“I’m definitely going out of town this weekend,” she told her roommate.
Gwen turned her eyes away from a rerun of the The Bachelor. “Never doubted it for a second.”
Friday was the longest damned day of his life. Dean snapped at Keaton twice, ignored his dad’s emails completely, and didn’t have a fucking clue what James Tenor was blabbering on about in the meeting he was currently suffering through.
“Dean? You have somewhere you need to be?”
His father’s glare was hard and hammering into him.
Dean shifted in his seat. “No, sir.” He returned his attention to Mr. Tenor. “My apologies. Please continue.”
Fuck. He wanted to kick his own ass. He could not keep letting himself forget what the main goal was. Right now, that included learning everything he could from James Tenor and showing his father that he could do this job, was worthy of this job.
If Fate came to his office, great. They’d have a sex-filled weekend. If she didn’t, he was damn sure going to figure out a way to fuck her out of his system with the first willing participant.
He almost laughed out loud at himself. If it were that easy, he would’ve done it by now.
Thankfully, the meeting ended and Mr. Tenor offered to meet with Dean a few more times to review some of the highlights before his retirement was official. He was extremely grateful for this offer since he knew he’d have his head on straight starting first thing Monday morning. There’d be no more unfinished business with Fate Buchanan, nothing left to prove, and not a single centimeter of her body left to explore. Then and only then would his brain regain the ability to function properly. He could hardly wait.
Dean made it back to his office just in time to see Fate and Gwen chatting next to Gwen’s desk. Both women fell silent as he walked by.
“Ladies,” he said evenly, nodding at both of them.
“Have a fantastic weekend, Mr. Maxwell,” Gwen called out.
His neck heated, but he reined in his reaction and smiled warmly at her. “I intend to. Thank you. I hope you enjoy yours as well.”
Fate was steadily ignoring his gaze. She kept her eyes on Gwen until he cleared his throat.
“Ms. Buchanan. Same to you, of course.”
“Thank you, Mr. Maxwell.”
Her eyes lifted from his chest to his face. He held her gaze for as long as she would allow, but he was unable to see if there were any fantasies playing in it. The soft lilt to her voice when she’d said ‘Mr. Maxwell’ certainly had some dangerously vivid ideas coming to life in his mind. But Fate kept her guard firmly in place, revealing nothing as they engaged in a staring competition he hadn’t expected.
Surprisingly, it was her roommate who forced her hand.
“Well, I’m all done for the day, so if you two will excuse me, I’m going to go start my weekend immediately. Need a ride home, Fate?”
Dean couldn’t stave off the wicked grin that lifted his lips. Seemed Fate was still working it all out, but Gwen must’ve decided to call everyone’s bluff then and there.
He held his breath in the excruciatingly long seconds it took her to respond.
“I’ve, um, still got some things to wrap up here.”
His chest expanded with his exhalation. She wasn’t going with Gwen. He hoped like hell that meant she was coming with him.
“See you later then,” Gwen said, lifting her purse from her desk.
“Yep. Later,” Fate said, putting a seriously threatening storm cloud directly above the parade he’d been about to lead.
Later could mean later tonight or after a weekend of glorious debauchery at his beach house. He was strung so tight that he felt as if he were about to snap in half.
But then Dean saw it—the subtle wink Gwen aimed in his direction.
He wanted to give the woman a raise. Maybe even a high-fucking-five on the spot.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to wrap up myself.” Dean smiled at both women before making his way to his office.
He checked his email one last time, sent a quick list of tasks for the following week to Denise, and accepted the calendar request for a private meeting with James Tenor.
He had this. He was going to own Fate this weekend. Then he’d return and own this position in a way that left no room left for doubt about his capabilities.
Six fifteen. It was six fucking fifteen.
Dean glared at the clock on his desk hard to enough to melt the mahogany encasement.
He didn’t want to walk out into the bullpen for fear it would be empty. He’d seen Gwen’s wink. He knew that Fate had planned to join him—or, at the very least, that she was seriously considering it. Something must have changed her mind. He replayed their brief interaction in his mind several times, wondering if he’d been too aloof, played it too cool and confident and pissed her off.
The worst part was that he couldn’t even go by her place and grovel, couldn’t beg her to reconsider and come with him. That was the deal.
“If the answer is yes, I’ll meet you here. After work. After everyone else leaves. If the answer is no… I won’t. And you have to stop this. No more sending me dirty gifts or chasing me into empty parking garages. None of it. Promise me.”
Dean tapped his pen against his desk until he got on his own nerves. Wiping sweaty palms on the knees of his dress slacks, he considered heading to the nearest bar and picking up a random woman. Some women would jump at a chance to spend a weekend at his beach house just enjoying what he had to give.
He cursed under his breath. This woman had worked him up for the last time. He wasn’t a fucking teenager with a crush. If Fate wasn’t interested in further exploration of the pleasure they could give each other, well, that was that. He’d survive.
