Love Me

by Diane Alberts

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” he snarled.

  She blinked and glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t win contracts with my dick. I win contracts by being smarter than the competition. By being good at it.”

  “I never said you weren’t good at your job,” she said quietly. “Just that you had a motive for bringing me back to your place.”

  Thomas frowned and studied her. There was a subtle tremor to her hands, a whiteness to her lips. She was more upset than she let on. Much more upset. “Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t it be something as simple as a man finding a woman attractive and wanting to spend the night with her?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If it were that simple, you wouldn’t have manipulated me into it.”

  “Manipulated—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. He stared at her. At the tight set of her jaw, the defiant tilt of her chin, the hard sheen of her eyes. “I gave you a chance to leave. You didn’t take it. If you were unwilling—”

  He stopped when she averted her eyes from him sharply and muttered, “I wasn’t unwilling.”

  “Then why am I the villain because we had a mutually enjoyable one-night stand?”

  “If it was a one-night stand, why are you here?” she flared. She stood, palms pressed flat to the desk, leaning on her hands and meeting his eyes with a cold, accusatory frankness that snapped at the edges with simmering anger. “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid you fucked up. You came back to make sure I’d keep our night together quiet. Or maybe you think you made me so angry I won’t sign the contract and you’re here to make sure you earn your commission.”

  He said nothing. She glared at him. He let her. Let her be as angry as she wanted because he was starting to understand why. She doubted his motivation behind last night and was striking out at him before he could hurt her.

  In the silence between them, he stepped closer to the desk and braced his hands against it, facing her eye to eye. Somewhat. She carried herself with such presence that until she had been writhing, small and voluptuous beneath him, it was hard to remember how much shorter than him she was. So short she was forced to tip her head back if she wanted to keep glaring at him.

  She did.

  “Did you ever stop to think I’m here for you?” he asked. His gaze dropped to her mouth. It was still plump, lush, ripe—red from what he’d done to her lips last night. Desire nipped at him with persistent little teeth. “I want to do it again.”

  Her eyes widened. She faltered and leaned back, straightening. “What?”

  “If I want you to be honest, I suppose I have to give, too.” Thomas shifted to prop his hip on the desk, half sitting on the edge. “Look, I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday. But I do know that I don’t want to only have you once. I don’t want a one-night stand with you. I want more.” It felt oddly freeing to say that. Liberating. Especially since he hadn’t wanted more from another woman since Nicole. “I want you, Brianna. All of you.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Thomas.”

  “I mean every single word. I am legitimately, genuinely attracted to you, and I can’t seem to get that through your little skull.” He ran his hands down his face, scrubbing his gritty eyes. “The question is, do you feel the same, or am I slamming my head against the wall for no reason?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  His heart cracked. That’s what he got for putting himself out on the line. Idiot. “I’m willing to give you time to consider it. Or I’ll leave right now, if you’d rather, and never bother you again.”

  “Oh.”

  That was it. Oh. He’d learned years ago that honesty got him nowhere, but he’d tried—and he wasn’t letting her get away that easily.

  She settled primly back into her chair, avoiding eye contact. He snatched the pen right from between her pretty little fingers; she gasped, her furious flush blooming down her delicate throat.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I asked you why you ran out.” He shifted on his feet, hating himself for asking this next question but unable to stop. “Was I that bad? Did I hurt you or something?”

  She clenched her teeth. “No.”

  “Then why? Business ethics? Forgot your hair appointment? House on fi—?”

  “I was embarrassed!” she snapped, her voice hitching. She slapped her hand against the desk hard enough to make her pencil cup bounce. “I told you. I don’t normally do that. It was humiliating.”

  “There is absolutely no reason to be humiliated by what happened last night.” He captured her hand and turned it over. Her palm was reddened from the force of her slap. Gently, he traced the tip of his thumb across her lifeline; her breath caught, and her fingers curled. Even holding her hand caused a rush of happiness and possessiveness to pump through his blood. He knew then that what he was about to say wasn’t true. It was what she needed to hear, but it was a big fat lie. For the first time since Nicole…he’d opened himself up to a woman. With Brianna, it was more than sex. And the thought both terrified him and exhilarated him at the same time. The conflicting emotions fighting within him made the room spin. “We’re adults, Brianna. Sometimes two adults like each other and decide to have sex. It’s just sex.”

  “I know that,” she murmured. “But I’m not most people.”

  He glanced up from her hand and caught her eye. Even if she was still flustered, still blushing, a hint of a smile played at her lips, barely there.

  “ I know.” He shifted his grip on her fingers until his hand fully enfolded hers. “I like that about you.”

  She dropped her gaze to their entwined hands and cleared her throat. “It wasn’t just that we— I mean, we were in the parking lot, then the elevator, and up against the door…” She let out a groan and dropped her face into her free hand. “Oh God.”

  She shouldn’t do that. Whenever she turned shy, it only made him want to push her more, tease her, make her blush as deeply as she had when her legs were wrapped around his waist and she was tearing at his hair. “And you’re used to strictly missionary, is that it?”

