by Amanda Aksel
He folds the shirt and places it neatly in the box, pushing it to the side.
“So, I had another idea I want to talk about.” Kent takes his full, steaming mug from his desk and leans back in his chair. The cup meets his mouth and then liquid goes spilling down his shirt. He jolts up, wiping his mouth and setting the mug down. “Shit. It’s like I’ve got holes in my mouth today.”
I snicker, covering my mouth. At least I’m not the only one who’s being a total klutz. “It’s all over your shirt.”
Ken stands, looking down at the brown spots of coffee on his pristine shirt. “You know I only did that so you would stop feeling embarrassed about that fall.”
“Hey!” I chuckle. “I didn’t fall. You try walking in heels.”
He re-enacts my stiletto wobble. “Whoa!” he cries with a soft, feminine voice. I cover my face with my hands, laughing. And he joins me with an even more charming laugh than the one I remember from the night we met.
My laugh slows and I look up at him, standing there, his face slightly red now too. “Did you really spill your drink on purpose?”
“Pff, no! There are very few shirts I haven’t spilled coffee on. But somehow I’ve managed to avoid wine stains, unlike you, Ms. Purple Mouth.”
My jaw falls open. I knew my lips had gone grape that night. “Hey! That’s not fair. I stain easily,” I say, defending myself like a little girl in the schoolyard. But I needed that laugh to take the edge off. Maybe he did too.
Chuckling, he removes his jacket. “I actually thought it was cute.”
“You did?” Why is he taking off his jacket? Now he’s unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes bulge. Oh, my God, this is like a dream come true. More heat rises to my cheeks and this time it’s accompanied by heat between my thighs.
“Yeah.” He turns away and opens a closet door tucked in the corner of his office, hiding behind it while he removes his shirt.
Dammit! I crane my neck to get a better look, then hear the jingle of his belt. It sounds like freaking Santa Claus is rolling into town. “What are you doing?”
“Changing into a clean shirt. I have a few extras in case I make an ass of myself like I just did.”
“Eh, shit happens.”
“Yes, it does.” He steps out of the closet and closes the door, wearing a light-blue button-down.
“So, you were saying before the spill?” I ask, much more relaxed now.
Kent pops his collar and throws his tie over his shoulder and begins to knot it. “Right, so I was thinking, what if we were to partner up with a brick-and-mortar retailer?” He pulls on the end of his silk tie.
“It’s a little short,” I say.
“My idea?”
“No, your tie.” I lift myself out of the chair, praying my high heels won’t fail me again. “Here, let me try.” By the time I make it over, he’s loosened the fabric around his neck.
Kent stands tall, resting his hands on his hips as I pull one end of the tie down. My eyes trace up from the top button of his shirt to his Adam’s apple, then his cleft chin, his full bottom lip, and finally his eyes. He watches me quietly. I’m close enough to feel his slow breathing.
“I thought about it before,” I say, “but I’m worried about returns, and I don’t want my brand in a discount store.” My heart pounds as I try to stay focused on my Double Windsor knot.
“I was thinking more of an exclusive relationship.” His tone is low, and I’m not sure if it’s a suggestion or if he’s being suggestive.
I finish the knot and push it up to his neck, pinching it into a perfect V shape and checking the length. “There.” Sliding my hands up, I turn his collar down, my fingers grazing the sides of his neck. I glance up at him, wishing I could nibble on that dimple in his chin.
His mouth parts, bringing his lips closer. I tilt my chin up, pulse racing, and—
Knock, knock.
The door clicks and opens. I whip around. Poppy stands in the doorway, looking slightly alarmed at first. “Am I interrupting?” She pulls a pencil from behind her ear.
Kent clears his throat, and I step away, smoothing my skirt, even though there isn’t a single wrinkle. “No, Liz was just helping me with my tie. I’m an idiot. I spilled coffee on my shirt.” He lets out an uncomfortable laugh.
