Harlequin E Contemporary Romance Box Set Volume 3: Falling from the SkyMaid to LoveWhen the Lights Go DownStart Me Up

by Sarina Bowen

  Why was this happening to her now?

  Then she heard herself. Suck it up, girl. You own it.

  “Okay. I can fix this. What about the city? The cops do buy-back programs all the time, right?”

  Clarissa lifted an eyebrow. “You are not the cops. I don’t think they let private citizens run those things.”

  “Right. But the sale of guns between private citizens is legal, right?” She objected to her own question before Clarissa could get her mouth open. “Legally owned weapons. Yeah, I’m guessing none of these pistols have serial numbers.”

  “Not only that, but how many of them do you think have been used to—” Clarissa’s voice trailed away as she raised her hand, two fingers pointed at Maxie like the barrel of a gun and popped her thumb. “Also, not to change the subject, but somebody was smoking in the warehouse again.”

  There weren’t many things that could push a pile of illegally purchased guns into the background. The risk of fire on her property was one of them.

  She pushed past Clarissa, who followed her out onto the floor and then locked the door behind them.

  “Who was it?”

  “Not sure. Maybe one of those high school kids returning the stuff from Camelot?” Schools could earn a discount on prop rentals by picking up and returning items directly from the warehouse. Most schools managed to scrounge the majority of their needs from students’ families, but for a show like Camelot they almost always ponied up the cash for some armor and clothing that looked authentic. “But there are definitely cigarette butts in aisle one.”

  “Damn it. I’ll call all their mothers, I swear to god. Show me.”

  They had barely started across the empty unloading area when Maxie’s phone went off, Justin Timberlake’s smooth tones rolling out of her back pocket. At the same time, someone rang the buzzer outside and she slapped the garage-door opener button to let the visitor in. Cigarettes in her warehouse. Guns in her office. And now a customer. Oh, and Nick on the phone…

  As she watched the oversized door slowly rattle up in its tracks, she stabbed a finger at her phone and answered the call without looking.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Ah, so things are going well?”

  It burned that just the sound of his voice, low and smooth, made her want to lean against a wall and curl around her phone like a high-school girl with a crush, all coy smiles and twirling her hair around her finger.

  She shook it off. Focus, girl. You got shit going down now.

  “Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “You tell me.” He paused for a moment. “You wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

  She paused herself and bit her lip.

  “Your hesitation is pretty much an answer in and of itself, Maxie.” His laughter sounded forced. She could almost hear him decide to change the subject. “What is Maxie short for, anyway? Maxine?”

  “Yes. Although my friends always nicknamed me Maxination. I think it was supposed to be a play on machinations. Not that I know why they’d pick that word.”

  “I’m sure you have no idea, Machiavelli,” he replied drily.

  “Are you calling me for a reason, Drake, or did you just have ten minutes of flirting penciled into your schedule between six and seven p.m.?” The knowledge that she was the one doing the flirting now made her stomach roll and her fingers tingle.

  “I wanted to know if you’d like me to send the car for you tomorrow or if you’d rather meet me there.”

  “Where?”

  “At the Lyric. The Final Curtain Ball.”

  “You were serious?”

  “Have you heard me joke around a lot, Maxie?”

  “Only when you’re naked,” she answered without thinking, and blushed when she realized that Clarissa was still standing next to her. She waved her off, mouthing two minutes at the girl.

  Clarissa shook her head and headed across the concrete toward the white delivery van that was now pulling into the warehouse.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you naked, either.”

  She settled in for some serious flirting.

  “Yeah? And what am I doing, when you’re imagining me naked?” She stepped back toward her office, hoping no one was watching her too closely. It felt kind of like having sex in a semi-public place and hoping you didn’t get caught. “Or are you too chicken to tell me over the phone?”

  She wondered if Nick would keep up with her teasing banter. Didn’t really seem like his thing, dirty talk, but you never could tell about the ones in the buttoned-up suits.

  “You’re on your knees in front of me, eyes locked on my dick, waiting for me to decide if I’m going to fuck you or let you suck me off.”

  She turned her back on Clarissa and the deliverymen.

  “Holy shit.” Then whipped back around in case anyone was sneaking up on her.

  So, dirty talk was Nick’s thing after all.

  “I make you spread your legs a little, so I can see you getting wet while I stroke your breasts and pinch your nipples a little with my fingers. Gently. For now.”

  She was completely red-faced and breathing loudly into the phone. Surely Nick could hear her. His voice was still pouring from the receiver, so clear it was as if he were standing next to her. She was sure anyone nearby would be able to hear every filthy word.

  She backed farther into the far corner, away from all the warehouse action.

  “I’ve got one hand on myself, stroking slowly, because I’m so hard for you I’ll come if I’m not careful. You’re still watching me and I can see your hands flexing, like you want to be the one grabbing my dick. So I give you something else to do with them.”

  All the heat in her body had rushed south, pooling between her legs until her pussy felt swollen and hot, actually cramping with this sudden intense flare of desire.

  She still hadn’t said a word since her shocked holy shit. Her hands were sweating as she gripped the phone more tightly.

