by Cari Quinn
“Please tell me you have your keys.”
My purse wasn’t that big, and I searched the bottom thoroughly. “Desk,” I said sadly. “I was locking my drawer when that stupid beeping started—and you came out…” I tipped back my head. “Fuck.”
“So, I’m to blame?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “Yes, you are to blame for all of this.”
“I see.”
I balled my hands into fists. If only he knew how much he was to blame.
He looked at his watch. “If we hurry, we should be able to get your keys and still get out.” He slapped the executive floor button as soon as the doors started to open. He tapped the close button a few times and finally, we were moving again.
“So how locked in are we talking here? I mean, you own the building, right? There’s an override or something? Just talk to the security people and say sorry?”
“No. If we don’t get out of the building, then we’re sleeping here.”
“Who came up with that?”
“Me.”
I bit my tongue at the finality in his tone. It was a stupid idea. There should always be a failsafe just in case. It seemed…asinine.
No, it was asinine. He was such a control freak in all ways, but this was where he didn’t have a safeguard?
As soon as the doors opened, I shot out and across the office. Had it always been this big? Sure enough, the keys were splayed out on the end of my desk. I grabbed them and raced back to the elevator. In my rush, my sweater fell.
“Hurry, Ms. Copeland.”
I scooped it up and skidded through the doors as they started to close. I jingled my keys as the numbers slowly went down.
“It’s not a huge deal. I’ve slept in my office before.”
“Well, awesome for you. I don’t have a real office to sleep in. And as comfortable as those chairs are in the reception area, I don’t want to give them an all-night test run.”
He glanced at his wrist. “You might have to.”
“We can make it.” I tapped my finger against my strap. “We have two minutes.”
I slapped the doors to the elevator as we slowed. Third floor, second…open. “Open!” I finally said out loud and squeezed through the doors as they finally slid apart. “Stupid huge lobby.”
“We should just stay. We’re going to get stuck down here. You can sleep in my office.”
I reached back and grasped a handful of his suit jacket and dragged him after me. “I have been in this building way too long. There’s no way I’m sleeping here too.”
We’d made it out the main lobby door to the large glass vestibule when the heavy mechanical locks engaged. He turned around to try and open the inside lobby door, but it was already shut.
He slapped the door. “Dammit.”
I turned around in the ten-by-ten-foot enclosure. “No.”
“Yes, Ms. Copeland. Looks like we’re not spending the night in my comfortable office that happens to have a pull-out bed. But in here.” He yanked at his tie. “On a cold slate floor.”
Twelve
“No, no, no.” I paced the three steps it took to get to the outer door and back to him. “You can call someone.”
“With what signal?”
I blinked. Memories of Jack telling me that there was no cell signal within one hundred feet of the building had me shaking my head. I scrabbled through my purse, dropping my keys and sweater to the floor. I pulled my phone out—no signal.
And for safety’s sake, no one could connect to the main network by phone. It was a security measure that was enforced at length.
“What exactly do you do that requires so much security? Or are you just that much of a control freak?” I asked and stabbed him in the chest.
The muscle in his jaw jumped.
“It’s glass, Mr. Carson. These are not in the same league as state secrets.” My temper was crashing into all the anger I’d been carrying. I should have held my tongue. I knew it. There was even a little tiny voice inside my head screaming at me. But see, it was really tiny. And I so didn’t want to listen to it.
His nostrils flared, but he stood there and took each poke.
His chest was radiating heat. I was still overheated from my run through the lobby, and my temper blasting out of my damn pores. But the coolness of the vestibule was pushing at me from the back, and here he was, so warm and vibrant.
So freaking big and silent. I couldn’t help myself, I pushed him back a step and stomped my foot. “Talk, dammit.”
His hands were fisted at his sides. I could practically feel the vibration of his muscles and the seething frustration shimmering off him. Suddenly, he was gripping a handful of my hair, dragging my head back, just before he covered my mouth with his.
Shock left me immobile for a moment. His kiss was powerful, and not the least bit tentative. I was swept into the breath-stealing undertow that was Blake Carson and the force of his kiss. His tongue swept across my lips, and I opened instinctively.
There were no bumping noses or misalignments. There was only his lips and tongue gliding along mine like a tempest. He was too tall for me to reach for his shoulders without going up on my toes, so I gripped his vest and held on.
I should have ripped my lips away and took five, ten, maybe twenty steps back. Okay, so that would’ve put me on the ceiling of this glass box, but I should have been doing anything except kissing him.
But I didn’t pull away. I hummed into his mouth and hooked my arm under the warmth of his suit jacket. The silk liner was warm from his body and slithered over the back of my hand and top of my forearm. My skin was utterly alive. But the best part was the tantalizing terrain of muscles under my palm. Even through the cotton shirt and satin-backed vest, there was no denying a world of wonder hidden under his suit.
Warm.
Hard.
So hard.
I couldn’t get enough. My other arm snaked around his back until I was wrapped around him like a freaking vine. Finally, the kiss eased a bit. He didn’t pull away though.
