by Lola Darling
The moment I say it, his eyes drop down along my body, like a command. I resist a little shiver of power, knowing that whatever he might claim, he’s clearly having trouble keeping his eyes off of me. “You might not be my type, but you can’t blame me for being a red-blooded male, Chloe.”
Just the sound of my name on his lips sets off a flare in my chest. Anger, yes, but also desire. Fucking hell, I want him. What is wrong with me? “Sure I can,” I respond. “Watch me, Max.”
“Oh so you do know my name. I’d been wondering, Miss MacIntyre .”
I push my chair back to stand and pace across the room, on the pretense of going for another file. Really, I just need space away from him.
What the hell was that reaction? What the hell did my body want me to do, kiss this bastard? I’d probably contract syphilis. With my back still to him, I say, “We’re going to have to work together on this. Which means we’re going to have to at least try to be civil with one another.”
“Who’s being uncivil? We’ve established that neither of us are each other’s types, that’s good. We wouldn’t want any … unresolved tension while we’re working this case, would we?”
Just the way he says it is a challenge. He’s daring me to admit I feel something. Daring me to call him out for feeling it too.
When I turn around again, he has a killer smile on, which shows off his perfectly white teeth. One of his eyeteeth, I notice, is a little crooked, snagging across his canine by a few centimeters. Somehow, it just makes the whole smile sexier, because of that one tiny flaw.
Double ugh.
The only thing I can do is shut him down. “Great. Glad we’ve established that we’ll be polite.” My eyes dart to the clock over his head. 4:42pm. Shit. I’m late for my next meeting already. “That said, since someone was late to our already tight meeting today, I’ve got to head out already.”
“What’s that, fifteen minutes have flown past already?” He raises a single sardonic brow. “I guess next time we’ll need to pencil in more time.”
Which was what he was complaining to me about yesterday. Which probably means he was late on purpose just to point out to me how inadequate 15 minutes was. “You know, 15 minutes can be plenty of time when you stay on task,” I reply evenly. “I know it’s probably not a concept you’re familiar with.”
“I can do a lot in fifteen minutes, Chloe, believe me.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe next time we can talk about the case instead of spending the whole time engaging in provocative banter.”
“That wasn’t provocative.” His grin sharpens. “You’ll know when I’m really provoking you.”
I swallow hard. The way he’s staring at me right now, like he could eat me alive, is setting flames off in parts of my body I’d forgotten existed. I want to slap him, or kiss him. Or both. It takes every ounce of effort I have to draw my professional self to the fore, and crush my stupid sex drive. “What part of I need to leave for another meeting now did you not hear?”
“The part where you aren’t actually leaving.” He gestures at me, still calm and collected, leaning casually against my desk.
I could scream. Instead, I grab my folder from my desk, and lean across to snatch up my Blackberry. He makes no secret of the fact that, as I lean over the desk, his eyes graze my body, traveling straight down the loose silk shirt I’m wearing.
Definitely leaning toward slapping him. But dammit, it feels good to have him stare at me. To know that I’m affecting him too. That he can’t get enough of my body.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just smiles in his best imitation of innocence.
“Try not to break anything, if you’re staying here,” I say as I straighten up and head for my own office door. “Email me your schedule for the week. I’ll set up our next appointment.”
“As you wish, captain,” he replies, giving me a salute and leaning back in his seat while kicking his feet up onto my desk, making it obvious he’s not about to vacate the premises anytime soon.
Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I storm out of the door and slam it behind me, then pause to lean against it and breathe deeply. Did he just chase me out of my own office? It’s only been one day and I’m going crazy. How am I going to stand a whole month of this?
No time to worry about it now.
Pull yourself together, Chloe. Next item on the to do list. I march off down the hall, and try not to think about the fact that my brain won’t stop replaying that conversation—or, worse, the moment when we’d both leaned in across the tablet, our eyes locked, breath mingled.
I am so screwed.
6
Max
“Great, so we’ll have that done by next Tuesday, and after that’s finished, we’ll need…”
I zone out a little as Chloe talks. Or rather, I get distracted by the way her lips—red today, a dark color that reminds me of cherries—form words. I can think of so many better uses to put those full, pouty lips to. I imagine kissing her, claiming that mouth as mine. I picture her on her knees before me, that pout wrapped around my hard cock as she takes me into her hot, wet mouth. Her shirt today is tighter than the one yesterday, even lower-cut in the front, and I can just picture the view I’d have looking down at her as she worked me…
“Max.”
Damn. What did she just say?
The annoyance in her voice drags me forcibly back to the present. It also drags my eyes up to hers, which are narrowed behind her dark tortoiseshell frames. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“You’re setting up a client meeting with Suzie for tomorrow at 9am,” I repeat, only registering the words that had just come out of her mouth as I repeat them. Thank god for my ability to multitask. It’s come in handy more than once in an extra-dull meeting—I can let half my brain drift while the other half keeps recording whatever the other person is saying.
If anything, though, she looks even more annoyed that I was able to answer her question. “I asked if that time works for you. Maybe if you weren’t so busy staring at my chest, you might’ve replied faster.”
