KIRKLAND: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “I had a really, really amazing date with you,” I said softly. “I hope you can understand why I’m not ready for anything else right now.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance that you might want…something else in the future?” he asked, looking at me, his blue eyes downright inky in the dark.

  “I think there’s a really good fucking chance, yes,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I will take that,” he said. “I will take that really good fucking chance.”

  “I’m sorry you picked someone who doesn’t function right,” I said. “I’m sorry that I can’t be that girl for you, the girl who takes you up to her room tonight.”

  “Beauty, if you were that girl, I have to confess that maybe I’d be a little disappointed.” Dan rubbed his thumb over my cheek and everything was somehow immediately better. He didn’t hate me for demurring. Everything was all right.

  I kissed him, and he deepened it, his tongue a memory of sweet wine and chocolate.

  “I’ll be thinking about you tonight,” he said, capturing my hand and guiding it to his lap. Away from prying eyes—relatively, anyway, with the sidewalks bare of pedestrians in front of my building—I felt his thick attraction toward me through his pants. He was well endowed—set up for success physically and monetarily. Dan was a lucky man, and I was a lucky girl for crossing paths with him.

  “I’d kind of hoped you would be,” I confessed, my voice shaking with desire. It would be so easy to cave in, to just invite him up, and to let myself go. All I wanted to do was to forget, to feel good and forget. And yet I couldn’t.

  Dan gave a long groan, and I jerked my hand away.

  “You’d better get going,” he warned. “I want you too bad.”

  I was practically panting; he had to recognize that the feeling was mutual.

  “Do you need to use my bathroom before you go?” I asked, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Or some water? Do you want some water? A mint? Just in case?”

  “If I go up to your apartment right now, Beauty, I will fuck you,” he said, his voice raw. “That is a promise and a warning. If that’s what you want to do, then by all means. Let’s go up. But if you want to take it slow, it’s best that you go up alone.”

  Fuck me. I opened my mouth to tell him my decision but snapped it shut again. No. I could do this. I had to be strong. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if we had sex right now. It would be too much, too soon, and it would be too hard to face myself tomorrow morning. There had been just too many feelings to handle in the past twenty-four hours. Having sex with Dan would be a wonderful distraction, but it would also open a can of worms I didn’t think I would know how to close again.

  “Text me when you get home, so I know you made it safe,” I said, not daring to give him even one more kiss, afraid I’d give way to my weakening resolve.

  “I’m fine,” he said, giving me a tight smile. “Though it’ll be a miracle to make it without blowing a load in my pants.”

  I grimaced. “Impolite.”

  “But the truth,” he said. “Beauty. It was a distinct pleasure. I’m sorry that I’m a caveman. I wish I was better at controlling myself. I see something I want and I just go after it until I have it. Women—they want to be with me. They throw themselves at me, when they realize what I can give them. What I can do for them. You’re going to have to be a patient teacher with me, too. I don’t think I can change overnight.”

  “I understand that,” I said, opening the door and stepping out. “We’ll both be patient teachers—and diligent students.”

  “Again with the role play,” Dan said, shaking his head, rubbing a hand through his beard, distressed. “You really know how to fuck with a guy’s brain, Beauty.”

  “I’m not trying to fuck with your head,” I said, flustered. “Sorry! Goddammit!”

  I slammed the car door shut and spun around, intent on hiding away in my apartment, when I heard the window roll down.

  “Beauty!”

  I turned, bent down to make eye contact.

  “I really did have a good time tonight,” he said.

  “So did I.”

  “Let’s do it again as soon as possible.”

  I smiled. “You have my number.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  It was all I could do to get up to my apartment before I threw myself on my bed, facedown, smiling against my pillow. Dan had been completely… unexpected. He was volatile, perhaps, but passionate, endearing, and definitely entertaining.

  The fact that he was so attracted to me was an added bonus. It did a lot for my self-confidence.

  It showed me that, after everything, maybe there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe I didn’t deserve it. But it was there all the same.

  I thought about Dan’s hot mouth on my own, thought about the way his cock had felt beneath his expensive pants, the way he’d groaned, how he’d certainly be thinking about me tonight, when he got home.

  I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time, an urge for something that was beyond filling a void. It was honest to God attraction toward Dan. I desired him, and I wanted to…do something about it.

  I’d cloistered myself from the finer pleasures in life during my time on the road. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t…feel things. I could see a hot guy walking down the street and appreciate the way he looked. But I didn’t go back to the car and touch myself to him later that night.

  Now, though, secure in my apartment, still buzzing from an unbelievable evening with Dan, an irresistible urged traveled up my spine and down my arm, my hand moving almost of its own volition to draw my dress up over my thighs, stopping when it brushed my waist. The air in the apartment was cool, and I shivered, my skin puckering with goosebumps.

  I hooked my fingers on either side of my panties and lifted my hips, taking them down to my knees. I was bare to the night, and I pressed my legs together briefly for that shudder of sensation before spreading them again, walking my fingers back up my legs, ghosting light touches at their juncture, teasing my velvet lips, the downy hair there already dewy with my desire.