  “Something like that…” she mumbled through her fingers.

  He leaned forward and carefully pried her fingers away from her face so he could meet her eyes. “Do you ever shut off?”

  “Yes. No.” Her gaze darted to the side. “Maybe.”

  “That’s a no, then.” He tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear. “Bree.” Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. He teased the lock of hair against her cheek. “I get it. I do. I’ve worked with dozens of successful businesswomen— Ah.” He caught her before her mouth could do more than open, raising a hand to forestall the sardonic anger in her flashing eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t sleep with a single one of them. But I know how it is. I know how you have to always be on your guard. But after hours, it’s all right to let go and be a woman. Just as I let go to be a man. My suit and tie aren’t all that I am. That marketing asshole smile? I practice it in the mirror. I hate it.”

  “I’m not fond of it, either,” she admitted.

  “It gets to be a habit.” He looked down at their entwined hands. Hers was so small inside his. “The point is…there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She pulled her hand free from his. He glanced up and met her eyes, bracing for the tirade. But she leaned in and kissed his cheek; he caught the faint scent of coffee on her breath, and as those velvet lips grazed his skin the oddest feeling tightened in his chest.

  “I didn’t know you had a mode other than the successful marketing executive you’ve shown me,” she said softly.

  “I’m working on that, too.” If he turned his head just a little more, he could kiss her again. But he restrained himself. Barely. He wasn’t here for just another kiss. It wasn’t until the words were leaving his lips that he really realized what he was here for. Her.
“But I still intend to use your shoes to bribe you into another date with me. A real one. We’ll actually end up somewhere other than my room.”

  Amusement glittered in her eyes. “Those are six hundred dollar shoes. If I don’t get those back, I’ll castrate you.”

  “You’re avoiding answering.” And still hiding something.

  She sighed and leaned back, hands on her hips. “Have I called you insufferable lately?”

  “I’m starting to think it’s a term of endearment.”

  After a prim chuckle, she sobered, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can date you, Thomas. You’re still the executive working on my account.”

  If that was her only reason for rejecting him, then he’d won. She wanted him, too. “It doesn’t matter. We can still work together. Keep it professional.”

  “I know, but…”

  “It’s a date,” he pointed out. “Not a lifelong commitment. Just to see if you and I can converse without fighting for more than thirty minutes. For all I know, you’ll put that pretty velvet spike heel right between my eyebrows.”

  She bit at her lower lip, drawing it between her teeth. “All right. One more date.”

  “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

  He slid off the desk and moved around it. He’d let her have the barrier between them but he was done with it now. As he passed the door to her office, he locked it and closed the blinds on the door. He turned back to her and prowled closer. She backed away like a cornered fawn.

  “Why are you running from me again?” he asked.

  “I’m not,” she said, but she was still backing away. She paused, then amended, “Okay, maybe I am a little bit. It’s kind of something I do.”

  “That’s okay. I’m good at the chase.” He caught her, then, and as his hands curled around those delicious hips and he jerked her close, she gasped. Her body was soft through the suit, molding to his with a lushness that made him simmer. “Want to know what else I’m good at?”

  Her hands pressed to his chest. “Thomas, we’re in my office—”

  “I locked the door.”

  “Thomas,” she warned, her tone hard.

  He kissed her. Kissed her with all the anger that had built up over the night, let it bleed away into the frustrated passion he’d been caging since she walked out on him. He wasn’t sure just what it was about her that ignited him, but when she surrendered with a desperate little whimper, he stopped wondering why.

  He just gave in and let himself feel.

  Her hips pressed tight against his, provoking him like a red flag to a bull, building that tight, needy pressure in his groin. He leaned into her, bending her back over the desk, forcing her to arch until her heavy, sweetly rounded breasts pressed into him. He dragged her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt and slid his hands underneath until he found hot, smooth skin. When he caressed her, she writhed, and he savored the shudders that flowed under his fingers, leading him up until he cupped her breasts and she gasped his name against his lips.

  Tasting her mouth was no longer enough. He traced his lips over her throat, bit gently along her jugular, took deep-rooted pleasure in each soft, needy cry that rose when his teeth grazed her sensitized skin and his fingers played over her nipples, rolling them until they peaked to perfect hardness. Her hands flowed over his body, touching him with grasping caresses that pulled him into her, locked their bodies together until he couldn’t take it anymore.

  He had to have her. Now.

  He pulled back, looking down at her. She lay breathless on the desk, debauched and wickedly inviting against her scattered papers, clothing skewed and her hazel eyes turned to molten gold by longing. Longing for him. He held himself back long enough to kiss her lips again, a single soft brush, then gripped her hips and turned her over.

  He maneuvered her facedown against the desk and parted her thighs with his knee. She arched, and God, what a vixen she was—nearly purring as she rubbed her own body to the desk, dragging her breasts over the blotter, rocking back until her ass ground against him. The seams nearly split as he shoved the skirt up around her hips.