“He really did,” I say with a slight chuckle. “You think this guy never drank from a cup before. Am I right?” I nudge his arm, hoping I’m not overdoing it but knowing that it’s way over the top.
“Right,” Poppy says slowly with a suspicious stare. “I’ll come back later then.”
“No,” Kent calls after her but the door closes. “Shit.” Kent mutters under his breath, walking to his desk.
“What?”
He shakes his head, all jokes aside. “Nothing, she probably thinks that something’s going on between us.”
Isn’t there? I take my seat again. “Why do you care what she thinks?”
“I don’t. Never mind. Let’s just get back to work.” Kent puts on his jacket and we’re back to business. I nod and take my seat. After what just happened, work is the furthest thing from my mind. I get that business and pleasure can be a tricky mix, but this guy is going from hot to cold fast enough to give a girl whiplash. I’m starting to wonder if it’s all in my head. Maybe that’s what happens when you read romance. But I have a feeling that’s not it. My guess is that there’s a bigger reason why he’s so adamant about keeping things strictly professional, but I can’t bring myself to ask. Not yet at least.
Shortly after that, Kent hands me off to do a few meetings without him. It was always the plan, but it was also a good call because all I can think of is that almost kiss and how badly I want to see what’s underneath that suit. I know, we need to keep things professional, but I also know that when I want something, I go for it. And at this rate, it might not be much longer before I put my hands, and mouth, all over him.
By the time I get back to my hotel that afternoon, I’ve replayed the moment over in my head about a hundred times and I’m filled with sexual tension. I’ve got to blow off some steam. And since sex with Kent is not an option, I’ll have to go with plan B. Browsing the internet, I find the closest kickboxing place with a 5:00 p.m. class. I show up early and change into my gym clothes and tennis shoes, tying my hair up in a high ponytail.
When I arrive to the class, there are about twenty-five others already there, and I find a nice spot toward the back of the room. Mostly people my age, men and women alike. We start out with the warm up. With every jab and kick, I let out a little more of this sexual frustration. Twenty minutes later, it’s time to team up and hit the bags. Of course, I don’t know a single person in the room, so I seek out the most ideal partner. Someone who looks tough, well built. Someone like . . . Kent?
My crush-slash-venture capitalist locks eyes with me from across the room, giving me that same dumbstruck stare he did when we met at his office. The two of us walk toward each other.
“First my event, then my office, and now my kickboxing class,” he says playfully.
I drop my head, chuckling about the whole thing. Of course he’s here. He’s everywhere. I can’t escape him. And with the way his shoulders look in that tank top, why would I want to? “You probably think I’m stalking you by now.”
Kent seems to toss the idea around. “Eh, maybe a little,” he jokes.
“Well, this is purely a coincidence.” But is it really? I wanted nothing more than to blow off some steam with Kent and here we are. Would it be totally unprofessional for me to reach out and give his biceps a little squeeze?
“A happy one.” He smiles and my legs turn to jelly, not because of the hundred kicks I just did. How am I going to get through this class with that face and those arms in my sight?
The kickboxing instructor comes over. “All right, you two are a team. Get your gloves and find a bag. We’re getting started.”
Kent leads the way and snatches up a couple pairs of gloves, handing me one. “These should fit
you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Anytime, partner.” Kent says the words with a Texan cowboy accent, then shakes his head. “I have no idea why I said that.”
I snicker, hiding my wide grin with a puffy gloved hand. I follow him over to one of the heavy bags and he positions himself behind it. “Ladies first.”
A tight knot forms in my stomach. Kent’s going to be watching me this whole time. Blood rushes to my face and I swallow hard. I’ve already made a fool of myself today, and I really don’t want to continue that trend. The class begins the exercise and I have no choice but to start punching and kicking in unison with the rest of them.
“Your form’s pretty good. You kickbox a lot?” Kent asks, holding the bag but keeping a safe distance.
My breaths are coming faster, but I manage a response. “About three times a week.”
“Really? Me too. With my line of work, I have to do something to release my frustrations.”