  I hadn’t told Dan to come up here. I hadn’t given in to my baser instincts. That was good. I could reward myself, couldn’t I? It didn’t hurt either of us if I imagined that he was here, with me, that the finger running up and down the cleft of my lips, parting them to skate in the wetness there, was his instead of mine.

  He said he’d been with other women; I wondered just how experienced he was. He was older than me, so I imagined he already knew his way around the female form quite well—not like the guys I’d been with at college, barely able to last longer than a few minutes with a girl who’d been so eager to give herself away in order to get away from herself.

  No, Dan would take his time. He’d know that he already had me, that there was no point in rushing it, that he could take as long as he want, torturing me to completion.

  He’d plunge one finger into my hot depths, just as I was doing right now, and he’d take a leisurely tour of what I had to offer. I’d let him, of course, because he knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to touch me to get me to arch my back, to urge him onward. He’d laugh at me, tell me I just needed to slow down and enjoy myself, but I’d beg him for it. I might be ashamed, but I’d beg him to give it to me, not looking to lose myself in that black orgasm but to find myself, instead.

  I was so close it scared me. I hadn’t given myself this kind of pleasure in so long that it was like my body was flooding at the first sign of rain in spite of the drought it had endured. I lightly flicked my fingers over my clit, again and again, feeling a pleasant burn in my forearm, well out of practice for this sort of thing. I imagined my fingers were Dan’s tongue; I imagined that he was looking up at me from between my legs, ready to push me over the edge…

  …but then it was Roland’s face that replaced it, that scar so insignificant compared to the waves of climax crashing down over me
. Was it wrong that it was Roland instead of Dan? I squeezed my eyes shut and then nothing mattered, gaping into the darkness, my hand never slowing for a second, gasping out my confused pleasure, and sinking into a sweet slumber that didn’t care who made me feel good.

  Chapter 11

  The thing about human beings was that people could get used to whatever they had to get used to. Adaptation happened whether we were aware of it or not, and we always tried to protect ourselves regardless.

  I couldn’t say that I’d ever actually fully adapted to the reality I’d created with my horrible decision, the one that had killed Caro, my parents, and Roland’s fiancée, Mina. But I had adapted beyond the point of curling up in a ball and weeping for hours on end. I’d even adapted past the stage where I’d sit still for whole days, staring blankly in front of me, not eating or drinking until something inside me felt like it would break.

  The lizard part of my brain, the portion responsible for keeping me alive even after the rest of its real estate had already decided that I didn’t deserve to live, had asserted itself during my time at college—when I was trying and failing to find something to end my suffering. My lizard brain realized that I wasn’t adapting to my new situation as long as I was there, so I had to move.

  Because those were the decisions the lizard brain had to make: adapt, move, or die, and it wasn’t about to choose death. The lizard brain made me eat, made me sleep, made me wake up, made me breathe when I didn’t want to, hold my breath when I wanted to open my lungs underwater and let it all come pouring in.

  It was the lizard brain that propelled me across the country, pushing me from place to place when it felt like I wasn’t adapting, certain it could find a better situation for me down the road.

  And now that I had settled into Seattle, my lizard brain had gotten lazy. It didn’t mind the fact that there wasn’t much sun in the city to sit its scaly body in. It basked instead in having a place to sleep at night that wasn’t the car, at having all the food it wanted and then some, at sticking to a schedule that was shifting away from late nights and toward early mornings.

  When the part of me panicked at the thought of Roland discovering the truth about my past, about how I was responsible for our mutual heartache, the lizard brain yawned and turned its face away from me. We’d been doing so well here in Seattle up until this point, and the lizard brain had dug itself a burrow, content on adapting in the most comfortable place we’d been in since…well, since my parents were still alive and I didn’t have anything to run away from.

  The lizard brain tongued the air of my panic and told me to get used to it, to figure out some way to exist with it, because we weren’t moving around anymore. We were going to stay in Seattle. If we couldn’t thrive, then we’d, at the very least, survive.

  And so I adapted to the terror that Roland would someday discover the truth. It became easier to ignore with the distractions I found for myself. Dan had fit that role nicely, pushing me so far out of my comfort zone that it was easy to forget about everything else that worried me.

  And that was how I found myself able to move around the office without sweating through my blouses and blazers in anxiety. I was able to smile without it freezing on my face in a frightened grin. I was able to have small talk with Sam, eat lunch at the cafeteria, and do some real damage to the papers that needed to be digitized.

  When the phone at my desk rang, I was able to answer that, too.

  It had taken some time to get used to being around Roland in a professional setting after I realized just what I’d done to him, what I’d taken away from him with the single stupidest mistake in my life.

  If anything, Roland had loosened up, perhaps relieved at the fact that I wasn’t angry at him for his admission. How could I have been? Nothing was his fault.

  All of the biting commentary on my appearance and performance had vanished, and he actually sounded happy to see me sometimes. It was a shocking transformation from the beast he’d been when I first got hired.

