Untouchable (Undeniable Series Book 1)

by S. L. Naeole

  He started to back away, and I eased myself off the desk, watching his body turn toward the door. He gripped the handle and pushed down, the door swinging open in his grip. I lifted my hand to wave goodbye to him when he was suddenly in front of me again, my raised hand in his. Before I could snatch it from his grip, before the icy grip of fear could take hold of me, he brought it to his hot mouth and licked my thumb, melting away the chill with his textured tongue. He pushed my hand back toward me and I…let him, let him press my thumb against my mouth still open in mid-farewell.

  “Lick your thumb, Victoria,” he said, his voice thick and smooth and curling around me like an embrace.

  My body trembled at his touch, his fingers wrapped around my wrist pressing against the quick thrum of my pulse, but I did it. I licked my thumb, tasting him and myself, a rushing tightness pulling between my thighs as everything I didn’t know I wanted began to pool in that private place hidden there. His pupils dilated, spreading so that only a thin line of greenish-gold surrounded those dark centers.

  “Watch me, Victoria,” he commanded, as if I could find it in me to disobey when every inch of my body wanted to do whatever he wanted. My eyes froze on him as he languidly brought my thumb back to his mouth and closed his lips over my finger. Hot and wet, his tongue curled around me, sending desire racing through my bloodstream. My breath was shaky when I inhaled, staring at his mouth, at his eyes. And then he suckled on my thumb.

  And. I. Moaned.

  His lids lowered in an unhurried blink before he removed my finger from his mouth with a pop. My thumb glistened, wet, red, and throbbing. Instinctually I pulled my thumb toward my mouth, already desiring the taste of him against my tongue, but he stilled my hand, a clicking sound slipping from him. “Uh-uh,” he scolded. “I told you to watch. Now I’m going to punish you.”

  I swallowed, my tongue feeling fat and heavy in my mouth, my breasts aching and heavy against my chest. I wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but in the back of my head his threat still loomed, the warning of the worth of a single question, and I knew even as my thumb cooled, even as the taste of him faded in my mouth, that the last thing I wanted was to never see him again. So instead I waited, watching.

  Michael lowered my hand, placing my palm flat on the desk behind me before reaching up with one hand to once again caress my face with nothing but the buildup of heat between his skin and mine. This time I leaned into the heat, turning my head as if I could capture the energy that sparked directly from his palm and keep it with me. I opened my mouth, desperate to breathe in his scent, taste it, when he once again clicked in disapproval.

  “Close your mouth, Victoria.”

  With a click of my teeth, my mouth clamped shut as anticipation mingled with fear in the thickening blood that had now pooled at my core.

  “Watch,” he breathed, and I did, my eyes watching as he moved, eliminating the distance between us with a single step, and then lowered his head. I was quivering, shivers of need rocking through me and causing the desk to squeak from the movement when his mouth lightly grazed the outer corner of my lips. It was the barest of kisses, a touch that wasn’t a touch, and yet sensation hurtled through me as hot and as dominating as a brand, my thighs slicking against each other with an embarrassing wetness that caused me to gasp against his lips.

  He moved away then, his own breathing slightly irregular, his gaze as hot and as hungry as I felt. “You’re wondering what the punishment is, aren’t you?” he asked heatedly. I nodded, grateful for the question he’d asked that saved me from risking everything to hear the answer. Leaning in, he whispered it in my ear, a hot moist answer that tore out another moan from deep within my throat, and possibly from even deeper.

  My body was still humming long after he’d gone, long after I’d cleaned up our lunch and returned to work, my fingers returning repeatedly to press against the corner of my mouth where he’d kissed me. As the day came to an end and I picked up my bag and headed out of my office, my step felt lighter, more fluid, as if a part of me had been awakened that afternoon that knew how to move through the world with desire running through my veins.

  I checked my phone and felt a flush of heat fill my cheeks at the message that awaited me, both from embarrassment that I hadn’t changed his name back and what he’d typed.