  Her pantyhose made her thighs glisten like cream—and ripped from the pressure of his fingers as he pushed her thighs even farther apart, spreading her for him, positioning her against the edge of the desk. He shredded the flimsy nylon with a single savage jerk until he could reach to run his fingers over her mound through the soft silk of her panties. She quivered, her voice breaking on a moan. She was bared for him, and he burned to see her like this: wild, ready, wet for him.

  He tugged the panties aside and tasted her, traced the delicate pink of her folds with the tip of his tongue, delved deeper into her warmth until she was twisting, clawing at the desk, nearly sobbing as she pushed toward him. When his tongue circled her clit, she spasmed, raked her fingers over the blotter hard enough to tear the top sheet into furrows, and came with a ragged cry. He lingered on every wet burst, every damp trickle, licking it away until she gleamed, stroking her with his tongue until her cries bordered on agony.

  “Thomas,” she gasped out, rigid and trembling. “Thomas!”

  It was all the encouragement he needed. With one last taunting flick of his tongue, he withdrew long enough to unzip his jeans and push them down, freeing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he ripped open a condom and shoved it down his shaft. Once he was fully ensconced, he pressed against her moistness, raising a choked sound that he echoed. He held back for a trembling moment—and the anticipation made it that much sweeter when he rocked his hips forward and glided into her in a single smooth stroke.

  She enfolded him in liquid fire, and he lost control.

  He braced one hand to the desk, arching over her, and fell into the near-maddened cadence of his thrusts. His pleasure. Her pleasure, as her body clenched around him and she whimpered, begged, screamed. Screamed for him, so hot and uncontrolled beneath him, pushing back to meet him on every thrust.

  As he joined her, he arched his neck back and all he could think, feel, and smell was Brianna. He was completely lost in her…and he didn’t even care.

  Chapter Six

  Brianna lay boneless on the desk, her cheek pressed into last month’s GAAP report.

  She was pretty sure she was bent over the polished mahogany planking with her butt in the air like a five-dollar hooker, sweaty and wet inside her suit, Thomas’s weight crushing the air from her lungs and his cock slowly softening inside her.

  He shifted with a groan, his voice gritty in her ears.

  No, she was definitely sure. Hooker. Sweaty. Wet. That had just happened.

  This time, she couldn’t quite bring herself to mind so much.

  “Promise me,” he said, his voice rumbling through her, “that when I get up, you won’t go running out this time.”

  “It’s my office,” she murmured, “so I have nowhere to run.”

  He chuckled, but a moment later his weight eased. The emptiness when he withdrew from her made her moan, pressing her thighs together. It was as if her body missed him already, wanted him back, his thickness caressing her from the inside.

  Moving slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up and tugged her clothing back into proper order. She was wickedly sore, her nipples hurting from crushing and dragging against the desk. Her stomach somersaulted. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her with a claiming intensity that did terrible things to her. She couldn’t believe she’d let him do that to her. Push her down over the desk and…and just go at her like that.

  Only she could believe it, because it had felt too damned good. Even though any of her employees could have knocked on the door at any moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a thing.

  She swallowed and set her skewed glasses right. “Well. I’m going to need a new ledger book.”

  If she expected anything, it wasn’t the deep, full-throated laugh that rose from him. There was a warmth to it that made her shiver and a certain…earthiness. Not what she associated with thi
s sardonic, forceful man. Caught off-guard, she turned away quickly, fumbling with the scattered things on her desk. God, they’d moved the desk across the floor; it was now canted several inches on one side, and she was lucky her computer monitor hadn’t fallen off.

  His laughter trailed into a chuckle. “Here. Let me help.”

  He moved to her side, picking up her pencil cup and slotting a few Sharpies back into place. They both reached for an overturned picture frame at the same time; their hands bumped, but he got it first and flipped it upright.

  Thomas went very, very still, looking at the picture with a sudden and almost terrifying blankness. The languid—albeit almost playfully awkward—warmth that had been brewing vanished.

  “Brianna,” he said, spacing each syllable precisely, “who is that?”

  The blood drained from Brianna’s face, leaving her dizzy. The picture was of her and Michael, the day of their wedding. He was trim and dashing in his tuxedo. She held her bouquet, smiling with such radiance she looked like a different person. She wore that frothy white dress that childhood said was supposed to make all a little girl’s dreams come true. No one ever told those little girls that past the dress were more dreams. Deeper dreams. Dreams that could so easily be cut short and taken away.

  She snatched the picture away and turned it facedown. “It’s no one.”

  His gaze moved to her hand. Without even thinking, she ran her thumb over the paler band of skin on her finger, the weight of the ring a strange absence. His eyes turned flinty.

  “You’re hiding something.”

  She turned her back on him. “No.”

  “Liars are easy to spot, Brianna. What’s going on?”

  “I’m not a liar!” She hugged the picture to her chest. The edges of the photo frame bit into her sore breasts. “I just met you. You don’t get to interrogate me.”

  “Maybe not.” His voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. “But I’d like to have known you were married before I asked you on a date. A better time to tell me? Before I slept with you. You lied to me.”