“In my defense, at this angle it’s harder not to stare.” I let my gaze dip down her neck again. Especially with the way she hunches forward over the desk, arms splayed on the surface, I mean, any man in his right mind would be unable to resist. “Did you buy that shirt with the express purpose of distracting your enemies? Because I have to admit, it’s definitely working.”
She rolls her eyes skyward. “So you’re blaming me for your inability to keep your eyes to yourself.”
“Blaming makes it sound so negative. Let’s call it appreciating. I appreciate that you work what you have, Chloe, and you do it damn well.”
Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. Okay, she has to be doing that on purpose. “You’re unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.” I flash her a wide smile. Is it my imagination, or is she actually blushing?
Before I can determine, she leans back in her seat and tosses her head. The motion makes her curls cascade over her other shoulder now. There’s something irresistible about that completely untamed, unruly hair, paired with her perfectly poised everything else—the shirt I’ve been making fun of, for all its slight immodesty, is neatly ironed, and seamlessly tucked into her knee-length pencil skirt. Every inch of her makeup is spread across her face as if she puts it on with a ruler in the morning—which I wouldn’t put past her, honestly.
But that hair gives her away. That hair tells me that little miss prim and proper has a wild side hidden somewhere underneath the prissy work clothes and wicked glare. And I want to be the one to unleash it. Something tells me that Chloe will be as fucking relentless in bed as she is in the courtroom.
“Look, if we’re going to work together, can we lay out some ground rules?” she says, her voice stern and commanding.
The stern, sexy librarian look is strong with this one. “Fine by me. I love rules and regulations—though I should warn you, I’m very good at finding lo
opholes.”
She lets out a little half-laugh at that, then proceeds to look even more annoyed, like she wishes she hadn’t let on that she finds anything I say funny. She holds up a finger. “First of all, stop trying to sleep with me.”
I heave a deep sigh and rap my knuckles on the tabletop gently to stop her right there. “Is that what this is about? Chloe, sweeets—” She glowers. “Not a fan of sweets? Okay. Chloe, despite what I know you’ve heard about me, I take my job quite seriously. I am not trying to get in your pants. Or up your skirt.”
Not strictly true. I can’t stop thinking about getting up her skirt, actually. Every goddamn minute lately, it feels like. I can’t so much as pass her in the hallway of the office without being in serious immediate danger of getting hard. Never mind after hours, when I’m alone in the privacy of my apartment, free to fantasize about everything I want to do to this woman. Every dirty thing I want to say to her while I’m buried balls deep in her tight, hot little pussy. Every way I want to make her beg for mercy.
That is, when I don’t feel so frustrated by her that I could scream.
Yet, for a moment after I say that, just a split second really, I could swear that a new expression flickers across her face. Not anger, not even annoyance, or the mild disdain that seems to be her base level feelings toward me. For a second, Chloe MacIntyre looks almost … disappointed.
And for an even briefer second, as I watch those soft, red lips drop into a frown, then curl back into an angry pout, I could swear that I am, too.
Any other time. Any other place.
I give my brain a good internal shake. Do not go there, Davis. Chloe MacIntyre is a shark. She’d eat you alive.
“Well, good,” she’s saying, and I have to agree. Glad we’ve cleared the air. She opens her mouth to start on some other pronouncement, but as I glance away, my eye snags on the clock over the door.
Shit.
“On that note, I’ve got to run to my next appointment.”
“You have a lunch meeting?” Her gaze follows mine to the clock, which reads 12:10pm.
Fucking hell. I’m late. I push to my feet and grab my files, stuffing them into my briefcase. “Yes,” I say, with my back to her, so she won’t notice the evasion on my face. Somehow I doubt it will slip past Chloe’s notice.
“With who? Can you reschedule? We still have to prep for our meeting tomorrow, and—”
“Afraid it’s urgent. Email me anything you need me to catch up on.”
She stands too, now, and plants her hands on her hips. I assume she’s trying to look threatening, though the fact that she’s only about 5’9” even in the towering heels she’s wearing doesn’t help.
“You’re the one who insisted we spend more time on this case.”
“We have. And tomorrow we’ll have even more time. Have a good rest of your day, Miss MacIntyre.” I breeze past her toward the office door. But as my hand closes around the doorknob, she lets her parting shot fly.
“Give Hannah my regards,” she mutters.
I step out of the office without a reply, and swing the door closed behind me. Let her think whatever she wants. Let her think the same thing as everyone else in the office. It doesn’t matter.
Chloe MacIntyre might be the sexiest distraction at the office, but I can’t afford to lose track of my priorities.
7
Chloe
Warm, strong hands run down my sides. They skate the curves of my hips, almost but not quite brushing my lower back, then dipping lower to grip my thighs. One hand lifts my leg easily and wraps it around a tight, perfectly sculpted ass.
“Chloe.” Max’s voice is a deep rumble that I can feel thrum through my veins—not least because I’m pressed against his chest, my hands digging into his muscular back, my breasts crushed tight against his hard, bare chest. I drag one hand around to trace his washboard abs—God, he even has that little V where his muscles dip into his waistband. I want to bite my way down that V, yank off his jeans.