Jab, cross, kick. “Same. It’s not easy being the boss.”
“No it isn’t.” For a moment, I’m distracted by how distraught he looks, as if he’s got a heavy mind or heavy heart. Maybe this hot-then-cold flirting is more about the stress in his own life than about the nature of our relationship.
“You okay?” Jab, jab, kick. Jab, jab, kick.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
The instructor blows the whistle. “Switch!”
“Nice moves, McKenna.” Kent smirks, holding up his hand, and I give him a high five. If only I could show him my real moves.
The session begins and Kent is repeating the same moves as before. Jab, cross, kick. I stand behind the bag, holding on to it and quietly ogling Kent’s bulky biceps as they flex with every punch. Beads of sweat fall from his hairline, and he has this determined, fierce, manly look on his face. Now I’m damp between my legs, but it’s not sweat. So I do my best to look away and yet keep an eye out for his fists and feet.
Twenty minutes later, the class ends. I grab my water bottle and wipe my face off with my towel. Kent does the same. I wonder if he’d be interested in heading to the locker room for round two . . .
EIGHT
Kent
Sometimes the world can be so cruel. How is it that the one woman that I’m dying to shag, but can’t, shows up at my kickboxing class in spandex pants and a sports bra? Bloody spandex! Liz sucks down her water. Her sexy stomach shimmers with a light sheen of sweat. I bite my lip, wishing that I could make her that wet. She looks at me and I know I’ve been caught staring at her cleavage. “You headed home?” she asks.
“Yeah, you?”
Her mouth turns up into a suggestive smirk. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a shower after this.”
I imagine her in my shower, water dripping down her naked body, falling off the tips of her hard pink nipples. I bite my lip, wanting to growl and pounce on her. “You want a ride?” Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
She purses her plush lips, seeming to purposefully stick her breasts out. “You wanna take me for a ride, Kent?”
“Uh, um,” I stutter, blinking like an idiot but feeling my dick wake up and answer fuck yes!
She laughs, then shoves my shoulder. “Relax. I’m teasing you. Besides, I walked here. My hotel is just around the corner.” Her ponytail falls to the side as she tilts her head. “You could walk me back.”
I swallow hard, knowing that I’ll be tempted to go up to her room. But how can I say no when she gives me that look. “Okay,” I say, gripping my metal water bottle in my hands until my knuckles are white.
“I’ll get my stuff.” Flashing her pretty white teeth, she leaves the room.
I meet her near the front entrance, both of us dressed in puffy winter coats and gym pants. As we walk out to the street, the chilly breeze hits my face. It feels good. We walk along the brightly-lit street, holiday decorations adorn the lampposts, the sound of Christmas carols echo from inside the buildings.
“Can you believe it’s almost Christmas?” I ask, keeping my hands tucked in my pockets.
Liz shakes her head. “No. Where does the year go?”
“Work, I guess.”
“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t say this to someone who’s just invested millions in my company, but lately I’ve been wondering why I work so hard. Like, what’s it all for?”
I look over at her as she keeps her gaze on the ground. “I know what you mean. It’s like when you’re young, you imagine getting to a certain place in your life when you can say you’ve made it. But that day never really seems to come. And you feel like you’re just spinning your wheels.”
“Yes! I feel the same way. Never satisfied.” We look at each other, and I’m almost sure we’re both thinking how we can’t get any satisfaction with each other either.
“Anyway, I’ve been trying to reevaluate what I’m working toward. What I really want in life.” For some reason, it’s easy to tell her this.
We turn the corner. “How old are you, Kent?”
“Thirty.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” She says it with a sigh, like she’s figured me out.
“What?”
“You’re going through your Saturn return.”
I squish my brows together. “My what?”
She laughs. “I know. It’s crazy that I even know this. But a Saturn return is an astrological transit. It happens between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-one. This is the time that people begin to reexamine their lives and figure out how they really want to spend their time. That’s why so many people divorce at thirty years old.”
Just when I thought I had her figured out, she throws me with her astrology wisdom. “How do you know that?”
