by Amelia Hart
She gave an inward sigh, shifted gears from sultry to polite and pretended friendliness, setting aside her seductive intensity for a respectful tone. God knew she didn’t want the portly Harvey to mistake her target.
“Mike, I don’t know if you’ve met Harvey Trentham. Harvey, this is Mike Summers.” The two men nodded to each other and murmured a greeting, then Harvey turned back to her.
“Tell me, Kate: has your father finished that piece of software yet?”
“Software?” Her heart sank. She didn’t know what he was talking about but that one word made here the very last place she wanted to have this conversation.
“He was telling me the company’s developing a new software package. Very hush hush. But indispensible to the ‘modern businessman’.” She could almost hear the inverted commas, and winced slightly at Dad’s heavy-handed salesmanship. Though she guessed he did know his clients well enough. He had obviously filled Harvey with excitement about it. Unless this was just Harvey’s pretext to get close enough for a good ogle. A distinct possibility, from the way he was even now dragging his gaze from her cleavage, into which it seemed to have fallen. He was standing at an opportune angle to appreciate it. “Uh, he gave it quite a talk-up. I’m looking forward to running the program. Maybe a free trial period.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something of the sort, Harvey. You know Dad will bend over backwards to please you.” Or rather would always strive to create that impression, while wringing the maximum profit out of a customer.
“Excellent. I’d love to have you install it.” There was just enough emphasis on the ‘you’ to indicate he referred to Kate rather than Techdos. “Well let him know I’m waiting. Keep me up to date.”
“Always, Harvey. Always.” Her smile was more of a grimace now, a crick in her neck developing as he stood over her. Not that he noticed, surveying the more enticing view yet again.
“Good good. See you later.” He must have his wife with him, or he would have lingered longer and drooled more. Instead he swaggered away, his suit straining a little to encircle a girth that had increased since its fitting.
She turned back to Mike. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, a significant proportion of her good humor sapped by the interruption. Maybe a party wasn’t the best place to stage this encounter.
“So you’re in the same game as I am. Software development. What sort?” Her dialogue with Harvey had given him time to centre himself. He looked collected and urbane, completely in control again.
“A sideline of the family business. We’re still developing it and it’s in the early stages yet. In fact I’m surprised Dad’s talking to anyone about it yet.” Not just surprised, astounded that he’d take such a risk when he wasn’t certain yet what she might net. It was crazy of him. What was he thinking? “One or two products useful for the small businessman and homeowner. What about you? What are you working on?”
“We have three main thrusts to our work. Organizational aids, by which I mean organizers and the like; creativity software that allows people to manipulate artistic mediums such as film, music, photography and so on; and web design tools to simplify the process for those who aren’t necessarily tech savvy.”
“Interesting.” He also understated the matter considerably, as she had reason to know. DigiCom had its fingers in far more pies than that. Was this modesty or confidentiality or just minimizing the place of work in his conversation?
“My babies. Where I spend almost every waking hour,” he said with a self-deprecating shrug.
“You must be very passionate about your work.”
“Oh, I am. About what we produce within the company, and also the company itself. I don’t need to tell you,” his gesture indicated a respectful allusion to her involvement in a family business, “what an immense impact well-run and conscientious companies can have on individuals and upon society too.”
She found her lips curving, charmed at the gallantry of him, who could sit across from a woman dressed as she was, who had approached him as she had, and talk about esoteric things like business ethics rather than sweep her off into a secluded corner to explore the exact depth of the invitation her eyes had offered.
“They can. Yes.” Not that the improvement of society was a priority for Techdos. Techdos was about take-home profits, about the paycheck involved at the other end of it all. She’d never seen dad look delighted by his work. “You like to make a difference in the world, then.”
Mike’s eyes sparkled; obviously he was glad of a chance to talk about his – to use his own words – his baby. Her sense of warmth towards him deepening in a way she found peculiar – why should she rate him more highly for wanting to talk to her rather than peel her out of her dress, when getting naked together was her own primary goal? – she drew him out with pleasure that surprised her.
As she did so she recognized the subtle differences in his attitude. She’d never thought him at all formal of stand-offish in the office. Yet now she saw he had maintained a certain reserve.
For here and now he set that reserve aside. He spoke to her as an equal, gesturing freely with his hands, leaning his upper body towards her. And under their conversation was that strong thread of awareness, of increasing arousal. She saw it in the way he oriented himself to her, his pupils enlarged behind half-lidded eyes. She watched his gaze fall to her lips as she spoke, saw the telltale way his own fell slightly apart in tune with hers. She felt her heart beat hard and slow, the warmth percolating through her so she was heated and sensitized, the small brush of fabric over her nipples bringing them to hard points thrusting forward. A dull red rose high on his cheekbones, barely visible under the olive of his skin.
No, she had never had more than the faintest hint of that in the office. And even that had been enough to have her flinging herself at him; much to his very straight-laced horror.
Now it was an almost palpable force, filling the space between them so she kept losing her train of thought, dwelling on his graceful hands, imagining how they would feel on her naked skin, what it would be like to undress before him. What expressions would cross his face then? Would it be the same passion she saw now as he talked about his beloved company? Or could she arouse him more?
