone else handle the vacuuming. Go take care of that.”
I really have no choice. I go back into the staging area and to a little sink we use just for handwashing, more and more angry with myself all the time.
Rayce must’ve come into the room shortly after me, because just as I start to run the water, I hear Rose say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rivers. It was my fault. I almost backed into Emma’s tray and—”
“I shouldn’t have been following so closely,” I say curtly, not even bothering to turn around.
“You weren’t that close.”
“It was the perfect storm,” Alice says. I have no idea when she joined the conversation. “I saw it.” She starts to explain what happened, but doesn’t get very far before Rayce cuts her off.
He’s at my side, his hand touching my shoulder for just a moment. “Emma, what happened?”
“It’s just a cut.” A cut that hurts like hell and is making short work of bleeding all over the place. I hope the running water is making it look worse than it is.
He takes my hand. “Let me see.”
I’m trying to act like it’s just any old boss holding my hand, instead of Rayce. I hope he remembers there are witnesses too, because I can see the worry all over his face.
“I’m okay.” But I let him examine my hand, leaning over the open slice at the base of my thumb. It’s the first good look I’ve had of it myself. I’m relieved to see it hurts worse than it looks.
“Go to first-aid,” he says, meaning the resort’s first-aid station not far from the main pool.
“It’s not that bad. I’ll just get a couple Band-Aids.”
He grabs a couple paper towels, folds them, and puts them over the wound. “I want someone to look at this in case you need stitches.”
All right, maybe it’s bad enough to need better bandaging than a couple Band-Aids, but it doesn’t need stitches.
“No. I just—”
“Don’t argue with me.”
Now I’m being given the boss look. I shut my mouth and clench my teeth managing not to give him a look right back. At least, I think I do. “Fine.” I hold the paper towels against the cut and march toward the door.
On my way out, I notice Alice looking at her boss like something isn’t quite right but she can’t figure out what.
Great.
When I get back from first aid with a butterfly bandage on my hand, they’ve moved into clean up. As if I didn’t feel badly enough about the accident, it’s even worse knowing they had to carry on with one less person when we needed all the hands we could get.
I’m eager to dive in and make myself useful. I head into the vacated dining room to help clear off the tables and reset the room for tomorrow. Rose gestures me over. She’s lifting off a floral centerpiece and placing it on a wheeled cart with the others. “Mr. Rivers said for you to find him when you got back.”
I scowl and start pulling off the tablecloth. “All right.” I toss it onto a nearby pile of dirty linens and head for the next table. She follows me, the wheels on the cart squeaking behind her.
“He said to go as soon as you got back.”
My cheeks start to burn. I’ve been nothing but mad ever since the whole thing started. Between making such a horrific mess and being called an incompetent moron and getting put in my place by Rayce right in front of everyone and leaving my coworkers in a bind, I’m in no mood to go talk to anybody.
I grab the next centerpiece and set it on the cart. “I’m not going to ditch out on you guys again.”
Rose gives me a strange look. “But he’s asking for you.”
“Emma,” Alice calls from a table behind me. I didn’t realize she was there. She’s giving me a shrewd look that I don’t like. “Mr. Rivers has asked for you. Do not keep him waiting.”
Crap. I was worried about Rayce giving things away when he was leaning over my hand with so much conce
rn. I didn’t even think about my stubbornness doing the same thing. Would I have argued with him before, or delayed following his instructions now, if I weren’t in a relationship with him?
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry. I just wanted to help first.”
She doesn’t reply, because she doesn’t need to. I read her look loud and clear, and head off to find Rayce.
When I appear in the open doorway of his office, he jumps up the moment he sees me and comes over and shuts the door behind me. It’s late and there’s no one else in the executive offices, so I’m not worried about anyone seeing us.
“How’s your hand?” he asks, taking my hand gently in his and looking over the bandage.
“It’s okay.”
“You didn’t need stitches?”
“No.”
“Thank god.” He kisses the bandage tenderly, and that’s all it takes for the anger I’ve been feeling about this evening to finally start dissipating. “Do you hurt?”
“It stings a little. I’m okay.” Then we both say at the same time, “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” he asks.
“For making such a huge mess. They’re such big clients, too. And—”
He tucks my chin between two fingers. “It was an accident according to everyone who saw it. Even our clients. They all know Walter is a childish blowhard and that’s what I’m sorry for. I wanted to kick his ass for the way he was talking to you.”
I smile. God, I’m such a sucker for this man.
Chapter 33
Rayce
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again, leading her away from the door and farther into my office. I don’t know which I’m more concerned about, the fact that some asshole had the balls to treat her like that or the fact that she got hurt. Both give me far too much anxiety over her.