He’s way ahead of me, his hands already sliding their way back up my thighs now, beneath my skirt—no, not a skirt, a dress, something loose and flowy, not at all my style. It makes me pause, but only for a second. Because then his hands sear higher along my skin, and his fingers grip my bare ass around the tiny thong I’m wearing, and I forget to worry about anything else.
“I’m going to fuck you.” His breath comes hot in my ear, just before he catches my lobe in his teeth and bites down, hard enough that I can feel it. “Right here. Right now.”
His hand tightens on my ass, and I can’t help myself. A tiny, desperate moan escapes my mouth. Without warning, he grabs my hips and spins me around—I probably leave claw marks on his back as he does it, but then I’m facing away from him, towards my desk, and he’s pushing me across it.
What if someone opens the door? I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I don’t actually want him to stop.
Fucking hell, I’m so goddamn wet.
He parts my thighs, and I can feel the hard pressure of his cock against my ass as his hands grab at my thong, prying it aside. I’m practically shaking in anticipation now, my hands digging into the edges of the desk, but he’s stopped moving.
“Do it,” I say, then raise my voice louder. “Fuck me.”
He drives into me, and it’s almost more than I can take, a hot, exquisite pressure. He strains at my walls, his cock filling every inch of me, and when he draws back for the next thrust, I gasp in protest at losing that sensation. I don’t have to wait long, though. He slams back into me, and my hips buck into him as we find our rhythm, both of us thrusting hard, crashing together again and again, until I can’t contain myself anymore. A loud cry escapes my lips—
I blink, startled at the sound of my own voice. There’s no desk. No warm body pressed against mine, no cock buried inside me. I’m curled under my silk sheets, in my empty, silent bedroom. The bright red clock on my nightstand blurs as the time shifts.
5:24am.
Shit.
Just a dream.
I catch my breath, and try to ignore the fact that there’s a faint sheen of sweat across my skin, and an ache between my legs, a painful throb of unfulfilled desire.
“You really need to get laid, Chlo,” I mutter to myself in the quiet, dark apartment. It’s been a while since I’ve had any kind of a sex dream, and I’m pretty sure dreaming about the guy I’m currently butting heads with at work is a first for me.
I roll over in bed and yank the pillow over my head, before groaning in frustration into it. This is what happens when you haven’t had sex in … well, an embarrassingly long time.
You start to take out your frustration in all the worst possible places.
It was just a dream, I tell myself as I haul my ass out of bed. No use going back to sleep now, since I’ll only have to wake up again in half an hour. Might as well get an early start.
I have a feeling today is going to be a long day.
The elevator doors swing open on our floor just as Max and a tall, thin redhead stroll past, coffees in hand. Her teeth catch the fluorescent light and practically glow at me, they’re so white, as she tosses her head back to laugh harder than is believable at whatever he just said. Her hand flits to his forearm and squeezes gently as she tapers off the laugh.
“Honestly, I swear that’s how it happened,” he’s saying.
“You are such a liar, Max.” The redhead’s shrill voice cuts through the office air.
He stops dead in the middle of the hallway to raise his eyebrows at her, the expression on his face torn between fake offense and a sly grin. “Tell me, is this the face of a dishonest man?”
Yes, I resist snapping.
“I’ll admit you have the innocent look down pat, lawyer boy,” the woman purrs.
At that moment, Max’s eyes flash straight to me, and his expression shifts. Now it seems caught between polite amusement and annoyance. I assume the latter is because I’ve just burst into the middle of his latest off
ice flirtation.
And yet, my stupid, traitor lizard brain can’t stop reliving the dream this morning. His hands tracing over my body, searing hot, and our torsos pressed together, my nails digging into his sculpted back…
My cheeks flush, and he lifts an eyebrow. I swallow hard and cross the lobby, trying to pretend that my body has not become suddenly, acutely aware of his every shift, the way his body tracks mine, so he’s facing me my whole walk across the entrance. I swear I can feel his gaze boring into me, even though I avert my eyes.
“See you in ten, Chloe,” he calls, just before I reach the hallway, where I can escape him for a few more minutes before our client arrives.
“Who’s that?” I hear the redhead ask, and then I’m thankfully around the corner and away, safely escaped from the thudding of my heart in my chest, the strange nervous sensation firing through my veins.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I know what Max Davis is like. Irrefutably. Just look at him out there now, for Christ’s sake. Inside my office, I shut the door and take a few deep breaths.
The sight of my desk and the sharp memory of being bent over it in the dream does not help calm me the hell down. I toss my purse on it, grab everything I’ll need for this meeting, and leave early for the client interview.
I spent half the night last night rewatching the couple of Suzie Steel workout videos I own. The woman has charisma, I’ll give her that. And she definitely motivates me to get off my ass and break a sweat. I can see how she got so famous at what she does.
Still, it’s one thing to be familiar with the public personality. It’s quite another when, a few minutes later, I’m shaking her hand face-to-face as my assistant escorts her into the conference room I’ve booked. She’s my height, which is funny—in the videos, I always pictured her as taller for some reason.