She liked to think she could. She wanted to drive him mad with desire. And then satisfy him. Then madden him again. She took small sips from her glass and gave agreeable nods and small comments, a veneer of civilization over the lust.
But she let her eyes tell him. She let them telegraph a different, more primeval message straight to his hindbrain. She rather thought he was receiving. He shifted in his seat, once, and then again, ran a finger under his collar as if feeling the heat and constriction, and when he unbuttoned the top button she almost purred.
But he was a man of some admirable focus. He held together well.
Until she reached out and ran a single fingertip over the back of his hand, from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, and broke in on what he was saying with the question:
“I would like to leave now. Would you take me home with you?”
He stopped, took a breath, took a swallow from his wine glass. “Certainly,” he said with the utmost urbanity, as if she had asked would he like another glass of wine.
After that first hesitation he didn’t miss a beat though, rising and taking her hand to help her up, placing it in the crook of his elbow as he moved down the stairs and to the front door. She stepped quickly to keep up with his long stride, suppressing a nervous giggle at the speed, the nearness of the inevitable moment.
“Coat?” he asked her in the foyer.
“I didn’t bring one. It’s not cold.”
“No, it’s not. I walked here in fact. My home is very close, and it’s a lovely evening. Shall we?”
“Yes. Let’s.” She hadn’t known he lived nearby. Convenient, if she had to make an escape on foot and back to her car for some reason. This game was stretching out longer than she had imagined it could. Would he still
see it as a joke when he realized she was Cathy from the office? Young, naïve Cathy?
Surely at any moment he’d recognize her, realize he already knew her? Not the gauche girl he had thought she was, nor the daringly seductive stranger he had just met, but instead a sophisticated woman. They’d share a laugh at his blindness and then share much more. She couldn’t quite picture what he’d say when he realized, or how she’d respond. But it seemed even more unreal he wouldn’t perceive it was her. How could a man work so closely with someone else and not recognize them? Was she truly that good an actress?
She concentrated on her footing, her sky-high heels making even the smooth sidewalk a potential obstacle for someone as distracted as she. He sauntered along beside her, his hands in his pockets.
They were walking in silence, side by side, and it was suddenly awkward to her. She reached out to slide her hand into the crook of his elbow again, as before, and he gripped it warmly with his other hand and gave it a squeeze, turning his head to smile down at her. She shot him a naughty look from under her eyelashes and he stopped and turned to her, holding her captured hand out from her body in a dance move to spin her towards him, as his other arm gripped her around the waist.
She fetched up hard against his chest, breathless, a thrill of excitement running through her. Then in contrast to the swiftness of the transition, he lowered his head to hers tantalizingly slowly. By the time their lips touched she was ready to jump out of her skin with the suspense of it, the sexual tension between them sparking like a livewire.
His kiss was an invitation, a subtle offer of pleasure, skilled and knowing. He took his time while the heat bubbled furiously underneath the delicate touch, contained for the moment but with a head of steam building. She wanted to grab him, pull him under with her. But she stopped herself, forced herself to equal his restraint. To let the anticipation build.
A shudder of delight ran down her spine as he stroked her neck with his fingers. She leaned on him, feeling him take her weight and ease her even closer, her softness molding around the harder contours of him. Oh, it was hard to hold back. She lifted a hand to lay it on the plane of his cheek, her fingertips in his soft, dark hair. Inhaling the scent of him – a woody, fresh smell like cedar – she sent her other hand tunneling between his shirt and the jacket of his suit.
After so many weeks of watching him surreptitiously, it felt illicit to finally have her hands on him, to feel his hard body, know she was going to possess him soon. She pulled his shirt free of his trousers at the back, hidden, so she could touch his bare skin, her palm smoothing over the deep indent of his spine between the slabs of muscle that covered his back.
He pulled his head away without releasing his hold, looking down at her in the light of the streetlamps. His eyes looked black in the dimness, his mouth curled in a knowing smile.
“Not far now. Almost there,” he murmured, then broke away to take her hand. She let him lead her, feeling unexpectedly shaky on her feet, off balance; a strange sensation, to follow a single kiss.
Chapter Nine
He was right. It wasn’t far. One block more and they were there, he still drawing her onwards. From the street the house had a modest frontage, hidden behind the high wall; One storey and not very wide, though completely modern. They entered the property through a narrow entryway down a gravel path between plantings of head-height bamboo, dark boulders scattered artistically amidst swathes of grasses and mossy mounds. Very Oriental, and almost certainly the work of a professional landscape designer. It seemed too slick and fashionable for him. Contrived. She imagined he had handed over a wad of cash and told someone to make it happen so he could get back to business, or had bought the house with the garden already in place.
The front door opened with a code, not a key, and the hall was paved with giant slabs of stone; sophisticated and foreign. Not like him at all. Or at least, not like Mike from the office. Maybe this was where he felt free to relax.