Except…it kind of felt like he’d survive in a mental institution. He couldn’t nail down exactly what it was about her that continued to stoke the flames of this insatiable need of his. It was everything. Her enticing, warm scent, the slightly sweet taste of her skin, and most of all, those damn noises. Those breathy, whimpered sounds she’d made as her heat had gripped and welcomed him. The only thing haunting him worse than the noises now was the way her eyes had flashed hot before she’d blown his mind and his dick in the back seat of a car very recently.
Hell with it. He’d sent her crotchless panties at work. The sexual harassment lawsuit was probably already being filed. She knew what he wanted, knew how badly he wanted her. He’d tossed his pride out with a used condom on the beach then kicked it in the face each and every time it attempted to return to him. No sense trying to locate it now.
Dean shut his computer off and stood, fully intending to go to her apartment and get on his knees. He’d grovel if need be, beg and plead and fill her head with erotic promises of how many ways he planned to make her come until she got in the fucking car.
He thought about picking up some flowers or maybe even wine and chocolates, but he knew what Keaton would say. He wasn’t trying to woo her into a relationship. He was trying to convince her to let him fuck her into oblivion so that they could both move the hell on without looking at each other with ravenous lust burning through the room.
The war raged on in his head. Logic and lust locked in a battle of wills.
Maybe it was for the best that she hadn’t come. Maybe he should go home, get familiar with his friend Rosy Palmer, and go the hell to bed. Dean foresaw a great deal of cold showers after work in his near future.
This soul-possessing need he felt for Fate obviously wasn’t mutual. And if he was being honest with himself, he could use his deductive reasoning skills to determine why.
Despite their encounter on the beach, she wasn’t a one-night-stand type. Or even a weekend-fling type. For the most part, she dressed conservatively and kept the makeup and cleavage to a minimum. He just happened to be acutely aware of every inch of her because he’d had several of those parts in his hands and mouth. She didn’t flirt with anyone in the office or seem at all interes
ted in any of the men who’d shown her extra attention—himself included.
And Christ Almighty, she’d admitted that she hadn’t been with anyone since him. He assumed that was part of what drove his need to finish what he’d started that night, to fulfill those plans he’d been busy formulating of how well he planned to satisfy her once they didn’t have to contend with the sand.
Dean glanced at his clock again. It was six twenty-five. She obviously wasn’t coming. For whatever reason, Fate just wasn’t interested. He couldn’t help but suspect that his sand-hindered sex might have been disappointing to her. Oh, he knew she’d enjoyed herself. He’d felt every powerful wave of her orgasm alternately gripping and thrusting against his cock, but he also knew that women had expectations and he hadn’t delivered his best performance dealing with tiny grains of hell digging into him.
Dean groaned. A cold shower it was. And beer. Lots of beer. No, fuck it. He’d gotten his hopes up and had them dashed to hell in a handbasket. It was a bourbon kind of night—a get-shitty-drunk-and-pass-out kind of night. Maybe that kind of night would last all weekend.
He’d just decided which liquor store to stop by when he heard a sound outside his office. Someone was still there.
Hope soared in his chest as he grabbed his jacket and briefcase. She had said that she’d meet him here, not necessarily in his office specifically. He felt like a moron for waiting.
Practically sprinting out of his office, Dean nearly crashed into Jack McAvoy, the office custodian. The man was in his sixties but sturdily built in the shape of a college football linebacker. Dean stopped just short of accidentally tackling him as the gray-haired man emptied a trashcan into the bin on his cart.
“Mr. Maxwell. I didn’t realize you were still here.” Jack had the rough, raspy voice of a lifetime smoker.
She was really gone then.
“Hey, Jack.” Dean sighed. No point in rushing off to beg at Fate’s doorstep. His dignity would still be slinking around his ankles an hour from now. “How are the kids?”
He knew from previous chats they’d had when Dean worked late that Jack had a daughter named Lilith who was twenty and obtaining an accounting degree at community college. His son, Jack Jr., was about to graduate from a small school upstate where he played football.
“They’re good. Busy, of course. Too busy for their old dad most of the time. ‘Sposed to take a trip with Junior after he graduates. Probably head to Lake Placid and do some fishing.”
Dean chuckled, but a part of him wondered what it was like to have a dad who smiled and had eyes that gleamed when talking about him. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if his dad wanted to spend time together fishing or just hanging out because he wanted to, not because Dean had done something worth criticizing.
“Sounds good. Been a long time since I’ve been fishing. Can’t recall the last time I went, actually.”
The two of them chatted amicably about the best types of bait for bass fishing and then the topic of conversation moved to Jack’s daughter’s hectic class schedule and a certification exam she was studying for. They discussed the strengths and weaknesses of his son’s football team and predictions of which teams they’d do well against and struggle with in upcoming games.
Just as Dean thought their conversation was coming to a close, the older man looked at him strangely.
“Mr. Maxwell, I was—”
“Please call me Dean, Jack. My dad lost a thousand bucks to you in last year’s NCAA Sweet Sixteen bracket pool. In my opinion, that puts us on a first-name basis.”
Jack smiled and nodded, likely remembering how angry Daniel Maxwell had been about losing. Dean was grateful that Jack hadn’t been fired. He’d been around the office since Dean was a teenager.