  Asshole: Your lips taste like cherries. Will the inside of you taste just as sweet?

  My head was in the clouds all through the ride home with Holly, who regaled me with descriptions of all the fabrics she’d purchased, oblivious to my disinterest. At dinner, I finished my peanut butter sandwich, trying desperately to remember where Michael had touched it so that I could savor that part last. And then, when it was time for bed, I climbed in and checked my phone one more time, glad that I’d made nice with his name once again.

  Michael: Your moans are the things dreams are made of.

  I closed my eyes and moaned again, the thumb he’d pulled into his mouth now pressed against the last spot he’d touched me. My lips were parted, and as the tip of my tongue gently grazed the pad of my finger, Michael’s voice filled my ears as I replayed over and over again those last words of his.

  “Your punishment, sweetheart, is to live with the knowledge that I’m not going to lick the inside of your mouth today like you licked that fork.”

  Tuesday morning I received a call from Tobias to see him in his office. As I sat in one of the club chairs fronting his desk, I took in the dour expression on his face and dread seized my gut. Aside from the standard forwarded emails about AITTIA, Arizona, and an in-house message telling me that Vonne had spoken to him about the gala, I hadn’t heard from him. We’d both been busy preparing for the AITTIA exhibit, and I’d been dealing with private contracts that Del hadn’t informed me about. He’d rescheduled our last two status meetings, seemingly satisfied with my emailed updates as well as whatever he was receiving from Del’s end after speaking to me, so I knew that it wasn’t lack of progress that brought me into his office.

  “Morning, Victoria,” he said, not noticing my cringe at the use of my first name.

  “Good morning, Tobias.”

  He reached over to a stack of files on his desk and pulled one out. A quick peek told me, quite simply, that this meeting was definitely going to be about me.

  Dread began a quick ascent to my heart.

  “So I thought I would do this in person, since it’s not exactly the kind of issue we would handle over the phone or in an email,” he began before a knock on the door drew his attention away. “Come in.”

  I turned and fought to hide my dismay as Gladys walked in. The woman with the violet-gray hair braided neatly at her back walked in, softly closing the door behind her as if she didn’t want anyone else to know what was about to happen in this office. She nodded at me, her pleasant green eyes so easy to read that there was no mistaking the regret in them.

  Shit.

  Gladys took her seat next to me, carefully arranging her skirt around her ankles in a nervous fidget. She kept her face turned to Tobias, whose own face was lined with seriousness. I swallowed.

  “So, I think you know why you were called in today, Victoria,” he started.

  “Yes.” I wasn’t going to pussyfoot around the issue. Just like a band-aid, it was better to just rip it clean off.

  He opened the file—my file—and sorted through the top two sheets before retrieving the third one. Closing the folder, he placed that sheet on top, covering most of it with his two hands. I looked up into his eyes and sighed, ready.

  “As you know, in order for the art museum wing of MOAT to exist, it has to depend on ticket sales, donations of artwork from private collectors, loans from other museums, and, of course, monies and other gifts from our private and public benefactors. To run smoothly, MOAT also relies on the strict enforcement of its policies and security protocols. The latter, of course, helps to ensure that the former does not become a victim of risk and ruin. Incompetence or any violation of our policies and
protocols could result in major losses to MOAT’s foundation. It opens us up to lawsuits and lawsuits bring negative press, both which will cost MOAT and its foundation money. We cannot have that.”

  I shook my head in agreement. “No, we can’t.”

  Tobias’ fingers turned the sheet of paper around and then pushed it toward me. My eyes glanced at it before lifting to his. He pulled his mouth back in a frown. My shoulders fell. “This is a form we’re going to need you to fill out in detail regarding what happened. If you sign it, it becomes part of the official record. If you don’t, then we’ll have to go with what others have told us, without your corroboration or rebuttal. It is important that we have your side of the story to get a full picture”

  All the warm, blissful feelings I’d woken up with dissipated. Exactly a week ago I’d been terrified of this very thing happening. As each day passed without a word, I’d grown complacent, even confident that it wouldn’t. I’d let the finger-light touches of a beautiful man steal away my sense and reason and now I was completely and royally screwed.

