by Lana Sky
Ugh.
“I’m going to sit in on this little meeting of yours,” he declared, much to my annoyance. “Shall we get started?”
“E-Everything’s ready!” Bridget piped up from her corner of the lobby.
She had done me proud by lasting the week with little emotional trauma to show for it, at least by comparison. Most people would have raced out of the office in tears by now.
To help her score points with Bret, I’d put her in charge of setting up the meeting room and was pleased to find that she had done a pretty good job.
A platter of fruit rested on the center of the table, surrounded by blue folders sporting METRO’s logo that contained, I hoped, copies of Jason’s proposal and all the messy legal forms that needed to be sorted.
However, if I had thought that my meeting would remain mine once Bret joined in, then I was sadly mistaken. Luckily, I was used to his domineering ways. He took control with all the gusto of a judge in a courtroom, hammering Jason over the details specified in his proposal and, of course, expressing his doubt over the whole premise.
“You want Abby to promote an album?” he had barked once the purpose of my potential representation became clear. “Why not get someone qualified for that?”
To which Jason had responded, with an unnerving sense of confidence, “I have.”
I had to duck down behind an upraised folder just to hide the way my cheeks heated at those words.
Damn him. Damn him.
Two hours later—which felt more like four with Bret bloviating ad nauseam—the meeting concluded with a shaky understanding of just where Jason and I stood; I would help him promote the finished, currently unnamed album, and the campaign would launch in two months, after the completion of his Heartland tour.
It sounded so simple and clean.
Jason seemed pleased by the proceedings, and Dixie had jotted down notes like an avid student engrossed by a lecture. Apparently I was the only one who felt like this was all so…anticlimactic.
And if there was one thing that I was an expert on these days, it was the lack of a good climax.
I rose shakily from my seat at the head of the table, smoothing papers as I went. Bret had already barged into the hallway, shouting for Bridget to grab his lunchtime latte, leaving me by myself to make copies of the final proposal.
For the first time that morning, I risked sneaking a glance at Jason who was busy helping Dixie out of her seat with all the gallantry of a true gentleman.
“I’ll get my own cab,” she was saying in her sassy drawl. “We can talk later to discuss the venue for the Oakwood concert.”
Oakwood. Was that the next stop in his tour?
Rather than eavesdrop, I gathered up the documents and headed into the copy room across the hall. Along the way, I tried to pat myself on the back for a job well done, but I just felt…irritated. As if something had been missing.
Off.
Jason had sat right there, across from me, and I hadn’t even had the nerve to flash him a flirty smile or giggle. Anything.
And not because I was attracted to him or something sappy like that. Our relationship had become dangerously one-sided, and guess who had the upper hand?
I hated feeling out of my element. Hated being on the other side of games and spontaneity—mind fuckery was my shtick, damn it!
But Jason had stolen all the cards, and for some damn reason, a part of me had hesitated to grab them back.
“Fuck,” I growled in exasperation while slamming a fist onto the copier. Not long after spitting out a few pages did the damn thing jam up completely. Just my luck.
Sighing, I crouched down, prying open the machine’s bottom lid to address the mess.
I didn’t realize that he was even there until a familiar scent reached my nostrils. Then, I felt the heat radiating off him against my bare legs, leeching into my skin.
“Can I help you with something?” I managed to croak, mentally kicking myself for sounding so breathless.
For the longest time, Jason didn’t answer. I could only weakly prod a few mechanical gears before it became apparent that I was avoiding him.
Because, lo and behold, that’s exactly what I had been doing all morning.
Now, alone with him in the copy room—which was no bigger than a closet—I had to put on my big-girl panties and face the facts.
I had run from his truthful confession in the truck.
I had been running from him all morning.
I wanted to run from him right now.
A whirl of conflicting emotions bubbled within me as I forced down a dry swallow and turned to face him before I could lose the nerve.
“Shouldn’t you be running along to get ready for your tour?” I asked, in the non-bitchiest tone I could manage—a feat within itself.
Jason shrugged. “I wanted to make sure that we were on equal footing,” he said, throwing me off yet again. “I wouldn’t want what happened yesterday to change anything between us…”
Change? I chewed on my lower lip, eyeing the triangle of tanned flesh bared beneath the dip in his collar.
“Like how?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Abigail—”
I scoffed a little louder than necessary. “You don’t scare me. Let’s just keep our talk on business.”
“All right then,” Jason said finally. His voice was too soft, and his head tilted slightly to the side, eyes ruthlessly seeking out mine. “Let’s talk. About ‘business.’ If you’ve changed your mind, I will rip up the contract and find someone else.”
I shook my head. “No—” Abigail Newman never quit anything. “I just…I just need to get a better feel for exactly what it is you want from me.”
Screw it. I was done being restrained and beating around the bush. Words were for intellectuals, and my tried-and-true methods for “conversing” revolved around cleavage and sexual intimidation.
I used both to my full advantage as I took a step toward Jason, meeting his gaze straight on.
“I need to get a better feel for what your actual ‘business’ plan is,” I reiterated, all while palming the front of his chest.