He didn’t let go of her hand, taking her to the right, past a huge window that looked out onto the harbor, a magnificent view of the sparkling lights of Auckland. The house dropped away in levels down the hill in a mass of glass and sharp angles, embracing the night sky with unexpected openness. She had a confused glimpse of low-slung couches in dark leather and a great expanse of carpet.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked without slowing.
“No,” she responded without elaboration and he flashed her a grin of shared mischief, half-lit in the dim light from the windows. Seeing it she relaxed. It was still him, Mike Summers, unfamiliar surroundings notwithstanding. He squeezed her hand again and she laughed, daringly complicit.
Down a darkened hallway they went, and through a doorway where she was again confronted by a glamorous view. She was not distracted for long though, as he turned and pounced, dangerously intent.
She took the onslaught of unleashed passion, took it and returned it with interest, clawing his jacket off him and flinging it to the floor then starting on the buttons of his shirt, hearing a thread snap as she wrenched at it in frustration and one flew off into the darkness. He chuckled soft and low, capturing her hands to hold them pinioned behind her back as he plundered her mouth in a kiss of dominance and possession. She took it for a minute, two, then bit him and wrenched her hands free to thrust them into his hair, arching her body to force it up higher against him.
He growled approval, a throaty purr in his throat as he clasped her bottom to hold her against his erection. The urgent, unspoken demand of it made her quiver, longing to be closer with nothing between them.
His hands stroked her back, her sides, searching for a way to get her out of her dress. She released the hidden zipper without breaking the kiss, her arms behind her back curving her like a bow. He took advantage of the breasts thrust up high, cupping one in a broad palm as he supported her with his other hand on her back. She drew in a sharp breath at the heat of his hand there, her nipple puckering tight and sending a bolt of sensation shooting down deep inside her.
He peeled her dress off and she let it fall to the floor before returning to press her naked belly against him, the cups of her strapless bra a hindrance, an interruption of sensation. The cotton of his shirt felt delicious against her as he wrapped hot arms around her, bending her back in another of those devastating kisses. Eyes closed she was unbalanced, lost and whirling with him as her only anchor.
Then he toppled them both onto the bed, rearing back to strip his shirt off his arms and throw it away before returning, swift and sure, his mouth consuming her, hands moving from one part of her body to the next with hungry insistence as if trying to take her all in at once. Her own hands were busy at his waist, trying to find space between them to release him from his trousers.
He tilted his hips to one side to give her access and in a moment she had freed him, taking the hard, solid weight of him in her hand, stroking and squeezing until he groaned and shuddered. Then he froze and cursed.
“What?” she asked, grip loosened in her fear she had hurt him somehow.
“Protection. A condom. I don’t have any. Do you?”
She bit her lip, seconding his dismay. “No, I don’t.” Dammit, she should have thought, shouldn’t have assumed . . .
His hand continued to stroke her restlessly, breast to waist to hip and back again. “We don’t have to. We can just . . . fool around a little.” Reluctance and resignation were both clear in his voice. Neither of them suggested a trip out to find a condom. She didn’t want to let go of him. His hands told her he felt the same.
“I’m on the pill,” she said tentatively. “My last health check up was eight months ago. All clear, and I haven’t had sex since then.” She blushed to speak frankly like that, but desire was riding her hard, and the alternative was delay or abstinence. No option.
A grin broke out over his face, and he rolled her so she straddled his chest, his hands on her waist. “Mine was six months ago. Ditto and ditto,” he said in triumphant exp
ectation.
“Well then. Ahem.” She gave him a coy look, head tilted to one side, her mouth a prim moue.
“Well then indeed.” He reached up and cupped her neck, tugging her down towards him. She came willingly. But in the instant before their lips met he paused, lifting her slightly so he could read her expression. “Truly?” he asked with a hint of sternness.
Putting humor aside she paused to let him see her earnestness then said with absolute certainty: “Yes,” reassured by his caution. “I’ve never had sex without a condom,” she shared impulsively, feeling a little thrill at the thought of breaking that taboo.
His eyebrows went up in surprise at the admission, then his eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s been a long time since I have. Years,” he responded with the air of someone confiding a secret in return for hers. She smiled, pleased at the feeling of shared confidences. She liked his playfulness in the midst of this headlong lust, a leavening of humor soothing that small, uncertain part of her that was scared to be here, boldly in his bed.
She leaned down and took his earlobe in her ear, sucking on it gently, then paused to whisper, “I understand it can be quite a . . . pleasant sensation for a gentleman.”
“I should think it will be rather unspeakably pleasant,” he said thickly, and she felt his erection pressing against her bottom.
“That’s a nice thought.”
“I’m enjoying it.”
“Oh really?”
“God, yes. I’m thinking how wet you are here,” he ran a single fingertip over the silky material of her underpants, saturated now and clinging to her engorged folds. She shook at the indescribably intense sensation. “And I’m imagining how it will feel to slide inside you, so hot and wet and . . .” he gave a muffled groan as she reached down between them, took his erection in her hand and stroked the tip of it over her flesh where his finger had been a moment ago.