  Once he became nicer, a funny thing happened. It became easier to forget about Roland’s wretched scar. I could hold an entire conversation with him, looking into those blue eyes, without feeling the macabre need to follow the twisting path of that scar across his face. When he wasn’t acting mean, he was downright pleasant to be around.

  Part of me suspected it was the guilt I felt at ruining his life. I could at least be nice to him, be his one friend in this office, the one person who wasn’t so horrified at his appearance that I refused to even give him a chance.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked, cradling the phone against my neck between my ear and my shoulder so I could continue typing with both hands. “I almost have the meeting summary typed up.”

  “No rush on that,” Roland said, his gravelly voice warm. “I’m sure it’ll be riveting stuff.”

  “Riveting?” I snorted. “I don’t know about that. There was a five-minute discussion about office supplies…”

  “Office supplies? Five minutes?”

  “Ballpoint pens versus rollerball pens,” I said, smothering a laugh and looking around. I didn’t want anyone to hear me making fun of it. There had been some surprisingly hard feelings on the subject.

  “A five minute discussion about pens?” Roland asked. I could picture his dumbfounded face, and that made me want to laugh even more. “How can someone spend five minutes talking about fucking pens?”

  “You will just have to wait to read the report,” I said, arching my eyebrows and continuing to type. “I took very good notes during this very entertaining portion of the afternoon.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, as if I were proposing some kind of serious artistic exhibition. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

  “Ask away—it’s not a favor if you’re paying me to be here,” I said. “I’m your assistant, remember. You don’t ask favors. You tell me what to do.”

  “This falls outside of regular business hours, and is why I’m asking rather than telling,” Roland clarified. “But you’d be compensated with overtime pay.”

  “Oh, overtime,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Just call me Miss Moneybags come Friday. What am I going to be doing?”

  “I need you to take notes during a pretty big phone conference meeting,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of important issues brought up, and I’m going to have to review them carefully. I’ll need you at your best.”

  Out of everything that had gone on during my time of employment at Shepard Shipments, I was really beginning to come into my own on observing and summarizing meetings—both important and practically inconsequential, such as the great pen debate of this afternoon. I was becoming used to the culture and vocabulary of the business, and I could keep up with even the fastest exchanges, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I’d even taken to offering a short paragraph at the end of each summary offering my own interpretation of the events that had transpired and advice on the next steps forward, if it was my decision to make.

  The first time I’d gone above and beyond on that last paragraph, Roland had emailed me back immediately, making my heart stop. I’d been sure that the message would lambast me about overstepping my authority and ridicule me for sharing my opinion when no one had asked for it. I was bracing myself for pages upon pages of vitriol when I opened the message.

  Instead, it was short and simple: Continue to include the last paragraph with all future summaries, Roland had written. Next time, more detail.

  I’d glowed with pride at that email. A billionaire thought my ideas were worth a damn. It was a huge ego boost…tempered quickly by the idea that he was only entertaining me because he felt guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

  There was always that.

  “I’d be more than happy to bring my best to your after-hours meeting,” I said, my curiosity piqued, eager at being offered something different—a challenge. “Big secret closed-door stuff, right?”

  “That’s about
right,” Roland agreed, his voice amused. “Top secret. It’s tonight, by the way.”

  “Tonight?” I groaned. “Dammit.” I’d agreed to go out with Dan, and he’d probably whine and complain if I canceled on him. For someone with as much money as he had, he could be such a baby if he didn’t get his way.

  “You have plans,” Roland said, and I could’ve sworn he sounded disappointed. “That’s fine. I can take my own notes.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “No. I don’t have plans. Well, I do have plans, but I’ll change them. I’m honestly more interested in the meeting tonight. It sounds like it’s going to be juicy. I can go out with…I can go out anytime I want. I can’t sit in on top secret executive meetings for an exorbitant amount of money whenever I want.”

  I stuck my tongue out at my awkwardness and beat the heel of my hand against my forehead. Had I really been about to admit that the person I was going out with was Roland’s brother? Dan had assured me until he was blue in the face that there wasn’t a company policy for office dating, but I still couldn’t help feeling weird about it.

  It strangely felt like a betrayal to Roland, whatever that meant, that I was seeing Dan outside of the office.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if Roland would ever step foot outside of this building. I’d seen to that, all those years ago.

  “Well, only if it’s convenient to you—plans you don’t mind breaking,” he said. “Meeting begins at eight sharp.”

  That was late—weirdly late for a bunch of guys with too much money on their hands. Were they really that busy that they couldn’t meet until the evening?

  “Sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll be on time.”

  “Excellent,” Roland said. “It’s a date, then. Well, a working date. Not a date at all. A meeting. It’s a meeting.”

  “It’s a meeting,” I agreed, my shoulders shaking with laughter. What was wrong with him? Had he never invited his assistant to take notes at an important late meeting before?

  “Stop laughing at me!” he demanded, his voice sounding like he was dangerously close to laughing himself.