I felt triumphant when he flinched and the erratic thump of his heartbeat played beneath my fingers. Yes. Once again, I felt in control. Powerful.
I dug my nails in ever so slightly, catching the firm muscle beneath his shirt.
“I agree.” Jason surprised me by reaching back to slam the frosted glass door of the copy room shut, trapping us both inside. “But it would be best to discuss this in private.”
My heart flipped over. The copier was at my back. Behind Jason was a row of filing cabinets, and to the left of us was a small window that overlooked the side of the building. There was barely two feet of space between us.
I could hear Dixie wandering down the hall to the lobby. Bridget was a few feet away, cleaning the meeting room, and Bret was only two doors down in his office.
Not exactly private. Not that a part of me actually gave a damn.
“Discuss what?” I managed to ask breathlessly.
Jason shrugged, taking a step closer. He towered over me as his scent easily filled my lungs.
I inhaled deeply without shame. Mmmm. Sweat and fresh air and musk.
“The minor points of our contract,” he said, catching me off guard by resting one hand over my waist. “Just the details.”
As he spoke, the pads of his fingers softly kneaded the tender slip of flesh revealed between my top and the waistline of my skirt. Once. Twice. More than enough to make my heart speed up and trigger that infuriating sense that I was being knocked off balance.
Again.
“Well let’s go over them,” I suggested, fighting to keep my voice steady as my hand boldly plunged lower, stopping at the fly of his jeans. I was rewarded by a slight twitch in his jaw.
Score one for me.
“Well, for one, we didn’t schedule very many meetings between now and the end of my tour.” My breath hitched as he copied me, sliding his
hand lower…
“What?” I rasped, fighting to keep my eyes from darting down as the pad of what felt like a thumb brushed the hemline of my skirt, sliding underneath. Words couldn’t explain the sensation of his rough, calloused skin against the tender flesh of my thigh. Raw, sweltering heat suddenly had me sweating beneath a burst of air conditioning. “D-Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes,” he said, startling me by the blunt honesty in his tone. “But, if you haven’t guessed, I can be a bit of a…perfectionist.”
“O-Oh really?” Two fingers traced a path up my inner thigh, applying feather-light pressure.
I countered by curling my hands around the waistband of his jeans in warning. Two could play this game.
“Well, so am I. And I never back down from a challenge. This album seems to strike all the right buttons.” I brushed a finger daringly along the brass one holding his pants together, aware of the fact that his hand was inching dangerously close to home base.
“It seems like we’re a good fit,” Jason deduced. Something fierce crossed his otherwise blank expression, right before his finger brushed me through the thin cotton of my panties.
A violent shudder rippled through my body, and I nearly lost my grip—literally and figuratively.
I had broken my little vow about going commando. I wasn’t sure if I regretted that mistake or was utterly grateful as hard, harsh flesh nudged a part of me that hadn’t been touched in months. The thin slip of fabric wasn’t enough to hide my body’s reaction.
Desperate to regain some sense of even footing, I jabbed my thumb across the button of his pants, snapping them open. Without a shred of hesitation, I reached for his fly and yanked it down, all the while maintaining eye contact.
“Oh, I don’t know, Jason,” I rasped when I found my voice again. “This seems like an awful lot to swallow all at once…”
His throat jerked, and like a shark sensing blood, I latched onto the rare display of unsteadiness from him.
I leaned closer, near his ear, lowering my voice to a whisper. “It’s a good thing that I mastered my gag reflex a long time ago.”
Bam!
The copier made some weird mechanical whirring sound as Jason surged forward, jarring my body against it. His hands seized my waist, yanking me up until my ass rested over the paper tray. I didn’t have the chance to get my bearings—just grab onto the edge of the lid—before he wrenched my legs apart as he muscled his way in between them.
This time, the kiss was all battle, no softness.
No more Mr. Nice.
Jason’s hand returned impatiently between my legs. He hooked a finger beneath the edge of my panties and pulled. When his body prevented them from lowering any further, he yanked.
Riiip!
There went another thirty dollar pair of panties.
Chapter 8
Rules were made to be broken.
Rules were made to be broken.
Rules were made to be…ripped right down the middle like a lacy red thong.
I chanted the mantra inside my head, almost desperately, as Jason muscled his way in between my legs. He was burning hot—an inferno—and I was in danger of being burned alive. His mouth claimed mine fiercely, stealing my breath and my senses at the same damn time.
Because I didn’t do this.
Despite my reputation, I never rendezvoused in my office. It had always been the one area in my life where I didn’t have to flash my cleavage to stay on top. My position demanded respect, and my work ethic had ensured that I’d received it.
I never mingled with coworkers—though, to be fair, most never lasted a day—and I had certainly never got caught with my pants down a mere few feet from my boss’s office. Although it wasn’t shame that had my cheeks flushed. Or why I pawed at Jason like some cutthroat groupie, desperate for my fifteen seconds of fame.
He smelled so good. Like air and cologne and the faintest tinge of musk. I couldn’t get enough. Kissing him wasn’t enough.
