by Author Quinn
Then again, I’ve somehow known all this time that Henrik is not the type of man any girl can forget about. He’s gotten into my skin. He has whispered my name. He’s owned my body. I know this. And he knows this too.
Chapter Four
As soon as I get home, I strip out of my clothes and put on my well-worn jeans and a baggy sweater over a silk camisole. Rolling my head, I release the tension off my shoulders. It’s been present from 7 a.m. on, as soon as I step off the elevator, ready to dive into work but have to deal with Tomlinson’s power play, and Henrik’s unavoidable searing gaze. During our meetings, the only words that come out of his mouth are about the project, a one hundred and sixty-floor steel and glass building just off Superior.
I would’ve been fine, except I can’t escape the words he’s not saying out loud. Instead, I feel it with every almost-touch of his hand, a brush of his suit against the side of my arm, or whenever I catch him intently watching me. Apart from meetings, I’ve barricaded myself in my own office, my heart stutters each time he passes by my door.
He’s taken down my barriers, brick by brick, without even trying. And it’s only the end of week one.
I pad to my en-suite bathroom and rub off my makeup with a remover on a cotton pad. I’d shower but it’s a waste of time. By the end of the night, I’ll be dirtier than I am now.
After slipping my feet into the sexiest work boots I own, I lock my apartment door behind me and head back to the elevator up to the penthouse. My personal project is a four-thousand-square-foot bachelor pad, which will soon be home to Theo. Once he takes over ARC, he’ll be living here. For good, I hope.
Just like me, Theo has never settled in one place for long, and his wife is his many business ventures. Each time we meet, I sense a longing for something more from him. His loneliness has become palpable, and if I’m truly honest with myself, contagious. He was orphaned at a young age, and I didn’t lose my parents until after I finished college. Yet, we are in the same level of understanding that something’s missing in our lives. We’re just too stubborn to admit it.
The elevator door opens right into the penthouse hallway, a marble marvel. My gift to him is my endless, incomparable talent in interior design. I’m also not afraid to get my hands dirty. I plop the white construction hat I bring with me on my head, and let the smell of wood, metal, and fresh paint soak in.
This is my safe haven. This is where I work my stress off until my muscles are screaming from soreness. I walk from room to room, checking on the progress. It’s ninety percent done. I’m filled with disappointment. Once the furniture comes in, I will have to find something else to relieve stress.
One man comes to mind. Henrik has been an unwelcomed thought each night, despite him not making a move. Not that I’m expecting him to. Honest.
Spreading the blueprints on the kitchen counter, I study the designs again. It’s a moot action. I’d do anything to pretend I’m not thinking of him.
How do I completely eradicate him out of my head?
It’s times like this I wish I had girlfriends I could confide to, but life isn’t always fair like that. Those who’ve pretended to be my friends have always been after my social influence, or worse, my family’s money. The people close enough to being my friends are Talia and Sheila. Sheila’s a single mother of three and has plenty of woes on her own. Talia is still fairly new in my life. As much as I love our interactions at work, I can’t get myself to be that forward and open to her, not yet.
I jump at the sound of my phone ringing, and grimace upon seeing my work number on the display.
“Can you come back? Apparently, there’s an issue with one of the permits.” Sheila bypasses the friendly greeting, which only means it’s a serious situation.
“Permits? I don’t have to be there for that.”
“Mr. Lam requests you be present.”
I huff out a frustrated sigh. Of course he does. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” I run back down to my place to change shoes and drop my work boots and hard hat on the hallway bench, then off to the parking garage. So much for a relaxing night.
It’s too late for me to turn around, go back home again and change back into more decent work clothes. “I’m not here to impress him. I’m here to work,” I remind myself. If Sheila had called a little later, my clothes would’ve been streaked with dove gray paint. I braid my hair as I wait for one of the lights to turn green at an intersection. I park my car in the darkest parking garage known to man. But I’ve done late night trips to work before. The only thing I fear right now is a man probably waiting in his office, with his tie undone, his hair a little messed from his hands going through it while he pores over a design. The mental image hits me like a battering ram. Naked or dressed, Henrik is a sight to behold.
I fiddle with my keys while the elevator takes me up to ARC’s floor. I suck in a deep inhale as it shudders to a halt, and breathe out an exhale as soon as I step out of the car.
The usual hum of busybodies in the office has long come and gone. I head straight to Sheila’s desk but don’t find her there. With the rest of the lights in different offices and cubicles off, it’s easy to spot the only offices possibly with people in them—Henrik’s, Tomlinson’s, and the conference room.
I pocket my keys, and head to Henrik’s office. If he’s asked me to come here for nothing, I’ll be well and pissed off to no end. I find him hunkered over his drafting table, his glasses balancing near the edge of his nose. He taps the end of a pen on his bottom lip. I remember what those lips taste like. I also remember how much they made me tremble.
“You needed me for something?” I say as soon as I find my voice and ignore my salacious thoughts.
His head lifts and a small smile stretches his lips when he turns to me. “I always need you.”