“Well, it’s just that Lily’s looking for an internship. And I hate to ask because I don’t know if that’s even allowed since I work here and—”
“She’s majoring in accounting, right?”
Jack nodded, looking pleased that Dean remembered.
“Bring her to the Christmas gala and I’ll introduce her to Liz Vaughn. Liz handles all of our internship placements.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mr—Dean. You ever want to watch some college football, let me know.”
They shook hands and Dean turned toward the hallway that led to the elevators. Despite the genuinely friendly exchange with Jack, Dean walked slowly through the empty bullpen, dejection at having lost Fate once again weighing on him. A woman turning in a swivel chair nearly caused him to have a heart attack.
“Fate?”
“Good evening, Mr. Maxwell. I was hoping to speak with you if it’s not too late.”
It sure as fuck wasn’t. The blood roared in his veins, bringing his previously decimated hopes of spending the weekend with her back to life.
“It’s not,” he managed to get out despite the shock of seeing her threatening to choke him.
Dean turned back to glance at Jack. Not that he thought the man would rat him out, but people talked. Stuff slipped out. And as much as he hated to admit it, he never knew who might be watching him for his dad. Dean hated himself for even thinking this almost as much as he hated his dad for turning him into such a mistrusting son of a bitch.
Jack whistled a tune loudly, focusing all of his attention of emptying trashcans. Dean smiled, knowing that this was likely his way of letting Dean know that he was turning a blind eye to what was happening.
“How can I help you, Ms. Buchanan?”
Oh the ways in which he wanted to help her. Mostly, he wanted to drop to his knees and help himself to the slice of heaven hidden beneath a pencil skirt.
“Perhaps this is a conversation we should have elsewhere.” Her mouth formed the adorably sexy quirking pout it had when she was being coy.
Dean’s pulse raced, but he did everything in his power to maintain a completely relaxed demeanor.
“I was just about to take a drive to the Hamptons. Care to join me?”
Time stood still for half an eternity while he waited for her answer. Bills passed through Congress. Death sentences were executed. Babies were born.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Fate nodded.
Dean blacked out.
No, he didn’t. But it felt like he might’ve.
“I’m parked in the garage. Shall we?”
She stood and smoothed her skirt. Dean’s eyes drank in every movement, taking particular pleasure in seeing her lift a purse that was big enough to be considered a large carry-on item at the airport. He couldn’t help but grin at what that revealed. She’d packed for the weekend. She’d been coming all along.
Once they’d stepped into the elevator, Dean leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I have no idea what’s in that bag, but ninety-five percent of it is unnecessary. I have no intention of allowing you to wear clothes this weekend.”
Fate attempted to stifle the shiver that ran up her back and broke through at her shoulders, but she could tell by his slightly upturned mouth that he’d seen it.
When the doors opened, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her gently to where he was parked. The gesture was oddly familiar and comforting, yet it incited a riot of sensation in her stomach.
“Nice,” she said once they reached the sleek, black sports car. “What is it?”
“An Audi R8 Exclusive. I’m quite proud of it.”
She could see that in the boyish way his chest poked out as he grinned at her. “It looks fast. And kind of like a speeding ticket waiting to happen.”
“Yes, well. I’ll try to avoid that if I can.” He opened her door, eying her legs appreciatively as she slid onto the leather seat.
She quietly enjoyed the luxurious feel of the leather against her skin while Dean drove them out of the garage. Her stomach did a complicated series of twists and turns right along with the car.
“Are we in a hurry?” Fate’s eyes dropped to the speedometer once they’d merged onto the highway.
She didn’t answer, just pressed her lips together to keep her nerves from spilling out of her mouth.
Pressure built inside her until she couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“I didn’t realize you were such a nice guy,” she said, breaking the thick silence.
Dean briefly glanced away from the road to arch an eyebrow in her direction. “Mama raised me right. If I don’t open your door anywhere, ever, you have full permission to slam my head in it.”
Fate laughed lightly. “Good to know. But I meant back at the office. With the janitor.” She watched Dean’s features pull together as he frowned at the traffic ahead of them.
“Jack? He’s a good guy. Hard worker, good father. Better than most, actually.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she suspected that he was comparing Jack to his own father. From what she’d seen, Dean and Daniel Maxwell’s relationship was on the strained side—to put it mildly.
“What about you, Dean? Are you a good guy?”
His features smoothed into a smirk. “Sometimes. If the stars align just right.”
She could recall a night when they had. The one that had somehow managed to become both the best and worst night of her life.
“What are you blushing about over there?” His question was innocent, but the heat in his eyes said that he knew exactly what she was thinking about.
She grinned and shook her head. “Are you going to interrogate me on this drive or can we listen to the radio?”
Dean pressed a button on his steering wheel and a glorious sound filled the car. Fate’s breath was stolen away by the woman’s voice and she had to work to find her own again.
“Who is this?”
“The Civil Wars. You’ve never heard of them?”
The name was vaguely familiar. She’d been a country music girl until Trevor. Trevor preferred easy listening and called the bluegrass and folk songs she liked “inbred anthems.”
Falling for Fate (Second Chance Book 2) Page 17