Drunk on his taste and touch, I realized I was the one about to climb his body like a damn tree. Wow. He was going to think I was some love-starved freak.
I was, but he didn’t need to know that.
He started the kiss, so it wasn’t my fault. All I knew was that I didn’t want to step back and see pity, or hear, “Aww, that was nice”.
I managed to open my eyes, but he didn’t step back. Not at all, actually. In fact, his eyes slitted open as he continued to kiss me. The gold had obliterated the green as he watched me. When he nipped my lower lip, I fell right back into the kiss.
This time, his free arm went around me, and he lifted me off the ground. His breath poured into my mouth as I squeaked. He pinned me against the glass and dragged my knee up and hooked it around his waist.
Hard.
Yeah, hard all over. Oh my gosh…hard.
I’d never had that I-love-to-feel-tiny thing with guys. In fact, most of the time I ended up with a rather short guy when I did go out on a date. Being five-feet-two would do that. But this lifted up thing? Yeah.
Okay, so it wasn’t bad.
At all.
My arms were unencumbered. Mr. Carson—Blake—was all suit and tie and shirt and covered everywhere. I was wearing a sleeveless sweater and swirly skirt. I’d never been so happy with my wardrobe choices in my life. I boosted myself a little higher with his shoulders.
And wow. Shoulders didn’t even cover it. He was a freaking study of muscles designed for strength and endurance. “So we’re doing this?” I said against his mouth.
He pulled away from the kiss, his hips pinning me tight against the glass. His chest was heaving with effort, and his eyes were a little wild. Some of that seriousness started to fill his gaze.
I quickly kissed him and scraped my fingers up the back of his hair into the surprisingly long strands on top. “I don’t want to stop. I’m just—you know…” I swallowed and blew out a breath. “I’m hoping t
hat you’re not going to come to your senses or something. Because I’m thinking this is going to be a really good orgasm. And I could really use a good orgasm.”
He frowned. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
I angled closer and flicked the tip of my tongue over the little dip in his top lip. “Tell me you’re not going to get thinky.”
“Are you?”
Good question. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow, yes.”
And that was good enough for me. “God, you taste good.” I slanted my mouth over his and hummed when his other hand skimmed under my sweater and cupped my breast. He boosted me higher until his almost-beard, then his teeth, scraped down my neck.
“Hang onto me, Ms. Copeland.”
“Sweet Jesus, are you going to call me that when you…” I groaned out a breath when he did something between a bite and a lick along my neck.
“When I fuck you?” he asked against my neck. He leaned back and met my gaze. His lips were wet from mine, his eyes dark and hooded in the limited light of the vestibule. “Because that’s what I intend to do.”
Oh hell yes.
He shoved up my sweater and bra at the same time. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease—no, he just went right for my skin. He sucked my nipple into his mouth and rolled the tight tip between his teeth and tugged.
Not so gently.
Heat flushed me from neck to waist. I couldn’t say a word. I didn’t even have words to use. There was no experience to draw on for this. A fumbling boy in college and a man too sweet and nice to incite this kind of reaction were my only barometer.
Blake’s mouth should be illegal in all fifty states.
I was so incredibly out of my depth.
He licked a trail under my breast, his other arm supporting my ass. I could do nothing but hold on and pray that I could manage to make it good for him too.
He went from one to the other until my head thunked against the glass. “God.”
His eyes glittered in the near dark. When headlights flashed over us from the street, I instinctively flinched.
“They can’t see.” He grazed his teeth over my ribs and back to my breast. “They have no idea that we’re here.”
My heart pounded so hard I couldn’t hear anything else. It filled my head, my chest, and echoed between my thighs. To the world, it was just a glass face to his building. To me, it was an epiphany.
This is what it felt like to be wanted.
He rolled his hips against me, and I whimpered.
He pushed up the sweater until I couldn’t see. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be a part of this and to experience every moment. I flipped it over my head and hissed out a shuddering sigh when he unclasped my bra.
“Perfect,” he said around my nipple. His long, sculpted fingers made me feel small and fragile. My skin was honey-toned from the beach, but his was a deep olive hue. No pasty office drone skin for him.
I frowned over that for a moment. All he did was work.
But then he plucked my nipple and twisted lightly, and I forgot how words worked. I was a wide open nerve that sucked up all the pleasure he was dispensing. And I was overflowing with it.
He bent his knees and lowered me to my feet. I grasped his shoulders. “No, don’t stop.”
“I don’t think I could.”
Thirteen
He crouched in front of me and slipped those amazing hands under my skirt. My chest heaved as if I’d run a mile—which I can’t do easily, thanks—and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. That luscious hair had fallen forward and transformed his angular, too-serious face into someone younger. Hungrier.
With the devil in his eyes.
Surely my knees were going to dissolve right then and there.
But no, not yet.
When his fingertips glided up and behind my knees, trailing fire up the backs of my thighs, that’s when all the muscle and bone dissolved. Thank God the glass was behind me, or I would have fallen to the floor.
