by Wylie Kinson
“What do you mean, ‘despite what Remi thinks’? What does Remi think?”
“Oh it’s just a silly bit of gossip,” she said, but Simon urged her to relate the story of the falling mirror.
“You’re right. It does sound farfetched but I’ll mention it to Detective Novak and let her do what she needs to do. She can probably get access to Cyn’s financial records, see if anything looks dubious.
“Now, about last night,” he continued, walking over to her and rubbing her forearms.
About what part of last night, she wondered—the ground-dropping kiss, the fondling or the insults? She did her best to mask her emotions before looking directly at him. He searched her face, looked for a clue to her mood but he wasn’t able to read her normally expressive golden-brown eyes.
Ellis took advantage of his momentary silence to jump in. “Yeah, about that,” she began bravely. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I can’t forget about it. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Ellis. I was rude and I’m sorry.”
He misunderstood again. Ellis swallowed. “No. I meant the other part.”
“Oh, the fun part,” he said, treating her to a wolfish grin.
“No. Well, yeah,” she said, looking down and wishing he would stop looking like a schoolboy who had been groped by the prom queen in the closet. She’d probably hate herself later but it had to be done. She needed to get back to work. She needed to focus and rid herself of all distractions. In her memory, she’d never felt this conflicted about a man. She wanted him with a desire so fierce it hurt, yet a relationship was out of the question. This man was not her type, clearly not the kind of person she’d seek for a relationship, so she had to get past this silly hormonal lust and get her heart back into the competition. “It probably wasn’t such a good idea, you know, considering we’re working together, so let’s just forget it happened and—”
“Don’t play games with me, Ellis,” Simon said.
“I’m not playing games! But I can’t do this…” She paused, grasping for a word but unable to articulate the status of their relationship. “This thing with you. This is an important competition and I need all of my focus, all my energy and you’re a distraction—”
Simon yanked Ellis against him, cutting her off. He tilted her chin up until her eyes met his. He squinted, trying to read her soul, before he crushed her mouth beneath his. The kiss was hard, fast, cruel…but he made his point. He took a menacing step forward, backing her into the collapsible worktable.
“You have the nerve to speak of distraction? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to walk around with a police detective all night with an aching, semi-hard cock?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding small in her own ears.
“And what were you thinking when you put on this tight little sweater? Hmmm, Goldilocks?”
Simon was mocking her and she didn’t like it. He ran his hands up her sides until his thumbs rested under the swell of her breasts. Ellis’ breath hitched. “I…”
“You don’t mind distracting me, do you? The way it forms to your ‘just right’ assets? Let’s see,” Simon said, as he laid both hands over her breasts.
She could feel her nipples tightening—straining against the lace of her bra, desperately seeking the attention he was so aptly providing. Her mind might have been advising her to end this silly game but her body yearned for his touch. He gave a gentle squeeze that evoked a shiver of pleasure.
“Yes, I have to agree, Goldilocks. They’re perfect.”
He bent his head and ran his tongue along the rising swell of flesh between her pearl necklace and cleavage. His low, throaty chuckle ignited a spark that rocked her body—alarm and desire.
He encircled her wrists and manually fixed them around his neck before his large hands resume their exploration of her sweater. Simon’s mouth skimmed her jaw, pressing kisses down the side of her neck. Ellis winced at the pleasure-pain abrasion of his day-old whiskers and arched her neck to offer fuller access. She breathed in his heady masculine scent and found herself intoxicated by the smell of his skin. His hands roamed her back, kneading her shoulder blades, massaging her spine, working his way lower, lower, until both hands cupped her curved bottom. He squeezed, enjoying the roundness of her flesh and moaning in delight against her neck. She pressed her hips against his groin, at which point he stopped nipping her earlobe and whispered, “Oh no, Goldilocks. Not this time.”
He hoisted her up onto the edge of the table and with gentle force, spread her legs apart as far as her skirt would allow. He was inches from her face, a mischievous glint in the gray-green eyes that bore into hers with a mix of lust and joyful revenge. Ellis inhaled sharply as his calloused hand stroked the inside of her knee, caressing her supple flesh, inching higher and higher toward her inner thigh. A familiar tightening seized her loins, radiating pulses of pleasure from her center.
His fingers traced the edge of her panties and still he held her gaze—unwavering. His lips curled up at the edges with a hint of amusement, a hint of malice. This was no dream. Not this time.
Simon fingered the edge of the soft material, tugging and playing with the lace trim, letting his fingers skim the silky curls and satiny flesh between her legs. With a barely audible whimper, she tilted her hips forward, pushing against his hand. She saw his jaw clench, a slight movement that betrayed his intensity, divulged his satisfaction in the power he had over her.