“My mom has recently gotten into astrology. I let her talk to me for an hour about my natal chart. Apparently, I’m going through my Saturn return too.” Liz flashes me a look of solidarity. We approach her hotel and I slow my steps, not quite ready to let her go yet. I like talking to Liz. She has a genuine quality and a subtle softness that I’m not used to seeing in women like her. She’s playful too. Before I let my thoughts wander too far, I remember that we’re not allowed to play together.
Liz stops and points. “Anyway . . . this is me.”
I look up at the tall building where she’ll be sleeping tonight, then back at her. Her nose has turned red from the cold. “Then, I guess this is goodnight.”
“Yeah.” She gives me that look, that same kiss-me look that had me losing my mind in my office earlier today. But I want to do a lot more than kiss her.
For a second, I think I can get away with it. No one would need to know. But I can’t risk it. “I better go,” I say, slowly backing away. “I need to look up . . . what did you call it? A navel chart?”
“Goodnight, Kent,” she calls, rolling her eyes with a cute smirk on her face as if she fully expected me to bolt. I hope she knows it’s not because of her.
“Goodnight.” I turn away and tell myself to not look back and reexamine why I’m leaving a beautiful woman and a perfectly good hotel room in the dust.
The next day, I’m sitting at my desk, tapping away on my phone, when Liz waltzes in. Over the last couple of days, I’ve become keen on her perfume so I know it’s her. I look up and swear she’s almost glowing as she strides in—this time without tripping on her own shoe.
“Hey,” Liz says as she takes her seat.
“Did you sleep well after that workout last night?” I try to gulp back my words but it’s too late, they’re already out. “Kickboxing, I mean.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I knew what you meant, and yes I did. You seemed pretty worn out when you dropped me off last night.”
“Nah, it takes a lot more than that to wear me out.”
“I see.” Liz runs her finger over her bottom lip. Her eyes pierce through me and I adjust my throbbing cock under the desk. All I have to do is get through the next forty-five minutes and then I won’t see her for the rest of the day. That’s it. Forty-fiv
e freaking minutes.
She pulls a document from her bag and hands it to me. “I want to get your opinion on this. It’s the marketing proposal I got yesterday.” For the next half hour, we run through the proposal that she’s marked up in red ink until my office door opens wide without a knock and my dad walks in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he states without an ounce of regret on his face. “I just wanted to check in and see how things are going.”
I stare, a little dumbfounded. Let me tell you how many times he’s come into my office unannounced. Zero. What’s he up to?
Dad shoots Liz a bright smile and extends his hand. “You must be Liz McKenna, I’m Dean Bonnaire. Pleasure to meet you.”
Liz stands to meet him and shakes his hand. “Mr. Bonnaire. Thank you for stopping in. It’s very nice to meet you.”
I clench my jaw and tap my pen against the desk. “Nice of you to drop by, but we’re in the middle of something right now.” I don’t bother to stand.
He nods with his hands behind his back. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it.”
Just as he’s about to walk out the door, Poppy comes flying in, holding a tiny note pad and pencil with a spare pencil sitting behind her ear. “Mr. Bonnaire, would you like to confirm your noon reservation for Mirano? Perhaps I can change it to two, for you and Ms. McKenna.” Her rosy cheeks turn red and now I know that she thinks something is happening between Liz and me. She’s not totally off the mark, but her timing is the worst ever.
I glance at Liz who seems just as curious as Poppy and feel my face flush. Dad narrows his eyes, giving me a look reminiscent of a threat. My stomach tightens, and I grip my pen in my fist. “Cancel it,” I tell Poppy. “I don’t think I’ll have time for lunch today.”
Dad walks around Poppy as he leaves us, but the heaviness he brought with him remains in the room.
“Well, it’s very important that you eat. Would you like me to order in something for you two?” she asks, hopeful.
“Nope,” I blurt. “That won’t be necessary.”
Liz shrugs. “Yeah, I have lunch plans today anyway.”