He tugged my hips away from the glass enough to grip my ass. The street lamps were directly behind me, throwing most of him into shadow. I tipped back my head and let out a strangled moan as his hot breath seared through my skirt. He looked up at me, his eyes glittering between those sinful dark locks.
He watched me unflinchingly. As if he was going to miss something important. When he found the edge of my panties, I shuddered. This was how sex was supposed to be. This delicious anticipation between the wanting and the act.
This is what I’d been missing all of my life.
Blake.
Why did it have to be this man?
He slowly followed the lace edge just under my navel. I sucked back a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Anticipation melted into something so much larger. Want, lust, and attraction were chemical. This seemed so much more than that. A full frontal assault on the senses.
Unforgettable.
Elemental.
Illogical.
The one man who should’ve never had this kind of connection with me was going to destroy me—body and mind.
And I was going to let him.
Because I wanted to feel something. To know I was alive and present in this world. That I wasn’t only my art and the girl clinging to the past.
I was wanted.
By this man.
Even for just a moment in this glass prison of his making.
Fingertips branded my skin as he slowly dragged my panties down until they tangled on my boots. In my head, I wanted to gracefully flick them off, but the reality of my personal situation had my ass superglued to the glass in terror. What if I did this wrong?
Would he know immediately that I was two bumbling steps away from being a virgin?
He patiently drew them down and lifted each of my feet before tossing the pearl gray lace on top of my sweater. He slowly drew up my skirt, gathering the flimsy cotton with his fingers inch by inch. All the while his thumbs trailed a lazy path along my inner thighs.
No words.
Barely any breath.
Intent infused every touch, his watchful gaze, the silence of the vestibule—all of it ratcheted up my anxiety. As the air kissed the tops of my thighs, I lifted my hands to my chest.
“Don’t cover yourself.” His voice was sandpaper over silk. “I want to see you. I want to see everything.”
And he was still wearing his suit.
“What if I want to see too?”
His arched an eyebrow. “All right.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket. My skirt fell back down to shield me, and his eyes went hot. “Pull it up.”
I lowered my arms and twisted my shaky fingers into the slinky material. I swallowed. “Like this?” I tugged my skirt up an inch.
“More.” He jerked at his tie, but didn’t take it off.
“I want more.” My voice shook, but I steeled myself. If this was my one and only night with him, I wanted everything.
He flicked open a button near his throat. The stark lines of his collarbone and strong, corded neck left my mouth dry. He moved the tie a little more and another flash of ink teased out of the white cotton.
He stood. “The zipper, Ms. Copeland.”
I tipped my chin up to meet his gaze. “Seems unfair that I’m naked and you’re clothed.”
“I took off my jacket.”
That was it? There was so much more of him to see.
He crowded into me and planted his feet on either side of my boots until I was utterly surrounded. My breath stalled, but I didn’t break eye contact. He grazed his hand along the front of my belly to the little zipper at my side. The rasp of teeth opening seemed so loud.
My skirt eased down my hips and held on for a moment thanks to the curve of my ass. He tucked his fingertips into the space where the material parted, leaving a rush of goosebumps in his wake before the skirt gave up and pooled around my ankles. He encircled my wrists, his pupils dilating in reaction.
I moved into him. The
silk blend of his vest whispered over one breast, and the crisp cotton of his shirt teased along the other. I wasn’t sure what to do. Being an active participant in seduction was new.
I drew my calf up his leg. His slacks were the kind of material that designers sweated over. Soft, strong, textured, and cut to accentuate every line of his long legs.
He nudged me back against the glass, and lifted my hands over my head, braceleting both of mine with one long-fingered hand. He slid his cheek against mine until his lips brushed my ear. “From the moment you walked into my office, I knew I wanted you like this.”
I shuddered. Was I supposed to say something after that kind of statement? Did he think this was a foregone conclusion?
He angled down and dragged his lips along my jawline, my chin, and then finally each corner of my lips. Because he was so much taller than me, the light struck his face completely. No shadows to hide behind. The wild need and the granite control stormed through his eyes. The gold fire and green calm were at war.
I wanted him to break.
I struggled against his hold. “You wanted this? Or you want me? Would any girl do for this fantasy, Mr. Carson?”
The muscle in his jaw jumped.
He lined up our lips until there was only breath between us. “It’s you. It’s always been you,” he said.
Always?
The question didn’t have a chance to take root in my consciousness. It drifted away under the power of his kiss. Desperation slipped out from under his shields and devoured me. I tried to hold onto sanity and my own slice of reserves, but he swept me up into the maelstrom of unguarded passion.
Suddenly, he spun me around, and my breasts kissed the glass instead of his warm body. I cried out in response. I was overheated, and the cool surface was a jolt to my system.
I was stretched out, my wrists still pinned above me. His long fingers were gentle, but firm.
“Blake,” I whispered. Mr. Carson was upstairs in the gray glass box of an office. Right now, he was Blake.
Could he feel that too?
He drew in a harsh breath, and I could actually feel his heart slamming through his clothes and into my back. His chest heaved just enough for me to know that his control might not be as complete as I’d originally thought.