Uh-huh. I lean a hip against the door frame and fold my arms over my sweater. “I can’t do anything about permits. You know that.” I struggle to keep my breathing steady. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering who else is in the office. With Sheila’s desk cleared, I know she’s gone home. But Tomlinson could be lurking around, not to mention his assistant, and Henrik’s own assistant, Bryde. They’re here. I’m not alone with this man. There’s no need to start getting nervous.
Henrik stands from his perch on the chair. “I want to run something by you.”
I scoff. “Suddenly you want my opinion?”
He stops short and pins me with his gaze. “Of course I do. I know what you’re capable of.”
I push off the door frame. “Capable of? I have more talent in my pinky finger than a lot of the architects here.”
He walks right up to me, again, not touching me, but it doesn’t matter. He might as well be finger fucking me with the look he pins me with. “Wrong choice of words. If I doubted your talents, you wouldn’t be here now. Can you dial back on the attitude and look at the newest design concept?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“It’s in the conference room.”
I pucker my lips and uncharacteristically sashay down the hallway. I just don’t know which direction to go when it comes to him—to flirt or make him suffer? Maybe a bit of both.
“Where’s Sheila?” I ask despite already knowing the answer. The quiet is too much to handle when I’m around him.
“I sent her and Bryde home.”
“You could have called me, or have either of them call me to tell me not to bother coming. This thing you want to show me could’ve waited until the morning. You don’t need me here tonight.” I let vile cover my tongue while I speak.
“And yet, you still came.”
Touché.
When we reach the conference room, blueprints cover the expanse of the long glass table. I stop midstride, jarred by a clear image of me and Henrik on top of the table, over the designs, fucking like mad rabbits.
I rub my temple, feigning a headache and hoping he’d buy it and won’t ask me to stay too long…before I make a big mistake.
Never mix business with pleasure is something Theo has advised me more than once. He spoke from experience, but from then on, he’d learned his lesson.
I rarely learn my lesson. There are just some mistakes worth repeating. With this thought, I glance over at Henrik. He swipes a hand over one of the blueprints, clear pride appearing on his face.
“Here. Take a look.” He won’t bite, unless provoked, I remind myself, or until I give him permission.
I slide next to him, bend over the table and study his design. A small gasp escapes my mouth. It’s brilliant. What he’s done is nothing short of genius. I see the beauty in each line, each curve, and every carefully measured dimension.
“This is why you won those awards,” I say in the softest voice before I can stop myself. I’m awed by the concept. What he’s come up with is nearly impossible, but with his clear talent, there’s no such thing as impossible.
“I can’t take credit for all of it. I was inspired by what you’ve come up with.”
I’m taken aback by this. My brows furrow as I stare at him. “You’ve looked at my designs?”
“Of course. Tell me, Ingrid, why aren’t you an architect?” He leans the back of his legs against the edge of the conference table, crossing his arms over his chest, and shooting me off a genuine curiosity.
I give him a half shrug, and lean my hands on the table. “I’m fine with interior design.”
“But you have the skills and knowledge.” I ignore him and pretend to continue to study his design, until his finger touches the side of my cheek. It sends a spark through my veins, firing up each nerve.
I can’t help the shuddering moan leaving my lips.
“You can’t avoid who you are.”
I close my eyes and bask in the feeling his simple touch fills me with. “You have no idea who I am.”
“It’s true. But I know how you taste, what you feel like. What it’s like to be buried deep inside you. To get lost in you.” His words are nothing but breathy whispers but it doesn’t take away the intensity of their effect on me.
Before I can protest, the front of his hips is pressed on my behind, and no one can mistake the hard, long erection between my ass cheeks. Tenderly, but securely, he places his hands on either side of my hips as I straighten.
“I haven’t forgotten, Ingrid,” he says, his warm breath flutters against my neck. His five o’clock shadow rasping against my skin. “And I refuse to believe you’ve forgotten about that night.”
“I…I can’t.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, stopping another moan from coming out of my mouth.
He inhales deeply, rubbing the tip of his nose up and down the column of my neck before he steps back. And I suddenly find myself cold and shivering and already missing his closeness.
My shoulders drop and I shake my head as I turn to face him. “Why do you do this?”
“Why do you?”
“Nice. Very mature.”
He raises and lowers one shoulder. “From where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s not handling this in a mature way.”
I chuckle drily. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know letting you fondle me at the office is the mature way.”
He advances again, and I’m nearly taken aback by his towering height. He can be quite intimidating when he wants to be. “We’re two consenting adults. There aren’t any rules against office romance.”
“This is hardly romantic. And I don’t remember expressing consent.”
Henrik nods brusquely. “You’re right. I should’ve known better.” He lifts his hands in surrender as once again he steps back, leaving a chasm between us. “But you can’t keep denying that what we had that one night is worth repeating.”
I evade his gaze and say nothing. He must’ve known I’m done with the conversation. He moves over the table and begins rolling the blueprints.
The problem is he’s not wrong. I’ve said it to myself far too many times. What’s stopping me from acting upon it? Myself. Preserving my dignity, trying not to tarnish the reputation I’ve built from the ground up, escaping the scandal that could follow if things do not work out between us.