  “So I fill out the form, sign it, and then what? Will I be receiving a severance package, or does signing this form negate that?”

  Gladys twisted in her seat to look at me with astonishment. I guess she didn’t think I’d understood what was going to take place here. “If I sign this, does it mean I’m admitting culpability? Does it mean I’m signing away my right to sue for wrongful termination?”

  Surprised at my sudden and unwarranted anger, I let out a long hiss of air and then shook my head. These two had nothing to do with what happened last week. They had nothing to do with the fear that had triggered my stupidity. And there was nothing they could do when one of the benefactors—the one I’d let kiss me last night, to be exact—had voiced his concern over my violation of security protocols. I’d made my bed. I now had to lie in it.

  “I’m sorry, Gladys; Tobias. I didn’t bring a pen. If you could lend me one, I’ll fill out the form and sign it. Whatever forms you need me to sign in order to speed up the termination. Just, if you could, give me a couple of weeks to see if I could find something else.”

  Anger pulsed bright and clear in Glady’s eyes as she whipped her head toward Tobias. “Did you tell her that she’d be fired over this?” The accusation hung heavy in the air, blending with my sudden and rapidly growing confusion.

  Denial and a bewilderment that mirrored my own washed over Tobias’ features as he shook his head, his gaze darting between mine and Gladys’. “I haven’t even spoken to her about this, but considering that they live together I assumed—”

  “What?” I boomed. “We don’t live together! Did he tell you that?”

  Tobias jolted in shock. “He? Victoria, what are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?” I countered.

  “The sexual harassment claim filed against your roommate.”

  My jaw hinged open, my eyes drying in the air-conditioned room as they moved, unblinking, between Tobias and Gladys. “Sexual harassment?” Not because I’d violated the security protocol and left every single door to the catacombs open and risking every valuable piece of artwork stored securely there being stolen?

  “Who?”

  Tobias’ brows pinched together in frustration. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”

  “Tobias, excuse me for the language, but I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

  He sat back and huffed, his hand lifting to comb through his neatly coifed red hair, messing the smoothness he’d managed to achieve with those near impossible curls. “One of our benefactors—our most important benefactor—has filed an informal sexual harassment complaint against Holly Chang and reserved the option to possibly escalate it.”

  Holly? Shit.

  Holy shit.

  “We informed Holly of the complaint yesterday and told her that she could submit a response to it if she so wanted. She did and then said to speak to you.”

  She’d found out yesterday and didn’t tell me. Didn’t even hint at it. “Speak to me? About what?”

  “About the accuser. About his character.”

  “But I don’t even know who the accuser is.” I was frowning so much I was growing wrinkles on my face.

  “Holly says you do. She says she spoke to you about him this weekend and that you’ve had…personal experiences with him yourself.”

  My fists clenched in my lap, the cast on my right arm lessening the effect and pissing me off even more. “And she told you to come to me, that I would give you a statement.” It wasn’t a question, and I hated that. Anger and resentment worried its way through me, and I didn’t know who to be more pissed at. Holly for not telling me, Michael for making the claim in the first place, or myself for somehow getting stuck in the middle.

  Oblivious of my inner turmoil, Tobias leaned forward and tapped the form in front of me with his fingers. “Please, Victoria. Write down what you know of the situation and anything you might add of your own experiences, whatever they may be. All of this is confidential, and it is just an informal complaint. The accuser doesn’t want anything to happen to Holly just yet. We just need your statement for the file—”

  “Holly’s file,” I interrupted.

  “Yes.”

  Hurt, confusion, and anger melded into a heavy ball of strain in my belly. “Whatever I write in here can be used against her later. Or against her…accuser.”