I inhaled. Gulped. Drew in ragged gasps of air, desperate for every tangible bit of him I could have.
And I only wanted more.
If the way Jason gripped my waist was any indication, then I wasn’t the only one feeling ravenous.
“Do it,” I gasped when his hand encroached dangerously on my inner thigh. I could sense the naughty intention in those saintly fingers, and for once, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t the one in control.
True to form, he teased me, caressing a path up and down my heated skin. Higher…then lower. Then higher again.
Against the top of the copier, my fingers fought for purchase, slicked with sweat and trembling too badly to give me much balance.
And, God, I so needed balance…
His touch alone disrupted the nerves in my body, throwing everything in disarray.
“Jason.” His name tore from my throat on a needy, little purr, and I hated myself for it.
I didn’t make sounds like that.
I had never felt like this.
A million tiny sensations bubbled beneath my skin in anticipation of his touch. His maddening, slow, delightfully lazy touch. When he finally decided to stop beating around the bush and slid those fingers along me, my teeth clipped my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, desperate to keep any sound I made from breaking loose.
The room spun. Beneath me, the copier was a bucking bull ride, and Jason held the reins. The bastard played games. Sick, devious, little mind games. He touched me once, leaning in close to hungrily seize my lower lip—not a love nip, but a bite, catching my flesh between his teeth and tugging.
Once.
Twice.
Every sinful motion made something inside me violently contract, and there was no way in hell that I could remain upright by myself. His body blocked me in, restraining and sheltering at the same time.
Just when I thought that I couldn’t lose myself anymore, his free hand slid up, brushing the side of my breast through the painfully thick fabric of my bra. A wave of heat assaulted the curve of my throat as he groaned a single word into my skin.
“Beautiful…”
And just like that, this went from a mind game to something else. Something more. My legs sprung out like jackknives, curling around his waist and drawing him closer. Our pelvises connected with a mutual grunt, sparking friction as the denim of his jeans grazed my skin.
This wasn’t like the silent battle of wits at Motilda.
His hands were on my waist, bunching up the hem of my barely-there miniskirt, while mine tugged clumsily at the front of his jeans, revealing the dark cotton of his boxers, and then…
“Abby!”
Everything came to a screeching, violent halt.
It took my mind a second to register the voice echoing down the hall.
Shit.
This was a bad dream—a fucking nightmare. Because there was no way in hell that I was actually in a copier room with Jason Daniels, who was one stroke away from partially stripping me while I had my hands down his pants.
“ABBY! Where the hell are you?”
Apparently God had a sick sense of humor.
“Fuck.”
It was the only thing Jason said, growled right against my ear. I couldn’t see his expression, considering that his face was buried within the crook of my neck. His position crushed me against the back wall with my heels braced against the copier, which was now making some high-pitched beeping noise.
The sound echoed off the walls, loud enough that poor Dixie could probably hear it from her cab.
And then there was Jason…
His scent filled me from head to toe, making me utterly weightless.
At least until reality descended like a sucker punch and knocked me right back down.
“Get off me,” I croaked, trying to push him off. “Get off—Get off!”
I scrambled to get one of my heels disentangled from the dials of the copier. Then I slid to my feet and shakily tried to regain some semblance of balance.
Jason stood only a few feet away, readjusting the front of his pants and, for a moment, I could only stare at him while a barrage of insults raced through my mind.
Cheap.
Tawdry.
Slut.
I felt no better than a horny teenager who’d let herself get groped in the back of some asshole footballer’s pickup truck.
Only this time, I wasn’t relishing in my little taste of wicked fun. I felt…used. Once again, Jason had been in control, and I had been more or less along for the ride, trapped under his spell and too stupid to think for myself.
I was a cougar, used to cornering my prey and leaving them hot and bothered. My panties typically never came off until I said they could come off.
And Jason held them now—both halves—balled within a fist. Again.
“Damn it, Abby,” Bret snarled from his office. “Are you making copies in China? In my office! Now.”
“I…I have to go.” The words tumbled out, and I didn’t know if they were more for Jason’s benefit or my own. My heart was in my throat, battling my tongue for supremacy. I ran a trembling hand down the front of my miniskirt, trying my best to smooth it down. My blouse had ridden up over the flat of my stomach. Two buttons beneath the collar had come undone. I couldn’t seem to clasp them, no matter how many times I tried.
“Here…let me.”
I jerked out of reach.
“No.” In the end, I settled for clawing at both halves of my blouse and holding them together with one hand while I staggered for the door.
Jason was there first, pulling it open while looking perfect and polished and infuriatingly in control.
His hair wasn’t a mess, and I bet that he didn’t evoke the comparison of a cheap hooker running from a quickie with her tail between her legs. Not even a true quickie, but the tease of one.
When I finally entered the hall, Bridget was at her desk, sneaking glances in my direction, though she pretended to be working. Smart girl.
Behind me, the copier was shrieking, until it suddenly died on a mechanical whirl. A glance over my shoulder revealed Jason standing by the wall with a plug in his hand. Our eyes met, and it was like all of the electricity feeding that giant machine jolted directly into me.