I still don’t know much about him. Even if I ask, I’m not sure how forward he’d be at fulfilling my curiosity about the quiet man who’d given me multiple orgasms after saving me.
He’s almost out the door, carrying the rolled up designs, when he pauses and says, “Dinner?” When I don’t say a thing, he speaks again. “That’s still too much. Alright.” And he leaves.
Dinner is safe. Lunch is safer. Two colleagues can have lunch anytime. I’ve had lunches with Sheila and Talia. Although I don’t plan on sleeping with either of them. Is that my plan? Dinner could lead to sex. Hell, lunch could lead to a quickie.
I hate this. I hate being indecisive. I’d been fine before he came into my life. I have plans, a proper path to follow. Before I change my mind, I run after him.
“How about we start with coffee?”
He doesn’t bother looking at me when he scoffs. “We have coffee here.”
“Ugh. You’re so stubborn.”
“Right. I’m the stubborn one.”
“Lunch then.”
“Dinner.”
I stop, stomping my foot with the petulance of a small child, and grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “No dinner.”
“You’re sexy when you’re not getting your way. Dinner.”
I can make up many excuses why I agree to this—pick his brain, talk about his work experience, find out if he’s a dog or a cat person. But there is really one truth. Because I want to have dinner with him, and I want to have sex with him. Again. And again.
I nod and it earns me a small smile. “Don’t get cocky,” I tell him, continuing to walk down the hallway.
“Can’t help it. So where do you want to go tonight?” he asks, depositing the blueprints on his desk.
I stay by his open office door. “I didn’t say tonight.”
“You might change your mind. Dinner tonight. I’m starving. I’m pretty sure you’re hungry too.” My stomach chooses that moment to betray me, expressing a gurgling sound that can be heard throughout the silent office.
“See?” He waves his hand toward me.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“That I have to agree with.” He winks at me, and I send him an eye roll and force myself not to smile.
We choose a pub nearby; it’s noisy and it’s packed. I couldn’t be happier. This is far from romantic. Nothing in here—not from the sticky icky floors, to the obnoxious sports game or match or whatever’s playing on the massive TVs—would convince me to go home with and let Henrik fuck my brains out. I might be able to stave off a different kind of hunger after all. Plus, I’m not exactly dressed for anything fancy.
The biggest surprise of the night is how much Henrik flirts with the female bartender with boobs on display and the servers with skirts showing off the bottom of their well…bottoms. Not that I’m jealous. Far from it, but he’s 0 for 0 on the seduction front tonight. I’ve already pushed him away when we were alone at the office. This is certainly not going to change my mind.
However, as soon as we are seated in a corner booth, which he managed to get through wide smiles and salacious conversation with the server, I might have spoken too soon. Because of the noise, he practically has to kiss my ear to talk to me. It is much more intimate than anticipated. Henrik has taken off his suit jacket, leaving it hanging on the back of his office chair. What I’m left with is a gorgeous man in a white shirt and charcoal gray trousers. Somehow his hair looks sexier too, with it sticking up and out in all different directions. I wouldn’t mind seeing him with his glasses on again.
Once we’d ordered and he’d given our server another suggestive wink, he unbuttons his sleeves and extends his arms out to me. “Would you mind?”
One of my brows shoot up and I’m ready to suggest he ask our server to do it for him. Hell, at the level they’re flirting, she’d most likel
y unbutton his shirt and take it off for him. I tug at his left sleeve first, fold and roll it up to his elbow, and I do the same with the other.
“Thanks.” He somehow finds another inch to close in between us that my whole right side is practically pressed on his torso, and my right leg seated on his lap. “Relax, will you? It’s just dinner.”
I take a sip of my cold beer. Relax. Sure. Easier said than done when there isn’t a war going through my head.
“Ingrid,” he whispers against my ear, sliding my braided hair to my other shoulder, and giving him access to my neck…if he wants. “I don’t think anyone from work will be here. And if they are, it’ll be hard for them to see us.” He slides a hand up my back and finds taut muscle on my shoulders and between my shoulder blades. “I like to see you in this.” He tugs at my sweater.
“Why is that?” I have to tilt my head to talk to him, our mouths mere inches from each other when I do.
His hand on my back snakes down, hovers over the top of my butt, and when it finds the edge of my sweater, he ghosts his fingers over my silk camisole underneath. “Ever since seeing you at ARC that first day, you’ve been on a pedestal. You express yourself well in your clothes. You dress the part of a woman who’s ready to take over the world, even if it is just the interior design world. But in these…” He circles a callused finger on the flat of my back. “You’re reachable.”
“You mean approachable.”
“No, I mean reachable. Like the stars in the dark sky have come down to earth so a lowly being like me can admire the celestial up close.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. Grateful for the noise around us, I release a shaky breath, reach for my beer, and cross my legs. Except when I do, the back of my heel pops out of my sneaker and touches his leg. Firm, muscular leg. A memory slinks in my mind—the outside of one of his thighs bracing one of mine, while my other leg is folded under his chest, keeping me wide open as he pounds into me.