Finally, with a languid advance, his long middle finger penetrated her warmth. He impaled her, pushed deep inside without warning and watched her eyes grow big. Her muscles constricted around him. She felt a gush of pleasure, a cold-hot shiver as he moved in and out with subtle force, watching her face, every expression. He enjoyed her reactions as he played with her, burying his finger as far as it would go, turning it and pressing against the walls of her channel, making her moan with every thrust. He reveled in his control.
Ellis gasped and caught his lower lip between her teeth. She longed for the feel of his mouth against her but he wouldn’t allow it. He pulled away and tormented her with a throaty chuckle. “You like this, Goldilocks?”
“Hmmm,” was all Ellis could manage, looking up at him through half-closed lids. She was desperate for more, wanted him deeper, more fully inside of her. She hooked her legs around the back of Simon’s, her skirt hem cutting into her mid-thigh, and urged him closer. Her inner muscles clenched around his probing finger and gyrated against his hand, anxious for release.
With deliberate slowness, he withdrew and slid his fingers up through her slick folds, exploring the silken flesh with an intense mixture of pressure and play. Up and down, his fingers tormented her, pinching, plying, teasing her flesh. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and dropped her head back, giving in to the blissful sensations that flooded her system.
“Look at me,” he said in a rumbling baritone.
“Mmm-mm,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“Look at me.”
She raised her head and locked eyes with him and what she saw frightened her—the gray depths flashed with desire, anger, passion, revenge. At that moment, he flicked the pad of his finger over her clit. Ellis’ body clenched involuntarily and her fingers cut into the back of his shoulders. But her eyes didn’t leave his.
With perfect pressure, Simon slid the length of his finger down the side of her clitoris and back up again in a swift motion. Her hips bucked, pressing her harder against his hand. He pressed his palm against her, calming her need, claiming her. And he looked into her eyes, watching her expression when he used the tip of his finger to encircle the hard nubbin, round and round, increasing pressure and speed until her breathing became uncontrolled and her lids started to close. Ellis was on the brink of ecstasy. Her body poised to let go, ready to explode…
And then he stopped. She pressed into him, urging him to take her to release but he didn’t move.
>
“And now, my dear Goldilocks,” he breathed against her mouth, “we’re both distracted.”
He planted a sweet kiss on her lips as he casually removed his hand from her panties and closed her knees. He walked away abruptly, leaving Ellis stunned and off balance, an unrequited need for release throbbing at her core.
“And that was only one finger,” he said, pausing as he opened the door. “Imagine what I could do with all ten.” And without another word, he strode from the room.
Chapter Seven
On the final work day of the Oak Ridges Competition, Simon leapt out of bed feeling a combination of trepidation and relief. It was almost over and although he had a busy day ahead of him, the end was finally in sight. Simon enjoyed a challenge but the pace they’d maintained to meet the three-week deadline had him working fourteen- and sixteen-hour days. He was a stickler for detail and demanded a great deal from every craftsman and laborer privileged to wear the Callon & Son logo on their shirt. It was a relief to solve the theft issue as well, and Simon was grateful to the efficiency of Detective Novak and her team. Jim was still being held as the charges against him piled up, the latest being in possession of an unregistered firearm.
Simon stretched, feeling a few pains in his shoulders from the heavy lifting he’d done the previous day when most of the designers called on him to get their furniture in place. But it wasn’t the physical work that drained him, it was playing nursemaid to the cranky, demanding designers. He realized they were under pressure, that their reputations were on the line, but he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—deliver a less than excellent product, and they had a knack for changing their minds, thinking he could fix anything “in a jiffy”.
Aside from the paint fiasco, Ellis was the only designer who really stuck to her original plan, down to the last detail. From the beginning she knew she wanted California shutters, ordered the wood varnish ahead of time and had not only provided Marco with the exact lengths of crown moulding required, but the Home Depot SKU numbers too.
He’d done his best to avoid her during the past week, for both their sakes, but Lord have mercy he missed her. He missed the soft feel of her lips and the way her hair caught the light. He even missed her wacky notions about how the rooms feel. Hell, he missed sparring with her and feeling her pressed against him. Damn, if he kept up these thoughts, he’d be back in the shower with the hand soap.
* * * * *
Ellis, kneeling on the wood floor, examined the twisted hinge with a mix of sadness and desperation.
“It was an accident Ellis, don’t beat yourself up,” Remi said, patting her back like a consoling mother.
They had arrived at the crack of dawn, eager to put the finishing touches in their show room before the noon deadline. And until the blasted hinge was ripped off, everything was perfect. Divine Caravan graced the walls, the floor was stunning and the built-in wall unit was the pièce de résistance. Remi’s fabric choices for the swags and loveseat flawlessly complimented the room. The tile mosaic blended in beautifully. The entire effect was warm, cozy, practical and, Ellis thought with smug satisfaction, sassy. She was sure that some working mother was going to love it.