  “Do you want to know what you’re doing with your hands, Maxie?”

  Every time he growled her name she felt it vibrate between her legs.

  “Yes.” She barely choked out the word. Across the wide concrete floor, Clarissa broke away from the van and headed toward her, a woman on a mission. She waved her intern off frantically, pointing at the phone pressed to her ear. You can handle it, she mimed.

  “You have to ask me, Maxie.”

  “What am I—” She whispered the words.

  “Full sentences please. Say my name, and speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  She cleared her throat. The sound felt loud enough to turn heads. She told herself that no one was looking at her. Knew it wasn’t exactly true.

  Hopefully they couldn’t tell she was breathing hard.

  “What am I doing with my hands, Nick?”

  Oh, my god. Please let no one hear her.

  “I tell you to spread yourself with one hand, until I can see you, all pink. Then I tell you to get two fingers of your other hand nice and wet. How are you going to do that, Maxie?”

  She couldn’t say anything, imagining the feel of her own fingers sliding inside her, slipping into the wetness, trying to take the place of what she really wanted inside her… Even in her imagination, she knew it wasn’t enough.

  “How are you doing that?”

  Her hips wanted to roll and rock against something hard.

  “I’ve got my fingers inside…”

  “And are they wet?”

  “Yes. So wet. Slippery.”

  “Pull them out. And then touch yourself. Careful. You’re sensitive. Just tease yourself a little.” She actually moaned out loud, crossing her legs casually and trying to act like she wasn’t clenching the muscles of the thighs together rhythmically. “I’m watching you, remember. I can see the flush on your breasts. Your mouth is open. So many tempting things.”

  She realized she’d drifted close to a wall and leaned against it gratefully. Tilted her head b
ack and banged it against the old paint and drywall. What was it she used to think about the ones in suits?

  “Ahh, damn you for doing this to me here. I can’t. What am I supposed to do now?” If there was such a thing as a quiet wail, that’s what she was doing. She watched as Clarissa checked each item as it was unloaded off the van. Her intern looked up from her tablet for a moment to give her a tiny wave. She nodded weakly back.

  “Are your panties wet now?”

  “God, yes.” Her voice dropped a register as she felt his words flood her system with heat. Her skin felt tight on her muscles.

  “Good.” His voice turned brisk. Playtime was clearly over. “Don’t ask me to play unless you’re ready for a game, Maxie. I’m not worried about keeping up with you.”

  Jesus.

  She felt as if she’d teased a bear in its lair and ended up sprinting for her life.

  Which might explain why her heart was racing and she’d broken out in a light sweat. The air of the warehouse was cool on her exposed skin—her face, neck and hands. The rest of her felt too hot in her clothes, which were suddenly tight and restrictive.

  “You’re not seriously going to leave me like this?” Her normally ever-creative brain was seriously letting her down when it came to options here. The office was her retreat and Clarissa’s, and setting one foot in there was normally a signal for them to powwow. But if she was asked to hold a coherent conversation right now, she might have to kill someone.

  “Leave you how?” Bastard. He knew perfectly well that she was standing here with an ache between her legs, that the crotch of her panties was so wet they were sticking to her. For god’s sake, her nipples were so stiff she was sure they were visible through the layers of her bra and shirt.

  “What’s the girl equivalent of blue balls?” she muttered, and decided to kill him when he laughed. “And how are you not suffering as much as I am?”

  “Because I don’t start things I can’t finish while I’m working and surrounded by other people, kitten.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Her retort was automatic. There was nothing soft and pet-like about her.

  Except when he had her where he wanted her, whether in bed or over the invisible web of cell phone signals. Then, her muscles loosened and stretched like warm taffy as he bent her and turned her and fucked her with his body and his mouth and his brain until she was limp and pliant beneath him.

  “I can call you whatever I want when I’m picturing you all wet and soft. Nothing is off limits. I pull your hair back from your face with one hand and watch your mouth on me. I’m going to hang up this phone, kitten, and come so hard I may pass out.”

  The flash of envy and want that hit her made her wobble and she smacked an arm against the wall to steady herself. She groaned out loud and dropped her head so no one glancing over would see the look on her face. Tiny motions, too small to see, the muscles of her thighs squeezing her crossed legs together, pulsed fast and hard. Little explosions rippled through her, tiny almost-orgasms that were nothing like the shaking, shouting, bucking come whose edge she was skating. She was sure that if anyone could see her face, it’d be obvious that she was so turned on she could hardly think straight.

  “Why did you call again?” she asked after a minute, desperate to return the conversation to a subject, any subject, that didn’t involve her thinking about his naked body or any of the myriad ways he could get parts of himself inside her.

  “Tomorrow night? Send the car for you or meet you there?”

  “Where?” He’d fucked her brains out without even touching her. She couldn’t remember anything about tomorrow night.

  “The Final Curtain Ball.”

  Oh, crap.

  Now she remembered.

  A sudden flashback to the week before shook her. Nick draped over her in the hotel bed, whispering and hanging on to her. It had been almost as much of a turn-on as his dirty talk. At least then she’d been left in a puddle of bliss and jelly-like relaxation, instead of this quivering ball of need and nerves.