  Tobias glanced over to Gladys, who nodded as if giving him permission to answer. “If the accuser wishes to escalate the complaint then yes, it could. Anything written down will go onto the official record if the complaint is escalated. Whether it is or not, however, it is entirely up to you to decide what you want to write. As I stated, the accuser doesn’t wish to seek further action than this, for now, but we still have to follow procedure and if the accused wishes to issue a rebuttal or request additional statements by witnesses, as she has with you, then she has that right.”

  My fingers tapped at the pen on the desk, the large, blank box staring up at me like a death trap. “I don’t have anything to write down,” I announced. “What Holly told me this past weekend was about something that occurred two years ago, between two consenting adults. I wasn’t there when it happened so I can’t corroborate or deny anything. It’ll be hearsay and that won’t be admissible. As for my own experiences, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what Holly is talking about.”

  What the fuck am I doing? I’m throwing Holly under the bus, that’s what I’m doing! But she threw you under the bus, too! She told them about Michael and the catacombs!

  Clearing her throat, Gladys spoke up, her hand moving to take the form from in front of me. “Ria, I can’t tell you what the complaint actually stated, but I want to be absolutely certain that you don’t have anything to say about what happened between Holly and her accuser, or what she claims happened between her accuser and yourself.” She waited for me to nod in confirmation before she pushed the piece of paper back to Tobias and then stood. “I’m sorry that you were brought in here for nothing, Ria. Tobias, when you can, please meet me in my office so we can discuss this later.”

  I watched her leave and then turned to glare at Tobias, whose face was now redder than his hair. “Is that all? Can I go?”

  He nodded and then it was my turn to exit the large office and make my way back to my much smaller and strangely comforting one. I needed a distraction as anger bubbled up within me at what had just happened. Holly had ambushed me with this, and Michael…he’d sat there in my living room, saw the pictures of my friends, of Holly, so he knew who she was to me when he’d filed the complaint. He knew he would be stirring up a hornets’ nest by talking to me.

  Unless he sleeps with so many women a year that he doesn’t even remember her. What did Holly say he was called? The Pussy Collector? How could anyone remember one face in a sea of hundreds?

  You know how.

  I shook my head at my thoughts, hating myself for where my mind
was taking me. With a grunt of determination, I dove into my work, answering emails, fielding a few calls from Arizona’s receiving department to give them an update on the pieces we were doing for them, and then called Del to get his password so that I could open several locked files he’d emailed me regarding the addition of a new piece being loaned to MOAT for the AITTIA exhibit.

  Elise, one of the best restorers on our team, sat with me as we finalized the pieces for the AITTIA exhibit and then discussed some of the backlogged pieces. She was astute and very frank on what she thought should be tackled first when it came to the larger pieces, and whose attention to detail would most benefit the smaller ones.

  “Brandon is good, but he’s not as good as Hector. Give Hector the Gillibrand piece and Brandon the two Morrow pieces. Those are darker, without much degradation, which means his heavy hand won’t really be noticed as much and we won’t have to issue a formal apology and fix his fuck-up like with the Thompson collection.”

  I nodded in agreement, happy with her assessment and suggestion. Since my accident and promotion, she was the one who had been doing much of the handling with the canvases in the HuCoStore and in the catacombs, so there was no doubt on her knowledge of our inventory. I knew that I could trust her opinions, both on our exhibits and on freelance assignments for the new private contracts Del had signed us up for, which meant that by the time she was ready to leave my office for a late lunch, I’d nearly tackled all my work for the week.

  “Hey, Ria. I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re doing a great job. They picked the right person for the promotion,” she said as she stood, her arms filled with copies of the manifests, the margins covered in my handwritten notes.

  “Thanks, Elise,” I said with a smile. “I really needed that.”

  Satisfied that at least one thing went right, I grabbed my bag and checked my phone. I deleted two work emails that had already been answered on the computer and responded to a private email from Kara about Roy’s birthday party this weekend. Anxiety and anger nipped at me as I checked my text messages and saw several from Holly.