Remi had been giving the wall unit a final dusting when Ellis came crashing down from her step stool. One of the pillar candles in the top section was apparently askew—though Remi argued it was just fine—and Ellis, who single-mindedly tried to fix it without getting in Remi’s way, placed the step stool too far to the side. She overextended her reach and fell, pushing the stool against an open cubby door with just enough force to bend the hinge.
“Damn, damn, damn. Remi,” Ellis sighed and banged her palm against her forehead, “look at the way it pulled the screw out!”
“Thank goodness the stool is plastic and didn’t mar the wood,” he offered.
“I’ve got to find Marco. Better yet, I’ll get Simon.”
“We can probably fix it ourselves,” Remi chimed in, reviewing the damage. “We just need some wood glue.”
“No way. Uh-uh. I’m not touching this masterpiece. We need an expert, and I’m pretty sure I saw Simon go upstairs a while ago. I’ll just run up and see if I can find him.”
Ellis bounded up the central staircase past dozens of workers all frantically buzzing around. It was quieter on the second floor as most of the bedroom designers were finished for the day. She switched to a quiet tiptoe as she approached the double doors leading to the master suite, desperate to avoid a confrontation with Cynthia. Thanks to her standard attire of Manolo Blahniks and an overpowering application of Chanel Nº 19, Ellis could usually hear or smell Cynthia moments before she actually appeared.
But was it an unwanted meeting with Cynthia that had her heart hammering in her chest or the thought of seeing Simon? He certainly had a gift for making her body react in all sorts of strange and not-necessarily-unwanted ways. They’d managed to avoid one another quite successfully for days, but Ellis looked forward to discovering if their chemistry was tied to the excitement and hype of the competition or had a basis in the real world. She desperately hoped it was the latter. God, she missed bantering with him.
Coast clear, she entered Cynthia’s domain. Her eyes drank in the richness of the fabrics and textures and she begrudgingly felt in awe of the beauty and serenity of the décor. Much as she loathed admitting it, Cynthia’s work was outstanding. Ellis still felt like a novice. She brushed her fingertips over the shimmering silk bedspread and wondered where on Earth Cynthia managed to find such stunning silks and beautiful brocades, even with the generous budgets they were allowed.
She was jolted out of her collegial admiration when her ears picked up a conversation that made her stomach lurch.
“Come on, I’ve clearly got this competition wrapped up. Help me celebrate my win. There’s champagne in the fridge downstairs. We could go back to my place and…”
She trailed off to a whisper Ellis couldn’t pick up. There was a second voice but whoever it was spoke so low that she couldn’t hear. But she knew it was a man and, judging by the way the hair on her neck stood up, she thought she knew exactly which man.
“Darling, haven’t we played games long enough?” Cynthia purred. “I know you want me. I feel your eyes on me…feel your heat whenever we’re close.”
The intimate conversation was coming from the bathroom. Ignoring the voice screaming in her head to turn around and run as fast as she could, Ellis drew closer until she could see the couple’s reflection in the mirrored closet door, which stood slightly ajar.
Simon was sitting on the edge of the gigantic corner bathtub, nose-to-nose with Cynthia, who straddled his lap. Her flouncy black skirt rested high on her thigh, exposing the clips of her old-fashioned stockings, which was where, Ellis noted with disgust, Simon’s hand was firmly planted. Cynthia’s long, lacquered nails played seductively with his shirt collar, her red pouty lips mere inches from his.
“Of course I want you,” Simon’s voice, low and gravelly, answered. “What red-blooded man with good eyesight wouldn’t want to take you home and make you howl until the sun rises?”
Ellis had seen and heard enough. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her stomach felt nauseous. She backed out of the room, quickly, quietly, before her presence was noticed. Her ears were ringing and she longed for a Q-Tip to remove any vestiges of the conversation she’d just overheard. If only she could figure out a way to wash Simon out of her mind, out of her heart. She couldn’t decide what emotion was stronger, disgust or heartache.
I obviously read the signals wrong, she thought as she made her way downstairs, or he’s a randy bugger who likes to have a few fish in his pond. She chided herself for believing, hoping that some sort of relationship was waiting for her at the end of the competition. A wave of intense claustrophobia hit her. She needed to get out of the house, needed fresh air…needed to get as far away from Simon Callon as humanly possible.
“Miss Strathmore, you okay?” Marco had never seen Ellis looking so forlorn when he bu
mped into her on the landing. He listened to her briefly explain about the hinge but didn’t dare tell this poor woman, who looked as if the world was ending, that he had no time to deal with it in the fifteen minutes left before deadline. He would do this one last thing for her. She might be a little loco, but at least she always said please and thank you.
* * * * *
The cocktail reception held by the developers was a lavish affair, complete with string quartet and champagne, but Ellis knew its main purpose was to entice the potential buyers who were in attendance, rather than “graciously acknowledge the hard work of all participants in the Oak Ridges Development Competition”, as the invitation had stated.