  A puddle that had only half been paying attention when Nick mentioned bringing her to the fundraiser that swept all the crème of Chicago’s upper class into one big overdressed night of dancing and dinner under the intricate architectural detailing at the Lyric Opera’s Civic Opera House.

  She hadn’t really thought he was serious.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She hadn’t thought about it at all. Any time her thoughts had drifted even vaguely in that man’s direction over the course of the week, which had happened far more frequently than she’d intended, she hadn’t been thinking about anything other than getting naked with him again as soon as possible. But she hadn’t called him or texted very much; she was trying to find a way to keep this entire electric connection between them from taking over her life.

  “I can’t go to a ball.” Her automatic shut down kicked in.

  “Yes, you can. And you will.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t argue with me, kitten.” His voice dropped to a rough growl again. “I fight dirty.”

  “You do everything dirty,” she said.

  His laugh was short and sharp. “Not usually. You seem to bring it out in me.”

  She told herself that the stupid glow of pride that warmed her was childish and should be ignored. A grown woman didn’t take pride in making a man incapable of thinking of her as anything other than a sex object.

  She was a professional, a woman at the top of her game. The fact that this man who had so much leverage over her future couldn’t think of her without wanting her was insulting, not flattering.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  “I’m still waiting, Maxie.”

  “I’m not going to a ball, Nicholas.”

  “I need to bring a date with me to the table I’ve already paid ten grand for. You’re going.”

  “Ten grand? Holy—” A stray thought struck her. “Wait, why do you need to bring a date?”

  “It’s expected. Empty seats at your table make it look like you’re not trying.”

  “Rich people.” She shook her head. “You’d think ten large would be enough effort for anyone.”

  “Charity fundraiser etiquette has its own weird rules.”

  “Clearly. So, you only told me about this a week ago. And you’re not confirming until the day before. What if I couldn’t go?” She realized that she was already talking as if it was a done deal that she would attend the event. “Who were you planning to bring before you asked me?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Not even a little bit. I’ll call her up and ask her if she’d like to trade places with me. Get me out of this little farce.”

  “Not a chance. I called her last week when I went to your read-through and cancelled. She was happy to get out of it.”

  “I’ll bet,” she grumbled. Then backtracked. “You called her at midnight?” It had been at least that late when she finally dragged herself out of the hotel room and made her way home, sleepy and a little sore in interesting places. “Good friend.” The idea that he would call someone minutes after Maxie had left him irked her.

  “No, I spoke to her that afternoon.” He sounded amused.

  “But you hadn’t even seen me yet,” she objected. “How did you know I’d go?”

  “I was planning on asking you with a lot of charm.”

  “You didn’t ask me at all. You told me.”

  “Seemed like the better option. You need to meet my mother, if only to understand who’s driving this freight train you’re trying to keep on its tracks.”

  That was quite an image.

  “Argh! I don’t have anything to wear to a freaking ball at the Lyric Opera.”

  “Right.” He scoffed at her. “Try again.”

  “Warning you now. If I pull something together, it’s not going to be a little black cocktail dress and pearls. I’m not doing that mindfuck again.”

  “Hey, Maxie. Have I ever told you what to wear? Even on
ce?”

  “No.” It kind of pissed her off actually. Carrying a grudge against him for wanting her to be some kind of Lincoln Park Trixie would be significantly easier if he had. “So you’re telling me you wouldn’t care if I showed up dressed like a lion tamer?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a naughty nurse, if we’re tossing out options.”

  “Ha ha, funny man. How long do we have to stay?”

  “Eager to get me to yourself?”

  “Yeah, right. I’m in full-on production mode here. I’ll be heading back to the warehouse as soon as this nonsense ends. And I’ll meet you there. ‘Send the car.’ Sheesh. That is so not me.”

  “It’s a matter of convenience. Not a political statement. There are only so many hours in a day. I’m not going to spend them flagging cabs or dealing with parking downtown.” He didn’t sound irritated about her poking fun at him. “And clear your night. You’ll be out late.”

  “Gah.” She mentally rescheduled the next day. It could be done. She’d be cranky and hungry by the time she met up with him that evening, not exactly the ideal mindset for meeting his mother, but at least everything on her to-do list would be checked off. “Fine.”

  “Eight o’clock. You know where you’re going?”

  She just barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, I think I can find the Civic Opera House. You know, if I look real hard. Meet you there at eight.”

  “Brat.” He said it fondly. “See you there.”

  “Bye.” She slid her phone into her back pocket. Threaded her fingers through her hair and tugged hard to bring herself back to reality.

  “Right. Focus.” She had a shit ton of work to knock out in the next twenty-four hours. Also, some kind of formal dress or outfit to organize. Shit. Despite having heard of the Lyric Opera’s balls for years—you could hardly miss them if you followed cultural events in Chicago—she’d certainly never been to one herself.

  Theater peeps weren’t likely to have the bank required to snag a ticket to the opening-night or end-of-season celebrations. And she’d never bothered to take a good look at the photos that flooded the city papers the next day. Would she have to wear a floor-length ball gown? Jesus, she hoped not.